#box boy rescue

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Demo Time

Immediate follow-up to More Than This. Honestly, probably my second-longest standing idea for these two. Once I knew what Leo did for work, I knew they'd be doing this someday...

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Aiden looks like the sullen teenager he should be, pulled out of bed too early on a Saturday, dragging his feet as he follows Leo into the house. Jacket unzipped so he can bury his hands in the pocket of his sweatshirt and both hoods pulled low over his forehead. From afar, he looks cagey but Leo can see the wariness in the way his gaze never rests and the defensiveness in his hunched shoulders. 

There’s no telling what he’s actually thinking but Leo would hazard a guess that he’s assuming the worst. They’re walking a thin line. This could go south any second, but it’s supposed to help. It could help. 

They stop in the kitchen. Leo’s been dying to demo this room since laying eyes on it. The maroon tiled countertops and dark vinyl cabinets feel like a personal insult. Everything’s already covered in a fine layer of dust from ripping the floors out. He sets his bag down softly and fishes out two of everything before turning. Aiden visibly braces, shoulders inching closer to his ears. 

“Easy, it’s all good.” 

The kid is too quick to cooperate, shucking his jacket when he’s told and pulling on the pair of work gloves Leo hands him. Instinctively trying to earn back goodwill after what he did. Or ahead of whatever he thinks is about to happen. It twists Leo’s stomach. 

“You’re good,” he repeats, for both their sakes. Aiden bites his lips together and nods. 

Leo helps him put a mask and goggles on. He doesn’t bother trying to get him out of the beanie and into a hard hat. He’s already pushing his luck. 

“Alright, here.” He hands him the smallest sledgehammer he had in the van. 

Aiden accepts it like a live explosive, palms up, fingers spread. He won’t curl his fingers around it. Not a great sign.

Leo picks his up but holds it below his waist. “It’s all going so just start swinging.” 

Aiden’s eyes widen and he takes a step back, away from Leo, shaking his head. 

Shit. 

