#because apparently I’m gonna do whumptober now??

[solesommerso]

if I slap my username and some words onto a pinterest pic it counts as a title banner right? I think yes.

#sammy spam #brought to you by adhd #because apparently I’m gonna do whumptober now?? #hoping yall like noah angst cause that’s about the only idea I have <3

[smilesrobotlover]

Whumptober day 17- collar, touch aversion, leave me alone

Smiles using all three in the prompt? Rare! Anyways I… I don’t even know how to describe this one BDMSBSKSBMS . SO REMEMBEE THAT DREAM I HAD ABOUT YUGA AND LINEBECK YES I TURNED IT INTO A PROMPT I NEEDED IDEASDBSKSBKSBSAKABK. I need y’all to bear with me here cuz this is nothing but pure chaos. Basically Linebeck meets the villain squad. There’s yuga, Ghirahim, Vaati, zant, Astor, Kogha, and Linebeck in this fic and… it’s crazy. Genuinely can’t tell if it’s actually cringey or if I’m just mean to myself 💀💀💀 so uh, yeah, it’s a long one and ends weirdly but whatevs

Warnings: kidnapping, possessive attitude, nonconsensual touching (it’s nothing serious Ghirahim and Yuga are just a little creepy) and yeah

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a normal day for Linebeck. He woke up, pissed off Leon, pissed off everyone else, and took a walk through the woods while they all calmed down. He kept close to camp so that if something happened, Linebeck would be close enough to them. But apparently it didn’t matter, because in the end, he was grabbed and pulled into a portal, held against his will by some… colorful characters.

Linebeck paced his cage when they left him alone, occasionally leaning up against the bars hopelessly. There was no way he was getting out of this, and there was no way that the others would even know where to find him. The people holding him hostage were weird, but they were scary. Having sharp teeth, powerful magic, and all were freakishly tall (except for two). One was a creature that he’d never seen before, having round yellow eyes, fair blue skin, and markings along his nose. Linebeck was a coward at heart, and these people did not want to make him feel brave.

Linebeck tugged at the collar that they put on him. It was to “block his ability to use magic”, but it was nothing more than a nuisance to Linebeck since he didn’t have any magic. It rubbed painfully against his neck and it occasionally felt like he was being choked. Linebeck groaned and fiddled with the collar more until the men who abducted him barged into the room, arguing about something.

“How could you screw up that bad?” A taller man with white hair that covered one eye yelled. “Open a portal to the castle, that's all you had to do!”

“Portals are a finicky magic! Only a powerful magician can safely open up a portal without any issues!” A smaller purple man who also had hair covering one eye yelled back.

“Oh! Well it seems like you’re not a very powerful magician then, Vaati!”

“Shut up Ghirahim! You know nothing about magic!”

“Can you two stop it with the yelling.” A pale man with a hood over his eyes came in, holding a strange contraption in his hand. “My head hurts.”

“Well Vaati screwed up my plan!” The one Linebeck assumed was Ghirahim practically screamed. The taller creature with the beady yellow eyes came by.

“I don’t understand why you didn’t come to me for help, I open up portals all the time!”

“You were gone with Yuga, Zant! And I needed this mission done now!”

“What is Loria’s name were you trying to do?” A tall man with thick, curly red hair leaned against the bars, and a little too close to Linebeck for comfort.

“I needed Vaati to open up a portal so we could kidnap the King! He was left unsupervised and it would’ve been a perfect opportunity! Just… who even is that?” Ghirahim pointed at Linebeck, which caused the others to look at him. Linebeck stood up straight and backed away from the bars, but Ghirahim got closer. “Who are you?”

Linebeck chuckled nervously and pressed his back against the back wall of his cage, as far away from them as possible. Ghirahim scoffed and snapped his fingers, vanishing in a cloud of diamonds. Linebeck yelped when he suddenly appeared inches from his face. He grabbed his shirt and pinned him against the wall, looking down at him with murder in his eyes. Linebeck felt like he was gonna pass out right then and there, but he swallowed his nerves down and tried to glare back at him.

“I said, who are you?” Ghirahim repeated, fury in his voice.

“A—uh— I—I’m uh…” Linebeck stuttered, unable to say his own name. Ghirahim groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Well he’s completely useless to us,” Ghirahim snapped his fingers and a dagger appeared in his hand. “Might as well get rid of him.”

“W-wait! Wait!” Linebeck tried to stop him, but sudden movement at his side caused him to scream and jerk away from it. Yuga appeared and held Ghirahim’s hand that had the dagger in it.

“Let’s not be too hasty, there’s no reason to kill him.”

Ghirahim rolled his eyes at him. “Let me guess, he’s too beautiful to die?”

“Yes!” Yuga dragged Linebeck away from Ghirahim, and he found himself pressed up against Yuga’s chest. “I mean look at him, beauty like this must be preserved.” His hand gently stroked against Linebeck’s cheek which made him physically recoil.

“Don’t touch me!” Linebeck swatted his hand at Yuga, but it was grabbed effortlessly by the large man.

“So feisty too, I’d like to keep him for my collection.”

“Yuga no. You let that one doctor live, and look where that got us!”

“Oh come on! I won’t let him walk around freely,” Yuga’s fingers dug possessively into Linebeck’s shoulder causing him to squirm. “I’ll just turn him into a painting and keep him in my hall, that’s all!”

Linebeck’s heart stopped. “Wh— turn me into a painting?”

“Well of course. Only the most beautiful and powerful ones are hung up on my wall. You should consider yourself lucky,” Yuga got close to his face and Linebeck leaned back.

“Kinda hard to consider myself lucky when I’ll have to look at your ugly face for the rest of my life!”

Yuga gasped and the others snorted in response.

“Oh I think I like him actually,” the hooded man said with a chuckle.

“Oh you— shut up, Astor!” Yuga yelled, his grip on Linebeck tightening in rage. “That was a petty insult, it sure does dampen your natural beauty.”

“Yeah well at least I have natural beauty unlike you, who needs all that crap all over your face just to be bearable to look at!”

Yuga gasped more loudly and he let go of Linebeck. Ghirahim started laughing like a maniac and he grabbed onto Linebeck.

“I have to agree with Astor, I think I like him as well.”

Linebeck squirmed in his hold, trying to get away. “Yeah well the feeling’s not mutual. Get off of me!”

Ghirahim’s grip tightened around him, and Linebeck groaned. He couldn’t move.

“Well we don’t need him alive so just kill him now Ghirahim,” Yuga grumbled, suddenly turning into a painting and slipping through the bars. Linebeck watched in awe as he popped out of the wall, returning to his true self. Yuga smirked at his reaction. “Still think that I’m nothing to look at?”

“Tch, you still look like a moblin’s rear end to me.”

Yuga glared daggers into Linebeck while the others laughed hysterically.

“Oh I definitely like you,” Ghirahim wheezed, patting him on the shoulder. “Sorry Yuga but I don’t want to kill him anymore, he… amuses me.”

Yuga grumbled as Ghirahim finally let go of Linebeck and left the cell.

“Uh… w-what are you guys going to do to me?” He couldn’t help but ask even though he knew that any answer would be a bad answer.

“Don’t know yet, you weren’t our original target,” Ghirahim answered, looking upset again. Vaati leaned against the bars next to Linebeck.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head over the specifics of your fate, we’ll take care of that for you,” he said.

“Yeah that’s kind of why this pretty little head of mine is worrying,” Linebeck rebutted. “Can you at least take off this collar? I don’t have any magic so it’s completely useless.”

“We’re not taking any chances with you,” Astor said in a low voice.

“Besides, if you ever escape, then people will know that you belong to us,” Vaati said with a grin.

Linebeck gulped and the group left the room, leaving him alone once again. He let out a big sigh and sunk to the floor, hoping that they wouldn’t return any time soon. Though he wanted to escape, the memory of Ghirahim and Yuga holding onto him so strongly made his skin crawl. Even if he could escape, he was not strong enough to fight against them. Ghirahim’s teleportation, Yuga’s weird painting magic, he didn’t even want to think about what the others were able to do. Not to mention, they all seemed so… sadistic. And that was what scared Linebeck the most.

