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ashintheairlikesnow · 7 months ago

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Through Night Shade Peering

Bones in the Ocean Masterlist

CW: Nonhuman whumpee, captivity, magical whump, vague noncon (not exactly implied but not super explicit either), blood, biting, sadistic whumper

Fifty-three years after Guilford Wentworth found a siren

They spent a month by the sea.

Neandra Wentworth’s lungs were failing her - the siren could hear the crackling when she breathed, as if each inhale pulled in water from the air around her but could not force it back out. Each time she was taken with a fit of coughing, it seemed to last longer and longer, leaving her wheezing and with blue-tinged fingertips pressing her slip of a handkerchief to her mouth to hide the drops of red that the siren could smell, even so.

She hadn’t left the upstairs bedroom in the past week.

Guilford Wentworth had expressed certainty that the sea air would revive her, packed up their worried children and the servants and moved them to this grand white home on a hill overlooking the ocean, with a view of the merchant ships that came and went from a nearby bay.

The siren doubted Neandra would ever leave this house alive.

He also knew that his captor did not care.

The siren avoided the humans in the home. Every day before sunrise, long before any of the Wentworths were awake, he found his way down to the shore, picking along the rocks and stiff, strong beach grasses that waved in the sea salt stinging breeze. Today, he ignored the set of steps made from stone that someone had placed long ago, and turned his eyes away from the unnatural scar they seemed to slice through the hill.

The humans ruined the world everywhere they touched it.

They built stone buildings over beautiful meadows and chipped faces into rocks, they sailed on big ships that tore through waters they had never been meant to see. They stole the creatures who lived wild and made them playthings and puppets and put them in zoos, locked behind bars for their sticky-fingered children to point out and exclaim over.

They kept the wild things. They broke their wildness and then pretended to sorrow over the loss. They called them pets.

His captor called a pet, sometimes. His captor called him so many things.

Areyto shuddered. He kept ihs eyes on the waves, pausing in his slow approach to watch them break against the shore. The air here held a chill that he loathed, nothing like the island he has been born on, it was still the ocean. He could still see the tide that came in and went out, the white-capped waves in the distance, dark clouds with the promise of rain.

Areyto’s feet had gone soft, trapped inside his captor’s homes, walking on wood and rugs. They ached now when the sharper points of the rocks pressed along the underside. The siren only ground his teeth against the pain and kept moving, pulling the silk of his robe more tightly around himself to guard against the whipping wind.

He could just see the white sails of a ship, far in the distance.

His hate boiled up inside of him at the sight of it. A ship like that had stolen him from the waters and kept him tied up and locked away in darkness, seeing no sun until his captor had had him marked for obedience and been the thief of his entire life.

Areyto’s eyes scanned the horizon, watching the dark smear move, knowing what was likely on it. More human men, maybe women, too. Maybe captive animals or sea serpents, wild creatures being sent to fates worse than death for the pleasure of humans. Maybe the storm would break over their heads, and captives and captors alike could become meals to be torn asunder and dragged down to the depths, gifts for the ocean to feed her children.

“Kill them,” he whispered, a prayer to the moon that hid behind the daylight and the clouds, a prayer to the ocean itself. “Kill the humans, all of them, and set me free.”

There was no answer.

There was never any answer.

His curse made sure the moon never saw him any longer, could not hear his voice even when he cried for her. Only his captor heard him, and his captor called the screams a song.

Marked as he was, spelled to give his immortality and his obedience to his captor, he was just another tamed wild animal. He felt it more than ever today, with the painted symbols all down his left side newly relaid and throbbing with the echo of two days of endless agonies.

His captor had found a new magician to come by each decade to repaint them. The new one always had a smile twisting her face too wide, one that dug under Areyto’s skin. Areyto had found himself missing Atabei, who had at least looked guilty, who had offered him small pieces of mercy. No, he did not miss her.

It was all her fault, in the end.

She’d been the one to begin it all.

He did not pity her her fate, her last days alone and locked up surrounded by stone, with men called doctors declaring her mad.

He did not think of the conversations they had had, some nights, when Atabei could not sleep and came searching for him. He did not allow himself to recall the graying silver that was more visible in her hair with every passing year, the wrinkles that began to show at her eyes when she smiled. He did not remember the warmth of a kind touch, a hand through his dark hair just before she began the ritual that would leave him screaming, the soft whispered praise when he survived it, as he always did, because Guilford Wentworth would never allow him to die. He would not think of the way she came more and more often in the dark of the night to sit beside him, as time stretched on.

He did not think of the way she had called herself his friend, and how at some point he had stopped denying it. Whatever she called herself, though, she still wrote his curse in ink anew every time it began to fade. However many regrets she had, she still hurt him, again and again. Her low-pitched, husky alto song harmonizing with his was simply painting over the truth of the pain.

He did not remember her hand in his, asking him to forgive her after the first wife died but before his captor had sent Atabei herself to die in an asylum. He could not even now feel the warmth of her touch.

She had been the reason for his captivity, even if she was a captive, too.

He did not miss her.

The water ran just up to his toes, and Areyto closed his eyes, lifting his chin. He let the breeze lick around his neck like a lover might, if he’d ever had one. He felt the sand give way beneath his feet, felt himself sink deeper and deeper, bit by bit. His toes wriggled, spreading as wide as they could.

Finally, he sank to his knees. Sand ground against them, stuck to the palms of his hands as he reached out and ran his fingertips over the curve of a white shell just peeking up above the grains. The water came in, washing his hands clean, and he dug the shell out. He watched the saltwater fill the hole left behind, sand swirling in until it vanished.

Just like the shell, he thought, his place in the world disappeared as soon as he was taken from it. If he laid here, unmoving, would he eventually become buried, too? Would the saltwater toss and turn his bones, break them down to sand to be washed up on a beach across the far waters?

His lips twitched, the shadow of a smile.

It might be nice, to be nothing.

“Look at you,” His captor’s voice rang out, and Areyto’s breath caught. Despair threatened to push him under, and he thought - for just one moment - that he wished he were able to drown. He would have thrown himself to the ocean’s mercy if he could. Instead, he made himself perfectly still, and waited. .

Behind him, Guilford Wentworth made his slow way down the hideous, ugly step-scars. Areyto could hear his heavy breathing, the crunch of his boots against rock and then the scrape when he found sand. He came up behind Areyto and stood too close, leaning over to slide a hand along his spine and watch him shiver.

“All dark skin and hair and white silk,” His captor said, voice low, pitched not to carry any further than his prisoner’s ears. “You look like a ghost, a spirit of some dead maiden.”

“I am a ghost,,” Areyto replied, voice flat, barely moving his own mouth. He refused to flinch from Wentworth’s touch, even when those fingertips burned against the nape of his neck, tracing the painted marks that peeked out from the neckline of his robe. Heavy hands wearing many rings twisted into his dark hair, pulling at it just a little, never letting him forget who held his leash. “What I was is dead.”

“You were a monster,” Guilford countered. “You still are. Monsters need to be tamed. To be kept.” He chuckled, voice low, and pulled harder, steadily forcing Areyto to lift his chin. Areyto’s hands closed slowly into fists around sand and shell, until the edge of the shell cut deeply in, the pain keeping his mind clear. There was no point in the disgust he felt at Wentworth’s touch, so why couldn’t he stop?

Wentworth cleared his throat, straightening back up and forcing Areyto backwards using the hand in his hair, until he was standing on his knees, spine straight. His markings ached, his skin boiled with the need to tear his captor apart. “My wife is dying.”

“That is what your wives seem crafted to do.” He couldn’t quite keep the edge from his voice. When Wentworth’s heavy hand began to pet through his hair like a man might pet a dog, he let his eyes close against the burn he refused to admit had nothing to do with the salty ocean air.

His stomach dipped, and all his markings burned like new. He couldn’t do anything but obey. The magic bound him like a fisherman’s net.

Wentworth sighed, reading the distress Areyto tried not to show. His fingers kept catching in tangled curls, jerking Areyto’s head this way and that. “Wives do die, in their time. In any case, I thought the air here would help her-”

“No, you didn’t.”

“What?” Wentworth jerked him backwards, throwing Areyto until he landed on his back in the soft sand, staring up at his captor. Wentworth’s face was shadowed by the weak sun fighting through the threatening clouds. The tide surged up to Areyto’s thighs, soaking the hem of his silk robe and leaving him half-bared to that horrible heavy gaze. “What did you say?”

Areyto set his jaw, and stared past Wentworth at the waters that had once been home. “You knew the air here would be cold and damp.You knew it would make her worse. You are done with this wife and ready for a new one. Why bother to lie to me? It’s me who you will have sing the new one into your bed soon enough-”

“Be quiet.” Wentworth’s hiss sent a sparking of pain along the painted marks of his curse, and Areyto bit down on his lower lip. Wentworth’s eyes moved from left to right, taking in the empty sands on either side of them, the house far enough away that you couldn’t see it from here. Or be seen by anyone inside it, even if any of them were awake.

His captor’s smile stretched as wide as a slick of oil still spilling from deep earth as he unbuttoned his own shirt without taking it off, shifting down onto his knees to straddle his captive siren, weighing him down.

It felt like a stone tied to his ankle, dragging Areyto into the dark.

One of Wentworth’s hands went around his throat, thumb pressing against the thrum of Areyto’s pulse just under his jaw. The other went into his hair, pulling hard.

“Open your mouth,” Wentworth commanded.

Areyto’s body, as always, obeyed.

The water surged again, as if the ocean tried to pull him back home. It lapped along his legs, caressed his calves as it pulled back away, just brushed the bottoms of his feet. The sand beneath him was soaked and he sank into it as his head was forced back, as his throat was filled and he had to breathe in quick gasps whenever Wentworth pulled back, and relaxed his hand enough to allow it.

Areyto added his own saltwater tears to what soaked the sand beneath his body, a dizzy lack of air making the world seem to spin, as if his misery were the center of the earth.

“Why aren’t you making any noises?” Wentworth asked, his voice a series of harsh grunts as his hips moved, snapping too far forward, pulling too far back. Areyto’s jaw ached, his neck hurt from being bent strangely to accommodate Wentworth’s will. Sand dried and itched and stuck to him. The waves kept breaking just a little higher each time, until they teased at Areyto’s hips, his waist.

He kept the shell closed tightly in one hand.

“Oh. Right.” Each word was a thrust, and Areyto wasn’t breathing. Couldn’t breathe. His eyes opened now, black and white spots dancing around the edges and finally into the middle. Wentworth stared back down at him. Their eyes met, and for all that Areyto knew his burned with hate, Wentworth’s sparkled with a perfect joy. “I gave you an order, didn’t I? Well, I take it back. Make all the noise your body wants, Areyto. Make as much noise as you can.”

This order was worse than the silence.

Now, he couldn’t stop himself - the siren whined, whimpered at the pain as his throat was bruised, gasped and cried out only for the winds to whip the sound away faster than he could even hear himself making it. He begged, maybe - he couldn’t have said.

Things had gotten so far away, in his mind.

Too far away to be sure any longer.

Wentworth pulled back, all at once, but it was only a second before he grabbed the siren by one shoulder and threw him onto his stomach, hand pressing hard into his back while his knees kicked the siren’s legs apart. He shoved the sodden silk robe up to bare Areyto to his heavy, wanting gaze. Water rushed in, and Areyto's forehead pressed into the sand as he hitched in a sob.

Why did he still bother to weep?

“Beg,” Wentworth commanded, leaning down to press a kiss against Areyto’s hair. The siren’s stomach threatened to heave itself empty at the mockery of intimacy. “Beg me not to do this now, beg me not to bed you right here next to the water. Beg me not to.”

“Please,” Areyto gasped, voice hoarse and broken. He wanted to stay silent out of spite, but the markings were perfect and fresh and instead obedience was pulled from him faster than he could even think to defy him. “Please, not like this-... don’t do this-... not here-”

Wentworth bit down, flat human teeth burying themselves into Areyto’s shoulder as he forced himself inside, inch by inch. The siren threw his head back and screamed, a broken sound that only seemed to make Wentworth’s own desire rise higher.

Blood ran to soak the sand beneath the siren’s shoulder and between his legs.

One of Wentworth’s hands found his hair again, holding tight to keep Areyto’s head pressed to his shoulder. The other reached out over the top of Areyto’s hand, closing fingers around his and pressing him more deeply into the sand. The siren’s back was forced to arch as his captor ground skin between teeth until it tore. He licked at Areyto’s blood and groaned with satisfaction as his hips rocked, the way made slick by blood and his lust fed by the pain of his imprisoned monster.

Areyto’s eyes were wide and sightless - he could not see or feel or think past the way he was torn apart, in too many places. His free hand held tight to the shell he had found, as if it could save him.

At some point his grip was so strong it broke the skin, and he bled there, too.

The tide surged, and added salt to the fresh wounds. He screamed again, and Wentworth’s voice was in his ear telling him to move, and so he did, and it made the pain rise ever higher. The sounds the siren made bounced off the hills ahead of them, they were stolen by the breeze to be blown out to the sea.

The tide soaked the blood into the sand, pulled it back to the waters. It dissolved in spirals and tendrils that came together and broke apart, until it faded away into the enormity of the waters. Until all there was was the sand, and the pain, and Guilford Wentworth buried inside him giving commands in a whisper that he had to obey.

“Mine,” His captor groaned as he finished inside him, went still, a heavy weight that pressed the air from the siren’s lungs. “Forever. Say it.”

Areyto stared at a bit of sea grass fighting its way through the suffocation of sand, surviving where no other plants did.

“Yours,” He whispered. Wentworth pulled away. “Forever.”

“Forever…?” Wentworth was doing up his buttons again, even though his own clothes were soaked through. The siren didn’t look up. He kept his eyes on the grass. “You know what to say, don’t you?”

The siren swallowed back the screaming hatred that threatened to burn him up from inside, and only whispered, “Yours forever… master.”

Wentworth chuckled again. He turned and walked away, making his painstaking, clumsy way up those stupid rock stairs.

The tide rushed in, all the way up to the siren’s mid-back now, moving further and further up towards his shoulders. He didn’t move - it felt like a bath, like the gentle lapping of a mother cat to a kitten. It felt like the ocean was trying to clean him of the filth that Wentworth had left on him, inside of him.

“Kill him,” The siren prayed. “Kill him and set me free. Please, please… kill him. Just... kill us both.”

As always...

No one answered.

Taglist: @grizzlie70 @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump @shrimpwritings @there-will-always-be-blood @latenightcupsofcoffee @angelsproject @starsick1979

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inevitably-johnlocked · 2 months ago

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so, saw your post about John's attraction to Lestrade, and it reminded me of 1) how hot Lestrade is ;) and 2) the chemistry between him and Sherlock. in my opinion, they have great chemistry and I'm actually surprised there aren't more Lestrade/Sherlock fics out there.

i wonder if you know of any Johnlock fics where Sherlock had a thing for Lestrade in the past? i would love to see John's reaction when learning about it :D

(re: this post here)

Hey Lovely!!!

YESSSSSS Greg is GORGEOUS, Rupert has always been a fine mess to look at, LOL. He's such a silver fox now, UGH.

Personally, I don't have any recs for Sherstrade since I genuinely see him more as a father figure and friend for Sherlock than anything else, but OF COURSE that's my preference! I know a lot of people love Sherstrade and also see the chemistry (I see the platonic chemistry, not romantic, LOL) I know that @gaylilsherlock has written a few Sherstrade fics, so LipstickDaddy is a good AO3 Account to check out.

Other than that, here are some fics that are tagged on my MFL list:

The Words We Say by SociallyIneptDork (G, 2,565 w., 1 Ch. || Sherstrade || Hurt/Comfort, Angst With Happy Ending, Paternal Lestrade, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Sherlock Whump, POV Sherlock, Ambiguous Relationship, Sherlock’s Called ‘Freak’) – Greg says what he shouldn't have, and he has to fix what he did. Story has Sherlock's past woven in to show what made him who he is today, so that he could finally begin healing.

Romantic Entanglement by LipstickDaddy (G, 12,025 w., 10 Ch. || Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Established Sherstrade, Love Triangles, Love Confessions, Eventual Mystrade, One Night Stands, Fluff, Miscommunication, Eventual Johnlock) – Everything else is transport… until it isn’t.

This Time Tomorrow (Where Will We Be?) by LipstickDaddy (T, 19,383 w., 11 Ch. || Sherstrade || Pre-Canon / Canon Rewrite, Graphic Violence, Friends to Lovers, POV Greg, Protective Greg, Cuddling and Snuggling, Drinking, Talking, Implied/Referenced Drug Use & Self-Harm, Developing Friendships, BAMF Greg, Bed Sharing, Rape/Non-Con, Flashbacks, Friendship / Love, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Friends with Benefits) – Greg Lestrade has known Sherlock Holmes longer than anyone else in the detective’s life; and he’s spent those years on a knife’s edge, keeping him out of harm’s way until the day he can’t. What happens now, Detective Inspector?

