#i hope you all liked this slice of whump

[fayes-fics]

A Welcome Intrusion

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: A drunken Bridgerton in the wrong room could be the start of something...

Warnings: none really... flirtatious drunken fluff, meet-cute.

Word Count: 1.3k

Authors Note: This idea has been lingering in my "wtf is this" pile of scenes I sometimes scribble down idly. I decided to add a little polish and make it a little one-shot, as I could not see it having a natural home in my other WIPs. I also have vague plans to do the same scene setup with Anthony as a character study of how their reactions would differ. Unbetaed. I hope you enjoy <3

You are sleeping fitfully - a stifling summer night makes even a thin cotton sheet too much to bear on your overheated skin - when your bedroom is rudely invaded. 

In your half-awake, bleary state, you are not even certain someone is in the room at first, your back being turned to the door. Indeed, it’s only when the mattress dips that you truly startle. You freeze, facing away, completely uncertain what to do with a stranger perched on the edge of your bed. 

Behind you, you hear someone undressing haphazardly, Clothing hitting the rug in soft whumps. Bile rises in your throat when the effort-filled grunt while doing so is decidedly male. 

There is a triumphant noise, and then a body flops back onto the mattress with a self-satisfied chuckle. After a few beats, all is still, and you steel yourself to speak.

“Kind sir,” you murmur, not daring to move, clinging to the far side, “please leave my room.”

There is a decidedly undignified squeal of shock, more akin to a young girl, him flipping over onto all fours next to you, the movement causing you to turn over in equal surprise.

You both stare at each other as if burned; you clutch the bedding high around your neck as he pants lightly, recovering from the apparent scare you gave him, his breath carrying the rich aroma of expensive brandy. In the shaft of moonlight leaking through the curtains, you see the curve of his cheekbone, the sharp line of his jaw. Whoever he is, he is very pretty. Very drunk, yes. But very pretty, too.

“What in god’s name are you doing in my bed?” he demands, sounding alarmed but mildly slurred with intoxication.

“You are in my bed!” you squeak back, knuckles tightening around the sheet you hold, even as your traitorous eyes roam lower, entirely without meaning to. A slice of lithe, freckled chest muscle flexing over ribs as he draws heavy breaths makes something deep inside you quake. You quickly dart your eyes back up to his face. 

“I think not! This has been my bedroom since I was three years old!” he attests with the blithe certainty alcohol provides.

Oh, so he must be a Bridgerton. That is perhaps an easy guess, seeing as you are staying at Aubrey Hall ahead of tomorrow’s midsummer Hearts and Flowers Ball.

“I don’t think they would assign a family bedroom to a guest,” you answer with a flare of sass.

“Yes, I quite agree. That’s why you should not be here,” he huffs indignantly. 

“I was shown here by the head housemaid. That is my trunk there, the footmen brought in,” you point out, gesturing across the room. 

He seems to ignore your argument but suddenly swings around almost violently, looking at the room.

“I don’t have that on my wall,” he frowns at a sizeable floral painting over a dresser.

“Maybe because this isn’t actually your bedroom?” you volley back with uncharacteristic brashness, likely a reaction to his presence affecting you the longer he remains.

He whips back and narrows his eyes at you. “Did Anthony put you up to this? Or Colin? Change my room around and hide you in my bed to fool me? Are you some doxy?” 

“How dare you, sir!!” you blanche, horrified at his coarse language and that he could think you are any sort of woman of such low morals.

“My sincerest apologies,” he immediately looks thoroughly contrite. “You do appear far too well-bred to be such. But it still does not explain your presence in my room.”

“No, it does not,” you answer through gritted teeth, annoyance flaring at his continued erroneous insistence. “And that is because this is not your room…. dunderhead!”

The ferocity with which you spit the last word has his face morphing into one of befuddled incredulity, a single eyebrow arching.

“Sorry, that was impertinent of me,” you flush, dropping your gaze ashamed.

No!” he rushes out, “I… I liked it,” the confession apparently takes him by surprise as much as it does you, judging by his confused frown at his own words.

But then he seems to shrug and nod decisively as if agreeing with himself before he looks back to you, shifting so the light colour of his eyes catches the moonbeam.

“Who are you?” he inquires, cocking his head to the side.

“Miss y/l/n,” you respond.

“I’m Benedict…”

“...BrIdgerton,” you finish for him. “I assume, based on the fact you have a childhood bedroom here.”

He laughs; a rich, resonant sound that makes your insides jolt.

“Indeed,” he smiles, the ivory of his teeth catching the light. Again, you are drawn to how pretty he seems to be. “I am… quite intoxicated, Miss y/l/n”, he confesses, clutching a hand to his chest as if holding a doffed cap, “‘tis entirely possible I am indeed not in the correct bedroom.”

“I would venture that to be the correct assessment,” you offer with a meek smile.

“I sincerely apologise, yet again,” his face contrite as he shuffles into a kneeling position, his palms resting upturned on his thighs as if seeking forgiveness. 

The problem is all your eyes can do is slide down his bare torso, lingering in places they shouldn’t—like the swell of his pectorals, the dip of his waist, and the pull of material at the junction of his thighs just a few inches above where his palms rest….

“I suppose it is only fair I let you look, seeing as I so rudely interrupted your sleep,” he comments dryly.

Your eyes jerk back to his face, met with a pointedly raised eyebrow and a knowing crooked smirk. You feel your cheeks aflame and bow your head, biting your lip, knowing you have been thoroughly caught in your ogling.

“I… I apologise, sir,” you mumble quietly, “I… I have not seen a man without a shirt before…” you admit in a whisper. 

“And do you like what you see?” he teases, tone etched with beguiling menace, his mouth twisted into an intrigued pout as you dare to raise your gaze again.

“I… I…,” you falter, knowing that admitting such would be scandalous.

“Your secret is safe with me, Miss y/l/n,” he winks, “and I hope I am forgiven.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” you bustle out, tugging the bedding high under your chin again, wanting desperately to conceal the flush you know is creeping over your skin with every second spent in his half-naked presence.

“I suppose I should take my leave,” he sighs, his cadence reluctant, perhaps hoping you will dispute his assessment.

“That would be… the most prudent course of action,” you nod even though your fingertips itch to grab his hand and ask him to stay for reasons you don’t entirely understand.

He slides off the bed and scoops up his discarded shirt, a moderately unsteady gait as he tugs it back onto his body. 

“Goodnight, Miss y/l/n,” he bows with a touch of comedic chivalry before he takes his leave. You cannot help but stare at his shapely rear as he walks towards the door.

“Goodnight, Mr Bridgerton,” you call softly, and before you can stop yourself, more words are spilling from your lips, something about this man making you daring. “I do so hope you will offer me a dance at the ball tomorrow to make amends for this intrusion.” 

Even you are astounded by your words. Benedict pauses, his hand frozen on the door handle as he turns back around slowly, his mien surprised.

“It would be my pleasure,” he rumbles after a pause, a tingle running through your being.

“Until tomorrow, Mr Bridgerton,” you offer, heart pounding. 

“Until tomorrow indeed, Miss y/l/n,” the velvet of his voice tickling your skin long after the door snicks closed behind him.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaa @urfavnoirette

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

[maraschinomerry]

Hi! Could you please write a Lockwood x reader fic involving the prompt: You aren't well, but you don't want to skip training and make them worry, so you continue on as usual, thinking it's not that serious. But that's proven wrong when you faint right in front of them mid-fight. Mixed with the dialogue: "You hold it like this and- why are your hands trembling?" Thank you in advance! 💙

Pretty Boy

Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x gn!reader

Content: mild swearing, whump (fainting as in the prompt), mentions of not eating or sleeping, cute flirty ending

A/N: thank you for such a great request!! I've actually also just got over being not well while I was writing this (I'm fine now and wasn't this bad!) so it was weirdly cathartic 😅

Word count: 2.3k

The blissful quiet of the kitchen at 35 Portland Row was shattered by an incredibly loud, almost violent sneeze. You threw your arm across your face just in time to catch it. That was weird. You never sneezed.

"Bless you," Lockwood frowned over the top of his magazine.

That was day 1.

On day 2, you were all out on a case, in a dilapidated Victorian house. In a divide-and-conquer strategy for such a big place, Lockwood and George had headed upstairs while you and Lucy stayed on the ground floor. Fumbling around in the dim light of the dining room, Lucy threw open the curtains to let in what was left of the evening sun, accidentally unleashing a cloud of dust which shimmered in the beam of your torch. You both coughed a little in surprise.

Your coughing didn't stop for the rest of the night.

Day 3 was spent relaxing, recovering from getting home in the early hours of the morning after a gruelling fight with a pair of Type Twos. Or rather, everyone else was relaxing. You were in your room, fluctuating between wrapping your shivering form in your duvet and throwing it off so you wouldn't melt into a puddle. The bowl of soup you'd made yourself for lunch grew cold where it sat untouched on your bedside table.

A sleepless night heralded the arrival of day 4. Your symptoms had mostly abated by the evening, and you desperately hoped to claw back a few hours of rest. By dinner time, bleary-eyed, you forced yourself downstairs to try and get at least one meal of the day. Fortunately, the kitchen was empty, so at least you didn't have to explain your recent lack of presence to anyone. Unfortunately, none of the contents of the fridge were even remotely appealing right now. You settled for a slice of toast which you took back upstairs. Two bites in, you felt your stomach flip. Great. The rest went straight in the bin.

A gentle knock sounded on your door the morning of day 5, after another night of tossing and turning without ever drifting off.

"Yeah?" you called wearily.

Lockwood poked his head in, dressed in a loose Henley T-shirt and sweatpants. "Morning. Just thought I'd check you were alright, you didn't come down for training." Oh shit. You and Lockwood had been doing weekly training together for months - it started not long after you joined the agency, when he'd come down to the basement for practice and found you already there, and you'd ended up sparring. It had happened a few more times, and eventually you fell into the habit of both going down on Friday mornings so much it became an unofficial appointment.

"Oh, sorry," you swallowed a yawn. "I lost track of what day it was. Give me five minutes."

"I sort of assumed you weren't coming down dressed Iike that." He nodded to your fuzzy pyjamas with a smirk, and you tugged shyly at the hem of the top. "Have you had breakfast?"

"Yeah." That was a lie. Lockwood studied you for a moment, and you wondered if he could see right through you, but then he nodded to himself.

"Alright, see you downstairs." He began to leave, but popped back at the last second. "I'm not saying the pyjamas are a bad look, by the way, they're cute, just maybe a bit warm for fighting in." He grinned again, and disappeared. What was that supposed to mean?

—

Five minutes later, as promised, you traipsed down the basement steps in runner shorts and a tank top. This was the last thing you wanted to be doing right now, but you loved getting one-on-one time with Lockwood and knew how much it would hurt him to break the tradition and how concerned he'd be about you if he found out you'd been ill.

Lockwood gave you another puzzled look. "Are you sure you're okay?" He'd seen you this low energy before, but normally only the day after a case.

You gave the most convincing smile you could muster. "Fine. What's the plan?"

He furrowed his brows once more, before apparently deciding against whatever he was thinking. "Okay, there was a new move I figured out on the last case. I thought I could teach you and see if you think it's any good?" That last part sounded so open and vulnerable. You could imagine what he was thinking - was it a fluke? Was it him overselling his talents? Did it look ridiculous? He got like that sometimes, needed snapping out of it. Reassuring. Your smile was more genuine this time.

"Sounds good, it certainly seemed effective."

You tried your best to concentrate while Lockwood demonstrated the move, really you did, but you were running on empty and the basement was so delightfully cool. Maybe if you just lay down on the floor for a bit, you'd sort yourself out.

"Did you get that?" Lockwood's voice cut through the fog of your thoughts, and you dragged your eyes up to meet his, which were nodding to your hands. You hadn't the slightest idea what it was he expected you to have got.

"Uhh…"

To your relief, he mistook your distraction for confusion and stepped closer to help, carefully off to one side to avoid the blade as his hands rested over yours.

"You hold it like this and- why are your hands trembling?"

You barely registered the alarm in his voice, or the uncontrollable tremor that was indeed present and spreading up your arms. Nothing in your body seemed to be responding properly any more. Did you still have hold of the rapier? Why was your chest so tight, not allowing any air in? An invisible wad had trapped in your throat, and you desperately sucked in a breath through your nose. Gosh, Lockwood smelled good. Lavender and bergamot. And he was pretty, too. So pretty. Those deep dark eyes, gazing at you with so much longing. No, not longing. He didn't do that, did he? Plus, he was frowning too much for longing. Concern? You didn't like it when he frowned. You tried to pout, but your lips didn't move. That was annoying. So were the lights. Had they always been this bright? It hurt. Everything hurt. You needed to leave. Now.

Panic took hold of the last working corner of your brain and sent a jolt of electricity down to your legs which finally reacted, carrying you shakily towards the stairs. You muttered something incoherent, mouth not quite as functional. The effort drained the last dregs of energy, and your legs stopped working again.

"Whoa, whoa-" a voice behind you gasped, hasty footsteps echoing. Who was that? There was someone else down here, wasn't there? You couldn't remember. Wait. There was a pretty boy, right? He seemed nice. You tried to tell him you were okay, you wanted to. As you pitched backwards, the silhouette of the pretty boy swam into view, blocking out the harsh lights above. That was better.

Everything went black.

—

You were laying somewhere warm and soft. That was odd. And it was less bright behind your eyelids. Where were you? Hadn't you been down in the basement? With the cold floor and the cold lights… and the pretty boy? Was he still here?

You tried to call out for him, succeeding only in a groan. The surface beneath you shifted by your feet in response, and your eyelids fluttered open a fraction. There he was. Framed by the golden rays filtering through the window behind him and dappling across his dark hair.

"Hey, pretty boy," you murmured. Proper words; that was more like it. Next step: opening your eyes fully.

Ah.

The pretty boy was Lockwood, brows knitted upwards as he shuffled further up what you gradually realised was your bed.

"Hey." His voice was thick, with the hint of a shake. "How are you feeling?"

You groaned again, moving to sit up. Lockwood instantly reached out, one hand on the small of your back and the other lifting the pillows to prop up behind you. "Been better."