Linebeck rested his head against hands, suddenly feeling very exhausted. He prayed that by some miracle, the others would find him. He just didn’t know how.

~~~~~~~~~

Linebeck jolted awake at the sound of crashing and yelling. He looked over at the door beyond his cage, his heart beating a mile a minute. The yelling continued, sounding like it was getting louder. Linebeck stood up and backed up in a corner, watching the door with dread.

“Just get what they stole from me, alright?” He heard someone shout from the other side. “We’ll be in and out before they even know we’re here!”

“Sure thing.”

There was inaudible grumbling and shifting around, with one proud cheer after a while of shuffling. Eventually the noises were right outside the door, and Linebeck held his breath. A regular looking Hylian in a red jumpsuit peaked his head into the room, and he locked eyes with Linebeck.

“Uh, Kogha?” The Hylian yelled out.

“What?” A gruff sounding man yelled back.

“There’s a guy here.”

“Huh? What?”

Another Hylian poked his head through, and then a tall, heavy man with a weird eye mask appeared. Linebeck pressed himself further into the corner, glaring at the three.

“Listen, unless you’re here to break me out, leave me alone!” He shouted with as much strength as he could.

The men all glanced at each others confused.

“Are you a hostage?” The first Hylian asked.

“I’m in a cage, of course I’m a hostage!”

The tallest one who Linebeck assumed was Kogha entered the room arrogantly.

“Well it’s your lucky day, sir. We’re gonna break you out.”

Linebeck raised an eyebrow. “And why should I trust you?”

Kogha leaned against the bars, gesturing to the whole room. “You know the guys that I assumed abducted you?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Yes, well, we don’t get along. One of them tried to sacrifice me to his malice god. Can you believe that? Sacrifice me?”

“I don’t care.”

“Yeah well, the yiga clan don’t take kindly to sacrificing me. So anytime we can piss them off or inconvenience them, I’ll take it.”

Linebeck narrowed his eyes. “Yiga clan? You wouldn’t happen to be connected to that Yuga guy would you?”

Kogha scoffed. “Just because our names are similar doesn’t mean that we’re connected.”

Linebeck narrowed his eyes even more, and Kogha shrugged.

“Oh whatever, boys, come tear down this door for me.”

Linebeck gasped as the two Hylians grabbed the cage door and pried it open with their weapons. Kogha gestured for Linebeck to join them.

“C’mon, let’s get you home.”

Linebeck looked down. “I don’t think you can get me home.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…. I… I’m not from here—“

There was a loud banging sound, and the Hylians snapped their heads at something behind him.

“Ok well you can explain later, now come on,” Kogha sputtered, trying to grab Linebeck.

“Hey, don’t touch me! I still don’t know if I trust you or not—“

A loud shout came from beyond the door. “Kogha we need to leave now!” The second Hylian yelled, and Kogha grabbed Linebeck and threw him over his shoulder.

“Ah— HEY!” Linebeck yelled, but he was carried away as the three ran for it. Linebeck watched behind the three, seeing Astor and Zant appear. “Ah! Kogha!” Linebeck yelled as they noticed the group running away. Kogha slightly turned around and groaned.

“Ugh! Not that guy!” Kogha set down Linebeck while running, causing him to nearly fall over. “Make sure he gets out safely.”

“Wait, what are you doing, Kogha?” the first hylian asked.

“Buyin’ you some time,” Kogha said with a grin in his voice. Astor held up the strange contraption in his hand, and a red substance poured out of it, heading straight to the group. Linebeck gasped when it came close, but it was stopped by a strange blue shield put up by Kogha. Someone grabbed Linebeck’s hand and he was pulled along, which he quickly tried to pull away.

“I can run on my own! Let go!” He shouted, and the hylian holding his hand grumbled, letting go. The three ran for a long while after they made it outside, and when they were far enough, they all collapsed. Linebeck leaned against a tree and sighed with relief. Well at least actual escape wasn’t an issue anymore... Except this stupid collar was still on him.

“Kogha…” One of the hylians muttered, staring at the building they just escaped from.

“Did he make it out?” The other one asked, and they both watched intently. But there was nothing.

“I knew we shouldn’t have left him alone! They might’ve gotten to him this time!” The first Hylian said frantically, “they probably captured him, and now he’s gonna die! And the yiga clan will be without their leader!”

Linebeck felt guilt creep up on him. It didn’t matter what he thought about the men that saved him, they saved him. And Kogha… he must’ve given up everything just for them… just for him…

“Oh goddesses,” he mumbled, “he saved my life, and I didn’t even get to say thank you… heck I didn’t even show that I was grateful…. Goddesses… he didn’t deserve this.”

“Aw, how nice of you to care about me.”

Linebeck flinched at the sudden presence of another person next to him, and he nearly tripped into the other Hylians who stared at Kogha in awe.

“Kogha!”

“You’re ok!”

Kogha puffed out his chest and pointed at them dramatically. “Of course I’m alright! I may not be able to beat those lunatics down there, but I sure as heck can escape them!”

The Hylians both gave relieved sighs while Linebeck caught his breath. If one more person snuck up on him like that one more time…

“Oh come on now,” Kogha leaned towards Linebeck, “where’s that gratitude you wanted to show me?”

Linebeck groaned and stood up straight. “Thanks or… whatever,” he mumbled.

“Well, that was better than nothing I suppose,” Kogha scoffed, and the Hylians stood beside Kogha who had his finger resting on the chin of his mask. “I suppose I’m not done rescuing you yet, where’s your home? I can take you there.”

“Uh–” Linebeck looked down, gnawing his lower lip. There was no way that Kogha was going to get him out of here, he doubted he was in the same era that he was in before. Kogha tilted his head at him when he didn’t say anything.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

Linebeck glared at him. “No. I just… I don’t think you can get me home. Unless you can open up a portal across eras–”

“Wait– you’re from a different era?” One of the Hylians stepped up, looking surprised. Linebeck sighed.

“Yes, I am, and I need to get back to where I was,” though Linebeck could return to his beloved ship, he didn’t want to. He couldn’t abandon his friends, and he couldn’t abandon Link. Kogha let out a laugh and relaxed his posture.

“Hey buddy, I can open up a portal across eras,” Kogha wrapped his arm around Linebeck, making him squirm. “Though it’s not easy to do. I’ve been alive for so long that I was able to learn how to do it but Sheikah magic can’t normally do portals, and it’s just super hard to do in general–”

“Well for it being hard to do, it sure does happen a lot!” Linebeck yelled, and Kogha backed up with his hands up defensively.

“Calm down, let me just see where you once were and I can send you back.” Kogha leaned forward and stared at Linebeck for much longer than he’d like. Finally, Kogha hummed and stepped back. “I see,” he said softly, amused.

“What?”

“Once I open up the portal I want you to waste no time getting in, alright? I can’t keep it open for a long time.”

“Wait, you know where to take me? How?”

“Oh, uh, Sheikah magic, now get ready!” Kogha lightly shoved Linebeck, then got low, swinging his arms in a weird pattern, and right behind Linebeck, a portal opened up.

“Woah!” He stared at the red portal in front of him, trying to see if he could see the other side.

“Linebeck!”

Linebeck swung around at Kogha, surprised at how he knew his name, and he saw the Hylians gather around their leader.

“Tell Ammon I said hi, alright?” Kogha said in a strained voice, and Linebeck blinked. Did he… know Ammon? Kogha gestured to Linebeck with his head and the Hylians stepped forward, pushing Linebeck into the portal.

“W-wait! The collar–” was all Linebeck was able to say before he was pushed into the portal, and he landed on his back harshly in tall grass. He laid there for a moment, thinking about everything that happened to him when he heard yelling from far away.

“Linebeck! Come on, I’m sorry I yelled at you!” He heard Ammon shout.

“I swear if that man is in danger and we have to save him I will throw him into the lake!” He heard Leon grumble, and Linebeck couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Classic Leon.

“Hey, we’re supposed to be looking for him to make sure he’s alright, not threatening him,” Rusl spoke up, and Linebeck heard Leon groan. He would’ve called for them, but after being pushed into that portal, he was feeling pretty dizzy, and his ribs hurt from falling onto the ground. The three were silent for a while, until Linebeck heard their footsteps right next to him, and Leon accidentally kicked his head as he tripped over him.

“OW!” Linebeck sat up and rubbed his temple painfully as Leon laid sprawled out on the ground. “Watch where you’re going, Leon!”

Leon scrambled to his feet and glared at Linebeck. “You– You watch where you’re laying!” He retorted and Linebeck heard the other two groan.

“Leon for Din’s sake,” Ammon muttered, and he kneeled down next to Linebeck. “Are you alright? We got pretty worried about you.”

“Yeah, what’s that on your neck?” Rusl pointed at the collar that stayed around Linebeck’s neck.

“Oh, you know, I got abducted by a bunch of weirdos and they put this stupid collar on me so I wouldn’t use magic or whatever,” Linebeck said nonchalantly. The others gasped.

“You got kidnapped?”

“Who took you?”

“Are they still near?”

Linebeck shook his head. “No, they were from a different era. I’m lucky this weird red guy was able to open up a portal for me to return.”

“Goddesses Linebeck,” Leon groaned, “how do you always get yourself into these situations?”

“I don’t know but I do,” Linebeck looked over at Ammon and pursed his lips. “Um, the red guy…. His name was Kogha and he told me to tell you hi, for some reason.”

Ammon’s eyes widened in surprise. “K-Kogha? You saw him? I–” He looked down, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth, but it quickly went away. “Were you in my era?”

“I don’t know, do you normally deal with the weirdos called Yuga, Ghirahim, Astor, Zant, Vaati–”

“Astor?”

“Zant?”

“Vaati…”

Linebeck stared at the others in surprise. So they all knew them? Or at least some of them. Ammon looked confused, Rusl looked shocked, while Leon looked furious.

“Well, seems like I have a lot to tell you guys,” Linebeck said with an awkward chuckle. He tugged at the collar and stood up. “You think you could get this stupid thing off of me while I tell you the details?”

The three of them snapped out of their reactions and nodded, standing up as well.

“Don’t worry Linebeck,” Rusl started, wrapping his arm around his shoulder, “I have the right tools to get that off of you.”

“But I am very curious about your encounter with Kogha and Astor. You know Astor died in the calamity a long time ago.”

Linebeck shrugged. “Ok, well I did see him and all the others together. But uh, I wouldn’t recommend meeting them.” The others chuckled, and they all escorted the sailor back to camp.

#smiles writes #whumptober #whumptober 2023 #whumptober day 17 #strangers across eras #villain squad #ugh some parts of this made my skin crawl while writing it fhkdhdkd #I’m so sorry I put you through this Linebeck it won’t happen again #at least Linebeck is sassy when he’s held hostage #the worst thing you could do to Yuga is to insult his beauty #it’s ok my dude I love your makeup

[thisfairytalegonebad]

Working to Exhaustion - Whumptober day 26

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Character: Ignis Scientia Rating: Teen and up Warnings: Panic attack (mentioned, no details)

Read below the cut or on AO3 here.

“What the hell is up with you?” Gladio snaps when Ignis loses his footing and just barely avoids Gladio’s blade, for the third time. “If you’re not up for training, just say so! Better than letting yourself get cut in half by my sword.”

“I’m fine, ” Ignis insists, but Gladio isn’t buying it.

It’s not like he can’t see the dark circles under Ignis’ eyes, the way he responds just a bit too slowly to Gladio’s moves, and that his work calendar is so full Gladio had to scroll two months ahead just to find a free slot when he tried to send him a request to have lunch together.

“You’re done,” he decides, ignoring both the immediate protests and the death glare being sent his way. Would be more effective if it came from eyes that weren’t struggling to remain open, anyway.

“Very well,” Ignis finally grids out, stalking towards his bag and snatching it up in one fluid motion. “I’ll be off, then.”

Gladio isn’t stupid, he knows Ignis won’t use this unexpected downtime for, you know, downtime. Instead, he’ll just get started on something else, or find even more work to do or something. By now, Gladio has witnessed this kind of thing often enough that he knows no amount of reasoning, bargaining or even pleading is going to do anything. People think him stubborn, but by the Six, they’ve never met Iggy.

There’s really nothing for him to do but watch and wait until Ignis inevitably crashes and burns.

And so, it barely comes as a surprise when Noct calls him in near-hysterics just two days later, babbling that “Gladio, something’s wrong with Ignis!” and Prompto, in the background, says something that sounds like “panic attack”. Barely a surprise because the only part of this that truly is surprising is that Ignis is apparently worse off than Gladio thought if he didn’t even manage to slink away like a dying cat in order to suffer his nervous breakdown away from the kids like he usually does.

When Gladio lets himself into Noct’s apartment, the first thing he sees is Noct, hovering by the kitchen almost in tears, eyes wide and scared. When he looks a little further, he discovers Iggy, sitting on the floor against the kitchen counter with his legs drawn up and his forehead resting on his knees. His breathing is even, so the panic attack seems to be over but he’s still riding out the aftermath.

Gladio’s a little surprised to see Prompto pressed up against his side, not hugging him but maintaining continuous physical contact, and he’s talking to Ignis in a hushed voice.

They seem to be doing alright for the moment - Ignis doesn’t look up even though he’s doubtlessly heard Gladio enter, and Prompto only gives him a weak smile and a thumbs up before he focuses on Iggy again.

So Gladio does the most obvious thing and goes to collect Noct.

“Bedroom, c’mon,” he says quietly, steering Noct towards the door with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“What happened?”

Noct shrugs and doesn’t meet his eye. “He burnt dinner, I think.”

“He burnt dinner? That’s it?”

“Yeah, I mean, I think so. He was in the kitchen cooking one minute and the next he’s dropping the pan, and then he starts hyperventilating and-” Noct trails off, gesturing helplessly. “Prompto sat with him and talked to him and got him to calm down, and eventually he got it out of him that apparently he burnt dinner. Shit, Gladio, I’ve never seen him like this.”

“I have,” Gladio says without thinking. Ignis is gonna resent him for it, he knows, but Noct needs to know this - something’s gotta give, and this might just be the thing that does it. “This isn’t his first panic attack, or even his second or third. He usually does a better job hiding, though.”

It has the desired effect. Noct freezes and stares at him, eyes wide and upset. “The hell does that mean?”

Gladio snorts. “It means that Iggy’s running himself ragged all the damn time and every now and then it’s just too much for him to handle.”

“Shit. Fuck. I never- you knew this happened to him?” Noct accuses, horrified. “How can we… is there anything we can do to help him?”

The question is so naive it almost pisses Gladio off, but another look at Noct’s genuine expression lets him pause. The kid’s truly worried for Ignis, and Gladio doesn’t think snapping at him now is gonna do any good. Witnessing Iggy’s breakdown probably does more for his sense of self-awareness than chewing him out ever could, anyway.

“Just don’t make life even harder for him, ‘kay?” he says, softening his tone. “Iggy’s got a workload none of us can even imagine, he doesn’t need to be picking up after you all the time too.”

“Not saying this is your fault and no one else’s,” he quickly adds because he sees Noct’s expression cloud over into one of self-loathing. “It’s partially your fault, maybe, but those assholes at the Citadel just won’t give him a break, he’s nearly due for his Crownsguard exams so he’s been picking up extra training sessions, and he’s terrible at delegating shit so he just ends up doing everything himself. It’s just… It’s all too much, no one could handle that in the long run.”

Noct nods, still doubtful but Gladio can see the determination in his eyes. “I’ll do better. I don’t- I can’t see him like that again. I won’t. ”

“Good. He sucks at taking care of himself, so we’ll have to make sure he does it.”

For now, the first step of that plan is to get Ignis up and into bed and also turn off his alarm so he can catch up on some sleep.

Ignis doesn’t protest when Gladio hauls him up and drags him to Noct’s bedroom, which is a telling sign in itself, and when he’s deposited on the bed, he’s out like a light the moment his head touches the pillow.

Gladio turns off the alarm on Ignis’ phone - set for 4:30 in the morning - and goes to ready the guest bedroom for Prompto and himself.

Looks like they’re going to have a sleepover.

----

Read all of my Whumptober prompt fills here.

#whumptober2023 #no.26 #working to exhaustion #ffxv #final fantasy xv #fic #ignis scientia #thisfairytalegonebad's writing

[riahlynn101]

Whumptober - Day Twenty-One: "Polaroid."

TW: William being himself, stalking, heavily implied slut-shaming, mentions of pregnancy, and hints of emotional and financial abuse.

Set in the FNAF movie universe.

Edited: 10/23/2023 - finished and edited it (as much as I could).

--

William is busy (he always is, but it’s nearly the holiday season. And if he wants Fredbear’s to get ahead of the competition, Henry and him need to start planning ahead for the influx of customers). He rushes around the restaurant, trying to dodge screaming children. 

Why he ever got into children’s entertainment, he’ll never know. 

He’s almost to his office, when someone taps him on the shoulder. 

“William?” 

He turns around to face-

“Laura…?” He can’t keep the surprise out of his voice. Laura was an ex-fling of his. They broke things off a few months back abruptly. He thought it was because she wanted to move out of state, but-he looks her up and down, noting her swollen stomach and tired eyes-that apparently wasn’t the case. Without another word, William opens the door to his office wider, inviting her in. 

She moves past him, not meeting his eyes. 

He sits down at his desk across from Laura. “You’ve been busy,” he jokes.

Laura glares at him, a hand on her stomach. “No, thanks to you.” She takes a deep breath, settling down. “I…didn’t come here to fight.”

“Well, that’s a shame.”

Another glare. 

William smirks, pretending to read over some paperwork he finished earlier that day. “I don’t have all day you know?”

Laura sighs. “There’s no easy way for me to say this, but I’m pregnant.”

“I would have never guessed,” he snarks. 

Laura rubs her stomach, one hand remains there at all times, as if protecting the growing life inside. “And you’re the-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” he says, cutting her off. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I want no part in it.”

Laura stares at him, narrowing her eyes. “What I’m playing at?” She repeats under her breath. “What I’m playing at!? And what do you, William, think I’m doing here then?”

“Waste my time? Try to scam me? Take my money and hard earned assets?” 

“I don’t want your money,” she spits. 

“Then, what do you want?” William asks, annoyed. He really hopes one of his employees, or worse, Henry, doesn't come into his office. The last thing he wants to explain is why he’s having a heated conversation with a pregnant woman. 

Laura sniffles, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. 

Great, now she’s crying. She does that a lot. 

“I,” she sniffs, clearing her throat, “just wanted our child to know his father. I know what it’s like growing up in a broken home, and I wanted to prevent that.”

It’s William’s turn to sigh. “Hypothetically, say I believe you, how certain are you that it’s mine? I mean, you got around a lot.”

Laura shakes her head, looking at him with watery eyes. “I know I used to party a lot, but you didn't like when I did that. So, I changed. I haven’t been with anyone else besides you in over a year.”

He tsks, tilting his head to the side. “And I wish I could believe that, but unfortunately, I can’t.” 

“Please,” she begs, putting her hands together, “I don’t have anywhere else to go and-”

“And there it is. The truth.” He laughs, going back to reading over the finished paperwork, using the sounds of Laura quietly sobbing as white noise. 

“Two things can be true. This baby is your child. Even if you don’t care about me, you should care about your son.”

“Sorry,” William tells her. “I have to get back to work, but I’ll be sure to send a gift card along to the women’s shelter.” 

He watches her leave, defeated.

“That was odd,” he says to himself, flipping through a file to find one blueprint or another. 

Despite how cruelly he treated her, William hopes the baby and her stay safe. It’s a scary world out there, and a real monster might take advantage of them. 

-x-x-x-

William forgets the encounter. Business is booming and sales are up. Laura and her unborn child fade from his memory. 

But then, Henry and his wife decide to have a baby. A little girl, they lovingly named “Charlotte.” 

Business slows down, and William is left to his thoughts. He thinks about his ‘supposed’ child. They would be about four or five now. He wonders what they look like.

Do they look like Laura? Him?

He mentally berates himself. None of it matters, because William will never see Laura again. He hasn’t seen her since their last conversation, so it’s safe to say that she probably left town. And it’s unlikely that the kid is actually his. It can’t be. 

The next day, because he’s so lucky, William runs into Laura while grocery shopping. He almost runs his cart into hers, but stops just in time. “Laura?” He asks. “Is that you?” He takes in her appearance. She looks put-together, something that she always seemed to struggle with. His eyes linger on the gold band around her left ring finger, and stop on the little boy sitting in the front of the cart. 

Laura looks at him like a deer in headlights. Her mouth opens and closes. Before she finally composes herself. She stands a little straighter. “In the flesh,” she jokes.

William keeps looking at the boy. “Is this your-”

Laura cuts him off. “My son. Yep.”

“So, is he my-”

Again, she interrupts him. “My husband’s son?”

“So, you lied to me?” William can feel his blood starting to boil. The thought of abandoning his potential child has taken up more mental space than he likes to admit. Years of trying not to think about it, and she lied?

“No,” Laura mutters. She starts to walk away, but William puts a hand on her cart. 

“Then, what happened?”

Laura glares at him. “I’m not talking about this with you.”

William studies the little boy, who gives him a big, toothy grin; his two front teeth are missing. All freckles and dark curls that rest messily against his forehead and big brown eyes.

He sees nothing of himself in the boy, and yet…

“He’s mine.” 

It isn’t a question, but Laura answers anyway. “I’m not talking about this in front of Mike.”

“Michael,” William says, tasting the name. “I like it.”

Laura goes to move forward, but he maintains a tight grip on the cart. “Don’t leave, I just want to talk.”

She looks at him, and then down at their son. “I-”

“Laura,” a man says, a can in each hand. “They had a sale on veggies, and I know you’ve been saying we need to start feeding Mike more greens.” He tosses the items in the cart, before turning to greet William. 

“Hi, you and Laura know each other?” There’s no accusations hidden in the question, but William feels somewhat offended.

“Of course we do. Me and her go way back.”

The man, who William suspects is her husband (judging by the matching gold band on his finger), raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah, way back.” It might be childish, but he relishes the slight twitch of the man’s eye. The knowledge that he’s getting to him, albeit barely. 

Laura’s husband laughs, but it sounds forced. “Hey, honey, how about you go checkout? I’m sure Mikey doesn’t want to hear boring adult talk.”

She nods, hurrying away before William can intercept her again. 

Once the cart is no longer in view, the man turns to him again. He pokes a finger into William’s chest, a severe look on his otherwise handsome face. “I know who you are, and I’m warning you, stay away from my family.” 

There’s so many things William wants to say, but it’s clear that anything he says will fall on deaf ears. “Okay,” he answers, acting meek. 

The man stares at him for a few seconds longer. “Good,” he mutters, leaving to (presumably) go find Laura. 

William goes home that night, still thinking about his son. His real, actual son. Laura hadn’t been lying, or trying to pass off someone else’s child as his. They exist.

Instead of giving him closure, the event sparks something in William. He might not be able to talk to or interact with his son, but he can keep close tabs on him. 

He buys a polaroid camera, and memorizes his son’s routine. Which is hard, because most of the time he’s with one adult or another. But sometimes William can catch him alone, at the park, or when he’s waiting for his parents to pick him up after school. 

He never talks to Michael, not wanting the boy to tattle to his mom or “dad.” 

William sticks to blending in with the surrounding crowds, or shadows. In the case of the park, he pretends to act uninterested, reading a newspaper. But in those perfect little moments where no one’s paying him any mind and his son’s doing something cute, like yawning or giggling, he’ll snap a picture or two.

A perfect little memento for his eyes only. 

But then, Laura has another child - a little boy. Which messes up William’s schedule, because now Michael spends a lot of time at home with his new sibling. And as much as he wants to spend time with his son, even he’s not stupid enough to commit breaking and entering.

William sits on the park bench, newspaper in hand and polaroid camera at his side. It might take a couple weeks, but he’s sure his son will come back.

#whumptober2023 #no. 21 #switching prompts #polariod #not finished #tw abandonment #fnaf william afton #mike schmidt #fnaf michael afton

[walker-extended-universe]

Come Home With Me

Relationship(s): Melissa Yoo & Sadie Yoo, Melissa Yoo & Hoyt Rawlins, Geri Broussard/Hoyt Rawlins, Geri Broussard & Cordell Walker

Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe- Canon Divergence, Sick Character, Hospitals, Pre-Series, Money Problems, Angst, Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending

Summary: In which Hoyt- and thus the Walkers- knew about Sadie all along

Written for @whumptober Day 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.”

Taglist: @theladywyn, @ihavepointysticks, @klaatu51, @itsjessiegirl1, @neptunium134

----

“I just don’t understand you, Hoyt!” Geri forced any tears she had down with pure anger. “You- You promised this was over! One more job, and then you’d be back and here to stay. And then you- You pull a stunt like this?! Why? I just- Why did you do this? You keep saying you’re going to slow down but you just keep ramping up and I don’t understand!”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Hoyt didn’t look up at her, playing with the plastic bottle cap ring in his hands. “I really was going to but- I got a call-”

“Oh, you got a call?” Geri mocked. “Let me guess, they made you an offer you couldn’t refuse.”

“Not that kind of call.”

“Oh, really? What kind of call was it then? Some blackmail deal? Are you involved with the mafia now?”

“That’s not- It wasn’t that kind of call,” Hoyt repeated. “It was something else. A call from…. Someone special….”

Geri grit her teeth. “Someone special? A girl ?”

Hoyt met her eyes briefly. “...Yes.”

“Great. Just great. Let me guess: she’s pregnant and she’s got you on the hook for child support?”

“Not exactly….” Hoyt sighed. “Her kid- my kid- is a few years old already. And she’s sick. It’s treatable but Melissa- that’s her name- needs help getting the funds together and she doesn’t have a lot of other people she can ask….”

Geri pinched the bridge of her nose. “Are you sure the kid is yours?”

“Yes; DNA test confirmed last week.”

“And you’ve known about this for how long?”

“....About a month….”

“And you decided not to tell anyone else about it why ?”

“Well, what was I gonna say?” Hoyt snapped, his first real reaction since she walked in. “‘Hey guys, your worse assumptions about me are all true! Now help me pay for my kid!’” He rolled his eyes. “Yeah I’m sure that would’ve gone well.”

“Well it’s better than this!” Geri huffed. “You know what, I can’t talk to you right now. Just- You sit in that cell and think about what you’ve done!” She didn’t care if she sounded like a kindergarten teacher; he clearly needed to hear it.

She stormed out and ran into Cordell in the hallway. Literally. “Woah there.” Cordell grabbed her shoulders to steady her. “I’m guessing things didn’t go too well in there?”

She wrenched out of his hold. “Of course they didn’t! They never go well in there.” She huffed. “Oh, and by the way, apparently he has a kid that he needs help paying for. So, while you’re in there, find a way to sneak in some parenting advice in the middle of all the ‘quit breaking the law’ talk, okay?”

Cordell’s eyes went wide. “I- What?”

“Yeah, I know. Hoyt had a kid with some random woman he met on the road. Shocking. Apparently that’s why he robbed the store; he was trying to get money for some kind of medical treatment.”

Cordell blinked and shook his head. “I- Wow. That’s- Wow.”

Geri hummed. “Yeah, I know. So anyway- You give him a talk on fatherhood and I’ll see if I can track this girl down.”

“Woah, wait.” Cordell grabbed her arm. “You want to track down the- the mother of Hoyt’s child?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“...Can I ask why?”

Geri sighed. “Okay, look, I’m not happy about any of this obviously. But if he’s telling the truth…. She needs help. There’s a kid that can't get treatment because her mom doesn't have enough money.” She knew that situation too well, memories of dull hospital rooms flooding her memory. “I can be mad at Hoyt and still want to help.”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’ll see if I can get anymore out of him and we can look for her together, okay?”

She nodded and hugged him. “Thank you. Now please yell at him for being stupid?”

He chuckled and tipped his hat to her. “Yes, ma’am.”

—----------

Melissa Yoo stared at her phone, mostly so she wouldn’t have to look at her sickly toddler but also because she was waiting for a call. Hoyt had promised her he’d have the money her way in a week at most; it had been almost a week and a half of radio silence.

Honestly, what had she expected? She’d known Hoyt was a grifter when she first met him. That was supposed to be the point of their little weekend together. No strings attached, no consequences, just a couple of lonely people taking a chance to feel less lonely.

At this point, she couldn’t remember if it was dumb luck or a faulty condom or if she’d forgotten her birth control for a few days. And it didn’t really matter. Either way, she had a daughter now and she really needed an extra few thousand dollars to cover the cost of her treatment. 

Sadie weakly coughed from the bed and Melissa reached over to soothe her. “It’s okay, sweetie,” she said softly. “Mama’s here….” Sadie calmed down and the room fell into silence once more.

Silence that was unexpectedly broken by a phone call. Melissa didn’t recognize the number but she answered anyway. It might be important. “Hello?”

“Uh, hi,” said a male voice she didn't recognize. She stiffened reflexively, her hand tightening around her daughter’s. “Is this Melissa Yoo?”

“This is she. May I ask who you are?”

“Ah, my name is Cordell Walker. I’m a friend of Hoyt Rawlins.”

“A friend?” She knew what kind of circles Hoyt ran in. A “friend” of his contacting her could only be problematic. “Is he in some kind of trouble?”

“Yes, but that’s nothing new.” Cordell chuckled. “He, uh, kind of got arrested while he was trying to get that money you needed for your daughter.”

She closed her eyes. God dammit . “Well, you know I don’t have money to spare so if you’re looking for his bail then you’ve got the wrong number.”

“Oh-Oh no. No, that’s not- I wouldn’t ask you for that. That’s not why I called.”

“Then why did you?”

“I was hoping I could meet with you sometime in the next few days? I know this is all very strange but Hoyt is a good friend of mine- practically a brother- and I know you need help. I’d like to help you cover those hospital bills if you’re okay with that.”

Melissa bit her lip and cursed herself. This is why she hadn’t involved Hoyt with them in the first place. She’d known it would lead to shady shit like this. And now this Cordell knew who she was, probably where she lived, and knew she had no way of refusing. Wasn’t that just perfect? “What’s the catch? Is it stupidly high interest or am I going to owe you a favor? Because either way the answer is no. I don’t need your or any of your friends to help me; I can handle this myself.”

A sigh came from the other end. “There seems to be some miscommunication here so let me start over. My name is Cordell Walker. I’m a Texas Ranger and Hoyt and I have been friends since we were in middle school. I reached out to help not because I want you to owe me money but because Hoyt is my family and now you and your daughter are a part of that and I want to help you in any way I can. I won’t ask you to pay me back or do any weird favors. I just want to help you. Please.”

Melissa needed a few moments to process that. Hoyt’s friend was a Texas Ranger? And he just wanted to help? No strings attached? “You’ll forgive me for not fully believing you,” she said.

“I expected that. That’s why I wanted to meet in person to talk about what you needed and how we were going to sort this out.”

Melissa looked at her sleeping daughter. “...I have some time off on Tuesday around lunchtime.”

“That sounds perfect. Where do you want to meet?”

She gave him the address of a cafe a few blocks away from her library. Just to be safe. With a cheery “See you then”, Cordell ended the call and the room was silent once more.

She hoped she was making the right choice, trusting him. She just wanted to see her little girl walk around and smile again.

—---------

“Sadie, slow down!” Melissa chased after Sadie as she took off across the grassy yard.

“Mommy, there’s horses!” Sadie exclaimed, already trying to climb the fence to get a better look at the pasture.

“Yes, there’s horses. I told you we were coming to a horse ranch, didn’t I?” She couldn’t help but smile despite her anxieties. Sadie had recovered well once she was able to get treatment and she'd received a completely clean bill of health from the hospital two weeks ago. Now, it was like she’d never been sick at all.

As much as she’d been reluctant to accept their help, Melissa couldn’t help but be thankful for the Walkers. They’d paid for Sadie’s medical expenses, which is more than she ever could’ve asked them for, but they did so much more too. Someone from the family (usually Emily or Cordell, sometimes Geri) came by the hospital every few days to check on them, usually with a homemade meal courtesy of Abeline (some of which were still sitting in the fridge). They’d been there to support Melissa and Sadie in ways she hadn’t expected and she couldn’t be more grateful.

And now, they were finall here for a visit of her own. Cordell had insisted she come down to the ranch for a dinner to celebrate Sadie’s recovery. “Mama’s just been dying to meet you two,” he’d said on his last visit. “And…there’s someone else who wants to see you too.”

“Hey…Melissa….”

Speak of the devil . “Hoyt.” She smiled briefly at him before turning her attention back to Sadie to make sure she didn’t fall off the fence. “It’s nice to see you again. Are you out or is this just a special visit?”

“I’m out,” he said. “Got a special deal courtesy of a friend. It’s…It’s good to see you too. And Sadie. Gosh, she’s big….”

“She is,” Melissa agreed. “Well, actually she’s a little small for her age but I was too so that’s probably just genetics.”

Hoyt hummed. “Yeah, probably.”

They stood in awkward silence for a few moments, neither of them really sure what to do or say. What do you say in this situation?

“Thanks,” Melissa said eventually.

“For what?”

“For helping.”

Hoyt snorted. “I tried to help. All I did was get caught and cause everyone a bunch of grief.”

“And then you sent the Walkers my way.”

“Like I said, I caused everyone a bunch of grief.” He chuckled. “They sure are something, aren’t they?”

“That’s one word for them,” she agreed. “I’m honestly not even sure how I ended up here. I feel like I just got that phone call yesterday and now….”

“Now you’re a part of the family.” He grinned. “Yeah, they’re like that. You get used to it.”

Melissa wasn’t sure she ever would but she nodded anyway. “I guess we better head inside for dinner?”

Hoyt nodded. “Yeah, Abby’s been cooking up a storm in there all day. I hope you’re ready to head back with about 3 weeks worth of leftovers.”

She chuckled. “I’m still not through what she already gave me. At this point I’m going to need to buy an extra fridge just for her.”

“Don’t tell her that or she’ll give you the money for that too.”

Melissa laughed but the envelope she brought with her felt heavy in her purse now. It wasn’t all that the Walkers had paid but it was a start. She couldn’t possibly pay them back for everything they did for her, but this was the least she could do. “I’ll be up there in a moment if I can get Sadie away from the horses,” she said. She walked over to the fence and picked Sadie up to carry her to the main house.

As much as Sadie whined about the horses, she was excited to meet new people. Unlike her mother, she was very social and loved making new friends. And it just so happened that Cordell and Emily had a daughter around her age she could play with while the adults were talking. 

While the girls got settled with a coloring book, she pulled Cordell aside and handed him the envelope. “It’s only $500 but-”

Cordell shook his head, already putting the envelope back in her hand. “No. I’m not taking money from you.”

“But-”

“I told you before, didn’t I? I wasn’t offering to help just to get you on the hook for paying me back. We paid because we wanted to help. Use that money on you and Sadie. Put it in a college fund or rent a trampoline park for her birthday or something,” he insisted.

“But-”

“Keep it.” He smiled and patted her hand. “Just relax, alright? Dinner’s almost ready.”

The envelope went back in her purse and it sat there until they got home later that night. After Sadie was in bed, Melissa finally took the envelope out and put it in a box hidden under a false floorboard under the bed. It was her cash stash in case of emergencies.

That money would to go good use. One day.

#whumptober2023 #no.15 #lyric #walker #fic #hospital tw #walker fic #walker fanfic #my writing #my fic #melissa yoo #sadie yoo #hoyt rawlins #geri broussard #cordell walker

[spell-cleaver]

WHUMPTOBER No. 13 CAN’T MAKE AN OMELETTE WITHOUT BREAKING A FEW LEGS Fracture | Dislocation | “Are you here to break me out?”

Rest it instead on AO3 or on FFN!

Ahsoka's lightsaber smashed into his mask, blinding him with brilliant light. Vader stumbled back, cursing, but caught her next strike on his blade.

"Anakin," she whispered. His mask had fractured; her face swam in front of him, white and bright. That light reflected off of her, the smooth, uniform metal walls of the corridor, until it was almost an endless mirage. Nothing quite seemed real.

"Ahsoka," he said. "You… are… dead."

"You tried once." She smirked at him, with that same, painful cockiness, as if the pain behind it was not clear as day. "I got saved on Malachor. And now I'm here to save someone else. Where's Luke?"

The name lit his brain like fireworks. "With the Rebellion," he growled. His lightsaber snapped back on; he stalked towards her. "With you—"

She caught his strike, brow creasing. "He's not," she said. "We know you took him. I'm here to rescue him."

"I was wondering why you had bothered to sneak onto the Executor after so successfully making your escape. Where is my son?"

She held her lightsabers aloft, keeping her suspicious gaze on him. "That's what you're gonna tell me. You kidnapped him, and—"

"I," he informed her, his voice chilly, "did no such thing."

"Then where is he?" she snapped.

"I wasn't aware that the two of you were acquainted."

"You're not aware of a lot of things, Anakin. I heard what happened on Bespin."

The mere mention of it sent fury coursing through him. "That boy tried to kill himself—"

"You cut off his hand!" She threw out her right arm for emphasis, a passionate gesture that was so familiar it gnawed at his heart. "And I heard the ultimatum you gave him. Join me or die? Where are you keeping him? Have you killed him already?"

"He is my son—"

"I was your padawan. You tried to kill me."

He gritted his teeth. "You were too dangerous to be left alive."

"So, I should see that as a compliment?" She was stalking around him now, teeth bared. She flickered in his vision.

"In another life, you would have. I suspect you do anyway."

To his gratification—and to his horror that he reacted with gratification at all—she smirked again. "Maybe." She lifted her sabers again. "But you still gotta tell me where Luke is, or we're resuming this fight."

"You are searching for him quite fiercely."

"He's Anakin Skywalker's son."

"Anakin Skywalker is dead."

She shrugged. "That just means he's not your son, then."

"He is my son," he growled. "And I do not have him. What has happened? Why has he vanished?"

"You don't know?"

"If your Rebels have misplaced him," he vowed, "I will carve you all into—"

"You're doing your best to do that already," she drawled, but she glared at him, searching. "You really don't know?"

"I do not." He turned away from her, knowing the dismissive gesture would irk her. It didn't, though—she'd apparently grown up, which irked him—and she just extinguished her sabers. "But I will find him."

"Let me help you," she said.

"Why would I accept help from you?"

"Because my plans were always better than yours."

"That is untrue." They scoffed simultaneously. "And why would you want to help me?"

"Because I don't trust you with him. And I won't let you hurt him again."

"What does my son mean to you?"

She bared her teeth. "We already covered this. He's Anakin's son. And Padmé's. And he's a good kid." She looked him up and down. "You don't have a good history when it comes to dealing with people you care about."

"Cutting off his hand was necessary—"

"You tried to kill me, Anakin," she bit out.

Vader shook it off. "That was necessary too," he informed her. "If you had decided to join me, it would not have been."

"I wouldn't have. And neither will Luke."

"It is his destiny."

"Just like yours was to destroy the Sith?" She stalked forwards; Vader stepped back to maintain space between them. "His destiny is an invention. If you try to force him into it, it won't end well for you."

"You know nothing."

"So what is your plan?" She thrust out a hand to gesture. "Hand him over to Palpatine? Anakin, Palpatine is evil."

"Sidious will not be allowed anywhere near my son!"

She narrowed her eyes. "So, you'll torture him yourself? I know what you did to Inquisitors."

"Luke will turn. Of his own free will. Torture will not be necessary."

"But it'll be an option. You know that I won't allow that."

"I will not allow Luke to be tortured either," Vader snapped. "And if you truly care so much, then you are wasting my time when I should be finding him. Leave my ship and cease this distraction!"

She didn't leave his ship. Nor did she cease her distraction. Instead, she followed him to his quarters, questioning him with every step. It was like the years had melted away, and they were young again, but the careful distance she left between them betrayed how far they had diverged.

"How are you gonna find him?" she nagged. "What are you doing? He could be anywhere—captured by bounty hunters, preyed on by some serial killer, or even just got himself lost."

"Or he could have been captured by Trandoshans?" Vader asked pointedly. "And will be hunted for sport?"

She paused and crossed her arms in the doorway to his quarters, eyes narrowed. "Any number of communities would want to hunt a Jedi for sport, Skyguy." She winced at the nickname.

"And I do not know where any of them are."

"I know a few."

He let his respirator cycle. "I am aware." He had failed, that time. He would not fail this time. "There is no need. I will find him."

"I repeat: how?"

"We are connected." The thought came to him immediately, hope reeling him in like a fish on a line. "I can reach out to him."

"Connected?" She paused. "Like the Master and Padawan bond?"

"No." Ahsoka had no relatives with the Force. She had no concept of what this could feel like. "Far, far stronger. I can speak with him from the other side of the galaxy."

She pursed her lips. "I'm gonna guess you abused this."

"He never responded." He didn't know how to interpret the heartbreak on Ahsoka's face, but he hated it. "I can use it now."

"Then do it. Let's find out where he is—what's happening there. Time might be of the—"

He closed his eyes before bothering to hear what she was about to finish with and reached.

The galaxy was so, so dark. With Ahsoka right in front of him, their old bond—withered and wretched—struggled to latch onto him again, establish a connection, but he callously waved it away. Further out from his ship was the blackness of space, then the vast, incomprehensible sprawl of the galaxy that had made him, stars exploding in the impossible distance. One star exploded far more loudly than the others.

That star was screaming.

Luke, he intoned. Luke, what is it—

It was still screaming.

"Luke, Luke, Luke…" he chanted desperately, trying to establish a connection. Trying to get a response. He was brought back to himself by Ahsoka grabbing and yanking on his arm.

"Find out where he is!" she ordered. "Get a read on his location!"

He stared at her hand on his arm. She was so much bigger than she'd used to be. Malachor had been dark and brief; he hadn't had the chance to watch her up close, and see the quiet, invisible death of the teenager he'd taught, subsumed by the woman she'd become. "I cannot do that."

"Why not?"

"If I was at all capable of doing that, your Rebel base would have been sacked months ago!"

She gritted her teeth. For a moment, he thought she'd bare them at him, her sharp incisors glinting. "You're meant to be the Chosen One," she said.

He yanked his arm away. "I am a Sith."

"You are the most powerful Force-wielder to ever live," she said again. "Maybe you couldn't look for me, before. But you can look for him, so do it."

"I searched for you." The words burst out of him like a dam breaking. He hadn't known he'd wanted to say them at all. "You know that, when you were with the Trandoshans, you thanked me—"

"I'm talking about after Order Sixty-Six." She glared at him. "Maybe, when you set that off, killing every Jedi in the galaxy, you weren't thinking of me. Maybe you couldn't think of me, for whatever reason. I don't care." That was a lie. She bled with how much she cared.

"You were not a Jedi. They were only meant to destroy Jedi."

"Tell that to Rex, who had to have brain surgery before he stopped trying to kill me."

If Vader had been able to gasp, he would have. The 501st shouldn't have received orders to kill Ahsoka. She wasn't a part of the Jedi. The fact that they had, when Vader wasn't the one who'd sent them…

He would have to unpack that later.

"I searched for you," he repeated, his mouth dry. "I found you. I found your grave and your lightsabers."

"You didn't find me."

"A lightsaber is a Jedi's life."

"I'm not a Jedi, Anakin." Her blue eyes burned before she looked away.

He couldn't handle this. He couldn't handle his former apprentice standing in front of him, confronting him with everything he'd done wrong by her when she was the one who'd left him alone in the Jedi, she was the one who'd faked her death…

And he was the one who'd almost caused it.

"I…" he began. He did not know what to say. Sith didn't know remorse. Nor did they know regret. Therefore, whatever this was, it was impossible for him to know it.

"Do you want to know why I want to stay?" she asked. When he didn't respond, she continued: "I don't trust you not to ruin it with Luke, like you did with the rest of us." She'd made that perfectly clear. "I want to make sure that you do better."

"Why?"

"Because he deserves it!" she snapped. "And so did I. But what's done is done. I won't let it happen again."

"I will do what is necessary," he said.

Her voice was acerbic. "I'm sure you will."

He turned away from her, unsettled, his cape flaring. Instead of examining this conversation further, he looked for Luke.

Where are you? he asked, calling into the void, grasping for that little light that could be in danger of vanishing any moment. Where are you…?

Nothing. He pushed harder. His pacemaker started to send warning signals to his mask as his heart sped up; his limbs shuddered with energy; Ahsoka, distantly, gasped. That sensory input from his flesh and metal body meant nothing to him. He kept channelling the Force, reaching out…

Tell me, he pleaded. Tell me, and I will help you. I will save you.

Luke's mind, when it heard his call, did not trust him. It did not tell him. But, it seemed, the Force took pity on him.

"He is on a ship," Vader said aloud. "A ship that is looking to leave Corellia. He is bound, and the engines are beginning to start."

"We're in the Outer Rim," Ahsoka said. "We can't get to Corellia before that ship takes off—where's it going? Where's it come from?"

"Luke was captured on Rodia. Corellia was the changeover place, to prevent their ship from being tracked."

"Tracked by who? What are they trying to do?"

Vader clenched his fists when he saw it. His mind halfway to the ether, hovering on a plane that spun backwards, he watched the trajectory of the ship that held his son in its dark, ravenous belly, and who awaited it with such hungry anticipation.

"Tracked," he said, "by me."

"You said you didn't know where he was."

"I did not lie."

"Then—"

"Palpatine has captured him," Vader announced. "The ship is leaving Corellia as we speak to deliver him to Coruscant and into his waiting hands. We are in the Outer Rim. By the time we reach Coruscant, he will have had Luke for far longer than he requires to cause lasting damage."

"To his body or mind?"

Vader said, "To his soul."

Ahsoka folded her hands behind her back and paced the room, avoiding Vader's hyperbaric chamber as she did. "Then we need to move. We might be too late—"

"I will not abandon him."

"I wasn't suggesting that. I'm not gonna leave him to his fate. It'd just be more difficult."

Vader kept his mind on that ethereal plane and pushed farther in. He watched his son streaking farther and farther away from him, through the frenetic tunnel of space-time, growing increasingly distant. The galaxy spun on its axis, the black hole at its centre tugging Luke towards it like a maw, and Vader spun with it.

He said, "I thought you were dead, Ahsoka."

She clenched her jaw. "I know. It's not relevant right now."

"Had I known that you had lived," he said, and lifted his hand, "I would have reshaped the galaxy in order to find you again."

Once he tried, every part of him that was human and not as immortal as life itself aching and screaming, to fold the fabric of reality into the shape he wanted, not the shape ordained by chance and fate, it seemed as easy and tranquil as folding clothes. He felt like he was back in Padmé's apartment on Coruscant, overjoyed at seeing her again for the first time in ten years, thrilled at his assignment to guard her on Naboo, watching her pack her beautiful gowns into her case, one by one. The texture of space-time was not dissimilar to velvet.

Wormholes bisected that fabric throughout the galaxy, piercing one fold and pinning it to the next until planets that should be millions of parsecs away could be reached with one hop down a thin silver thread. He remembered his mother, sewing homespun clothes for them. Her ghostly hands shaped his into the correct grip on the needle. He dragged the fabric into a tall, billowing loop, pulled his hand back, fingers poised, and punched.

The Executor rocked underneath them. Vader did not look at Ahsoka, but he saw her anyway, as he saw everything in this state: her pale-faced shock, how she reached for her lightsabers, how she stared at him in the Force, not fathoming what he had done, as the new gravitational forces threatened to pull them right out of their position.

She should not look so shocked. This had been her idea.

Vader was the Chosen One.

If he needed to dislocate an entire arm of the galaxy in order to save his son, he could. He would.

Ahsoka stormed into the next room over. He did not follow with his body, but he followed with his mind: she stormed up to the viewport there and gaped at the sight beyond it. Laid out before the Executor's nose lay a great, exploding tunnel of light, noise, and matter. And through it lay Corellia.

"You've changed the entire geography of these systems!?" she shouted back to him. "What did you do to the galaxy—"

Her words cut off when the wormhole swallowed a ship and spat it out in front of them. That ship glowed like a firefly.

Luke, Vader said. I am here.

And, finally, Luke replied.

Father? It was weak, terrified, but—encouragingly—relieved. Are you here to break me out?

