#Chris gets whumped because of course he does

[sabyfangirl]

After heading over to the garage to grab his Creature Pod, Chris ends up falling out of the Tortuga and landing in a forest where the sky seems like it’s permanently covered with clouds. Now he has to survive on his own with minimal equipment and materials while his brother and friends search for him wherever they can.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51577057/chapters/130363633

Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/356010652-wild-kratts-desolate

[donationwayne]

DONATIONWAYNE BUDDIE FIC MASTERPOST

Title: Miles and Miles Pairing: Buddie || Words: 6.6k || Chapters: 1/1 || Main Tropes & Tags: Seal!Buck, Returning Home From Deployment, Secret Relationship, Established Buddie, Married Buddie, Buck as Chris' Dad, Comedy, Fluff Synopsis: Three years after moving to LA Buck decides to surprise Chris and Eddie at the end of his final tour. Of course nothing goes according to plan. The 118 have a lot of thoughts about the mysterious Eddie Diaz.

_____ Title: Response Time Pairing: Buddie || Words: 2k || Chapters: 1/1 || Main Tropes & Tags: Established Buddie, Married Buddie, Secret Relationship, Buck & Eddie know each other before the 118, Buck as Chris' Dad, Comedy, Fluff

Synopsis: The 118 respond to a call, which isn’t unusual in itself. But it might explain a lot to Probational Firefighter Evan Buckley’s new crew. Eddie tries to burn the kitchen down.

_____

Title: Blame Me (For Mistakes You've Made But You Can't Own) Pairing: Buddie || Words: 4.5k || Chapters: 1/1 || Main Tropes & Tags: Sick!Buck, The 118 as Family, Pre-Relationship Buddie, Fluff, Comedy, Angst, Casual Mentions of Childhood Neglect & Trauma, Maddie Buckley as Evan Buckley's Parental Figure Synopsis: Buck goes into work sick and the 118 take care of him. We delve into Buck's complicated relationship with illness, due to his parents relationship with ill children.

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Title: I'm Alone In The City (And Nobodies Coming For Me) Pairing: Buddie, Bobby & Buck || Words: 18.1k || Chapters: 12/12 || Main Tropes & Tags: Bobby as Buck's Dad, Buck!Whump, Buck's Loft Burns Down, Discussion regarding Eddie's Will, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Angst with a happy ending Synopsis: The one where I burn Buck's loft down with Buck inside! When Buck wakes up cold, scared, and alone all he wants is Bobby (his dad). Buck and Eddie finally get their shit together.

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Title: Feelin' Good (Could be Better) Pairing: Buddie || Words: 24.6k || Chapters: 10/10 || Main Tropes & Tags: Emotional Whump!Buck, Athena Grant and Bobby Nash are Evan "Buck" Buckley and Maddie Buckley's Parents, Angsty!Buck, Margaret Buckley is her own warning, angst with intermittent fluff, mutual pining, Protective Eddie Diaz, Outing, Margaret Buckley and Phillip Buckley Bashing

Synopsis: The Buckley parents arrive in LA, turning Buck's already shaky mental status from precarious to worse. Buck consents to join Maddie, Chimney, and his parents for dinner. Buck is super fine, he'll just bake about it. And think about kissing Eddie, obviously. Secrets are revealed, leaving the 118 reeling.

Authors note: **This fic deals with Margaret Buckley as a emotionally and physically abusive parent. (Trigger Warnings Available or msg me)

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Title: punch my face (do it because i like the pain) Pairing: Buddie || Words: 3.7k || Chapters: 1/1 || Main Tropes & Tags: Emo/Alternative Teenage Evan Buckley, Athena Grant and Bobby Nash are Evan "Buck" Buckley and Maddie Buckley's Parents, Evan "Buck" Buckley & May Grant are Siblings, Fluff, The 118 As Family, Mention of Eddie's Will,

Synopsis: When faced with a potentially abusive father on a call, Buck goads the man into punching him to keep the kids with their mother. The 118 learn a little bit about Buck as a teenager.

This is mostly fluff. Maddie and Buck make jokes at their own expense.

_____

Title: this could be a disaster Pairing: Buddie || Words: 15.9k || Chapters: 11/11 || Main Tropes & Tags: Wedding Fluff, Christopher Diaz is a Little Shit, Brief Tsunami Flashback, Canon Divergence, Clipboard!Evan Buckley, Groomzilla Evan Buckley, Everything That Could Go Wrong Does

Synopsis: Light hearted romcom about Buck and Eddie's wedding day, which was it turns out is a disaster. Nearly everything that could go wrong does go wrong. Chris is sarcastic about it. Maddie is going to kill them if they sneak off to see each other more time. Bobby and Athena are Buck's parents. The lesbians save the day. Business as usual.

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Title: obsessed with the things that you do, low-key I need you to move (in) Pairing: Buddie || Words: 27.8k || Chapters: 9/9 || Main Tropes & Tags: Teenage Chris, Canon Divergent Post-Season 6, Eddie Goes to Therapy, Eddie Adopts A Cat, Mutual Pining, Angst and Fluff, Coming Out, Gay Eddie Diaz, Bisexual Evan Buckley, Christopher Diaz is a little shit

Synopsis: Eddie adopts a cat while Chris is away summer camp. He goes to therapy and comes out to his parents. He continues navigating life post gay realization while being deeply and embarrassingly in love with his best friend.

Buck pines over Eddie.

Chris figures it only a matter of time before they finally get together.

_____

Title: come on, you can show yourself Pairing: Buddie || Words: 8.7k || Chapters: 1/1 || Main Tropes & Tags: Coming Out, Blow-Job Gone Wrong, Mutual Pining, Gay Eddie Diaz, Bisexual Evan Buckley, Eddie & HenRen bestieism, Getting Together, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Eddie tells HenRen about his Will, Eddie sees footage of Buck during the Well collapse

Synopsis: Eddie goes to a gay bar, says Buck's name during a hook up, curses Frank extensively, and comes out to Hen and Karen. They talk about the will and the well and the Buck of it all. Also Buck shows up.

_____

Title: Because Regardless Of How Soft The Touch, I Still Bruise Pairing: Pre-Relationship Buddie || Words: 3.3k || Chapters: 1/1 || Main Tropes & Tags:

Bobby Nash is Evan "Buck" Buckley's Parent, Worried Bobby Nash, Athena Grant is Evan "Buck" Buckley's Parent, Pre-Relationship Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz, past self-harm, Evan "Buck" Buckley Needs A Hug, Margaret Buckley and Phillip Buckley Bashing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort

Synopsis: After sustaining an injury on shift, Buck stays with Bobby and Athena while he recovers. They discover some hard truths about Buck's childhood.

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Title: Backtrack Pairing: Pre-Relationship Buddie || Words: 3.3k || Chapters: 1/1 || Main Tropes & Tags: 07x09 Spec, Implied Pre-Relationship Buddie, Worried Buck, Buck has a feeling realization, Angst, Divorce Era 2.0

Synopsis: Speculation about what could happen if Buck finds out about Kim (S7x09). Buck catches Eddie in public with Kim, he confronts Eddie about it. He also has some feelings about it.

[clareguilty]

WIP Whenever

i was tagged by @beaconfeels <3 thankuuuu

Here is a Stetopher project I started an abandoned forever ago but then yesterday decided to flood with my usual whumpiness. No whump in this snippet tho

"Hey you get laid, right?" Stiles asks as he skids to a stop in Peter's living room, huffing and puffing even though he would have had 45 seconds in the elevator on the way up to the 8th floor to catch his breath. Though Peter realizes he'd never heard the ding at the end of the hall and it's entirely possible that Stiles ran up the stairs to let himself into Peter's apartment and ask such an inane question.

Peter doesn't dignify it with a spoken answer, just raises an eyebrow.

"Of course you do," Stiles barrels on, gesturing at Peter with splayed hands. "You're like one of the sexiest guys ever."

Peter is much more willing to engage now that flattery has been thrown into the mix, but he's still skeptical of where Stiles is going with this.

"Anyways," Stiles sinks into the nearest armchair, melting into a pile of gangly limbs and defeated posture, "I need help."

Both of Peter's eyebrow are raised now, because Stiles' last three statements together sure do sound like a proposition. He allows himself a brief moment to consider it.

The moment is interrupted when Chris wanders back in from the bedroom, finally dressed for the day at eleven am. It's Saturday, and they’d risen late.

"Oh good!" Stiles seems unfazed by his presence or the fact that he just walked out of Peter's bedroom. "You're here too. You can help."

"Hello, Stiles," Chris greets calmly. He doesn't show his confusion, but he does shoot a quizzical glance at Peter. The sudden, unannounced arrival isn't unusual for Stiles - he's shown up at Chris' house at odd hours with odder questions - but it's impressive how quickly he's made himself at home.

"Let me guess," Peter finally speaks up. "You struck out at the club last night. And after feeling sorry for yourself all morning over breakfast, you had the wonderful idea to come to me for advice."

Tagging @takaraphoenix @thetwnsweets @demialwrites @verai-marcel @gaqalesqua (show me what ur working on!)

[blurglesmurfklaine]

you seem really odd and your blog intrigues me, do you want to tell me more about Alicia, Buck's daughter, in texas!buddie au? pretty please?

HELLOOOOHOHOHOOOOOOOOOOO

You too seem really odd and your blog intrigues ME! Of COURSE I will tell you more about Alicia and Texas!Buddie this is a literal dream come true skndkskdkdn

You’ve opened a can of worms so I cannot be held responsible for the yapping that ensues ❤️

Alicia is 6 when she is sent to live with Buck

She was born in San Antonio Texas, where her mom and grandparents migrated to before she was born

She is the spitting image of Buck. She’s got his smile, his nose—even has a birthmark to match his—except she’s got dark hair and dark eyes. I am obsessed with the idea of Maddie doubting that this kid is even her baby brother’s up until the moment she sees her and then she’s like 😳

Alicia is fluent in both Spanish and English. Truly a bilingual queen

She definitely prefers Spanish, though, and the first time Eddie meets her she is incredibly shy about it, and then Buck whispers something to Alicia in Spanish, which Eddie hears and is like “Oh worm?” And starts talking to her in Spanish and of course she’s immediately obsessed with him

Her favorite show is Bluey, her favorite movie is The Lion King

She wants to be a Paletera when she grows up, because paletas make people happy and she wants to make people happy

This isn’t necessarily about Alicia, but I’m obsessed with the idea of her grandparents HAAAAATING Buck. Even though Buck is like. The absolute best to them and Alicia—they just can’t get past Buck being the gringo who knocked up their baby girl and then ran away back to America

Until they meet Buck’s actual parents and then they both decide “Hm. You know what? Actually fuck them, you’re ours now” and Buck is so weirded out but ultimately thinks it’s sweet

I think it would be fun if Eddie somehow orchestrates the meeting of the Buckleys and Alicia’s parents lol just so he can show them that Buck has enough asshole parents in his life

Scenarios?? You want scenarios??? I GOT Scenarios (TM) just you WAIT BABEYYYY

So this one has been rattling around my brain for a while. Chris is 16, Buck and Eddie have been married for years at this point and Chris BEGS Buck and Eddie to teach him how to drive. And Eddie of course is so soooo wary about it because it’s Christopher, that’s his son. And he never wants to discourage his kid but with his disability there are some things that are just more dangerous for him to do

But of course, they both cave—Bucks does copious amounts of research, they make the necessary adjustments, get any accommodations and modifications needed. It takes a long while, but Chris gets his license! Yay! He can drive! With limitations of course. Only with a parent in the passenger seat, and with prior approval.

It would ideal (for me. The whump bitch) if maybe Chris got into an argument with Buck and Eddie before this whole next part. Because I said so ❤️ but basically they tell him he’s not allowed to go somewhere (maybe a party??) because both of them have to work and can’t drop him off and he’s like “I can drive myself!” and they’re like the fuck you can! Besides, he’s been begging them for more responsibility, so he offered to watch Alicia.

Alicia, in an attempt to cheer her brother up, talks him into taking her to see the latest paw patrol movie “And maybe we can even stop by that girl’s party afterward!” And Chris is pissed at his dads and sold

Meanwhile, back at the 126, things are relatively easy. Until they get a call for FD at a two car collision just off the highway. One vic is stuck behind the wheel of the car. Other car has two vics, both minors. One male teen, female child in the passenger seat

As they arrive in the scene, Buck starts venting to Eddie because “What the hell kind of parent is letting their little girl in the front seat of a car. Don’t they know that those airbags are death traps for kids?”

“Buck—”

“I’m just saying. Someone should talk to those parents, if this kid makes it out of here.”

“Buck.”

And finally Buck stops, grounded by Eddie squaring his shoulders and pointing him to the wreckage.

That’s their car.

The exact make and model and Buck doesn’t believe in god but he starts praying anyway as he and Eddie sprint to the car, that the license plate isn’t theirs.

It is. That’s their daughter in the passenger seat, bleeding and unconscious. That’s his kid behind the wheel, fighting against the firefighters trying to get him out of there, screaming for his sister. And then he’s looking at Buck, and his face just crumples.

And he collapses into Buck’s arms, a wet mess of sobs and apologies and Eddie is pulling Alicia’s body out of the passenger seat and checking her vitals and performing rescue breaths on her and Christopher is asking “What’s going on, what’s happening, what are they doing with her?” And Buck just holds him so Chris doesn’t have to watch

Anyway. I just think that would be really neat!

[laylawatermelon]

Buddie Episode ficlet season 8

Pulling from all theories floating

(i just wanted to write a fic🤗)

So let me set the scene, season 7 finale, Buck of course gets a really bad sprain after a rescue. He's staying with Eddie because duh, of course he is after his apartment rent went up (or burned down, flooded whichever flavor of whump they live to give him).

So episode 1 begins like this.

We're at The Diaz family house early in the morning.

Chris' alarm rings and he slams it off turning to go back to sleep. Eddie pushes the door open as he passes.

"Wake up Chris." He says dryly wiping his face.

We hear the sizzling of food and Eddie walks into the kitchen sniffing dramatically. He grabs orange juice and milk out of the fridge.

"Smells great, what is that pancakes?"

Buck turns beaming at him, towel on his shoulder, "Yeah Chris mentioned it last night so I made it today."

Eddie rests the stuff down patting him on the shoulder, "You know you don't have to do that." He slides past him getting the plates out of the cupboards, "But you know I'd never deny your food."

He rests the plates on the dining table depending as he checks the clock.

"Hey Chris! You up?"

Buck turns off the stove walking to his room, "I'll check up on him."

Eddie glances at his for, "You sure your leg okay?"

"It's perfect!"

Buck knocks on the door gently as Chris friends in annoyance. Buck laughed walking over, "Gotta get up buddy."

He pulls the sheet off of him and Chris whines. "Buck!"

Buck just laughs and walks out, "I made pancakes but if you're late you're gonna have to eat em cold in the car!"

He hears Chris' walking behind him and grins.

Chris eventually comes to breakfast and they chat while eating.

Chris talks about his upcoming tests and things he plans to do in that day, Eddie talks about his past shift and how he wishes he could be on the shift with him and Buck just staring at them with love and fondness.

Eddie catches his eyes and just grins reminding him to eat.

Then they're leaving, Chris rushing to the car after his girlfriend messaged him.

Buck stands at the door holding it open for Eddie.

Eddie hurriedly puts his water bottle and some snacks in his bag as he's rushing to the door. "We're gonna be late traffic is gonna be a killer."

Buck sighed as he waved to Chris who was impatiently waiting by the car door.

"You'll be fine Eddie, just take a couple side and back roads."

Eddie rolled his eyes as he walked past him, "Yeah me and the rest of Los Angeles will do that."

Then he leans over pressing a quick kiss on his lips. "See you after work Evan."

Buck nods as Eddie jogs off closing the door robotically.

Eddie freezes as he reaches his side of the car realizing what he just did. His head whips back to the closed door.

"Wait-"

"Come on Dad I'm gonna be late! My teacher's going to mark me down again."

Eddie nods eyes still transfixed on the door as he gets in.

"Yeah yeah. Okay."

Behind the door Buck is staring into space before sliding down the door in shock touching his lips.

He blinks away his shock and pulls out of the yard.

----------

Hen notices something's wrong instantly. Chim does as well but he's not in the gossip mood yet.

He assumes he'll be after he had breakfast so instead of bothering a dazed Eddie he jogs up to the second floor for breakfast.

Hen crosses her arms watching the dazed man pass her and follow him into the locker room.

Eddie absent-mindedly changes and she sits on a bench looking out at the trucks.

"So what's up today?"

Eddie closes his locker turning to her, "I don't know. I actually have no idea. I just did it. It felt natural."

