#pliers to the rescue

[ratstuckinamarble]

Introducing you all to my endless well of joy, made possible thanks to the pattern by @itsthebeastpeddler (whose blog you should check out cause she makes some really lovely things ^-^)

It's a slug!!! Fully hand-sewn cause doing so seemed easier than learning how to use our sewing machine... I'll do so eventually XD But it was actually fairly therapeutic.

Oh! Looks like they're friends now.

Camouflage slug... With a "snail" (he's in denial) friend I made some time ago >:) Dang she's making connections left and right :0

He's a big fan of strawberries, can't blame her. And as per the peddler's suggestion, I used a pipe cleaner for the eye stems! Now they're bendyyy

I knew keeping these suckers around for over a decade would be worth it... Also, the single progress photo I took.

This is my first time sewing a plushie, and I had a grand time. Learned a lot along the way, and the ladder stitch that always intimated me is actually super easy XD Wanna know what the best thing about making such a slug is though? The way the eye stalks wiggle about if you shake him sjshsj

A little slug kiss on your forehead for good luck <3

[rcmclachlan]

"Everyone at Harbor was... very concerned."

"Attention, all channels: Please be advised, a team from the coroner's office and biohazard removal specialists have been dispatched to LAFD Station 118 for the removal of human remains."

It takes a second for the words "Station 118" to penetrate the thick atmosphere of concentration and rage that Tommy's been floating on while he tries fruitlessly to sweet talk the Bell 505 into accepting the new safety wires he's been trying to install for the last half hour, but the second they do, he tosses down the needle-nosed pliers in his hand and makes a bee-line for the radio sitting between Dana, Nico, and the unpeeled tangerine Nico's eating like an apple.

"Did they say human remains?" Tommy's already reaching into his pocket for his phone, then curses under his breath when he remembers it's sitting in the cockpit of the Bell. He glances across the hangar and gauges the distance. He can probably get to it in ten seconds if he sprints.

"Shut up," Dana says as she turns the volume dial up.

"Be aware that crowd control has also been sent to clear the area. If you are called to an emergency scene in the general vicinity of Station 118, you are advised to avoid Gale Avenue and the surrounding streets until further notice."

"A kid was probably trick-or-treating and found someone's grandma who'd kicked it like a week ago." Nico takes an unconcerned bite of his tangerine, because there's something severely wrong with him as a person. "It's probably nothing."

"That's not nothing?" Tommy looks at Dana for help, but she just heaves a sigh and gives a long-suffering flick of her fingers in Nico's general direction. Which, honestly? Fair.

"They said the remains were at the 118," she muses, pulling out her phone and scrolling through with her thumb, not a single movement wasted. "No one there ever gave off a serial killer vibe—I'm not counting that little blond shithead from a few years ago—so I'm chalking it up to a good old-fashioned misunderstanding."

Nico coughs around a bite of tangerine, rind and all, and Dana doesn't so much as glance his way while she slams a fist into his back. To the casual observer, it probably looks like they're rehearsing some slapstick routine, but every member of the 217 knows that the second Nico gets his hands on any kind of foodstuff, he's immediately seven or eight seconds away from death.

They've had to perform the Heimlich nine times this week alone, and it's only Thursday. He keeps meaning to ask Howie if it's possible to survive solely on IV fluids, but he has a sneaking suspicion that Nico would just manage to choke himself out with the tubing.

Tommy shakes his head in disbelief. "Nico, I'm begging you: chew your food. Or, like, peel the rind off first."

"Every part of the animal, my man," Nico trills cheerfully, wiping his mouth. There are orange bits stuck in his teeth.

Holding up a hand, Dana taps her phone with her thumb, her neon green nail—filed to a point so sharp it might actually violate the contract they all signed about not bringing weapons into the workplace—clacking against the screen. The sound of a calling dialing out filters through the speakers and it only takes two rings before someone picks up.

"You good, Dana?"

"Hey Mohini, I'm fine," Dana says with a small uptick to the corners of her mouth that could be almost be described as kind, and just seeing it makes Tommy's skin crawl a little. He glances at Nico, who has stopped trying to kill himself via citrus fruit and looks every bit as disturbed as Tommy feels. The last time Dana smiled, it was right before she launched herself at the asshole who told them to take their time rescuing his stepkid from the fire that was consuming the cabin his family had rented for the weekend.

They saved the kid, and the guy was too shit-scared of Dana to even consider suing her or the department for his broken jaw. He was also dealing with a sudden divorce.

The ex-stepkid writes to Dana every month. Tommy can't prove it, but he thinks he once saw her throw an envelope with the kid's name and address into the outgoing mail pile, and he's also too shit-scared of Dana to bring it up.

Dana catches his gaze and he mouths, who even are you?

She flips him off, which honestly does wonders to assuage his fears of her being possibly possessed.

"What's up, girl?"

"We heard the APB just now. What's going on with the 118?"

"What isn't going on with the 118?" Mohini laughs a little, crackling over the line. "From what I've heard, Firefighter Buckley bought a mummy for the Trunk or Treat thing they put on every year. A real one."

Startled, Tommy looks at the phone in Dana's hand and asks, very slowly, "He bought a corpse?"

Tommy can feel Dana's pointed stare on the side of his face, mostly because his skin is starting to sear, but Tommy can't do anything but stare at the phone and try to process that one. And he just can't. Every time he tries, the smell of burnt toast gets stronger.

"Honestly, I'm not even surprised. We've been overdue for a Buckley-related call. I mean, it's been two months since the last one. Remember the thing with the HVAC unit on Sunset?"

He barely remembers that Buckley-related call, but he does remember the one from three nights ago in great detail, which ended with him rimming Evan until he cried and then fucking his brains out. Apparently Evan forgot to put them back in before he bought a dead body to use as a Halloween decoration.

Blowing out a breath, Tommy turns on his heel, jogs over to the Bell, and grabs his phone from the pilot's seat.

Evan, are you okay? Dispatch said something about an incident at the 118, he texts, deliberately vague. He's been told once or twice that his texting tone can sometimes border on an interrogation, which is bullshit, because texting doesn't have a tone, but he doesn't want to be an asshole when he knows Evan's probably beyond humiliated about this.

Plus, Evan doesn't necessarily know that Tommy knows about the mummy. It'll be much better if he has the opportunity to tell Tommy on his own terms.

<< omw 2 the hospital. im ok!

Or he could just be incredibly Evan about it.

>> What happened?! Do you want me to meet you there? I can leave right now.

<< Awwww <3 Eddie going 2 meet me there. Come by l8r?

>> As soon as my shift ends, I promise. Are you sure you're okay?

<< disloc8ed shoulder

Evan literally had to go to a different keyboard to find the 8. Tommy hates how hard he's falling for this ridiculous person.

>> I'll fly there if I have to. Text or call me anytime, okay?

<< :-) :-) :-)

It's three smiley faces. It's nothing, and yet something inside him eases, turns three times, and curls up with a pleased purr.

Since he left the 118 and decided to finally live the life he'd spent his life refusing to allow himself to have, he's dated four people, Evan included. What he feels when he looks at those smiley faces is more than what he felt about the other three people combined. It's both terrifying and exhilarating. He never put stock in the whole 'there's someone for everyone' thing Sal's wife likes to throw around, but then he threw caution to the wind and kissed a beautiful, babbling man silent, and in the weeks that have followed his life seems so much more than he ever imagined it could be.

He has no idea how any of this is going to shake out, and chances are he's going to screw this up spectacularly, but he taps his finger gently to the middle smiley face and hopes Sal's wife is onto something. Maybe there really could be someone for him. Maybe that someone texts like a twelve-year old.

Rolling his eyes at himself, Tommy sends back a single smiley face and pockets his phone. And then immediately takes it back out and sends like five more, because he's pathetic.

Dana and Nico are right where he left them, and as soon as he gets close, Nico sits up and levels him with an expectant look.

"Are they gonna shitcan him? You know the LAFD will shitcan anyone no matter what the circumstances are," he says gravely.

Primly, Dana touches the points of each of her nails to the pad of her thumb. "Nico, if you didn't get shitcanned for tricking Chief Bailey into shrooming at the Backdraft Ball last year, I think Buckley's in the clear."

"That was a complete misunderstanding," Nico swears for the thousandth time.

Dana gives him a slow blink. "It was not. You pulled a jar of mushrooms out of your jacket and said, 'I'm gonna send Chief Bailey to Jupiter.' I have no idea why you're not in jail."

Smug as anything, Nico preens a little. "Chief B was going through some stuff and we went on a very good trip together."

Tommy and Dana share a dubious glance, because that could mean anything from impromptu therapy to having sex in the bathroom where the two of them were found. And Tommy's not one to judge anyone's sexual proclivities, but Chief Bailey is in his early eighties and has very well-documented hip problems.

"How's the human terrier doing? Did he dig anyone else up?" Dana asks. Her expression gives nothing away, but he knows she's laughing at him deep down in whatever black hole her body uses to siphon off emotion.

"Har har," Tommy deadpans, then pauses. "I actually don't know the answer to that. I'm really hoping it's just the one corpse. He did manage to dislocate his arm, though."

"I bet they're gonna shitcan him," Nico says.

"I bet Donato's gonna kill you in cold blood for eating her tangerine when she gets back," Tommy says brightly.

"Probably. I couldn't help it. Stolen food tastes better; it's a law of nature." Nico makes a thoughtful sound and gets to his feet, stretching languidly. "Since I'm already marked for death, I might as well eat her potato salad while I'm at it."

He and Dana watch him amble away in search of Lucy's motive, and Dana asks, genuinely curious, "You ever wonder if the LAFD will go against the grain and hire someone normal?"

"Only every day of my life," Tommy admits. "Speaking of which, did your friend have anything else to say about Evan's, uh, taste in Halloween decorations?"

She shakes her head. "It's with the police now. You off to see your grave robber?"

Huffing a laugh, he lightly kicks her foot. He doesn't know what it says about him that hearing Evan be referred to as a felon fills him with such fondness, but he decides to shove it out of sight until he can study it in greater detail when he's alone.

"My shift ends in a couple of hours. He can keep himself out of trouble until then." Tommy thinks about it for a second and amends, "Probably."

Two hours should be plenty of time to finish fighting with the safety wires, shower real quick, and then break a handful of traffic laws on his way to First Presbyterian. He can only hope Evan doesn't dislocate his other arm or lock himself in the morgue in the meantime.

"Hey." Dana kicks his foot and he lifts his gaze to hers. She stares at him for a moment and, terrifyingly, her mouth quirks again. "Happiness looks good on you, Kinard."

He ducks his head, smiling helplessly. "It's early days, D."

"So what? Doesn't mean you can't be happy about it." Dana shrugs. "I'm thrilled, frankly. Now we've got someone on the inside who can give us firsthand intel about what the fuck goes on over there."

"I'm not a spy," Tommy says flatly.

Dana nods. "True. But it won't be long before you're an accomplice."

Like it's a foregone conclusion that he's going to throw in with Evan and Evan's family. The hurricane could be written off as an outlier, but Tommy knows the second they come to him again for help—the very instant Evan asks—it's going to be an immediate yes.

"If it comes to that, will you bail me out?" he asks, half-jokingly. He won't do her the disrespect of trying to deny it. She's always had his number.

"Nah." Dana gets to her feet and reaches up to pat him on the arm. "I'll let Donato do the honors."

He'd rather stay in jail.

[starlightvld]

Bait & Switch, pt. 1

Part 2 >>

Based on "I wasn't in that tunnel."

Call of Duty, implied soapghost, angst with a happy ending Part 1 cw: mentions of torture, blood, violence, MWIII spoilers

---

Soap turns hazy, unfocused eyes toward the screen and watches the man with his face run down the tunnels under the English Channel. The man shoots at Konni soldiers, ferocity and desperation painted over every twitch of his brows and silent shout from his lips. 

It all seems so real.

But it can't be. It's not.

He watches Price and the man with his face cut through the enemy. Watches them attempt to disarm the bomb.

Watches Marakov approach.

Their bodies jerk in succession as Makarov's bullets rip through them both. They hit the ground, and sympathetic pain throbs through Soap's shoulder. 

He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. Not his wound. Not him. Just a man with his face bleeding onto dirty concrete on the other side of a black and white screen.

Makarov goes after Price. The man with Soap's face rises up to stab Makarov and–

Makarov blows a hole through the man's head.

It's surreal to watch his own face go blank. To watch the life drain from wide eyes within seconds. To see the others barely pause. Only standing beside the body for a few moments before continuing on because they have a fucking job to do. No time to pause and mourn the perpetual FNG.

Except for Ghost.

Soap's vision darkens on his right side, and he blinks away the sweat or blood – could be either or both but he's too numb to care – as Ghost falls to his knees beside the body of the man with Soap's face. The CCTV cameras are too shitty to see his eyes as he gazes down at the body leaking blood across the floor, but Soap hopes.

Hopes there's real emotion there. Hopes even more that Ghost finally sees it – finally sees that the dead man whose chest he's so tenderly pressing with his hand isn't his *Johnny.*

This time the watery blur appears in both eyes, and he doesn't bother to blink it away. Because he's seen all this before, and it never changes.