Under any other circumstances, you think he'd probably have laughed. As it was, he huffed out a breath and you spotted a brief tic in his jaw. "That's a mild way of putting it. You collapsed in the middle of training. I had no idea what happened, I thought…" His gaze dropped to his lap as he trailed off. The silence clenched tightly around your heart. Eventually, he spoke again, still not looking at you, voice cracking and barely above a whisper. "I was so worried about you."

The tension in your chest pressed down further, and you thought you actually heard your heart shatter.

"Hey, Lockwood, look at me." You raised a hand, still trembling but for an entirely new reason, up to cup his cheek. At last, he looked. Those beautiful dark eyes were watery, and his nose ruffled as he tried to hold back the tears. "I'm okay, see? I'm here, I'm okay, and I'm so sorry for making you worry."

A warmth spread over the back of your hand as he brought his up to meet it. His fingers curled over yours, thumb rubbing calmingly across your knuckles. Whether the calming was for you or him, you couldn't say. "But are you sure you're okay? People don't just collapse like that, and you've been out all day." Your eyes widened a little as you glanced at your alarm clock. Almost 6. Wow.

"Honestly, it's nothing serious. Kind of stupid, actually; the irony is it all happened because I didn't want you to worry." That made him chuckle. That was promising. You continued. "I was ill - I don't know if it was a cold or flu or what - but that wasn't great to begin with, and then with it ruining my ability to eat and sleep I just… didn't have anything left to give."

You don't know what reaction you expected from Lockwood: frustration, confusion, disappointment perhaps. You certainly weren't expecting him to look quite so… guilty? "Why didn't you say something when I came to find you? We could have cancelled training." It came out sharper than you were expecting. Oh. There was where the guilt came in.

"I didn't want to break the tradition."

"To hell with the tradition if this is what it does to you!"

You faltered. Was it just your current condition, or had your mouth gone very dry? "Wait, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" You took a steadying breath. "It's not just that. I don't mean it like it's some obligation. I love our sessions! Getting to have that time just for us, having it be our thing, it's the highlight of my week. And it's been a pretty shitty week so I wanted this one thing to be nice."

The fire in Lockwood's words died out, and he almost visibly deflated. His free hand reached up unexpectedly to brush a strand of hair from your face.

"Well, I'm glad it means that much to you, but next time will you please tell me when something's wrong? I can survive missing our date more than I can survive missing you."

Hold on.

You were definitely still ill. Your cheeks felt warm and your heart was pounding against your ribcage. That was the only possible explanation. Definitely nothing to do with the fact that the boy you'd been in love with for months had just called your training sessions a date. Oh god, you'd infected him too, his face was flushed. "Date?" you breathed.

"Only if you want it to be, of course, I don't want to jump to conclusions. Although you did call me 'pretty boy' barely five minutes ago, so I'm sure even George would agree with the legitimacy of my hypothesis." Oh, how you'd missed seeing that smirk he'd grown all of a sudden.

"I'm not entirely sure you can take the high ground on this one, love, when you said even more recently how you couldn't survive without me."

"I think so long as I'm right I can. Especially since, if we're going off who said something last, you couldn't even argue without calling me love."

"I wish we were still holding rapiers, I've got a chance of beating you at that."

Lockwood laughed, all earlier emotions replaced with nothing but tender affection. "Get some sleep, and then we can test that theory." He made to leave, but where your hands were still entwined you tightened your grip a little.

"Will you stay? Please? In case I didn't make it clear enough with fainting, I haven't been doing so great at the whole sleep thing."

When he nodded, you wriggled over to one side of the bed, allowing him to slip under the covers behind you. Everything about him felt cosy, and you snuggled towards that feeling. It took him aback for a moment until he draped an arm over your stomach, gently tugging you closer so the two of you slotted together like you'd been designed to fit one another from the start. His breath tickled your ear, but its constant rhythm slowed yours in turn. Your eyelids grew heavy.

"You know," you mumbled sleepily, "you could take me on a proper date. Only if you want to, of course, wouldn't want to jump to conclusions."

He squeezed you playfully. "I think I've got enough evidence to consider it. Lunch tomorrow if you feel up to it?" You hummed a contented agreement. As your eyes drifted shut, a feather-light kiss pressed against your temple. "Good night, love."

"Good night, pretty boy."

#lockwood & co fanfic #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #gn!reader #lockwood & co

[squishablesunbeam]

✨A Sort of Whumpy Writer's Block Ask Game✨

Currently in the throes of a many months long writer's block, as I know we have all experienced! So, have a game with zero pressure to actually break out of the block! Slightly geared towards whump writers but all may play!

🎬 What was the very first scene or image that popped into your head before you ever wrote a word for your OC?

🎭 Can you envision your OC in an alternate universe? What au would you choose and what role would they be in that world?

😍 What made you truly fall in love with your OC and made you want to continue their story?

🗺 Is there some place your OC would love to go or something your OC would love to do but likely could never happen within the boundaries of your story?

🚥 Is there a character choice or plotline that you regret but is now canon and you feel like you can't change it?

🔨 Are there any whump tropes that you'd love to see your OC's reactions to even though you couldn't or wouldn't put it into your actual story for whatever reason?

✂ Is there a plotline that you'd planned to write but for whatever reason has been abandoned?

📫 Have you changed a significant plot or character choice solely due to your reader's reactions to previous chapters? Are you happy with the result?

😎 Pick one thing about your OC and describe it in detail. (their smile, their eyes, the way they walk, their voice, etc.)

🙈 What, if any, aspect of your OC is a little slice of you put down on paper? A little quirk, personality trait, mannerism, view of the world, etc.?

🤯 Is there a plotline that you feel is too complex or overwhelming for any reason and you know you'll likely never write it but you think about it longingly from time to time?

🧜‍♂️ If your OC could choose to be a nonhuman character, what do you think they would choose? If they are a nonhuman character, would they choose to be human or another sort of nonhuman character?

📃 List a few words, without any explanation, that have to do with ideas you have for future stories or chapters that may or may not ever get written.

🥇 Pick one aspect of your story that you are particularly fond of. Anything at all.

🪁 Are there other writer's OCs that you think your OC would really get along with?

🔪 Are there any other writer's whumper/whumpee OCs you think would be particularly interesting for your OC to engage with?

🧿 Whether you actually get there or not, what are your hopes for your OC's future?

⏳ Would you honestly prefer for your story to have a satisfying, completed end, or would you prefer to continue to forever tell pieces of their story until the end of time?

#ask game #whump ask game #writer ask game #play if you like! #desperate to find a way to engage in between migraines! #as is my current reality 🙄 #whump

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Five Fics Friday: December 29/23

Happy Final Five Fics Friday of 2023, everyone! I hope you're going into your long weekend ready to chillax and have a great time! Why not sit down with one (or ALL!) of these fantastic fanfics to get into it! Enjoy, and love y'all! :)

RECENT JOHNLOCK MFLs

Not a Word by notjustmom (NR, 114 w., 1 Ch. || Dancing, Christmas) – Just them dancing in Baker Street.

Again by DiscordantWords (M, 9,953 w., 24 Ch. || Post S4, Christmas / Advent, Wishes, Second Chances, Grief/Mourning, Angst with Happy Ending) – It never seemed like the right time. And then time ran out. [TRANSLATION: Русский]

Full Mount by ArwaMachine (E, 37,619+ w., 7/10 Ch. || WIP || Post-TRF, Fighting, John Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Bed Sharing, Mixed Martial Arts, Angry John, Sherlock and No Boundaries, Masturbation, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fighting, Toplock, Reunion) – After Sherlock unceremoniously returns from the dead, John finds himself inexplicably angry all the time. So he does what any emotionally-constipated British man does: he joins a Mixed Martial Arts gym. As John throws himself into the sport and joins in on underground no-holds-barred brawls, situations arise that just might force John to face what is really going on underneath all the rage.

RECENTLY BOOKMARKED LOKIUS FICS

might just have been you by markofalover (T, 2,395 w., 1 Ch. || LOKI SERIES || Lokius, Post-S2, Recovered Memories, Mutual Pining, Reunions, First Kiss) – The thing about Ohio, is that Mobius isloki n’t limited to one slice of key lime pie per week.

Let Time Pass by sharkbait33 (G, 2,759 w., 1 Ch. || LOKI SERIES || Lokius, Post S2, S02E06 Fix It, Reunions, Sad Mobius, Pining Mobius, Protective Loki, Forehead Touching, Angsty Fluff, Timey-Wimey) – Loki’s resolve is only as strong as their want to see them happy. All of them. Mobius doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to go; he doesn’t want to stay. So, where does that leave him?

#my fic recs #five fics friday #lokius fic recs #johnlock fic recs #loki fic recs

[whumping-valentine]

🦌 Fawn and Hunter - Part 5 🦌

"Cabin Colds"

Content: Sick Whumpee, Carewhumper

1100 Words

Hey it's part five! Who likes sick whumpees and caretaking whumpers? 👀

This part is short and simple, but it was a way for me to vent when I was sick last week, lol. The parts will get longer and more complex as we go though, so you can look forward to that!

I really wanna try and get this little story done, because afterwards I'm gonna be posting my story on Valentine, which I'm itching to share with you all. God, I can't wait for y'all to meet Valentine and Vittoria, man. It's gonna be great. But anyways, I hope you like this tiny little slice of sick whump!

       Fawn barely slept a wink that night, how could they? Tied up and in pain isn't exactly the utmost form of comfort.

       Ironically enough, it was warmer down in the basement. Though that's probably due to the numerous broken windows around the cabin, closed off with nothing more than wooden planks and tattered blankets. And last night they just added another one to the list.

       That's how Fawn would sleep for the next week. Their days consisted of the same old things, being taunted, condescended, sometimes slapped and pulled by the hair. Being treated as some pretty pet, or lowly companion. Eating nothing besides venison. It was all starting to take its toll on the poor thing.

As the days continued to tick by Fawn slowly came to the realization that they were going to be here for quite a while... unfortunately. They didn't want to completely give up hope just yet, but Hunter was quite experienced with this sort of thing, so it was apparent.

       One night, Fawn fell asleep with a sore throat, and woke up completely sick. It was freezing, but they also felt hot, all at once. Their head was pounding, their nose was running, and every muscle in their body was aching. It was pure, absolute misery, and worst of all they weren’t sure how Hunter was going to react to it. Whether or not they were going to be comforting or neglectful, Fawn liked neither option.

       Though they’ll accept any help by this point, they couldn’t just lay here, they simply couldn’t. They tried to call out to their captor, though their sore throat didn’t allow it. All they could do was cough, and a short while later, it was enough to catch their attention. All it took was one look at the poor thing for Hunter to tell they were sick. They crossed their arms and leaned their shoulder against the door frame.

       “Feelin’ bad, baby?”

       Fawn coughed, “Yes.”

       The sound of their voice made Hunter widen their eyes in surprise, “Oh, wow, you really are, poor thing." They said, still talking down to them, "Need some help?”

        Fawn would normally bicker and bite, but in this instance said, “Please.”

       Hunter didn’t waste a second going to untie them. Rope marks stained their wrists and ankles, which were growing more frail as the days ticked by as Fawn slowly lost weight and strength.

       Hunter picked them up bridal style, and carried them down to the basement, into a new room that was previously kept behind a locked door. A secret, cozy place that was actually rather nice, and well kept. They laid Fawn down on a couch, lit a fireplace, then covered them up with a thick quilted blanket. They left for a few minutes and returned with a cold washcloth, which they placed on their feverish forehead.

       “Do you want something to eat?”

       “No.”

       “Wanna rest?”

        “Yes.”

       Hunter gently lifted their head, sat down, and placed it on their lap. They ran slow fingers through their hair. They chuckled, “What, too sick to yell at me for this, are you?”

       Fawn simply peeked their eyes open, glared at them, and closed them again.

       “I see, I see. You can yell at me when you’re better.” They said, placing a hand on their head as they dragged their fingers through their now coarse hair. Fawn hated it, hated that their captor of all people was being so intimate and caring. They always hated it, but in this instance they were far too sickly to even think of biting back.

       Their head was pounding, fever burning, body sweating. Their throat was sore, it was hard to breathe, and they found themself asking for a tissue every few minutes. Their body ached, they felt nauseous, their stomach was upset, and every muscle in their body hurt. Their skin was sensitive to the touch, and they were tired as all hell but couldn’t find it in them to fall asleep.

       They weren’t sure what exactly they had, but it was probably the sickest they had ever felt in their entire life. Really, they probably had more than one thing. Being held out in an old, dirty cabin with deer carcasses all over the place is a pretty good guarantee that you’re going to catch something. Hunter was surely used to the conditions, but Fawn clearly was not.

       Eventually Fawn managed to drift off to sleep without even realizing. When they awoke again they were still there, head in Hunter’s lap. Hunter looked down at their sleepy eyes, and took the washcloth off their head to check their temperature with the back of their hand. They asked, “You feelin’ any better?”

       Fawn’s only response was a meek, hoarse, “Thirsty.”

       Hunter got up, gently laying them back down as they went to fetch a canteen of water. When they returned, they helped Fawn sit up as they held the canteen to their lips as they gulped down the whole thing at once. It felt difficult, uncomfortable, and painful to swallow due to their sore, swollen throat, but they persisted despite it.

       “Want me to grab you something to eat, too?” Hunter asked. Fawn thought for a moment, and slightly nodded.

       Hunter left to the kitchen once again, and ravaged through the old, dusty cupboards for something to feed them that wasn’t meat. They grabbed an old soup can, checked the date, and to their surprise it was still good. They rinsed a dusty bowl and poured the soup into it. They warmed it up over the stove, and retreated back down to the basement.

       "I thought you'd like something other than venison." Hunter said, sitting back down with Fawn, "How does vegetable soup sound?"

       Fawn could practically cry tears of joy. “great.”

       Fawn's head laid on Hunter's shoulder, one of their arms around them as the other fed them soup like a child. Fawn was far too sick to get upset about it, accepting the gesture with gratitude. They closed their eyes as Hunter fed them spoonfuls.