Following the (Silver) Fox by Jobooksandcoffee (E, 54,355 w., 15 Ch. || S3 Fix It Fic, Sherstrade, John/Mary, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Pining Sherlock, Resentful John, Regretful John, Domestic Life, Drug Use, Happy Ending, Greg’s Children, Friendship, Unrequited Love) – After two lonely and painful years away eliminating the threads of Moriarty’s web, Sherlock comes home to find John living with Mary. John is also hurt and resentful, determined to not allow Sherlock to undermine his relationship with his new fiancée. Greg, who always thought Sherlock and John belonged together, becomes a closer friend to Sherlock. He gives the Consulting Detective a place to stay, a friend to have dinner with, someone who will listen to him. He tries to keep all interfering feelings at bay. As Sherlock notices his friendship with Greg becomes stronger, he begins to accept that maybe he can be alright even with John not living at Baker Street any more. He and Lestrade can work at the Yard, and talk about cases. Greg is good at rescuing Sherlock when John and Mary’s wedding preparations get intense. They are friends. This is enough for Sherlock. Right?

=====

If anyone has something that they want to suggest to Charlie, let us know!!

#steph replies #sherstrade fic recs #sherlock fic recs #help steph find fics #sherstrade fics

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jedi-lothwolf · 1 year ago

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Whump: The Musical Day 7: The Last Five Years (I will not lose because you can not win.")

Fandom: The Batch Batch

Warning: Cannon typical violence

Summary: When Hemlock invades Pabu, the batch has to fight for their lives as well as the lives of the citizens of the peaceful Island.

Ao3 link

Today was supposed to be an ordinary day. When Hunter had woken up, he was dragged down to the beach by Omega and Deke. They wanted to show him that they had learned how to surf. Even if he wouldn't admit it, Hunter was proud of the clones for learning how to be children.

Wrecker had forced Crosshair down to the beach as well. The warm sand and pleasant smell should help him to relax the man thought. So the three brothers sat on a red towel and started to talk. It wasn't much, but it was somewhere to start.

Mox and Stak joined them shortly and started to work on a sand castle. Some clouds covered the sunny sky. But when Hunter looked up, they weren't clouds. Imperial vessels blocked the sun.

This couldn't be happening. Pabu was supposed to be safe. It wasn't meant for invasions. So many of the people spent too long running just to have to up their whole lives again. Hunter looked back down.

Looking at Crosshair, he spoke. "Get Omega and the boys to the ship. Be ready to leave. Call Echo and tell him we need help, immediately."

In truth, Hunter knew why he chose Crosshair. With his hand, even if he hadn't told them yet, he knew that he'd be the one whose help they need the least. Now if he could still hit any mark, that could have been a different story.

But there was more to that. Wrecker had a history with Pabu. He would protect it fiercely. The island was his home, the people were his family.

As Deke rode a wave in, Hunter stood. The father ran out to two of his youngest that were in the water. "Go over to Crosshair" he told them. They nodded before Hunter went to Mox and Stak and pulled them up from the sand.

"What's going on?" Mox asked. Nervousness was written all over his face.

"The empire-"

"We could tell" Stak interrupted.

"Go with your siblings." It was the first time he had outright called their siblings to their faces. If it had been any other time, Hunter would have said more. For now, it would have to wait."

As Hunter walked the other two over with the rest of the group, Omega started to talk. "We can help!"

"I know, but it's you they want and the boys haven't finished their training. It's safer this way."

"And someone needs to watch Cross." Wrecker tried to add some humor to the situation.

Phee joined them on the beach, knowing that it was Clone Force 99 who had unfortunately brought the Empire to Pabu. Hunter walked over to her before she met the rest of the group. "Make sure Omega gets out of here. They want her and we wouldn't let her get taken again."

"Okay." She looked past the Sargent, "come on kids, let's get you to safety!"

Sighing, Crosshair grabbed Omega and picked her up. "Come on."

"Put me down!" Omega fought Crosshair all the way up the beach.

"Now what?" Wrecker asked.

"We fight."

At the Mauradur, Crosshair was quick to make the decision to leave. Batcher awoke from her nap and laid with Omega to help keep her calm. The boys mostly sat with her or talked to Crosshair as they left the atmosphere and headed to Coruscant to meet with Echo.

As the days passed, the battle of Pabu seemed to be more and more helpless. Civilians were dying, some who had fought and some who had not.

When the bad batch had settled on Pabu, they taught Shep how to shoot. The mayor had agreed to ease their minds, never thinking he would need to use this new skill. Unfortunately it was only a matter of time. Lyana stayed near her father when she could. Mostly she was hidden with other children.

When the invasion began, Hunter had suddenly become a Sargent again. It had been a long time since he played that role. Civilians who had fought in wars, civil or intergalactical, had taken up their old military rank. It was strange.

The invasion had lasted days. Hemlock wouldn't give up until he found Omega, unaware she had been taken off world. Pabu was being torn apart, lives crumbled to the ground and while some knew why the empire had attacked, most didn't. For the people who did, they couldn't and wouldn't be mad at Clone Force 99 for trying to live peaceful lives and for trying to protect their daughter and little girl.

It had been four days into the fighting when Hemlock showed his face. When Hunter met Hemlock for the second time, injured and tired, he knew meeting the scientist twice was three times too many.

"Hello CT-9901, or should I say Hunter?" Hemlock spoke.

Startled and out of breath, Hunter didn't answer. It had been so long since he heard his CT number, he had almost forgotten it. Still, he knew the malice behind it.

"This can all end, just give me the girl."

"Never." Hunter moved behind a counter. He sank to the floor for a moment.

"I figured as much. I truly am impressed that you are capable of forming such a bond with her. A parental role appears to come so easily to you."

The words made Hunter's skin crawl. Why would he be unable to form a bond with her? Omega was his daughter, nothing could change that. Was it because he was a clone? Was that why he was deemed unable to love a child, to have children he felt were his own?

"The safest option for your men and the civilians of this island, is to stop the fighting. You cannot win this battle, Sargent."

"I will not lose because you can not win."

Silents filled the room. They stood in a ruined kitchen. The checkered floors were stained with blood and glass. The cabinets had been torn open by both the empire and the citizens of Pabu. They needed food and they needed wood. The empire hadn't taken their time to bring out flame throwers to scorch the island and its people.

"You, won't win this." Hunter reinforced the idea. "You can't. I won't let you. " Pulling his knife from its sheath, he tried to find a clear shot at Hemlock.

The scientist couldn't win. In the end, he would round up every single citizen and kill them off. With Wrecker taking part in the fight, he needed his to be okay. With everything Tech had sacrificed to save them, they couldn't die here. Crosshair and his kids would be alone. It hurt knowing that Omega would blame herself for the slaughter of the people of Pabu. Echo would wish he arrived earlier and would blame himself for not being there to save them.

They needed saving. They couldn't do it alone. The Sargent only had one shot at killing Hemlock. Blood pooled under Hunter from his injuries. With broken ribs, multiple deep lacerations on his legs as well as his arms and one close to his neck, a few broken toes, and a large amount of bruising, the man was unsure how he had stayed alive this long. He could feel blood on the side of his face but he wasn't sure if it came from his left ear (since he couldn't hear from it) or from his head.

The vibro-knife shook in his hand. It almost felt foreign. Standing slowly, yet staying out of view, Hunter grabbed a piece of glass from behind the mahogany counter. Looking at it for a moment, he sighed. They couldn't afford to lose. Not anymore. Losing meant dying and for the first time in so long, Hunter had something to live for. His brothers and children and family he had made on Padu and his pets (Gonky included) all meant the world to him. No one else needed to die.

However, If he had to give all of that up to save them, to win the battle of Pabu, the battle for his family, he would.

Throwing the glass, Hunter hoped that it would distract Hemlock and his guards. When it did, the man stood fully and threw his knife. As soon as he saw it plunge deep into his skull, he felt a weight be lifted off of his chest. The weight was replaced with a bullet.

The tile cracked when he fell. There wasn't much Hunter could think about. The sound of ships overhead relieved Hunter. It had to be Echo. If not, the empire would take the island in a matter of hours.

Hunter's entire body hurt. The warm feeling of blood tangled with his hair. The glass had cut any exposed skin. The guards grabbed Hemlock's body and went to leave. Hunter listened to the footsteps as they faded. His mind was so foggy that evening and nothing made his sense. But Hemlock was dead. If that was Echo, which it had to be, Pabu would rebuild. The coppery smell of blood filled Hunter's nose.

Dying, Hunter tried to reach for his comm. Hitting it, the world started to fade. His hand rested on the communication device long enough for Echo to notice the soft noise of fire and gunshots that played over his headset. Then his hand slipped off the button and the comm channel went silent.

The man had never expected to wake up again. But when he saw a white roof, he knew something was different. Everything hurt too damn much for him to be dead. There was a steady, high pitched beeping that hurt his ears; or at least the one he could still hear out of.

Had they won? Was everyone safe? Where was his family, his kids?

"Hunter!" Omega yelled, answering one of his questions. "He's awake" she shook Echo awake.

"Hunter?" Echo grounded as he sat up. Then he pinched himself.

"You actually woke up." Crosshair stood up. "It's been a week."

"Leave him alone. He needed his beauty rest" Wrecker joked. The boys and Batcher sat in the corner of the room, still half asleep.

"Is everyone, okay?" Hunter finally said, struggling to speak.

"We're okay."

"Pa-Pabu."

"In shambles. We were about to leave to help with the rebuilding and attend a few funerals. We'll send you regards. They people were rooting for you." Echo told him.

"We're lucky you came in when you did. You saved us." Nudging Echo, Wrecker walked over to wake up the boys.

"Where-"

"Alderaan. Rex has some allies here. We couldn't help you on our own, the damage done to you, it was too extensive." Walking beside Hunter, Echo stood next to him.

"Dad!" Deke yelled, excited. He ran over to him and just about toppled Echo.

"You're actually alive" Stak added.

"Hey." Mox was the last to stand as he was trying to not disturb Batcher.

Hemlock's words about his parental instincts ran through Hunter's head. However, that didn't matter. He was their father. Just because he was a clone didn't mean he didn't form bonds with people he cared dearly for.

"We can stay for a little but Hunter needs to rest, we need to get back to Pabu." Walking to the door, Echo went to tell the nurses that Hunter had woken up.

Omega clung to Hunter's arm, determined to never let go. Crosshair and Wrecker sat at the end of the bed. Wrecker looked rough but that was to be expected.

"Tell me everything later" the Sargent whispered.

"We will." After a few hours, Echo decided it was time to go. Omega and Batcher stayed with Hunter while the rest left for Pabu. Knowing that Hemlock couldn't hurt her, made breathing just a little bit easier. So did knowing that most everyone he cared about was safe; though by now someone would have told him if Phee, Shep, or Lyana had died.

Everything would be okay. It had to be. Now that Hemlock was out of the way, maybe the batch could live a peaceful life. Even if Hunter knew they would end up in the fight, it was a nice thought. But the clone knew his place was fighting for peace. After all, if he wanted Omega and his boys to be safe, he needed to make a safer galaxy. And that was okay with him. If he needed to fight he would. For his children.

@whumpthemusical

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defire · 6 months ago

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Dance of Death Chapter 5:

She Said What

Content warnings for this chapter: Discussion of child abuse, fantasy racism, mild horror

[There's more whump in the next chapter... I didn't know people liked whump when I was writing this so I was trying to ease people into it.]

Saturday was the first clear day after a week of rain and wind storms. Nife went up the carpeted stairs in one of the Wry's small hosting rooms, called the Fireplace Room. Every Saturday, Nife and her friends gathered here to taste artisan teas and relax away from their houses. Black wooden pillars throughout supported the vaulted ceilings, giving just enough reverb to make their laughter sound more full. They often pulled up chairs near the small fireplace near the middle of the room. Their bright eyes reflected the blaze, shades of orange and red, with a couple blue-eyed Bane oddities lingering around the edges of the group.

Often the so-called "relaxing" turned into a wild release of the pent-up energy the teenagers had been stuffing down all week, as they tried to behave for their parents and teachers. However, most of the group was actually sitting in the chairs instead of standing on them or daring each other to climb on stacks of them.

Nife noticed the minute she came in that Greeviss wasn’t there.

"She said what?" Starren was demanding as she entered, standing up as Nife quietly entered the tea gathering in the Fireplace Room.

Kit, who was bent forward on one of the couches, speaking to Starren, looked up as Nife came in. He made a small head-bow in Nife's direction with a slightly awkward smile.

"Nife," Starren said, looking shocked. "Did you try to convince Lord Amlee not to... sternly discuss things... with Greeviss?"

Nife's smile twitched.

"If that's your idea of a 'stern discussion', I'd hate to see your definition of 'shouting'." Nife said, finding her fingers fluttering at her hip, itching to play with her daggers.

"Did you?" Starren insisted.

"Direct today, aren't you?"

"I'm always direct." Starren flipped her voluminous mane behind her with an overt side-eye at Nife. She hated how underhanded Nife was, and Nife enjoyed the blazes out of that.

"I know." Nife smirked.

She meandered to the table with a sample-sized bag of tea. The others crowded around, but it was not for the new tea. They were looking at her sideways, as if they didn't want to speak, but wanted to hear her answer. Finally she relented, sighing.

"I walked in on him abusing Greeviss," Nife paused, looking around for him. He wasn't there. "Do you expect me to walk by when someone's getting hurt?"

The others didn't move or speak for a minute. For a group of teenagers, that was very strange.

"From what I heard, all he did was slap him," Kit said gently. "Can you really call that abuse?"

Nife turned to him, slowly, jaw dropping.

"Wow, really, Kit..." She said. "Can I really call that abuse? Really?"

She shook her head, looking around to see if the others agreed. Maybe it wasn't abuse for herself, but for anybody else, well... She'd been raised with the understanding that all people are equal, and they should all be treated the same, with allowances for their physical and mental capabilities. Of course, she didn't really have a place in society, but the others here were all very important to Nife.

"Nife, it seems you don't understand what you've put your foot in," Starren said. "That's not considered abusive. You can't really 'abuse' someone who has no legal rights. Trying to go against that is useless. Everyone's against you."

“Did you say no legal rights?” Nife said, amused smile faltering.

“Yeah. My mother rubs it in my face every chance she gets.” Starren rolled her eyes. “You have no allies if you’re going to stand against the adults.”

"What about us?" Nife said, looking around at the others, who mostly took positions around them softly, sipping tea and looking uncomfortable.

"Us?" Kit snorted. "Don't you understand? We're children. There's nothing we can do."

"I mean what do you call this?" Nife said with a mild shrug. "We're here making contacts. Planning our futures. Not like they're doing anything different."

"They just let us go to get us out of their way." Starren said bitterly. "We're barely even people to them."

Nife flipped a stirring stick in her hands a few times thoughtfully. Her parents made her feel unimportant, but not… barely a person, like Starren suggested. She was beginning to get a very bad opinion of Starren’s mother.

"I mean how different are we from them, really?" Kit said. "We have the same thoughts, feelings, the same souls."

"They're in control, that's what's different." Starren spat.

Nife watched the older girl grind her teeth. Something was definitely off with her as well.

"Well, nothing will change unless we change it." Nife said. "Look at us, children of the most powerful nobles in Gapp, complaining that we have no power. We all have souls, same as them. We have essentially the same amount of power as any other soul does. Why don't we draft some laws? Get Grip to propose them, since he's the only actual lord we've got with us." She nodded at him. "Call ourselves the Souls. What do you think?"

Nife had been flipping the stirring stick while she talked. The room had gradually become more quiet, and as she waited for a response, there was a full lull in even the minor conversations that left the reverberant room uncharacteristically quiet.

For a while, no one answered. He was just one lord out of about a hundred minor lords. They'd need a major lord on their side to have any chance at serious political footing. And Nife knew that Raizden was out of the question.

"I mean, maybe our parents are right." Caboodle said quietly. When he got glares, he swallowed nervously and began to prepare a flask of tea with the new kind Nife had brought, but his hands trembled nervously. "I mean," He added. "They say 'Prepare them for the harshness of the world.' Outside these walls the war is still going on; maybe... maybe we'll have to fight."

"I do not believe this." Nife shook her head, leaning back on the couch to process.

"Nife!" Starren barked so loud, several people jumped. Nife's eyes snapped coolly to her. "Stop this now before someone gets hurt. You may have nothing to lose, but we still have to go home to our parents every night!"

Nife frowned, wondering why Starren made it sound so serious. She now noticed that several of them had minor injuries--before, she'd assumed they were accidents, but Starren had a round burn mark under her ear, and Kit had a bruise on the inside of his arm that he kept unconsciously rubbing.

"Wait..." Nife looked around at her friends. Starren, Kit, Caboodle, almost everyone except Flower–another Druid–shared a pained, foreboding look in one way or another.

"No." She stared. "Are you telling me it's not just Greeviss?"

Nobody said anything.

"Kit?" She said.

Kit flushed and looked down, swirling the tea in his flask, as if to mix in the honey.

She heard a snap and looked down in her hand. The stirring-stick had broken in her fingers. She clenched her teeth, staring at the snapped bamboo.

