#stitches mention tw

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Unintentional 28

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CW: BBU-adjacent, institutionalized slavery, dehumanization. Ongoing raid, fear of recapture, clinical/hospital setting, side-effects/consequences of medwhump (cerebrovascular). Beta-read by @alittlewhump <3 Second ask is from this list

Leo told him to stay still and pretend to sleep, no matter what. One of so few direct orders, Aiden could count them on his hand. The very same Leo had just been holding, fingers warming his, giving him one last reassuring squeeze before he’d let go. 

He couldn’t fail Leo.

Aiden pressed his hands into the bedspread to hide their shaking, to make them still. Starched-not-soft fabric in an orderly, woven grid under his fingertips. Hundreds of washes keeping it uniform for every new patient. Knuckles wrapped in the soft fabric of Leo’s sweatshirt. Left hand throbbing, forearms aching. Betadine and antiseptic sharp in his nose. The sounds in the hallway—the agents in the hallway. He knew those boots, those footfalls. He’d been here before. 

He was there. 

Beside the pool, clothes still damp from diving in, from sweating through what had to be hours of CPR. Dragged to his knees, slapped around, put in a van. The End.

He wouldn’t be able to give them his number this time, even if he wanted to. Except instead of taking a stand, he was simply too damaged. The idea of being beaten in front of Leo made his stomach twist and his throat tighten.

He couldn’t shake his head, squeeze his fist, find something, anything, to anchor him to where he was, who he was. The simplest task impossible. He used to be more than a passenger, an observer, recognizing less and less with each visit. Especially when it was like this, when he fell beneath the surface, into things that were muddy and murky and meant to stay that way.

He wanted to look, to confirm what he kept telling himself was true, but he had to keep his eyes closed. 

Leo wouldn’t leave him. Leo had promised. 

But the very foundation of the conditioning was doubt. 

With Archer it pushed him toward an impossible perfection. Empty responsiveness that only left him aching to do more, to be better. 

It nagged him constantly with Harrison but there was little to be done. Harrison took what he wanted, didn’t care what kind of vessel it came from. All of his memories returned were not enough to erase the conditioning, relieve the doubt. The ache to be deserving. 

He was certain it was worse to have both: what once was housed in the ruins of what he was now. 

Leo had no idea what he was taking on. Had no idea Aiden was falling to pieces in his own head when all he had to do was stay still and be quiet. 

He wasn’t meant to open his eyes but Harrison was peeling them open for him. Shining his penlight into one and then the other. 

“I know you’re awake.” His tone was terse. Frustrated? There was a complication? A delay? It was hard to follow, his mind slow to process. He tried to turn his head but he couldn’t. Of course he couldn’t, he was strapped down like always. 

Leo had told him not to move.

Harrison snapped his fingers in front of his face. “I asked you a fucking question.” 

He blinked a fraction of a second after he thought of it. He couldn’t remember hearing a question. There weren’t any quips surfacing and he wasn’t sure he had the energy to speak anyway. 

He hadn’t felt this drugged before. 

He wasn’t. 

Leo—was Leo still there? 

“For fuck’s sake.” Harrison demanded all of his attention by undoing the straps. “You’re lucky we need to do this or you’d be kissing a taste of freedom goodbye thanks to your attitude.” 

Too slow to snipe back again. 

He cried out when his arms fell to his sides, so heavy now that he had to hold them, fingers tingling as the blood rushed down to his fingers. 

He had to stay still. 

“I don't have patience for your bullshit today. Do not test me.” 

He swallowed the next whimper, the reprimand curdling in his empty stomach. Unaware that Harrison had released all of the other restraints until he folded forward. Harrison caught him unceremoniously, wrapping his arms around him in a parody of an embrace that still made his heart race and his cheeks flush as if it were earned attention, a reward. Sometimes, he’d wriggle closer, moan in Harrison’s ear or whisper a few lurid suggestions. (Anything was better than being a lab rat.) Once even licked his neck but after that, Harrison had kept him unconscious for so long. 

As much as he had nothing to lose, would push every button he could find in a fruitless attempt to force Harrison’s hand, his nerve was riddled with holes. Whenever Harrison was gone too long, he’d wonder if he’d ever come back. Doubt warping fearful anticipation into longing. He’d miss Harrison. Miss the attention, even of his scalpel, when there was a question of it never returning. He was nothing if not what they’d conditioned him to be. 

“Alright, up you go.” Harrison’s voice still had an edge. They were in the other room across the hall but he didn’t remember getting there. Harrison pulled him to his feet, placed both of his hands on the rail bordering the room. “Let’s go, I don’t have all day.” 

He gasped when Harrison let go, overwhelmed by all of his muscles working together for a purpose. But there was something else too, something beneath whatever drugs Harrison always gave him before these bouts of “exercise” to make sure he wasn’t too much trouble. 

“I don’t feel right…” It came out slurred.

Harrison was busy on his phone and waved him on with his free hand. “You remember. One foot in front of the other.” He used the hard toe of his sneaker to prod against his bare heel until he moved. 

Left foot forward. One step at a time. 

His head hurt, ears ringing, vision wavering. Harrison would be furious if he passed out. 

Right foot forward. His leg almost buckled and he gripped the bar tighter. The room spun. 

“Something’s wrong.” The syllables were marbles in his mouth. 

Left foot forward. 

The fingers of his right hand slipped from the bar. 

He couldn’t raise them again, like his whole arm had been numbed. His heart sprinted and stuttered, drilling fear deep into his chest. “Harrison, what did you give me?” The panic in his voice was clearer than the words.  

“Whatever game you’re playing, I am really not—”

Right foot forward. The room tipped. 

Harrison caught him and let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m fucking serious. Stand up and finish the lap.” He tried to shove him onto his feet again but he couldn’t balance. 

He was crying now, tears sliding down his cheek. The ones on the other side lost in the fabric of Harrison’s lab coat. “I—I—can’t—I can’t—” No words came out at all this time, only sounds. “Harrison!” His vision spotted. Harrison lowered him to the floor, let him slump against the wall, listing sideways. 

His expression was out of focus but his voice was stern. “This is your last chance. Stop—what—what are you doing?” 

Harrison caught him again but he couldn’t feel where, only the other hand opening his left eye for the light. He didn’t feel his fingers on the right before his vision flared. 

“Fuck.” Harrison held two fingers to his neck, checking his watch. “Look at me, talk to me.”

“I—I—I’m scared,” he cried. It was nothing, it was moans and slurs. “Harrison, help me, please!”

“No, no, no.” Harrison laid him down. “Squeeze my hand.” 

His hand was empty, he couldn’t—

Harrison raised their hands into his line of sight. His right hand limp in Harrison’s grip. “Please, come on, Nothing. It’s nothing, you’re fine. You’re fine.” 

He couldn’t feel his hand. “What did you do to me?” Again nothing came out. He whimpered when Harrison rolled him onto his side. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

He must have been high out of his mind to hear those words. 

“Talk to me, stay with me.” 

How many times he’d wanted to say that himself but now he was the one leaving. 

“Beau, come on. Hold my hand.” Harrison wrapped both hands around his left one. He didn’t think he’d ever done that without gloves on. It felt so warm. “Here, see? Stay with me, Beau.” 

But Beau didn’t belong here. 

He had died when she had, when he’d failed her. 

“No, no, no.” Harrison was holding his face now. “Hey, ‘359. Come on, keep your eyes open. Trainee ‘359. That is a direct—” His voice broke. “Fuck. Please—”

‘359 was out of place too. 

Fragments and pieces, hollow on the inside, incomplete before he’d been given Beau’s purpose. 

A clean slate would always be empty, ‘359 couldn’t exist here.

“Please.” Harrison held him more carefully than he’d ever imagined him capable of. Like he was far from nothing, precious even. “Brandon. Forgive me.”

But he wasn’t Brandon. 

Or ‘359. 

Or Beau.

He only wanted to be Aiden. 

And even though he could still feel Harrison’s fingers entwined with his, he was Aiden. Aiden being careful not to make a sound as memories drowned him. Aiden not moving a muscle or opening his eyes, pulse sprinting in his chest as they waited. He couldn’t feel anything under his fingertips anymore, was growing more and more desperate to check that he was in fact lying in a bed and not waking up on the ground beside Harrison or worse already back on his table. He—

The door opening brought everything in his head screeching to a halt.

It wasn’t Harrison’s warmth still lingering on his hand. 

It was Leo’s. 

Leo who had found him, sheltered him, been so patient and kind with him. Had risked everything by bringing him here. 

He could keep still and quiet, bury his fear of what it would mean to go back, in hopes of selling this lie. To say nothing of what consequences Leo and his sister might face. He could never be the reason someone else was unmade. He owed Leo this, at the very least, as disappointing as he may have been in the rest of their short time together. 

Or did he have a different kind of obligation now? Not just to please and obey but one of higher grounds. To earn everything Leo had given him so freely. To repay selflessness with a sacrifice of his own.

One of the agents cleared their throat and Aiden knew this was it. If he went easily, quietly, they might leave Leo alone. As long as he surrendered before Leo had a chance to try and improvise. 

And he wouldn’t look at Leo at all. To make sure to implicate him as little as possible. 

There were voices in the hallway but he couldn’t catch the words over the way his heart beat so loudly in fear, thudding through his whole body. 

He promised himself he would tear the stitches in the van later. 

Being manhandled into cuffs might start the job anyway.  

He would—Aiden would do this to save Leo. 

He sat up and opened his eyes—

In time to see the backs of the agents as the nurse ushered them out, hissing something about “immunocompromised” and “goddamn idiots, don’t they teach you to read?” 

And Leo, staring at him in disbelief.

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@octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @mazeish @whumpy-writings @cracked-porcelain-princess @meetmeinhellcroutons @briars7 @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @neuro-whump @painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @skyhawkwolf @haro-whumps @onlybadendings @peachy-panic @fillthedarkvoid @rabass @crystalquartzwhump @dont-touch-my-soup @mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @guachipongo @creetchure @leyswhumpdump @aseasonwithclarasblog @catawhumpus @magziemakeswhatever @espresso-depresso-system @pigeonwhumps @batfacedliar-yetagain @whumpinthepot @dustypinetree @whump-in-progress @lavbug

#bbu #bbu-adjacent #box boy whump #box boy rescue #bbu whump #sympathetic whumper #carewhumper #pet whump #is it? idk #institutionalized slavery tw #hospital setting tw #CVA tw #stitches mention tw #medical whump #clinical whump #hospital whump #whump #whump writing

[determinedwriter]

Whumptober 2023: Day 27: Scars/“Let me see”

(Side note: “you drew stars around my scars, but now I’m bleeding” is like, one of my favorite lyrics ever but I didn’t use it for this cuz I couldn’t really figure out how)

Ro

I watch from a distance as Peter and Ned talk together at lunch, looking at the popular and beautiful Liz Allan. A jealous feeling sinks into my heart.

I love to see my friends have fun together. I really do. But watching Peter fawn over Liz Allan with Ned bothers me. Way more than it even should.

I shake my head, disappointed in my own insecurities. You’re better than this, Ro. Don’t worry about Liz. Even if she is everything you’re not.

Beautiful. Perfect. Peter’s dream girl.

Everything I want to be and never will be.

My stomach turns and suddenly I’m not feeling up for lunch anymore. I dump my tray out and turn my heel to exit, sneaking one last gaze at the beautiful girl.

Tan, with dark hair and a smile that could make anyone fall in love. And here I am with my lanky body, plain face, and average hair.

To top it all off, I’m awkward. Too awkward to ever be anyone’s dream. Too weird to be loved the way I want. Not that I even deserve it.

I know I’m being hard on myself, but I can’t help it. I blend into the background. I’m the side character in my own story. Not even a side character. An unnamed extra.

With my mind causing me to spiral, I enter the girls bathroom and take a look at myself in the mirror. My eyes are wide and watery. My skinny arms tremble weakly.

I bite the inside of my cheek, silently cursing myself for feeling this way. I’m nothing special and frankly I never will be.

Even if I am the daughter of Tony Stark.

That’s what makes this all so much worse. I’m supposed to be better. I’m supposed to be smart, charming and charismatic. I’m supposed to be like my dad.

But I’m just…me.

And nobody wants that.

Nobody.

I wipe my eyes, going through my school bag to find my trusty old pocket knife. The one my mother gave me. The one my grandfather made long before I was born. It’s been passed down.

“I’m sorry.” I say aloud, making a few small cuts along my arm. “I know you never wanted me to use it for this. But I have to.”

Blood trickles down to my hand and I wash myself off in the sink, watching as it swirls down the drain. It’s cathartic in a fucked up kind of way.

God, what is wrong with me?

I know the answer to that. Everything.

Once I’m done harming myself for a little relief, I exit the bathroom with the straightest face I can manage. Peter soon approaches me.

“Hey!” He says, looking to be in a good mood. “I didn’t see you at lunch.”

I shrug. “Yeah, sorry. I got caught up.”

