#whump drabble ask game

[seth-whumps]

I offer you “devotion”

And in return I offer your martyrical tendencies:

--

"Stop doing that," Caretaker hisses. Their fingers are shaking against the bandages. "Please. It's like you're trying to get yourself killed."

Whympee scoffs, fond. "I'm fine. I didn't die. Yeah, I may need you to patch me up, but I'm still kicking."

"I hate patching you up." Their face colors, instantly. "Wait, no. I don't--not like that, just--"

Amused, Whumpee smiles. "Really? That's oddly charged. So kind, Caretaker."

"I just! Not, hate. No. It just." They sigh, and lean forward to rest their head on Whumpee's shoulder, shoulders shaking. "I don't like seeing you hurt, okay? Please come to me if you do get hurt. But stop being so reckless, you know?"

Whumpee puts an arm around them. "I'm sorry. You know I can take it better than anyone else. I'd rather me get hurt than you."

"That's not fair," they murmur. "I don't want you to die for me. I don't like that kind of devotion."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing."

They both know Whumpee won't stop. Whether that's apologizing, or throwing themself in harm's way. But for the moment, they just breathe in tandem, and pretend the bandages and the scars don't exist.

--

vote coughing up blood in this poll before it closes, send in proof and a one word prompt, and I'll write you a drabble!

[blissfulbluee]

A whumpy idea that comes to mind (prepare yourself, it's long):

Inho's guards taking Gihun in the coffin and sending him back to the players dorm isn't the last destination. Oh no. Here, he's been told he must bid farewell to those players he likes so much. That done, the guards shove him to the coffin and he's back in it (bonus points if he doesn't have the time to properly say goodbye to Junhee, Daeho or Hyunju). The coffin travels in the hallways, the Frontman watching everything. Gihun is sent back into the room he entered now thrice without faltering, the Red Light Green Light room, which was also used for the Squid Game. He's left alone by the guards who deposit the coffin right in the middle of the room, open the lid a little and leave. Gihun gets up, drags himself out of the box, only to find that he's in this same damn room. He ponders while he's alone. He saw so much people die here, both complete strangers and closest friends. The sand has been cleaned up, the walls too, nothing remains of the repeated massacres that have taken place, yet he feels it in his very bones. And touching the walls, walking on the sand only makes that feeling more real. He looks up and is surprised to find the ceiling is open. He looks at the stars. No more false pretences. The real sky, unattainable, but remote and honest. He takes this as a last gift before death, because he's ready to die - isn't that why he was taken to this room, alone? - and because it has been so much time he hasn't seen something true, something real, in all the fakeness of this place, all its vivid colors, he feels as grateful as it hurts. The guards have left, there is no one, it feels calm... it'd be a great moment to pass. But no one comes. And then- a noise. Move. Someone's approaching. Heavy boots echoing in the corridors, crushing the sand. It emerges like a shadow in the desert, but Gihun isn't parched. He knows this silhouette by heart and comes for him, in all his blind hatred for the Frontman. But the revolver that killed Jungbae, the very hand that triggered the weapon, turns against him this time. He's commanded to stop. He doesn't. He does the same he did with the Salesman: he leans his head towards the barrel in an attempt to get close. Grab. Maybe he can do this and actually fight him to death. He thinks that would be ironic, fighting there with no rules when the other players will continue the game, no matter what. Even if he wins against this masked face, a thousand more will come out to keep the machine alive. Desperate, he tries. Because winning means surviving, and surviving means that you have a chance to take down more opponents, therefore, the Games. But he can't fight. He's injured. The Frontman sweeps him easily. It's like chasing a shadow. A shadow that kicks him in all the right places to hurt, takes his breath out of him, grips and punches like a machine. He falls. The lock unclenches. Hurt, injured, salt is added to the wound when the Frontman locks his wrists with a pair of handcuffs. He tries to kick but it misses. Kicks again, only for his move to be stopped by the unmovable body crouching in front of him, and the key, hanging from a ribbon, to be fastened high around his neck (or at his ankles, but hell, he'll have to have the skill of a contorsionist for this). The Frontman then calls his guards and seven or eight Workers come by him, not armed with guns but with shovels. Soldiers come too, and they put him back into the coffin, no matter how he thrashes against them. The lid is put on until the neck. Inho reminds him how calm he was, the quiet renouncement in his face, waiting for death, and asks him if he had a change of heart. Gihun replies he doesn't want to go like this. He replies "You should have listened to player 044 more." He then activates a command and the ground tremors below him and sinks. A pit. He leaves the guards bury Gihun alive and stays there, unmasked, during the process. They exchange until the last minute. And then, when all is done, the tomb covered, he leaves him to his fate.