The warm, crackling fire paired with their fever made them just about ready to fall asleep. They were so feverish and tired that they even found it comforting when Hunter gently rubbed their hand up and down their back. If they had any sense of clarity in their head, they’d find the gentle gestures and caretaking insulting.

       Hunter finished feeding them the soup, placing the empty bowl on a nearby table. They looked down at the sickly thing in their arms, "Hm. I think it's time for bed, Fawn."

       "Says who?" Fawn mumbled, the soreness present in their tone.

       "Says me. You’re already falling asleep. And more sleep will do you good.”

       “What do you care.”

       “I care because I’d like to take care of my pet, that’s what.” They said, grabbing onto them as they both laid down. Fawn wanted so badly to fight against the gestures, but couldn't. They weren't sure if it was because of how ill they felt, or if it was because they actually liked it.

They hoped it wasn't the second one.

       Hunter held Fawn to their chest, their arms wrapped around them, both curled up under the blanket.

       Well, I suppose it's better than being tied to a bed. And, I guess there could always be worse creepy serial killers to be taken by...

Taglist: @parasitebunny

^^ If you want added, lmk!

#fawn and hunter #whump #whump blog #whump community #whumpblr #whump things #my writing #whump writing #sick whump #carewhumper

[mj-iza-writer]

Triggers: pet whump, naked Whumpee, whipping, dehumanization.

Whumpee shivered on the concrete floor of their cell.

They could hear footsteps coming down the hall leading to them. Every step made their heart sink.

They almost cried when they heard the keys greet the lock of their door.

"Get in position", the order came.

Whumpee scrambled to their knees and raised their hands up and behind their head. Their naked form now exposed to Whumper

"Doing well? I see some bruising from yesterday, that makes me happy", Whumper examined their work.

"Yes ma-master", Whumpee chattered their teeth while they spoke.

"Aww are you cold?", Whumper frowned, it seemed like they may have cared, maybe a little.

Whumpee looked at Whumper with a pleadful expression, hoping in this one second to have some mercy. Whumpee slightly nodded their head.

"Okay, let's see what we can do about that", Whumper smiled comfortingly, "go ahead and lay down on your stomach."

Whumpee complied, not wanting to ruin their chance of warmth.

Whumper turned to face a guard, if only Whumpee had seen the mocking grin Whumper made.

A sickening sound filled the room. Before Whumpee could react a sharp slice whipped across their back.

Whumpee cried out as they tried to crawl away.

Whumper only followed and continued slicing their whip at Whumpee's backside. By the time Whumper was finished Whumpee's back and butt were covered in red stipes.

Whumper felt the markings and grinned, "there, nice and warm. Isn't that better?"

Whumpee winced but nodded quickly. They didn't want to chance another beating.

"Good, I'm so glad", Whumper mocked, "I wasn't sure what I was going to do to you today, so I'm glad it all worked out."

Whumper mocked Whumpee on their way out of the room, making the guard laugh.

Whumpee collapsed to the floor, they shook as they curled in on themself. They cried loudly as their beaten skin stretched out.

Later that same day Whumpee weakly watched as the door opened again, they tried to keep their shivering to a minimum.

"Oh good, you're already in position", Whumper grinned, "are you cold still?"

"N-no master I-I'm okay", Whumpee shook, "I've learned my lesson master."

"Oh, what a shame" Whumper reached outside of the room and grabbed a blanket.

They held it up and watched Whumpee's shoulders drop, "I was actually going to let you have a blanket, but if you're alright, I guess I'll change my mind on that."

Whumper watched as tears formed in Whumpee's eyes.

Whumpee shook, "please", Whumpee whispered pleadingly as they held out their hands, hoping their pitiful pleas wouldn't be ignored, "please", they squeaked.

"Didn't you just say you were fine. You're not lying are you", Whumper couldn't hide their smile, "liars get punished."

"Have mercy on me master", Whumpee fell to the floor, "please have mercy."

"Disgraceful", Whumper sounded disgusted, "you are a disgrace. Why should I have mercy on you? You're just a useless prisoner."

Whumpee sobbed as they forced themself to crawl to Whumper's feet and kiss their shoes, "I know, I'm sorry", they begged.

"I will allow you to have the blanket on one condition", Whumper knelt down and gripped Whumpee's chin.

Whumpee allowed their head to be lifted to look Whumper eye to eye.

"Anything ma-master, please", Whumpee side glanced the blanket.

"So desperate", Whumper harshly squeezed Whumpee's cheeks.

"Mmm", Whumpee winced.

"I want a pet, I think you will do nicely", Whumper tilted Whumpee's head up to look them over, a pleased expression crossed their face.

"A-a pet?", Whumpee questioned.

"Yes, you will be trained of course, but you will receive better treatment, better food. You can come upstairs into the house once you're well trained and obedient", Whumper released their chin.

Whumpee's head bobbed down.

"I'll even give you a few rewards as you complete your training task", Whumper looked around, "your cell could become quite comfortable if you try hard enough."

Whumpee looked down.

"You don't have to decide today, but I will expect an answer by tomorrow", Whumper stood, "I'll let you have the blanket tonight. Maybe you can have a glimpse of the good life."

"Will I still get hurt?", Whumpee whispered, "and can I have clothes... please."

"It depends on your obedience, I won't cause pain if I don't have to", Whumper smiled, "my pets are taken care of quite well as long as you do as you're told."

"As for the clothes we can figure out something, although I prefer my pet naked. We can compromise a little", Whumper walked to the door, "I'll be back to see you for your answer in the morning."

Whumpee hurried to wrap the blanket around themself, their shivering slowly went away. It almost felt like a bit of heat was being pushed into the cell.

"They said that I might get treated better if I go along with it", Whumpee thought out loud, "I've had enough of this down here, but is it worth becoming a pet."

Whumpee felt their eyes get heavy. They realized this was the first bit of comfort they'd received in a while.

"I-I didn't get attacked either", Whumpee tried their best to stay awake.

Whumper watched from a camera. A smile cut across their face.

"I've finally broken them down", Whumper spoke to a guard, "I may get my pet sooner than I thought."

"They went to sleep", the guard zoomed in, "should I wake them up."

"No, I want them to see some good treatment now. I want them to see how good they could have it", Whumper sighed, "let's give them some better food for dinner as well."

"Dinner", a guard slammed the door open, "Master asked that you get something special, if you like this, just imagine what food you'll get as a pet", they promptly left after setting the dish down.

Whumper watched Whumpee cautiously crawl to the food and curiously pick at it.

Whumpee took a small bite, their eyes lit up as they took another bite.

Actual food.... Whumpee couldn't believe it.

Whumper watched happily, "I'll be getting a pet soon", they sang.

The next morning Whumpee waited for the door to open. They quietly got into their position.

Whumper walked in and eyed the empty food dish.

"I see you enjoyed your dinner last night", Whumper smiled, "is there something you'd like to say to me."

"Y-yes sir", Whumpee smiled, "thankyou for the food."

"You're welcome, and what else?", Whumper listened impatiently.

"I though a lot of what you said, at first I was going to say no", Whumpee froze when they saw Whumper shift, "I'm sorry, I accept, please have mercy", Whumpee squeezed their eyes shut waiting to be hit.

They jumped when Whumper's hand patted their cheek.

Whumpee felt something wrap around their neck and tighten. Two metal objects poked into their throat.

"Just so we're clear", Whumper chuckled, and Whumpee heard something click.

Whumpee fell to the ground as electricity coursed down their spine.

When it stopped they weakly looked up at Whumper. They panted, trying to catch their breath.

Whumper leaned against the wall, "just so we're clear, if you do not act as you are supposed to you'll get zapped. That collar will teach you to mind your manners."

Whumpee shook as they continued to feel the after shocks.

"Am I clear?", Whumper grinned.

Whumpee whimpered as they watched Whumper's finger hover the button.

"Y-yes mas-master", Whumpee fell to the floor and held onto Whumper's feet, "pl-please don't shock me again."

"Good", Whumper turned to leave, "follow me, we'll go on a tour of the house. When you are properly trained you'll be able to stay up there with me."

Whumpee didn't budge.

Whumper turned, "why aren't you coming?"

"I'm s-sorry, I wasn't sure if you wanted me to crawl or walk Master", Whumpee looked down.

"That is a good question", Whumper thought to themself, "crawl."

I'm sorry it's taken forever to post stories. I've been busy with work, and family. Plus, I'm trying to finally move out of my parents home so I can hopefully be in a safer situation. I hope you enjoyed the story. -MJ

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109

[herrmannhalsteadproduction]

That Herrmann/Halstead DNA (Chapter Three)

Summary: This is Part Twenty-One of my series A Herrmann/Halstead Production. It is an AU where Christopher Herrmann's mom had an affair with Pat Halstead resulting in a baby. The series follows this OC character (Rebecca "Bex" Herrmann) as she grows up and gets to know her brothers and the various Chicago teams. It is very much an AU, just to underscore that. It doesn't follow the same timeline and characters will follow different paths.

Click here for the Series Rundown where you can find the links to read all of the previous installments (which I highly recommend you do so that this one makes sense.)

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Christopher Herrmann & Original Female Character, Jay Halstead & Original Female Character, Will Halstead & Original Female Character, Jay Halstead & Will Halstead, Greg 'Mouse' Gerwitz/Original Female Character, Will Halstead/Connor Rhodes, Assorted OC Couples

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Assault, Stabbing, Gunshot Wounds, Blood and Injury, Whump, Trauma, Eventual Hopeful Ending

A/N: I received my degree from the medical school of Television Drama which means while things might not (*cough* will not *cough*) be accurate, they will be exciting. *jazz hands*

Chapter One Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Jay

“I can’t—” Bex mumbled as her eyes rolled back. Her legs went out from under her and Jay caught her before she hit the ground, gently gathering her into his arms.

He didn’t want to hurt her anymore by moving her, but they needed to check her out and see how bad the damage was. Her skin was so pale she looked—

No. Jay shook his head. He couldn’t let himself even think that word.

Hailey kept close while he carried Bex over to the couch. “Where’s that second ambulance?” she yelled over her shoulder.

Jay carefully set Bex down. “Bex?” He tapped her cheek lightly and her head lolled to the side. “Hey, come on. Come on, sweetie, open your eyes.”

“Ambo’s a minute out,” Voight said, coming up to stand behind them. “How’s she doing?”

“Not responding, but still breathing,” Jay said. He didn’t like the sound of those breaths though.

“Jay, her side’s bleeding.” Hailey pointed at the slice over Bex’s hip that was leaking blood sluggishly onto the couch.

Shit. He tugged up Bex’s tank top a few inches to get a better look at it, but it didn’t seem too deep. If the damn ambulance would finally get here, they could—

Wait.

The edge of a red mark caught his eye. It was peaking out from under Bex’s shirt and he moved the fabric up further to try and figure out exactly what he was seeing.

He couldn’t wrap his brain around it.

Didn’t want to, really, because it—it looked like—

“Jay, what are you…” Hailey’s voice died off as she got a good look at the red mark along Bex’s ribs. One that was going to be a hellish bruise when in finally came up.

One shaped like a shoe print.

He barely heard Voight’s muttered “sonuvabitch” over the rush of blood in his ears.

That bastard.

That fucking bastard.

A groan came from behind the couch as Ty stirred. “What the hell?” he moaned. “Fucking cu—”

“You’re gonna want to shut your mouth right now if you know what’s good for you,” Ruzek snapped out and there was a thump as something knocked Ty back down to the ground.

It wasn’t enough. Jay needed him to hurt. To look in his eyes and be the one to put pain there.

He lightly pulled Bex’s shirt back down, mindful of her wounds, and stroked a thumb over her hand. Taking a breath, Jay went to stand—

Only to be pulled by down by a firm hand at his elbow.

“That’s not what she needs right now,” Hailey said, holding tight when he tried to shake her off. “She needs you here.”

A hot fury was steadily choking its way up his throat and all he could get out was a strangled, “Hailey.”

“No.” She yanked him back down to his knees and he landed with a thud. “Bex is going to wake up any second and need to see your face, Jay,” she said. “I’m not about to tell her you’re locked up in the back of a squad car. Don’t make me do that.”

Jay warred with himself over it. He could pull out of her grasp. Easily. No one else in this room would stop him from dealing with Ty. There’d be consequences—or more likely some kind of price, knowing Voight, but he’d gladly pay it a hundred times over.

Then Bex made a pained noise.

Tiny and soft, but it was enough to cut through the screaming racket in his brain. What the hell was he doing? Closing his eyes briefly, Jay sighed and then looked over at Hailey. She searched his eyes for a moment before nodding as she let go of his arm, apparently satisfied by what she saw.

He’d just leaned over Bex, ready to try and wake her again when the piercing wail of an ambulance filled the doorway. Finally. Jay moved back and gave the paramedics room to work as they clattered into the room.

Something eased inside of Jay when they attached the monitor to Bex and it beeped strong and loud with her steady heartbeat.

Everything was a whirlwind after that. They had Bex up on the gurney and were whisking her off toward the ambulance as the next team was coming in to load up Ty.

Voight shouted instructions for them to take him to Lakeshore instead of Med; sending Tay and another patrol officer along with him. Good. He shouldn’t be anywhere near Bex and Emery.

“Someone call Chris,” Jay shouted over his shoulder as he followed Bex’s gurney out of the house. He kept a hand on her leg and hopped up into the ambo to sit beside her.

She started blinking her eyes as they took off. “Wha—”

“Hey,” Jay said, instantly sliding up the bench seat so she could see him. “It’s okay. I’m here, Bex. It’s Jay. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

***

Kim

On her third call to Herrmann, it was still going straight to voicemail. Part of Kim was relieved. She really didn’t want to be the one to break this news to him.

“I think his phone is off,” she told Voight. “Maybe they’re on a call?”

A muscle in his jaw ticked as he looked over the scene, weighing their next steps most likely.

“Call the station,” he said. “At least find out where he is and we’ll go there if we have to.”

***

Will

“Hey, you.”

Will looked up from his charts and grinned over at Connor. “Hey, yourself.”

