thewhumpcaretaker - Tumblr blog

[thewhumpcaretaker]

"I don't... deserve this kindness."

"I know. But I'm choosing to do this anyway."

[thewhumpcaretaker]

Whumpee and Caretaker have been friends for years, both secretly in love with and pining for the other. Whumpee gets taken by Whumper, then rescued and while in the hospital, loopy on painkillers and half-asleep. they tell Caretaker that they love them. Caretaker is surprised, but doesn't believe it because Whumpee

- is on *all* the Painkillers. - has been through massive trauma - Is half-asleep when they say it.

So when Whumpee wakes up properly and doesn't seem to remember the confession, Caretaker doesn't bring it up. Until like six months later, Whumpee says it again, wide awake, completely lucid and having been to a few therapy sessions. And Caretaker finally says it back

[thewhumpcaretaker]

*slams fist on the table* Why don't men purr like little cats?? Who is responsible for this design oversight???

[thewhumpcaretaker]

My lust runs so deep it cannot be sated by flesh. I need to touch someone emotionally.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

all characters regardless of gender are allowed to

have extremely nasty sex

be covered in their own blood

be covered in someone else’s blood

suffer horribly

torture people

engage in toxic yaoi

engage in toxic yuri

make poor life choices

get doomed by the narrative

doom the narrative

die miserably

live atrociously

commit multiple homicides

make out with your OC

[thewhumpcaretaker]

bill skarsgard community what is the context behind this photo I desperately need to know

[thewhumpcaretaker]

was trying to find body positivity posts for trans guys that look like me and couldn’t. so here’s a post for all the trans guys with wide hips and dad bods. you are hot, you are desirable, and you are doing great

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ C.AI Vampire Marquis Bot ⚜

Designed for Whump. A ruthless vampire hunter pursues Vincent de Gramont until he is collapsed and helpless. Will the hunter show mercy? Will someone come to his aid?

[thewhumpcaretaker]

Oooooo I am eating good today!!!! A clever title, protective Santino, cute John moments, even some action…you really went all out 🌟

Okay, favorite part:

During the whole car ride, Santino was quiet and looked pissed off, looking through the window, however making eye contact from time to time with John through the rearview mirror.

Him looking at John through the mirror for reassurance is so cute aaaaaa

Also I liked the ending, it feels almost like a cliffhanger. Santino never stops worrying 😭

Soooo if this picture of Ricky was Santino, tell me what you think would be happening here. Why does he look so angsty? Who's with him in the car, is John there or Ares or anyone? Can be as long or short as you want. Have a beautiful day, amica!

(Also I love this format for an ask, feel free to send me a photo and ask me to make up a story about it ^_^)

Image Source

Aayy hii! :)

Oh I LOVE that picture so much, he looks so hot AHHH! And I was actually looking at that pic today, thinking if I should put it as my pfp! What a coincidence lmaoo!!

A really fun question! Thank you sooo much!! I appreciate it a lot! :D

You're writing little fics for my asks, and I love them so much! You're so kind to me, so I decided to write a mini fic for this! 💙💙

This was really fun to write, one picture can definitely be a good inspiration! <3

ﾟ*☆*ﾟﾟ*☆*ﾟﾟ*☆*ﾟﾟ*☆*ﾟ

Weapon that everyone wants

John and Ares waited outside of the convergence room, where Santino was having a conversation with some clans from Germany. A business talk, Santino asked for a little bit more of territory than he was allowed to have because these representatives claim to be more powerful than him. Which in his eyes is not true. And it isn't.

They are just more cocky than they seem.

They asked for more weapons and some of his men in exchange. Even mentioning some of his best bodyguards, Ares and John. How dare they ask from them?

"I'm sorry. I won't give my best people." Santino said with a fake, restrained smile. "Then I'm afraid we don't have the deal." One of them said, having a bit more thick German accent. "You asked for weapons, too. I have grenade launchers-" Santino started but was cut off by another.

"Mr. D'Antonio. Your best weapon is John Wick. How did you even manage to get Mr. Wick? He worked for the Tarasovs, didn't he?"

Ah, so they wanted that weapon. Not actual weapons?

"He did. Let's just say he changed his mind after a while." Santino replied, trying not to show just how annoyed he was getting. Their looks. How they mocked him with those smiles and eye rolls of arrogance.

