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ashintheairlikesnow · 8 months

Note

*soft chanting in the distance:* consider a beach day with the safehouse crew, consider a beach day with the safehouse crew, consider a

CW: Extensive scarring, some discussion of surviving noncon and the aftermath, weight gain as part of recovery, references to Vince's alcoholism, some references to consensual spice

"You're fidgeting," Vincent Shield says, eyes closed behind heavy sunglasses, lying with his fingers interlocking behind his head, the sun beating down on his body. He can feel the blanket of warmth from forehead through neck and chest, stomach, and finally his legs. His heels are just off the edge of the towel, dug into soft sand that heats his skin to something that isn't quite uncomfortable, isn't yet painful.

"Right, because this is shit," Jameson snaps back at him, sitting up with his arms around his knees, looking like an animal caught in a trap, ready to chew his own leg off and throw it at someone to escape. "It's hot. There's sun. Why the fuck am I here with you?"

"Because I invited you to the beach, you said no, then Nat said she thought it might be a good idea for you to get out and enjoy the outdoors and you basically threw yourself into the car," Vince replies, voice even, absolutely not amused. Beside him, a huge reusable water bottle sweats condensation as the ice inside it slowly melts. He used to bring vodka in bottles like this to the beach, clear as still waters, burning down his throat. His mouth feels dry just at the thought.

"Yeah. Well. Usually she's right about this shit, but everybody's wrong eventually."

Vince turns his head to watch as Jameson picks, uncomfortably, at the corner of his own beach towel, a riotous swirl of oranges and pinks that Nat has had for long enough that the ends are starting to unravel, with little thread like fringe. Other than his perpetual scowl, he wears swim trunks that go down to his knees and a long-sleeved rashguard shirt made of the same material, both in a deep blue. It's a color that suits him. Vince is afraid if he points it out Jameson will strip naked right here simply from spite.

"You're doing fine," He says, a little softly. "Nobody's looking at you."

"If they do, I'll fucking punch them."

"Jameson-"

"Fuck off, I will."

"Nobody doubts that. But maybe don't just assume you're the center of attention. I'm a goddamn movie star, you don't see anyone staring at me."

"I've seen at least three people stare at you."

"Yeah, because they think I look familiar, but they can't figure out why. With my hair grown out like this and the thirty pounds I've put on since I stopped trying to replace all forms of nutrition with booze, I don't look like me anymore. Besides, I've seen absolutely no one stare at you, so there you go."

"Fuck you." Jameson pauses. "And fuck them. You look better now than you did before."

Vince laughs. "Thank you. That's a rare compliment from the king of insults."

"Yeah, well. Don't get used to it." Some of the anger lifts in his voice, though, and Vince smiles behind his sunglasses as he sees the other man relax - maybe, just a little - and start trying to get his legs to cooperate and unbend.

Jameson had made his way to their little spot using his crutches for balance, but had nearly fallen twice. He isn't used to the softness of sand, the way he has to adjust himself to handle it. Vince caught him the second time or he'd have gone down right there in front of a group of people, not a single one of whom noticed him at all. But Jameson is convinced they did.

The crutches have their own towel, lying carefully side by side so sand won't get on them unless it has to or the wind blows it around.

"How can you stand it?" Jameson asks, after some time passes. The breeze is gentle, just a hint of cooler air coming off the water, offsetting the heat of the sun. Vince stretches his arms above his head, then pushes himself to seated and takes a drink of his water.

"Stand what?"

"Hardly wearing anything." Jameson gestures, and Vince looks down at his tasteful(ly small) green swim trunks. He's... never thought about that before. "Like. People can see your fucking... scars."

Right.

Vince swallows, hard.

He has new ones, from Owen, more on the back than the front. But there's a scar twisted down one side that wasn't there before. His neck has a couple, there's a nick in his jaw now.

Vince hesitates, then takes another drink. "Can I tell you something? Just between us?"

Jameson looks away, hunching over again. His own worst scars are on his face, a twisted that cuts into the corner of his mouth and curves it slightly upward, like he's always smirking. Another that breaks his eyebrow in two pieces. There's even some on the back of his neck that Vince hasn't really noticed before. "Yeah, sure. I make no fucking promises, though."

"Fair enough. The truth is... I don't really care."

Jameson picks at a thread on his towel again. "You don't?"

"Nah. I've been who I am for a long time, and... you know. This sounds really stupid, but-" Vince shrugs. He catches the flash of light off a phone screen as someone checks theirs a half-dozen feet away. He wonders if they're taking a photo of him. Doesn't this guy look like Vincent Shield? Remember, from The Weight of This Crown?

That had been a favorite. He'd played an adult version of one of the Princes of the Tower from the 1480s, a version where they hadn't been murdered but had simply been... kept. His character had gone insane in the tower and taken his brother into madness with him. Whole movie revolved around a murder mystery where there might never have been a body at all. Been some Oscar buzz around that one, though he hadn't won anything for it.

He missed acting. He'd been so damn good at it, he never stopped. But now...

"What?" Jameson frowns, looking more closely at him. "You stopped talking."

"Oh. Sorry. Distracted. Just... you know. I've had all my scars inside my head for so long, it's kind of nice to have some on the outside, ones I can't really hide anymore. I can't lie about them."

"Yeah, you can. 'Oh, I fell down'. There you go."

"No, I mean." Vince groans. "You're an asshole. I mean, I can't pretend I don't have scars at all."

He pauses.

"But... I killed him," He whispers. "I should... I should be marked, by that. Shouldn't I?"

"Don't look at me." Jameson tries to lie down on his back, but his legs won't unbend at the knee, so he just keeps them that way, feet flat on the towel.

"Right, but... you killed people."

"Had to." Jameson goes clipped, tense and snapping each word like a rubber band. "No choice."

"No, I know. I just mean... doesn't it feel like you should look like you've killed someone, once you have?"

Jameson turns his head to look at him, shading his eyes with one hand. "I do look like I killed someone. Actually I sort of look like I died and was brought back to life by a really lazy magician."

"... Never mind. Anyway, what I meant to say is just that I don't mind the scars."

Silence stretches out between them, then. The ocean is a constant rush of in and out, the gentle white noise lulling them both into a sort of doze. The sun beats down, and Vince feels like a cat in a windowsill.

"Do I really look better now?" He asks, breaking the quiet with his own insecurities. "I haven't had a regular stomach without a fucking... near-six-pack since I was... since I... since I was still acting with Owen, when we were kids. Now, I have..." He frowns down at himself, poking his stomach with one hand. "Whatever this is."

"Yeah, you do. Lot better, actually." Jameson snorts. "That is a normal human stomach, Shield. Also, you don't look like you're thinking about jumping off a cliff every fucking second of every fucking day anymore. It's an improvement."

