#off-screen whump

[detective-giggles]

Better With You

Hi @marjansmarwani!! I have an exchange fic for you!  I really wasn’t sure which prompt to do and even debated trying to combine prompts 2 & 3, but in the end the hurt/comfort prompt won out. In a convenient 3+1 format! :)  I hope you enjoy! @chaotictarlos: thank you for the beta and helping me when I got stuck! @noxsoulmate: thank you for helping me brainstorm!

******

1.

Carlos doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know this is gonna be a bad day. His head feels like it’s going to explode, and he can’t quite see straight.  

He stumbles into the kitchen and manages to start some coffee before slumping on the couch to wait.

That’s where TK finds him an hour later, having not moved to get the coffee he started, breathing heavily as he tries to fight against the nausea that’s been rising in his stomach since he sat down.

“Babe?” Concerned, TK sits next to him and cradles his face in his hands, no doubt checking for a fever. 

“‘M okay,” Carlos murmurs, waving TK’s hands away but the gesture is weak. “Migraine,” he explains. “I just need a few more minutes; then I’ll get up.” 

“Let’s get you back to bed. I’ll reschedule the appointments,” TK offers. 

“Maybe that’s a good idea.” He sighs, they have meetings with the bakery and a florist today. He doesn’t want to disappoint TK, but he knows he can’t handle leaving the apartment this afternoon. They’ve had this appointment set up with the bakery for weeks, he hopes she can accommodate a different date.

“Come on.” TK stands and reaches out to help Carlos up. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” he mumbles. He gets up and hurries to the bathroom.  

Carlos knows TK has seen worse, but he’s grateful that TK gives him a little privacy as he violently empties his stomach. As soon as he’s done, TK swoops in, and he feels a cool towel on the back of his neck. TK uses another one to wipe his forehead, his cheeks, and finally, his mouth. He hands him a water bottle, and Carlos rinses his mouth and takes a couple of small sips.

 “Thank you. I’m sorry,” he adds pathetically, his voice rough.

“It’s okay. Let’s get you back to bed,” TK whispers. 

Carlos stands on shaky legs, and together, they make their way back to the bedroom. 

“Take these,” TK hands him a couple of pills and the bottle of water. He swallows them obediently and then lays face down on the bed and pulls the covers over his head. He sighs, hoping the meds kick in soon so he can sleep through the worst of it. TK presses a kiss to his head and disappears to make the phone calls.

It’s mostly dark when Carlos opens his eyes again. There’s a sliver of light shining through the curtains. 

He's not quite sure how TK got the blackout curtains up without waking him, but he’s relieved. The pain in his head is better but not gone completely.

He rolls over and TK is there next to him, sitting up in bed, silently playing on his phone. 

“Hey,” he whispers. “How are you feeling, babe?”

“Still hurts, but I don’t feel sick anymore.” 

TK makes him take another sip of water, and he lays down again, resting his head against TK’s thigh. TK rubs his back and he shifts uncomfortably, unable to fall back asleep. 

“Want me to hold you?” TK asks. 

“Please.” 

“Okay,” TK agrees. He sets his phone aside before slipping under the covers. He curls his body around his fiancé, and Carlos is finally able to relax enough to fall asleep again.

2.

“Reyes!” Carlos stops dribbling the basketball and pivots toward the voice yelling his name. There’s an opening and he bounces the ball with force to his teammate. She catches it, then shoots, earning them another two points.

“Nice job!” 

He hurries over and gives Detective Jones a high-five before pausing at the benches and taking a large swig from his water bottle. 

He takes a second to peek at his phone. TK should be meeting him any time and they’ll walk home together. While he enjoys his weekly pick-up basketball game at the precinct with some of his fellow officers, he enjoys the evening walk home with TK more. 

They play for a few more minutes and he manages to make two more baskets for his team.

Having a moment to breathe between baskets, he pauses and pulls the hem of his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his face, and as he does he hears a wolf whistle coming from the direction of the benches. He knows it’s TK, even without the accompanying playful teasing that comes from the guys.

Still, he looks over and smiles as TK takes a seat on the bench, ready to watch Carlos finish up his game. As he gives TK a little wave, he hears his name getting called and he turns, too late. Merely moments after he turns, his face explodes in pain.

Carlos staggers backward, and, in his daze, it takes a bit to realize the basketball is the culprit. He’s surrounded in a matter of seconds; by teammates trying to make sure he’s okay and, of course, TK. 

TK stops in front of him, trying to lead him to the bench and starting to assess the damage. A couple of officers run off to fetch ice and a towel while TK pokes at his face which doesn’t help as much as it hurts. 

He’s unsure what hurts more, his face or his pride, and he hisses in pain as TK examines him. He knows he’ll wind up swollen for a couple of days, but he just hopes nothing’s broken. 

Jones is back with the first aid kit and a clean towel, and TK uses it to wipe some of the blood off his face. 

“I don’t think your nose is broken,” TK says. “We should probably go to the hospital to be sure, though.” 

A patrol officer Carlos has worked with a few times, and the one Carlos is fairly certain threw the ball, returns with a bag of ice and offers to drive them, but he declines emphatically.

He hisses as TK presses the ice to his face. “I’m okay. It’s my fault. I should have been paying attention.”

“Instead of being distracted by your boy toy over there,” Lexi teases.

“Come on then, let’s get you home,” TK says. 

They take the ride offered by Carlos’ partner and promise to call her if they need anything. TK carries Carlos’ bag while he focuses on keeping the ice on his face, and they make their way into the elevator. 

“Sorry I distracted you, babe,” TK finally says. 

“It was my fault,” Carlos says. He settles on the sofa while TK rummages through the freezer. He finally joins Carlos on the sofa with a bag of frozen vegetables, and Carlos would laugh if he wasn’t sure it would hurt so much. 

TK just shrugs, “it’s softer than ice cubes. It’ll work.”

Carlos doesn’t care at this point, if it helps his face from swelling up and the pain is some of the worst that he’s ever felt - he’ll take it. He lays down, settling his head in TK’s lap, and TK gently places the bag of veggies on his face. 

“They’re not going to let you live this down, are they?”

“Not anytime soon,” Carlos admits.

3.

Carlos sits at the edge of the bed and pouts. He desperately wishes he was at home in his own bed, with TK’s arms around him. 

Instead, he’s all alone in the ER waiting for the doctor to return and finish his stitches - which is taking longer than he would like for it to.  

He wonders if his partner has called TK, or if that’s been left for him to do himself when they release him. He hopes that someone called TK and told him what was going on, with how slow the doctor was going he’s definitely going to be late for dinner and he doesn’t want TK to worry.

He’s nauseous and Carlos knows that’s a bad sign. He groans and his fingers lightly brush the plastic emesis bag the nurse had left for him before leaving him alone for a few minutes for the local anesthetic to kick in. He closes his eyes and takes a couple of deep breaths hoping that will help calm his stomach and when he opens them again TK’s standing just inside the curtain.

“Oh, babe,” TK crosses the small space between them and wraps his arms around Carlos.  

Carlos knows the look he’s getting from TK well. TK’s eyes and hands frantically roam over his body as he checks for any additional injuries that the doctors might have missed. TK never believes that Carlos is okay until he checks him out for himself.  

“I’m okay,” Carlos insists. “Just a little bump on the head.”

TK evaluates the wound on Carlos’ forehead. “I’m thinking that’s going to take at least five stitches, Carlos, that’s not nothing.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I was serving papers and I don’t even know what happened.”

“You don’t know or you don’t remember?” TK frowns and he knows he should mention the concussion but instead Carlos just shrugs.

TK gives a little sigh as he hugs Carlos tightly. “Do you need anything?”

“Just you. I feel better now that you’re here.”

“You big softie,” TK teases.

“How does it feel to be on that side of the exam table?” Carlos asks.

“Not good,” TK murmurs. “I hate seeing you hurting.”

TK steps back as a nurse joins them, setting out everything they’ll need for the stitches. 

“Why are you sitting up, Mr. Reyes?” The nurse gently guides him so he’s settled back in the bed. “The doctor will be right in, and then we’ll get you checked in,” he says.

“You’re admitting him?” TK asks, surprised and he turns to look at Carlos. “What didn’t you tell me? Did you lose consciousness?”

“Twice,” the nurse chirps. “Once on scene and once in my ER.”

“Carlos!”

“I’m fine,” he insists. 

TK opens his mouth, likely to protest, when the doctor walks in. TK doesn’t argue, but slides to the head of the bed and sits, slipping his hand into Carlos’ for comfort.  He stays silent while the doctor stitches up Carlos’ forehead. It’s a quick affair and it doesn’t hurt the way Carlos expects it to, but Carlos squeezes TK’s hand the whole time.

“They’re almost ready for you upstairs, officer. We’ll keep you overnight for observation and do another CT scan in the morning.” The nurse pushes in a wheelchair and Carlos sighs.

“Another CT? How hard were you hit?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbles. He clumsily slides off the bed and TK steadies him until he gets settled in the wheelchair whispering something about hospital policy.

“I’ll call your parents and then I’ll be up.” Carlos gives a half-nod, even though he really doesn’t want to be alone. 

It takes longer for him to change and climb into bed than he thought it would. Getting comfortable is a joke, but he tries to relax and wait for TK. He doesn’t have to wait long, however, TK joins him in minutes. 

“Tell me a story,” Carlos says, closing his eyes. 

“What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t walk to talk. I like hearing your voice,” Carlos explains.  

“Okay,” TK says. He joins Carlos in the bed that’s not really big enough for two, and talks.

+1

Carlos’ radio crackles to life.

“RA 126… We need APD assistance in the kitchen.” It’s Tommy’s voice, calm as always. He can vaguely make out Nancy’s voice in the background but she doesn’t sound as calm.  

He grabs another officer’s attention, a rookie, and turns him back toward the residence they had just cleared.

“Go,” he orders. He draws his firearm, holding it at a low ready, and follows him into the house.  The new officer stops suddenly, just past the threshold of the kitchen, and Carlos would have bumped into him if he hadn’t been on high alert.

Just past the rookie, he sees Nancy and Tommy kneeling - TK lying in a pool of blood between them.  

“Dude came up the basement stairs,” Nancy says, not taking her eyes off TK. “He had a knife.” She jerks her head towards the open screen door. “Went out the back.”