He should have expected this. It was hard enough getting him out of the house.

~~~

“Let’s go for a drive—” 

Aiden’s back hits the cabinets. “Nnn-no-no, I’mmm…fine…” He lifts his hand, making a show of flexing his fingers through every joint. The fresh tears in his eyes and the set of his jaw tell a different story.

“Easy, not for that.” The kid’s so busy clocking an escape route that he jumps when Leo catches his wrist. He uses his other hand to still Aiden’s fingers. “I don’t think you broke anything. I’ll give you ice for the car ride and you could take some ibuprofen if you—”

“Yes,” he says quickly, dropping his gaze before Leo can give him a look for the implied sir. It’s one word Leo’s glad still doesn’t come easy in spite of the fact that he’s overheard Aiden practicing. 

Leo gets a glass of water and brings the ibuprofen just in case. “You don’t have to take these if you don’t want to.” 

Aiden blinks at him, expression guarded.

“It’s entirely up to you. Nothing will happen if you don’t take them.” 

He drops his gaze. “Mmm’I…know.” 

Leo waits. 

Aiden toes the edge of the living room area rug, stalling. He’s cradling his hand up against his chest, like he used to after the hospital. “W-w-will…you…mmm’tell…Delia?” He asks quietly, peeking up to search Leo’s face. 

“It depends how it looks tomorrow, if it’s any worse.”

“The-the..mmm…” He eyes the bottle in Leo’s hand. “Will…it…mmm’help?” 

“They’ll reduce the pain and swelling but if you tore something, it’s only a temporary fix.” 

“But…I’m-I’m…I’m…fine…” His chin starts to wobble. 

“I’m not calling her right now. I might not even have to call her to— Hon, don’t look at me like that. You know I’d only call if I was worried you weren’t okay.”

Aiden nods miserably, swiping a stray tear off his cheek with the sleeve of his hoodie. The sight of him trying to keep himself together makes Leo’s heart ache. 

“C’mere.” Leo pulls him into a hug, wrapping him up a little tighter once he finally lets out the shaky breath he’s been holding. 

After a few more breaths, he pulls back with a sniffle. “I-I-I’ll…mmm’take…it.” 

Leo works to keep his reaction neutral. Aiden’s hand shakes as he accepts the green capsules and it takes him three tries to actually swallow them. He chugs the whole glass of water after like he’s trying to dilute the dose. 

“Good?” 

He nods. 

Leo takes the glass to the dishwasher and grabs an ice pack. “Do you want anything else for the ride? Something to eat maybe?” 

After a beat of silence, he turns to find Aiden barely holding back tears. “But…I-I…” 

Leo’s heart falls. So, Aiden only took the pills because he thought it might get him out of having to leave the house. Leo doesn’t say anything. It’s bad enough watching the realization dawn on Aiden’s face. 

“M’sorry—” His voice breaks and he shakes his head. “I…don’t…mmm’I didn’t….mmm’sorry.” 

“It’s okay. I know. You’re good.” 

He exhales shakily, avoiding Leo’s gaze and keeping his eyes trained on the ceiling, trying so hard not to cry. After a few breaths, he surrenders his hand. Leo cradles it in his, carefully laying the towel-wrapped ice pack over the backs of his fingers. He holds it for him longer than he needs to. 

Aiden drops his forehead against Leo’s shoulder. 

“You’re good, sweetheart,” Leo whispers, just in case there’s any ounce of him doubting it. He lets his cheek rest on the crown of Aiden’s head. Aiden puts his good hand on Leo’s, holding onto him for another moment, before he takes the ice pack. 

“There’s some stuff at one of the houses I think you could help me with.” He keeps it simple, doesn’t want Aiden to overthink it or doubt himself. 

Aiden blinks at him, biting his lower lip, visibly trying to control his reaction. 

“This isn’t code for visiting Delia and it should go without saying we are not going to the hospital,” Leo adds. “I promise, no crowds, just you and me. Come on, it’ll be good.” He looks unconvinced but lets Leo lead him to the door. Leo doesn’t blame him for not wanting to go. The Target-panic-attack-fiasco is still fresh for him too. 

At least twice more on the drive over, Leo has to repeat that they’re just going to one of the empty houses. Aiden grows more and more unsettled the longer they drive, alternating between sitting in sullen silence and looking like he wants to slide across the bench seat and cling to Leo’s side. He thought Aiden would settle being out of the house. Walks always seem to help, even in the snow or rain. They never go very far though so maybe that’s part of why it’s easier. 

“M’sorry,” Aiden whispers, a hail mary plea when Leo cuts the engine in the driveway. He won’t look at him, keeps his eyes trained on the windshield. 

“Kiddo, you’re not in trouble.” He offers his hand and Aiden grabs onto it with both of his. Leo runs his thumb over the back of his hand. “You and I are good, I promise.”

He probably should have turned around right then and there. Seen the signs that Aiden was not up for a new adventure. His efforts would have been better spent getting Aiden settled back at home. They could have started fresh tomorrow or, better yet, the day after when this wouldn’t feel like a direct consequence of his actions. Leo put it all on the line too soon and now something that could have genuinely helped might be ruined forever. 

But they’re already here. 

“I…don’t—I don’t…” Aiden shakes his head again, eyes filling behind the goggles. “M’sorry,” he tries, panic creeping into his voice. 

“Easy, hon. Time out.” Leo sets his sledgehammer down slowly, propping it against the wall behind him. 

Aiden still flinches when he steps forward, eyes darting down to his own hammer, extended between them like he’s serving drinks on a platter because he won’t grip it. 

“You’re good, we’re all good.” He takes it out of Aiden’s shaking hands and helps him pull down the mask, partially to make sure he can breathe but mostly so Leo can read his whole face. 

“I’m sorry. I should have explained better.” Aiden can’t stop clocking the hammer in his free hand so Leo leans it against the wall too. The guys are supposed to demo this kitchen on Monday and I thought it might get your mind off things to help me for a bit but I’ll take you home right now.”

He knows better. There has never been a time that less information bought more of Aiden’s trust. After taking a swing at one of Leo’s cabinets, this would seem like some sideways punishment. Especially when Aiden’s whole outlook is stripped down to actions and consequences after anything raw. God, Leo sucks at this sometimes.

Aiden’s brow creases. “You…w-w-w— mmm’brought…me…to-to…mmm’work?” 

“Yeah…pretty much. At the time, it seemed like a good idea. But we can just go.”

He searches Leo’s face, expression unreadable before he turns to look at the room for the first time. His eyes trace the U-shape of the counter, the line of frosted glass-paned uppers, the border of the circular sink, and finally land on the bigger sledgehammer against the wall. 

Leo grimaces internally. “Come on, I’ll—” 

“—it?” 

“Sorry, say it again?” 

Aiden drops his chin against his chest and peeks up at him from under his eyelashes. Something he used to do all the time, equally heartbreaking and endearing, that always made Leo want to pull him into a hug. He didn’t realize he missed it. A thought he extinguishes immediately, feeling like it’s a betrayal of their progress, of Aiden’s progress.   

“You-you…mmm’think…I…can?” The timid hope in his voice makes Leo want to hold him even more. 

“Yeah, of course I do. I wouldn’t bring you here if I didn’t think so. You have to tell me if any of your fingers hurt too much though.” 

He looks down at his gloved hands, weighing the words. 

Leo has no idea what he could be thinking. He doesn’t dare bring up Dr. Delia, but he even got her okay a week ago, when the idea started kicking around his head as a distant hypothetical. “At least until you’re tired or want to stop,” he qualifies. 

Aiden waits another beat, either making sure Leo’s finished or isn’t going to retract everything. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” Leo repeats dumbly. 

He nods. “I…w-w— I’ll…try.” Aiden fumbles to pull the mask back up but can’t get the elastic over one ear. Leo reaches over and does it for him, brushing his cheekbone with his thumb. 

It’s never gotten easy, navigating this. On one hand, Leo feels guilty for underestimating him and not even considering that he’d want to try. On the other, he’s worried this will be the painkillers all over again, just something Aiden does to try to impress Leo or earn something. It’s impossible to tell but Leo has to leave room for the kid to prove himself, which he’ll never do with constant double-checking and second-guessing. At least by now, the wins aren’t so few and far between. That has to count for something. 

Aiden leans into his hand. “Mmm’will…you-you…go…mmm’first?” 

Leo takes that as a good sign and starts with the oblong-circle end of the peninsula. He resists the urge to keep looking over his shoulder to check on Aiden. Instead, he pulls every single swing so it takes three times as many to break up the tiles and grout before he can splinter through the wood underneath, breaking it off with a final blow. 

When he does turn around, Aiden’s still watching and, more importantly, still breathing.

“Want to try?” 

He nods tightly and accepts the smaller hammer Leo holds out for him. He glances at Leo as he wraps his fingers around the handle, testing his grip. Leo gives him what he hopes is an encouraging nod. 

“Here?” Aiden asks, pointing the end of the hammer at the lower cabinet closest to where Leo just shortened the counter. 

Leo realizes he’s holding his breath. “Yeah, good. Go for it.” 

Aiden takes a step forward, then a step back, brow furrowed as he tries to gauge the distance. His solemn concentration would normally melt Leo’s heart a little but the image of him starting to panic still hangs on Leo’s conscience. Aiden swings the hammer into the front of the cabinet but it barely dents the surface and the momentum mostly bounces back at him. He glances up, just long enough to show he’s self-conscious but isn’t expecting any encouragement. 

Leo gives it anyway. “Put a little more weight into it, don’t be shy.” 

This time, he breaks through the cabinet front, cracking the wood into a yawning mouth of splinters that collapses on itself once he pulls the hammer back out. He over at Leo, eyebrows lifting. 

Leo sidesteps the heartbreaking realization that he still thinks this could be a punishment. “‘Atta boy. Keep going.” 

It’s not Leo’s imagination that he stands up straighter. 

God, this kid. 

Aiden starts in on the next chunk of tiled counter, swinging down onto it with enough force that pieces of tile fly from the point of impact. A few more blows and he’s through the grout. The wood cracks away even easier, he’s getting more and more certain with the weight of the hammer. He moves onto the frame beneath it without stopping, takes down the side in three swings and the back in two. It just takes a final tap on what’s left of the front before he’s left with a pile of rubble. 

When he looks at Leo this time, his eyebrows are raised in a good way.

“How’d that feel?” 

He must be beaming behind the mask because he almost ducks his chin to hide before remembering it’s already hidden. “Mmm…good.” 

Leo grins. “Keep going then.” 

Without hesitation, he starts on the uppers, breaking through the glass panes with systematic little taps. Once the door is gone, he starts on the bottom. It’s a little high for good leverage so he has to hit it a few times. Once, twice, three—

The anchoring for the entire set of uppers gives out. Leo loops an arm around his waist and pulls him stumbling away. Aiden drops the hammer and claps his hands over his ears as the cabinets fall onto the remains of the counter and immediately tip forward. They hit the concrete subfloor with an even louder crash, all the glass fronts shattering on impact. Aiden flinches, back pressed against Leo’s chest. 

Leo doesn’t wait for the dust to settle. He turns Aiden in his arms, not sure what to expect but hoping it’s not abject panic. His eyes are wide, his shoulders still raised defensively. He holds his hands up between them, arms caught above Leo’s and nowhere to rest them now that they aren’t covering his ears. Leo’s reminded of Jesse’s daughter years ago, constantly tripping in her toddling and the moment in the balance where they’d wait to see if she’d brush it off or start crying. He realizes he’s holding his breath again and that the kid in his arms has zero frame of reference. 

“Damn, slugger.” Apparently, he goes with joking brevity. “You alright?” 

Aiden nods and pulls off his goggles and mask. Leo could collapse with relief when he sees that he’s biting back a smile.  

Leo squeezes the tops of his shoulders. “I gotta say, I’m impressed.” 

Aiden huffs and shakes his head. 

“I mean, that was some shotty anchoring, I’m surprised those cabinets could even hold plates, but you still made quick work of them.” 

“Can…I…” He chews his lip. “Can…we-we…do mmm’more?” 

Leo laughs. “Absolutely.”

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[yet-another-heathen]

On the topic of realistic conditioning/deconditioning,

If the trigger is something whumpee wouldn't hear often when they're with caretaker but whumpee still wants to break it because they might hear it elsewhere (like kneel being taken as a command)

Would whumpee ask caretaker to casually trigger them so they have the opportunity to challenge it in their own head and in a safe place? Would this be a good idea for recovery?

And of course being there with the praise everytime whumpee makes just a little bit of progress, or comfort when they don't.

Heads up, anon: your ask was an EXCEPTIONALLY good one, and I ended up writing another mini TED talk (~3-4 min read) in response. Thank you so much for sending it in!

...on Conditioned Whumpees - Part 3

[ Part 1 - Part 2 ]

That is a very, very good idea! You're spot on with all of it, particularly operating in a safe environment where whumpee is ultimately calling the shots. Having that comfort/support readily available will make a huge difference in how well whumpee can tackle the matter. And while the process isn't fun, approaching desensitization with this much intent is much, much more likely to result in success.

I can offer a few pointers that can add another few layers of realism, as well as some other things to think about while tailoring it to your story:

if whumpee is actively working through their conditioning in this way, memories of their trauma will become closer to the surface. As a result, all of their other PTSD symptoms will be elevated during the course of their practice sessions, as well as for at least a few weeks after.

flashbacks are a very common experience during times like this. engaging with triggers like this is going to cause their flashbacks to become more frequent and intense.

during such flashbacks, it is almost a given that whumpee's mind and body will enter a similar state to the one it was in during the time when the flashback was taking place. By that I mean that the fear they felt in that moment, where it was physically located in their body, will echo into their body in the present moment. Same goes for other all other emotions, and sometimes even phantom aches surrounding any injuries they received at the time...

while the emotions tend to be identical to the ones felt during the trauma, in my experience, the pain comes out distorted in a similar way to the way it does in dreams: less intense, and more "blurry" and imprecise in location. When we say that someone having a flashback is "reliving the moment", we mean that their body literally feels as though they're in the same immediate danger that it was in back then.

this is true even though they'll be aware to at least some degree that they're presently with caretaker and safe.

the flashbacks don't always happen immediately after the conditioning trigger is used. Often they flare up hours or days later, sometimes without warning, sometimes as a result of encountering a different flashback trigger. The whumpee's thresholds for what counts as a trigger will drop, which is part of what causes the flashbacks to happen more often. Something they could normally ignore is going to affect them much more while they're like this.

your whumpee is more likely to experience severe mood swings while in this heightened state. Especially feelings like irritability, frustration, anger, loneliness, and grief. This stuff ain't pretty, folks. Even your sweet cinnamon bun is most likely going to lash out at someone as a result.

PTSD episodes are also exhausting. your whumpee is going to feel mentally, physically, and emotionally drained. And, to add insult to injury, being tired amplifies the emotions listed above.

Now all of this said, your whumpee may or may not know that this is to be expected. If they've worked on processing their trauma before this, they'll have figured out that one often leads to the other. They'll go into the deconditioning practice knowing this is coming, and will approach it carefully, but with a fairly level head. Knowing that it'll suck, but they'll come out the other side okay.