"I see." She said, trying to pretend to be calm even as she flushed with anger. "Someone has to stop this."

The others looked at each other like they'd already thought of that, and it hadn't worked.

Nife glared.

"Someone has to."

After the meeting, Nife, Kit and Caboodle walked briskly toward their homes together, to try to get more time together before the curfew forced them to separate. Cozy shadows cloaked the city. Nife's boots clanged on the catwalks of 10th street, reverberating off the piping and struts in every direction around them. Gas lamps at every street corner glowed softly through the mist, hampering Nife's nightsight a little.

This street was far above the poisonous miasma reeking up from the bottom. In case they did have to walk on the dangerous lower levels, they wore masks that were enchanted to protect their lungs.

"I don't know how you're always so sure about what to do." Kit said to Nife.

"She's just pretending." Caboodle said.

"I would never," Nife lied. "You read me just like you read entrails."

"I don't... read entrails." Caboodle frowned.

"Exactly." Nife said, ruffling his hair.

"Stop." Caboodle said. He took out a pocket comb and combed it down to the correct shape. He even carefully whisked the ends up to the sides in a way that looked like the wind had blown it there or something.

Nife snatched the comb out of his hand just before he put it back in his pocket.

"Hey!" He lunged for it. She laughed, spinning it between her fingers.

"Just try it." She tossed it, caught it in the other hand, and made it dance again.

He narrowed his eyes and swiped at it again. This time she let him grab it out of her hands, making it look like a mistake. He panted, shoving it back into his pocket, grinning victoriously at her. But suddenly he startled back from the edge, looking scared.

They were standing on a street about eight levels up from the bottom of the city. Above and below, catwalks, stairs, sidewalks, and covered tunnels clogged the alleys and gaps between the buildings.

"What?" Kit said.

"I saw something." Caboodle said faintly.

"What, a shadow?" Nife teased.

"...Eyes. He whispered.

Nife looked at Kit. He looked scared, and he was sixteen, so she should probably be scared as well.

"Let's get out of here." He said, pushing Caboodle forward ahead of him.

Nife felt out into the darkness using her "nightsight", which was what Druids called their heat vision. She felt underneath the street they were now hurrying down, to feel if she could sense any creatures below. There was no one down there, not even a rodent.

"I think it's alright." Nife said.

"How would you even know?" Kit said, looking back to make sure she was keeping up with them.

They were going at an unpleasantly fast speed; Nife hurried to keep up with them, panting.

"Wait!" Caboodle whispered, sounding horrified. He was staring straight ahead of them out at the road. "It's--I saw it again."

"Eyes?" Nife said, sighing. "Come on, Caboodle..."

She stopped, when she realized she could see a sort of shadow in the path ahead of them.

"No..." Caboodle said softly, pointing at it. "That."

She squinted at the thing. There was something utterly wrong about it--something she couldn't put her finger on for a moment. And then she realized what it was. It was cold--cold as the air around it. It had no body heat at all.

It was horrifyingly featureless. It was already too dark outside to make out much of each others' faces, but the creature must have been wearing a long, open cloak, because it was nothing but a black silhouette. There were no eyes visible, though, which was a good thing, because they would've had to have been glowing to make out in this light.

"Come on." Nife stepped back like she was going to run. They were both faster than her. The moment they moved ahead of her, she turned around to face the thing, drawing her daggers.

She'd already seen that it could at least climb as fast as any Druid, and it would probably outrun them. Its crouch matched that of a humanoid preparing to pounce--it was hunting them. She refused to let it catch them from behind.

"Nife, don't!" Kit said.

He went so far as to pull at her arm, which was highly inappropriate in Bane society. She pushed his hand off her arm. Nife knew that when you run, you panic. Facing the beast was the best option.

The thing started moving toward her. It jogged toward them, cape flouncing at its dark heels, in an almost silly way that only made it that much more terrifying. Her stomach dropped. She imagined it getting close, opening a black maw and sucking her soul into its greedy stomach, then pouncing on her, tearing her apart neck-first.

"Nife!" Kit repeated, retreating from the creature. His voice was breaking. "Nife, please, run with us."

"I can't run as fast as you can." Nife said over her shoulder. "You guys go ahead, I'll catch up."

Yeah, like she'd catch up with this thing on her, she thought.

She swallowed, staring the thing down, and blinked, forcing the mental image of her dagger targets back home onto it. It's not a monster, it's just a target, she told herself.

Okay, maybe it's both.

It flopped closer, something blue glinting momentarily under its hat as it approached. She almost thought she'd seen a hungry grin.

Seeing the way it moved, she flipped her right hand dagger, the silver moth stiletto from Warren. If it lunged, she'd need to have something short range in her off hand.

Then she threw her left-hand dagger.

It lunged unpredictably at the same time, making a crazed bob in her direction, but as the dagger clacked and bounced on the cement just past where it had been a moment ago, it froze.

"That was a warning." She glared at it, voice trembling slightly.

Now that it was closer, she could see that it wore a tall hat, a cloak, and tattered clothes. She realized she was now nervously flipping a third left-hand dagger the way she'd been flipping Caboodle's comb. It danced between her fingers almost mindlessly, giving her just enough presence of mind to realize she should be backing away, without the ability to actually do it.

Feet rooted to the spot, she raised her next throwing dagger threateningly. It flinched and twisted its head slightly. Again, there was a glint from under its hat. Then it leapt to its right, clinging onto the wall of a building nearby, and skidded and slipped down it to the catwalks below like a squirrel rushing down a tree. She heard it rattling away toward the bottom of the city. The dagger in her hand slipped through her fingers and clattered on the ground.

She sank to her knees and stared ahead at her where the dagger she'd thrown lay on the pavement, right next to where its defiled feet had stood a moment ago. Suddenly she realized she was able to breathe again, and shuddered.

"You scared it off!" Caboodle was saying. "I can't believe you scared it off."

Nife looked back, realizing Kit was frozen with his hands on the rail, staring past her where the thing had been.

She got up slowly, trembling. His eyes moved to her.

"Oh Nife." He said. "Please, never do that again."

"Oh, don't worry, I wasn't even scared," She said. "I'm a fighting Druid. We know how to handle this kind of thing."

"Wait, you knew what that was?" Kit said.

"Well, it was a shadowy ghost creature." Nife said. "You couldn't tell?"

"I've never heard of this kind of thing." Kit said.

Nife fell silent as they got closer to Kit and Caboodle's house. She was glad they were going to get home first.

"Will you be alright?" Kit said. "I'm concerned that the shadowy ghost creature might come back."

"I'll kick its ass if it comes back." Nife shrugged.

Yeah, more like pass out, she thought.

They waved goodbye, and the shadowy ghost creature didn't reappear on Nife's way home.

First chapter: Next chapter:

Taglist: @tildeathiwillwrite @mimostic @fleur-a-whump @a-n-j-a-maria

Per Tumblr's content policy, this is the non-nsfw version of Dance of Death.

For anyone following along on this story that wants the canon NSFW version of the story for free, I’m posting this story on ao3 as well, part by part. You can get the full book right away on amazon for $0.99, but I just want to make it possible for anyone to access.

If you like this book, it would mean so much to me if you leave a review of Dance of Death on Amazon.

#novel #dark fantasy novel #dark fantasy #gaslamp fantasy #defiant whumpee #badass girl protagonist

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the-slythering-raven · 2 years ago

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Since I have more than 2 fics on ao3, I think it’s time for a master post?

1) Maybe..things will be alright (3030 words, complete)

Summary: Larry James finds a heartbroken Cordell Walker sobbing over the dead body of his wife and helps him home after dropping her body off for the autopsy. The children are shocked on hearing the news, and Stella yells at her father and wishes him death in front of everyone in a fit of grief induced rage. Would things ever be alright again?

2) Only alone i will cry out loud (You'll never see what's hiding out) (3523 words, 2 chapters, WIP)

Summary: When a case hits Cordell too close to home, he's already on edge of a breakdown, and a little inconvenience becomes the straw that breaks the Camel's back. Larry James thinks he will have a good time catching up with Cordell, only to find him having a breakdown. What happens next? (Note: This one has WHUMP)

3) Closure (776 words, Complete)

Summary: Emily’s murderer and the mastermind behind it had both been arrested. So why was Cordell feeling so numb instead of being elated?

4) In the world of the stars||Now we shall meet, my friend (2050 words, Complete)

Summary: Aka the first time Cassie Perez meets Emily Walker (or her grave)

5) Hold my hair, Wipe my face (2009 words, 2 chapters, WIP)

Summary: Cassie Perez really really should have stayed home today. She even had all her medical leaves intact because she never got sick. Until now, that is..

6) Heat Waves (888 words, Complete)

Summary: It was the middle of June and and Cordell Walker and Cassie Perez had been deployed again to deliver evidence from the Austin HQ to all the way to the Bailey County Courthouse, and they had been instructed to be back “by eight hours at any cost”, and also been warned against any peeking into the evidence, or they’d lose their jobs.

7) Sleep. Tomorrow will be better. (3212 words, 2 chapters, Complete)

Collab with @ispeakmorelanguagesthanyou

Summary: India loses the World Cup final, and the team takes it hard. It's upto Rohit Sharma and Virat Kohli to ensure their team is looked after.

Lots of fluff and comfort, exactly what we need after that final

8) Tere Bina (1773 words, Complete)

Summary: A delirious Shubman with very high fever calls Ishan when the team is in Delhi for their match against Afghanistan and babbles in punjabi thinking it to be his didi on the line

9) Raat ke baad hi to sawera hota hai (8594 words, 7 chapters, WIP) (Wattpad)

Summary: Yashasvi may be new to the team and the youngest player on the squad, but he noticed things. So when Shubman starts acting strangely he sets out to investigate what's wrong with his roommate and newly acquired Bhai. With a little extra help from a best friend on the other side of the country, Yash sets out to improve his Shubman bhai's mood ...

10) Of headaches and heartaches (2240 words, 3 chapters, Complete) (Wattpad)

Summary: A migraine causes Shubman to be distracted off the field, causing him to miss a couple of important catches and get out early in the decider match of the India vs Australia ODI series. Rohit Sharma is NOT pleased.

Happy reading, and hope y'all like these :3

New fics will simply be updated to this list :)

#fic masterlist #my fics

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cutebutalsostabby · 1 year ago

Note

12, 25, 27?

12) favourite character to write about this year.

Hmmm probably Hyrule, surprisingly. "Surprisingly" in that thinking it through, I didn't actually write much from his perspective? I did think about it a lot though, and he'll have a few special moments (teehee) coming up in the chapters I'll hopefully get to sometime soon.

I love both halves of the Downfall Duo (plus Wild as the bonus third half, as a treat), but the extra fun thing about the version of Hyrule that lives in my head is that the more I delve into his personality, the more Problems(tm) he develops. Like: yeah he's pretty well-adjusted, hmmm he's a little traumatised actually, oops he's reeeeal bad at processing difficult emotions, wow maybe that clinginess is liiittle bit unhealthy -

I wanna pick him up and shake him /pos

25) a fic you read this year you would recommend everyone read.

Hmm... I read a bunch of fics this year, but for the purpose of recommendations I'll start with "What Hero?" by AimeeLouWrites on the basis that if you like my fics you will probably also like this one:

It's a Linked Universe "chain meets Wild' fic where the premise is Wild evading the quest through committing to a bunch of ridiculous lies about how the hero doesn't exist. Lots of light-hearted fun plus a few gentle servings of angst. Slightly heavier angst in a similar work by the same author called "Child's Play". But yeah I would feel pretty confident that anyone who a) enjoyed my fic "In Which Wild Avoids Meeting the Gang", and b) either doesn't mind or actually enjoys seeing the same/similar trope repeated (and imo that's the literary comfort food I go to AO3 for) would enjoy reading this.

As for other recs... if you like whumpy hurt/comfort, I've been rereading some of CluelessMoose's fics recently:

And a fic I started reading a few years ago (Undertale fandom) updated earlier today so I'm going to go ahead and link that one too. It's a long ongoing fic about Sans and Papyrus growing up in the aftermath of the war between humans and monsters. Has some tasty angst, more based on their situation than the existence of an antagonist, and plenty of cute moments. Read if you like fics about children being clever and independent; avoid if the lack of adult carers or scenes of harm/risk to children may be triggering. Content warning also for malnutrition/starvation; it's not super extreme, but it's there.

27) favourite fanfic author for the year.

Going to go with CluelessMoose, linked above. See my favourite thing to do with whump fics is to go back to particular scenes I remember and like and reread them as a bedtime story. Hell yeah, put those characters in situations!!

#ask game #fanfic author asks

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meandmyechoes · 1 year ago

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Kingohger ep33

i'm so normal in case Racules shows up in today's preview. so normal

i'm also so normal about this episode too. just a casual outfit dance. cool untransformed action. cool robot. rita-sama manspreading. with that cute red bruise on their forehead. completely normal.

OOOOOH NO OP this is gonna be good (they're saving it for the ED!!)

crying children… so classic toku…

oh no…not the ep21 gag coming back to punch my tearducts 😭

okay don't be that obvious by cueing Suzume 😅

phew glad we got the cute rita interaction out of the way first

this is so. not. Kingohger (neutral)

:D Erica showing off her piano

eh Earth Yanma Gira bickering looks even more like normal BL

plot is everything expected

absolutely giving the shiono fans everything they want (cool action, calm mentor, whump)

"amy-san is important to me" please don't be their son please don't be their son

"Nice to meet you, I am the evil king" 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂❤️❤️

SUUUUUUZUUUUUUUMEEEEEEEEEE MY QUEEEEEEEEEEEN

sorry there's no way either Ian or Himeno is straight

Jeramie spinning with his mantle flying like a magical girl 💕💕💕

"My lady? I am my own" SLAY HIMENO-SAMA

*30-second heart attack from Rita-sama's "Back down. I will protect you"

Since when Watanabe Aoto became the fanservice guy??? (right from the beginning)

Uh. Congratulations I guess. Love wins. Jeramie will be very happy to officiate another suit-human wedding.

(later: *checks PN* ohhh so I didn't mis-recgonized. Nossan's sister was someone familiar (Deka Yellow))

What 😂😂. What are you guys doing why are you roll calling 😂😂😂😂 so unlike them but

好型呀呀呀呀呀呀呀呀我嘅戰隊魂呀呀!!!!!!!!!

Hachisuka-san's split?!!?!?!!!!!!!!

gee Rita how come you get all the girls?

"Kiryu Daigorou" *sigh* that's a cute blue black moment i guess better luck finding parents with a better naming sense next time

Thank god he didn't follow them home

get out of my way end credits

"Shugo Kamen" (Masked Guardian🤔): my longest yeah boy ever

I have not used my brain ONCE this episode and I am satisfied

p.s. preview: this is the fourth time you've recreated ep1 kings' march (good keep it coming)

#kingohger #kolb

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lyranova · 2 years ago

Note

50, 44, 43, and 14?

Hiya anon! Of course 🥰!

14 how do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?

Hmm, sometimes I feel what the characters feel, depending on the situation 🤔. Usually if it’s an argument, anger, fear, worry, or something like that, then I feel what they feel. But if it’s something like a break up or something I’ve never felt before then I just go based off what I’ve seen, read, or heard 😅.

Hmm, sometimes I draw from personal experience, sometimes I don’t. It depends on what I’m writing 😅. Like if it has something to do with anxiety, depression, or something personal like that I will ocassionally draw from personal experience, but not too much, y’know?

43 Do you take a sadistic joy in whumping your characters, or are you more the "If you hurt them I would kill everyone and then myself" kind of person?

Ooof…I think the first one 😆! Cause sometimes it’s just…fun to put characters in sad and angsty positions! Like I’ve put William, Yamichar, Greyche, through sooo much angst over the past couple of years and even though it’s rare, I always enjoy it in a weird/sadistic way 😆!

44 What mistakes do you keep making no matter how many times your beta corrects you?

I keep forgetting words 😭! Now I don’t have a beta, but i will straight up notice (when I read a fic) that I will have completely forgotten to add a word in a sentence. Now when I read it, or when I’m typing, I will *think* I’ve added the word, but I actually haven’t 😅. I do it even when texting, dming, and talking to people normally! It freaking sucks 😭!

50 How long is your longest fic?

Sooo I think my longest *posted* fic is actually the “Touch Me Like You Do” YuNeva fic that’ll be posted today! The SFW version is only 3k words, but the NSFW version is at 6.4k words!

My longest *unposted* fic is called “Fractured Diamond X” and it is at 7.2k words!

My longest series so far is “Children of the Future” which is 104k words long!

#asks #anon🌟#fanfic ask game #thanks for asking 💕!

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estevesia-whump · 1 year ago

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hell's right hand (1.2): from the shadows

CW/TW: not much

note: this one is a bit of a filler that provides context for character background and future events; if you're only here for the whump feel free to skip!

Aurelie drives quickly, but the way she stops and accelerates isn't jerky, so Liexia's quite comfortable on the car roof.

"You're gonna call your mom, right?" Evander asks as they drive over a bridge. "You said--"

"Yeah, I'm calling her."