He walked out still dazed as a confused look dawns on her face.

"Did what?"

Her phone rings and checks it frowning at the caller.

"Buck?"

She picks up and Buck is absolutely distressed on the other side.

"I dunno what to do it just happened! It was so natural. Kind of weird how natural it was though. Shouldn't there be some sort of fanfare?"

Hen stand up, "Slow down Buck I have no idea what's going on. Now what happened?"

"Eddie kissed me as he left this morning."

"He WHAT?!"

She looked up at Eddie who was climbing to the second floor waving at the others.

"Give me a minute."

"Yeah, I dunno what to do. He was like see you later Evan. Bam! Kiss. Gone."

The she goes to and confronts Eddie and Chim latches into the gossip that's being told in the locker room.

(i feel like this could be something but i dunno i just wanted to write🤷🏾‍♀️)

[silvercap]

winter is coming, so, may i ask for -

🌨️ Stuck in cold weather - with Leon (but of course not alone)

(anonymously, because - funny thing - i'm still not sure what i'm doing here, knowing nothing about this universe, but enjoying local whump soo much <3 )

I'm glad you're liking it!!!! So sorry this took me forever to write but here you go <333

🌨️ Stuck in Cold Weather

Leon shudders against the icy winter wind, frigid river water trailing down his back and freezing his hair into icicles against his cheek. He stumbles, blinking to clear the haze in his vision as he struggles to keep himself upright. There's a voice in his ear---Chris, he thinks, those familiar warm tones rumbling worriedly at him---but he can't make out what the words are saying, too focused on the fact that he can't quite coordinate his limbs. His thighs feel like they're being pricked with thousands of needles through the heavy fabric of his frozen jeans, the skin alight with a ghostly cold flame. The hood of his drenched winter jacket does little to block the whipping gale as it rips into his cheeks, the muscles of his face as numb and unwieldy as his hands and feet. They feel a bit like elastic bands that haven't been stretched, the resistance of movement made more difficult by the unrelenting cold that digs its way into Leon's very bones.

Time stretches and blurs as he stumbles aimlessly through snowdrifts, a vast expanse of white that flickers and blurs when he tries to make sense of where he is. Does it even matter? Chris says something in his ear and Leon laughs, a bubble of euphoria popping in his chest at the sound of it. God, he loves Chris. Leon turns to look for him and frowns when he can't find him at Leon's shoulder, the heavy winter coat weighing him down when he tries to angle his neck correctly. Speaking of which, it's hot, too, the oppressive fabric trapping the heat so close to Leon's body that he feels like he's drowning in fire. He needs to take it off. Now, before he overheats.

"Chris," he slurs into the air, whatever he'd been about to say disappearing under the relief of cool air when he finally manages to unzip the jacket. He sighs, letting the coat drop. Won't need that anymore, not with how warm he is. The breeze is soothing on his skin, and Leon blinks sleepily, yawning. He's so tired all of a sudden, but something tells him he shouldn't take a break. But why not? His thoughts are washed away by another cold wave of heat, and he stumbles, eyes closing against the dizziness.

"Leon?" Loud voices break through his reverie, and Leon blinks hazily awake to find himself on his back, Chris's face hovering above him. His eyes are wide, and Leon frowns.

"What's wrong?" he tries to ask, but it comes out in a mumble. He can't move his arms. Someone else is talking, a steady stream of jumbling syllables he can't make sense of, and Leon groans. What the hell is happening? Something heavy wraps around him, the world dissolving into a blank expanse of white. He finds himself looking at the underside of Chris's unshaven jaw a moment later, his familiar dark hair tucked under a wool hat and the hood of a fluffy parka. It makes him look like a teddy bear, and Leon laughs.

"You're okay," Chris murmurs, glancing down with glassy eyes, and Leon does his best to smile. "We're gonna get you out of here, okay? Try to stay awake."

"Y'look like a---like a bear," Leon tries, but Chris just looks even more concerned. The words seem to float around Leon's head like cartoon stars, bumping the inside of his skull as they flutter away into nothingness. What was he saying? He can't breathe right, chest too tight and so cold it leaves him without air. He groans, and Chris tucks him impossibly closer, the heat of his body burning like ice against Leon's shoulder. Leon laughs. " 's cute."

He blacks out.

[buckleyblueyes]

Okay I loved the last one so if you’re still doing them, buddie + 34? :)

I am still doing these! And I'll keep doing them as long as people send me prompts! I hope you like this, it's sorta emotional and angsty because I love whump!

“You really don’t remember anything?” Maddie asks, concern written all over her face.

Buck squints in the harsh white light of the hospital room, begging his brain to cooperate, to recall the events that led to his current situation, but it’s all too jumbled and foggy to make sense of. “I really don’t.”

“It’s probably for the best,” Chimney says with a small smile. “It was pretty bad. The whole house came down on top of you. You probably dodged some pretty awful nightmares.”

Buck is inclined to agree. It’s not like he needs more trauma. And from the sounds of it, this incident was rough. “You might have a point there, Chim.”

Maddie sighs. “You’ve got to stop ending up in the hospital.”

Buck bristles. “I didn’t choose to have a burning house collapse on me! I was being careful, I swear.” He glances at Eddie, who was there with him. “Back me up, here.”

Eddie looks up, startled, having clearly been lost in his own thoughts. Buck realizes he may be spared the trauma, but Eddie, who pulled his unconscious body out of the rubble, isn’t. “You went back in.”

“For a little girl,” Buck shoots back. “I did my job.” He’s defensive, he knows. But he’s tired from the past couple hours of fretting at the hands of his found family, and he already got an earful from Bobby before he and Hen left. Buck has no interest in rehashing that conversation.

“I know, I know.” Eddie’s hands are shaking. “I just…I was so scared.”

“We all were,” Maddie adds, and Chimney nods. “We love you.”

Buck sniffs. “I love you guys, too. I’m sorry I scared you.”

Chimney’s phone chimes. “That’ll be Ann. We should head home to Jee.”

“Of course,” Buck nods. Maddie gives his hand a squeeze before standing up. “Give her kisses from Uncle Buck for me?”

“Always,” Maddie smiles.

“Heal up, Buck,” Chimney says on their way out.

Once they’re gone, Buck turns to Eddie. “Do you have to get home to Chris?”

Eddie swallows, unable to meet his eye. “No, uh, I called Carla before you woke up and asked her to spend the night.”

Buck blinks twice. “Why?”

“Because, I…” Eddie sighs. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“So, what,” Buck raises an eyebrow. “You’re gonna sleep here?”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, just stares at Buck.

“Oh.” Buck swallows. “Come here.”

Eddie does, moving from the chair in the corner of the room, to the chair right next to the bed. Once he’s seated, Buck reaches out and takes his hand, intertwining their fingers and squeezing hard. “I’m here. I’m okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

Eddie lets out a shaky breath, and seems to relax slightly. “I had to pull you out, Buck. You were barely breathing, I…” He trails off.

“I know, Eddie,” Buck runs his thumb along the back of Eddie’s hand. “I went through the same thing when you were shot.”

Eddie shakes his head. “It’s different now.”

Maybe Buck is on more drugs than he thought. “What do you mean?”

Eddie sighs. “How much do you remember of our shift yesterday? Before the fire?”

Buck blinks twice. “Um. Not a lot. I remember that call with the woman who accidentally hit her husband with the baseball bat...I remember Bobby making dinner..” He closes his eyes, trying to remember more. “I remember...we were in the bunks before we got the call. It was late, but I couldn’t sleep…I had a nightmare...” A memory crashes over him. Eddie on his bunk, trying to coax him back to sleep. Eddie’s hands on him, warm on the skin of his torso. Eddie’s lips, dry and chapped, on his. Oh, fuck. His eyes snap open. “I remember kissing you. Why do I remember kissing you?”

Eddie purses his lips. “Because we kissed, right before the call came in.”

Buck isn’t sure what to do with this information. His mind is so addled with drugs and pain and confusion that all he can say is. “We kissed at work?”

Eddie snorts. “Trust me, I didn’t imagine our first kiss happening like that, either. It just...sort of happened. You were shaking, from the nightmare. And I wanted to comfort you, so I was holding you. And we were so close together, and I just...Couldn’t hold back any longer.”

Buck tightens his grip on Eddie’s hand. “I...First kiss? You want to kiss me again?”

Eddie looks at him like he’s stupid, the same look he flashed after he was shot, when Buck tried to say it should’ve been him. “Of course I want to kiss you again, Evan.”

Buck’s eyes widen at the use of his first name, remembering the last time Eddie used it.

“I love you. I’m in love with you.”

Buck opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“I know this is the wrong time to do this,” Eddie continues. “I had a whole plan for after shift. I was gonna take you home to Christopher, and then once he was asleep, we were gonna talk about the kiss. And then your dumb ass had to be a hero.”

“Eddie--”

“When will you get it?” Eddie’s voice is raw and thick with emotion. “You. Are Not. Expendable. Okay?”

“Okay.” Buck’s voice is barely a whisper. His mind is still reeling, trying to process everything at once. Eddie loves me. Eddie loves me. Eddie loves me. On some level, he already knew. But knowing it and feeling it are two different things. “Okay,” he says again.

“We’ll talk more about what this means, when you’re out of here,” Eddie says firmly. “For now, you should get some rest.”

“I should.” Buck nods.

Eddie leans back in his chair, but doesn’t drop Buck’s hand. “Go to sleep.”

“One thing, though?” Buck forces his eyes to stay open just a little bit longer.

“Yeah, Buck?”

Buck smiles softly. “I love you, too.”

[roseofithaca]

First Strike

One last mini-fic before it’s back to work for me. Inspired by something @cecret-with-c said months ago about if Chris revealing himself had been more intense. It’s been a while since I wrote some whump as well.

What if Chris had done more than punch Eleanor in the face? (Sort of a sequel to Let Me In).

Once again, Michael is grateful that he was given a human suit with such long legs to help him sprint in such far strides. He’s had to do more running than he ever expected to do in the past couple of years and the only time he was ever ‘caught’ was when he willingly gave himself up, not that he counts that time as a loss.

He races across the town, ignoring the heads of the Janet babies who turn in his direction out of vague, programmed curiosity, making his way towards the most dull-looking beige bungalow on the corner. It’s the house of the grandmother no kid ever wanted to visit because all she did was sit in her armchair and forbid laughter while she ranted about the noisy ‘illegals’ living next door.

The door is closed. From the outside, there’s no obvious sign of distress. 

And of course, every resident’s home is made to be sound-proof in the interest of privacy (a feature Tahani pushed on when Janet revealed the ‘surveillance’ feature of Michael’s previous experiment. They weren’t happy about that). It explains why the others are all going about town as normal despite being close enough to hear any sort of ruckus.

He braces himself before rushing forward, finding the door unlocked as he turns the handle.

“Eleanor?” He calls, immediately. 

What awaits him inside is as bad as he predicted, furniture turned aside, a few smashed vases and torn, hideous flowery wallpaper. But at least nothing is on fire. Michael feels that’s always a plus to be counted in most situations.

He stumbles in, almost tripping over the leg of an upturned side-table. 

“Shirt...Eleanor?!” Michael tries again, looking down the hall, the house seeming like a small bull just charged through the place.

“I’m here.”

He follows the dejected voice to the living room, finding her sat on the one half that remains of broken sofa. The tiny bit of relief he feels at first to see her in once piece shatters when she raises her head up from her hands.

An uneven pattern of swollen bruises decorate her face, tearful eyes shining between the puffy lids, blood still dripping from a cut on her lip and to the side of her left eyebrow. There’s marks on her throat, her hands and where her jacket has been torn on her arm as well.

One would think Michael had seen enough beaten up humans in his existence for it to no longer affect him, but the sight of Eleanor in this state cuts deep.

“Shirt...”

She braves the smallest smile; “You should see the other guy.” She then winces, possibly regretting speaking.

“Linda?!” He still can’t believe it. It doesn’t make sense!

He’d been leaving his office to head over to Tahani’s when he’d bumped into a furious Janet, frog-marching a pissed off looking Linda in her grip. Before Michael could ask what the fork she was doing, Janet simply ordered him to get over to Linda’s house, for no other reason than ‘Eleanor is there’. He didn’t need more than that.

It was only after he’d left he smelled the blood on Linda’s hands. Eleanor’s blood. The same that is sprinkled around the room in its destruction and still leaking from her fresh wounds.

“Turns out Linda’s not as boring as we thought.” Eleanor scoffs, raising one of her blackened hands and cringing in further pain; “Fork...”

He puts aside the issue of Linda for a moment as he goes to kneel in front of her.

“Here...” He gently takes her wrists, cradling what looks to be an almost crushed set of fingers, delicately; “It’s okay...”

He snaps his fingers.

Eleanor hisses again, in discomfort more than pain this time, as the bones reset and fuse, her cuts seal up and the bruising settles down, hopefully taking the pain away with it. She lets out a deep sigh, now simply looking pained with exhaustion. 

“Thanks, bud...” 

He stays kneeling before her, eyes full of concern.

“What happened?” He asks, carefully; “Why didn’t Janet do that?”

Eleanor shakes her head, “Y’know what? It’s crazy. I don’t even remember...I just came here, wanting to try again with Linda, see if I could have a talk and understand her...For a few minutes she was just quiet, sitting and sucking on her mints while I did all the talking...And then out of nowhere...she got up and...”

She clenches her fingers on her lap, clenching her jaw to the point Michael hears her teeth grind.

“Take your time.” He tells her; “What did she do?”

“Not she...He.” Eleanor smirks again, annoyed; “Suddenly Linda was speaking in a guy’s voice...Calling me an annoying little bench, raging at me about how he got so sick of having to ‘play nice’ around me, and put up with me, when all he wanted to do whenever I opened my mouth was...Well. You saw for yourself.”

Michael takes a breath. He saw the result. He dreads to imagine what actions the clearly-not-human took to leave Eleanor looking like that.

“I just kinda blacked out, I guess. At first it was almost funny...this little old woman picking her chair up and throwing it at the radio, that was kinda neat. Then he started throwing things at me and I wasn’t ready to get out the way. And then, when I tried to call for Janet...his hands were on me and...” 

It might be more terrifying than the scene he walked in on, to see Eleanor Shellstrop this shaken and struggling to form a sentence. 

He flips the coffee table back upright and slides it close so he can sit and take Eleanor’s healed hands in his. He cages them safely in his own, rubbing them warm.

She laughs again, tears spilling; “Fork, Michael....I dunno what’s wrong with me!”

“You just took ten rounds from a demon, no one is going to judge you for not being yourself.” At least, that’s what he’s assuming. If Linda isn’t a human then angel is also very improbable, which leaves one last option. 

“I’ve dealt with ashholes on Earth trying to cup a feel when I wasn’t interested and I had no trouble handling myself or knowing how to get help. But this...” She trembles in his grip; “I was so....frozen. Like I couldn’t do anything! It was only when I thought he was gonna throw me through the window, I managed to call for Janet. She did offer to fix...” Eleanor gestures to her face; “But I just told her to get that motherforker out and somewhere secure...And I asked for you.”

She...wanted him? That causes a selfish little ball of light to glow inside of him, that he was the first one she wanted, out of the others. 

Then he reminds himself that he’s the only one out of them with magic to heal.

“You said this guy talked about having to put up with you before?”

She nods; “Yeah, I can’t remember if he was in those memories I saw...He might have been at that bar in Canada, I don’t remember. Might be the concussion.”

“Ah...I think I know who Linda might be underneath. I...put you with a lot of demons who posed as your fake soul mate and...one of them kept coming to me with a lot of complaints by the end because he was sick of it. It was only because he had the most handsome skin suit out of them all, he claimed I was being objectifying.” Michael waves off that bit; “His name was Chris.”

If he was working for Shawn to infiltrate them, posing as one of the humans, did he agree to it purely for the chance to finally get to physically hurt Eleanor like he always begged Michael permission for? He feels sick at the idea that he contributed to this in a way. 

“Well I’m glad Chrissy got it out of his system, now I know how guys really feel after having to put up with me.” Eleanor lightly jokes.

“No guy who’s been close to you would ever dream of hurting you like this.” He says that, earnestly.

Even before he changed sides, no matter how crazy Eleanor drove him, no matter how often she foiled his designs, he never wished physical hurt on her. Just to make her miserable by pranks and mind games. Nothing like this.

This was the last thing he ever wanted.

“I’m so sorry, Eleanor.” He brings one of her hands to his lips, “This is my fault.”

“No it’s not, dude.” She says, tired; “I should’ve waited for you to be done at Tahani’s before we checked on Linda...We agreed to do these things together...”

Damn, will he and Janet have to chaperone all the humans now until this is over, in case something else threatens them?