The one that asked him hummed in response, fidgeting with a pen he was holding. "A bigger territory for you, Mr. D'Antonio... for the Camorra, isn't necessary. Not now." They were ready to end the meeting, but Santino wasn't done, yet.

"It is necessary. We can have both clans work together again." Now, Santino seemed more nervous. Shit. He let them hear it in his voice. "Then give us your people. Give us John Wick."

He is absolutely not doing that. "No." Santino sighed, slightly shaking his head, "I won't do that." He glared at them. "Don't you have enough men?" He asked, fixing his tie out of habit. "We do." Another simply answered. "Then how about something else?" Santino suggested. However, they didn't want to listen.

"We're sorry. We don't have enough time for this." They literally stood up to leave, and Santino knew he couldn't do much. "Oh and Mr. D'Antonio, we hope everything stays well with your people. Especially with Wick."

Santino didn't like the sound of that. Didn't like anything about it. The fucking disrespect.

The fact they shaked hands and tapped his shoulder to disrespect him even more. Oh, it made Santino's blood boil.

John and Ares watched and nodded at them when they walked out of the room, Santino walked out last, and they both could see how he was not pleased at all.

'No?' Ares signed with an empathic expression. Santino looked at them both and just shaked his head "no".

"We're done here." Santino said, putting on his jacket that John gave him. John had a bad feeling, these people were up to no good, and he knows that. John was ready to grab his gun, but Santino called for him.

As they walked towards the car, Santino had already made few calls and was cursing in Italian, which was nothing new to Ares and John. "We're going back to New York this evening. They can't be trusted." Santino said as he got to the back seat.

Ares is the one driving one of his big cars, John next to her, looking at Santino on the rearview mirror. "What did they want?" John asked softly, the car started.

Santino sighed and rubbed his eyes before answering, "Something I can't give them." And John nodded.

During the whole car ride, Santino was quiet and looked pissed off, looking through the window, however making eye contact from time to time with John through the rearview mirror.

John had a worried look in his eyes, and Santino definitely knew that look. He looks at him like that every time something like this happens. One part of Santino wanted John to be next to him so he could calm him down. He's gonna be this moody the whole day, and he doesn't like that about himself.

John is the only one who manages to calm him down.

It didn't take them long to realize they are being followed with another car. "Cazzo. Are they seriously following us?" That made him even more angrier.

What was even their point? Just out of spite? Probably.

John already had a grip on his gun, "Do we stop and take care of them?" John asked, looking back. "Please do." Santino said. It would be nice to watch them die to a weapon they want.

Ares smiled at him through the rearview mirror in agreement. They need to blow some steam off.

Stopping the car next to an alley, John and Ares already got outside and started shooting. Santino watched them. Watched the way John put bullets in their heads like it was nothing. He could watch him in action every day.

And he does. Every chance he gets, he does.

Surprisingly, this was only one squad that was sent after them. Well, they were sent to their deaths.

"Good job." Santino told them as they returned. "Just one squad." John said, "And amateurs. This didn't take long." Yeah, it was done quickly. "I could tell." Santino looked a bit less pissed off, and John was glad.

"I'm not giving them my best weapon." Santino said quietly as John walked by. "That's what they wanted?" John whispered. "Yeah." Santino replied, fixing John's tie that got loosened.

"I wouldn't work for anyone else." John said, giving him a small smile. "That's what I want to hear." Santino was ready to pull his tie, to get him closer.

But got interrupted with Ares clearing her throat. 'Seriously?' She signed and rolled her eyes. Santino huffed a chuckle, letting go of John's tie. "Don't look if you don't like it." He also just wanted to see her reaction. "I like you, too. Don't worry." Santino laughed a little, patting her shoulder.

The rest of the car ride seemed to finally be a bit more relaxed. Yet, Santino seemed to be lost in his thoughts, again. He looked worried at some point. John wondered if it was still about this meeting today or something else. Or both.

Santino doesn't seem to catch a break.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

what’s wrong, baby? you look so sad today :(

wanna vent and let me fuck you until those thoughts disappear?

[thewhumpcaretaker]

Hii!!