"No, I just-... I mean-"

"Yes, for fuck's sake. You're still hot. I would still happily let you stick your dick in me and brag about bagging someone hot enough to look like a movie star." Jameson rolls his eyes. "Now stop fucking talking."

Vince swallows. "Jameson, are you..."

"Praying to the heavens that you'll shut the fuck up? Yeah, definitely. Actually going to fuck you? Absolutely the fuck not. I've got Allyn. I'm a one-Allyn man. Besides, you could never smack my ass and call me a good boy the way they do."

"... Jesus Christ." Vince feels his face burn, and not from sunlight.

"Exploring consent in sexuality is a normal part of recovery," Jameson says, like someone reciting a script. "Try asking about it in therapy sometime, Shield."

"... oh god no."

"Then shut the fuck up and let me enjoy my fucking beach day, asshole, or I'll tell you about which one of your shirts we used to tie my hands behind my back one time."

Vince takes another drink of water, and tries to pretend the last ten minutes never happened.

#vincent shield is not a hero #jameson bb #beach day #whump ocs #recovering whumpee #recovering ocs #scars tw #oh... oh jameson honey

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whump-captain · 2 months

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He's not used to being the one holding bedside vigil

#whump #whump art #whump ocs #oc whump #bedside vigil #worry #angst #cannula #hospital #bandages #shirtless #captain's stuff #captain's ocs #ghost ambulance #who's the one who got shot this time? it's a surprise!#maybe i'll write this whole storyline at some point

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ilasknives · 3 months

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FEBUWHUMP DAY 1 | Helpless

Hi! I've written exactly nothing for several months but I'm here and I'm trying febuwhump. The keyword is trying. I am not confident in my perseverance skills. I'm doing it by splitting the prompts between three different sets of OCs who I have never introduced here before. Today's prompt's OCs are Artie and Arlowe, my most beloveds that I keep talking about and never writing for, so we're fixing that! Their story is a companion story to Collarbones, and I will write it without prompts at some point, I swear. For a shred of context, Arlowe does illegal street fighting for money. This is a scene of their first meeting, where Arlowe has gotten himself injured so badly he can barely move, and Artie finds him :)

Day 1 | Helpless | Artie and Arlowe

CWs for blood, injuries and mentions of fighting and broken bones.

Every breath made the pain worse.

It radiated out from his side, rolling over him in waves with each rise and fall of his chest, every twitch, every swallow.

He was…. somewhere. Where was he? Some staggered distance from the fight, collapsed against an alley wall in - he didn’t know where. Didn’t even know how he’d gotten here.

The ground swam when he opened his eyes, and he hissed his way through an exhale that burned. Fuck. Broken rib? His shoulder? He’d hit the ground too hard to know where the pain started, taken too many hits to know which one did the damage. He'd won the fight at the cost of his ribcage and he'd barely made it out of the ring, but at least his pockets weren't empty anymore. At least he'd given as much as he got.

He needed to get up. The sun dipped, night threatening to swallow him if he laid there any longer. Shadows were already crawling over the alley, and Arlowe had always liked the dark, but not when he was at risk of drowning in it. Not when he couldn’t swing blindly and win.

You’re getting weaker, he told himself, the voice in his head sounding far too much like someone else. He dismissed the thought. He’d dealt with far worse than this, and he was fine.

He needed to get up.

The ends of his hair stuck to his arms when he shifted, sticky with blood. His, or someone else’s, he wasn’t sure. Maybe both. Probably… fuck, probably both. The ache gnawed at the edge of his vision and he tried very hard not to breathe under the wave of it.

The day grew steadily darker around him, and Arlowe did not get up.

The long haired fighter was injured.

That’s how Artie referred to him, anyway. Long haired fighter. Like it was a name. Longhairedfighter, the mysterious newcomer who never hit first but never lost a fight.

… Maybe it was more like a brand.

Artie had seen him fight a few times. His name was never on the rosters, not after the time it had been smeared out with a scribbled ‘fuck you’ over the top - he was usually written down as ‘unnamed competitor’, now. Always at the top of the roster, the one everyone wanted to fight, the one everyone wanted to watch.

And he was slumped against a wall, looking very much like he couldn’t move for all the world, like he’d barely notice if someone came at him with a knife.

“… Hey.” Artie shuffled a little closer. Thick bruises painted the fighter’s chest, disappearing down under his shirt. How the hell had he gotten so far like that? “You good?”

The response was a slow thing, thick and slurred. “Fuck… off.”

“You need -” Artie shifted on his feet, made to step a little closer, but the look in the boy’s eye made him stop.

“Don’t touch me.” It was sharp, the words much clearer this time. Kind of frantic. Artie backed up, hands up placatingly.

“I won’t. I won’t. I’ll stay back here, yeah?” He took another step back for good measure, because he might look like he was an inch away from death’s door, but Artie had seen him break skulls. “… what happened?”

The same response again: a slow, slurred, ‘fuck off’. This time, he heaved a breath that looked like it hurt and forced out, “Don’t… need… help.”

“… Right.”

Normally, Artie might be inclined to believe him. He was a ferocious fighter, vicious and dangerous and quick. He didn’t hit first but he did hit back harder, and he’d never lost. Not that Artie had seen, anyway.

But now, he didn’t so much as twitch as Artie stepped closer again. Closer, he could see the deep, sticky stains of the blood all over him. In his hair. The trembling of his hands, the way he had to drag his gaze across the floor before he could lift his head to glare weakly at Artie.

… Helpless. He was, wasn’t he? Not normally, but - now. He was hurt bad.

There was something in his eyes that screamed a pained, desperate sort of fury.

And - hell, Artie’s sisters had always told him not to go fucking around trying to rescue injured animals, but he could never leave well enough alone, and he had hands that were used to being bitten.

#febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday1 #writing: febuwhump (2024)#artie and arlowe #whump #whump writing #whump ocs #whump fic #i'm too tired to keep tagging this but #welcome to my boys i missed them so bad #and they are finally here on this blog

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whumpty-dumpty-doo · 18 days

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“We Are TroubleD” Masterpost

Welcome to the "We Are TroubleD" masterpost! Here you will find a list of things related to my OC whump fic "We Are TroubleD"! If any links aren’t working, please let me know!

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Story Overview:

Two college boys have their peaceful lives ripped apart when a ransom-seeking stranger abducts D, the son of wealthy parents. The kidnapper gets more than he bargained for when T, D’s roommate is home during the invasion. In captivity the friends must lean on each other to survive their harrowing situation and find a way out of their shared hell.