If not, they're in for a rather nasty surprise.

For the latter, they will feel at first that the deconditioning practice is making everything worse. They're suddenly struggling the way they did when the trauma was fresher, and it can be tempting to stop and refuse to touch it again because the mental/emotional pain gets so intense.

If they do give up at this stage, it will make trying again far more daunting in the future.

But the trauma being stirred up is actually a sign that it's helping. It means that the whumpee is starting to process what happened to them, which is a fundamental step in being able to heal.

Note: All throughout the process, crying is a very good thing. It lets them physically get rid of a lot of the brain chemicals associated with these surges of emotion. Letting themselves cry over things they couldn't cry about back then can actually help them let go of those feelings in a similar way to if they'd been able to process them in the moment. [Which is the basis for much of EMDR, a specialized tool used in trauma therapy.]

Okay. So now we know what other effects can cascade from the actual deconditioning practice, now we have some things to consider.

First off, what time parameters are whumpee and caretaker working within while deconditioning? There are three basic options:

they sit down together and practice repeatedly using the trigger for [X amount of time; usually <45m at once] back to back. Once that time is up, caretaker will no longer use the trigger at all, the excercise will end, and they'll get up to do something else.

whumpee sets a specific window of time [X number of hours] within which caretaker will use the trigger word at random points. Once that time has elapsed, the exercise is over.

over the course of days, caretaker uses the trigger word at random points without giving warning. the excercise only stops after being ended by whumpee.

Now why is that important? Because of something called hypervigilance. It is another symptom of PTSD which, to put it into the simplest words, is whumpee waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's a heightened state of tension and wariness in which whumpee is expecting that something bad is going to happen, and is constantly searching for any sign to indicate when it's coming.

It is beyond exhausting.

Imagine knowing that someone is about to slap you as hard as they can, and you have to sit there with your eyes closed, waiting for it. The breath-holding, the flinchiness, the rigid tension in your body as you strain to listen for when they're coming.

Only now, stretch that moment out into hours. Days. Weeks. That is hypervigilance.

A hypervigilant whumpee is not going to be able to relax. Or rest. Or decompress. Or readily trust much of anything around them. They're MUCH more likely to flinch at sudden movements/sounds. They might start biting their nails or showing other signs of nervousness and distress.

These methods above have a gradually increasing chance of setting off whumpee's hypervigilance. If they know exactly when the next trigger is coming, as in example 1, then their 'waiting for it' tension will be low. But the more uncertain they become of exactly when it's going to happen, as in examples 2 & 3, the worse the hypervigilance is going to get.

The trade off is that the later examples are more effective in desensitizing them toward the trigger. The more their practice mimics encountering an unexpected trigger in day-to-day life, the easier it will be to fall back on that desensitization when the time comes.

Therefore, it would be a very good idea for a whumpee who's new to this to start with number 1, then gradually progress to 2 & 3 as time goes on. They should be the one to decide when the next step is made, and if/when they need to dial it back.

Other questions to ask yourself while plotting:

how mentally prepared is whumpee for worsening symptoms? what about caretaker? did either of them know it was coming?

how much of this heightened PTSD stress can your whumpee take before it becomes too much? how do they react when they do hit that tipping point?

if caretaker feels that whumpee is getting too distressed during practice even though they're not tapping out, would they call it off themself? Or would they ultimately leave that decision to whumpee?

based on the answer, how would whumpee feel about caretaker's decision? Relieved? Belittled? Betrayed?

does whumpee have any grounding tools they can use while practicing?

how does caretaker handle the mood swings and instability that come with whumpee's heightened PTSD? You should consider both their internal and external reactions on the matter.

how does whumpee prefer to decompress after a practice session? what things would help them calm down and recover?

how long do they need (hours or days) before the next attempt?

Even with all I've just written, there's far more to the resulting hightened state of PTSD than flashbacks and hypervigilance. PTSD symptoms that they're most likely to encounter in the background while doing deconditioning practice include:

Flinchiness, anxiety, panic attacks, nightmares, exhaustion, emotional mood swings, outbursts, crying spells, depression, executive dysfunction, dissociation, numbness, racing thoughts, freeze responses, tremors, inappetence, muscle tension, and heart palpitations.

Yes, usually many of them at once, even those that contradict. Your whumpee is going to have a LOT going on at once, and it is not going to be a fun time. I recommend looking up any of the above symptoms you don't recognize, and looking for whump inspiration in what you learn.

(Because everyone experiences PTSD episodes differently, there's a lot of wiggle room in which ones whumpee will encounter. Don't feel pressured to use all of them, find what you want to write and have fun with it!)

Thanks again for the incredible ask, anon. And again, I want to congratulate you on how spot-on your original ask was. You nailed it. I know this was a lot more than you asked for, but I hope this provides helpful context for your whump! My inbox will always be open if you think of anything more <3

[maracujatangerine]

92: Playing with the pet

CW: institutional slavery, pet whump, dehumanisation, box boy universe, implied abuse, physical injury

The pet’s master had guests. The pet was on its best behaviour, kneeling on the hard, grey tiles next to Master’s chair. It was tired, cold, and hungry, but it did all it could to keep itself from swaying in place.

To distract itself, and to prepare itself for what might happen, it watched the guests carefully. These people were new. The pet had never seen them before.

Two large, muscular men with colourful tattoos running down their arms and wrapping around their necks. Both of them carried themselves as people who were no strangers to violence, and the pet caught a quick glimpse of a gun in a holster when one of them leaned down to place their tan leather messenger bag on the floor.

With them, they had two women in their late teens or early twenties, well a decade younger than the men. They wore carefully applied makeup, and flowery perfumes that itched the pet’s nose and made it want to sneeze.

“Oh!” The blonde woman exclaimed in surprise when she saw it. “You have a pet! That’s so adorable!”

“Can we play with him?” The redhead asked wistfully. The pet saw how its master and the two men exchanged meaningful looks, even though the women seemed unaware. When the burly men nodded, the pet’s master smiled and, with an inviting gesture, handed over the pet’s leash to her.

”Of course you can, Jenna! You can take him into the living room across the hall and play with him as much as you want.”

”That’s amazing!” She turned, and the pet scrambled clumsily to its feet, stiff after kneeling for so long. ”What’s his name?”

”Um… well…” Cassius hesitated. ”He doesn’t really have a name. We usually call him pet, or… well, my niece and nephew sometimes call him buddy.”

“Okay, Buddy it is, then.” She smiled at the pet and patted her thigh. “Come on, Buddy.”

The pet glanced at its Master, but Cassius had already turned away and was busy pouring whiskey into three tumblers. Despite the fluttering of fear in the pet’s chest, there was nothing for it to do but to follow the young women across the hallway and into the room on the other side.

The blonde girl sat down in the black leather sofa and pulled up her legs under her. Jenna sat next to her, and as she held the pet’s leash, it knelt down on the grey carpet in front of her. They both looked at it, which made its stomach tighten in fear. Unsure of what to do, it tilted its head and tried an imploring smile.

“Awww! Look, Crystal! That is so cute!” Jenna clapped her hands together appreciatively.

“Do you know any tricks?” Crystal asked, and the pet immediately panicked.

What tricks? It hadn’t been taught any tricks.

It could walk at heel, and serve canapés, and pour champagne in a straight and perfect arc. It could cook, and clean, and listen sympathetically to its owner’s lamentations. It could grovel, and beg, and bleed. But it had a terrible feeling that none of those skills were what these young ladies wanted, and if it couldn’t show them a sufficiently amusing trick right now, they might hurt it, or its Master might be displeased, and that would be the same thing…

It knew it was spiralling, but it couldn’t stop. It was all it could do to keep the confusion and fear from its face.

“Shake!” Crystal leaned forward, a strand of her blonde hair - more warmly yellow than the pets pale blonde - falling down over her face. She held out her hand, and dumbfoundedly, the pet laid its hand in hers. She gave it a vigorous shake. “Yay!” She cheered. ��Good job! Good boy!”

The words rushed like endorphins down the pet’s spine. Blessed relief! It had guessed right at least this time.

”Wave!” Crystal nodded to the pet, and it tentatively raised its right hand in a cautious wave. ”That’s good! Now spin!”

The pet hurriedly span around on its knees, making a full circle and then, daringly, tilting its head at them again.

It was equally successful this time. Both Jenna and Crystal laughed and applauded.

”Let me try.” Jenna said. ”Roll over.” She told the pet, who laid down on its stomach and rolled around on its back to land on its stomach again. ”Good!”

”We should give him a treat for doing well.” Crystal said suddenly.

”Yes!” Jenna nodded. ”Do you like chocolate?” She asked the pet.

”Y-yes, Ma’am.”

She rummaged around in her bag and found half a bar of milk chocolate. Unfolding the metal foil, she broke off a square of chocolate and held it out to the pet. Hesitatingly, it leaned forward and carefully took it between its lips. The burst of flavour almost shockingly sweet.

”Sit pretty.” Crystal ordered, and the pet almost lost it for a moment. It was already sitting, what else did they want from it? In a burst of creative inspiration, it held up both hands in front of its chest, mimicking a dog sitting up on its haunches.

It was rewarded by laughter, and another chocolate square. Crystal leaned forward and tousled its hair appreciatively.

“I know!” Jenna looked at Crystal with a wink, then, with a mischievous smile, she turned to the pet and gave the order.

”Snoot Boop.”

Shyly, the pet stretched up on its knees to lightly touch its own nose to hers. Jenna giggled. It kept its eyes respectfully downcast the whole time. Her breath smelled sweet and fresh, like peppermint, and even though her flowery perfume was strong, it was not unpleasant.

The pet sat immediately down on its knees again, and when it dared to look up at her, Jenna’s dark blue eyes looked straight into the pets own. They glittered with laugher, but the pet could see no hint of maliciousness. It was more like she was laughing with it, enjoying its cleverness, rather than laughing at it.

Crystal raised her right hand, index finger pointing at the pet.

”Bang!” She said. This time, the pet caught her meaning quickly. Dramatically, it flopped down on its back on the carpet, eyes closed.

When its theatrics made the young women laugh, the pet felt really proud. It hadn’t been trained for this, but they thought it was funny - and well-behaved.

Suddenly, the laughter stopped.

“Oh no, look.” Jenna grabbed its wrist, making the pet instinctively go limp, letting her twist its hand to and fro as she pleased. A long, infected scratch along its arm glistened damp and red in the lamplight. ”You’ve gotten hurt.”

Before the pet had time to react, she called loudly out into the other room.

”Cassius, did you know that Buddy is injured?”

A moment’s silence, then the pet’s Master’s voice.

”It’s nothing to worry about, Jenna. You know pets, they play rough sometimes.” He cleared his throat. ”If you want to fix him up, there’s a first aid kit in the kitchen.”

”I’ll get it.” Jenna jumped up and walked out towards the kitchen.

”You poor dear.” Crystal said. ”What happened?”

The pet could very vividly recall Kristoff pushing it up against the chain link fence, its arm catching on the strand of barbed wire hanging down loosely from on top of the fence. But if it said that, the truth might reflect badly on its Master.

”T-this pet cannot remember, Ma’am.”

When Jenna came back with the first aid kit, they carefully cleaned the cut and dressed it with a proper, white bandage and everything. The pet was amazed, especially since they gave it the whole rest of the chocolate bar, ’for being so brave’.

”Can we braid your hair?” Crystal asked, as Jenna gathered up the first aid materials.

”Y-yes, Ma’am.”

So then the pet sat with its back against the sofa, while both Jenna and Crystal played with its hair, making Dutch braids on either side of the pet’s head. They were so gentle and careful. The pet closed its eyes for a moment, enjoying the sensation, when something tilted and shifted. The memory slid away from it, and changed.

Another hand touched its hair, roughly.

”Did you make yourself this pretty for me?” A deep, melodious voice asked.

The pet froze. In the distance, it could hear its Master greet the man with respect and notes of fear in his voice.

”Of course you can feel free to borrow my pet. Take your time and enjoy him as much as you’d like.”

The pet was immobilised. When it opened its eyes, everything was dark. There were hands all over it, groping, stroking, probing. It knew, that whatever it did, they would have their way with it. Maybe today would be the day that they broke it.

The pet pleaded, begged, finally screamed, but the wandering hands did not let up. It twisted and tried to get away.

It screamed again and then, suddenly, jerked awake.

The soft, warm light from the night light alleviated the darkness.

Hands were touching it, but these hands were safe. Coriander heaved itself up into sitting, and nearly melted into the familiar hug, only now aware of the tears running down its face.

Miss Lydia hugged the pet gently. She stroked its back.

”It’s okay, Cory.” She repeated quietly. ”It was just a dream. You are here with me now. You are okay.”

The pet was clinging to her, taking shivering breaths. Slowly coming back to itself. Relief flowed over it, as it realised it was true. It had just been dreaming.

Then, the pet remembered. It froze. When Miss Lydia felt it stiffen, she froze too.

With an effort, Coriander straightened up, and turned away.

”P-please, Miss Lydia. Don’t… P-please leave this pet alone.”

It didn’t look at her, but it could feel her hesitation. After a moment, her breath hitched as if she wanted to say something, but instead, Lydia got up and walked away.

She left the door ajar.

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards-blog @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

[artist-issues]

All right I loved Twisters, too, but I have to stress that there wasn't anything in it that was groundbreaking. Nothing incredible.

Just plain good. Straightforward. Simply good. Wrapped up in a nice neat package. Not trying to right all the wrongs or check all the boxes.

Please don't put Glen Powell in every movie from here to 2029, he did a good job, but it wasn't him, it was the plain good story, and he and the others disappeared into that, that's their job, don't put them in every movie they won't FIT in every movie

[stars-inthe-sky]

9-1-1 Tag Game

Tagged by @rcmclachlan and @screamlet, who may or may not have known that I've watched exactly seven episodes of the series (as well as a whole bunch of clips, admittedly). I'm not letting that stop me from having a good time, but take everything I say with a grain of salt here, because, again, I have seen only seven episodes of a long-running series in a season that, as far as I can tell, has been particularly not good in the scheme of things. So most of this is based on vibes, as well as fic interpretations or skimming Wikipedia once last spring.