Connor stood beside him, leaning up against the nurses’ station. “So, I was thinking about tonight—”

“Right, I meant to ask you,” Will said, chewing on his lip at he tapped away on his tablet. “Are you sure it’s okay for Kol to come? He gets barky sometimes and I don’t want you getting in trouble with your neighbours.” He peeked over at Connor. “We can leave him at my place. Bex’ll be there after her date.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Connor said quickly.

Too quickly. Will side-eyed him.

“It’ll be fun!” Connor smiled brightly and the pieces started to slowly fall into place.

“Hang on,” Will turned, squinting at his overly-innocent looking boyfriend. “Did Bex put you up to this?”

Connor had a pretty good poker face, but Will also knew his face. Knew every little quirk and tic and that tiny twitch of his right eye had Will gasping.

“She did!” Another, brand new and horrible thought occurred to him. “Am I being sexiled?”

“N-no.”

Will gave Connor and his eye twitch a flat look.

“Okay, she did ask me about clearing out,” Connor confessed. “But that was after I’d already made the plan with you. I just thought it would be nice to give them some space, you know?”

Will looked into those beautiful blue eyes and marvelled at how they weren’t shit brown for how full of it Connor was. “Wow,” he said. “I can’t believe this.” Will shook his head. “I know what this is really about, you know.”

Connor tilted his head curiously at him and Will held up a finger to ward off his sexy adorableness. He had a point to make and he would not be swayed.

“You want to be number one,” Will said, feeling more than a little triumphant at having sussed Connor out. “You facilitated a sexilation to make yourself the favourite. Shameless. That’s your name. Dr. Shameless McUnderpants.

Despite the blush colouring his cheeks, Connor held his head up high. “Shameless is my middle name, thank you very much,” he sniffed.

“I’m gonna order you new scrubs.” Will scrawled out the words in the air. “Dr. Handsome Shameless McBeardface hyphen McUnderpants.”

“Make sure you pick a nice, bold font,” Connor said, leaning in with a grin.

Oh, that friggin’ smile.

Will was definitely pulling him into a supply closet later.

A crunching noise broke them out of the little staring contest the two of them had going on and they turned to see Maggie and Doris watching them from the other side of the desk while they shared a snack pack of sandwich cookies.

“Please,” Maggie said, raising her eyebrows at them. “Don’t mind us.”

“No, keep going.” Doris shook her head as she spoke around a mouthful of cookie. “This is fascinating.”

Right.

They were at work.

He shared a look with Connor who had a sheepish smile on his face as he shrugged back.

“What did I miss?” April asked as she joined their group, eyeing the four of them. “Oh, are they doing that thing again? No gratuitous flirting in the workplace, boys.”

“Okay, but wait until you hear Connor’s new nickna—” Maggie groaned when the phone when off and she picked it up. A moment later she was spurring into action, calling out to get Baghdad ready for an incoming with multiple stab wounds.

The doors opened; Shay and Brett flying in with a gurney rolling between them. Will couldn’t make much out beyond the fact that it looked like their patient was a woman.

Shay rattled off the stats to Connor as they wheeled into the treatment room—multiple stab wounds, suspected collapsed lung and internal bleeding, coded en route, but they got her back—and Will noticed the police officer hovering behind them, blood covering his hands.

It was Sam.

Was this his partner—no, wait, she wasn’t wearing a uniform. And she was blonde. Julie was a brunette.

But Shay and Brett still seemed rattled.

Will stepped up to the gurney, leaning in from the other side at the same time as Connor and carefully brushed some of the hair away from her face.

His fingers froze.

“Con—” Will’s voice faltered. His heart did a nauseating turn in his chest when Connor’s gaze whipped up at him and then over to their patient, freezing like Will had.

He met Will’s stare again and Will knew they were seeing the exact same thing swirling in each other’s eyes. Gut-wrenching fear, panic, anger, grief because this was bad, it was so bad, they knew just by looking and—

And then they shut it down.

They closed it off because Emery needed them. Needed them to keep her alive.

They shut it down and got ready to fight like hell.

Three stab wounds; one in her right lung which was now collapsed, one that had nicked her large intestine and one near her heart. Will could tell Connor was especially concerned about that one, but the damage wouldn’t be clear until he had a chance to get in there.

They worked together lightning quick and did their best to stabilize her. She was skirting dangerously close to hypovolemic shock and they needed to get her up to surgery before she crashed again.

“Okay, let’s move,” Connor snapped out. Their team quickly got everything set and began wheeling Emery toward the elevators. Will sent out a little prayer for her to hold on.

Connor met Will’s eyes as he passed him and there was a promise there. One that Will actually had more faith in that any kind of nebulous deity so maybe between Connor and the powers-that-be, Emery could have more than a fighting chance.

Will didn’t want to have to tell Bex today that her friend has passed away.

Bex. No matter what, this was going to break her heart.

He let out a shaky breath. Will had to get in touch with her—and Jay for that matter. He had so many questions. He turned, not entirely surprised to see Shay, Brett, and Sam still standing there and the biggest question that had been on the tip of his tongue let loose. “What the hell happened?”

“Ty,” Sam spit out, clenching his fists as his eyes went dark. “He must’ve been released—”

“Why didn’t anyone tell us?” Will exclaimed. He thought there were things in place. Protections.

“I don’t know, I don’t—” Sam shook his head. “It had to have happened fast because we should have—if we’d known—he tracked her down at her place and he just—” Sam cut himself off, blinking back tears as Shay hugged his arm, stroking a hand down his back.

He had to have been first on scene. Will couldn’t even imagine what that had been like.

“Listen, why don’t you go get cleaned up,” he said gently, pointing out the washrooms. “We can get you set up in a waiting room if you’re able to stick around and—”

“Will,” Shay interrupted him with a shaky voice. “There’s more.” She swallowed hard, clearing her throat. More than seeing the girl who had become like a sister to him come through here barely clinging to life? More than trying to hold her together with his own hands?

“What?” he asked, getting more anxious when Sam and Sylvie couldn’t meet his eyes. “Just tell me.”

His world began to fold in on itself with her next words.

“Bex was there too.”

***

Mouse

For the first time in his life, Mouse wished he was a fucking cop.

He should have been up here—should have heard what was happening and been able to go with them to help Bex. To help her—

His breath caught as panic flooded his veins. Had they got there in time? How badly was she hurt? She must be so scared and he was just standing here—

Useless. Completely useless. He should be there, protecting her.

So fucking useless.

“Mouse.” Platt stood in front of him, saying his name like she’d been saying it for awhile now. “I’ve got a squad waiting,” she said. “I can take you there right now.”

“…to Emery’s?”

Platt nodded. “They only left a few minutes ago. We can catch up.”

He lurched forward and Platt set a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Whoa, just—Bex needs you there in one piece though, okay?”

Right. Mouse shook his head, straightening up. He wanted to help her.

To be what she needed.

Bex’s voice echoed in his brain. ‘I have plenty of protectors, Mouse, and as much as I can appreciate it to a point…I don’t need another one. What I want is a partner.’

A partner.

That’s what she needed him to be.

Mouse waved off Platt’s concern as he took a moment to breathe—to think. What did Bex need right now? Jay and the team were already with her. What else would help?

It hit him with a bolt of sudden clarity.

“Chris,” Mouse blurted out as he turned to Platt. “His-his-his phone! It’s not working. No one will be able to call him, to tell him, so we, uh, we need to go get him. That’s where we should go. Even if—if she’s okay—” please, please let her be okay “—uh, Emery—Emery’s not, right? So, Bex, she’ll need Chris and we should go get him.”

“Yeah, that’s—that’s a good plan,” Trudy nodded, stepping back to put someone else in charge of the desk. She jangled a set of keys at him. “Come on, we’ll get him and meet them at Med.”

Mouse followed her, steeling himself for what they were going to find once they passed through those doors. Whatever had happened, whatever the situation was, he vowed to himself once more—he’d be what she needed.

No matter what.

***

Kelly

Kelly shoved the last of Bex’s donuts in his mouth, giving Casey a jelly-filled grin when gave him a look for it.

“I’m literally about to serve dinner,” Casey sighed, shaking his head.

“I’m starving,” Kelly said after he’d swallowed. “Trust me, I’ve got enough room for both.

It’d been a day of back-to-back calls and Boden had decided to take them offline for a bit so they could grab an early dinner. Sucked to be Shay and Brett though. They’d caught a call right as Boden was making his.

“Hey, make sure you—”

“—put some aside for Shay and Brett,” Casey finished for him, rolling his eyes. “What am I? New?”

“Nah, just old and forgetful,” Kelly said with a laugh as he gathered up the empty donut boxes from the table and got rid of them. And neatly dodged the chunk of carrot Casey tossed at him when he passed by. Hah.

“Nice of Bex to bring by treats like that,” Casey said, raising his eyebrows when Mouch snorted from his spot on the couch.

“You mean the blatant bribe to try and stop anyone from asking about her date?” Mouch leaned back to cast a skeptical look their way. “She shoulda brought pie.”

“Like anything would have been a good enough bribe to stop us from asking about it,” Dawson said, idly flipping through a magazine at the table. “It’s a big deal. We need an on-going scoop.”

“Still bummed we never got to give Mouse the shovel talk,” Kelly said as he plopped down into the seat beside her. Hm. He looked at his watch. Time was running out, but they could make it work. “Hey, Casey, what do you think about taking the rigs over to 21 to get one in before Mouse leaves for the day?”

Casey’s eyes lit up…for about two seconds before Dawson shut her magazine with a snap. “Do you want to die?” she asked. “Because Bex will kill you.”

“Fair,” Casey said with a sigh. “It is a big deal and they’ve been waiting a long time for this. I don’t want to do anything that’ll ruin it.” He cut a look over at Kelly. “Even if it’s be hilarious.”

“Ugh, it would,” Kelly groaned. “What happened to big brother privileges? There are standards to be maintained here.”

Herrmann, Otis, Cruz, Capp, and Tony shuffled into the room at that moment and there was a flurry of activity as everyone got the food dished out.

A few bites in, Kelly caught on to the conversation happening at the other end of the table.

“Man, this is going to bug me for the rest of the shift,” Herrmann grumbled. “Why do I know that address? It’s right there on the edge of my brain?” He tapped the side of his head.

“Why don’t you look it up?” Otis suggested. “Google street view.”

“My phone’s dead, remember?” He jerked his chin at Otis. “You look it up.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Kelly asked. “The call Shay and Brett went on,” Otis said. “Herrmann thinks he knows it, but can’t remember why because he’s an old man.”

“Hah,” Kelly barked out. “You and Casey. Old man club.”

“Shut it,” Herrmann said, scowling at him. “Not too old to kick your butts.”

That set off a round of insults flying back and forth, not settling down until Boden stepped into the room. “Herrmann.”

“Eh, I was just joking, Chief!” Herrmann laughed, holding up his hands. “I was provoked, I swear!”

“I need to speak with you in private,” Boden said. Everyone went silent when they got a good look at his face. It was grave and serious.

Not a good talk, then.

“Yeah, uh, okay,” Chris said, more subdued than he was a few seconds ago. He pushed away from the table and followed Boden out into the hall.

None of them touched their food as they watched the quiet conversation unfold through the windows of the break room. Boden had a hand on Herrmann’s shoulder as he spoke quietly. Urgently. Herrmann’s face went white and he took a step back, shaking his head.

“Oh, god, do you think something happened with Cindy and the baby?” Dawson whispered.

They all jumped when loud footsteps thundered down the hall and suddenly, Mouse and Platt appeared.

“What the hell?” Otis whispered.

After a quick back and forth, Mouse and Platt were ushering Herrmann away, leaving Boden standing in the hall. He dragged a hand down his face, standing there with his head bowed.

Kelly was trying not to freak out, but the pile of awful possibilities flying around his brain weren’t helping with that. There was no way Boden walked back in here with good news. The threat of looming disaster left a lump in the back of his throat and he exchanged a look with Casey who was clearly doing the same math.

Boden stepped back into the room and they all straightened in their seats. He cleared his throat. “51, listen up,” he said. “Herrmann’s off for the rest of the shift. Casey, you’re in charge of Engine and Truck.”

Dawson was the first to speak. “Is—is everything okay?”

“No.” Boden stared down at the ground before meeting their eyes again with a grim gaze. “There’s been an incident…”

***

Chris

Chris gripped at the door of the car and willed it to go faster.

***

Bex

Bex turned her head, trying to get away from the lights and the noise and the people poking at her. Jay. Where was Jay? He said he’d be—

“Hey, I’m right here.” Jay’s face swam into view. “We’re heading into Med and we’re gonna get you checked out.”

Med? Bex’s brain felt like it was processing everything a beat behind. Med. That was where they took Emery. Bex tried to push herself up and hands, too many hands pressed her back.

“No,” Bex gasped out, clenching her hands into fists as pain and the sound of Jay yelling at someone to ‘back off’ washed over her. “Emery.” Grunting with the effort, Bex tried to sit up again. “Where is she?”

Is she okay? Is she not okay? What was happening?

Bex couldn’t spare the energy to voice all of her fears. What she needed to do was get off of this damn gurney and find her friend. She yanked her hand out of the strong grip someone had it in and started to heave herself up—

A lightning bolt of pain through her side had her falling back down.

***

Connor

Connor focused on scrubbing in, trying to appear composed and professional when Dr. Latham came in to do the same.

“I’m told you know this girl,” Dr. Latham began. “Hospital policy is very clear on this, Dr. Rhodes—”

“I’m not related to her,” Connor said evenly, ignoring the way his heart was pounding in his chest. “Hospital policy doesn’t apply.”

“But you’re close to her,” Dr. Latham pressed.

“I am, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do my job.” The seconds were ticking by, pressing down on his window of opportunity to convince Latham to let him assist. “Her injuries are extensive,” he said. “She needs both of us if she’s going to have a chance.”

Dr. Latham remained quiet as he finished scrubbing his own hands. Finally, he shot a look over at Connor as he rinsed off. “Very well.”

Connor nodded gratefully and the two of them entered the operating room, ready to get to work.

