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canary3d-obsessed · 4 years ago

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Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 15

(Masterpost)(Other Canary Content)

Warning: Spoilers for all 50 episodes!

This rewatch is going to fit into a single post, because a third of the episode is just crying and yelling on a very slow boat. If you want to learn the Chinese words for “Mother” and “Father” this is your episode.

Captain Blowhard

Clan Leader Yao shows up, having barely survived the massacre of his clan, along with two disciples who aren't too excited about their unwilling promotion to top targets. Jiang Cheng tells his dad that the Wens are systematically exterminating the smaller clans, and have said anyone who helps the survivors is going to be punished.

Jiang Fengmian tells Yao that the Jiang Clan will protect him. Which is why Wei Wuxian is responsible for the massacre of the Jiang Clan.

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian both think that taking Yao to the Jin clan is the best way to keep him safe. Wei Wuxian was wrong to help the heirs of the powerfullest richest clans, but sure, let's save this asshole.

Road Tripping

The boys go down to the dock to send Jiang Yanli and Jiang Fengmian off, saying a formal goodbye with a bunch of disciples and showing off how extremely good they look in these close-fitted, simply cut robes with cool belts.

Yu Ziyuan comes down to say goodbye to Yanli and give her some medicine, covering by saying it's for Jiang Fengmian, because being sick is bad for marriage prospects, probably.

Later the boys will mention their hope that YZY will be mollified by the time JFM returns, which means this possibly isn't the usual state of their relationship. The dislike and jealousy seem to be constant, but perhaps being openly at war with each other is not.

(more after the cut!)

Club Ruohan

At Club Ruohan, Wen Ruohan is tired of sitting on his big uncomfortable throne so he's sitting on the floor next to it, instead. He's suffering the embarrassing problem of black smoke leakage, and needs Wen Qing to give him acupuncture to fix it, but she's not around. Wen Ruohan has an awful lot of trouble containing resentful energy, possibly because he is controlling a bunch of zombies 24x7 instead of letting them take a break. Wei Wuxian is mostly able to control it--except when he, you know, totally isn't--without ever needing an attractive acupuncturist to give him a poke.

WRH learns from Wen Chao that Wei Wuxian 1. killed a boss-level monster on nightmare level difficulty without his sword 2. took whatever thing had been suppressing the nightmare monster for the previous really long time. WRH wants whatever it is.

Boys in Charge

When the boys get back to Lotus Pier, Jiang Cheng doesn't understand why they couldn't all go to the Lins together, and Wei Wuxian explains it to him. Wei Wuxian is the one seeing the big picture, and he wants to plan how to handle the Wen forces when they, inevitably, arrive.

Jiang Cheng would rather talk big than actually plan, showing how--at this age--his anger management problem is an issue on a strategic level, not just a personal one. As a clan leader he will eventually master this aspect, for the most part, and learn to keep a cool head in regard to martial matters, while continuing to feed his interpersonal rage problem.

The brothers supervise the archery practice of the Jiang disciples, having their last nice time together, and still without a plan. Wei Wuxian is bored and calls practice early so he can go be bored on the porch or in his room, since he isn't allowed out. In fact he's so bored by lockdown that he starts an irreverent niche blog.

(he’s kidding! keep your mask on, don’t go to wine houses)

Knowing that the Wen Clan is gunning for enemy cultivators, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng send the whole group of disciples, including children, outside the compound walls to retrieve their kites. This is what happens when you don't have a plan.

Wen the Levee Breaks

Wen Chao’s girlfriend Wang Lingjiao finds a kite with a hole in it and uses it as a pretext to snatch up the youngest disciple.

The other disciples come running back and tell WWX and JC what happened. Wei Wuxian calmly gets all of the information from them and starts figuring out what to do, while Jiang Cheng freaks out.

Jiang Cheng is a good fighter, and matures into an excellent one after a core upgrade and war experience. But Wei Wuxian is a born battle leader, developing strategies on the fly and staying cool under pressure.

Madame Yu is as brave as a barrel full of bears and Yinzhu and Jinzhu chase lions down the stairs

Yu Ziyuan and the murder twins show up and all of the disciples line up behind them, relieved to have someone scary in charge.. Yu Ziyuan is also a natural leader and an awesome fighter, but her judgement is terrible, as we're about to discover.

Bitchfest

Wang Lingjiao strolls in to the main hall and has the nerve to comment on the interior decorating, because it doesn't have enough rough-hewn black rock and lava pits, apparently.

She shows them all the kite and says that because it looks (kind of) like the sun, using it for target practice is an attack on the Wen Clan. Bitch, everything your clan wears and uses has fire on it and is red. The sun is not your emblem, no matter what the text says. This kite situation is presumably where the anti-Wen campaign gets its name of "Sunshot," however, which sounds pretty cool.

Wang Lingjiao moves along to her main point, which is that Wei Wuxian needs his ass kicked, and she'd like Yu Ziyuan to do the kicking. To goad her, she starts talking about the rumors about Wei Wuxian's parentage.

Let it Whip

So let it whip (let's whip it, baby) Get a grip (let's whip it baby) Well, what's your trip? (Oh no)

Yu Ziyuan takes the bait, and proceeds to whip the shit out of her strongest battle asset, in a sequence that's either horrifying or completely fucking awesome, depending on how you feel about whump.

There are a lot of bad effects in this show and a lot of questionable fighting, but any time Zidian flies, I am HERE for it. I gave this beatdown its own gifset over here.

Jiang Cheng is devastated and tries again and again to protect Wei Wuxian, but his mother and her lieutenants keep moving him out of the way so the beating can continue.

Yu Ziyuan hits Wei Wuxian at least 5 times, until he is totally unable to get up off the floor. Wang Lingjiao has succeeded in eliminating him as a threat for the moment.

Gotta Hand It To You

Wang Lingjiao isn't satisfied with the brutal whipping, however; she wants his right hand as a trophy, and for him to be unable to recover. Yu Ziyuan tells Jinzhu and Yinzhu to close the doors because some blood is going to fly.

I'd like to think this is when Yu Ziyuan decides to kill the Wens, rather than maiming WWX, but I'm not certain. Because she doesn't start attacking until after Wang Lingjiao says the Wens are taking Lotus Pier, and tells her to discipline Jiang Cheng. So maybe she is okay with taking WWX’s hand, but draws the line at giving up her house.

Through all of this, Wei Wuxian doesn't once protest, even when he thinks they're getting ready to take his hand off. He'll do whatever it takes to make peace. THIS is the core of his heroism; he will sacrifice anything to do what he thinks is right. He's not "playing the hero;" not doing this for fame or kudos, but for a clear conscience.

It’s a Murder Party

Wang Lingjiao explains the new Wen World order, and Yu Ziyuan smacks her to the floor and then takes out all 8 of the Wen soldiers in one elegant move.

Can we talk about how incredibly effective a fighter Yu Ziyuan is, without a sword? With her first-class spiritual tool as her only weapon? Nobody is telling her she needs to carry a sword. She shows she can use one, after she gives Zidian to Jiang Cheng, but she's absolutely devastating without one.

Having defied Wang Lingjiao, Yu Ziyuan...doesn't kill her. She chokes her, slaps her and yells at her. Then she insults her clan and sticks her FOOT on her FACE.

She sics the murder twins on the guards in the room, and they shank all of them at super speed while the boys watch with alarm.

Then she has them sloooowly advance on Wang Lingjiao, giving her plenty of time to holler for Wen Zhuliu before they can kill her.

Het Heat

Wen Zhuliu comes flying in, literally, kicking both murder twins across the room at the same time. This is followed by Core-Melting Hand x Violet Spider suddenly becoming the most shippable M/F couple in this thing, because wow, they have some serious chemistry.

I never saw a pretty girl look so tough

Actor Feng Mingjing continues to do an awful lot with almost no lines, in his portrayal of Wen Zhuliu. WZL politely apologizes to Yu Ziyuan. Is he offering to withdraw, or is he just being polite before getting down to the killy bit? Either way, Yu Ziyuan is ready to rumble, and doesn't even consider de-escalating.

You know who was able to rein in his temper, after fighting with this same extremely dangerous dude, and therefore lived to fight another day? Fucking Nie Mingjue, that's who, who has a generational CURSE making him angry. While Yu Ziyuan, is like, "fuck the safety of my clan, this is Wei Wuxian's fault anyway" and throws down.

Wen Zhuliu and Yu Ziyuan proceed to have an epic, sexy fight, where he catches her whip and she dodges his attempt to feel up her core.

He's a magic man, mama, he's got the magic hands.

Wei Wuxian, still incapacitated, tells Jiang Cheng to stop Wang Lingjiao from calling for help, but JC gets distracted by the threat to his mom, and goes to engage with Wen Zhuliu.

Jiang Cheng takes a horrifying smack in the chest, which injures him and takes him out, while Wang Lingjiao sends the signal that seals the fate of Lotus Pier.

It’s All Over Except for the Crying

Yu Ziyuan immediately sees that she's lost the battle, and has the murder twins divert Wen Zhuliu while she brings the two boys to the pier.

She verifies that Jiang Cheng's core is still intact, showing the viewers, for future reference, that it's possible to tell by touch if someone's core is missing, although a casual touch won't do it.

Then she re-codes the Zidian so that it recognizes Jiang Cheng and puts it on his wrist. She follows this with a display of maternal affection for Jiang Cheng unlike anything we've seen so far, which super fails to reassure him.

She follows this up with screaming at Wei Wuxian and telling him how much she hates him, and blaming him for the multiple shitty choices she just made..

With a heart full of rage, she reminds him that his worth lies in what he can do for more important people.

She binds the boys with Zidian and then sends the boat on its way....

...with a frickin' TALISMAN, holeee shit. As toxic as she is for Wei Wuxian, there is a direct line from her cultivation skills to his.

Dad To The Rescue...sort of

The last third of the episode is basically yelling and crying punctuated by a couple of interactions out on the water. The extreme emotions go on for long enough that I eventually stop feeling bad for the characters and start feeling bad for the actors, who had to maintain this level of feeling for probably days of shooting.

The boys eventually meet up with Jiang Fengmian and Jiang Yanli. JFM discovers that Zidian responds to his control, which tells him something is very, very wrong, since it probably knows how his wife feels about him.

This thing isn’t biting me; your mom is in serious trouble.

Here Jiang Fengmian decides to do the heroic, totally futile thing, which is exactly his style. He tosses Jiang Yanli in with the boys and takes his leave so he can go die with his wife while the children survive.

He has to know that Yu Ziyuan is the stronger fighter of the two of them, and that he's not going back to rescue her. He's just going to stand with her and die together, which is the most romantic thing you can do in a C-drama, after all.

How Much Do You Owe the Jiang Clan?

Jiang Fengmian tells his two children not to cry, making them and the viewer cry extra hard. (specially ouchy gifset here).

Then he turns to Wei Wuxian and, with a heart full of tenderness, reminds him that his worth lies in what he can do for more important people.

Next episode: Is going to be even more horrible!

Soundtrack: 1. When The Levee Breaks, Led Zeppelin 2. The Tale of Custard the Dragon (poem) by Ogden Nash 3. Let it Whip by the Dazz Band 4. U Got the Look by Prince & Sheena Easton 5. Magic Man by Heart

#fytheuntamed #the untamed #the untamed gifs #the untamed meta #yi ziyuan #restless rewatch the untamed #canary3d-original #my gifs #the untamed spoilers #tw: crying #omg this episode

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e-vasong · 4 years ago

Note

Not sure if youre taking the whumptober asks but can I request #6 with five? 👀 Also sorry new to Tumblr so not sure if I'm doing this right lol love your writings btw!! ❤

Oh!! YES I LIKE THIS ONE. It is not October, but I’m not so much “participating” in Whumptober as I am just using it to kick myself into gear with writing.

I may kinda suck at filling prompts, even when I ask for them, but when I do...it takes a really long time because this was supposed to be 1000 words max and is actually like. almost 3000 words of shameless whump. WHOOPS. Most of this is under a cut, because it’s long and...well, whumpy.