Idk why, I kinda see Santino not wanting to stay still/get enough rest while having his wound stitched. So, John has to constantly tell him to try and relax and take rest and literally keep him in bed. Otherwise, his stitches could get torn. Because well, we know how stubborn Santino can be, his stitches probably got torn a little. And then he gets moody again, and John has to deal with him even more. But of course, Santino loves the comfort John gives him during all that. So, yeah, that was something I just thought of :3. What do you think about this? :)

Salut! Oh boy, this took a while, but it was so fun!! Santino definitely would be hard to contain, and so stressed about being unable to do anything. So here's a ficlet! :3

TW: blood, gunshot wound, crying, self-deprecation, suggestive of smut ;)

●・○・●・○・●

"No, you're not going out. You're hurt."

"It isn't a question, I have to." Santino was looking up at John with his moodiest glower. But even as flustered as he was, he wasn't able to get much color into his cheeks. He'd had a fair bit of blood loss after being shot by a rival clan. John didn't fully follow the logic of why he was shot - something about a retaliation for a life the Camorra had taken, which was in retaliation for a previous murder...it was exhausting just to try to untangle the chains of retribution. So instead, he'd just shot them dead on the spot. Nice and simple.

"I know this is stressful. But I will take care of everything. If they can't manage without you, that's too bad."

He gave a frazzled sigh and pushed himself up on one shoulder, attempting to rise. "It is too bad, it's no good at all. This damn bullet couldn't have come at a worse time. I - mmm..." But his words were lost in John's kiss. He whined into his boyfriend's mouth, which just spurred John into a primal enough mindset to shove Santino back against the pillows, straddling his waist and pinning down his shoulder with one hand. Even in this surge of dominance, he was gentle with Santino, making sure not to disturb the bullet wound.

"Stay down," he panted, both of them suddenly a little breathless.

"Well, when you put it like that...maybe I want you down here with me." Santino locked a hand onto the back of his hair and brought their lips crashing together again, his precious outing forgotten for the moment.

But it was not forgotten entirely. It was late in the night when John woke up to find Santino's side of the bed empty.

"Santino?" There was no answer. It was probably too much to hope that he had just gotten up for a trip to the restroom.

He bolted out of bed and down the hall towards Santino's study. Sure enough, he was sitting at his desk, writing with shaky hands that occasionally stopped to clutch at his side in obvious pain.

"What are you doing, love?"

Santino jumped, and looked up to see him. "Cazzo! [Fuck!] - don't scare me like that."

"I'm sorry. But you shouldn't be up."

"I had work to do," he said with a glare that broke off into a wince. This time, when his fingers brushed over his side, they came away covered in blood. He looked down at his hand and went pale. "What...John..."

"Okay, hey, easy." John was already on his knees next to him, lifting up his shirt to see what happened. "You tore your stitches. How did this happen?"

He tsked. "I don't know...I reached up to get a ledger from the top shelf, maybe that would do it..."

"Yeah. It's okay, we'll fix it."

"So irritating! I can't even lift my arms without falling apart, I can't do anything. I can't believe I let this happen to me, I'm so stupid." He was shaking even worse now. John took his hand despite the blood.

"No you're not. You don't need to do anything right now. Only rest. Let's go clean you up, okay?"

For a second, Santino frowned so deeply that John thought he might cry. So he wrapped around him in a tight hug. "I'm sorry you're hurt, love."

"This is bullshit. I just wanted to work...just get back on track so my schedule wouldn't be thrown off..."

He felt the shoulder of his shirt grow damp where Santino's eyes were squeezed shut against it, and kissed Santino's head in response. "I know. Come on, let's go clean you up before you lose any more blood."

So, for the next half hour, they sat in the bathroom, John gently cleaning and restitching his side while Santino sipped a juice that John had poured for him to replenish his blood. "An apple juice, seriously John? Like I'm a kid getting my blood drawn?" But John had insisted. And it worked pretty well. By the time John helped him back into the bedroom, he wasn't shaking anymore.

"I guess you'll say I can't work tomorrow either?" he asked.

"No."

Wrapped in his arms, Santino sighed. "You're going to be the death of me."

"I'm going to keep you alive. Just the way I like you."

"...Thank you for putting up with me, John."

"Nothing to put up with. I'm so lucky to be next to you."