Carlos whips around, stepping towards the other officer. “I thought you cleared the basement?” he asks.

“I-I-I did!” He insists, taking a step away from a very angry Carlos.

Carlos cocks his head to the side and steps towards him, backing him against the counter. He sees Tommy coming towards them in his peripherals, but keeps his focus on the young officer. “You did? Then why is my husband-”

“Carlos!” Tommy’s hand is on his shoulder, gently pulling him back. “Let your sergeant deal with him.” Carlos glances to the side and sees TK reaching for him, despite Nancy’s efforts to keep him still.  

He turns back towards the rookie. “Get back up and search the area.” 

“Yes, sir.” Carlos steps aside and the younger officer hurries past, shouting into his radio. 

“TK?” Carlos turns and kneels at TK’s side, smoothing his hair back and caressing his cheek softly. Up close, it looks worse than he thought, but TK is moving and talking and laughing at him, so he hopes it’s not life-threatening.

“You were really giving him the business,” TK chuckles. 

“He had one job, TK, keeping you three safe.”

“Two outta three isn’t bad,” TK jokes. “Besides, I’ll be okay.”

“You always are.”

Carlos watches anxiously as Nancy and Tommy load TK onto a stretcher, prepping him for transport. 

“You coming?” Tommy asks. 

TK chuckles again. “That’s a dumb question. Of course, he is. I need him. He’s always here when I need him.”  Carlos follows Tommy and climbs into the ambulance.

The ride to the hospital takes ages and yet, in no time, TK is being ripped away from him and whisked up to surgery, and Carlos is shuttled to the waiting room with the rest of the 126. He tries to collapse into a chair but Paul stops him and pulls him into the bathroom, helping him wash the blood from his hands. 

He sits and waits, paces and waits, but mostly waits. 

“Mr. Reyes-Strand?”

“Yes?” Carlos jumps up. “Is he-”

“Surgery went well. He’s awake and asking for you.” Carlos sighs with relief and hurries down the hallway. “He needs to rest, but you can have a few minutes with him.”

Carlos agrees and before he steps into the room, he can see TK’s already reaching for him. 

“See, babe, I told you I’d be okay.”

“You did,” Carlos laughs and sniffles. “Are you in any pain?”

“A fair amount,” TK admits. 

Carlos starts to pull away. “I’ll grab the doctor.”

TK keeps a tight grip on his hand. “Later. Right now, all I want is you.”

Carlos nods. He sits on the edge of the bed as best he can, and holds his husband.

#tarlossanta22 #hurt/comfort #tarlos #911 ls fic #tk strand #carlos reyes #work injuries #sports injuries #headaches #they're just a snuggly bunch okay? #off-screen whump

[whmp]

whumper: im heading back home. you better not be a low-poly game asset for the sony playstation 1™ console.

whumpee: 😶

---

his name is cecil and he's not doing well. i had this neat idea yesterday: imagine a tamagotchi-like game, where you have to "take care" of a whumpee who lives inside your puter. will you traumatize them beyond all recovery or will you look after them? after all, they're just a replaceable heap of pixels, right? it's not like they have feelings.

#whump #whump art #whump oc #whump ideas #if you're reading the tags you're about to get some premium insider info #i've been obsessed with stupid game arg stuff lately. reliving my creepypasta phase and all that. #and just. imagine one of those haunted cartridges but the ghost in it is not malevolent. its scared and lonely and completely at your mercy #and the game invites the user to abuse the characters in it - you get some fake currency or points or whatever. #idk just some freaky paranormal shit that makes you feel bad for torturing a fake lil guy on your screen #ALTERNATIVELY just a sequel to the interactive buddy flash game where you beat the shit out of cecil and it's just that. simple as. #dusted off the ol' unity+blender+glsl combo for that one :) #ok ive rambled enough but it was so much fun to pose this poor dude id love to make a little game out of it

[sparrowsage]

The Warehouse: Digging Up Old Memories

Buckle up, because this piece is something. I really enjoyed writing this piece, even if it is a giant emotional show lol. A huge shoutout and thanks to @flowersarefreetherapy for giving me the general idea for this piece! I hope I did it justice! And thank you to @darkthingshappen, @oddsconvert, and @whumpcereal for cheering me on as always!

HEED THE WARNINGS FOR THIS ONE!!!

TW: Minor whump (Jayden is 14), head injury, threatened noncon drugging, implied noncon (off screen), threatened noncon, mentions of past noncon and torture, implied future noncon, character death (off screen), suicidal thoughts, adult character referred to as 'boy', adult language, heavy grieving ((If I missed anything, please tell me and I'll add it!))

“No, I’m sick of doing this shit!” Jayden yelled, stepping back from Logan as the Keeper moved in closer, towering over the teen. “You never stay true to your word! I can’t let you stand by and hurt Sparrow after I’ve done everything you’ve asked me to do!” 

Sparrow stared at the two of them, wide-eyed as fear grabbed hold of him. Sure, Sparrow’s challenged the Keeper’s here plenty of times, but that was because whatever ended up happening would happen to him. Jayden fighting back like this? All for his sake? It was thoughtful, but he couldn’t handle the wrath of the Keepers. 

Logan backed Jayden up against the wall, his hand shooting forward to the kid’s neck, taking hold of his throat in a tight grip just shy of suffocating him. 

“I’d be real careful about your choice here, boy. That piece of shit over there doesn’t deserve a hero, let alone a scrawny one such as yourself. Everyone always comes to the realization that they can’t escape this fate, one way or another. It’s easier for the both of you if you just follow my orders. So what’ll it be, pretty boy? Are you going to show me and the bastard here how much of a good listener you are and suck me off or are you going to continue your little defiant act thinking you can best me?” 

Jayden’s hands were around the Keeper’s wrist, doing his best to try and scratch Logan in an attempt to get the hand off his neck, but it wasn’t working. He was too weak. At the question, Jayden stared right back at Logan, his expression sharp enough to cut diamonds. 

“Jayden, please-,” Sparrow tried, on the verge of getting up from his spot against the wall by the door. Logan had told him to stay put and that if he moved, he’d force Sparrow to watch the worst Showing he’d ever put Jayden through. 

“Shut up, runt,” Logan growled, his head turning slightly in Sparrow’s direction. “He has to make this decision on his own.” 

There was silence for a couple seconds and Sparrow could feel the anger rolling off the both of them in waves. 

“You and this whole place can go rot in hell. I’m not following another one of your stupid orders just because you think you deserve respect,” Jayden finally spat, bracing himself against the wall before kicking his foot out, his heel landing a direct hit to Logan’s crotch. 

The Keeper could hardly brace himself before Jayden’s foot connected with his crotch, Logan doubling over for a moment, his hand never leaving Jayden’s throat, before a loud, angry scream erupted out of his mouth. 

In a fluid motion, Logan used all the strength he could muster and lifted Jayden by his neck and threw him to the left over by his desk. Sparrow watched on in horror as he saw the fear and terror flash across Jayden’s eyes as he went flying before the back of the teen’s head connected with the sharp corner of Logan’s desk. He crumpled to the floor as Logan doubled over again, letting out small groans of pain. 

“Jayden!” Sparrow shouted, his body jerking momentarily as he went to get up, but remembered Logan’s threat from earlier, causing him to stay in place. 

He wasn’t getting up and there was blood leaking out onto the floor. Sparrow couldn’t tell if he was breathing. 

“Jayden, get up!” he cried out, Sparrow’s whole body frozen in fear. 

“Shut the fuck up!” Logan yelled, his head turning sharply to look at Sparrow. 

“No, please, he’s not getting up!” Sparrow pleaded, his fists white with how tight they were balled up. “Please, I’ll do whatever the fuck you want, just take him to the medical ward, please!” 

Logan chuckled slightly as he was finally able to stand up straight again. “Oh, you think a bit of pleading will convince me to get him treated? As if. The little shit deserved it, thinking he could fight back like that. Besides, you stupid mutts always seem to recover. He’ll be fine come tomorrow.” 

Instead of continuing on with what he had planned, Logan gave one last look to Jayden and Sparrow before deciding to leave his office. There’d be time to do things with them later. 

Sparrow let out a snarl as Logan passed him to leave, waiting for the door to shut before he rushed over to Jayden, his hands hovering over his body, afraid that a single touch would make his friend crumble into dust. 

#####

“No, you have to let me stay with him!” Sparrow shouted, desperately trying to fight his way out of Josh’s grip on him. “Let me go!” 

“You’re scheduled for a Showing and there’s no way you’re missing it,” Josh growled, his grip seeming to get tighter the more Sparrow fought. “He’ll be fine and you’ll get to go back to the main room and see him once the Showing is over.” 

“No, he needs me to stay with him since you fuckers won’t take him to the medical ward! Let go of me!” 

Josh stopped trying to drag Sparrow forward and out of Logan’s office, instead pulling him in close with an iron tight grip on both his wrists. Their faces were mere inches apart and Sparrow could feel the warmth of his breath. “I won’t hesitate to inject you full of muscle relaxers, boy. You know as much as I do that you’ll do anything to fight back during these things, so do you really want to give up being able to move all because you want to sit by your little friend?” 

Sparrow’s body froze at the threat, his eyes going wide for a moment. Josh was right, he couldn’t go through a Showing drugged up like that. He’d have no control (not that he did during Showings) over anything. He couldn’t get injected with that stuff. 

Josh smirked as Sparrow stayed still, finally continuing towards the door to the office. “That’s what I thought. Once it’s over, you’ll be able to spend as much time with the little runt as you want.” 

#####

Sparrow wasn’t proud of the Showing he just went through. It had to have been the most compliant he’s ever been during one, but he didn’t want it to be dragged out. His only thought and priority was getting back to Jayden to make sure he was okay. 

Josh had been surprised with how compliant he had been, as was the audience that showed up to watch. It was utterly embarrassing, but he didn’t care enough to not do it. He would have been the most compliant pet in the entire facility if it had meant getting out of that Showroom faster. 

Once the Showing was done, Josh walked him back to the main hallway before leaving him there to do his own thing. The moment Josh left him, Sparrow started running to the main rooms, his heart rate picking up as he tried to get to the room as fast as he could. 

Sparrow was almost certain Logan would have moved him out of his office during the Showing, so the most logical place to put him would be one of the main rooms. That, or Jayden had woken up and Logan kicked him out of his office and he made his way to their spot in one of the main rooms. If Sparrow didn’t see him in there, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. 