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Rating:

18+ - contains mature themes

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Series content warnings, Chapters, FAQ and more below the cut!

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Content warnings:

Please note that each chapter/entry will have its own individual content warnings listed at the top of its page. Not all of these elements will appear in every chapter (especially the more intense and mature things, those will come much later in the story and will have clear warnings, so you should be safe for a while if you want to avoid that stuff!)

Overall warnings for this story’s content include (but aren’t limited to):

abuse (physical, emotional, and mental), blood, bondage, cages, captivity, crying, distress, drugging, dub-con, emotional whump, fear, forced participation (in sexual and non-sexual acts), gaslighting, hunger/starvation, hurtful language, injuries, insults, kidnapping, manhandling, non-con (both sexual and non-sexual), pet whump, physical violence, shocking, sickness, stress positions, swearing, things that are neither safe nor sane, thirst, threats, restraints

This list will be updated as things come up or need to be removed.

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Character Profiles:

Coming Soon!

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Canon story:

Coming soon!

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Misc. entries and one-shots (some might be worked into the canon story later):

Listed in chronological order, even if they were posted out of order due to an event/whump prompt.

The Capture (D's POV) – D comes home to an unwelcome surprise after a night out on the town – Day 1 of WoW's Birthday Whump Event!

It's Never Enough – D and T are in need of sustenance, but their captor likes to play sick games – Day 2 of WoW's Birthday Whump Event! --- 3 part mini story ---

Cut Me Loose – Part 1 of 3 - A crazy stroke of luck allows the boys a chance to escape if only they can cut through their bonds. – Day 3 of WoW's Birthday Whump Event!

A Shocking Offence – Part 2 of 3 - T must find help if he hopes to save both D and himself. – Day 4 of WoW's Birthday Whump Event!

Feeling Bushed – Part 3 of 3 - With their captor so close, T must be very careful to avoid being spotted. – Day 5 of WoW's Birthday Whump Event! BONUS CHAPTER!

Feeling Bushed - Trailing Behind - You never know who's watching...

A Breathtaking View - D is desperate to buy T more time to find help - Day 14 of WoW's Birthday Whump Event!

See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak no Evil - D's captor returns from searching for the escaped T, and D is left wondering just what happened to his friend. - Day 8 of WoW's Birthday Whumpe Event!

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Alternate Universes (AUs):

Coming soon!

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Art:

Coming soon!

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FAQ:

Are “T”, “D”, and “Their Captor” really these character’s names? For now, yes, but probably not forever! They are stand-in placeholder names until I can think of proper names for these guys. I wanted to get the entries that I wrote for WoW's Birthday Whump Event! posted in time, so they don’t have names yet. Can’t rush those things, yanno? Hopefully when I’m ready to post the actual canon story they’ll all have real names!

How old are the characters in your main story? D and T are college age, though Iʻm not sure what specific ages yet. Theyʻre both beyond legal drinking age, and D is slightly older than T. Thatʻs all I know for now, as Iʻm still writing the main canon story. They might be older or younger in side fics/AUs. If so, Iʻll state it in the post of the story entry itself.

Why is the “D” capitalized in “We Are TroubleD”? Because right now the characters stand-in names are “T” and “D”, so “T”rouble"D”! “We” are T and D, and they are in trouble because they are whump characters.

How often will you update the canon story? Hopefully frequently once I get it off the ground, but you can never really predict that. Iʻm going to try to have as much as I can done of the whole story before I start posting in earnest, so hopefully once it starts going you wonʻt have to wait long!

Can I draw/write about your characters? Sure! Though it might be a bit challenging without references or profiles for them yet. Fingers crossed Iʻll have those made for the future! The one thing I ask is that if you create anything with my characters, please link back to me and donʻt claim them as your own. Thanks!

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honeycollectswhump · 7 months

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Character info - The Ashtray

Ashtray / Skye (he/him) -- created to be a very expensive and luxorious companion object, he takes great pride in his role. unfortunately, he does not understand english, but he won't let that stop him from fulfilling his single purpose in life: serving his beloved mistress as her precious ashtray. throughout the time he has sustained permanent damage to his tongue and vocal chords, which leaves him unable to speak, but it's not like an ashtray would even need to speak in the first place.

Mireille Amelie Belmont / Mistress (she/her) -- she is the beautiful but vain daughter of a very rich man and it shows. with the help of her daddy she was able to expand their wealth even further and now surrounds herself with luxury others can only dream of. besides a house run fully through servant pets, one of her most prized possesions is a human ashtray that worships her like a godess. but no matter what she tries, mireille can't ignore the fact that his beauty seems to rival hers and that is a crime she cannot forgive.

#The Ashtray #ashtray/skye (oc)#mireille belmont (oc)#character info #character profile #whump ocs #picrew

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inkwell-and-dagger · 2 months

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far too tired to shade, so just take it as it is now lmao

what are they talking about? is madir giving foster a piece of advice? are they bonding over their shitty upbringings? or are they just talking about what to do with rayan? either way, I don't think foster's really listening...

original pose credit to @/mellon-soup on pinterest!! click for better quality ig

How To Kill An Immortal Taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast

#yes out of canon i believe they have a father to child relationship shut the fuck up #i am my own fandom #anyhow look at my precious babies #multiple whumpers #whumper #whump art #oc art #art #my art #my ocs #whump ocs #madir ahearn #foster canavan #How To Kill An Immortal

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rabbitdrabbles · 1 year

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new whump OCs— a secretary bird and a puff adder

the animal kingdom has such immense potential for whump inspiration, let me tell you…

I haven’t figured out a story for them yet, if there will be any, but I think I will definitely keep these guys around <3 any suggestions on what to do with them are very welcome!

(initial / non-simplified character designs below:)

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fern-writes-whump · 9 months

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oc info - August and Finn <3

Did I make these characters in two days just to write vampire angst??? maybe.

So here's what I have so far:

They are roommates (omg they were roommates) and they have been since before Finn was turned

Finn was attacked one night after work by a vampire and that's as deep as his origin story goes (though I have ideas for it so I'll be writing that scene soon-ish)

August is a photographer! Is that fundamental to the plot? Not yet but I'll manage to work it in dw

my ideas for vampires in this world are:

can't go out in the sun, won't kill them instantly but still can in an hour or so- any less will just hurt/injure them

they can eat normal food but it has no nutritional value to them. It's the equivalent of eating cardboard- it makes them feel "full" but it does nothing for all the other symptoms of hunger

they need to feed a couple times a week ideally but they can survive a little more than two weeks without blood.

They can only drink human blood, animal or "dead" blood is useless

I'll be back to add more as they come up ✨✨

#my ocs #whump #whump ocs #abt finn #abt august #my art

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blackrosesandwhump · 3 months

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Original Character List

I was thinking about my various whump OCs and thought I'd make a list for reference.