Favorite Character: Does fanon!Tommy count? He's fascinating. If not, canon Buck is a completely insane assemblage of personal history and character traits that is hard to look away from, in a good way.

Character You Relate to the Most: Ravi, who's here for the food and to mostly be a professional in a work setting and also what is the deal with these people?

Favorite Episode: Of the episodes I've actually seen as whole episodes, I guess "Masks"? But it seems like the actual answer had I watched things would be one of the Begins episodes, probably Chimney's or Buck's.

Hottest Take: This may be a consequence of the especially bad writing recently, and that being all I've seen, but it feels like Athena's cop/solo storylines are patched in from another show, to the point that I don't really get why she's here as a regular besides that someone landed Oscar Nominee Angela Bassett on this ridiculous network procedural and like hell they're not gonna use her.

Favorite Lone Star Character: Now, this show I haven't actually seen any of, but I know Gina Torres is on it, sooooo probably Gina Torres?

Favorite Ship: Buck/Tommy is literally the only reason I'm here in the first place.

Most Underrated Character: Sure seems like it's Karen Wilson, actual rocket scientist with no backstory. Also, have they really never in all these years given her an excuse to sing onscreen?

Most Underrated Ship: Truthfully, I don't feel qualified to answer this.

One Thing You’d Love to See: Stealing @screamlet's response: "good writing" (and maybe a heavy-handed obvious-romcom-homage reunion for our guys)

Tagging: @sadieb798, who drove me here, and I thiiiiink @rikyl and maybe @running-rabbit fell down this hole a bit with me recently?

[ashintheairlikesnow]

"I/You made a mess." - five line prompt for boost lol.

CW: BBU, pet whump, institutionalized whump, dehumanizing language, aftermath of dubcon

Boost's Stuff

-

Handler Thompson - Clint - never even takes his pants all the way off. He lays there panting afterwards with them off his hips, his black uniform shirt rucked up to show a flash of stomach paler than his arms and his face and his neck, the only bits Boost usually ever sees.

"Good boy," Clint says, breathy, leaning down to nuzzle along the angle of his jaw. Boost shivers, eyes wide, staring with his head tipped back because he can see the blue sky.

Outside smells like cut grass and rain. Smells he can't remember but knows anyway. The air is humid and hot, the pavement parking lot drying after the storm passed. The sky is so, so blue.

He hadn't realized it would be so incredibly blue. He hadn't understood that it would seem so immense, so far overhead. He hadn't known it would be frightening, like it could crash down any second, cracks in a ceiling larger than his imagination had ever been able to grasp.

Clint chuckles, warm air against his ear, and Boost shivers again. Instinctively, his arms go up. Bizarrely, Clint leans into it, shifting so Boost can hold onto him as if fighting for an anchor to keep him close to earth. "Hey. You made a mess, did you notice?"

Boost blinks, briefly confused, and then realizes what the handler means. His stomach is marked, sticky, familiar only from his own hand in the showers or those brief times he is utterly alone.

But this time...

"I've never... with someone else before," He whispers. He doesn't know if his body ever has, but he hasn't. Not from someone else's hand, someone else's moving hips, someone else's stinging pain and wavelike pleasures. His skin itches. Messes are bad, and must be cleaned.

But Clint is heavy, and the sky through the window, where he lays on his back on the backseat of Clint's beautiful shining car, is so so blue.

"Yeah, I guess we don't usually give a fuck if you have fun or not," Clint says, careless. He doesn't sound guilty or regretful. Just stating a fact. His fingers graze down Boost's side until he shivers again, tightening around the softening fullness inside him, making Clint groan and lean even more heavily on him. The closure for a seatbelt digs into his other side, down near his hip. The leather sticks to his back. The door handle jams into the top of his head, aching after the rocking rhythm they kept up for so long.

"You really like it out here," Clint says, thoughtfully. "Don't you? You like fucking me out here."

I like the sky, Boost thinks. I don't care about you. I just want more of the sky.

"Yeah," He says, trying to think of how the Romantics do this. Flirty smiles and batting eyelashes don't feel right. But he softens his voice a little, shifts his legs apart as if urging Clint to do it again, what he just did, what they do twice a week now. "I do like it. A lot. Will you bring me out here more often?"

"Sure. You're a fun time." Clint, to his surprise, kisses him. A full on kiss on the lips, and Boost stills but then, clumsily, tries to kiss back. "Next week. I have a long weekend out of town. But next week, huh? You, me, condoms, and a good time had by all."

Boost swallows, and gently kisses Clint. "Yeah, please, Handler Clint. Thank you, sir." He keeps his voice low.

A few more weeks of this and he'll ask to get fast food somewhere. French fries. He smells them sometimes when handlers bring in outside food as treats for the good pets who did well in training.

Weeks of being good, getting food and drink. Maybe things he can sneak back to the others. Then ask to see the handler's apartment. Get off of WRU property, away from those walls topped with razor wire and spotlights. Get somewhere with more grass and trees. Spend some time making Clint think they're so good together. Boost is a good maintenance worker even if he's a failed pet.

Boost can be so, so, so good.

Until Clint thinks he'd never try to run. Until he is trusted and believed and has his chance. Then, he'll have all the blue sky he wants.

But he feels bad about what he'll do to Clint to get it. Just not bad enough to stop.

[starrspice]

GODS I LOVE PIRATE AUS SO MUCH

Also what's with Eclipse 👀

Well...

Sun and Moon weren't the only one with their eyes on that merchant ship that had Y/N

The big difference is Eclipse knew what Y/N was and that they were on board

He insists him and Y/N have met before but Y/N doesn't remember him

[frightnightindustries]

Killing Time

Tony, also known as the Time Bomb Killer, is a 27 year old serial killer running around Alaska. While teaching one of his 'lessons' (read: torture sessions), he finds somebody in the basement of the pathetic creature who didn't know how to treat romantic partners. He takes him home, and then starts falling for the beautiful man who has beautiful eyes.

Louis didn't have a name before his new ma-, no, Tony found him. Tony told him that healing would be a long process. It would be even longer considering that his new owne-his new companion was a serial killer that still cried for his parents in nightmares.

The pair, through setbacks, begins to help each other heal.

-----

When they cringed in fear

Finding a name

[distinctlywhumpthing]

This Is Where I Found You

Follow-up to More Than This and Demo Time, more stuff that I've had lines scribbled about for years. Although the random drive-thru scene was a more recent idea that I just had to indulge Leo on <3

Previous — Masterlist — Next

Leo still hasn’t made up his mind about telling him when he pulls into the familiar Dunkin’ but it’s past lunchtime either way so he follows the arrows for the drive-thru. 

“What do you feel like eating?” He asks, fully prepared for a non-answer. Despite managing to turn things around at the house, Aiden withdrew as soon as they got back in the van. Leo hopes it’s just a little introspection and not a renewed sense of dread like there’s still another shoe midair. 

“M’okay,” he says, giving a tiny quirk of his lips that’s probably meant to be reassuring or convincing. It’s anything but. 

“Come on,” Leo pushes gently. “I’m having something.” 

He shakes his head, not even bothering to placate Leo with eye contact this time. 

Leo puts a hand on his shoulder. “What’s up, hon?” 

Now he does glance up, expression one of rehearsed nonchalance. “Nothing….m’fine.” 

Leo gives him a look but doesn’t have time to say anything because it’s his turn at the window. 

“Good Afternoon, what can I do for you?” The voice buzzes. 

“Hey, yeah could I get a large iced coffee, two creams, two sugars and a small hot chocolate with whipped cream, please.” 

Aiden huffs beside him. 

“I’ll also have a sausage, egg and cheese, please.” 

He looks at Aiden who shakes his head again, avoiding eye contact. 

“Can I also get a side of hash browns, please? And an everything bagel with cream cheese and butter on the side.” 

“Do you want that toasted?” 

“No, thanks.” 

Aiden still won’t meet his eyes. 

“And a blueberry muffin…and a chocolate chip muffin, please.” Aiden finally looks up, shaking his head and trying to look exasperated. Leo grins. “Let’s also do 25 glazed munchkins and a coffee roll.” 

“Will that be all?” 

“Will that be all?” Leo repeats. Aiden glowers at him, biting back a smile. Leo pulls him under his arm and Aiden scoots closer across the bench seat. “That’s all, thanks.” 

Aiden turns his face into Leo’s shoulder while they wait their turn for the next window. 

“You’re okay,” he soothes absently, “you’re good.” Aiden squirms closer and Leo rubs his back. He regrets not holding him more after the initial upset, to help settle him better. 

When Leo pulls up to the window, Aiden straightens but doesn’t move away. Leaves their knees touching and his shoulder pressed against Leo’s. Leo could give a damn what the kid at the window sees or thinks but he doesn’t say anything. 

Aiden stifles a laugh when Leo starts passing over the cornucopia of food. 

He pulls around the building and parks near the sad patio of stone picnic tables. Aiden passes him his coffee and sandwich before picking up one of the brown bags. He looks inside and closes it again, picking up the other one instead. The blueberry muffin for sure. He takes his hot chocolate out of the cup holder and holds both up as if for approval. 

Leo plays along. “Good boy.” 

Aiden rolls his eyes but it does little to dampen his smile. 

At least the franchise owners had the decency to put the tables at the back of the parking lot. Opposite the road with enough traffic that it takes ten minutes to make a left onto during rush hour. They’ve even planted fresh pansies in the pots on either side of the slab of concrete. Aiden slides in across from him, setting down his drink and muffin bag like they’re made of spun sugar. Leo should’ve had Aiden sit next to him but it’s too late, Aiden’s already reacting like it’s an intentional confrontation. 

Still, he tries. “Kiddo—” 

“I’m sorry,” Aiden says carefully, fingers balled inside his sleeves, fists full of the fabric. He forces himself to hold eye contact like he always does when he’s capital-a apologizing. 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Leo repeats.

He shakes his head. “I-I-I…was mmm’a…brat.” Leo could laugh out loud at the absurdity of that label but he bites his tongue and lets him finish. “I mmm’shouldn’t-shouldn’t push you…like…that.” Aiden swallows. “And m’sorry…for uhm’mmm’freaking…out.” 

Leo can’t help but wonder if it’s no coincidence this comes on the heels of the good boy remark. God, he hates this shit sometimes. The mental gymnastics they both have to do constantly. 

It might not be fair but he just asks, as gently as he can. “What do you want to hear? What do you think should happen?” 

Aiden lifts one shoulder, finally letting his gaze fall. “I dunno…mmm’punishment?” 

“Never gonna happen, kiddo.” He tilts his head, trying to read Aiden’s expression. “I want to know what’s going on for you, even if the only way it comes out is louder or less controlled than you like.” 

Aiden chances a glance up at him.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to but nothing you say—or the way you say it—will ever make me treat you differently or—” He almost says it, his tongue lifting to the roof of his mouth to form the first letter, but he backpedals. Neither one of them is ready for that. “—think any less of you.” 

He sips his coffee to give Aiden a chance to let that sink in. Takes a bite of his sandwich because those things do not taste good cold. Honestly, they’re not tasting very good hot these days either. The sun is warm on his back, the breeze chilly enough that Aiden doesn’t look out of place in the least wearing a beanie even though Leo’s in a t-shirt.

Aiden takes more than one deep breath before he answers. Leo’s almost done eating by the time the kid gears himself up for whatever he wants to say. 

“It mmm’feels like…after-after…all of it mmm’something. Something…should mmm’happen. With…the mmm’way I feel…and-and…how I…mmm’acted. There…has to be mmm’something mmm’bigger…to just-just get it to…fucking mmm’stop.” He keeps his gaze fixed on the table when he’s done, like he’s not sure how the confession will be received. 

Leo reaches across the table and Aiden meets him halfway, lets him hold his hand still half in the sleeve of his hoodie. 

“It doesn’t have to hurt.” 

Aiden blinks, exhales a shaky breath. “But…it-it mmm’always…has…” 

“Baby—” 

Aiden shakes his head and pulls his hand away. Leo can’t tell if it’s because he doesn’t want to break down outside a Dunkin’ Donuts or because he doesn’t want to let Leo comfort him. He reaches for his hot chocolate with trembling fingers. 

“Careful, don’t burn your tongue,” Leo says needlessly. It’s probably been ten minutes already but they always seem to use water that’s hotter than boiling. 

He obligingly takes the lid off and, sure enough, a waft of steam rises into the air. 

“Want me to blow on it for you?” Leo hears himself ask, not even aware of what he’s trying to do until Aiden sniffles, nodding. He picks up the cup and blows on it, steam disappearing into the spring air. Aiden rests his elbows on the table, tucking his chin into his hands. 

Leo sets the cup down and pulls the blueberry muffin out of the bag. He might be pushing his luck but he tries anyway. “Will you eat some for me?” 

Aiden nods, dropping one hand to take it but Leo lifts muffin closer for him instead. His tenuous composure dissolves, a tear running down his cheek as he leans forward to take a bite. He wipes it away with his sleeve, straightening to chew and dropping his eyes to the cocoa, still skirting around Leo soothing him outright, even with a look. “I—uhm—mmm’will…you…will you…check?” He whispers it, like he wouldn’t be able to make the request at full volume. Leo’s chest feels as if it’s splitting down the middle. 

“Of course.” They both pretend Leo’s voice doesn’t break on the last syllable. He’d burn his tongue a thousand times over if it would soothe even a fraction of Aiden’s pain. “Perfect,” he reports, replacing the lid and passing it to Aiden. 

Aiden lets their fingers overlap around the cup a moment longer before he pulls away, taking a long drink, blinking up at the sky. 

Leo aches, knowing that Aiden hurts so much and in such an untouchable way. It’s easier to think about what Aiden will let him do, what he has the capacity to receive, instead of all the things Leo could give and thinks he deserves. 

He makes himself finish his sandwich. Aiden pinches a piece of the muffin top off, breaks it in two and eats one piece at a time. 

A pair of chickadees flit out of the cyprus hedges in desperate need of a spring trimming that border the parking lot. They swoop on an invisible track through the air, one in front, the other following. Another loop switches their places and it’s impossible to tell which was leading as they slip in among the still-sparse trees lining the neighboring lot.

Leo’s not sure if this is the right time but maybe a perfect one doesn’t exist. 

“This is where I found you,” he says, ripping the bandaid off before he can second guess himself. 

Aiden freezes with a mouthful of hot chocolate to blink at him. He waits another beat before he swallows. 

Leo’s told him the story before. “It snowed like crazy the night before. They hadn’t even plowed yet when I pulled in to get coffee for the day. I noticed someone was out in the cold so I got out to give them one of the coffees. But then I saw you…” 

He hesitates, swallows twice before asking, “Where?” 

“Right over here,” Leo amends, nodding to the edge of the patio just before the hedges. He only feels a passing wave of guilt at the revision but he will not let Aiden imagine himself discarded by a dumpster. Even if a part of him always wondered if it was for some semblance of shelter. 

Aiden chews his lip and picks at the wrapper of the muffin, pulling it away slowly. “Why…why did…you…mmm’do…it?” 

“Why did I take you in?” 

He nods, looking up to study Leo’s face. 

Leo thinks back to his question in the kitchen. There is one answer, neat enough to explain it all now that he can name the feeling, but Leo has a hunch that will just open a whole new level of why questions and insecurities for Aiden. 