The door behind him opens, but he keeps his focus on the screen. He watches his former teammates leave the body behind in their desperation to follow Makarov.

But they won't find him. Soap knows because he recognizes the footsteps behind him as easily as he once recognized Ghost's.

Ghost, who made his gait purposefully distinct to alert Soap to his presence before slipping into Soap's bed late at night and who murmured soft words in his ear, words no one would ever believe the hardened man would say out loud. But he did. He said them to Soap as he took him apart piece by piece like he would a favorite gun, slow and deliberate, before putting him back together with love and care.

A hand slides into his long, filthy hair. Soap braces for the pain, and Makarov doesn't disappoint as he yanks Soap's head back.

"Enjoying the show?"

Soap doesn't respond. He never does, though it enrages Makarov.

On the screen, soldiers fill the tunnel, taking up the space won back by the 141. They set up a perimeter around the bomb.

The dead man remains sprawled on the ground, lifeless and forgotten.

"Look how they just left you behind. Left you to be picked up and brought here to wallow in misery."

A surge of anger burns through him—

But.

No. That's not right. Soap was never in that tunnel.

He's been in this cold, dark room since the mission in Siberia, taken down by a bullet and dragged away before he could radio for help. He has no idea how long he's been here, but he's endured every kind of torture: electrocution, waterboarding, frostbite, knives, pliers, hot pokers, and more. His body is a canvas of scars and burns

Through it all, he held on to his faith with ragged, broken fingers, with bloody teeth sunk into the promise of hope, that his team would find him. That *Ghost* would find him, rescue him from this hell, and wreak havoc on their enemies.

Until Makarov showed him why no one had come for him. Why no one will ever come for him.

A knife flashes in front of his eyes, fluorescent light reflecting off silver. Soap's voice grates through the air like steel against steel.

"Who was he?"

Makarov lets go of his hair, leaving behind a dull throb of residual pain, and rounds the chair Soap is tied to, hands on his hips and a sadistic glint in his eye.

"Him? Oh, just someone who got confused about his role in this lovely little play. Perhaps the serum was a bit too effective at turning him into you, disgusting loyalty and all, hmmm?"

Serum.

Memories resurface slowly. He's had this conversation with Makarov before. A sliver of panic bleeds into his numbness.

Christ have mercy. He's fucking losing it. How long before he stops remembering? How long before he becomes a shell of himself?

Maybe it doesn't matter. After all, no one is coming for him.

When Soap doesn't say anything more, Makarov's glee sours into a frown. The blade flashes in front of his blurred vision once more before pressing against his neck.

"I admit I thought you would be easier to break. You seemed so obedient in Verdansk. You could've ended me, but instead you followed orders like a good little soldier. And here you are."

The knife digs in, but pain is a familiar friend he's learned to ignore. When Soap doesn't react, Makarov sighs.

"I suppose if you won't break on your own, it's time to get experimental."

He brings out a syringe and holds it up as if considering his next action. The liquid inside glows a sickly yellow green, and Soap's stomach churns at the thought of what new pain this torture it might bring. Because he knows Makarov's pause is just for show. There is no escape.

The gleeful grin returns as he jabs the needle into Soap's neck in the same spot he'd just cut him open. The liquid is brutally cold as it enters his blood stream, his muscles seizing from the rapid temperature change.

WIthin seconds, Soap's world tilts sideways. His eyes blur yet again. He blinks and blinks, but the room goes softer with every passing second. His muscles relax, and he slumps forward in his chair, the bonds securing his wrists behind him cutting into his skin, though he can't feel it anymore.

Makarov sounds like he's underwater when he speaks. "Good. Let us begin."

Blackness takes him.

---

When Soap wakes, he's no longer in a dark, cold room. Through the broken out window of his full helmet, he sees strange buildings rising up into a swath of blue sky. Giddiness that borders on panic wells up in his chest.

He's outside. He made it outside. Did he escape? He doesn't remember.

His gaze falls, and the world stops.

He's surrounded by rivers of blood, knife in hand. His heart pounds like he's dying.

And on the ground lies a Ghost, splayed out like a sacrifice, bloodied and beaten and looking up at Soap like he's seen God.

"Johnny?"

Part 2 >>

[gumnut-logic]

How Gordon got there first was no mystery. Virgil was just too damned tired after three rescues in a row and Scott had been tied up with Tracy Industries for most of the day. Grandma could possibly have been on it if she hadn’t been filling in for John who had broken out his exo-suit to yank a couple of free floaters out of the sky.

He was still muttering about idiots and safety. His mood was not improved by the fact Grandma insisted he come down for the night so he could be counted.

Consequently, his muttering also included cursing bureaucracy even though Virgil knew census night was a favourite of the astronaut.

Perhaps Gordon got to the form first because he knew everyone else was tired and grumpy and needed a kick in the pants. Virgil had to admit with a fond thought that his little brother was prone to throwing joke bombs amongst them when the mood was through the floor.

Virgil had no issues wondering why Alan wasn’t the one poking at the form. Their resident teenager wasn’t interested at all.

“Okay, guys. What is our address? What did we put last time?”

Alan didn’t even look up from his game. “Tracy Island.”

Gordon, who was sitting at Dad’s desk, staring at the holographic form, hesitated. “Did Dad register that with the powers that be?”

“What?” Alan really wasn’t paying any attention at all.

Virgil sighed. He was sitting on the couch with one of his uniform boots on his lap attempting to pick out several penetrating objects out of the sole. His last rescue had been a collapsed factory and he was still trying to work out what exactly it was that they made that could penetrate his specialist footwear.

Fortunately, despite multiple incursions, he only had a scratch on his left foot, more an annoyance than anything, but these objects were frustrating and suspicious.

“Dad did all the right things. Tracy Island is the official name now.” The pliers weren’t quite gripping the piece of metal properly. The grip slipped and Virgil swore.

“Now? What was it called before?”

“Deserter’s Rock.” Scott strode in from the kitchen, a coffee in hand, and grimace on his face. His usually perfect hair was scruffy, as if he had been running his hands through it.

Virgil frowned up at him. “You okay?”

His brother took the steps down into the lounge and sighed. “Nothing a holiday won’t fix.” It was Scott’s turn to frown. “What’s with the boot?”

“Deserter’s Rock? Really?”

It was John who answered, very much like Alan, staring into his tablet and barely paying attention. “Really. Three sailors were stuck here for months. Only one survived. That’s why there is a cairn on Tracy Peak.”

“I thought that was a pile of rocks put there by Dad.” Gordon seemed genuinely surprised. “You mean there are two dead guys on the Island?”

“Along with their ghosts, yeah.” John still didn’t look up.

“Ghosts?” Alan did look up at that, eyes wide. “What ghosts?”

“The one’s who keep stealing my Bailey’s ice cream.”

“Oh.” Alan went back to playing his game, his eyes definitely not darting between John and Gordon at all.

“Okay, moving on…so where do I put ‘Tracy Island’ in this thing? It’s not a suburb, state or territory…do we have a postcode?”

“It’s a locality. Shove it in there.” Virgil grit his teeth and yanked hard at the piece of metal embedded in his boot. A grunt and a flex of heavy lifting muscles and…it didn’t move at all. What the hell?

“Okay, whatever.” Gordon half sung ‘Tracy Island, Kermadec Ridge, South Pacific Ocean’ to himself as he entered it into the form. At least he was being specific. Virgil glared at his boot.

“Next. Who gets to be head of household? Oh, the Householder?” A pause in which Virgil poked at his boot, Scott sipped his coffee with closed eyes, Alan killed three zombies with a grin and John sat motionless still staring at his tablet.

“Okay, then. It’s me.” Gordon grinned to himself.

Nobody looked up, but all four other brothers said simultaneously and in chorus. “It’s Grandma.”

Virgil flexed his hand and picked up his pliers again. Peripherally, he watched Gordon’s shoulders drop. Even the Fish couldn’t argue with that.

“Fine. It’s Grandma.” He reached up and touched the box to open that section of the form. “Where is she anyway?”

Virgil tried to get a better grip on another chunk of metal in his boot. “Yoga. Don’t disturb her.” Yoga was Grandma’s mindfulness time and after today, it was well overdue. “Leave her be.”

“I wasn’t going to. Sheesh. So, name. Sally Tracy.” He typed in her name. “Person two?”

“Scott Tracy.” Okay, so Virgil had a bit of a thing about this. His brother deserved acknowledgement for everything he had done.

Gordon glared at him. “And so I guess the rest of us are in age order?”

Virgil flipped his boot over. “Whatever floats your boat, fishboy.” A glance in Scott’s direction and he had to wonder if his brother had fallen asleep, he was that still. The coffee mug in his hand was the only proof of consciousness.

Virgil fought the urge to save it. “Scott, you wanna go to bed?”

“Wha-?” His brother sat up. “I’m fine.” Fortunately, he put the coffee mug down. The chances of Virgil having to treat burns tonight dropped significantly.

“How do you spell ‘Hackenbacker’?”

Virgil did not grace that with an answer as it was obviously a stupid question.

John was apparently on auto as he spouted off the required letters anyway while still staring at his tablet.

Gordon poked at the form in silence for a little while and Virgil wondered what on Earth he was entering. He trusted his brother. This was an official document, after all, but he was still Gordon.

“Okay, guys, I need your information.”

Beside Virgil, Scott ‘woke up’. “What, no questions about Grandma?”

Gordon frowned at his eldest brother. “I’ll have you know that I know our grandmother very well. We have a special kind of relationship.”

Alan snorted.

“What? You got something to say, sprout?” The fish glared at Alan enough to torch him on the spot.

“I’m just saying that after that time with Grandma’s diver’s license, you should know Grandma’s details very well. Her birthdate, her ancestry, her suit measurements…”

A starfish plushie suddenly had a very short career as a ninja star and bounced off Alan’s head. “Shut up, Alan.”

Their little brother only giggled more.

John, still staring at his tablet, raised an eyebrow. “Allie, Grandma baked some cookies yesterday. I think there are still some in the cupboard. Would you like some?”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Alan threw the plushie at his fish brother, missing completely, and went back to playing his game. There was muttering about Gordon making jokes but Alan not being allowed to.

Virgil sighed to himself.

“Scotty, what’s your age? It’s 2060 for reference. Oh, and your gender.”

All signs of sleep fell away and Scott sat up. “Gordon…” It was all warning.

“Hey, I’m just giving you the opportunity to offer an alternative. After all, tonight you look at least fifty-six.”

“I’m thirty-one and you know it.”

Gordon poked at the form. “Thirty-one years young. Got it.”

Scott grunted at him.

“Virg, are we telling the truth this time?”

“Depends on whether you want me to leave you in the ocean next time.” Why the hell couldn’t he get this out of his boot?

“To threat level already, you are grumpy tonight.”

“Gordon…” Virgil echoed Scott from earlier to the note.

“Johnny?”

“No one named ‘Johnny’ lives here.”

Gordon signed. “John Glenn Tracy, how would you like me to record your age?”

“Accurately.”

“Fine.”

“If I say I’m thirty-two, do I get to go higher up on the form?” Alan looked hopeful.

“If you like.” Gordon moved things around on the display.

Virgil gave up. The locality of Tracy Island was destined to be a statistical anomaly anyway. At least it would be an interesting one.

Besides, John would probably hack it later and fix it. The fact he had hardly protested so far was eminent proof of that security factor.

“Scotty, are you the husband or wife of Grandma?”

Scott rubbed his face and didn’t bother to answer, picking up his coffee again and burying his face in it.

Virgil just wished he would go to bed. The man was a zombie.

Gordon took the hint and was quiet for a little while. Virgil went back to tugging on his boot. Maybe he should take this down to his workshop.

The thought of actually working more had his shoulders slumping enough to alert Scott. The concerned and questioning look shot in his direction had Virgil sitting up a little straighter to fend it off.

“John, where should we put your usual place of residence?”

“Here.”

“But you live in space.”

“So do you.”

“Pedantic much?”

“As necessary. Tracy Island is home. Thunderbird Five is merely in our astronomical backyard, not to mention secret.”

Virgil looked up at that. It was a simple statement, but it was good to hear that John still considered Tracy Island home despite his multiple protests over the years.

“Fine. Secret space station wasn’t an option anyway. I could flub it and use Global One but then that would spark all those rumours about you and that captain all over again.”

“Gordon, I can hack your bank accounts.”

“Go for it.”

“I can also hack your fish tanks.”

The aquanaut shot to his feet. “You touch my tanks and you’re dead, spacehead.”

John didn’t react other than to smile just a little.

Their space brother could be a right royal ass when he wanted to be. Virgil sighed. “John, you know the rules.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t break any.”

“You touch my tanks, I’m spicing up your atmosphere on Five. I’m not kidding. I have fart gas resources even you can’t find.” Gordon was still on his feet and actually appeared angry.

John shuddered. “TMI, Gordo. Not interested in your gas capacity, honestly.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Calm down, Gords, John’s not doing anything to your fish tanks. He knows the rules, don’t you, John.” He arched a prompting eyebrow at his brother.

“Never said I didn’t.”

Definitely an ass.

“Gordon, calm down. You can put John’s relationship to you in as ‘nemesis’ if it makes you feel better.”

“I can only put in our relationship to Grandma. I wrote favourite grandson in yours.”