TW: Torture, electrocution

No. 6: Please... “Get it Out” | No More | “Stop, please.”

“Hm,” Agent Finch laid the bloody pliers back on the metal tray with a clatter. “You’re as resilient as I remember, Number Five.” He sneered the words, hands tightening into fists at his sides.

Five supposed that Finch meant for that to be a threat, but he just couldn’t bring himself to take it seriously.

“Go ahead and hit me, Finch,” he gave the man an affable smile. “If you really throw your back into it, it might even hurt.”

The provocation worked. Finch did hit him, then. Right across the face. The force of the blow snapped Five’s head off to the side, slamming his skull into the metal back of the chair. The steel reverberated, the noise echoing painfully in Five’s ears. It did hurt, in a distant sort of way, but Five had found that being punched was always more jarring than it was painful. Not to mention the fact that it was just bad technique. After all, if you really rung someone’s bell...

Well, in an interrogation, where the goal was to disorient your target and trick them into giving you vital information, a concussion could be useful. But it was a poor tool for torture because it made it easier to zone out, to forget about the pain. And if Finch were any good at his job, he’d know that.

Five sighed. “Ouch,” he said, voice droll. He worked his jaw experimentally. Everything seemed like it was still in its proper place, though the movement tugged painfully on the bruise that had already started to blossom across his left cheek.

“You can’t fucking run, Five,” Finch said. There was a new speck of blood on his chin, bright against his salt-and-pepper stubble. “I know you. I’d say we have a good half hour before you can jump again; probably longer, with you in pain like this--” Five couldn’t repress the laugh that bubbled up in his chest at that. “Which is plenty of time for me to make you regret ever crossing--oh for fuck’s sake! What are you laughing about?”

“Oh,” Five rolled his eyes. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it. You’re doing great.”

“What?” Finch’s hand returned to the metal tray, grabbing the pliers again. “Not enough pain for you? Fine. Another fingernail, then.”

Boring, Five thought. A sadistic appetite with no real vision or talent to follow it through, that was Finch’s problem. He watched with disinterest as Finch pressed the pliers against his left ring finger, readying himself to breathe through the inevitable pulse of pain that was coming.

“No!” The shout came with a clatter of chains and cuffs as Diego jerked against his bonds. Five jumped, and Finch did too, pliers slipping from his hand and hitting the ground with a clang. Huh. They’d both forgotten, somehow, that Diego was here too.

“You sick son of a bitch,” Diego bit out, the dramatic fucker. Five’s annoyance was practically a living creature inside of him. Diego’s hero complex was both entirely predictable and deeply unwelcome, since Five had this very much under control, not that Diego much seemed to care.

“Shut up!” Five and Finch snapped at the same time, voices overlapping as they spoke.

There was a brief lapse in conversation, the room falling silent as they both processed what had just happened. Finch whipped around to glare at Five, and Five glared sullenly back. He wasn’t about to be the one to break eye contact, but it was more annoying than he’d admit to accidentally end up on the same wavelength as his oldest and most incompetent acquaintance from the Commission.

“Why?” Diego said, responding only to Finch. “Because you’re some twisted fuck that gets off on torturing children?”

Diego could be dangerously intelligent when he wanted to be, but he was a bad actor under pressure. And this was a stupid, blatantly obvious attempt at provocation, even by Diego’s standards.

So of course Finch turned back towards Diego, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Diego,” Five said, a warning in his voice.

“You know full well that your brother isn’t as young as he looks,” Finch said, talking over Five. His voice was calm, but he was moving closer towards Diego as he spoke, successfully baited.

“Oh, sorry,” Diego said, yanking on his chains again defiantly. They rattled against the ceiling pipe above Diego’s head and Diego winced. The struggling was likely doing no favors for the discomfort of his position. “I guess that makes torturing him alright, then.”

“Your brother,” Finch said, “was supposed to be my backup on a job once. Instead, he shot me in the back and left me for dead.”

Diego, to his credit, looked utterly unfazed by Finch’s unfavorable and one-sided description of their former partnership, even though it was, essentially, accurate.

“Your back? Really?" He jerked his chin in Finch’s direction. “Damn, I’d have guessed he hit you in the face. Maybe he should have. Can’t get any worse than this.”

Finch punched him, which seemed to be his default reaction to everything that upset him, the neanderthal. His fist collided with a sickening crack, and Diego went limp. Five stiffened in his chair. For all that he’d critiqued Finch’s technique, the man was still a burly six feet, almost all of it muscle. A poorly-gauged blow--and Five did not trust Finch to gauge anything well--could do more grievous damage than Finch may have intended.

“Diego?” Five called. If Finch killed one of his siblngs, Five wouldn’t much care whether it was an accident or not.

There was a heart-stopping moment where Diego didn’t respond. He just hung there, limp and unmoving. Five’s breath caught in his throat.

Then a shudder passed through him, and Diego’s head lifted slightly. “”M fine,” he muttered, though he was clearly too disoriented to raise his head all the way. His eyelashes were fluttering as he fought for consciousness, and a bit of bloody spittle dripped from his mouth to the ground.

“Five’s right,” Diego said. He was slurring his words. That was bad. “That barely even hurt.”

But Finch didn’t respond to the jab this time, not the way that that he did when Five had resorted to the same taunt. Instead, he stopped to look at Five.

“Did you...?” Finch tilted his head to the side, looking thoroughly bewildered. And then his face split into a wide, almost hysterical grin. “My, my,” Finch said, and Five went stiff.

Finch’s smile was smug, like the cat that caught the canary, which was a disorienting turn of events. Five was used to being the cat, not the songbird, and he rather liked it that way.

“What?” Five said, terse.

“You almost sounded...God, what’s the word?” Finch said. “Oh, I know! Concerned.”

“About him?” Five scoffed. “In his wildest dreams.”

But it was too little, too late. Finch’s lips twisted upwards in a vicious grin.

“I can’t believe it,” he said. “After all this time. You know, we used to gossip about you in the break room. Wonder if Five, the best assassin the Commission had ever seen and the Handler’s favorite little pet, had a weakness we could exploit. We never did figure it out. Who would have realized...” Finch turned back towards Diego and grabbed him by the jaw, tilting Diego’s head upwards as if to get a better look at him. “That it was something so...sentimental.”

Finch laughed. “I mean,” he continued, “we had some really crazy bets going. But this is just-it’s just--oh, don’t scowl at me, I’m trying to give you a compliment. I guess I really didn’t see this coming from you of all people. I didn’t even realize you had emotions. Other than, you know, anger and irritation. Those I knew about.”

Five opened his mouth. Finch hushed him. “Don’t lie to me, Five,” he said. “You should have heard yourself just now. That was the most scared you’ve been all night. You have a soft spot! All this time, I’ve been hitting the wrong target. You should have said something earlier.”

Five grit his teeth furiously. “Leave it, Finch.”

“No,” said Finch simply. He walked back towards Five, and Five knew better than to think that Finch was coming back for him. Instead, Finch gathered up a handful of cables, loose electrical wires sticking out of the rubber on one end, plugged into a large metal device on the other, and winked.

“Enough,” Five said, lowly. “Finch. Finch!”

“’S fine,” Diego spat. “I can take it, Five.”

No. Five struggled, but it was fruitless. Finch palmed some sort of button on the device, and the air around them filled with an electric hum. Finch strode idly back towards where Diego was strung up--the device was by Five’s side, presumably because Finch had meant to use it on him, but the cables ran long enough that Finch reached Diego without needing to pull them taut.

“Finch!” Five tugged sharply at the leather straps that kept his arms bound to the chair. No luck.

“Hm,” Finch was in front of Diego again. “Let’s try it out.” And then he reached out and pressed the exposed wires to a patch of exposed skin on Diego’s collarbone.

Diego tensed. Five could see the muscles in his neck clenching as he grit his teeth. He didn’t scream. He likely couldn’t, paralyzed by agony, but the anguished groan he made in the back of his throat spoke volumes.

Five twisted fruitlessly in his bonds. He heard something in his right hand crack, the thumb popping out of place. He wouldn’t be surprised, from the feel of it, if a few bones had broken too. But even so, the leather was simply too tight.

He couldn’t get free.

Finch held it for a moment, then pulled the cable away. Diego sagged, panting heavily. A few more tremors went through him, aftershocks as his body processed the pain.

“That all you got?” Diego slurred.

“No,” Finch said. “It isn’t.” But before he proceeded, he turned his attention back towards Five. “You see? All this over a couple dead civilians?” he asked. “You realize that I’m going to kill your brother, right? Was it really worth it?”

“Stop,” Five’s voice cracked. He pulled at his bonds again, paying particular attention to his now-broken hand. If he could just force it, he could get free. In his old body, he might have been able to do it--sure, it hurt, but pain was nothing in the face of the panic coursing through him. But in this body, he just wasn’t strong enough. “Please. Finch!”

“Wow.” That did seem to give Finch pause. He clicked his tongue, sizing Five up thoughtfully. “You know, the begging is a nice touch. It’s really making this whole experience a lot more enjoyable for me.”

Then he pressed the wires to Diego’s throat again. Diego twisted in agony, and Five knew that Finch wasn’t going to let up this time.

Diego was going to die. Five yanked against the leather straps again as he jerked forward, overtaken by instinct. It couldn’t end like this. He couldn’t let it.

And then he was free. With a flash of blue light, he stumbled out of a jump right behind Finch. Finch dropped the cable immediately, even before he turned around, likely recognizing the distinctive sound of Five’s warping. The live wire sparked on the ground.

Five didn’t bother with grabbing a weapon. Finch twisted around, and Five punched him in the face with his good hand. Finch staggered, though he caught himself on a nearby pillar of concrete before he could fall. But Five was behind him before he could regain his balance. He got an arm around Finch’s neck, braced his mangled hand against Finch’s jaw, and twisted hard.

Five felt the bone break under his hands, just beneath the brainstem. Even pained and concussed, his technique was perfect. Finch collapsed to the ground, dead before he even hit the floor, and Five had just enough wherewithal left in him to angle the corpse so it fell on top of the live cable’s exposed wires.

“H-holy shit, Five,” Diego said. Five’s heart twisted slightly at the sound. Lapsing back into his stutter like he was, Diego sounded so like the young, childish version of himself that Five had left behind all those years ago.

“One sec,” Five said slowly, lifting a finger to silence his brother. It was hard to concentrate on what he was saying, which was...a bad sign. The world had started swimming strangely around him, and adrenaline could only keep him upright for so long. But he needed to get them out of there.

He stumbled his way over towards the machine that the cable was hooked up to, hitting the button so that it shut off. Then he found the lever connected the chains that were keeping Diego strung up and pushed it down. The mechanism released, and Diego stumbled to the floor, hitting his hands and knees with a pained groan.

“Motherfucker,” Diego said, rolling his shoulders. He was still shuddering from the electric shock.

“I’ve got you,” Five said, trying to keep his voice steady. He made his way back over to Diego. The notion of collapsing beside him was tempting, but Five resisted the urge. “Come on, we gotta...we gotta go.”

“How-how’d you j-jump?” Diego asked. “I th-thought you were at your lim...your limit.”

“I was,” Five said. “Adrenaline. Hell of a drug.”

“What?” Diego arched an eyebrow. “D-dude, you like one-one of those moms that lifts a car when they see their kid is trap--” Diego had to stop and close his eyes for a moment. “Trapped?” he finished, more smoothly this time.

“No,” Five snapped. “That’s stupid. And it’s called hysterical strength.”

“Whatever,” Diego rolled his eyes, in a manner that clearly suggested that he didn’t believe Five but was too tired to push the matter any further. “Just d-don’t collapse on me, al...alright?”

“I don’t plan on it,” Five said wryly. And then his world listed off to the side. “Oh.”

He doubled over and threw up a mouthful of blood and bile.

“Shit,” Diego said, scrambling forward to steady Five as he sank to his knees.

“Shit,” Five echoed, and passed out.

***

He woke up in a hospital bed, a monitor of some sort beeping monotonously in the background.

Five sat bolt upright the moment his location registered. What the hell?