Santino caressed his cheek and spoke softly, already on the verge of sleep. "Why did I ever get up in the first place? Everything I love is right here."

[thewhumpcaretaker]

imagine if whumpee and caretaker are strangers, and caretaker has come across whumpee dying or severely injured in some way. and so they stay with whumpee, telling them they’re not gonna die alone, but whumpee just starts confessing to hurting people in the past, and caretaker has to make them feel better — but caretaker can’t absolve whumpee of their sins. so they just feel helpless. they don’t know how to reassure whumpee.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

John and Santino, 4, 11, and 12!

4. Their favorite show to watch together?

Oooh their favorite show!! Well, I think from more, let's say, serious tv shows, I'd say "Criminal Minds". John was the one that started it first and was always offering Santino to join him, but Santino wasn't that interested at first, until one day there was an episode that got him interested and he decided to join John. And ever since that, they watch it together. But they both enjoy cuddling together while watching it, so they also watch it so they can cuddle. (Yes, I like "Criminal minds").

11. Who leaves notes in the other one's lunch? (Bonus: what do they say?)

Definitely John. He makes that lunch for Santino because this man doesn't eat when he's working. So he has to remind him to eat, so he leaves little notes like: a note that explains what's for lunch, "Don't forget to eat", "Your favorite", "Eat for me" and similar :3. And honestly Santino loves that and will eat just because John is the sweetest.

12. Who prefers calling to texting (& vice versa)? Bonus: Who is so bad at texting it made the other think they weren't interested when they first started hanging out? [This could be hypothetical as much as real).

Oooh now this! I feel like John is a bit more socially awkward, so he would prefer texting, while Santino prefers calls a bit more. I have this scenario in my mind for this: when they first started seeing each other, John genuinely struggled to like, text him, because he was worried he was just bothering him when he really just wanted Santino's attention. So, there were moments when he waited for Santino to text him first, and that didn't happen so often because Santino's quite busy. And John realized that he SHOULD CALL HIM RN to tell him that he thinks often about him and that he's sorry for not texting because he's nervous and doesn't want to bother him. And Santino kinda laughed a little because he thought it was cute. So, they both started texting and calling each other more often :)

YEEPIEE thank you so much!!! 💙🖤💙🖤

Ask game

[thewhumpcaretaker]

PLEASE talk about Congo, Haiti, and Sudan, with the same fervor you give Palestine. PLEASE care about black struggle and suffering.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

STOP. DON'T SCROLL. READ THIS TO SAVE LIVES IN GAZA. Below are some VETTED campaigns to support Gazans. These people have been experiencing an active genocide for almost a full year. Donate and share widely.

(may 27th)

Save a displaced Gazan Family (@ranibra) - Rania is married with five children, her husband needs medical care. She is now responsible to save her children. Help them evacuate.

Support Fahmi and his family (@fahmiakkila) - Fahmi's life has been turned completely upside down, and he now finds himself responsible to save his parents, sisters, & brothers - 7 members.

Save the Maliha family (@dinamaliha) - Dina wants to save her mother, two sisters, and three brothers. The family lost contact with their father when the genocide started. They desperately need to get to Egypt.

Save Firas' family (@firassalemnewacccount @prosolitudeeee) - Firas is a father of two children, a 10-month-old boy and a two-year-old girl, who are in need of safe haven in Egypt.

Help Husam and his family (@husamthaher) - Husam desperately needs to save himself, his wife, and 3 young children.

Help Nader's family to evacuate from Gaza (@nadershoshaa) - Nader and his family, consisting of six members, are currently displaced in the south; help them evacuate and survive.

The Shamaly family wants to survive (@daee571989) - Help save 15 kids and their family, who are living a horrifying active genocide.

Ahmd needs urgent evacuation (@ahmd-iyd) - Ahmd has lost his livelihood to this genocide, and needs funds to help his family evacuate and rebuild their life.

Help evacuate Hani's family (@skatehani) - A dear friend, and a Palestinian skater trying to evacuate 10 members of his family; he has lost his father to injustice.

Help Iman’s family find safety (@imaneyad) - Iman has a family of 7 who need to find safety.

Help save Youssef's family (@bba3lo @mahmoud7878) - Ahmed Baalousha wants to save his wife, his two sons, his daughter, as well as his parents and siblings.