“I’m just pissed that we didn’t see through Linda’s whole boring schtick. Tahani even said something was up with her but I ignored it.” She groans and rubs her head.

“Does it still hurt?” Michael frowns. It shouldn’t do, if he did it right.

Eleanor shakes her head; “No...Not from the fight, just...all of this. I was so sure I could handle it but this...I wasn’t ready for...”

“Blame me. You wouldn’t be in this position if I hadn’t had that break down at the start.” Michael tells her, feeling twisted with guilt.

“You didn’t make me choose to take this on, Michael. Stop it. None of this is on you...I’m just glad you’re here now.”

“Of course.” He gets to his feet and offers her his hand; “C’mon. I think we better call Shawn and tell him we’ve got something of his. And the Judge too while we’re at it.”

Eleanor looks up at him and gives a smile, then a nod, before taking his hand and standing up.

They’re half-way to the door when there’s a sudden tug on his hand.

Michael turns, frowning, seeing Eleanor standing motionless behind him. Her fingers are gripping his with such ferocity, his fingers would probably crunch if he was human, while her shoulders tremble, the smallest wince of panic on her face.

“What is it?” 

Her bottom lip wobbles, her eyes on the ajar pink door; “I...I dunno, I just...I d-don’t wanna go there yet.”

“Eleanor, he’s restrained. Janet’s way stronger than any demon, remember? And I wouldn’t let him touch you agai-.”

“I know that, dude, all right?!” She raises her volume, frustrated; “I don’t need your forking rational argument - I know that he’s all chained up and I’m safe and, whatever, because I’m a sexy badash who doesn’t get scared of anything so, fork you, this isn’t because I’m scared because I’m not! I’m fine! You’re the one who’s scared, I’m just protecting you, got it?! So lay the fork-.”

Once Michael has pulled her into his arms, she shuts up. It’s hard for her to keep babbling once her face is smothered into his chest. He waits for the resistance, to be shoved back, but nothing comes. Instead she stills, before her knees buckle, and her arms slip around his middle to cling to him. He places one hand on her neck and the other on the top of her head, stroking gently.

He just holds her tight for a moment, closing his eyes to stop his senses from seeing all the clear signs in the mess around them of what that deckhead did to her. How there’s a dent on the wall from where she was clearly thrown, or how that particular drop of blood stained on the carpet must have come from a blow to her mouth.

“Michael...Bit too tight, bud, you just fixed these ribs...” Eleanor sniffs against him.

“Sorry, sorry.” He loosens a little, still keeping her close, for as long as she clings to him. He pulls back after another minute to touch her face, searching for those green-blue eyes; “Listen. I know you, remember? No one’s aware of what a badash bench you are more than me, okay? But I also know you’re still human...And humans break, that’s what you guys do, it’s what makes you so amazing. That you can be so spunky even when you’re so stupidly fragile.”

And the more vulnerable they are, such as the small woman in his arms, the more courage they seem to hold to compensate. 

“I know how often you’ve wanted to break down when things got tough but you always had to put up a front to save face. You don’t have to do that with me, remember?” He whispers, softly, his thumb brushing a tear from her face; “You were there for me when I collapsed like a Tahani being told she has to fly economy. You trust me to be still be there for you if you do the same right?”

She sniffs again, nodding.

“It’s not just you, bud. God can’t be seen weeping, can she?” She japes.

With a wave of his hand, the blinds close and the door shuts.

“God can have some privacy. You’ve earned it.” Michael smiles at her and brings her back in again, letting her curl into him, one of her hands grabbing at his jacket; “Take as long as you need. I’m sure Janet can have fun with Chris while he waits for us. Make him sweat. We’ll go when you’re ready.”

Perhaps he’ll ask Janet to have some ‘time alone’ in a quiet room with Chris, even after they’ve called Shawn and the Judge. He might not be Chris’ boss anymore but he still feels the need to offer some ‘managerial feedback’. Which is a euphemism, by the way, he plans on eviscerating the forknut.

He hears the smallest hum.

“Thanks, bud. I dunno what I’d do without you.” Eleanor whispers, still shaky, clinging onto him; “We should’ve known they’d be too dumb to use something like a Michael-suit and instead they pull a stunt like this that gives them away. Forking idiots.”

He chuckles with her, resting his cheek on her head as he keeps her close.

“They’re no match for us. Say it with me...We’ve got this.”

“That’s my line.”

“Our line.” He jostles her a little, delighted by the sound of her laughter, more so when she smiles up at him, that fire slowly starting to ignite in her eyes again. 

Michael moves a strand of her hair away before planting a kiss on her forehead. Only fair, as she kissed his cheek last time, and it had felt...oddly pleasant. 

She sighs, “Fine. We’ve got this.”

He looks down at her, feeling ready to burst with admiration. There she is. Eleanor Shellstrop. Holding it together after taking a pummelling from an immortal being. 

Unstoppable, as always. 

Better luck next time, Shawn, old pal. But try to lay a finger his humans again and there will be Here to pay.

[repulsivepangolin7]

Fic: 31 days of whump (15/31)

Word count: 2 295

It wasn’t often that anything caused Robert Hicks to flinch, but when Luca slammed one of his massive fists into the concrete wall, his knees almost escaped from under him.

“HEY!” Hondo barked, “Don’t break the wall. -Or your hand.”

“HE’S BEEN MISSING FOR THREE DAYS!” Luca pretty much yelled.

“We know…” Hicks nodded.

“It’s getting WORSE by the hour!” Luca growled, gingerly rubbing the knuckles of his right hand, “It’s already INCREDIBLY BAD!”

Hicks nodded and glanced down at the hand Luca held by his hip. Blood was trickling from a gashes running across two of his knuckles and dripping onto the floor.

“We’ll find him.” Hondo took a slow breath, “But only if we all keep our heads on our shoulders. Panicking or hitting walls won’t help any of us, least of all Deacon.”

Luca nodded, obviously grinding his teeth to keep a lid on everything.

 SWATSWATSWAT

 The room was pitch black. The guys who held him hostage obviously knew a thing or two about how to break someone mentally.

There weren’t any obvious sounds from the outside coming in. It was almost silent enough for him to hear his own heart beating.

He had been sitting in darkness for hours, or days. He wasn’t sure. He had lost all track of time, if it was Thursday or Monday, he had no way of knowing.

His capturers had to have some sort of infrared camera set on him, because every time he was about to doze off, the room filled with the most intruding works of Mozart and Beethoven, and the like, at an alarmingly high volume.

Being jerked out of almost falling asleep by the most aggressive part of an already aggressive classical piece didn’t have any charm. Especially since it caused him to jostle his leg every time he bolted awake.

It was like standing in the pit of an AC/DC concert, only the music was from Strauss, Vivaldi, Tchaikovsky, Verdi and Orff. And only with the obnoxious loud and screaming parts, whoever was holding him there was skipping all the mellow and mild parts in between.

If he ever made it out of whatever dungeon he was in, he would never even consider listening to another classical piece ever again.

-Of course he would make it out. He had the best cops in town looking for him. Just because they hadn’t found him yet, didn’t mean they wouldn’t. And he was willing to bet that he hadn’t been away as long as it felt like anyway.

He reached up to check the stubble on his face, and hung his head. The area where he usually trimmed off his facial hair was sporting enough fresh stubbles to let him assume he had been gone about three days, maybe even four. Not that far away from what it felt like.

Oh, how he missed Annie and the kids. Being away from them for long stretches of time due to work was hard enough. This, this was torture.

 SWATSWATSWAT

 “Please, please tell me he’s going to be alright!” Annie muttered into her hands. Years of being a SWAT-wife was the only thing that kept her from losing it all completely, “Please…”

Chris sat next to her, one hand rubbing circles on her shoulder.

“Sorry. I know you can’t do that.” Annie shook her head.

“You’re right.” Chris offered up an apologetic look, “But we’re doing everything we can to locate him. And Deacon’s one tough guy.”

Annie nodded, choking a sob. “I’m scared. What if I lose him?”

Just the thought of that was like a punch in the gut. Chris almost felt ill just thinking about it like a hypothetical situation. “I don’t think he’d like to know that you’re thinking like that, but I get it.”

Annie sniffled hard, “You’re right. He wouldn’t.”

“We’re doing everything we can to bring him back home safely. And you can bet he’s doing the same.”

Annie nodded.

 SWATSWATSWAT

 Sitting directly on a concrete floor for a prolonged time wasn’t comfortable for anyone. Sitting directly on a concrete floor, with a broken thigh or knee, was definitely NOT comfortable.

And laying down would only cause the music to start up again.

He was tired. He was in pain. He was hungry.

He got food, just not enough to feel satisfied.

All in all, he had been pretty lucky. He had been tossed down a flight of stairs as they came to the room he was in right now. He could just as easily have broken his neck in the fall. He wasn’t able to overpower anyone, or run away, but he was alive.

He was tired enough to pass out. He had to get some sleep one way or another. He tried adjusting his position a bit, only to have his lower thigh and knee protest loudly.

He managed to shift enough to lean his head back against the wall though.

 SWATSWATSWAT

 The speakers started blaring, but he had gotten a good couple of minutes worth of rest at least. Nowhere near enough to be well rested, but at least he wasn’t tired enough to wonder if he’d start hallucinating at least.

He folded forward and tried to protect his injured leg, which was searing with pain.

Suddenly the door at the top of the stairs was opened, and one of the guys with a ski-mask came in with a paper plate with two dry pieces of bread and some stale marmalade.

“Here. Food.” He said as he pretty much tossed the plate towards Deacon, who had to squint his eyes so that he wouldn’t be blended from the light upstairs. He had been in a really dark place, for a really long time.

He also placed an empty bottle next to Deacon, “You know what that’s for.”

Deacon knew. He had already filled up a couple of bottles just like it.

“My leg’s broken. I need a doctor.” He made a point out of making his voice sound frail and wounded. Hopefully playing on the guy’s feelings.

It certainly didn’t work out the way he hoped for, as the guy gave the outside of his knee a good kick, causing Deacon to double over in pain screaming, before he nodded, “Yeah, broken.”

Deacon made a mental note of not mentioning it again, not before his team came to his rescue. He just hoped it wouldn’t take too long.

 SWATSWATSWAT

 “Guys, I think we just caught a break!” Street declared as he jogged into the room the others were in.

“Yeah?” Hondo looked up expectantly.

“Tan and Chris were out questioning people around where Deacon was grabbed.”

“That’s already been done.”

“Yeah, but no!” Street shook his head, “There were a couple of workers who didn’t work during the weekend. Tan got the idea that maybe since the officers who went on a questioning round there went at Saturday, maybe someone got overlooked.”

“Yeah?” a hopeful smile decorated Luca’s face, “Did they get any new information?”

“Yeah. A barista saw a black van squeal away, but didn’t think enough of it to call it in. But she wrote down the registration number.”

“They probably ditched the car as soon as they got a few blocks away…” Luca frowned.

Street nodded, “But there’s more!”

“Well, don’t hold it back then!”

“A regular at the bakery further down the street saw the whole deal.” Street grinned, “Deacon managed to pull the ski-mask off one of his assailants. The regular said the guy looked like a modernized mix of Frank Sinatra and Aaron Rodgers. He’s sitting down with a sketch artist.”

“Okay, so if we’re lucky, some of that might help us, right?” Luca nodded, “Mix between Sinatra and Aaron Rodgers? Dude must be pretty weird looking.”

 SWATSWATSWAT

 “Damn, that guy looks exactly like what the witness said.” Hondo said tilting his head.

Luca nodded energetically, now rubbing at his bandaged right hand. “Sure does.”

“And he lives less than three blocks from where the van was stolen.” Hondo added.

“Let’s learn a bit more about this guy…” Luca nodded, “What he does for a living, if he has any other property… Motives?”

Street nodded.

 SWATSWATSWAT

 He didn’t know how much time had passed in total when he actually heard something from upstairs. Some kind of stun grenade going off. Followed by a few sets of yells, before a few pops from something that could be anything between a handgun and a semiautomatic rifle.

He had now idea how soundproof the room was in reality. He just knew that he hadn’t heard anything from the outside in a long time.

Not long after the door at the top of the stairs opened again.

“DEKE! You in here?” He had never been happier to hear Luca’s voice, never.

“YEAH!” he yelled back, “Yeah, I’m down here!”

The lights came on, and he flinched from the sudden sensory overload. Which was followed by a second sensory overload, signed his leg. Which again caused him to cry out.

“Are you hurt?” Luca asked as he pretty much ran down the stairs.

He nodded, “My leg. Can’t move it without causing myself pain.”

“Broken?”

“Think so…” Deacon nodded, keeping his eyes closed.

“Is your head hurt? Or does your eyes hurt? Why are you keeping them closed?”

“Light has been off since I got here.” Deacon winced, “Light hurts.”

“Alright. Alright…” Luca nodded and called his findings through over the radio, before he returned his attention to Deacon, “Do you want to try to hobble out of here now, or wait for the ambulance?”

“No, get me out of this torture chamber.” Deacon gritted out as he tried to get up to no avail. Only thing he accomplished was to cause himself more pain.

“Hey, sit tight. I’m going to get one of the others to come down here and help…”

Deacon nodded.

Luca left the same way he had come in, and Deacon was left trying to get used to the light.

A few minutes later he came back with Tan.

“Good to see you, Deke!” Tan grinned as he reached Deacon.

“Right back at you guys.” Deacon winced, “Now, can you help me up?”

“Alrigh, yeah.” Tan nodded, squatting down ready to help.

“His leg is really painful.” Luca warned, “We might have to abort mission.”

“No. I can take it.” Deacon gritted out.

Luca rolled his eyes a little towards Tan, hoping that he would catch on that Deacon might be wrong about that.

“Alright, on three?” Tan prompted, the two others nodded, “One, two, THREE!”

Luca had been right, and Deacon went limp in their arms.

“Down.” Luca ordered, and Tan followed.

“He literally passed out.” Tan frowned.

Luca nodded, “He’s been gone since Friday, and judging by the paper plates here, he’s only eaten two times in three days. And we’re not sure if he’s gotten anything to drink.”

Tan nodded,

“You should’ve seen how bad it seemed to be hurting when he flinched earlier, and then again when he tried to shift his position to get up.” Luca shook his head, “We can try to splint his legs together and carry him out if he doesn’t come around straight away.”

Tan nodded. “We can use a rifle and a few belts.”

Luca looked around quickly, “OR, we could beat apart that shelf over there.”

Tan nodded, “That’s probably better than splinting anything with a rifle.”

Luca nodded.

 SWATSWATSWAT

 He woke up once inside the ambulance, on his way to the hospital, but fatigue got the better of him and the lights went out once more.

 SWATSWATSWAT

 The next time he actually noticed that he was awake, he was in a hospital bed with EVERYONE he loved around him.

Annie, the kids, the team. They were all there.

They all greeted him when they noticed he was awake. The youngest kids tried to climb into his bed to get proper hugs, and ended up being helped into the bed by Annie and Luca. The two oldest managed to hug him from outside the bed.

“How are you feeling?” Annie asked, not long after he had woken up.

“Like I could sleep for a month.” he yawned.

“Dude, you’ve already slept since Monday…” Luca chuckled and worked his hands against each other, wincing as the swollen knuckles on his right hand disagreed under the wrap he had over it.

“Which day is it?”

“Tuesday. Evening.” Luca explained, “You almost slept through being prepped for surgery as well.”

“What happened to your hand?” Deacon frowned.

“He punched a wall.” Hicks filled in, his expression the exact opposite of amused.

“Yeah, and then I punched…” Luca bit his lip, “Then I collapsed the nose of one of those guys.”

Deacon almost laughed, “Well, thanks for getting my revenge in.”

“Pleasure was all mine.” Luca winked.

“Yeah, and… Can you move the fingers of that hand, or…?” Chris asked as she gave him a side-eyed glance.

“I’m pulling at the stitches if I do…” Luca tried to shrug it off.

“I’m blaming the wall.” Hicks smirked this time around.

Deacon chuckled a little, “Yeah, I’d blame the wall as well.”

“How does your leg feel?” Hondo asked.

Deacon glanced down at the cast on his lower leg. Then he shifted the covers to reveal that it spanned all the way up his thigh as well.

“It’s not good. But…” he shrugged, “It’s way better than it was.”

“That’s good.” Hondo nodded.

Deacon nodded and looked over at Annie apologetically, “Going to be a proper couch potato for a while though.”

“As long as you’re at home and safe…” she winked back, “You really had us all scared.”

“I’m sorry, there was nothing I could do…”

“I know…” Annie nodded, “I know.”

[killian-whump]

Non-OUAT Whumpers

Most of the whump collected on this blog takes place on the show Once Upon a Time. The Whumpers responsible for these incidents are collected on this blog’s Official Whumpers Page for your amusement.