She turns down the brightness of her screen to match the dark of the night before dialing her mom's number. It rings twice, and then her mom is on the line.

"What do you need, Liexia?"

She's disappointed. Whatever.

"I've got an injured guy with me. We're heading to one of Yanglun-shu's* motels, the one south of Heilonsk. It's probably an hour from where you are right now?"

"Liexia, this is the third time you've asked me to--"

"He's been... he's been raped, Ma. Please?"

A long sigh. "What's the address?"

*note: "shu", or "shushu" is an honorific used to address an older male that is around your parents' age

It only takes another half an hour to get to the motel. Most of the kids have already fallen asleep, and Kyre has as well, so Evander and Aurelie carry them one by one into the motel as Liexia checks in. The receptionist looks just about asleep, probably not quite registering the metallic smell of blood. Liexia takes her gloves off as the keys are handed over and goes to the rooms she booked.

"You only booked two?" Evander whispers, gently placing one of the children on the first bed.

"Four beds total. 3 kids per bed. You can sleep next to Kyre on the last bed if you want. Aurie and I need to get in contact with their parents as soon as we can, so we're not gonna sleep tonight."

"Did you guys plan this out already?"

"Yeah. It's fine. You've done basically all the heavy lifting today. You need to rest."

Evander snorts softly. "Ironic coming from you."

"Shut up and get the kids in here. My mom'll be here in half an hour to check on Kyre."

"Nothing looks infected so far. It looks worse than it really is. That is one lucky boy. I'll have to take a urine sample to test for other things once he wakes up, so keep him hydrated, okay? Did you book a room for me as well?" Liexia's mom asks.

"I can if you want."

"No need."

It's silent in the hallway, and her mom looks away. "Liexia, I really don't think this is the path for you. Even if you want to go the... mercenary route, at least work under your father. Whatever you're doing right now is dangerous, and you're involving Evander and Aurelie at a time where your peers are starting to consider university."

"But I don't need university, Ma. I make enough money already."

"It's not about the money. I'm worried about your safety. Evander and Aurelie's safety. And the people you're hurting..."

"They deserved it," Liexia hisses, biting her tongue before she can say more. "And who'll protect the innocent, if not me?"

"What you're doing is not protecting the innocent, Liexia. You need to let the authorities deal with the things you are taking into your own hands."

"But they don't do anything! If I had let the authorities get there before me today, everyone would've walked free. You don't get it."

Eyebrows furrowed, her mother can only look away. "I can't tell you what to do anymore, Liexia, but just know that your father has positions open for you if you ever want to rejoin the organization. I'm going to book myself a room and get some sleep. Wake me up once the boy wakes up."

"Yeah. G'night."

Liexia turns around to enter the room where six of the children are sleeping soundly and Aurelie is waiting.

"Any ways of contacting their parents?" Liexia asks, lowering her voice as soon as the door is locked behind her.

Aurelie scratches her neck. "I tried all the phone numbers the kids gave me earlier. They don't... they don't exist anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"I tried looking up the kids' names on the government-- point is, someone erased them, or something. Legally, they don't exist... honestly, I'm really confused right now. I've never seen this before."

Liexia sighs. "If you're confused, I'm more confused. Let me see the laptop."

"Wait, I also found a USB," Aurelie says, plugging it in.

Liexia flips through the files, but the USB only contains videos, no documents. "Where'd you get this again? The USB?"

"It was in the security part of the building. You killed the guard, remember? So I went in to look for anything important after you kept going, but this USB was all they had plugged in to the computer. That's it."

"Ah. Have you watched any of the videos yet?"

Aurelie shakes her head. "I don't think I want to see, or I won't forget, ever. Literally."

"I know. We don't have time to watch every single one of them, either. I'll just--wait, is that?"

The mouse hovers over the thumbnail of all the children, Kyre included, gathered in one room. Without properly thinking it through, Liexia clicks on it.

#original writing #original series #hell's right hand #whump series #there's no whump in this chapter but there will be plenty of it in the next!

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besttropeveershowdown · 1 year ago

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Since the bracket screenshots are very hard to read, here's a list of all the matchups for round 1!

Side A

Found Family vs. Soulmates

Foil vs. Mirror Character

Decon-Recon Switch vs. Our Trolls Are Different

Rousseau Was Right vs. Historical Badass Upgrade

Science Is Good vs. The Artful Dodger

I Owe You My Life vs. Bait-and-Switch Tyrant

Badass Pacifist vs. Battle in the Center of the Mind

Gambit Pileup vs. Buffy Speak

You Did Everything You Could vs. The Team

Moral Dilemma vs. "Not So Different" Remark

But They Stayed In the Car vs. Self-Sacrifice Scheme

Starfish Aliens vs. Outlaw Couple

Dream Sequence vs. Silly Rabbit, Cynicism is for Losers!

Drunk Hookup-> Hilarious Morning After vs. Have I Mentioned I Am Heterosexual Today?

Storyboarding the Apocalypse vs. Break The Cutie

Murdered Cousin vs. In Medias Res

Fire-Forged Friends vs. First Contact

Time Travel vs. Self-Inflicted Hell

Ragtag Bunch of Misfits vs. Your Days Are Numbered

Time Loop vs. Unreliable Narrator

Friends to Lovers vs. Everyone Is Bi

Important Haircut vs. Came Back Wrong

The Anti-Nihilist vs. Mono No Aware

Shadow Archetype vs. Hurt/Comfort or Whump

Knight of Cerebus vs. Prophetical Semantics

True Companions vs. The Trickster

Locked in a Room vs. Magnificent Bastard

Beethoven Was an Alien Spy vs. Genre Savvy

Evil Twin vs. Minor Injury Overreaction

Grey-and-Gray Morality vs. Body Swap

Enemies to Lovers vs. Accidental Parental Figure

From Zero to Hero vs. Horny Scientist

Side B

Berserk Button vs. Caper Crew

Flock of Wolves vs. Team Pet

Five Man Band vs. Disguised as Male

Shapeshifting Trickster vs. Anthropomorphic Personification

Dramatic Irony vs. You Can't Go Home Again

Subverted Kids' Show vs. Badass Bookworm

Crouching Moron, Hidden Badass vs. Isekai/Genre Refugee

Wham Shot vs. Unseen Evil

Little Miss Con Artist vs. Punch-Clock Villain

Mama Bear vs. Internal Reveal

Sleight of Tongue vs. Enemy Mine

Guile Hero vs. Tsundere

Memory Gambit vs. Recursive Crossdressing

Disguised Horror Story vs. Wham Line

Secret Identity vs. Terror Hero

Students' Secret Society vs. Mugged for Disguise

Road Trip Plot vs. Fantastic Fauna Counterpart

Opposites Attract vs. Amnesia

Heel-Face Turn vs. Rewriting Reality

Bavarian Fire Drill vs. Butterfly Effect

Morality Pet vs. Cloning Blues

Tragic Villain vs. Clipboard of Authority

The Con vs. Battle Couple

Beware the Nice Ones vs. Animal Motif

Hitman with a Heart vs. Big Damn Heroes

Friends to Enemies vs. Hurricane of Puns

Affably Evil vs. My God, What Have I Done

Swamp Monster vs. Chekhov's Gunman

Fake Dating vs. Gentle Giant

Stupid Sexy Flanders vs. Non-Human Head

Sea Serpents vs. Furry Reminder

Children's Covert Coterie vs. The Creon

Side C

Arrested for Heroism vs. The Dragon

Unreliable Expositor vs. Well-Intentioned Extremist

Friends to Enemies to Lovers vs. Undying Loyalty

Precision F-Strike vs. Powerful, Fucked-Up Family

Pragmatic Villainy vs. Big, Screwed-Up Family

Ape Shall Never Kill Ape vs. Tragic Bromance

Just You and Me and my GUARDS vs. Tomato in the Mirror

Lovable Rogue vs. Refusal of the Call

Second Law My Ass vs. Batman Gambit

Not Quite Dead vs. Sapient House

Call A Human a Meatbag vs. Faux Affably Evil

Nice Job Fixing It Villain vs. Conversation of Ninjutsu

Beach Episode vs. The Gadfly

Beware the Silly Ones vs. Jedi Mind Trick

You Are Better Than You Think You Are vs. Superpowered Evil Side

Murder Is The Best Solution vs. Comedic Sociopathy

The Power of Language vs. The Power of Friendship

Face Death With Dignity vs. Prolonged Pining

Too Dumb to Live vs. Central Theme

Suspiciously Specific Denial vs. Deadpan Snarker

Blessed with Suck vs. Setting as a Character

Cast Full of Gay vs. Heel-Face Revolving Door

Aliens Speaking English vs. Stumbling Upon the Lost Wizard

For the Evulz vs. Spare to the Throne

My Powers are Gone vs. Reformed But Not Tamed

King and Lionheart vs. Marriage of Convenience

Even Evil Has Standards vs. Then Let Me Be Evil

Delirious Misidentification vs. Big Beautiful Man

Playing Nice for Now vs. Teeth-Clenched Teamwork

Intimate Haircut vs. Arranged Marriage

Dating Catwoman vs. Incurable Cough of Death

Ambiguous Gender vs. Kill the Gods

Brackets for BTES

Brackets are out, everyone! (that was quicker than expected)

We have 192 submissions, so the plan is to have 3 sides of 64 tropes each, the champions of which will make up the final three! Polls for side A will be released sometime this weekend, with side B and side C coming shortly after.

Side A:

Side B:

Side C:

#the best trope tournament #info

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beananacake · 3 years ago

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Family Matters

A Savior one-shot

Ikaris x fem!guardian angel!reader

Summary: Ikaris has felt a hum for millennia and he's never questioned it, until he found the source.

One-shot Summary: You didn’t want to see her like this—never wanted to see any of them in any sort of pain—and you knew you would do everything you could to make her feel better.

Word Count: ~6k words

Warnings: whump! Parent!Ikaris, mentions of diseases and medical procedures (nothing too explicit), some profanity, medical jargon (is that a warning?)

A/N: Hello, hello! A few weeks back, I mentioned missing Angel and Ikaris and I also did say we have a certain mind controller who's coming to guest-star in a one-shot. Druig would have to wait, because it's Sprite's time to shine. So this takes place about a year after the Emergence and I made Sprite age 12 here, just in case there is any confusion. Like always, this isn't beta'd so all mistakes are mine and mine alone. Reviews, comments, suggestions, requests (and reblogs) are super welcome! Please enjoy Family Matters!

Catch Ikaris and Angel's origin story here! (SAVIOR)

Main Masterlist

There was something wrong with Sprite, you knew.

Usually, she would tell you and Ikaris of how frustrating it was to deal with children—which was ironic because she was the same physical age as they were and everyone else considered her a child—and she would vent out how much she wanted to just go out and do all the things she wasn’t able to do when she was still stuck in the Eternally young body Arishem chose to put her in. Instead, when she got home, she looked a lot sicklier than before. You had half a mind to not to send her to school earlier today, worried about how she changed from bad to worse in less than twelve hours. At breakfast, she was already complaining of a mild tummy ache but now, you watched as she doubled over her dinnerplate and knew it was nothing mild anymore.

Yep. There was definitely something wrong with Sprite.

“Sprite?” you called softly as you approached her. You touched her shoulder and recoiled at the heat that emanated from her. It was far too hot to be her normal body temperature. “Sprite, why didn’t you tell me you’re feverish?”

She only groaned in response, still hunched over her dinner. “Didn’t-didn’t want to w-worry you,” she told you slowly before groaning again.

You frowned, knowing that it was impossible to not worry for any of the other Eternals and her, and crouched to meet her face. “How long have you been feverish? You weren’t this warm when you left for school today.”

She scrunched her face again as another wave of pain took over her. “It only got worse at school.”

“With the stomach ache too?”

She nodded.

“What’s wrong with Sprite?”

You looked up to see your boyfriend as he entered the kitchen. Ikaris was frowning in concern as he watched his former-fellow-Eternal-now-turned-foster-kid. Even when he wasn’t showy of it, you knew he cared for her too.

“She’s feverish,” you told him, placing your hand on her back and rubbing soothing circles at it. You turned your attention back to her. “Do you think you can finish your dinner before you go to bed?”

She shook her head. “C-can’t. I don’t have the appetite for it.”

Something’s wrong-wrong, you thought to yourself worriedly. You cooked her favorite food tonight and even when she was full from having an after-school snack, she always made room to eat it. She never had no appetite for it. Except now, when she looked really, really sick.

But you kept your worry to yourself, not wanting to alarm the both of them.

“Do you want soup?” you asked instead.

“No.”

“Well, you need to eat anything. Do you think you can down a bottle of Gatorade?”

“Maybe. I j-just wanna lie down.”

“Okay. I’ll bring you some upstairs.”

You watched worriedly as she slowly made her way back to her room, arm still around her middle and hunched in pain as she ascended the stairs. Ikaris watched her the same way you did.

“I don’t know much about humans and diseases, Angel,” Ikaris told you, tone hopeless. “Is there any way I can help Sprite?”

“I don’t know, my love. The best I can do is bring her fever down.” You told him with a helpless shrug. You took her plate from the table and started to throw her uneaten food if it wasn’t for Ikaris taking it from your hands and doing it himself. “Can you bring a basin of water and a hand towel to her room?”

“Okay. Do you need anything else?”

“No. Just that.” You took the bottle of energy drink from the fridge and made your way to Sprite’s room.

You knocked gently, pushing the door open. Sprite was on her bed, lying in a fetal position on her side, covers up to her ears. There was still that pained strain about her face and your heart went out to her. You let some of your calming powers to your fingertips and you touched the side of her face. The relief was instant on her and her breathing became deeper and even.

“Hey.” You said quietly. “I have your drink. I just need you to take a couple of sips.”

She rose from her bed slowly. You handed her the uncapped energy drink and watched as she took tentative sips before passing it back to you.

“You need to drink some more,” you urged.

“No—” She lurched forward, a loud heaving noise coming from her before she groaned. “I’m so nauseous. I don’t want to eat or drink anything.”

Your brows knitted together in concern as you help her upright. She grabbed her abdomen again, and tears now sprung at the corner of her eyes.

“It hurts, Y/N.” she whimpered.

Your heart ached at the pain in her voice. Sprite was never one to complain about any body ailments and this was the first time you heard her whimper.

“What hurts, honey?” you asked, holding her face gently and suffusing your calming powers over her. “Where does it hurt?”

“My right side. It hurts really bad.”

The door to her room opened and you turned to see Ikaris bring over the basin to you. He set it down and watched from the foot of Sprite’s bed, not knowing what to do. You didn’t even want to tell him that Sprite refused to drink more of the Gatorade. Ikaris would just worry and then you would worry and you would have done nothing because you would be busy worrying.

“Ikaris, can you try calling Phastos? My phone is on the dresser in our bedroom.” You were hugging Sprite now, rubbing her back, trying your best to soothe her as you waited for Ikaris to get hold of Phastos.

“I d-don’t even know what happened, Y/N.” Sprite told you. “I thought it was the-the flu but it didn’t g-go away after today.”

“Shh. It’s okay, Sprite. We’ll know once we ask Phastos.” You wiped the sweat from her forehead, pitying your friend for the pain she was going through. You didn’t want to see her like this—never wanted to see any of them in any sort of pain—and you knew you would do everything you could to make her feel better.

Sprite was human now and that meant she was more fragile than both you and Ikaris. And she was a little girl, not a grown adult like your late husband Jack had been. When he was sick, you only nursed him back to health by wiping his brow with cool water and feeding him a bowl of chicken soup. But what he had was different; he had only been feverish and it went away after a day and it was nothing close to what Sprite had, who was heaving and nauseous and obviously in more pain than he had been.

Ikaris entered the room, your phone ringing in his hand. “Didn’t he say they’re going on a vacation?” he asked you.

Oh, right. “Well, we’ll try, okay? Maybe he’ll pick it up when he sees it’s from me.”

Only, Phastos didn’t and you were still left with an in-obvious-pain tween, whose complaints were increasing by the minute.

“I think we should get you to the hospital, Sprite.” You told her gently, wiping the sweat that dotted her forehead.

She shook her head vehemently at that, groaning. “No. No. I don’t want them to stick me with needles.”

“We don’t know what’s wrong with you,” you said. “You’re human now, Sprite, and I think other humans would know what’s going on inside you.”

“B-but…”

“Please? You didn’t even eat dinner and you couldn’t even down half of the Gatorade. I’m starting to worry. At least in the hospital, they’ll take a look at you and know what’s wrong." You took her hand in yours and infused it with your power, knowing it was the only thing you could do for her for now.

"Y/N has a point, Sprite.” Ikaris said from behind you. “Maybe all they’ll do is give you painkillers when we get there.”

Sprite’s nod was small and feeble. You turned to Ikaris and nodded at him. “Get the car ready, my love. We’ll be downstairs.”

You pushed her covers aside and helped her rise slowly. She took one step but she doubled over and clutched her right side again, tears now falling from her eyes.

“It hurts so much,” you cried. “I can’t walk, Y/N.”