When Sparrow finally made it to the doorway that led into the main room he and Jayden usually ended up in, he scanned the entire room, trying desperately to locate his friend. His anxiety was starting to climb with each face he saw, none of them being the young teen before his eyes landed on a figure in the corner where Jayden and him sat most of the time. 

He was there, sitting in his normal spot, looking completely fine. Jayden was waiting for him. 

Sparrow did his best to make it over to the back corner of the room, nearly tripping over several pets as they tried to sleep or just pass time, not even bothering to let out any kind of apology before making it over to his friend. 

“Jayden!” he called out, falling to his knees in front of his friend before embracing the teen in a tight hug. 

“You’re okay! You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” he said, his voice going quiet as he spoke, letting things sink in. His friend was okay, he was alive and that was all Sparrow cared about. 

“Of course I’m okay. Do you really think a bump on the head would keep me down?” Jayden joked, hugging Sparrow back. 

Sparrow pulled back slightly, his hands still on Jayden’s shoulders, afraid that if he let go, Jayden would disappear. “It’s just - you collapsed once your head hit the desk, a-and Logan refused to bring you to the medical ward, and then I was dragged off for a Showin-”

“Sparrow,” Jayden interrupted, his voice a bit firm, “I’m alright, I promise. I can’t die that easily. Besides, we promised each other we’d find a way to escape this place some day. I can’t go back on my word, now can I?” 

Sparrow wiped at his eyes, tears starting to form. “I’m just happy you’re okay. And you’re right, we are going to escape this place one day. Just please don’t go pissing off any more Keeper’s. Leave that to me, I can handle it.” 

Just then, the entire main room started to fade out, a black abyss surrounding the two of them. Sparrow didn’t even notice, his entire focus was on his friend. 

Jayden looked at Sparrow with a soft smile, his head slightly tilted to the side.

“I know you can. That fighting spirit is what’s giving me hope that you’ll be able to make it out of here alive. If you hold onto that, you’ll be able to escape. Just keep fighting. For the both of us.” 

Sparrow faltered a bit at that. “W-wait, what do you mean by that? We’re going to get out of here together.” 

Jayden didn’t answer, continuing to give Sparrow that soft, warm smile that he cherished so much as he slowly faded away. Before Jayden was completely gone, Sparrow reached forward, trying to grab hold of him before he fully disappeared, leaving Sparrow alone in the dark abyss.  

#####

Sparrow woke with a jump, jolting up from his spot on the floor of Damon’s office. Looking around the dark and empty room, Sparrow couldn’t see Jayden and was a bit confused, but mostly worried. 

Where was he? Jayden had just been in front of him a second ago. He wanted that back, he needed it back. 

The more he woke up though, the more things finally started to settle in. 

Four days ago, he had been brought back to the Warehouse from his two week stay at Volkov’s island, having gone through his ‘welcome home’ Showing yesterday. Two months ago, Damon had been put in charge of training him, starting up a brand new hell for him to navigate on his own. Five years ago, the Keeper’s gave up trying to train him because he was deemed a lost cause and couldn’t be trained, instead just using him as a free-for-all and overall enjoying causing him pain, discomfort and humiliation. Seven years ago was when he had watched Logan give his one and only friend a death blow and then later finding out that Jayden had died all alone while he was in a Showing Josh forced him to go through, unable to be with him in his final moments to make him feel safe and loved. 

As reality came crashing back, Sparrow couldn’t help the gut wrenching sob that erupted out of his throat, the pet clutching his hands close to his chest as he curled into himself. 

Ever since it happened, Sparrow had done all he could to repress that memory to the point that he couldn’t remember it at all. All he chose to remember was that Jayden died. Everything else, how it happened, the look of fear and terror right before his head connected with the desk, how much he tried to fight back as Josh dragged him off to the Showing, Logan’s fucking taunting once he finally told Sparrow what they did with Jayden after he died, he wanted to forget and never remember. 

He had no idea why the memory resurfaced. It had been so long ago, yet now he could remember every detail clearly, as if he were reliving it in full. It was the worst pain he has ever felt and would probably ever feel. And what made it worse was that his head went and twisted the events, giving him the false hope that Jayden was alive and fine. But Sparrow could never see him again. 

After a couple more minutes, Sparrow wiped the tears from his eyes, trying to get his breathing under control. It had to have been close to morning, if he had to guess, and Damon would be here soon to put him through another day of hell. If the Keeper walked in and saw him crying or saw the evidence that he had been crying, Sparrow would never hear the end of it. 

Before he could put a cap on his emotions, he felt another sob bubble up from his chest and before he could stop himself, he reared his fist back, sending it straight towards the wall beside him. The wall stayed intact but Sparrow let out a loud shout before biting his tongue, cradling his hand. 

Why couldn’t one of these guys have killed him too? Why couldn’t he have had the peace that his friend had? All he wanted was to be with Jayden again, because he was the only one that made this place bearable. His smile and laugh lifted his spirits no matter how he felt and his presence made Sparrow feel safe, even though there wasn’t a single thing either of them could do when the Keepers came for them. If he didn’t have that, if he didn’t have him here, there wasn’t much of a point to keep fighting. 

The pain that now pulsed from his bleeding and possibly broken hand acted as an anchor to the real world for him and Sparrow was able to stop the tears from falling, taking in a couple deep breaths before he felt like himself again. Damon would probably point out his hand when he came in later, but right now, Sparrow didn’t care. If Damon was overly concerned about it, he’d get it looked at because unlike Logan, Damon wasn’t going to sit by and have a wound that looked serious enough unchecked. Sparrow had no doubt that the Keeper wouldn't let him die before he himself molded Sparrow into the perfect pet. 

Taglist: @mannerofwhump, @honey-is-mesi, @painful-pooch, @whumperfully, @hiding-in-the-shadows, @flowersarefreetherapy, @goronska, @blueyellow8green, @oddsconvert, @darkthingshappen, @whumpcereal (if you want to be added, let me know!)

#The Warehouse #Sparrow Cresky #Jayden Cresky #Minor whump #head injury #threatened noncon drugging #implied noncon (off screen) #threatened noncon #mentions of past noncon and torture #implied future noncon #character death (off screen) #suicidal thoughts #adult character referred to as 'boy' #adult language #heavy grieving

[secret-bug-pain-blog]

@febuwhump Day 6 - "You lied to us"

This one's a rough 'un for sure, content-wise. Behold, the mental state of a 2000-pound wild boar afflicted with pack mentality, a complete lack of pack, and several metric tons of trauma.

The moon is coming.

Vi scurries through the city streets, dread rattling in her throat. There are too many people here, too many bugs, too many people she could hurt. She must have lost track of time - miscounted the days on the calendar, miscalculated the time left in the day, forgotten to watch out for the moonrise, something.

The moon is coming, and she is afraid.

Everywhere she goes, the crowd only seems to grow thicker. It's too many people, too much crowding- she can almost smell the blood that'll be spilled if she stays, the feeling of shell cracking in her teeth, the taste of guts and hemolymph.

She needs to get away.

Vi pushes through the throng, frantically hunting for anywhere that might be less full, anywhere that she might be able to chain her other form. She can feel something beginning to stir, the phantom of her claws threatening to break out from under her shell. Her teammates are calling after her, concerned, afraid- but she can't go to them now, not when the moon is so close.

She can't afford to have more people dead.

She needs to get somewhere safe- somewhere away from people, somewhere she can keep her claws bound, somewhere that the only person she'll hurt is herself.

But everywhere she goes, there only seem to be more bugs in the crowd, more people pushing, stalling, stopping her from getting anywhere that she might be able to get out-

The moon peeks over the horizon, and for a moment, all she can feel is blinding, awful dread.

"Vi," Leif says. "Vi, why are you running away?"

"You're acting strange," Kabbu says, concern clear in his voice. "Shouldn't you be resting? Weren't you hurt in that fight? Any other bug would be dead by now, Vi."

She tastes hemolymph on her tongue as one of her growing tusks pierces her lip. She doesn't answer, running blindly further, further. The crowd doesn't thin, no matter how far she runs, and she can feel the warning twisting beginning under her shell, the feeling of flesh starting to warp.

Her flesh gives a warning twist under her shell, and all she knows is that she has to go, now.

A bug cuts in front of her, and she startles, balking at the unexpected motion - too much, too close, the feathering on her antenna brushes shell with an uncomfortable thrill of feedback and she barely bites back a whimper. Something in her back gives an uncomfortable crunch, and she stands a head taller - still not enough to part the tide, but enough that she can feel her shell tighten, the spines beneath threatening to pierce through.

There are people all around her. At her sides, at her back, at her throat. She can feel them press closer and closer, boxing her in. Her teammates are coming closer, closer, their words scraping against the insides of her skull in awful, uncomfortable shards.

"Vi?"

Too close- she's going to hurt them, she can feel the transformation getting worse, her arms beginning to twist apart, rows upon rows of claws sprouting from her arms. They're just behind her, she can tell, staring, watching her as the moon rips through her body. She sees them, horrified, disgusted, looking at her-

"Don't touch me," she begs. "Get away, get away-"

But they don't listen, crowding closer, staring and murmuring like she's an animal in a zoo. Spikes climb the ridge of her back as her shell hardens and thickens, her wings melting and melding with the thick plane of carapace that is now her thorax, her muzzle twisting and lengthening and thickening as her jaw warps, her tusks curving and twisting outwards, her eyes watering as something behind them shifts.

She's surrounded on all sides. There are so many people here, so many people everywhere - the, the more she sees, the more she recognizes, staring and gaping and pointing at her as her shell shifts and distorts. She presses her hands over her ears, but there's nothing there but talons, long and sharp and threatening to tear away the sides of her face as her chitin crunches-

They are silent as she screams, the transformation rattling down through shell and flesh, her mandibles pulling apart, the scar on her lip tingling and pulling as her pedipalps fully extend. Her shell practically breaks in two, going from bee-size to beast-size in a split second, shattering and healing itself in an instant. The sound she makes isn't bug, an awful, wretched, guttural thing, wrenched from her chest to her jaws as her body warps unnaturally, as she changes in an instant.

The pain rings in her ears all too long after it finishes, but when it does, she can see her shell battered and broken on the floor in front of her. Her bee body, ripped to shreds, taken apart piece by piece - her beast form torn out from within, rendering it a useless corpse on the floor.