He wasn’t hooked up to much. There was just the IV sticking out of the back of his left hand, which was an unusual change of pace. Five turned and reached over to rip the IV out, only to see that his right hand was bandaged. Heavily.

Shit. He’d use his teeth then.

Five had just lifted his hand to his mouth when a bleary voice murmured: “Five...?”

He recognized that voice. Five blinked and looked up.

“Diego?” he asked. The burning panic in his chest extinguished, leaving only embarrassment in its wake.

This was clearly just...a normal hospital. Diego looked exhaustedly back at him from where he sat half-slumped in an uncomfortable-looking chair that had obviously been requisitioned from elsewhere and dragged over to Five’s bedside. He had an expression on his face like he wasn’t quite sure whether Five was losing his mind or not.

“What are you doing?” Diego said slowly.

Five hesitated a moment longer, then lowered his hand back down to his side. “What happened?” he countered, pretending like Diego hadn’t spoken.

Diego narrowed his eyes, but thankfully let Five’s evasiveness pass without comment. “Some Commission asshole kidnapped us. Spent some time making mincemeat out of us--mostly you--and then you warped so hard that you tore your stomach lining.”

Five did remember that, now that Diego mentioned it. Well, not the stomach lining bit, but that was presumably the explanation for the bloody vomit.

“Huh,” Five said. “Didn’t know I could do that.”

“Don’t fucking do it again,” Diego commanded, with all the presumptuousness of a child who thought they could get away with bossing around their elders.

“How long has it been?” Five turned narrowed eyes to Diego. “You should be in bed. You need to be monitored for cardiac arrhythmia.”

“It’s not--don’t worry about--”

“I fucking knew you were here,” hissed Ben from the doorway. Diego jumped.

“Ben,” Five said, relieved. Finally, someone with common sense. “Get this idiot out of here.”

Ben froze like a deer in the headlights, startled. His head jerked up to look at Five, and the irritation and concern clouding his expression evaporated as he broke into a relieved grin.

“You’re awake,” he said, soft and pleased. He stepped fully into the room.

“You can’t be serious,” Five said as Ben plopped down on the foot of the bed, gently pulling Five into a quick, tight embrace. “Both of you are ridiculous.”

“Oh,” Diego mocked. “How dare we be concerned.”

Five rolled his eyes and spread his hands slightly, gesturing to the hospital room around them. “As you can see, I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” Diego said. “You look fantastic. Really, uh, in the peak of health right now, huh? Gonna go get up and run a marathon?”

Ben let out a little snort of amusement, and Five glared at them both, utterly betrayed.

“I can take care of myself, you know,” Five couldn’t ever remember being as relentlessly young and foolish as his brothers--or ever needing this much minding, for that matter. At the skeptical noise Diego made in the back of his throat, Five tilted his head to the side and said, archly, “Which one of us is still in bed and which one snuck away from medical attention, Diego?”

“Ah, fair point,” Ben turned to Diego, still smiling.

“Oh yeah?” Diego said, sensing that the tide was turning against him and crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “And what were you doing when you were trying to rip your IV out with your teeth, again?”

Five straightened his back. “Diego,” he hissed, but it was too late.

Ben frowned, an expression full of worry and brotherly disappointment. “Five!” he said, clearly dismayed. Five wilted slightly. Was this how Klaus felt all the time? “Why would you do that?”

Five cast a sidelong glance at Diego. “I was just disoriented,” he said. “That’s all. And I’m better now, so it’s hardly worth getting riled up over.” It probably wouldn’t have taken him long to realize that he was just in a regular hospital once he made it out to the hallway.

Once he had...he probably would have gone stumbling off to look for Diego, Five could admit that much to himself. But he certainly didn’t need to tell his brothers that. No one could prove that he was lying.

“Just,” Five waved them both off. “Take Diego back to bed.”

“For fuck’s sake, Five,” Diego said. “I’m just worried.” Then, as if sensing that Five was not his best bet, he turned mournful eyes towards Ben. “Just a little longer, Ben. Then you can rat me out to the damn nurses.”

Ben’s lips twisted thoughtfully as he glanced between them. “A couple minutes,” he finally conceded with a sigh. “It’s not like you won’t just break out again anyways.”

“Ha!” Diego said, too loudly. Five winced, the noise aggravating the pulsing headache that Five hadn’t even realized he had. “...Whoops.”

Five glared.

“Sorry,” Diego’s voice was closer to a whisper now. He reached out, lacing a hand with Five’s and squeezing it apologetically.

“It’s fine,” Five said, ignoring the feeling of warmth that bloomed in his chest. “I’m not made of glass.”

“I’ll leave if you really want,” Diego offered. “We can let you get some rest.”

If he wanted. Ha. Five couldn’t pretend that getting some peace and quiet didn’t have an appeal, but...in it’s own sort of way, it was comforting to have family in the room. Irrefutable evidence that they were still living and breathing, so real that even all his years of knowing they were dead couldn’t override it. But Diego did need to go back to his hospital room; Five wouldn’t be the one to pull him from the care he needed. He refused. But for now...

Five sighed. “Fine,” he said, and squeezed Diego’s hand back. “Just for a few minutes.”

#the umbrella academy #tua #my writing #lONG #contemplating posting this on AO3 but. am uncertain.#also lmfao. me? recycling one-line villains from my unfinished TUA long fic #ITS MORE LIKELY THAN YOU THINK #anyways this is messy sorry about that #also i dont have a speech impediment! i did a little research but pls let me know if you see something about diego's stutter that can be #./should be better!

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years ago

Note

"i'm not sure"

CW: Dehumanization, accidental whumping, med/lab whump, mentions of finger whump, kinda

BAHRAM’S NOTES

October 13th, 20XX 11:15 pm Mer in Residence: 10 Days I’ll have to go back and fix this later, to read how Dr. L wants everything and take all my emotions and stuff out of it, but honestly right now I just need to tell somebody and I CAN’T tell anybody, so here goes.

I’m not sure, but I think I just seriously fucked up trying to build a rapport with the mer. Which, you know, is what happens when you hire someone whose field of study mostly involves bloody reptiles, but I needed a paycheck and told her I could keep a damn secret so this is really my own fault.

At least the pay is really good. I wonder where she’s getting the money to pay for the facility and everything? It can’t be coming from any scientific institution, no one would touch this with a thirty-foot pole, this is breaking like seven laws. But Dr. L seems so certain she’ll be able to publish it without repercussions.

Probably better not to ask.

I’m doing nights right now, and we did the first blood draw earlier which did NOT go well, and I’m already in it with Dr. L for not noticing he’d got his ropes loose until she came back. At least his muzzle is locked where he can’t get it off himself, but he tried. He tried and tried.

It was hard to watch. Miah was there for part of it, she just put the camera down and walked away. She’s pissed, and her dad told her to stop being involved if she’s so mad about Dr. L’s methods, but she keeps coming back, anyway.

I want to switch with her and have HER do overnights, but her dad thinks it’s “too dangerous” since Miah wouldn’t hear if someone broke in. I don’t think he knows his own daughter that well if he really means that.

Anyway. I need to figure out some way to deal with the nights, because I am going to lose my mind from the crying.

It cries all bloody night, and I mean ALL. BLOODY. NIGHT. It’s not like I can’t nap during the day, but I figured night watch would be nice and easy. Lay on the couch and doze, right? No. You can’t sleep listening to him cry and cry and cry. It doesn’t SOUND like crying, of course. It SOUNDS like these sort of whistles and screech noises drilling into your damn eardrum. Right through my earplugs, I could even hear it through these headphones I got.

The headphones were cheap, though, so maybe I just need to invest in the really good ones.

The poor thing is calmer when the overhead lights are on. I can’t figure it out, except I think it’s scared of the lights in the tank that turn on when the overheads are off. I’m going to have to ask Dr. L about that.

So last night it was doing its fucking thing again. Crying and crying.

I kept talking to it, but it hid from me in the cave and wouldn’t come out. Which, I don’t blame it, we stuck a bloody big needle in its arm and I can tell it’s never seen one before. Plus, to catch it you pretty much have to get it starving and then bait it with fish, and nothing on earth is in a BETTER mood after getting a catch-pole round their neck.

So, you know. I was listening to it because I can’t do anything ELSE except muck around on the Playstation that I technically don’t have here, and it was crying, and I realized the sounds it was making were the same as the one we used to lure it to the boat the first night we got it. The exact same.

So I went and got my computer and got the speakers set up and I figured, you know, maybe it’s like a mer lullaby. Dr. L says they have kind of a rudimentary culture. Honestly I don’t know much about mer at all, although I guess i’m learning what I DON’T know now...

I set the mersong to play, and it started up, and I’m thinking the mer will just sing along, right? Sing itself to sleep. Something.

Well THAT was the worst idea I’ve ever had.

The mer LOST IT.

Like, slamming itself against the tank’s walls, screaming, screeching, trying to claw through them. Just absolute bloody lunacy. It broke some of its claws trying o bash through the wall and now there’s blood in the tank again. Which the filtration system will take of, but still. I’m going to have to explain THAT to Dr. L.

And Miah.

Honestly I’m more scared of telling Miah.

I turned the noises off figuring that would stop it, but it only got WORSE. It felt like an HOUR went by with it just throwing itself from one side of the tank to the other bashing itself on the walls, climbing up the rock and trying to jump to the platform to get out, just. Pure fucking madness. Absolutely out of its mind.

I keep thinking of an animal in a trap, because that’s all this is, but also I keep thinking like I’m the fucking bad guy here. I did something to upset it, playing the noises. Maybe I just reminded it that we stole it? Maybe it wants to climb out and fucking kill me.

This is a bloody horror movie and I’m the dumbshit at the beginning who gets his throat torn out, aren’t I?

I’ll rewrite this later for filing, and it’ll be like four paragraphs long at most, but.

Shit, I feel like the fucking bad guy here.

It gave up on its fit, finally. It’s back in the cave, and of bloody fucking course...

It’s crying again.

I KNOW Dr. L says they don’t ‘cry’, and that’s an emotional word I should keep out of all the official documentation, but... this is definitely a crying sound.

It worse now, somehow.

Maybe just because I’m the one who made it happen.

So, fucking note to self - don’t play the stupid mersong recording again.

Second note to self - find a way to ask Dr. L exactly why it went mental about it.

Third note to self - DO NOT TELL MIAH ABOUT THIS.

---

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @slaintetowhump @moose-teeth @misspelledwitch

#mer #mer whump #signs of the sea #epistolary #bahram anvari #blood tw #medical whump #lab whump #science whump #grief tw #dehumanization #dehumanization tw #nonhuman whumpee #mer whumpee #reluctant whumper #accidental whumper

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maryellencarter · 4 years ago

Text

SO! A week or two ago I got the DVDs for both seasons of "Justice League: The Animated Series", which I hadn't seen in ten years and remembered loving a lot. Spoiler: I still love it a lot. I put off watching it for a while because I was scared I wouldn't, but then I watched it pretty much straight through without even stopping to liveblog.

So. THOUGHTS! ^_^ Any of y'all who've ever shared a fandom with me know I'm always around for one particular character. In this case, that's J'onn J'onzz, the big green guy, whose official comics codename (sensibly not used on the show) is Martian Manhunter.

(There's a bit in one of the tie-in comics where a parent is telling their kid "don't be scared, honey, he won't hurt you, that's the uhh... Martian Maneater..." which has never ceased to amuse me.)

Anyway, we all know I have a tendency to give reviews in the vein of "Good story but no werewolves", and it must be granted that I never did bother watching Justice League Unlimited because Carl Lumbly (J'onn's voice actor, Minnesota born and raised with Jamaican parents, which is apparently how you get a Martian accent I couldn't place to anywhere on Earth) wasn't a regular anymore. But y'know, it's a really good ensemble team too, even if I like Tim Daly's Superman (from Superman: The Animated Series in the same animated universe) a lot better than George Newbern's. Or, well, I did. I haven't heard *him* in ten years either. Anyway! Off topic.

SO ANYWAY. Obviously, spoilers hereabouts, although it's what, fifteen, twenty years old by now? But if you care about spoilers for somewhat elderly TV, you might not be following me anyhow.