It was Virgil’s turn to shrug. “I’m not going to complain. Sit down and finish the form.”

His brother didn’t answer, but he did sit down, albeit still glaring at John.

John had gone back to his tablet, doing who knew the hell what.

Definitely an ass.

Virgil turned back to Gordon. “What’s the next question, Gords?”

The glare switched to Virgil for a second before turning to the form. “Where were we born?”

“Kansas.”

“I know that. What about Grandma, Brains and Kayo?”

“Space.” Alan said it with triumph.

“What?”

“Where John lives. Isn’t that what the question was?” Alan stared between his brothers.

“Go back to sleep, Alan.”

“Grandma was born in Kansas, Brains was born in India, and Kayo was born here.” Scott proved he was still awake by suddenly providing information enough to make Virgil jump.

Gordon poked at the form, but nothing further was said on that front. Everyone knew Kayo was sensitive about her past, and while she wasn’t in the room, she would find out and partially kill anyone responsible.

“Kayo is here tonight, isn’t she?”

Virgil yanked on his boot again, slipped and managed to elbow Scott in the ribs. His brother grunted.

“Oh, shit, sorry. You okay?” He shoved the boot aside and the pliers along with it.

Scott eyed him and rubbed his side. “That answers your question, Gordon. Kayo is on a conference call with Captain Rigby.”

Virgil glared at Scott.

Gordon eyed the both of them. “Is there something you two aren’t telling the class?”

“Shut up, Gordon.” Virgil glared at Scott a moment longer, enough to have his brother’s expression fall into one of concern. Grabbing his boot again, Virgil went back to wrestling with embedded metal. Damned specialised rubber was amazing when it protected him but when its tolerances were overrun, it was a pain to fix. Maybe he should ask Max to give it a yank. “What entertaining religion are you using this time, Gords?” Any attempt to get the conversation off this topic.

Gordon stared at him a moment, obviously still trying to work out what the hell happened there.

Scott was dead later; Virgil was going to make sure of it. Tired or not, he had crossed a line.

A sideways look in his eldest brother’s direction and it was obvious Scott realised that. Okay, maybe he could let it go. It had been a long day and they were all tired.

Probably should go to bed.

He went back to fighting with his boot.

Gordon was still staring but even the fish knew when to shut up apparently, because the next words out of his mouth were entirely religious.

“I’m worshiping Neptune this year.”

Alan frowned. “I thought you said that last time.”

“Dad wouldn’t let me.”

That brought the whole room to a standstill. Last census was ten years ago. Flashback to that time brought everything that had changed into the bright glaring light. The biggest change being Dad’s absence. But even more, ten years ago they were still based in Kansas, IR was in development, but not yet a reality. Alan was only six, Gords eleven and with his body still intact…it was a completely different time. Virgil was still in college and had to fill in his own census form in Denver.

Gordon broke the looming silence with a determined smile. “This time the government gets the truth. Scott bows to the sky gods, Virg worships molemen, Johnny is a god, and Alan is Satan.

“Hey!” It was said by multiple brothers at once.

Only John remained calm. He even had a smile. “In that case, I want bagels every Sunday.”

“You get bagels every Sunday. Virg sends them up all the time.” Alan glared at his space brother – Alan did not like bagels.

John grinned wider. “I’ll take that as proof that I have at least one faithful worshipper.”

“Next time you can get your own bagels.” Virgil glared at his brother.

Gordon snorted. “Yeah, right, you old softie. John could blow up Two and you’d still send him his bagels.”

Virgil found himself glaring at Gordon again. It seemed to be a theme tonight. “Short pier, long walk, Gordon, go for it.”

He got a smirk for that. “Don’t mind if I do. A little night diving is quite spectacular around here.”

Virgil ignored him and went back to his boot…which he had made zero progress on for all the time he had been sitting here, damnit.

“Does Virgil ever ‘need someone to help with or be with him for self-care, body movement, or communication activities’?” Gordon typed into the form. “Before coffee.”

Virgil ignored him some more as Alan took the bait and snickered. “Better watch it, Gords. Won’t be long before ‘before coffee’ time kicks in. Look at him, he’s already brewing.”

The piece of metal in his boot finally shifted a little. Thank goodness.

“Long term health conditions.” Gordon slumped in his seat. “Well, isn’t this cheerful.”

“Just fill it in, Gordon.” Scott’s words were little more than a sigh.

That left a gaping silence. Gordon tapped a lot at the keyboard filling in far too much. More for himself, obviously, but then there was John and his space issues, and they all had been diagnosed with something on the list hanging above their father’s desk.

Except Alan, who could not be left out. Virgil pretended to not be able to read the word ‘zombification’ next to his little brother’s name.

“Schooling? Oh man, John, you can write all the letters after your name. I can never remember them all.”

“Not a problem.” The astronaut poked at his tablet and the hologram in front of Gordon sprouted half the alphabet.

“Really? Did you get a new one?” He stared at John. “When did you get time for that?”

John shrugged. “Made time.”

“What’s this one for?”

“Oceanography.”

“What?”

“You were in the ocean. I didn’t know enough to help. So I fixed the problem.”

Gordon just stared.

Virgil, of course, knew. He had been the one to field John’s version of panic the day he didn’t know enough to help Gordon. John was practical. He saw a problem, he fixed it. Oceanography wasn’t an obvious topic for the starman, but he was a genius and that genius could be applied where he wished it to be.

If Virgil had found himself helping John at a few points that intersected with his specialities along the way, he was just going to take a little comfort from being able to return the favour after years of borrowing his brother’s brains for other topics.

And besides, it had meant he had been able to spend a little extra time with John. Always a good thing.

Despite him being the occasional ass.

Gordon was still staring. “Is that why you bugged me to take you out in Four?”

John shrugged. “Partly. Didn’t mind spending a bit of time with you either. Good experience to familiarise myself with Four as well.”

The stare continued.

“Be careful you don’t catch any flies with your mouth open.”

The stare became a glare. “We’re talking about this. You and me.”

“Sure.”

Gordon looked like he didn’t know whether to yell at him or run over and hug his brother. Virgil was voting for the latter.

But everything was interrupted by a sudden snore and snort.

Virgil turned to Scott and found his brother startled awake, likely by his own snore.

“Wha-?”

“Scott, you need to go to bed.”

“I’m fine.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Do I need to pick you up and carry you?”

“I’m fine.” He waved Virgil away, sat up straighter and attempted to guzzle whatever was left of his probably cold coffee.

“Idiot.”

“What?”

“Go to bed.”

“No. We need to finish the census.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because I want to.”

“Why?”

“Can you stop that?”

“Can you go to bed?”

“No!”

“You need sleep.”

“I can manage my own health, thank you, Doctor Virgil.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I am an adult.”

“Sometimes.”

“Virgil!”

Gordon let off a loud snort. “That’s it. I’m putting you two in as married.”

“Gordon!” Both of them, in chorus. It was apparently a theme tonight.

“Well, you both argue like an old married couple, what can I do?”

“You can shut up and move onto the next question.”

Gordon poked his tongue out at Scott, but he didn’t stop grinning and Virgil was forced to hold back a smile himself.

Bratty little fish.

He was still smirking when he said, “Employment.”

“Oh god.” Scott sank back onto the couch and rubbed his face with his hands.

There followed a book’s worth of employment activities.

“Rocket surfing is not an occupation, Gordon.” Virgil sighed.

“Why not? Both Scott and Allie surf rockets.”

“Alan rides a rocket sled and Scott is just trying to give me grey hair.”

“Has he succeeded yet?” Bratty fish.

“None of your business.”

“So is International Rescue paid or unpaid work?” Gordon was frowning at the form.

“Unpaid.”  Scott’s tone was sharp.

“So are we unemployed, employed or self-employed?”

“Self-employed.”

“How much do you earn a year, Scotty?”

Their eldest brother paused as if calculating, but then threw up a hand. “Stuffed if I know.”

John snorted and rattled off a number.

“There isn’t enough space for that many zeros here, John.”

“Give me a moment.”

The display in front of Gordon flickered and each of their names received a variety of numbers…except for Alan.

“Hey, how come I don’t have any earnings?”

“You are a minor.” John spoke calmly, as if speaking to a minor.

“But I do stuff for Tracy Industries, I do.”

“All your income is held in trust, you know that.”

“Then who is paying for all that popcorn I bought this morning?”

Scott sighed. “Don’t worry, you’re not going to bust the bank.”

“We own the bank.”

Scott stared at John. “When did we buy a bank?”

“I bought it for your birthday last year but forgot to give it to you.”

“Oh.”

“I’m writing obscenely rich next to all our names. Oh, except for you, Allie. You’re a pauper.”

“Hey! You suck, Fishbrain.”

“Remember who might need to lend you money in the next couple of years…”

“While Gordon remembers who lent him money in the past, who still helps him with his finances, and who also is the one to fish him out of the ocean after every mission.” Virgil pinned Gordon with his eyes.

Gordon blinked. “You have a point.” A pause as a smile crept over his face. “Who was that again?”

The hologram of the census form wobbled as a lounge cushion flew through it and hit Gordon squarely in the face.

“Right on target. Hmm, I’ve still got it.” Scott blew imaginary smoke off a finger gun.

Unfortunately, Scott may have still had it, but he wasn’t the best marksman on this census form. The cushion rebounded via aquanaut and hit Scott squarely in the face with an oomph.

This forced both Virgil and Alan to come to his defence and for a full ten minutes after that, it was an all-out pillow fight between the brothers. Even John was drawn in as Gordon came up behind him and tried to stuff one down the back of his shirt.

Which wasn’t advisable since his gravity support was still in play. But then John was king of the noogie and immediately grabbed a head full of strawberry blond hair, dragged it down onto the couch beside him and made sure it received the full-on noogie treatment.

Gordon did squawk quite a bit.

An extreme one-on-one joust erupted between Scott and Alan. It was that determined that Virgil had to back out. Alan, being the terrier he was, managed to get Scott on his back on the lounge and sat on him pummelling him with pillows.

Virgil had suspicions that the game was rigged.

In any case, he had to find somewhere else to sit and tinker with his boot.

Eventually, Gordon found his way back to the census form. Scott was still on his back and apparently Alan had decided he preferred that his big brother stay that way by sitting on him and playing his computer game. Scott at least had a remaining cushion under his head, but one foot had taken out a pot plant and the other was hanging over the back of the sofa. His brother really was too tall for lying on the seating arrangements, but he didn’t seem to care.

With a bit of luck he might fall asleep.

“Okay, let’s finish this. How did you get to work today?” Gordon grunted. “This form has no rockets, planes, submarines or space elevators on it.”

“Tick the ‘other’ box and let them work it out.” John let out a yawn.

Virgil eyed him.

John screwed up his face and poked out his tongue.

Wha-“ Virgil blinked.

“Hey, Virg, how many hours did you work last week?”

That distracted him enough to turn to Gordon. “How the hell do I know?”

“You worked them. I bet you know your flight hours.”

“Today’s. Not last week. That was last week.”

“Eos, send Gordon last week’s record?”

The AI chimed in at her father’s request. “Yes, John.”

Another document appeared in front of Gordon. “Wow, that much? Really?”

“The documentation is correct as recorded.” Eos sounded a little miffed. But then she never particularly liked Gordon on the best of days.

His fault, of course.

“Virg, you win, but only by a bit over Scott and that was because he twisted his ankle on Monday.”

“Sprained, you mean.”

“Twisted.” It came from the couch and was strangled by a little brother.

“Sprained. He should have been off for several days, but he’s an idiot.”

“You can’t talk, Mr Bruised-not-cracked.”

“At least I’m not Cracked-not-broken.”

“Sure.”

Scott might have said more but Alan whacked him with a pillow. “You guys are idiots. Gords, John and I are lucky our grey hairs don’t show.” Alan growled. “I’m sixteen, for crying out loud, and I know more about hospitals than I ever wanted to. Look after yourselves, you morons.”

Silence hit the room again.

“Way to go, Allie. You tell ‘em.” Gordon’s words were honest.

Of course, Scott was devastated and immediately questioning all his life choices. Virgil wasn’t far behind, but Scott, in particular had a sensitive spot where Alan was concerned.

“Hey.” He reached out a hand and rested it on their little brother’s arm. “Talk to me, Allie.”

Alan growled again. “I’m fine as long as you two look after yourselves. We kinda need you, you know.”

Scott grabbed his little brother and dragged him down into a hug. “I’m sorry.”

Virgil sat with his boot in his lap needing to grab both his brothers but not wanting to interrupt their moment.

He shouldn’t have worried. A second later Gordon jumped over the back of the couch, landed beside him and grabbed him, dragging him sideways into an oomph of a hug. “Don’t worry, my dear wingman, we still love you even if you are an idiot.”

“Gordon…”

“Admit it, you want a hug.”

“Shut up.”

Gordon didn’t say anything further, but he did squeeze tighter.

“When you get to the questions on whether any of us looked after children, Gordon, tick yes for all of us.” John’s tone was as dry as a desert.

“Will do.” Gordon grinned at him.

Scott actually fell asleep after that. It was about time. Apparently, Alan made a great teddy bear.