***

Will

Will had tried to be prepared—to brace himself for Bex’s arrival, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of her being wheeled in; bloodied, battered, and in pain.

To see Jay rushing along beside her, holding her hand and trying to be calm, but Will can tell that he’s scared. So scared.

With good reason.

If Bex was in the same shape as Emery…

Will shook his head, trying to clear it. Spiralling wouldn’t help anyone right now. He had to focus and help where he could and right now that meant—jesus—stopping Bex from trying to haul herself off of the gurney and hurting herself even further.

“Back off,” Jay yelled at one of the poor paramedics as they tried to keep Bex in place.

“Where is she?” Bex asked as she struggled in their grip, blearily looking around the ED. She managed to sit up before crying out sharply and falling back.

“Bex.” Will squeezed Jay’s shoulder, giving him a nod as he came to stand beside him. Natalie moved in on the other side as the paramedics stepped away and began checking Bex over. “Bex, it’s me, it’s Will,” he said, leaning over to catch her eye. “Listen, Emery’s still alive—”

He squeezed Jay’s shoulder one more time when he heard a ragged exhale from him at that news.

“Connor’s got her,” Will continued. “He and Dr. Latham are working on her right now. She had some injuries that required surgery.”

“Will?” Bex blinked up at him, focusing on his face. “She’s okay? She’ll be okay?”

“She’s in the best hands possible,” Will said, not wanting to lie. Not to Bex. He did his own quick scan of her and wasn’t happy with what he saw. Multiple lacerations and contusions. Early signs of cyanosis. The stark markings around her torso had him worried about internal bleeding and damage to her organs. “Listen.” He bent down close and gently stroked a hand over her forehead. “I promise we’re looking after Emery,” he said. “What I need you to do is stay still and let us get you checked out, okay? Will you do that for me?”

“I’m fine,” Bex said, shaking her head. “I just—I can’t stop shaking.” She lifted the hand that wasn’t holding Jay’s to demonstrate. “That’s weird, right?”

“That’s the adrenaline,” he explained. “That’ll last for awhile longer.”

“Oh…that makes sense.” Bex looked away, half talking to herself before looking back up at him with wide eyes. “I think I killed Ty.”

What ?

Will whipped around to Jay who was already shaking his head, looking as alarmed as Will felt.

“No! No, Bex,” Jay said quickly. “You didn’t. I promise. He’s fine. You just gave him a good knock on the head.”

“I stabbed him in the leg too,” she said faintly.

“Wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it,” Jay muttered.

“If Jay says he was fine, then he must be okay,” Will said over him, shooting him a look before turning back to Bex. “You did what you had to do, Bex. Now will you please let us take care of you?”

“Okay,” she whispered.

Natalie and April moved in to start their assessment and Will and Jay held their spots; Will by her head, explaining things to her so she’d know what was happening and Jay a silent presence beside him, never letting go of her hand.

***

Mouse

They’d grabbed Chris and he’d used Mouse’s phone to call Cindy. After a hurried explanation and a promise from Cindy that she’d be on her way as soon as she got someone to watch the kids, he’d hung up and Platt had flipped on the sirens.

They’d made it to Med in less than half the time it should have taken.

Platt screeched to a stop at the ED doors and let them out. She went to park while they went inside to see if there was any news.

Yes, Bex was there. No, she couldn’t tell them anything about Emery if they weren’t family or her emergency contacts. Yes, Chris—and only Chris—could go back and see Bex. The doctor would fill him in on her current condition. No, the nurse couldn’t tell them what that condition was.

With a murmured apology and a promise to come back with news as soon as he could, Chris went through the sliding door into the ED—

Leaving Mouse in the waiting room.

At a loss of what to do now that he’d accomplished the only helpful thing he could think of, Mouse stood there, staring at the doors. Come back with good news, please, he mentally begged Chris…the universe…anyone who might be listening.

She has to be okay.

The idea that he could lose Bex—now, before they’d even had a chance to get started—how could he—no, he couldn’t accept that.

He knew the world was cruel, but that would just be…

Unimaginable.

“Find anything out yet?” Platt popped up beside him, handing over a coffee that she’d magically conjured up somehow. Mouse accepted it, shaking his head. She hummed and sipped at her own drink. “Let’s settle in then,” she said, steering him toward a set of chairs close to the door. “Might be a long wait and I want to get a good seat before all of 51 tries to cram in here.”

Mouse let himself be hustled into place, leaning forward to keep an eye on the doors. How long would it take? If it was good news, would Chris be out sooner? Or maybe he’d take longer because Bex was okay and he was talking to her. That would be good.

He kept his vigil, slowly turning the cup in his hands as he waited.

And waited.

***

Chris

Chris was shown into treatment room three and stopped short at the sight that met him there. Jay and Will were wearing matching haggard looks and Bex—

Oh, god, Bex.

His little girl.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said quietly, willing his voice not to break as he stepped into the room.

“Chris?” She struggled up, fighting against wires and wincing in pain.

“Hey, hey, hey.” He rushed forward; Jay and Will stepping back to give him space. “Don’t try to move, I’m right here.”

“I’m okay,” Bex said, grabbing at him with a bandaged hand. “Don’t worry. I’m okay.”

"I know, sweetie," he said and she burst into tears. Chris held her as close as he safely could, murmuring soft reassurances to her and pressing kisses into the top of her head.

“Oh, no,” Bex suddenly gasped, putting them all on alert. “Mouse, oh, my god, Mouse—someone needs to call him and—”

“How do you think I got here so fast?” Chris smiled at her. “Your guy came to pick me up. In a patrol car. With Trudy.” He’d been hoping for a laugh.

Not for her to burst into tears again.

“We’re supposed to have our date,” she sobbed, clutching at her side before crying even harder. “I’m a horrible person.”

Chris cut a quick look over at Jay and Will, but they looked just as lost as he was. “You’re not a horrible person, Bex—”

“Yes, I am,” she said. “I’m crying over a date wh-when Emery is—when she might be—”

“Okay, okay,” Chris said, shushing her, worried about how short her breaths were coming. He crouched down to put his face level with her. “Knowing Emery, she’s even more pissed that your date got ruined than you are.” The look she gave him said that wasn’t helping. “Mouse understands. I promise. He just wants to know you’re okay so let’s make sure you are. And Emery—” Chris risked a glance up at Will whose face told him nothing good. “Emery’s going to get through this and the two of you will have a blast planning Big Date 2.0.”

“You don’t know that,” Bex whispered.

“Yeah, I do,” he whispered back. “It’s my own Very Specific Superpower so don’t question it.”

There was the smile he’d been hoping for. Tiny, but he’d take it.

“Bex needs to go for some scans,” Will said and Chris gave Bex another smooch before straightening up. “We need to see if her arm is broken and check for any other internal injuries.”

Christ. That didn’t sound good. Chris was going to need the full story soon of just what the hell had gone down. “Thanks for going with her,” he said to Will. “You won’t get in trouble for that?”

Will shrugged with a little grin. “Goodwin hasn’t had a chance to yell at me for anything lately,” he said. “Gotta meet that weekly quota, right?”

Chris patted his back as he went by with Bex in tow, whispering his thanks.

Then he was left in an empty room with Jay who was staring blankly out in the direction Will and Bex had gone, absently rubbing at his wrist—

Which was smeared with blood.

Chris hunted around until he found the wipes, handing one over to Jay. “Here,” he said, waving it toward Jay’s wrist when he didn’t move to take it. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Jay startled, coming back to himself. He glared at the wipe before grabbing it and wiping at his wrist. Moving it around to get at the blood at his hands, he began to scrub and Chris started to get worried about him taking off a layer of skin.

“There’s a bathroom down the hall,” he said. “Soap and water’ll be easier…and gentler probably. Then maybe you can fill me in on what happened—”

“Ty is what happened,” Jay growled out. He threw the wipe in the trash and ran still somewhat bloodied hand through his hair. “They let that bastard out of jail and he—”

Jay took a shuddery breath and he shook his head, closing his eyes.

One of the most unbearable things in this world was for Chris to see one of his kids hurting.

The hurt was running rampant across the board tonight.

He stepped over to Jay and tried to pull him into a hug. Jay kept shaking his head, resisting until Chris snapped out, “Gimme a goddamn hug, Jay. We both need it.”

Jay curled toward him then and Chris patted his back, trying to soothe away his trembling. Two second later, Jay was already straightening up, swiping a hand under his nose as he sniffed.

“You said Mouse is here?” He cleared his throat and jerked a nod the waiting room. “We should, uh, we should go and give him an update. He’s probably losing his mind out there.” He strode out the door before Chris could say a word otherwise.

Chris sighed before following. He really hoped Cindy could get here sooner rather than later.

They were going to have their work cut out for them tonight.

Click here to read Chapter Four. Click here to read Chapter Five. Click here to read Chapter Six. Click here to read Chapter Seven.

Click here to read That Herrmann/Halstead DNA on ao3:

And here is the tag list (let me know if you wish to be added or removed):

@sorry-i-spaced, @thegirlwhowishedeveryonelived, @ivyalmighty, @thewannabewriter, @lexhalstead3, @multifandomgrl08, @foxes-and-cats, @sensitivemallysix, @thebewingedjewelcat, @emme-looou,

#a herrmann/halstead production #one chicago #chicago fire #chicago pd #chicago med #rebecca 'bex' herrmann #jay halstead #oc character #will halstead #christopher herrmann #greg “mouse” gerwitz x original female character #greg “mouse” gerwitz #greg gerwitz #whump #hurt/comfort #trauma #whump fic

[stardustandash]

Next on the Febuwhump docket: Too weak to move - Jedi Fallen Order for @pennflinn

I've always wanted to write a little Ilum whump, and you picking this prompt got that particular plot bunny going again! I hope you enjoy!!!

Words: 1,525

Tags: whump, hypothermia, no Jedi Survivor spoilers, exhaustion

ao3 link

Can't Go On

Everything is too much. The Force, the endless cold, the cries of the kyber as the Empire drills down into the heart of Ilum. Cal can feel it all dragging at him like the cold that has sunk into his joints and stiffened his movement. Maybe swimming his way through a frozen planet’s cave system wasn’t the smartest idea, but he needed his crystal. And now he has it and all he wants to do is lie down and sleep but instead he’s fighting his way through an Imperial mob.

Then he finds the room full of KX droids. Sure, Cal has a functioning lightsaber now, and he’s hastily modified it to split into two with the help of his new crystal, but he’s still just one rusty padawan against a room full of droids. Droids that have two feet and about two hundred pounds on him. He separates the blades, blocking the first one’s attempt to grab him while fending off a second with a slash towards its middle. The movement is slow, his joints hurt as he tries to get them to move with his usual amount of speed.

It's not big a problem though. At least, it isn’t a problem until the other droids in the room make their way over as well. Cal can usually dance circles around KX droids and their slow swings and stomping steps but this is different. Every move Cal makes is slower than the last, every swing of his ‘sabers falling later than they should. When one of the droids comes up behind him he can’t quite get his feet to move him out of the way before the KX droid has him by the throat. Cal scrabbles at its metal fingers as it lifts him from the ground. There’s a pause, then the droid is slamming him so hard against the ground whatever air is left in his lungs leaves in a strained wheeze. He has a moment of panic as he realizes he just landed on his back. His back where BD-1 usually sits. Then he hears angry beeping and a mechanical whirring noise.

BD-1, the hero that he is, has sliced the KX droid. Cal tries his best to scrabble out of the way as BD-1 pilots his new ride towards the other droids. The carnage that follows mostly comes to Cal as loud, metallic crunching noises. He’s only half paying attention as his highest priority is convincing his lungs that they do, in fact, know how to breathe properly.

Cal’s only halfway back to breathing when BD-1 screeches out a warning. He gets his blade up just in time, and slides between the legs of the KX droid standing over him and uses it to climb to his feet. Then he cuts its arms off for good measure. He spins, trying not to trip over his heavy, clumsy feet and throws himself back into the fray. T

Thankfully, BD has managed to get rid of most of the KX droids with the one he’s puppeteering. It doesn’t take much more effort for Cal to cut through what’s left until he and BD-1 are the only things moving in the room. BD-1 immediately scuttles over to Cal’s side and tosses him a stim. It feels a bit like cheating that he uses the Force to bring the stim to his hand, but Cal knows he isn’t going to catch it without its help. The adrenaline in the stim clears some of the fog from his mind, but it also makes the shrill cry of the kyber around him louder.

BD-1 trills at his side to ask if he’s okay.

“Not really, Buddy,” says Cal. “The Empire, what they’re doing here is awful.”

BD reiterates the question, this time specifying that he meant Cal’s personal wellbeing, not whatever-the-kriff Force nonsense was clearly upsetting him.

“I can get us back to the Mantis,” says Cal. I think, he doesn’t add. “I’m fine.”

His knees and ankles protest something fierce as they set off again. Of course, the door BD-1 manages to slice leads to nowhere but a single rope hanging over a dark chasm. Of course, Cal has to swing across it to keep moving forward. He pauses before swinging across. He tells himself its so that he can inform Cere that the Empire is on Ilum, that he’s been spotted and there could be trouble, but he knows it’s so that he can put off attempting a death-defying stunt while feeling at about half capacity at best for his usual tricks for just a minute longer.

He can’t feel the rope in his hands.

BD-1 whoops with his usual amount of glee as Cal may or may not use the Force to cling to the rope and get them both across with all his joints protesting doing anything other than lying face down on the ground and waiting for either the Empire or Cere to find him. He lands ungracefully and immediately stumbles into an endless fight to get out of the caverns. The galaxy seems to be laughing at him as every time he feels himself slowing down and fading there’s a new, stronger enemy in his path from purge troopers with their electrified weapons to stormtroopers with flamethrowers.

By the time Cal and Bd-1 stumble their way through the frozen over entrance they’ve gone for yet another swim and this time Cal can feel the ice forming in his elbows and knees. He’s exhausted too. The day has been full of heavy emotions and fighting and through it all he can feel the planet crying out through the Force in pain. And yet, there’s still more the empire has to throw at him.