So the meta premise, just in case anybody was unfamiliar, is thuswise: First there was Batman: The Animated Series, in which Mark Hamill was the best Joker while not being an asshole as a person, because he is a competent actor and not a dickwad. Then there was Superman: The Animated Series, which I remember as being a delight and I want to watch it again too someday. Then, because apparently if you have Batman and Superman the next step is the entire Justice League, there was this.

The actual premise is, that during an alien invasion of Earth, Superman and Batman rescue a prisoner, J'onn J'onzz, the last survivor of the Martian society the invader aliens wiped out. (J'onn and Clark get little bits of bonding over the last-of-their-kinds thing but I've always wanted more. In a fandom auction I once donated $60 for a fic on the topic, but life happened and I do not hold it against the person. Still a little sad though. It's not something I've ever quite been able to write myself.) J'onn has a whole grab-bag of superpowers including telepathy, with which he summons additional heroes The Flash (speedster, this one is twentyish goofball Wally West), Green Lantern (specifically John Stewart, a black ex-Marine), Wonder Woman, and Hawkgirl (a winged humanoid-alien woman with an energy mace). Together, they fight crime! Mostly.

Specific episodes: I'm going to use "episode" to refer to the runtime covered by a single title so I don't have to say "two-parter" or "three-parter" every single time, because this show had literally only one single-part episode out of the whole 52 episodes.

* Secret Origins, three-parter: In which the Justice League is formed and repels the invasion of Earth by the aliens who wiped out J'onn's people. A very strong start, good character intros. I will never be over the very small worldbuilding fact that J'onn is rescued by Superman and Batman, and has seen nobody else on Earth yet but invader aliens (these are what used to be called the White Martians but the show does not use this name either which I think was a wise choice), so when he shapeshifts from his more alien "natural" Martian form to the look which will be his default for the series, he chooses a briefs-and-cape look because based on the two examples he's seeing, that's what Earth people wear. It's not explicitly called out, but it's a great way to make it a little less... comic-booky that you have no less than three extra-beefy guys with almost identical costume silhouettes here.

I think the arc between Batman and J'onn is one of my favorite parts of this, the way Batman starts out being like "I still don't trust him" and winds up trusting him enough that it's their teamwork which saves the world this go-round. Also, speaking as a fan who likes me some whump, can we talk about the scene where J'onn is being mindprobed with all those tentacles under his skin? I have so fucking many feels about that scene, okay. God, that whole climactic sequence is so damn good. And his tiny lil smile at the end of the last episode! I do love me some microexpressions, nonetheless that they are animated. (I can't draw so I am constantly boggled by just the skill it has to take to draw a character so on-model that varying one line by a few pixels Says Things.)

* In Blackest Night, two-parter: The one where the extremely Kirby-designed cop robots frame Green Lantern into believing he blew up an inhabited planet. Introduces several alien members of the Green Lantern Corps. Flash trying and failing to act as GL's lawyer is fairly embarrassment-squicky to me; many of the things anybody does with Flash on this show are fairly embarrassment-squicky, although he does get some great moments. René Auberjonois does two voices, as a spherical Green Lantern and as the "witness" who helps frame GL. The climactic scene is great -- sometimes the Green Lantern ditty just doesn't work, but between the sound design and the animation and Phil Lamarr's voice acting, this scene blows me away every time. I feel like this one could have been shorter though.

* The Enemy Below, two-parter: In which (blond) Aquaman guest-stars, J'onn takes on the first of many roles where he acts as bait by impersonating a villain's target, and the thing where Aquaman cuts off his own hand to escape a manacle is very tastefully handled for a kids' show. I probably would have found that scene way too suspenseful and traumatic as a kid but I was an extremely sensitive small child. Opinions on this episode: I don't really have many. This universe's Aquaman is a *dick* who appears to live by the rule that you must always fight a superhero when you meet one on the street before explaining your business. I always squee when somebody turns out to be J'onn, because I've usually forgotten. (He usually is people and not animals or, like Odo more than once, a bag. I wonder if he has some conservation of mass thing going on or if it's just easier to animate when you keep your same basic arrangement of limbs.)

* Injustice for All, two-parter: Lex Luthor, dying of kryptonite poisoning, puts together the Injustice Gang to try to destroy the Justice League. He didn't invite the Joker, but Hulk expy and heavy hitter Solomon Grundy is also voiced by Mark Hamill, so the Joker naturally turns up around the point where Luthor captures Batman, commentating on Luthor's misguidedness in keeping Bats alive and generally providing a running peanut gallery. Clancy Brown and Mark Hamill are both always fun, so this one is pretty entertaining.

* Paradise Lost: Wonder Woman backstory-ish episode. A sorcerer turns the other Amazons to stone, then blackmails Diana into stealing four artifacts for him, which he assembles into a key to free the god Hades from Tartarus. Notable mainly for the extreme mangling of Greek mythic cosmology into an aggressively Christian shape. Not good. It does have J'onn and Flash teamed for a bit, which is interesting, and J'onn gets to one-punch a giant magic brass cobra, but that's about all there is to speak for it. It looks like the writer also did my very least favorite two-parter of the whole series, unless this is some sort of Alan Smithee situation, because the name is Joseph Kuhr and I have a half-memory I can't catch that there is *something* more than coincidence in the whole, you know. "Joe-Kuhr" thing?

* War World: Apparently this one was pretty nearly universally hated. I do not hate it, because the concept "Superman and J'onn are accidentally blown across the galaxy together and sold to an alien gladiatorial arena" is something I am 110% down for, but I wanted a lot more interaction between them and possibly a lot more fic. I can't decide if I actually want to ship them, but they're obviously very close and I want to see more than snippets of that, dammit.

That's halfway through season one. Imma go sleep. more later.

#dcau #justice league animated series #j'onn j'onzz

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inevitably-johnlocked · 6 years ago

Note

Do you have any fics where Sherlock actively protects and/or defends John? Not like I’m-leaving-to-protect-you, but like standing-and-facing-aggressors-to-protect-and-defend?

Hi Nonny!

Ahh, I actually do, but I end up classifying it under “John Whump” or “Possessive Sherlock” LOL. Here’s what I got for you!

PROTECTIVE SHERLOCK

See also:

John Whump / Sherlock Takes Care of John

John Whump / Sherlock Takes Care of John Pt. 2

Jealous & Possessive Sherlock

The Moment When by drekadair (K, 509 w. || TGG Fic, Friendship, First Person POV Sherlock, Introspection, Worried Sherlock) – Sherlock sees John in the pool, and doubts. Set during the end of "The Great Game."

Promise of Sussex by LittleLongHairedOutlaw (T, 705 w. || First Person POV Sherlock, Sherlock Whump, Angst, Pining, Ambiguous Ending) – John tries to keep Sherlock conscious after he's been shot on a case.

Promises Kept by grannysknitting (K+, 844 w. || John POV, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship / Pre-Slash, Sherlock’s Violin, Worried Sherlock, John Whump, Post-TGG) – When they were in hospital, Sherlock made a promise to himself. Now he's keeping it. Set after 'Polygamous Marriage' but before 'Back in the Saddle'

Possessive by Fang323 (T, 850 w. || John Whump, Hospitalization, Possessive / Protective Sherlock, Friendsdhip, Hurt/Comfort) – His John did not belong. Not here. Not in this blasted hospital. It simply was not logical.

Burn Burn by Jenn1984 (K+, 925 w. || Post-TGG, Angst, Worried / Panicked / Possessive Sherlock) – A week after the events of "The Great Game", Sherlock returns to 221B Baker Street to find it empty.

Back in the Saddle by grannysknitting (M, 1,577 w. || Post TGG, Donovan POV, Observation / Introspection, Protective Sherlock, Injured John, Case-ish Fic) – Their first return to solving crime after the pool and the explosion.

One in Ten Thousand by Blind Author (K+, 1,856 w. || Post-TGG, Friendship / Pre-Slash, Discussions of Violence, Worried then Curious Sherlock, Scars/John’s Bullet Wound, Medical Anomolies) – John seems to have unusual mobility for a shoulder wound…

Those Days by StillWaters1 (T, 2,663 w. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD / Sensory Attacks, Caring Sherlock) – If Sherlock had danger nights, then these were John's danger days.

Domino by Deception's Call (K, 2,689 w. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Scared / Worried Sherlock, John Whump, Crying Sherlock, Hospital, Implied Caretaker Sherlock) – When John is injured on a case and is admitted to the hospital, those at Scotland Yard come to realize that perhaps Sherlock Holmes has a heart after all.

It Was All Right There In Front of Him (A Five Times Plus One Story) by bees_stories (T, 3,191 w. || 5+1, Protective Idiots, Grooming, Bed Sharing, Lestrade POV) – DI Greg Lestrade is a good detective. But sometimes he doesn’t trust the evidence in front of him, until there’s a compelling reason to do so.

Wish I Was In Heaven Sitting Down by standbygo (M, 3,282 w. || Post-S4, Five Plus One, Missing Scenes, Parenthood, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt/Comfort, Declarations of Love, Fluff, Food, John Whump) – Five times when Sherlock and John ate together, and one time they didn't. A history of the boys, in food.

The Dangers of Dating by verityburns (T, 3,325 w. || Friendship, Case Fic, No Slash, John Whump, 3G, Worried Sherlock) – Sherlock and John acquire a new client... with a very unusual problem.

All That I Have by the_arc5 (M, 3,721 w. || Post-TGG Canon Divergence, Pining Sherlock, John Whump, Anxious / Worried Sherlock, Light Angst) – In the aftermath of the Great Game, Sherlock finds himself with a new weakness. John is both the cause and the cure.

Every Step of the Way by Shi-Toyu (T, 3,795 w. || Romance, Hurt/Comfort, John Whump, Car Accidents, Care Taking, Pre-Slash) – When John is injured on a case, Sherlock can't forgive himself. Everyone expects him to give up on his flatmate and get bored, but he'll prove them all wrong by sticking with him... every step of the way.

Afghanistan in Baskerville by Amaya Ramiel (K+, 4,357 w. || THoB Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Drugged John, PTSD / Panic Attack, Hallucinations, Worried Sherlock, John’s Past, Friendship) – What if John hadn't seen the hound when Sherlock trapped him in the lab? What if instead, his very real nightmares of the war had materialized all around him? Trapped and drugged, John can't tell what's real and what's not. How will Sherlock react?

Let Down by Gandalf3213 (K+, 4,505 w. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, John Whump, Insecure John) – John truly is sorry for letting Sherlock down. The only thing he wanted to do was finish the case, but bleeding out in a dark alley makes it harder for him to pursue that murderer running out of sight.

Applied Linguistics by what_alchemy (M, 4,837 w. || Possessive / Anxious Sherlock, Introspection, Bed Sharing, Past John Whump, Est. Rel., Marriage Proposal, Sherlock Loves John So Much, Word Play) – “He wants to shake John by the shoulders, wants to open his mouth and swallow John whole. Wants to marry him.” Sherlock searches for the right words.

Welcome Home, John by slashscribe (G, 5,504 w. || Post-S3, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Awkwardness, Stabbed Sherlock, Protective Sherlock, Panic Attack (Sherlock), Self Esteem Issues, Love Confessions, First Kiss) – When John moves back to 221B, he thinks he’s the broken one, but after a while, it becomes clear that he might not be correct.

BANG by ElvendorkInfinity (T, 7,016 w. || Post-TGG AU, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Worried / Scared Sherlock, Alternating POV, Whump, Hospital Recovery, Open Ending) – 'I should warn you,' Sherlock says, his voice steady and his eyes fixed on Moriarty. 'You are sadly misinformed.' And he fires. Prequel to M Is For Moriarty

Inconvenient Timing by TheMadKatter13 (M, 7,072 w. || Omegaverse || Omega John/Alpha Sherlock, Romance, Public Heat, Scared John, Protective / Worried / Possessive Sherlock, Post-TBB AU, Caring Sherlock, Pre-Slash, Happy Ending) – When John's heat failed to appear three times in a row after he was shot, he figured it was just another broken piece off the broken toy soldier. So he was rather surprised to feel it start out of the blue...and not at all pleased with it starting while he was on the tube.