Asa, half-vampire lab rat

Victor, half-fae lab rat

Eli Ward, former circus performer turned human experiment

Ciaran, immortal and cursed

Bram Ashworth, immortal and also a circus performer

Gathin Holloway, half-human hybrid (he's still figuring out the hybrid part)

Those are the main ones. Guess I need to create some more...

And yes, there are a few themes that keep appearing 😆

#my ocs #oc stuff #original characters #character list #my characters #whump ocs #oc whump #writeblr #whumpblr #whump writer

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whumperofworlds · 16 days

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1,000 Follower Special! Q&A with my OCs!

So after some thought, I've reached 1000 followers, and decided to do something a little special:

A Q&A session with all of my OCs! Including the ones I haven't written yet!

They will all be answered in-character. Only rule is make sure you tell me in the ask who you're asking the question to! It doesn't have to be whumpy questions either! Anything will do!

My character lists are on my pinned post if you want a reference for them!

Have fun!!!

#whump #whump community #whump ocs #1000 follower special

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allergic-to-four-leaf-clovers · 10 months

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·{†}· Statue ·{†}·

RRRSAAHHHH a little writing thing for two ocs that @paranoia-exe and I have made linked lores for! ALSO ALSO OOH OOH big big big credits to the amazing @emmettnet for original inspiration* for Zuriel (whumpee) and Kore (whumper)!!! he's genuinely one of my favorite whump creators oh my goodness- anywho enjoy :3. I didn't have a lot of ideas so this is sort of shit but y'know fuck it we ball + it's shit I know and it's a short piece of writing please have mercy also I haven't proofread any of this shit lmfao

CW:!!!!!! wing whump, implied captivity, non-human whumpee/whumper (angel-demon dynamic ig), uhh- implied dehumanization. uh oh silly time!

{†} · {†} · {†} · {†} · {†} · {†}

A pair of soft ivory wings, flawless golden hair cascading down to the statue's lower back from its head. soft, pale skin, face forever moulded into an expression of tranquility, eyes closed and chin held high with its golden adorned arms stretched out parallel to its wings that were being held in place by metal chains and rods. its body carrying a silky smooth cream robe, golden chains and expensive jewelry hanging from its ears and arms and even its wings and clothing. A translucent veil was draped across the statue's face, made out of a soft white fabric. the angel itself was a sight to behold, and it was oh so realistic in the eyes of anyone who viewed it; both visitors, and the statue's owner, Kore.

Zuriel was a perfect little decoration in the demon's abode, and it certainly played the part well. It would stay still for hours at a time, and had been taught by Kore never to react — whether it be flinching, or moving, or verbally responding — to anything or anyone when in that state. He couldn't say it wasn't good at following orders.

Even then, despite Zuriel's uncanny ability to stay still, Kore was still paranoid of someone finding out about a statue in his house actually being a sentient, living being. Sure, this was completely irrational — most of the time — considering Zuriel would never even move an inch and people rarely paid enough attention to notice the few moments of which it did twitch or move. Though, those moments of which the angel fucks up leads to discipline.

Perfection is all Zuriel knew. How to stand still with jewelry and heavy items of clothing weighing down its arms and wings, and it was so good at staying immaculately still that you couldn't even see it breathing most of the time. It was truly a divine being, but all it was good for now was to be a decoration. An item.

Mayhaps it will be worth more in the future. The chances are low at best, but it knew to expect the unexpected. It was how Zuriel got into this situation anyway.

{†} · {†} · {†} · {†} · {†} · {†}

*Emmett was the creator of Angel On The Wall, an au of his ocs, which is what inspired both me and Wynter to create Zuriel and Kore!! :D

#whump #angel whump #whump writing #whump ocs #oc whump #whump oc #writing #oc writing #wing whump #implied captivity

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ashintheairlikesnow · 5 months

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It Has to Be

For @amonthofwhump 12 Days of Whumpmas, Day 5: Ebenezer Scrooge |Power Outage | Time Loop | Overworked Whumpee | Comfort: Snuggling by the Fire

CW: Intimate whumper, past drugging and noncon, references to captivity and scars

The Motherfucking Gallaghers Masterlist

As always, Jax (and the mentioned Alfie) belong to @comfy-whumpee and are used with their input and permission.

Finley White is getting so tired of looking at Savvie Marcoset’s face. At least during the prepping stages, it’s mostly through videos and photographs. They can turn it off, turn away, take a break.

But they’re still tired of seeing it.

Not half so tired, they muse, as their client must be.

“Miss Savvie Marcoset, is it really you?! How are you?!”

“It’s Mrs. Savvie Marcoset,” She corrects, prim and proper. Savvie has her hands folded in her lap, her hair pulled back with a clip. The shadows under her eyes are the only sign that she is, at the time this was recorded, someone frantically searching for her missing captive. In a long off the shoulder black sweater and leggings, she seems relaxed and happy. She smiles, gentle and sweet. It looks utterly sincere. “I am married, you know.”

She holds up a hand and waggles her fingers, showing off the brilliance of her diamond ring.

The person wearing the camera device gasps with audible delight. “Did you really finally get him to put a ring on it? Gosh, Sav, I thought he would never propose!”

“I know that voice,” Finley White's client says, leaning forward. He frowns, his knee bouncing beneath the table. “I remember she was a twat.”

The corner of Finley’s mouth twitches, a smile they can't quite suppress. “Virginia Marshall, goes by Jennie. Went to college with Savannah Marcoset. The Marshalls were longtime friends with the Marcosets, close enough to be trusted. Jennie was facing some low-level charges of her own and agreed to help build this case as part of a plea deal.”

“Twat and coward.” He snorts. “Sounds about right.”

“Well, technically I was the one who got down on one knee,” Savvie says. There’s something strange in her eyes, like always - she looks with too much intensity. She’s hiding it well here, acting with the best of them, but Finley’s been staring at her face for so long that they can see right through it even so.

Finley saw Savvie Marcoset’s true talents on the stand, the first time. They had watched with surprised dismay as she charmed the jury, seeing how she could channel her intensity and terrifying focus into overwhelming charisma before an audience.

“Oh, that’s so modern,” The woman wearing the hidden camera gushes, cooing over the ring. “Did you write your own vows, too?”

Savvie laughs, abashed. “No, no. Traditional. I always wanted a traditional wedding. So did he, really, he's an old-fashioned kind of guy. You should have seen him blush during 'love, honor, and obey.'"

The noise Finley's client makes in reaction to that statement is indescribable.