He pauses, seeming to want to ask about it, but drops the subject. “Well, as long as you’re okay.”

I nod a bit too quickly. “Yup. What’d you get up to?”

Other than ogling over the prettiest girl in school, that is.

“Oh, uhh…Ned and I just talked. The usual stuff.” Peter replies.

“Sorry to miss it.” I tease. “I bet it was a riveting conversation.”

I’m glad I can continue to joke and stay on my A game while simultaneously feeling so shitty. I’ve gotta give myself a pat on the back for that one.

He smiles. “There’s always next time.”

I nod back and we walk to class, having this next one together. I’m glad to see him in such a good mood. Even if I’m so down in the dumps, it doesn’t mean my friends can’t be happy.

In the middle of class, I hear Peter gasp, his breath shaking. I look up from my school work, seeing his wide eyes. “What?”

He gulps nervously and whispers. “Your arm. What happened? Did you get hurt on a mission?”

I quickly look at my sleeve, seeing the blood has soaked through. Shit! “I scraped it. It’s been bleeding a lot but it’s okay. You know how some cuts do that? It’s just that.”

Peter searches my eyes, not fully convinced. “Do you need to get patched up?”

I shake my head. “It’s okay. I’ll clean myself up after class. Sorry to worry you. I didn’t even notice. It doesn’t hurt.”

That’s a lie. It stings. But that’s kinda the point. To make myself hurt. Not only because I deserve it, but because I’m in so much emotional pain that I want to hurt on the outside.

I’m in so much pain and yet I feel numb all at the same time. I don’t know how else to explain it. It sounds strange, but it’s true. I hurt and I deserve to hurt.

After class, I wash up in the restroom and do my best to wash the blood out of my sleeve, feeling stupid for getting caught. At least he doesn’t know I did it to myself.

I exit the bathroom to find Peter waiting. “Hey, are you okay? Can I help?”

“I’m okay. Thanks, though.” I reply. “I promise it’s alright.”

He blushes. “W-Well good. You wanna go on patrol with me today?”

I hesitate, not wanting to reject him but definitely not feeling up for hero stuff. “I can’t. My dad needs me for lab work. Next time though.”

Peter smiles. “I’m counting on it.”

I walk out of school, parting ways with him as he goes off to so friendly neighborhood Spider-Man things. He’s too good for this world. But it’s what we all need more of.

The world would be absolutely perfect if everyone was as sweet and selfless as Peter Benjamin Parker. That’s a fact.

With him on my mind, I’m able to not put myself down for a bit before I arrive home to find Dad in the lab working on one of his suits. He doesn’t seem to hear me come in.

“I'm home.” I announce. “What’re you working on?”

“Fixing some tech.” He replies. “How was school?”

“Good.” I lie. “Same old, I guess. Can I help?”

Dad turns to face me. “Yeah, put your bag away and come help your old man.”

This warms my cold heart for a moment. I put my bag in my room and apply bandages to my cuts before reappearing in the lab to assist him.

“Show me the ropes.” I say.

He grins, facing some big machine he’s been working on for a while. “Alright, can you reach into the panel there?” Dad shows me a section that seems too big for his hands.

“Make it big enough to fit your own hands inside next time.” I tease.

“Yeah, yeah. I just need you to connect some wires. I’m updating some old machines in the lab. It's about time too. This thing might as well be as old as Cap.” Dad jokes.

I stick my tongue out at him. “I’m telling him you said that.”

“You think I’m afraid of Iced Americano?” He quips.

I giggle. “No.”

He smiles. “Anyways, get your baby hands into the panel now.”

“Baby hands…” I mumble. “I’ll show you, crusty old man.”

“I’m sorry, what was that? I don’t speak baby gibberish.” He teases.

I roll my eyes, connecting the wires as he requested. “And…there. Voila.”

“Thank you, little grasshopper.” Dad replies. “I just need you for a couple more things and I’ll let you go.”

I nod. “No problem.”

He has me do some routine tests on the machine, requesting I fuss with more wires until something unexpected happens.

I do as I did before, except the machine starts to smoke this time. His eyes go wide. “What’d you do?”

“I-I don’t know!” I stammer. “I did it the same as I did the last time!”

“Well, clearly not.” Dad snaps. “Can you fix it?”

I reach my hand in again, getting zapped with electricity. He pulls a big plug from the wall, looking exasperated. “Never mind.”

“I’m sorry.” I say. “I don’t know what happened, I…it zapped me.”

“Just get out so I can fix this.” He replies.

I gulp. “I just wanted to help. I…”

Dad groans. “Just go do whatever you do after school these days. I need to focus.”

“Dad, I’m-“ I try.

“Just let me fix what you broke.” He argues.

I look down to hide my tears. “Okay.”

Running to my room, I take out my knife again. I can’t do anything right. I need to punish myself. I’m such a screw up.

In the middle of my panicked cutting, there’s a knock at my bedroom door. My hand slips in surprise, causing a deep cut along my wrist. Damn it, damn it, damn it.

“It’s me.” Peter? What is he doing here?

“W-What’re you doing here?” I ask.

“You forgot your homework and I figured I’d drop it off.” He replies.

I wince, trying not to cry out in pain at my wounds. I cut too deeply. “Oh. O-One sec.”

“Are you okay?” Peter asks.

“I’m fine.” I lie.

He sighs. “Forgive me for this.”

The door opens and his eyes widen. “Oh my God, what happened?! Why is your knife all bloody and…”

Peter realizes what I’ve done, immediately rushing to my side. “What did you do? Why would you do this?”

“Why did you open the door?!” I snap at him. “Damn it, Peter!”

He looks surprised at my outburst. “W-Well, my Spider-Sense went off…I didn’t want to ignore it. Not when I sensed you were in danger somehow. And I was right! Let me get Mr. Stark-“

“No!” I yell. “Don’t! If you tell him, I will never forgive you!”

His eyes are wide, surprised, and full of concern. “Ro, I can’t leave you like this! Not without help! I won’t!”

“He won’t understand.” I reply, voice breaking. “Please, please, please, I can’t let him down like this. Please, Peter.”

Peter looks down at my wrist, my bleeding only getting worse. “I’m sorry. Ro, I’m really sorry. But…I can’t risk you…d-dying.”

“I won’t die.” I reassure him. “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s bad. You’re bleeding a lot. And even if you get it under control…I don’t know you won’t do it again and really kill yourself next time.”

“Peter-“ I attempt.

“Friday, get Mr. Stark in here right now. No matter what Aurora says. She needs medical attention.” He tells the compound’s AI.

“No, no, no! Friday, cancel that! Don’t listen to him! Peter, I swear to God I’ll never talk to you again!” I threaten, tears streaming down my face.

“I can live with that. But I can’t live with you dying.” He explains. “Friday?”

“Mr. Stark has been informed.” She confirms.

I pull away from Peter as he tries to tend to me, standing in the corner of my room. “Get away. Just get away from me.”

He looks heartbroken, moving towards my door and shouting. “Mr. Stark!”

Dad soon enters. “Kid. Friday said you called for medical assist-“

His eyes land on me and the trail of blood on the floor. “Oh Christ, what happened?!”

Peter looks at me, giving me a chance to tell the truth. But I stay silent, shame consuming me in an instant. He frowns. “She cut herself, Mr. Stark.”

“Yeah, I see that but-“ Dad starts to say, stopping once he realizes what Peter means. “Oh. Oh…Ro, you…”

He shakes his head to clear his mind. “Come here.”

“No…” I mumble in shame.

Dad looks surprised at my denial. “Come here, Ro.”

I stay still, backed into the corner as my arm continues to bleed. I’m starting to get lightheaded. I’ve lost enough blood for it to harm me, clearly.

“Ro.” He says through gritted teeth. “Now. Come here. Now.”

Is he angry? He seems angry. And he’s not looking at me. I can’t bring myself to speak, becoming too afraid to face him.

Dad clenches and unclenches his fists, shaking. “Aurora Stark, come here and let me help you. Let me see.”

I sniffle, trying not to sob. “Dad, I never meant for this.”

He exhales shakily, trying to keep his emotions in check. As he looks up to meet my eyes, I realize he’s not angry. He’s terrified. And he’s crying. “B-Baby, l-let me see. let me help.”

Frozen in place, I don’t move as he approaches me, gently examining my arm. “Oh God, my mini…my baby…”

Dad embraces me. “Let’s get you to the medbay.”

I weakly lean against him, letting him guide me there. Peter follows, looking like a lost puppy. I feel horrible for yelling at him.

I was just…terrified.

Dr. Cho stitches me up, telling me I thankfully don’t need a blood transfusion. I lost a lot of blood, but not enough to require any donation.

Dad sits at my side while I rest in the medbay, feeling shy and embarrassed. “Dad?”

“Yeah?” He asks.

“I’m sorry.” I mumble. “I’m so sorry.”

Dad kisses my forehead. “It’s alright, Ro. Everything’s gonna be alright. I promise.”

“Can you tell Peter I’m sorry? I’ll talk to him about it later, I just…I’m ashamed.” I explain.

He sighs. “Will do. And listen…you don’t have to be ashamed about this. I…I get it.”

“You don’t.” I whimper. “I know you try to. It’s not your fault. I’m just…weak.”

“You’re not weak. And believe it or not, I do get it. I’ve…I’ve been there. I’ve made some decisions I regret. I’ve drank too much to make myself forget. To make myself numb. So…I understand what it’s like to…want to disappear. To feel invisible and want to…well, die.” Dad replies.

I’m silent for a moment as I let this sink in. “I’m sorry. I never meant to…remind you of that stuff. I love you so much, Dad. I’ve just been so lost and…and…”

He hugs me. “I know, baby. Sometimes these things don’t make sense. Don’t apologize for feeling the way you do. I’m gonna make sure you don’t do this again though. I’m gonna get you help.”

“I don’t think I want to be helped.” I say honestly.

Dad frowns. “I know it’s overwhelming, but I won’t leave you alone. I won’t let you suffer like this ever again. And if you ever feel like doing this again, you tell me.”

I nod. “Okay…”

“I’ll never judge you.” He reassures me. “I’m always gonna be just a call away. Come to the lab at any time. Call, text, whatever. No matter where I am and where you are. Tell me. Promise me you’ll do that for me, Ro.”

“I promise.” I tell him.

Dad seems relieved at this. “Thank God you’re alright, mini. I don’t know what I would’ve done if…”

He shuts his eyes, pained at the thought. A tear escapes and trickles down his cheek. “But you’re okay. You’re alive. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

He’s trying to convince himself more than me at this point. That much is clear. “Dad, I never meant to scare you so much.”

Dad nods. “I know. Don’t worry about your old man, alright?”

I nod silently, watching as he traces his fingers over my older scars. “How long have you been doing this?”

I exhale shakily. “A-About six months. I’m not sure. Dad, I’m so sor-“

“Don’t apologize.” He interrupts. “I want you to be honest with me. You don’t have to be embarrassed about it. No matter what, you’ll never have to hide anything from me.”

“Okay.” I reply. “Love you tons.”

Dad grins bittersweetly. “Love you tons, baby girl.

#whumptober2023 #no.27 #let me see #scars #iron man #the avengers #avengers #mcu #fic #medical tw #self harm tw #sh tw #stitches mention tw #blood mention tw #tony stark #ro stark #aurora stark #mcu oc #peter parker #tony stark’s daughter #tony stark's daughter oc #hurt/comfort #fanfiction #fanfic #whump #I want a dad like Tony Stark #tony stark is a good dad #tony stark girl dad #I love him #cinnamon roll peter parker

[whump-kia]

god I love caretaker-turned-whumpee so much. "I'm going to scream. don't stop." coaching someone through stitches. explaining the procedure step-by-step, knowing the motions by heart and knowing your life has to be in someone else's hands. "take a deep breath. steady. you can do this." pushing aside the agony in favor of keeping your inexperienced caretaker calm, clinical precision even in pain, "hold me down," the trust and vulnerability in letting someone heal you when you spend your life healing others. ugh. it's so good.

#sorry i love my doctor whumpees #its HOT okay #the normally stuffy precise one forced to talk another character through cutting them open END ME NOW #it's so good. SO GOOD #whump #whump writing #whumpblr #whump prompt #whump community #whumpee #caretaker turned whumpee #medical whump #medic whump #medic whumpee #blood tw #blood mention #stitches

[basilpaste]

hey gang. isaloops 'falling action'

i wont go too crazy with the explanation because there is a Fic that will cover it that i will (hopefully) write but uh!!

yknow whats neat? when a in world with magic healing you cant heal wounds if you wont let them be healed. so sometimes even if someone tries they stay. much to think about.

#in stars and time #isat #in stars and time fanart #isat fanart #in stars and time spoilers #isat spoilers #isabeau isat #isaloops au #iat act 5 spoilers #this is technically still act five. #tw blood #of stitches in sequence #im still not super great with the isat style so isa is very very referenced from himself here. some elements edit-ish #when i say that i mean i stole the shapes or the rough lines and worked from there. (like. the mouth on the second piece) #if anyone mentions the mistakes on these ill cry. #basil paints #me kicking my feet paitently waiting my turn to share this on the isatcord.