Cal can hear the AT-STs before he can see them. The familiar whirr-thunk of their steps echoes across the snow and ice now that the storm is gone. The sun is almost blinding where it reflects off the snow and Cal has to squint to get the barest detail of the landscape around him. He knows that he can’t face the walkers head on, he can’t even feel his fingers where they are wrapped around the hilt of his lightsaber, nor can he manage anything more than a slow, awkward shuffle. So before the AT-STs spot him he makes for one of the narrower channels formed by the ice and settles in to wait until they decide to go patrol another sector. He leans back against the ice and slides slowly down into the snow. BD-1 jumps down beside him and beeps that they should comm Cere and Greez.

“You’re right,” says Cal.

He fumbles in his pouches for his comm device. It takes longer than it should, but eventually he gets it into his shaking hands and manages to press the right buttons with numb fingers.

“Cal,” Cere’s voice is steady through the comm channel, but her relief is evident. “Where are you?”

“I’m close to the ship, but hiding. There’s walkers out there and I can’t get past them without a fight.

“What if you don’t fight. Can you sneak past them? You could scale a wall and walk over the top back to the ship.”

Cal goes to stand up, just to have a peek and see, but his legs don’t get the memo. He can’t feel them. He can’t even feel the wall of ice he’s leaning against.

“No,” says Cal in a tight voice. “I can’t climb.”

“Cal, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I don’t know. I can’t move anymore, it’s so cold and I’m so tired, Cere. I’m so tired.”

“Do not fall asleep. BD, do not let him fall asleep,” Cere orders.

BD-1 chirps an affirmative and fixes Cal with a strange stare. Cal doesn’t know if Cere hears the response or not. It doesn’t matter, she knows BD-1 will look after him, he always does.

Cal slumps even further against the ice. At least he’s starting not to feel so cold anymore. In fact, his fingers and toes are starting to burn a little, and if he could muster up the energy he’d be tempted to rip off his poncho. Cere’s still talking through the comm, and Cal can think of responding, but it’s too much effort to actually form the words.

It’s kind of funny, in a way. Earlier in the caves Cal had been ready to lay down and die after the crystal broke in his hand. But then BD-1, with the help of Master Cordova, reminded him that he has to keep going. Now he wants nothing more than to get back to the ship, to Cere and Greez, and a bunk that’s starting to feel like home and a purpose that is uniquely his, and yet he can’t get up and get himself there. The bright sky and BD-1 are receding away from him down a long, dark tunnel. He wants to claw his way back to the light, but he’s far too weak to move. All he can do is hope that somehow Cere will find him before he becomes another screaming ghost on Ilum.

#febuwhump #j:fo #jedi fallen order #cal kestis #fanfic #fanfiction #bd-1

[sapphiewritesstuff]

My god. Namora fighting alongside reader and reader gets badly injured. She tries to tell her to just come back for her but Namora just. Scoops her up bridal style

OHH WHAT A WOMANNN I need her so bad

Italics is Yucatec Mayan because I don’t wanna get any translation wrong :)

Warnings: violence, injury, hurt/comfort, whump, fem!reader, established relationship (Namora and reader are married)

-Namora is a woman who doesn’t let her fear show, never lets her walls down, but the moment she sees you collapse, all bloody and bruised, her eyes flash with panic and she lets out a guttural scream. She runs straight towards you, slicing any enemies in her way with her spear.

-She kneels by your side if the person who harmed you isn't close by, placing a hand on your cheek as she checks your pulse

-If the enemy is still there, she plunges her spear straight into their chest and watches as they die with a blank look on her face

-"My love," She pulls you into her arms, "get up, please"

-She knows you're a strong warrior, you two have fought alongside each other for Talokan ever since you were young, but when she sees you gasping for air with a gaping bloody hole in your stomach, she worries that this time she'll be returning home with only your wedding ring

-She doesn't sit around, she knows if she does, you'll die in her arms, so she picks you up bridal style and rushes you to safety despite your objections

-If Shuri is around, she'll plead her to take you to her lab. Namora lets go all her distrust and hatred towards the surface dwellers, hanging on to the hope that they will be able to save you

-If they don't, she'll make the world burn.

-You soon fade to unconsciousness, and when you wake up in Shuri's lab, Namora is right by your side

-You are taken back to Talokan to continue your recovery

-Namora spends her days taking care of you, fussing whenever you try to get out of bed or strain yourself

-One thing you notice is how well she's holding it together, almost like you were never injured at all

-She's back to her regular self, commanding the army, training, and only showing physical affection when you two are alone

-Then she just breaks.

-Late at night, after she returns from her duties and you're in bed, she wraps you into an embrace and starts sobbing

-"I try to be strong for you," She weeps into your shoulder as you rub her back, "I couldn't stop it, you almost died and I couldn't stop it. My love, I was so scared."

-"I am alright now, aren't I?" You say in an attempt to comfort her. "You don't have to protect me, this was none your fault."

-She'll hold onto you and never let go after that.

-You and Talokan are the two things she can never lose.

#namora x reader #wakanda forever #black panther #mcu x reader

[gumnut-logic]

Thunderdragons

I had a request for a glossary for this AU. So here you go. Back story spoilers ahead.

Please note that I am not a historian or linguist. This is fantasy, definitions are approximate, and I should be apologising to probably all the people in the North Atlantic – aka the Great Western Sea, because it wasn’t called the Atlantic in 700AD.

For reference, Viking raids didn’t start until around 790AD.

‘Tracy’ is a surname that can be traced back to several origins, but the one I chose for this was Irish. One of the old forms is ‘O’Treasaigh’, so that is the name of the clan and where the family originated from.

I set them up as a small kingdom ruled by a Flaithri (king in Old Irish) somewhere in Ériu (Ireland in Old Irish). Grandpa Tracy was Flaithri and Grandma Tracy was his wife (didn’t look up Queen in Old Irish as I haven’t needed it yet). Jeff Tracy, as their son, was Flaith (Prince) – later once Grandpa Tracy had died, Jeff became Flaithri and Scott Flaith, and so on. By the fic Cethair, Scott has become Flaithri, much to his dislike and grief.

The Irish people do not have dragons, but Jeff being Jeff, he explores, makes trade agreements and keeps eyeing the Great Western Sea (aka Moon or Mars like exploration equivalent – no one had crossed the Great Western Sea, that we know of, in 700AD).

Eventually, he convinces his father to let him take a voyage of exploration across the Western Sea, which he does, with not great results, Óen saves him and things happen. Essentially, he does cross the Western Sea, just not the way he expected and finds a people who do have dragons. He marries in North America (not called that), and has three sons.

Gaat happens and the family decide to return to Ériu. The Flaithri welcomes them with open arms, and eventually the dragons.

Two more boys are born and everything is going nicely.

Until Gaat makes it across the sea, attacks and kills the Flaithri and Jeff’s wife before the rest of the family can uproot and flee. This makes Jeff Flaithri and Scott, Flaith.

I will drop the spoilers there :D

The rest of the old Irish.

Máthair Chriona – Grandmother/Wise woman (aka Grandma Tracy)

The Dragons (again with the Old Irish)

Óen – One

Dá – Two

Tri – Three (Alan doesn’t have a dragon yet, that’s a separate story)

Cethair – Four

Cóic – Five

One and Two can be found in the How to Train Your Dragon fandom. Three and Five, I’m inventing myself. Four, I haven’t decided yet, but likely inventing myself.

I think that is all the Old Irish so far. I have a few notes regarding a few other words but didn’t end up using them.

Regarding the people in North America, I did do quite a bit of research into the Algonquian language people of the North East Atlantic and did assign appropriate names, but I felt it created more confusion and I desperately don’t want to offend any First Nations peeps (at least with the Irish, I’m only messing up my own heritage…well, a small part of it), so left them out. It should be noted that Belah Gaat, Tanusha, Kyrano, etc are all Malay or Indian derived names, so I’m sweeping that under the rug.

For funsies, it should be noted that Jefferson Tracy is Mac Séafraidh O’Treasaigh in Old Irish. That just hurts, so I’m keeping him Jeff :D

Apologies for any confusion. I hope this clears this up. And as you can see there is one hell of an iceberg behind this fic series. A lot of work. Hence there will likely be Sweetapple Slices and Virgil whump in between so I can take a break :D

Anyway, I hope this helps. Any questions, please give me a yell.

Nutty

(the librarian)

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderfam #thunderdragons #nutty is nuts

[dark-side-blog3]

In some ways it would help if yanderes drugged me up to keep me groggy! My stitches are starting to come out and I’m better enough to get grumpy or sad or tired over feeling sore and having to be so delicate with my mouth. I mean, the prescription pain stuff makes my tummy sick, but a yandere can handle that. Sick babies mean more to dote on! I like that handy dandy anon went right to whump because there was a part of my brain that did think “you know what would be fucked up 😈” and thought about yanderes trying to poke at my poor sensitive mouth… I’m just too much of a baby and too sensitive, so I know I’d be a sniveling mess if they even threatened the possibility. Thanks for the nice words op, and for handy dandy anon, I hope your procedure goes well and you get to enjoy tons of nice whump thoughts as you heal up!

Post-surgery whump is its own special niche I wish there was more of <3 I mean the post-surgery comfort is also good, of course, don't get me wrong, but the sense of control you get turning your own pain into something enjoyable is... So satisfying <3 Time and place for everything of course. I'm currently dreading my next surgery because I hate the uncool reality that recovery will be boring sort of painful and scary.

Just imagine a yandere who keeps irritating your sensitive mouth and "accidentally" hitting you in the jaw when they play with you or jabbing your sore gums with your toothbrush before bed. And then holding you and rocking you, forcing you your pain meds crushed up and mixed with yogurt. They know it makes you feel a little sick, that's why they give you some bland food! Something gentle on your stomach. Maybe you can get a slice of toast to help your turning tummy if you can eat up all that yogurt.

They've got you wrapped tight and "sleeping" on your side so if you puke, it doesn't choke you. You're probably having a hard time sleeping, but that's why they're here, cuddling you and stroking your cheek lovingly (and further irritating your sore mouth). The more you squirm the more they shush you-- it's okay, they know a pacifer would hurt right now, so you can't have that, but if you want, they can try rubbing a mouth-safe numbing cream on your gums. It's just gonna hurt a little bit while they make sure they've got it in the right spot, rubbing your gums over and over...

If just asking the question makes you burst into sobs, they'll shush you for being dramatic, before going back to gently rocking you.

#i hope your recovery is going well irl!!! #also im sure dandy will appreciate the well wishes :) #yandere agere #forced agere #forced age regression #handy dandy anon #shes mentioned anyways #anon confession

[frodothefair]

꧁ The Flowers of Mordor ꧂

Chapter 20 - The Three Silver Coins

READ ON AO3┃READ FROM THE BEGINNING

SUMMARY : Frodo’s struggles after the quest are worsening, and Sam cannot tear himself in two, but he does hatch an idea. Sam’s sister, Marigold, is smart, pretty, vivacious, and a healer. Surely, she can nurse Frodo back to health and teach him to love life again – or so Sam hopes, when he invites her to work for Frodo at Bag End. But the course of healing, and love, never did run smooth. (J.R.R. Tolkien meets Jane Austen meets Tess of the D’Urbervilles.)

CHAPTER SUMMARY :  Frodo has a secret, and Marigold knows something is amiss, but is at a loss for what to do. 

PAIRING : Frodo/Marigold Gamgee, Frodo/Sam (secondary)

GENRES : hurt/comfort, sickfic, whump, angst, slow burn romance, slice of life.

WARNINGS : PTSD, eventual spicy scenes. This chapter only: death mention

A/N : I strongly recommend readers be sitting down for this chapter, and, if possible, not holding anything important, particularly hot liquids. In other news, I’ve put the first seven chapters through another round of edits, because I’ve realized that my style and standards for myself have changed over the course of this fic. I think the quality is better and more consistent now, so if anyone fancies rereading the early chapters, you are very welcome to do so. The good news is, the further I get in editing what has already been published, the less I need to change!

RATING : M┃WORD COUNT : 7k chapter, 92k total

TAGS:@konartiste, @bumblingbriars, @hippodameia, @invisiblewashboard, @luna–nyx, @meluiloth-of-rivendell, @brigwife, @iamrivertam, @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras

EXCERPT :

And so it was that Marigold Gamgee found herself standing outside of Bag End, on that pale day in February, looking from the outside in – though she could not see anything through the windows – and feeling rather at odds: like a woman whose “feminine intuition” was raising all the alarms, but also like a child, who did not understand anything.

#lotr #lord of the rings #lord of the rings fanfiction #lord of the rings fanfic #lord of the rings fic #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #lotr fic #samwise gamgee #sam gamgee #frodo baggins #frodo fanfiction #frodo baggins lotr #frodo baggins fanfiction #frodo baggins fanfic #frodo fanfic #marigold gamgee #fanfiction #fanfic #frodo fic #frodo baggins fic #fiction #writing #slow burn romance #slow burn #hurt/comfort #whump

[triforce-of-mischief]

Hook, Line, and Sinker

Febuwhump Day 14: Captivity

Rating: T

Whump count: impalement of hands, blood, description of injury

Word count: 1400

Summary: While raiding an enemy pirate ship, Link and Tetra find a captured merman.

AO3

Reblogs > Likes!

Link didn’t try to hide his anger and disgust as the pirate crew inspected the contents of the enemy ship. The loot must have been stolen from all over the Great Sea, and most of it should never have fallen into hylian hands. Link wandered the captain’s quarters, ignoring the man’s furious shouts as Gonzo dragged him back to their own ship. The enemy captain and his crew would provide a handsome reward back at Windfall, but Link was more concerned about the cargo.

The potted plant on the captain’s desk was none other than a shriveled Deku Sapling, identical to the ones Link had traveled around the ocean to revive with forest water. Link hoped that it wasn’t too late to return it to the Koroks. A birdcage in the corner of the room was so densely packed full of Morths that they couldn’t do anything more than blink at him with large, pleading eyes. Shattered pieces of Joy Pendants littered the floor, pulsing with melancholy energy.

The enemy captain and his crew were a nasty lot, and Link was glad to help rid the ocean of them.