(Bonus if he finally saves him, only to start again in another place of the island. Or to make him bury the players...)

OH MY GOD????? YOU JUST DROPPED THIS GUT WRENCHING MASTERPIECE IN MY INBOX AND DECIDED TO LEAVE LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED??? HELLO?? I can’t thank you enough for this. You’re really making my gihun-whump-loving heart sing

i thought you really were gonna make them fight but then when i realized what was happening my heart actually dropped to my stomach.

God… so many things about this is haunting. Gi-hun thinking he will get to look at the sky as he dies as some kind of mercy, but it not being true..in fact far from it. Gi-hun being buried alive in that room of all places, the place that haunts his dreams and memories.

AND YOU CANT JUST SAY INHO SAVES HIM AND THEN DOES IT AGAIN.

Gi-hun nearly suffocated and then suddenly the coffin is lifted from the sand and he’s forced to face the mask again and live through it over and over.

and then he has to bury another person? thats even more miserable for him, standing there as the seconds go by where he knows the person is fighting desperately for their life but will never make it

dude this is seriously making me ill. thank you.

[disappearinginq]

Dragged + SG1?

Less angsty, but more in the spirit of the show with angst and humor.

Jack found it moderately hilarious how many people thought of Daniel as small. Perhaps it was the bulky uniform jackets that never seemed to fit quite right (because Daniel never paid attention to the sizing), or the fact that he stood next to Teal’c and Jack, or maybe the glasses distracted them from the fact that Daniel was six feet tall and arguably in better shape than most.

Clearly, they had never dragged a semi-conscious Daniel through a jungle planet.

“You’re lucky you’re my favorite, Daniel,” Jack grumbled, stumbling over another root. “Or I’d be coming back for you later.”

[impossiblepluto]

I also went with fainting for that poll, even if I’ve read a million stories involving it’ll never get old to me, It’s so GOOD!!! Can never get enough of it

"Hey, look who's up," relief colors Jack's voice when he sees Mac shuffle into view from the hall.

Mac raises one arm, hand obscured by his long sleeve pulled over his fingers, and gives a lethargic wave.

"You feeling any better?" Jack asks with a wince. The kid looks rough. Blond hair askew. His face is pale and lines with creases from his pillow. He slept hard. Didn't stir when Jack slipped in to eyeball him. Another seven minutes and Jack would have given in to his mounting concerns and gone in to check on him again.

Mac doesn't seem to respond to the question, continuing his slow course toward the sink.

Jack stands, heading to meet Mac in the kitchen. "You need something? Ready to try something to eat?"

Mac leans on the sink, breathing like he finished a marathon. His covered hand squeezing the edge of the counter.

"Mac?" Jack rounds the peninsula into the kitchen, his eyes narrow in concern.

Finding his second wind, Mac reaches for a glass, succeeding in pulling it from the cupboard shelf before he's panting from exertion.

"-m good."

Jack shakes his head, debating whether his response will be sympathetic, an argument, or sarcasm, when Mac's previously pale face loses all color.

"-m good. G'd."

The glass drops from his hand shattering against the kitchen floor. Crunching under Jack's feet as he lunges forward, only partially successful in his goal of catching Mac before he hits the floor

[rosieblogstuff]

Trick or treat!

It's a treat, I hope! Something like 2 years ago I wrote this drabble about Mac and Jack getting kidnapped and waking up in Murdoc's torture dungeon, which seems like such a fitting setting for Halloween. So here's a little follow-up. More than a line, but I doubt anyone's objecting.

---

Before Mac could figure out how to get the cell door open, the outer door of the room opened. Murdoc was all smiles as he entered the room again. “How’s it going in here, friends? Made any decisions yet? Or do you need a little more time to talk it over?” He looked between them, raising his brows expectantly. “No? Well, I guess it’ll be surprise time for everyone, then! How fun.” Still smiling, he pulled a gun out of his jacket and aimed it toward them. “Who’s going to play my little game first?”

Mac gave him a hard stare, doing his best to look defiant and not at all concerned about what the psychopath with the gun would do if they didn’t volunteer themselves for a torture session. 

“Me.” 

Jack elbowed him aside, putting himself between Mac and the gun.