On Favors and Keeping Score by Ewebie (G, 7,622 w. || Hurt/Comfort, Sick Fic, Fluff, John Whump) – John woke up to the horribly unpleasant sound of his clock alarm. Which meant he’d slept through his phone’s alarm. And for a moment he glared blearily at the noisemaker before smacking at it with his palm. Ugh, he felt like rubbish. The back of his throat was burning with the irritation that heralded a proper dose, his nose was threatening to drip every few seconds, and he had the uncomfortable flush that normally suggested a fever. Nothing high, just uncomfortable. Nothing deadly, just irritating. Nothing worth calling in sick with, just a full day of discomfort in the face of other people’s discomfort. It was going to be a day where he was forced to bite his tongue from telling people off. “You’re not as sick as I am, so off you pop.” Part 7 of Tumblr Shorts

The Hours Before Midnight by Lady Sam Mallory (T, 7,773 w. || TGG Fic, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Torture / John Whump, Kidnapping, Drugging, Alternating POV, Worried / Protective Sherlock) – Moriarty doesn't play fair. John must deal with hours of torment from Moriarty before going to meet Sherlock at the Pool at the end of the Great Game and Sherlock must deal with the consequences of his boredom.

Victim, Bait, Hero, Friend by KimberlyTheOwl (T, 7,887 w. || Post-TGG Epilogue, Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Past Kidnapping / Torture / Implied Rape, Panic Attacks, Worried / Possessive Sherlock, Lestrade is a Good Friend) – Some insights into why John was perfectly willing to throw everything away for a chance to kill Moriarty at the pool. Trauma, ugliness, and finally healing. Some nice supporting work by Lestrade as well.

A Friend Indeed by Sanru (K+, 8,190 w. || Missing John, Friendship, Drama, Introspection, Possessive Sherlock, Worried Sherlock) – Something has gone terribly wrong with a supposedly simple case. John Watson is missing. While the search for him is proving to be fruitless, it has made Sherlock realize that having an emotional attachment to someone may have its disadvantages but he liked being able to call John his friend. Now if only he could find out what happened to him...

My Life for His by QuinnAnderson (E, 8,816 w. || Guardian/Protector, Greek Mythology || Growing Up, Sex, Religious Themes, Suicide, Minor Character Death) – It began when Sherlock was eight, and he attempted to climb all the way up to the highest branch in the old willow tree in his back garden. He'd thought he was still small enough that it could support him, but the second he'd grabbed hold of it to pull himself up, the branch snapped, and down he went, plummeting a solid twenty metres.The odd thing was, he never actually hit the ground.

A Is For Aftermath by ElvendorkInfinity (T, 10,567 w. || Injury / Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Pre-Slash/Bromance/Platonics, Hallucinations, Introspection, Insecure / Worried John, Big Brother Mycroft, Alternating POV, Anxious Sherlock, Self-Deprecating, Mildly Possessive Sherlock, 3G Moment) – John is still hallucinating, Sherlock cannot sleep, and Lestrade has a new case for them. But will life at 221B ever be able to return to normal? Epilogue to M is for Moriarty.

The Dying Doctor by Transcendental Starlight (T, 11,258 w. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Sick John / John Whump, ACD Rewrite) – Loosely based off ACD's "The Dying Detective." Sherlock relives a case that should have killed him, but instead resulted in John being hospitalized for a deadly disease. Sherlock endeavors to catch the murderer, while attempting to envision a future without John Watson. No Slash.

A Building of Bridges by Unique (K, 12,325 w. || Drama, Alternate First Meeting, John’s PTSD / Flashbacks, Mute John, Dialogue-Heavy, Caring Sherlock, Friendship) – No one would ever send Sherlock in to diffuse a stand-off; but on one unlikely day, that's exactly what happened. "Congratulations, Lestrade," he called out sarcastically. "You're traumatizing a war veteran."

Always the sun by Rose de Sharon (K+, 12,377 w. || Song Fic, Alternate Post-TGG, Friendship/Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection / Reflection, Injury Recovery, Obsessive / Protective Sherlock, Nightmares, John’s Past, Bed Sharing / Cuddles) – Sherlock ponders about how much his life has changed since John has become his flatmate.

Hope for Heroes by Richefic (K+, 16,887 w. || Post-TGG Fic, Introspection / Flashbacks, Friendship/Epic Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Worried/Anxious Sherlock, Sherlock Admires John, BAMF John, John Deduces, Fancy Party, John’s Self Esteem, Domestics) – In the final moments of "The Great Game" Holmes hopes he will have the chance to tell his flatmate that he was wrong. Heroes do exist after all and the one in front of him is called Dr John Watson.

Let's Make a Bed Out in the Rain by theimprobable1 (M, 17,664 w. || Pining, Angst & Fluff, First Kiss, Unrequited, Protective Sherlock) – John is devastated after his long-term girlfriend leaves him. Sherlock helps him through it.

A Life Well-Lived by Kate_Lear (E, 20,121 w. || Original Male Character, Sherlock Woos John, Jealous Sherlock, Reluctant Bi-John, Past Abuse, Insecure John, Reassuring / Caring Sherlock, Protective Sherlock, Understanding Sherlock) – John got scared off men by an abusive past relationship. Sherlock has to try and woo him while not scaring him off with protective possessive rage.

The Vapor Variant by 88thParallel (CanadaHolm) (M, 72,684 w. || Post-THoB, John Whump, Protective Sherlock, Guilty Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD John, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Suspense, Virus, Sickfic, Big Brother Mycroft) – They stood face to face in the middle of a clearing. The dim light of the moon barely allowed Sherlock to see the glassy terror in John’s eyes and the sweat that glistened off his forehead. His nose was bleeding again, blood dripping in a slow stream from his right nostril. They were both gasping for air, John’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. There was no recognition there, just wild animal fear. Time stood still for an eternal few seconds, and Sherlock took a shaky breath. “John—”Spell broken, John spun and bolted back into the woods. Still heaving for air, Sherlock took off after him.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #protective sherlock #sherlock takes care of john #Anonymous

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camachameleon · 7 years ago

Text

Cam’s Voltron Fic Rec 3/∞

VLD Rec Lists: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] Here’s a Fic Masterlist for my other fandoms. ( ** = favorites )

**Recoil/Release by Cheshyr

Word count: 22,387 (13/13)

Summary: When Keith is bitten by an alien creature with venom that causes your dominant emotions to be amplified, the team is ready for a day of dealing with an incredibly angry paladin.

Which means they’re not ready at all for what actually happens.

Comments: The almost stream-of-consciousness writing of Keith’s parts are really gut-wrenching because it’s as if you are experiencing it with him. (Warning for panic attacks- if you are triggered at all by that sort of thing you may want to sit this one out, it gets pretty graphic). A couple good song pairings for this fic to set the tone are Broken Crown and World Gone Mad.

**Synergy by Kokochan & Spanch

Word count: 74,064 (10/10)

Summary: The vines were large, stiff, gnarly, and thick-stemmed, with blue leaves as big and round as dinner plates, but Shiro’s battle-arm was able to sever several long straggles with ease. The vines draped easily enough over the shuttle and hid it quite handily from view. “Good enough, I suppose,” Shiro said, glaring at the empty greenish-blue sky. “Come on, let’s… Hunk? What’s the matter?”

Hunk was staring at something behind him. “Shiro, don’t make any sudden moves just now, but there’s a really big lizard thing standing right behind you. Um. Two of them.”

Surprised, Shiro turned, albeit carefully. He’d never even heard them approach. That was rather impressive, considering the size of the beasts. It was as though someone had taken a pair of Arizonan horned lizards and rebuilt them more on the lines of a tiger without leaving out any of the spikes, then expanded them to about the size of an Indian elephant and added six large, intelligent blue eyes. Understandably, Shiro froze in place.

Comments: OH. MY. GOSH. OK. SO. This bad boy is Part 1 of 3, so far, with a total series word count of 241,404 at the moment. This beautiful titan of a series is named Of The Pack, and it updates with great speed, considering it has two top tier authors working on it. The several OCs in this story are so lifelike and realistic and fit so well into the universe that I forget that they aren’t actually canon and I kind of miss them when I’m reading other Voltron fics. My favorite part is the world-building it does. Everything about this fic is so dynamic and multi-dimensional, from it’s characters to the epic plot - this is the exact opposite of lazy writing. I am so here for badass Pidge, and the matriarchal Galra culture and the dragons. I👏LOVE👏THIS👏FIC👏

Also there’s magic! (with a scientific explanation, of course)

A cool song that I think goes nice with this fic is Heroes by Måns Zelmerlöw.

The Kids Are Alright by pugglemuggle

Word count: 10,430 (3/3)

Summary: Three Garrison Cadets Missing After Freak Satellite Crash

By Mara Garrett, News Editor | The Guardian | Monday, June 13, 2103 7:40 A.M. ET

Two seventeen-year-olds and a fifteen-year-old went missing Friday night after a rogue satellite crashed into the desert a few miles away from the Galaxy Garrison Training Facility, reports say. Garrison officials were quick to cordon off the area, claiming many of the remaining satellite fragments were dangerous and unstable. Government search parties have been sent out into the surrounding desert areas. Details are forthcoming.

—

Her brother is missing. Lance’s sister isn’t about to sit quietly while the Garrison keeps lying to the press. No—she’s going to get to the bottom of this.

(Or: The paladins’ families team up to find their kids and overthrow the corrupt Garrison regime. Told through news articles, prose, the internet, and art.)

Comments: The format of this is very intriguing and fresh. We get to see scenes of our favorite paladins through the eyes of their friends and families, from before they disappeared and the aftermath. The open ending is still satisfying and leaves you with a sense of determination and hope for these characters that you just couldn’t help but get attached to. If you’re big on government conspiracies then this is the fic for you!

**Patty Cake by Froldgapp

Word count: 7,829 (6/6)

Summary: Quiet, aloof, and alone, Keith is distant from the rest of the team. Hunk begins to suspect why, and it’s only when the red paladin pushes himself too far, the Voltron gang realise he’s just as vulnerable as the rest of them.

Comments: Aaaaahhh this fic. Something about this one has me coming back to reread it all the time even though I always cry. It is just so angsty but in a more poignant, sharp, breathless kind of way. Some of the things the characters say send painful stinging jolts into your chest and you can feel your heart cracking and then you get angry because how dare (I mean ch4 tho holy sh*t). I just want to hug Keith so much ugh. Hunk’s protectiveness of Keith gives me the strength to finish this masterpiece every time. Also, this can kind of be Sheith if you squint (or not, if you don’t).

The Message by Shipstiel

Word count: 132,787 (45/45)

Summary: (4:07) okay, but considr this, and hear me out here (4:08) so like, a photobooth u can do with ur pets like there’ll be lil costumes that u can dress them up in, and u can do liek, period costumes and shit with them (4:09) omg, can u imagine, u and ur cat/dog, and theyre in a lil 1800s dress and one of those lace umbrella things omg so cute

(4:15) Why the FUCK are you texting me at four in the morning with this

—

Keith is texted by accident by some idiot one day, and honestly he’s not even sure why he responds. Or why he keeps responding. Yet somehow he finds himself drawn in, and okay, so maybe this fool is mildly entertaining after all. Who would’ve thought.

Comments: Slowburn Klance Wrong Number AU. These two are so cute I just can’t. This is the perfect story if you are looking for something effortless and relaxing to read. Even though this contains some softcore Langst, it is still a very cute and heartwarming story about two dorks slowly falling in love. It features Lance’s mother who I fell in love with here, and the kind of supportive nosy best friends that everyone wants in real life (i.e. Hunk, Pidge, and Allura).

**The Quiet by MilkTeaMiku

Word count: 66,700 (32/32)

Summary: Does he not realize he’s dead?

Keith can see ghosts. As a part of his Garrison training, he’s sent to a hospital to do one year of medical clerkship - it’s there that he meets a charmingly irritating chose who definitely needs to learn what boundaries are.