Alan grumbled about that for days, but Virgil knew his little brother treasured his relationship with Scott and the fact he fell asleep as well was rather telling.

But that fact pretty much ended the census form filling for that night.

The next morning saw all of them out on an earthquake and it wasn’t until two days later that Gordon realised they hadn’t submitted the form.

Grabbing Scott and Virgil, he ran them through the last of the questions, landing on the definitions of their dwelling.

“How many registered motor vehicles do we have at this dwelling?”

“Er, none? We have no roads.” Virgil frowned at the obvious answer.

“Three rockets, two planes and a submarine don’t count?”

An arched eyebrow. “Does it say anything about planes? Tracy Two and Three are registered in Aotearoa.”

“Aotearoa is not the United States.”

“But they are still registered.”

Scott sighed. “Read the form properly, guys. It says exclude heavy vehicles.”

“Well, that strikes Virg off the list, but your ‘bird’s a pansy.”

That earned Gordon a mocking whack up the back of the head.

“Gords, just write zero. The intent is there.”

“Fine. We have no motor vehicles. Stupid form.” A sigh. “Okay, how many bedrooms do we have?”

Scott answered that one. “Ten.”

“I thought it was twelve.”

“One went to an art studio and the other to a music recording room.”

Gordon glared at Virgil. “Way to take over the house, bro.”

“And how many fish tanks do you have in how many rooms? Not to mention the chunk of vegetable garden we had to sacrifice for Rover’s pond?”

“Leave Rover out of this. That wasn’t his fault.”

Virgil snorted. “Not his.”

“Shut up.”

Scott sighed again. “We have ten bedrooms.” He scanned the rest of the form, which thankfully wasn’t very long. “We own the place outright, and yes, they can archive our information for our grandkids to access. Tick the boxes and get this sent so I can go get some lunch.”

“Yes, Commander.”

Scott growled but Gordon ignored him.

Boxes all ticked, he hit the submit button.

“This form has already been submitted. You may not submit it again.” Underneath was the date of the day before census night. “What the hell? How could we open it if - ” Scott hit his comms. “John!”

John’s hologram flickered up beside the misbehaving census form. “I’m between a hurricane in Bermuda and an avalanche in the Pyrenees. How may I help you?”

“What?!”

“Oh, the census form. Eos submitted that three days ago.” Their space brother was distracted a moment out of pick up range as Scott’s jaw dropped. “Needed to get it done before Gordon got his hands on it. Besides, we can’t guarantee we wouldn’t have been called out anyway, so I got it done beforehand.”

“Then why the hell were we going through the damned thing on census night?”

John blinked. “You had fun, didn’t you? We shared an evening together.”

Virgil joined both his brothers at staring at John.

The astronaut just smirked back at them. “You did a great job, Gordon. Thanks.” The smirk turned into a grin. “Thunderbird Five out.” His hologram disappeared.

Scott’s face curdled. “I’m going to kill him.”

Virgil let his shoulders drop and sighed. “You said that last time he did something like this, and he’s still kicking.”

“I’m soaking his underwear in saltwater.” Gordon had that fire in his eyes that usually preceded a Tracy Island Armageddon.

“Gords…”

“He played me, Virg. He knew what I would do and played me. He thinks I’m predictable!”

“Yeah, but he obviously did it for the right reasons.”

Virgil found himself the target of two glares. “What? You want a group hug or something? C’mere.” And he grabbed the both of them, wrapping his arms around them. “Happy Census Night.”

The grumbling was worth it.

-o-o-o-

[playbucky]

Little Piggy.

You’re a news reporter who has been kidnapped due to a story she was working on. After an unknown amount of time spent in a dark room, task force 141 come and rescue you.  Word Count – 1,7k.  Characters – Reader, Ghost, Price, Kyle, Soap.  Warnings – torture, game canon violence, kidnapping. 

‘You with me?’ He asked, you remained silent, his rough hand snapped out and grabbed your cheeks. His broken nails cut into the soft skin.   ‘I need you with me sweet thing, I want the world to see your pretty face as I remove your finger.’ He said, you blinked a few times before you focused on him.   ‘There they are.’  ‘Smile.’ He said, the camera was shoved in your face, you exhaled through your lips which caused saliva to spray at him.  ‘Tell your audience your name.’ The man said, you ran your tongue over your lips as you gaze flickered between the man and the camera that was focused on him.  ‘Tell them.’ He growled, his palm collided with your cheek.  ‘My name is Y/N Y/L/N.’ You said, you looked past the camera to focus on him.  ‘And your job.’  ‘I am a reporter with New Times.’  ‘I want everyone to know that within twenty-four hours your lovely reporter will be dead.’ He grumbled, you narrowed your eyes at him.  ‘Fuck you.’ You spat, you cleared your throat and sent it towards him, satisfied when it landed on his chest.   Your head collided with the rough wall as your cheek stung, his hand dropped as the group chuckled and you ran your tongue over your teeth. He was quick to step forward, one of his men moved to switch the camera off but he extended a finger to them.  ‘Keep the camera rolling.’ He growled, his hand jerked forward and wrapped tightly around your hand, ‘How about we play little piggy.’ He commented, your eyes widened as he spread your fingers and smirked.   You tried to pull away from him but the wall behind you didn’t help and a second pair of hands reached out of the darkness. They wrapped around your arm and held it still. The man reached behind him, a pair of sharp pliers were placed into his hand. He opened and closed them as your breathing quickened up, a deep chuckle seeped from the back of his throat.   He moved his fingers, so he was holding onto your pinky, you clenched your jaw and exhaled through your nose. He glanced at you through his eyelashes and his smirk grew into a wide smile as he opened the pliers and rested your finger between the sharp blades. Your breathing quickened as he looked at you face on.  ‘This little piggy went to market.’ He snapped the pliers shut, your stomach flipped when the loud crack filled the quiet room before you screamed.  You managed to pull your arm and hand away from the men and clutched it to your chest as the searing pain continued to spread, you exhaled heavily through your teeth. The men tried to grab a hold of your arm again before you hissed and lunged forward, your forehead collided with the man to the side of you. He yelped and moved back before you were pushed against the wall, a rough hand wrapped around your throat as it tightened. Your eyes snapped to him before you tapped his forearm with your bloody hand.  ‘Not that strong, are you?’ He quizzed as you continued to cough, you welcomed the musky air.  ‘You wouldn’t kill me just now, not enough audience.’ You rasped out, chin jutted towards the camera that was still rolling. He turned and motioned to end the film.  

Ghost and the rest of the Task Force watched the video that had been played over and over, the news picked it up and ran with the headlines. He knew that by tomorrow morning your face would be plastered all over the papers and everyone would be talking about how you had been captured. Price looked at him, his gloved hands tightened into fists, his eyes darted to him before Price pushed out his seat. The video was paused before it disappeared and your id was displayed on the screen, you smile a contrast to your tired and pained face.  ‘As seen in the video, Y/N Y/L/N, a news reporter who was captured two days ago.’ Price said, Laswell clicked the computer and more information about you appeared on the screen.  ‘Looks like they’ve got a history with dangerous places.’ Kyle commented, Ghost had to tuck his hands into his armpits and leaned back into his seat.  ‘They are used to it, yeah, they volunteer to go into these danger zones.’ Laswell stated, she noticed Ghost’s demeanour change.  ‘We leave tomorrow at sunrise and arrive at sunset there, that night we will get them out of the compound they are being held in.’ Price explained, the lay out of the buildings popped onto the screen. 

‘Y/N?’ The deep voice called out, you tried to lift your head but it weighed down, your arms had gone numb from being held above your head  ‘Hey, you with us?’ A gloved hand cupped your neck, you watched through heavy eyelids as he slid his gun back into his holster, his second hand cupped the other side and carefully tilted your head back.  ‘Ghost?’ You quizzed, your brows furrowed.  ‘Yeah, it’s me.’ He replied, you slurred as you tried to think of something.  ‘Why?’ You grunted out.  ‘We need to get you out.’ He said, you shook your head and refused to move from your spot.  ‘No, no, how did you find my location?’ You asked, you gaze was focused on the mask covered face of Ghost.  ‘Your phone pinged.’ Soap said, you looked at him then back to Ghost, you noticed his brows furrow.  ‘What?’ He asked.  ‘They took everything off me.’ You informed him, he stiffened.  ‘Shit.’ Ghost hissed, you placed a hand on Ghost’s elbow and leaned out the side, your eyes searched around the room, the camera wasn’t there.  ‘Leave me and go.’ You told him quickly, you looked around the room as your hands moved to his shoulders.  ‘No.’ He shook his head.  ‘Ghost, go.’ You almost shouted.  ‘Y/N, we could take you.’ He said, you looked to the others that stood behind him, your eyes pleaded them.  ‘They’ll be watching, they want to create the most damage or newsworthy story,’ you explained, ‘what better than killing two people that shouldn’t be here.’ You said, Soap looked at you as you turned back and made eye contact with Ghost.   ‘Go, I’ll be fine.’ You quickly reached up and touched his cheeks, the mask rough under your bloody hands. 

‘How’d you know the reporter?’ Soap asked when he lowered himself into the seat.  ‘Friends.’ He grunted, his cracked his knuckles and straightened his back.  ‘Is that all?’ He quizzed him.  ‘What else would there be?’ Ghost asked, his dark gaze moved to Soap.  ‘Dunno, seemed close to be friends.’ He commented but didn’t want to push him too far, Ghost remained silent.  ‘I don’t want to push you Lieu but we need to be informed off all the information that will help us with this mission.’ Soap said, Ghost’s jaw clenched as he moved in his seat.  ‘You should tell him.’ Price said, Soap and Kyle looked at the Captain before Ghost rolled his neck, it popped loudly.  ‘Y/N and I grew up together occasionally we’d have a fling or what not -,’ Ghost reluctantly gave up.  ‘You’re lovers?’ Soap asked confused.  ‘No, it was just convenient for the pair of us.’ He said with a shake of his head.  ‘Could they be doing this to get to us?’ Kyle suggested, Ghost immediately went to say no but stopped himself.  ‘There’s a chance.’ Price said, Ghost slid his eyes to you.  ‘Is it known that you two have a thing?’ Gaz questioned, Ghost shook his head.  ‘No, not unless they’ve been planning it for years.’ Ghost said, he rolled his shoulders, ‘I haven’t saw Y/N for two years.’ 

'Ghost.’ You said, the gun lowered as he approached you, two other men stepped into the small room, guns aimed at the entrance.  ‘You shouldn’t be here.’  ‘We’re fine, we got them.’ He said, you leaned your head back to make eye contact.  ‘All of them?’ You quizzed, he nodded.  ‘The ones that didn’t run, yeah.’ He said, the corner of your lips pulled up.  ‘Why’d they kidnap me?’ You asked, the dull pain spread up and across your head.  ‘Publicity.’ He grumbled, the wraps removed from your wrists, slowly you dropped your hands, Ghost carefully looked them over.  ‘I’m not famous.’ You said, you looked at the other two that had came in with him.  ‘No, but it seems the arms dealer case you reported last month was a part of their organisation.’ The Scot told you, you looked at him, your eyebrows pinched together.  ‘Why was someone here working with an English businessman?’ You asked, Ghost chuckled next to you.  ‘Now isn’t the time to be asking questions.’   ‘What do I always say?’ You asked him, he dropped the rope from your wrists.  ‘Nows always the time.’ He grumbled, you arched an eyebrow as he offered you a hand to guide yourself up.  ‘Maybe you should wait till your checked out before you ask the questions.’ Ghost suggested, you glared at him but nodded. 

‘You good?’  ‘I’m good.’ You replied, he sighed, shoulders dropped before he yanked you forward.  A large arm wrapped around your waist, the second one over your shoulders as his hands held the back of your head. You reacted quickly and wrapped your arms around his wide back, your bandage hand rested between his shoulders.  ‘Scared the shit out of me.’ He mumbled into your ear, you exhaled as you pulled back from him, your hands stopped on his face.  ‘Gotta keep you on your toes.’ You commented, with the crinkles around the side of his eyes you knew he was smiling.  ‘Yeah, you do.’ He breathed out.  ‘I want you to meet my team.’ Simon said, you tilted your head but nodded as he moved to your side, arm still wrapped around you.  ‘Soap, Kyle or Gaz and of course you know Price.’ He introduced them to you, you gave them a polite smile as they waved at you.  ‘Nice to see you kid.’ Price said, he stepped closer and you moved from Simon’s arm and wrapped him up in a hug.  ‘You as well old man, been awhile.’  ‘That it has.’ He agreed before he pulled you tighter to his chest. 

[sleepyfan-blog]

Seeing Double

Author’s Note: This is Mer-Trai’s debut! I hope that you enjoy the fic! :D Next

Tagged: @bleedingichorhearts @kit-williams @the-pure-angel @egrets-not-regrets

Warnings: mention of torture, bodily mutilation, concussion, dehydration, worship, wounds

Summary: Trai is rescued by a saintly baseline human.  

Pain and exhaustion greet him when he wakes. They are old, familiar foes, and hunger joins as he slowly blinks his way to full awareness. He finds himself where he had been the past... He's not entirely sure how long he's been here, but this too, he will survive. The aching pain in his head has not gone away, and some of the wounds that his captors gave him the last time they'd graced him with their presence had not fully healed. 