Vader was back in his own body in a blink. The wormhole did not collapse once he released it: it was made and would not be unmade. He could deal with the consequences of that later. Instead, he strode up to the viewport beside Ahsoka, pulling a comm out of his pocket.

"Admiral," he barked. "Tractor that ship in and place all its occupants under arrest, aside from Skywalker. Protect him with your life. He may require medical attention."

"Yes, my lord."

"What are you going to do with him now, Anakin?" Ahsoka murmured. Her awe still bloomed bright in the Force, her glance more affectionate, but he could hear her wariness.

She needed more of an apology. But, more than that, she needed more evidence that she could trust him again.

He would prove it to her.

Finally, he turned back to Luke.

I'm Anakin Skywalker, he promised him. I'm here to rescue you.

#ahsoka tano #darth vader #luke skywalker #for darkness shows the stars #my writing #random words on a page #whumptober 2022 #no.13

[awhitehead17]

Whumptober 2022: Day 2 - Nowhere to run

Prompt: Caged

Summary: Duke knew what he has getting into was crazy, however he didn't know exactly how insane it was actually going to be. Reality hits him when he’s captured by the cops and stuck with someone who’s ego is bigger than their actual height. 

A/N: This is based off a few scenes from the comic book ‘Robin War’ and serves kind of as a missing scene which I thought would be fun to write.

Enjoy! :D

Duke winces when the inevitable protests and exclamations occur.

“He what?”

“Are you shitting me right now?”

Duke raises his hands up in a placating gesture, “Hey, I’m only telling you what he told me! Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“You’re lying.”

Duke turns around to face the person he’s been ever so fortunate to be paired with while stuck in the metal contraptions as they are. He shakes his head. “I’m not. Why would I lie about something like this? Do you think I’m here voluntarily? The last thing I want to be is held captive by the cops.”

Out of all the people here, he had to be put with the little snot nosed runt didn’t he? If he hadn’t already disliked the cops before this, he certainly does now.

“He wouldn’t do that to us. Grayson wouldn’t sell us out to the cops.”

Duke rolls his eyes and settles down on the cold metal floor, resting his back up against the bars keeping them prisoner. “Sorry to rain on your hero worship but yeah, he did.”

There’s a beat of silence and it’s like Duke could feel the weight of the room on his shoulders. There's the occasional whisper from the other cages around them, others who have been caught in this crusade, teenagers, kids, wanting to do right and help out but have got caught in something much bigger than any of them could have ever imagined.

“Duke, tell us again what happened. What did he say to you.” A voice to his left gets his attention and he looks over his shoulder at the cage next to him containing the other two professional vigilantes. One of them with a red helmet and the other with the fancy looking wings on his back.

Sighing Duke turns his body so he could see the other cage and the runt he’s stuck with at the same time. He doesn’t trust turning his back on the kid for a second. He looks at the others through the bars of the cages they’re all trapped and reiterates his story.

“Once the cops found us, he told me they knew we were coming. Apparently he had a transmitter and was broadcasting straight to them right to that point. He claimed he wanted to train as many kids as he could and then control their arrests to make sure they’re all safe. Then he wanted to put his best men with them to make sure they stay safe. He didn’t tell you guys because he knew you wouldn’t agree. Apparently you wouldn’t understand. It’s his fault and his responsibility.”

Duke pauses shaking his head at the craziness of it all. He can’t seriously believe the situation he’s found himself in.

“As he jumps off the roof, he claims that he takes care of his family. And then the cops got me, he got away, and now we’re all confined to these cages several feet above the ground.”

He sends the other Robins a fake smile as he finishes the story.

There’s another pause as they obviously take in what their so-called leader has done to them. He betrayed them all, it doesn’t matter that he claims it’s for their safety, he’s still manipulated them and now they’re locked up because of him.

“I now know who I’m gonna hit in the face with a crowbar when we get out of this.” The comment comes from the one with the helmet and Duke sends him a look, apparently he wasn’t the only one confused. His companion also pulls a face as he looks at him.

“What?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Duke blinks and lets it go. Clearly there’s an inside joke or something there. He doesn’t want to know. His attention is soon drawn away to the runt he’s stuck with as the kid starts mumbling underneath his breath.

“He gave us up just like these pretenders…”

Duke turns to him, snarling “I heard that!” before turning to look down below at the floor where there are cops lingering around, pacing up and down. Their behaviour is suspicious and it’s making feel more uneasy than usual.

“Something is off though,” he comments aloud, “these cops, they’re waiting for something.”

When the kid begins mumbling to himself again next to him, Duke turns and eyes him suspiciously. He’s up to something and Duke has no idea what it is. Even the other Robins from the other cage knows something is going on because they instantly question him about it.

“You’ll soon be thanking me,” the brat cockily declares and that’s when Duke sees something in his hand.

“No!” He yells at the kid but it’s pointless because he’s already thrown whatever it is out of the cage and down below. There’s only a second or two pause before a loud hissing noise could be heard. Duke attempts to look down to find out what it is however because of the angle of the cages it’s difficult to see, it must have come from something directly underneath them. However he could hear an increase in voices and more footsteps, more cops must now be in the room with them.

A conversation is had underneath them and suddenly the cage containing the two pro-robins is moving, a loud humming could be heard and their cage begins to get lowered. The one with the helmet hums, “huh, the runt really did give us our chance.”

Duke has no idea what is happening but what he is a hundred percent certain of is that the next few hours are going to be totally insane. Once they get out of these cages it’s going to be hell on earth and he’s smack bang in the middle of it.

A/N: Image below is the cover art for the comic!

#Whumptober 2022 #Caged #duke thomas #Damian Wayne #Jason Todd #Robin War Comic #bat boys #dc comics #fanfiction

[homerforsure]

Whumptober No. 15

delirium / fever dreams / bees

Also partly inspired by a fun fact prompt that I received AGES ago from @oatflatwhite who told me something frankly horrifying about ants. (I’m not responding directly to that ask because you deserve something nice so I’m gonna do something nice with the other prompt you sent <3)

***

Day One:

Everything hurts. But Buck knows this is the most energy and mental capacity that he’s going to have until this thing is over and he can’t afford to waste any time. Screaming as he does, Buck tries to pluck the stone and debris out of his right arm where he’s split wrist to elbow before slathering it in antibiotic ointment and wrapping it up in gauze. There’s no bone showing, but the cut is almost too deep for the Neosporin to be a good idea. Buck would prefer to wash it out with water except that he doesn’t have any.

Landing on his backpack probably saved his life, but Buck can’t help but be devastated that his hydration pack popped like a water balloon when he landed on it. He has a life straw and water purification tablets, but neither of those is of any use without a water source and the next one is six miles up the trail. A trail he’s not even on anymore, he reminds himself, looking up, up, up at the blue sky and the canyon rim that he tumbled from, hitting every ledge on the way down. 

Of course his phone is signal-less. He’d known it would be as soon as he got more than half a mile away from the Jeep. There’s a circled map on the front seat with his route and a matching one at home with Eddie and that might be comforting except that it’s going to be at least 36 hours before anyone notices that he’s not where he’s supposed to be. 

Buck tries not to think about that part.

Day Two:

It took some doing with only one good arm and one good leg (nothing broken, but his right elbow and his left leg from ankle to hip are bruised nearly black; the left ankle is already the size of a softball and Buck doesn’t dare take his boot off to inspect it), but Buck managed to make a lean-to with his striped blanket. He has one end of it secured on a rock with his backpack and the other end precariously pinned with his trekking poles to the canyon floor. Eddie gave him the hardest time about his plans to cowboy camp on this trip, but Buck doesn’t think he could have gotten a tent assembled anyway.  

Of course when he wakes up in the morning, the blanket is gone and he’s staring up at a ruthless sun that’s already started cooking his pale skin. Still half asleep, Buck leans on his right arm to push himself up and a scream rips through his dry throat as the pain burns like fire through all the nerves of his forearm. He tells himself he’s allowed to whimper all he wants as long as he doesn’t stop. He can bitch and moan and cry, but he has to find out where his blanket, his only protection from the desert sun, has blown away to and he has to bring it back.

He also has to force down the melted pack of peanut MMs from his backpack and the orange he was supposed to have for dessert last night. He has a bag of granola too, but it crumbles like sawdust in his dry mouth and while Buck knows it isn’t actually going to make him more dehydrated, he gives himself a pass on eating it for now. 

It’s only for today. Eddie won’t hesitate to pull the trigger on calling search and rescue when Buck doesn’t check in by three. Buck just has to hold on for today.

Day Three:

He feels, simultaneously, like the body in the Operation board game and the person holding the tweezers. Every movement Buck makes seems to provoke a loud, emphatic error response. Screaming instead of buzzing. When the sun went down last night, he screamed for what felt like an hour, yelling for help that was nowhere around and apparently not coming. What he got for planning a hike on a Tuesday. The last names in the trailhead book before his own had departed on Saturday and on such a little known trail, Buck didn’t expect any to follow him until Friday. 

Tomorrow? 

He doesn’t like that it takes him a minute to remember what day it is.

He doesn’t like the angry red lines radiating from the cut on his arm. Buck manages to change the gauze, but he doesn’t have enough left to do it again. The skin and exposed muscle beneath is obviously infected, but apart from another layer of the useless Neosporin, there’s nothing he can do. 

After he loses the feeling in his left toes, he kicks his boots off to find that the swelling is as bad as he’d feared. No longer sure that it’s not broken, Buck doesn’t dare to put any weight on it at all and he hobbles around his right, leaning hard on one of the trekking poles, as he chases down the blanket again.

When he makes it back to his rock, panting, dizzy, and not sweating nearly as much as he’d like, Buck gives up on the idea of a shelter and just wraps the blanket around his sunburned shoulders. 

Day 4: 

He’s such a fucking moron. He’s wasted all of this time and he should have tried to climb out of the canyon when he had a chance instead of sitting around waiting. “Hug a tree” was advice for toddlers like “don’t talk to strangers.” Adults were supposed to rescue themselves. Buck should have been able to rescue himself. 

As the sun rises, he paces along the canyon wall, looking for any sign of footholds or paths. He screams until it feels like his throat is bleeding and his racing heart pounds in his head. When he tries to swallow the granola, it comes back up in a mushed mass of oat and stomach acid. His piss is burnt orange and he tries and fails to catch it in his hands anyway, desperate for a drink. Fucking Bear Grylls would have climbed out of the canyon. 

He has the blanket with him and he pulls it over his head to protect his shoulders and the back of his neck, but the sun sneaks in anyway. Blisters pop up on Buck’s collarbone and on his forehead and when he sits down to cry, his eyes are too dry for tears. He can’t stand up afterward and he crawls on his hands and knees back to his rock.

The battery on his phone is dying so even though Buck is sure is going to live--he has to live-- he drafts a few text messages. To Maddie. To Eddie.  I love you I love you I love you I love you. I’m trying so hard. I love you I love you I love you.

Day ???:

Eddie had been worried about the mountain lions. Buck laughed at him as he rolled up his sleeping pad, telling Eddie that a tent wasn’t the protection against a mountain lion that he thought it was. Buck’s main concern right now are the ants. They seem like they’re swarming everywhere. Big golden ants with mandibles like the jaws of life. They didn’t have ants like that in Pennsylvania. 

Buck brushes at them furiously as they crawl all over his arms and legs. They don’t bite but the incessant march of their feet itches. Buck claws at the gauze on his arm, scratching and scratching and the previously white cotton is stained with blood and dirt and it’s on fire. When he pulls at the bandage, something gummy holds tightly to it and Buck decides to leave it alone if only to keep the ants out of it. 

Some of them look as big as scorpions. Eddie had been worried about scorpions too. Eddie worries a lot. He wanted Buck to bring an inReach but they’re expensive and by the time he brought it up, Buck didn’t have a chance to order one anyway. 

You should have listened to me, Eddie says, leaning against the rock as Buck lays beneath it. 

“I know,” Buck answers. “I’m sorry.” 

Don’t be sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just scared, Buck. I don’t know where you are.

“I don’t know where I am either.” That’s a new thought and it’s scary. Buck is next to the rock and he’s in a red canyon under a burning sun and there are ants crawling all over him and he doesn’t remember how he got there. 

I’m looking for you.

A dry sob echoes in the canyon.

You’re holding on for me, right? Stay in the shade. Wear your blanket.

“It’s hot.” Too hot. His skin is burning from the inside and the outside and every part of it is red and warm and itchy and Buck’s not sweating anymore. An ant bites his arm and he smacks it hard, forgetting about the wound beneath. He wonders if the ants are crawling there on purpose.

People used to use ants as stitches. They’d let them bite right into the edges of the wound and then pull their bodies away. Buck doesn’t know why the ants held on after they died. He doesn’t know who thought to try that and why bandages weren’t enough. He imagines what it would feel like. The hundreds of ants he’d need in his arm. Inside for the muscle and outside for the skin. Imagines their mandibles sinking into him. Imagines the pain of it. Imagines what would happen if one of the inside ants wasn’t decapitated properly and it was let loose and crawling inside his arm and it carved deep tunnels in there and laid eggs.

“Don’t let them put ants in my arm, Eddie.” 

I won’t, Buck.

“Don’t let them do it. I don’t want them to bite me, Eddie. Eddie.” 

What if they’re in there already? Buck starts unraveling the gauze ignoring the howl of pain up his arm and the black spots dancing in front of his eyes as he forces himself to sit up. The gauze rips away from his skin and the wound below is white and yellow with pus and there aren’t any ants in the world big enough to close the cut. 

The gauze is a tangled mess and he can’t put it back on so Buck wraps his arm in the blanket and squeezes tight to keep the ants out. He can’t hear Eddie anymore. He can just hear the ants. Marching. Marching. They’re climbing down the canyon walls. They’re coming for him. Buck shivers and shakes and waits for them. He has to survive. He has to. He has to. 

#whumptober2021 #no.15 #delirium #911 #fic #911 fic #WIP #or I guess the abridged version of something that will eventually be a WIP

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Apart 13: This is gonna suck.

Whumptober No. 13 - THAT’S GONNA LEAVE A MARK “This is gonna suck” | burns | cauterization

CW: Explicit language and content. Burning, torture, punishment, long-term captivity, lady whump, dissociation.

@alittlewhump thanks for being my devoted beta-reader and muse.

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October 13, 2011 (why not?)

Wyatt was talking but I wasn’t paying attention.

There was a hotplate on the desk beside me. The kind that had a ceramic burner with just the slightest ridging on the surface. Little rings so the pan wouldn’t slide off if you stirred without holding its handle. There was a reddish-orange light indicating that the surface was hot. Wyatt had it cranked up to HI.

I had my head on his shoulder, nuzzling into the fabric of his shirt.

He smelled like Wyatt. Like dry cleaner detergent, starch, and ironing because he never did his own laundry. Like the same bar soap I remembered using at his apartment, something clean and easy to breathe. And then the warm scent of his skin. The layers were always the same.

“—it’s not going to leave a mark,” he said. “Not a permanent one anyway.” His lips kissed the top of my head. “You know how I feel about that.”

I was glad he couldn’t see my face. You’re vainer about my appearance than I have ever been.

“You’re so perfect.”

Apparently not perfect enough. I didn’t really care about his explanation today. I knew I should, sometimes there was a roundabout logic to them. Sometimes I could even get behind it. But today all I wanted was the afterglow.

“Emma?” His fingertips skimmed the skin on the back of my neck.

Every touch was still so careful, so measured, even after all this time. After all the pain. After all the comfort. It made every single one ring that much deeper, echo that much further.

I tried to snuggle closer.

Wyatt sighed and put one hand over my shoulder to steady me as he stepped back and held me at arm’s length. His other hand lifted my chin and his eyes searched mine one by one. Left then right. “You weren’t listening before.”

Busted. Please don’t be mad. I bit my lip and fluttered my eyelashes at him.

He tightened his grip. Flirting wasn’t always a smart choice. “Emma, this doesn’t work if you’re not cooperating.”

I know, I know. I took a deliberate breath and met his gaze. Hopefully, enough to beg my pardon.

“Emma, I’m serious.” He didn’t relax the vice on my jaw. “This is a two-way street but it can just as easily go one-way. You remember what that was like.”

Okay, fine. I’ll be good. I made my best apologetic face.

He shook his head. “Those eyes are not going to work. You know better. You should do better.” His fingers gripped my wrist.

Wyatt, wait—

It was pointless to try to get out of his grasp as he pulled my hand over the hotplate.

I tried to catch his gaze but he wasn’t looking at me.

He used a second hand to uncurl my fingers and press them onto the surface of the hotplate.

Pain shot up my arm, radiating further, deeper, hotter with every beat of my heart. I used my full strength to pull at my hand in his grip.

He maneuvered my thumb onto the hotplate too.

It seared.

I wanted to stand up to get more leverage, to get further away, but he was standing between my knees. I couldn’t pull back. I couldn’t move forward.

There was nothing to do but burn.

It felt like the heat source was now inside my fingers even once he had lifted my hand. He turned it this way and that a few times, examining it, before looking into my face.

I was struggling to catch my breath, tears overflowing as I tried to blink them away. Please, Wyatt. I’m sorry.

“Of course you’re sorry now. This doesn’t work unless we have an understanding, Emmy. It will come to you though, you’re already so—” Wyatt paused, eyes bright as he watched me.

My hand was throbbing, the skin felt like it was still burning and my fingers shook even as he held my wrist steady. I was breathing through my teeth, pulse racing.

He hummed in the back of his throat. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”

I nodded.

“Oh, sweet thing.” He pulled me closer, tilted my head up, and peppered my cheeks with chaste kisses. The gentle touches pulled focus off my searing hand. Finally, he straightened and licked my glistening tears off his lips. “—perfect.”

A silent sob shuddered out of me.

“Now, be good and pay attention so we can get this over with.”

I nodded and held out my other hand to him.

He took it and folded my fingers into a fist except for the smallest one. He held it up and raised his eyebrows at me before bringing it to the hotplate. He rolled it side to side like he was taking my fingerprints. He was taking my fingerprints.

He was taking my fingerprints.

I remember. I remember. Please—

Wyatt noticed the change in my expression. “Ah, now you’re with me. That wasn’t so hard.” He moved on to my ring finger.

I bit my lips together, new tears filling my eyes. I wanted to ball my free hand into a fist but the skin felt tight and dry, something other than skin that was still throbbing and burning. It was red but otherwise didn’t betray any of the pain. I wanted to touch it but now my fingertips on the other hand would be similarly marred. What would it feel like to meet the two?

“Emma.” He stopped and snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Look at me.”

My eyes found his like swimming to the surface, fresh air filling my lungs. Awareness sharpening. My breath came faster as the pain returned to the forefront of my mind.

I shook my head. Please, please, please. Wyatt, I can’t—

“Nope. Stay with me. You lost that privilege.”

I started crying again.

Wyatt made sure I stayed. He burned my fingers for longer until it was too long so he did as little as possible. He went slower until it was too slow and then he burned me faster. He made sure I felt all of it.

“Almost done now.”

Fourth finger. He’d only ever tortured me like this once before and that was in the name of silence. In the name of discipline, strength, purpose. Nothing was ever needless. Wyatt always had a reason and he needed me to know it, recognize it, embody it.

“Last one, Emmy.”

It seared, my thumb.

Wyatt released me and stepped back, purposefully out of reach.

My face was wet with tears, my nose running as I cried, but my hands were shaking too much to wipe any of it away. I couldn’t rest them anywhere, the air burning as much as the hot plate.

He tilted his head to the side. “You know I hate it when you make things so unbalanced,” he said, sighing. “The pain was unavoidable today but your suffering, Emma, your suffering is never necessary.”

I rolled my eyes. Oh, get fucked Wyatt. Don’t feed me those lines. I already learned my goddamn ‘lesson’.

Wyatt met my gaze, blue eyes sharp. “Emma.”

I swallowed and started shaking my head. I take it back. I didn’t—

“If you act like that, I can’t help you.”

I shook my head harder. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please, I promise. I swear I’ll be good. Please, Wyatt. I need—

“That’s better.” He watched me cry and tremble and ache for a moment before he stepped forward and held his arms open. “Come here, Emmy.”

I tipped into his embrace and sobbed on his shirt.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He pulled me closer, turning me so that my feet rested on the desk too and he wrapped his arm around my back. “Let’s see how good you can be to get what you need. Hm?”

I nestled closer against his chest.

His fingers traced down my arm, leaving a trail of heat, ending at a glowing ember. He continued down the outside of my leg. He circled my ankle, lifting my foot.

Pain seared up from the sole of my foot.

Fuuuuck! My breath came fast and sharp and not enough. I pulled against Wyatt’s grip. Tried to get out of his other arm holding me in place against his chest.

“Calm down. You wanted this.”

I didn’t—I can’t— I tried but the more I stilled the more my awareness was pulled to the pain. I kept struggling and fighting. I couldn’t even tell if my skin still touched the hot plate or if it had left long ago. It just kept burning and my nose was filled with an acrid scent.

Wyatt raised his voice. Impatient. “Emma. Emma, look at me.”

I forced myself to look into his eyes. At least they were cooler than the burn.

“Breathe, Emma. Just breathe with me.”

All I could smell was what must have been my own skin burning. It made my stomach churn. But I was caught breathing at Wyatt’s pace.

Slow, steady. In, out. Up, down. Here, gone.

“Come on, I’ve got you.”

I nodded and let the pain wash over me in waves. I nodded and kept nodding until it felt like my head was rolling in circles instead of bobbing up and down. Was I spinning or floating?

Wyatt never let me drift too far. “I’ve got you.”

His words were slower now. Or slower to reach me. So was everything else. The pain existed on another plane. I didn’t know if I had sunk deeper or floated higher.

“There you go, Emma,” he cooed. “There you go.”

There was a time I might have sighed or moaned. I could remember the place it came from, almost feel the vibrations but they never came anymore. Even when I tried. Maybe I didn’t try the right way. I must have forgotten. Screaming or crying out seemed even further removed. Did I know how to do that before? I can’t remember.

I hadn’t noticed he switched anything until my other foot joined the blaze.

It ripped me to the surface or dropped me to the bottom of wherever or whatever I was. I wanted to look away. I wanted to get away. But his eyes held me as fast as his hands. I wanted him to take me away. I was already gone.

Something fluttered in my core. A part of me recognized it as a scream searching for an exit. But Wyatt had bricked over every escape. I had added the mortar. There were no cracks. It flitted against the walls. It beat. It pounded inside me for a way out but there was none. So it remained, twisting and curling and infinitely spiraling. Mesmerizing trapped silence never aired but draining nonetheless.

Wyatt’s hands were on me, pulling me closer. “So perfect,” he whispered, lips brushing my ear. He lifted me in his arms, cradling me against his chest. “Sweet thing, my Emmy.”

He smelled like home.

No place I’d rather be.

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@gearbee @whumpy-writings @writer-reader-24 @deluxewhump @no-whump-on-main @maracujatangerine @whumptakesthecake @painsandconfusion

#whumptober2021 #that's gonna leave a mark #this is gonna suck #burns #burns tw #burning tw #torture tw #punishment tw #needles mention tw #long-term captivity #conditioning tw #dissociation tw #lady whump #Emma has no sense of self-preservation #Wyatt is not a licensed therapist #Emma and Wyatt #Apart: Emma and Wyatt before Together

[ihni]

Out of the ashes, part 19

For whumptober day 19, “Bitten / Bleeding”