However, this blog also collects whump from Colin’s other work, as well as humorous “bestings” from real life when appropriate. Those “whumpers” will be collected on this post, also for your amusement ;)

Incidentally, while the Official Whumpers List is listed by character names, this list is organized by the name of the actor/actress playing the role. There’s no reason for this, other than it amuses me.

Amy Huberman Irish actress. Played Conor’s friend Daisy in The Clinic. Entirely angsty bestings here, as Daisy is the cause of a lot of Conor’s emotional upheavals throughout his time on the show.

Anthony Hopkins Academy Award winning actor. Played Father Lucas in The Rite. All kinds of whump here. Father Lucas brings about angst, delivers lectures, manhandles him, attempts to possess, and even throws Michael Kovak across the room.

Antonia Campbell-Hughes Irish actress. Played Shelley in Storage 24. Shelley doesn’t really do much to Mark throughout this film, but near the end, after everything he’s done to his friends... she gives him a sound slap.

Bad Fashion Choices Let’s be real, it’s mostly just that fucking shirt. This one also has a lot of Killian Jones bestings, as there was the diving suit, the white tuxedo, the Dark One robe that offended him, that hair bow, and various other questionable fashions in that show. There’s also some lovely fandom contributions of Killian/Colin being bested with bad fashion. And, of course, plenty of that buzz cut and that fucking shirt.

Bathroom Fixtures Seen in every bathroom in every home around the world. Usually, bathroom fixtures are useful. Sometimes, not so much.

Bel Powley English actress. Played Carrie Pilby in the movie of the same name. Carrie doesn’t really whump Professor Harrison, but near the end of the film, she does bring her father over to his house - and the two of them invade his home, her father punches him in the face, and Carrie mocks him.

Berserkers A crazy band of murderers found in What Still Remains. The Berserkers are at war with Peter’s commune in the film, and near the end of it, they attack and annihilate the commune entirely, burning it to the ground.

Bikers Random ruffians found in 2004′s Love Is the Drug. LITD’s Peter goes up against some badass biker dudes to defend the guy his sister’s with. It doesn’t go well, and he gets punched in the face. As usual.

Camera Angles Found in everything, everywhere. Stupid cameras. Let’s be real, though. It’s mostly just me bitching about leaves.

Cats Adorable furry creatures. Showed up en masse in The Rite. “Make sure they don’t come in,” Lucas said. Spoiler: They all got in.

Chris Carmack American actor. Played Nora’s boyfriend David in The Dust Storm. Near the end of the film, David confronts Nora and Brennan in a bar and punches Brennan in the face, resulting in a pretty big bruise.

Chris Ellis American actor. Played Harvey in What Still Remains. Harvey seems, at first, to be a harmless old man cooking over a campfire in the middle of the day. Unfortunately, his innocent demeanor lures Anna right in - and once she and Peter are close enough, they’re ambushed.

Colin O’Donoghue I think we all know who this guy is. This tag’s not for him getting bested... it’s for when HE bests US.

Cops Police officers. Seen in many films and TV shows. This tag includes some Once Upon a Time whump, but also has Conor Elliott’s arrest in The Clinic.

Demons Evil otherworldly beings. Most famously found in The Rite. This tag covers the demonic goings-on in The Rite, as well as some fandom bestings of Killian Jones being possessed or haunted.

Dorothy Cotter Irish actress. Played Laura in the short film, The Euthanizer. Laura is Ben’s beloved girlfriend, who has left him for unstated reasons. Ben is completely heartbroken by the loss, and turns to suicide.

Feels Seen: Everywhere, in everything. This tag encompasses all those moments when Colin’s character is overcome by emotion - including when that character is Killian Jones.

Finbar Lynch Irish actor. Played Terry in 2005′s Proof 2. The moment is very brief, but Terry does a wonderful job of grabbing Jamie by the lapels and manhandling him.

Frogs More animals, spotted in 2011′s The Rite, besting Michael Kovak. You’ve gotta be fucking kidding him.

Gary Lydon British actor. Played Dr. Patrick Murray on The Clinic. Patrick Murray was Conor Elliott’s therapist, and his poor handling of Conor (and Conor’s condition) contributed to the emotional breakdown that led to Conor setting himself on fire.

Gabriel Byrne Well-known Irish actor. Played Carrie’s father in Carrie Pilby. Carrie’s father invades Professor Harrison’s home and eventually punches him right in the face. In an interview about the film, Colin said, “Who doesn’t want to be punched in the face by Gabriel Byrne?” Indeed.

Giant Alien Monsters Giant. Alien. Monstrous. Starred in 2011′s Storage 24. One thing you can say about these things... they have good taste.

Jeff Kober American actor. Played Zack in What Still Remains. Zack doesn’t whump Peter at all within the film, but as the main driving force behind Peter’s warped world view and the man who orchestrated the abusive environment Peter grew up in, he is instrumental in the trauma that made Peter into the mal-adjusted psycho he undoubtedly is.

Jennifer Morrison American actress. Played Emma Swan in Once Upon a Time. She and Colin like to tease each other at conventions. “By teasing each other, we mean that Jen teases me, is what happens.” We got you, Col.

Josh Dallas American actor. Played Prince Charming in Once Upon a Time. O’Dallas is love. O’Dallas is life.

Keith McErlean Irish actor. Played Dr. Adam in Season 5 of The Clinic. Dr. Adam was Daisy’s boyfriend in Season 5. Conor and Dr. Adam didn’t get along very well, causing much angst... and eventually a blow-up that resulted in some physical aggression.

Kristen Gutoskie Canadian actress. Played Nora in 2016′s The Dust Storm. Brennan’s feelings for Nora (and Nora’s rather unhealthy ways of dealing with her own emotions) cause a lot of conflict and angst throughout the film. She also inflicts physical harm on Brennan near the end of the film, when she burns his arm with a cigarette.

Lana Parrilla American actress. Played Regina Mills in Once Upon a Time. Only adorable bestings need apply <3

Lee Arenberg’s Acting Choices American actor. Played Grumpy in Once Upon a Time. What was he even doing, tho? And why? And what?

Lesley Conroy Irish actress. Played Mandy in the 2003 short film, Call Girl. Mandy comes to Brendan’s house, she makes him nervous, they have sex, she argues with him, she pushes him... umm, yadda yadda yadda?

Lulu Antariksa American actress. Played Anna in What Still Remains. Anna spends more of this film getting whumped by Peter than whumping him, to be honest, but when she does get her whump in... it’s the fatal kind.

Marta Gastini Italian actress. Played Rosaria in 2011′s The Rite. Rosaria is a young woman who is possessed by a demon. Her behavior during a routine exorcism unnerves Michael in the beginning, but eventually escalates to an all-out physical attack where she tries to strangle him.

Mimi Rogers American actress. Played Judith in What Still Remains. Aside from a few awkward hugs and exchanges in the film, Judith doesn’t actually whump Peter on screen. So why is she here? The film hints at long-term sexual and emotional abuse that Peter suffered at the hands of Judith and her husband Zack - abuse that surely shaped Peter into the psycho he is, and a dynamic that adds depth to those awkward encounters.

Noel Clarke British actor. Played Charlie in Storage 24. Charlie is Mark’s best friend when the film begins, though he’s arguably less so as the film progresses and Charlie finds out Mark’s been sleeping with his girl and is the reason said girl broke up with him. There’s an accidental nut-crunch in the beginning, a fight when the betrayal is discovered, and a punch right in the kisser later on.

Others Everyone and Anyone NOT listed here or on the Once Whumpers list. That means everyone. Even you, if you play your cards right.

Pay Phones Apparently, they still had them in Ireland in 2009. In The Euthanizer, Ben has a bit of trouble with one of these.

Robert Carlyle Scottish actor. Played Rumplestiltskin in Once Upon a Time. Full honesty - this is mostly just endless references to that blooper.

Rose Reynolds English actress. Played Alice Jones on Once Upon a Time. Rose and Colin are amazing together <3 Their bestings are the best!

Rutger Hauer Dutch actor. Played Michael Kovak’s father, Istvan, in The Rite. There’s not really much besting shown in the film, but the man made his son Michael help embalm his own mother. If that’s not a fucking besting, I really don’t know what would be.

Sarah Bolger Irish actress. Played Princess Mary in The Tudors. You likely recognize this actress’s name from her role in Once Upon a Time as Princess Aurora, but what lands her on this list is her role as Mary in The Tudors - where she allegedly steps on Duke Phillip’s foot.

The Crew Assorted crew members of assorted projects, including OUAT. ...because everyone likes to tease Colin. It’s an international pastime!

Tobias Jelinek American actor. Played Phillip in What Still Remains. The dystopian world of this film lends itself well to random whumpings from complete strangers. Phillip is one of two men who Anna and Peter run into on their journey who attempt to rob them.

Tommy O’Neill Irish actor. Played the Euthanizer in the short film of the same name. The Euthanizer is originally hired by Ben to help him hang himself... but when Ben changes his mind and decides to live, things turn even whumpier!

This list was last updated on February 5, 2019.

[misscrazyfangirl321]

Winter Whumperland Fic

Hello, @ouchthatwasgood ! I was your whumpy Secret Santa! I’m really sorry about the delay on this story. As promised, the explanation, which you are free to skip if you like:

When I first discovered the whump community, I was ecstatic. It seemed like an amazing community, and don’t get me wrong: It is. But I dove in headfirst, signing up for the whump exchange relatively quickly. Then, I began to realize a few things: 

1. I strongly prefer emotional whump to physical whump. In fact, I basically only enjoy physical whump inasmuch as it causes emotional whump. 

2. I much prefer reading whump to writing it. On the best of days, I don’t have the heart to write the intensely painful physical whump. On the worst of days, I don’t have the stomach for it. Reading it is different, but writing it, for some reason, is difficult and draining. 

These things said, I have written something, but it focuses strongly on the emotional aspects of whump. I’m afraid the physical whump in minimal, because I tried several times, but hated each attempt I made more than the last. Finally, I decided to write something I liked, and hope that you liked it too. I probably should have asked for a pinch-hitter, but I have an unfortunate stubborn streak. I hope you enjoy this, even if it wasn’t exactly what you were expecting. 

Now, with all that out of the way, let’s get to the fic!

Title: Worry Is Illogical

Rating: G

Genre: Hurt/comfort, Friendship, Family

Summary: In which Spock is injured, but his family is there, and sometimes, it’s okay to be illogical. 

Disclaimer: Not mine. Even the Vulcan words came from a Vulcan language website. 

Story under the cut.

---

Any of them would have done it.

They all would have made the same choice, without hesitation.

That was the kind of loyalty found aboard the Enterprise: relentless, unquestionable, even unto death if need be.

Maybe the loyalty was spread throughout Starfleet, but in all his life, Leonard McCoy had never seen it as fierce as it was aboard Captain Kirk’s ship. It wasn’t hard to understand why, either; as he’d once heard Spock say, Kirk was the kind of man to stand between a dragon and a child with nothing but a pointed stick, and yell until the dragon went away. Thankfully, he did have a fair amount of luck, (something Spock would never admit,) because otherwise, he would have been dead a hundred times over.

His luck was bound to run out sometime, and Leonard was sure that everyone aboard the Enterprise knew it. He also knew he wasn’t the only one willing to step in when the day came. Almost anyone onboard the ship would have taken a hit for Kirk without question.

But it wasn’t supposed to be Spock.

He could practically hear the Vulcan in his mind, calling his emotions “illogical… As the one who spends the most time with the Captain, I was significantly more likely to be in this situation.”

Thing was, he wasn’t here, so he didn’t get to call Leonard “illogical.” Stupid as it seemed, he would have given anything to hear that judgmental tone about then.

It was pure human luck that Spock was still alive, because if the bullet had been an inch to the right, it would have pierced his heart. A wound that would have been unpleasant, but barely threatening, for anyone else, could have killed Spock instantly, and he still wasn’t out of the woods. If surgery went poorly…. Leonard wasn’t too proud to admit that the thought terrified him.

A bullet, of all things. Not a beam from a phaser, but an old-fashioned bullet, fired from a handgun. Where the aliens had even gotten it, he wasn’t sure. Not that it mattered, but it was something to keep his mind occupied. The Favolian healers hand insisted on treating Spock, refusing to let Leonard into the room, and Kirk didn’t exactly have a choice. In the interest of maintaining peaceful relations and securing a treaty, he agreed.

The would-be assassin had yet to turn up, and they had several crew members out looking for him, but Kirk stayed, along with Leonard. For them, there was no other choice. Lieutenant Uhura was on her way, along with Christine Chapel. Kirk had insisted it wasn’t necessary, but Uhura had firmly insisted that it was. Not many people defied Kirk and won, but the Lieutenant held a stubborn fire unlike any he’d ever seen. They’d agreed to beam down outside of the hospital, at the request of the beings on the planet, but they’d be there soon. Not much time for him to do something, if he wanted.

“How are you holding up, Jim?” It was a ridiculous question. For the fifth time in as many minutes, the captain paced the room, hands clasped tightly together. His eyes were dark and weary, as if he hadn’t slept in days. If Leonard looked closely, he could even see a red rim to them, but out of courtesy, he didn’t look. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t shed a tear or two himself.

Jim laughed, empty and humorless, and shrugged. “How do you think?”

He knew Kirk wouldn’t believe him, but he needed to say it anyway. “You can’t blame yourself, Jim.” At the dismissive look that received, he added, “You can’t! Are you telling me you wouldn’t have done the same thing for him?”

Kirk didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. Of course he would have taken a bullet for Spock. Without hesitation. Just like Leonard would have. But that’s not what happened. “He wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.”

He realized the error of the words seconds too late, but by Kirk’s grimace, it was definitely an error. “Already speaking of him in past tense, doctor? Is it that bad?”

The thing was, it wasn’t. It shouldn’t have been. If they could have taken him back to the Enterprise, this kind of injury wouldn’t have even been on Leonard’s radar. There was no question he could treat it. But the Fovalians… He hadn’t been able to get a good look at their facilities, their equipment, or their medications. He had no way of knowing what they were capable of, or if they could save Spock. “Jim, I….”

“How is he?” The familiar voice of Christine Chapel broke in, and the moment was over. Kirk’s Captain Façade fell on like a second skin, and Leonard tried to match it. Christine and Uhura were frantic, scanning the room as if they expected to see Spock lying in the corner somewhere.

“We don’t know yet,” Kirk answered, voice deceptively calm, “but the Favolians are doing everything they can for him.”

Chapel scowled. “Why aren’t we doing everything we can do for him? He would be fine if we could just-“

“Nurse.” Kirk cut in, a hint of warning in his tone, and the younger woman pressed her lips together tightly, fire in her eyes.

“I’m with you, Chris,” Leonard admitted quietly, “but we’ve gotta follow the chain of command. Spock knew the risks, but he made his choice, and Starfleet wants this treaty to go through.”

Unlike Kirk, the women made no effort to hide the fact that they had been crying, although Uhura was surprisingly calm at the moment. Chapel, on the other hand, still had tears trickling down her cheeks. He moved instinctively, wrapping his arms around her, and she buried her face in his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Kirk following suit with Uhura, though she didn’t linger as long as Christine did.

“Have we heard anything?” The lieutenant asked, wiping a stray tear from the corner of her eye.

Just as Leonard was about to reply with a negative, the door to the small room opened once more, and a Favolian walked in. “Your friend will live,” he announced, and even Kirk didn’t resist a sigh of relief, “but he needs rest. You may go and see him, but be quiet. He is asleep.”

“Lead the way, doctor,” Kirk ordered-not requested, but ordered, in his firmest captain tone-and the doctor nodded.

“Follow me.” They filed out of the room, down a narrow hallway, into a room that closely resembled the sickbay of the ship. Comforting, Leonard mused. They seemed to be somewhat modern, in any case. Maybe they knew what they were doing after all. Of course they did. They were an advanced society. To think otherwise would be... Illogical. Shut up, Spock, he thought, and he could have sworn he heard a smug I’m not actually speaking, doctor, in response.

There were four chairs scattered around the room, and they each grabbed one, pulling it up to Spock’s bedside. Kirk took the one closest to Spock’s left side, Christine took the mirroring one on the right, and Uhura and Leonard took up the seats by his feet.

With a final warning to stay quiet, the doctor slipped out, giving them much-needed privacy.

For a long moment, they all sat in silence, taking in Spock’s sleeping form. He was pale, even more than usual, but otherwise, he looked none the worse for wear. Leonard suspected that he would have his fair share of pain when he woke, but for the moment, he looked almost peaceful.