Support Ruba and Amal's family's urgent evacuation (@rubashaban @amalshabn) - Ruba and Amal's family are lacking the basic necessities of life; they have an elderly father who desperately needs to be evacuated for medical care.

Save little Yusuf and his family (@ahmednabubake) - Yusuf is in an intensive care unit fighting for his life in Gaza; he needs urgent evacuation alongside his family.

Help Omar evacuate (@omarsobhi) - Omar is a 20 year old Palestinian student who wants to save himself and his family from this genocide.

Help Belal and his family to evacuate from Gaza (@alaajshaat) - Belal has lost too much to this war and needs to support himself and his family.

Do not scroll past this list without contributing. This list makes it easy for you to find a fundraiser to support. Choose at least one. Your contribution will save lives. If you cannot donate, share these campaigns.

FIND MORE CAMPAIGNS HERE

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝓑𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓾𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 - 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒳𝒱𝐼: 𝒞𝒶𝓈𝓉𝓁𝑒𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒜𝒾𝓇 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you again to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

TW: nightmare, crying, John and Vincent arguing even worse than usual thoughts of violence, grief

Author's Note: There's a huge block of French at one point and it is, as usual, from Google Translate. Feel free to let me know if there are errors!

Summary: The journey towards The Elder begins. John and Vincent are stuck together on a long, long flight, with too much time for brooding about the future.

Vincent was standing over a ravine.

All around, the world tumbled with a moving darkness, a whirlwind of nighttime blizzard that drowned out the light of any moon or stars. He felt some terrible lurch inside himself and leaned forward, to watch his heart pour out of his chest, whole and horrifically drenched in blood. He watched helplessly as it tumbled down into the vast, invisible darkness.

But for some reason, it did not horrify him. He felt, within himself, that it continued beating, that it did not make impact on the rocks below, but instead must be soaring as some surreal bird throbbing with crimson flesh, immune to the perils of the fall. And so he continued walking slowly, trancelike, down the length of that ravine, flooded with a strange happiness…

It was blearily early when Vincent was awoken with a kiss. And it was good that he was, because any other manner of awakening would have allowed the claws of unmerciful consciousness to sink too quickly into him. As it was, a jolt of remembered misery sunk deep into the pit of his chest, making him turn his face into the pillow in protest against the lamp as it switched on.

His whole body was sore, a minefield of injuries with almost nowhere that he could safely put pressure without causing pain. His mind felt the same way. Don’t think about Chidi. Don’t think about the plan. Don’t think about the home you’ve lost. Don’t think about what could happen today. John was the only safe place to rest his mind, and his voice was the only safe sensory input. “Let’s get up,” he said, beautiful and rich and gravelly with sleep. “I’m sorry. We have to go.”

“What time is it?”

“Five AM.”

“Oh, tu plaisantes. Va te faire foutre. [Oh, you have to be kidding. Fuck off.]”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. The Marquis sighed, and pushed himself upright. John was standing over him, already dressed. At least he looked good. They’d executed Vincent’s suit design exceptionally, given the time frame. “They dropped these off a while ago.”

He brightened a little after seeing his own suit laid out on the other bed. He attempted to get to his feet, nearly buckled, and found John’s arms around his waist from behind. “Easy. I’ll bring it to you.”

“John, how exactly am I supposed to climb a mountain today?”

“You’re not. We climb a mountain tomorrow. The flight has gotta be at least 18 hours.”

He groaned. Don’t think about that either. Think about John. Think about last night… John was buttoning his new shirt with sure and gentle fingers that set his heart racing as they brushed close to his chest. But he was still in a mood. “This will be wrinkled by the time we get there,” he complained.

John paused. “I didn’t consider that. I just assume mine will be…disposable. Let’s put you in that T-shirt again.” Vincent felt momentarily like a little doll as John started unbuttoning the shirt as quickly as he’d buttoned it, ever ready to please.