“I can carry you down if you’d let me.”

When she nodded, you swung her gently into your arms and brought her down to the car. You deposited her on the back seat and secured the seatbelt across her body. You took the front seat beside Ikaris and inputted the address to the hospital on the GPS. Taking a look at Sprite through the rear-view mirror, you only hoped that what she was experiencing was a nasty stomach bug that should go away in a day or two.

“Sprite, tell me everything that’s happened since you got this sick so I can tell it to the doctor.” You said to her.

She recounted everything: from the first moment she started feeling sick to the moment she couldn’t even stomach the smell of food because it made her nauseous. She told you of how difficult it was for her to go up the stairs and how the pain was always on her right and that it radiated outward with every jostle and step and even jump during her P.E. classes. You memorized every single thing she said just in time for you to arrive at the hospital.

You took her in your arms again and rushed to the E.R. when her groans and cries were growing concerning. The nurse took one look at Sprite and immediately asked for a stretcher. Once she was laid across it, the nurse whisked you away for the paperwork while a porter brought her to one of the observation cubicles.

“May I know what’s wrong with the patient?” the nurse asked as she handed you a clipboard with paperwork.

You told her everything Sprite had told you in the car while you answered the paperwork. Ikaris arrived a few minutes after, looking everywhere for any sign of Sprite.

“Where is she, Angel?” he asked you.

“Can someone get my mom?” you heard Sprite in one of the makeshift rooms of the E.R. “Please.”

You passed the pen to Ikaris, shooting an apologetic glance at the nurse. “My boyfriend will fill in the other details, ma’am. I need to get to my daughter.” To Ikaris, you said: “Can you finish this for me? Put in Phastos’s number for the other emergency contact. I just need to get to Sprite.”

You found Sprite in one of the curtain cubicles, hugging herself in a fetal position in bed, with an IV line stuck on her hand. Your heart called out to her as you sat beside her and took her hand in yours, softly brushing the hair on her forehead.

“Hey. I see they already got the needle in. Do you know if they took any blood samples?” you asked gently. You let your power to your fingertips and let them out with every stroke of her hair.

Sprite nodded and huddled closer to you. You let your head rest against the bed, forehead touching hers.

“You’ll be fine. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promised all of you, didn’t I?” you murmured. “Maybe I’ll let something happen to Ikaris once in a while because he deserves it.” You saw the impish smile on her face despite the pain she was in. “But I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“If this is what it takes to be human, I don’t want it.” she whispered.

“Getting sick is part of it, Sprite. My Jack went through something like this too and I panicked so hard because the hospitals weren’t as sophisticated as they are today. He lived through it without the medical intervention. We’re at the hospital now and you’re in a far better position than he had been. I’m sure you would get through this, too. You have the heart of a fighter.” You tucked her titian hair behind her ear.

“That’s you,” she said before hunching again. You tightened your hold on her hand.

“As my fake daughter,” you whispered, “I can say I passed on my fighter heart to you, too.”

She smiled again at that.

“Now, don’t worry about anything else. Right now, just rest and relax. Ikaris and I will talk to the doctors before they’ll talk to you. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” she replied meekly.

“Are you hungry now? Do you want me to ask if I could get you something to eat?”

She shook her head. “I’m still nauseous.”

“Okay. Just rest and relax. I’m here. Ikaris is here.”

The night went by agonizingly slow. Ikaris finished the paperwork and found the two of you huddled close together. He sat opposite from you, patting Sprite’s shoulder from time to time to soothe her. Your fingertips had started to heat up from your constant usage of your powers but you didn’t complain, even happily letting more of your calm out to help your friend. Sprite, however, had calmed considerably but she still groaned and whined from time to time. Despite whatever it was in the IV that they put for pain relief, the pain in her abdomen didn’t let. You only grew more worried after every complaint.

The curtains parted. “Sprite?”

You looked up at the sound of Sprite’s name, to the doctor who held a chart in his hand and was looking at the three of you expectantly. “Sprite?”

You let go of Sprite’s hand and stood. “Yes, that’s my daughter’s name. I’m Y/N, her mother.”

“I’m Dr. Samuels. Her blood test results came back and—”

“Can we speak of this out of her earshot? I don’t want her to worry.” You asked.

“Of course. This way, please.” He parted the curtains for you.

“Do you mind if her dad would come along?”

“Not at all. Please, come this way.”

You nodded at Ikaris to follow the doctor and returned to Sprite, touching her face gently. “We’re just going to talk with the doctor and we’ll get back to you. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Okay.”

You joined the two men outside of Sprite’s curtain cubicle. Dr. Samuels was showing Ikaris something on the clipboard when you stepped up to them.

“Her blood results all came back normal. So far, there is nothing wrong with Sprite.” The doctor told you. He pointed at some tests and told you that they were all within normal levels and that there shouldn’t be anything wrong with her.

“No. That’s not possible. She wouldn’t be in this amount of pain if everything else is showing up as normal.” You told them, frowning at the doctor.

“Unfortunately, the labs don’t lie. If I ask them to rerun the tests, it would show up the same thing.” He closed the chart with a click. “Have you maybe considered that she is just doing this to get out of school? Children sometimes tend to feign an illness to get out of going to school.”

You shook your head at him, offended he would even suggest something like that when she was undoubtedly in pain. “No. My daughter won’t do that. She’s not a crier but the way she cried in pain today told me something’s wrong with her.”

“The lab tests say otherwise.”

“Maybe there’s something you’ve overlooked?” Ikaris said. He had stood beside you and pulled you to him and was rubbing your arm in an attempt to relax you. Nothing could relax you, especially since this doctor was insistent nothing’s wrong with Sprite when there obviously was. “Did you run all the necessary tests for someone her age and the way she’s in pain?”

“Yes, I have but—”

“Doctor. I know my daughter. I know she’s in an inordinate amount of pain right now and every second I’m trying to convince you of that is another second of her in agony. She’s been in pain for nearly the whole day now. She can’t even sit up straight without clutching her right side. She can’t even take a step because her abdomen’s in too much pain. I’m pretty sure she’s not faking it.”

Dr. Samuels frowned at you and opened the chart once more. “Would you mind if I have a look at your daughter again, ma’am?”

“Please.” You parted the curtains yourself and stepped aside. “Be my guest.”

“Sprite, my name is Dr. Samuels.” The doctor said as he donned his examination gloves.

You and Ikaris stood the side opposite of the doctor and Sprite was looking at the both of you with fearful eyes. You only shook your head at her, assuring her by holding her hand.

“I’m going to do a bit of a physical exam on you. I’m going to be pressing on your abdomen. It shouldn’t hurt but if it does, you have to tell me when and where.”

At Sprite’s nod, the doctor began his exam. He pushed and prodded around her abdomen, checking for something you had no idea about but nodding his head when she didn’t react to any of it. Only when it came to her right side and he pressed down, she yelped and told them that that was where it hurt the most and had been hurting for the last few hours. Dr. Samuels excused himself and left in a hurry.

“Is something wrong, Y/N?” Sprite asked and you noted the fear in her voice.

You only shook your head at her, gripping her hand in yours tightly. “I’m sure that’s nothing. How are you feeling now?”

“It still hurts.” She groaned again and curled in on herself.

Dr. Samuels returned and introduced his companion—an ultrasound technician—to the three of you. The distressed look on Sprite’s face was almost funny if it weren’t for the circumstances.

“We’re going to take a look on the inside of your right side, okay, Sprite? You’ll feel a bit of pressure when she presses down on you but it should be over quick.” Dr. Samuels said.

You all kept your eyes on the grainy gray screen the doctor was looking, knowing that the three of you had no idea of whatever it was showing. The doctor and the technician spoke in hushed voices, pointing at the blurry figure on the screen. You fished out a couple of words like ‘swollen’ and ‘acute’ and ‘ready’ but that was the extent of what you heard. They were too quiet and they only spoke to each other in a language only they understood.

“Can I please talk to you outside while the tech finishes up the scan?” the doctor asked you and Ikaris.

You three stepped out once more but this time, there was an urgency to the doctor’s face. You swallowed the fear that came up to you and stood close to Ikaris.

“You’re right that there is something wrong with Sprite. Unfortunately, what she has is acute appendicitis. What happens is that her appendix is inflamed and that is what’s causing her pain. Unfortunately also, we cannot just diagnose appendicitis with blood work. When you told me she’s been having pain on her right side, that was what urged me to go check on her.”

You nodded dazedly. Acute appendicitis didn’t sound good to your ears. It didn’t sound nice to Ikaris too.

“What happens now? Will she just be given a bit of medication and she’ll be fine in the morning?” Ikaris asked the question you wanted to ask.

“No. We need to take her appendix out before it could burst. We wouldn’t want her to get peritonitis, which is far more serious than the appendicitis she has now. It could be life threatening.”

You looked at Ikaris, who in turn looked back at you with intense worry. You had never seen him like this before, but then again, he and his family were Eternals and none of them ever get sick. Ever.

“Appendectomy requires generalized anesthesia so she would be asleep for the whole procedure. She won’t feel a thing while it’s happening but she would feel the stitches when she wakes. Of course, as with any other invasive procedure, there are risks but with appendectomy, they’re only the usual possible risk of infection. It happens rarely but we’ll make sure it won’t happen to her. The operation is relatively safe with a 99% success rate, and frankly, it is the best option for her case.

“While normally we would want you to think about the operation, I don’t think we have the luxury of time now. Sprite’s appendix is close to bursting. The good thing is there is an emergency surgeon present who can operate on her at this moment. We can take it out now before any other complications could arise.”

“Of course,” you told him as you nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

“I’ll go tell the surgeon now. We would need to keep her under observation after the operation so I suggest you have her admitted.” With that, Dr. Samuels left.

“Angel,” Ikaris said as he turned to you. You heard the hesitation in his voice and you understood perfectly. None of the Eternals had the need to undergo any medical procedure because none of them ever got sick. Sprite was the first in the family to be sick and of course, Ikaris worrying was perfectly normal. But you refused to be sucked in the worry-spiral, even if you were worrying so much for her.

You swallowed and gave him a wan smile, putting on a brave face. “We’ll worry later, okay? Sprite is our priority. We have to make her comfortable first.”

“Is this really the best thing to do? Do they have to operate on her? She’s just a kid.”

You touched the side of his face, watching as his tense shoulders relax at the contact of your power against his cheek. “Yes, my love. They studied these for years. Sprite’s in capable hands.”

“I don’t like it.”

“We don’t have to like it but it’s the best option.”

He sighed, relenting, knowing you were right. “Okay, Angel.”

“Thank you, my love. Do you think you can start her admission? Or you can stay with her while I do that?”

“You stay with her. I’ll take care of the other things.”

You brushed your lips lightly against his and pulled away to watch him leave. You took a deep breath, clearing your throat and practiced a smile before you entered Sprite’s makeshift mini room.

“Is it bad?” she asked you, still teary eyed.

You shook your head. “No. It’s nothing bad but what they’ll do is put you to sleep and when you wake up, you’ll be back to your normal self.”

“Y/N…”

“I promise.”

“I may look like a kid but you can speak to me as an adult, you know,” she reminded you.

Sometimes, you did forget you and Sprite were the same age.

You gave an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry.”

She groaned. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be surly. I’m just in so much pain.”

“The doctors will take care of it. They know what to do. You’ll be good as new tomorrow.”

She was quiet for a while and reached for your hand. “I’m scared.”

You didn’t want to admit to her that you were, too, so you only smiled an assuring smile at her and squeezed her hand. A porter came a few minutes after, explaining to the both of you that the operating theater was ready for her.

“Can my mom come?” Sprite asked the man.

“I’m sorry, Sprite, but she and your dad would have to stay out of the O.R.” he told her, readying to wheel her bed. “They can wait for you outside or in the room they’ll get you.”

You gave her a small smile, nodding encouragingly. “Remember, heart of a fighter.”

“Heart of a fighter,” she said back and let herself be wheeled away.

Ikaris secured a room for her but you both waited outside of the operating room where they put her in. You took it upon yourself to inform the rest of the family about what happened to Sprite and the procedure they’d do on her, giving them updates whenever you received some. You only watched as Ikaris paced the length of the waiting room, looking angry and anxious and, frankly, exhausted.

“My love,” you called to him. “If you keep pacing like that, you’ll make a hole on the floor. You’ve already worn out the carpet.”

Ikaris looked down on his feet, frowning to see if he did indeed do that before leaning against the wall, crossing his arms tightly against his chest. “I failed Sprite. I should’ve asked her if she was feeling okay when I picked her up from school.”

“Hey, hey, don’t blame yourself.” You went to him and pried his arms apart, holding on to his hands and looking up his eyes. “She’s Sprite; she hides things from us. It’s her schtick, much like you being a pain in my ass is.” You attempted to joke but it fell flat to the both of you. And it didn’t assuage whatever it was he was feeling.

“You’re right, it’s Sprite. That’s why I thought she was playing a prank on me.”

“Ikaris.”

“I should have been more attentive. We promised everyone you and I would look out after her and now she has whatever she has and I just think I didn’t do enough for her.”

“Don’t think that.”

“They’re cutting her open, Angel.”

“I know.”

“All because I didn’t ask her if she was okay.”

“They’d cut her open either way because that’s the only thing to do with acute appendicitis.”

“Angel,” he grumbled.

“What? You know I’m saying the truth. If you asked her earlier, it still won’t change the fact that she has acute appendicitis, which, by the way, isn’t any of our fault.”

“But—”

“No buts. No ifs. Stop blaming yourself for something you can’t control.”

He sighed, resigned. “I’m not good at this protector thing, am I?” he asked suddenly and a surprised chuckle bubbled out of you.

“No, you’re not,” you agreed, “And that’s fine because if you were, you’d put me out of business.”

He pulled you into his embrace and placed his chin on top of your head. You wrapped your arms around his waist and snaked your hands up and down his back.

“I was kidding when I agreed you’re not a good protector, my love,” you told him, voice muffled against his sweater. “You’re the best one there is. Just a few nights ago, you went and investigated the loud noise and the thing that’s been ransacking our garbage. I don’t think I’d be able to face that big and scary coyote by myself.”

He snorted and you were sure he was smiling.

“And the other week, you jumped in front of me when that golden retriever started sniffing me too much.”

“Angel…”

“Or that time when—”

“I get it, I get it.”

“The point is,” you said as you looked up at him, resting your chin against his chest. “Your instinct is to protect and that’s what you’ve been doing with me and Sprite. You’re protecting us. And you’ve protected her from more harm when you brought her to the hospital.”

“It was your idea.”

“I don’t want to take all the credit,” you teased.

Both sides of his lips lifted a little.

“But you get my point, right? You’ve always been this protector—this savior—and just because you didn’t see the danger the first time doesn’t make you a failure at it. It’s what you are deep inside.”

“Y/N.” he said with a sigh, not fully convinced at your words.

“Now shut it and relax. I remember seeing a vending machine a few hallways back. Get yourself a Snickers bar. You’re not you when you’re hungry.”

He chuckled at that and lightly kissed your forehead. “No. I think I’ll stay here and wait.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

You remained in his arms for a while, just reveling the feel of them around you. You refused to give in to your worry, knowing full well it won’t do anything to the problem. And besides, you had said it yourself, Sprite was in capable hands. The doctors would make sure she would be fine by the end of the operation. You trusted them fully because they knew what they were doing.

You rested your cheek against your boyfriend’s chest, waiting quietly for the doctor to emerge from the O.R. to tell you how Sprite was doing. Ikaris seemed to have calmed down; his fingers now traced the outline of where your wings were once connected to you, engrossed in the mindless activity. It was better this way, after all. You didn’t want him panicking and doubting himself, especially when the memory of the Emergence was still fresh in everyone’s mind.

A nurse came out from the double doors and to you, taking off her mask as she approached. “Mr. and Mrs. Harris? Sprite’s operation is a success. We’ll be wheeling her to the PACU to monitor her recovery and once she’s awake, we’ll be bringing her to her room.”

“Thank you,” Ikaris replied stiffly but you saw how his throat worked and you knew he was holding back tears.

You pulled from your boyfriend and smiled gratefully at the woman. You did not correct her when she called you Ikaris’s wife, knowing it was unimportant compared to the good news she just shared. You took her hands in yours and thanked her profusely. “Thank you so much. Thank you for everything you and your team did.”

“You’re very welcome, Mrs. Harris.” She smiled at the both of you before returning to the O.R.

You sagged against Ikaris, finally allowing the tears that you were holding in to come out and come flowing down your face. You’ve never known such fear in your whole seven-thousand-year existence, never thought you would be this shaken just because someone in your family was close to dying. Never again, you told yourself. If Sprite would ever think of you as a helicopter mom as soon as she leaves the hospital, so be it. You vowed to keep her safe and you would do so, whatever it took.

Ikaris brought down the newspaper he was reading when he heard movement coming from Sprite’s general direction. It had been hours since they wheeled her in; the nurses assured him and you that Sprite had woken up since her operation and that she had some… choice words about it. He only told them that she was a somniloquist like her mother and to not mind what was said.