“Traditional vows... makes sense. You’ve always been the romantic type. Where is that lucky duck today, anyway? The hubby? He isn't with you?”

Savvie's smile doesn't even flicker. “He’s at home with our babies. He loves being a stay-at-home dad, you know? It’s all he ever wanted to be.”

In reality, at the moment this video was recorded, the escaped Jax Gallagher was in his father's apartment, likely pretending to sleep, but at least not sleeping next to her. His children would have been nearby, safe from Savvie's cruelty for the first time.

You’d never know anyone was gone. She's as good an actress as she is at playing music, when she wants to be. And she is clearly pretending that absolutely nothing is wrong.

“Oh, well, bring him to my house sometime, yeah? Let me get a look at him and those little ones.”

“He’s… very private,” Savvie says, low and soft. She gives a little roll of her eyes. “Because of me being, you know, known, and he isn't from a famous family or anything… we like to keep his name out of things. His family is so toxic, plus you know how gossipy the press is about him…”

“Him? Him who?” The informant plays dumb.

“You know… My ex..."

“Oh, your ex Bastian Brighthall?”

“Ha! No, no. I just mean… you know. Since… prison. Which, like, can no one become rehabilitated in this country? Let me live! I’m a law-abiding citizen now, and, and a wife and mother! You have no idea what it's like just trying to raise babies these days..."

She’s so deeply offended. The informant pretends to be offended, too, and lets Savvie change the subject, turn it around to how hard it is to be a woman just trying to live out her happily ever after. It’s masterful, how well she can lead someone along and away from what she doesn’t want to share.

Finley White’s eyelid twitches where they sit at a table, watching this conversation unfold on a television bolted to the wall on the opposite side of the room. Beside them, their client has lapsed back into stony silence, his jaw set, arms crossed. He doesn't look at Savannah Marcoset’s sweet and smiling face, not directly.

He’s tense enough that Finley worries, more than a little, that one of his tendons will simply snap from the stress. He knows - he knew long before Finley said it out loud - what a farce this is, how utterly unnecessary. He knows better than anyone that Ms. Marcoset could have pleaded guilty and saved them all this expense and trouble. The evidence is thoroughly stacked against her. She has no way out, but it doesn’t stop her from throwing out every delay tactic she has.

Jax had been the first one to vocalize the point of Savannah’s strange game, during their meeting with him and his father after the arrest. She’ll drag it out, make it take as long as possible, he’d predicted, sitting in his father's cozy living room in his apartment in England. Finley had flown to him, once again - they had sworn to him once, after the first trial’s conclusion, that they wouldn’t ask him to fly back to America unless they had to.

He’d still been visibly recovering, a man made of shadows who sat with his little girl and her enormous curly hair clinging in wide-eyed silence to him. He’d held onto her just as tightly, as if even Finley might simply take her away if he let go for even a second. She’ll make it fucking miserable for everyone, just to get at me. She always fucking does.

Language, Jax’s father had admonished in a distant and fond way. That's one for the chocolate jar. Or two, maybe.

Jax’s child, who was so perfectly silent Finley kept forgetting she was there, had spoken for the first time. I don't mind, Daddy, she had said. She was so soft Finley barely made out the words. I know that’s grown up words. You don't have to do the jar. You can get chocolates.

Both men had smiled, then - one with open affection for his grandchild, one with a faint shift of lips that vanished as soon as Finley took it in.

Sorry, kiddo, Jax had murmured, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. More for you, then, yeah? Finley had wondered, then, what it must feel like to love a child - to love someone that much - who only existed because of this kind of assault?

Jax had been angrier, or at least more obviously so, the first time they worked with him. After the first escape. During the first trial. The anger that had still flared up then was now a smoking skeletal forest, where you could feel heat against your palm when you laid it against the trunk of a tree, but not even embers were left to glow.

Are the little girl and the baby boy the first green things to grow afterward? Or just… bones, blackened stones weighing him down?

Shit, they need a drink. All their poetry electives from their own college days come out in florid metaphors on days like this one.

More than a drink, they need about sixteen hours of sleep. Not that Jax doesn't need both things more than they do, going through all this again, and again… they’d put it off as long as they could, but finally they’d had to ask him to fly here one more time.

This will be the last time. Finley White will stake their career on Savannah Marcoset never seeing daylight as a free woman again, or they’ll quit and take up needlepoint or whatever it is lawyers who drop the ball that badly do.

They failed him, once, in their own mind. That it could happen to him again feels like their fault, their responsibility, somehow.

Jax had been angrier, before, but less determined than he is now. He had found it much harder, then, not to look at Savvie Marcoset. As if he couldn't break himself of having all his thoughts centered on keeping her from punishing him. The way he had seemed frightened when they took her away, after the verdict, had been painful to watch.

Now he simply doesn't look at her on the screen at all.

Finley picks up the remote, scratching a fingernail over its smooth plastic surface.

Would it have been better, if they had managed to make it so she never walked free? It would have meant no second time held prisoner and therefore no children. Obviously it would have been better. Would he have chosen it, though, if he knew… chosen not to ever meet the quiet little girl and boisterous baby boy… maybe he would. Probably he would.

They would never ask.

In the present, Finley keeps their thoughts to themself. They lean forward, briefly pausing the video. “There’s a few minutes of going back and forth on this, Ms. Marcoset describing a… well, a very fanciful personal idea of the alleged wedding and honeymoon… I’m going to fast forward past it.”

“Thank fuck,” Jax mutters, scratching at the back of his head. His fingers twitch, involuntary, and he drops his hand quickly.

He didn't tremble like that the first time, either. That’s a lasting effect of the shock collar he’d been wearing when he turned up on his father's doorstep after running away with the kids. He hides the scars beneath scarves and Finley pretends they don't see them even when they do.

Those scars feel like visible evidence: Finley White fucked up, and here’s living proof. They’d gotten the conviction, decent prison time, parole within a limited area after release… and it hadn't been enough.

They’ve gone over and over the case, when they can't sleep or think about anything else. They had done a good job. They and a single paralegal, alone, had taken on the Marcoset team of defense lawyers and wiped the floor with them.

Jax seemed to think they had done a good job. Good enough that when he ran this time, he’d called them as soon as he was ready, anyway. He could have gotten a different lawyer, but he had called them, and trusted them, to put her away again.

They just have to make sure it sticks this time. For life, bar the door, throw away the goddamn key.

It was another thing Jax said first, although not in so many words - that if she ever left prison again, Jax almost certainly wouldn't survive it. He’d been hunched over a beer, that first in-person meeting at his father's place. Finley was still jet-lagged from getting on the first flight out, and nearly asleep on the sofa. He hadn't brought it up until the kids and his father were safely asleep.