Mac's jaw dropped, not that Jack could see it now that his back was to Mac. “Jack?” he hissed. What happened to just waiting? What happened to not playing the game, like they'd just agreed would be their strategy? 

Jack ignored him and Murdoc opened the cell door, a grin on his face. “Very good, though I must say, a little expected. Step out and don’t try anything funny, or I’ll shoot Angus first.”

[the-bar-sinister]

Sending hugs always!

✈: reaching out for someone [bonus points if they mumble! their! name!] 

Please and thank you!

Crocodile lay in bed barely conscious after his humiliating defeat, his wounds dressed with healing salves and herbs, and bandages that had to be changed every few hours to stop the oozing.

He felt feverish, and indistinct, lost in an inconsolable haze of doubt, and anger and pain throbbing through him. There was only one thing that he wanted that could bring him any measure of peace.

"Hawk…" When he reached out from under the covers, it was with the only hand that he had left.

Mihawk clasped it, leaning forward in the chair beside his bed. "I'm here, Crocodile."

-

Thank you so much for the prompt!

AO3 link

Prompt list

[generic-whumperz]

High Like an Eagle!

Ahhh why is it so hard to choose a snippet! TY for the ask! <3

WIP Snippet

(Brought to you by WIP Folder Ask Game)

Vinny’s freakish, beamed-out pale eyes find his. "Got a special request from a few of your top fans…"

"Whatever would I do without these parasocial relationships with random-name-generator strangers on the internet?" The Aid sarcastically chuckles, though he’s damn sure he’d accomplish a hell of a lot more with all the spare time he’d have if it weren’t for these creepy assholes paying for his demise and clogging up his schedule.

"You likey?" Vinny smirks, drawing out the 'y' as he fishes out a black-and-white frilly tutu from the paper bag. With an obscenely glinty-eyed wink that makes The Aid cringe, he lays it out on the bed.

The Aid glances wide-eyed between his Masters, feeling simultaneously amused and vaguely offended but too stunned to voice the objection that shriveled up and died in his tight-lipped mouth all the same.

Not even taking the time to bask in his discomfort, both Sullivans eagerly extract more hellish-looking lacy strips of fabric—too see-through and flimsy to be actual articles of clothing—and scatter them above the tutu.

"Would it matter if I said I didn’t?" The Aid finally winces, though more hesitant than he intended. He shifts on the mattress, his movements masked by a sly pretense, subtly gaining distance with each sideways scoot.

There’s no way in hell The Aid’s putting any of that on—can’t, he settles, especially with a cast nursing a broken arm and wrist, and the limited mobility from months of torture he doubts he'll ever fully recover from. Not to mention the staunch awareness that he’s nowhere near high enough to deal with this level of bullshit.

The double-stacked anxiolytics do little to quell the anxiety blooming in his chest or slow the frantic thump of his heart, racing faster by the second.

Then it blindsides him: his tongue grows heavy, his mouth parches, and an unfamiliar, tingling warmth spreads across his face. His fingertips drum out a frantic beat as he parts his lips briefly, then chews them, offering his Masters a beggar’s pout when their shit-eating grins don’t falter—well aware he’s already lost a battle he was never strong enough to fight.

He spoke too soon; whatever the fuck they gave him is already hitting his system.

Shit.

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

For the drabble thing - ”I’m trying really hard not to say I told you so.”

from this prompt game.

”I’m trying really hard not to say I told you so.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’re trying that hard, mate,” Jamie scoffed, temporarily removing the ice pack from his already swelling eye. “You just said it.”

Roy rolled his eyes. “You have to keep your hands up if you’re playing goalie.”

“I’m really sorry, Jamie,” Phoebe’s concerned face swam in front of Jamie’s good eye. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine, Phoebs,” Jamie said, pulling her into a tight hug with his unoccupied hand. 

“Uncle Roy always takes me for hot chocolate when I feel sad. Uncle Roy, should we take Jamie?”

“Fine, but you’re paying.”

“That’s fair,” Phoebe nodded and took Jamie’s hand. 

Hot chocolate helped with everything.