~~~

“Uh, nope,” Steve said and pressed the ‘Eject’ button, cutting the video off in the middle of a scream.

He heard Robin come up behind him, saying his name, but he shook his head. “No, Robin. I’m not gonna sit here and watch Hargrove get … tortured … Jesus Christ.” He hid his face in his hands and took a couple of shaky breaths, still hearing the echoes of Hargrove’s screams in his head. Suddenly, there were gentle hands on his wrists, prying his hands away from his face, and he found himself locking eyes with Robin. She was pale, and looked as shocked as Steve felt.

“You’re right,” she said. “That’s enough of that.” While she bent down to remove the tape from the machine, Steve turned his attention to Joyce. She was standing behind the couch, fist pressed to her mouth. She had tears in her eyes. If the way she kept looking out to the hall was any indication, a part of her wanted to go and make sure nothing had happened to Hargrove in the minutes since she left him alone. Steve, weirdly, could relate to that.

He was distracted when Robin took the remote from him, just slipping it out of his hand. To his dismay, he found that she’d popped another tape in, and was pressing play. Part of him wanted to slap the remote out of her hand and burn the tapes and whatever was on them, but he was sidetracked by the image that popped up on screen. It showed Hargrove, pressed up against the wall in a room with dark brick walls, holding one arm out defensively in front of him. His mouth was moving but there were no sounds, and Steve assumed that Robin had at least been considerate enough to turn the sound off entirely for this one.

The Hargrove in the video was obviously afraid of something, although it wasn’t shown what it was. After a minute or so of Hargrove just pressing himself up against the brick, he suddenly got a lot more frantic, shaking his head and – no doubt – shouting. A second later, another figure appeared in the frame.

Steve’s blood ran cold. It was a shape that he would recognize anywhere – a four-legged, lanky body with long legs, and a hulking, eyeless head that opened like a flower to rows and rows of sharp teeth. The unmistakable form of a demodog – something that haunted Steve’s memories and nightmares both – took another step into the frame, head held close to the floor in preparation for a lunge.

The Hargrove that they could see on screen was dressed in sweatpants, a T-shirt, and socks. For some reason, Steve latched onto the detail of him wearing socks but no shoes. Just socks. He had nothing in the form of protection, and he was unarmed. Steve saw the demodog approach, and had to remind himself that Hargrove had apparently survived the encounter, since he was currently (hopefully) soaking in a nice bath nearby.

Just before the demodog attacked, Hargrove changed his demeanor. Up until now, he’d been trying to stay as far away as possible, making himself small, feeling along the brick wall for a way out. Now, he seemed to transform. He took a couple of steps forward, away from the wall, and planted his feet with his legs wide apart. His hands kept clenching and unclenching, and he cocked his head to the side as if cracking his neck. Steve realized with a jolt that he was preparing to fight; preparing to fight a demodog, all by himself, without any kind of weapon or protection.

That was all Steve had time to think before the demodog leaped. Hargrove ducked away at the last second, causing the demodog to smack into the wall behind him. It crumpled, giving Hargrove enough time to dart away from it – the camera followed him and showed the other end of the room (which made Steve sick, because it meant that someone was operating it and not doing anything to stop this, as opposed to them just having mounted a camera there to catch the events). The opposite wall was covered in metal bars, behind which were two more demodogs. The demodog that was in the room shook itself, and was soon back on its feet. It turned to Hargrove and its face opened up, and Steve had no doubt that if the sound had been turned on, he would hear the same kind of screech that often caused him to wake up in cold sweat after a nightmare.

The demodog charged again, and Hargrove was out of options. He had nowhere to go when it jumped at him, sending him to the ground. It tried to get at his head with its teeth, and only Hargrove’s quick thinking – he forced its head up with his forearm – saved him from getting his face eaten. He seemingly concentrated all his efforts on trying to keep its head twisted away from him, which left the demodog to claw at his unprotected torso.

Somehow, by some miracle, Hargrove managed to throw the demodog off him. Instead of getting up and trying to escape, though, he rolled with it and punched it in the head. Repeatedly. He then grabbed its face flaps like goddamn handles and smashed its head into the ground, again and again and again, until it lay unmoving. Hargrove was straddling its body, still holding its head, panting hard by the looks of his heaving chest.

If Steve hadn’t seen it, he wouldn’t have believed it.

Hargrove’s T-shirt was ripped by the demodog’s claws, and he was bleeding from several deep scratches. There were bite marks – many small puncture wounds – on his forearm where the demodog must have gotten him, and blood was running down his arm to his hand and fingers, painting his pale skin red.

The camera panned again so it showed both Hargrove and the demodogs behind the bars, who were moving like crazy and attacking the metal while trying to get in there, and then nothing happened for a while. Since the worst seemed to be over, Robin pressed the volume button – not much, just enough for them to be able to hear if something was being said. And something was – there was a voice, commenting.