He stayed behind while you went and talked to the nurses about Sprite’s dietary restrictions post-operation, as well as a handful of other things that you had researched when you recovered from your small breakdown. Ikaris could only watch in awe at how you managed to do everything like it was second nature to you, even going as far as researching for a new bed so she would be comfortable in her bedrest at home. He stopped you there, knowing what you were doing was an overreaction but he knew he would have done the same.

“Whoever said sleeping was the same thing as resting was one real asshole,” Sprite said with a groan.

His mouth quirked to one side, amused and relieved that she was fine and certainly back to normal. “It wasn’t a restful sleep?” he asked, setting the paper aside.

“Not one bit.” She turned to him, squinting her eyes at the bright light that shone on her. He stood and turned down the lights. “I think they took all my intestines and scrambled the rest of my insides.”

“Not all,” he told her and she gave him a flat look. He smiled slightly. “Just the small useless part of it that’s been causing you pain.”

“Glad that’s over. Now I’m in a different kind of pain.”

“Is it as painful as before?”

“No but it still hurts like a bitch.” She looked around, clearly searching for something. “Where’s Y/N?”

Ikaris saw the change in demeanor in her. Gone was the impish Sprite and in its place was a kind of fear that he knew well. He saw the apprehension in her eyes, at the uncertainty of wanting to know the answer to her question. Sprite had abandonment issues that he and you actively worked on. You both showered her with enough attention when she called for it and left her on her own when she wanted it but you both never ever abandoned her. And with you gone when she awoke, Ikaris knew Sprite feared for the worst.

“She’s just talking to the doctor about the antibiotics you would need when they’ll discharge you.” He watched her closely. “You know she won’t leave us.”

She snorted, even though he knew she was relieved with his reply. “I’m not worried she’ll do that—”

“You don’t have to lie to me, Sprite.” he said. “I know she didn’t show it to you but she was afraid. She was trying not to show everyone she was panicking but I felt it. If you think she’d still leave, you’re mistaken. No one would be this worried then just leave when they want to, especially not Angel.”

She sighed. “I just thought she’d run at the first sign of trouble. That’s what Kingo did when he left me in Macedonia.”

“She’s not Kingo.” he said flatly.

“Clearly,” she said sarcastically. “But you know what I mean.”

Unfortunately, he did. He sat on the chair beside her bed, looking down his hands, not knowing how to put it carefully. Mincing words was never his forte, it was yours… sometimes.

“Sprite, I promise you, Y/N and I are never going to abandon you. We didn’t let you deal with this on your own. We three did it together and we plan on keeping it that way. We’re a family and families stick together.”

“Yeah, the last thousand years are a testament to that,” she grumbled sardonically but he knew he made his point across.

“It was our mistake to break apart but we’re making amends for it now.” He sighed. “I know I may not be the most stellar of father figures out there but I am trying, for Angel, for you. Y/N made me promise we all will stay together and we will. I’ll make sure of it.”

She sighed. “You’re right about you being a pretty shit father figure. You definitely need to work on that. Though I have to admit, Y/N makes a good mom.”

He smiled, nodding, agreeing, ignoring her jibe at him. “I know.”

Just then, you entered holding a small paper bag with the pharmacy’s name emblazoned on the front. When your eyes clapped on Sprite, you beamed widely and rushed to her.

“You’re awake! Do you want anything to eat? The doctors said you can eat whatever you want, just in moderation. I also have your meds here. They gave you a lot to ward off infection and some stuff for the pain—are you in pain right now? I’m sure I have something here for you…”

Amidst all of your ramblings and Sprite’s overwhelmed reaction at it, he locked eyes with his former-fellow-Eternal-now-turned-foster-kid and smiled. She did as well, knowing there was only one thing going on in their minds.

You, him, and Sprite were a family.

149 notes · View notes

disasterman-snz · 2 years ago

Text

Okay I’m super nervous to post this, but I love reading yalls fics so much I wanted to try and contribute.

So have way too many fucking words of pre-steddie whump, ft. sick Eddie and kink Steve (not much happens with that, but it’s there if you pay attention)

I may continue this if there’s any interest so uhh,, yeah! Sorry if it sucks ass fdsfsd

______

Eddie scrubs a hand over his face in frustration before shoving it back under his armpit in an attempt to keep warm.

It's one of the first truly cold days of the year. It snowed lightly all morning, leaving a thin blanket of white around town. The wind is harsh and causes Eddie’s hair to whip around him as he stands in front of his van.

"Shit," he curses, not for the first time since he walked out into the parking lot only to find his tires slashed.

Really, he shouldn't be surprised. His van is pretty recognizable, and he's not exactly a beloved figure around Hawkins right now.

Having your name tied to a string of murders will do that, even if you get your name cleared by some shadowy government figures who make you sign about a thousand NDA agreements in exchange.

The overall population of Hawkins is still pretty dead set on him being a murderous demon with powers gifted to him by Satan or whatever people are saying about him now.

"Fuck, shit," he breathes, letting out a small strangled noise of frustration that quickly turns into a wet sounding cough.

Because of course this would happen when he was already getting sick.

He hadn't even wanted to come in to the Family Video today, but Steve and Robin worked their asses off to get him this job, and he can't afford to be calling out sick.

The shift had dragged on. It was slow at least, most people choosing to stay in to avoid the weather.

But sitting at the counter for the entire shift has left Eddie feeling achy and exhausted, and he just really wants to go home where he can disappear into a big pile of blankets until he feels like being a person again.

He feels his eyes start to burn with tears against his will as he looks at the van, but he pushes the emotions down.

This isn’t the time to be getting upset. He needs to look at this logically.

He has a few options.

He could trudge down to the auto shop and somehow lug 3 new tires back here in the snow. It's about a 20 minute walk there though... and then he'd actually have to change the tires out, which sounds pretty awful considering he's already starting to shiver and he's only been standing out here for a few minutes. His leather jacket feels pretty thin in the face of the biting cold.

He could also go back into the Family Video and see if Keith will let him use the phone, despite the fact that the man very clearly isn't his biggest fan. He tries to avoid any lengthy interactions with him if possible.

And then he's not even sure who he would call. There's his uncle, but he should have left for work about 20 minutes ago, and he refuses to bother the poor man at his job.

He knows Wayne would leave in a heartbeat to come get him, but Eddie doesn't want to burden him like that.

He thinks about the little radio the nerds insist on him carrying around now that he's a 'real party member,' which apparently is what they call being one of the small handful of random civilians that somehow always wind up tasked with literally preventing the apocalypse.

He considers radioing in for help on that, but then he remembers that he would be begging for help from literal children, and grimaces.

He guesses he could call for a tow truck, but shit that's expensive, and he really wants to go home and sleep.

He snuffles thickly and raises a numb hand up to wipe at his nose, which is freezing cold and starting to run.

There is one last person that he could call for help. Someone with one of the party radios who actually has the ability to drive over to come get him.

And, yeah, begging the ex-King of Hawkins High himself, Steve Harrington to come and get him doesn't exactly sound appealing, even if they have started to become friends since everything that went down last spring.

Especially because he's started to develop a slightly stupid... okay very stupid, unrealistic crush on the man.

But it's the best option he's got at this point.

So he throws open the door to his van, ignoring the way the hinges creak with the strain, and grabs the walkie talkie from where it sits in the passenger seat.

He only hesitates for a moment before he lets his numb fingers flip to the right frequency.

"Harrington, this is Eddie, do you copy?"

There's silence for a long moment, and resignation curls around him. It’s one of Steve’s days off so of course he’d be busy- probably out on a date, or hanging out with Robin or something.

Fuck, maybe he can just call a tow truck after all. He can't really afford it but he's not really sure what else to do.

"Munson, what's going on? Over."

Oh thank fuck.

He shakily holds the walkie talkie to his mouth, his numb fingers struggling to press down the talk button "Hey, snDff sorry, Someone uh- I snrff got a flat and I'm at work, is there any way you could give me a lift?"

His teeth chatter as he talks and he keeps sniffling, which is more than a little embarrassing.

"Oh shit man," Steve's voice crackles through the radio, and he can hear movement on the other end "Headed your way Munson. Don't like, freeze or anything, over."

Eddie snorts at Harrington saying 'over,' even as relief washes over him.

"Thanks man snrrf...uh, over."

He sets the walkie talkie to the side, curling in on himself as he sits in his cold van, sniffles punctuating the silence.

He’s never wished his van had a heater more than he does now, but at least help is on the way.

Still, between the stress and the cold, any hope he had of this being a minor cold has flown out the window. He can feel himself feeling worse and worse with every passing minute.

His nose is running non stop and all he can do is sniffle thickly every so often in a pathetic attempt to get it under control. His body is wracked with shivers, and everything aches fiercely. His head feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton, and he reaches up to massage his temples every so often.

By the time he sees Steve's car pulling into the parking lot, Eddie's so cold he can barely feel his toes.

He stumbles out of the van quickly as Harrington pulls up next to him.

His window is rolled down and he's staring at the van.

"Jesus Munson," Steve frowns, a strange look in his eyes, "Someone slashed your tires.”

Eddie resists the urge to say something snarky about Steve stating the obvious.

He just snuffles and shrugs, "Yeah well, I’m a ‘murderer,’ remember," he puts air quotes around 'murderer.’

Steve gives him a sympathetic look that would've pissed him off coming from anyone else.

"Well… get your ass in here before you turn into an icicle man. We can figure that out tomorrow," he gestures at the van.

Eddie thanks whatever higher powers there may be that neither of them have work tomorrow, shakily climbing into Steve Harrington's car.

The heat hits him all at once. Steve must have turned it up just for him, because it’s toasty in here, and Eddie sinks into the seat with a small moan.

He puts his hands in front of the vent, letting the warmth wash over them and chase the chill from outside away.

“Thangks for this man,” Eddie breathes out, congestion thick in his voice.

His nose is running even more than it had been in the van, as the warmth loosens up the congestion.

He lifts up a sleeve and scrubs at it harshly, the leather from his jacket rough on his sensitive nose.

Steve rolls up the window and turns the heat up a little more.

"It's too fucking cold out there man, I'm sorry they did that to you."

Eddie shrugs, swiping at his nose again, "Thad was probably the point,” he frowns down at his lap, “It is what id is though.”

He turns to Steve and quickly adds, "But thangks for the ride, I snf appreciade it."

Steve smiles softly at him, “Don’t mention it Munson.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, sans Eddie's constant sniffling, as Steve pulls out of the parking lot.

“Do you kdow the way to the trailer park?”

Steve nods, “Yeah, of course man.”

Eddie just sniffles in response, scrubbing harshly at his nose with his sleeve again.

He misses the concerned look Steve shoots him as he does so.

“I think there might be some tissues in the glove compartment if you wanna dig around?”

The tips of Eddie’s ears flush, but he tries to brush off the embarrassment “I- Umbb… Sure thangks.”

He opens the glove compartment and awkwardly shifts a few things around, finding a travel pack of tissues easily. Trust Steve to be this prepared.

“You’re such a mom,” he teases as he tears the pack open.

Steve sputters, “I am not!”

Eddie raises a brow at him, and Steve flushes.

God he’s so cute when he gets all flustered.

Eddie shakes his head to clear those thoughts. Now is not the time to be pining for Steve Harrington.

He takes a tissue from the pack and turns towards the window, dabbing at his nose a bit. He’s not willing to blow in front of Steve, especially when he knows it’s probably going to be wet and gross if he does.

The soft touch of the tissue on his chapped nose feels nice though.

But it also irritates his nose, and his eyes widen as his nostrils flare a bit. His breath catches, and he grimaces.

When he’s sick he always gets stupidly sensitive. It drives him mad, and he can never catch a damn break once the sneezing starts. It hadn’t been too bad during his shift, but obviously this cold is really starting to ramp up now.

“Ehheh..” he pinches his nose through the tissue, “Hehh’NXXTshh.. Hh-hhXGTShhuh.. HeiHh-HeHh’nNDTXXShh- HeiSHhGGXXt… snnRRff…”

Eddie flushes all the way to his neck at how wet and desperate the sneezes sounded, “Sorry aboud thad, snFf,” he grabs another tissue from the pack and hurries to clean himself up.

He misses the way Steve has turned bright red at the fit.

“No need to apologize,” Steve finally says after a long moment, “but are you feeling okay?”

Eddie chews on his bottom lip. He really doesn’t want to admit to his crush that he’s all gross and sick, so he shrugs.

“I’m fine, it’s jusd from being out in the cold.”

Steve hums, pulling up to a red light. He turns to look at Eddie as the car stops, his expression disbelieving.

“If you’re sure…”

Eddie nods, “Yeah dude, don’t snddf worry.”

Steve frowns, and Eddie ignores the look on his face that screams ‘I don’t believe you.’

“Okay but… you can blow your nose if you need to. I’m not gonna get like, grossed out or anything.”

Eddie winces. God, leave it to him to be so disgusting in front of his stupidly hot, brave, badass crush that he’s literally asking him to blow his fucking nose. Steve is probably getting annoyed by the constant sniffling.

“Ah, yeah. I wasn’d worried,” he lies with a shrug, fiddling with the pack of tissues in his lap as the light turns green and Steve pulls away.

After a brief hesitation, Eddie does wind up bringing a tissue to his nose to blow softly.

Despite the fact that he’s attempting to make as little noise as possible, it still comes out thick and productive, and he makes a face as he adds to tissue to the growing pile in his lap.

He will admit, it did help clear up some of the congestion.

Steve doesn’t react at all aside from offering him a soft smile when he notices Eddie staring at him, which makes Eddie flush.

The rest of the drive is uneventful, and soon Steve is pulling up to Eddie’s trailer.

“Thanks again Steve,” Eddie says, resisting the urge to sniffle when he’s so close to being able to be as gross as his heart desires without worrying about looking like an idiot.

“It really wasn’t any trouble Eddie,” Steve assures softly, reaching out and putting a hand on his shoulder. Eddie feels like his entire body burns with the touch and he can feel his cheeks darkening.

“Let’s figure out what to do about the van when you’re feeling better, okay.”

Eddie flushes even darker, “I’m fine- but you don’t have to worry about that anyways Steve, you’ve already helped enough.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “Hey, get it through your thick skull, I want to help.”

Eddie feels like he could melt into the earth right now, “I… uh, okay,” he squeaks.

Steve nods, looking satisfied, and drops his hand from Eddie’s shoulder, “Call me if you need anything Munson.”

Eddie nods, mourning the loss of contact. He turns away and pushes open the door to Steve’s car, stepping back out into the cold biting air.

He shivers immediately, and turns back to Steve to give him a small wave before hurrying inside the trailer.

Once he’s inside he slumps in on himself, burying his head in his hands and sniffling soupily.

“Oh my god,” he groans to himself, rubbing at his nose as he drags himself over to the couch and all but collapses into it, “What a fucking day…”

He bundles himself up in all the blankets he can scavenge from around the trailer and settles in on the couch, putting on a star wars tape he bought ages ago for background noise.

He falls asleep pretty quickly after laying down on the couch, his body curled up in the nest of blankets.

_____

He wakes up to knocking at his front door, and he sits up blearily .

“The hell?” he mumbles to himself.

Whoever is at the door knocks again, and Eddie raises a hand to his temple. God his head is killing him.

“Mm cobing,” he calls, congestion thick in his voice.

Fuck, he needs to blow his nose again.

He stands up, grabbing one of the blankets from his little nest and wrapping it around himself as he makes his way to the door.

Shit, how does he somehow feel so much worse than he did when he fell asleep.

He glances at the clock on the wall and sees that only about an hour has passed since he got home. It wasn’t even that long of a nap, and yet he somehow feels so awful.

He forces himself to open the door, and his brows furrow.

“Steve?”

Steve waves awkwardly on his doorstep, “Hey Eddie,” he holds up a shopping bag, “I come bearing gifts.”

Eddie blinks, feeling behind. Did he miss something? His brain feels foggy, and he can’t help but stare in confusion.

Steve seems to pick up on this and smiles sheepishly, “I was just… well you didn’t sound too good in the car earlier. I know you said you weren’t sick, but you can’t really drive right now. So I went and got you a few things.”

Eddie softens, pulling the door open and gesturing for Steve to come in, which Steve does.

“You didn’t have to do thad Steve,” he protests, his face flushed. He’s not sure if it’s from embarrassment or the fever that he thinks must have settled in during his nap. It might be both.

“I wanted to,” Steve insists, “I hope I’m not overstepping or anything. I know we aren’t super close, I was just worried.”

Eddie shakes his head, “No, no, I appreciade id. You jusd didn’t need to go to the trouble for me.”

Tension Eddie hadn’t even realized was there seems to seep out of Steve. “Doing things for you isn’t trouble Eddie,” he insists as he sets the bag down on the coffee table in front of the couch.

Eddie sits back down, hesitantly gesturing for Steve to join him, which Steve does.

Their knees brush against one another as Steve settles into the couch, and Eddie flushes.

He reaches forward to see what’s in the bag as a distraction.

“God, you really are a mom,” Eddie laughs as he looks through everything.