Vi looks up. And up. And up. She towers over everyone, now, but she feels horribly small. She sits in the middle of a circle, a monster torn from bee shell- she sees the looks of shock on their faces, the slow step back, the growing fear. A few nervous bugs level weapons at her.

Kabbu breaks the silence. "You- a beast!"

"When were you going to tell us?" Leif asks, its fur ruffled with displeasure. Elizant steps out from behind it, levelling her with a stony glare that demands an explanation. They crowd in, new bugs appearing from thin air to check out the hubbub, staring and poking at her like she's a zoo exhibit. A doctor jabs at the aching bite on her arm, trying to spread it open for examination, another trying to distract her as she's poked and prodded like a lab animal. They're too close, they're all too close, she can't breathe-

Vi balks, lashing out at the growing crowd with her talons, and the air is steeped in hemolymph in an instant. The floor is blue-green, pale white, deep emerald- the doctors are dead, They're dying- and everyone looks at her with disgust, backing up as if they'll catch her sickness if they get too close. There's rot in her mouth, decay coating her tongue as it pools in her stomach, an awful nausea climbing up her throat.

"Why would you do that?" asks Kabbu. "They just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Vi tries to respond, but her throat doesn't form words anymore. She wails something out, incoherent, but he simply looks at her with cool disappointment. "I don't see why I bring you out at all, if you're going to act like this," he tuts in Jaune's voice. "Behave yourself! Do you think that the Hive raises wild animals?"

The Hive around her tuts in agreement, casting judgemental eyes on her. There's blood on the floor, pooling in the crevices between tiles, the same yellow-green of all bee's blood. Bugs murmur and titter and judge, a million billion eyes all on her, alone at the middle of the throng.

It feels awful, it feels wrong - but no matter how much she twists and turns, she can't find a single bug who seems to notice that something is strange. The awful feeling in her chest grows and grows, taking over until she can't feel anything else, rotting and festering and swelling. There's a static between her and them, an awful gap, and it won't stop growing and growing and-

She snaps back to reality.

Jaune is beneath her, a horrible fear in her eyes, Vi's jaws clamped around her arm. There's that awful sinking feeling in her stomach, the feeling that she's done something horribly, irreversibly wrong.

She lets go, and Jaune scrambles back, vanishing into the crowd- a million eyes staring right at her, right at the shards of bee fluff and shell in her teeth.

"You animal," the Overseer snarls. "What's wrong with you? Do you get off on attacking harmless bugs now?"

"And Maki approved you?" Elizant snarls, her mask doing nothing to conceal the disgust on her face. "Has my association fallen so low as to take in mindless beasts?"

"You lied to us!" cries Leif. "A member of the hive? You're nothing but a monster!"

The other bugs join the chorus, chanting their disdain for her- wretch, beast, poacher, rattling through her shell until she can't hear herself think, the sound vibrating in every little crevice of her shell and every hair of her antenna in a cascade of voices she knows.

A stone cracks across her shell, and she howls. It doesn't drown out the voices- they only get louder, and louder, and louder, howling for her death, for her silence, shut up and die already-

She runs. Like a coward, like the fucking idiot she is that's run a hundred times before- faces blur past her, people she knows, Maki, his face twisted in disgust and horror, Bau, all humor gone from their face as they ready their daggers, Ollie, half her body gone beneath the tearing force of her jaws-

The Golden Path's leaves crunch under her paws, the crowds falling away as she flees. Her pursuer is only a few paces away, bigger than her, stronger than her, jaws snapping at her ragged wings. She has to run, she has to get out, but her legs are too short, her limbs fumble beneath her, she stumbles-

Claws lodge in her chitin, piercing it as easily as if she were a wriggler again and wrenching her on her back. Rust-red eyes, flashing green-blue in the moonlight, a pair of tusks, a twisted reflection of her, rope tied around its limbs and bee-blood spilling from its jaws as it calls her name, Vi, Vi, VI-

"Vi!"

Her claws flashed out, scoring a sharp gash into one of Kabbu's external mandibles. Vi sat bolt upright, ignoring the jolt of pain from the sting-mark in her side as she pulled her claws against her chest.

...but no one was there but Kabbu, holding a hand to the new scratches on his muzzle.

A dream. It was a dream.

It... wasn't real.

Vi trapped her claws against her ruff, trying to focus on controlling her breathing. It was a dream. It didn't happen. None of it had actually happened.

Her hands were still shaking.

They were still in the Swamplands. She could smell the swamp water if she focused, lingering over nearly everything else. Maki was still leaned against the wall, Leif was sleeping not half a foot away, curled into some awful pretzel shape.

In, out. Focus on the spiracles closer to her thorax. Focus on the spiracles closer to her stinger. Her claws were tipped with pale blue-green. Hemolymph dripped from the scratches on Kabbu's face.

Just a dream.

She worried her wrist in her teeth, ignoring Kabbu's sound of alarm. She- it wasn't real. It wasn't real. Tonight wasn't the right night. She still had her calendar in her bag to prove it, hidden away with the chains and the handful of charms she'd commissioned.

The half moon shone high in the sky.

Fourteen days until the full moon. Fourteen days before the next time she had to fear her transformation.

She wondered, absentmindedly, if the old poacher camp in the swamp was still standing.

#my posts #whump #bug fables #febuwhump #febuwhumpday6 #febuwhump2024 #wereweevil vi #gore #injury #nightmares #implied injury #(?kinda? it happens off-screen and then she. heals. normally.) #uhh. fuck #harsh language #we guess #we. cant think of what else to tag this yknow how it is #anyways dog time

[coffeeangelinabox]

Febuwhump #29: Not Allowed to Die

Some days it's burning, others freezing, flaying, beating.

Whumpee isn't even sure if Whumper realises what they are doing. Realises it kills, recognises they are capable of feeling pain.

Whumper performs their tests, makes their notes.

Whumpee isn't even sure they are being are experimented on, tested. It may just as likely be Caretaker.

Because when they are returned to the cell, no matter how they bleed and suffer, no matter what they fear the next day will hold, no matter how they beg for release, no matter what...Caretaker heals.

"Please," they plead.

"Let me die."

"No more."

"Don't make me keep doing this."

No amount of beseeching, imploring, entreating changes the response.

"I can't," Caretaker sobs, day after day, time after time. "You can't die. I can't be here alone."

And so the next day it begins anew.

#my writing #febuwhump #whump #whump prompts #febuwhumpday29 #suffering #experimentation #implied torture #torture off screen

[quietwingsinthesky]

ohhhh u know what i wanna write. need to, even. very important to do it at some point. but i think i really do need to make the doctor have a meltdown. i think that would be very cathartic to put them through.

#whump but autism flavored. for me. #i mean i imagine that he has been having them just off-screen when the worse adventures are over #can keep it together as long as he’s running because he can focus on something else and. then when he is not it all hits at once. #the doctor curled on the tardis floor because he can hear her engine vibrating through it and its the only sensation that isnt causing him #physical pain to experience at the moment #i need him to go thru some shit okay. never enough fics in the autistic doctor tag on ao3 #skmeone remind me to outline this in the morning. gotta pick which doctor to do it to. which companion to be with him. #i am feeljng ten & donna but that could change #oh on that note: thinks about 14 having meltdowns about. ‘normal things’. #local man who has saved the world a thousand times suddenly finds out that grocery store lighting is intensely stressful and makes him want #to cry. despite all contradicting evidence that this is happening to him is a good thing. #means he’s recalibrating slowly to allow his body to be upset by things like that rather than pushing all of it down to be set off by #the world nearly exploding or someone he loves getting hurt. instead he can get overwhelmed by small things and feel safe that if he reacts #to that. nothing bad will happen to him while he’s having a meltdown. ohhhhh donna bringing him a weighted blanket because he went to hide #in his tardis after comjng home and not saying a word to anyone….. #okay im done i swear im done.

[whump-cravings]

Tortured Prince - Strike Team

Tortured Prince AU Masterlist - TR3 Masterlist

~2k | Original Work: Tortured Prince (AU of TR3), set shortly post-escape

Content | Royal whump, off-screen sex work, a penis gets held hostage. (I don’t think this counts as nsfwhump but ymmv)

"Few are as loyal to Ironda as you four," Rohisa said to the soldiers kneeling before her. "Which makes you part of the small handful of people of whom I could entrust a most difficult, dangerous, and terrible task."

Rahi, Liri, Nilal, and Tikka exchanged glances. The four of them were acquainted with each other to varying degrees, but Rohisa had no doubt they would make an excellent team. She had hand-picked them for this purpose, after all.

Rahi spoke up first. "What would you have of us, your highness?"

Rohisa folded her fingers over her cane, mouth setting in a grim line. It must be done. "As you know, Queen Ochvlita of Beor has wed a Nitasi and borne a child of Nitasi blood. She cannot be permitted to keep that kind of power. Therefore, by any means necessary..." Even having steeled herself, Rohisa found it difficult to speak over a lump in her throat. "By any means necessary, Prince Baltar and his child must be removed from Beor."

The soldiers were quiet, wearing expressions similar to her own.

"Failure is far more likely than success," Rohisa continued, regaining composure. "You would go alone into the heart of enemy territory, with no chance for backup, and infiltrate the Beor palace. For that reason, this is a request, not an order. Will you—"

"Yes," said both Rahi and Liri before she could finish the question. The two of them looked at each other in surprise and respect. Rohisa felt a smile ghost on her lips despite everything.

"It is no question," Nilal said.

Tikka nodded. "Of course, your highness."

Though Rohisa had suspected none would refuse, having confirmation was good. She nodded, closing her eyes.

"Then I charge you with this: bring Baltar and my niece home—or kill them."

***

"She's a cutie," Nilal said as he leaned over. "How old?"

The woman looked up, blinking prettily. "Ninety days." From her accent, the color of what little of her skin showed, and the curve of her nose beneath the mourning veil, she was Irondan-born.

"I remember my brother's when she was that young," Nilal reminisced. "They grow up so fast. What's her name?"

"Ah...." Sali said, lashes and head lowering. "I was going to name her after h-her father. He was  a Beorish soldier," Sali said, lashes and head lowered sadly, "s-s-s... assigned to the front many moons ago and has—hasn't—" She fell silent, shoulders drawing up as she solemnly refilled the rag for the babe.