Christine reached out toward the sleeping Vulcan, but hesitated, hand hovering in the air. Spock was firm about his personal space, but Leonard wouldn’t have faulted her for ignoring that, just the once. A little physical reassurance that Spock was still alive? He wouldn’t mind that himself. In the end, she lowered her hand, not onto his, but onto the bed right beside him. Close enough to touch, but not quite doing so. She glanced around the room, half defiant, as if she expected judgment, but when she found none, she relaxed.  

“Surely, you all have far more productive things you could be doing,” a familiar voice cut in. They all turned in unison, and stifled chuckles filled the room. Spock was staring back at them, mildly curious but otherwise unbothered. “What are you all doing here?”

“We were worried about you, you ridiculous Vulcan!” Chapel snapped, and he turned his head toward her. His eyes lingered on her hand, so close to his, but only raised his eyebrow, not bothering to move away.

“Worry is illogical, Miss Chapel. It does not aid the healing process.”

She stared back, mouth agape, struggling to come up with some sort of retort. Kirk cleared his throat, answering for all of them. “Yes, well, humans are illogical, Spock. You know this. And when someone we care about is in danger, we worry.”

“I’ve noticed that, Captain,” the Vulcan agreed, turning his attention to Kirk, “and I cannot understand it.”

A snort escaped before Leonard could stop it, and suddenly, all eyes were on him. He thought about making an excuse, brushing it off as nerves or such, but there was a definite challenge in Spock’s eyes, and Leonard was never one to back down from a challenge. “Are you saying you weren’t worried when you saw Kirk in the line of fire?”

“I wasn’t.” If Leonard didn’t know better, he’d say Spock sounded indignant. And frankly? He didn’t know better. “I took the necessary actions the situation called for. Worry was not a factor in my actions.”

“About that,” Kirk cut in, tone deceptively light, “we’ve talked about this, Spock. Next time, call out.” It came off as teasing, probably because they had an audience, but Leonard heard the quiet reprimand beneath. Clearly, so did Spock; his closed his eyes briefly, and nodded.

“Apologies, Captain. In the heat of the moment, it slipped my mind.”

A better man would have let it slide without comment. Leonard had never claimed to be a better man. “What went wrong, Spock? Were you too worried?”

The look he received would read impassive to those who didn’t know the Vulcan. Those in the room saw the withering glare. “Of course not, Doctor McCoy. That would have been-“

“Illogical. Right.”

“Precisely.”

Good-natured chuckles filled the room, and Leonard hesitated, studying Spock. At some point, his hand had slipped down to rest on his injury, and his eyes were a touch too strained for Leonard’s liking. Subtle things, but coming from Spock, concerning. “You’re in pain,” he announced, and humor fled the room instantly.

“I did just get shot, Doctor,” Spock pointed out dryly, but Leonard refused to rise to the bait.

“You’re hurting, Spock! If we could get you back to the ship-“

“You’d give me some concoction to dull my pain and turn my stomach, I have no doubt. But I presume there is a reason I have not been taken to the ship.”

Kirk nodded. “The treaty,” he confirmed softly, but his attention was fixed on Leonard. “Do we need to take him back, McCoy?”

All he had to do was say the word, and Kirk would do it. At this point, he’d throw away the treaty in a heartbeat if Spock was anything less than okay. A part of Leonard just wanted to give in, to make the call and get Spock back to safety, but the professional part of him stilled the urge. “Spock, where’s your pain, on a scale of one to ten?”

If Vulcans sighed, Spock definitely did. (And if they didn’t, he must have been feeling exceptionally human.) “This is unnecessary. I am perfectly fine.”

Unimpressed, Leonard stared back. “You’re in a hospital bed; you’re far from fine. But that’s not what I asked.”

“Answer the man, Spock,” Kirk ordered, leaving no room for argument in his tone. Spock opened his mouth to reply, but Chapel grazed his arm with her fingertips, catching his attention.

“And remember,” She pointed out, “lying is illogical.” Immediately, she drew her hand back, not maintaining the contact. Whether it bothered Spock that she’d done it at all, it was difficult to say.

“So it is. I would rate my pain at approximately a three. I may be experiencing some discomfort, but it is manageable.”

Doubled for stubbornness, so at least a six, Leonard decided, weighing their options. As much as he wanted to do everything in his power to help this man-against all odds, his friend-the treaty was too important to risk. If Spock was managing the pain, waiting was probably their best bet, as much as he hated it. “He’ll be okay, Jim. But if the pain gets worse, he’ll tell us. Right?” The last part was directed quite pointedly at Spock, who gave a perfect imitation of innocence.

“Naturally.”

Kirk seemed unconvinced, but made no move to argue. Instead, he pulled his chair closer to the bed, and the others followed suit. “Alright, but we’re staying here. Scotty can handle diplomacy; we’re needed here.”

“You are not needed here,” Spock insisted, but at the stubborn expressions of his friends, surrendered. “However, your presence is appreciated.” His lips curved up at the edges, in what could almost pass for a smile. The reaction was instantaneous: Kirk’s, Chapel’s, and Uhura’s faces lit up, and Leonard reluctantly admitted to himself that his probably did the same.

Clearing his throat, trying to clear away the turmoil of the day at the same time, he found his stern doctor voice, and scolded, “Aren’t you supposed to be asleep, mister?”

“If I were tired, I would sleep.” Just like a little kid, too stubborn to admit he was exhausted. Maybe Kirk should read him a bedtime story, he mused. The mental picture was enough to startle a laugh from him, and he waved off the curious expressions of the others.

Although, maybe he was onto something. A bedtime story might not work, but even Spock caved to a good lullaby. “Lieutenant Uhura, are you up for singing something?”

She had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the visit, and Leonard wondered briefly if that was the only way she’d kept her composure so well. Still, she smiled at him, knowingly enough that he was sure she got his idea, and nodded. “Of course. Just a moment.” She hummed to herself, getting a tune into her mind, and drew in a breath. “Pen-nil-bek,” she began. “Qual se tu?” As always, her voice was rich and full of emotion, enough to awe even the coldest heart. It took him a moment to register that the words weren’t in English.

Spock blinked once, almost a non-reaction from anyone else, but from him, it was enough to confirm the theory taking shape in the back of Leonard’s mind: she was singing in Vulcan. He may not have been able to understand the words, but the slow, steady pattern made it clear; their resident musician was singing a Vulcan lullaby.

If anyone else tried that, they’d get scolded for being ‘illogical,’ Leonard mused, a half-smile tugging at his lips. But then, no one else could sing quite like Lieutenant Uhura.

“Pen-nil-bek… Qual se tu?”

Chapel leaned back in her seat, her eyes drifting shut. Leonard scanned the room for a spare blanket, but found none, so he slid his jacket off, laying it over her. She opened one eye, smiled at him, and drew it tighter around her.

“Bola utu shom….”

It was getting to him, too. He felt the call of sleep, the call to rest after an exhausting day. He resisted, forcing his eyes open. Until Spock fell asleep, there’s no way he would. No way at all…

“Bolau tu shom….”

But he never heard that, because he’d already given in to sleep.

-

A/N: Pen-nil-bek: Just a moment.

Qual se tu: Is it you?

Bola utu shom: You need to rest.

The best start to a lullaby I could think of in the middle of the night, honestly. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this, even if it wasn’t exactly what you were expecting. Merry Late Christmas, and a Happy New Year!

[recentanimenews]

Bookshelf Briefs 5/22/17

Ace of the Diamond, Vol. 3 | By Yuji Terajima | Kodansha Comics (digital only) – Although the first years finally manage to score in their game against the upperclassmen, victory eludes them. Still, Eijun’s ability to fire up his teammates does not go unnoticed and his performance on the mound sees him promoted to the Junior Varsity squad. He’s not satisfied with the catcher he’s paired up with for practice, though. After attending the first game of the Kanto Tournament and seeing how much better a pitcher Furuya is, he accuses the morose catcher (Chris) of having given up on getting to Varsity, something he will never do. And then after he learns how completely wrong he was, he actually humbles himself and starts seriously trying to learn about baseball. Sniff! Our little shounen hothead is growing up! – Michelle Smith

Anonymous Noise, Vol. 2 | By Ryoko Fukuyama | Viz Media – I am probably liking this a lot more than I should, really. I am far too old to really be drawn in by teen angst, and there’s a lot of soap opera-ish stuff happening here. But I’m a sucker for untrained singers who make up for the lack of training through passion, mostly as it’s the sort of thing that in real life always sounds awful—but on the printed page it’s fine. Nino and Yuzu are drawn to each other in both healthy and unhealthy ways, and when we finally meet Momo again, he’s being just as unhealthy. These are three kids who have hit their teenage years with a whump, and drama is the watchword. But I dunno, something about the writing and characters makes me like this a lot. We’ll see how long it lasts. – Sean Gaffney

Bloom into You, Vol. 2 | By Nakatani Nio | Seven Seas – For parts of this volume, Bloom into You feels like a fairly standard yuri manga. There’s the part where a fellow student council member happens to see Touko and Yuu smooching, and the part where the vice-president clearly thinks she’s the only one Touko needs by her side. But towards the end of the volume, it veers once more into darker and more fascinating territory, as we learn that Touko is so driven to appear perfect due to family pressure to live on in the place of her amazing older sister who died seven years ago. She can’t bear for anyone to love either the real or the fake her, which is why she’s chosen Yuu, who ends up swearing never to fall in love with her even though she privately wishes she could. It’s nice to be reminded what turmoil lurks beneath the pleasant surface! – Michelle Smith

The Full-Time Wife Escapist, Vol. 2 | By Tsunami Umino | Kodansha Comics (digital only) – While there is still a lot of goofy charm in this title, mostly due to Mikuri’s imagination (we get a Les Miz takeoff here, as well as an enka number and some cheerleading chibis), the reality of the arrangement she’s entered into with Hiramasa is starting to fall apart at the seams. It’s really hard to pretend to be married, as there’s a lot of little details you can miss. Plus there’s also house-hunting (but do they really need one?), dental cavities (yes, she really does need a filling but what kind?), and Hiramasa’s growing feelings, which are… not really mirrored all that much by Mikuri, who sometimes seems almost asexual. We’ll see how well the marriage holds up in volume three, as there’s a nasty cliffhanger here. – Sean Gaffney

The Girl from the Other Side: Siúil, a Rún, Vol. 2 | By Nagabe | Seven Seas – The Girl from the Other Side loses just a teensy bit of its luster in this volume by actually trying to provide, or at least hint at, some answers. When Teacher catches an Outsider touching Shiva, he protects her valiantly, over her own protestations. Later, though, they seek out the creature again because it had hinted that it knew the whereabouts of Shiva’s aunt. It doesn’t, but leads them to a giant lake where Teacher encounters a mysterious hole in the ground and hears the Outsiders’ perspective on why the humans are the source of the curse. He doesn’t know what to believe, and meanwhile examines Shiva daily for symptoms. Then those odious humans get involved again and another volume ends with Shiva in peril. This time, Teacher’s seemingly not in a position to protect her. Still bringing the love, sorrow, and loneliness! – Michelle Smith

Haikyu!!, Vol. 11 | By Haruichi Furudate | Viz Media – This volume consists of Karasuno High’s team failing over and over again, trying things that don’t quite work, and getting pissed off with each other. But that’s as it should be, because you can’t stay static if you want to make it to the next level. The author does a very good job of showing a team that’s on the cusp of being great, if they can just pull everything together. And we’re beginning to see it… but it’s not quite there. And this being training camp, they can get advice from other teams, showing off super secret special moves that allow Hinata and company to add new talents to their repertoire. The goal here is to combine volleyball talent and instinct with intelligence. I wonder what will happen next. – Sean Gaffney

Interviews with Monster Girls, Vol. 4 | By Petos | Kodansha Comics – The whole point of this series is to see Takahashi-sensei interact with his demi students and see how they tick, and a lot of this happens outside of the classroom, so the reader may be forgiven for thinking that there are only demis in the school. But there’s lot of normal kids as well, and the charge comes down that Takahashi is not paying enough attention to them. While this is true in a sense, it’s also true that the demis do need more attention than the other students in various ways. What’s more, the “normal” students realize that treating the demis as if they’re just normal students as well may not be the best way to go. The metaphor for disabilities doesn’t always work, but this is still interesting for monster girl fans. – Sean Gaffney

My Hero Academia, Vol. 8 | By Kohei Horikoshi | Viz Media – While Midoriya is the star of this series, it’s very much an ensemble show, and this volume gives us a chance to see the entire class show off their smarts—or not in some cases. Sometimes you have to get over jealousy and dislike, sometimes you need to regain the confidence you once lost, and sometimes you’ve got to rely on your instincts (as well as being in denial about your feelings for the hero). But of course Midoriya is the star, and so a lot of the back half of the volume goes to him, as he’s accosted by Shigaraki, who’s ironically even scarier when he takes the severed hand off his face. In the meantime, more training, more horrible situations designed to make a hero stronger. Also, Mineta is the worst, y’all. – Sean Gaffney

My Neighbor Seki, Vol. 9 | By Takuma Morishige | Vertical Comics – Seki is down to twice a year, but this is still a good solid volume, relying very much on the core plot of My Neighbor Seki—what is he doing this time, and how will Yoroi react? As with volume eight, there seem to be more examples of Seki’s games rebounding on him rather than making trouble for Youko. The best chapters see him working with transparent glue, taking the bear family for a helicopter ride gone horribly wrong, and getting so caught up in roleplaying that he loses himself in the role (twice). Best of all, Yoroi ends up at a sweets shop where Mrs. Seki works, and has to hide the increasingly desperate artwork apologizing for her son’s antics, showing that such tactics do run in the family. – Sean Gaffney

Tokyo Tarareba Girls, Vol. 3 | By Akiko Higashimura | Kodansha Comics (digital only) – This volume made me seriously consider giving up on Tokyo Tarareba Girls. Not because it is bad, but because the three main characters keep making such awful decisions. Koyuki finds out that her married boyfriend lied about being separated from his wife and failed to mention he had kids, but forgives him. Kaori knows she’s not even the only woman on the side for her ex, but she still comes when he calls. They’re both so desperate for someone to be nice to them that they’ll accept something that isn’t real. It’s so depressing! And then there’s Rinko, who botches a big assignment and makes a total lush of herself and UGH. They’re all making their own problems worse and it’s hard to watch. That said, I get creepy vibes from Rinko’s new boyfriend, so will at least have to check out volume four to see what his deal is. – Michelle Smith

By: Michelle Smith

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Could we maybe get a piece where Kauri, Jake and Antoni are spending time together? Maybe all of them cuddling or something?

Takes place at an unspecified time in the future...

He walks into the living room, coming slowly to a stop as he sees Antoni sitting in the dead center of the couch, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, hands over his mouth, thick shaggy hair hanging over his forehead and curling just slightly at his ears. His eyes are on the TV, the blue light of the screen dancing a reflection of the pictures, pale against Antoni's deep warm brown.

Antoni never really watches TV. Not like this.

“You okay?” It’s a simple question, almost rhetorical. He knows how Antoni will respond, because it's how he always responds.

So Jake isn’t prepared at all when Antoni looks up and answers, “No.”

It's only then that Jake realizes that Antoni's eyes are slightly wild, white around the edges. His nails are painted a dark purple but in the dimness of a room lit only by flickering television, they seem almost bloody-black.

"Ant?" Jake steps further into the room, feeling himself tense. The old feeling of they're coming to raid us again is still there, even years later, even in a new house, a new place, with no hint so far that they've been compromised. It doesn't matter.

One raid, one three-day hell of hoping everyone was okay, and Jake has never quite lost the new watchfulness and worry that had followed on its heels.

Kauri is right behind him, a mug of steaming hot chocolate (with more than a few dollops of good whiskey) in each hand. He comes to such an abrupt stop that the liquid nearly sloshes out over the sides. "Jake? Antoni? What's up?"

Antoni swallows. He looks as though he will speak. He pauses again.

There's a war in him that Jake can read as well as any book, and he steps without thinking to sink down next to Antoni on the couch. Kauri looks between them, then sets the hot chocolate hurriedly down on the coffee table and disappears back into the kitchen.

Kauri's never liked conflict, Jake thinks, but winces a little at how the rejection must look to Antoni. How it must feel.

Antoni's eyes are glimmering. Jake is inches away from him but doesn't quite touch. That's not what Antoni wants or needs, nearly always, and Jake never oversteps. Antoni is his friend, but he was first a rescue, and Jake is always aware of that long history. The foggy nightmare of Antoni's life before Jake knew him as a nameless, nervous, trembling new household resident who curled up on his bed to stare out the windows.

"Ant. Talk to me, man." Jake keeps his voice low, unassuming. Not demanding. "Let me know how I can help you right now."