[inkwell-and-dagger]

From the "Comfort My Characters!" Ask game:

🧣 - A fluffy blanket

Writer's choice for character (cause I don't know who could use a fluffy blanket more, or, more than one of them sharing it together 🥺)

-from @bilightningwhumper

HI BILIGHTNINGWHUMPER!!! I see you in my notifs a lot....... 👁️👁️ (/pos)

anyway have some maddie comfort. takes place post-canon, I think will contain A LOT!!!!!!!! of spoilers (I say I think because I am coming up with this drabble on the SPOT). unedited vell writing be upon ye

AGAIN MUCH SPOILERS IM SORRY

Madeline could still feel it. The weight of Rayan in her arms, the blood on both of them — he was alarmingly light but still fit perfectly in her embrace. Dropping the gun, running to the car, and speeding home faster than she herself even realised. Giving him to Vivana and crumpling down to the ground before she'd even made it through the front door.

Hours later, and after nearly an hour in the shower determined to scrub every inch of her body even as the blood washed away — the house was finally quiet. Rayan was asleep. His body had already started healing itself, however slower than normal. The only sound in the room was Rayan's breathing, slightly shaky even as he slumbered on the sofa. Madeline was beside him, a hand on his leg, her hair still damp from the shower.

"Mads—" Vivana crouched down beside her, cupping Madeline's cheek gently— "Look at me. You're okay. RayRay's okay. You did so well, I'm so proud of you."

She could still feel it. The blood, Rayan's small, starved body cradled in her arms. The weight of the gun in her hand, so wrong and yet so right. She didn't reply.

"I made us some tea. I thought you'd need it, but you don't have to drink it when it's ready," Vivana's thumb stroked under her eye, wiping away a drop of something that definitely wasn't water from the shower. "You don't have to talk. But I want you to rest for a long time now, okay?"

With that, she stood up, walling out of Madeline's point of view. Not long after did she return, however, carrying two blankets: a weighed one, and a thick, patterned throw.

Madeline didn't move as the weighted blanket was draped over her shoulders, wrapped around her torso to imitate the pressure of a hug. The throw was laid on top afterwards, and Vivana kissed the top of her head.

Madeline swallowed and spoke. Her voice was raw. "I'm sorry I ran off."

"Don't be," Vivana sat down beside her, pulling Madeline against her side. "I'll be honest, I was a bit angry at first — but that was only because I was worried about you. But you're back, and Rayan's back, and you're both in one piece. I couldn't ask for more than that."

Madeline tucked her face into the crook of her neck, shoulders beginning to shake with sobs. Vivana held her steady as she wept.

[unforgivenn]

What do you think about whumper? for Noah ((from the ask game)) :)

From this ask game

Shackled by Royalty Masterlist

Noah's heart pounded in his chest as he tried to find the right words, his voice shaking with a mixture of anger and fear. He looked around as if to see if Andrey was there or not.

"Andrey...?" Noah's voice cracked, but he forced himself to continue, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "He's... he's a monster. A cruel, heartless monster."

His hands clenched into fists, the raw skin of his wrists burning where the shackles had rubbed them raw. "H-He enjoys hurting people," Noah continued, his voice rising with a mix of desperation and rage. "He enjoys breaking them, making them feel worthless."

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he struggled to blink them away, his body trembling as the weight of his captivity pressed down on him.

"Every time he looks at me, i-it's like... I-It's like he's planning new ways to torment me."

A shiver would run down Noah's spine as he fought to steady his trembling voice.

"He calls me 'pet'... H-He thinks he owns me." With these words, Noah's voice broke. He looked into your eyes, his face streaked with tears, a desperate plea for understanding in his gaze.

Noah dug his fingers further into his hands, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. "I can't believe someone like him exists," he continued, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"He's like a nightmare I can't wake up from. And the worst part is, he knows it. He revels in it. I-I don't know how much more of this I can take."

Taglist: @whumped-by-glitter @whatwasmyprevioususername @morning-star-whump @ash-reh @anutz1234

@miireux134 @nuriiz134 @parasitebunny @someoneoninternettt @noeul-whumpppss (Let me know if you want to be added, removed, or only be tagged in the main series)

[seth-whumps]

😁😈😁

I am interpreting the devil emoji as accidentally hurting one's friends, so--brainwash whump!

--

It hurts, waking up.

They imagine it to be similar to crawling out of a pit of fire. Every part of their head aches, their skin is raw and overly sensitive, and even the air feels like poison, when they take their first conscious breath.

Were they even breathing?

Whumpee's vision is clouded. As their senses filter in, slowly, they find themselves standing on unsteady feet, as though they were sleepwalking. Their muscles are tensed, locked up, waiting for a fight. Fighting what? They were fine. Team was fine. Leader--

"--hear me?"

It's a soft voice. Tight and withdrawn, maybe... scared? And familiar. But the tone doesn't suit it. Whumpee expects something sure and confident.