Vincent caught his hands in place before he could get any further. He tsked at John’s overeagerness. “No, I’ll keep the shirt and just leave the vest and coat for later. I prefer to be in formal clothes today.” Despite the confidence of his words, he couldn’t meet John’s eyes. He needed all possible courage for the flight, especially if he’d have to face more of Belle’s associates. God, the episode in the food court…by now they must all know…don’t think about it, don’t think about it…

“Formal clothes it is, then.” John caught that look and tilted up his chin. For a second, he felt pinned by those dark eyes and was expecting some overly gentle remark that would just make him feel worse. But instead, John just left his head tilted up, as if he’d adjusted it into the proper position the way one might tuck in a strand of hair. And then he continued dressing him without missing a beat.

The feeling of John’s powerful hands sliding the slacks up over his thighs was matched only by his fingers pressing the button through its slit while gazing straight at his lips. He rode a surge of lust for a moment before coming back to himself.

Another crash of full body pain hit him as the pleasure withdrew. “The painkillers from yesterday have worn off. Let’s get more before leaving.”

John eyed him with a depth of concern that made dead things bloom inside him. “Alright.” Thank god.

After collecting another dose, they left Dog in the Mall’s capable care and proceeded to the carousel, escorted by a guard with a key. An access door brought them out of the mall’s gaudy, colorful interior into the sobering darkness of a tunnel lined in flagstone. Vincent’s nerves began buzzing as they were led through a labyrinth of lifts and conveyor belts, finally emerging from a manhole onto the tarmac of the Newark Liberty International Airport. The early light was dimmed and fuzzy, spreading in purples over a dreary, overcast sky. It was raining – not enough to muss his hair, thank goodness, but in tiny, fitful droplets that filled the open space exposed to the airport’s picture windows in the distance.

“Move quickly,” John whispered. It did nothing to calm him. His heart was going haywire all the way from the manhole to the steps of the private plane. He nearly tripped as they climbed up the boarding stairs, and was grateful that John’s hand shot to his waist, steadying him instantly.

But the Bowery knew what they were doing. It was a distance of only a few paces, and they boarded without incident. They were the only passengers, aside from the pilot and flight attendant, who would take them clear from New Jersey to Pakistan, with a stop for refueling on the way. Only once they were airborne did Vincent give the name of their destination. The pilot whistled, and said he’d get them to the closest airport where they’d have to transfer to a helicopter that would take them closer.

Vincent settled in on quilted leather across from John, with a small table between them, and fussed over the raindrops that had touched his sleeves. They were in luxurious seats, such as he was used to. They were on their way to see the Elder. Everything was good. Why did he feel such a clawing angst inside him? He forced his hands to drop into his lap and rested against the window as the plane began to climb, up through a ripple of turbulence and then clear above a sea of grey, where the sun bled through in rays of gold.

“We’re on our way,” John remarked. His voice was flat but by now, Vincent could tell when he was trying to cheer him up.

“You’re staring,” he said coldly.

“I like your suit. Even when you’re not wearing all of it.”

He couldn’t help smiling. “…I like yours. Especially when you’re not wearing any of it.”

John was too pleased to respond and didn’t seem to know how to arrange his face. Maybe this flight wouldn’t be so bad. In fact, it might even be too short. “We should use this time to plan.”

“Aren’t we just going to threaten him? What is there to plan?”

“A threat is a carefully crafted structure. It has parts, John: the demand, the proposed consequences, the proof of capability to follow through, and the anticipation of responses.” He counted them off on his fingers. “Don’t tell me you went to the Elder without talking points in mind?”

John shrugged.

“Well, I find it’s wise to be a little more organized.”

“Did you do this before coming to me?”

“Yes,” he said, smug. “As you can see, it’s quite effective.”

“…Right.”

Vincent rang for the flight attendant and requested a notebook. For the next several hours, he occupied himself with running through scenarios in his head and jotting down conversation flowcharts as the sky brightened. This gradually devolved into drawing the shapes of the clouds, the infinitely complex spires and monuments and palaces of a shining royal city that stretched horizon to horizon like a marble tabletop. There were the sprawling rose gardens, the new coliseum, the barracks, the pleasure domes. The royal tomb. The sun presided as an immovable, solitary star above his kingdom. His kingdom, the High Table. His kingdom, that had killed Chidi…that had almost killed John.

Such is the way of things, he told himself. He had never balked at losing a Myrmadon before.

He looked up at John, who had fallen asleep across from him, and suddenly wished he were awake. But then, he was easier to draw this way. Soon enough, John’s face slumbered next to his castle in the air.