Comments: Modern Ghost AU with eventual Klance. This fic is the most suspenseful story I have ever read in my life. Idk if it’s just me, but I just have this feeling building up paragraph by paragraph of an impending… something. And it has my heart racing which is crazy because it isn’t even particularly fast-paced. There’s just a heaviness to the words that have the hairs on the back of your neck prickling. I literally have to take a breather from reading sometimes to calm down.

A couple cool songs I think set the mood for this fic is Smother and Mirror.

Finding Home by spacegaykogane

Word count: 26,966 (6/6)

Summary: After the wormhole collapses, Keith finds himself stranded on a strange planet. Alone. Until Lance comes along. With their lions dead and resources limited, Keith and Lance need to put aside their differences and work together to get home. Wherever that may be, now.

Comments: Klance. I love Stranded fics where they have to work together to survive and bond over that. So yeah this one has some whump obviously, bc you know, crash landings aren’t very fun. This one is angsty but its balanced out by the fluffiness in the end.

Cuddle Puddle by nothingwrongwiththerain

Word count: 46,782 (6/6)

Summary: Unexpectedly, Shiro’s hand landed on the top of his head. Apparently with Lance and Hunk taking up all the shoulder real estate, Shiro would settle for ruffling Keith’s hair.

Keith was fairly certain his soul was about to detach and abandon his shaking body on the couch. He was surrounded, in the complete and total sense of the word, by other people. Not once before, not in his whole life, had he dealt with a situation like this one.

Or, five times Keith found himself too close for comfort and one time he couldn't get close enough.

Comments: Klance featuring ace!Keith. Don’t be fooled by the fluffy summary, this is a very angsty fic with lots of Keith whump. Basically, as stated by the author, this story is about ‘Keith struggling with physical contact and learning to accept people care about him’. I love touch-starved Keith stories, like this one. I love the scenes with Kidge bros, featuring a super supportive Pidge.

At the Beginning by Sakuraiai

Word count: 64,203 (12/12)

Summary: Inspired by Anastasia

King Zarkon of the Galra empire lost his only way in to the Kingdom of Altea. In his anger, he put a curse on the royal family. The young, adopted half Galran prince Keith disappeared when the palace was overrun, never to be seen again -- or so it seemed. The only surviving princess, Allura, grieving for her child, offers a reward for Keith's safe return.

Con artists, Lance and his best friend, Hunk plan to pawn off a phony to the princess, hoping to reap the rewards. They hold auditions and choose an orphan man who has a remarkable resemblance to the missing prince -- all the way down to his fluffy Galran ears.

Comments: Can anyone say Anastasia AU?! I waited with baited breath for each chapter to come out and I was not once disappointed. I love the integration of the different alien races in this timeless story, it all works out so well. Keith just wants to find his mommy and I just want to cry. Also Kidge bros are still my fav as always.

out of orbit by rbillustration

Word count: 78,135 (19/19)

Summary: Dragged apart by Haggar’s attack on the wormhole, the paladins and Alteans struggle to survive and find one another again. Luck has placed them all within the same galaxy… but their fortune ends there. Lance is stranded with a badly-injured Shiro and his relief at finding their leader still accompanying him soon turns to terror. Keith may be the only who can rectify the situation - but the Galra have him in their grasp, and they don’t want to kill him. They want him as one of their own.

Comments: ANGST. SO MUCH ANGST. A brainwashed Galra!Keith plus a Possessed!Shiro. This is the perfect recipe for disaster if I ever saw one. If lots of blood bothers you proceed with caution. I love stranded fics.

A good song rec for this one is Darkside.

VLD Rec Lists: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] Here’s a Fic Masterlist for my other fandoms.

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maedarakat · 7 years ago

Text

Tuffstrid day . . . I’m late. Sorry @despiteherself Not even sure how late. But here is a short whump!fic because of reasons.

Prompt: “I’m not leaving them!”/ Protection

—-

There were many dangerous things in and out of the Archipelago, and Astrid supposed they had fought them all at some point.

The men they’d fought, however, seemed worse than any dragon - and the one standing before them now was no exception to that rule. Krogan walked closer, looking bored and mildly irritated - but that wasn’t what chilled her.

Viggo was also standing nearby, close enough for Astrid to see his expression. It was one of unease, and he kept switching his gaze from her to her companion. Astrid swallowed a growl. Viggo had absolutely no right to look like that - like he was worried for them. She half wondered if he was doing it just to get under her skin, as well as Tuff’s.

Both of them had been captured on the team’s latest mission - trying to get a wounded Typhoomerang and her hatchlings out of Dragon Hunter territory.

They’d been ambushed halfway to the cave system Fishlegs had scouted out, but all of them might have gotten away regardless had it not been for one impossibly headstrong Thorston twin.

Tuff had seen one of the Hunters grab a hatchling by its leg, cruelly hanging on as it desperately tried to fly to its mother. He had jumped off Belch, spare mace swinging wildly, and managed to take the man down - plus four others. The hatchling fled to safety and promptly afterwards, Tuffnut found himself surrounded.

Astrid had to hand it to him - Tuff certainly knew how to ‘frenzy’ with the best of them. What he didn’t seem good at was the art of getting out of impossible combat situations. Naturally, she had charged through the line on Stormfly, reaching down a hand to pull him up.

They’d only scattered for a moment, all converging too quickly to grab Tuffnut’s hair and throw him down. By consequence, they had also yanked Astrid out of the saddle - using her refusal to let go of Tuff’s hand against her.

Hiccup and Ruff had called their names, but the Hunters swarmed the area - quickly subduing the captured mother dragon and her brood. He and the other Riders had no choice but to retreat, no doubt for a rescue attempt later.

Krogan studied her face carefully, walking a circle around the tree she and Tuff had been tied to. Finally he spoke.

“A curious thing, endangering yourselves like this, just to rescue a Typhoomerang. What was your long term goal for rescuing such a dragon? Were you hoping to tame her?”

Astrid was about to snap a reply, but Tuff beat her to the punch.

“You don’t mean tame. You mean subjugate. Why would you subjugate a Typhoomerang?” Tuff replied, arching an eyebrow.

Krogan scowled. “Don’t play a fool with me, dragon rider. I’ve heard from Viggo that you and your sister are far more clever than you seem.”

Tuff cracked a grin, one which made Astrid tense and groan. He was going to be a smart-ass, wasn’t he?

“Aww, thanks. I bet you’re more clever than you look too.”

Yep. Smart-ass.

There was a mixed reaction from the Hunters - some startled coughs, quite a few winces, even a whimper from the back, but Krogan didn’t lash out.

He sighed, looking weary for a moment. “I honestly don’t need either of you alive, despite Viggo’s insistence that you will draw Hiccup in. I am sure he’ll come back for the girl alone, whether she’s alive or dead. Revenge can be just as powerful as love, and equally devastating to the clarity of one’s mind.”

Astrid’s blood ran cold. Hiccup was vengeful - he’d proven that with Viggo. His head was clear and focused when he had an idea - a purpose. But with no other recourse but avenging her death . . .? They would bring him down.

She glowered at Viggo, who actually had the gall to look vaguely guilty.

“Well,” said Tuffnut. “Not for nothing, but that was a real spine tingler. Have you been taking menacing dialogue lessons from Viggo?”

Krogan looked at him quizzically. Apparently Tuffnut didn’t have the expected reaction. Of course he didn’t - when did he ever?

“I know you heard me clearly, boy. And that you did not hear how useful to me you would be - dead or alive.”

“Uh, I heard, yeah. Or did . . . not hear. That’s confusing, wow. Anyway, the only reason we’re still alive now is because you need two of us to torture, because if one completely shuts down from the pain, the other one is going to care enough to spill all the beans for their sake, right?”

Krogan stared and blinked, completely thrown.

“Hah, so predictable,” Tuff stage-whispered to Astrid. He straightened to look Krogan in the eye. “Okay, so bring on the torture already. My body is ready!”

Astrid gaped at him. “Tuff, what are you doing!?”

He didn’t answer, but Astrid felt him tremble slightly as Krogan stepped closer to loom over him. Her stomach dropped at his grin, realizing what Tuff was trying to do. For them . . . for her.

“Interesting. You have no fear at all. I’m certain that will change shortly. I’m wondering - is Miss Hofferson your second-in-command, or are you two perhaps seeing each other behind Hiccup’s back?”

Astrid opened her mouth to hurl indignation, but Tuff kicked her ankle lightly and refused to answer, just staring back at Krogan and giving a shrug. “Never really thought about it. Hey, Astrid, wanna date behind Hiccup’s back?”

She blinked, momentarily too startled to reply, then kicked him in the ankle - much harder than necessary. Tuff yelped and a moment later Astrid felt a twinge of guilt as she realized how he’d just covered for both of them.

Krogan wasn’t just baiting them to get a rise - he was gathering information. Tuff had given him barely any to go on, and even that much was incorrect. Since Astrid was Hiccup’s second in command, it would have been assumed no boy in her patrol would dare talk to her that way.

“Hmm. So you don’t really know much in the affairs of men, do you, Hofferson? Hiccup keeps all his plans and schemes out of your dainty little hands - to protect you from knowing too much should you get captured? Is that it, missy?” He taunted.

Rage bubbled up and Astrid nearly started cussing Krogan out like a soldier, but a crunch on her instep made her eyes water instead. Gods, Tuff was viciously repaying her for that last kick.

“Hey! Don’t you call her that! Only I can call her ‘missy’, and in a much nicer tone than that!”

Deflecting. He was deflecting, bringing Krogan attention back around to himself.

It definitely did him no favors; Krogan backhanded him hard enough to make Tuff bleed. His nose was pressed against Astrid’s ear for just a moment, long enough to hear a nearly inaudible squeak of terror before Krogan hit him again - snapping his face to the right.

Astrid gasped and struggled against the ropes, thinking only of throwing her arms around Tuff and shielding him from further pain. Tuffnut looked up at the man defiantly and Astrid heard herself actually whimper with fear for him.

Don’t say anything else, please, please - look scared, don’t give him another reason . . .

She was aware she didn’t look like Astrid the Fearless right now. To Krogan, she likely seemed just a silly little girl who’d run off to join a rebellious Dragon-Rider vigilante, and was dating their leader.

As humiliating as it was, the lie shielded her from being a person of interest as far as torture went, and it was the best one Tuff had managed to weave for her at such short notice.

She resented him for it . . . and she also couldn’t.

Krogan stared Tuff down, chuckling when he didn’t avert his eyes. He raised a hand suddenly, which made Tuff flinch hard against her. The chuckle turned into a full throated mocking laugh and Astrid had honestly never hated anyone more in existence.

The other Hunters laughed as well, until Krogan cut them off with a curt order.

“Get me the tools.”

———

Her back ached.

Astrid straightened in the chair and stretched her arms over her head, then resumed her vigil, resting elbows on her knees and face in her hands as she watched the sleeping boy.

They had been rescued nearly too late - though by her definition ‘too late’ was the moment Krogan’s horrible silver instruments had made blood well up under Tuff’s skin - had made him finally scream.

The Typhoomerang’s mate had helped them first - appearing suddenly in their midst from the tree line. It was a diversion from Hiccup’s precision attack on Krogan’s camp, and it worked brilliantly. Viggo had conveniently vanished as soon as their dragons started blasting the area around them free of men.

Astrid had no idea how in all the chaos their bonds had been suddenly cut - probably one of Stormfly’s spines. It hardly mattered anyway.

They were home now and Tuff was going to be okay.

Right until he woke up, because then she was going to kill him.

It had been seven hours now, and the first morning light was turning the sky a rosy gray. Gothi had been sent for, but between Heather and Fishlegs’ healing salves and herbal teas, Tuff was already as comfortable as he could be. Astrid had sent Ruff to bed to get some sleep, and for some odd reason - after an irritatingly long searching look - she’d allowed it.

Astrid stilled at a noise outside the hut. If it was Hiccup coming to talk her into going to bed, he was out of luck. She wasn’t budging from Tuff’s side until he opened those gray eyes of his and said something ridiculous, so she had an excuse to punch an injured person.

For now it was just her alone with her thoughts - and they weren’t very good ones.