“– specimens seem to feel the death of one of their own. And even though previously infected, subject 065 does not seem to be recognized by the hive mind. His previous connection to the Entity does not seem to hinder him in the fight against them.”

~~~

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#whumptober 2021 #whumptober day 19 #steve harrington #billy hargrove #stranger things #ihni writes #whumptober

[lia-wildfire]

Nosy Superhero Attempts to Banter Through the Tension, with Somewhat Mixed Results (Whumptober)

((Continuation of day 2))

The last thing Hailey remembered clearly was choking, and seeing light fly into the distance as her lifeline of a phone call was snatched away.

There had been something after that, less clear, where she was pretty sure she’d tried to make a break for it, but had been slammed into something and… knocked out again? She hadn’t been able to fly away, or she had but someone had stopped her, or she had been too disoriented and smacked herself directly into a wall (she would hope it wasn’t that last one just for dignity’s sake).

When she came to now, the first things she registered were the headache and the general discomfort in her whole body. She was propped up against a wall, arms at her sides, legs splayed out, head hanging forwards. That explained the strain in her neck.

Trying to take a deep breath in, she realized that there was something solid wrapped like a harness around her upper chest and shoulders. Her chin was resting on it. It felt like concrete, which was weird because concrete didn’t normally come in that kind of shape, but then she remembered the woman with the stonelike manipulation power from the night before.

Was it the night before?

How long had she been out?

A soft groan escaped her when she picked her head up, feeling like it was full of lead, and rested it on the wall behind her. (It was probably also concrete, but she wasn’t proficient in identifying materials only by putting the back of her head on them.) There was some kind of light on the other side of her closed eyelids. There was also the sound of a door closing and some voices starting up. It took her a second to catch what any of them were saying.

“...hold out for that long?” That was a raspy voice, not one she had caught before.

"Are you doubting my stoneworking?” That was Concrete Woman from before, and ‘stoneworking’ sounded like it may be shorthand for her superpower.

Hailey noticed a weird ache in her arms, up on the deltoid on her left but closer to the tricep on the right. It could be the aftermath of something from the fight or from the failed escape attempt, but it felt a lot more weirdly specific in its familiarity. Not just normal scrapes, cuts, bruises, or mild stabs.

“Are you saying you’ve used it to hold down a superhero before,” came another voice. Deeper, slightly familiar, as if she had heard it for a second but didn’t remember when or what it had been saying.

“I’m saying it worked on her legs yesterday.”

So that had been the night before. Or, wait, it had been after midnight when all that happened, so was that a “few hours ago” yesterday or a “over twenty four hours ago” yesterday?

“And I’m also saying–”

There was a skin-on-cloth slap, like someone hit someone else’s arm to get their attention.

“She’s waking up,” came the raspy one. There was the sound of several people turning in seats, probably to look at Hailey. She probably couldn’t put her head back down and pretend to be unconscious to keep listening in now, she should have thought of that before picking it up.

“I told you the doses were fine–”

“Shut it and flank.” Concrete Woman sounded like the leader so far.

Hailey opened her eyes to look up at Concrete Woman, who was, as she had demanded, being flanked by two of the taller people from the truck. No new faces, so they were probably still just the smaller group, hadn’t handed her off to anyone else yet, and may not have met up with whoever they were delivering to yet. Or they had finished that trade while she was unconscious (for less than twenty four hours, hopefully), and were now just dealing with her…

“So I’m guessing I can’t, like, pay you to let me stand up,” she said after a second of eye contact and a breath in. The solid binds around her chest were just loose enough to let her breathe in most of the way, but got uncomfortable when she tried to fill her lungs too far. There was something holding her arms down, too, her hands feeling borderline numb against the probably-also-concrete floor.

That actually got a laugh out of Concrete Woman, one single bark of it.

“She thinks she’s funny,” she said to her goons, as if she hadn’t literally just laughed at Hailey’s very funny opening line.

The room they were in looked like a partially-constructed house’s sparsely furnished basement or some kind of empty storage room. Details were blurry past a certain distance, which she hoped was just a temporary just-woke-up kind of thing and not some kind of long-lasting side effect.

“Tough crowd, huh? You must hate stand-up night.” Hailey rolled her eyes up and closed them again. Talking was making her head hurt worse but she didn’t want to let them know that. “I’m going back to bed, wake me up when you’re laying out your whole evil plan in extreme detail.”

That one got a light chuckle out of probably the raspy-voiced one, which stopped after another sound of a skin-on-clothed-arm slap.

“We ain’t the supervillains from newspaper comics, kid,” the raspy-voiced person sounded like they had just started to laugh and then been reprimanded via slap and were trying to get some dignity back by defending their group’s honor. “We know how to keep our mouths shut around nosy hero types.”

“Got a lot of practice with that?” Hailey was about to go on, but when she cracked one eye back open for a Look, she saw that Concrete Woman was stepping in closer to her space, crouching down closer to eye level. “H-hey, personal space, girl,” she said, but wasn’t able to keep it casual enough to cover up her nerves, or hide the fact that she reflexively attempted to shift backwards.

“We moved past personal space, girl, when you decided not to mind your own business,” Concrete Woman said with a malicious smile. Hailey couldn’t decide if the smiling was worse or better than if she had said that exact same thing with a serious face. She watched with barely contained alarm as Concrete Woman reached for her neck–

Oh, actually just the restraints.

Testing them? It sounded like they weren’t all completely sure it would hold up for long, which would be great for Hailey. But, then again, she was a fairly well known superhero, and they seemed to know about her so they might just be concerned that she could energy-blast her way out of this. Probably better not to let them know she was stuck without that ability at the moment, if she could avoid it…

“If we’ve moved past minding our own business, too,” she said to distract from how she started to get tense when Concrete Woman’s inspection moved to the stuff around her arms and hands, “y’know I’ve gotta ask what exactly the plan is, here.”

Catching movement, she glanced up and saw Raspy shifting their weight and rolling their eyes, opening their mouth to presumably restate the thing about not being newspaper comic supervillains.

“I mean,” Hailey plowed ahead, “congratulations, you managed to kidnap a superhero, not exactly easy to do, but that’s also not a normal kind of crime, like, what are you gonna do now? Do you know what the protocol for this stuff is?”

“Sounds like something you could fill us in on, doesn’t it?” Apparently satisfied with whatever she was checking on, Concrete Woman sat back, still a little too close for comfort but no longer completely up in Hailey’s personal space.

“Ha, no, sorry, that’s a little bit secret.”

“So I’m guessing we can’t, like, pay you to talk about it.” And that phrasing was definitely an imitation of her, not helped by the grin or by the un-reprimanded chuckles from the goons.

“It’s only not funny when I say it?” Hailey managed to put on an air of offense, and when she noted that nobody was looking, dared a second to strain her forearms upwards and find no give. “I’m starting to think you guys have some double standards in here.”

No give on her arms, her hands were starting to shake again, barely helped when she subtly clenched them into fists, flying wasn’t going to help if she couldn’t get out of these restraints, and she wasn’t sure she could rely on it not holding out.

“You really do think you’re funny, huh,” Concrete Woman said in a tone that made Hailey think that perhaps she did not, in fact, like it when the note of humor was gone. This was doubly confirmed when, a second later, she seized a handful of Hailey’s hair and forced her head back against the wall.

“Yeah–” she hissed through her teeth, blinking back spots that were a little concerning because the force of that should not have been strong enough to make spots show up in her vision.

“It’s ‘cause I am funny, keep up.” Even though she was trying to keep up the banter, there was no hiding the pain in her voice now. Better to let them know she experienced pain than to let them know she was presently experiencing a rising panic.

“Keep telling yourself that. It’s a good question, though.” The grip in her hair tightened and pulled her head to one side. “What are we gonna do with you, huh? Like you said, you’re not exactly a normal hostage.” Hostage? That had some more connotations than just captive or kidnapee, with some pros and some cons attached to those connotations. “Wonder what they’d do to get you back with all your limbs attached.”

“Sure you want to find that out?” Hailey did not regret the fact that this one got her head bonked back against the wall again.

“She said they have protocols,” said the deep voiced probably-man. “It might be a risk to contact them.”

“What? No, it’s actually a great idea,” Hailey assured. Another tug on her hair and another crack to the back of her head, a little harder this time. Self preservation should dictate that she stop talking now to avoid getting a concussion or something, but also if she didn’t say anything, she may not be able to manipulate (mansplain malewife–) her way around these guys.

“No suggestions from the peanut gallery,” Concrete Woman said, sounding amused.

There was a second or two where nobody talked. Hailey was starting to wonder how hard the next head bang would be, weighing it against how funny it would be if she timed another quip just right after an extended awkward silence.

“What about Spherica?” Raspy suggested after a second. Hailey’s eyes darted to them, widening for a second, then back to Concrete Woman for a second as she prepared to cover that up by shooting a Look around as if judging all of them. This Look was made a little more difficult by the fact that Concrete Woman had started contemplatively pulling her hair again to make her head tilt the other way. This was all getting very uncomfortable.

“Is that Heatwave’s… mmmanager?” asked Deep Voice. (His confusion was understandable, because nobody was entirely sure what was up with Heatwave and Spherica’s business relationship, probably not even them.)

“More importantly…” Concrete Woman brought her other hand in to push up on Hailey’s jaw for a second or two, both making it harder for her to talk and presumably framing her face for the others. (Yeah, yeah, she and her sister were identical, everyone been knew.) “Comet’s twin sister.”

“I bet she’d like a family visit,” Raspy’s statement was heavy with implications.

(They weren’t exactly wrong.)

#whumptober2021 #no.4 #taken hostage #oc #fic #lady whump #restrained #heroes and villains #kidnapped hero #comet #sssshv #wordcount 1974

[lizzyverydizzyyo]

D.E.A.N | Chapter 9 - Payback

Masterlist and overall summary of the whole novel is here. | Prompt on trope-appreciation-tuesdays that inspired this is here. | @whumptober-archive

Fandom : Original Work

(I) (II) (III) (IV) (V) (VI) (VII) (VIII) (IX) (X) (XI) (XII) (XIII) (XIV) (XV) (XVI) (XVII) (XVIII) (XIX) (XX) (XXI) (XXII) (XXIII) (XXIV) (XXV) (XXVI) (XXVII) (XXVIII) (XXIX) (XXX) (XXXI - END)

AO3

A/N look at me go, almost exactly once-a-week update!! :D

Wordcount: ± 3053

TW: Homophobia, Misgendering, Sexism, Racism, (slight) Politics Discussion

If Mark’s team thought their rescue getting over his sickness is going to solve all of their problems, then they were tragically wrong because their new problem now is their rescue-turned-enemy-again getting over his bitterness.

This story is set in the last half of 2016.

------

On day 7 after their rescued captive was brought to the medic facility, Mark walks in for his turn to watch over Doctor Lowe’s current patient.

For once, Mark can finally focus on their mission to some extent. After tactical intelligence sent them some new information, they made some changes and formed more solid minutiae to their plan.

There might be another chance to attack them, more successfully this time.

As he ponders their plan, he is pulled out of his thought by the sound coming out of the body on the bed.

He hears a little groan, and when he perks up to look a little more clearly, he sees that Nick is turning his head around and sluggishly blinks up several times.

Mark stands up and walks slowly to the bed, sitting on the utmost edge of it.

He looks at Nick’s face and for once, there is a little bit of focus and cognizance in the swirly blue-brown eyes. Even the heterochromatic colors are starting to be clear instead of being swallowed by the fever-induced widening pupils.

“Hey,” Mark tries softly.

“Ugghh,” Nick moans softly again.

“You need something?” Mark asks, hoping that this time Nick is well enough to understand him.

“Wha—”

Nick croaks with a small voice, looking around with slightly alert eyes.

“Hi,” Mark tries again, his eyes friendly but hopeful.

Nick’s eyes finally land on his face, the bicolored eyes staring at him in focus for once in days.

Unfortunately, it also means that Nick will widen his eyes in shock and fear as he recognizes who is next to him on his bed.

Nick immediately tries to scramble back on his bed, as weakly as he does it. He whimpers and winces when his still recovering lungs and chest punish him with sharp jab of pain.

“Hey, hey, stop. You’re hurting yourself,” Mark tries to warn him.

Nick still jumps back, pushing through his pain with winces along the way, to get away from Mark. His hand that is not in arm sling immediately goes to his neck with still visible bruise.

“Nick, Nicky. I swear I’m not going to hurt you, but you gotta stay still. You can hurt yourself again.”

Nicky doesn’t seem to hear him, although this time out of terror instead of feverish delirium.

“Okay, okay. Do you want Lena instead?” he offers to Nick.

Nick just stares at him while breathing fast, his eyes completely alert now.

After a while, Nick whispers, “Who is that?”

“It’s the tall one with long brown hair. The one who usually gives you food.”

Nick gulps in wariness.

“Just her. No one else.”

Mark opens his mouth, about to correct him, knowing Lena will not appreciate being misgendered like that, but he doesn’t think Nick will even listen to anything he says at all.

“Okay, I’ll get them,” Mark tries, hoping something less pointed will get the message across anyway.

“I said just her.”

Mark sighs. “Yes. Lena. Them. Trust me, you‘re not gonna like it if Lena heard you and gets pissed at you. They’re not a ‘her’.”

Nick looks a little confused but seems compliant anyway with Mark’s assurance.

Mark turns around about to find the aforementioned agent, keeping in mind to warn them about Nick’s apparent cluelessness when it comes to unusual identities.

He finds their fallen sniper’s twin in the artillery room, doing weapon checks and maintenance.

“Oh, hey,” Lena says without looking at him.

“He’s asking for you.”

Lena turns around with furrowed eyebrows.

“Nick?”

“Yeah.”

Their face lights up a little.

“Just… be warned. I don’t think he knows what non-binary is.”

Lena’s face falls a little, but they still look a hopeful and pleased to hear that their rescue is starting to get a little better.

“Cool. Okay.”

They then finish their activity a little more before walking out of the room to Nick.

Mark feels all of them are going to have a lot of tense days from then on, but tries to stay hopeful and focused on the fact that at least their rescue is getting a little better.

If there is going to be some challenges, they’re all going to cross that bridge when they get to it.

***

Nick is getting better, physically speaking. The tube in his chest is being taken out the next day.

But mentally? Absolutely not at all.

“It’s Doctor Lowe, Nick. Don’t you remember?” Angie asks him patiently, although terse and struggling to stay level-headed.

“No, I don’t. You said I was sick for days. How am I supposed to remember?” Nick replies to her sharply, with croaky and gravelly voice followed by coughing.

He looks at all of them with fear and distrust, so it takes a lot of cajoling for him to let the physician take care of him and make him not take out the IV line or the nasogastric tube forcefully.

“You still need to get the full course of the antibiotics. You can’t do this now.”

Their doctor sounds tired.

“You’re just gonna drug me again!”

“If you mean by drugging you is giving you life-saving medication so that your infection doesn’t kill you then yeah, we’re drugging you,” their no-nonsense characteristically rude surgeon says sarcastically.

“Doctor Lowe, you’re not making it better,” Lena says quietly.

“Kid, I’m too old and too shit at psychiatry to deal with your mental breakdown. Just make it easy for me please.”

Nick is breathing hard holding the metal drip stand in the threatening direction towards everyone else in the room with his right hand, in surprising amount strength, even if shaking and trembling as he is gripping it.

Everyone stays with their hands up in surrender hoping that the youngest person in their midst calms down a little bit.

Mark understands that Nick is terrified and traumatized and it absolutely makes sense for him to act like this, but he is never a patient person, to be honest.

After a while of tense stare off while Nick’s strength continuously drains out of him visibly, Nick finally says tightly with tremble,

“Only the doctor, not any of you. ‘Cause fuck you all.”

Mark can tell he is going to be extremely difficult from then on.

***

Mark is, as pissed as he is about it, completely correct in his prediction.

As he looks at the newly 21-year-old young man, he can clearly see the venom and fury in the heterochromatic eyes, only slightly masked by his equally powerful fear and traumatized state. Nick is eager and absolutely capable of being the biggest fucking douchebag to all of them, and even if that’s completely warranted, it’s not easy to tolerate.

Eventually, Nick’s pointedly prickly behavior is starting to really get to all of them.

Case in point—

“You know what? I feel for him, but I’m going to punch him if I have to keep talking to him. You guys take care of him. I’m done.”

Lena stomps out with almost raging face.

It’s not surprising since Nick is currently oscillating between terrified behavior and really bitterly disrespectful behavior. He seems to intentionally call Lena a girl and loudly referring to the long brunette-haired agent as ‘her’. At one point, the team also need to pull Anderson away because Nick keeps stubbornly calling him Andy despite the curly-haired man’s corrections.

Hell, sometimes he even goes as far as being subtextually racist towards Horace and Luke, despite being half-Asian himself. He makes sure it’s subtle enough that they can’t really point it out, but discernable enough that they both feel the intention. It’s not seldom that Luke and Horace come out with clenched jaws and heavy breathing.

With Anna, his favorite insult is solely referring to her as ‘the midget bitch’. For Mary and Angie, their rescue keeps saying ‘Plastic Barbie One’ and ‘Plastic Barbie Two’ when it comes to them because of their blond hair. It’s a little less mean, probably because they were the least cruel to him before they realized he was innocent. Though Lena, unfortunately, does not get the same consideration.

It's probably because he knows Lena is the safest one to irritate.

George, even quiet and uninvolved as he was in Nick’s first few weeks, still gets a term of ‘endearment’, which is ‘mediocre ginger’. Like all gingers are, he said at one point. Sometimes he even directly calls George that.

He is still somewhat afraid of Don, so he only refers to him as ‘smooth-brained brute’ when Don is outside his room.

Finally, Mark gets a special nickname too, of course, and it is ‘fruity Ken’.

He doesn’t know when and who told Nick that he is gay, but he has to restrain himself not to strangle the heterochromatic-eyed boy again when he hears that. The worst thing is, when he is in that prickly, asshole mood, he taunts him with challenging glare as he is saying, “Oh look, fruity Ken is about to murder me again.”

The hard thing is, when they finally get angry at Nick and start to become harsh, Nick then transforms into his terrified, obedient state, repeatedly crying and begging for forgiveness, not rarely saying to them, “Please, I’m sorry. I’ll behave, please, don’t punish me. Don’t put me in the pen again!”

So, they soften and feel guilty again for putting him in his terrified and vengeful state. They go back to gently taking care of him while telling him, “It’s okay, Nicky. We’re not gonna hurt you again. We’re not gonna punish you, okay?”

Then, as the safe feeling comes back, Nick starts becoming mean again.

Rinse and repeat.

One day, around 4 days after Nick starts getting cognizant, Mark comes in with his soft pureed food, now that his nasogastric tube is taken out. Only his IV is left.

Mark takes one look at the glaring face of Nick and can tell this day is going to be difficult.

Oh, fuck. Here we go again.

“I thought you want me dead, fruity Ken,” Nick spits out.

Mark takes a deep breath and exhales.

“Thank you, Marcus, for the food. Oh, you’re welcome, Nikolai. Please enjoy,” he sarcastically says as a response.

“Fuck you. I’m not thanking you for cleaning up for your own fucking mess.”

“Okay,” Mark replies offhandedly. At least, he is trying to.

He walks to the bedside table, sensing the terrified shuffling from Nick even if he is glaring with his nose turned up, then puts the plastic bowl.

They agree Nick is probably too weak to hold heavy porcelain bowl and is also too combative to let anyone help him eat anyway.

Be cool, Mark. If not out of kindness, then treat him well out of necessity because he is still our informant, Mark tells himself in his mind.

“Guess y’all’s skill only includes torturing people, huh? ‘Cause that food looks shit.”

Mark turns around quickly with just as much venom in his face.

“Then don’t fucking eat it. See if I care. You’re fucking useless to us anyway.”

Sure, he feels bad, but he also feels satisfied when Nick’s heterochromatic eyes shows slight sadness and hurt.

It's about time he tastes his own medicine for being fucking nasty to all of them. Even if they tortured him, there has got to be a limit to how much he is allowed to hurt and destroy their souls back.

Mark stomps out of the room before he can change his mind and apologize to Nick.

Fuck.

He wishes they all could turn back the time so that they all could avoid being stuck in this endless feedback loop of bitterness.

***

Mark is walking to their kitchen when he sees Lena already there doing the entire house’s dishes.

It's weird, but they all actually like doing domestic chores, especially doing the dishes. Something about the boringness and homey feeling of doing chores soothe them in times of dangers that are constantly looming.

He is planning to join Lena and help them do some of the plates or something, already with a smile on his face, but then it falls when he sees tear streaks on the tall brunette’s face.

“Lena? Hey, what’s wrong?”

Lena immediately swings their body around in shock and drops the plates to frantically wipe their face.

“Oh, hey. Hi, Mark. Didn’t see you there!” they try to sound excited.

Mark furrows his eyebrows continuously while watching Lena’s face.

“Is it because of Nick?”

Lena doesn’t answer and just shakes their head before pointedly trying to avoid Mark’s gaze by going back to washing the dishes.

“It is, isn’t it? He made you cry. What did he say?”

“Nothing. He’s fine. It’s fine,” Lena answers quickly. Too quickly.

“Lena, you can tell me. You know that right? We’re all stuck in this together. Let’s help each other out, yeah?”

Lena keeps washing the dishes as they school their expression as to not betray their grief, but Mark can still absolutely see through that. So after a while, Lena realizes they can’t really hide it anymore, and doesn’t want to either.

They put down the last dish, then holds the edge of the sink heavily. Their face starts to scrunch up in sadness, and eventually, they choke out a sob. Mark’s face falls and he engulfs Lena in his arms gently.

Lena sobs a little bit more as they melt into his hug.

“I haven’t been misgendered since my last year of police academy,” Lena finally chokes out.

“Oh, angel. I’m so sorry. It really gets to you, huh?”

“I don’t even have boobs or uterus anymore,” Lena tries to joke, only to end up falling into another inevitable sobbing fest.

“I’m trying my best to be understanding, you know?” they choke again. “He was wronged, insulted, and beaten up. I get it. He is angry. But it still hurts. He seems to really want to break all of us.”

Mark listens while remembering the sharp, vengeful look on Nick’s face.

“I try my best to be nice to him. Keep my anger down. Maybe if I try to connect with him, it’ll get better. But it doesn’t,” Lena continues whimpering with their face smushed in Mark’s shoulder.

“When we were harsh to him, it wasn’t with no reason. As wrong as it was, we did it out of anger for the people’s lives lost to this—” they choke a little more, so Mark waits while rubbing Lena’s back, “You know, heinous criminal syndicate. We weren’t just mean, for the sake of being mean. Because he was weaker than us and so we just treated him cruelly to assert our power over him.”

Lena continues sobbing for a while as he waits for them to spill out their heart more.

“It’s different with him, because even knowing we’re trying to help him, we’re sorry, and we are trying our best to do the right thing putting our lives in danger—” Lena sniffles again “—to bring down the people torturing him before, he chooses to be cruel anyway. He chooses to hit us in the most vulnerable part. Trying to dehumanize us.”

Mark agrees, remembering the times Nick was clearly being pointedly homophobic and bigoted to him. He tries to let it slide over him, but it hurts in the way that is shocking because he hasn’t felt like that for years after painstakingly trying to accept himself.

Even if Nick doesn’t really mean those or genuinely holds those bigoted thoughts, he still hurts Mark in a way that often throws him back to the time where he was a kid, powerless and self-hating.

No one should be doing those intentionally to anyone else, no matter the reason.

“We’ve never even insulted him in gross or dehumanizing way. Most of the time our insults before were about suspected Helga activities. Never about his worth as a person. Why is he doing this to us?”

Lena continues sobbing to his shoulder, not realizing Luke has walked in too.

The afro-haired man widens his eyes in shock then tries to walk back out, but furrows his eyebrows hearing Lena’s words. He then looks at Mark in sympathy and understanding.

Mark returns his look, knowing the things that Nick also says to him.

Jesus, he overheard Nick saying something about ICE and back-of-the-bus bullshit to Horace and Luke sometimes.

It's 2016, for fuck’s sake. Why the fuck does he still say shit like that?

Not to mention with the state their country is going with their garbage inevitable president who they have to swallow their pride for and whose commands they have to follow regardless because they’re part of government body.

How could Nick think his behavior is fucking acceptable?

“I miss Adrianne. She wouldn’t have tolerated it and put him in his place,” Lena says again, slipping their hands between their own body and Mark’s chest to bury their face in their palms and continue crying.

After a while, Lena finally forces a chuckle and pulls back from Mark’s hug.

“Oh, fuck. Can’t believe I’m a pussy enough to let a little misgendering get to me. We’re dealing with Helga, for Christ’s sake.”

“Oh, Lena. You shouldn’t be trying to be strong in a face of this. You shouldn’t have been dealing with this in the first place,” Luke finally says to them, seeing no point in hiding his presence anymore.

Lena whips their head to Luke’s direction, frantically wiping their face again.

“It’s fine. He is being cruel. Don’t blame yourself for getting affected, okay?”

Lena looks down with trembling lips.

“Look, two wrongs don’t make a right. There is no excuse for our torture towards him before. There is also no excuse for his verbal cruelty to any of us either,” Luke tries to explain.

“Yeah. Besides, he is being intentionally bigoted and trying to personally hit us close to home with his insults. He doesn’t care about any of that just to be petty to us. That’s fucking unforgivable,” Mark adds in.

Mark hugs Lena again, repeatedly saying “It’s all right,” while Luke leans against the doorway with hopefully comforting smile towards the upset Lena.

God, he doesn’t know how long they all can handle this. He hopes they’ll find a way to stop all of this soon.

***

(I) (II) (III) (IV) (V) (VI) (VII) (VIII) (IX) (X) (XI) (XII) (XIII) (XIV) (XV) (XVI) (XVII) (XVIII) (XIX) (XX) (XXI) (XXII) (XXIII) (XXIV) (XXV) (XXVI) (XXVII) (XXVIII) (XXIX) (XXX) (XXXI - END)

#misgenderin tw #racism tw #whump #whumptober2021 #whumper turned caretaker #OC #original work #OC whump #D.E.A.N #no.5 #i've got red in my ledger #misunderstanding #multiple whumpers #whump prompt #prompt fill #writing #english #repost for whump sideblog #whump community #me #me write #whumptober

[seaswalllow]

whumptober, day one: barbed wire, dsmp

--

“Hurry up,” Tubbo hisses, glancing over his shoulder. Tommy grimaces and strains for the window above them, Ranboo shifting underneath his feet uneasily.

His fingertips graze metal, and Tommy feels around.

Bars, with no electricity that he can feel. “Ranboo, I’m gonna jump, and it’s gonna hurt a little,” he elects to give warning, before he gathers himself and leaps.

Scrabbling for a grip onto the cold metal, he catches himself, and hangs there for a moment as he swings with his momentum.

Then he hauls himself up onto the small platform, huffing heavily.

There's no time to catch his breath. He squints at the bars, and tests his weight against them again. Like the first time, they don’t give, and he grumbles under his breath.

“No use. They’re welded in. If they held my weight getting up here…”

“They’ll hold it if we try to break them,” Ranboo finishes, claws clicking against the stone underfoot.

Tubbo swears, softly, and eyes them. “And you haven’t classed, let alone levelled-?”

“Whenever that happens, it’s apparently too early in the process,” Tommy confirms.

Which is… fine. It's fine. They’ve beaten worse odds. There’s three of them, as long as they’re together- there’s three of them.

“What’re the odds it’ll hold the weight of all three of us?”

Tubbo and Ranboo exchange looks. (They do that, a lot. Tommy doesn’t find himself as bothered, anymore. In the early days- maybe, Ranboo fitting too easily into spots that he’d filled previously. Now he just waits for the ideas that it sparks.)

“Is there room for all three of us?”

Tommy swivels to study the platform. It’s not big; he has to crouch to slot himself underneath the frame, but it’s wider than it is tall.

“There’s room for maybe you, Tubbo, but not Ranboo-”

He hears footsteps before he finishes, and freezes. Ranboo does too, and then pulls at his foot. “Get down, get down-”

Tommy tumbles down, atop him, and Tubbo shuffles to block the sight of them sprawled underneath the window.

The footsteps come to a stop in front of the doorway. A muffled click, and then it swings open, slowly. Tommy sits up, Ranboo shuffling in front of him, too, and they tense as the lab coat only hums thoughtfully.

“Interesting. You’re awake.”

Tommy reaches out, and drags Tubbo back, closer to them, eyes narrowing. In front of them, a low rumbling begins; Tubbo does not dig an elbow into Ranboo’s side to quiet him, notably. He only stares at the lab coat.

The lab coat, who doesn’t flinch in the slightest, even if they look unarmed, even if they’re outnumbered three to one.

Tommy nudges Tubbo, then Ranboo. Tubbo doesn’t look, but he nods, ever so slightly. there don’t seem to be any guards. Not here, at least; they weren’t expecting them to be awake?

“So this defect spreads further than we expected,” the lab coat murmurs again, and then they nod sharply. “We will proceed as expected, regardless. The next wave is due tomorrow, and you will be classed just in time. The next wipe will proceed as expected.”

Tubbo does glance at Tommy, at this.

Are you sure?

He nods, again. They won’t have another chance.

The lab coat turns to shut the steel door, and they spring. Ranboo is the fastest of them; Tommy right behind him. Tommy watches them go down with not a small amount of satisfaction- coddled pricks got what they got.

There’s no time to linger.

Tubbo swipes the keys, and shoves them into the empty room, swinging the door shut. Then they run.

There’s surprisingly little resistance, at first. The halls are devoid of human presence. none of them waste breath on asking about it; not when they turn into the same hallway thrice, and every door looks the same.

And then: “Guards. Ahead of us.”

There was nobody, and then there were several people, all facing another set of steel doors. Anxiety, exhaustion- all of it squeezes at Tommy’s chest, but Ranboo grabs his arm and hauls him and Tubbo into a side hallway.

He’s shaking, Tommy notes dimly. This is bad, if Ranboo’s starting to shake.

“We can't overpower all of them,” he hisses, and Tubbo paces, hands clenched tight around the plastic in his hand.

“Could throw open some of the other cells. Wake up whoever’s inside, cause a diversion. Doubling back costs us time, but they’ll have to divert resources,” he lists off, and Tommy's foot only taps faster. They don’t have time.

“Let’s do it. Ranboo takes point, because he’s the fastest?”

“Ranboo takes point,” Tubbo confirms, and Ranboo nods, holding out a clawed hand for the key.

So it goes like this:

They race back down the twisting hallways.

They open door after door, to wake up person after person. (Some don’t wake. Some spit, some cry, but some continue to sleep. Why is everybody asleep?)

And then the lights flicker red.