Leader is scared.

They snap their eyes open, ready to attack at whatever is hurting their team, and...

Their blade is outstretched, already, with Leader's neck at the other end.

"Whumpee? Can you hear me?"

The knife falls out of their hand. "...Leader."

"Oh, thank god."

"Leader, I--"

"You're okay," and the calm reassurance is back, "you're alright. No one is hurt."

"I--" and they remember in flashes now, whirling towards their teammates, their friends, trying to-- "I tried to kill you."

"You didn't," Leader says.

"I'm sorry," Whumpee whispers, hollow.

"It wasn't you. Let's get back to the team, okay?"

"I'm sorry," they repeat, like it's the only word they can remember. "I'm so sorry."

--

vote coughing up blood before this poll closes, send in proof and a one word prompt and I'll write you a drabble!

[silvercap]

Like forever ago someone requested a concussed Leon/caretaker Chris fic and I'm pretty certain I never finished it, but the ask draft is gone!! I apologize to whoever that was lolol and I hope I didn't already write it for you and forgot 😭

Leon's head throbs with every step, stomach tying itself into knots as the ache stabs down through the base of his skull and reignites the burn of broken bones in his ribcage. The bigass BOW hadn't shown any mercy whatsoever, today and he's paying the price. It's hard to even focus on the pathway in front of him, vision swaying dizzily and depth perception just off enough that he can't stop himself from stumbling into the edge of something hard, the impact erupting through his damaged body and sending him to his knees. He groans, leaning into what feels like wood and lets his eyes slip closed, swallowing down nausea.

"Leon?" The voice hurts his ears at first, far too loud and close enough that he flinches. A warm hand comes to rest on his shoulder a moment later, and Leon finds it mildly concerning that he doesn't immediately lash out at his potential attacker. Instead, he lets himself be turned to face one Chris Redfield, the man's dark eyes creased with concern as he kneels down in front of Leon. "Hey, what happened? You're bleeding bad."

Gauze presses down against a sore spot on Leon's temple, the telltale sting of a fresh wound making him wince. He forces himself to blink away the dark spots that spark in his vision and tries to focus on Chris's face, lips feeling clumsy when he opens them to answer.

"Jus' great," he slurs, and oh. That shouldn't be happening. When did his voice get so mushy, and when did his thoughts become so jumbled? It's hard to think through the pressure in his skull, the pain swelling suddenly enough that he gasps. He's vaguely aware of another hand prying up his eyelids one by one to check their responsiveness, but it's all he can do to focus on not throwing up---until bright light flares in his pupils and he can't hold it back any longer, lurching forward with a gag. Chris makes a surprised sound as he vomits the meager contents of his stomach all over the ground, his warm hand burning into Leon's skin.

Leon blinks blearily once he's finally done, head wobbling on his shoulders as he sits mostly upright again. "Chris," he mumbled, wrist clumsily swiping at his mouth. There's something sticky on his cheek as his hand passes over it, dark, tacky fluid collecting on his fingers that he takes a moment to recognize as blood. Well, shit. "I'm bleeding."

"Leon?" Chris's face swims momentarily into view, but he's moving too quickly and Leon groans. "Leon, can you look at me? Tell me what day it is."

"I don't... feel very good," Leon says lamely, and slumps into Chris's arms.

[whump-card]

"It was a delicate operation." for sentence asks!

It was a delicate operation. Not the surgery itself - hip replacements are common enough - but packing everything needed, checking the list, rechecking the list, going over contingencies, calling the hospital ahead of time, talking to nearly every person Simon would come into contact with.

Making sure it would feel safe.

Simon still shook so badly in the car that he couldn't open the chocolate bar Matthew handed him. But Matthew opened it for him. Matthew made the phone calls. Matthew checked the list.

Matthew kept him safe.

[whumpsandbumps]

Hello friend!

I hear you are looking for some prompts/ideas. Have you ever written a leader whumpee? Big fan of the self sacrifice or when whumper uses leader as 'motivation' to control the rest of the team. Or maybe they ignore injuries until they are sure that everyone is safe/home? Just love leader whumpees and team dynamics! Especially when whumper gets involved.

OMG YES THANK YOU ANON!!

I’ve been looking for an excuse to write team whump for a while now but i’ve never seen leader whumpee though, very interesting though… :3

I will definitely write something along the lines of this or maybe just some team whump in general!