She’d thought she’d seen bravery in all its forms - on the faces of Viking men and women who rushed into battle to protect their homes. On Hiccup’s face as he faced off alone against the Red Death, with Toothless. On his face when he’d tried walking around the village on that leg the first time.

She’d seen it on Tuff’s face before too, but never so much as tonight - when there was just him and Krogan’s gleaming tools and no guarantee of survival.

And he had been fearless for her sake.

Astrid felt a stab of guilt - that it had surprised her so much what he was capable of. She found herself reaching down to adjust the blanket that had slid down his chest, knuckles brushing across the shallow cuts and gashes and blood blisters, so far avoiding the urge to pull it down and catalogue the damage.

She had tried - honestly tried - to redirect some of that pain onto herself through insults, curses, anything she could think of to infuriate Krogan. His response had been to stuff a wad of fabric into her mouth and keep his ministrations centered on Tuff.

Her hands rebelled finally, disobediently tugging the covers down, looking for injury on every inch of new skin the blankets exposed. All the way down to his thighs, his body was a map of pain - ridges and gashes made up the land borders, and a dozen colorful bruises for the seas.

All that, and he had been so brave - he had given nothing up to Krogan.

Astrid’s face flushed and she sat by his hip, quite forgetting herself as she leaned down to press her forehead against Tuff’s. She felt weak and dizzy for reasons she never wanted to analyze.

Tuff’s lashes twitched. She held her breath as his eyes opened, looking around blankly in a hazy sort of panic. They softened and seemed to clear when they landed on her.

“Oh good. You didn’t choke on Krogan’s socks after all. Okay.”

His eyes rolled up, tipping back gracefully into unconsciousness.

Astrid sputtered, nonplussed. “They weren’t his - it was just a piece of cloth . . . Tuff?” It was no use; he was out for some much needed rest. She gently brushed cool fingers across his cheek, trying to soothe the vivid bruise blooming there.

“You’re crazy,” she muttered softly, fondly. “Thank you.”

A soft snore was her only answer.

#tuffstrid #rtte #tuffnut #astrid #im on NyQuil rn so I hope it makes sense to someone

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the-whump-files · 7 years ago

Text

fic: “in the wee, small hours”

TITLE: “in the wee, small hours” FANDOM: X-Files CHARACTERS: Dana Scully, Fox Mulder AUTHORS: the-whump-files {my girlfriend beta’d, but since she’s not part of this community {{she just loves me a lot}} her identity is staying anonymous} RATING: Teen {some very mild sexual innuendo and language} TAGS: whump, hurt/comfort, sneezefic, x files, msr AUTHORS’ NOTES: look, there is not NEARLY enough Scully-centric whump fic out there, and I consider it my life’s mission to change that sad fact. SUMMARY: In which Scully is sick during a stakeout and Mulder is teasing and there's lots of bantering because what else do you do on stakeouts, right? {Also lots of comforting and snuggles, because of course there are.} SPOILERS: None! A few references to the show, but nothing major. FEEDBACK: Always gratefully accepted and appreciated!

“Goddammit,” she hisses.

She should’ve thought this through.

She’s just barely, finally gotten the glove compartment to shut--and stay shut--when Mulder opens the driver's side door. A blast of frigid air follows him in, and she shivers as it dissipates around her already well-chilled form. More cold air shoots out of the vents as Mulder turns the key in the ignition; in typical federal government fashion, their FBI-leased rental is a shitty mid-80s Taurus with a moody heating system. Mulder seems content, though, even pleased: smiling and very slightly vibrating the way he always is when they’re en route to their latest X-File. Scully often finds it charming (she’d never in a million years tell him that) but tonight it strikes her primarily as smug and annoying, and she huffs impatiently from the passenger seat. His eyebrows raise and he casts her an irritatingly cheery sideways glance, which only annoys Scully further.

“What are you so smiley about?” It has been silent but for the pathetic chugging of the engine for the first few minutes of their drive, and when she hears her words hit the air they have more of an edge than she’d intended.

He doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead he hums along to the CD (Tom Waits--he does have good taste; she’s regularly grateful that their musical interests are so closely aligned) for a few minutes, pretending not to hear her, and at first she thinks he really hasn’t. As the song finishes, he answers: “Nothing like a good stakeout to keep life interesting.”

Scully rolls her eyes. “I can think of fifty other things I’d rather be doing tonight,” she says.

“Such as?”

“I don’t know. Watching Law and Order. Sleeping. Cleaning my oven. Shoving bamboo shoots under my nails. Committing hara-kiri. Literally anything else.”

He turns to her, and he still seems amused, but there’s confusion mixed in there now, too; this isn’t quite her thing in the way that it’s his, but she’s not usually quite this violently opposed to it, either.

“Someone’s in a mood tonight,” he comments softly.

Scully sighs. “Sorry,” she says. “Just tired, I guess.” She shivers again, then sticks her hands out towards the vents--cold air is still rushing out of them, even though the engine should be more than warmed up by now. “Mulder, do you have the heat turned on?”

He glances at the dials, then frowns. “Yeah,” he says. “I do. Weird.” He fidgets with them a little, but nothing changes. He shrugs, and turns them off completely. “I guess it’s broken.”

Scully shuts her eyes and resists the urge to groan. Of course it’s broken. She wraps her arms tighter around her chest and pulls her legs in closer to her body. She considers delving into her hastily packed glove box of rations, but decides against it for reasons of personal dignity. “How long until we get there?” she asks.

“Fifteen minutes,” Mulder answers. “Maybe twenty.”

Scully leans her head against the window. “Great,” she mumbles. “Just great.”

Mulder stops suddenly at a newly red traffic light, and the glove box pops comically open; it bangs against Scully’s knees and she hisses in pain. “Don’t tell me that’s broken, too,” Mulder says, but frowns when he realizes it opened because it was full to bursting. “Did someone leave all their stuff in here?”

“No,” Scully says, grunting slightly as she unsuccessfully tries to shut it again but it just won’t fucking CLICK. “It’s mine.”

“Blankets?” Mulder asks, grinning and waggling his eyebrows. “You brought blankets? Scully, did you have something in mind?”

“Oh, my God.”

“Because though we don’t have a hotel room at the moment, that can easily be arranged.”

“Mulder.”

“And is that a flask?” he exclaims, utterly delighted. “Agent Doctor Dana Straightlaced Scully, I’m shocked. Did you bring enough to share with the class?”

“It’s hot chocolate,” she says grumpily.

“My question still stands.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to share this with me.”

Mulder scoffs. “Yeah, I think I’ll make that decision for myself.”

Scully exhales with practiced patience. “Let me rephrase,” she says. “You can’t share this with me.”

“I don’t see why I can’t--tissues? Why do you have three whole boxes of--? Oh,” Scully can almost see the light bulb appear and flash on over Mulder’s head. “Oh.”

“Shut up, Mulder,” Scully says with a tired little sniffle.

“I didn’t say anything,” Mulder says, and if he weren’t driving, Scully knows both hands would be up in the air in mock surrender.

“Yeah,” she grumbles, “but I heard you thinking it.”

Mulder just laughs.

* * *

It’s sleeting and all of 38 degrees outside, and they’ve been sitting in an empty parking lot for close to an hour now. Mulder can feel the rash of tiredness and boredom beginning to scratch at the backs of his eyes; Scully is faring far worse. She hasn’t stopped shivering since they left, and she occasionally sniffles into the cuff of her blazer. Mulder can’t quite tell if it’s from the cold outside or from the cold she likely has; Scully hasn’t said anything, but he suspects it’s a mix of the two. Though, of course, as she has been known to remind him, he isn’t a medical doctor.

Another shiver wracks through Scully, and finally Mulder asks, “You cold over there?”

“No,” Scully says firmly, holding very still as she tries to control her chills. Blue-lipped and pale, she looks like a child who leapt fully clothed into the creek and is being forced to serve her due time-out in a belligerent, adorable caricature of misery.

“You know,” Mulder says, “I seem to recall there being some blankets in that glove box. Just throwing that out there.”

“How very observant of you, Mulder.”

“Blankets are very warm.”

The corners of Scully’s mouth twitch, but she doesn’t smile. “Right again, Sherlock.”

Slowly, very slowly, Mulder opens the glove box and retrieves a purple and especially cozy fleece blanket. Unfolding it halfway--it’s made for a queen bed, but Dana Scully isn’t quite a queen-bed-sized human--he drapes it over Scully’s legs and lap and pats it gently a few times, like it’s a sleepy kitten. The shivering she’d been trying so valiantly to suppress begins to slow almost immediately. “Well,” Mulder says, “would you look at that.”

Scully pointedly ignores him and instead plays absently with the delicate gold crucifix hanging around her neck (it’s one of her tells; Scully is a remarkably cool-headed human being, but even she has them). If Mulder had a betting partner, he’d place money that it’ll take Scully at least ten minutes to make any more use of the blanket, assuming she even chooses to do so at all. Mulder checks the clock: 11:06. He decides to give it until 11:17.

They sit in a silence that’s become comfortable after so many stakeouts in their years together, and 11:17 comes and goes. Scully hasn’t even glanced at the blanket, and Mulder is long past the point of knowing whether or not her stubbornness is endearing or frustrating as hell or some baffling combination of both; all he knows is that Scully isn’t going to fully use it willingly and that he can’t stand to see her shiver one more time. He takes the blanket and unfolds it completely, then drapes it over Scully’s shoulders; she moves almost imperceptibly to allow him to wrap her more closely into it. Once she’s been properly tucked in, Mulder rubs her arms vigorously a few times. He grips each of her small hands in his larger ones; they’re like ice, and he wishes they had a pair of gloves. This will have to do. Not that I mind...

Scully doesn’t look pleased, but she doesn’t shrug the blanket off, either. Mulder considers that progress.

* * *

“Strip poker.”

“No.”

“Come on, Scully.”

“Mulder,” Scully says, “it is freezing outside-”

“Six degrees above freezing, actually,” Mulder points out.

Scully makes a growly sound through her teeth. “It’s six degrees above freezing outside,” she amends. “I’m not stripping out of anything.” She’d wordlessly added a second blanket to her purple fleece one around 12:15, and to underscore her point she pulls both of them more snugly around her. Only her face is visible, really: the pinkened tip of her nose, her freckled cheeks that are flushed in the way they always get when she’s sick. Mulder bites back a smirk.

“That’s it?” he says. “That’s the only reason we can’t play strip poker? Because it’s too cold outside?” He leans back in his seat. “Man,” he continues. “I’m gonna remind you that you said that when we’re on a stakeout in August.”

Scully makes a small sound in the back of her throat that could be from illness, or expressing irritation, or both. Likely both. “Never Have I Ever?” Mulder suggests, but Scully shakes her head.

“I’m not playing a game that involves making personal confessions,” she says.

“Do you really think there are any deep dark things I don’t already know about you, Scully?”

Scully raises her chin a few notches. “I,” she says, her small voice going theatrically deep and haughty, “am a woman of mystery.” Mulder laughs out loud. She smiles a bit--the first time that night--pleased with herself and with her partner’s reaction.

“Okay, okay,” he says. “Twenty Questions?” It’s a pretty harmless game, he figures, one not even Scully can find fault with.

He’s right.

“Fine,” she acquiesces with a yawn that turns into a sneeze. “Hehhh-mptchh! Twenty Questions is fine. Do you want to go first, or shall I?”

“You think of something,” Mulder instructs. “I’ll guess.”

Scully pauses for a moment, and Mulder knows she’s running through various options in her head; she’s wearing her thinking expression, her pensive expression--her mouth set primly and her eyes staring blank--which is just something anyone would come to recognize after working this closely with a person for so long, Mulder tells himself.

“Okay,” Scully says. “Go.”

“Animal, vegetable, or mineral?”

“Well,” Scully says, smiling slightly, “technically it’s none of those.”

Mulder stares at her. “You can’t make anything easy, can you?”

“Never.” There’s a little glimmer of impishness in her light eyes when she says it, and it’s equal parts relieving and--okay, fine--and adorable.