“Link, you’ll never guess what I found!”

He ran belowdecks to find Tetra waiting in front of a glass tank taller than they were. “Don’t freak out or make any sudden moves,” she warned. “I don’t wanna spook him.” She stepped aside to let Link see for himself, and his jaw dropped.

Sitting in the tank was an honest-to-goddess mermaid.

Aryll was absolutely obsessed with mermaids, and Link had heard many of Grandma’s stories about the mythical creatures. They were often found by pirates and fishermen (in times when fish had been able to survive the ocean), who usually set them free after realizing their mistake. However, Link did remember a few stories where the mermaid had been captured and shown off as a prize from the depths. Grandma had always described them as pressing their hands against the walls of their enclosure and begging to be let out.

This mermaid was laying motionless at the bottom of the tank, facing away from Link and Tetra. No- as Link walked closer, he realized that this was a merman. He was slightly curled around himself, protecting his tail and hands. He didn’t stir at the sound of the young pirates, and if Tetra hadn’t said anything, Link would have thought that he was dead.

Link knelt in front of the tank, watching the merman closely for signs of life. “Hey… can you hear me?”

The creature shuddered, and Link counted that as ‘good enough’.

“Should we try to get him out?” he asked Tetra.

“Yeah, we probably should,” she said. “I think that lever over there is attached to some kinda contraption that should lift the net he’s laying on. Come help me with it, and hurry!”

Tetra was right, and they were able to activate a pulley system which slowly raised the merman out of the water. They ran to ease him down to the floor, pulling the net away so they could check for injuries.

Link started by the merman’s tail while Tetra examined his Hylian half. Link tutted as his eyes tracked loops upon loops of fishing wire wrapped tightly around his tail. The wire was thin but strong, and sliced through pink scales where it was most concentrated.

“It’s not pretty, but it should be easy to cut through,” Link announced.

“Wait, Link- it’s worse than you think. Come take a look at this.” Tetra’s voice betrayed underlying fury, and Link was quick to scoot to her side.

Link wasn’t normally one for queasiness, but he almost puked when he saw what the enemy pirates had done to the merman’s hands.

Instead of simply tying the wire around the merman’s wrists, the pirates had chosen an excessively violent method of restraint. The fleshy webbing between thumb and forefinger was speared clean through by a fishing hook, one on each hand. The barbed tips ensured that the merman couldn’t pull them out without damaging his hands beyond repair. Only then was the wire looped around the hooks, connecting his hands to each other and his tail. No wonder the merman was afraid to move- any amount of jostling would mangle his limbs even further, and he must have been in a lot of pain too.

Link muttered a string of curses that made even Tetra’s ear twitch, then reached for his adventure pouch. He heard the merman hiss, but he didn’t look up as he said, “Don’t worry, we’re going to get you taken care of.”

He pulled out a dagger, unprepared for the merman’s earsplitting shriek.

“Put the knife down, you idiot!” Tetra yelled, and smacked Link’s arm. “I told you not to spook him!”

“Ah, right! Sorry!” Link quickly set the dagger on the floor, then raised his hands to show that they were empty. The merman quieted, and for the first time, Link looked at his face.

Link wasn’t sure how long merfolk lived, but this one was young. He must have been a teenager, only a few years older than Link and Tetra. Violet eyes, burning with intelligence and distrust, stared right back at Link. The merman bared his teeth and hissed again.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Link said quickly, still showing his empty hands. “We just want to get you free from that wire and heal you so you can go home. Okay?”

The merman grumbled a bunch of garbled almost-words, then nodded. He remained still as Link picked his dagger up and prepared to cut the wire leading from the hook in his near hand.

“Tetra, can you hold the wire taut?” Link said, showing her where to hold it. He held the hook steady with one hand while the other positioned the blade in between Tetra’s hands. “I’m going to cut the wire now,” he told the merman. “Try not to move. I’m really sorry if it hurts more.”

The merman growled throughout the entire operation, but Link and Tetra managed to sever the wire and disconnect it from the hooks. Link carefully took one of the merman’s hands in his own to examine the injury.

“I think, if we pull them out at the same time, we can convince a single fairy to heal both hands,” Link said. “Can you grab one from my bag?”

Tetra placed a bottle beside Link, then made her way around to the merman’s other hand.

“Okay. I’m going to count to three, then Tetra and I are going to pull the hooks out. Then I’ll free the fairy and she’ll heal the merman. Ready?”

The others nodded.

“One.”

The pirates each took hold of a hook.

“Two.”

The merman took a deep breath and braced himself.

“Three.”

With one swift pull, Link slid the dull end of the hook through skin and webbing until hook and hand were no longer one. He tried not to look at the bloody, gaping hole between the merman’s fingers as he quickly uncorked the bottle. Tetra tossed her hook to Link as they watched the fairy swirl around the merman and heal his hands.

“All fixed up?” Link asked, lifting the merman’s hand for one last check. Tetra did the same, and the merman demonstrated that he could easily flex his fingers. The merman grinned and pointed at his tail, which was still wrapped in layers of tight wire.

“Oh yeah! Hang on a minute.”

Link and Tetra unwound the wire in no time, and the merman gestured for them to step back. The young pirates watched as scales and gills and webbing fused into flesh, and suddenly there was a normal, hylian boy laying on the net.

“Thanks for the help,” the older teen said, sitting up and checking himself for remaining injuries.

Link realized that the teen’s legs were crisscrossed with thin, lightly bleeding lines from the wire. “Oops, sorry about that. I have some extra potions back on our ship if you want to come with us.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Link helped the teen stand and launched into his chatty mode before they even left the room “I have a lot of questions, including but not limited to: how can you do that, why didn’t you change back sooner, and why did the other pirates even capture you in the first place. That can come later though. My name’s Link, by the way, and she’s Tetra. What’s your name?”

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu #linked universe wind #lu wind #linked universe legend #lu legend #linked universe tetra #lu tetra #febuwhump 2023 #febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday14 #tw impalement #tw hand injury #tw blood #tw injury #fable writes

[painful-pooch]

Medals For Scars - BTHB

I'd like to thank @whumperofworlds for asking for this! I decided to have this be a fairly short write, but if people want to see what really happens next, just leave a comment so I know lmao. That being said, let me tag the Bru Bru/ Military Whump squad!

@badthingshappenbingo 'Scar to Remember'

Tag Squad: @actress4him, @redd956, @ocean-blue-whump, @pigeonwhumps, @technom0ose, @inscrutable-shadow, @straight-to-the-pain, @thethistlegirl, @sssunshinebreeze, @crash-bump-bring-the-whump, and @brinkofdiscovery

Continued after Tell Me When It's Over

CWs: Military Whump, Angst, PTSD, Panic Attack, Abuse from Commanding Officer, War Talk, *slightly grimdark*, and Mentions of Blood/Gore

~~~

Bruno stood in the hallway, poised and standing with a sense of purpose while his shoulders remained tense. He was dressed in full service blues, his uniform crisp, his tie straight, his shoes well polished, his ribbons positioned over his heart, his wings and occupational badges shining, and the bandages under his mangled chest concealing the damage.

He knew by now how it worked. He'd stand before a panel of both officers and enlisted, explain what had happened in excruciating detail, and then be given their decision of whether or not they would submit it for either the Air Force Cross or some other medal that signifies his honorable actions.

Bruno scoffed unknowingly, the word tasting bitter in his mouth. Honor. Such an overused word, yet people didn't comprehend what the reality of being honorable entailed, the scars it left behind, nor the painful memories that would come to haunt them during the hours of the day and night. People who say they know what war is have no fucking clue what it's like.

They aren't the ones having to put down someone else's pride and joy six feet under. They aren't the ones staying up 'round the clock, knowing that if they snooze for even a moment, their teammate could wind up dead beside them. They aren't the ones having to leave a body behind and telling the parents, spouse, or child of that soldier that their loved one is gone forever.

The taste of war was something Bruno could describe so easily depending on who asked. For the joke of it, he could just say it tastes like a fuck ton of Monster Energy, shitty MREs, and whatever random ass bug crawled in your mouth at night if you left your cot net open. For someone who wanted to really know the truth, Bruno's answer never changed.

It's something you can't stomach until you've learned to harden your heart and mind to it. Your mind can't begin to comprehend the utter chaos of the battlefield. No matter how organized it may seem, it's a cesspool of rage, unhinged emotions, death, blood, and dreams of a long life ending suddenly. When you breathe it the first time, you can't help but gag and cough because it coats your throat with what feels like knives slicing you from the inside. Once you swallow your fear and your woes, then you can taste it. It stings for a second, and then it's a fusion of melancholy and metallic aftertaste. Whether it's your own blood, someone else's, or even the residue from all the gunfire and smoke, it all ebbs into a certain tang that... if you've been around it long enough, it's sweet. If not, it is the most bitter thing you've ever tasted.

His chest began to hurt and he grimaced, a hand being brought up to grip the clothing over his sternum, as though the shrapnel from the accident were back in his chest. It grew harder to breathe, the hallway beginning to tunnel. He shut his eyes and clenched his jaw, hoping the waves of duress would pass by him, but he was met with a gentle tap to his shoulder, his head snapping towards the direction and coming face to face with her.

"Hey, are you okay? You're up next," Miranda spoke in that same voice she used on that fateful day. He wouldn't be here without her, but sometimes...

Sometimes he wished he hadn't survived.

He had to respond back before she could tell he wasn't in the greatest of moods. "Yeah. I'll be fine. It's just an award committee trying to pull every detail they can out of me. It won't be fun, but it'll get done soon enough."

"You can tell them that it's too fresh in your mind, Bruno. Why don't you let me go in-"

"Lieutenant Ryker, are you trying to talk our wonderful Captain Stenberg out of getting the Medal of Honor?" General Kane appeared around the corner, his eyebrow raised, his grey eyes ever so depressing to look into. "Well?"

Miranda straightened up and adjusted her Marine dress uniform, clearing her throat and throwing Bruno a look of displeasure. "No, of course not, General Kane. I was simply insisting that Captain Stenberg take a brief moment of leave to clear his mind of the traumatic events that occurred."

Kane barely even paid a second glance to Miranda, taking a step closer to Bruno, his hand reaching out to straighten Bruno’s tie and messing at the ribbons, wings, and the occupational badges he wore. "Captain here actually passed his baseline trauma exam. Isn't that right?"

Kane wasn't wrong. Bruno did pass the test. After 13 subsequent failures, tape scrubbing, and a few... corrective actions to fix his emotions. "Correct, General Kane. Mira- Lieutenant Ryker, I will be fine. Thank you for your worry, but this won't be long. Recounting the events will be simple enough. I'm assuming the mission has been declassified due to the circumstances of the possibility for the Medal of Honor?" It's a complete joke. He doesn't deserve the damn fucking medal. He deserves to die on the battlefield like a true warrior.

Miranda sighed and raised her hands. "Got it. I'm sorry for assuming that the incident where he almost died doesn't affect him at all. Sorry for assuming that he's just a normal man who sacrificed his damn chest and everything for-"

"That's enough!" Kane roared at her, Bruno unknowingly flinching at that. "You don't get to say whatever you want about this. Weren't you the one he took the blast for? Shouldn't you apologize to him for his fucked up chest?"

Bruno stopped listening at that point, his eyes fixated on a point in the wall, the ringing in his ears getting louder. He could hear the sound of his heart beating proudly in... in his fucked up chest; beating away without a care in the world. He didn't know why he felt really hot all of a sudden, sweat forming on his brow. He couldn't tell why it was getting harder to breathe or how the walls were closing in around him.

He just wanted to duck down.

He couldn't take another blast to his already fucked up chest. He didn't like the rain on his face. It wasn't rain though.

It was blood. Dripping, dripping, dripping down his face, hot and heavy, the screams and cries of agony an undertone of the deafening ringing in his ears.

And then the slap came out of no where, rough and stinging. Bruno registered it seconds after, his hand gently reaching up so that his fingers brushed up against the most likely reddened skin. "S-Sir?"

"Get your sorry ass together, Captain, or so help me I won't help you climb the ranks to Major. Hell, this could get you promoted. Now get your act together, stand straight, control your breathing, and get the fuck in that room. Tell them whatever they want. The mission was scrubbed as a Humanitarian effort to provide food and water to the locals when shit hit the fan for you and Lieutenant Ryker."

Miranda stared in rage and shock, standing in front of Bruno, her finger in Kane's face. "You *don't* touch him like that. I thought you knew better than to fuck over the one person on the team that half respects you."

The General stood there, his demeanor already giving Bruno a bad vibe, who was barely even there as it was. Kane and Miranda stared down one another, a silent discussion going on; one that Bruno didn't know what the contents were until Kane scoffed, pointing at Bruno. "If he fucks this up, I'll have you both on details that will make the Marines look like rocket scientists when they cut the grass in front of the their barracks with safety scissors. Understood?"

Miranda would have said something, but Bruno’s squeeze on her shoulder reminded her to choose her own battles, sighing and saluting alongside Bruno. "Copy. In that case, I'll leave Bruno to go ahead and present to the panel his recollection of events."

Kane grinned so smugly and patted Bruno’s cheek. "Atta boy, you'll be a fine officer. Now go get yourself a nice medal and a promotion. Don't let me down. You can't afford to."

The hall became so quiet, Bruno and Miranda watching as Kane disappeared, a sigh of relief coming from beside him. "I hate him so much," Miranda spoke with so much venom in her words. "I just want to... agh, forget it. He doesn't deserve another moment of my time. Bruno are you going to actually be fine?" She held his cheek, her lovely green eyes shimmering like a forest.

Bruno didn't even know what to say in return, so he took her hand off his face, whispering back, "It doesn't matter if I'm fine, Miranda. That's not something that should hold any importance." He forced a grin and smirk, winking at her with a bit of his dashing demeanor he puts up whenever he's pushing others away. "Besides... it's not something I can afford. I'm the leader of this team. I hold the line. I am the one who has to keep the rest of us up."

"And what about you? Who's holding you up? Bruno, don't walk away from this!" Miranda raised her voice to a harsh whisper, trying to stop Bruno from knocking on the door.

Bruno spun on his heels, and he stood rigid, holding back the anger that was rising in him. "When are you going to learn to just give up on me? I'm a lost cause. The sooner you accept that reality, the easier it'll be when..."

"When you die? Is that it? Do you just want to die, Bruno? Should I have let you bleed out on me back there?" Miranda was starting to tear up, making Bruno pinch the bridge of his nose tightly.

"I have to go... please, before I say anything else to make this worse than it already is." Bruno turned away again, knocking at the door and waiting to be told to enter and stand before the panel.

"You may enter, Captain Stenberg," a male called out from within the room, Bruno's hand reaching to turn the handle and pull it.

Miranda's voice was filled with sorrow and pain when she bid farewell. "Before you go in there... I'm not giving up on you. Not then, not now, and not ever. Now go get your medal that you earned."

Bruno couldn't turn to her. He didn't want her to see how much shame and pain he had within him. He heard the fading foot steps go away from him, and in order to not keep the panel waiting, he opened the door and entered the judgement chamber.

#bruno stenberg #Military Whump #Angst #PTSD #Panic Attack #Abuse from Commanding Officer #War Talk #*slightly grimdark* #and Mentions of Blood/Gore #military oc #miranda ryker #alfonso kane #izzy writes #bthb card #scar to remember

[thesandsofelsweyr]

HOLLOWED OUT

《 CH6 // FILLED BACK UP WITH HATE // PART 4 》

When Jason saw that photo of Batman and his new Robin, the thin cord of hope holding him together had snapped and he had broken into a million pieces. No one was coming for him. Not one single person on the planet cared whether he lived or died, or how much he suffered, or how loud he screamed. No one except the Clown. He was Joker’s now, and he would say or do anything to get a reprieve from the torment and the pain, even if it meant letting himself be reduced to something less than human.

《RATING》 🔞 Mature 《WORDS》 831 《CHAPTERS》 6/6

《CHARACTERS》 Jason Todd/Robin, Joker

《TROPES》 Hurt No Comfort, Angst, Whump, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

《WARNINGS》 Dehumanization, Bathing/Washing, Master/Pet, Collars, Ownership, Brainwashing, Humiliation, Non-Consensual Touching, Torture, Mindfuck, Scars, Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Loathing, Past Child Abuse, Daddy Issues, Forced Nudity, Swearing

《SERIES》 Part 4 of My Arkhamverse, Part 4 of Ruined

《NOTES》

Wow, I can’t believe I wrote 15k words about eating soup and taking a bath 😂🤣 But y'all—my baby is FINALLY FINISHED! After a 5+ year writing hiatus, then 6 miserable months of writer's block, I've published the longest story I've ever written by far!

If you enjoy the read please consider kudosing, commenting, and reblogging ❤️ TYSM for the support so far!

《 ALSO ON AO3 》 (comments & kudos there are very much appreciated)

Jason’s chin fell to his chest while he stood hunched, naked, and dripping, awaiting his master’s next command. Joker wrapped a towel around his waist, then draped another over his trembling shoulders. “Thank you sir,” he mumbled to the cold tile floor.

He was so numb that he barely registered the throbbing pain in his shredded foot. He felt as though Joker had sliced him open from throat to groin, letting his guts spill out before scooping out his soul and scraping that hollow cavity clean. The Clown could’ve branded him again right then and there, and he would’ve felt nothing.

Joker tucked a fist beneath his chin and nudged his face up. “Feel better, little bird?”

“Yes sir,” he answered absently, gazing back at those mucus-green eyes without seeing them.

Joker ran a ragged thumbnail over Jason’s cracked lips before placing his hands on either shoulder. “You look as good as new,” he lilted as he angled Jason to face the foggy mirror mounted over the sink. “See?”

The drawn face of a stranger stared back at him. It was the first time he’d seen his reflection since this shithole became his new home. Faint yellow bruises stained his pallid skin. The bridge of his nose was crooked, bent beneath a scar that marked all of the times it had been broken. A deep gash split his face diagonally, from his right cheek to his forehead—a gift from Zsasz. Smaller, faded scars cut across his brows, lips, and sunken cheeks. And on his left cheek…

“No,” he cried, his voice breaking with fresh tears as a cold fist of despair clutched his throat. Every single ounce of strength remaining in his ravaged body poured out in that instant. His shaking knees buckled, and he collapsed like a ragdoll into the waiting arms of the Clown, who caught him before he could hit the floor.

He knew it was there—it throbbed and bled and tugged at his skin—but seeing it, actually seeing it…

It’s real. It’s real. It’s all real.

He didn’t need a collar. His master had claimed him, body and soul. He would never be free of this place, never be free of this man or his mark. Batman would never come. He’d been replaced; he’d been abandoned. Everything Joker told him was true. Batman wouldn’t come, and Jason would spend the rest of his life in this hell. Joker would hurt him every day. Every single goddamned day until he was granted the mercy of a slow, agonizing death at this psycho’s hands.

The games… the songs… that laugh…

And no one cared. No one cared that he suffered, that his body was more scar tissue than skin. Not his family, not the staff, nor the doctors. He was trash, “an unwanted puppy.” He barely had the will to breathe. He felt as weak as a newborn kitten.

Joker gently lowered his boneless body to the floor. “There, there, buddy. Dry those tears. Uncle Joker will take care of you. He didn’t want you but I did. I do.”

“I’m yours.” It was a rote statement, but his tone rose as if he was asking a question. And unlike every other time he’d uttered those two simple words out of trained obedience, he desperately hoped they were true. He needed someone—anyone, even the Clown—to want him.

“That’s right, my pint-sized partner in crime. Mine. All mine.”

He was so twisted up by misery that Joker’s reply gave him a small measure of comfort. “I’m tired,” he said in a tiny, reedy voice. A child’s voice. It was the truth. He was tired of hurting every minute of every hour of every goddamned day. He was tired of pretending like he ever meant anything to Dick or Babs, to Alfred or Bruce. He was tired of trying to convince himself that Joker was lying when he said no one would ever want him.

He was tired of trying not to hate.

Joker hugged him against his chest, like a parent might do to a child. Or a father might do to a son. “I know, I know. You’ve been through so much, you poor thing. Yes, you’ve earned a nice, long nap, sweet boy,” Joker cooed before dropping a soft kiss on his crown.

Jason didn’t care. He needed to be held right now, even if it was by the man he came to kill, the monster who had ruined him. He needed reassurance that the only person on the planet who wanted him still wanted him.

He clutched two fistfuls of the purple suit of the man who scarred every inch of his flesh. He drew his knees up, pressing closer to Joker, and sobbed into the fabric. A hand gently stroked his hair, combing slender fingers through it now that the knots were gone, and Jason wished for nothing more than for this tender caress to never end.

“Thank you for being so kind to me, sir.”

#sands writes #fic: hollowed out #series: ruined #my arkhamverse #jason todd #joker #robin #arkham asylum #arkham knight #batman arkham knight #arkhamverse #whump #angst #collars #jason todd angst #jason todd whump #jason todd fanfiction #dcu #dead dove: do not eat

[whump-card]

Sunless Lives Part 32: I Need to Be Quiet

~1450 words

CW: foot whump, kidnapping

First, Previous, Next, Masterlist