Ah. That explains the mourning attire.

Nilal set a hand over hers. "I understand."

Rahi listened passively as Nilal introduced himself and the woman, Sali, replied in kind. The two of them chatted a bit more while Sali nursed the babe on a rag from a cup of milk. Her own chest wasn't too large, so perhaps this was from a local.

"It's... difficult, being on my own with another mouth to feed," the woman said demurely. "As you can expect, not many are inclined towards charity in these trying times." She lowered her lashes and tilted her head as if shy or embarrassed. "But if you have coin to spare... I could make it worth your while."

Nilal was almost instantly on the hook. You can spot the softness on this one a mile away, Rahi thought, fondly rolling his eyes into his drink. He personally didn't understand the draw of such activities, but Sali was providing a service for those whom struggled to go without.

"What did you have in mind?" Nilal asked.

"I can't risk another child," the woman murmured in a low and husky voice. "But..." She traced the outline of her lips over the veil, "I could still show you a good time."

"Well..." Nilal looked over to Rahi, who gave a bemused nod of permission.

"I would enjoy that," Nilal said with an easy smile. "Have you had anything to eat tonight?"

***

Rahi entered the stables from the side entrance, lantern raised. He stumbled on Nilal and Sali right away, the former leaned against a stall while the other worked below. "Ah—sorry, I needed—" he said while averting his eyes politely.

"Prince Baltar?" Nilal gasped.

Rahi snapped his gaze the light forward, map forgotten.

Sali's demeanor flattened. Metal flashed and Nilal started with a gasp, hands freezing in space.

"Don't move," said King of Beor and Prince of Ironda, Baltar Nitasi with a knife pressed up against Nilal's dick. No longer imitating a woman, his voice had dropped nearly an octave.

Rahi stilled as commanded, hardly believing the situation. To think that, were it not for lust, they might have unknowingly passed their quarry, and that their prince had gotten on his knees for a little coin, and now they were in this strange stand-off with a penis as a hostage. Of course, someone would bleed out from the groin as easily as the neck, but logic made this no less absurd.

"Wait! We mean you no harm," Rahi said cautiously, voice as low as he thought would still be audible. He cast a glance around what of their surroundings he could see without moving, hoping they were alone. "We've come to bring you home."

Baltar's eyes narrowed, his gaze flicking elsewhere. Rahi followed the look, spotting the babe resting on a table nearby. If their prince was traveling in disguise with a baby in arm, then the child could only be the Princess of Beor.

"Prove it," the prince said, tightening his grip enough for Nilal to flinch again.

Rahi took in a slow breath. "I have a missive from your sister," and thank the gods for that. "It's in my shoe." He paused for a sign he could proceed. When none seemed forthcoming, he prompted, "May I?"

After another moment, the prince gave a curt nod, and Rahi gave a reassuring look to Nilal before slowly taking a knee and setting the light down. He drew his heel up and pushed on the hollow wedge. It took a considerable amount of pressure before the wedge finally jogged free, and he was able to remove it and retrieve its contents. Slotting the heel back into place, he held the tiny scroll aloft.

An unwavering gaze flicked from the scroll to Rahi's face. "Read it."

Peeling the vellum open, Rahi read, "Baltar. Entrusted killing or retrieving you with Rahi and company; may they prevail where others failed." Several words were written in a shorthand, and the script was small; much of the space was devoted to Rohisa's seldom-used inked seal. He turned the missive around, holding it next to the light and angling it so Baltar could catch the metallic sheen of Rohisa's ink.

The prince's expression didn't change as he considered it. After a few moments, he released his hold on Nilal and sheathed his knife beneath his sleeve. Nilal hastily stepped to the side, lacing himself back into his trousers in record time. Prince Baltar stood, raised the mourner's veil back into place, and collected his child.

The captain recalled meeting him once, three years ago at a ball. If not for seeing his swordsmanship first-hand, Rahi would have believed him only a witless fool. Now it seemed there was no trace of that lighthearted boy.

Rahi picked up the lantern and cautiously approached, wary of the stiffness in the man's body language. "We've purchased a room for the night," he said. "May we speak more there?"

A curt nod was once again the only response before the prince began walking for the inn. Rahi fell into step behind him, gesturing to Nilal. His rattled companion caught up after they had stepped into the night air.

When they re-entered the inn, the prince was an actor walking onto a stage, transforming back into Sali. His shoulders dropped, along with an aura of hostility, and his gait smoothed, taking on a lithe sway. It was little wonder they had failed to recognize him.

No words were exchanged until Rahi indicated their door and stepped in front to give the patterned knock their companions would expect. Liri's footsteps crossed the room to the door and she opened it from the side. Clear question was on her expression as she saw "Sali" at their side, but stepped aside for Rahi to lead the other two in. Baltar's feminine affect dropped as he stepped to the curtained window.

After the door shut, Rahi looked to the prince and motioned to the veil. Baltar faced Liri and Tikka as he drew back his hood and removed the veil. Both women gasped and took a knee. Nilal looked queasy at the sight of the two that way, quickly averting his attention to the floor.

Baltar turned to the curtains wordlessly, back rigid.

Lips parting in question, Tikka looked to Rahi, who had no answers for her. She and Liri rose, brows furrowed.

"We make for home on the morrow," Rahi murmured, sliding the cap closed on his lantern. "Let's rest. Nilal and Tikka, take the cot closest the door. Liri, you're with me on the floor." That left a comfortable and protected spot for the prince and his babe on the second cot.

Jogged into motion by Rahi's orders, the group bedded down. Baltar watched them out of the corner of his eye, and only once everyone was settled did he ease onto the second cot, shoes and all. He laid with his back to them, curling around the infant.

Tikka leaned over to the light on the nightstand; with a touch, darkness fell.

***

Rahi could still scarcely believe that the prince was with them. After eighteen months, countless failed searches, the start of war, the heartbreak of the king and princess, the news of his well-being and apparent allegiance with the enemy... their prince was back.

But as he watched the scarred man nurse the infant, he knew they were not bringing back the boy King Hakon and Princess Rohisa so dearly missed. Now, the only softness in this man was how he tended the youngest Nitasi; even that extended only so far—not once since being in the team's company had he smiled, even at the babe.

Dark eyes met Rahi's, the prince fixing the captain with his gaze. Unnerved, Rahi quickly looked away. Fortunately, the child began fussing, latching and unlatching, and the prince turned his attention back to breastfeeding, rotating her to his other side.

Tikka pulled a pot from the fire, pouring out gently warmed milk, gifted by the innkeeper's wife. Rising, Tikka took step towards the prince.

Baltar's knife was halfway out of his sleeve in an instant. Tikka froze, and everyone snapped to high alert. The child, disturbed again, cried as she groped at skin.

Tikka hesitantly held the cup forward. "The milk is warm, your highness."

Slowly, inches of blade disappeared back into its sheath. Prince Baltar held out his hand, and Tikka stepped close enough to pass him a cloth and the cup. With the child still snug against his chest, he dipped the cloth into the warmed milk. Less than pleased with the offering, the little girl pushed it away, but after a reexamination of her father's breast proved unsatisfactory, she grumpily settled for the cloth. Baltar's thumb gently stroked her downy hair.

"My prince... may I ask how it is you're able to nurse?" Tikka asked the question everyone was wondering. Rahi's attention snapped to her as he gave a sharp shake of his head.

Baltar barely glanced up, expression unchanging. "The Beor palace doctor attempted to... 'banish the ghosts' in me." He dipped the cloth again. "The treatment caused this."

"O-oh," Tikka said. "And uh... what about the ghosts?"

"Poison would be much more effective," he said without looking, "for things that still live."

Silence fell. The soldiers shared uncertain glances, and the scars littering his chest stood out more than ever. No one dared voice the other questions in the air.

Rahi cleared his throat. "Let's leave our prince to his work."

taglist: @nabanna @emcscared-whumps​ @nicolepascaline​ @i-can-even-burn-salad​ @melennui​​ @thecyrulik​​

#whump writing #royal whump #royalty whump #tortured!baltar #tr3 au #off screen consensual sex #threat of penectomy #lmfao

[hummingbird-of-light]

June of Doom Day 15

15. “Please.” 

| Blindfold | Pressure Points | Scream |

TW: MATURE CONTENT! slave auction, humans as products, threats of slaughter, threats of violence, threats of major character death, off-screen slaughter/death, psychological whump, naked character, description of slaughter

A/N: Based on my one-shot collection

~

"Sold to the beautiful lady in blue!"

The voice of the auctioneer reached his ears and Scotty's eyes opened wide. He shook his head in panic.

No, no, no! Anything but this! Please...

He still wasn't too sure about how he had ended up on this stage. His landing party had been kidnapped by slave traders and the Enterprise hadn't been able to find them.

His crewmates had been killed, trying to escape, so all he had been able to do was wait. Wait for his friends. Wait for someone to find and save him.

But no one had come.

And then this auction had started. Two people had bidden for him.

A man who wanted him to work under horrible conditions... and a woman who planned something even worse.

The lady was the owner of a restaurant and apparently she had a favor for exotic delicacies. And her next big success on the menu was supposed to be Scott.

A bright smile crossed the alien woman's face as she ordered two members of her staff onto the stage to grab the chains, attached to the Scotsman.

They made their way through the crowd, the buyer leading the small group, and Scotty tried his best to pull at the chains.

He had to break free! He had to get away!

His screams and whimpers were muffled by the gag in his mouth. No one seemed to care for his fear or panic though.

He heard some people asking the woman when first orders could be made. He saw their longing eyes on him so he closed his own eyes and tried his best to block out their voices.

He couldn't hear this. Or else he'd throw up which was a bad idea with a gag in his mouth.

The woman and her minions brought the engineer to a shuttle where he was thrown into a single cell.

While the men started the shuttle, the lady stayed with him. Her eyes shone brightly as she reached through the bars with her hand and once again ran her long fingers across his cheek. She had done so before to check his skin, claiming that it was soft and of great quality.

"I can't wait to try a piece of you myself," she said and Scotty backed away as far as he could. The cell wasn't too big.

His breathing was quick and he felt his heart racing horribly. Maybe he'd be lucky enough to have a heart attack so that he wouldn't have to meet this horrible fate consciously. He could only hope for it.

He closed his eyes once again, sending a silent pray to whoever would hear him.

'Help me. Please.'