[snowbryneich]

100. You’ve got me needing Baela whump to match her husband. If Daemon noticed Jace’s interest around the Tully girl and mistakenly assumed it was romantic interest Baela who’s in love with him definitely did! They have such good communication in canon idky I find their miscommunication so delicious!

Baela had found herself in trouble from her own instincts before, there was a downside to being impulsive and being Queen. It was easy to arrange things to her own whims, it was not so easy to get out of them.

Lady Janyce was boring, and not only did Baela have to endure the rest of this tea with her because being invited to tea with the Queen was an honour and thus she wasn’t allowed to cancel midway through to go and ride her dragon. But worse her Mother had been so thrilled she'd done something lady like she was after Baela to name ladies again. The only lady Baela wanted was Rhaena, Baela had said that again and again and been ignored. 

Baela had noticed Jacaerys looking at Janyce at court when her Uncle had presented her. She had been dressed in the colours of her house which looked dreadful with her Tully hair. 

“Do you know her?” Baela had asked because it was unusual for Jacaerys to pay attention to any visitor to court. He normally liked to attract as little notice as possible. Lady Janyce had not been to court before she was sure but Jacaerys had been to the Riverlands on three occasions as a child, he'd told her. Twice with both his parents and once with just his father. So it was possible, Baela knew. 

“No,” Jacaerys had said. “I met Lord Elmo at Harrenhal once before his father passed. He took Luke and I and his son fishing while his father met with my father and grandfather, the lady is his cousin.” Jacaerys had a great fascination with the Riverlands, Baela knew. Because of his father Mother had told her once that Baela had been promised to him even when he was only to be Lord of Harrenhal. 

Baela did not often have many chances to question someone about the Riverlands but Janyce had so far proved very unhelpful. She had talked about all the fish they ate and none of the sweets sounded appealing. Baela had eaten candied flowers in Pentos - they tasted like perfume and she didn’t think it would be better if they were Westerosi flowers. And Jacaerys didn't even like fish, he pushed it around his plate whenever it was served and Baela didn’t think it would be different if it were river trout.

“Lady Janyce,” Baela said interrupting a dreary story about embroidery. “Have you ever been to Harrenhal?” 

“We stayed on the way to court,” Lady Janyce said. “It was awful - my brother said it is haunted and even the restored Kingspyre tower looks like a half-melted candle, and the other towers are worse.” 

The Tully girl seemed like very little threat even if she was pretty. Baela was prettier and she had a dragon. And she was his wife albeit in name only despite her hints. She would like to visit a haunted castle - though she decided referring to Harrenhal in such a manner would probably not be her best tactic.

[practically-an-x-man]

11, 45, 58, for anyone your choice in the lab drabbles please

Thank you!!

Lab Whump Drabble Prompts

11. Bandages (with Jimmy and Lars)

Lars flinched with every pass of the gauze around his forearm. The wound was shallow, but it had bled far more than either of them had bargained for.

"It hurts?" Jimmy asked, pausing.

"No, ah- well, yeah, but not- your hands are just cold."

"I'm sorry. I can go grab Lucky-"

He twisted around just as Jimmy started to move, grabbing his arm with his good hand.

"No. It's alright."

Jimmy sat back down and resumed his rhythm with the bandages, careful to keep his fingers away from Lars' torn, bruised skin.

"If I'd been there-"

"It would've happened anyway."

____

45. Phobia (with Rae and Warren)

"He's in my head, I can't- I can't-" she stammered, clutching at her temples with trembling hands. Calloused fingers closed around hers, drawing her hands away.

"He's not in your head, baby, you're okay. Look at me, you're okay."

Rae forced herself to meet his eyes, trying to focus on the little flecks of brown in his green irises. It helped a little. Not much. She still felt... slimy, slippery, like her thoughts were sliding away from her.

"You're okay," he repeated, cupping the back of her neck in one hand to steady her, "I wouldn't let him hurt you."

____

58. Stitches (with Quinn and Billy)

"Fuck!"

"Sorry, love." Billy replied, not flinching at the way her fingers had tightened to a death-grip on his shoulder. He didn't stop, though, and Quinn bit back a scream as the needle pierced her flesh. Her muscles tensed, and blood welled from the half-closed wound.

It wasn't every day someone got shot in the field. It certainly wasn't every day that someone was her.

The blood loss had her shivering. If it weren't for the ongoing pain keeping her alert, she might've fallen unconscious. Billy had to remind her, more than once, to stay focused.

"Hang in there, Q."