"It is only... o d'yavol... moy mladshiy brat..." Antoni's head drops into his hands.

Jake knows the words, but they make no sense to him in the moment, and his jaw works as he tries to understand. "Little brother... Chris? Is something wrong about Chris?"

"No, not Chrisha. It's just-..."

Kauri reappears. When Jake sees the bottle of vodka he holds, chilled from the freezer, he exhales. Of course.

Kauri sets down a two shot glasses, pours each to the brim with Antoni's personal, perfectly clear vodka bought from a specialty store on the other side of town.

Antoni never looks at him, but downs each shot, one after the other, without hesitation.

"There you go," Kauri murmurs, and settles down on Antoni's other side. "Tell us what's up, Ant. We want to help."

Antoni shakes his head, eyes closed. Then, after another pause, he nods, and gestures at the TV. "Look."

Kauri and Jake turn to see two talking-head news anchors chattering, a chyron running along the bottom the screen about a man arrested, or maybe killed, after being caught breaking into someone's apartment. It doesn't mean anything, not really. He can't even see why it'd be breaking news here in California if some asshole in Washington state decided to rob someone.

Kauri's hand goes out to rest, lightly, on Antoni's shoulder. To Jake's shock, Antoni doesn't tense or pull away - instead, he leans slowly to the side, leaning into the touch. His eyes close again. "Look at who they have found, Jasha. Look at what I have done."

Jake looks again. More importantly, he listens.

"Mikhail Morozov, suspected in the deaths of some two dozen men, killed after an officer-involved incident in Puyallup..."

Kauri's eyebrows furrow a little, in confusion, but Jake understands. He has, after all, been the one who did the majority of the research after Antoni told him, he's the one who knows the most about it.

"That's your brother," He says, softly, and Antoni nods, his expression marked with a misery Jake can't begin to fathom. Misery... and guilt.

"I was meant to protect him," Antoni whispers. "Always I am protecting him. But I was gone. I have been gone so long... he is dead. My brother... I was never home, they do not know, they have two dead sons, they..."

"You're not dead," Kauri says, gently, but Antoni shakes his head almost violently in denial of the words.

"I am not. Artyom is. Two dead sons."

The silence draws slowly out, and the weight of Antoni's words makes the air feel like wading through sludge, taking deep breaths that settle heavy in Jake's lungs.

Kauri's hand slides over Antoni's, and he grips on tight. After a second, Jake takes his other hand. Antoni's fingers are shaking, he can barely hang on, but he tries.

"Two dead sons," Antoni repeats, almost dumbly. The tears he has been so carefully holding back fall as he blinks too quickly, clear trails down each cheek to go with his hitching, uneven breath. His voice begins to tremble, too. "Two dead sons, Jasha. Mama has nothing now. She has no one."

"Ant-"

"She has no one. I am supposed to be protecting Misha always. Now we are both gone. Her heart will b-be broken."

Jake hears what Antoni isn't saying. He thinks Kauri does, too.

"This isn't your fault," Jake says softly, but Antoni doesn't want to hear this, either. "It's not your fault, Ant. You couldn't have known what would happen, that he wouldn't stop-"

"I knew he would not stop," Antoni interrupts. "I am always knowing he will never stop. Always. I was supposed to make-... to keep-... to keep him s-safe-"

"But if you kept him safe, other people died," Kauri says, and brings Antoni's hand to his lips, breathing on those cold fingers to warm them. "I'm so sorry, Ant."

"I should have been there." Antoni's voice shakes so badly his words are barely understandable. "I should have been there for Mama when this happened. I should have... but I have never called, I c-couldn't bear to tell her-... what I have been, what I have d-done, and now-... now, Misha..."

Antoni has not cried in so long, but the tears come now, as he stares at the news anchors speak about the death of the monster that once held his hand to cross the street to go to school.

Jake and Kauri hold him, and to both of them he holds on tight.

-

Tagging: @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @whumpfigure @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @wildfaewhump

[ashintheairlikesnow]

ASH PLEASE MORE RAFAEL I LOVE HIM I WANNA SEE HIM MEET CHRIS AGAIN WHEN HE'S FREE <3 - robinswhump

@robins-whump, here you go! Although this doesn't involve Chris, it is Raf getting a new place to stay

@whumpmasinjuly prompt: Support

CW: Escaped whumpee, touch starvation, references to past noncon/dubcon, internalized victim-blaming

Rafael thinks he preferred the little room behind the bookstore, but they told him he had to move to a real safehouse, some place where he can be to focus on getting better, and here he is.

This room in a new place seems vast, somehow, although it's not even half the size of his masters' room. He clutches an old backpack to his chest, staring around, his dark eyes skimming the small twin-size bed, neatly made-up, a blue blanket on top of plain white sheets, two pillows lined up side by side.

Carpet is somehow both scratchy and soft beneath his sock-covered feet, and he wiggles his toes a little, just to feel it. The masters never had carpet. That's new.

He likes it. It's warm.

"Will I have a roommate?" He asks the man standing just behind him, without turning his head. There's a window, and the bars on it make his heart race a little, even though they talked about it. They're for safety, the neighborhood isn't great. Just for safety.

He has a view of a small tree and a brick wall, the house next door barely far enough away. If he leaned out he feels like he could nearly touch it.

Are the bars to keep people out, or to keep him in?

"Not right away," The man says in response to his question. "You'll need some adjustment time, first."

"Does everyone get a room to themselves at first?"

"Ah... no." He introduced himself as Mr. Martin, the man who runs this safehouse, and his voice is musical, with the slightest hint of a lilt that makes Rafael think he was born somewhere far away from here. "We have to-... well. We have to keep the safety of our others in mind, too, you know? We've had some trouble in the past with... certain designations. Had a few who kept forgetting some things. It's a risk with Romantics."

Rafael closes his eyes, shame briefly twisting inside him. "Of course," He says, and his voice stays perfectly calm. He can sound calm no matter what his heart feels like, it was the first skill he mastered.

"It isn't meant as an insult, and it isn't because I think you'll do anything on purpose," Mr. Martin says. He sounds so kind, as he says the things that cut Rafael to ribbons. "It's only that we've found through experience that certain designations struggle to integrate in with the others. I'll check around for a Romantic-focused or friendlier safehouse that can take you in, but in the meantime you'll have the room to yourself. Won't that be nice?"

Rafael has never slept alone in his memory when he wasn't in training, locked in the white room, light burning through his closed eyelids. Well, then just for the couple of weeks he spent in the bookstore room, but even then he'd known there was a store cat out somewhere walking around at night. This... this is supposed to be what happens until he's ready to get out on his own.

Because he can't be trusted.

Because he's going to fuck anything that moves, right? That's what they do, they can't help themselves, they're all just fucking-

He cuts off the thought and clears his throat. "Yes, sir."

"Please. Just Mr. Martin." The man claps him on the back, in a way he must think is soothing. Rafael instinctively leans back into the touch, only to have Mr. Martin immediately pull his hand away.

"I-I'm sorry." He turns around, raising his eyes to meet Mr. Martin's, looking for some hint of warmth there. He finds it, but it isn't the warmth he knows, the one lined with desire with arrogance and ownership of him. This warmth is... frightening, in the way it's there but distant from him, too. The warmth of someone who doesn't really care that much about him at all. At least not about owning him.

Rafael only knows how to be owned.

"That's quite all right," Mr. Martin soothes, but something tells Raf it really isn't, not at all. Do the others not do this? Is this only a Romantic thing, to need the touch? Maybe he's overthinking this.

He misses the bruises his master and mistress left on him, suddenly, the indentations of their nails and teeth. Those at least told him he was wanted. Someone wanted him. He's not real if no one wants him, he's just a ghost.

No one will want him, now, damaged and used and he remembers what his handler told him. No one can love a pet, not really, except their masters.

And he's run away from his.

He deserves to feel like this, doesn't he?

No one will care about him now. Maybe no one ever did.

Somebody loved you, once. The voice is the man who helped him find his way out, who gave him a plastic feather he still keeps, that he brought with him here, rings through his mind.

He tries to remember the hope he'd felt at those words.

They lie to us all. Somebody loved you.

He pinned everything on the sincerity in the man's voice, in the look in his wide green eyes

Was he wrong?

"I'll give you the night to get used to your new room," Mr. Martin says, gesturing a little to the empty space, the little bed, the blank walls. The barred window. "We have breakfast every morning at 8 am, but you're free to come downstairs whenever you like and just scrounge around until you find something, if you'd prefer. We have lots of cold cereal, hard-boiled eggs, that kind of thing. We do ask that you not begin cooking until we've seen what you can do. Lunch is at 12:30, dinner at 6:30. Again, snack as you need to, absolutely every food that isn't labeled with a name is yours."

Rafael swallows. "I-I can't read, sir."

"Mr. Martin."

"... right. Mr. Martin."

"And I assumed as much, Romantics usually can't. Just check for black marker, and if you see black marker, assume someone's got a name on that, okay?" He smiles, and Rafael smiles back.

Romantics can return a smile even if they're bleeding.

"Yes, s-... Mr. Martin. I understand." His fingers tighten around the nylon of the backpack someone at the bookstore had given him. Everything he has fits in there - some extra clothes, some extra underwear - he's never worn underwear before but he likes it, he likes the added barrier between his skin and the world that would lay its hands on him.

His plastic feather from the man at the museum is in there, he goes to sleep every night rubbing his fingers over the vanes, remembering the way the other man had looked, so insistent on helping him be saved.

He would hate to disappoint him by being bad at freedom when he was so, so good at being a pet.

"Great. Let me know if anyone gives you trouble. We've been working on it, but some of our people can be a little... well, reluctant. There's a lot of bad experiences, you know?"

Bad experiences with people like him. Romantics. Pets that get the good treatment, who know how to arch their back and bite their lip and make their gaze warm and liquid. Pets that sneak and snitch and curry favor and suck up and lay back and-

And have it easy.

It never felt easy. It felt like hell on earth.

Rafael licks at his lips and slowly nods. "I will."

"Perfect. Okay, I'll leave you to it. Remember, breakfast at 8, but seriously - come downstairs and grab some food or something to drink whenever you want. We do timed showers just to make sure nobody fights over them, your shower slot's at 9:30, so... couple hours from now."

He just nods at this. He can read time, he can do that much. The numbers spin a little, get blurry, but he can do it.

Mr. Martin gives him another slight smile and then steps away, walking down the hall. Rafael hears whispers, and feels his cheeks burn as he understands it's the other rescues, and they're probably talking about him.

He knows what they're saying.

The same things the trainees said in his Facility.

Please, it hurts to live like this, I don't like it, I never liked it. Please believe me.

They won't. The others never do.

He closes the door, then turns and looks at his little room, all to himself. He shudders, a horrible loneliness already clawing its way up his throat.

He wants someone to hold him down on the bed and keep him there, to whisper that he's good, to hold his face in their hands and tell him what to do and when. Hell on earth with other people is better than heaven alone.

Assuming this is anything but oblivion.

What if all he did by escaping was make himself no longer exist?

-

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @whump-tr0pes @symphony-of-greys @orchidscript @doveotions aaahhh I can't remember who asked for Rafael

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Seconding the 'mob guys watching over Chris for Paul's suggestion!

CW: References to murder/mob organization stuff, references to parental death, grief, referenced past whump of a minor

Every Tuesday at 9 am, just like clockwork, Sean Malley lumbers into a coffeeshop nestled into the corner of a flat featureless strip mall. Contrasting to the pale concrete nothingness of its surrounding, the little coffeeshop is painted  a warm, rich brown along the exterior, with heavy platers spilling over with purple and yellow flowers every few feet until Sean reaches the door.

It’s a welcome bit of individuality along this ring of small strip malls and larger big-box stores kept out of the city proper by a pile of zoning laws too draconian to fight. He’s been coming here for ten years now, more or less, and has seen the little coffeshop through its earliest days struggling for business right to now, where he feels reasonably certain he’ll be dead long before they close this place for good. 

He moves inside, the light immediately warm and slightly dimmed. The scent in the air of freshly roasted coffee beans and baked goods. The cannolis they sell came from him, Sean’s proud of that - his wife had a favorite recipe and he’d given it to them after she passed, hoping for one batch for the service. They’d just kept making them, having one ready for him when he popped in, and... well, they’ve sold them ever since. Even call them Christa’s Cannolis, handwritten in cursive on a little placard. She’d have been tickled pink, he thinks sometimes, to see it. 

One of his knees comes and goes as it pleases these days, giving his step a bit of a shuffle-scrape. He’s smiling, though, and humming as he goes.

Life is good for Sean Malley, all things considered. 

Truth be told, he hadn't actually expected to live this long. Keeping close to Conor and his family had paid off in the early days - just as his instincts had kept him safe when the Garden erupted in in-fighting, too. When the Clean-Up happened, during the Garden’s most vicious in-fighting, Sean had seen half the men he’d watched start as snot-nosed dumbasses taken out one by one, clearing the way for Conor’s fucking grandson to make his play for power.

Those kids who’d run lookout gigs and then moved on to guard duty or work with the cargo coming in... one by one those kids-turned-adults, with families of their own, had been removed from the picture. Fifteen, all told, a bloodbath stretched out over six months - sixteen, of course, if you count how Paul’s murder went all wrong. 

The one comfort had been watching Conor’s grandson lay the groundwork for his own comeuppance the whole time - promising favors for loyalty and then killing the ones he’d promised those favors to. That’s no way to start yourself as leader, and... well.

Trash had been taken out, in the end. Riley Higgs had gotten rid of the poison - and the poison’s friends - and his crew’s a damn sight better than Conor’s grandson’s people had been. 

Riley, for one thing, understands that an organization like the Garden works, in the end, on trust. On being a family.

Don’t kill your family without a good damn reason, now do you? 

Now Riley... he had a good reason. And Sean had made sure Riley Higgs knew a few very important facts that kept him on the man’s good side, and very much alive when the dust settled.

Even if he had did have to live with a bum knee. And back. And his hip’s started twinging every time it rains...

"Morning, Mr. Malley!" His favorite barista calls out, giving him a wave from behind the counter. She's a pretty thing, just cute as a button. Probably in her late twenties but when you’re as old as Sean is, everyone looks like a child playing pretend. 

Still, it always brings a bit of sun in the old man's day to see her bright pink hair before he ever takes his seat. He always tells her she should move on from here, do something with her life other than serve old men their coffee and watch them while away the hours.

But I like it here, Melody always replies, giving a little shrug of her shoulders. I like our regulars, too. Besides, this place pays better than the job I’d get with my actual degree. 

"G'morning to you, Melody!" He calls back, moving to have a seat in his usual spot, sinking gratefully into the plush armchair by the bookshelf in the corner. His favorite coffee table book, a heavy thing full of photos of World War II, is already laid out on the side table next to it, bookmarked where he’d left off last week. "Busy day, today?"

Melody is already heading his way, coffee in hand just how he likes it, one of Christa’s Cannolis on a small plate in the other. Sean’s doctor has been on him about cutting out sugar, and he’s done it just about everywhere else, but he still has his cannoli on Tuesdays. Christa had been so proud of herself when she’d mastered that recipe... 

"Not really,” Melody says with a shrug, breaking into his thoughts. “Just the usual morning rush and a couple college kids, wandered outside but they left their drinks, I figure they’ll come back. One of 'em looks like he got mauled by a real weak bear."

Sean feigns surprise. "Oh, does he now?" He takes a sip of his coffee and sighs happily. "Not too hot. You had it out already, didn't you?"

"I saw your car pull into the lot," Melody says, giving a little it's nothing gesture. “I knew you’d be in, so I kept an eye out for you.”

"You're a doll, Melody, and this place would be lost without you." He presses the twenty-dollar bill into her hand, and when she protests, he shakes his head, adds another ten, and closes her hand firmly around the cash. "Take it, take it. I'm an old man on my own, who've I got to spend it on, huh?"

"You're not that old, Mr. Malley," Melody sighs, an old song and dance between them. “You’ve got grandkids who could use it, too, you know.”

"Ha! Trust that my grandkids never want for anything, Melody. Besides, live the life I've lived, and sixty feels like eighty-two. Go on, then. Cilly'll be along in a bit."

He sits back to drink his coffee as she heads back behind the counter, watching through the front window the cars that pass along the highway, the scattering of people getting in and out of their own vehicles in the parking lot. It's a perfect, and perfectly normal, Tuesday morning. Just like any other.

A perfectly normal Tuesday where one creature of habit makes it a point to get a quick look at another. 

A flash of red catches his eye, and he frowns, watching a bright red Northern cardinal alight on the bench placed outside the shop, preening one wing briefly and then seeming to look towards the lot.