++++++++

When the shuttle landed and they reached their point of destination, Scotty felt sick to his stomach.

The lady, who apparently was called Miss Farie, if he had heard the name right from the staff, led them out of the shuttle to a transporter. The back of the vehicle was big enough for five to ten persons, but apparently Scott had been the only purchase the woman had made that day.

"Take a look at this beautiful planet. It will be the last thing you see," one of the staff joked and Scotty couldn't help but follow the order.

He looked around. The planet really was gorgeous. There were lots of plants and flowers, but in the distance, Scott could make out a town.

He swallowed.

He'd die in that town, served to the inhabitants of this planet as delicacy.

Before he could say or do anything, a blindfold was wrapped around his head. He couldn't see anything through the dark piece of cloth.

Scotty winced and whimpered, when the door was closed and the vehicle started.

He was a lamb on the way to the slaughter. Nothing more.

++++++++

He could smell various scents when the backdoor of the transporter was opened again and he knew that they were near the restaurant.

Strong arms pulled him out of the car and he almost stumbled when they started to pull him along.

He wanted to cry, but there were no more tears left to do so. All hope was lost.

"Oh, fresh goods? That thing looks delicious," he heard a female voice and the voice of Miss Farie answered.

"I bought it in an auction just today. If you just wait a bit, I'm sure you can have one of the first pieces."

Scotty shuddered at the dialogue. He wasn't a piece of meat! He was a human being!

"Sounds great. I'll keep it in mind."

At the end of the conversation, the Scotsman was forced to move once again.

His feet got heavier with each step and he tried his best to stop walking, but the men were too strong. They simply dragged him along.

"Put it in the cell over there. We'll get it ready to be served right away," Miss Farie ordered and Scotty heard her heels on the ground as she stepped away.

He was put in a small cell once again, but this time he could hear noises around him.

There were more people. Other species waiting for their horrible end.

Doors were opened, followed by the sound of staff members dragging the others away.

Scotty was trembling. He didn't want this! He didn't want to die!

And suddenly there were voices. One belonged to Miss Farie, but the other?

Scotty knew it. It was just so familiar, but at first, he couldn't say whom it belonged to.

Only when Miss Farie said a name, the engineer's blood turned cold as ice.

"There it is, Mr. Singh. As you can see, it is in a good shape."

Mr. Singh. Scotty's heart skipped a beat.

Khan! The male voice belonged to Khan Noonien Singh. The augment who had killed Jim three years ago. The augment who had been put back to cryo-sleep after his trial. How could he be here?

So many questions filled Scotty's mind, however, he had other problems at the moment.

"It does look... delicious, I have to admit."

Fear mixed with anger. Of course Khan would use his chance to get revenge. Of course he'd have a piece of him - a fillet piece if possible.

"Why the blindfold?" Khan's voice sounded disgustingly interested. He was enjoying this a lot.

"Oh, I am a generous woman, Mr. Singh. I do not want my goods to see their demise. And... maybe I'm a bit selfish too, because I don't like to see that sad look in its eyes. A lady can only take so much."

"Of course."

Scotty tried to pull at his chains, but failed horribly. There was no way out.

"If you agree, I'd really like to see how the dish is prepared."

Khan had stepped closer to the cell; Scott could hear it. There was a malicious undertone in his voice. It sent shivers down the Scotsman's spine.

"Of course, Mr. Singh. Anything for Lady Freymis' partner. I wanted to wait a bit longer to change the menu, but if you insist... Remis, Harlock - come here."

Miss Farie's order was followed by steps. Two people joined their boss and Khan.

"Let's give Mr. Singh a tour, show him around."

The door to the cell was opened and Scotty was dragged out once again.

The more he tried to resist, the harder they pulled at him. He couldn't do anything, but follow them.

"First of all, we clean the goods. We use a special type of water which kills off any bacteria. On top of that, it makes the flesh juicier."

Scotty felt the staff members rip off his clothes. Blood rushed to his cheeks, once he was standing there, naked, freezing.

Only a moment later his body was wet. They showered him. From head to toe.

Tears mixed with water. Apparently they had found its way out again. Scotty cried and a soft wail escaped his mouth.

For weeks he had wished to take a hot shower, but not like this. Not to be slaughtered afterwards.

"I see. This way you make sure that the flesh isn't contaminated."

Scotty could hear the grin in Khan's voice. This was way too much fun for him.

"Yes, that's right. Next up, we anoint the body with a special mixture of oil and seasonings. This gives the meat a special taste."

The water stopped and Scott was dragged over to what felt like a cold operating table. They forced him to lie down on his stomach, chaining him to it somehow.

What followed next, was the most horrible massage he could imagine.

"We keep it alive for this step, because the mixture soaks in better this way," Miss Farie explained, running a hand across Scotty's bare back.

"After a few minutes, we end the procedure as quick and gentle as possible. We chop off the head. The most painless method."

Once again, Scotty shook his head.

"No... please..."

His words were muffled by the gag, but he still tried to get them out.

"So, this is it. The dish can be served any moment now."

He was no food! He was no piece of meat!

"Very interesting. Thank you for showing me, Miss Farie."

"It was my pleasure." The owner of the restaurant sounded quite pleased. She had had her fun with this tour.

"Now... I would like to buy this human."

"Of course, Mr. Singh. What piece would you like? Belly meat, ribs, loin?"

Khan's next words were the biggest yet most wonderful surprise to Scotty.

"No, you don't understand. I want to buy it. Alive."

A strange spark of hope glimmed in the engineer's heart once more. He didn't understand Khan's reasons, but that didn't matter at the moment. All he needed was to get out of this place.

However, the hope was soon enough destroyed by Miss Farie's insecure chuckle.

"Mr. Singh, please. I can't do that. This delicacy is worth a million. My customers will pay a lot for just a tiny bit of meat."

"I understand that, Miss Farie, however, I have a better offer to make."

Khan's voice sounded quite confident. Whatever that offer was, he seemed to be sure that Miss Farie wouldn't say no to it.

"Oh really? And what would that be?"

"If you leave this beautiful tidbit to me," a hand ran through Scotty's hair and he shivered at the touch, "then I'll deliver you as many humans as you want. And... something even more exotic."

Scotty gasped in shock. He knew what Khan was talking about, what he was planning.

"What would be more exotic than a human?" Miss Farie didn't sound too convinced. But that changed once she heard Khan's answer.

"A Vulcan."

Scotty shook his head.

No! No! Not his crew! Not his family!

"A Vulcan?"

"All I need is this human and I'll make you the richest woman on this whole planet."

There was a long moment of silence. Scotty could feel the tension in the room.

But eventually, Miss Farie talked again.

"How can I trust you?"

"First of all, you know my partner. If you don't trust me, then she'll be very disappointed and we won't come back again. And secondly... I'll pay you an advance of 1,500,000."

Scotty's heart beat out of his chest. He didn't want to endanger his crew, but... he didn't want to end up on someone's plate either.

"All right. We have a deal, Mr. Singh."

Relief washed over the Scotsman when he heard Miss Farie's decision.

He would live!

"You won't regret your choice."

After asking to stow the purchase in Khan's car, the augment left the room. Scotty didn't know where he was going, but he couldn't care less at the moment.

His body stiffened at the fingers running down his back again and at the voice whispering next to his ear.

"It's really a pity. But I guess, today's your lucky day."

With that Miss Farie left, heels clacking on the floor.

"Get it dressed again. Our special on the menu will have to wait."

A door closed and Scotty knew that he was saved. Now he'd just have to survive Khan and stop his plan. 

++++++++

Two months later they found him. His crew managed to save him, not falling for any of Khan's traps. And even though Scotty was the happiest man in the whole universe, he'd never forget the horrors he'd been through.

#juneofdoom #june of doom #day 15 #whump #whump challenge #please #blindfold #star trek #fanficfion #montgomery scott #khan noonien singh #alien oc #read warnings #slave auction #humans as products #threats of slaughter #threats of violence #threats of major character death #off-screen slaughter/death #psychological whump #description of slaughter/process

[whump-is-love-whump-is-life]

Comfort/recovery whumpers!

For once, I have something for you!!

#it annoys me when people shit on Taylor Swift so much because this song has helped me avoid THREE panic attacks #making all my whumpees listen to it off screen #they all need it #my posts #music #songs #whump #whump songs #whump music #taylor swift #comfort whump #recovery whump #Spotify

[mybeautifulbeautifuleternal]

Despite the constant noise of the moving machines and the blaring music Tony preferred in his lab, there was a silence surrounding you. It wasn’t unusual for you to join Tony when he was working but today you hesitated in the doorway. You knew you needed to talk to him, finally ready to bear your secrets, but he looked happy, content. You didn’t want to ruin it, ruin what you had together. You could admit it now, even if it was just to yourself, but you loved the ridiculous man currently threatening to donate his robot son to the local community college — and so you knew that it was time for your secrets to become his secrets.

You don’t know how long you stood in the doorway of his lab cradling a manilla folder that summarized your life but eventually Tony caught sight of you from the corner of his eyes. With a sharp gesture, the music cut out and your ears rang with the echoes of it screaming about the highway to hell.

“Hey babe,” Tony motioned you to come closer and you started to move without thought. When you finally stood in front of him, you lifted yourself up to the table he was sitting in front of, allowing your legs to part enough that he settled between your thighs. He laid his arms across your knees and placed his chin on them, simply content to stare up at you.

You put down the folder of paperwork next to you and let your fingers comb through his hair, calming your nerves. It was against your training to get nervous of course, but you had found that Tony prompted the most unusual responses from you. His eyes started to slip shut, the silence and lack of movement and your peaceful presence moving him towards sleep.

“I need to tell you something,” you broke the quiet, carefully not moving from your spot, and working to keep your tone soothing and even. You licked your lips to buy some time when Tony opened his eyes to peer up at you again. “I need to tell you something…and I don’t know how you’re going to react.”

“…babe?” He sounded concerned, his back straightening out — slipping away from you, your hands falling from his head and hair.

You couldn’t think of trying to force the words out, trying to untwist the awful story and all the lies, forcing out all the atrocities you’d committed, you handed him the thick manilla folder. You knew the story that it told, from the very beginning to the last past. You had lived it, after all.