~~~

Simon awoke to a cool hand pressing over his mouth.

Immediately he was confused and fearful. The lumpy cushions underneath him weren’t his bed. The dusty smell of an old building and the way the light was hitting his eyelids didn’t match Isles’ home either. And he was in pain; his whole body ached, and his feet felt like they'd been sliced up to bits.

Because they had.

Christian.

Running.

The community center.

It all flooded back, and Simon opened his eyes.

His fear ballooned into terror.

Davis Bowers was leaning over him, tall and solemn, his mouth stained red. He slowly lifted his hand from Simon’s mouth and held a finger to his own lips.

“I’d rather not make a scene, Simon,” he whispered.

Nora.

Simon’s eyes darted to where Nora sat curled in the armchair closer to the door, sound asleep. Alive - for now. The threat was clear: if she woke up, she would die. Simon’s heart pounded so hard he was afraid it was audible. He didn’t even dare to breathe, lest it woke Nora. He slowly sat up, every muscle in his body protesting. What was Bowers even doing here? He wasn’t preybonded to Simon, he had no reason to hunt him down specifically.

Simon wasn’t about to ask questions, though.

“Get up,” hissed Bowers.

“I can’t walk,” Simon whispered, “Sir,” he added, in a desperate attempt to placate the creature.

“Oh?” A smile flickered across Bowers’ face, and he made as if to offer a hand to Simon; but as soon as he reached out to take it he pulled away.

“Let’s see you try,” he goaded as he strolled over to the door.

Did he want Nora to wake up? Was he hoping Simon would cry out in pain and give him an excuse to kill the witness? Or was this a test of Simon’s obedience? Bowers would certainly come up with some kind of consequence if he tried to crawl instead of walk. Either way, Simon resolved to not make a sound. He lowered one leg onto the floor and flinched when it made contact. This would be difficult, but he could do it. He had to. He brought the other foot down, still sitting on the couch. He looked towards the door, and Bowers, plotting his route. He could support himself on the arm of the couch, then move to the back of Nora’s armchair. He’d have to be careful not to jostle it and wake her. He scooted to the end of the couch and set both hands on the arm, and took a deep, silent breath.

Shifting his weight onto his feet was like stepping onto hot coals. He was upright, but his body convulsed, and a small sound escaped him.

“Mm-!”

He clapped a hand over his mouth - another sound - shut his eyes, and stood as still as possible, breathing through the incredible pain. He heard nothing, then - fabric shifting.

No no no no no -

He opened his eyes to see Nora moving in front of him. His eyes darted around, to Bowers watching him steadily and back to Nora - but then, Nora stilled. She had simply shifted in her sleep. Now one hand dangled over the arm of the chair, which he’d have to dodge around to get to his next support. Taking a step on his ravaged feet was unthinkable, so he didn’t think. No buildup, no analyzing. He made a silent, controlled lunge forward and grabbed the back of the armchair.

His feet screamed. A sob started to force its way up his throat and he hunched and grit his teeth. He wouldn’t allow another sound, he wouldn’t allow Nora to wake up, he wouldn’t allow Bowers to -

Something landed in his pocket.

Something small and weighty slid and dropped into the pocket of his pajama pants, sending a gentle tug up the fabric to the waistband. Simon’s breath hitched, but he didn’t dare look. Not at Nora, not at his pocket, not at Bowers.

Did he see?

Nora was awake. Nora had put something in his pocket.

Nora was so fucking smart.

Nora was so fucking dead if Bowers noticed.

Simon couldn’t linger here, couldn’t raise any suspicions, couldn’t even look at Bowers. He had to get to the door, just a few feet in front of him. Once he was out of the lounge he was confident Bowers would be done with his game and would carry him. He hated that he was looking forward to it. Anything was better than walking right now.

But walking was what he still needed to do. He slowly lifted his hands from the back to the armchair, putting his full weight on his feet. He shifted the weight further to one foot, and slid the other one forward.

Hell. Hell. This is hell.

Tears dripped from his face and pattered onto the dingy old carpet. He hadn’t even registered that he was crying; the pain was overwhelming all his senses. His breath sounded too loud, and his pulse thundered in his ears.

Shift. Slide the other foot.

It wasn’t just his feet either, his whole body was in revolt. It turns out that sprinting at full tilt for God knows how long after months of next to no exercise fucks you up. His legs shuddered. His back ached. His lungs hurt.

Shift. Slide the other foot.

Saliva pooled in his mouth. He was going to throw up from the pain. That couldn’t happen, there was no way Nora could pretend to sleep through that.

Shift. Slide the other foot.

His knees buckled.

Bowers was suddenly there, catching Simon before he could fall.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered.

So Bowers really didn’t want a scene after all.

He swept Simon up easily onto his arms, and carried him bridal style as he opened the door and strode out into the gymnasium. Simon’s head flopped back in relief. He was off his feet. Nora was still alive.

There was something in his pocket.

Near-delirious from the pain, he smiled as he remembered his favorite childhood book.

What have I got in my pocket?

~~~

Matthew and Gina were escorted into the VIU building by Amber. As the most senior agent on Isles’ team, she had declared herself in charge until the VIU found a replacement for Isles. The rest of the team, all fresh out of the academy, had accepted this. Amber was still young herself and was unlikely to get the position permanently, but she was handling herself well under the circumstances.

She used her new authority to bring Matthew and Gina on as consults. Matthew suspected she might get some pushback once word reached the higher-ups, but in the meantime they were going to do everything they could to find Simon.

They were on their way to review everything they had on Bowers when an intern caught up with them in the hall.

“Agent Wynn - Oh, Agent Beck!”

Their group turned around.

“Not an agent anymore…” Matthew started, but the intern interrupted him.

“There’s a woman looking for you, she says it’s very urgent, that it has to do with Simon.”

“Where?” Matthew was already walking, led by the intern.

“The lobby.”

Matthew raced after the intern to the lobby, followed by Amber and Gina. There they saw a woman in a leather jacket, clutching a piece of yellow paper in her hand. She watched them approach with wide eyes.

“Are you Matthew Beck?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Matthew said breathlessly, “You know where Simon is?”

“I…” Her eyes darted between the three of them. “First I need to be sure, Simon was running away from someone who was hurting him, I don’t want him to go back to whoever that was.”

“What are you talking about? He wasn’t running from a vampire?” Amber asked.

The woman shook her head.

“No, he said the man he was running away from was like a father?”

“Isles,” Matthew hissed, his heart sinking.

“Simon won’t go back to him, will he?”

“No. He won’t.”

The woman still looked unsure, but she told them her story, speaking quickly.

“I’m Nora, I work for the Cambert Building community center. Simon came to us last night, he’d run a long way. We let him stay the night there, and I stayed with him. But I never fell asleep, and then this…” she shuddered, “Vampire came in and took him, I was so scared, I pretended to be asleep, I couldn’t do anything, but,” she pulled out her phone, “I managed to drop my smartwatch into his pocket.” She turned the screen towards Matthew, showing a bright dot on a map.

“I know where he is.”

~~~

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