Sean follows its gaze, silently chastising himself for being so utterly taken by a simple bird, but... Northern cardinals are more or less unheard of around here, especially in the city. This one seems to cock its head in his direction. 

"Someone," He mutters to himself, "is a bit lost."

There's a peal of laughter, as the door opens, the little bell on top chiming to announce them, and there they are.

Two young people walking inside, heads tilted together. One of them has thick, wavy black hair, one of those haircuts the younger people like so much now, shaved on the sides but long on top. The younger guys in the Family wear their hair like that now and then. 

Sean thinks he liked it better when everyone kept things neat and tidy, but times change, and the Garden can't stagnate just because an old timer's got opinions. Riley’s take is he’d rather is people look like they could be anybody anywhere, and Sean has to admit the kind of haircut he’d like to see would stick out like a sore thumb.

Both of them are wearing all black head to toe, the black-haired one in a tank top and baggy pants, a large yellow lightning bolt on a cord settled just below their collarbone. Honestly, if he gets past the hair thing, they’re cute as a button, too.

Really, though, he’s not here because of them.

He’s here to get a good look at the young man walking in beside them. 

It’s funny - it’s been nine - ten? - years since he last saw Paul Higgs alive, the day before he and his sweet Ronnie were gunned down in their own home in the night... but tears still prick at the corners of Sean’s eyes when he see the ghost of Paul in his son’s narrow face.

There’d been a joke when the little one first came into the world, that somehow Paul and Ronnie had put together a child where her genetics simply skipped out entirely. He’d been a little clone of Paulie from the start, and he’s different as a man than he’d been as a child lining toy cars up at their feet in the warehouse on Saturdays when Ronnie needed a break.

Sean pulls his phone out, idly scrolling - his daughter had helped him to get Facebook and a couple other things besides, including some kind of app that had his favorite card games. He pretends now to be fascinated by something he sees, but in truth he pulls his camera up and starts recording.

“It, it, it could change everything,” Paulie’s boy is saying, breathlessly excited, hands moving through the air in a blend of gesture and general happiness. “You see? Everything! Make it, it, it-it safer, make... make things better.”

“I know, I know,” The other one replies, deep voice warm and thick with love, and Sean sighs, missing his Christa now more than ever. He consoles himself with a bite of cannoli. “I already told you I’m in, Chris, okay? I’m going to help you. You don’t have to sell me on it.”

Tristan ducks his head with a shy smile, and boy if he isn’t Paul’s spitting image in that, too. Paulie hadn’t smiled much, not like his kid does - maybe that’s what he got from Ronnie - but in a smile like that, well... you could see where he got it from. If you’d known Paul, of course.

Which the kid didn’t, not anymore.

“It could, um, be dangerous though.” They’re barely audible now as they go back to where they left their still-steaming drinks, sitting down on a nearby couch. “Nat’s worried. And, and, and you know Jake-”

“Chris, you could walk across a crosswalk when the light starts blinking and Jake would still worry about you,” The other one teases. Sean knows their name, but right now it won’t quite come to mind, lingering on the tip of is tongue, never quite landing. “It’ll be public, yeah-”

“Telling everyone who... who, who I am.” Tristan starts tapping his fingers on his pants, a peculiar finger-twist-tap-tap-tap gesture that Sean once knew as well as anyone, when the boy was small. But it’s the words, with a hint of nervousness lining them, that get his attention. “The... the whole world’s going to, to, to to-to-... to... to know about Tristan Higgs.”

Now that gets Sean’s attention. He cuts the video, sends it to Riley, and starts a new one. It takes work not to sit up, or drop his cannoli, or in some other way give himself away. 

He knows, then?

How?

Sean looks down at his phone, looking over the scar on Paul’s boy’s forehead, the only remaining evidence of what had been much more visible the first couple times they’d seen him out after it happened. Sean and Cilly had figured maybe a fight - people get into them, really. Paul wasn’t exactly gentle as a lamb, and why would his boy be?

But now... he wondered. His instincts told him the two were related, and of course he knew from the time they’d worked with WRU pretty closely under the table that those memory things they did sometimes failed. Sean had done a fixer job once for someone whose pet had recovered memories too fast and killed a servant in a panic...

“Oh, Paul,” Sean murmurs. “What’d your boy do, hm?”

“I’m, I’m going to to to t-... to tell everyone who I am,” Paul’s boy is saying, leaning forward and taking the hands of the other one in his own, squeezing them tight. “I’m... will, will, will you come with me? When, when I... so someone’s there?”

“What? Holy shit, Chris, go to the Olympics? With you?” They inhale and exhale, blowing some hair from their eyes, and smile. “You should take someone who knows more than I do about all that stuff, Chris, take Jake, or-”

“Jake has has to stay here. To, to protect the house. But... will you come with me?”

Sean cuts the video, sends it to Riley, and this time adds a message.

Olympics are in Chicago this year. What’s Paul Jr. planning?

He feels eyes on him and glances up to find Tristan looking over at him, an expression of uncertainty on his face. Sean’s been watching him for years, popping up in places, the way you sometimes see the same faces at the corner store, the mom-and-pop, a coffeeshop like this one. Now, he watches Tristan look him over, knowing he’s familiar but not knowing why. Part of him, with a pinprick of an old, old grief, wishes Paul’s little boy would recognize him now. 

Most of him knows it’s better if he doesn’t.

Tristan looks away, and goes back to talking, but his voice lowers and now Sean can’t quite pick up what he’s saying beyond a few scattered words. He gets a couple photos of the lovebirds with their head together, sipping coffee, and sends those on to Riley, too.

Job done, he settles back to finish his cannoli and drink his coffee. Tristan and-... Laken, his name suddenly supplies, only an hour after he’d started trying to remember it - get up and leave, Tristan’s arm around Laken’s waist.

Good for the kid, Sean thinks, with a smile. By this age Paul had an elementary school son running around, but you know, it’s good to take your time on these things, and it’s nice to see that all the shit they’ve had to stand back and watch still wraps up nicely into Paul’s boy living a pretty nice life indeed.

His phone dings just as Cilly enters - right on time at 10, like clockwork - and he glances down to open the message from Riley.

I’ll get one of our guys to look into it. This might give us the out on the business I don’t want to be in I’ve been looking for. Kid looks good, looks like Paul. Family genes run deep.

Sean greets Cilly, even older than him but a sight more spry, and glances out the window. The bird’s gone from the bench, of course. The day is bright and shining.

-

In Laken’s car, they’re halfway back to the house Laken shares with their roommates when Chris suddenly sits straight up. “Mr. Malley,” He breathes out, green eyes widening.

Laken jumps - he’d been silent, preoccupied and in thought - and nearly jerks the car into a curb. “Damn, Chris! You scared me. What’d you say?”

“The old guy, in, in, in the the the the-the-... the coffeeshop, who kept looking at, at me.” Chris rocks forward, hands on the dashboard, his eyes staring ahead but not at the road, they’re looking far ahead... or behind himself, back in time and not space, when and not where. “His name’s Mr. Malley. I, I, I knew-... my dad knew, my, my, my dad, my dad-” 

He winces, the headache splitting him apart, and Laken hits their turn signal, pulling into the parking lot of a generic fast food place, swinging into a parking space and turning to look at him. 

“Chris? You okay?”

Chris’s face has gone pale, cold sweat breaking out. It still happens, sometimes, and when they lean over to touch his shoulder he flinches back from them, instinctively.

Laken exhales. “Okay. Ride it out, Chris. Let the memory go if it’s hurting, it’ll come back to you. They all come back now.”

“No! No, I, I, I want-... Mr. Malley knew my dad, I went to-... work, with, with him sometimes, his his his wife babysat me, I... I know him. I knew him. I knew-” He turns to look at them, and they fight the urge to try and touch him again.

Not yet.

“Do you... do you think, think, think he knew me?”

Laken swallows. “I don’t think so. Wouldn’t he have said something, if he recognized you? If he was your dad’s friend? Are you absolutely sure that-”

“Yes, I’m, I’m sure. I know it was him. I, I, I know, he, he, he gave me me me Dinotopia books... for Christmas one year...” Chris jerked in a breath and let it out again, hands going up over his head, folding himself in half until his forehead rested on the dashboard, pressed to the cool molded plastic. “He, he, he, he came to their funeral, he hugged me, he said, you’re too young to to to to have to lose so much, and everyone said-... everyone said stuff I hated but but but not him, he said, he said-”

“Chris, please, don’t hurt yourself doing this-”

“He said grief gets worse before it gets better, and and and and he said-... he said... he said don’t let anyone tell you that R-Ronnie’d want you to to to be strong, she’d want you to scream your head off if you want to, your dad’d be proud if if if if-if... if you told us all to go to hell, and... and and and and it felt like he was the only person who who who knew them at all that day, everyone said, said, said stupid things but not him, not-... not him and not Mr. Cilly, not-... not my Aunt Jo, not anybody, but he-”

Chris chokes on a sob and when Laken throws their arms around him he melts into it this time, crying against their shoulder, the two of them uncomfortably arched over the center console and the gear shift. 

“It’s okay,” Laken whispers, running their fingers over the slowly growing fuzz of his hair. “It’s okay. Let it ride, Chris. It’s okay.”

“He, he, he was my dad’s b-b-best friend-... Why d-didn’t he, if he saw me, why wouldn’t he-... I s-see him all th-the the the time, why doesn’t he know who I am?”

“Maybe he’s like Akio,” Laken says, and feels him trembling under their touch. “Maybe he’s always thought you were dead.”

“I w-was,” Chris whispers “When I, I, I was Baldur. When I was training. When... when I... was good. I was dead.”

“Chris-”

“I was dead,” Chris says, and they kiss his head, helpless to think of anything else to do. “When my p-parents died, I died, too. Mr. Malley made m-me feel like I I I wasn’t. Why didn’t he kn-know me? Why didn’t a-anyone know I was alive?”

“I don’t know, baby. I don’t know.”

“Hurts,” Chris whispers. “Why, why, why didn’t anyone help me before she she she-... before I was-... why didn’t anyone help me?”

Laken’s own eyes burn, and they draw circles on his scalp with their fingertips. “I can’t answer that,” They say, low and soft. “I’m sorry. But you know you have people who can and will help you now.”

For a while, Chris’s only sounds are sobs, and Laken can only make soft soothing nonsense noises and feel like shit that it’s not enough.

“Ev, everyone knew she-she hated me,” Chris whimpers, and sounds younger than he ever has, and Laken wants to throw a punch or scream and they can’t do either, only sit in the car and glare at people who look in as they walk past. “Everyone.”

“Chris-”

“Everyone knew, why, why, why why why didn’t they stop her?”

-

Back in the coffeeshop, Sean and Cilly are in the midst of an argument about a baseball game that happened 30 years ago when his phone rings. He holds up one finger and picks it up, lifting it to his ear.

“I have a job for you,” Riley says, with his cheerful hint of brogue. Funny, to remember that this part of the family only came here a few decades ago. “It’s a job I know you’ll enjoy.”

“Watching Paul’s boy is my retirement gig,” Sean says amicably. “You know I don’t do the dangerous stuff any longer, Mr. Higgs.”

There’s a silence. “I’m going to do some looking into what you sent me. But in the meantime I need to give you a job, and you’re going to do it.”

“And why is that, Mr. Higgs?”

“Because you’re going to want to do this.”

“What is it, then?”

Another pause.

“I want you to find Joanne Botham.”

Sean thinks of the dour, angry woman who had ignored Tristan in his funeral suit, gathering mourners around her while she sobbed over Ronnie’s loss, Ronnie’s own son alone on a couch staring off into space until Sean himself had sat down and told him, don’t let ‘em say your mom’d be proud of you bein’ stoic today, kiddo. Ronnie’d want you to scream if you felt the urge. 

The kid had looked at him like he’d been given water in the desert, a starving man offered a bowlful of broth. Mr. Malley?

People will say a lot of real stupid stuff to you today, Sean had said. His eyes had gone to Joanne Botham, and Ronnie’s sister’s icy glare when she looked at her own nephew had made his blood run cold with anger even then. Likely in the future, too. But you just remember Paul and Ronnie weren’t saints. And they’d never want you to be, either. I’m sorry for your loss, Tris. No one on God’s earth has loved their kid like yours loved you. Should’ve seen his face when he told us your mom was pregnant with you. Could’ve lit the world with all the sunshine there.

A clap on the back, a whispered thank you, and that had been the last day Sean Malley had ever seen Tristan Higgs alive.

Until, of course, Riley had told him there was a boy living in a pet liberation safehouse who looked remarkably like Paul. Until, of course, Riley had shared that he’d known Tristan Higgs was alive all along. Until, of course, Sean had been told he couldn’t make a move because WRU was protecting all the players who had stolen his friend’s kid. 

Until... now.

“Mr. Higgs?” His voice drops, and Cilly sits up, alarmed at the sudden change in tone. 

“You heard me. Find Joanne Botham. I have a feeling we are about to get the opportunity we’ve been waiting for.”

The phone goes dead on the other end, and Sean slowly sets it down, finishing his second cup of coffee in a gulp. Then he looks at Cilly, and starts to smile. 

“Riley’s got work for us,” He says, and when Cilly’s eyebrows raise he doesn’t wait for him to ask for more. “Don’t worry. You’re going to like it. Finally get to do what we should have done ten fucking years ago.”

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @cubeswhump ,  @whump-tr0pes  @downriver914 @vickytokio @whumpiary @orchidscript @moose-teeth @nonsensical-whump

[ashintheairlikesnow]

This Isn’t Hypothetical for Chris

SPECIAL CONTENT WARNING: This piece contains a series of arguments regarding the Box Boy’s whole concept, and a survivor’s reactions to it, that may hit too close to home both for survivors of assault/abuse and also considering American history of institutional violence. Please do not read if you think you are not in the right headspace for this, and feel free to message me for a rundown/synopsis of this chapter if needed.

CW: References to pet whump, institutionalized slavery, Box Boy universe, vague referenced noncon/conditioning, self-loathing, victim-blaming, survivor’s guilt, ableism (both internal and external). Also includes some self-harm/negative stimming including head-banging during a meltdown.

Nicholas/Henry (referenced multiple times) belongs to @orchidscript

“Excuse me, can I ask a question?” The one who raises his hand is… Eshiram, maybe? He lives over in Dalton, Chris knows him, more or less. Sort of. The way you know people who live near you, even on a campus as big as this tone. 

“Yeah, go ahead.” The grad student who teaches the discussion meetings for their Social and Political History class waves one hand in a quick, not quite dismissive gesture.

Behind him, there’s a projected photo of a young man sitting, testifying in court, wearing a suit and tie. Above his head, the words, The Human Pet Industry and Human Rights, 1952-20XX, are angled just so, framing the young man’s head like a halo.

Chris refuses to look at the image of the young man, caught mid-speech. They already had to watch the video recording of it, discuss the way the lawyers phrased their questions to make the young man look innocent or calculating, depending on what they wanted the jury to think, when Chris could have told everyone in here it wasn’t fucking possible for a pet to calculate like that.

Or maybe it was, and Chris just wasn’t any good at it, when it was him.

“So, we’ve spent all week sitting in lecture, and here, talking about how the pet industry is absolutely fucked up-”

“Excuse me?” A girl sitting three seats to Chris’s right and a little ahead of him turns around in her chair to give Eshiram a flat glare. “That is not-”

“Wait your turn, Callie,” The grad student says, looking weary. “Next time I have to tell you to let someone finish a sentence… Man, just, don’t make me do that. Go on, Eshiram.”

Okay, good, his name is Eshiram. Chris is getting better at names, but it’s still hard, and on days like today it’s harder than ever. It’s not that he isn’t paying attention, it’s just that the scar on the inside of his left wrist, that pale reminder of the life he lived before this one, itches and burns more and more as he stays silent, listening to them talk about a life he’s lived like it’s an abstract concept and not a nightmare Chris will never be able to completely wash off his skin.

“Thanks. So, we talk about the pet industry, but I just-... why doesn’t anyone fix it?”

“Fix it?”

“Go in and pass laws… the public push is there to outlaw it completely. So why doesn’t it happen?”

“Because money talks, man,” Another student pipes up, and Chris stares down at his notes, which have gone from neat, if angular, handwriting to a jumbled mix of letters that mean nothing to a series of increasingly anxiety-riddled pointless doodles of geometrics and horses that look like dogs and dogs that look like blobs and blue ink bleeding spots around them all.

On the inside of his wrist, he starts, slowly, to draw little triangles over the scars, filling them in with the deep blue ink. Their voices are all starting to have weight, pounding against his ears, and he should ask to leave, but he can’t remember how to form the words.

“It doesn’t matter how fucking miserable the pets are, if rich people want something, they just bribe the fuck out of everybody until they get it.”