[starry-bi-sky]

more cfau miscellaneous things because Childhood Friends Danny and Jason have my head and heart always and I need to finish rewriting chapter two dammit (and redo the half-finished chapter 4 because its just Not The Vibes). i'm almost through I need to get through the graveyard scene. (i just stubbornly refuse to have it be shorter than the original chapter and thats the little death. that is the mind killer.)

Danny and jason’s ghost forms both smell faintly like burnt flesh and cigarettes. However, Jason has a more smokey smell while Danny’s smells almost,,, electrical? In a sense? Like he just straight up smells like burnt flesh and sulphur while Jason smells like someone put him in a smoker first.

It’s very much an unpleasant smell but Danny finds an odd comfort in it just as much as he finds a comfort in the smell of nicotine.

(Jason post-revival smells burnt flesh once and is immediately offput by the fact that it brings him an instinctive comfort. He doesn’t realize its because it reminds him of Danny, and is uncomfortable by it.)

-

In an au of an au, Danny’s altercation with Rath ends with Rath regaining enough of his sanity to snap out of the grieving state and ends with him breaking down. Instead of being souped and imprisoned, Rath, who is permanently 14, decides to Move On into the unknown. He’s exhausted, heartbroken, and tired.

(Is this influenced heavily by the ParaNorman scene where he talks to Agatha and helps her move on? Yes. But it doesn’t fit with the Original Storyline so im shoving it into an Au of an Au.)

Rath tells Danny that Jason lied to them (which he genuinely believes), and that he’s tired of waiting/looking for him/grieving. Jason is gone. He isn’t coming back, he abandoned them. And he wants his mom and dad, and his sister, and his friends. And he’s ready to join them.

He leads Danny out to Gotham, which other than Amity Park might’ve been the only city left untouched due to Rath’s own mental block on the place. They go out to the park he and Jason used to frequent or up to one of crime alley’s rooftops, and there Rath lies down and goes to sleep. Only to never wake up again, materializing into nothing as his soul moves on.

Before Rath leaves, he forces Danny to promise him that he’ll only wait for Jason for ten years. After that if he doesn’t find him, or if Jason doesn’t show, then Danny has to move on. Whether that be like how Rath does, or if its inly mentally/emotionally, doesn’t matter. He has to move on. Don’t wait for him. Don’t waste his time any more.

(“Oh, and if you find him, kick his ass for me.”)

Danny reluctantly agrees, and Rath lies down. Danny sings to him as he falls asleep.

(Angsty points if the vigilantes including Red Hood caught wind of their presence and were silently watching from the shadows. Rath might know they’re there, but Danny’s too focused on Rath to notice.)

(If only so that Red Hood realizes that this is what happened to Danny, and that Danny is gone before he can make things right. The tragedy, folks. The angst. The initial realization that Danny was Rath, and then also that Danny was dead and has been dead for years, and that before he moved on, he moved on believing that Jason abandoned him.)

(like i said it doesn't fit in the original timeline/storyline hence why its an au of an au and isn't nearly a fleshed out, but i was largely just focusing on the tragedy of Rath moving on and Jason being alive to see it and realize just who Rath is.)

-

Just like how the Lazarus pits shot Jason's twiggy 4'6-5'4 (depending on what you find) feet tall and 86lb ass up like a tree an essentially fixed his malnutrition, the portal did the same thing for Danny.

(granted i forgot about malnutrition and danny's likely stunted growth at first -- his family lived in crime alley and despite both his parents working, I don't think they had enough food all the time. He probably wasn't as badly malnourished as Jason was, but he wasn't healthy either.)

Granted his ghost in its "natural" state (14) is short, and his growth spurts were slow at first, it did result in him reaching his dad's height. There were points where it just happened overnight, like a baby. He went to bed one night 5’6 and woke up the next day 5’10.

Jazz is shorter than him. Although I have't decided if she's even liminal at all (and if she is, it didn't cure everything because she would have also suffered childhood malnutrition, and since in au canon their parents didn't get their hands on physical ectoplasm until after they got to Amity Park. So the exposure is less.)

-

Danny's voice absolutely sounds like canon Dan's. It kinda just dropped one day when he was 16-17 and never went back up. Sam and Tucker sometimes ask him to just talk about anything because they find his voice soothing.

I'm not sure yet how Danny would feel about it at first considering Rath, but I imagine that Rath, when he did speak, would have had a quieter and scratchier/weaker voice considering he's spent the last decade shrieking and crying.

(and i suppose technically that shouldn't have any effect on his throat considering he's a ghost and idk if that would actually affect him, but i like the idea so im keeping it)

In the beginning you could hear him from a mile away by the sound of his loud, echoing wails, but ten years later you can only really hear him by the soft, shuddering sobs he makes. Like he's gasping for air that isn't there. The future is full of very quiet survivors.

And it's much easier to speak when you pitch your voice upwards (especially when whispering/speaking quietly) so he might've spoken in a higher, airy pitch in order to be heard. So Danny might actually find a comfort in having a lower voice.

#tw mentions of gore #cw gore #i suppose this counts as gore #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #dpxdc crossover #childhood friends au #cfau #really leaning into the idea of rath just being a horror. the horrors! i am delighted in the horrors! #im having fun with it #i swear to god turning 19 turned a switch on in my brain because i am much more comfortable with gore and heavy injury now than i was l #literally a year ago. the urge to write about some of danny's most horrific injuries in his fights is STRONG #like the hORRORS folks. *th horrors*. i dont think i'll ever write a dissection fic because that icks me out but the idea that danny's had #to stitch up his own throat because it got slit in a fight nd he cant shift back to human until he's done because his ghost will survive bu #his body wont #the idea that he's been impaled multiple times before and it hurts each fucking time but he still gets up and hurls the hurt right back in #equal measure. because that's how you wanna play? okay. lets play. he's 14 and his best friend is dead. he can play. #and the idea that all ghosts have 'corpse' forms where their ghosts look exactly like how they died. and danny is utterly unrecognizable #jazz being liminal or not just isnt important to me because she's barely gonna show up in the story anyways #same reason why i hardly use the headcanon that ellie becomes danny's daughter because what use is she to me like that? she'll hardly have #an impact on the story and i refuse to treat characters like props. if they can't help progress the story then they aren't included

[arieefineart]

~ Connected works - Still alive, Brave to live on and I survived

#art #mixed media #painting #collage #sewing #stitch #therapy #text #words #writing #connected #series #survival #trauma tw #death mention tw

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Thursday

Warnings for this oneshot: some blood/gore/horror elements, implied unethical experiments, brief description of a panic attack. The ----- line will mark the end of that scene. TWs will be tagged below.

(Also I stole some fake swear words from Star Wars because they still roll off the tongue well)

"Awww crap. No no no no-"

Jak looked away from the arguing Samoses to see Daxter peering up at the next level of the prison. The one he'd been trying not to think about.

"What?"

Daxter looked back at him with a terrible expression. "...Praxis doesn't have the kid, right? He'd be bragging all over the city about it if he had the kid."

Jak swallowed, but it felt like there was a rock in his throat. "He'd never shut up about it if he'd hurt Mar."

His own voice was shaky a Daxter's fear spread to him.

Not the kid, not Mar, please please, anything but that-!

"Then he got somebody else's kid. Or something else's kid." Daxter climbed up to the pipes between floors and pointed to a sickly glow. "And uh...it didn't like the guards much."

Jak was through the hole in seconds, even as every cell in his body told him that he didn't want to look. Didn't want to know what couldn't be unknown. He gagged as the stench of blood and meat hit him like a wall. This...this wasn't the sweaty antiseptic smell of the Chair.

Two dead KG lay crumpled on the floor, barely recognizable as human beneath the clotted gore obscuring what little remained of their faces. Deep furrows had been clawed into the skin, deep enough to expose bone. The stench of offal did not quite cover the acid pulse of dark eco. Jak could guess what kind of being had inflicted these wounds.

Had Praxis continued the experiment after he'd escaped? Had he finally been successful?

Jak’s stomach lurched as he recognized a third body -- or the uniform and rank insignia hanging in tatters, at least -- slumped against an open tank of some kind. Ignoring the whispered shouts of Samos down below, Jak gingerly stepped over the corpses to examine the tank.

Subject 0401-B its label read, 304 days gestation.

Bile burned in Jak’s throat.

0401 was the number they'd applied to him in the DWP. What was 0401-B? What had they started growing ten months ago?

Wet, smacking noises drew his eyes unwillingly to the dark space beneath an examination table. A trail of dark blood painted a streak all the way to...something's...hiding place. In and out of the mess, tiny footprints peppered the floor. They were no bigger than the Kid's.

Jak coughed and gagged, desperately holding back what little was in his stomach. He didn't want to look, but he did.

Something was hunched over beneath the table, covered in the leathery scales of a metalhead. A long, spiked tail twitched restlessly as shark-black eyes stared back at Jak emotionlessly. The figure had the proportions of a small child, almost like Mar -- thick, stubby limbs, a large head with soft, round cheeks -- but there the similarities ended. Ghost-white hide peeked out beneath cracked and flaking red-brown stains that covered the majority of 0401-B's face and torso. It cocked its head like a little bird, examining Jak, and slit nostrils flared.

"Oh my gods," Jak heard himself whisper, as if from miles away. "No no no no-"

The thing made an ungainly hop towards Jak, coming further into the light. A mane of pale gray hair, matted and tangled, fell across a narrow back, and an all too familiar pair of tiny black horns rose from the thing's head.

It was Dark Jak. It was a monster. A demon.

It was a child.

"What the hell?" Daxter croaked, skittering back towards the hole they'd come up from.

"Hell" was putting it mildly.

The dark eco creature's long ears twitched -- notched ears, Jak’s ears -- and it chirped. Carelessly, it dropped the half eaten head of what had once been Commander Errol and took a tentative step into the light.

It was -- he was -- naked, digitigrade. A hybrid of a human and a Centurion metalhead. In place of a skull gem, his horns pulsed with whatever eco he'd consumed from his prey.

Jak felt lightheaded.

"Prrp?"

The little monster dropped to a crouch, and hopped closer, balanced on tiptoe and fat clawed fingers. He sniffed at Jak, and a disturbingly innocent smile spread across his face.

There were a lot of fangs in that smile.

"What do we do?"

Daxter's voice echoed strangely.

"What do we- ohboy. Jak? Jak, stay with me. Don't look at the evil baby. Look at me. Look at me, pal."

Too late.

"I ca- I can't," Jak gasped, "I can't breathe-"

He curled into a protective ball as dark eco rushed to fill his skin like a protective layer, broadening his shoulders with the crack of joints. It didn't completely cancel the pain of growing a foot taller and a pair of horns in the span of three seconds, but it mitigated it somewhat. Now as pale as the...the not-Jak, he huddled with his hands over his ears. Block out the noise. Block out the lights. Focus on something small. Breathe, breathe, breathe-

"Urr?"

The creature looked different through Dark Jak’s eyes. He would have expected it -- him -- to register as a threat the way other metalheads did. To activate his hunting instincts. But the experiment just felt...familiar. Like someone he'd seen before but didn't really know. He also was very clearly not a threat. Not to Jak.

The child reached up with bloodied hands, instinct driving him to seek comfort. Trembling violently, Dark Jak lowered his arms and let the child use them to climb up to his chest and settle there. Blank-faced and hollow-eyed, he was motionless.

What had Praxis done?

What had he done?!

"Oh kriff, is that Errol?"

Daxter began to retch as he lifted a paw to avoid stepping on...well, he couldn't readily identify the body part anymore, but it certainly wasn't attached to its owner.

"Or...was, I guess."

He didn't feel too badly about vomiting on it.

______________________________________

"Jak? What's happening up there? We have to go! Now! What did you-"

Tess shrieked and jumped back when Jak dropped through the ceiling with something covered in blood in his arms. He was pale, pupils larger than they should've been. Tess knew that meant something up there had made him transform. And it probably had to do with the thing squirming in his arms.

"What is that?!"

"It's a kid."

Jak tucked the scarf closer around the child, hoping against hope no one would notice the tail -- the dead giveaway that the poor thing was part metalhead. "Praxis...he t- he tried to make another Dark Warrior. We have to get him out of here."

His voice was flat. Almost expressionless. There was a lot going on behind those eyes.

"And the guards?" Tess asked, eyeing the gap in the ceiling.

It was Daxter who answered in Jak’s stead, in a colder voice than any of them had ever heard.

"Errol will never hurt my pal again. He'll never hurt anyone again."

Ohhh. Oh that was going to shake up the Baron’s plans. Errol was both his meanest guard dog and his designated racing champion to keep the nobles pacified. Without the useless nobleman scion, he'd already lost control of the races. The Krimzon Guard would break down in organization too. Or at least, they would if Tess had anything to say about it.

"Good," she breathed, "Good. Thank the Precursors. Did he- did he hurt the- the baby?"

A tiny spark of life kindled in Jak’s eyes.

"It didn't end well for him," he rasped, and fell silent again.

Samos the Elder tiptoed to look at the toddler's face, then immediately began to howl about dark eco contamination. Samos the Younger simply looked uncomfortable with the presence of a child. Neither of them were going to be of any use in a crisis, clearly.

Tess sprang into action.

"Okay! Here's what we're going to do! Daxter, get Jak and this poor baby to Safehouse 8. I'll take these two back to HQ and deal with Torn. Check the kid for injuries, and we'll figure out what to do from there. Okay? Okay. Let's move, people."

Daxter sighed dreamily as he climbed up onto Jak’s shoulder. "Gods, I love a woman who takes charge in a crisis," he cooed.

It was almost enough to distract him from the extreme amount of blood covering the too-small kid with Jak's ears.

Nobody wanted to think about how he'd come to be.

If Jak was more violent than usual on the way out of the prison, Daxter didn't point it out. All he did was stay out of the way when Dark Jak came out to get hands-on with the idiot guarding their exit. The monster kid got very excited when Jak transformed the second time, chirping and squealing like a possessed bird.

When they'd broken out once more, pelting through the streets in pouring rain, they didn't stop to think. Jak knew if he pondered this little...person's...existence beyond cursory knowledge, it would shatter the pieces of himself he'd managed to put back together so far. So he just wouldn't think about it.

It was a kid. Errol hurt it. It killed Errol. End of story.

"Hang on kid. We're out of here."

A glance down revealed the beginnings of a far less sinister face as the rain finally began to break through the blood caked on the child’s skin. He blinked up at Jak with wide eyes.

"It's- it's not your fault. Okay? No matter- whatever people say, it isn't your fault," Jak croaked as they ran. "You didn't choose this. You're just a kid. It's not your fault."

He wasn't sure if he was talking to the kid, or to himself.

___[Three Hours Later, in the safe house]___

"Eep?"

"Wha- no! No, you can't eat that!"

Jak dropped his gun and dove for the kid, snatching a Scattergun cartridge from his chubby fingers.

The child looked at him with complete betrayal, opened his wide little mouth, and began to scream.

The boys looked at each other in panic. Someone was bound to hear that racket.

"Just let him have it!" Daxter yelped, covering his ears, "Metalheads eat eco, don't they?!"

"I don't know how much of him is metalhead!" Jak argued, "I don't want him to get hurt- Ow!"

The demon baby had decided to lodge a complaint with management in the form of locking his jaws around Jak’s forearm. He couldn’t penetrate the gauntlet fully, but there would definitely be bruises.

Without stopping to think, Jak grabbed the tot's cheeks and squeezed.

"Getoff!"

The demon baby growled at him.

"Let go, you little croc!" Jak increased the pressure. "Knock it off, or I'll bite you! See how you like it!'

He had absolutely no idea if the kid could understand a word he said. He certainly didn't act like he was listening.

So he shrugged and bit the kid's finger.

It wasn't hard. It didn't even dent the skin! But the kid yowled and fell back like he'd been struck a mortal blow. He wailed, holding up the afflicted finger to Jak.

"Well that's what happens," Jak scoffed. "You bite me, I'll bite you right back. Don't like it? Keep your teeth to yourself!"

The toddler sniffled, and in spite of himself, Jak softened. He groaned and gingerly lifted the kid under the armpits to set him on the cot beside him.

"Look. Just don't do it again, okay, Croc?"

"Ah," said the hybrid solemnly. The gurgling sound almost mimicked speech, as if he were copying Jak.

"Huh. You're kind of cold. Are you supposed to be that temperature?" Jak frowned.

He had absolutely no idea what counted as "normal" for something that had probably never existed before. Mar was always a little space heater-

Jak stubbornly buried thoughts of the kid deep in his mind. Not now. He needed to focus, and be able to keep his mind in the fight. He could let the "what-ifs" paralyze him later.

"Uh...here. I guess we should give you something to wear," Jak finally decided, "You are pretty naked. You...probably don't know what that means, though."

Daxter grimaced and slowly took his fingers out of his ears. "I am not babyproofing this safe house without coffee and financial compensation," he announced, "But if you can keep the little chomper busy for a couple minutes, I can see what passes for the sacred bean juice around here."

In the five minutes it took Daxter to brew some burnt, dark roast sludge, Jak had come up with a solution for the toddler's temperature.

It was not the solution Daxter had hoped for.

"No. Absolutely not. We have to find some clothes for him."

Daxter slammed a fist into his palm the second he put the foam coffee cups down. "One involuntary nudist in this family is bad enough! And he doesn't have strategic fur like I do!"

"What's wrong with what he's wearing?" Jak groused.

Daxter stared at him until his left eye began to twitch.

"What's wrong with-? HE'S WEARING A PILLOWCASE!"

The newly named Croc paused in his endless game of trying to catch his own tail to chirp questioningly. His limbs stuck haphazardly out of the pillowcase Jak had cut holes in, but it was more than he'd worn in the lab.

Daxter dropped his face into his palm. "Do you think that little menace is potty-trained? Do you? Because I can almost guarantee he is not!"

That hadn't occurred to Jak. He cringed and glanced at the hybrid. "Uh...how...do you potty-train a kid? Mar already knows how to go by himself, I think. But he's not. Like. A baby...thing."

Daxter huffed and began digging through drawers. "Short answer? You don't. Not in the middle of a war you don't. We're gonna need diapers. So many diapers. Do they make diapers with tail holes? Probably not. Oh- and wipes. I don't know if scaly butts get rashes but I don't wanna find out."

Jak groaned. "I don't know how to take care of a kid this little! We are kids!"

"Well do you wanna leave him with the Underground after their stellar show of babysitting skills thus far?" asked Daxter sarcastically.

"Kriff no!" Jak spat. He dragged grimy fingers down his cheeks and growled in frustration. "Can't ask Sig, he'd probably think the kid was a metalhead and try to hunt him or something."

"Eep! Ooooo!" Croc gathered himself, tail lashing, then made a leap for the bed.

He hit the edge and bounced off with an indignant squeak.

"Well," Jak said after examining him for a second, "He's durable, at least."

Far less angsty Croc Shenanigans to follow later this afternoon

#fic prompts #writing prompts #jak and daxter #praxis started making Stitch i mean Croc when Jak kept showing no changes #jak and daxter au #free day thursday #jnd croc #tw gore #tw blood #tw panic mention #Croc is basically Stitch but he eats people. but only Krimzon Guard. he doesn't know the armor isnt a crunchy shell #tw horror #Errol met a very gruesome end and he deserved it #Jak had absolutely no idea what to do with a toddler and it shows #angst with a happy ending #will be dadmas once they all get exiled

[galaxygermdraws]

For the mobian requests… idk if u have a design in mind for cleo but i WOULD like to see cleo >:>

Cleo jus for you Ros <3

They were a badger. Then she died I guess. or some kind of experiment. I don't really know. But now just kind of an amalgamation of animal bits.

(reblogs w tags/comments are appreciated. Thankyu)

#hermitcraft #hermitblr #zombiecleo #tw stitches #tw death mention #germdraws #germ draws #hc mobian au

[fallenwhumpee]

Radio

• Masterlist •

Warnings: War settings, stitches, sedating, nightmares, mentioned gun.

General lay on the cot, their body weary from the recent injury sustained in the field. This was the first time in years that they had been forced to rest for more than a day, and the restlessness was worse than the war. Their eyes fixated on the radio in the corner. Sighing, they slid slightly to the edge of the cot.

"Don't even think about jumping out of that bed," Medic entered the room, throwing their bag down with a thud, their tone leaving no room for argument. "You're injured, and you're going to stay put until you're healed."

General rolled their eyes, knowing there was no point in arguing with Medic. They weren't exactly known for their bedside manners. But well, General was the worst patient they could have. If they could walk more than a minute, they would be back on the frontlines.

"Hello to you too," General sighed, glancing at the radio sitting on the nearby table. "I hope your day was well."

Medic snorted in annoyance. "I was stranded with the politicians. Can't trust half of what they say." They eyed General. "You're better off focusing on getting yourself back in shape instead of sitting on the edge. Your troops are waiting for any news they could have on you."

"I know," General replied, a hint of frustration in their voice. "Are they well? What were they doing with politicians?"

Medic grunted. "Look, worrying won't do you any good. You need to heal, and then you can ask about them. But until then, they'll manage without you for a little while."

As the clock ticked, General's restlessness grew. The prison disguised as the infirmary walls felt suffocating, and the distant sound of gunfire, real or not, only heightened their unease. They reached out, hesitating for a moment before turning the knob. The radio crackled to life, and General's heart raced as they listened intently to the roll call. Each name that was called sent waves of relief or anxiety crashing through their battered body.

"Team, report in."

There was a pause, then a voice came through the static. It was their squad, and they eagerly waited for their voices.

But before the call started, Medic burst back into the room, anger flashing.

"What are you doing?" Medic snapped, storming over to the radio and snatching it away. "You know you're not supposed to be listening to this."

General clenched their fists. "I just wanted to know if they were alright. I needed to—."

Medic shook their head, their voice tinged with disappointment. "You can't risk your recovery for this. You have to trust that they're doing their job. Now, lie down and try to rest. I have other things to do, and you only heal when you truly rest."

-•-

The room was bathed in the dim glow of moonlight as the night settled in, casting long shadows across the walls. Medic had dozed off on the empty cot near General's, their exhaustion catching up to them. But as the night deepened, a noise stirred them from their sleep.

Medic's eyes opened in an instant, scanning the room for the source of the disturbance. And there, on the cot, General was thrashing, hands clasping their wound. The sight sent a jolt of panic through Medic, and they hurried over to General's side.

"General, wake up!" Medic's voice was urgent as they gently shook the disoriented officer. "You're having a nightmare. It's okay, but you have to stop."

General's eyes snapped open with pain, their gaze unfocused and lost. They murmured incoherent words, their voice strained with worry and confusion. "They didn't answer the roll call... Where are they? Are they okay?"

Medic's heart sank as they realized General's state of mind. They were reliving the battlefield, their mind trapped in a moment of uncertainty and fear. With a mixture of guilt and determination, Medic spoke softly, their words carrying empty reassurance without proof.

"General, listen to me. You're not there anymore. You're with me, and you're safe." Medic's voice trembled slightly as they tried to comfort their wounded charge. "Your squad is doing their duty, just like you taught them. They're strong, and they'll come back. You trust them, don't you? They can take care of themselves."

General's eyes searched Medic's face, their gaze clouded with confusion. "Trust... Yes, I trust them. They're... good soldiers. Always... have been."

Medic nodded, their hands instinctively reaching to General's reopened wound. "That's right, General. They're doing their part, and you need to do yours."

Medic prepared a sedative, preparing themselves for stitching the wound back together.

-•-

Night had passed, and the sun began to cast its golden rays upon the world once again. In the small makeshift office, Commander sat across from Medic

"How is General doing?" Commander asked, their voice filled with genuine worry. "We have limited information from the frontline, but I know how much they rely on knowing what's happening."

Medic hesitated for a moment, not having the heart to tell Commander that they snapped at one of their well-known military officers.

"General seemed to relax after the roll call," they settled with the answer, their tone carefully neutral. "They're still on medication, so they might need a bit more time to wake up fully. But they're stable."

Commander nodded, their eyes flickering with understanding. "You know, ever since the war started, knowing what's happening has been General's way of coping. When they were too injured to fight, we would talk to them and update them on the situation. It helped keep their spirits up and gave them a sense of control."

"I... didn't know," Medic replied, guilt clawing at their throat.

"That's fair. General is a very reserved person."

"Does it have anything to do with..."

"The scars? Yes. Mostly." Commander sighed, looking around. "Our squad is specialized in gathering information, and we often do the first contact with whoever we're against. Do you remember how this war started?"

Medic nodded, remembering the news of a high-ranking officer being taken hostage and tortured, the first mission marching on the enemy and taking them back home...

"They couldn't recover for a long time, and we were called to the frontline. General was kept in the loop with a radio, and we got used to giving detailed reports over it." Commander chuckled. "To a point where it annoyed the temporary commanding officer we were assigned to until General came back." They turned away. "I believe that's enough. General won't like that we talked behind their back."

"They should be awake now, and they would probably appreciate some updates about the front."

-•-

General was semi-conscious as Commander entered, a warm smile on their face, and sat down beside the cot. They didn't need to be formal, battle after battle dismissing their ranks when they were alone.

"Hey, General," Commander greeted, their voice laced with genuine care. "How are you feeling?"

General's gaze shifted to Commander, a mix of exhaustion and gratitude in their eyes. "I'm tired, but that's not new."

"Good thing that I'm saving you from this misery, then." Commander took General's fruit. "The frontline is preparing for an attack, and this place is staying out of the radio's range. We wouldn't want our best to be in the dark, so you're coming with us."

General closed their eyes tiredly, just taking the water since they struggled to keep things down.