He gets eight questions in and he knows for a fact that it’s a TV show, and by question nine he’s pretty sure it’s The West Wing (he is a trained profiler and Scully is sometimes hilariously transparent; it’s her favorite show as of late), and he’s about to ask question ten when he gets an idea. “Does this thing,” he says slowly, as if he’s deliberating it, “have… a stuffy nose?”

Scully makes her patented what-in-God’s-name-are-you-talking-about-Mulder face and says, “Mulder, we’ve established that it’s a television show.”

“Does it have a stuffy nose?” he repeats obstinately.

“Mulder,” Scully says (her consonants are warped and dull, the m in Mulder especially, and while it may not have a stuffy nose, Mulder notes, she absolutely does), “the thing in question isn’t me. And even if it were, the answer would still be no.”

Undeterred, he regroups. "Does this show have an ensemble cast?"

Scully looks at him suspiciously, unsure of why he's suddenly willing to play along again, but simply says: "yes."

"Is this show airing on TV now?" He fires off the next question without pausing, and Scully blinks sleepily as she tries to adjust her groggy mind to his fast pace.

"Yes."

"Does it have a sore throat?"

Yes, so sore, she thinks. She swallows hard and tries not to visibly wince. "TV show, Mulder."

"Is it a drama?"

"Yes."

"Do I like it?"

"Not really, but you watch it with me because I do."

"Is it feverish?" She doesn't even bother gracing that one with a response.

Mulder gets to question seventeen and decides that he’s done being subtle: “Does this thing feel awful?”

“Possibly,” Scully sighs, surprising him. “Slightly.”

“Was that an affirmative answer?” Mulder asks. “It’s supposed to be yes or no, Scully, but I can make an exception.”

Scully blinks, caught in his trap, then scowls. “I just wanted to get the damn game over with,” she huffs. Mulder catches a whiff of her breath--is that… alcohol?

“You sure that flask only had hot chocolate in it, Scully?” he asks. (She’d opened it around the same time she’d gotten her second blanket, and true to her word has not shared a sip.)

“What do you mean?”

“No peppermint schnapps?”

“What?--no, I have not been drinking schnapps.” Scully looks scandalized at the very thought.

“But your breath--” Mulder murmurs, then it occurs to him. “Cough drops.” He offers her a knowing, sideways glance. Scully frowns, but pulls the little package of Ricola lemon throat lozenges out of her pocket, confirming his guess without meeting his eyes. “I take it the thing really does feel awful?” Mulder says, nudging her slightly.

Possibly. Slightly. “Nope,” Scully says, and pops a lozenge in her mouth. “Just have to get my kicks however I can, Mulder.”

Mulder rolls his eyes; Scully must rubbing off on him. “You were thinking of The West Wing,” he says petulantly, too frustrated to let her have her last few questions.

“You knew the whole time,” Scully says. “Didn’t you?”

“Not the whole time,” Mulder says. “Maybe around question three.” It was pretty obvious, he thinks, but doesn’t say.

“Shut up, Mulder.”

* * *

It’s nearing 2:00 and Scully has spent the better part of the last hour trying to sniffle her increasingly runny nose back to composure. They're all out of games; it’s becoming abundantly clear that the stakeout is a total bust. Scully is pale and drawn and shivering again, even cocooned in her blankets. She also keeps having sneezing fits, irrepressible ones, that leave her worryingly wheezy; Mulder has taken to counting during them to hide just how nervous they make him. "It happens when I gehh--hit'chiiEEEww! G-get chilly," she explains during a particularly bad one. "My nose s-starts to run and...and...ahhh...ah'Nngsh! And then I can't st-stop...oh, my Gohhh...God...hihh'hitchiEEw! "

"Sneezing? That one was nine, by the way."

She nods blearily. "Yeah," she says. "That."

"Probably doesn't help that you're sick," Mulder says in an off-hand voice.

Scully isn't fooled. She scowls and tentatively sniffles, mindful of setting her nose off again. "Mulder, for the hundredth time," she says. "Not sick."

He bats at her nose. "Yeah," he says as she halfheartedly bats his hand away, "healthy people are always all...drippy here."

She pouts and looks ready to argue, but Mulder keeps going. "You've been coughing, too."

"It's post-nasal drip, Mulder. That's all."

"And where's that coming from, hmm?"

"Where's it--? Mulder, it's coming from my nose."

"So your nose is runny."

"Mulder!" Scully snaps. "It's cold outside and it's cold in this car; of course my nose is runny. That's a natural bodily response to near-freezing temperatures."

“You know what?” Mulder says. “You're right. About the nose thing." He gives an exaggerated sniff. “Mine is starting to get a bit drippy, too.” He opens the glove box and pulls what might be close to twenty tissues out; he loudly fake-blows his nose on one of them, and then opens the window and throws the rest out into the parking lot. “That’s better.”

Scully gasps. “Mulder!” she exclaims. “What did you do that for? We might need those!”

“Need them?” Mulder says, playing at confusion. “What ever for?” She huffs and rolls her eyes; he isn’t looking at her, but he can feel it. “You haven’t been putting them to much use tonight, Scull.”

She looks slightly flustered and she stares longingly out the window, where the once-good tissues are going to waste on the cold, dark asphalt. “Well,” she says, “anyway, you just littered, which is illegal. You rebel.” If she were in a much better mood and/or vaguely inebriated, she might have punctuated that statement with a punch to his arm. Mulder grins at the thought.

“Covering up government conspiracies is illegal, too, Scully; but that doesn’t seem to stop anyone, now does it?”

Scully sneezes quietly, twice, in response. "Hih'chshh! H'ngsht!"

“There are still some tissues left,” Mulder says, but Scully merely repeats her customary cuff-sniffle and shrugs.

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she says flatly.

“Scully,” Mulder says, wholly exasperated now, “you’re the one who brought them in the first place.”

She sneezes again. “Bless you,” Mulder offers, which only earns him a glare.

“Shut up, Mulder.”

“I was being nice!”

“Well, don’t,” Scully says.

“Fine, I won't.”

They grow quiet again, and this time it’s for so long that Mulder wonders if Scully’s maybe fallen asleep; he almost hopes she has, sleep would be good for her. He worries that she doesn’t get enough of it. He knows he doesn’t. After all the things that they’ve seen, all the things that they’ve done, it’s not surprising. Unpleasant, sure, but not surprising.

It is at that moment that Scully inhales sharply and just barely manages to catch three surprisingly violent, loud sneezes in her cupped hands. "Hep-TSSCH'ooo! Hehh...hetchiiieeeEEEw! Huh-ISCHIIIEEEW!

Startled, Mulder turns to look at her; a few seconds pass and she still hasn’t taken her hands down from her face. If it weren’t for the garish melon glow of the nearest streetlamp--or, more honestly, if he didn’t have such wildly accurate Scully-senses and a detailed mental schematic of her facial features--Mulder would never have been so lucky as to see what he’s pretty sure he is in fact seeing: Dana Scully blushing.

“Mulder?” she says, her voice muffled.

“Yeah?” He does a surprisingly good job keeping the amused/self-satisfied smirk out of his voice for the entire monosyllabic word.

“Could I maybe have some of those remaining tissues now?”

“Feeling a little under the weather, are we, Scull? Gesundheit, by the way."

Scully mumbles something unintelligible into her hands, and as he pulls a handful of tissues out for her, Mulder says, “Yeah, yeah, I know: shut up, Mulder.”

"Actually," Scully says between nose-blows, with a small but genuine half smile, "I was going to say thank you."

* * *

It’s 3:45 and Mulder has reached the point where he’s too tired to even feel tired anymore; instead, he’s weirdly nervy and wired and running on nothing but caffeinated iced tea and adrenaline reserves. Scully nodded off around 3:00, and though he misses her company, he doesn’t have the heart to wake her. Her head is resting on his shoulder and she’s snoring slightly through her congested nose; at one point, she whimpers and shivers slightly, and Mulder takes off his jacket and adds it to the blankets she’s already using. It dwarfs her, but the shivering stops, and that makes him smile.

He loves her. He thinks of that often when they’re out on a case together: on long watches like this one, in the cloying dark of a million different drab motel rooms, under blankets of stars as they race through the night--trying their damndest to solve the unsolvable. It’s never some silly, Victorian declaration of affection, never oh, Scully, my dearest darling, every moment I spend without you near me is well-nigh unbearable. His mind wanders to C.S. Lewis, to The Four Loves. Storge--empathy bond. Philia--friend bond. Eros--erotic bond. And Agape--unconditional love. God love. He doesn’t know that he buys into all this, doesn’t know that he trusts someone as religious as Lewis, doesn’t even know if one can actually experience all four kinds for the same person at the same time, if all that love could even fit into any one person… especially when said person is so very small.

And yet. Still.

He loves her. I love you. Neither of them ever say that aloud; that would be crossing a boundary that’s invisible yet still very, very present. And anyway, that would feel far too easy, too predictable, too trite. In so many ways, their relationship defies words, platitudes, logic. It is infuriating. It is impossible. It is terrifying. It is all-encompassing. It is theirs. He’s hers, and she’s his. They don’t need to say anything for that to be true. It’s always been true. It’s been true ever since a rainy graveyard in Bellefleur, Oregon, where she stood in front of him and laughed, dizzy and thrilled, because she believed.

He doesn’t know if she loves him in the same way; he suspects it, sometimes even lets himself hope it, but this is an area where Scully is all but unreadable. But it’s alright. Being present with her, close to her--that’s enough, for now.

Next to him, Scully stirs, blinks her eyes open, coughs. Mulder very nearly takes a hand and smooths an errant lovelock behind her small ear, but decides against it. The hand drops heavily down onto the car seat. “I think you drooled on me,” he says.

She quickly wipes a hand over the corner of her mouth, a gesture that makes her look about twelve years old. “Sorry,” she says, her voice little and raspy, which makes hersound about twelve years old, too. Mulder is more charmed than he’d like to admit.

“Any updates?” Scully asks, dabbing delicately at her nose with a tissue.

(TissueGate 1999 ended not too long ago and Scully’s already used up over half a box. With what he considers to be an impressive amount of self-control, Mulder has restrained himself from saying I told you so. Thank you very much.)

“Nope.”

Scully’s face works itself into a funny, exaggerated pout. “I could’ve been in bed hours ago,” she whines.

“And missed all this?!” Mulder exclaims, gesturing at the sad expanse of abandoned shopping center parking lot.

Scully giggles tiredly. “Oh, you’re right,” she says mock-seriously. “Missing out on the empty parking lot show would’ve been a veritable tragedy.”

She blows her nose, and this time Mulder actually does tuck the hair behind her ear. Scully looks up in surprise. “Mulder--” she says, half-touched, half-warning.

“I’m just sorry you had to do this when you don’t feel well. That’s all,” he says, hoping it’s a good enough explanation.

She shrugs. “I told you, Mulder,” she says. “I’m fine.”

He narrows his eyes. “You,” he says, “are the opposite of fine, Scully.”

As if to prove his point, Scully opens her mouth to retort and sneezes instead. She shivers, and finally (finally) leans into him, shamelessly greedy for the warmth his body offers. “Okay,” she says. “I may have a little cold.” Now Mulder is this close to saying I told you so, he can’t help it, when Scully holds up a hand. “Just a little one,” she says firmly. “A slight cold. A minuscule one, even.”

“A minute cold,” he repeats, deadpan.

Scully slumps down further, until her head is almost in his lap (which is how he knows she truly is sick and exhausted; someone walking by would automatically assume something much dirtier was going on, and Healthy Scully would never allow that risk). She’s so short that she can easily tuck her legs underneath herself and fit comfortably on the two seats. She shuts her eyes, and when Mulder ghosts a tentative hand over her back, her happy sigh is confirmation enough that it’s okay.

“A minuscule cold,” she confirms, sweet and drowsy.

“Whatever you say, Scully.”

“You’re damn right,” she murmurs, and before Mulder has even finished laughing, she’s already fallen back to sleep.

Mulder glances at the clock. 4:19. If they wait long enough they might even get to watch the sunrise.

#x files #msr #whump!fic #sneeze!fic #hurtcomfort #scully #mulder #fic

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