“Yeah, but it shouldn’t be like that-”

“Pets aren’t miserable,” Callie pipes up, and this time the grad student doesn’t stop her, just looks… interested. This is just a class discussion to him. To Chris it’s a building pile of rocks slowly picked up and thrown in his direction. He has to sit still, to be good, to not give away why it hurts to hear it. 

He has to be good.

He drops his head more, blue hair falling across his face to hide it, and digs the nib of the pen into his skin until it hurts.

“Who wouldn’t be?” The student who spoke up rolls his eyes. “Of course they’re miserable. What, you think somebody cleans your house for no money because they’re fucking passionate about Swiffer wipes? All the bullshit in the world can’t hide what this whole system really is.”

“First off, it’s not like that, and second, please do tell me... what is it, really?” Callie asks, poison in her voice.

“Okay, guys,” The grad student says, hands out. “Let’s calm things down a little.”

“You know damn fucking well what it is,” Another girl speaks, glaring a Callie, and Chris looks up from under his eyelashes, almost smiles. Someone speaking up. He pulls the pen away from his wrist, just a little. “Starts with S, rhymes with-”

“Guys. Calm it down.” Callie and the other three all glare at each other, but the whispering among the class slowly settles down. The grad student stands up picking up some papers he has in his hands, setting stapled packets down on every desk. “I’m glad you’re all really passionate about this, and I want you to carry that passion out of this classroom, but we need to focus on the testimonies we’ve been watching this week. Now, each of you has here a written transcript of four examples of testimony from the individuals we’ve heard this week. I want you to read over what Trenton Denver, Phillipa Venn, Yuki Tanaka, and the former Nicholas-”

“You know what’s bullshit, is that you’re all sitting here judging pet owners when I bet none of you has ever even met one,” Callie snaps, and Chris stares down at the rough, photocopied photo on the front of the packet, sees Nicky’s face there. A photo of him before, standing next to his owners during some kind of press conference, and a photo of him after, years later being Henry now, giving a speech standing alone. 

Something in Chris twists with an awful, sick guilt. If he’d only stayed with S-... with Oliver, he could have been a friend to Nicky, whenever he could... and instead, the other boy had had to do everything, to go through it all, alone. It’s not a fair or rational thought, but it’s there, insidious and slithering. His heart wants tries to tighten, to stop beating entirely. 

Does he even deserve to breathe, living a life like this one, where everyone rescues him and he never once saved himself?

“Do you need to fucking meet one to know it’s miserable to be kept like a fucking Golden Retriever? People. Aren’t. Pets.” Chris wants to look up, to see who spoke this time, but he just keeps staring at Nicky’s face, his slight smile blurred and pixelated by the copier. Fake, and unhappy, because they were both trapped in lives they didn’t want to live. 

“Golden Retrievers are pretty happy dogs,” Someone says, and Chris feels himself choke on their words. 

We’re not dogs. We’re people. We’re not dogs. We’re people. We’re not-

“Oh my God, way to miss the point by approximately fifteen thousand miles and also be so insulting to dogs in the process, dumbass. We’re talking about human beings!”

Chris takes in a breath, keeps his eyes down. Digs the pen nib into his skin, deeper and deeper, as hard as he can, trying to drown out the cacophony of noise that is starting to intrude. He can hear their breathing, all of them, huffing in and out. He can hear their words pressing on him, the buzz of the lights overhead is louder for him than anyone else in here, he thinks. He can hear people talking in the hall as another class has let out, he can hear people shouting dimly outside, running to the Student Center, playing frisbee or something on the green space, and he wants to be outside he wants to be outside he wants to move.

Can’t move. Have to be still.

Can’t let them know what he is. Can’t tell. It’ll put everyone at risk. He has to sit still and pretend he doesn’t have opinions on this so nobody looks too close. He has to sit still and stop tapping his fucking foot and stop stop stop moving, stop fucking moving, be still be still be still-

“All I’m saying, is that I have actually met pets before,” Callie announces. Chris wonders why the grad student hasn’t stopped her and sneaks a look up, only to see him sitting and looking bored. It doesn’t matter to him. It’s just something he talks about. He hasn’t had to live it, to see us crying, to know how it feels when they shock you or bring the cane down or make you be still for days and days and days. He’s never seen one of us wake up screaming even when it’s safe.

This isn’t hypothetical for Chris.

“Yeah, Cal, we get it, you’re rich,” Someone says, rolling her eyes, arms crossed over her chest. “We hear about it all the time. Let it go.”

“Eat the rich,” Someone else mumbles behind him. “French had the right fuckin’ idea with the fucking guillotines.”

Chris swallows. He wants to hum, to make some kind of noise to drown them all out, but he can’t. When he, when he needs things, when he needs to tap or rock or hum, it draws attention. Too much attention is dangerous. Have to keep it in until class is over. Just a few more minutes, a few more, just, just a little longer…

“Me being rich isn’t what we’re talking about. I’m just saying none of you knows a thing about the industry, and I do! I grew up with pets! And they were the happiest people I’ve ever met!”

“You don’t, don’t know that.” He doesn’t realize the voice is his own until the eyes feel as heavy as their voices did a moment before, and he notices everyone is looking at him. 

He swallows again, his heart starting to pound with nervousness, pulling his sleeve carefully down to hide the drawing he made on his wrist. “You don’t know that,” He repeats, louder this time, willing his voice not to shake. “All you, you know is what, um, what… what what what, what, what they-”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Somebody says, and Chris almost stops there.

He manages to finish, “-... what they thought it was safe to tell you, what, what they were trained to tell you.”

“You think I wouldn’t know if my own pets weren’t happy?” Callie looks… stunned, is the only word for it. “You really think that?”

“No, I don’t, don’t think you… would.” Chris hates everyone looking at him. He likes to be hidden, to stay behind the scenes, to blend in with shadows. But he feels like a police siren going off, unmistakable and too loud, with the classroom all looking at him all at once. “They-... they’re… trained. To make sure you, you, you-you-you wouldn’t ever f-find out if they weren’t... if they were scared, or, or miserable, or if your f-f-family was hurting them-”

“How fucking dare you?” Callie’s eyes widened, and Chris watched them fill with glittering tears. “Suggest that my family would abuse our pets? What is wrong with you?”

He almost - almost - apologizes.

Then she adds, “I’ve known them every single day of my life! I think I’d know if they weren’t happy, Chris.” Callie rolls her eyes, arms crossed in front of her.

“How?” His voice is louder, and he doesn’t mean it to be, but his mind is sparking with anger and fear. The warning bells inside his mind are being drowned out by the other thoughts, the way he has listened to too many people give arguments like this, and this week he’s listened to four different speeches by pets detailing abuse, and suffering, and starvation, and drugging, and he’s lived all of it and here she is just dismissing Chris’s life like it’s a fairytale the pet lib people made up to sell magazines and documentaries and not Chris’s actual fucking life. And Antoni’s. And Leila’s. And Krista’s. And Kauri’s and-

And Nicky’s.

Or… Henry, now.

“How what?” Callie sneers the words and Chris shoves himself to his feet. She’s up as well, and she’s taller than him, not that it matters. He’s not intimidated by her height, and he doesn’t even really see her, he sees-... he sees Oliver murmuring, the others will all hate you if they know what you are, darlin’, and mostly that hasn’t been true for him, but with Callie… it would be.

Or she’d call someone, turn him in.

She’s the kind who would make the call herself, and she’d say it was for his own good, that he was breaking the law, that he-

“How would you, you, you-you… you know? It’d never be safe to, to, to to to to-... to-to… to, fuck, to-” He groans, smacking himself in the head with his hand, and the sudden burst of sensation soothes the broken words inside his head, he can find them again. “It’d never be safe to tell you!”

“Oh shit,” Someone whispers. The same person who made the guillotine comment maybe. He doesn’t care. He’s too angry, now, and not even at her, he’s angry at everyone who looked the other way at Oliver’s parties, or when Owen put Kauri in that video on the internet, or when they watched Jake get arrested at protests or made fun of him when he got set free later and it took two fucking weeks for him to go back to class just because he put his body between Chris and a living hell.

He’s too angry, now, to stop. 

“You’re, you’re s-s-soulless,” He hisses, and there’s an intake of breath. “Every single one, of, of, of you is soulless.”

“Chris, let’s calm down,” The grad student says carefully, moving forward. “Callie just has a different point of view-”

“Is it a, a, a different point of-... of view when it’s someone’s fucking life?” He doesn’t mean to be yelling. He doesn’t know how he started yelling. He’s terrified of his own voice and he can’t stop. The lights hurt, they sit on his skin and they hurt and the world is full of noise and he just wants it to be dark and quiet and better than this.

“Everyone who hurts-” Us “-them is soulless, is, is devoid, you don’t have one, and everyone who s-s-sits, who, who sits around, who-... who does nothing while they hurt us-”

“I’ve never hurt a pet a single day in my life!” Callie shouts back at him, and someone takes her arm, a friend of hers. 

No one takes Chris’s arm. No one speaks. They just watch him from every corner of the room, and later someone’s going to write a fucking post about this somewhere, and he’ll be a laughingstock, and maybe someone will see the look in his eyes and guess - and know - and call the cops - and he’ll get Jake in trouble again-

“I’d bet every d-... dollar in my, my, my bank account that you have!”

“Christopher Stanton, you need to stop, right now, or I’m going to ask you to leave.” The grad student steps between them, and Chris’s eyes flicker to the older man’s. Suddenly he’s unsure, and he wants to sit down.

Sit still. Silence is better than stammering. Stillness is better than what I do. Sit down, be good, be good be good be good be a good boy be good a pet be good be good after all-

“I mean… they signed up for it, right?” A new voice, the girl holding Callie’s arm. “Pets? They get told what it’s all about before they sign up. Isn’t this kind of… babying them? I mean, they made the choice to be one.”

“Nothing happens to them that isn’t on their contract,” Callie says, smug with triumph, and the grad student doesn’t stop her. “Besides, they really loved me! It was like having a friend right from when I was born. They signed up for this!”

It hurts so much more when he hears it said outside his own skull.

“They didn’t like you.” Chris is spitting venom, suddenly, terrified of himself, of his own anger. He’s so good at not being angry, at not having feelings like this, at having good days and knowing how lucky he is to escape, but right now… “They, they, they didn’t like you, they were told to, to, to be nice to you! You, you just-...”

“I mean, they wipe their memories and shit,” Someone says. “That’s sci-fi horror movie shit, that is definitely fucked up. You can’t think you can wipe somebody’s memory and make them, like, memorize all those fucked up things pets say and then believe they just… like you, Callie.”

“They didn’t want those memories! They sign up on purpose, to give those memories up, because they don’t want them anymore! I mean, what do they lose, really?”

Chris hitches in a breath.

Everything.

I lost everything.

And I’ll never get all of it back.

“That’s why… why-why-why, why you’re not safe, why it wouldn’t be s-safe to, to, to to tell you if they weren’t h-happy,” Chris says, throwing the packet of papers with Henry’s face on the front into his backpack, alongside folders full of paperwork, his textbook, laptop, pens and pencils. “Because you’ll b-believe any, any, any any… any bullshit you’re told.”

Someone laughs, nervously.

“Or maybe one of us has actual experience with pets, and one of us wears the same five fucking t-shirts on rotation because he doesn’t own any others.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Callie.”

Chris stares at her, and it’s not fear that washes cold down his spine, but a blistering, awful, sick rage. “You, you, you-you-you don’t know shit about, about, about about… about m-me-”

Talking is harder, it’s like trying to push words through a wall with an opening the size of his thumb. The wall is built of all the noise and weight and rage and pain and sound all around him. He wants to rock, he wants to tap, he wants to get all the energy coiled inside of him out and he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

Be good be still be a statue boy that’s my good boy trainee keep still for me sweet boy you wanted this you were made for this you signed up for this you knew what would happen to you you wanted this you wanted this you wanted this you wanted it you want it you’ll always want it-

“I know you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Callie snaps. “And that’s all I need to know, isn’t it? Have you ever even met a pet, Chris?”

He wants to start laughing, at the question, and he’s afraid if he starts he won’t stop until it’s tears instead, and he won’t cry in front of her. 

He won’t.

“F-for, for, for, for… for y-your, infor-... fuck, for your, your, your-your-... your-”

No, no no no. He is stalling out, stammering, trains derailed and disappearing into the horrible white light that still lived inside his head, he is stuttering silence is better than stammering you have to stop you have to stop you have to stop-

Callie’s lip curls in a cruel sneer and Chris knows exactly what she’s going to do - how she will hurt him - before she opens her mouth.

“I think you should stop trying to talk until you can stop being such a fucking sp-”

“That’s enough.” 

Chris had forgotten the grad student was even still here. He jumps, stumbling into his chair as the man pushes forward and blocks Callie from Chris’s view. Chris’s legs catch in the metal legs of the chair and he falls backwards, slamming on his ass into the carpeted floor, barely catching himself. 

The carpet burns under his hands.

Only one person laughs.

It’s Callie.

Chris’s face burns bright red, shame and humiliation sweeping over his skin, and he lost nearly all the words, all at once, drowned in the screaming noise inside his head. All he can remember is how to spit, “I fucking hate everyone like, like, like you! You fucking bitch!”

“Leave the room, Chris.” The grad student’s voice is sharp. “That’s over the line. You’re done in this class for now. I’ll email you later and we’ll schedule a meeting to talk about whether or not you should come back.”

Chris’s lungs stop working. He can barely mouth what?

“Hey, wait a second.” Eshiram pushes to his feet, jabbing a finger in the air as he points. “Callie’s the one who worked this up into a fight, Chris didn’t-”

“Cut it, Eshiram, I’m not interested. Chris. Get out of the room, take a deep breath, and cool down. We’ll talk this out later, okay? I won’t mark you absent for class, or mark down participation, or anything. Just… take a walk.”

Chris can’t remember how to speak. All he can do is nod, good boy, take your discipline, discipline is a humane and necessary part of-

He has to get out of here before he calls someone Sir.

“If he goes, I’m walking out, too,” Eshiram says, strong. He was taller and bigger than the grad student, who looked at him, weary, as Eshiram steps over and offers Chris his hand. Chris takes it, skin crawling, and pulls himself back to his feet. “It’s not his fault and I’m not going to sit here like it is.”

“Yeah, me too,” Guillotine-Kid says, pushing to his feet and grabbing his backpack. “I’m out, too. I’m not going to fall for that propaganda bullshit.”

“Me, three,” Says the girl who had very nearly called the human pet industry exactly what it is. “This is bullshit, Darian’s right. She works him up and gets him all mad, and then you kick him out when he fights back? This is exactly the fucking problem we’ve been talking about!”

“Don’t be fucking dramatic, Tali,” Callie says, rolling her eyes. 

“Don’t be such a fucking nightmare asshole, Caledonia,” Tali shoots back.

“Okay. Okay, okay. Just… class dismissed for today. Look over your packets and we’ll meet next time and talk it out. I can see this isn’t going to get back on track. Chris, we’ll talk about you coming back to class when we meet, but until then… just… just work on the assignments.” The grad student sighs.

Chris yanks his hand away from Eshiram, and Callie’s triumphant little snort hits him in the back like a blow as he stomps out of the classroom and into the hall, the rest of the class streaming out behind him.

Eshiram calls out his name, but Chris doesn’t stop.

He should, he should stop, Jake and Nat always say it’s important to reward people for their work towards changing hearts and minds, and to appreciate the little things like people helping you stand up when you can’t stand for yourself, but he… he can’t stop.

If he stops, they’ll know what he is.

If he stops, they’ll tell someone.

If he stops, he’ll cry in front of them, and Chris has cried too often in his life. He just runs down the hallway, as fast as he can, taking turns and twists and stairways until he’s on a different floor, a different side of the building, and he’s totally, utterly lost in it.

He curls up in a tiny bathroom the size of a closet, lights off, door locked, presses himself into the corner in a room that smells like air freshener and bleach, and starts to rock, violently, forcing his head to smack into the wall with each forward motion, and again when he rocks back.

Again, again, again.

It quiets the screaming inside his head, but it can’t make the last hour not have happened.

Silence is better than stammering, stillness is better than what I do, I signed up for this, I signed up for this, I wanted this I wanted it I was made for it I deserved it we’re happy we’re supposed to be happy I’m broken because I wasn’t happy like this I signed up for it I have to be good to be good I am a good boy be still be silent be still be be be-

His phone starts buzzing an hour or so later, when he misses his lunch date with Laken. Over and over and over again.

He doesn’t pick up.

He wouldn’t be able to speak if he did.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions, @pretty-face-breaker, @boxboysandotherwhump, @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth