#the professionals

[sorenkingsley]

[princessnamora]

Claudia Cardinale as Maria Grant in The Professionals (1966)

[bodhrancomedy]

When you’re watching a 1970s cop show which has a whole episode that essentially boils down to “fuck homophobia” and “fuck cops with no regulations” (ironic since the show is *about* cops with no regulations), you have to get through this bit before the “let’s fuck with homophobic cops” bit.

On one hand, this is embarrassing.

On the other, queer people are handled way better here in the 70s multiple time than the 90s reboot where our heroes are actively homophobic for laughs.

[knivestothroats]

The Professionals - Bargain Price

The Professionals is a crossover of In the Woods Somewhere by me and Professional//Victim by @victimeyez In which Tommy learns the price of trying to bargain. (Follow up to Allowances) CW: Long term captivity, violent whumper, many graphic threats, beating, biting, bchoking

Fletcher let Tommy stew for a bit before they came to find him. They enjoyed their dinner and took a moment to decide what they were going to do to him. 

When they opened the door to his room, it was empty.

Or – mostly empty. Fletcher was good at scanning rooms, and it only took them a moment to spot a bit of a pale foot under the bed. They stepped lightly in and crouched, snagging his ankle and dragging him out.

Tommy yelped as he was wrenched from his hiding spot, immediately putting his hands up in a weak attempt to shield himself. Any vestiges of bravado he had managed earlier were long gone now. Fletcher looked down at him as he cowered at their boots.

“Hey, buddy.”

“Fletcher – Fletcher,” his voice broke. “I’m s-so sorry, I don’t know what I was– I never should have– I can–” Tommy hiccuped out a sob and covered his face with his hands.

Fletcher put a finger to their lips and waited for Tommy to quiet down.

“If you want to act like a child and throw a tantrum, then I’m canceling your playdate.” 

Fletcher pulled their phone from their pocket and opened up Buck’s contact.

“Wait! Wait no, no nononono Fletcher, wait, please!” Tommy scrambled up onto his knees, clinging to Fletcher’s thigh frantically. 

Fletcher held the phone up above their head to keep it out of Tommy’s reach.

“What? You want something worse than being grounded?”

“Please, please, anything else, I’ll – I’ll pay for the wall, and – and you can hurt me, please please just don’t call him!”

“Oh ho, buddy, you are absolutely paying for the wall,” Fletcher sneered. “Do you know how long that’s going to take you to pay off? You can forget about buying anything any time soon.”

It took a moment, but then seemed to fully dawn on Tommy how much it would cost him. Fletcher could see him trying to do the math in his head, the dread on his face as it really sank in. Five dollars a week couldn’t get much, and months would stack up fast.

“I…” He gulped, his eyes watering. “I know, I know, I’ll do it, but please don’t take Buck away.”

Fletcher eyed Tommy for a moment.

“You said I could hurt you? What do you want me to do to you instead? What do you think is enough to make up for it?”

“Well, yes, I mean…..um…” Tommy’s eyes darted nervously around the room, as if he would find something that might help him. He wet his lips. 

“You could…you could…beat me...”

“I could beat you and still send Buck away,” Fletcher retorted. “I can beat you for stuttering when you talk to me. I could beat you for anything, whenever I want. If you want me to change my mind, you have to come up with something enticing.”

Tommy blinked away tears. “You can… you can use a knife?” He offered tentatively.

“Yeah?” Fletcher asked mockingly. “I can use a knife? Can I take off patches of your skin with it? Can I wedge the point under your fingernails?”

Tommy’s jaw moved, but no words came out.

“Can I chop off a finger?” Fletcher continued. “One of your ears? Can I stick it in your eye? Can I open up your fucking veins? Is that okay with you?!”

Their words grew more aggressive and they grabbed the front of Tommy’s shirt.

“I… I…” Tommy stammered.

“What, you don’t want that? Well, can I do something else? What about your bones, Thunderbird, am I allowed to break those? Can I knock out your teeth? Can I hold your head under water? Can I break out the car battery and the jumper cables? Can I burn the bottoms of your feet so you have to crawl? Can I wrap my hands around your throat and tighten them until you stop moving and your last thought before you pass out is that you hope to fucking god I let go before you die? Huh? Can I do any of those fucking things to you?”

“I… I’m sorry, I don’t…”

Fletcher slapped Tommy hard across the face, swinging it to the side.

“Wise the fuck up, kid,” Fletcher snapped. “I can do whatever the fuck I want to you. Maybe it worked for you before where you bat your fucking eyelashes and get on your knees and you get out of whatever you had coming, but I don’t give a shit about any of that. You take what I give you.”

“Yes, Fletcher, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Tommy cried, words coming out barely above a whisper. His teary eyes tracked the movement of the phone in their hand. “I’ll take whatever you give me. Can you please hang up now?”

It took Fletcher a second to process. They looked at their phone and saw the seconds ticking up, timing the phone call.

“Oh shit,” they muttered. They put the phone to their ear. “Buck, you there?”

No answer. Must be a voicemail.

Fletcher ended the call. They hesitated a moment, then punched Tommy hard in the chest.

Tommy made a breathy grunt as the wind was knocked out of him. He dropped to the floor, curled up on his side, and tried a few frightening times to draw a breath before one actually came.

“Don’t punch my fucking wall,” Fletcher growled, standing up. “We aren’t finished with this conversation.”

Fletcher stepped forwards over Tommy and planted their boot down firmly on the side of his face, pinning his head to the floor. He was already trembling with fear, struggling to catch his breath. They called Buck again, putting it on speaker and letting the automatic voicemail answer message play.

“Hey, didn’t mean to call you the first time. Hit the button accidentally. But, look, I am canceling your next visit because Tommy is grounded. I’ll let you know when you can come back.”

Tommy whimpered pitifully on the ground, but didn’t protest.

Fletcher ended the call and sent Buck a text.

Ignore the first voicemail.

“Alright, get up,” Fletcher instructed, stepping off of Tommy. He shakily got to his feet. “Follow me.”

Tommy slinked along after Fletcher, but hung back when Fletcher opened the basement door. His chest tightened. 

“After you.”

Fletcher gestured down the dark stairwell. As much as Tommy didn’t want to go down there, it didn’t seem like a good time to disobey. 

You’ve been in the basement before, he told himself as he forced his feet down each step. You were fine.

But Fletcher wasn’t mad at you then.

Tommy hesitated at the bottom of the stairs as Fletcher pulled the string on the overhead lights. They stood in the empty part of the basement. Nothing but a cement floor with a drain. They gestured for Tommy to join them.

Tommy’s heart was racing. He didn’t feel like he was piloting his body as it approached Fletcher. Instinctively, he began to lower himself to the floor when Fletcher cut him off.

“Don’t get on your fucking knees unless I tell you,” they growled.

“S-Sorry,” Tommy said, quickly straightening up. 

“You wanna fight me?”

Tommy was so taken aback he was sure he heard them wrong. His brain was making things up again. 

“What - sorry - what did you say?”

“I said,” Fletcher stepped closer, invading Tommy’s space. “Do you want to fight me?”

“N-No, no, Fletcher, of course I-”

“You wanted to hit me earlier,” Fletcher asserted. “You hit the wall instead. Isn’t that right? It wasn’t the wall you were angry at.”

Tommy shrank back. “I was just… I didn’t…”

“Well, I’m giving you the opportunity,” Fletcher said. “I’ll even let you start.”

Tommy was wide eyed and frozen like a deer in headlights. Fletcher waited, staring him down with a cold gaze.

“I don’t want to fight you,” Tommy said in a small voice.

Fletcher shoved Tommy in the chest with both hands, causing him to stumble backwards.

“Let me reframe this,” they said, pacing after him. “You can stand there and take a beating, or you can fight back. I am giving you a chance to fight back. Clearly it’s something you need to get out of your system, so you don’t go punching holes in my walls.”

They reached out and grabbed Tommy by the face, squeezing in his cheeks. With a sharp smile they said, “Aren’t I so fucking nice?”

They let go and gave Tommy a slap, but not nearly as hard as they had earlier.

“C’mon. You were a street punk. You never learned how to fight?”

“Fletcher, I don’t…” Tommy put up his hands. “Please, I don’t want to do this!”

Fletcher easily reached through his defense to grab Tommy by the front of his shirt, and punched him across the face.

“You want to stand there and get hit like you always do?” They snapped. “Don’t you want to hit back for once in your miserable life?”

Tommy’s head was swimming. Pain bloomed across his jaw from the strike. His fear and anger rose in his gut, but he felt paralyzed to defend himself. The product of years of grueling training to never resist, to never fight back. Now he had a chance, and he was terrified. When he saw Fletcher raise their fist again, he threw up his arms to guard his face. 

Fletcher’s knuckles collided with the bones of Tommy’s thin arms. He managed to keep his defenses up, so Fletcher went low and drove their fist into his stomach. When Tommy doubled over, dropping his arms to his abdomen, Fletcher smacked him across the face.

“Fucking do something,” they snarled. “This isn’t over until you fight back.”

Something in Tommy snapped. 

He lunged at Fletcher, hand flying out to take a swipe at their face, his fingers curled into claws.

Fletcher managed to block the attack, grabbing his arm and pushing it away. Tommy immediately countered with his other hand, yanking his arm free to make mad swipes and rain fists down wherever he could.

Fletcher parried a strike and shot a fist out at Tommy’s stomach again. He folded slightly but was being carried by the adrenaline, flinging himself back at Fletcher. 

Fletcher blocked his first arm, but the second managed to slip through. Tommy’s nails clawed across Fletcher’s cheek and eyelid. 

Fletcher hissed and shoved Tommy back. He charged forward, head down, colliding with Fletcher like he was trying to tackle them. Fletcher had to brace their feet but remained upright easily. They even let out a small laugh before driving their elbow down into his back. 

Tommy jerked and grunted at the impact but didn’t let go. He tried to strike with his knees and kick at the inside of Fletcher’s legs. Fletcher took the opportunity to pull him off his balance, throwing him to the floor.

Tommy held fast to Fletcher’s shirt, pulling them down with him.

Fletcher could feel their own balance start to go and aimed their fall to land with their knee on Tommy’s stomach. He let out an oof but didn’t stop. Instead he reached up and snagged a fistful of Fletcher’s hair.

In the old days, Fletcher had kept their head buzzed for this reason. Having it used against them now gave them an instinctive jolt of panic, as well as anger. 

If Tommy wanted to go low - scratching, grappling, hair pulling - Fletcher would meet him there. They landed their hand on his face and dug their thumb into his eye socket.

Tommy let out a groan through gritted teeth and twisted his face away to shake off the hand, then back to sink his teeth into it. All without loosening his grip on Fletcher’s hair.

Fletcher let out a roar of pain and tore their hand away. 

Enough fucking around.

They drove their fist down hard into the center of Tommy’s face. They could feel his nose crunch beneath their knuckles.

Tommy relinquished his grip, both hands moving toward his face, but Fletcher caught his arm and bit back, clamping their jaw down on his forearm.

Tommy yelled out in pain. His face was painted red from the blood pouring out his nose like Fletcher had struck oil. He was no longer struggling, just trying to curl in defensively once more.

Fletcher released and stood up. They leaned down and hauled Tommy up by the front of his shirt, putting him in a sitting position.

Tommy was breathing heavily through his mouth, head hanging low, blood running freely down his chin and dripping into his lap. Fletcher took a fistful of his hair and pulled his head up to look at them. Tommy braced for impact.

“Feel better?” Fletcher asked scornfully.

“No,” Tommy said, voice muddled by a clogged nose. Blood sprayed off his lips when he spoke.

“Was it worth it?”

“No,” Tommy groaned. With his nose broken, he had to pant for air through his mouth, blood tingeing his teeth red. Fletcher’s other hand went to his collar, gripping it tight in their fist so it pulled against his throat. Tommy’s hands fluttered around their forearm, wanting to pull them off but unable to muster the strength. He’d already lost - no need to keep digging deeper. 

“Did we learn something?” Fletcher asked, tugging sharply on the collar while keeping him in place with their fist his hair. 

“Y-yes Fletcher, please don’t hit me anymore, I’m sorry,” Tommy pleaded. His voice was congested, and blood was starting to spread through the fabric of his shirt as it streamed down off his face. 

Fletcher cocked their head to the side, considering him. Tommy took the respite to wheeze, struggling not to cough up the blood filling his mouth into Fletcher’s face. 

“Your place is right here, under my boot. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Fletcher.” 

They shook his head by their fist in his hair and he whimpered, clenching his eyes closed against the pain hammering inside his head. 

“Should I be merciful?” Fletcher asked, their voice low. Tommy cracked an eye open, trying to tell if they were asking, or just talking to themselves. They looked pissed, but alive, excited. 

Beg, Tommy, beg for it, a voice urged him. It spoke in Caius’s voice, so close he could feel his breath against his ear. 

“P-please, please Fletcher, you’ve let me - let me live here and I forgot to be grateful, I’m so grateful, please, please don’t hurt me anymore, don’t let me – don’t let me lose the mercy you’ve shown, please, I know my place, please, please don’t kill me, I’ll be good!” Tommy hiccuped, sobs breaking through as the last of his adrenaline rush abandoned him.

Fletcher let him beg, leaning back to take in the full picture. They finally relinquished their fist in his hair to stroke his face with an unexpected softness. Tommy twitched weakly, waiting for more punishment. Instead, the hand wiped his tears, then dropped away. Fletcher placed a boot on Tommy’s leg, holding him in place. With their other hand, they lifted the collar.

The leather dug into Tommy’s throat, digging under his chin and pressing against his windpipe.  It was hard to draw in any breath, and his shallow gasps punctuated the thick silence between them.

They played with him like that for a bit, letting go just when the world started to grey out, returning as soon as he managed a gulp of air. When they finally let go, Tommy was dazed, his eyes unfocused. Fletcher relented and stepped off of him. When they released their grip on the collar holding him up, Tommy drooped forward limply. 

“Forget your allowance until I think you’ve paid for the repair – which you’ll be doing, and doing right. No play dates until you learn some self control. And if I hear a single word about it, I’ll make what I’ve done to you today feel like a vacation. You understand me?”

It took him a moment to process their words, but then Tommy gave a shaky nod. Fletcher leaned in and patted his cheek. 

“Good answer.”

@suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday

@defire @jumpywhumpywriter @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @paperprinxe @desert-dyke

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @cursedandtired

@whump-only @misspelledwitch @redstainedsocks @thehopelessopus @im-just-here-for-the-whump

@thatsthewhump @utopian819 @pretty-face-breaker @thesuffererrrr

[victimeyez]

2 Missed Calls - The Professionals

Buck receives a voicemail from an accidental phone call that paints a stark picture of Tommy's life at the lodge. (Follow up to Bargain Price) The Professionals is a crossover of In the Woods Somewhere by @knivestothroats and Professional//Victim by myself CW: Long term captivity, violent whumper, many graphic threats, beating, ptsd, guilt, angst, the world's worst situationship ~

You Have (2) New Voicemails

(2) Missed Calls From: Fletcher

New Text From: Fletcher

Buck stared at his phone, a knot of anxiety in his stomach. He drummed his hands on the steering wheel, waiting for his car to warm up so he could head home from work.

They texted a little occasionally, usually just for planning visits. Things were…better. As hard as it was to go back to the lodge, it was a little bit like exposure therapy. Sure, he still felt nauseous the whole drive out, and an impending sense of doom. When he got there though, Fletcher didn’t hit him, or aim a gun to his head, or lock a collar on that matched Tommy’s and take off in his car to fake his death - again. 

He was still afraid of Fletcher, and painfully aware that Fletcher still held the power in the relationship. But they had held to their word; Buck was free to go, and he was never harmed. The same couldn’t be said for Tommy, but he seemed to understand Buck was freed.

He unlocked his phone and opened the text, staring at Fletcher’s message. 

Ignore the first voicemail. 

Opened the voicemail. Stared at it. To delete, or not to delete? No, he had to know. It would probably just be a pocket dial. Right?

Buck pressed play on the first voicemail. 

“-- nononono Fletcher, wait, please!” 

“What? You want something worse than being grounded?”

The hair on the back of Buck’s neck stood up. He recognized Fletcher’s angry tone. The other person had to be Tommy, though his voice was high and distressed as he begged. They sounded slightly distant, neither of them talking directly into the phone.

“Please, please, anything else, I’ll – I’ll pay for the wall, and – and you can hurt me, please, please just don’t call him!”

Buck’s stomach sank. Tommy sounded so absolutely desperate, but if he had gotten his way, Buck wouldn’t be listening to this over voicemail. Hearing him offering his pain was nauseating. Tommy, what did you do?

“Oh ho, buddy, you are absolutely paying for the wall,” Fletcher snapped. “Do you know how long that’s going to take you to pay off? You can forget about buying anything any time soon.”

There was a pause, and a bit of rustling against the microphone. Then Tommy again, mournful.

“I…I know, I know, I’ll do it, but please don’t take Buck away.”

Buck knew Tommy got excited for his visits, but he wasn’t prepared to hear his heart breaking over it. He hadn’t thought about it like that before – but he had unwittingly played right into Fletcher’s game, becoming a reward for Tommy just so Fletcher could hold it over his head. He wanted to hang up. He didn’t want to hear this, but he felt paralyzed. As if it would be unfair to turn away from knowing what happened to Tommy when no one else in the world did.

As if hurting for Tommy could alleviate some of his pain. 

“You said I could hurt you? What do you want me to do to you instead? What do you think is enough to make up for it?”

“Well, yes, I mean…..um…” Tommy was struggling to answer Fletcher’s scathing line of questioning. Buck didn’t envy him, having been in that position himself. He still had no idea what to say. 

“You could…you could…beat me?..” Tommy tried timidly. Buck sighed, shutting his eyes as if it could block it out. 

“I could beat you and still send Buck away,” Fletcher pointed out. “I can beat you for stuttering when you talk to me. I could beat you for anything, whenever I want. If you want me to change my mind, you have to come up with something enticing.”

Buck opened his eyes again, wide. He needed to see where he was. Needed to confirm he wasn’t back at the lodge. That while Fletcher was still there, playing with their food, Buck wasn’t on the menu anymore. 

“You can… you can use a knife?” 

“Yeah?” Fletcher asked mockingly. “I can use a knife? Can I take off patches of your skin with it? Can I wedge the point under your fingernails?”

Tommy didn’t respond. Buck was mashing the phone against his ear, trying to listen. He thought he could hear a whisper of Tommy’s breathing, laboured with his panic.

“Can I chop off a finger?” Fletcher continued. “One of your ears? Can I stick it in your eye? Can I open up your fucking veins? Is that okay with you?!”

“I… I…” Tommy stammered hopelessly. Buck wanted to scream at him to say something, to fight back, but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t hear Buck anyways - this was all past now, Buck was too late. He didn’t even know what he would do if he had picked up the call.

“What, you don’t want that? Well, can I do something else? What about your bones, Thunderbird, am I allowed to break those? Can I knock out your teeth? Can I hold your head under water?”

Buck pulled the phone away from his ear like yanking his hand back from a hot stove. It was too much. He could feel the pressure of water in his own sinuses again.

His thumb hovered over the end call button. Why should he have to drown again? He was out. Fletcher didn’t have the power to hurt him out here.

Buck thought about Tommy in the lodge, in his place, scared and hurting and alone. He put the phone back to his ear, as if that meant he could be there for him. 

Tommy was sobbing in terror. “I – hic-- I’m s-sorry, I don’t –”

He was cut off by a sharp sound of impact, grunting in pain. Fletcher must have hit him. 

“Fight back!” Buck gasped out loud. “Fight back, Tommy, do something damn it!” He felt so helpless. Frustrated, even, that Tommy was just taking it. It felt like his inaction meant choosing to let Buck suffer, too.

“Wise the fuck up, kid,” Fletcher snapped. “I can do whatever the fuck I want to you. Maybe it worked for you before where you bat your fucking eyelashes and get on your knees and you get out of whatever you had coming, but I don’t give a shit about any of that. You take what I give you.”

Buck’s stomach turned. Maybe the degradation wasn’t worse than the violence but it was just as difficult to listen to. He hated to think that Tommy was living with it day in and day out when he wasn’t around to keep Fletcher on their best behavior. 

“Yes, Fletcher, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Tommy agreed miserably. He could barely find his voice. Buck strained to hear it.

“I-I’ll take whatever you give me. Can you p-please hang up now?”

“Oh shit,” Buck heard Fletcher mutter. His anxiety spiked suddenly, like he’d drawn the attention of a predator. 

“Buck, you there?” Fletcher’s voice was clear now, speaking directly into his ear. Buck held his breath, trembling with anxiety.

–AT. SEVEN. THIRTY. EIGHT. PM. FROM. NUMBER SEVEN–” Buck dropped his phone, cutting off the robotic voice that startled him out of his spell. He looked down at the screen.

You Have (1) New Voicemail

(2) Missed Calls From: Fletcher

Buck sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. Wasn’t one harrowing voicemail enough? The second one was only twelve seconds long, at least. 

New voicemail

“Hey, didn’t mean to call you the first time. Hit the button accidentally. But, look, I am canceling your next visit because Tommy is grounded. I’ll let you know when you can come back.”

Fletcher was clear now, intentional, but Buck swore he could hear a faint whimper in the background. If Tommy was still there, he could not speak. 

–AT. SEVEN. FORTY. FOUR. PM. FROM. NUMBER SEVEN–” 

Logically, Buck knew Tommy was tortured at the lodge, but he’d never had to face it. He’d seen bandages covering up the aftermath, bruising and fresh scars, but Tommy usually wore long sleeves and pants when he was around. It hadn’t occurred to Buck how much he might be covering up. He tried not to think about it. But Tommy was so infuriatingly obedient, Buck had hoped he kept out of trouble.

He sighed and rubbed his face, trying to shake off the secondhand horror. It felt so dirty to be used as a punishment by Fletcher. Every time he regretted agreeing to – offering to visit, he was plagued with guilt. Still, hearing it – maybe he hadn’t realized quite how dire those visits were to him. He still remembered how isolated he felt in the lodge. He didn’t want that for Tommy.

Tommy, who’d spent five years in a basement cell without contact from a single friendly face. Buck couldn’t wrap his head around it, couldn’t even begin to imagine what kind of captors Tommy was under that made Fletcher look like a saint. No wonder he was so fucked up. 

Buck looked down at his phone again, chewing his lip. Maybe not a saint after all. It was impossible to say what was an act or what was the real Tommy. There was just no way to tell while Fletcher prohibited any time alone with him. It was easier to think Tommy was mostly happy there. It took the weight off of his shoulders. As awful it was, he felt a little relieved to not have to visit for a while. It would be weeks, maybe even longer, without a visit to the lodge hanging over his head. 

And Tommy, alone, definitely hurt, with no idea when his lifeline would be let back into his life again. And here he was, relieved not to go. Somehow, Buck had crafted a personal torture for himself, and once again, Fletcher was the one benefitting the most. 

He practiced square breathing while he took up his phone again, typing a quick message to Fletcher. 

Is Tommy ok?

He got a response in ten minutes. 

He’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it. 

Don’t ask. Don’t ask. 

What did you do to him? He asked. 

There was a typing notification for a few minutes, then it disappeared, reappeared. 

He threw a temper tantrum so he’s grounded.

What does that mean?

What, you never got grounded as a kid? I sent him to his room and cancelled his play date.

I don’t believe that’s all you did. And what’s a temper tantrum here? Did he talk back to you or something?

He punched a hole through my wall. 

Tommy? Tommy punched a hole in the wall?

Are we talking about the same guy?

Yup.

Buck was proud.

It wasn’t good, and it surely wasn’t worth it. He had to assume there was more to the punishment than he had heard.

But… Tommy showed that he wasn’t all meek and malleable. That there was still some fighting spirit in him. Maybe it was worth exercising that once in a while, just to make sure it’s still there.

What did you do to him? Buck asked again.

I told you; he’s grounded.

What else?

Why do you assume there’s more?

I know you.

Buck watched the typing icon appear and disappear a few times.

I let him work through some of his anger.

Just fucking tell me.

Touchy, touchy. I let him fight me.

Oh, fuck.

How bad is he hurt?

He’ll be sore for a couple days but he’s fine.

Okay, that was good. If it was true. Fletcher had been pretty evasive this whole conversation.

Can I talk to him?

Fuck no. He’s still grounded.

I want to know he’s okay.

I would tell you if he wasn’t.

Would you? I had to basically interrogate you to find out you beat him.

Hahahahahahahahahahaha

“Interrogate”

That’s funny, Bucky

But no. You’ll see him eventually. Anything permanent you would find out about then so there’s no point in hiding it.

Buck worried his lip, mulling it over before hitting send.

Do you have to be so hard on him?

Yes.

There it was. Fletcher would always be Fletcher, and there was nothing Buck could do to mitigate that. He wanted to argue, he felt like he was responsible for Tommy in some ways – but he was no lawyer, and Fletcher did not leave room for negotiations. There was a sick relief that came from that knowledge. Nothing he could do, so nothing he had to feel bad for not doing. Still, guilt gnawed at his stomach.

When can I see him again?

I’ll let you know. Few weeks at least. But don’t worry - absence makes the heart grow fonder.

~

@suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday

@defire @jumpywhumpywriter @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @paperprinxe @desert-dyke

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @cursedandtired

@whump-only @misspelledwitch @redstainedsocks @thehopelessopus @im-just-here-for-the-whump

@thatsthewhump @utopian819 @pretty-face-breaker @thesuffererrrr @technicallydeliciousdeer

[fanlore-wiki]

Terminology Thursday: BOTW (Babe of the Week)

This Terminology Thursday, we’re looking at Babe of the Week, or BOTW for short. This term is primarily used for female love interests who appear in only one episode of a series and are neither seen nor mentioned again.

The main reason for these one-shot love interests was to ensure that the story’s status quo is restored by the end of the episode. This trope originated from American/UK TV series in the 60s and 70s, most notably Star Trek:TOS and The Professionals. Due to the heavily episodic nature of these series, absolute continuity between episodes was required so audiences could easily tune in at any point.

Some slash fans perceive the BOTW negatively as the character interferes with their preferred pairing or OTP, while others find that the BOTW further adds to the slashy subtexts since she ultimately goes away at the end, thus further solidifying the bond between the two (oftentimes) male leads.

Fans may also find BOTW pairings desirable and interesting, such as the Sam/Sarah pairing in the Supernatural fandom.

Want to learn more? Visit Fanlore!

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[dailypros]

[cimmerian-war-shrine]

[leona-florianova]

The Professionals (1977)

*so they are on tv yet again...

**also while looking for references I stumbled upon this [X]article about the show and..what a great read.

[ronnola]

Martin Shaw and David Collings in The Professionals s1e10 Stake Out (1978) and The Chief s3e5 & s4e4 (1993-94)

[signorinaclaudiacardinale]

Claudia Cardinale in "LIFE" magazine:

Italian beauty takes a desert bath on location in Nevada. /In this photo Claudia was filming "The Professionals" on July 8, 1966/

Claudia Cardinale, a wary beauty is afraid Hollywood will ruin her. Claudia Cardinale has a problem. At 26 she has become the most admitted international film star since Sophia Loren. Lusciously built along Italian lines, like Sophia, Claudia also has a special tender beauty in her face. Easy to work with, she is a director's pet. Unmarried, she has no close family worries. So what's her problem? Her problem is, now that she has finally agreed to work in Hollywood, she is afraid she will be over-glamorized and exploited-as Sophia was. Her first Hollywood movie, the recent 'Blindfold', confirms Claudia's worst fears of her. And she has two more coming up soon. Between Hollywood chores, she rushes away to make films in Italy, Spain, Brazil, anywhere but Hollywood. She gets paid less in Europe. "If I have to give up the money, I give it up," she insists, "I don't want to become a cliché."

She'd rather lose money than be a cliché In high spirits at being out of Hollywood and back in Italy, Claudia stopped her car to join villagers who had shouted "Claudia, Claudia", Then they all joined their favorite star for a picture.

Claudia likes the sun of Italy more than of Hollywood. Always rushing from one picture into another, she grabs five minutes to back on her Hotel Excelsior Lido balcony in Venice.

Anthony Quinn, who has acted with both Claudia and Sophia says: "I adore them equally But if I had to say, well, I relate easier to Claudia; Sophia creates an impression of something unobtainable but Claudia-She's not easy, still she's within reach".

Helping pick Miss Italy, Claudia lunches with each judges at Salsomaggiore. She got her own movie start by winning a rather specialized contest as "Most beautiful Italian in Tunisia". In Las Vegas, working on her next Hollywood picture, 'The Professionals'.

In Brazil a waiter proposed to her by mail, posted a marriage notice in his church, and changed his name to "Mr. Cardinale".

Claudia gobbles up a pile of magazines. She reads them to improve her English and keep up on fashions.

Claudia hangs on the words of Luchino Visconti, who directed her in 'Sandra', which won a Venice Festival prize.

Claudia says: "He sees me as cat that someday will turn into a tiger."

Credits:

📷 Photographs by Howell Conant. 📰 Text taken from the magazine "Life" in 1966. 🎥 My Gifs are behind the scenes of "The Professionals" memories.

[sorenkingsley]

Bonus Unrelated Gif:

[princessnamora]

Claudia Cardinale as Maria Grant in The Professionals (1966)

[bodhrancomedy]

Me: I do not need anymore t-shirts, I have so many I need to get rid of some because my crappy chest of drawers don’t fit very much in them.

Also me:

Hehoheha Professionals T-shirt

I also just realised I can get more duvet covers if I want to, and they can be nerdy.

[knivestothroats]

The Professionals - Allowances

The Professionals is a crossover of In the Woods Somewhere by me and Professional//Victim by @victimeyez In which Tommy tries to spend his allowance CW: long term captivity, unfair rules

Fletcher was cooking, rolling a pan of mixed vegetables around in a blend of butter, balsamic vinegar, and white wine. They heard Tommy carefully padding in behind them, giving him a glance before returning their focus to their work. 

“Don’t eat too much, dinner is almost ready and I made enough for you.”

“It smells really good, thank you, Fletcher,” Tommy murmured back. “Can I help?”

“No, just come back when I whistle.”

“Oh, okay, thank you.”

They could feel him hovering behind them. He didn’t leave, instead opting to clutch a few pieces of paper hands to his chest and wait awkwardly. Fletcher gave him a minute to say his piece, draining the pasta in the sink before returning it to the pan. Still, Tommy waited. They felt an itch of annoyance.

“Do you need something, or did you just think I needed supervision?”

Tommy tucked a stray curl behind his ear, giving a nervous laugh. “Ah, no, of course not. I just was thinking that maybe, well, I just was wondering if, um–”

“Spit it out.”

Tommy swallowed and forced himself to take a deep breath. He didn’t want to invoke Fletcher’s ire with his waffling. 

“Um, would it be okay for me to ask about, maybe sometime talking about my allowance…?”

Fletcher poured in ingredients purely by feel. It wasn’t an exact science, but they were comfortable in the kitchen. They stirred, taste testing as they went. 

“What about it.”

“Uh…” Tommy rubbed his arms to soothe himself, but Fletcher could tell he was anxious. Then again, “anxious” was pretty much his base state. 

“It’s been, you know, several weeks, and I was thinking about things I might be able to spend it on.”

“It must have slipped my mind. Have you finished paying me back for your music?” Fletcher had allowed Tommy to “buy” an old walkman, headphones, and some tapes from them. 

They had pressed the bundle into his hands, which Tommy received eagerly. He looked over his meager possessions with a look of awe, like he still couldn’t believe he was actually allowed to own something.

“Twenty bucks.” Tommy nodded eagerly, feeling the worn pad of one of the headphones between two fingers with reverence. “Enjoy.”

Fletcher caught the tip of his chin with one finger, pushing his face up to force eye contact. Where Buck had often challenged their gaze, Tommy avoided it, his eyes flicking side to side before nervously meeting their gaze. 

“Hey. If I call for you, and you don’t come, because you were listening to music? They’re gone. Understood?”

Tommy looked hurt by the threat, his eyes darting back down and to the side, but readily agreed. “Yes, Fletcher.” 

“Good,” they had told him, and left it at that. So far Tommy had kept to his word, often wearing the headphones askew to help keep his ears open when he was set off on his tasks. 

“Those are paid off now. By - by my calendar. Thank you, again.” Fletcher hummed a noncommittal sound of acknowledgement. 

“I was just wondering if, if you have thought about it, how that kind of system might work? Like…is it just things I can pick up on a supply run, or buy online or– or that sort of thing. Just so I know what I can maybe, save up for.”

They turned to face him, leaning against the counter and folding their arms. Tommy had settled at the table, a pencil in hand at the ready over his little stack of notes. 

“I guess I could save a little time for you to look around the grocery store next time we are on a supply run. I’ll consider online purchases, but nothing comes to the house, so you’ll have to wait for a supply run to collect it from the PO box in town. And you know the computer is off limits to you. I will allow a little time to look online, but only under supervision.” Tommy scribbled down notes as Fletcher spoke.

“You can take notes, I can appreciate wanting to keep them in mind, but just know that doesn’t mean it’s law. Everything is subject to change, of course.” Tommy nodded as he finished writing, looking back up when he was done. 

“What…kind of things am I allowed to buy?”

Fletcher returned to stirring, mostly just to make sure the last things were mixed evenly. 

“I don’t know. What do you want to buy?”

“A bike? I could just ride around the grounds a little.”

Fletcher shook their head. “So you can try to take off on me? No, no bikes.”

“Okay…” Fletcher heard him scribbling something out behind them. “How about a skateboard?”

Fletcher let out a hmph of a laugh. “What did I just say? Same problem, no wheels.”

“But – I’m really bad at skateboarding, I couldn’t go anywhere,” Tommy whined a little. 

“All the more reason not to do it. Besides, I don’t need you falling off and injuring yourself, you’re no use to me if you can’t work.” 

Tommy swallowed, his answer delayed. “Oh,” was all he gave, and his voice was quieter. Fletcher didn’t really mean to call him useless, they just hadn’t phrased it right. It wouldn’t have bothered anyone else, but Tommy was so damn sensitive. They rolled their eyes.

“Let’s just say, no vehicles. Add that to your notes. What else you got?”

Tommy made some notes and crossed out another line. “How about clothes?”

“I gave you clothes,” Fletcher said bluntly.

“Yeah, I mean - I’m grateful for that, of course. Just – I don’t know, my own…style? Some of them don’t really fit…” 

“I just think you need to be practical over fashionable,” Fletcher argued. “You’re living and working in the woods; it’s not like you’re going anywhere you need to dress up or show off. Unless you’re planning on giving Buck a fashion show.” 

Tommy blanched like Fletcher had caught him doing something bad. He looked down and crossed out another line curtly. 

“Okay…well…” Tommy considered his list. Fletcher could tell he was getting frustrated, could hear a little anger in his voice in spite of his attempts to swallow it down. He could be pissed all he wanted, Fletcher would almost encourage it just to see a little spirit, but getting an allowance at all was generous. Fletcher would let him spend it when he thought of something actually worth spending it on. And with a solid paycheck of just five dollars a week, it’s not like he had many options. 

“It’s still a while away, so I could save up for it, but I’d like to get Buck something for Christmas.” Tommy seemed determined on this one. 

Fletcher groaned, finishing the last touches for dinner. “Don’t do that.”

Tommy let out an impatient huff through his nose. “Why not?”

“Buck lives out in the –” Fletcher had to stop themself from calling it the real world. “Buck is free out there, he has his own job and makes his own money. Don’t waste yours on something he could buy himself for like, a few hours of work. Besides, he already gets enough of my money, he doesn’t need any more.”

Tommy rose to his feet, shoving his chair out of his way. “What’s the fucking point of giving me an allowance if you’re never going to let me use it anyways?!” 

Fletcher turned at the commotion to find Tommy visibly seething with his notes crumpled in his hands. His eyes were dark, glaring at Fletcher with an open hostility that he’d never let slip before. 

Fletcher rolled their eyes. “Stop acting like a child.”

“Then stop treating me like one!” Tommy shouted, and with a sudden fury, he drove a fist right into the wall. The drywall swallowed his hand down to the wrist, and when he pulled it out, little chips and debris rained down from the hole in Fletcher’s kitchen wall. 

Fletcher was so surprised that Tommy had actually lashed out that they stood there, their mouth agape for a moment. Tommy retracted his fist robotically to look at it, pale with powder from the drywall. Blood was starting to ooze out of a couple split knuckles. He was shaking with anger, his shoulders moving up and down with fast, excited breaths.

“Go to your room!” Fletcher snapped back. They pinched the bridge of their nose and sighed. “Goddamn it, you make me sound like a mom. Get the fuck out of my sight, I’ll deal with you later.” 

As pissed as he was, Tommy stalked off in the direction of his room. Fletcher massaged their temples, staring at the fist-sized gape that Tommy had left. That little shit. 

“Something smells good,” Billy commented, walking into the kitchen, then, “Whoa.” He spotted the hole in the wall and looked at Fletcher, throwing a thumb over his shoulder at it. 

“Redecorating?”

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