#no. 15 “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.”

[faofinn]

No. 15 "I don't need you to help me, I can handle things myself."

@whumptober-archive

Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | "I'm fine."

Alex had laughed at Fao when he’d said he wanted to take Finn camping over the summer. She’d asked if Afghanistan hadn’t been enough for him, if the English summer was the extra level of suffering he craved. He’d told her to piss off, that it would be a nice holiday, something to enjoy. He had his house, they could camp there, swim in the lake, and there were always showers, and warm beds if the weather got really shit. They’d buy a big tent, Finn could bring Jess, and Fao even invited Hars and Marcus. They both had time off, and had agreed, though Hars grumbled if he got cold overnight he’d be going inside and nobody was stopping him. 

Sure enough they’d all driven down, hiked out to the camping spot next to the lake, and set up the big tent there, all cosy with airbeds and duvets. It was luxury compared to being on tour, that was for sure. Finn’s seizures were a worry, of course, but Steve had made sure they had the meds they needed, that plans were available if needed, and told them to enjoy themselves. After all, they had enough medics there to make sure he was safe. 

They were sat around the campfire that first night, looking up at the stars as they toasted marshmallows, listening to the crackle of the fire. Finn had brought his guitar with him, and his soft strumming broke the night air every so often as he tried to work out what he wanted to play.  

After a few hours just chatting and singing along to Finn’s guitar they all headed to bed, snuggling down under warm duvets. After a slap up breakfast the next morning, Fao insisted they at least go for a walk and enjoy nature. There were loads of footpaths leading off his land, and some of the walks had some amazing views. Alex teased him and told him he was turning into Fred, and Finn said the same, but Fao didn’t care. They were going to enjoy their holiday, and the countryside was perfect to unwind. 

Mornings were far from Harrison’s favourite, the air still cold and not quite fixed by Fao's breakfast. He grumbled half heartedly as he ate. Marcus was much more of a morning person, laughing at the state of his boyfriend. He'd never been to Fao's, and was quite excited to go explore, even if Harrison wasn't.

Food was packed, as well as drinks and Finn's meds - it seemed everyone had double checked that one - and soon enough they were on the trails. Harrison had brightened up, happily joining in the conversation as they went. Finn was slightly withdrawn as they picked their path, a little tired and worried he'd ruin it as he always did. Jess, of course, told him to stop being daft, linking their fingers and swinging their hands as a distraction. 

It didn't take long for Finn to start complaining he was hungry, so of course they had to stop for a snack. It was easier than listening to his complaining, that was for sure. Once Finn was happily chewing away, they continued, glad of the five minutes' peace.

Despite Finn’s grumblings, it was a nice walk, up into the hills and then down to the stream that cut through the land. They’d been going for a few hours now, and they were all in need of a rest, so Fao paused to sit on a large rock, digging around in his backpack for some water. 

Finn had been trailing behind, having been distracted by a butterfly on a plant, crouched close to the edge. He'd sent a few photos to his dad, knowing he’d love to see them too. On his way back, his stomach twisted, his phone falling from his hand. He shook his head, swearing softly. It wasn’t a full aura, just a partial, nothing to worry about, he was sure.

Finn’s quiet swearing had caught Harrison's attention, frowning at the other man too close to the edge. He brushed it off, assuming he was just being overly cautious. But then, he caught the look on his face, all too aware of Finn’s seizures - tonic-clonic or not, Finn was too close to the edge. He jumped up, rushing to grab him before he just walked off the edge. 

Finn made no move to stop himself, not even a frown as Harrison grabbed him. He pulled him away from the edge, Finn tripping over his own feet. He landed on his arse in the grass, dazed and disoriented. 

Harrison, however, wasn’t so lucky. Everything happened all at once, his ankle twisting as the edge of the riverbank gave way. He gave a surprised shout, hands scrambling at the side to try and stop himself from falling. It was no use.

A sudden stab of pain in his palm saw him lose his grip, blood immediately dripping down his arm. It wasn't his main priority for long, finding himself dunked under the cold water. Instinctively, he gasped, river water in his lungs making him retch and cough. Head under water, it took him a moment to realise what happened, forcing himself to try to kick to the surface. As his head finally raised above, Marcus's hand grabbed at him, dragging him to the edge.

Harrison collapsed onto his side, his whole body shaking. He continued to retch and cough, Marcus trying to help by smacking his back. It took him a moment to realise he was speaking to him, crouched by him with soft words and gentle hands. He gratefully leaned into him, closing his eyes. They were both wet, soaked through, but it was the least of Marcus' worries.

Fao and the girls had been just too far away from the edge of the river once they realised there was an issue, as everything fell apart and Harrison ended up under the water. At least Marcus had been close to him, and as Fao scrambled to his feet to get over to the edge he’d already hauled him out and onto the bank, Harrison coughing and retching at the water he’d taken in. Jess had gone straight to Finn, fussing over him where he was still rather confused. 

“Fucking hell.” Fao commented, moving closer to the pair. Harrison was pissing blood from a cut somewhere, too, and he looked shocking. “Are you hurt, Marcus?” He asked, eyes flicking over both men. 

"I'm fine, I'm fine." He said quickly. "Hars? Sit up a bit for me, yeah?" 

Harrison shook his head, surprisingly exhausted. He continued trembling, unable to stop himself. 

Harrison had properly shut down, Fao could see it in his eyes. He knelt in front of him. “Hars? Did you hit your head?”

He shook his head again. His throat was too raw to speak, and he wasn't sure he even had the energy to. He managed a weak smile as Marcus brushed his hair from his forehead, stopping the water from dripping in his face. 

“‘Lex, did you bring the first aid kit?” Fao called over his shoulder. His girlfriend dug around in their bag for it, and then shook her head. 

“Must’ve left it.”

“Fuck’s sake.” Fao muttered, and then pulled his t-shirt off over his head. “This’ll have to do, otherwise you’re going to bleed everywhere.” He paused, and then ripped a couple of strips from it with some difficulty. 

Harrison flinched away from him instinctively, turning into Marcus for protection. 

"It's alright. You're okay." He hummed, pressing a kiss to his hair. "Just relax."

“Sorry, Tomcat.” Fao said gently. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Can I have a look at your hand? That’s gotta be sore.”

Marcus took Harrison's arm, holding it out for Fao to sort. "You're okay."

“Thank you.” He murmured, glancing up at Marcus. “I’m gonna sort it, yeah? And we’ll look at it properly when we get back. He wiped the worst of the blood away as gently as he could, and then set about wrapping it tightly. It wasn’t ideal, but it would do for now. As he did it, he turned to look at his brother. “Jess? How’s Finn?”

It was Finn that answered. "I'm fine. I didn't mean for Hars to get hurt. I don't know what happened."

“Just an accident Finn, not your fault.” Fao told his brother. 

"Is Hars okay?" His voice wavered with guilt and worry. 

"Just a bit bruised, I think." Marcus replied, glancing at Fao. It was obvious Finn was blaming himself, and it wouldn't help anyone if they let it. 

“Bruised and dazed. He’s alright.” Fao told him. “Think we’ll head back to camp though.”

Harrison pulled away from the pair of them, turning away to cough and vomit. He instinctively reached for Marcus to steady himself, crying out as he used the wrong hand. 

“Careful, careful.” Fao said. “Maybe he did hit his head. We’ll keep an eye.”

Harrison shook his head, his back still to the pair as he retched again. He tried not to be sick, but it was no use, bringing up more water. 

"Swallowed it." Harrison managed, breathing heavily as he all but collapsed against his boyfriend. 

“Yeah, okay.” Fao said, wanting to reach out and comfort him but knowing it would just make him worse. “We’ll stay here a bit, let everyone get their breath back and then we’ll head back.”

Marcus wrapped his arms around him, holding him close. "We're okay, yeah? We're okay."

[one-piece-aus]

Whumptober Day 15

Cracker x Reader

TW: Implied parental abuse

"Hold still-" You reached for Cracker's arm with a cotton pad when he swung it away from you.

"What are you doing?!" Cracker glared at you. He just came home to relax.

"I'm trying to clean your wounds," you said, attempting to grab his hand to bring his arm back to you, and he kept holding it out of your reach.

You don't understand why your husband must be so difficult when it comes to cleaning his wounds. If Cracker tended to his injuries better, he wouldn't be so vulnerable to pain. You swear he bruises worse than a banana.

"Leave me alone, woman!" Cracker got up from his seat to move away from you only to bump into a bookshelf behind him and have a few books fall on top of his head. "Ow, STUPID MOTHERFUCKER!"

He picked up the bookshelf and threw it across the living room. Books were now scattered across the floor. You sighed but you knew the servants would clean it up later. You moved over to Cracker who now sat on the floor, pouting and holding his sore head.

"Cracker, would you please let me take care of you now?" You gently laid your hand over his.

"Fine," he grumbled, rolling his eyes to look the other way as you took his arm. Lightly you pressed the cotton pad to his arm, and instantly, he flinched and yonked his arm away. "Ow! What is in that thing?"

"It's rubbing alcohol, it kills the germs on the surface to prevent an infection, which causes severe pain later," you stated trying to grab his arm again.

Reluctantly, he lowers it back in your gasp, wincing with each press to the wound. "Ow... ow..."

"Oh, you poor baby," you coo as you delicately clean his wounds. "Mind telling me why your pain tolerance is so low? I thought all Big Mom's sons had to go through rough training to be strong."

"No-" He winced again before continuing. "We didn't have to train if we didn't want to, we just had to find a way to help Mama out with her dream to find the One Piece. Perospero took to reading books, studying the art of warfare and navigation for example, he can fight but he didn't dedicate himself to training like Katakuri."

"Hmmm, so you trained because you wanted to. Is it because of your admiration for your brother Katakuri?" You guessed.

"No- well- that's not the real reason... I just wanted to get stronger so I couldn't feel pain anymore."

"How come?"

Cracker tilted his head back, debating whether to tell you or not. "You know how Mama discards our fathers once we're born?"

"Yeah."

"Well, she didn't always do that, but my father was the last one." His tone melted into a resenting growl as he brought up his father. "Since Mama was busy a lot of the time, she didn't watch the damage he did to me." Cracker bawled his fist, trying to contain the anger rising with the memories. "It wasn't until Katakuri saw the aftermath of one of the bastard's episodes did Mama find out." His rage died out as he opened his palm again, he then turned to you with a smug smile. "And then I never had to see him again."

You smiled at him, happy your husband is now being more open with you. Finishing the bandage over his arm, you patted his arm. "There, all better now."

"What?" Cracker held up his arm to see the wound was covered in white bandages. "When did you-"

"When you were talking," you giggled heading out of the library. "Don't go anywhere, I'm going to get you an ice packet."

Cracker watched you leave, dumbfounded. Glancing at his patched arm then at the exit again, a smile curled up his lips.

Tag: @bookandyarndragon @roseoftrafalgar

[serickswrites]

Handle Things Myself

Warnings: referenced captivity, referenced torture, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery

Superhero stood in the doorway to Hero's room, arms crossed over their chest as they leaned against the door frame. They had rescued Hero from Supervillain's lair four days ago. Had rescued Hero from unspeakable torture. Had rescued Hero and brought them home to help them heal and to keep them safe.

But Hero didn't want any help.

"Are you sure I can't bring you anything? I can also get Healer to look at--"

"I'm fine," Hero snapped. They lay curled in a ball on their bed. "I'm fine, Superhero. I'm just tired."

Superhero bit their lip, worry lines etched on their face. "I know. I know you must be so tired. I just want to help you. Please, I can help you. Let me help you."

"Help me like the way you helped me when it took you two weeks to find me?" Hero's words were cold.

Superhero flinched. It had taken them too long to find Hero. Take too long and Hero had suffered. "Hero, I--"

Hero raised themself up on an elbow on the bed. "I'm fine, Superhero. Really. And I can handle it myself. Don't worry about me. Just leave me be. Please."

Superhero swallowed, but realized they didn't want to push Hero further. They nodded and left.

Once Hero was sure they were alone, the mask of disdain and anger crumbled as they began to sob. They were anything but fine, but they would be damned if they let Superhero see how broken they were. They could handle it themself after all, right?

[oxideblack]

[spnexploration]

First Heat

Pairing: none

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer (briefly), John Winchester (mentioned)

Synopsis: 16yo Dean Winchester is presenting, and he's not having a fun time of it

Warnings: a tonne of swearing, a tiny moment of masturbation

This fulfills the "First Heat" square of my @spnaubingo and prompt 15 of @whumptober "I don't need you to help me, I can handle things myself"

Supernatural writing masterlist

Dean had been in pain before. He’d been injured in hunts and training, gotten in fights at school, and gotten the belt from his Dad for a variety of earned and unearned transgressions. But nothing had ever hurt like this.

This was agony.

His insides felt like they were on fire. Like a white hot knife had been plunged into his belly and was being twisted to and fro.

Worse was the realisation of what this meant: he was presenting.

He was a fucking bitch Omega.

He whimpered quietly, trying not to wake Sam. He knew his brother would worry. He knew his brother would have very valid concerns about how their Dad would react.

He didn’t want to think about that.

He wanted the pain to be over.

He whimpered again.

Sam started to stir. Fuck. Stupid bloody motel room. Why couldn’t he live in a normal house and have his own goddamn bedroom at the age of goddamn 16 so his stupid 12yo brother wouldn’t hear him whimpering like a baby when he couldn’t control it any more? Why’d he have to go through this with an audience?!

“Dean?” Sam asked in a worried voice. His eyes grew wide as they focused on Dean’s bed. Dean knew he must paint a pretty picture: drenched in sweat, shaking like a leaf and probably grimacing through his pain.

“’m fine Sammy, go back to sleep,” he grumped at him.

“You’re an Omega,” Sam breathed. He must be able to smell him. Great.

“I’m still in charge, go back to sleep,” he hissed.

Sam started climbing out of his bed. Dean growled at him, but even to his ears it sounded about as terrifying as a newborn kitten purring. He was just in so much pain.

Sam reached out and gently touched his shoulder. Dean whimpered again.

��Umm, we have to get you some help.”

“I don’t need your help, I can handle things myself!”

Sam rolled his eyes. He headed over to the motel phone on the desk.

“What-” whine- “what are you doing?” Dean stammered. “Don’t call Dad!”

“I’m not, jeez, I’m not an idiot.” Sam picked up the receiver.

“Then what are you doing?”

“Calling Bobby.”

“Sam it’s the middle of the night and I’m fine anyway.” Dean’s panting just to get through the sentence did rather betray him, but he didn’t any Sam waking anyone up and telling them his shame.

Sam rolled his eyes again. Bloody 12yos. He started dialling.

“No, no,” Dean said, throwing off his covers. He tried stand up to go stop Sam, but he fell to his knees instead, crouched over. He whined loudly, unable to stop himself.

“Bobby?” he heard Sam say. “Dean’s, umm, Dean’s presenting. He’s... I think he’s... he’s... he’s in heat.”

Dean couldn’t hear Bobby’s side of the conversation, just Sam agreeing a lot. Finally Sam hung up the call.

“Ok, he said that the pharmacy will have something you can take to make the heat stop, and then you have to see a doctor to get suppressants so you don’t have as many heats.”

Dean grunted in response. Something to make it stop sounded great right now.

“Umm...” Sam was looking shifty. There must be something else.

“Spit it out.”

“He, umm,” Sam looked down, not looking anywhere near Dean, “he wants me to go get you a collar first so you can’t get claimed by an Alpha.”

Dean hissed.

“He said you have to come to the pharmacy or they won’t give me the medicine, but it’s too dangerous for an unclaimed Omega to just wander around without a collar... Especially in heat.”

Dean punched the bed next to him. Stupid fucking bitch body.

“But, umm, nowhere will be open yet. So he said to give you some painkillers and you might want to take a shower.” Dean appreciated that Bobby sent a coded message, didn’t tell his stupid kid brother to tell him to go jack himself off.

Sam helped Dean to stand and to stumble into the bathroom. He was still in so much pain he couldn’t stand straight. Sam offered to help him get in the shower but he growled at him and he backed away.

Sam shut the door behind him. Dean leant his forehead on the cool tiles. Fucking hell.

He panted with effort as he got his drenched boxers off, choosing to imagine they were wet solely from sweat.

He painfully manoeuvred himself into the shower stall. He paused to get his breath back before tackling the taps.

The water did feel good.

He gently touched his aching cock. It was so sensitive he felt like he nearly came from that alone. He felt a rush of slick run down from his ass. That was almost a massive turn-off.

He gently pumped himself, needing only a few strokes before he messily came all over the shower screen. He panted, feeling a little better. He felt strangely empty, but he tried to ignore the implications of that.

He stood under the stream a bit longer, enjoying the sensations. Finally, the water started to turn cold, so he shut it off. He staggered out and grabbed a towel, drying himself off.

He was half-hard again already. Fucking hell.

He wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the bathroom door. Sam was sitting on the bed tapping his feet like he did when he was worried. He looked up quickly.

“Oi, bitch-” Crap, Dean thought. That nickname’s problematic now. “Chuck me some pants.”

Sam quickly grabbed him undies and jeans and passed them to him. He shut the door and struggled into them, panting from the effort. The relief he’d felt when he’d come was already starting to wear off.

He staggered out and made it to his bed before collapsing.

“Ok, umm, I’m going to go get you that, umm, thing...” Sam said, standing up.

“The fuck you are,” Dean growled.

“Dean, Bobby didn’t want you getting claimed by some psycho Alpha.”

“What fucking respectable establishment do you think is going to sell an Omega collar to a bloody child? You’ll have CPS on our asses in no time.”

“...Oh.”

“Let’s just go to the pharmacy and get the fucking drugs.”

“But Bobby said-”

“Fine, get Bobby back on the phone and I’ll tell him I’m not endangering you just so assholes don’t come near me. I can take care of myself.”

“I, umm, can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

Sam squirmed. “He’s, umm, he’s not at home anymore.”

Dean’s voice turned deeper, “What do you mean, he’s not at home anymore? Where the fuck is he?”

Sam looked down, never able to maintain eye contact when he knew he was saying something Dean wouldn’t like. “He’s on his way here...”

“He’s what?”

“He’s coming to help! He’s worried about you! He doesn’t think you’ll be able to get into a doctor without a guardian and he also doesn’t think Dad’s going to, umm, take it well... and we don’t know when he’ll be back anyway...”

“Right, well, we are going to the fucking pharmacy where I am going to fucking punch anyone who so much as looks at me like I can’t fucking buy fucking pills by my fucking self, got it?!”

“You could wear Dad’s collared shirt... Might be better than nothing,” Sam said hesitantly.

Dean huffed out a deep breath. “Fine,” he growled. Sam scampered over to Dad’s bag of extra clothes and pulled it out. Dean growled again but put it on.

He whimpered as he tried to do up his shoes, but shot a glare at Sam before he could offer to do them for him. The knife in his guts was back, but it was nothing he couldn’t deal with.

Dean swayed and clutched his belly as he stood up. Sam crossed to him quickly and held his upper arm, despite Dean’s glaring look. Reluctantly, Dean let Sam help him to the door. Sam grabbed the room key and locked it behind them. Dean held out his hand to take the key. Sam looked like he was going to argue, but he seemed to think better of it and handed it over. Dean was dammed if he was going to let a stupid thing like being an Omega stop him being the responsible one.

They staggered down the road, Dean needing frequent rest breaks. The pain was growing and growing. Both brothers were on high alert for any Alphas walking past, but it was still quite early in the morning. They made it to the pharmacy safely.

Then they had to wait outside for 15 minutes until it opened. Dean whimpered frequently, despite his best efforts not to.

Finally, finally, the door opened. Sam helped Dean up from the ground and into the shop. “My brother needs help,” he called, earning him a growl from Dean.

The pharmacist hastened over. “First heat?” she asked, a sympathetic look on her face.

“Ye-yeah,” Dean grunted.

“Is there something you can give him?” Sam asked anxiously.

“Where’s your guardian?”

“Our Dad went out of town for the night, I called his hotel and he’s on his way back but it’s a long drive,” Sam lied earnestly. “Wanted to get my brother some help first.”

“He left you alone?” she asked sharply.

“It was only one night, and my brother’s 16. He can look after us for only one night. We didn’t know he’d present.”

She pursed her lips but seemed to buy Sam’s lie about how long John had been gone.

“Right, well, we’re really supposed to have a guardian’s permission. Especially for an Omega, it’s not like he’s presenting as an Alpha,” she chuckled. Dean had to stop himself from growling at her casual sexism, that wasn’t going to get him what he wanted.

She considered. “Your father’s on his way back?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam answered.

“Alright, I’ll give you the first dose but I’m keeping the rest of the box. You bring your father here with the Omega when he gets back and we’ll give the rest of it.” Sam squeezed Dean’s arm in warning. Dean groaned in pain to cover his anger at her words.

“Thank you so much,” Sam gushed. She walked behind the counter and returned a minute later with a tablet which she held out to Sam. If Dean hadn’t been in so much pain he would’ve given her a piece of his mind about how she had already decided his twelve-year-old brother was somehow his guardian by proxy. Instead, after a slight pause where Sam was confused about what she was doing, he took it and then handed it to Dean.

“Do you, umm, do you have any Omega collars too?” Sam asked hesitantly. Dean growled.

“Yes, of course. Heavens, I should have suggested that!” She bustled off.

“I am not wearing a collar!” Dean hissed to Sam.

“Bobby said-” Sam whispered back.

“I will tell Bobby where he can shove his stupid-”

The pharmacist returned. “Here you go,” she said, approaching Dean with the collar open as if she was going to attach it to him. He hissed and put his arms in front of him in a defensive pose, although the fact he still couldn’t stand up straight did rather ruin the effect.

“Come now, little Omega, there’s no need to be like that.” She deftly manoeuvred around Dean’s weakened arms, and his shocked expression, and clicked the collar around his neck. “There you go, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Now no naughty Alphas can claim you.”

Sam quickly grabbed Dean’s arms, turned him around and walked with him to the exit, calling out his thanks. He was, rightly, worried that Dean would attack the woman. Dean hissed and spat whilst the Beta just waved pleasantly back at him. Fuck her.

They began the slow hobble back to the motel, Dean clawing at the collar. “Just leave it alone until we get home, you may as well have the protection now that we have it,” Sam said.

Dean kept clawing, but he was in so much pain and struggling to think and walk that he was ineffective.

Finally, they made it back to the motel room. Sam batted Dean’s hands away and quickly removed the collar. Dean gratefully collapsed on to his bed, curling into a ball and whimpering. He hoped the drugs would kick in soon, before he started crying like a baby in front of Sam.

He finally started to feel a tiny bit better, but also uncomfortable. He tossed and turned, hissing whenever the position he moved to turned out to be more painful than he’d expected. He couldn’t stop his whining, either.

He looked over at the other bed, seeing Sam’s wide eyes staring at him in worry.

“It’s alright, kiddo,” Dean said through gritted teeth, “You’re shooting up so fast you’re definitely going to be an Alpha. You won’t have to go through this.” Dean didn’t mention that he himself was tall and had assumed he’d be an Alpha, or at least a Beta.

“I’m not worried about me, Dean, I’m worried about you!”

“I’m fine,” Dean hissed. Sam rolled his eyes.

Eventually, the pain and sweating eased a little more. It felt more manageable, less like he was going to burn up and die. But he was still immensely relieved when there was a loud banging on the door, Sam opening it up to reveal Bobby on the threshold.

Dean stood up to greet Bobby, not wanting to be seen as an invalid. Bobby pulled him into a hug. Dean actually fucking whimpered like a needy bitch. “It’s alright, ya idjit,” Bobby murmured. “It’s going to be alright.”

.

.

.

Dean Winchester tag list:

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@lyarr24

@waynes-multiverse

@deans-spinster-witch

Everything Supernatural tag list:

@leigh70

@malindacath

@ellie-andthemachine

@iprobablyshipit91

@123passwort

@kazsrm67

@nerdymuffinbonkcloud

[medusapelagia]

Eddie's Month Day 6 + Whumptober Day 15

written for @eddiemonth and @whumptober-archive 

Prompts: Eddie’s month day 6: Crush | You Could Start A Cult - Niall Horan| Sincere

Whumptober day 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.” Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”

Rating: Mature Relationship: Eddie Munson/Steve Harrington WT: injuries WC: 1544

Eddie Munson wasn’t a man of faith.

Even if half of the school thought that he was a devil worshiper the only true religion that Eddie was always devoted to was: Steve Harrington’s cult.

Yes.

The King of the Freak had a massive crush on the Keg King since middle school.

He attended every single match of the basketball team and it wasn’t because Mrs. Kelly recommended him to go and make some friends. 

He never did, obviously, but he kept enduring every basketball game because he loved to see Steve Harrington all sweaty, running from one side of the gym to the other with a stupid orange ball. It was worth attending a game where they were tossing a ball into laundry baskets.

That's what he called it: the laundry basket game.

He used to make fun of the team, but never of Harrington.

Tommy, Andy, Jason, he had some words for them and their exchange of opinions usually ended with a black eye and some bruises, but it was worth it. He could keep coming to every game, make fun of the jocks, and look at Harrington.

Things became harder when Steve fell in love with Nancy.

Eddie could tolerate the stupid girls Steve used to hang out with, he knew too well that their love stories were never going to last.

But Nancy?

Nancy was different.

And Steve was different when he was with her.

A few months and not only did Steve stop hanging out with his old teammates, but he became a completely different person.

No more fancy parties, no more bullying freshmen, Steve was a new man.

A man who was desperately in love with Nancy Wheeler, and even after she broke his heart with a hammer, he kept being his new self, a kind and lovely guy, searching for his happily ever after.

What Eddie was really unable to understand was how it was possible that Harrington's happily ever after came in the form of Robin Buckley, whom Eddie had deep suspicion was a lesbian.

But they were fucking perfect together and he finally stopped to light candles at Steve’s altar.

He convinces himself that someone else is waiting for him.

Someone easier to love.

Someone who would love him back.

That's how he starts a new cult, or even better, his personal Munson doctrine.

After all, Steve Harrington graduated the year before, so he is not going to see him anymore, right?

***

“Holy fucking shit!”

Eddie stares at the rip in the ceiling of his trailer where he can still see the other dimension.

“We were there… we were fucking there!” he says in astonishment.

“Yes. We were, and we have to get away from here as soon as possible.” Robin replies looking at the door of the trailer.

“How?” Dustin asks “We came here biking and… Steve, buddy, are you ok?”

Eddie quickly turns and sees the boy wobble.

“Hey, hey.” he calls, getting closer to the boy.

“I’m fine.” he replies.

Eddie quickly takes notes of his injuries.

Bat bites, strangulation, and bare feet are definitely not a good mix.

“Yeah, I know you are, but I think it’s better if we clean these wounds, uh?” Eddie tells him, dragging him toward the bathroom.

“Wounds? Which wounds? What happened? Why is no one telling me anything?! Steve! Steve!” Dustin calls, but Nancy stops him.

“Eddie is going to clean his wounds and I assure you that you don’t want to see them. Why don’t we go to Max’s trailer to make some coffee? We need to be lucid to make a new plan.”

Everyone agrees, the only one who hesitates is Robin.

“You are going to be ok, right? No rabies?”

Steve groans “No rabies, I swear. But I think I need a quick shower and I don’t think you are really looking forward to it.”

Robin sighs, then glares at Eddie “I want him back in one piece, ok?”

Eddie nods, and when everyone leaves, he shares a look with Steve “Your not-girlfriend is really scary.”

“Platonic soulmate.”

“Oh. That. So Nancy is the physical soulmate?” he asks, trying to make small talk.

“I’m still on the fence about that. I mean… she broke my heart more than once so…”

He got a point, so Eddie nods, then he looks at his bathroom “Do you think you will need some help or…”

“I can wash myself just fine.”

“Don’t tell me that you are shy, Harrington. I thought you were used to taking showers with boys. Isn’t that the way you jocks build a sense of camaraderie?”

Steve snorts “You seem to know a lot about lockers even if I never saw you in one.”

“No lockers for me. Only closet. Especially the janitor's. My favorite, to be honest.” he replies, offering his arm to Steve to stabilize him.

“Was I a dick to you?” Steve blushes and looks away from him.

“In general? Yes. But nothing different from the other jocks. You didn’t try to cut my hair with some scissors or other shit like that.”

“I’m sorry. I was…”

“You were?”

“Scared. And lonely. I just wanted to fit in, you know.”

Eddie nods.

He wanted to fit in too, at least at the beginning, but then he understood that he wasn’t living in a fairy tale and no one was going to offer him a hand.

“Now, I don’t think we have had hot water for the last few months, but maybe you’ll be lucky.”

“No hot water? But it’s March and… shit shit shit! This is cold!”

“Told you! Be quick!”

The gunk from the lake and the Upside Down falls into the drains, a mixture of mud, blood, and only god knows what.

Eddie sighs while Steve whimpers, shivering from the cold, and quickly helps him out of the shower.

“All done. Now sit here, I’ll get some clothes for you and the first aid kit.”

Steve doesn’t complain but his face is a pain mask.

Eddie takes the first aid kid from his room and Steve shakes his head “Your kit is too small. If you are going to join us in this shit you are going to need a bigger one.”

“It works just fine.” Eddie replies, but he looks at the bandages, wondering if there is enough to address all the wounds.

“One time the kids tried to take care of a concussion with some colorful band-aids.” Steve remembers, smiling at the thought.

“So it’s a habit of yours getting injured?”

“Not a habit, but I’m the oldest so I have to protect them, you know?”

Eddie doesn’t know.

He is the oldest and he wouldn’t have jumped in that fucking lake for all the money in the world. And still. He did it.

Steve misinterprets Eddie’s silence and adds “It’s fine. I don’t need you to help me. I can handle things myself. It’s not my first rodeo, Munson.”

Eddie has patched people before, but never the boy whom he was secretly in love with.

“Hey, you ok?” Steve asks and Eddie laughs.

“Are you asking me if I’m ok? For real?”

He nods “You saw a girl killed in your home and faced monsters for the first time in your life. I know from first-hand experience that it’s not easy.” 

Eddie stares at him astonished, the he tells him “Take a deep breath. This is going to sting.” while pouring some disinfectant on his wounds.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

“Deep breaths, Harrington.” he reminds him, while the other boys grab the toilet seat so hard that his knuckles whiten.

“Deep breaths, you are doing great.”

“It doesn’t feel like that.” Steve complains.

“I guess it doesn’t but you are taking it like a champ.”

“You used to call me like that in high school.”

“Uh?”

“During physical education.”

“Oh, that. Well, I wasn’t exactly mocking you…”

“Oh, yes you were. Fuck.”

“Maybe. But it’s part of my charm.”

“Is it now?”

“What? Don’t tell me that you can resist the charm of a man who plays guitar and makes the funniest jokes!” he wraps Steve’s waist and his fingers linger on Steve’s torso for a moment too long.

“I don’t think I know what I find attractive right now.”

“Understandable.” Eddie looks at his bathroom cabinet “Listen, man, I have some painkillers or… other things that could help you with the pain if you want them.”

Steve shakes his head “I’ll be fine."

Eddie stares at him, unconvinced, but goes back to his room and comes back with a beaten pair of rebooks "It's these or Wayne's working boots."

"They are fine, thanks." Steve stills for a moment, as he is searching for the right words, and then he asks him "Can you… Can you help me get to Max’s?”

Eddie nods, holding Steve tight, breathing his scent mixed with his cheap body wash while he helps him get to Max’s trailer.

He, Eddie the Freak Munson, is holding Steve the Hair Harrington.

He is holding Steve Harrington and the boy is not a douchebag.

Oh, and monsters are real. But right now, that info feels like the most normal thing in Eddie’s life.

Maybe he should resume his old Steve Harrington’s cult.

[nade2308]

This day's theme was perfect for gifs from Devil in the Slot. Especially because Jim tried to get a grip of his fears by himself, not knowing he needed that pep talk from Greg to get him going.

@whumptober

@thethistlegirl

Ao3 link here

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 15 - The Shadow and The Brute

This is the latest Brumaria AU, a Hero/Villain story! Bruno aka The Brute belongs to Izzy, and bits of his dialogue in this were written by her.

Taglist: @painful-pooch , @sssunshinebreeze

The Shadow of Death Masterlist

No. 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.” | Suppressed Suffering

Contains: lady whump, touch aversion, strangulation, referenced whipping, referenced stress position, corporal punishment, hidden injuries

.

.

Kamaria doesn’t feel like being here. Not that there’s anything new about that, being in good physical condition is a foreign concept and most of her missions aren’t anything she’s personally invested in, anyway. There are often a hundred other places she’d rather be than where she’s sent, in bed usually being one of them. 

But today is particularly bad. She usually at least gets a night to recover after a punishment before she’s sent out again, but no, Roderick had to get ticked at her for whatever reason this morning. And absolutely nobody cares that she has fresh whip marks on her back, chafing underneath her clothes, and they definitely don’t care that her throat is so bruised she can barely even speak. They only care about her taking out some low-level criminal that’s interfering with their plans for the city.

Which she’d be doing, no problem, except that The Brute showed up. Nothing new about that, either, and normally an encounter with him doesn’t exactly dampen her mood. But today, she really wishes that for once, he wouldn’t be so annoyingly good at his job. Why can’t he just leave her alone today? She just wants to kill the stupid criminal and go back to headquarters to lick her wounds in private, but she’s stuck here in one of their half-hearted fights, listening to his one-sided banter. 

“Looks like somebody didn’t get enough sleep last night.” Brute dodges yet another of her knife swipes easily, returning it with a punch that she just barely manages to miss herself. “You’re slow today.”

Usually she’d throw a barb right back at him, but just the thought of speaking makes her throat burn. She throws a knife, instead, which sticks in the brick wall just beside his ear.

“Ooh, not enough sleep makes you grumpy, too, I guess. Or should I say…even grumpier than usual? Going for the ‘silent and deadly’ style today.” He yanks the small knife out of the mortar and inspects it. “Doesn’t really bode well for me.”

Yes, she’s grumpy. She’d like to growl at him to shut up, she’s not in the right headspace to make light of this situation. Their fights barely qualify as such, since neither of them really want to harm the other, a fact that she absolutely refuses to examine and adamantly pretends isn’t true. She even sometimes enjoys getting to battle it out with the hero, even on days when her pain level is worse than usual. 

Maybe it’s because she can’t snark back at him and get into the mood of the fight. For whatever reason, she just wants to get this over with, but unfortunately just because he seems to kind of like her doesn’t mean he’s willing to back off and let her do her job. She’s going to have to somehow give him the slip if she wants to avoid even more punishment when she gets back.

“Seriously? Nothing to say at all?”

I have plenty to say. I’d like to say go away. Leave me alone. I need to do this so I don’t get beaten to a pulp tonight. 

I’d kind of like to ask how the only gentleman I’ve ever met ended up fighting on the side of the people I hate the most. Or why you seem to give a flip about me, a villain, at all.

I’d like to tell you that it feels like someone lit my back on fire, because I get the feeling you’d be the only person in the world that somehow actually cared.

She swings at him again, just nicking his arm with the tip of the blade. He doesn’t seem to notice, pushing closer and grabbing onto that wrist. Anyone else, she’d bring her left hand up and stab them directly in the chest. But it’s Brute. She can’t kill him, no matter how aggravated she might be with him. So she allows him to get close and doesn’t fight back yet, unaware of just how uncomfortable it’s going to be until he grabs her other arm, too, and spins her around to press her back into the bricks.

Her breath hitches in her throat, but her mind is only partially on the pain coursing through her back. He’s never pinned her before, she doesn’t usually let him. Being pinned means being hurt. 

But this is Brute. He never hurts her, not badly, at least. 

But he is hurting her. 

But he doesn’t mean to. 

Still, no matter how logical she tries to force herself to be about it, her instincts and memories are stronger. She struggles against him, face carefully blank but heart pounding too fast. 

Let go let go let go let go 

“Hey, calm down, Shadow. I’m not gonna hurt you!” He doesn’t let up, his grip strong but not bruising. “What is your deal today? Are you mad at me or something?”

Again, if he was anyone else, she’d be using the little bit of movement she has in her left arm to reach for another knife. Instead, she kicks at his shins, hoping to dissuade him. 

“Ow.” He still doesn’t let go. She might have to go for the knife after all. The longer she’s trapped, the less she’s able to think straight to see the problem with just stabbing him. 

“Shadow. Look, I’ll let you go in a second, but can you just tell me what’s -” He cuts off abruptly, leaning his face in closer. “Crap. What happened to you?”

She realizes suddenly that this close, he can see the bruises peeking out from underneath her hood. That’s not what she wanted at all, now he’ll start asking questions and she’ll have to try to explain, if not now then some other day because he’s Brute and he doesn’t give up. Forget not hurting him or her own split-open skin, she needs to get away. She shoves hard and kicks out again, reaching for the knife at the same time.

Thankfully, he lets her go this time, backing away with his hands spread in front of him. She still bolts away from the wall, adjusting her grip on the handle and holding out the blade as if he’ll attack.

“Who did that to you?”

Her back is even worse than before, thanks to scraping it up against the bricks. Now she needs to use her voice, too. “Doesn’t matter.” It sounds exactly as horrendous as she imagined it would, and feels like she’s swallowing nails. 

“Yes, it does.” He sounds so deadly serious about it. Is he offended that she’s faced off against someone besides him? If he knew it was her own handler he wouldn’t be. He’d probably laugh in her face about how pathetic she is.

“We’re in the same line of work. You know these things happen.”

Brute sighs, shaking his head. “I can barely get a hit on you…most days other than today. I know there’s more to this, Shadow.”

Kamaria forces a smirk. “Maybe you’re just not as good as the other heroes.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Or maybe there’s a villain that’s been picking a fight with you.” Crossing his arms, he looks her up and down. “So who is it? Asking for a friend.”

“Can’t stand for someone else to be the one beating me up?” He needs to drop the subject so that she can stop talking. Maybe she can pretend to lose her voice altogether.

“I don’t think that counts as beating you up.”

“Not everyone is as reluctant to dirty their hands as you are.”

“Are you sure it was their hands they were dirtying?” He’s walking closer again, and she resists the urge to skitter backwards until he reaches out like he’s going to lift her chin with his fingers and inspect the bruises again. His hands go back up in surrender when she jerks away before he can touch. “I’m sorry! I won’t touch. But Shadow…” He sucks in a deep breath, jaw clenching and unclenching. “Is that a boot print?”

She can feel it almost as clearly as if it’s happening right now and not a few hours ago. Her lying on the floor where she’d been struck down, Roderick looming over her. The tread of his boot pressing, pressing, pressing into her throat. The delighted smile on his face. Her body jerking without her permission, desperate to get away even as her mind tells her she’s not allowed to fight back. Realizing with sudden dread that he may actually completely crush her throat, either killing her or taking away her voice for good. The darkness slowly taking over her vision as her oxygen supply dwindles.

Kamaria inhales sharply as if to prove to herself that she still can and focuses back in on Brute’s face. “I still think you’re jealous.”

“No, I’m not jealous because I have no desire to do such a thing to you.” He sighs again, running a hand through his hair. “You’re just as stubborn as always. Would you actually tell me if something was wrong?”

No. “Nothing’s wrong.” She smiles a little, trying to reassure him. Nothing’s wrong, this is just how my life is.

He grumbles a little under his breath. “Fine. Can we at least call this done and go home, since you clearly don’t feel like being here? You can just nod, you don’t have to speak.”

Grateful but trying to seem nonchalant, she gives a distinct nod. 

“Good. I’ll see you around, Shadow. Take care of yourself.”

He turns to leave, and Kamaria begins walking in the direction she was heading before, toward the criminal’s place of work. 

“Excuse me, I’m fairly certain that’s not the way you should be going right now.” Brute is glaring at her, arms crossed. Again, being annoyingly good at his job when she really needs him to just let her be.

She gives him her best innocent stare, but he just points toward where she came from. “I won this fight. That means you go home and don’t cause any more trouble today.”

Giving up any pretense, she glares daggers at him and turns on her heel, marching away. She can hear him chuckling behind her, completely oblivious to the trouble he is causing for her. She won’t give up yet, though. Being late on a mission still means punishment - and a longer time until she can properly care for her wounds - but it’s far worse to fail the mission altogether. She’ll bide her time, take the long way around, and try her best to take out her mark without any of the heroes catching her this time. Maybe she’ll get lucky for the first time today and only get stress positions instead of a beating or another whipping.

[lithium223]

[spirit-whump]

whumptober2023 No. 15: “I don’t need you to help me, I can handle things myself.” | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”

fandom: X-Men First Class (OC-centric)

Marianne couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t been exhausted. 

It felt like she had been born that way. The eldest daughter of five children, raised during the Depression, with both parents struggling to make end’s meet - of course she had stepped up and looked out for her siblings. It was what she was meant to do. Her parents had to focus on supporting the family, and to do that, Marianne had to take care of the family. It was the only way. 

Then she had started dating Lawrence, and a while after, Henry had come along. That’s when she and Lawrence became the parents struggling to make end’s meet. They had managed somehow, but it was a lot of work, especially with Marianne being the one at home with the baby even as she kept the bookstore running. She was lucky if she could manage a ten minute nap in the afternoons, even when Henry was taking his own naps. There was always something to do, something to fix around the house, and her powers being what they were, it was easy enough, so she didn’t see the harm in doing what she could. 

Lawrence disagreed. He was always taking over for her, taking Henry out of the house when he could to let her get some rest, taking over the little projects she found to fix the house with the insistence that he could handle at least half of what she wanted to do. He made dinner most nights, even after a long day of work. He insisted that they were meant to take care of each other and she needed to let him take care of her as much as she took care of everyone. So she let him.

And then he was gone, and suddenly everything fell back on her shoulders.

And she managed. More than that, Marianne did a damn good job if she said so herself. She raised a child alone, made sure he was safe and healthy and loved. She kept her store running and well cared for, a safe place for anyone who wandered in. She took care of the home and her store and her child all by herself for years and she did fine. 

She was fine. 

And then Charles Fucking Xavier and Erik Fucking Lehnsherr and Moira Fucking MacTaggert walked into her life and fucked it all up. 

They were always there, asking her how she was. How she was feeling after this or that. It wasn’t their fault they hadn’t been at the facility for Shaw’s attack, but really, they didn’t need to be constantly asking her if she was alright. The kids had been through it too - surely they needed more attention than her. She had handled it all just fine. The kids were safe. That was enough. 

Or they were giving her concerned looks when she happened to mention Lawrence, or alluded to something about her family or childhood. Marianne knew what her life had been like. She didn’t need pity over it. She had lost her husband. She had been all but abandoned by her family. And she had made it on her own after all of that. 

Look - Marianne hadn’t suffered the same way they had. Not even the same way the others on the team had. She hadn’t been abandoned or tortured or orphaned or neglected or imprisoned or any of that. Her past had been rough, yes, but she had gotten through it. The worst of it was over. She didn’t need their pity or their help or their concerned looks when she absentmindedly mentioned things like the one time as a 14-year-old she hadn’t seen either of her parents for three days in a row because they left for work early and came back late.

That was the life she’d been given and she didn’t need pitying over it. It wasn’t worse than anything they’d been through. 

It was embarrassing on every level when she woke up one morning and remembered getting drunk with them the night before and realizing she was a much bigger lightweight than she remembered when she was only two glasses of wine in and suddenly started telling them everything she had kept locked away for years. 

Everything from the grief she had suppressed since Lawrence had died, to the sadness of missing her siblings ever since she had run away from home, to the anger and grief over her parents all but throwing her away when she got pregnant. Everything she had never said to anyone but Lawrence, she told all of them. 

It was Charles, of course it was Charles, who approached her the following morning when she was suffering from a violent hangover and gently started probing her for a follow up conversation about everything she had said. Marianne had told him kindly but firmly that she had been drunk and they didn’t need to worry about her. They didn’t need to talk about it ever again, honestly, and she preferred it that way. 

Charles tried again, and then again, to get her to stop dismissing it, until she snapped at him to leave her alone. It was none of his business. And finally he did, but not without a sad look and a reminder that they were allowed to care about her as much as she cared about them. She could come to them whenever she wanted. 

And she appreciated it. She did, really. But she didn’t need that.

Because she was fine. She was tired all the time and she always felt a thin ribbon of grief running through her very being, but she had been living with that for years now. So she was fine, and she would be fine. 

She had made it this far on her own, after all. 

[thethistlegirl]

Of course it’s Luther who found him. He knew it would be. Luther always seems to know exactly where Ethan is, no matter how far away they are.

A Mission:Impossible Rogue Nation Magnus Archives AU where most of the IMF is avatars and Vast avatar Ethan has just had a particularly bad encounter with Web-aligned Solomon Lane and his Flesh pal the Bone Doctor...

@catwingsathena this is YOUR FAULT

@nade2308 @whumptober

[ohanahoku-ao3]

Whumptober Day 15

@whumptober This one is for all the Billy Hargrove fans out there. <3

Teen & Up - Gen - Stranger Things

Leave the Door Open, Then Slam It Shut

     Billy groaned as he sat down on the edge of the tub, one hand tight across his stomach and the other gripping the sink tightly. Neil had really done a number on him this time. His sides were covered in bruises, and his ribs were aching. A few were probably cracked. He needed to wrap them up, but he couldn’t quite move. Every shift made his teeth grind together, pained breaths escaping him as he hugged tighter to his stomach as though it would help. It didn’t.

     When he finally managed to gather himself, he grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink, frowning at how low his supplies had gotten. He’d have to get more before the next time Neil lost his temper. He grabbed the roll of bandages and froze suddenly at a loud gasp. Billy looked over to find Max in the doorway, and he inhaled sharply, having forgotten in his haste to sit down that Max would be home soon. He hadn’t closed the door.

     “Billy, wha-”

     “Get out.” He snapped, looking away. “Go away, Maxine.”

     “What happened?” She asked though they both knew the answer. This was simply the first time Max had seen it so bad.

     “I messed up. Now get out of here.” Billy snarled, unrolling the tape and cursing as his hands shook, fumbling with the bandages and nearly dropping them.

     “Billy…”

     He closed his eyes, hating the pity and concern creeping into her voice. It was easier when she hated him. “I’m fine.” He bit out, looking back at her.

     “You don’t look fine.” She argued, and at least the frustration took away some of the pity in her voice. “Let me help.” She came forward, a frown on her face, and he flinched.

     They both froze, and Billy looked away, embarrassed. For just a second, he’d just seen her coming at him with that damned bat. It was stupid, but sometimes his brain just hated him, conjuring such memories at the worst times.

     “I don't need you to help me. I can handle things myself.” He told her, gritting his teeth when she hesitated to listen. “Just leave, Max!” He shouted angrily, turning to glare at her. For a second, he thought she wouldn’t, but she did, slamming the door shut as she left.

     Billy closed his eyes once she was gone, tears trailing down his cheeks. His hands shook around the roll of bandages, but it was better this way. It was easier when she hated him. It was. But it was lonely, too.

[lilimonarch]

Doctor Hanahaki - The Memories that Never Return [15]

Doctor Hanahaki Prequel: Whumptober spinoff!

Whumptober day 15: Suppressed suffering, "I'm fine," and lyric prompt.

~

I don't need you to help me, I can handle things myself

Bokuto slammed the locker shut, glaring at his own teammate. "Konoha! Can't you understand this is a rough time for all of us right now? Why do you have to be so selfish?"

Konoha was tired.

Emotionally tired, physically exhausted. His heart and his brain were running on empty, and he could feel his vision blur with every practice after a night of restlessness. He could feel his muscles weaken, his chest tighten with anxiety, and his patience shrink.

Konoha never wanted to be a leader. He wanted his senior year to be filled with fun, happiness, memories. He hated how selfish it sounded, but it was the truth. Bokuto wasn't his bright self, Konoha only saw Akaashi in a hospital bed, and it appeared everyone with emotional struggles went to him for help but were never present when he needed help himself.

He figured he wouldn't bother telling anyone about his own struggles, since it appeared they all were too preoccupied with their own horrid situation to focus on him anyways.

Tensions were high, his battery low. Another rough game, another rough loss for the team without Akaashi. The younger players were demoralized, their coach was growing restless, and Bokuto was... being Bokuto. Konoha felt like passing out, the dizziness and exhaustion growing unbearable.

The words rang again in his aching head. "Konoha! Can't you understand this is a rough time for all of us right now? Why do you have to be so selfish?"

Konoha stopped and the locker room fell silent. Konoha laughed. "Selfish?" He was grinning, his heart pumping with a feeling nobody could describe. "You think... I'm selfish?" Words not said with fear, or panic, but with an unsettling anger none of them had ever seen.

Bokuto looked away, ashamed. "Konoha-"

"Selfish?! Yeah, this has been a rough time for all of us, but have you ever stopped to think for five minutes about how I'm doing? No, you haven't. Whenever you need support late at night, who do you call? Me, Bokuto. You call me. I comfort you over the phone, I drive to your house at 3 am and hold you until you fall asleep, and I don't get an ounce of that in return!" Konoha's breathing grew labored, faces of shock turning into faces of concern.

Their teammate was on the verge of exhaustion, it was clear to see now. "Konoha," one of the second-year students tried to jump in. "Let's not-"

"I haven't slept properly in weeks! Okay? Weeks! I didn't want to be leader but here we are! I did because I'm a good person! I'm so exhausted that I get dizzy when I'm playing volleyball, so when I need to sit down so I don't pass out, I'm alone. What the hell is up with that?" Konoha clenched his fists, his vision starting to blur as he staggered, but this time, he wasn't going to sit down, go out silent. He didn't even realize he was crying. "You said it yourself, it's hard for us all. Where's my support? Where is my team, guys? Where's my friend, Bokuto? Where is he!? Where is..." Konoha's words slurred as he reached out for anything at all, his body wavering and his knees buckling before him. "Where... where-"

Bokuto was there to catch him when Konoha fell, the room dead silent except for one of the first-years running out for help. Konoha's entire world was dizzy, and despite his recent outburst, he clung onto the team-captain as if his life depended on it.

"I'm sorry," Bokuto broke the silence, his voice shaking with every syllable. "You're right, Konoha. I'm sorry."

Konoha, delirious, shook his head, doing nothing to help with his dizzying vision. "No..." he forced his eyes open as he tried to get up, Bokuto easily keeping him down. "I'm fine... nothing to- nothing to worry about."

"Stop lying, Konoha," Bokuto shook his head, keeping Konoha close to him. Konoha wasn't a back-up Akaashi, Konoha wasn't perfect, Konoha wasn't strong all the time, he was human, he was Konoha. "You aren't okay. You're exhausted, and I should have been a better friend and noticed you needed help. I'm sorry, and I promise that I can be a person you can lean on when you need to."

Konoha laughed, exhausted and exasperated. "God... this is such a mess." It brought a small smile to both of their faces.

"Just to be clear, I'm holding you until you fall asleep tonight. To make sure you actually fall asleep," Bokuto whispered, not giving Konoha much of an option. Though, it appeared he didn't need to.

Konoha slowly sat up, his team helping him off the ground and to sit in one of the benches. They handed him water, his bag, and gave him support. "Thanks, guys," he sighed, wiping his own tears. "Thanks, Bo."

[cyhyr]

Whumptober day 15. "I don't need you to help me, I can handle things myself."

I love the fics where Pro Hero Katsuki ends up with a bratty intern/work study who is just as much of an asshole as he was and he has to Deal With It. So here's another one lol Tagging for whumptober: @atereal @oneinist [I have scheduled all my back whumptober posts for this evening in hour-increments, so I'll be caught up by midnight :D]

~

Katsuki’s done his time, okay?—Anger management, bi-weekly therapy, an admittedly long stint on anti-anxiety medication to help him calm down. He’s still an angry, rough, mean bastard, but he’s not nearly as bad as he once was.

This intern though is really pushing his limits.

“I don’t need your fucking help!!”

“Your damn arm is broken, asshole,” Katsuki snaps back, fashioning a sling. “Stay still.”

Fuck, this kid is just as bad as he was in school. And damn if he’s gonna give up on him; not with that glimmer of hope desperately trying to shine through the boy’s eyes.

[evillittlebirdie]

The First Dance (Tav/Wyll)

There was nothing like a well-fought battle to keep the adrenaline up. 

After checking over his companions, Wyll could finally tend to his wounds. He had a long but superficial cut on his right forearm. It was his fault. He had gotten too eager and left his right side open. Wyll did not have bandages left in his pack, but he knew where to find a substitution.

Petra, their resourceful leader, would steal a bed from an abandoned house if she could convince Karlach to carry it. She could pick a room clean of silverware, books, jewelry, knick-knacks, candles, and weapons better than any vulture. Petra would sell almost ninety percent of her haul to a trader. Indeed, she would trade something in her pack for Wyll's. 

Petra was a tiefling warlock. One of the Archfey granted the powers she used in battle. Petra spoke of her patron with fondness and adoration. She remarked how he saved her from an undesirable fate. She shared no further elaboration with the group. "My powers speak for themselves, as does my freedom," Petra would tell others. Whatever fate her patron 'saved' her from must have included scarcity. Wyll could see how Petra was desperate to shove another book in her bag. 

"A moment?" Wyll prompted as he walked up to the tiefling. Petra quickly turned her head to look at him. Her black sclera surrounded a periwinkle iris. Often, her expression was mischievous. This time, she looked at him inquisitively. 

"Do you have anything in your pack you would be willing to trade so I can take care of this cut?" Wyll questioned. He pivoted to show her the cut on his arm. 

"Nothing to trade," Petra commented, returning to her pack.

"Ah," Wyll responded, disappointed. But then Petra suddenly pulled a pristine towel out of her pack. 

"But I have this to give," Petra told him with a playful smile, giggling at her words. 

Wyll chuckled, "To give? Well, I cannot decline a gift." He went to take the towel, but Petra pulled it back. 

"You can't possibly hope to wrap this around your arm yourself. Here, let me help," Petra offered with a beaming smile. 

Wyll could feel his cheeks flush at her beautiful grin. "I could not possibly deny help either. But it's truly unnecessary," He asserted, "I've bandaged worse wounds with the full use of one hand before." 

"Why? When you can use my two hands?" Petra insisted, "Now, please straighten your arm."

Wyll wasn't uncomfortable accepting help, but he extended his arm. Petra hummed in approval before she began to wrap the towel around his arm. As she did so, she told him, "You don't need to offer to trade for anything in my bag. If you want something, take it. It's as much yours as mine or anyone else in the group." Once the towel wrapped around his arm twice, Petra gave it a final tight pull before tying it closed. 

Wyll held back a groan. As great as Petra was at charming her way in places she didn't belong and smiting her enemies, she failed at medical arts. She tied the towel too tightly around his arm. He could feel the muscle begin to throb and numb. They needed to get to camp quickly before he lost all circulation in the limb. "Thank you, Petra. It's much appreciated." 

Pleased with herself, the tiefling returned to rummage through her pack. Now that Petra was distracted, Wyll backed away to inspect the makeshift bandage. The towel was wrapped so snugly around his arm that he couldn't even force his fingers under it. Petra didn't seem to understand the difference between a bandage and a tourniquet. He would have to call for her aid if he was bleeding out.

Wyll was trying to loosen the knot when he realized Petra was walking towards him. She had spied on his meddling. "Oh! I..." 

"You could have told me if I did it too tight," Petra scolded him lightly before she went to undo the knot. 

"I didn't want you to think I was ungrateful," Wyll responded, looking down sheepishly. He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. 

"There's a difference between being unthankful and corrective criticism. I'm not the best nursemaid," She cautioned. Once the knot was loosened, she tied it properly. 

"Still, you offered to help. You didn't have to do that," Wyll approved. He flexed his arm. The makeshift bandage was secure but not too compressed. 

"You can ask for aid. And you can say when that aid isn't too beneficial," Petra assured him. She patted the towel, "I hope it feels better. I know it will once Shadowheart gets her hands on it. But...for luck," She leaned in to brush her lips against Wyll's cheek. She then giggled before spinning around and returning to her pack. As she skipped away, her tail swished back and forth in rhythm. 

Wyll could feel the ghost of Petra's lips on his cheek. He reached up to touch his skin. Maybe he should ask for help more often. 

[its-my-whump]

Whumptober 15

No. 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.”

Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”

Hummingbird 15

(Story starts here, if you like) previous

The light was switched off and the door closed with a bang.

Sam was left behind in the dark, restrained in his uncomfortable position. His hands cuffed infront of him, his neck pulled up, making sure, he would definitely suffocate himself, if he fell asleep. Additionally his wrists were burning and he was freezingly cold.

'He surely was in for a long night.' It slowly started to dawn on him, that maybe compliance was the way to survive this. But he couldn't do this, not to himself, not after so many years in hell.

'This man wouldn't let him die tonight. He didn't let him suffocate on his puke, right? He even brought him back after Sam's heart had stopped. He just forced heart medication down his throat. That was counting for something, right? But that was before he was this defiant. Shit!' Actually, he didn't know, if that was really medication.

Sam could feel his body getting weak again, with the adrenaline leaving him.

His back started to hurt and a fire had already enflamed in his legs, slowly burning through his muscles. Additionally, he had the impression, that whatever he got injected with, was really hard trying to flip his stomach. His struggle against Grey's handling had drained him. Nothing to drink in so long and on top the drugs were muffing his system. That he was left in complete darkness wasn't helping to stay alert. He felt his eyes dropping and his intestens rumbling.

'He surely was in for a long night in hell.'

...

'Just breathe. Don't think about this. Don't think about this guy and what he knows about you. Don't think about Nathenial. Just breathe and stay alive. Don't think. Don't fucking think.' Sam repeated these mantras over and over in his mind, but it was in vain. Surely, doubt, fear, despair, and the sickening thought, that this guy must have been watching him for quiet some time, found their way into his struggling mind.

On top of it all, exhaustion was winning. His eyes fell shut numerous times. His air support was deminished as often, as his bodyweight was pulled down by gravity. He woke up gasping too often. Half the night he was just choking, desperately holding on for dear life.

His knees hurt so bad, his tights were made out of concrete by now, badly burning concrete. His shoulders were stinging. In his unconscious struggle, he had managed to reopen the wounds on his wrists. He could clearly feel it, even under the thick bandages and cuffs. So far there was no blood trailing down, he believed, but sensed it still soaking his bandages. It was dark and Sam was so cold. At least he couldn't feel warm sticky stuff running down his hands, yet. That was a plus. Nevertheless, he felt sick.

His mind started to play tricks on him. It was pitch black, but yet he believed to see darker shades in the room, moving around. White sparkles appearing and vanishing, different sounds and voices. There were creaking doors or creaking stairs.

At some point he believed the solid steel door actually opening in the dark. He though someone asking how he was doing. Two angrily growled words were his answer. "I'm fine!"

The strain in his voice betraying his statement. "You sure? You just need to say the word." The question much too concerned, what made Sam even more believe, that it was a pipedream. "I don't need you to help me, I can handle." He screamed, suddenly alone again in the darkness, that was eating at his last nerves.

Stiff, cool, clammy fabric was pressing on his restrained shoulders, his back and under his knees, around his tights. The thud thud thud thud of his heart was lolling him into a painful agonising stupor of loneliness. There were iceblocks were his feet should have been. His cloths had dried a good part, but they felt hard and more uncomfortable by now.

Shiver after shiver rocked through his body. Part from the cold, that had sunken deep inside his bones and part from him desperately trying to keep his position. His muscles were shaking from the strain, and he wasn't sure, he would survive this night. At least the sickening feeling in his stomach didn't get worse, but it wouldn't leave either.

After, he not only fell a sleep, but directly passed out at some point and sagged forward for a long moment, he believed the chain from the ceiling had given way a bit. It felt like he could breathe a tiny bit easier, when he was back into his position and actually able to breathe again after struggling for dear life.

It felt like his hands had a tiny bit more space moving upwards, the strain on his shoulders merely better. But maybe, he just imagined that. Sam was too exhausted to test his theory, for it still had the pretty real chance of him suffocating, when he wasn't able to get back to this unfavourable position.

He didn't know, how long it had been, it surely felt like a lifetime by now. His stomach made some undinable sounds, that it wanted to turn or needed something to digest, he wasn't sure. His neck hurt like hell, old injuries from his past made themselves known mercilessly, for him not really moving an inch all night. He wanted to lay down so badly.

On some point his body just gave in completely. All his weight fell forward, while his head sunk to his chest. The chain connecting his collar just loosened and ran down with his movement, like an anchor was dropped from a boat. Sam fell ungraciously to the ground and slumped to his side. He landed on his bruised left arm, but he was already unconscious before his dead weight hit the floor. His windpipe wasn't restricted this time.

TBC

Hummingbird masterlist

@whumptober-archive