If she gets out again, or… comes h-here… that's it. He hadn't looked up at them, just stared down at his beer. The kids vanish first, probably. Dead or disappeared. Whatever she thinks will fuck me up worse. Actually, probably disappeared and then dead later once she thinks-... once she’s made me sorry. Then me, after them.

Then you? Last?

Yeah. Disappeared. Or dead. Or both. But she’ll go after them first. She'll-... He drank half the beer in three long swallows, wiped a hand over his face, and then exhaled and looked over at them. She can't hurt my kids. Okay? She can't.

Finley had nodded, and lifted their own beer in a kind of grim salute. She won't. We nail her to the wall this time, Jax. I promise.

Fuck yeah. His expression stayed flat, but he clinked his beer glass against theirs and that was that, he was Finley White's once and future client one more time.

Even though the case is open and shut, they’re throwing everything they’ve got at this, leaving nothing on the table. Leaving nothing to chance or luck. They have a promise to keep.

“Our informant wore this camera to get an idea of what Mrs. Marcoset was thinking, how she was playing your disappearance from her life. It was recorded before she was arrested,” Finley explains. On the screen, Savvie's rushed dramatics are silent, her hands moving in gestures that constantly flash the ring. Her smile is absolutely radiant. She has always been a beautiful woman, layered over the cruelty beneath. “We probably won't need this at court-”

“Then why are we watching it?” He asks abruptly. Not angry or hostile, just wanting to get it all over with.

They know the feeling.

“Because I thought you might want to see this part,” They say, and hit play, the video shifting back into regular speed, the casual buzz and clink of the restaurant around them kicking back in.

“-three years old,” Savvie is saying. She is every inch the proud and loving mother, pulling out her phone and then turning it around to show the informant. “Born in… in May, named after my grandmother. Isn't she beautiful? Doesn't she look just like me?”

“This was after I left?” Jax frowns at the photo Savvie has pulled up - of Jax holding his daughter back when she was a baby who already had too much hair and eyes too big for her face. Jax, his gaunt frame dressed in slightly oversized designer clothes to hide bruises and his unreliable access to food, is looking at the camera with a false and slightly hazy-seeming smile.

“Yes,” Finley answers, nodding. “This conversation would be maybe… six months after that.”

Jax’s eyes narrow. “That photo’s of Izzy as a baby, for one thing. For another… her birthday isn't in fucking May. Jesus. I didn't know the day, she never would tell me, but I knew what season. Also, Iz was four when we got back home, and she would have turned five by… whenever this is. We got her a fucking cake, my dad and I, when she turned five."

“You are absolutely certain that-”

“Yes,” He answers them, voice flat and cold as paper on stone.

“You may have to testify about that, Jax. Good evidence of a lack of connection to Isabeh-”

“Izzy,” He corrects automatically.

“Right. Sorry. I’ve been elbow-deep in legal docs all day, everything is full legal names. This video might not be worth much during the criminal trial, but for the civil case regarding the children’s living arrangements-”

“Yeah, fine, I’ll testify. Yeah.” He snorts. “Also, I'm fucking drugged in that photo she flashed around. If that matters.”

“You are?” That's a surprise to them. They turn to rewind the video back to when the photo is held up, pausing it, scanning it over again. The slight smile, the way he gripped tight to the girl… almost white-knuckled…

“Yeah. High as hell and terrified I'll drop her. Scared that that's her game this time. Get me to let Iz slip through my arms and then get goddamn mad at me for not being careful enough. I got her to stop putting shit in my drink when the kids were awake eventually, but she was still doing it, then.”

He isn't casual with how he drops these pieces of abject horror into conversation - no, Jax wields this information like a riddle, or a test. How you respond is to pass or to fail, and Finley knows him well enough by now to be aware that very few people come back from failure.

So they nod, and wait to see if he plans to offer anything more.

He looks over at them, then back at the photo frozen in time on the screen. “Had to tell her I liked that shit, just… you know. After the kids went down to sleep.” He meets Finley’s gaze head on, staring them down.

But he knows them well enough that he knows he never has to spell any of it out, not anymore.

So they nod again. “And it worked?”

“Yeah. Mostly.” He looks away. Finley never knows for sure if they’ve passed the test, not until he keeps talking. “I could put her off with asking for it to happen later. Savvie forgets shit. Half the time by the time she went to sleep, she didn't remember she even brought it up.”

Half the time.

Finley looks back at the video, and hits the play button. Savvie is back to happily chattering about her perfect husband and perfect children, sitting in a café months after the bruised, battered, scarred man and children in question had escaped her grasping fingers and shock collars and cruelty, but before there was enough to bring her in.

She had to have known they were coming for her, by this point. And yet she pretended everything was completely fine, that nothing had happened. She was either so sure her family would throw enough weight around to fix it for her in the end, or…

“She’s completely out of her mind,” Finley whispers. Not that they hadn't said it before. But this… this is different. “She just. Can't deal with it, and so she just doesn't even acknowledge the problem exists. Jax-”

“Yeah, I know how she is. Lucky you, you didn't get that shit up close and personal like I did. This isn't even the worst of her bullshit.”

“Looking at her, you’d never know it.” Finley sits back, not allowing themself to slump. If they can pull this off, there's a four hundred dollar bottle of stupidly priced bourbon they’re going to buy to celebrate. “Look at her. No sign whatsoever of anything but happily ever after. You ran. It’s been months since she last saw you or your children… and she’s calm as can be. She doesn't even know where you are."

“She probably knew where I was.” Jax shrugs, outwardly unbothered. “I mean, she’s a stupid shitsnob, but she knows I'd go to my dad. She knew where I was gonna go if I got away from her.”

“She didn't go for you, though, didn't try to recapture you. At the time, if she knew…”

Jax gives them the stare again. “I know exactly what she did. She freaked out when we were gone, called her bastard shitstain uncle for help. He had people hunting me, until we got to the border. We barely managed to keep out of sight of them. We had to cross the border… we had to.”

“Right, because in the UK… you’re, uh-” They hesitate.

Jax prickles when they hesitate. His eyes narrow, and Finley straightens their posture, refusing to wilt before that stare. “You can say it,” He says, voice flat. “Fucking famous for being kidnapped, right? There were programmes about that shit. Fucking journalists. And I bet once we made it over the border, dear Uncle Isaac told her he wasn't going to risk it anymore, to pack her shit and go home, act normal. Be seen so she could act like she never left. See if they could wait me out.”

Sometimes they forget how watchful Jax is, how well he understands not just Savannah Marcoset herself but the parade of Marcoset family members who treated him like Savvie's toy or worse. He didn't understand it all that well the first time.