“I wish I had a better answer for you but I don’t know. I don’t know what made me do it but I couldn’t leave you there. And then once you were with me, I couldn’t turn you out when I didn’t think you had anywhere safe to go. I thought about making some calls but…I didn’t want to part ways.” 

Aiden’s eyebrows knit together under the beanie. “And you-you…mmm’didn’t…know?”

“I didn’t know you were a companion?” Leo repeats even though it’s the same question he asks every time he hears the story. 

He nods.

“No, sweetheart. I didn’t know,” Leo tells him like always. “That had nothing to do with my decision or wanting to help you, even once I knew.”  

Another nod. He fans out the muffin wrapper, smoothing the crinkled edges with a fingertip. 

“Hon, I know this doesn’t always feel like it’s got legs because it’s not something you can touch or see.” He turns his hand over and Aiden surrenders his. Leo runs his thumb over the backs of his knuckles. “How’s it feel?” 

“S’okay…” When Leo keeps inspecting him he adds, “Kinda…stiff.”

“Doesn’t look too swollen.” He cradles it between both of his. “I know you have no precedent for this. I get that sometimes you’re going to need to test it, test yourself in it. It’s okay. I see you. I know you are more than all of it. And I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it: I’m not goin’ anywhere.” 

Aiden swallows and brings his other hand up to hold onto Leo’s. He looks over to the pretend-spot. Not for the first time, Leo wonders what he remembers of that day, how he got there. Leo’s asked him before and got nowhere, couldn’t tell if Aiden had nothing to share or wasn’t ready to do so. 

When he turns back, he swipes another tear from his cheek. “I’m…I’mmm’glad…it was…you.” 

Leo smiles. He’s thought that every minute of every day since. “Me too.” 

“Can we go home?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart.” Leo pulls him close under his arm as they walk to the van. “Home sounds good.” 

Previous — Masterlist — Next

@octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nick-pascal @whumpy-writings @cracked-porcelain-princess

@meetmeinhellcroutons @briars7 @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @neuro-whump

@painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @skyhawkwolf @haro-whumps @onlybadendings

@peachy-panic @fillthedarkvoid @rabass @crystalquartzwhump @dont-touch-my-soup

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @guachipongo @creetchure @leyswhumpdump

@aseasonwithclarasblog @catawhumpus @magziemakeswhatever @pigeonwhumps @batfacedliar-yetagain

@whumpinthepot @dustypinetree @whump-in-progress @light-me-on-pyre @whumps-and-bumps

@i-eat-worlds @hellodecisionparalysis @heartfullofhoney @alternateminds @taterswhump

@handsinmotion @arobear @dj-subwoofer @deluxewhump

[yet-another-heathen]

I saw ur really informative post on conditioning and said with whumpers uts about using pain again and again

Any advice about caretakers deconditioning?

[ Referring to this post. ]

The first and most important thing is that the caretaker cannot decondition the whumpee. It's not possible. That progress is entirely internal, and requires a massive amount of introspection, self-motivation, and practice from the whumpee themself. No one else can do it for them.

But what the caretaker can do is be there for them while the whumpee fights toward their own recovery. They can be the stability that whumpee needs in order to work through these massive problems on their own.

Deconditioning is awful. It involves repeated failure, over and over and over, working toward lessening the response. And it is incredibly frustrating, painful, heartbreaking, and at times it feels completely hopeless.

Progress is so non-linear that they can spend months improving and then backslide nearly back to the beginning if they get caught off guard. At times it'll feel like they're stuck at the same point and can't get any further. Like a future where they will be free of it may simply not exist.

At many points, your whumpee is going to feel heartbroken. They're going to spiral into, "Why can't I do this? Why can't I make it stop?" and, "I thought I was past this." and, "Will I ever be able to undo what whumper made me?"

A good caretaker can be there to comfort them when things go wrong. They can hold them while they cry. They can listen to them when they go into a sobbing, breathless rant about how much this hurts. They can make sure that whumpee knows they have someone who doesn't think of them as broken or lesser because of what they've gone through.

Depending on if whumpee feels it would help, they might help them brainstorm a reward system. If there's a situation where they're around other people and the caretaker spots the trigger coming, they can try to redirect conversation away from it before it hits. Preferably without anyone realizing they're doing it for whumpee's sake. When whumpee has just been triggered and wants nothing more than to be alone, the caretaker can make sure their boundaries are respected. To make sure they have somewhere safe to go.

Even more importantly, they can also help by highlighting the moments of whumpee's progress. Pointing out their successes, no matter how small. Pointing out how far they've come. Reminding them that the ups and downs are supposed to happen. That trauma recovery is a rollercoaster, not a straight line.

As a whumpee in that state, it's very easy to feel like they're making no progress. That even when they succeed, the tiny bits of success are hollow, because 'they shouldn't be like this in the first place'. Have your caretaker help them see their own victories. Help them actually see the healing as it grows.

A realistically conditioned whumpee does not need someone to fix them. They need someone to be there for them while they save themselves.

---

This was such a good ask, thank you for sending it my way!

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hi! I would love an imagine for the boys that includes the reader getting held captive and they rescue her, maybe a little Angst to Fluff?

Love your work btw ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Only a little angst? Friend, I may have gone and made this more angsty with just a sprinkle of fluff. I can't help myself sometimes. So, fair warning to y'all, that it is angst-ridden with a bit of fluff at the end of each. Sorry?

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): angst, canon-typical violence, swearing, reunions, light fluff

Word Count: 1.7k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

John’s heart is thunderous, beating so loudly it’s like a bass drum in his ears.

To be successful, to execute this rescue with precision, he needs to remain calm, to be the leader he knows he is. It’s not a lack of confidence, but a growing dread that he might be too late. There is no room to show fear—to let everyone in on how important this is.

Because it is important.

You are important.

Not just to the team but to him. Maybe the team knows. Laswell likely does, but the boys might not. Sure, they have suspicions, but you and John have always been discreet, have always tried to keep the relationship between the two of you private.

Now, with the mission ahead, all those secrets and subversion might overflow. Become known to everyone.

John breathes in through his nostrils, and exhales through his mouth. Box breathing. It’s helping. But only a little.

“We’re ready, Captain,” says Gaz, crouching beside him, gaze scanning the land before them.

There’s open ground and then a building. Someone stands guard near the door, head on a swivel. Soap silently appears next to Kyle, taking a knee. Simon is somewhere in the dark, ready to snipe every enemy in sight before they enter the building.

Price nods, and then speaks into the walkie. “You’re clear, Ghost.”

“Copy.”

Seconds later, the man guarding the door jerks like he’s been electrified before crumpling silently to the ground. A few more moments and a body plummets from the top of the building, landing with a sickening crunch.

“No signs of life,” comes Simon’s voice over the comms.

Soap snorts. “Cheeky bastard.”

John wants to join in, but you’re consuming his every thought. It’s only been twenty-four hours since you were taken, yet it feels like an eternity.

“Let’s move,” murmurs John.

They advance in unison with Simon emerging from the dark to bring up the rear. Entering the building is easy, but they’ll have to go slowly and silently inside. Up close and personal is the way to go in a place like this. One wrong move might spook the rest.

Kyle and Soap take the front, breaking necks and slicing throats. It’s clean. Efficient.

John signals with his hand and everyone shifts down a different hall, heading toward the internal bunker. That is where they’re holding you, along with other hostages.

A few more quick deaths and then John is kicking in the door.

There are screams. Shouts. Rapid gunfire.

John is already searching, seeking your face.

“Targets are down, sir,” shouts Soap.

There are cages. Rows of them. He searches each one, looking at every face.

“Contact base and tell them we need civilian pickup,” says John.

“On it,” answers Kyle, already leaning his head to the side to speak into his radio.

John searches. And searches.

“John.” Your voice cracks but it’s soothing. Soft.

He murmurs your name, going down on one knee, reaching through the bars to grasp your hand.

“I’m here,” he murmurs.

“I knew you’d come,” you reply, smiling. “I knew.”

With his back turned to the rest of his team, John silently mouths three little words. “I love you.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny is on the mission, but he isn’t. Not really.

He’s watching it all on monitors at a safe distance. Others are taking the lead. Others are executing the mission. And Johnny must step aside because while he is physically capable, he’s too emotionally invested.

Too explosive. Too irate. Too volatile.

But this is about you. Of course he’s going to be angry.

Yet here he is pacing, gaze glued on the screens, listening to the chatter. Every muscle is primed for movement, ready for action, but Johnny cannot expel the energy. It’s building—shifting into anxiety.

“What’s taking so bloody long?” he growls.

Laswell glances over her shoulder at him. Though she appears calm, Johnny notices a small flicker of sympathy.

“They’re returning,” she replies. “Waiting on e-t-a.”

Johnny’s pacing worsens.

“You’re going to wear a path in the concrete,” says Laswell.

Johnny opens his mouth to reply, but the sound of helicopter blades reaches his ears. It’s not loud, just a hint of sound, but as it increases, his heartrate spikes.

Laswell doesn’t have to say anything. Johnny is already moving, rushing out to the landing pad, watching as the helicopter approaches and descends. The seconds pass in small eternities. Nikolai is in the pilot’s seat, and it is Captain Price who opens the sliding door just as the helicopter lands. Johnny is rushing forward, almost throwing himself inside in his search for you.

“Johnny.” It’s Simon, his large hand coming down on Johnny’s shoulder.

Johnny wants to tell him to move, to get the hell out of his way, but it is your voice that Johnny hears. As the helicopter blades slow, the air calms, and it is easier to understand—to recognize your familiar tone that Johnny has missed for all these days.

There’s a blanket around your shoulders and a sunken quality to your features that speaks to malnutrition. Other than that, you appear fine. Unharmed.

Johnny, no longer impeded by Simon’s hand, moves toward you, coming down on one knee. You immediately reach for him, and Johnny takes your hand. You’re cold, and it pains him. Placing both of your hands between his, he brings them to his lips, brushing kisses along the knuckles, attempting to warm them with his own heat.

You bend forward, and as Johnny glances up, you rest your forehead against his.

The fight is over. You’re here.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

There is a hunger in Simon.

Like the snake, he will consume his prey headfirst.

It is eerie how calm he is—how focused. A mission is a mission is a mission—until it isn’t. Until there is no target, no capture or kill, no sense of duty. This is all primal rage boiled down into a thick, viscus consistency. It is invisible, smeared over Simon’s eyes, drenches the world around him into a grey haze.

Simon could be the rapid dog let loose from a broken chain. Poisoned saliva. Bared teeth. Prone to biting.

The knife in his hand is bright and hot and burning. It itches for blood, for Simon to take these fuckers down a peg. He has it in him, but all Simon needs from his superior officer is the affirmative. And then, like the ghost he is, they won’t ever see him coming.

Come on, Price. Call it.

A part of him is missing—shredded. He did his best to protect you, to keep you secret from the world. Cruelty and deception move quickly though, and now your life is in danger.

Give the fucking word.

“Path is clear,” comes Captain Price’s voice over the radio.

It’s all the affirmation Simon needs. He is up and moving in seconds, a wraith in the dark, a silent shadow out for blood. His blade is his guide, sheering and cutting, leaving a trail of bodies behind him. There are no shouts, no cries of pain. Simon is clean, brutal, efficient.

But there is only one thing—one person on his mind. And that’s you.

A set of stairs. A hall. Rooms. More stairs.

Ascending. Ascending. Ascending.

The rest of the team isn’t far behind, but they stay back and leave Simon to it. They know this mission is for him. That he’s not only doing it for you but for himself.

It’s a wonder his knife doesn’t grow dull. It cuts true. Cuts clean. And it isn’t until the last enemy has fallen that some of the tension in Simon’s muscles melts away. He has consumed his prey, and there is only a singular door left to open.

There is the moment before he opens it, a space of breath that feels like eternity packed into single moment. The hinges creak, revealing a tiny room no larger than a walk-in closet. And there you are, on your side, ankle chained to the wall.

“Simon?”

You sound so broken. So…hollow.

As he sinks down onto one knee beside you, the unsteady confusion on your face gives way to hope. Simon’s arms reach out instinctively, wanting nothing more than to be around you. You throw yourself into him, and there is nothing sweeter in this moment.

“I’m here,” he whispers. “I’m here.”

Your sobs of joy nearly break him, nearly fracture Simon into pieces. But the fact that you’re alive, that you appear unharmed—at least physically—is more than he expected.

“I’m here,” he repeats, even as your tears stain his balaclava. “I’m here.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It is impossible to measure the love you have for someone until they’re taken from you.

Kyle thought he understood. Yet for these last few weeks, he’s been a fractured creature. A small illusion. A flicker of a man.

But you’re not gone, just far away. Alive, he hopes.

Alive, is what he repeats. A mantra in his head. If he says it enough, it will be true.

Price, Soap, and Ghost are in front of him, moving like shadows through the building while Kyle brings up the rear. With them beside him, there is calmness in the chaos, a softening to his chaotic emotions. They are his support, the ground that he can stand on.

Price motions, and then Ghost kicks in a door.

There are shouts first. Then gunfire. Then silence.

Each of them enters, walking amongst the corpses.

Price digs around in the pockets of one of the men, and then tosses a set of keys over to Ghost. Kyle is already following, moving into position as Ghost unlocks a nearby door. He points the firing end of his gun inside, and then steps back.

He glances at Kyle, and nods.

Lowering his weapon, Kyle pushes the door wide, the light bleeding into the dark, revealing a shape he knows well.

Kyle’s surroundings melt away, leaving only you. He cradles your cheeks, thumbs rubbing away the dirt and blood and tears. You’re smiling, but there is red there, too.

“I knew you’d come for me.”

“Always,” he whispers, voice cracking in pain.

Captain Price appears at his shoulder, glancing down at the two of you on the floor, face grim. He speaks into his radio. “I need a med evac now.”

“You’re going to live,” reassures Kyle. “I promise.”

“Please don’t leave,” you murmur, fresh tears pooling in your eyes.

Kyle shakes his head. “Never. I’ll never leave again.”

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[zorosangell]

HII! I have zero clue if your requests are open if they're not ignore this ask. but let's pretend it's totally summer time and it's vacation to a 5 star resort time ok? ok!!!!! i just had this random thought of the strawhats going to an extremely luxurious resort w/ a shit ton of pools and the reader ending up losing their top of their bikini while hanging out in a shallow pool with her girl bffs n having to call for bf zoro to be her savior.. sorry. i miss zoro he needs to be disturbed with every miss inconvenience ever

⛥ﾟ・。 hibiscus