Given that he hasn't been fed for as long as he's been captured, the fact that he isn't healing as swiftly as he used to be isn't surprising. The gods grant him the patience and strength to weather this trial. His brothers will find him, he just needs to wait. 

The large gold and red mer stares into the too-bright lights, the electric buzz not helping his headache any. His breathing is measured and shallow as he closes his eyes again, trying to conserve what little energy he has, as his wounds itch and burn as they slowly heal. 

Trai deliberately does not allow himself to flinch as the door to his cell slams open. He is not a wide-eyed neophyte who startles at the sounds of his captors' trying to torment him. 

He bears his teeth - his armor having long been stripped of his body by his human captors - and hisses as a small, cool hand touches his tail, just above where one of the metal stakes had been buried through his flesh, pinning him to the metal table he'd been strapped to. 

"Oh... You're alive... Oh fuck! Hey guys! I found a live one! We're going to need a medic!" The human who had the gall to touch his tail shouted- causing his headache to spike most unpleasantly. "Oh... Oh buddy... Do you know this language? Please look at me and either say something or blink once if you do understand me."

Trai opened his eyes, sending the human - humans? He could see two of them, standing one slightly to the left of the other, mirror images of one another that moved at the -

Ah. 

Concussion. Wonderful. He opened his mouth, revealing the fact that his tongue had been cut out - and cauterized, to further slow healing of the appendage, as he had cursed his captors with some very entertaining miseries for the gall to torment him as they had been. He deliberately blinked up at the two-maybe-one human(s).

"Oh... Oh they... Okay, I'm going to use these pliers to get the... Get the... The stakes pinning you to the table out. We've arrested the people who've been running this place. Please don't attack me, though it will hurt when I pull these things out of you." The human(s) said in unison. "After that... I have some of the nutrient paste that space marines really like, and a bottle of water. Are you hungry?"

Yes, he definitely had a concussion... And was quite possibly hallucinating or dreaming. This was a nice dream, even though he'd rather his brothers be the ones rescuing him, rather than more fucking baseline humans. Trai gamely and deliberately blinked once while maintaining eye contact with the human(s). The mention of food and water was enough to get him to smile hopefully. He stayed still as the little goddess before him industriusly freed him from his bonds.

He held in his hisses of pain as best as he could, and she made worried noises as he began to bleed sluggishly from where he had been pinned to the table. With considerable effort, Trai activated his ability to swim through the air, slowly and painfully pushing himself into an upright position. He sniffed the air, her distress and determination clear to him. he could also smell the nutrient paste in his pockets and lightly tapped at the pocket with teh food with a clawed hand, careful not to piece the flimsy cloth, staring down at her pleadingly.

"Right, food." She responded, pulling out the tube of nutrient paste and holding it out to him.

Trai crooned out in wordless thanks, though his useless, trembling hands could not keep hold of the tube - then again he probably had nerve damage from the eight holes bored clear through each arm from those fucking stakes that had been drilled through his body until moments ago. He peered down at her, humiliation, desperation and hope warring for dominance on his face. He'd heard whispers that some humans were brave enough to hand-feed astartes they were comfortable with, despite many space marines having wickedly sharp teeth.

She nimbly caught the tube before it could fall to the ground. Disappointment and worry flashed across her face, before determination set in. "Okay. You don't seem to be able to hold onto the tube by yourself right now.. Uhm... If you crouch down a bit, I can feed you? If you want that? I could also squeeze some of it out onto the table, if you'd rather eat it that way?"

Trai shook his head slowly, one clawed hand going up to his head as nausea and dizziness plagued him at the motions. He opened his mouth and hunched over her, trying not to seem threatening. He was so, so hungry, and this little goddess had already helped him tremendously.

"Okay! Feeding  you it is." His lovely goddess chirped up at him. She was easily able to open the cap and remove the purity seal before squeezing a small mouthful into his waiting jaws.

Trai whined before slowly closing his mouth and swallowing. He wanted more than that little bit... But given the way his stomach cramped at that small amount of food, perhaps starting off the feeding slowly was for the best. Once the waves of nausea faded he opened his mouth again. 

This time he was rewarded by his goddess with a slightly larger mouthful of water. It was de-salinated, but he did not care as the cool liquid hydrated what was left of his tongue and soothed the worst of his ravaged throat. He didn't care that he was purring loudly, nor that he had started to lean on his little goddess as she continued to slowly feed and water him. Her kindness was boundless and her generosity endless. She was worthy of all the worship within his being. When his belly was filled as much as he could tolerate, and his thirst was quenched to the point of no longer trying to drive him to madness he closed his mouth again and did not open it, pressing his head against her cool shoulder, exhaustion and the need to allow his body to heal more fully took him over.

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

I have spend the past few days dying because of severe acute tooth pain. Legitimately convinced that this shit would be an extremely effective easy torture method, I'd rather break a bone over this shit ngl. That said what type of whump senerios do you think could come out with teeth as the focus?

Teef!! TEEF!!!!

We have the classic, the holy grail, of Whumper using pliers to pull out Whumpee's teeth for a myriad of reasons. Talking back? Biting? Making room for tubes to be shoved down their throat? The possibilities are truly endless, and of course, bonus points if the pliers are rusty <3

Whumpee losing a tooth from some kind of mouth trauma (a punch, a boot to the face, etc) is one thing. But what if that tooth only cracked? What if it chipped? Not only are they going to have to deal with the pain of an exposed nerve and jagged edge constantly being touched by their tongue, but literally anything is going to aggravate it. Food and water included. Yikes.

I've mentioned it before in my "gross and messy" whump post, but just general neglect would be enough of a catalyst for tooth pain. Months without brushing and constant vomiting can lead to rot and decay, which can lead to a further infection of the entire mouth. Whumpee practically feeling certain teeth disintegrate, spitting out blood and pus until finally they can pull out a blackened dead tooth from their inflamed gum for relief.

Got a vampire Whumpee? Why don't you just file those pointy chompers down, just in case :)

After Whumpee is rescued (or if...) and they finally get the care they need, they'll have to make peace with the fact their mouth is full of gaps that would cost a fortune in dental work to repair. And maybe they do and get the crowns or dentures they need. And maybe they don't. The one constant being they have to live with being self conscious over an imperfect smile. Not that they have much to smile about anymore to begin with.

This is purely aesthetic but I love the idea of a Whumper purposely replacing their own canine teeth with gold incisors to look extra menacing when they grin. Do as you will with that.

More aesthetic style, less scenario-based but:

Whumper with a mouth full of fangs that love to dig into Whumpee's skin

Teeth indentations all over Whumpee's body

Whumpee snarling with their teeth stained red from the blood pooling in their mouth

Spitting a tooth out, unperturbed by the hit

Open mouth gags being used on Whumpee that show their teeth on full display

Feral/Traumatized/Rescued Whumpee absolutely using biting as a defense on anyone that comes near them, including Caretaker

Whumpee with arms and hands full of scarred over bitemarks from where they've had to chomp down on their own skin to muffle their cries

[scrimblobimblowhump]

For the ask game:

Scissors

Sorry for late reply anon! Here you go:

(CW for fictional stabbing and cutting)

- Whumpee with long, luscious hair getting it aggressively chopped off to humiliate them

- Forceps/other kinds of medical scissors being used in surgery

- Stabbing whumpee with a scissor

- Cutting/leaving marks on whumpee’s skin with scissors

- Whumper threatening/teasing whumpee by dragging a scissor blade over their skin

- Slitting someone’s throat with scissors

- Whumpee’s hair having to be cut off because something gross and sticky is matted into it

- Whumper using scissors to destroy something whumpee loves (like cutting up the pages of a book or a stuffie)

- Whumpee shakily clutching a pair of scissors they found nearby in attempts at self defence (even better: what if the person who “wants to hurt them” is actually caretaker but whumpee is increasingly more paranoid and is convinced everyone’s out to get them)

- Cutting off whumpee’s restraints during rescue from captivity

- (Do pliers count as scissors??) Us seeing whumper sneak into whumpee’s car and cut the brakes, then the completely unsuspecting whumpee climbing into their seat, us knowing in foreboding that they might get into a serious car accident

[hadesstan]

June of Doom Day 20

"That's gonna be one hell of a scar"

| Cage | Pliers | Scrape |

Cw: The prompts above, rescue, implied abuse/ torture, self-sacrifice.

I'm actually really proud of myself for keeping at this so long. I fully expected to fail before day 15. I'm thinking I might start posting snippets from my whumpy novel once I get through this shitshow of a month. Anyway, enjoy some more hero/villain whump!

...

Villain sat in the cage, bleeding all over, but refusing to cower. They didn't huddle or hide in the corners of the cage, they sat, dead centre, and glared at the door, waiting for Supervillain to return.

But when the the click of the lock echoed through the room and the scrape of the dopr opening grated their ears, it wasn't Supervillain coming through the door. It was Sidekick. The very last person they'd ever expect to be here.

"Sidekick?"

Sidekick raised a finger to their lips. "Shush". Villain understood the message and chose to watch out the door as Sidekick pulled a pair of large pliers from their jacket and began to cut the wires on the cage. One by one. Snip snip snip. It took way longer than was comfortable for Villain, and they grew more paranoid with every snip of a wire that Supervillain would arrive.

But they never did, and soon, there was a hole large enough for Villain to crawl out.

As soon as they were out though, they couldn't stand straight. The cuts crisscrossing their legs made it impossible to rest their weight on their legs.

Sidekick hissed when they saw the wounds.

"That's gonna be one hell of a scar," they muttered. The first thing they'd said since they arrived. They didn't say another word as they looped Villain's arm over their shoulder and carried most of their weight as the pair limped out the door.

They approached the front door but Villain began to panic. Where was Supervillain? They must have heard them. Why hadn't they showed up?

"They're distracted right now," Sidekick whispered, reading their thoughts. Villain wanted to question it, but at that moment they heard the loud crash as someone fell through a window somewhere out of sight.

They heard the tell-tale voices of Supervillain and Hero arguing and suddenly they understood. Hero was distracting Supervillain, hence why Sidekick was here.

Sidekick didn't seem fazed in the slightest and continued carrying Villain out the car outside, loading them into the back seat.

"Hero-" Villain started, but Sidekick cut them off.

"They'll be fine. My orders are to get you out of here."

"But-"

They didn't get to finish their complaint as the car jerked forward, shooting out into the road, just as Supervillain came crashing out onto the road behind them, bruised and battered, followed by a furious Hero.

[juneofdoom]

June of Doom 2023 Prompt List

A text list for easier crossings-off for the challenge!

“You don’t want to do that.”  | Collapse | Locked Door | Fear |

“Get in.”  | Sobbing | Survivor’s Guilt | Salve |

“I can handle it.”   | Kidnapping | Fracture | Struggle |

“Does that hurt?” | Delirium | Hypothermia | Stabilization |

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”  | Handcuffs | Swelling | Flinch |

“You’re doing great.” | Injection | Nightmare | Duct Tape |

“What’s the bad news?”   | Disoriented | Bite | Chainsaw |

“Breathe, damn you!”   | Shock | Amputation | Infection |

“I should have listened to you.”           | Sprain | Defiance | Smoke |

“Can you hear me?”                   | Starvation | Shackle | Hiding |

“We’re out of time.”                           | Firearm | Backseat | Self-defense |

“It’s no use.”                                   | Explosion | Fainting | Trembling |

“Say something.”                         | Rescue | Broken Promise | Weak |

“What were you thinking?”                  | Slurred Speech | Impalement | Fight |

“Please.”                                          | Blindfold | Pressure Points | Scream |

“At least it can’t get any worse.”           | Stairs | Concussion | Hammer |

“Don’t lie to me.”                               | Accident | Doubt | Gaslighting |

“How long have you been like this?”     | Fall | Sleep Deprivation | Blankets |

“I’m not going anywhere.”                   | Wound Cleaning | Guilt | Chair |

“That’s going to be one hell of a scar.” | Cage | Pliers | Scrape |

“On three.”                                       | Dehydration | Memory Loss | Choke |

“I’m trying!”                                      | Humiliation | Crutches | Rage |

“How many fingers am I holding up?”    | Poison | Rash | Double Cross |

“I think I’m going to be sick.”               | Bleeding Out | Illness | Cold Sweat |

“Don’t move!”                                   | Natural Disaster | Drowning | Stranded |

“I made a mistake.”                            | Ambulance | Hopelessness | Numb |

“I’m so sorry.”                                   | Sacrifice | Obsession | Display |

“You’ll get used to it.”                         | Knife | Hostage | Surrender |

“It’s really not that big of a deal.”         | Bruises | Secret | Acceptance |

“Are you scared yet?”                         | Buried Alive | Failed Escape | Denial |

ALTERNATE PROMPTS

“Somebody had to do it.”

“Give me another chance.”

“I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

“It didn’t have to be this way.”

Succumb

Nails

Murder

Disfiguration

Abandoned

Straitjacket

[fallingblueroses]

A short little thing to go along with this from @willows-adventures-in-words

***

Layne was huddled up on his living room couch under a blanket. Cyndi was doing something in the kitchen, and the girls were at school. It was the morning after Tony had rescued VoicePlay and brought them home, and Layne still couldn't stop shaking. The plug in his neck felt as if it had swollen to three times its size, and he had to keep touching it to make sure it wasn't growing. Stupid, he knew, but his mind was going crazy.