Another thing he only has to know because they couldn't keep him safe.

“Right. But that's practical... from a criminal perspective. That's not… this.” They look over at the screen again, frozen once more on Savvie's cheerful, winning smile.

“No.” Jax’s knee is bouncing again. There has always been a hum of energy in him, but even that is held more inside him now. Because they hadn't hammered their case hard enough.

It just hadn't been enough.

It has to be enough this time.

“Jax… we have to show them that Savannah Marcoset. Not the one in this video, but the one who incapacitated you to make it easier for her to harm or control you. She is going to want them to see the act, try to get parole on the table, try to get at least limited access to the children-”

“Which she won't fucking get.” For just a second, the layer of self-protective hostility drops. It’s not panic, not visibly, but it’s close. “I told you, first thing I fucking said, she can't get at my kids. The whole reason I'm fucking doing this is to keep them safe. She can't get her hands on my fucking kids.”

“No,” They say, voice firm, and meet his eyes. He scoots slightly back, arms crossed again, staring at them fixedly with his chin tipped slightly down. They watch him right back. “She won't. We talked about it, I remember. No access, full stop. No presents, no letters, she gets no photos and no updates. Absolutely nothing. Complete termination of parental rights. Complete. No exceptions."

“And prison for-fucking-life, and no parole.”

“No chance. It’s going to be rough, Jax, I won't lie to you. She’s going to put on a show, and we are going to need to systematically dismantle it. Take away all her charm and let them see who you saw, day in and day out.”

He nods, jaw set. Stubborn and determined, and maybe the fire still burns down in there somewhere. His smile is so genuine they nearly wonder if it's real. “Good. Yeah. Uh, how, though?”

They look back over at Savvie, the face filling the screen. Savvie will be magnetic, just like the first time. Not so young, now, not able to play the innocent girl led astray. But she'll play all the greatest hits of sincerity, earnestness, contrition… Jax, by contrast, is all rough edges and bristling quiet. He won't charm anyone so readily. But his story will be what actually happened.

They just need to prove it.

“I had a couple more recordings for us to look at today,” They say, thinking, mind spinning. “But they aren’t urgent. Let’s break early, you head back to see what your little ones are up to, and I'll start drafting an outline of what we prove and how we prove it. I have some ideas. We’ll reconvene here tomorrow at 8 am.”

“Sounds good, yeah.” Jax shifts, restless, ready to get out of the room with Savvie’s face still on the wall.

“Tomorrow we’re going to talk about some… difficult stuff, Jax. Make sure you take it easy tonight.”

He looks at them, then just turns away, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. “Right. Yeah. Stuff about the kids, or the rape?”

It’s a test again.

God, how Finley hopes they never fail this man, not this time. Not when they couldn't keep him as safe as he deserved to be.

“Just the outline,” They say, casual as can be. “But.. both. All of it. No details yet. But later-”

“Yeah. I’ll be back at 8. Ish.” He leaves before they can say another word, and they sit back, staring after him.

They have mountains of documents to finish sorting through, and a man carrying so much cruelty in his head that if he opens his mouth on the stand, a waterfall might come rushing out. He's covered in scars from Savvie's abuse, has two kids that are living evidence of assault. They have a traumatized little girl in therapy multiple times a week. They have Jax’s devotion to his son and daughter compared to Savvie not even knowing what time of year Izzy was born in.

They have so much.

It has to be enough.

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whumpasaurus101 · 1 year

Text

Like Father, Like Son - Pt 3.

Okay this mini-series won't get out of my head so welcome to part three and I cannot lie, I have a big feeling there will be a few more pieces BYIDJKHDJ

Part One / Part Two

---

Asher felt his mind distance itself, his body slowly beginning to rock an unsteady rhythm as tears streamed down his face. He wanted Jack. He wanted to be held by someone. Anyone. He wanted space. He never wanted to feel touch again. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck-

His body jolted with a sob. He never wanted to see or hear of Aiden again, he thought he never had to but looks like that was just a fucking lie he had been telling himself. Just another lie. How fun.

Asher was on the verge of falling asleep- or losing conscious, he didn't quite know- before Rodger’s footsteps sounded from the basement stairs. Asher had just about enough in him for his eyes to lift up to meet the sound. He was lying on his stomach by now, curled in on himself, a bloodied mess.

“Asher, I-I’m so sorry, I had no idea, I-”

Asher barked out a laugh, jesus, even his laugh sounded weak right now-, “Oh please, don't pu-pull this b’llshit out of your ass. Acting ‘ll innocent and oh you're just so-soooooo much better than Aiden, arentchya?” Asher had to swallow hard, feeling how dry his throat had gotten before he rasped out, eyes hardening, “You're all the f-fffff-fucking same- the whole lot of you-” Asher had to pause for a moment, taking a shuddering breath as his lungs felt as if they were on the verge of collapsing with each second he spoke, “Ju-just f’ck off…” Exhaustion hit him and he had to practically had to force his eyes open, “D’n’ h’v time f’r y-y’r shi-shit…”

Rodger slowly knelt beside Asher, cupping his cheek, feeling the boy flinch away but quickly lean into the touch as he realized it was gentle, not rough…not Aiden. Rodger couldn't help but smile, he loved Asher like this. “Come on, let’s get you resting, no point staying down here.”

Rodger had to practically grab Asher’s arm and sling it over his shoulder before hauling the boy up. Asher was simple to carry, when Rodger was getting miffed from the noise of Asher’s legs dragging against the floor, he simply scooped Asher up into his arms, carrying him bridal style. The only protest Asher could manage was a wheezed whimper but that was it.

“Put him down,” Nikos sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as Rodger entered the room, “Stop babying him.” Rodger looked back to him quickly, “Father… he- have you not seen what Aiden did?!?!”

“I did, it was barely a scratch, you know, son, I didn't raise you like this, I raised you to be tough and cold hearted.”

“I am being tough, I’m doing everything you’ve thought m-”

“-You clearly are not. You are raising this… beast! You’ve learnt nothing!!! I…I’m disappointed in you.”

Silence fell, Rodger gulped, clinging tighter onto Asher without realizing. His throat suddenly felt cold and bare, “...I… excuse me for a moment, I need to clean up his back before he gets a fucking infection, pardon me if that's too godamn soft.”

And with that, Rodger dragged Asher to the next room. Asher had blacked out for god knows how long. His eyes finaly cracked open, letting out a groan as the room was way too bright for his liking. Rodger smiled, gently ruffling Asher’s hair, “Mornin’ sunshine.”

Asher groaned, rubbing his eyes, wincing as any movement sent an army of lightning bolts across his back, his wounds disturbed by the sudden cold air of the room. Asher shivered, “Wh’re amm-mm I?”