"I can't," they answered despite their mind yearning to say otherwise. "I'm afraid I'm not fit for battle."

As if reading their mind, Commander held their arm, keeping an assuring tone. "You're not going to be a liability for us, and maybe it'll finally keep you in the war room instead of running straight into the bullets."

#whump #whump writing #military whump #war settings #stitches #sedation #tw nightmares #mentioned gun #leader whump #leader whumpee

[myorgansaremelting]

So I still had a peice of thorn stuck in my foot and my mom is trying to help me remove it and then I’m just like “hey can I have the tweezers and dad’s pocket knife?” And she’s like sure

So I cut open my foot to somehow the PERFECT depth, and remove it amazingly

My mom was like “why are you so precise at doing this?”

No idea mother, no idea :3

#tw self harm mention #asher says stuff #at what point do they give me a doctors license #I literally have a friend who can #do stitches on himself bcs he got tired of #having to go to the hospital so often #like bro is just doing surgery on himself? #and he’s never got an infection? #bro is basically a doctor

[n1ghtwarden]

minth is vain - she has a high opinion of her physique and face (as she should, she's hot); but after being freed from the tadpole's influence and orin's occasional piloting of her as a thrall, to me - it is a front; denial, even. minth does not recognise her own body any more. she is covered in awful, deep scars that have been haphazardly patched together from orin's blades and hooks. she spent a week, at the very least, in the colony at moonrise - she also admits she will never recover from what was done to her. old scars and battle wounds that once gave her such pride ( surviving assassination attempts; the scars she gained besting her mother, every wound sustained in combat and marked just how strong and capable she is ) have been overwritten with new, fresher ones. depending on how deep orin went, it is likely she has nerve damage in certain areas as well - something that would have become plain to her only after being rescued by the party. her body, which has carried her through so much, is not only unrecognizable to her, but is a stranger - something she does not like to look at any more; and the scars a reminder of the shame of her defeat and capture.

in addition to the scarring, minth's body was quite literally not her own while tadpoled and enthralled. either obeying commands of the absolute or being puppeteered by orin - her body has always been a weapon; for lolth, for the absolute - but while in the underdark, minth knows she did everything there of her own volition, instead of coming out from a fog to realise all her hands did with no choice or regard to her own feelings or morals.

another reason why, in the brief moment at the goblin party, minth would proposition the player - to regain agency over a body she no longer knows; and another reason behind the extremely hard boundary of space she requests from a romanced tav if asked about sleeping with them again once freed.

#tldr i actually had to go get stitches like 6 months ago and the way my scar is healing has me thinking. anyway. #tw: depersonalization #tw: torture mention #HEADCANONS. grant silence upon those who would betray it.

[calmthefuckdownalright]

Hello! I have an idea for a fic! Maybe simpbur was cursed by a witch to turn into a dog and the reader finds him and takes him in thinking he's just a normal dog. Sometime goes by simpbur gets attached like he always does, and by this time reader has full on said "know what Im keeping you! " Then simpbur turns back into a human but doesn't tell the reader that he was a human before so he could get away with things he could do as a dog. Like licking = kissing and clambering into readers lap like he's a lap dog (he was to big as a dog and he still is now) and asking for head pats constantly. And reader just assumes it's because he used to be a dog, so they are slowly trying to teach him how to human. Sorry if this is confusing or too long, I've had this idea for a while and I don't know how to write it.2 Replies

Oh we love some puppy eyed Simpbur yessir. I'm getting non-Stockholm syndrome Beauty and the Beast vibes. ✨

Title: All Bark No Bite Part 1

Pairing: Momentarily Cursed Simpbur x GN!Reader

(Female is implied but no pronouns used)

Warnings: mention of getting high, stitching (very brief), drinking, bar fights, cussing

<><><><><><><><>

Simpbur

To put it simply, it was not hard for Wilbur to piss people off. Specifically guys and the occasional lesbian when he accidentally stared a little too long at someone he thought good looking or pretty.

"Hey Puppy Face! Keep your eyes to yourself or you'll lose em!"

"Oi! Puppy Love! Eyes off my girl!"

The phrase 'Puppy' was often thrown around in his mocking or beatings. His local clinic knew him by name and the nurses all knew the man they called Simpbur.

"Jeez dawg, gotta keep your eyes to yourself before you end up in the hospital rather than here." Wilbur's current nurse, a friend of his named Alex Quackity, slurred his words.

"Are you drunk?" Wilbur raised an eyebrow and winced as the needle poked into his split skin.

"Nah man. Maybe a little high but that was hours ago I'm fine." Nurse Quackity smiled relaxed and carried on with Wilbur's stitches along his arm.

Wilbur wasn't sure as to how secure Quackity's stitches were and decided to just go for a few drinks before going home to his apartment. His body ached as he spotted a beautiful woman walking from a pub. The Bottomless Bottle to be exact. Wilbur had been there countless times due to it only being a few blocks from his apartment.

"Evening Wil." The bartender, a dark headed guy people called Sapnap for casual and the drunkards called Fireball for his signature drink.

"Hey Sap. Just a beer right quick. Nothing much tonight." Wilbur grumbled and sat at the bar on a stool.

"Aww did the Simp get his shit rocked again?" Sapnap teased and Wilbur shot him a glare. The stitch on his arm and the obvious black eye was evidence enough he had indeed 'gotten his shit rocked.'

"Can it and just give me the damn bottle, prick." Wilbur growled. Sapnap sent him a shit-eating grin and handed over the beer while scribbling something onto a notepad labeled on that particular page "Simp's Tab."

"So, who was it this time. Straight or gay?" Sapnap leaned over the table and folded his arms under his chest.

"Straight. Bastard wasn't even dancing with her." Wilbur admitted and took a sip of the foul alcohol in his hand.

"Hips?" Sapnap pressed. Wilbur and him had played this game so many times.

"They definitely did not lie lets just say that." Wilbur flushed just thinking about the dancer he'd seen last night. A light haired woman with a thin waist and charming smile. Beauty in her own and all alone on the dance floor. Wilbur had gotten up to ask her to dance before getting his face clocked and his arm scratched up by some buff ass biker dude who was not thrilled at his advances.

"Sounds like a rough night." Sapnap chuckled and cleaned a glass to perfection.

"No kidding." Wilbur winced as his stitches protested to him flexing his arm as to not make it cramp.

~~~

The night was long and after four beers and several glasses of fancy alcohol Wilbur couldn't remember the name of he decided to go home. He paid off a portion of his tab and headed our before the evening rush came in.

Darkness swelled around the city streets and Wilbur stuffed his buzzing hands into his pockets, stiffening at the chill resting in the air. He looked down at his feet and blew clouds of breath that met his nose and smelled of putrid alcohol and despair.

"God you're a sad sight." A voice uttered in front of him and Wilbur looked up just in time to run into someone blocking his path. In his drunken state he didn't quite realize the situation until he was flat on his back with a weight on his chest.

"Oh hello." Wilbur slurred as his vision swirled the image of what appeared to be a woman on top him. "This is a bit forward don't you think?" He smiled and what appeared to be disgust lit up on the woman's face.

"Ugh! Creep! Where are your manners?!" The stranger climbed off Wilbur and he got to his own feet shakily, shaking out his head in an attempt to clear it. "Filthy dog. Someone ought to put you in your place!" She shrieked and Wilbur almost fell again when he was suddenly being dragged along by his arm.

"Woah hey I'm not that type of guy Miss-" Wilbur started but soon the world went dark and everything changed drastically.

~~~

Wilbur woke up. As a dog. In a filthy alleyway with no memory of what just happened.

"What in the-" He tried to speak but everything came out as a bark and growl. He was startled and sat back on his new hindlegs. Everything was shaky as he realized what had happened.

"I have a tail?! And a snout?! And FUR?!" he spun in circles as his head spun with the thoughts. Wilbur growled and frightened himself at his own new voice. What was happening?! How did this happen?

His new Canine mind ran through everything that could've resulted in this. Maybe he was dreaming or some voodoo shut had been put in his drink.

No, it was that woman. The woman that called him sad and got pissed at him for HER falling onto HIM! Wilbur snarled and left the alleyway with his head low. He stumbled on his paws a little and it took a second to get used to the feeling of straight concrete under him.

Wilbur walked to the apartment building he stayed in. Or was supposed to be staying in but it appeared all his clothes had gone missing in the event of his form changing.

"When I find that bitch witch I better get my shit back." Wilbur growled and arrived at the door to his apartment. It was pretty easy to sneak in when you were a cute fluffy brown canine. Wilbur looked at himself in windows as he walked past the counter where most checked in and almost took a double take.

He was fucking adorable!!! Granted he himself preferred cats when it came down to the wire, as a dog Wilbur was damn cute.

Needless to say it was a shit idea to try and get into his apartment without keys and as a four legged creature.

"This is pointless. Might as well start eating out of the trash now." Wilbur let out a whine and let his head hang. What did dogs even do? Especially strays. He'd never seen one in the city although most of the time his vision was fucked over by a swollen eye or swirling from alcohol. Hardly ever did Wilbur go out sober or uninjured by the time he came home.

"Hey there, you lost little guy?" A kind voice broke his pity as Wilbur padded down the street again. Wilbur looked up and was quite possibly met with the single most beautiful person he'd seen yet.

"Don't worry buddy, I won't hurt you." You smiled at him and stretched out a hand to scratch behind his ears and Wilbur swears he'd never felt something so heavenly. Wilbur instinctively leaned into your hand and it caused a chuckle to escape you.

He might've died a little inside as his scruffy tail started to swish back and forth.

"Have you got a home? Or maybe a name?" You asked and Wilbur whined first then a bark hoping you would understand his form of confirmation to the name question. He would hate for him to find the person responsible for his change in appearance and you be calling him something like Spot the entire time.

"Well what's your name then?" You asked with a bright smile and Wilbur jumped up slightly to signify you to follow him. You did and he trotted to the only place he could think of where he might have his name written somewhere. The Bottomless Bottle on his tab.

"A pub? No offense buddy but I don't think you're eligible for a drink at this hour." You laughed and Wilbur's dog face split into a grin. You were so perfect. Your laugh, your humor, your beauty and kindness. He could feel himself falling and falling fast and he'd hardly known you for an hour.

Shit maybe he did have Puppy Love.

Wilbur barked and urged you inside. Sapnap was working the counter again and Wilbur barked at him as you both walked in.

"Oh hey there. The dog yours?" Sapnap waved at you and Wilbur struggled down a growl as his face seemed to turn a little red.

"No, I found him on the street. No collar or anything. I asked him if he had a name, which I know sounds ridiculous, but he led me here." You responded with a smile. Wilbur's tail tagged furiously as he crept past Sapnap and jumped up to the counter where a notepad sat with scribbled names and tabs set up.

"Have you seen him before?" Wilbur heard you ask Sapnap and he barked with a growl close by to attract the bartender's attention.

"No can't say I have. What do you want with my notepad boy?" Sapnap quickly answered and flipped open the writing pad. Wilbur snatched it into his teeth and cringed internally at the feeling of the cardboardish cover against his tongue. The paper smelled of old alcohol and smoke.

He nosed up another page and barked once he recognized his own name and the numerous tally marks and numbers under it. Another cringe.

"Wilbur? Is he you owner?" Sapnap scoffed and patted Wilbur's between the ears. Wilbur barked at him seeming as that was as close to confirmation of his name as he was going to get.

"Who's Wilbur?" You asked and Wilbur's trotted to you side, nuzzling his nose under your hand.

"A regular of mine. He's pretty out of it usually so maybe he forgot to lock his door and his dog got out." Sapnap shrugged. Wilbur huffed in relief that he didn't say anything embarrassing.

"Oh...well where does he live?" You asked and Wilbur begged Sapnap to not give it away. His apartment was a mess and the last thing he needed was for you to think he abandoned his dog...well himself technically.

"Can't say I know. Man's pretty private about everything." Sapnap sighed and went back to cleaning a glass behind the bar. Wilbur barked again and hopped up on his hind legs, realizing his mistake and nearly falling. You were there beside him as he steadied himself and he nuzzled his snout into your palm.

You quickly obliged to pet him for a moment before crouching down and looking into his dog eyes. The moment was surreal and Wilbur knew if he was human he would've kissed you in such a time.

"What do you say you come home with me and we'll come down here everyday to see if Wilbur has tried looking for you." You offered sweetly and Sapnap shrugged reluctantly. Wilbur darted forward and rubbed his face alongside your legs as you stood up, clearly on board with the idea.

"Still don't know his name." Sapnap pointed out and Wilbur tapped onto the notepad again desperately. Please don't call him Spot was all he could think of.

"Well he seems to like the name Wilbur." You chuckled and Wilbur barked joyously to which Sapnap shushed him. Wilbur returned it with a growl and smirking face.

"Alright, name the dog after his owner then. Who am I to judge?" Sapnap huffed and you left with Wilbur trailing after happily.

~~

You lived in the Apartment Building down the street from him. Pets were allowed and you introduced him to the landlord which he reluctantly let pet him. Landlords he wasn't fond of. Especially when his liked to collect rent early.