Instead of watching him flip through the pages, taking in the information faster than you could imagine, you watched him. The Red Room had trained you extensively in reading body language and Tony’s was nearly as familiar to you as your own was. His poker face, though, was a thing of legends. You knew when he got to the notes on all the experimentations and procedures that had been performed on you. You saw when he got to the pages listing out your confirmed kills.

And you saw when his heart cracked apart when he got to the last mission in the folder — Tony Stark, Honeypot.

His eyes fluttered shut and stayed that way as he took several deep breaths, centering himself again as he slotted all the new information into place.

When he opened his eyes again and looked at you, you almost cried because of the ice in his gaze. Instead, you just nodded to the still open file. He wasn’t done with your history yet and you weren’t going to move until he did.

You weren’t the only one keeping secrets from him and you thought he might want to know that his godfather, Obidiah Stane, was the one who bought your services to seduce and eventually kill him.

@febuwhump

#febuwhump #febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday6 #tony stark imagine #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #iron man imagine #tw lies #tw honeypot #tw betrayal #tw mention killing #tw off screen murder #tw red room #tw medical experimentation #my stuff #m’s drabbles #m’s imagines #February Whump

[detective-giggles]

TWP word of the day prompt: pain

Just a silly little thing I’ve had mostly finished for a while. Pre-Tarlos, takes place mid-season 1. Off-screen Carlos whump.

💜💜💜💜

“Ugh,” Carlos groans in pain as he unbuckles his seat belt.

“Here, I’ll come around,” TK offers, sliding out of the car and hurrying around to the passenger side where Carlos had already opened the door and was slowly trying to get out of the car.

“I got it,” he murmurs. TK watches as he manages to get out of the car okay but then turns too quickly, jarring his broken ribs and he almost crumples to the ground. “Fuck,” he murmurs.

“Take a second,” TK says. “Just take a couple of deep breaths.”

“That hurts too,” Carlos complains. He takes a few shallow breaths and then slowly starts making his way up the walkway. “I didn’t realize pain was so exhausting, I just want to lay down in my own bed and sleep for the next week.”

“I’m guessing this is your first broken rib?” TK asks. “I don’t recommend laying down. It’ll probably be harder for you to breathe, and it’s going to hurt like a bitch to get up.” Carlos digs his keys out of his pocket as TK talks. TK takes the keys while Carlos leans heavily against the doorframe, panting shallowly. “Speaking from experience, I really recommend a recliner. At least for the first couple of weeks.”

“I don’t have one,” Carlos points out as TK pushes the door open. He steps into the entryway and then pauses, staring at the battered gray recliner that had appeared in his livingroom. “At least I didn’t have one? Where did-?”

TK shrugs. “I mean, I’m a klutz and a half, in case you hadn’t noticed. That chair has gotten my dad and me through a few broken ribs. You can borrow it until you can get upstairs and into your own bed.”

“Ohhhh, my god. The stairs. All of my stuff is up there,” he gestures vaguely, looking distressed.

“Let’s get you settled down here, and then I’ll run up and get you what you need?” TK offers. Carlos nods and toes off his shoes, kicking them to the side, and he allows TK to ease his jacket off his shoulders. TK hangs it in the closet, and when he returns, Carlos was easing himself into the chair. TK hands him the prescription bottle with his pain meds and fetches him a glass of water. He watches as Carlos takes a couple of pills, and then makes sure the bottle and water are within easy reach for later.

“What else do you need from upstairs? A phone charger? Book? Do you want any other clothes?”

Carlos shakes his head on the clothes, but agrees to letting TK bring down the phone charger. TK returns with his arms full; Carlos’ current novel from the night stand, the charger, a couple blankets and the comforter off his bed.

TK sets the book down on the table and helps get him as comfortable as can be with the blanket and comforter.

“Thank you, TK,” Carlos whispers. “You really don’t have to fuss. I’ll be okay.”

“You really shouldn’t be alone,” TK says. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call your mom?”

“No! It’s fine!” Carlos exclaims. “She hates when I get hurt.” He yawns, “I’m probably going to sleep for the rest of the afternoon anyway.”

“Okay,” TK murmurs. Carlos closes his eyes, certain TK has something better to do than watch him lie around in pain. It doesn’t take long for the meds to kick in and he drifts off to sleep.

***

By the time Carlos wakes, it’s dark and the streetlights are shining through the window, right in Carlos’ face. He grabs his phone off the table to check the time, and then takes another pain pill.

He struggles to stand up, grunting softly at the pain, and makes his way down the hall to the bathroom. As he returns to the living room and passes the couch, he sees a TK-shaped lump, curled up sleeping.

He smiles fondly and slowly grabs the throw blanket off the back of the couch, draping it over TK’s sleeping form.

TK’s eyes flutter open and he sits up fully. “Carlos! What are you doing?”

“You stayed?”

“Well, yeah… Of course I stayed. In case you needed something. Do you need anything?”

“No,” Carlos shakes his head. “I just needed to…” He points to the general direction of the bathroom.

TK stands and ushers Carlos back to the chair. “Come on, you need to get some more rest.”

TK tucks him in once again and attempts to move past him when Carlos reaches for his hand. “Thank you. For staying.” Carlos sighs. “I really didn’t want to be alone,” he admits.

TK leans in and runs his fingers through Carlos’ hair and presses a soft kiss to Carlos’ forehead. He stays silent but gives Carlos’ arm a little squeeze. Carlos panics a little, worried he overstepped, when TK gives him a fond smile.

“Go back to sleep,” TK says, settling on the couch. “I’ll be here when you wake up,” he promises.

Taglist: @plaidbooks @tarlosweeklyprompts

#twpmarchdailyword #pain #hurt/comfort #off screen Carlos whump #very early pre tarlos #911 ls fic

[whump-it]

WHUMPTOBER 2022

No.1

Unconventional Restraints

Tagging some people who might like this. Please say if you want to be removed!

@pepperonyscience @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @justabitofwhump @ashintheairlikesnow @whump-tr0pes @albino-whumpee @stab-the-son-of-a @strahlenderzynismus

"Do you remember that game?" Whumper asked, casually. Easy. As though they weren't handcuffing whumpees wrist to a horizontal metal pole, arm outstretched at ninety degrees to their body where they stood.

Whumpee glanced around, breathing coming in quick and panicked little inhales and exhales.

"What game?" They asked. "What are you talking about? Game?"

"Yes you know the one," Whumper said, clipping the handcuff so it was loose around the pole. The pole that went straight from one wall to the other. "Other hand now," Whumper said, cuffing Whumpees other wrist to the second pole that ran across the room on the other side of them.

Parallel bars. And Whumpee stood in the middle of them, arms outstretched to either side.

"I don't know!" Whumpee shouted.

"Now now," Whumper said, stepping back and adjusting Whumpees hands, one at a time. First this one. Lifted up. A pat on the back of the hand. A silent instruction to stay just like that. Then that one. The same lift and pat.

Trembling in place, Whumpee watched as Whumper walked across the room and stood by the door. Hand on a switch. Not a light switch.

"Don't buzz the wire,"

"What!?"

"Don't. Buzz. The wire!" Whumper said, laughing. "That's the game!"

"Why are you talking about games!? I don't know what you're talking about! Please!"

"If the wire gets touched," Whumper said, smiling. "Well then, you lost. You lost! Yes? You must have played this game!"

Whumpee shook their head, arms shaking where they were outstretched. Eyes filling with tears.

"Yes? You've played it. Yes?"

"Yes," Whumpee whispered.

"Good!" Whumper said with a huge smile plastered across their face. "Metal cuffs, metal pole, then I flick this switch here and..." the switch clicked quietly, but Whumpee flinched. "... go on. Test it out."

"Please," Whumpee whispered. "Please don't make me. Please."

"Do it," Whumper said.

"No,"

"Do it,"

Whumpee shook their head. Trembled. Shaking already at the effort needed to keep their arms outstretched and the cuffs away from the poles. "Please. No. Please please. Please..."

"Do it. Do it. DO IT!" Whumper yelled, making Whumpee jump. The cuffs caught on the poles, clanging.

Buzzing.

Loud.

Whumpee cried out in anticipation, tried to pull their hands in on a reflex of self preservation, but nothing happened. Nothing. No pain. Just a buzz.

Whumper laughed loud, a bark of a noise.

"I hate you!" Whumpee screamed at them. "It didn't do anything! I hate you!"

"It didn't?" Whumper asked, stepping away from the switch and coming to stand by Whumpee. Adjusting their hands again so that the cuffs came away from the poles and the buzzing stopped. The laughter had stopped too.

"You know it didn't!" Whumpee shouted through tears and hiccuping sobs of relief, the force of which let their arms move which set the poles to buzzing again as the cuffs hit into them.

"Not to you, no," Whumper said, adjusting Whumpees hands again.

"What do you mean?" Whumpee asked. "What do you mean!?"

Whumper stepped away and went to the door by the switch. Opened it.

Stepped into the hall.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN!?" Whumpee screamed, the cuffs hitting the poles again as they frantically tried to readjust their position.

"Hmm?" Whumper smiled at them from the hallway, hand on the door knob. "Oh! Yes. I forgot to tell you. Caretaker, who you like so much? Well, they're not having quite so much fun as you. Because every time you set those poles to buzzing...?" Whumper trailed off and shut the door.

"NO!" Whumpee screamed, body moving on instinct.

The poles buzzed as the cuffs caught on them.

#whumptober2022 #no.1 #unconventional restraints #oc #medium writing #whumper #caretaker #whumpee #don't buzz the wire #hurt off screen #unwilling whump

[whump-it-like-its-hot]

Okay but the feeling when you do something, and someone tells you to stop, but you keep doing it and then in the end someone appreciates the thing you kept doin and you just

thank you random person I will love you forever

#not whump #this post was brought on by two things #one happened a few days ago when we were talking about the fashion in my school for a photo shooting #and my teacher pointed out he really liked the funky button downs I always wear #which just made me go afrhfksngbjgksnckdifk a little and I had to cool off in the bathroom because when I bought these shirts #the first thing my family said was that it looked like shit and they weren’t going anywhere with me like this #and just now #I went out wearing my custom painted shoes for the first time #and they’re super random #they have the windows xp screen‚ a sunset‚ a rainbow marble painting‚ something written in Minecraft enchantment language #a Minecraft scene‚ a reference to the Barbie movie‚ and references to my beloved ocs #so they’re super funky and random #and I’m sitting outside my work place while on my lunch break rn and someone came by #a group of adults and I showed them the way to the cinema #and one pointed out he liked my shoes and once more I just #hhhfgfghggggggfhghgggghmhmgm #thank you random sir I will remember this forever

[callaeidae3]

Here's a WIP KK art - Story timeline wise, this is from post-KK3 (Kindall K, book 3).