“My room, it's one of the only proper bedrooms that has a lock and I need my father away from you.” Asher started laughing, half muffled from the pillow in which his face was buried in. Rodger turned around, eyebrow quirked, “What- what???” Asher let out an amused sigh, “You meant you need your father away from me but also you.” Rodger rolled his eyes, “Oh shut it, I could just leave these wounds how they are and now patch you up.”

“Oh please, you and I bo-both know tha-that you’re too much of a fff-ff’cking perfectionist to do that.” Rodger clenched his fists, rolling his eyes before storming off to the bathroom to get the supplies he needed.

Asher felt as if he was floating, he guessed he must’ve got a hit to the head as his eyes started drifting shut. It was a battle he was fighting to stay awake but he must have fallen asleep as he was abruptly awoken by Rodger digging his nail into one of Asher’s wounds.

“No sleep yet until you can hold a proper conversation with me.”

Asher groaned, burrying his face further into the pillow, “Ff-ff’ckn’ dickhead.”

Time went on and Rodger was just about finished patching Asher up, occasionally jabbing at wounds to keep the other awake before there was a knock at the door. Asher jumped and Rodger tensed. They stayed in silence for a moment before the knock sounded again.

Rodger sighed, finishing off the last stitch before cutting the thread and walking to the door. The second his hand left the lock, the door burst open, forcing Rodger to stumble back. Nikos stepped forward, “You’ve been in here for enough time, he’s fine, stop bloody fussing over him!!!” Asher watched as Rodger rolled his shoulders, clenching his fists tight behind his back, “Father, it was your choice to come over. It was your choice to bring Aiden here today and finally, it was your fucking choice of giving me this lifestyle! I am sick and tired of-”

Rodger was quickly cut off as Nikos grabbed a fistful of his shirt and shoved him against the wall. Rodger let out a wheezed cry as his father towered over him, “You listen here, Rodger, I am sick and tired of you being such an ungrateful mess. I mean- come on, I gave you everything, I made sure to raise you right and-”

“Oh please, you were barely ar-”

He was quickly cut off once more as Nikos slammed him against the wall, this time Asher shot up to his feet, ignoring the pain which bolted through him as he growled, ready to pounce.

Nikos simply stared at Rodger, setting his jaw, “Call your mutt off.”

Rodger coughed weakly, his eyes glazed over slightly as he let out a shaky breath, “A-ash…-”

“Jesus Christ,” Nikos muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Asher, if you know what’s good for you, do not interfere, I’ll deal with you later.”

Asher cracked his neck before taking a step closer, his voice dangerously low, “Let.Rodger.Go.”

Rodger squeezed his eyes shut before speaking, his voice with much less strength than he had wanted, “Asher, I-I’m alright. Easy, boy.” But Rodger knew it was no use, he recognized Asher’s rage- Protectiveness. It was always when Jack was around. He had to admit, he was happy to see at least some progress.

Okay, understatement, he was thrilled.

“Bullshit. Nikos, let go of Rodger, this is your final warning.” Nikos scoffed, “Final warning? Don't make me laugh.”

“Oh I won’t, that wasn’t quite what I was planning,” Asher smirked, cracking his neck. Rodger knew that smirk was familiar, it took him a second to realize where he recognized it from. Every match he had, that cruel-sinister smirk was painted on Asher’s face.

“Asher…” Rodger warned quietly, but he knew it was no use.

Nikos chuckled, low and menacing as he watched Asher raise his fists, “We really doing this?” Asher smirked, raising his fists back and assumed his fighting stance. He flexed his knuckled, clenching his jaw as his smirk grew wider, “Bring it on, old man.”

Nikos lunged first. It was never a smart idea but Asher was right in assuming that the anger would get to the other. Asher easily dodged the attack, sending Nikos stumbling a few steps. Asher snarled, grabbing a fistful of Nikos shirt, sending a right hook across his face before kicking him away.

“You little shit,” Nikos grinded out, feeling the anger bubble inside his chest.

Asher smirked. He was quick on his feet, dodging two more punches and landing his own attack. But his state soon let him down as Nikos punched Asher hard. Asher cried out, his back locking up as Nikos had managed to hit against Asher’s wounds.

“Shi-shit-” Asher hissed, ensuring he kept a safe distance from Nikos as he felt blood soak through his shirt already.

“Ready to give up?” Nikos smirked.

Asher wiped a trail of blood from his nose, smirk unmoving as he gritted out, “Not even close.” And so the fight continued, a storm of heavy fists against skin. Asher swayed, quickly catching himself on the wall, right beside Rodger as he cursed under his breath.

“Come on, Asher, give it up. All I’m asking you to do is accept defeat, let me deal with Rodger, and then I’ll give you my full attention.”

That smirk- those words- Asher stiffened, a shiver running through his spine, it reminded him of Aiden. Nikos took advantage of the pause, grabbing Asher by a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back and wrestling a piece of rough fabric into his mouth. Nikos used his elbow to pin Asher to the wall by his back as he started tying it behind Asher’s head, making the boy cry out as hair got tangled in the knots.

Once Nikos was sure there was no getting it off, he grabbed a fistful of Asher’s shirt, spinning him around and shoving him down to the ground. Just when Asher thought shit couldn't get worse, while he stumbled over his feet, he fell down, his head knocking into the radiator on his way down.

Rodger went to rush over to Asher but a hand on his shoulder soon stopped him, “Enough. Kimberly and I have spoken and we have decided to stay here until the mutt’s attitude has been fixed.”

Rodger blanched, “I-I’m sorry what…?”

“During my stay here, he will continue to wear that gag, if he manages to screw that up well then he’d leave me no other choice but to muzzle him, am I understood?”

“Fath-”

“Am I understood?”

Rodger instantly shrunk in on himself, biting the inside of his cheek as he felt his heartbeat pick up, “Ye-yes, father.”

“Very well, now, I’m going out to my poor fiance who’s been sitting out their for the past few hours. You are going to sort out that piece of shit.” Nikos emphasized the last word with a harsh kick to Asher’s ribs, earning him a whimper that was just about audible. Nikos shoved Rodger against the wall once more before storming out.

Rodger took a moment, rubbing his shoulder before slowly making his way towards Asher, kneeling down beside him, “Asher, you still with me?”

Asher groaned, slowly blinking his eyes open. He had fought in enough matches before for Rodger to know by just looking at him that Asher was concussed. He let out a sigh before speaking, “I have a feeling this is gonna be a long shitty night.”

The only answer he was given was a giggle from Asher, confirming that tonight, Rodger was surrounded by idiotic people who quite frankly pissed him the fuck off.

---

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