synopsis: after a wardrobe malfunction at the pool, you're left soaked and topless... luckily, you have a hot boyfriend to come to your rescue.

cw: fluffy fluff, comfort, zoro is a bit emotionally constipated, reader's better than me, girl talk, the bikini top isn't specified so imagine whatever you want.

a/n: look at my man's abs <3 oml

"No way!" you gasped, eyes wide as they flicked over each boy, completely taken aback by the similar look of them.

The little girl—who you learned to be Pasha—nodded, letting out another sigh as she grabbed another wildflower from her stockpile, tucking it into your hair.

"You have so many brothers! How big is your family?"

"Really big," her twin sister, Iza, answered, tying off another small braid she'd made. "There's twelve of us all together."

"Twelve?!"

Just the thought made you lightheaded, your mind somehow unable to comprehend one woman doing all that.

'Big Mom oughta watch out...'

"Wait 'til you learn most of us are twins..." Mila—another sister—chuckled, tossing some grapes into her mouth.

"Twins?!" you asked, brows furrowed in concern.

"Don't scare her off, Mila! It's not that bad," Pasha assured, carefully placing another peony in another section.

After getting cornered by the Navy, and nearly capsizing while trying to escape, Nami decided the crew was well overdue for some rest and relaxation.

Luckily, the executives at nearby Elysia Resort were more than eager to welcome you into their facilities—on the consensus that nothing would be stolen and no fights would be started.

So, while the others fooled around on the beach, or did some daytime reading, or made their fifteenth pass at the buffet, you hung out at the resort's impossibly large, impossibly luxurious pool.

Where you seemed to have attracted the local population of tween girls.

"Wait, but I thought pirates with braids were cliché?" you asked, confused, as you skimmed through the magazines some of the new girls brought over.

"Cli-what?" Maya cocked her head to the side, scrunching her nose as she adjusted her floaties.

"Old news," Leona clarified before turning to you, pulling a few of the braids Iza had finished toward your cheekbones. "And they're making a comeback. Like feather earrings."

"Please," Pasha scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Feather earrings are not making a comeback."

"Tell that to Kaizoku Style," Iza grinned, holding up a magazine that read LOOTING CHIC in bold letters right above a head-shot of a woman wearing feather earrings.

"They don't look too bad," you nodded, gliding your feet through the crystal blue water of the shallow end.

"See," Leona smirked, crossing her arms in triumph. "If they're not the new thing, then what is?"

"Bangles," Pasha answered, matter-of-factly.

"They've been in fashion!"

"You were the one that stole them out of momma's jewelry box, weren't you?" Mila teased.

"I did not!"

"There," Iza smiled, tying off the very last braid before giving your shoulder a soft pat. "All done."

Carefully, you leaned forward, taking a peek at your reflection through the clear water and smiling brightly at what you saw.

Your hair was adorned with all different flavors of bloom, the vibrant colors only enhancing your natural beauty.

And the braids added depth to your curls, giving it a majestic and earth-woven look.

"Oh, girls, I—"

"DOG PILE!" a random boy exclaimed, an army of them seeming to follow as they all let out a unanimous battle cry, quite literally canon-balling right on top of you.

A chorus of screaming young girls echoed throughout the pool as boys of varying ages rained from the sky—one in particular jumping on top of your head and shoving you underwater.

"NO, WAIT MY—!"

Shhrip!

Your eye twitched, and underwater you let out a sigh of frustration as your hands snapped up to cover your chest.

'You've gotta be kidding me...'

Once the assault was over, you stood from the pool floor, glancing at the ripped bikini top floating on the chlorinated surface as you turned to the girls—most of which too busy chasing down their brothers for ruining their hair.

"You all okay?" you asked, suddenly incredibly tired.

"We're fine," Pasha sighed, shaking the water out her ear. "They always do stuff like this."

"All right, then. I'm gonna go find something to cover... this..."

Turning around, you stepped out the pool and started the trek back to the cabana, moving at a brisk pace as you kept your hands firmly pressed against your bare chest.

Even though you loved children, you had to admit that you were less than pleased to see a bunch of teens had broken your top.

And even less so that they had failed to apologize.

But, if the boyish cries of "Uncle! Uncle!" from the far end of the pool were anything to go off of, then you were sure the girls had fought to avenge and defend your honor.

Sensing someone's presence, you pulled yourself out of your thoughts, only to see your swordsman standing right before you.

His eye dragged over your body, almost analytically, gauging your situation and gathering his response.

"The kids broke your top, didn't they?" Zoro asked, his hand sliding down into his pocket.

"How'd you guess?" you sighed, slightly hanging your head, now thoroughly regretting you didn't wear a one piece.

"Was doin' some strength workouts on the beach when I heard a bunch of kids screamin'. Remembered you were hangin' out over here and decided to check it out to make sure you were all right."

"Well—"

But before you could even say anything, he tugged his haramaki over your head, carefully securing it over your chest before scooping you up in his arms.

"Zoro!" you flushed, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck, managing to brush past his strong deltoids in the process.

"M'tired. You're comin' to nap with me," he stated, completely serious and leaving no room for argument as he started the trek back up to your room.

In the moment, he didn't mean to be so curt.

It wasn't you he was upset at, but rather all the creepy, on-leave marines he'd snapped at on his way, who were laughing and leering at your body like what happened to you was funny.

Pinnacles of Justice?

Pinnacles of Justice, his ass.

You'd think the defenders of the people would show a little common decency and look away when a woman's trying to cover herself.

"You have fun?" he asked, gruffly, wanting to switch the subject before he got mad all over again.

"The girls did my hair," you reported, resting your head on his chest. "Braided it and decorated it with flowers while they asked me questions about being a pirate... and fashion."

A sheepish smile crept onto your lips, excitement and worry spreading through your chest as you fiddled with a curl.

"How's it look?"

The adorable expression stretched across your face sent a sharp pang of warmth straight through the swordsman's heart.

Of course it looked good.

It was on you.

With the dewy droplets of water in your hair, along with the array of flora, you looked like some sort of sea nymph.

Discreetly, his eyes flicked down to your chest, his dick stirring slightly in his trunks at the sharp contrast of green against your tanned skin.

His haramaki was stuck to your wet body like a second skin, your pebbling nipples making it abundantly clear that it was the only thing keeping him from you.

The real you.

The bare you.

'Fuck.'

Giving your thigh a soft squeeze, he nodded with approval, a small smile settling on his lips.

"You look beautiful... you always do," he stated, as if it was a fact. "Don't need flowers to see that."

Freeing one of his hands, he fixed a particularly large hibiscus, tucking it behind your ear along with a flyaway.

"I—"

He was interrupted by the sounds of your soft snores, looking down to see you were already out like a light, cheek smushed against his pec and hand resting softly over his heart.

Like boyfriend, like girlfriend.

His chest roared with admiration at the sight, along with the sudden, violent urge to protect.

The swordsman wasn't one for beating up children, but if he ever ran into the little hoodlums that snapped your top...

Let's just say he'd have a few choice words.

[comatosebunny09]

soft kitty, warm kitty [ one ] | sylus

— summary: the one where the adorable stray cat you take in is not all that he appears to be. — cw: silliness, fluff, slight injury and blood mention, shapeshifting, hybrid au, self-indulgent af — now playing: carousel - evgeny grinko

There was this pretty stray kitty you’d been feeding and playing with outside your job for three or so months. 

At first, it wasn’t your biggest fan. It spat, hissed, and swiped at you whenever you got too close—you learned to carry band-aids in your bag from thereon. But it still quietly nibbled on the food you left out when you were at a safe distance. You made a point to refill its bowls each time you came to work. Started leaving a cardboard box with a solar-powered heating pad outside to help it battle the glacial nights that often befell the city. 

Eventually, it grew accustomed to you. With baby steps, it came closer and closer each day, sometimes perching itself on the bench you sat on during your lunch or smoke breaks to keep you company. With time, it allowed you to pet it. Its ivory fur was surprisingly soft beneath the street sludge and grime it accumulated throughout the time you knew it. It also had striking, scarlet eyes you brushed off as a genetic mutation. Plenty of weird animals inhabited the city, so an uncommon eye color wasn’t particularly unsettling. 

The adorable stray only allowed you to touch it, reverting to its initial attitude when your coworkers got too close. It seemed to specifically take a liking to you, bunting its little cranium against your hand and ankles, marking you with its scent, grooming you with its barbed tongue, and purring like the low rumble of a Mustang. 

Finally, you decided to catch it. You noticed a red, crusted ring adorning its tiny ankle. It must’ve been injured. You weren’t sure how long it would survive on the streets before infection set in, and your caring instincts were screaming at you to save it. 

So, you did.

It was surprisingly easy to lure the little guy into a cat carrier with treats. It crawled into the bag effortlessly, almost as if it wanted to be rescued. That afternoon, you took it to the vet. They cleaned its foot, gave you cream and antibiotics to ward off infection, updated its shots—the whole nine yards. 

It had also been revealed to you that your feline friend was a boy. The vet offered to neuter him, but you staved it off, promising to return later. You could barely afford the bill he racked up from his treatment alone.

With a warm smile, you cradled the carrier, holding your new companion in your lap as you rode the subway. The pretty, sedated feline purred nonstop on the commute home. 

It took some time to adjust. Of course, you hadn’t expected his transition to succeed overnight. 

When you gave him his first bath, he wasn’t the happiest camper. He adorned your arms with angry, red streaks to illustrate his discontent. His coat was lustrous and white beneath the grime and fleas. And though he was initially a hissing, snooty ball of fluff following his bath, he purred continuously when he curled up beside you that night in your bed, seemingly grateful to be off the street.

You find with time that old habits die hard.

You bought him a red leather collar to compliment his eyes. With it came a bell and pendant, and your address was carved into it. The little guy loved to slip out of your apartment at night, often returning to the streets he was so accustomed to. He always came back, sometimes days after disappearing. He brought you little presents, ranging from dead mice to shiny, crimson gems that looked like they could’ve been worth a fortune. Snowball, as you had fondly named him, was truly a marvel. He was adjusting to domestic life well, but you didn’t stifle him when he wanted to spend his nights perusing the city and stirring up little cat mischief.

You were grateful for the company. You’d been living in the city for about a year, having relocated to its heart for your job. You didn’t have any family in the area, so you relied heavily on your coworkers for social interaction. Otherwise, you were on your own. 

It was pleasant to have a little fur ball bouncing around your home, knocking things off your dresser, shacking up in your pantry, or hiding under your dining table, ready to attack your ankles. He brought excitement to your otherwise humdrum life, keeping you on your toes while curling up at your feet, expressing his gratitude for everything you’d done for him thus far. 

You were content despite your solitude, looking forward to what your furry companion had in store for you each day.

You awaken to sunbeams coloring the space behind your eyelids. To the melody of birds chirping and cars occasionally easing by on the street. 

A quiet smile rounding your lips, you reach beside you to pet through familiar tufts of white. Snowball routinely curls up next to your head on the pillow when you sleep. You haven’t yet opened your eyes, so you’re a little caught off guard when his fur feels slightly shorter than usual. 

Still, you wear a smile as you fondly coo at your kitty, your voice rough with sleep. He doesn’t purr in response, which is strange given his purr motor’s always been broken. He never knows when to stop. Perhaps he doesn’t feel well today? 

Cautiously, you pry your eyes open, your vision blurry from the sun's rays. Through the haze, you ingest a familiar wash of stark white. Your eyesight gradually corrects, and you can discern shapes and colors. Upon taking in the scene beside you, you stiffen, your silly little smile frozen in place.

On the other side of your bed, where Snowball would usually be roosted, quietly waiting for you to stir from your slumber, lies a tan stretch of skin. Recognizable red eyes watch you beneath short, swept lashes, blinking sluggishly, a humored cant to pink-petaled lips. 

Reality slowly trickles in. There is very much a warm-blooded man beside you in place of your darling feline. Your smile melts away, traded for something of confusion. And once you’ve fully processed the moment, you do what any logical person would do given this situation: you scream.

The strange man beside you winces, a searing, heavy hand shooting out to cover your mouth. Your voice dies in the back of your throat, and the stranger takes you in with mild irritation donning his features.

“Must you be so noisy?” he grouses, the rough slide of his voice furling in your stomach. You blink owlishly at him, his hand still clamped over your mouth. 

As the adrenaline spuming through your body tempers, and you’ve taken more time to breathe and assess your situation, you fully observe the intruder.  And with a mixture of horror and confusion, you intake a familiar set of ivory, tufted ears twitching atop his head.

Again, you let your instincts guide you, and you do what one would typically do in this situation: you reach out to tweak said ears, confirming the familiar glide of silken fur beneath your fingertips. The stranger sucks in a breath, jerking away from your prodding. He fixes you with an iron gaze that pierces straight through to your soul. A look you’re all too familiar with, Snowball having pinned you with it at random times throughout your day.

You scream again, the sound of it muffled behind the meatiness of the stranger’s palm. Only, this is no stranger.

Is this—is this Snowball?

[vaspider]

Hey spider, I’ve been by your tumblr several times in the last day to help keep myself grounded. I wanted to say thanks and pass along my own thoughts to others checking in.

This fucking sucks and I hate it. But this moment feels very different to me than 2016. Not that I feel *great* about weathering the next four+ years, but, I’m not collapsing in despair either.

Fact is we survived four years of this, we had four years of relative “peace,” and it’s back into the shitstorm. The situation is different, more dire, yes, but we’re also different, too. We survived and we have lessons to glean from that to apply to our future.

Your job, if that frame is helpful for you, is to look at what you can offer your community and start cultivating opportunities to help other people. 

Are you strong? I helped an older gentleman recycle heavy boxes of papers (by heaving them into a dumpster for him) and that lit up my MONTH.

Can you do dishes? There is an elder in your community who could use the help (and the company!).

Do you not go to church, on Sundays or otherwise? There may be a hospice center that needs volunteers to stay with patients while their people are at Sunday services.

Do you have a car and some time? Maybe you can do pickups for food banks or other types of food rescue work.

Do you know spreadsheets? Hoo boy. Everybody needs somebody who can do spreadsheets.