Kurt had been smart, Layne had to give him that. Cyndi had shown him the video that Kurt had posted of them, and he'd barely made it through thirty seconds of it before he'd had to run to the bathroom and throw up his breakfast. Thousands of people had witnessed VoicePlay's captivity and torment and thought it was nothing more than a clever collaboration project. Even if they went public now it would just be seen as the next part of the production. No one suspected a thing. Kurt was safe.

He heard Cyndi's phone ring and then her soft voice. "Hello? Oh hi Kathy.... Layne's resting right now." A pause as Kathy obviously talked, and then Cyndi gasped. "Oh my God. Is he okay?"

Geoff? Layne sat up and listened. His mind went back to the previous afternoon when Tony had been driving them away from Kurt's hideout. Eli and Earl had both been groggy and had slept most of the time. Geoff had stared straight ahead, eyes wide, unmoving except for the occassional head bob or arm twitch. He hadn't said a word.

Cyndi's worry was evident in her voice. "Okay. Okay, I'll keep an eye on Layne. You should let Nick and Ashley know to...Okay. Let us know if you need anything. Keep us posted. Bye." Cyndi fell silent.

When the silence stretched out Layne forced himself to walk to the kitchen on wobbly legs. "Cyndi?"

Cyndi looked up, startled. "Layne! You should be resting." He didn't resist as she pushed him back toward the couch.

"Did something happen to Geoff?"

Cyndi was quiet for a long time after Layne was seated back on the couch. She finally whispered "Geoff tried to pull his plug out with pliers. Kathy had to take him to the hospital. He almost bled to death."

Layne covered his plug with his hand without thinking. Like his, Geoff's plug was in his neck alongside veins and arteries and nerves and...Layne shuddered. He had thought about trying to pull the plug out, but those thoughts went out the window. "Is...is he going to be okay?"

"Kathy said he's in surgery now. They have to finish removing the plug and repair the vein." Her eyes watered. "Layne, I know you want it out, but don't--"

"I won't. I promise." He curled up in his blanket. A spark of anger that was directed at himself as much as it was Kurt flared briefly. He should be stronger than this. He had to think about Cyndi. About his girls. About VoicePlay. They'd need him... "Can...can we go see him?"

"After he's out of surgery. I want you to rest for now."

"I can't."

"Please try at least."

Layne nodded. "I'll try." He laid back down and let her tuck the blanket around him. He closed his eyes, but sleep never came.

***

Layne adjusted the scarf around his neck as he and Cyndi got off the hospital elevator. It was really too warm for a scarf, but Layne didn't want people staring at the plug in his neck. He fought to keep his expression calm as he and Cyndi found a pale and haggard Kathy in the waiting room.

Cyndi hugged her close. "How is he?"

"Not good." She pulled back from Cyndi. "It's...hard to explain. I'll let you see for yourselves."

Layne braced himself as they walked into Geoff's room. Geoff's neck was heavily bandaged and a plastic tube drained red and yellow liquid from under the bandages into a vial. His eyes were wide and blank and his mouth was moving, but Layne couldn't hear what he was saying. He leaned down and put his ear close to Geoff's mouth.

"...build a rocket ship, then we'd fly it far away." Geoff's voice was weak and hoarse. "We would dream of outer space..."

Layne jerked back in horror. Kathy spoke behind him. "It's that song. The one...He's just performing his part over and over. Like he's stuck on repeat."

"Dear Lord," Cyndi said softly.

Layne watched as Geoff's head drooped and his eyes closed. The end of the song. He waited, and after about a minute Geoff jerked awake and his mouth began to move soundlessly again. Kathy's voice was thick. "He lost his voice forty-five minutes ago."

"My God," Layne whispered. "Why don't they sedate him?"

"The nurses say since he's not being violent, a doctor needs to examine him first."

Layne felt Cyndi's arm go around his waist and hold him close to her. Tears stung Layne's eyes as he watched Geoff. He knew that in Geoff's mind he was back in that studio hideout, plugged in, being controlled against his will. And Layne had no idea what to do to help him.

[macgyver2016-bracket]

Season 1, Episode 10: Pliers

MacGyver uses pliers to rescue the kidnapped prodigy from his old middle school.

Season 4, Episode 5: Soccer + Desi + Merchant + Titan

In an attempt to find the main players in the Codex and cut off their match-fixing funding, Desi goes undercover to infiltrate a soccer team and find the corrupt player working with the shadow organization.

[just-1-lonely-person]

Hi there! Sorry to bother you

Can you write some hurt/comfort where the hero is held captive/kidnapped by supervillain and villain has to rescue them? Feel free to ignore if this request makes you uncomfortable 🌸

ahh im nervous! I tried my best, i hope this is alright!

Warnings: broken bones, blood

The hero had been stuck in their cell for days. They had stopped counting the minutes a long time ago, not that they would actually be able to determine how long they had been stuck in here anyway.

Their left arm was broken, or at least they thought it was. It had to be. They had heard it crack when they had hit the cells wall.

They should have listened to Superhero. If even the top hero couldn't defeat supervillain, how could they? They weren't weak - far from it, actually - but they weren't the strongest hero either.

They leaned their head against the cold wall, closing their eyes for a second.

They heard the basement door creak open, slowly and loudly. Then, they heard a hiss and the sound of the heavy door carefully being shut.

Hero coughed. "What game are we playing now? Hide and seek?"

"Psssht! I'm risking my life here, so stay quiet, will you?"

Heros eyes shot open. That voice... "Villain?"

"I said shut up!", the criminal whispered angrily, right before looking into the cell. "Can you walk?"

Hero stood up. They could. It was only their arms that had been badly damaged, at least up until now. Supervillain liked chasing them around the basement while playing catch with a crossbow. It was fun to the master criminal, but not to the hero, who could barely move their torso from all the pain.

"My legs are fine. It's just my upper body that seriously hurts." They tried their best to whisper, but they just never been good at that. For some reason, whispering barely worked, especially when their lungs and chest hurt. "I'd prefer not to run a marathon though."

"Funny." Villain deadpanned as they kneeled down to the lock. It took them only a minute before the lock cracked, making a way too loud noise. The criminal hissed again.

Weird tick, but hero wouldn't judge. It just seemed funny to them that villain told them to be quiet, but then hissed at every chance they got.

The cell door swung open. Villains eyes wandered to the basement door. "We're leaving through the back door. It's right around the corner and leads to the garden. After that, we'll escape through the forest." They glanced over at their enemy. "We will have to climb a fence, but maybe I'll be able to cut a hole into it. If not, i guess I'll just have to leave you behind." They shrugged casually.

Hero snarled. "As if you would do that after coming here in the first place."

The villain turned, but hero cought the faint blush on their cheeks. "Come, let's go."

Getting out of the supervillains base turned out to be easier than thought. There were no guards, no security system, nothing. When hero asked, villain only said not to worry about it (which made the hero worry even more), and that they should hurry up a little.

They ran through the forest, arriving at the fence pretty quickly. Villain took out some pliers from their bag. They cut a small hole at the bottom of the fence, crawling through it. "Do you need it a little bigger?"

Hero kneeled down. "A little bit, yeah." After the hole was big enough for them to "crawl" through without damaging their arms, they sat down on the damp ground. They had pushed themselves through the hole on their back, but now their back was burning.

They felt villains warm hand on their arm. "Wait, let me see."

"No, it's fine. Let's go."

"Hm... how about no?"

Hero bit their lip. They wanted to get as far away from this place as possible. They could deal with their injuries later.

But the criminal was already peeling off the shirt off their back. They hissed, as if they were the one in pain. "Looks bad. Let me at least disinfect this before we continue."

"It's okay, really. Shouldn't we get as far away as possible from this place first?" They rubber at their left wrist, where supervillain had scraped them with an arrow a few days ago. It burned up, then they could feel some warm liquid on their fingers.

Suddenly, they felt a pair of arms carefully wrap abound their chest. They felt how something warm - how villain - touched their bare back, resting their head in the crook of the heros neck. They could feel the criminals warm breath and the tickle of their hair. Despite them hugging the crime-fighter from behind, it didn't hurt. It felt nice and warm, a strong contrast to the cold cell floor they had been in about an hour ago.

"I know you want to leave", the villain whispered. "And we're going to, i promise. But i don't want your wounds to get infected, and we need to walk a little back to my car. So please", their breath made the hairs on heros neck stand up. "Let me take care of you, now and when we arrive at my place."

And so, the hero let them treat their wounds.

---

So uhm...i hope this is fine. i wasn't sure how to write this, but I'm so glad i did. I didn't want the hero to be in too much pain, since i find it hard to describe things I've never experienced (and it shows lol), but that's what I opened my requests for in the first place. It's a bit lacking on the comfort...need to work on that.

So yeah, i hope you like this!

[whumpcereal]

the kennel, part fifteen

part of the kennel (masterlist here). follows this piece directly. not copy edited quite as stringently as normal, but i really wanted to put it up before i went out.

content warnings for: aftermath of noncon, references to filmed whump, breeding, mouth whump, human trafficking, and murder, extreme pet whump, extreme dehumanization, forced nudity, brief suicidal ideation

part fifteen, something like relief

The others see when Doc carries the black-collared mutt out of the pole barn. 

Some watch through glassy eyes, and they don’t think anything of it, because months in Doc’s care have silenced their thoughts completely. They might have cared when they were people, but they aren’t people anymore.

Some see the smears of blood on the boy’s naked legs, and they look away, because they remember when it happened to them. They know he’ll get used to it in time. They did. 

Others notice the ways the boy has changed since Doc brought him here. The way his softness has started to give way to hard sinew and bone. The way he has started to disappear. They look down at bodies that used to feel human, and they turn away from the boy’s dangling limbs because it hurts too much to consider all the ways they’ve changed too. 

And then there are those that watch, unflinching. A big man whose teeth have been taken from him one by one, because, when Doc gets around to it, those teeth will be replaced with filed metal implants, so that the newly christened fighter will have an advantage in the ring. A woman in a pink collar with low-hanging dugs, who’s carrying her fifth pup. They were both black collars once too. Collateral who came with merchandise that Doc wanted more. 

A few months ago, the man’s lover was sold to a businessman in Oman; they will never see each other again. The man bit Doc’s leg after, tried to shred the fucker’s Achilles’ tendon; Doc only smiled and went for the pliers. Complimented the man on his fight. 

Years ago, Doc put the woman’s husband down for trying to protect her; he gave her daughter to a man in a blue and white pick-up truck, told the woman it was one of the highest prices he’d ever gotten, that maybe he knew what to do with her after all. She doesn’t look at the babies when she nurses. It doesn’t matter that they’re taken from her so soon; she knows she isn’t really their mother. 

These two watch the mutt with casual interest. Maybe the boy has just secured his place. Good for him. It is easier to accept what’s coming, when you know what it might be. 

No one thinks of the blonde-haired boy who came in with the mutt. It wasn’t hard to figure out what Doc was going to use that one for, and once they go in the pole barn, they don’t usually come out again. Or, when they do, it’s in an airmail crate.

The rescues watch, but they don’t; they remember, but they don’t; they care, but they don’t. They shiver in the cold and wait to be put back in the cages that they never could have anticipated would become theirs.

Annie watches too, from her place at the edge of the yard. Her chest feels tight when she sees the way Will’s head bobbles backward from the crook of her father’s arm. When she sees Doc stalk back to the pole barn a few minutes later, she decides: she will clear the yard, get everyone inside, make sure they’re fed and warm. And then, she will see about Will. She knows that her father will be busy for a while.

- - -

Will is half-conscious when Annie finds him. He’s been half-conscious for a while, actually, though he still isn’t sure exactly what happened. 

Well, that’s not really true. He knows what happened.

Will thinks of the grapefruit spoons that were in the silverware drawer when his mother still lived with them. The bowl of each spoon was lined with razor sharp teeth, so you could dig into the fruit and peel the bitter flesh from the rind. 

She took the spoons with her when she left. Because the fucking spoons were worth keeping. 

Will feels like his insides have been scraped with one of those grapefruit spoons. His flesh has been peeled from its rind and pulled out of him. His insides burn like citrus juice in a cut, sharp and stinging. And he aches. The most remote parts of him ache with a kind of raw pain he didn’t know a person could feel on the inside, at least not literally. A bruise on top of a bruise on top of a bruise. 

He’s never hurt this way before. And distantly, he knows it could be worse. Because he’s almost certain it was Tommy who—

It was Tommy. Will knows it was. He’s been half-conscious for a while, after all. 

Tommy tried to be gentle. Will knows it. It doesn’t make it better. Nothing will ever make it better. 

When Will hears the door, he opens his eyes. He expects to be spread on the floor of the glass box, Doc leering over him, and Tommy sobbing in the corner. But Will isn’t in the glass box at all. He’s on his back on the wax-papered exam table, and standing over him, a cloth and basin in her arms, is Annie. 

“Hi,” she whispers. He can tell by the look on her face that he is absolute fucking road kill. 