No sirens sound; the hallways remain deathly silent, asides the people spilling out, lightning and fire crackling at their fists as they stalk around corners; Tommy takes one look and pulls them back the way of the entrance, heart hammering.

“This is our fucking chance, let’s go, let’s go-”

“We’re going, we’re going,” Tubbo hisses back, as they round the corner.

They weren’t the first ones to the doors. Ash fills the air as someone screams over the sound of crackling flames. Tommy puts his head down and darts through the smoke; Ranboo is coughing behind him, the sound crackling with his panic.

His shoulder hits something cold. He looks up, making out metal through the smoke; it doesn’t give. He pushes at it again, feeling for a latch. Something clicks, and they’re through, frost trailing out after them into the open air.

Into the… wasteland. There’s more walls, and another gate. A gate which they don’t have a key for.

“I hope you’re good at climbing,” Tommy grunts, hauling himself up the first brick. Ranboo leaps up past him with ease; tubbo is hot on his heels.

neither answer, not when they hear the sounds of the fight spilling out after them. Tommy hauls himself up faster, biting his lip hard as the concrete tears at his fingertips.

Ranboo reaches the top first; he yelps and both of them look up, sharply, to where he’s frozen.

“Guys, if you get up here-” his voice is strained as he carefully pulls at his arm, “-just be careful. They’ve got barbed wire up here.”

Tommy swears. Loudly, and colorfully. Clinging to the edges of the top, he peeks at the nest of wire, thick and tangled.

Ranboo has successfully extricated himself, and Tommy watches as he holds his arm close, watches as blood drips from the barbs.

“We can’t just step over it,” Ranboo says, after a beat, “and climbing down is. Uh, it’s going to suck.”

“It's going to suck more if we get caught,” Tommy murmurs testily, and he eyes the drop. Tubbo hauls himself up besides them, and also sweeps his eyes across the top, to the dry lands beyond.

“No climbing down,” he murmurs, thoughtfully.

“Could jump,” Tommy offers. both freeze, and then Ranboo sputters something like a protest, but Tommy only shrugs.

“You can’t climb down, none of us can. We can clear the worst of the wire- and besides, we’ve jumped from higher. Just remember to roll. alright?”

He turns to Ranboo, who’s staring at the drop with a tight jaw.

“I'll even go first.”

Grunting, he pulls a leg up to the ledge. The barbs prick and tear at the thin clothes offered to them in the facility; Tommy ignores it, taking a deep breath.

He jumps.

Pain lances through his leg as the wire refuses to relinquish its grasp, but he’s falling already, the wind ruffling through his hair.

He’s falling, and then he’s hitting the packed dirt. Something pops in his shoulder, and he bites down hard on the shout.

Breathe in, and out, through the fire pulsing, he tells himself. Then he staggers to his feet to raise his good arm in a wave.

Hurry, come down.

We’re out.

#kit writes #dream smp #tommyinnit #tubbo #ranboo #enjoy i'm going the fuck to sleep now #and i'm so sorry if the readmore doesnt work #whumptober2021 #whumptober day one

[coruscantguard]

In The Absence of Induration

Whumptober Day Three - Alt Prompt - Comfort

Hurt/Comfort Bingo - Cuddles

Commander Thorn & Commander Fox

Warning for PTSD, implied past child abuse, and clone trooper-typical identity issues

(Ao3 Link)

Thorn is halfway through getting up off of Fox’s bunk to go dump the datapads on the Commander’s desk when a hand catches his wrist.

He flinches, and it’s instinctive, reactionary, violent. It’s a damn good thing that the hand loosens its grip immediately, as if it hadn’t, it’s owner would’ve met a face full of datapads. 

“Manda kriffing hells, Fox, really?”

“Sit the kark back down, shabuir,” Fox snaps, with all of his usual tact. 

“I’m just putting the datapads on your desk so you don’t decide to do them in the middle of the night,” Thorn replies placatingly, and he tries to tug his wrist out of Fox’s grip again. Fails. In his defense, he’s tired. “Fox.”

“You have a broken leg, sit the kark down,” Fox snaps, breaking out the Commander voice this time, and that’s surprising enough that he doesn’t even fight back when Fox kicks his knee on his unbroken leg out from under him, even though the impulse is there.

He falls on the bed with a thump, and unceremoniously drops the datapads on the ground. “Seriously?”

“Sorry, do you want me to call Naat and tell her that you’re ignoring her instructions? Because I have no problem with ratting you out. I’ll take great joy in it, actually.”

Thorn glares at him. Fox looks back mildly, face pleasant. 

Force. In his months away, he’d forgotten how infuriating that expression was.

“Listen, I’m just gonna--”

“No, you’re not,” Fox interrupts, and tackles him fully onto the bunk.

“Oh, kriff you,” Thorn says, but he sinks into the violent embrace anyway, getting in a hit to Fox’s ribs that makes him curse. Thorn grins at that, barely managing to avoid the elbow Fox throws his way, and catches his arm, pinning it.

(And they’re clones, they’re born and bred soldiers. Weapons down to the bone. Natborns just don’t… understand. Violence is always going to be the language they understand best.)

Fox doesn’t try to get out of the pin, though, and his hands are insistent in their cling even though a punch had probably been their goal just moments before, and Thorn makes a mental note to prioritize looking into what happened when he was away. Despite how obviously touch-starved as he is, Fox very rarely allows himself the luxury of being anything even approaching the realm of needy. To have him clinging to Thorn's side like a cephalopod is worrying, even if Thorn admittedly doesn't mind the contact. 

But...

“I really should go back to my bunk,” Thorn says, and pokes the back of Fox’s neck, squirming halfway out of his grip. In response, Fox kicks him in the shin. “Hey!”

“Lie the kark back down, kriffer. Naat will kill me if I let you go back to your bunk.”

“No, she won’t,” Thorn says, rolling his eyes. “For some goddamn reason she actually likes you.” 

Fox physically rolls over to face the wall in response, because he’s a dramatic bastard. “Yeah, that’s why she’ll grant me the mercy of death instead of prolonging the torture,” he says dryly, “now, stay. Sleep. That’s an order, Commander.”

Kriff. Kriff. He wants to, but...

If there's anything the last few months of back-to-back escort missions has made Thorn acutely aware of, it's his own destructive potential. Even without Hammer, he can cause damage. He’s a CC. Causing damage is his entire purpose. It’s literally in his blood. 

(And he’s not-- he’s not talking about the affectionate controlled fights, here. This is a wild kind of destruction, uncontrollable, like a Kamino typhoon, brought upon by specific memories, sensations, dates, feelings.)

In hindsight he knows that he was extremely lucky that it was Senator Amidala who woke him up during his last mission. Senator Amidala is kind, and merciful, and apparently knows exactly how to dodge when waking someone up who's still trapped in the throes of a nightmare, and Thorn is never ever telling Fox about that incident, because Fox's fear tends to manifest as lectures on tactics where he's citing regulations, and Fox only cites regulations when he's either justifying a dubious course of action to a superior officer, or scared out of his goddamn mind and grasping at straws.

"That… might not be the best idea," Thorn says. He hates to turn Fox away on the rare occasion that he actually asks for something, but he'd hate to hurt him more. "The anniversary of, well, you know, is coming up, and recently I've been—" twitchy, jumpy, unpleasant, vaguely murderous to the point that Thire has started making snide comments comparing me to you which is hypocritical as hell considering that it’s Thire saying that, "—off. I've been off."

Fox doesn't say anything in reply, but his silence feels unimpressed anyway. Thorn sighs. "Briar woke me up the other day by poking me with butt of Jek’s sniper rifle, and I managed to get in a damn good punch before I realized where I was. She was literally holding a gun-- turned on stun, don’t give me that look-- and standing a full fifty inches away, and I still managed to break her nose. Sleeping in the same bed as someone else is not a good idea right now."

Fox is quiet for a moment, but then he rolls over, punches Thorn’s arm, then collapses on him, going limp and pinning him to the bed. Thorn wheezes as his still-bruised ribs protest, and Fox headbutts his chin as an apology, says, “I know when people are going to hurt me, Thorn.” A pause, then: “You won’t.”

Kriff. There’s a bone-deep certainty there, and it’s one Thorn can’t argue with. It’s like by saying the words Fox has spoken it into existence, created a guarantee that Thorn can trust, made it so that he physically can’t hurt him. He says it the same way he’d say Kamino is an ocean planet, or the clones were made for the Jedi-- like it’s an undeniable fact, like there’s no argument to be had because it’s simply the truth. 

And trusting Fox comes as natural as breathing does at this point, but seeing how that trust is completely and unconditionally returned feels uncomfortable in a way that Thorn doesn’t want to examine, so. Time to change the subject. “Are you trying to break my ribs, osikovid?”

Fox snorts. “Not my fault that you have weak bones.” 

“We have the same bones, di’kut.”

“That’s what the Chancellor wants you to think.”

Thorn blinks. Blinks again. “How much sleep have you gotten in the last week?”

“How much have you gotten?” Fox asks, and his voice is soft, but there’s a thread of steel woven into it, a hint of beskar-clad spine in the pointed nature of his question, even as he somehow manages to simultaneously entwine himself further into Thorn’s side. It reminds Thorn vividly, almost violently, of when he was a cadet and Blackout would do the same, and he has to force himself to breathe through the instinctive panic that thinking about his batchmate always brings. 

Blackout is smart, and strong, and he’s got the best luck out of any vod. He's in special ops because he's one of the best. He’ll be fine.

He has to be fine.

Anyway, Blackout’s grip as a cadet tended to be looser, probably because he wasn’t dealing with fifteen layers of repression and touch starvation, but the weight of Fox’s body feels the same and that realization sits heavy on his chest. “Touché,” he says, and Fox mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like knew it into his blacks.

Thorn sighs, and he tries to muffle the yawn that follows it. Fails.

"Go to sleep, di'kut," Fox says, because he's kriffing omniscient or some other osik, and Thorn really shouldn't, but--

Maybe he can just close his eyes for a moment or two.

-

osikovid: shit + head in mando’a. this is probably done wrong, but i am very tired, rip.

and if you think you recognize bits of this, you don’t, but actually if you are one of three people, yes, you do, as I accidentally posted a snippet of it last July, oops lol <3 <3 <3

#whumptober2020 #no.3 #comfort #altprompt #star wars the clone wars #fic #ptsd tw #past child abuse tw #commander thorn #commander fox #tcw #the clone wars #star wars #swtcw #my writing #pls give me validation my eyes are killing me i stayed up wayyyyy too late writing this o o p s

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2020 - Day 27

I actually wrote an entire fic for this that was a part 2 for Abandoned on day 8, with a part 3 to come later, but I wasn't overly happy with it and decided ultimately that it would flow better if there was no middle part. There will still be a part 2 (only, no part 3), but not for another couple of days. So, I deleted that entire fic and started over and wrote this. Which meant that I had less time to work on this one, as I'm already catching up with myself and hoping that I don't have to put off any updates! I'm not necessarily entirely happy with how this one turned out overall, but I do like the middle at least and I hope you guys enjoy it regardless of my feelings.

Read on AO3

Read on FFN

Day 27 - Extreme Weather

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Warnings: hypothermia

“Pidge, radar check. It looks like the temperature is dropping rapidly.”

“Okay, just a sec...holy crow, you’re right. Storm coming your way, fast. You guys need to find shelter now.”

That was all the warning they got before the wind hit. It howled across the plain with all the fury of a hurricane, so loud in his ears even through his helmet that he could barely hear Shiro’s voice shouting over the comms. 

“If we can get to the other side of this hill we should be out of the wind.”

“Roger!” Keith yelled back. It wasn’t like they had much choice in moving that direction, anyway. The wind was shoving them along, causing them both to have to lean backwards into it even while running to keep from tumbling over.

They were almost to the small mountain when the storm fully arrived. Suddenly the air was filled with so much white that Keith couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, and he had lost sight of Shiro completely. 

Apparently he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t see, either. “Just keep moving forward! Once we get there we should be able to work our way around to the other side by feel.” 

Keith furrowed his eyebrows. As long as neither of them somehow missed it and wandered off into the open plain on the other side...but they were close enough that it should be fine. He hoped. And they both had on their armor, which was made for much colder temperatures than this in deep space, so even if they did get lost they probably wouldn’t die. Probably. As long as a hundred other variables didn’t happen.

“I can hear you worrying from here. Just keep walking, Keith.”

“You just keep walking,” he lamely replied.

The good news was, he found the mountain. “You here yet?”

“Yep. Turn east, that’s the closest end.”

“Got it.” 

The bad news was, after several long, stumbling minutes of walking blind with one hand trailing the face of the hill...something happened. He wasn’t ever really sure what. All he knew was that suddenly his feet were flying out from under him, and he was smacking face first into some unseen object hard enough to make his forehead impact with the inside of his helmet. Before he could reorient himself, Shiro was nearly tripping over his feet.

“You okay? What happened?”

“Think I hit a slick spot, or a root or something. I’m okay. Just watch your step for the next couple of feet.” Pushing himself back up, he shook his head slightly to rid himself of the slight dizzy feeling, then kept moving forward.

It seemed to take ages, but they eventually turned a corner and had the wind at their backs again. It was only a few paces more from there until they turned again and the world fell relatively calm. There was snow shooting around the sides of the hill just behind them, and it was still swirling in the air all around them. But he could see again. 

And one of the things he could see was a little starburst cut into the center of his faceplate.

At first he thought it might be a snowflake, and tried to brush it off, but no, there was definitely an indentation there, and maybe even a longer crack coming off from the center. Whatever he had hit must have been sharp to do that kind of damage to a space helmet. It wasn’t a big deal, though. Yeah, the display inside his helmet was fritzing a little, but he could just rely on Shiro’s information until they got back to the Castle and could get his helmet fixed. 

There was no reason to tell Shiro. Then he would just be the one excessively worrying.

“Did you guys make it?” Pidge asked.

Shiro nodded. “Yep. Looks like we’ll just have to hunker down here until the storm passes.”

“Could be a while by the looks of the radar. I’d offer to come pick you guys up, but…”

“No. There’s zero visibility out here. Stay put, and we’ll do the same.”

He looked over at Keith and gave a smirk. “It’s not like we’ve never had to kill time together before.”

Huffing a small laugh, Keith settled back against the rocks, folding his arms over his chest. “View here’s not quite as nice as the Garrison roof.”

Now Shiro smiled for real. “Nope. That view was definitely the best.”

They sat mostly in silence for the next several minutes, just staring out into the strange patterns of whirling snow. It seemed so natural to feel cold while watching a snowstorm that Keith didn’t even think anything of it until a shiver shook his body. That’s when he finally realized that something wasn’t quite right.

He was cold. Not only cold, but goosebumps were forming on his skin underneath his flightsuit. That shouldn’t happen. The whole thing was designed to regulate his temperature. He had floated out in open space before and felt perfectly comfortable, so there was absolutely no reason that a snowstorm should have made him cold.

Unless the armor or the flightsuit was compromised, of course. Like, say, a crack in the helmet.

He didn’t want to tell Shiro. He knew he really should.

“Um.” He cleared his throat, nonchalantly tried to rub a little warmth back into the part of his arms that wasn’t covered by armor. “Don’t like, freak out or anything -”

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “I said don’t freak out! It’s not a big deal, okay? I just wanted to let you know that, uh...I think I may have cracked my faceplate when I fell earlier? And it’s possible there’s some air leaking in.”

“What?” Shiro was in front of him immediately, clapping his hands onto either side of Keith’s helmet so he could tilt it up toward him. That close, he could actually just make out his voice over the wind without using the comms. “Keith, why didn’t you tell me as soon as you noticed?”

“Who says I didn’t?”

“Me, because I know you. Do you see what the temperature is out here? ‘Some air leaking in’ is not good!”

“Um, no, I don’t see. My, uh...display has kinda been on the fritz ever since it happened.”

“Keith!”

Jerking his head out of Shiro’s hands, he glared up at him. “I’ll be fine! I’m just a little cold, that’s what made me realize. It’s nothing to worry about, though. It’s not like the air is toxic.”

Shiro gave him one of his patented stern dad looks, which then fell into the even more common - at least around Keith - exasperated dad look. “You let me know as soon as you start feeling any colder.”

“Yeah, sure.” He was already feeling colder than he had at the beginning of the conversation. But it wasn’t like there was really anything Shiro could do about it. They couldn’t walk through the storm, and no one could come get them. He’d just have to deal with it.

Unfortunately, his thoughts of not actually telling Shiro anything didn’t work out, because he sat so close that their arms were touching and could feel when he started full-on shivering. To his credit, though, he didn’t say anything. He merely nudged Keith forward a little and swung one leg around behind him, pulling him up close to his chest and wrapping his arms around. It was awkward with the bulky armor and the jetpack, but Keith imagined he could feel the tiniest bit of warmth on his arms where Shiro’s rested on them.

It didn’t really help anything. The temperature inside the helmet was still dropping quickly, the cold creeping down his body and seizing every inch of skin and muscle. He couldn’t stop shivering. 

After a few minutes, Shiro muttered something under his breath and pushed Keith gently forward, beginning to unbuckle his armor at his shoulders and sides. He pulled off just the back portion, and did the same with his own chestplate, before hugging him close again. 

He could feel the pressure, which was nice against the tremors wracking his body. He could maybe feel a little bit of the body heat. The problem was, the suits weren’t just meant to keep out cold temperatures. It was going to take a whole lot more than body heat to get through two of them.

“Pidge, tell Lance to be on standby in his Lion. As soon as there is any kind of break in the storm, I want him to get to our location as quick as he can.”

“Roger that.”

“Keith, bud? Do you think you can cover up the crack with your hand any?”

“I c-can t-t-try.”

His arm didn’t want to cooperate. When he finally did get it to raise, it was shaking too badly to keep it in one place. Shiro must have seen his struggle, because he reached up and grabbed onto the hand, pressing it in close to the helmet. 

“Is here good?”

“Y-ye-ah, I...I… ’s good.”

It was a bit hard to keep track of time. The snow kept flying by in mesmerizing loops and waves, and the two of them sat silently with both of their hands pressed over half his faceplate. Gradually, numbness began to steal over him, replacing the cold with blissful nothing. Even his shivers calmed, leaving him exhausted but relieved to be done with them.

“Keith. Keith, you still with me?”

“Hm? Yeah. ‘m good. Feel...better. Stopped shivering.”

“Yeah, I know, that’s not good. Don’t you remember the Garrison training?” Shiro’s free hand began pumping up and down his arm vigorously. “You’re okay, though. You’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna get you warmed up.”

Keith wasn’t really sure which of them he was trying to reassure. Personally, he was feeling too sleepy to care much about any of it anymore.

“But whatever you do, don’t fall asleep on me, okay? You can’t fall asleep. Talk to me, Keith.”

“You’re not my dad.”

Shiro chuckled. “Oh, yeah? Well, tell Lance that. He’s the one that’s dubbed me ‘Space Dad’.”

“Whaaat? That was totally not me, that was...that was Hunk!”

Oh, apparently Lance was on comms now. Probably waiting in his Lion like Space Dad had said.

“Are you kidding me? That was most definitely you, and we all know it,” Pidge butted in. “But seriously, Keith, listen to Space Dad. Don’t fall asleep.”

“‘m sleepy, though.”

“Well, wake up! Hey Shiro, got any embarrassing stories you can tell us about Keith?”

“Oh boy, do I ever. How about the time when he was sparring with this kid named Brandon, and -”

“Daaaad,” Keith whined. “Be nice to me while I’m dying.”

Shiro’s tone suddenly sobered. “You’re not dying, Keith. You’re gonna be just fine.”

“Yeah, Mullet. Even if I have to figure out how to activate a snowplow feature on Blue, we’ll come get you before anything happens to you. No dying today.”

Everyone fell quiet, and through the slight haze in his brain Keith wondered if he had done something to upset them. It wouldn’t be the first time, and probably not the last. Just as he was thinking of apologizing, Pidge spoke back up, as perky as before.

“So. I’m pretty sure Keith hasn’t heard yet about what you did in the kitchen the other day, Lance.”

“And he doesn’t need to! Ever! Too many people know about that already! I mean...nothing happened in the kitchen the other day, what are you talking about?”

Pidge launched into her tale, Lance protesting all the while and Shiro laughing along. It actually did keep his mind feeling more alert, as did Lance’s answering story of something Pidge had done back in their Garrison days...to start with. By the end of it, though, heaviness had started to overcome him, inviting him to sink down into deep, comfortable darkness.

On the edge of his consciousness, he thought he could feel someone shaking him, and Shiro’s voice calling his name. He tried to answer, he really did. But his tongue had already succumbed to the heavy sensation, and all he could do was give a little hum. 

Then Pidge’s voice came, curiously close to his ear. “Uh, guys? Red just left her hangar.”

“She what?”

Lance’s voice, also really close. What were all these people doing in his ear? “Yeah, I see her! She’s like...wow. She’s just burning a path through the storm. I’ve never seen anything like it. And she’s moving fast.”

The body he seemed to be leaning against heaved a giant sigh and relaxed. “Thank you, Red,” someone whispered.

That was the last thing he was aware of for a while.

#whumptober2020 #no.27 #extreme weather #Voltron: Legendary Defender #fic #hypothermia tw #keith #keith kogane #voltron keith #vld keith #hurt keith #keith whump #voltron whump #voltron #vld #voltron legendary defender #voltron fanfic #vld fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction

[juju-on-that-yeet]

Night and Day

Whumptober Day 29: I Think I Need A Doctor Prompt: Reluctant Bedrest

Illinois is stuck in the clinic recovering from his concussion, but he's not the only injured ego in the clinic. Yandere is there too, and both he and Lio are anxious to leave the clinic, but for different reasons. (cont. from “Fall From Grace”)

Warnings: References to injury, some angst

Read on AO3 (Full Whumptober Series)

Enjoy!

~

Illinois isn’t the only one in the clinic right now, but as much as he hates being injured and stuck in bed, he understands he’s the one better off.

After all, he only has a concussion to push through, though it is a pretty bad one. One bed over, though, is Yandere, who has a couple fractured vertebrae, a broken shoulder, a gunshot wound to the stomach, and a concussion nearly as bad as Lio’s.

Lio had heard the story in pieces as Dr. Iplier treated Yandere and got him settled; the walls of the clinic rooms are thin, and Lio overhears almost everything without even trying. Apparently, Wilford accidentally shot Yandere while he was in the catwalks of the studio, causing him to fall and land right on his back. Lio may curse his bad luck, but maybe it was good that he fell on his head. At least he was still able to walk out of that cave.

But he won’t be doing any walking for a while. Dr. Iplier had taken one look at him and pretty much demanded he rest and stay in the clinic for further monitoring. “Rest” includes physical rest, but also cognitive rest.

“No reading, no screens, limited social interactions and only the lightest of activity,” Dr. Iplier had stressed, “And that’s for the next four or five days, maybe longer if I feel like you need it.”

Lio hates it, but there’s one person who doesn’t.

“Lio, doll, you almost died!” Yancy exclaims the first time Lio complains, “Youse got any idea how worried I was about you!? I call ya, you sound real fuckin’ weird, you tell me ya fell and hit your head, and then you stop talkin’ and won’t answer no matter what I say to youse!! I half-thought youse was dead, Lio!”

“I feel like I’m gonna die,” Lio mutters, “Of boredom. There’s nothing to do! I can’t even listen to an audiobook or stretch my legs out of this bed.”

“It’s so ya don’t get brain damage, doofus,” Yancy scolds him, pouting in a way that makes Lio want to kiss him, though he knows it isn’t the time. “Besides, hon, you could be worse. I just got done talkin’ to Yandere.”

Right, Yandere.

As much as Lio pities himself right about now, he can’t help but feel bad for Yandere. To be injured so grievously is one thing, but to be injured, even accidentally, by someone you love? He can’t imagine how it would feel, mainly because he can’t imagine Yancy or Magnum ever hurting him. Somehow Magnum is even more doting than Yancy when he visits.

“How are ye feeling, lad?” Magnum asks fretfully, puttering over Lio with his huge brows drawn together with worry. “Ye need a pillow, or another blanket, maybe yer hungry–”

“Mags, relax,” Lio tells him, unable to keep from chuckling, “I’m fine, all I need is to get outta here and back to adventuring again.” He sighs. “No chance of that yet, though.”

“Afraid not,” Magnum agrees, “I’ll warn ye now that if ye try leavin’ the clinic before Doc wants ye to, I’ll be puttin’ ye back to bed meself.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Lio admits. There’s not a single person in this building that Magnum couldn’t toss over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carry wherever he pleases – except maybe the Googles, but even then, Lio bets Magnum could do it.

Yandere gets visitors, too. Yancy, of course, whenever he visits Lio. Chrome too, mostly to entertain Yandere by the sound of their conversations. Dr. Iplier probably checks on Yandere more than is strictly necessary, certainly more than he checks on Lio. Dark comes by too, and while it makes Lio uneasy to be around him, he’s not nearly as intimidating when he’s asking Yandere how he feels for the third time that day.

The only person close to Yandere who doesn’t visit him is Wilford.

Lio knows Wilford to be devil-may-care, unperturbed by blood and injury, even when it hurts those he loves. He’s heard stories from Bim about the times Wilford has gotten Bim shot or stabbed by accident, and according to Bim, Wilford never cared much about those. Half the time he didn’t even apologize, and he was never scared away from visiting Bim while he was healing. But hurting Yandere so gravely must’ve managed to give Wilford some guilt, enough to keep him away from Yandere’s bedside.

“Did you ask onii-san to visit?” Yandere asks Dark for the dozenth time.

“I did, love,” Dark replies for the dozenth time, “He always tells me he will, and then when I ask him why he hasn’t, he says he will this time, and so on.” He sighs. “I know from experience that getting Wilford to do something he doesn’t want to do is…challenging, to say the least.”

Lio can imagine.

“But why not??” Yandere whines, “I miss him, and I know he feels bad, but…I thought you said he was okay.”

“He certainly acts like it,” Dark says, “But there’s no way he isn’t still thinking about it. At this point, though, trying to talk to him about it will only make him worse.”

“I guess,” Yandere mutters. No, sniffles, Lio realizes.

“There now, love,” Dark soothes, “No need for tears. Just because Wilford isn’t visiting doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. You know as well as I do how much he loves you.”

“I know,” Yandere says, quiet and sad, “I just…I want to talk to him, and I want him to stop blaming himself.”

After a couple days of this, Lio wakes up in the middle of the night to soft weeping.

He immediately feels awkward; he shouldn’t be hearing Yandere’s private grief. He debates pressing his call button to attract Dr. Iplier, so he can notice Yandere’s tears and comfort him. But that feels too weird, too underhanded. But he also can’t just lay there and listen to Yandere cry. It’s true that he and Yandere don’t get along the best – well, more like Yandere doesn’t get along with him. He still hasn’t forgiven Lio for breaking Yancy’s heart all that time ago, even though Yancy has. He’s civil enough to Lio for Yancy’s sake, but you’d never catch him alone with Lio if he can’t help it. Still, Lio can’t help but feel bad for Yandere, not to mention how tired he is of lying here doing nothing. That’s what makes him speak up.

“Um, hey…” he says, not sure how else to begin.

Yandere keeps crying. Either he can’t hear Lio or doesn’t know he’s being spoken to.

“Hey, Yandere,” Lio tries again, louder this time, “You alright?”

A dumb question, but Lio doesn’t know what else to ask. Yandere hears him that time, and his weeping stutters as he prepares to speak.

“No, y-yarou,” Yandere mutters, “The hell are you listening f-for anyway?”

Lio doesn’t know what “yarou” means, but he doubts it’s kind.

“I wasn’t trying to listen,” Lio says, “But you woke me up. It’s pretty to hear what’s going on in your room, even if I try not to.”

“How m-much have you heard?” Yandere asks warily.

“Most of it, I think,” Lio admits.

There’s a pause.

“Great,” Yandere mutters, annoyed enough that his tears are petering off. “If that’s true, what the hell are you asking me if I’m okay for? You already know what’s going on.”

“I’m trying to be nice,” Lio says, a little annoyed himself, “I didn’t want you to cry, and now you’re not crying anymore, so you’re welcome.”

“Ugh,” Yandere says, and Lio can practically hear the way his lip curls in irritation, “Whatever.”

Another pause.

“Sorry about…everything with Wilford,” Lio finally says, “Sounds tough.”

“I guess,” Yandere says, quiet. He thinks for a moment. “What happened, it…it reminded him of something. Have you seen the “Who Killed Markiplier” series yet?”

“No,” Lio answers truthfully. He hasn’t watched much of Mark’s videos, though he’s heard that particular series mentioned by the other egos before.

“Well, you’d understand if you had,” Yandere scoffs. “I just…” He sighs. “I just wish I could talk to him myself, get out of this stupid bed and find him.”

“You’re telling me,” Lio groans, staring at the ceiling. “I’ve wanted to get out of here for four days already.”

“Didn’t you get here four days ago?”

“Exactly.”

Yandere snorts despite himself, and Lio chuckles as Yandere quiets himself.

“You know, I think Yan-kun can tell how thin these walls are,” Yandere sighs, “Maybe not consciously, but he always seemed worried about getting overheard in here. Guess I should’ve taken the hint.”

“Sounds like Yancy,” Lio laughs, “But why would he be worried about getting overheard? I’m the only one here to listen.”

“Because,” Yandere replies, “He feels like you aren’t taking what happened to you seriously enough.”

“I mean, I knew that,” Lio says.

“Do you, though?” Yandere asks. A pause. “I was there when he called you, you know. He thought you were going to die. When you stopped answering him he thought he’d heard your last words. I had to tell Yami and Wil what was going on because he was crying too hard.”

Lio’s heart twists over itself. He had known Yancy was scared and worried, Yancy had said so himself, but he hadn’t known how bad it’d been for him.

“Really?” he can’t help but ask.

“Yeah,” Yandere says, “When you got brought to the clinic, Kaizoku-kun had to drag him out so Shishi could actually look him over. And now that you’re getting better, he’s still worried about you because he’s afraid you’re gonna go out and get hurt again, and it’ll be even worse this time.”

The worst part is that Lio can imagine it. He can imagine Magnum having to scoop up a screaming, sobbing Yancy and carry him away so Dr. Iplier could do his job. He can imagine that every time he complained about being cooped up, every time he wished he could go back to adventuring, every time he wanted to get out of bed and back into the wilderness stabbed Yancy in the heart to hear it. That all those wishes to go back to normal made Yancy fear what could happen to Lio next, made him fear that Lio had learned nothing and would go out and get himself killed. Lio hates that he couldn’t see it, hates that it took someone pointing out to him how distraught he made his boyfriend feel.

“Fuck,” Lio mumbles, “I guess I better apologize for worrying him.”

“Yeah, you should,” Yandere affirms, a tiny bit of smugness in his voice. Lio barely cares.

“I’ll fix my thing in the morning,” Lio says, “I hope your thing gets fixed soon, too.”

A pause, the longest one yet.

“Um, thanks,” Yandere mumbles, “You too, I guess.”

It takes Lio a while to fall back asleep as he tries to think of what to say to Yancy. It occurs to him that Wilford might be feeling similarly; wrestling with the knowledge that he hurt someone he loves so much and fearing that an apology isn’t enough.