These are ideas of where you might start. But the real work is to cultivate relationships of goodwill and good faith with others in your community. Start talking to organizations, look for people who are already embedded, doing good work. Look for role models, people who connect: people to other people, people to resources. Don’t be afraid to speak up when you need help, yourself – strong relationships are reciprocal. People need each other *so badly,* and in ways our culture does not equip us to understand.

Show up where and when you can and be ready to hold the hands of others. It’s going to be hard, but you can develop the skills and the relationships to make it through.

thanks again, spider.

This is good advice.

One thing I heard today that cracked me up - I was listening to Gianmarco Soresi's podcast today, and he has Brennan Lee Mulligan on this episode. Brennan was talking about how he ran a load of diapers over to Rekha at one point bc she was collecting stuff for LA wildfires aid, and when he got home, his wife, Izzy, was sitting at her computer and going through Zillow and researching rental listings and reporting listings to the authorities who are breaking CA rent control laws. (In CA, there are limits to how much you can raise the rent on a unit at one time/within a certain period of time.)

Like... that's a thing that she could do while she was sitting at her computer being at home with the baby while Brennan ran an errand that did measurable good in the world. Reporting predatory landlords does real, measurable good.

What's important is not that you're doing the most good or the most important good. What's important is that you Find Something To Do That Helps and you Do That Thing.

[obxsummer]

paper rings // ghost of you

pairing: jj maybank x routledge!reader (she/her)

summary: sarah cameron takes a test before she joins you and john b on a rescue mission. your brother has no aim whatsoever, you can't drive a boat, and jj's got an important question for john b. (p.s. sarah cameron is an angel)

warnings: pregnancy trope (i still love u sarah), john b & jj cry sesh!!

navigation -- series masterlist

ask me anything or support me via a ko-fi

--

If you had asked Sarah Cameron what her life would look like at one point, she would’ve never told you this. She would’ve never guessed she’d be living with five Pogues who happened to be her best friends, and one Pogue leader boyfriend. That seemed impossible, but here she was.

John B was still passed out in bed, having carried you to your own at some point during the night to be tucked under warm blankets. Kie was snoring away, and Pope and Cleo had yet to emerge from their room, so Sarah had the house to herself, technically. 

She made her way out early in the morning when the sun was just peeking through, steering her bicycle into the downtown area. It was still trashed, obviously, but it seemed the worst of the damage had been taken care of and the fires were out. Keeping her head down, she ducked into the pharmacy in hopes of finding the thing she came here to.

Three years ago, if you would’ve asked Sarah Cameron, she would never be stealing pregnancy tests from a pharmacy, and she sure as shit wouldn’t be doing it at age nineteen.

Grabbing the two boxes, she stuffed them in her bag before collecting a handful of other items you all needed at the house. Might as well, considering there was still no power and the store wasn’t secured with the broken glass everywhere. 

Shuffling her way out the door, she tried to look as inconspicuous as possible while walking back to her bike. It was clear the riot had continued further past JJ’s departure since most stores were wiped of merchandise and torn to shreds.

The sunshine caught on the shards of glass scattered and Sarah held her hand up to her forehead to block the reflection from burning into her eyes. She came face to face with the local jewelry store window, the one she’d been in just a few weeks before.

--

JJ threw open the door to Sarah and John B’s room without any hesitation, and thank God the duo were actually taking a nap and not enjoying their alone time in other ways.

“Sarah!” JJ’s attempt at whispering was not going well. “Sarah, wake the fuck up!”

The girl in question groaned at being pulled from her slumber. “The fuck, JJ? What?”

The blond boy waited for her to look over at him before he was waving her closer. She huffed and shuffled out of John B’s arms, her boyfriend still snoring soundly with the grace of a heavy sleeper. Following JJ out of their room, she closed the door softly behind her so John B wouldn’t wake up.

“I need your help with something,” JJ explained.

Sarah took one look at his expression and smirked. “Holy shit, you’re so stressed.”

JJ rolled his eyes and grabbed her by her shoulders. “I need you to help me find a ring.”

“A ring? A ring for what?” Sarah repeated in confusion.  JJ shushed her, his index finger pressing against her lips as she went wide-eyed with realization. Sarah was practically jumping now, her excitement evident as she pulled JJ’s hand away from her face. “Holy shit! Are you serious?”

“Yes, now be quiet!” He looked over his shoulder to see if you were done with your shower and found the door still closed and water running. “We have to go now, okay? I don’t want her being suspicious.”

Sarah was quick to agree, bouncing as she ran down the stairs to grab her shoes and purse before meeting JJ by the Twinkie.

The two spent a good two hours in town, Sarah having been former friends with the jewelry store employee who was more than willing to answer any and all of JJ’s questions.

“What size ring does she wear?” Sarah asked as she scanned the cases for anything that caught her eye. “Do you think she’s a princess cut girl like me? Oh my God, this one is gorgeous.”

“Princess cut?” JJ repeated the phrase, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he looked down at the ring Sarah was pointing at. “The fuck does that mean?”

Sarah looked up at him, dumbfounded. “Do you know the slightest thing about what she wants?”

JJ tilted his head and looked back at her. “Sarah, we’re Pogues. Have been our whole lives. Do you think she even has the slightest clue about what any of this means?”

Accepting defeat with that one, Sarah shrugged and turned back to the options displayed. “Whatever it is, you better make it a good one with all the shit she deals with when it comes to you.” She shoved JJ teasingly and moved to look at another area of the room. 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Princess Cameron.” JJ rolled his eyes and followed her without any disagreement. 

--

Sarah frowned at the memory. The days of peace and hoping for the celebration you and JJ could have were long gone, but she hoped they could find a way to change that. If anyone deserved that happy-ever-after feeling, it was you and JJ. 

Biking back to Poguelandia was quiet, and Sarah was thankful for the time to think. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do with the pink tests in her bag and her heart was racing just thinking about it. She was nineteen, John B was almost twenty, but shit they were still young. This wasn’t what she imagined when she thought about having a family. Not in an environment like this.

Sarah tiptoed her way back up the stairs, noticing all the doors were closed except for the one to your room. A tiny part of her was relieved and she peeked in to see the balcony doors open, curtains blowing lightly with the wind. Closing your bedroom door behind her, Sarah made her way out to where you were resting in the hammock with your eyes closed.

“Hi,” She whispered quietly, not wanting to scare you.

You blinked and smiled up at her. “Hi, you okay?”

Sarah bit her lip in response, hand searching blindly in her back for the boxes before she held them up for you to see. “Um… can you-can I do this, in here? With you?”

You nodded, pushing yourself out of the woven hammock to meet her in the doorway, grabbing her hand in yours. Sarah tossed her bag on your bed and followed you into the connected bathroom, forcing a deep breath into her lungs. 

“I’ll wait, out… on the other side of the door?” You asked carefully, not sure if she wanted you in the room or not. When she nodded, you squeezed her hand. “Whatever happens, it’ll be okay. I promise.”

“Yeah.” Sarah nodded in agreement, but she was obviously trying to convince herself more than you. You attempted to give her a reassuring smile, but it probably didn’t help considering you were just as nervous for her. She closed the door quietly after that.

You paced the floor for a moment, wanting to give her the space and privacy she deserved while also fighting the bile in your throat. What the fuck happened now?

And where the fuck was JJ?

There had been no texts or calls from your boyfriend since last night, and although you were trying to give him the space and trust he deserved, you were worried. He wasn’t in the right mindset last night, and you didn’t have enough time to talk him down like you wanted to, like you always did. 

Grabbing your phone from the charger, you unlocked it and immediately moved to the Find My app where you could see JJ’s location pinging from Goat Island. You cursed, knowing he probably went in search of Groff after the information Luke shared.

JJ deserved answers. He deserved the truth. You shook your head, thinking about how Luke Maybank abused a boy that wasn’t even his, realizing how heartbreaking this whole situation was. It was unfair, and cruel, that everything good in JJ’s life had been ripped from him in some way.

Moving back to your messages, you typed one out: babe you okay?? we can come get you??

The message wasn’t read right away, causing you to sigh, but remind yourself that he might be busy talking to Groff. Or something was wrong. And you really really hoped something wasn’t wrong.

Your bathroom door creaked open slightly, Sarah’s face poking out as you got to your feet. Her expression wasn’t easily readable but she shifted enough for you to see the two tests on counter, both with two bright lines on their screens.

“Okay,” You spoke quietly, watching her expression for any kind of indication of how she felt.

“Impeccable timing,” She replied stoically. You nodded, trying to think of any words to comfort her but were stopped by the sound of footsteps.

“Hey! Is Sarah in here?” There was no time to prepare for Kiara’s sudden presence as she popped up next to you. Her eyes locked in on the bathroom counter instantly and her jaw dropped. The turning gears in her head were practically visible as she turned to face Sarah. “Um… are those yours?”

Sarah bit her lip, clearly nervous at the thought of more people knowing. “Yeah.”

Kiara was instantly looking over at you. “Oh, shit.”

Sarah frowned at the response, her eyes moving between the two of you in attempt to figure out what she was missing. “What? What’s ‘oh shit’ about?”

You shook your head, trying to give Kiara the sign to shut up. “Nothing, nothing. There’s nothing to be worried about-”

Kie thankfully picked up on your clue and started to dig herself out of the hole she created, “I mean… soon to be homeless, broke again, chased by killers. I don’t really know how it could get better.”

Sarah hummed, her eyes glancing back at the positive tests. “It would be like, super great, if maybe you could fine, like, one positive thing,” Her voice was shaky as she looked back at the two of you, eyes damp with tears. 

“You’re gonna be an amazing mom,” You answered simply, like it was the easiest thing because it was. Sarah Cameron had all the great qualities that a parent should have, and you were so happy for her. You just wished it had been at a better time.

“The best,” Kie agreed quietly, “And John B loves you. He’s gonna be an all right dad.”

The idea sent the three of you into laughter at the thought of John B, your John B, raising a kid. 

“And you have all of us,” You continued as you reached out to grab Sarah’s hand again. “Each and every one of us.”

Sarah nodded, her arms opening to pull you and Kiara into a group hug. “I love you guys.”

“We love you,” Kiara replied, her hand squeezing your side just a little bit tighter in an unspoken conversation. “So, what does this make me Auntie Kie now?”

The three of you pulled apart with more laughter, the cloud over your heads slowly disappearing with each passing minute. 

“Does… does John B know?” Kiara asked after a moment. Sarah pulled the tests off the counter, tossing them in the boxes and into the garbage with a shake of her head, telling Kiara that he didn’t, not yet.

“Any word from JJ?” Sarah switched the topic to pull the attention off herself.

You glanced at your phone to see an empty lockscreen and shook your head in response. “No. I have an idea of where he is, I just don’t know if he needs us yet.”

Eventually, Sarah slipped downstairs to make breakfast, finding John B already up and moving around the kitchen with the smell of bacon lingering. 

“Hi,” She greeted softly, kissing his cheek before unloading the items she had stolen from the store into the fridge. “Didn’t think you were up.”

John B flipped a piece of bacon. “Heard you laughing with the girls, figured I’d come get something started before we head out for the day. When did you go out?”

“Early,” Sarah replied shortly, her chest tight with the possibility of John B overhearing the news before she could share it. “Did you.. Did you hear us?”

He gave her a quick glance before putting the butter back in the fridge. “Laughing? Yeah, but that was about it. Everything okay?”

Sarah nodded as John B wrapped her in a hug, kissing her forehead gently. “Your sister knows where JJ is.”

John B blinked in surprise at the fact that you weren’t busting down the stairs. “And we’re not going to him because?”

Sarah shrugged. “She said she wants to wait, to see if he needs us.”

While John B wasn’t sure that was the best idea, nobody knew JJ better than you, so he had no room to argue with the decision.

“The ring was gone. From the jewelry shop.”

John B nearly choked on his own spit and coughed to clear his throat. Sarah giggled at the reaction, a smile spreading across her cheeks at the way he blushed. 

“You’re lying. Please tell me you’re lying.”

“Nope,” She popped the p in her word and waved her left hand in front of his face where her homemade ring rested on her finger. “We’re not going to be special anymore, Vlad.”

John B smiled at the nickname that he hadn’t heard in a while. “You’re always gonna be special to me, Val.”

You walked down the stairs a few moments later, now dressed for the day and stomach growling with the scent of food. “Hey,” You greeted John B as he set a plate full of eggs on the table while Sarah dipped upstairs to tell the others that food was ready. “Thanks for last night, you didn’t have to stay.”

John B sat outside with you until the early hours of the morning, holding you close with the knowledge that the nightmares would be worse if someone wasn’t there. This was the first time in a while JJ wasn’t home when you went to sleep, and John B didn’t want you to worry all night, so he stayed.

“‘Course,” He replied simply, pausing to lean against the table and look at you carefully. “You heard from J?”

You shook your head, snagging a piece of bacon from the plate. “He went to Goat Island. To see Groff.”

“Groff?” John B paused. You nodded and bit off half a piece. “Like Chandler Groff?”

“Yeah, Luke was spewing some shit when JJ went to see him, so he’s trying to get answers. I didn’t ask, he seemed kind of upset about it. I’m sure he’s trying to figure out how Luke got a bypass to take the house,” You explained, trying to answer the question without really answering it. 

John B seemed to roll with it and your friends slowly filtered their way into the kitchen to eat their hearts out. Sarah tucked herself in the chair next to you, John B on her other side. The empty chair at the table was a little too obvious, and when the read receipt didn’t show up on your phone all morning, you knew something had definitely gone wrong.

--

John B and Sarah were in agreement the second you said something felt off about JJ not answering. You quickly cleaned up after breakfast (though it was more like lunch at this point), and tried to get ahold of JJ again. Your texts were no longer being read, but his location was still pinging near Goat Island and you knew you had to drag your friends into it despite JJ’s wishes.

“We can take the HMS, he took the charter boat,” John B offered as you tried calling JJ again, to no avail. 

“We’ll try to find out some more about the rezoning,” Pope offered as he motioned toward Cleo. “It’s only a matter of time before they come knocking. We might as well prepare for it. Could stop by and say hi to Ma and Pops too.”

Kie nodded in agreement, “I need to go check in at home, anyway. Mom’s gonna kill me with how yesterday went.”

John B nodded in understanding and tugged a shirt on over his tank top. “Alright, we’ll catch up with you guys later, yeah?”

The three of you took to the HMS shortly after, John B setting his course to Goat Island. Sarah plopped next to you on the small bench, leaning against your shoulder as you stared across the water.