Kyle has crutches and a bandage on his forehead from injuries he sustained at the end of KK3.

And Yuuki has coffee, and no sleep*.

(*caused by post traumatic stress disorder, not the caffeine).

#wip art #kindall k series #kyle kindall #yuuki takahashi #whump aftermath #sleep deprivation #insomnia #yuuki has ptsd #exhausted whumpee #bandages #crutches #whump art #post kk3 #wilma the cat is somewhere off screen probably #hmm still trying to decide how to colour this...

[radarsteddybear]

Whumptober Day 2 - I Saw Everything

Fandom: Original Fiction (H.O.U.N.D.S.) Prompt(s): Made to Watch Rating: Teen Additional Tags: whump, hurt/comfort, friendship, found family, off-screen character death, spy-fi

“Minnow!” Cassandra called, running through grey corridors lined with solid, metal doors.  “Minnow!”

Cassandra turned a corner.  The doors down this hallway each had a window near the top.

“Minnow!” Cassandra called again.  No answer.  Starting with the first door on her left, Cassandra began peering into each window, zigzagging back and forth across the hall.  

Most of the rooms were dark.  Cassandra didn’t have the time to investigate each one in the off-chance that Minnow was trapped in there, hidden in plain sight.  It had already been a week since she’d gone silent, and her last message…Cassandra shook her head.  She didn’t want to think about it.

“Minnow!” she repeated.  She looked through a window—someone had left this light on, and she could see it was somebody’s office.  Somebody’s empty office.

“Minnow!”  Cassandra hurried to the next door.  And the next.  And the next.  Finally, long after Cassandra had lost count of how many doors she’d looked through, and how many of them had enough light to see anything, she came to a window that showed a figure laying on what looked a lot like a doctor’s exam table.

“Minnow!”  Cassandra knocked on the window, but the figure didn’t move.  A thin blanket was pulled tightly around her shoulders, and Cassandra could see her chest slowly rise and fall.

Cassandra took a pair of hairpins out of her hair and set to work on the lock.  Almost…almost…shit, she lost it.  

Minnow had always been better at lockpicking than she was.  

Cassandra had no choice but to try again.  Almost…almost…the lock gave a click, and Cassandra quickly flung open the door before it changed its mind.  She rushed inside, leaving the door to bang against the wall.

“Minnow!” Cassandra cried, rushing to her side.  

Minnow looked terrible.  Her hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed in days, and her face shone with beads of sweat.  Cassandra pressed the back of her hand to Minnow’s forehead.  Sure enough, she was burning up.

Minnow opened her eyes—wide, wild—and a hand darted out of the blanket to grab onto Cassandra.

“Cass!” Minnow said.  Her voice sounded strange, almost feral, if Cass didn’t know any better.  “Cass, they took her!  They took her!”  She broke down into sobs.

“Took who?” Cass asked, startled.

“Joan!  Joan!  They took her, Cass. Oh, it was awful…”

Joan.  The agent that Minnow had come looking for.  Cassandra bit back a curse.  She knew she should have come with Minnow.  She knew that this would be more important than the Button case.

“It’s ok, Minnow.  We’ve got a team looking for her now.  They’re sweeping the building…”

But Minnow was shaking her head.  “It’s too late, Cass.  She’s gone.  They killed her.  I saw it.  I saw everything.”

A pang went through Cassandra’s entire body, sending a rock to her gut and tingles through her fingers.  Cassandra had no choice but to shake it off.

“Let’s get you out of here,” she said, rising to her feet.

But Minnow clutched onto the front of Cassandra’s shirt, holding on like a drowning man might hold onto anything within his reach.  “Don’t leave me, Cassie, don’t leave me…” Minnow sobbed.

“Hey, shhh,” Cassandra said.  She frowned.  Minnow was in really bad shape.  She took Minnow’s hands in her own and gently removed them from her shirt.  “I’m not leaving you.  You’re coming with me.”

Cassandra pulled the blanket off of her friend and coaxed her into swinging her feet over the edge of the bed and putting them on the floor.  Cassandra gently pulled her to her feet.  Minnow immediately began to crumple, so Cassandra pulled her arm over her own shoulders.

“Lean on me,” she said.

Minnow trembled.

“Come on, that’s it,” Cassandra said as they began to walk.  “First one step, then the next…”

They continued this way, Cassandra murmuring words of encouragement as they slowly, slowly made their way back up the corridors.  The stairs were even harder—by then, Minnow was shaking so badly that Cassandra was afraid she would rattle right out of her grip.  But she held on tight and encouraged her up each step.  Cassandra gave a silent prayer of thanks that another group of H.O.U.N.D.S. agents had already neutralized the F.E.L.I.S. lackeys that had been running this joint.

Finally, they reached the top of the stairs.  Just about a hundred more feet until the door.  

“Come on, Minnow, we’re almost there,” Cassandra said, practically dragging her now.  Cassandra wished she were stronger.  She wished for a full moon.  Hell, she wished for any moon.

They inched toward the door.  75 feet…50 feet…25 feet…

Minnow slipped right out of Cassandra’s grasp and onto the floor.

“Minnow!” Cassandra cried.  She crouched down and put her shoulder under Minnow’s, ready to pull her back up.  She tried to keep her voice upbeat.  “We’re almost there!  We can’t stop now!”

“I can’t!” Minnow gasped.  

“Sure you can!  Look,” Cassandra pointed, “the door is right there.  That’s as far as we need to go, and then you can rest for as long as you want.  Ok?”

Minnow looked blearily towards where Cassandra was pointing.  Then, she nodded.

Cassandra lifted her back up, and together, they hobbled to the door.  Cassandra shoved it open with her free shoulder, and they were thrust, squinting, into the bright sunlight.  

Ok, so Cassandra had lied.  They had about 50 more feet to go to get to the waiting H.O.U.N.D.S. truck.  She didn’t say anything, and Minnow didn’t, either, as they made their way over.  The driver jumped out of the cab and rushed around to open the doors.

“Any injuries?” she asked.

“I didn’t check,” Cassandra said.  

Dolly, the driver, easily scooped Minnow up bridal-style and brought her into the back of the truck.  

Cassandra rolled her aching shoulder, catching her breath.  She hadn’t realized just how taxing it had been to carry all of Minnow’s weight.  

Dolly lowered Minnow into the cot and started tending to her, carefully inspecting her for wounds.

Cassandra twisted the gem on her communicator ring.  “Agent Jacobson calling Delta team.”

After a few seconds of static, a tinny voice returned from the ring.  “Delta team.”

Cassandra took a moment to gather her thoughts.  “I have Agent George.  She reports that…Agent Shaw is dead.”

There was a pause on the other end of the channel.  “Please repeat last message.”

Cassandra took a deep breath and closed her eyes.  “Minnow said that Agent Shaw is dead.  I have no other evidence at this time to confirm.”

“Copy.  Over and out.”

Cassandra turned her communicator ring off with a click.  She took another moment to compose herself and then climbed in the back of the truck.

To Be Continued...

#whumptober2023 #no.6 #made to watch #H.O.U.N.D.S. #my Cass #my Minnow #fic #Teddy Bear writes #my OCs #original post #whumptober #whump #hurt comfort #off screen character death #my spy Dolly #(I inadvertently ended up with two OCs named Dolly; they are unrelated to one another)

[coffeeangelinabox]

Whumpril #23: Presumed Dead

Once upon a time, as the Domain spread its tendrils through space, finally vast and powerful enough to spend resources on not just central planets, but insignificant mining stations in hidden, isolated pockets of asteroids, one such station had resisted. In truth, it had barely been a station, more a largish frigate. It had, back then, been nothing but a family business.

The family aboard had been spacers dating back to the days when Earth first terraformed their own nearest neighbour, and had been proud freelancers just as long. Being affiliated to no one was hard and dangerous out in the black. If anything went wrong - as things so easily could - there was no help to call on, no one who would claim responsibility, no government to negotiate on their behalf. 

But the freedom had always been worth it. 

And so, when the Domain sunk their claws into the inhabited zones, they ignored this power change over, as they had so many others. Until they were demanded to conform or leave. They fought. Certain that such tyrannical actions, the antithesis of what this system had been founded on would be resisted by others below.

They were wrong, and against a planet-owning might, they were easily destroyed.

The planet below saw the station’s passing as nothing more than a shooting star, and assumed, incorrectly, that all aboard had died. With no one to send out rescue or help or even search parties, the sole survivor of the station drifted unheeded. 

The life support of the frigate had been minimal, the stasis pods little more than relics. But the survivor didn’t need much, having a lung and stomach capacity no bigger than a kitten’s. The overheating matrix helped in its own way too, keeping things warmer than a human would usually thrive in…but perfect for a bare newborn; the only one to have been thrust into a survival pod and ejected by his dying mother in the seconds before the final blast ripped the miners from the sky.

And the pod drifted, unnoticed, unlooked for, unmissed. For generations, until the Domain grew into a large and powerful force, a force that loomed over history and seemed to have always been there until resistance was all but unthinkable.

The station, for all its lack of formal affiliations, had been legal and registered, and new though the child had been, his birth had been registered with the proper authorities. And he drifted through space, formally registered as dead, and perhaps the only being left in this whole section of space not to carry either an identi-chip or a telling scar where it had been removed. 

He drifted, a decade, a hundred years, perhaps as much as three hundred, although, outside of the central worlds, such ancient records were hard to verify. Remaining through all those passing centuries, only a few days old, a wrinkled scrunched thing, as unchanging as any other dead child beneath the Domain’s boots. 

And drifting such he might have stayed, if an engineer, brilliant, if unorthodox, had not been testing out his new sensors which he hoped would cut through solar interference and give his ship an edge against Domain inspectors. The sensors, more sensitive than anything the little capsule had passed by so far, picked up the faintest blip of the slowed heartbeat. And, curious, the engineer brought the child aboard. 

#my writing #whump #whumpril2024 #coffeeangelinabox's space opera ocs #off screen deaths #abandoned infant #whumprilday23 #presumed dead