Oh, fucking hell. Will flushes with embarrassment. This is just what he fucking needs. His best friend’s cum on his face and stuck to his thighs, and a beautiful girl right next to him. Fanfuckingtastic. For just a second, he wonders what Jessie would say about him now, but he tries to push the thought away before it can take root. He’ll never see Jessie again. It doesn’t matter what she’d say. 

But Annie’s eyes are heavy on Will’s face, and he wishes they were not. He looks away, trying hard to hide the tears that have crept back into his eyes. It’s only then that he realizes the stupid gag is still in his mouth; a metal piece digs into his cheek when it hits the table. 

That hurts too. His mouth. His jaw. His throat, inside and out. He screamed himself raw, that’s for certain, but the collar–Jesus, he can smell the burnt skin. 

“Will?” Annie’s voice is timid. “I–I’m so sorry.” 

Will doesn’t even pretend he can answer her. He squeezes his eyes shut again, pressing tears out from under his eyelids. They streak down his filthy face. Just one more thing to wipe away. He’s assuming that’s what Annie’s here for. To clean him up and put him back in his cage.

God, Will wouldn’t care if he never leaves the cage again after this. Fucking throw away the key. So long as he never has to do that again. 

There are soft fingers at the clasp of the gag, and even though Will knows they belong to Annie, he jerks away from her touch. He doesn’t mean to–it just happens. He curls onto his side, cradling his mitts to his beating chest. He only just remembers to stifle his whine. He doesn’t want to know what it would feel like to shock the open wounds on his neck. 

Annie pulls away. “I’m sorry! I just–please? Please, let me help you.” 

Will stills, forcing his breath through his nose. He doesn’t move and, for a moment, neither does Annie. Then, she reaches for the buckle at the back of his head, and Will almost sobs when he feels the gag give way. The leather doesn’t fall away–it’s stuck to his skin with Tommy–and Annie gently pries it up. Will doesn’t want to think about what she’s touching, doesn’t want to be touched, but he’s relieved when the pressure on his jaw finally eases. His mouth hangs open, but he isn’t sure he knows how to close it; he’s almost afraid to try. 

“There you go,” Annie murmurs. Her fingertips lightly hover over the shell of Will’s ear, but they do not stay. “Doc’s with your friend. I thought–I thought I’d clean you up. That maybe you’d like it better if I did it than if he did.” 

Like. Will doesn’t like anything about this. And there is no better. There is only just as bad or worse. 

But he supposes she’s right. 

“He’s with your friend now,” Annie says, “so we have time.” 

There’s a stab of panic in Will’s gut. If Doc is with Tommy, then–

Well, they’re even then, aren’t they? 

It’s a horrible thought, because Will is a horrible person. No, not even a person. A mutt. A worthless mutt. If he were a good boy, like Tommy, he wouldn’t think shit like that. He’d know that Tommy didn’t want it to happen, and that Tommy doesn’t deserve to feel the way Will is feeling just now. Tommy is better than he is. Tommy deserves better. 

Will’s the one who’s got no pedigree. He never has. He won’t, now. 

But fuck if it doesn’t seem fair. 

There’s a gentle pitter of water in the basin as Annie wrings out her cloth. When she draws close again, she gasps. 

“Your throat,” she says, her voice trembling. Her touch ghosts just below the collar’s band, and Will hisses through his teeth; it stings like a bitch. “You must have–oh, no. Oh, God.” 

So, it’s not cute, he guesses. 

“We have to get this off.” 

For a second, Will wants to protest. If Annie takes Will’s collar off, Doc will be mad, and he sure as shit isn’t going to punish Annie for that. At least, Will hopes he wouldn’t. He’s not sure why he cares. This girl–she’s part of all of this, isn’t she? 

But she isn’t. Not really. She doesn’t have a choice. Will wouldn’t have chosen the father he got either. And his mother certainly didn’t choose him. Family isn’t a choice at all. 

Annie leaves him, and he stays curled up on the table, because where the fuck else is he going to go? He doesn’t know where she’s gone, but she’s gone for a little while. Will closes his eyes, but still, his eyelids crinkle against the bright overhead light. 

He used to sleep with the light on, after Mom left. Everything was scarier without her, because when she was there, Will wasn’t allowed to be scared. She’d yell at him, tell him he was being a baby, that he was a big boy and he should be braver. So he’d tried. For her. He’d tried to be brave. 

But Will wasn’t brave. He would lie awake in the dark, hot tears squeezing from his eyes as he listened to them fight. Dad would plead, and Mom would scream, and Will would cry, because he wasn’t brave at all. 

When she was gone, Dad never said anything about the light. Dad never said much about anything. 

For just a second, Will wonders what Dad would say about this. But he pushes the thought away just as quickly as it came; he’ll never see his father again, so there’s no point in wondering what he’d think. It’s probably easier if Dad never knows any of this. If he never knows what Will’s been made into. 

Will’s a disappointment, just like his mother.He was never going to be anything else. 

Annie’s steps are so soft when she comes back that Will doesn’t realize she’s there until he feels the cool metal of keys against the back of his neck.

The buckle of his collar opens, and Annie gently pulls the canvas away from Will’s weeping skin. Some of his skin sticks, tearing away with the collar, and out of habit, he grinds his teeth together to keep from crying out.

Well, that’s one way to figure out he can close his mouth.

Annie freezes. “I’m sorry!”

But it doesn’t help. She has to keep going, has to take the collar all the way off, even if his skin comes with it. Who the fuck cares anyway? Just now, Will would shed all his skin if he could. He would let Annie peel it away piece by soiled piece if he thought it would do any good.

But it’s inside him too. The hurt. Tommy. And that, no one can ever strip away. 

“You can cry,” Annie says, and she is crying too. 

But Will doesn’t cry. He forces his tears to stay put, and he doesn’t say a word, even as Annie lays the collar at the end of the table. He won’t give Doc another reason to hurt him. He has to be a good boy. He has to earn his place. 

He has to live, even if he doesn’t want to. He’s not foolish enough to think that Doc would let him die a minute before Doc’s decided he can. No one who traffics in this kind of human suffering is going to be merciful. 

“I didn’t think–” Annie whispers, and even through the blurry pall of his tears, Will can see her hands shaking, “--I didn’t think he would take you out there. The ones in the doghouse, he–well, they’re usually alone. He doesn’t–this isn’t–I don’t–I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” 

Will doesn’t answer. He wants to believe that she is sorry, but all the same, she knows. She knows what goes on out there, what’s been done to people like Tommy for God knows how long, even if she didn’t know it would happen to Will. She knows, and what’s she done about it? Fucking nothing. Nothing at all. 

But she’s here now, and she’s trying, whatever it’s worth. 

She’s trying for him. 

Will closes his eyes. It isn’t true. He’s just so fucking pathetic that even a girl who’s seen shit like this her whole life pities him. And he’s not stupid. He’s ruined. In the unlikely event he’s ever free again, he’ll never be free of what he is now. There won’t be love. Just fucking pity. 

And who cares if she’s trying? Who cares if anyone ever tries? He doesn’t think he’ll ever want to be touched again. 

But somehow, even that’s not true. He wants Annie to wrap him in her arms and hold him, even though he doesn’t. 

Christ on a bike. 

“I’m sorry,” she says again. “Will?” 

Will flinches at the sound of his name. He suddenly wishes Annie didn’t know it at all. He can feel her eyes moving over every inch of his marked-up, soiled, fucking wrecked body, and he doesn’t want her to look. He doesn’t want her to look, and at the same time, he’s glad someone knows. That someone cares. 

“I have to clean you up, okay?” Annie’s little fingers push Will’s sweaty hair away from his forehead. He winces, and Annie withdraws, just as quickly as if she’d been burned. “It might–it might hurt a little.” 

Will huffs out a bitter, noiseless laugh. What the fuck does he care if it hurts? Doesn’t everything? Won’t it always? He squeezes his eyes shut again, and his tears mingle with the sticky remnants of Tommy still pasted to his cheeks. 

“Okay,” Annie whispers. 

Will hears the slosh of the rag in the bucket, and then, Annie’s hand slips beneath his head, lifting it in a gentle cradle. 

The rag is warm against his cheek, and Annie’s touch is sure, even if her hands are shaking. She scrubs soft circles over his face, cleaning his cheeks, his lips, his chin. His skin doesn’t feel quite so tight or sticky, even if it doesn’t really feel clean; he’s not sure he’ll ever feel clean again. 

Annie lays his head back down and drops the rag back in the basin, and then her fingers are at the hinge of his aching jaw, circling, massaging, easing the tension left over from the gag. Will groans before he can stop himself, and he braces for the snap of electricity against his throat. It doesn’t come. 

Of course it doesn’t, because Annie took off the fucking collar. Fucking genius. 

“It’s okay,” she says. Her thumb moves gently over his jawbone. “Just–whatever you want to say–please, say it. You’re safe.” 

He isn’t safe. But he can pretend, just for a little while. Before it happens all over again. Because it will. He knows it will. 

“Th-thank you,” he whispers. He doesn’t know exactly what he’s thanking her for, and his voice sounds like his throat is made of fucking swiss cheese, but it’s there. He’s there. There are still small mercies to be grateful for.

Annie bends down and kisses his forehead, quick as a wink. Her cheeks are red when she snaps up again, and she turns back to the basin before Will can say anything else. “You’re welcome.” 

Even as the rag touches his raw throat, Will thinks it might not hurt so bad. Not just now. 

Or at least, he can pretend that it doesn’t. It’s something like relief. 

taglist: @darkthingshappen, @oddsconvert, @sparrowsage, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @highwaywhump, @squishablesunbeam, @hold-him-down, @whumpsday, @sowhumpful, @termsnconditions-apply, @honey-is-mesi, @irishwhiskeygrl, @deltaxxk, @d-cs, @whumpinggrounds, @canislycaon24, @considerablecolors, @starlit-darkness, @scp-1296, @flowersarefreetherapy, @morning-star-whump, @whumpwhittler, @susiequaz12, @whumptakesthecake, @whump-world, @hiding-in-the-shadows

[sunshinebingo]

@elorcanweekofficial Day 1 - Tropes

✨ @hlizr50 you are the best. Thanks for managing this event ✨

Synopsis: Elide goes to save Lorcan after he has been captured. The rescue mission leads to some confession between them while they fight their way out.

Alternate Synopsis: 3k worth of them arguing while literally fighting.

Word Count: 3.4k

Tropes included: Gentleman in distress, Rescue, Spy/Mafia (whatever you want to call it), Mutual pining, Grumpy/sunshine but the sunshine is a badass woman (is that a trope??)

Warning: Blood and violence

Read on Ao3

She moved the grid at the end of the air vent aside as slowly as possible to avoid any noise. Unfortunately, she knew that this passage would not be an option once she would manage to get Lorcan due to his size. One of the advantages of being petite was that she could infiltrate very small spaces. That was an especially big advantage when one was a on rescue mission like she was. Being the most petite of her gang, it was an unspoken rule for Elide to take on missions where hiding in unconventional places was required. The smallest place she had probably had to hide in was a luggage. Thankfully, years of rigorous training have kept the cramps at bay once she had to get out of it.

Drip. Drip. Drip. The sound of the water leaking was now the only thing she could hear. Good. Watching Lorcan being beaten and listening to his grunts and muffled swearing had been a true test of her patience for the last two hours. Since he had been missing for the last thirty hours, who knows for how long they had been at this. Although he was one of the strongest men she knew, Elide still needed to act before the others could come back and finish what they started.

Putting the grid aside, Elide wiggled her way out of the vent, half of her body dangling awkwardly in the air, until enough of her legs were out for her to gracefully flip herself around and land without injuring herself despite the distance of the floor from the vent. Splash. The landing would have been silent if it was not for the pool of water on the floor that had probably accumulated from the broken pipe somewhere in the room.

A quick look around confirmed that all of Maeve’s pawns have left. If the smell of rot, sweat, humidity and blood that had hit her inside the vent had not yet given away the fact that this was one of Maeve’s torture rooms, Elide would have guessed it from the blood-stained walls, the lack of exit except for the heavy iron door and the discarded instruments of torture on a table at the far end of the room; knives of all sizes and shapes, scissors, pliers and more, all rusted and covered in what she assumed was layers of filth and blood from everyone they had been used on.

And of course, the presence of Lorcan, who was tied to a chair in the middle of the small room with his back to her and his head slumped forward. She noticed the blood dripping down his bound hands and his usually long luscious hair, now looking greasy with more traces of blood.

Elide knew he had heard her entrance when he turned his head around to look at the source of the splashing water. ‘’Come to finish what you started?’’ he drawled clearly despite his battered face. Even after hours of being beaten, Lorcan still remained cocky and overconfident. Knowing that he was still breathing after what he had just gone through, Elide knew that he had reasons to. She let out a sigh of relief knowing that they had not broken him yet.

‘’The door was not a dramatic enough entrance, huh?’’ he added, thinking that she was one of those sent by Maeve.

Elide walked towards him. ‘’What kind of spy would I be if I just used the door?’’ His expression instantly changed at the sound of her voice.

‘’What the fuck are you doing here?’’ he hissed. His voice contained a mixture of fear and anger that she had no time to ponder on. She did not know how long they had before someone came in and saw her snatching their prisoner away.