"Go explore now then Wilbur." You said and pushed open the door. Wilbur was tempted to just step in and start roaming but realized how un-dog-like that would seem. So,he pressed his nose to the ground and sniffed. He sneezed a few times from the sheer amount of smells that flooded his head but kept along with sniffing and occasionally licking a few things.

"What do ya think?" You said and plopped down onto the couch in your living room. Wilbur barked in response and lept onto the couch next to you, crawling into your lap. His head rested onto your thighs and he almost fell asleep there. Everything was so perfect already.

Maybe being a dog wouldn't be so bad afterall...

<><><><><>><>

Part 2 will be out soon! I've got Laryngitis right now and feel like sit so I'll try and get it done asap! Hope you enjoyed 💛💛

#simpbur x reader #simpbur request #c!wilbur #c!wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot #gn!reader #tw stitching #tw alcohol #tw violence mention

[basilpaste]

〔You Dream of Giving Up.〕

(the following piece contains a brief depiction of drowning. please stay safe!)

post-canon osis thing because i got normal about it.

〔You dream about drowning.〕

〔You dream about everyone drowning. Of watching heads dip under water, of struggling bodies giving in. You dream about not being able to do anything, because the water is also filling your lungs. Of crying out in pain and making no sound, burning from the inside out even though you're freezing.〕

〔You dream of giving up.〕

〔You jerk awake, choking on your own spit.〕

〔No. No no no!〕

〔You've had this dream before.〕

〔Hah! Hahaha! You're back. You must be. If you had that dream again then you're sure you're back. The sound of splashing water roars in your ears.〕

〔You feel like you can't breathe. You gasp for air but you can't get enough in. No! No. C'mon, Isabeau! You'll just go back again if you can't calm down! And that'll just make everything worse.〕

〔You just. You need to breathe.〕

〔Just breathe.〕

*〔In…〕

〔… and out.〕*

"Shhhhhhhh."

〔!!!〕

〔Your breath hissed when you breathed out.〕

〔You jam your lips together with force, sliding them roughly against each other.〕

〔Scar.〕

〔Your scar is right there on your face. You still have a scar. It's still there.〕

〔Just to make sure, you glide your tongue along your top lip. You feel the way it lifts.〕

〔The scar is there. And you are here.〕

〔You're free, Isabeau.〕

〔You've been cut loose. Patched up.〕

〔You're something new.〕

#in stars and time #isat fanfic #isat spoilers #isabeau isat #of stitches in sequence #basil writes #drowning cw #tw drowning #shoutout to teal for mentioning osisa using his scar as a way to ground himself. #because it is something i think about a lot but havent had the drive to write until now.

[blue-nardo]

"The Attack."

OOC: OKAY MORE PLOT BECAUSE I'M ADDICTED AND IT'S THE ONLY THING I CAN WRITE RN!! In this thrilling installment, we see a fight, Leo and Yuichi, and we sprinkle the seeds for future problems.

Trigger warnings are mentions of injuries, canon typical violence, and mention of character death. Enjoy!

"LEO HELP!"

That's the plea Leo hears from his communicator mere moments after he's been attacked by sentient goop. It had tried to attach itself to his face like some kind of parasite, and maybe he was still having a hard time breathing because of it, but he didn't care as he opened a portal, dragging himself, Donnie, Casey and Venus into the side of the ship where Cass and her team had been looking. 

They see a large beast, with wires connected to it from somewhere high in the room, towering over Mikey, Cass and April while Raph holds it off in his astral form. Leo's first thought is that he has to get Raph out, that he can't let him be taken again, that it hasn't been ten years yet - please don't take his brother from him again - when the beast stops, directing its attention directly on him. 

"Host…"

The wind is knocked from Leo's chest as he's yanked back from his brothers and into the wall. He hears Donnie and Venus shout for him, but can't really focus on anything outside of the ringing in his ears as his vision starts to swim. The stitches in his arms ache something fierce as he tries to weakly pull away the slimy grossness keeping him cocooned. There's the sound of fighting somewhere in front of him, but there's only one word in his head that seems to matter. 

"Prime. Prime. Prime. Prime."

Leo's gasping for air now as his vision goes dark, and he weakly kicks at the air in front of him. There's a roar in the distance, and a bright flash of light, and he's starting to think that maybe he's not getting out of this one either. 

It's creeping in his skin, under his bandages and going straight for the cuts he got from Sister Kraang. He's going limp now, and his finals thoughts are going to be that of how he hopes his family won't hold back, that they'll put him out of his misery if he turns. 

"IKUZO!"

The familiar sound of a sword slicing through air greets his ears, and suddenly gravity has its hold on him again as he's suddenly freed. He hits the ground hard, choking for air as two pairs of arms grab him and pull him up. He tries to blink, tries to listen for the voices calling his name, before finally Leo sees the faces that have been haunting his mind for days. 

"Yuichi? Miyamoto?" he rasps weakly, and he thinks about how that means his larynx is probably bruised. "What… you both have to go, now."

"Not without taking out this thing first," Yuichi growls, and it would be so much more attractive if Leo could actually think right now. 

"What is it?" Miyamoto asks. His grip on Leo is firm and tight, protective, and despite the circumstances, Leo actually feels safe. "Is it a Yokai?"

"Alien," Leo coughs as he tries to stand, using Miyamoto for support. "Kraang monster… Must have been hiding out here… Gotta get the… The herbicide!"

"APRIIIIIL O'NEIL!" He looks up to see April mashing a vial of the stuff onto the giant Mutt, and he watches with relief as it reels back from his family. Thankfully, they all seem to be okay, with Donnie, Casey and Mikey in the air while Raph and the others catch April from her fall. Already he wants back in the fight, to portal and teleport his team to where they need to be. Unfortunately for him, his sense of balance doesn't agree right now, and Miyamoto has to catch him again when he tries to stand. 

"Oh gross," he hears Yuichi cringe. "What is all this stuff?"

"DON'T - " Leo's eyes go wide when he feels Yuichi's hands go to the Kraang slime on his arm. He smacks Yuichi's hand away, pure adrenaline keeping him up as he pulls back from Miyamoto. "Don't let this stuff get on or in you! Trust me, it's not gonna end pretty if it does!"

"Leo, are you okay?!" He hears Mikey call for him, and he turns to see his baby brother jumping down towards him, with way too much fear in his eyes. "Are you hurt??"

He shakes his head, keeping Miyamoto and Yuichi and Mikey at a distance. He can't touch them while this is on them. His eyes dart to the stains on Miyamoto's shirt - he's pretty sure it's offensive to call it that, but he doesn't know the actual name for it… 

"Miyamoto, take off your shirt."

Both Yuichi and Miyamoto turn to him with wide eyes, a clear blush on both of their faces. Mikey seems to follow his line of thinking though when his eyes land on the purple stains of the bright blue fabric. It isn't long before he's gasping and trying to pull the shirt off as well. 

"You can't get this stuff on you!" Mikey insists as Miyamoto lets him pull it off. "Trust us, it always ends ugly!"

"But what about Leo?" Yuichi sounds worried, almost, but Leo's eyes are back on the fight. 

"Use more of the herbicide," he directs Mikey, ignoring the question. "Tell Donnie to go semi-lethal too. Don't let that thing get into the city."

Mikey nods, and his chains begin to glow as he quite literally flings himself back into the fight. Leo rolls his shoulders back, and leans down to grab his swords. He stops though, when Yuichi steps closer, and glances back up at the Usagi brothers. 

They're worried, they both are. He gets it - there's a fight going on, and they've got questions. So he has to make it quick. 

He picks up his swords, giving them a testing twirl before gesturing to the Mutt. "Don't let it cut you, don't get this junk on you. Worry about me after the fight."

"Leonardo-San, are you - "

"Hey, listen we'll have plenty of time to debate if I'm okay or not when we take this thing down, now let's go!"

They win the fight, of course they do. Between all of their mystic powers and Yuichi and Miyamoto joining in, it's all too easy. April's herbicide does most of the work in taking the thing down, and Leo brings them all home once he's sure it's dead. Casey is quick to shove him into a hot shower as he gives himself a full body physical. There aren't any new injuries that he can see, so nothing that the Kraang ooze can infect him with, and he has no way of knowing if the stitches on his arm kept him safe from anything getting in there. 

Removing his bandages, he glares at the bruising spreading out from his cuts and tries not to overthink. It's just purple, it's not pink, he reasons. It could just be bruises from the attack, nothing else. 

He decides that Casey can't know, and neither can his brothers. Not in the event that this is nothing. Right now they need to focus on the mission and keeping the Foot Clan from bringing the Kraang back into this fight. That's the priority, and he can worry about his arm in the meantime.

"So what was all that about?"

He lets out the most undignified shout when he hears Yuichi's voice, whirling around to see him standing in the doorway. He looks smug, like usual, probably pleased with himself that he managed to sneak up on Leo again. 

"What happened to, 'sneaky ninjas are the most dishonorable creatures known to man?'" He rolls his eyes before sitting back down on the toilet seat, rewrapping his arm. "And obviously it was a giant Kraang monster, or did you miss that part?"

Yuichi lets out an annoyed sound, and Leo feels just the tiniest bit of pride in that. As attractive as Yuichi may be, he still likes to piss him off.

"You got covered in that purple ooze and acted like it was a zombie virus thing when you got it off my brother. Who, by the way, you totally embarrassed asking him to take his Yukata off like that. You know he's the biggest prude ever, right?"

Leo rolls his eyes, but doesn't look up, instead focusing on getting his arm wrapped up. "Is that what that's called? Noted. Next time I'll ask him to take off his Yukata, not his shirt."

"Okay, I get it, not the point," Yuichi groans, before deciding that he's suddenly welcome in the bathroom, stepping closer to look at Leo's arm. "You haven't answered my question."

Leo gives him a scrutinizing look, before extending his arm out for Yuichi to finish wrapping. "The reason I did that is because it kind of is a zombie virus thing. Just an alien zombie virus."

"Haha, very funny." There's silence, before Yuichi's ears go straight up. "Wait, you're being serious?"

"Yup," Leo hums, popping the P. 

"Jeez…" Yuichi's hands pause in their movements as he seems to deflate. Leo wants to comment on it, but Yuichi beats him to saying something. "What about you…?"

Leo pauses, tipping his head to the side in confusion. "What about me?"

Yuichi gestures silently to him with his free hand, indicating the lack of purple ooze all over Leo's body. "You were soaked with the stuff, and you were attacked before. How do we know you don't have the zombie alien virus thing?"

It's… A surprisingly good question. Leo had thought Yuichi wouldn't notice, or if he had, wouldn't think to bring it up. The rabbit had already established his own total lack of a brain cell, Leo figured that it would have applied here. 

"Short answer… We don't," he sighs. "But until I know for certain one way or the other… That information stays quiet, okay?"

Yuichi narrows his eyes. "A leader doesn't lie to his team."

"Compartmentalizing. Need to know."

"And your family isn't need to know?"

Leo inhales sharply at that, glaring back at Yuichi. Normally he doesn't really mind their banter, only really reacting because he thinks it's funny. That being said, family was off limits. 

"You don't know the whole story," he huffs at Yuichi. "I want us to focus on stopping the Foot Clan first. If this," he points to his arm, trying not to think about the future that it implies, "gets worse? They're the first to know, and we deal with it then."

"Deal with it, how, exactly?" Yuichi crosses his arms as he glares down at him, and Leo isn't sure if he likes that expression or if it makes him nervous. 

Leo lets out a slow breath, keeping his voice even. "... Casey will know that he can't hold back. If chopping it off doesn't work… I know he'll get them to do what it takes to stop me."

The silence is unnerving, but Leo won't be the one to break it. Yuichi needs to understand that this isn't a game, or a lighthearted mission, not like he wants it to be. In a past life, he might have made a joke to ease the tension, but that was before the Kraang took his brother from him. Before he'd learned how long he'd really had his brothers for in Casey's time. 

Before his heart had stopped beating to stop them. 

Yuichi's eyes go wide as the realization hits him, and for once Leo thinks he can't see the usual judgment or anger that shines in his bright red eyes. The thought of what could be, or what could have been, when it came to his own brother? Leo knew from personal experience that it was a lot to take in. 

"So… What now?"

Leo sighs, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall. He doesn't have the answer for that yet, but he can think of one on the fly. His mind has always been good at that, but he never learned to recognize that until recently. 

"Now… We make sure that we clean that wreck of anything Kraang related before someone in the city gets into it," he answers. "We can't let the Foot open a portal, and we cannot let anyone get infected. Capiche?"

"Uhhh, what does that mean?"

Leo can't help the smile on his face, even if he wants to. He needs it, he knows he does, because he's got this nagging feeling that pretty soon smiling isn't going to be easy. 

"It means… You're standing over me while I'm stark naked and tenderly bandaging my wounds," he teases, enjoying the blush on Yuichi's face. "I'm flattered, really, but I thought we were done with fake-out make-outs?"