Your brother was, recognizing the distant look in your eyes but his confusion was focused on Sarah’s sudden silence. She seemed excited earlier in the kitchen when talking about her new revelation, but she’s gotten quiet since then. John B made an internal note to ask her later.

“What’s that?” Your eyes caught sight of another boat across the marsh, barely covered by the plants covering it. “Kill the engine, JB,” You directed as you ducked down out of view. The fact that the sun was still setting didn’t help your cover but hopefully, the marsh grass would do its job enough for you to get a closer look. You could just barely see a group out on one of the ledges, a handful of them all with their sights on two people.

“Shit, that’s JJ,” You pointed slightly to the white shirt covering the form of your boyfriend. From here, he looked generally unharmed, but you still didn’t like the way the mercenaries were holding him back. 

“And Groff.” John B locked onto the form of the older man who was also being held a little too tight to be friendly. 

“Those are the guys from Charleston who took the scroll,” Sarah pointed toward the guy and girl that you and John B had narrowly avoided in the cemetery. The man she pointed at was the one Cleo had tried to kill, the same one that almost killed you while diving.

“What do they want with JJ?” John B asked, his eyes not leaving the form of his best friend, whose arm was wrenched behind his back with a machete a little too close to his face. 

You shook your head, heart practically in your throat at the scene in front of you. “I don’t think it’s JJ they want. He’s collateral.”

John B ran a hand through his hair. “We could, like, ram them. Create a distraction,” He offered.

“Ram that?” You repeated as you pointed toward the much larger boat. “John B, come on!”

“Sorry! Just trying to think!”

“Wait, hey!” Sarah reached down to grab the handful of liquor bottles that were remaining from your last store run, having been left on the HMS in a hurry, clearly. “A little Molotov cocktail, maybe?”

You gave her a side glance. “That’s psychotic. Let’s find some rags.”

John B quickly pulled up the bench seat in search of any leftover towels. You tugged your favorite beach towel from underneath you, fingers struggling for a second before you were able to rip it into strips, quickly tossing them to your brother.

“John B, hurry!” You hissed as the lady’s attention moved to JJ, her form much closer than before. 

“I’m trying! Shit!” 

Sarah ripped one bottle from his hand, tucking a few towel strips into the neck of the bottle and swirling it to the alcohol would drench the towels. “Light it, we'll distract them. He’ll get free, jump over, and we’ll grab him.”

“Just don’t hit him,” You looked at your brother, slightly terrified with the knowledge of his past aim. “I’d like him in one piece, please.”

John B quickly tied a rope around the bottle, his fingers moving as fast as he could to tie one of the knots your father had taught as kids. “Don’t hit JJ with the Molotov cocktail. Gotcha.”

Your hands searched your jean shorts for JJ’s lighter that you rarely left home without, handing it over to John B for his use. “Be careful, please.”

Sarah tucked herself behind the wheel of the ship, your brother on the front bow with the cocktail and lighter in hand. He quickly lit the towel, a curse leaving his lips at how fast it caught flame before he tossed JJ’s lighter back to you and started spinning the rope with the flames midair.

“Oh my God, I should’ve done it,” You huffed as you ducked next to Sarah, John B’s tactic clearly a horrible one. 

With a final grunt, he put his whole body into the throw… only for it to come back down on the floor of the boat.

“John B!” You chastised as the flames sprinkled over the floor. “You’re a dumbass!”

“Oh shit!” John B tumbled into the water in shock, the splash definitely giving away your cover if the fire itself didn’t.

You cursed and pushed Sarah back when she went to run for him, your stern eyes keeping her in place as you ripped open the cabinet beneath the wheel to grab the fire extinguisher Pope insisted on being there despite JJ’s best wishes. 

In his defense, John B was kicking and shoving water onto the boat, lessening the flames before you pulled the pin on the extinguisher and knocked the rest of it out in a cloud of powder. 

“Are you okay?” Sarah reached down to pull your brother back on board.

“I’m so sorry,” John B coughed and flung his extra shirt over into the boat.. 

“A blind person could’ve thrown that better!” You hissed and helped Sarah haul his weighted form up.

John B shrugged your hands off, his attention back on the cabinet where he pulled out a slingshot that JJ insisted on buying at the local county fair one year, swearing water balloon fights were going to become his new hobby.

You grabbed the second bottle as John B tied the rubber pieces to stabilize them. 

“You have ten seconds to explain yourself, or we start shooting!”

You recognized the man’s voice, knowing he was the one who had chased after you and JJ underwater that day. John B shuffled around on the floor, pulling the bands back into position for you to settle the bottle into his grip.

“Ready?” You asked, flicking the lighter open in your hand. Your brother nodded, giving you permission to bring the flame closer until the towel caught and the flames warmed your skin. 

John B took a deep breath, his movements calculated as he aligned and leaned back further. “Bye bye.”

The bottle launched this time, flying across the channel gap to the larger boat where the glass shattered on impact. The group went scrambling and you lost sight of JJ in the glowing orange light. 

“I said not to hit him!” You smacked your brother’s shoulder out of anxiety and looked back to the fiery scene ahead. “Let’s go!” 

John B moved instantly to restart the engine and steer closer to where JJ could hopefully get a better approach to jump. Your jaw dropped at the sight of a burning form going overboard to remove the flames from his clothes. 

“Where is he?” You called out aimlessly as John B approached the boat. He tugged on your elbow, pulling you behind the wheel without any explanation, and stood on the edge. 

“I’ll find him,” He promised before hopping to the other boat like it was the easiest thing ever. “Circle back around.”

Sarah thankfully shifted you gently, understanding you hated driving the boat in the first place, let alone when both of your boys were up to no good. Her hands took over easily and she steered the boat with a precision you never had.

“Thank God you used to be a Kook,” You breathed out with a small laugh, Sarah smiling in response but keeping her eyes focused. “We’ve gotta quit letting them do stupid shit like this together!”

Sarah huffed, turning around slightly to bring the larger boat into view as you waited for the boys to come into view. “I’ll kill them myself, actually.”

After a moment of looking, you caught JJ’s white t-shirt sprinting out one of the doors higher up, John B right behind him. Your brother took to the ladder, JJ engaging in another fight with the mercenary who intercepted him.

“Shit, shit, go!” You directed to Sarah when both boys were as high as they could climb. The crew below was recovering from the distraction and slowly shifting closer to engage. You screamed as one started climbing the rungs just behind your boyfriend, “JJ!”

His head snapped up immediately at your voice, barely sparing a glance at John B before the fear of you watching him get killed outweighed the jump they were about to take. “Ready?”

“Screw it.”

You couldn’t tell whether they were screams of excitement or fear, but both John B and JJ jumped as far away from the boat as they could. Sarah moved just as quickly, giving the vessel enough push to float next to the two close enough that you could lean down and grab hold. 

You anchored your weight and reached down with two hands to grab JJ’s wrists, a small grunt slipping out as you pulled him up with your momentum, both of you tumbling to the floor of the HMS. Sarah and John B had been much more graceful, your brother having enough time to get back to his feet and behind the wheel, jamming the throttle forward just as gunshots rang out.

You reached out to grab Sarah’s wrist, pulling her back down as John B swerved to make it harder to aim. JJ coughed under you, your leg tucked between his two as you sat up to keep an eye out for the mercenaries to follow. When they didn’t, you put your attention on the boy.

“Holy shit,” You breathed before bending to kiss him deeply, fingers tangling into his wet hair as his hands grabbed your hips tightly. You managed two more quicker kisses before settling back. “You okay?”

JJ’s thumbs slipped under your tank top to brush your skin gently as you looked him over for any obvious injuries. “Oh baby, you have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

“Hey, hey. Keep it PG down there, you two,” John B’s request made you scoff and you moved down to kiss JJ again despite your brother’s wishes. Sarah sat next to your brother, letting him rest on her shoulder as she took over driving so John B’s adrenaline could wear off easier. 

The four of you burst into laughter, sinking into the relief that you found your missing piece and could return home for the little time you had left there. What you didn’t know, just yet, was that the boys made it out with the scroll relating to the Blue Crown and your next treasure hunt was just around the corner.

--

After arriving back at Poguelandia, Sarah had practically dragged you into the house with the intent to shower before you’d rejoin the boys and catch everyone up on the last few hours. 

“Hey, dude,” JJ stopped John B before the older boy left the dock after he tied up the HMS. “Can I talk to you about something?”

John B nodded without any hesitation, nudging his head toward the store to at least get under the light since night had taken over. The Routledge boy dug into the cooler, grabbing a beer for himself before tossing one to his best friend. “Let me guess, this has to do with the grabby hands you had at the jewelry store last night?”

JJ’s jaw practically hit the floor which had John B dying from laughter in a few seconds. 

“How the fuck did you know?” JJ glanced around quickly to make sure nobody else was around to hear the conversation. “Seriously, are you a mind reader or like-”

“Sarah told me,” John B took a deep breath to resettle his emotions. “Said it was gone.”

JJ groaned and ran a hand through his hair. Suddenly, he didn’t know how to talk to his best friend of almost fifteen years. How does one ask their best friend of fifteen years permission to marry his sister?

“Look, I know this conversation should’ve been had with your dad, and I wish it could be because there’s a lot of things I would say to him first,” JJ started off, his words a little too heavy for his liking, but he had to acknowledge it. He had to acknowledge the fact that they were still kids in a scary world, and Big John should’ve been better to you. 

Clearing his throat, JJ took a big sip of his beer before forcing himself to meet John B’s gaze. “I mentioned it and you probably thought I was joking, but I also know there is nothing more she would want than for you to hear about this first. More than anything in the world, John B.”

John Booker Routledge had prepared himself for a lot of things in life, but he never prepared himself to be staring at his best friend with tears in his eyes over you. To be talking about another person protecting you when he couldn’t, to give up being the one you ran to for help. John B didn’t want to admit it, but he felt like this was saying goodbye to being your big brother. 

“I love her, man. I love her more than I ever thought I was capable. She makes me… she makes me so good. Like I’m more than the kid with the piece of shit dad and the shit short stick. I’m more than that to her, and… and I couldn’t be more thankful for that. Like you can’t make that shit up, bro,” JJ let out a teary laugh and crossed his arms over his chest. “She’s like the fucking sunshine after a hurricane, like no matter what, it’s gonna be okay, and I don’t want to lose her. Ever.

“I want to make her the happiest person in the world. She deserves a life so much better than this one, where she’s not worried about food on the table, or if we’re coming home at night. She and Sarah, hell all of us, we all deserve that, man. I just…I just want the chance to give it to her.” 

John B stared at the person across from him who was spewing words he couldn’t read in cursive. This was JJ, JJ fucking Maybank. The kid who smoked weed like it was his job and hosted keggers like it was nobody’s business. John B’s watched that version of JJ, the ticking time bomb version, completely disappear. That version of JJ doesn’t exist anymore, and in its place was the one John B had grown to trust when it came to you. 

The version that held your hand when the road was rocky. The one who picked flowers in your favorite colors just to see the excitement in your eyes before they died two days later. The JJ that held you night after night when your head became too messy and you wanted to give up. This was the JJ that knew your anxiety attacks and how to stop them, how to be level-headed with you even when it was hard to. This is the JJ that John B knew you deserved.

JJ was pacing now that his best friend hadn’t really said much and he was worried the idea was flying out from under his fingertips. “I know I don’t deserve her, John B. I never will. And I’ll never forgive myself for letting everything happen to her. I should’ve been there, I should’ve done better. But I swear to you, from here on out, I will do everything I can, every lasting day of my life to make sure she’s safe.”

Reaching into the zipper pocket of his cargo shorts, he tugged out the signature shark tooth he usually had clipped around his neck, but this time there was a new piece attached. A silver ring on the chain weighed a little bit heavier than usual. JJ took apart the clasp and pulled the jewelry off before holding it out to John B.

“Sarah um… Sarah was with me, but I guess that’s obvious now. I didn’t know what the fuck princess cut meant, and the lady there went to the Kook academy and they used to be friends so I guess…”

JJ's voice floated away as John B stared at the ring in between his fingers. He’d seen this ring so many times in his life, and the realization of where made the tears fall. Holy shit.

John B crying caught JJ off guard and now he was panicking, “Dude, you good?”

“I made a call,” Sarah’s voice entered the conversation as John B turned to face her. She was teary herself, having eavesdropped a bit on the words shared. “Nicola said she remembered your dad from the shop.”

John B swallowed harshly and opened his arm to let Sarah tuck into his side. He stared at the object for a moment longer before holding it back toward JJ who was looking at him expectantly. “That was… that’s my mom’s ring. Our mom’s ring.”

JJ’s breath caught in his throat. 

“Dad had pawned it when he got in deep with the gold and… how did you?” John B sniffled and rubbed his nose as he looked down at the girl next to him.

“Oh come on,” Sarah laughed at their shock, but deep down she knew this meant a lot to John B and it would mean even more to you. “She’s my best friend. Did you really think I was going to let you go in there and pick out something as important as this when you didn’t even know what a cushion halo was?”

JJ crashed into the blonde girl a little harder than he intended, but Sarah welcomed it regardless. She hugged him back just as tightly, feeling his shoulders shake beneath her touch. She was just glad to make this happen for the two of you. Nobody deserved it more. 

JJ pulled back after a moment, giving her forehead a kiss before he was once again faced with his best friend and the lingering question. John B tackled him just as hard, the two boys clutching each other like a lifeline. Suddenly, they were kids on the playground again, defending each other when things hit a little too close to home. And shit, were you home to both of them.

“There is nobody…nobody, I would trust with her more than you,” John B sniffled when he leaned back to clasp JJ on the shoulder tightly, using the back of his hand to wipe the tears from his face. “She’s yours, JJ. Always has been.”

JJ let out a sob and embraced John B again. John B knew that deep down JJ never felt like he was good enough for you, but the two of you couldn’t have been more perfect for each other. 

And although John B felt like he was losing you, there’s nobody he’d rather lose you to than his best friend, JJ Maybank.

--

a/n: hiiiii our babies are getting engaged!!!!!

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Ugh i love this sm, especially if they were super loud, cocky, and obnoxious before they were kidnapped and when theyre rescued they struggle to even speak. Everyone sees how broken they are but dont want to help fix them.

whump prompt 009

The hoarse, cracked sound of Whumpee's voice when they use it again for the first time.