He hid the drawing before John woke up for the lunch service.

“Did you finish your talking points?”

“All but the rebuttals.” Ah yes…it was that point at which he started to daydream. He couldn’t quite imagine what to do if the Elder flat out refused them.

“I still don’t see why we need a rebuttal. He says no, we kill him.”

“And with him, all chance of reinstatement. I grow tired of your obstinance, John.” But his words lacked their usual sharpness.

“Please.” The gravity of his tone stopped Vincent seconds away from a mediocre bite of steak. “This may be our final chance to have this conversation. Please don’t make me kill you.”

Now it was time for sharpness. He set down his fork in silence, dabbed at his mouth unnecessarily, and set down the napkin too. “Comment oses-tu putain. [How fucking dare you.]”

John opened his mouth but he was too quick.

“Non, tu m'écoutes. Après tout ce que j'ai enduré pour toi, après chaque tentative de te plier à ta putain de volonté manipulatrice, tu me dis que tu veux ma mort si je n'obéis pas exactement à tes ordres. Tu fais semblant de te soucier de moi. « Inconditionnellement », avez-vous dit. Se féliciter d'avoir supporté l'insupportable marquis de Gramont. Oh, comme c'est inconditionnel ! Inconditionnel tant que je vis comme tu veux que je vive, déracine toute ma vie pour être qui tu veux que je sois. Comment suis-je censé concilier cela ? Je vais vous dire comment : je ne peux pas, parce que c’est l’œuvre d’un hypocrite. Vous êtes un ÉCHEC en tant qu’amant. Vous êtes un raté et un hypocrite. [No, you listen to me. After everything I went through for you, after every attempt to bend to your manipulative fucking will, you tell me you want me dead if I don’t do your exact bidding. You pretend to care about me. ‘Unconditionally,’ you said. Patting yourself on the back for putting up with the insufferable Marquis de Gramont. Oh, how unconditional! Unconditional as long as I live as you want me to live, uproot my entire life to be who you want me to be. How am I supposed to reconcile that? I’ll tell you how: I can’t, because it’s the work of a hypocrite. You are a FAILURE as a lover. You are a failure and a hypocrite.]”

“Tu me demandes de te laisser tuer mes amis. [You’re asking me to let you kill my friends.]”

“Ne suis-je pas ton ami!? [Am I not your friend!?]” He was almost screaming, with tears in his eyes and probably audible to the pilot up front, but there was nothing he could do to stop himself.

“Bien sûr que tu n'es qu'un dieu, Vincent, écoute-toi! [Of course you are but Jesus Christ, Vincent, listen to yourself!]”

He laughed bitterly. “Je te DÉTESTE, Wick ! Tu me fais me sentir à l'abri du jugement, juste pour me moraliser jusqu'à la mort. J'aurais aimé ne jamais t'avoir rencontré. [I HATE you, Wick! You make me feel safe from judgement, just to fucking moralize me straight to death. I wish I’d never met you.]” He regretted these last words instantly, not for their vitriol, but for their admission of vulnerability. His cheeks were burning. He sunk back into the seat and hid his face in his hands.

Silence rang through the cabin around them. “Je vais te donner… un peu d'espace. [I will give you…some space.]” John sounded hoarse. When Vincent pulled his hands away, he was gone, off into the far end of the plane. He did not come back as the day wore on. Not as the water shimmered below them like cold, metallic sheet of beaten silver. Not over Greece. Not over Iraq. Caged in isolation, Vincent’s mind wrecked itself against the bars. Of course John couldn’t be trusted. His mistake was trusting in the first place. No one alive or dead could have ever really cared for him, he had to remember that. Everyone in the world, from top to bottom, cared only for their own glorification. Everyone desired to bend the world under their own dominion, and to make another fall in love with you was just a means to that end. He shook for a very long time, stroking the surface of his High Table ring. Every second seemed unendurable, exhausted but too high-strung to even consider sleep, reeling from one panic attack to the next as the hours passed and the painkillers tapered away. His chest was filled with an emptiness that he wanted only to chase out with a high.