Yuichi throws the bandages in his face, and Leo laughs as the rabbit storms out of the room. "Still waiting for you to make up for that by the way," he calls after him, grinning when he hears what is definitely not a nice string of words in Japanese shouted back at him. 

He inspects the bandages, nodding his approval before closing his eyes again. Rest, that's what he needs to plan their next mission… They've got this, he tries to reason with himself. They'll be okay. 

… First things first though, he thinks as he pulls out his phone. He needs to know more about Prime… and what the Mutt meant by, "Host."

#ttatc #ask rottmnt #rottmnt #rottmnt leo #ask leo #leo rottmnt #rise leo #plot #leoichi #leosagi #tw stitches #tw mentioned character death #tw canon typical violence

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev. || AO3

Chapter 30: September 2016

“…seventeen stitches, and they were keeping him a couple days to watch for infection,” Martin concluded, twisting around to see the other occupants of the car. “He’s supposed to be getting discharged this morning, though, so he’ll likely be back in the office on Wednesday.”

Sasha snorted. “Not tomorrow?”

“He has to get another note from his doctor first, I’m sure.”

Tim had insisted on giving Martin a ride in to work that morning, and Martin had acquiesced, partly because the transit route between the bookshop and the Institute was bloody inconvenient and partly because it meant they could talk, however briefly, before going in. (It also meant he got to see the look on Tim’s face when Gerry walked into the kitchen half-asleep and wearing nothing but his underpants, and the look on Gerry’s face when he realized that Tim, whom Martin had not informed him was coming over, was ogling him.) They had stopped to pick Sasha up from the coffee shop she usually popped into, having seen no reason to change her routine just because she’d met an eldritch abomination there once, and Martin had spent the last few minutes telling her about Melanie’s phone call from Friday night.

“Did he call Elias?” Tim asked, his mouth twisting into a sneer as he said the man’s name that Martin had only rarely seen. “Or are you going to have to do that?”

Martin shrugged. “I talked to Melanie, not Jon, but I don’t doubt for a minute that either Jon called Elias or Elias already knows.”

Sasha sighed. “I am not looking forward to working for someone who can just…pry into all my secrets at any time. Even if he hasn’t done it already.”

“Says the person who’s hacked every employment record at the Institute.” Tim pulled into a parking space and threw the car into park with an unnecessarily hard jerk of the gearshift.

For just a second, Martin saw the hurt in Sasha’s eyes, but she covered it up quickly. He thought about letting it slide, then decided, on the balance, no. “Hey, Tim, not cool, okay? Just because she looked at mine and Jon’s doesn’t mean she looked at yours too. Or anyone else’s.”

“How did you know I’d looked at Jon’s?” Sasha blurted, obviously startled.

“You called him out for lying about his age on his birthday last year. I figured you’d either read his file and seen his actual birth date or stolen his wallet at some point.” Martin unfastened the safety belt, then reached for his bag. “As for Elias, I have something for that.”

“Is it a projectile or something pointy?” Tim asked.

That Martin chose to ignore; Tim was clearly in a mood. Instead, he pulled two small objects out of his bag and held them out to Tim and Sasha, balanced on the palm of his hand. “Voila. That’s French for ‘ta-da.’”

It did, at least, make Tim crack a smile, and Sasha give that giggle-snort laugh of hers she only made when you truly surprised amusement out of her. She plucked one of them from Martin’s hand and turned it over a couple of times. “What is it?”

“I think it’s technically called an apotropaia, but that’s a pain in the ass to spell, so ‘talisman’ works.” Martin handed the other one to Tim. They were simple, small bits of leather sewn together in a tiny envelope about the size of a matchbook. Martin had spent several evenings patiently tracing the lines Gerry had kindly drawn for him with needle and thread while repeating the same poem over and over, and they were honestly as good as they were going to get. “Basically it’s a protective charm. It’s not…great, and it won’t work if you’re in the same room as him or if he tries really, really hard to get into your head, but it’ll at least keep you safe from…casual browsing, I guess. He’ll have to really try to see what you’re thinking.”

“Do you have one?”

“I’ve got something a bit more permanent.” Martin chose not to mention that it hadn’t been something he’d voluntarily put on himself. “And I know how to…guard my mind, sort of. We’ll help you guys with that, too, but this is a sort of stopgap measure.”

Tim rubbed the leather between his thumb and forefinger. “Is there somewhere special we should put it?”

Martin shook his head. “Nowhere special, just somewhere you won’t lose it. Melanie used to keep hers on a chain around her neck. I’d pin mine to the inside of my shirt.”

Sasha tucked hers into the inner pocket of her jacket. “Remind me not to take this off today…I assume it won’t work if we deliberately provoke him. Or, well—it’s not specifically anti-Elias, right?”

“Yeah, it’s…think of it as mosquito repellent. It creates a layer of protection that keeps things from knowing you’re there if they don’t already know you’re there, but if you stick your hand in a mess of them chances are one’s going to bite you.”

Tim tucked the one Martin had given him into his wallet, which he then returned to his back pocket. Martin figured it was better than nothing. “Right. In we go, then.”

The Archives didn’t look any different than they had before Jane Prentiss had attacked, really. The shelves still bristled with files in all sorts of disarray, a few neat folders still sat on the assistants’ desks, and the bulletin board still hung slightly crooked. The only real difference Martin could spot was that the window in the door leading to the document storage room had been scrubbed sparkling clean.

“Took Tim the better part of a day,” Sasha said, following Martin’s gaze. “The cleaning crew Elias hired did a decent enough job in here, once the repairs were done, but we gave it an extra scrub-down the first day we were back, just to be sure.”

“Thanks, Sash.” Martin unslung his bag and began setting up for the morning.

He was surprised at how easily he was able to slip back into the routine after the time he’d spent away—logging into his laptop, asking Sasha about her weekend, glancing at the files on his desk to see what he needed to prepare for. The only change from usual was that Tim took his mug out of his hands and went to make tea for all of them without a word.

Sasha watched him go. “I don’t think he’s handling this well.”

“He found a dead body in a hidden tunnel underneath his workplace, spent two hours getting grilled by the police over it, and then had to go back to work like nothing happened,” Martin pointed out. “That would be a lot for anyone to handle. Has he talked to you about it?”

“N-no. No, he hasn’t.” Sasha hesitated, then dropped her voice. “Has he…told you about Danny?”

Martin shook his head. His stomach lurched unpleasantly, and something in his mind itched, which made him hold up a hand. “Don’t tell me, please. Don’t…”

Sasha’s eyes widened in understanding. “No, I won’t. Sorry, I shouldn’t have…” She swallowed. “I just—I think maybe that’s all coming up, too.”

“If he won’t talk to you about it—” Martin bit off the rest of the sentence. Instinct told him that bringing up Gerry anywhere in the Institute—cluing Elias in that he was still alive, or alive again, or whatever Gerry’s status was—would be a very bad idea. “I’d ask, but I don’t know how much that would…help.”

“I…oh.” Sasha winced. “I’ll…try talking to him later this week. I wasn’t pushing, honestly.”

“I think right about now, Tim needs a little push.”

Tim came back in with their mugs of tea just as the clock in the corner of Martin’s computer flipped over to 8:00. In the same instant, the phone on Tim’s desk rang. He took the time to set the mugs on everyone’s desks before picking it up on the seventh ring. “Archives, Stoker speaking.” He listened for a moment, face impassive, then simply said, “Right,” before hanging up.

Martin didn’t need any kind of special powers to guess who had been on the other end. “Elias?”

“Yup.” Tim drew out the Y and popped the P like someone launching a rubber band off the end of his thumb. “Wants to see us in his office, immediately.”

Sasha sighed and took a deep swig of her coffee. “I knew I should’ve ordered a double. Let’s get this over with.”

Rosie was in her usual place, typing away on her computer. She’d dyed her hair again in the last few weeks, from a brassy gold to a vibrant merlot, and there were silver ribbons woven through the braids wrapped around the crown of her head. She looked up and offered Martin a warm smile and a cheery greeting, which he returned more than half mechanically before following Tim and Sasha into Elias’ office.

Elias was waiting for them, his hands folded on his desk and a pleasant smile plastered on his face. He, too, looked exactly the same as the last time Martin had seen him, except for the new and startling addition of a cloth patch, held on with a ribbon, covering his left eye. What was startling about it was less its presence than the fact that it was made of silk, and matched his tie.

“Ah. Martin. Welcome back.” Elias gestured to the three chairs in front of him. “Please, have a seat, all of you.” He waited for them to comply, then continued, “I appreciate you coming up first thing, but I feel the sooner we have this…discussion, the better. I’m sure Martin has already let you know that Jon will be out an extra day or two.”

“He mentioned it,” Sasha said with a glance at Martin. “Something about a stab wound?”

Martin nodded, and then suddenly decided to test the waters a little. “He told me what he told the paramedics—that he’d been surprised by a bum while out for a walk.”

Elias’ single uncovered eye gazed at Martin intently, but there was no little press of static—he wasn’t even trying to slip through Martin’s defenses. “And do you believe him?”

“I believe that that’s what he told the paramedics.” Martin stared Elias down like he had nothing to lose. If he wanted things out in the open, he was going to have to bring them out.

The standoff probably lasted no more than a second or two, but it felt like hours before Elias smiled slightly. The smile wasn’t condescending or patronizing or cruelly triumphant; Martin would have preferred any of those. Instead it was sly, almost conspiratorial—a smile that said we’re in on this together, you and I. It made Martin feel even dirtier than the phone call on Friday had.

“I think we understand each other,” Elias said, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers. “Whatever Jon ran into that caused his injury, it has a supernatural explanation. And for whatever reason, Jon wishes to keep that information from you.”

Tim started angrily, but Martin shook his head. “No, he’s right, Tim. Jon—you know how he gets. He, he probably thinks if he doesn’t tell us what he’s doing or what he’s looking into, it’ll keep us safe.” He paused, then added slowly, “And…you know, we did just find out Gertrude Robinson was murdered, and not by supernatural means. Jon’s probably worried he’ll be next.”

Sasha’s eyes widened a touch dramatically. “You don’t think he thinks one of us did it, do you?”

“I don’t think so.” Martin let a bit of uncertainty into his voice. “But I think he’s playing his cards close to his chest for now.”

“We’re not letting him get away with that,” Tim growled.

“Of course not,” Elias said. “However…I think it best, for now anyway, if Jon considers Jane Prentiss and…whatever he encountered in Sheffield…to be isolated incidents. Genuine supernatural encounters, by all means, but not connected.”

“But you think they are?” Sasha looked back and forth from Elias to Martin.

“They are,” Martin said, quietly but firmly. “ Remember I told you there was more going on than just a worm infestation? It’s…there’s a lot more out there than you know. And a lot of it is connected. Worse, it’s going to be after the Archivist.”

Elias nodded. “Martin can fill you in on whatever details you wish later—although I strongly suggest you not discuss them in front of Jon. However, I feel it is important that you know, at the very least, the broad strokes of the matter.”

Martin held his tongue through the ensuing explanation. Tim and Sasha played their parts beautifully, asking leading questions to get Elias to confess to more than he’d planned on while concealing how much they knew. Elias was surprisingly honest, although Martin knew exactly how much he was holding back. He also could see all the tiny, tempting little threads he was leaving hanging—threads that Sasha, at the very least, would absolutely start pulling on if he hadn’t already given her a baseline of knowledge.

At last, Elias turned to Martin. “As I said, Martin, you can fill in whatever details about this…situation you feel are necessary later, but remember that too much knowledge can be just as dangerous as too little. And I strongly advise you not to mention any of this to Jon until you’re certain he’s strong enough to handle it.”

The hair on the back of Martin’s neck stood on end. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Martin. Surely you realize that Jon is developing…abilities. And the closer he draws to…our master, the more powerful those abilities will become. But if you tell him too quickly, we both know he will push himself beyond his limits before he’s ready. And that could easily destroy him.”

Martin swallowed the bile that rose into his throat at the words our master, and he also swallowed the urge to protest that Jon would be safer if he knew what he was doing. Elias wasn’t entirely wrong, and anyway, the less he thought Jon knew, the better. “F-fine. Fine. But…you know Jon. He’s going to push himself anyway. I can’t—we can’t just leave him to his own devices. Paranoid or not, we’ll need to keep close to him.”

“Of course,” Elias agreed easily—too easily, Martin thought. He wondered if Elias was encouraging them to hover in hopes it would drive Jon’s paranoia up, make him suspicious that they were watching him too much. “In fact…here.” He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a key—a large, solid, old-fashioned key, black cast iron with surprisingly little rust on its body. He placed it on the desk. “This is the key to the trapdoor leading to the tunnels. I have no doubt that if left to his own devices, Jon would have stolen this and begun exploring them on his own—in fact, I’m not certain he hasn’t already.” He paused, but as Martin did not refute him, he went on. “I suggest one of you gives it to him, perhaps offers to accompany him in his…explorations. Whether he takes you up on it or not, at least you’ll know he’s down there, and you can keep an…eye on him.”