There’s tissues, cold medicine, a can of soup, cough drops, painkillers, and a few snacks in the bag.

Steve flushes at that and grumbles under his breath that he isn’t, which just makes Eddie laugh even harder.

His laughter quickly turns into wet coughs, and he turns away from Steve as they wrack his body.

He feels a hand press against his back, stabilizing him, and he can’t help but be grateful for it even if he is humiliated at Steve seeing him like this.

“You okay?” Steve asks as the coughing tapers off.

“Mm, yeah. Sorry ‘bout that,” Eddie grimaces, “I’m… I guess you obviously put it together, but I thingk I’b a liddle sick righd now,” he admits, staring down at his lap “So I’b probably not godda be the best snnrrf company.”

Steve makes a small tutting sound, brushing Eddie’s hair from his face where it had fallen during the coughing fit, and gently turns his head to face him, “Hey, don’t say that.”

Steve gives him a warm look that leaves Eddie breathless, “I already figured you were sick, I came cause I was worried about you Eds, not because I need you to entertain me,” he smiles “Besides, you’re great company no matter what, so relax.”

Eddie wants to scream, and say it’s hard to relax when Steve is right next to him looking so perfect and kind and amazing and he’s all gross and pathetic looking.

He doesn’t of course, just nods and smiles hesitantly “If you’re sure.”

Steve nods, “I’m sure.”

Eddie slumps back into the couch at that.

Steve seems to take this as permission to enter full mother hen mode, and Eddie watches as he grabs the cold medicine and bustles around the kitchen, getting Eddie a glass of water.

“Steve, I could’ve done thad myself,” Eddie chuckles, “I’m not bedridded”

Steve rolls his eyes, pressing the medicine and water into his hands, “Just take it, Munson.”

“Sir yes sir,” he jokes, taking the pill, along with a few painkillers.

“What are you watching?” Steve asks as they both settle into the couch.

Eddie glances at the movie, which he’s pretty much entirely missed, “Star Wars,” he pauses, “Do you not know Star Wars?”

Steve flushes, “Dustin’s been trying to get me to watch those, but I never got around to it.”

Eddie shakes his head, “You work at a.. at… a video-hhh… hhHhh” a tickle blossoms in the back of his nose as he speaks, and he trails off.

He blinks a few times, his expression glazing over and his nose flaring.

He glances around, looking for the tissues Steve brought, but they’re still wrapped in the plastic and he knows there’s no way he’s going to be able to get it open in time.

“Shihht..” he mumbles, mostly to himself. He doesn’t want to sneeze openly in front of Steve, especially with this cold. It’ll be wet and disgusting no matter how hard he tries to tamp them down.

So with a grimace, he chooses the next best thing, raising the blanket he’s wrapped in to his nose.

It feels nice and soft, but the soft fuzz just irritates his nose more, making his breath hitch wildly.

“Hehh.. ehh.. Hohld ohnn,” he manages, turning away from Steve a bit as his shoulders shake with the impending sneeze.

“Hehh.. HH’MMPpHTShh- HH’NGXXtshh.. HEI’NGDDTSheww Hh.. ngh… god… HhEIMPSHHhh.. hh’ehHPTshh.. Hh… HHiShhhuhh..” the fit leaves him breathless, and he winces as he pulls away from his blanket to find a damp spot.

“God, Sorry, thad was gross,” he reaches forward and grabs the tissues, tearing the wrapping off and fishing the first one out of the box.

He spares a glance over at Steve, who looks frozen in place.

He frowns, hoping he didn’t gross him out too much… Steve did choose to come back knowing he was sick, but he looks completely shocked by the display.

It was pretty intense, but Eddie always gets like that when he’s sick.

It’s humiliating, but it’s how it is. He was kind of stupidly hoping Steve wouldn’t mind, since he chose to come back, but he looks properly disgusted now.

Steve seems to shake it off after a moment, shaking his head, “Bless you,” he swallows, “That sounded intense.”

Eddie shrugs, sniffling uselessly, “Yeah, I always get really sneezy whed I’b sick,” Steve stares at him, wide eyed, and Eddie sighs, “It’s really gross I know. I did ward you I wasn’d good company righd now.”

Steve blinks, seeming surprised, “No! No, it’s fine Eddie. It isn’t gross, you’re just sick.”

Eddie shrugs, grabbing a tissue and turning away from Steve and taking a deep breath, forcing himself to get over his embarrassment.

It’s not like it really matters. Steve isn’t going to be interested in him regardless, so he may as well.

He blows thickly, and then folds the tissue over to blow again. It feels like the mess just keeps coming, and he can barely make a dent in the absurd amounts of congestion that have taken root in his head.

“God, this sucks,” he grumbles, congestion still audible in his voice.

Steve gets a contemplative look on his face for a moment, before he suddenly jumps up.

Eddie turns to face him with wide eyes.

“You should try a steam bowl!” he exclaims.

Eddie blinks, “What?”

Steve stares at him, “You know- to clear up congestion? Where you put your face over steaming water. It’ll help you clear all that congestion up.”

Eddie’s never done anything like that. He mostly just powers through colds with pure spite, and prays they don’t turn into sinus infections. That happened once and it was not a fun time.

“Here, you keep watching your nerd movie, I’ll show you,” Steve hurries over to the kitchen, and Eddie turns blearily back to the movie.

The only reason he even kinda knows what’s going on is because he’s seen it a million times.

He must drift off into that state that’s somewhere between being awake and asleep at some point, because he can hear Steve bustling about his kitchen, but he’s definitely losing bits and pieces.

Suddenly Steve is at his side with a bowl full of steaming water.

“Your snoring is so cute Eds,” he grins as he passes the bowl over.

Eddie takes it gingerly, a dark flush overtaking his face, “I- I don’t usually!” he exclaims, though he isn’t sure why.

Steve just grins at him, and Eddie stares down at the bowl.

“So whad do I do?”

“You just hold your face over it and breathe in the steam.”

Eddie looks at it hesitantly, but he trusts Steve, so he holds the bowl up to his face and takes a deep breath.

He will admit, it does feel a lot easier to breathe with the warm steam wrapping around him.

He takes a deep breath in through his nose, and then another.

Suddenly his eyes shoot open wide.

“Fuhhck-hhh,” his nose flares, and he looks wildly at Steve, “Steve..hhh.. ‘M huhh… guhhna… HHh”

Steve seems to understand what he’s saying, because he reaches forward and takes the bowl from Eddie’s trembling grasp.

All Eddie can do is shoot him a grateful look before crumpling forward.

He has to catch the sneezes in his hands, pinching his nose in a desperate attempt to control the releases, “Hehh’NNXXt hhh-hehh.. HEh’NDTShhH.. IHHNkktSHH- hh!! HEI’TNXGSHh..” Eddie fumbles around, managing to grab a tissue from the box in the slight reprieve between sneezes.

He brings the tissue to his face, his breath already hitching as he builds up to another sneeze, “hh-HHMMPTSHH!! HeiHH’MPPttSHHuh hEiihh… ihh… IHHMPPTShh… TSHHUHh!!... hh… HEPTSHhuhh!!… snrRFf..snfSNF” Eddie bowls softly into the tissue, tossing it aside before looking at Steve, who is still holding the bowl.

“Sorry, it was working udtil id started botheri’g me...” he gives Steve a guilty look, feeling bad that he went to all the trouble of preparing the bowl from him only for him to start sneezing his head off.

Steve brushes him off, even though there’s a strange look in his eyes again, “It’s fine Eds, do you wanna try again?”

Eddie nods and takes the bowl again.

This time it helps clear up the congestion without any complications. He can finally speak without sounding fucking ridiculous again.

“That’s a neat trick Stevie,” he hums as Steve sets the cooling bowl off to the side.

Steve smiles softly at him, “I’m glad it helped some.”

Eddie nods, grabbing another blanket from his pile to burrow beneath now that the warmth from the bowl in his hands is gone.

Steve frowns, reaching forward to press his hand against Eddie’s forehead.

“Shit, you’re warm Munson.”

Eddie shrugs, “Yeah, I feel like I’ve got a fever,” he huffs, “Also pretty normal for me… My body kinda hates me.”

Steve snorts at that, “You’ve just got a nasty cold Eds.”

And there’s that- Steve keeps calling him ‘Eds’ so softly, and it makes his whole heart feel warm. He thinks maybe it’s just the fever making him overemotional, but it’s just so soft, and it makes him wish he could reach out and wrap himself around Steve.

He restrains himself, looking at the movie just in time for the credits to start rolling.

“Do you have any more tapes?” Steve asks.

Eddie goes to stand and get one, but Steve tsks at him and lightly pushes him back down.

“Sit your ass down Munson, I’ll put something on.”

Eddie points him to the cabinet where they keep all their VHS tapes.

“You got anything in particular you wanna watch?”

Eddie shakes his head, “You can pick Harrington. I can’t really focus much right now anyways,” he admits.

Steve shoots him a slightly worried look, but hums.

“Oh, The Breakfast Club!” he exclaims, and Eddie laughs, because of course Steve would love that movie.

“That works for me,” Eddie smiles, and Steve puts the tape in.

As Steve returns to the couch, he insists that Eddie should lay down and get comfortable.

“I don’t, snnf wanna kick you outta your spot Harrington. We don’t exactly have a snnrrf lot of seating here.”

Steve hums, looking contemplative for a moment, “Well.. uh,” he hesitates, looking a little nervous. Eddie wonders what could possibly make Steve Harrington look that flustered.

“Here how about,” he moves to sit on Eddie’s side of the couch, and Eddie sits up, confused.

Then Steve pats his lap, looking expectantly at Eddie, who stares at him, confused.

“You lay down,” Steve says, as if it’s obvious that he would want Eddie to lay down on his lap. As if the very idea doesn’t make Eddie’s insides twist up and butterflies flutter in his stomach because sure, Steve means it as platonic cuddling, but it’s more than he ever thought he’d get from the man.

“Oh, uh, sure,” Eddie nervously settles in. Steve is slumped comfortably against the side of the couch, and Eddie is laying his head on the bottom half of his torso.

It has no right to be this comfortable.

He wraps all the blankets around himself, trying to watch the movie through his feverish haze

At some point, Steve starts running a hand through his hair, and it feels so nice.

No one’s ever done that for Eddie before.

His body feels more relaxed than it has in months, and his eyes start to feel heavy after a while.

He closes them, but doesn’t quite fall asleep, savoring the feeling of Steve Harrington running his fingers through his hair.

He’s still half asleep when another itch sparks in the back of his nose.

Without thinking, he turns and rubs it against Steve’s chest.

“Nghh… hh” his breath hitches a bit, and he buries his nose into Steve’s shirt, still not really registering where he is, “hhh-hhHMppffSHH… HEhhHMmsHHh… HeiPPtSHhh…”

Eddie feels Steve tense underneath him, and blinks as awareness floods back to him, and he recoils in horror.

“Oh my god!” he stares at the damp spot he left in Steve’s sweater in shock, “Oh my god!” he repeats, running a hand through his hair in horror.

“Hey, hey Eddie, it’s okay,” Steve tries to reassure, but Eddie shakes his head.

“Chist, that’s so gross- oh my god,” he can tell Steve is uncomfortable- he’s all tense and his eyes are wide. Yet he’s still trying to be nice. Even though Eddie just fucking sneezed on him.

“I’m so sorry Steve! I should- you can go if you want- you probably should even. I can not believe I did that, shit…”

Tears are building behind his eyes, and he tries to blink them away because why is he crying- poor Steve is the one who just got sneezed on.

“Shh,” Steve hushes him, reaching out and pulling him in a tight hug, “Eddie it’s okay, I don’t mind.”

Eddie shakes his head against Steve’s shoulder, unable to say anything.

“That’s just the fever talking Eds, everythings okay,” Steve tries, but it doesn’t feel okay. It feels like he just ruined his chances of Steve even wanting to be his friend.

“C’mon, Eddie, look at me,” Steve tries, pulling back enough from the hug so he can try to meet Eddie’s eyes.

Eddie looks at him after a moment, and Steve looks so genuinely concerned that it hurts.

“See, I’m not mad or upset sweetheart,” he soothes, and Eddie’s eyes widen at the pet name.

Steve seems to notice, “Sorry- too far?”

Eddie shakes his head, not trusting himself to speak.

Steve relaxes, “Okay, are you calmed down now?”

Eddie nods after a moment, swallowing thickly, “I really am sorry Sdeve.”

Steve shushes him again, “None of that now, you don’t need to be sorry,” Steve presses him into another tight hug, running a hand through Eddie’s hair softly, “It was an accident, and I don’t mind at all.”

God, Steve really does seem too good to be true sometimes.

Steve drags Eddie back to the couch, and Eddie nervously lets Steve guide him to rest against his chest again.

“Get some rest Eddie, you need it,” Steve assures him, and Eddie nods against him, humming his agreement.

Steve resumes running his hand through Eddie’s hair, and the repetitive motion lulls him to sleep quickly.

#snz #snzblr #snz kink #my!writing

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whumpcereal · 2 years ago

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whumptober, day twelve: "mayday, mayday!" | cave in | rusty nail

Have a little historical whump one-off, with Jimmy the ill-fated ball turret gunner. We'll be back to our regularly scheduled Jack, Joe, Tommy, and Will very soon, but today's prompt was a hard one for those boys.

content warnings for: character death, hurt/comfort, plane crashes, meditations on war, adult language

one shot, the mechanics of letting go

“Oh, fuck! Mayday, mayday, MAYDAY!”

Jimmy can hear the crackling message through his headset, but it’s the sharp drop of his gut that really clues him in that things are about to go south. Literally. The plane lists suddenly and starts to dive. The fuselage’s belly is wrapped in black smoke, and even surrounded by the glass of his ball turret, Jimmy can’t see a fucking thing.

He doesn’t need his eyes to know they’re going down.

“Are we hit?” Jimmy screams into his mouthpiece. “Bert, Parker, are we hit?”

There’s no reply. The engines whir above him, their buzz so loud that Jimmy feels like his ears are full of bees. His body rattles as the plane jars, and he grips the controls. There’s nothing to shoot at, not when you’re falling out of the sky, but it’s steadying somehow.

“Only two things fall from the sky, James,” his father said before he left. “Bird shit and assholes. You might be one of those two things, but I doubt it.”

He shook Jimmy’s hand like they were strangers, and he’d tried to smile, his watery blue eyes betraying his fears.

Jimmy wonders what his father will say when the War Department knocks on his door. He should understand. He did his fair share of dog fighting in the Great War. But still, he’d told Jim he wasn’t sure it had been worth it.

“I fought so you wouldn’t have to. What’s wrong with the world, son? Why don’t we ever learn?”

Gravity claws at the bomber now, and Jimmy feels the pressure in his back molars. He feels like the ground might be in spitting distance. Still, there’s no one on the radio, no call to bail out. Even if he heard one, he might not have time to scrabble for his chute; there’s not enough room in the turret to keep it on.

Jimmy’s eyes catch on the photo wedged inside the metal edge of his porthole. Annabeth, her lips painted dark and her blue eyes smiling, even in black and white. He closes his eyes, just for a second, and he sees her as she was the night before he left: the arch of her back against his cheap jersey sheets, the way her hair tumbled free and wreathed his pillow in red curls. The taste of her. The smell. Like powder and peaches and brown butter.

“Don’t be a hero, Jim,” she told him. “You come back to me.”

She took his hand and pressed it against the nascent swell of her belly.

“Come back to us.”

He’d kissed the soft skin next to her navel and promised he wouldn’t let her down.

Another engine blows, but Jimmy keeps hold of the guns. He closes his eyes again and forces himself to breathe, even as the plane hurtles lower.

There’s no exercise in basic training to prepare a guy for this. The mechanics of a crash, sure. The mechanics of letting go, not so much.

“Do you know, Jimmy,” his mother said before she went, “I like to think that when I see you in heaven, you’ll be two-years-old again. I couldn’t hold you enough then. It’s something they don’t tell you–the way you’ll miss your children when they grow. Will you let me hold you in heaven?”

He was thirteen then. It hadn’t seemed manly to agree. But Jimmy knew now. He would let her hold him. If Mama’s arms were what was waiting on the other side, he would fall into them gladly.

He wonders if she will be glad to see him. Or will she be disappointed? Will she ask him why he came so soon?

The earth is close, it must be, and the plane feels like it’s tumbling faster.

“Parker! Bert!” Jimmy cries into his mouthpiece. “Anyone?”

He’s used up precious seconds he did not have shouting into the void, waiting for an order that will not come. There’s only one order that matters in situations like these, and it isn’t Bert’s.

The smoke ebbs, and Jimmy can see the ground. A carpet of green, with trees growing suddenly larger, like some kind of Wonderland trick.

It would be beautiful if it weren’t going to smash him to a pulp in a matter of seconds.

The turret kisses the trees, and Jimmy braces himself.

He can’t answer his father’s question: he doesn’t know what's wrong with the world or how a skinny kid who still has spots on his skin can find himself hurtling toward death in a flying fortress a million miles from home.