His gut, meanwhile, churned with conflict. He brooded, imagining things he would do to John, but it was useless. It relieved none of his misery, because every imagined satisfaction was tainted with uncertainty, with the secret wish to do the opposite. Was it so unreasonable that John wanted him to turn on the people who had taken so much from both of them? No, it was, it was unreasonable, if it came at the cost of his life. But maybe he’d rather kill The Elder, who was having him hunted. No, no, he’d rather kill John who had betrayed him personally. He felt broken, not just in the sense of being miserable, but in the sense of being divided into two pieces, each flying off in a different direction.

Only by destroying a real object did he grow any calmer. The notebook, with his drawing of John and his drawing of the High Table, formed a shredded pile around him.

All that while, they rode East, into an early, fleeting night followed by morning. When they began to circle the airport, the sun was already shining again, as if the flight was all one interminable day. A voice crackled over the intercom. “Hello folks, we’ll be landing shortly. Just a few matters of business to sort out. Would our two most chipper and cheerful passengers come to the cockpit please?”

This could not be good, but there was nothing for it. He made his way to the cockpit, his limbs stiff from hours of sitting tensed in an adrenaline addled stupor, to see the pilot and flight attendant seated side by side. He bristled as John moved past him to stand at his left. Vincent refused even to look in his direction. When they both felt sufficiently awkward, the pilot spoke. “I’m told you requested Diamox.”

“We did,” said John. It hurt even to hear him speak. Vincent had no idea what that was but wasn’t about to ask John at the moment – all he remembered was John asking for it from the doctor. “Do you have it?”

“We have altitude medication. It’s stronger than Diamox, and fast acting. And a good job you asked for it, because you’ll get sick as hell without it. You’re going to 15,000 ft. But.” A nasty, wicked kind of grin spread over his face. “There’s only one dose.” The flight attendant held up a single pill, grinning too.

“What!?” Vincent had well and truly had it with this day. “That was not our agreement.”

“That’s just too bad, Marquis. Beggers can’t be choosers.”

John made a hateful, inarticulate noise in his throat. “Fine. Vincent, take it. You’re already injured.”

“Ah-ah-ah!” The flight attendant snatched the pill back as Vincent reached for it. “We have instructions from the Belle of the Bowery. Mr. Wick gets the antidote. The Marquis gets nothing.”

Vincent’s heart sunk. She had found a way to kill him, even from another continent. If the altitude on its own didn’t take his life, he would be weakened for the fight.

John stepped forward, furious. “He could die. She promised me he lives.”

“I have my orders. I do not land this plane until Mr. Wick has swallowed that pill. And you can’t kill me, because neither of you can set her down on your own. Take the pill, Wick. Or I turn us around and go back.”

John hesitated, but finally grabbed the pill and swallowed it dry as Vincent watched in horror. He wasn’t aware his heart could break any further, but it did. He’s really letting me die.

The plane began to descend towards the airport in a long half circle that felt like freefall. Vincent clutched at the doorway, sickened and terrified, too drained to truly panic again, but numb. His face was frozen into an emotionless porcelain mask, rendered pointless by the wild eyes staring out of it. After a time, he realized John was speaking to him.

“Vous ne mourrez pas. Vous ne le ferez pas. Je m'en assurerai. [You won’t die. You won’t. I’ll make sure of it.]”

“Non, non, pas jusqu'à ce que tu me tues, bien sûr que non [No, no, not until you kill me, of course not] hahahahahaha...”

“Non, vous n’allez pas mourir. Regardez-moi. [No. You are not going to die. Look at me.]”

Though he didn’t turn his head, his eyes seemed to move against his will, finding John’s. They were burning into him with that commanding softness that said, “I could crush the sorrow out of you with a single touch.” The look from last night, when he swore to take control. John spoke to him as if they were the only two people in the room. “Vincent. Fais-moi confiance. [Vincent. Trust me.]”

And to the devil with this man, but it worked. Something bruised and battered but alive inside him responded. He hated himself every second, but he trusted, repeating the same mistake over again, living in hope for a moment longer. And when John took his face by the jaw and tilted their lips towards each other, he closed the distance.

The pilot swore in disgust.

He felt a pill press into his tongue.

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[thewhumpcaretaker]

HALLOOO!!! How are u doing? :3

flower bush for u

Thank you!!!!! Life is dragging me across the floor tbh but it’s cool it’s cool everything’s fine. How are youuu?

Have a flower bush too! :3