~~~

Yancy doesn’t visit Lio until the afternoon, but Lio still hasn’t come up with an apology that feels right. It all feels too out of nowhere or not good enough, or like he’s apologizing for getting hurt more than he is for not taking it seriously. He knows Yancy wouldn’t blame him for a freak accident, apologizing for that piece of it feels wrong. But even just apologizing doesn’t feel like enough. This wouldn’t be the first time Lio hurt Yancy, and he wonders with some bitter sadness why Yancy still puts up with the pain Lio causes him.

So when Yancy comes in to talk to Lio, he acts like everything’s normal. He doesn’t complain about being stuck this time, but he can’t find the words to apologize – until Yancy starts to leave.

“Alright, I’ll letcha go,” Yancy says, getting up from the chair he’s sitting in, “But maybe I’ll come back later if Doc lets me.”

“Wait,” Lio says, internally cursing himself, “I have something I need to tell you.”

“Youse coulda said it anytime these past ten minutes, doll,” Yancy says teasingly, “I’m gettin’ outta here before Doc yells at me for makin’ ya use your brain too much.”

“Yancy, hold on!” Lio insists, reaching out and taking Yancy’s wrist, stopping him from walking away, “It’s important, babe, I don’t want to wait anymore.”

“Look, Lio, I know youse hate being bored,” Yancy says, and Lio can see the tired sadness in Yancy’s eyes now that he’s looking for it. “But youse gotta sit tight until Doc says you’re okay.”

“That’s just it, Yance, I…” Lio sighs, deciding it’s best to just be plain about it. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Yancy asks, confused enough that he doesn’t try to pull his arm out of Lio’s hand.

“You’ve been worried about me,” Lio says, “Even after I got rescued, you’ve been worried, and…and I’m sorry I haven’t been taking that worry seriously, or taking my recovery seriously.”

As he talks, Yancy’s expression goes from confusion to shock to holding back emotion, especially when Lio pulls Yancy back to his bedside, hand moving from his arm to clasp his hand in his own.

“I shouldn’t have kept blowing you off,” Lio murmurs, “And I should’ve been more focused on getting better instead of just getting out of here.”

Yancy sits back down in the chair by Lio’s bed, looking down.

“I said I half-thought youse was dead before,” Yancy mumbles, voice thick, “But that ain’t true. I fully thought you were dead, or about to be. I was such a mess I could barely tell Dark what was happening. I worry every time you travel, and it just…” Yancy chokes a little. “It was my worst fear come true. And hearin’ youse complain about every little thing, about having to stay here and heal, just…made me wanna scream sometimes. Made me feel like youse didn’t care, about me or about yourself.”

“Jailbird,” Lio murmurs, reaching out his free hand to cup Yancy’s cheek. The action makes Yancy finally look up, and Lio isn’t surprised to see and feel tears on his cheeks, but it still breaks his heart. “I do love you, and I sure do care about getting better. I’m so sorry I made you feel that way.” He strokes Yancy’s cheek, catching tears. “I’m thinking I’ll stay home for a while once I heal. Maybe take you on one of the local hiking trails, one where the worst that could happen to me is a sprained ankle, but otherwise just chill out.”

“Is that just to make me feel better?” Yancy asks, managing a grin, “It’s workin’, for the record.”

“Kinda,” Lio admits, “But I’d also rather not go out and get myself hurt again.”

“Good answer,” Yancy chuckles, leaning forward to kiss Lio. Lio meets him partway, tastes salt on his lips.

“I love you,” Lio murmurs as they pull away.

“Youse said that already,” Yancy teases, “But I love youse too.” After a quiet moment, Yancy sighs. “Now I really gotta go, before Doc realizes I’m still here.”

“Alright, alright,” Lio laughs, letting go of Yancy’s hand. “I might get to leave tomorrow, though; he told me this morning. I’ll finally be able to talk to you longer than ten minutes at a time.”

“We’ll see,” Yancy says, though he’s still smiling. “See youse, freebird.”

“Bye, angel,” Lio replies as Yancy leaves the room.

Lio expects Yandere to say something after Yancy leaves, but surprisingly, he doesn’t. Maybe he’s sleeping, or too engrossed in whatever he’s doing to eavesdrop. Either way, Lio is glad Yandere brought the problem to his attention, even if it was just to have something to be smug about.

Lio can only hope Yandere’s problem can be solved soon.

~~~

That night, Lio is once again woken by the sound of Yandere crying. But before he can think to talk to him again, he hears another, much deeper voice soothing him.

“I thought you were waiting for me to visit,” playfully chides the accented voice of Wilford, “What are all these tears for?”

“Y-You wouldn’t visit,” Yandere whimpers, “I started th-thinking that maybe, maybe it was m-me…”

“It wasn’t you,” Wilford says, ���It…it wasn’t you at all.” His voice sounds far away.

“Yami said what h-happened reminded you of…back then,” Yandere murmurs carefully, still sniffling a little. “I guess it makes s-sense.”

“I still feel bad,” Wilford admits, “You’d gotten hurt, by me no less, and all I did was stand there.” A pause. “I was too wrapped up in myself to worry about you.”

Lio is shocked. To call Wilford “self-involved” is an understatement, at least as far as Lio knew. He knew Wilford was feeling guilty, but for him to have such self-awareness is unexpected. Now Lio feels bad about eavesdropping, but it’s not like he can’t not hear what’s happening. Wilford’s voice carries even without him trying.

“It wasn’t your fault!” Yandere exclaims, “You didn’t mean to hurt me, and I’m fine now! Or I will be soon, Shishi said I only have to be here for a few more days.”

“I know,” Wilford sighs, “But then I went and made you upset while you were trying to get better. I knew I should see you, and I wanted to, I just…wasn’t sure if I could…manage.”

“I get it,” Yandere says softly, so quiet that Lio almost doesn’t hear it. “I have my own stuff. Not like you, but…we both have weird stuff in our brains.”

“That’s a way to describe it,” Wilford chuckles.

“I’m glad you came, though,” Yandere adds, “Even though it’s so late at night. Why now, anyway?”

“Figured I’d already waited too long,” Wilford says flippantly, “And besides, I knew you wouldn’t expect it! Was it a fun surprise?”

“Hai!” Yandere laughs, “But not so loud, Wil, if Shishi hears you and comes in he’ll get mad at you for visiting so late!”

“Oh, let Dr. Crabbypants get mad at me,” Wilford scoffs, “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Ah, now he’s starting to sound like the Wilford that Lio is more familiar with.

“I’m also tired,” Yandere giggles, “And if I try to stay up all night, Shishi’ll definitely notice in the morning. And if I’m really tired, I won’t be able to cover for you!”

“Well, if you insist, I suppose I’ll let you get some sleep,” Wilford chuckles, “But I’ll be back to bother you again tomorrow.”

“Promise?” Yandere asks earnestly.

“Of course, otouto,” Wilford answers, gentle and fond.

“Good,” Yandere says, audibly relieved. “I love you, onii-san.”

“Love you too, kid,” Wilford replies, before the signature poof of him teleporting away sounds from Yandere’s room.

The last sound Lio hears from Yandere’s room is a happy sigh and the rustling of Yandere settling into bed for sleep.

Lio does the same, feeling much better at heart than he did the night before.

#illinois jones #yandereplier #markiplier fanfiction #fanfic #whumptober2020 #markiplier #kristin says stuff #my writing #this is wholesome #don't get used to that asfhdskjhfkgf