He isn’t a hero, and he did not try to be, but still: I’m sorry, his heart whispers to Annabeth’s. He knows he let her down.

But there’s a breath, just before the turret finds the ground, before the metal and glass cave in around him. Before he goes.

In that breath, he hears his mother.

Oh, Jimmy. I’m so glad to see you again.

He doesn’t feel the slice of glass shards when the turret shatters or heft of the twisted metal when the fuselage comes down on top of him. He is not broken, and he is not cold.

Jimmy is small and warm, and he is wrapped in his mother’s arms.

#whumptober 2022 #no.12 #mayday mayday #cave in #oc #fic #character death #hurt/comfort #plane crashes #meditations on war #adult language #say hello to jimmy #a cutie patootie that you will never see again #because he's dead

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ailec-12 · 2 years ago

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I posted 818 times in 2022

129 posts created (16%)

689 posts reblogged (84%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@napo-con-fritas

@i-will-write

@togetherkru

@evilbeanghost

@meibruges

I tagged 814 of my posts in 2022

#art - 294 posts

#* - 129 posts

#hp - 122 posts

#encanto - 83 posts

#bnha - 83 posts

#severus snape - 75 posts

#quotes - 69 posts

#ask ail - 61 posts

#yagi toshinori - 53 posts

#ask meme - 53 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#once i told someone 'i get why you want to drop this story; that's okay' and they replied very strongly that they were not going to drop it

My Top Posts in 2022:

A new chapter is out!

Some very intense moments between James and Sev take place. I hope you'll like it and let me know what you think.

30 notes - Posted July 23, 2022

Prooooompt!! When Sev gets bullied by a group of kids, James is forced to look back and confront his own past behaviour. --- I'd love it if Sirius and Remus are there, too, and I'd love for Lily to get angry at some point. I kind of see this happening during the time where Sev and James' relationship is not so good (which is a very ample period of time, lol), but feel free to modify the idea as you want.

Thanks so much for this prompt, I really loved it! Wish I could've managed to include everything, but I'm delighted you still liked it so much.

Also, shout-out to @evilbeanghost for reading it beforehand and helping me see I was fretting over nothing, hahaha. Thanks, dear.

Also on AO3.

Looking in the Mirror

I. First Warning

It happens during his first week at school and Severus is paralysed by terror as he waits by the headmaster’s door. His fears are confirmed when not only Lily but James, too, turn the corner. He is in big trouble. For starters, he had no idea they would call any parents after just one fight. In addition, he has thrown the first punch, so the bruise blossoming on his own cheek had been written off as self-defence and he is the only one facing serious consequences.

He wants to cry. He wants to run. Instead, he digs his trembling fingers in the wooden bench. As soon as Lily is close enough, she crouches down. Her fingers brush against his unscathed cheek.

“Oh, Sev, what happened?”

“I reckon it’s pretty obvious,” James snaps coldly, stopping just behind her.

See the full post

31 notes - Posted January 9, 2022

I saw this picrew on my dash earlier today and thought it was really cute.

Tagging @hklnvgl, @napo-con-fritas and anyone else who wants to try it out.

42 notes - Posted November 16, 2022

Fic Rec Friday (BNHA edition)

Endeavor-centric

Just Watch Me, by WhiteWinterDragon (WIP, 13k). Rei disappears and Endeavor must take care of their four children.

Splitting Rocks, by iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid (one shot, 22k). Endeavor gets trapped in a time loop.

Aizawa-centric

All Might's pen pal, by xweapon (complete, 27k). Erasermight. Aizawa sends a drunk email to All Might as he falls for Toshinori.

Gold, the colour of fear, by RedResin (one shot, 2k). Aizawa comforts Eri after a nightmare.

All Might-centric

Been Seen, by siriusfan13 (one shot, 1k). Pre-canon. "Being seen and being noticed are not the same thing. Yagi Toshinori knows this well."

Learning to Trust, by siriusfan13 (WIP, 86k). Gen, whump and hidden identity —not much else I could ask for. All Might wants to get to know the UA staff before revealing his identity to them. Lots of Aizawa and Present Mic as well.

The Torrid Affair of All Might and Yagi Toshinori, by speedwagons-glorious-mane (WIP, 3k). More All Might trying desperately to hide his identity.

misconceptions, by h1lo (one shot, 631). Nana's first impressions of Yagi Toshinori.

When Baby Birds Try to Fly, by pillowspace (one shot, 4k). Nana & Toshi, before she gives him OFA.

Let Them Eat Cake, by academiccockroach (one shot, 13k). Orphan Toshi bites (a lot) as he meets Nana and Gran Torino for the first time.

Breaking Down, by FloFlow (WIP, 13k). Nana deals with her own demons after abandoning Kotaro when Toshinori gets sick.

56 notes - Posted October 28, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Two truths, one lie

Tagged by @supermarketcrayons, thank you!

My favourite sport is football.

I've never been in New York.

I have a green thumb.

Feel free to guess!

84 notes - Posted July 9, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #Seriously that's the tag game with most notes? Anyway #Glad to see House Potter keeps going strong #It's so cool one of my fics made it to the top 5 #And the BNHA rec list got so many notes! Good; those stories deserve more comments #*

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peachy-panic · 3 years ago

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WHUMPTOBER DAY 29: OVERWORKED

Some good, old-fashioned Mr. Torley era whump. It’s been a while. Sorry, Jaime ily

TAG LIST: @whumpervescence @shiningstarofwinter @distinctlywhumpthing @whumptywhumpdump @nicolepascaline @anotherbluntpencil @hold-him-down @crystalquartzwhump @maracujatangerine @batfacedliar @thecyrulik @pumpkin-spice-whump @finder-of-rings - let me know if you’d like to be added/removed!

WARNINGS: BBU/BBU-Adjacent, slavery, hunger/food deprivation, vaguely implied past noncon, general abuse

Mr. Torley is angry about something. Jaime is almost certain he hasn’t done anything to be the cause of it, though it’s often hard to say what puts his Keeper in these moods. It’s not unusual for him to be vaguely disappointed in Jaime, and to let that disappointment show plainly and pointedly, but that usually takes the form of something more gleeful. Amused, like he takes genuine pleasure in making sure Jaime never lives up to his high expectations, no matter how hard he tries.

This, today, is something different.

It was probably something at work. Mr. Torley doesn’t disclose the details of his job to Jaime, ever, but it started the moment he arrived home. Jaime had been kneeling in the entryway, same as always, fatigue settling over his muscles like a familiar blanket after a long day of housework. He never knows exactly what to expect when his Keeper walks through the door; sometimes he’ll card his fingers through his hair, sometimes he’ll ask him to recite the list of chores he’s completed throughout the day - the length of which is often the deciding factor of whether he will receive dinner that night. Sometimes, if it’s Friday and the boys are already gone, he will walk in, drop his bag, and command Jaime to strip before they even leave the hallway.

Tonight, though, he had walked through the door and discarded his coat and bag roughly at Jaime’s knees, passing him by with a low, murmured directive to “Put these away.”

He hates nights like these. Almost more than he hates the weekend nights trapped inside the master bedroom. At least during those, he knows what to expect. He knows exactly what kind of behavior will earn him certain reactions, for the most part, and can console himself with the small mercy of getting to sleep in a real bed when it’s over. On nights like tonight, there are no such luxuries.

Jaime hovers uneasily around the house, listening to the raised voice of a one-sided phone call coming from Mr. Torley’s study. It’s Monday, which means it’s the heaviest work day for Jaime. The children are back from their mother’s after school, so he has to do their laundry and put their rooms back together before they get home. He has meals to prep for the week of packed lunches ahead of them. It’s football season, so he has to clean up after the Sunday night gathering Mr. Torley hosts with some of the guys from his work (a weekly event that Jaime had learned to really, truly dread). And, of course, Monday means a full turnover of the master bedroom. Damage control from the long weekend behind them.

This is all, of course, in addition to his usual daily tasks. Jaime is exhausted in a way that burns his eyes and makes his heart skip beats behind his rib cage, but he doesn’t dare sit down. He’s far too skilled in reading the room to give Mr. Torley a needless excuse to take his anger out on him. Instead, he floats around the kitchen, straightening the dish towel on the rack, swiping at imaginary spots on the countertop, anything to look busy when Mr. Torley steps out into the common area. He flips on the light in the oven, taking a peek through the glass door at the chicken roast he has going.

Mr. Torley is very particular about when his dinner is to be served: no earlier and no later than half an hour after he arrives home from work. He likes enough time to change out of his clothes and nurse a glass of bourbon— which Jaime has already prepared on the end table by the couch. Jaime’s eyes linger on the seasoned meat inside on the top rack, the skin just beginning to brown and crisp up the way he likes it, and then he shuts off the oven light, forcing his eyes away. But it doesn’t help. The smell of garlic and herbs in the tray of potatoes wafts warmly through the kitchen, making him dizzy.

He’s so hungry. He’s so tired. He isn’t sure which sensation is winning out, but neither one is quite as strong as the tension in his body as he hears the landline slam onto the receiver from Mr. Torley’s office. Every muscle in Jaime’s back stiffens up at the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. He adjusts the hand towel one more time.

“I want dinner on the table in ten minutes,” Mr. Torley orders as he sweeps into the living room, picking up the glass of bourbon and taking a long drink. “Go get the boys cleaned up.”

“Yes, Sir.” Jaime clasps his hands behind him and bows his head before turning. At the edge of the kitchen, his spine goes rigid.

“What is this?”

Dread grips him like icy hands around his shoulders and spins him around to see Mr. Torley gesturing to something unseen on the hardwood floor. Jaime squints and sees nothing, wondering vaguely if this is some kind of trick, a game he’s supposed to play along with without knowing the rules.

He takes an involuntary step back. “Sir?”

Something that is decidedly not amusement twitches in Mr. Torley’s expression. “Don’t play dumb,” he warns. “You’re stupid, but you aren’t brainless.”

Jaime feels a knot forming in his stomach. Mr. Torley is getting mean. He’s always generally unkind, especially to him, but the outright cruelty signals the kind of mood that never ends well for Jaime.

Maybe if you let me wear glasses around the house like I’m supposed to, he thinks bitterly, then swallows it back. There is no choice here but to see this through.

“I’m sorry,” Jaime says, taking a few steps forward so he can better see whatever is setting his Keeper off. “Whatever it is, I can—”

Mr. Torley lunges to meet him halfway, snagging him by the back of the collar to drag him forward. Jaime stumbles and falls in his grasp, cutting off his own air supply before Mr. Torley pushes him to his knees. He moves his hand to the back of Jaime’s hair and pushes his head toward the floor. He feels like a fucking dog with his nose shoved in his own accident.

Then he sees it.

He had begged the boys to take off their shoes when they came into the house after school. It has rained all morning and the yard is soaked, and of course he had watched them sprint right through it on their way in. Kade had listened to him, kicking his light-up sneakers onto the welcome mat. Steven, as usual, had not.

Jaime had spent the following half-hour on his knees, scrubbing at the muddy shoe prints that tracked from the entryway all the way to the playroom.

Apparently, he’d missed a spot.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” he whispers, eyes locked dreadfully on the traitorous smear of mud. “I- I must have missed a spot, I asked the boys—”

“Don’t,” Mr. Torley snaps, yanking his head back by the hair, “try to pawn your responsibility off on my children. You know what is expected of you. You are well aware of the standards I hold for my home. Why do these slip ups continue to happen?”

Because you kept me up all night and I’m so tired I can hardly stand. Because I was too busy doing the million other things I’m supposed to do perfectly for you. Because I’m a fucking human being and I make mistakes.

Saying that part out loud would make him just as big an idiot as Mr. Torley tells him he is. The drop of bourbon that sloshes from his glass and lands on the hardwood next to Jaime’s hand is an apt reminder of the last “mistake” he had made. The shards of glass scattered around him, the glimmer in his Keeper’s eye, the feeling of a smooth surface on his tongue and the fear of much worse to come.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Torley.” It’s the only option he has, and still he knows saying it won’t make a difference. He stays in his knelt position, shoulders tensed in anticipation of a blow. When Mr. Torley releases his hair, he nearly collapses forward.

“We’ll address this after you serve dinner,” he says stiffly. Jaime hears his shoes retreat backwards across the floor, but he doesn’t move his gaze from the smudge of dirt until Mr. Torley snaps at him once again, “Boys. Dinner. Now.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He moves robotically through the process of dragging the kids away from the playroom and getting their hands clean. As he removes the roast from the oven, he takes a moment to be grateful that he got an early start on cooking tonight. He doesn’t want to think about what would have happened if he had to tell Mr. Torley it wasn’t ready yet.

His stomach aches with that familiar, empty ache as he lays the meal out on the table, placing the proper serving utensils in each dish. He tries his best to keep his mouth from watering as he steps back into the corner, clasping his hands behind his back, waiting his turn. It’s the routine. He waits until everyone has filled their plates, and then Jaime is permitted to take his small, plastic bowl and fill it up with whatever is leftover.

It’s the moment he’s been thinking about all day, when he will finally get to sit down on his cot in the closet behind the laundry room and eat his meal. Twenty minutes of rest and a full belly after a hard day.

When Mr. Torley sets down the last serving spoon, Jaime steps wordlessly into the kitchen and grabs his bowl. He stands on the other side of Kade, so as not to reach over anyone as he serves himself, and grabs the spoon in the bowl of the potatoes when--

“I’m not sure what you think you’re doing,” Mr. Torley says casually through a mouthful of chicken. “Your tasks are hardly done for the day. You know the rules. You eat when your list is complete.”

Jaime wants to cry. He feels the bitter burn of it rising up in his sinuses and swallows hard to force it back. Ignoring every human impulse in his body, he releases the spoon and steps back away from the food, hearing his own stomach growl as he does so. He ignores whatever look he can feel Kade giving him from below.

“You’ll stand there until we’re finished,” Mr. Torley tells him. “Then we can talk about your earlier infraction.”

I fucking hate you.

The thought is so sudden, so crystal-clear in his mind that it shocks him. It’s not often his mind will allow him such outright forbidden sentiments, but now that he feels it, he doesn’t want to let it go. He ignores the instinctive reminder of a bolt of electricity on his throat and holds onto that anger as he steps back into his corner. Maybe the rage will be hot enough to burn away the hunger.

It feels like hours before Mr. Torley drops his fork onto the ceramic, pushing his chair back with an unsubtle scrape. Jaime’s mouth is watering, even as he keeps his gaze trained carefully away from the scraps of food on the table.

“Boys, you can go play,” Mr. Torley dismisses them, and the boys waste no time jumping up from the table, leaving their half-eaten meals behind.

Kade stops short of leaving the room, tugging at Jaime’s pant leg. “Sev, will you read one of my new library books to me tonight before bed? I got a couple so we can pick out which one we like best.”

Jaime tries for a smile. “Yes, Mister Kade, whatever you’d like.” He silently hopes he isn’t so tired he nods off during storytime tonight. It’s one of the few good moments of his day.

When the boys are gone, leaving just the two of them in the dining room, Mr. Torley stands from his chair, fixing Jaime with a burning glare. Some of his anger from earlier seems to have subsided after eating, but whatever is left doesn’t exactly leave Jaime feeling confident.

“Go get your toothbrush,” he says. Jaime looks up at him, blinking. Mr. Torley raises an eyebrow. “Are you going for two infractions tonight?”

“N-No, Sir. Sorry.” Jaime forces his shaky legs to operate beneath him, walking to the small half-bath across the hall from his “room.” From inside the mirrored cabinet, he retrieves his toothbrush. The one Mr. Torley has never replaced throughout the length of Jaime’s contract. With a rising dread, he walks back out to the common area.

When he does, he finds Mr. Torley stood over the mud stain once again, this time with a bucket at his feet. As he steps closer, he sees that it’s filled with soapy water. The realization clicks before anything needs to be said, and the dread spirals out into tiny pinpricks of something unidentifiable in his limbs.

“You’ll clean this up,” Mr. Torley says calmly. “And then, to make up for your mistake, you’ll take this bucket and your brush, and you’ll scrub the baseboards along the perimeter of the house. I’ll be inspecting afterward, and I want them spotless. Is that understood?”

Jaime looks up at him, almost in shock, though he certainly shouldn’t be surprised by any length of this man’s cruelty by now.

“I expect a verbal response.”

He closes his eyes, opening them again to his bare feet on the floor. He’s just… so fucking tired. “Understood, Sir.”

“Good. Get to work,” he says. “When you’re done, you are to put the boys to bed and clean up the dinner table. You are then welcome to eat whatever is left.”

Perhaps it is a testament of just how pathetic his life is now that Jaime takes that promise of a cold, leftover dinner and uses it as a beacon of light to get him through the grueling hours ahead of him. It’s all he has left to cling to, all he can do to survive, and somewhere, distantly, that realization hurts.

It will hurt even more when he staggers to the table after his hours of work, sweaty and exhausted and barely staying on his feet, to find all the leftover food has been thrown in the trash.

#Do No Harm: Jaime & Sebastian #whumptober2021 #BBU #like bbu adjacent?

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