‘’Saving your ass clearly,’’ she said as she walked around and finally faced him. He only had his black pants on and his bare chest contained several cuts and bruises. His face was in the same state, though she suspected from experience that none of them would ruin his beautiful face forever. But it still pained her to see Lorcan like this.

‘’I don’t need you to save me,’’ he scowled at her.

Elide stood straight, crossed her arms and looked down at him. It was one of the rare times when she did not feel like a little gnome next to the gigantic man before her.

‘’Really?’’ she deadpanned. ‘’So, being tied up while someone beats your face to a pulp is a kink of yours? Will you use that bar for some pole dance after?’’ she tilted her head, indicating the metal bar near the wall on her left.

Lorcan stuck out his tongue and licked the blood that was running into his mouth. ‘’You think you are funny,’’ he said, though she did not know whether it was a question or a statement.

Elide placed both hands on his shoulders, making sure to avoid the areas where he had been harmed, and leaned down. With her face mere inches from his, she could smell the faint remains of his cologne mixed with the blood and sweat on him. ‘’I wasn’t trying to be funny,’’ she replied.

Lorcan eyes travelled from her eyes to her lips and down her neck. He drank in the sight of her breasts which were now close to his face before trailing his eyes lower. He looked intently at her tight black leather suit and the way it hugged her body, as if he could see every weapon concealed underneath.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but Elide spared him the need for what she imagined would be another retort, when she rolled her eyes and moved to stand behind him again. She removed a hair pin from her low bun, moved it inside the handcuffs at his wrist for a few seconds before Click - they opened and Lorcan could finally move his hands again.

‘’Thank fuck,’’ he breathed out. Since she knew it was the only thanks that she would get for risking her life to save him, she greedily snatched the whispered words and locked them where she kept every crumb that she could get from Lorcan.

As soon as he was up, Lorcan grabbed her arm and made her look up at him. ‘’You shouldn’t have come here,’’ he said through gritted teeth.

Elide pulled hard and he released her. ‘’And yet I did,’’ she said firmly. She pushed a little on his chest and regretted it instantly when he winced. Despite his angry frown, she could see the exhaustion in his eyes. She placed her hands gently across his bare chest and started to apologise. Lorcan looked down where her fingers were gently swiping away a drop of blood that was trickling down from a wound. She did not if the softness that suddenly filled his gaze was due to relief, exhaustion or something else. She wanted it to be something else.

Lorcan closed his eyes and Elide felt him breathe deeply before letting out a long exhale. When he opened his eyes again, his expression was hard again as he moved to the table containing the instruments that they had used on him.  ‘’Now how the hell do we get out of here?’’ Lorcan said as he started inspecting the dirty tools. At least he could still walk properly. Elide took out a small gun from her belt along with two knives from her boots and handed them to him.

‘’I could cut you up into small pieces and carry you out through the vent.’’

Lorcan looked like he wanted to ask again if she thought she was funny. But before he could - Bang - someone hit hard on the iron door from the other side. Elide and Lorcan shared one look. He looked at the chair behind her and tilted his head to indicate the door. She understood.

A series of clicks and clacks sounded from the door as someone took their time to unlock it. Lorcan grabbed the handcuffs from the floor and sat back in the rusty chair while Elide positioned herself behind the door. She pulled out her other gun and waited. 

‘’Are you dead yet?’’ the voice of the burly man who entered echoed in the small room. Elide pressed herself closer against the wall as the door opened. She kept her breathing calm and silent, thankful that she was hidden by the still open door and that no one else was coming in. When the man stopped in front of Lorcan, she immediately recognised him as Cairn, Maeve’s favourite pet. She understood then why he was the only one who had come this time. Cairn grabbed Lorcan’s hair and roughly pulled his head back.

‘’You wish,’’ Lorcan said and Elide heard the smirk in his voice.

‘���Good,’’ Cairn surprisingly replied. ‘’Maeve has plans for you. We don’t want her toy to be damaged beyond repair now, do we?’’

Something burned inside Elide at the mention of the woman who was obsessed with Lorcan. Elide knew that he had had to fake an attraction for Maeve when a few months ago, Lorcan had infiltrated Maeve’s city and her close circle pretending that he was back in Doranelle for good. But she had always feared the possibility that spending time on the other side might sway him there. Especially considering that Lorcan had previously worked for Maeve before his friends and him had all settled in Terrasen to work for Aelin instead. She feared that perhaps, Maeve had convinced him that a life with her in Doranelle was better than in Terrasen with his friends, including the one friend who wished they were more than friends.

Lorcan scoffed. ‘’Her majesty doesn’t find you good enough, huh?’’ he teased him more. ‘’Maybe you should learn how to use your dick better.’’

From where she was peaking, Elide noticed the way that Cairn’s body tensed. But Lorcan’s remarks made her tense also. She hated the way he spoke like he had been intimate with that bitch. She hated that he had ever been close enough to touch her. And she hated the thought that perhaps he had.

Cairn pulled on Lorcan’s hair harder, causing him to groan and Elide chose that moment to pounce. She put her gun back in her belt and grabbed a knife instead. With the disgusting image of Maeve’s hands on Lorcan’s body, Elide jumped on Cairn’s back, placed her small hands on his mouth and dug her blade in his neck. Before he could make any noise, Lorcan stood up and punched Cairn in the face. Elide righted herself behind him before he could fall on her. She removed the knife embedded in the side of his neck and sliced it across his throat. Slowly, Elide placed Cairn on the ground while he still choked on his own blood.

When she looked up, she found Lorcan staring at her with wide eyes. ‘’Are you coming?’’ she stared back at him, ‘’Are would you rather wait for Maeve to come play with you?’’

He frowned but said nothing. They moved to the door and found the corridor outside to be empty. From what she had learned in her thorough research of this house before she embarked on this rescue mission, she had a rough idea of where they were and how to get out. It was risky, but the only option they had.

Lorcan followed close behind without question and Elide was again grateful that he could move on his own. She did not think that she would have been able to support his massive body all the way outside while ensuring that no one noticed them. With their guns in hand, both moved along the dark corridor, passing by several iron doors similar to the one where Lorcan was being kept, until they reached the end. They stopped in front of some stairs that Elide knew from the plan of the house would lead them to the outside of the underground basement they were in. Some hushed voices coming from the top of the stairs made them halt.

Lorcan grabbed Elide’s wrist and pulled her flush against his bare chest. ‘’We’re fucked,’’ he muttered. With nowhere else to go but up these stairs, they had to come up with a plan quickly. But before they could think of anything, two people were walking down the stairs towards them. BANG! Elide shot the first one in the chest.  Another bang, and the woman behind him went down before she could even pull her weapon out. 

‘’Great,’’ Lorcan complained behind her, ‘’Now the others will join too.’’

Elide turned to him and frowned. ‘’Did you have a better idea?’’

He shook his head in exasperation while still frowning. Instead of answering, Lorcan interlaced his free hand in hers. But before he could start pulling her up the stairs, Elide stopped him and walked in front of him again.

‘’You are injured. It’s best if I go first.’’ Without losing another second and with their hands still intertwined, they rushed past the two bodies and towards the exit. Just like Lorcan predicted, more voices were heard upstairs, indicating that more were coming here to investigate the sound of gun shots. Lorcan’s grip on her hand tightened.

‘’Fuck,’’ Lorcan groaned. ‘’Do you have another genius plan that might get us killed?’’

‘’I do,’’ Elide replied, unfazed by Lorcan’s harsh tone. ‘’We fight until we get out.’’ She came here to get him out and that was what she was going to do.

A few more steps and they reached the end of the stairs. The room separating them from the exit looked just like a regular basement where one would keep their useless junk. It was filled with shelves filled with boxes and random things that had seemingly been placed carelessly to hide the fact that this place led to a series of torture chambers. Smash! A vase exploded on the shelf right next to Elide’s head followed by a series of bangs from the five figures that have entered the basement.

Lorcan pulled hard on her hand, dragging her with him behind the highest shelf. He released her hand and adjusted the gun in both of his hands. ‘’This would not have happened if you did not come here,’’ he snapped at her before turning around and shooting at Maeve’s men.

Elide did the same and managed to hit someone in the shoulder. ‘’This would not have happened if you did not decide to come visit your psychotic girlfriend.’’

‘’She is not my girlfriend,’’ he raised his voice so that she could hear her over the bangs and smash and clunks of the flying bullets hitting glass and the stone wall and bouncing against the hard metal of the shelves.

‘’Is that how you ended up down there? Because you came here to dump her?’’

Lorcan threw his knife at someone who had managed to come close to their hiding spot. It hit the man right in the head, causing him to instantly drop dead.

Elide finally killed the man she had managed to injure before, reducing their target to three and her bullets to four. Lorcan was not doing much better with only five bullets left.

‘’You really believe that there was something between Maeve and me?’’ Lorcan asked, looking at Elide instead of his target. Bang! A bullet that nearly grazed his head made him pulled back behind their shelf.

The side look that Elide sent him must have given away her doubts. ‘’You know it was all a ruse Elide,’’ he told her.

‘’Was it?’’ Elide turned around and shot again. Bang and the woman went down with a bullet through the chest.

‘’Yes,’’ Lorcan almost shouted. ‘’All of it.’’

Elide looked at him again, her eyes pleading for the truth to a question she did not dare ask. But he seemed to have read it on her face anyway.

‘’I never had feelings for her,’’ his softer tone contrasted with his previous harsh one. ‘’I left Doranelle because it was becoming a shit hole where Maeve wanted everyone to eat out of her hands like a fucking queen. And I never once regretted walking away.’’

Perhaps it was the way in which he said it that convinced her to believe him. Yet she could not stop herself from asking. ‘’Why did you come back here then?’’

‘’They crashed my car and dragged me here for fuck sake,’’ he gritted out after shooting down another man in the knee before ending him with another bullet through the throat while he crouched in pain. That explained why his location was lost on the road. They had probably gotten rid of his damaged car to conceal the proof. ‘’They know the truth about me now so I guess they will track me everywhere until they kill me.’’

His words brought the same panic she had felt when she had learned that Lorcan had been located here. And just like when it happened then, she converted the fear into rage and determination. She pushed on the boxes on the shelf that they were hiding behind, causing the objects at the other edge to fall down. This distracted the last woman who was still shooting at them. Bang! Elide shot and her last bullet went through the woman’s eye and came out on the other side of her head.

Lorcan whispered a curse behind her. Elide grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the door before they could get ambushed again. They left the basement and quickly find a door nearby that led to the outside without encountering any further obstacle. But as soon they crossed the threshold into broad daylight, a loud bang was heard before Elide fell down holding her stomach. Before she understood where the bullet had come from, Lorcan had already used his last two to bring down a man hiding behind a nearby bush.

Lorcan’s expression was filled with fear when he looked down at her and repeated her name over and over again like a plea. But Elide opened her suit to reveal the bullet-proof vest underneath. ‘’You still think I am not qualified enough for this?’’ she asked as she stood again. His shoulders sagged with relief yet his eyes still contained the same fear.

‘’It has nothing to do with being qualified,’’ he retorted as they started running towards the gate and went through a hole in the concrete wall. After confirming that Lorcan was alright, they ran again to where Elide had left her bike, hidden behind a few trees of the forest surrounding the private estate.

‘’Then what does it have to do with?’’ she asked once they reached the bike.

Lorcan took a few steps towards her and looked straight into her eyes as he said, ‘’It has to do with the fact that I don’t want you to fucking die for me.’’  

‘’Am I dead?’’ she crossed her arms. ‘’No. But you would have if I did not volunteer to come for you.’’

Lorcan crossed his arms too but winced slightly from the movement. It seemed that the adrenaline from their escape was wearing down and his injuries were starting to make themselves known.

‘’Why?’’

“Why what?” she snapped.

Lorcan’s arm fell at his sides when he sighed. “Why did you volunteer?” he asked like the reason was obvious to everyone else but him.

“Because,” she began with growing frustration. Is he that clueless? she thought. “Ugh. You idiot,” Elide whispered more to herself. Then, she threw caution to the wind, raised up until she was standing in the tip of her boots, grabbed his bruised and bloody face between her palms and pressed her lips against his. It was gentle enough to not cause him any further pain. And still –

Of all the scenarios she had made in her mind about kissing him, she had never imagined that it would happen in a situation like this. And she never thought that it would feel like this. Lorcan wrapped his hands around her waist to pull her closer and Elide decided then that she would risk her life a thousand times over for him.

The voices coming from the direction of Maeve’s estate brought her back to reality and forced them to pull apart. The climbed on the bike with Elide at the front and Lorcan holding her tightly at the back. As soon as she started the vehicle, Lorcan leaned even closer to her. ‘’Nice suit by the way,’’ he murmured in her ear.

“You fucking idiot,” she muttered with a smile and they finally left.

[whumpshaped]

Break That Man 2023

collecting these in case i ever wanna look back on it. fond memories of when my pocket friends came to the rescue as i was suffering from "want to write but dont know what"

game intro

electric shock

pliers

hammer

not enough time

teeth pulling

mindfuck

hot iron

give up

eyes yoinked

blow torch

bugs

autocannibalism

needles

drill

acid

salt and ice

salt in wound // end