The three assistants looked at one another. Finally, Martin picked up the key, which felt surprisingly cold, and slipped it into his pocket. Elias beamed. “Good! Now, if there are no other questions…”

“Just one.” Something in Tim’s voice made Martin tense, and he looked over to see his friend leaning forward, scowling. “What would you say if I said I quit right now?”

“Tim,” Sasha gasped, the color draining from her face.

Elias didn’t bat an eyelash, or if he did, it was one hidden by the eyepatch. “You can’t.”

“Watch me.”

“Tim, I am being very literal. You cannot quit. You are bound to the Institute now, body and soul. The longer you’re away from it, the weaker you will become. I’m afraid an appointment to the Archives is one for life.” Elias rose. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another meeting in ten minutes. If you have any concerns that need my attention, please send a memo to Rosie and I will be down as soon as possible.”

It was as clear a dismissal as could be, and Martin gently hooked a hand under Tim’s elbow and steered him to the door.

“It’s good to have you back, Martin,” Rosie called, her eyes twinkling merrily as they passed her desk. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“How long has she had a crush on you?” Sasha whispered.

“Shut up.” Tim was being way too calm and docile and Martin was incredibly worried.

He was right to be. The second they were back in the Archives, Tim whirled on him. “Is he right?”

“Tim,” Sasha began.

“No, don’t.” Tim’s eyes almost burned holes in Martin’s. “Is he right? We’re trapped here?”

Martin hesitated. “He’s not as right as he thinks he is.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s—it’s not the Institute. It’s, well, it’s kind of the Eye, but—it’s like I told Jon the day of the attack. Upstairs, we could have walked away no harm done, but once we came down to the Archives…” Martin took a deep breath and decided to take a chance that Elias really did have a meeting and would be focusing on that rather than the three of them. “When I saw your Marks? The ones for the Eye were…they were like chains almost. And I couldn’t tell you where the lock was, if it was anywhere. So yeah, I think at this point we’re tied to the Archives themselves. O-or maybe it’s the Archivist. I dunno, Gertrude outlived all her assistants, so it’s not like there’s anyone around we could ask.”

Tim stared at Martin for a long moment. Abruptly, he turned on his heel and stalked off into the shelves. Martin exhaled heavily and sat down.

“He’ll be fine.” Sasha took her seat as well and downed a large swallow of her probably now cold coffee. “He’s not mad at you, Martin, you know that.”

“I know,” Martin said softly. “Still. I should have told you all sooner.”

“You did try. Like you said, you told Jon during the attack that you didn’t think any of us could walk away now. Not your fault we didn’t press you further on that.” Sasha opened her laptop. “I’ll take him to lunch later and try to get his head out of his ass. Meanwhile, let’s forge ourselves another yard of chain, shall we, Marley?”

Martin smiled slightly at the reference, and got to work.

Tim appeared calmer when he finally emerged from the stacks, but his eyes were slightly reddened and Martin didn’t bring it up. The three of them worked mostly in silence, almost like they’d done before, for the rest of the morning. Finally, lunchtime rolled around and Sasha convinced Tim to come with her.

“You’ll be okay alone, Marto?” Tim asked, sounding surprisingly reluctant as he got up.

Martin gave him a warm smile and a nod. “I’m fine. Brought lunch from home even, so you two take as long as you want. I can work through my lunch if I need to.”

Sasha winked at him before they headed out. Martin watched them go and then turned back to the files he was studying, hoping Tim came back in a better mood. Or at all. It would be just like him to decide to spontaneously take the afternoon off to test Elias’ assertion, or take the rest of the week off and go out of the country.

He was just considering taking five minutes to run to the break room for his sandwich when he heard a voice that, all things considered, he would rather not have heard. “Mr. Blackwood?”

Martin’s hand tightened around his pen, just for a second, before he looked up. He relaxed and hoped his relief didn’t show on his face when he saw that it was the police constable who’d come to get his and Jon’s statements after the attack, but not the detective who’d come with her at the time. “Oh—uh—Officer Hussein, right?”

“Call me Basira. I’m off-duty at the moment.” The officer, who was in plainclothes, looked around. “Where is everybody?”

“Um, Tim and Sasha are at lunch. Jon’s not back yet.”

Basira gave Martin a piercing look. He tried not to squirm. She might not have been like the detective, so tightly bound to the Hunt that Martin didn’t need his eyes to sense it, but she was still a cop and the plain fact of the matter was that most cops were at least Hunt-adjacent if they lasted in the job very long. “Thought Sims was supposed to be back today. That’s what Bouchard said.”

“He was, but he got himself stabbed by a bum over the weekend, so he’ll be out another day or two.” Martin thought about closing his laptop but decided that might make him look guilty. “Um, is there…anything I can help you with?”

Basira studied him. “I guess. You guys do…statements and stuff, right? Let people talk about stuff they’ve run into?”

Martin tensed as the faint prickle of static began building behind his eyes. He tried to sound normal. “Yeah, that’s…pretty much what we do. Is that what you want to do? Make a statement?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Basira tilted her head slightly. “Can you take it, or do I have to wait for Sims?”

“No, we can all take statements, it’s part of the job.” Martin did close his laptop this time and reached for the tape recorder he’d left sitting there, intending to transcribe Gerry’s statement at some point. “Um, tell you what, let’s—let’s go into the back here. It’s a little quieter, just in case someone comes down.”

“That happen often?”

“Some? Mostly it’s students doing research. Bit early in the term for that, though. And sometimes someone from Research will pop down to drop something off.” Martin stood and led Basira towards Document Storage. “Do you have a particular incident in mind you wanted to make your statement about?”

Basira shrugged. “Just kind of want to get it out in general. Mostly all happened since I got Sectioned.”

“Sectioned?”

“Section Thirty-One. That’s what we call it, being Sectioned. It’s…we get these, kind of weird cases? Stuff like you investigate here, only…criminal, not just spooky. There are only a few officers who handle them, and we have to sign that we won’t talk about it with people who don’t. Everybody knows the officers who work those cases, though.”

Martin had to admit, if only to himself, that he was intrigued.

Basira took the seat he directed her to and refused his offer of a cup of tea, then stared at the tape recorder when he switched it on, suddenly looking uncertain. “I really shouldn’t be talking about it on tape.”

“You came to us," Martin pointed out.

“Yeah, just…need to talk about it with someone, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

Basira stared at him intently. “I’m breaking the law by talking to you. You understand that?”

Martin nodded slowly. He almost said it wouldn’t be the first time he’d aided and abetted a crime, but he bit that back quickly—off-duty or not, she was still very much a cop, and one who’d dealt with some of the same bullshit the Magnus Institute investigated on an academic basis. Instead he said, “I think so. Some kind of non-disclosure agreement, right?”

“Pretty much.” Basira hesitated. “Do you need my real name?”

“No, we’ve had people give fake names before, or even make anonymous statements,” Martin assured her. “But from what you said, I kind of feel like it wouldn’t do a lot of good, you know? It’s not going to be too hard for people who know the situation to figure out it’s you who told us.” He hesitated. “Look, we take statements from people in your position all the time—you know, people who are talking about stuff they’ve signed agreements not to talk about. I can mark this ‘for internal use only’, and that means that it falls under our NDA, which is like crazy strict, like makes MI-6 look like an open book strict. Nobody outside the Institute is allowed to requisition it.”

Basira raised an eyebrow and folded her arms over her chest. “That’s the best you can do?”

“If you want this to be a formal statement, yeah, that’s the best I can do.” Martin leaned back in his seat and matched her posture. “If you’re that worried about your voice being recognized, I can get you one of our statement forms and you can write it out. One of us will make an audio copy later.”

“I’m not really big on writing. I’m more of a talker.” Basira relaxed, almost unconsciously.

Martin forced himself not to smirk, but inside, he was doing a triumphant dance. He’d never quite had Gerry’s charisma—or Tim’s, although there were professional courtesans without Tim’s charisma—so it was always a point of pride with him when he was able to win someone over. “Weird choice of job, then. Isn’t being a cop like eighty percent paperwork?”

“Not so much. Not since I became Section Thirty-One.”

“I suppose that’s a good place to start.” Martin straightened up and adopted a professional tone. “Statement of Police Constable Basira Hussein regarding her time investigating…strange occurrences as part of Section Thirty-One. Statement taken direct from subject, nineteenth September 2016.” He nodded to her. “Statement begins.”

The familiar static settled against Martin’s skin as Basira began to talk. Her experiences were fairly mundane, as encounters with the Fourteen went, although Martin’s ears pricked up at the mention of the little red leather book found with her first case that had got her Sectioned—at last they had a name to put with that unpleasant fellow Gerry had had to kill in the end. He tried not to flinch when she mentioned Detective Tonner, but it made sense that she’d been Sectioned years before Basira had even joined the force if she was that ingrained in the Hunt. He also wasn’t particularly surprised that she only had two official examples; like she said, these things didn’t leave a lot of evidence. It was why it had always been so hard to prove things to Jon.

“So why is Gertrude’s body considered a para—a weird case?” Martin asked. “Or is it?”

“I mean, we’re investigating it as a murder because that’s what it is, but you guys are basically an automatic Section Thirty-One, so I’ve got almost no help on it,” Basira told him. “Maybe that’s why I wanted to make a statement, you know? I can’t talk to anybody about this stuff, and then I come here, and you’ve got all this…all these people’s experiences listened to and filed away. It’s…I don’t know. I’ve been meaning to come in ever since that callout.”

Martin made sympathetic noises. “So it’s just you and—Detective Tonner?”

“Yeah, but she’s CID. Which I suppose means it’s technically her problem, but she’s also the only detective who’s already sanctioned now, so she’s always busy. I tried making the argument that the murder didn’t seem to connect to any of your ‘paranormal business,’ at least not directly, but nope. I’ve got a shot corpse, three boxes of cassette tapes, and Daisy.”

“Cassette tapes?” Martin repeated. It was the first time he’d heard anything about that. “Like…like statement cassette tapes?”

Basira shrugged. “Maybe. They’ve all got weird labels on them I can’t make heads or tails out of. As far as I know, neither one of us has had time to listen to any of them.”

“Where did you find them? Up here?”

“No, with the body. She was just surrounded by them.”

“Huh.” Martin hadn’t realized Gertrude was recording the statements, but it made sense, he realized. The recorders wouldn’t have been there if she hadn’t been using them.

He leaned over and shut off the recording, since the actual statement was done. “Wonder what she was doing with them down there. O-or do you think—the person who killed her put them with her?”

“Dunno. Answers might be on those tapes.” Basira cocked her head at him thoughtfully. “You really think they might be statements?”

“I-I mean, I never really met her, but she didn’t seem like the type to have a bunch of punk rock tapes or anything.” Martin shrugged. “And you said they had weird labels…they’re probably statements. Jon called her filing system ‘pointlessly awkward’ and he’s not altogether wrong.”

Basira hesitated, glancing at the recorder, but she seemed satisfied it was off and leaned in a bit. “Listen…what if I try to bring you some?”

Martin paused. “What?”

“I mean, I can’t—it’s not like I’m going to be able to bring you a lot of them at once. Probably just one at a time, when I can smuggle them out—they’re technically evidence, you know? But if I bring them to you, you might be able to figure out better than I can why she had them. If they were just random tapes she was hoarding or if she had a purpose for having those specific tapes with her.” Basira gestured to Martin. “You know her system and all that. You can probably figure out if these were the only copies or if the written statements are still on the shelves, and that’s a start, at least. No one but you and me has to know I’m giving them to you.”

There was a catch in this—there had to be. No police officer would willingly just hand over evidence to someone, even if her logic was sound. Then again, she wasn’t as tightly bound in the Hunt as her partner, so maybe she just wasn’t all that loyal to the police either. Whatever the case, Martin had to admit that he was curious about those tapes. If Gertrude had taken them with her, and for a purpose…maybe they would help them to figure out how to stop the Unknowing. Maybe there was a clue in there somewhere.

“All right,” he said. “I won’t say anything to my coworkers about it.” A lie. He was definitely going to tell them. “And if I come up with anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

Basira nodded. “Great. I’ll get you the first one as soon as I can.” She stood up. “Now. How the hell do I get out of this place?”

#ollie writes fanfic #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest) #tma fanfic #martin blackwood #tim stoker #sasha james #elias bouchard #basira hussein #stabbing mention #stitches mention #police tw #misuse of Beholding powers (implied) #mention of the Hunt

[literally-starscream]

I got a NASTY ass cut on my leg and had so many panic attacks about the NEEDLES ans STITCHES that I had to be drugged to fall asleep 😭 the injury in all it's violently gorey glory isnt even that sore, but now woth the whole ass 10 stitches in my leg I'm choosing to walk woth crutches because it hurts to bend my knee 💥💥

(I have photos if anyone wants to see ofc)

#ezra speaks #slight #gore tw #wound tw #mention of neeldes tw #mention of stitches tw #I want my pookies to feel safe on my blog 🫶