#I feel like this post is neither medical enough or whump enough for a medical whump challenge

[demondamage]

MediwhumpMay 10 - Short of breath

CW: Mentioned of forced surgery, Organs (in specimen jar!)

(writing is only tangentially related to the prompt, feel free to skip if you just want hard whumpy stuff.)

"You ripped out his lungs?" Alejo asked, an eyebrow raised slightly. "That's a little more brutal than I'd expect from you."

"No, I surgically removed one lung as a preventative measure." Kotarou sighed and sat at the table across from the other angel. "And I don't take that from you, I've seen you rip a demon's arms out of their sockets with your bare hands."

"Oh no for me that would be mild." Alejo chuckled, sipping the tea his former apprentice had served them. "But for you... well I remember when you refused to even touch a holy whip, calling it needlessly sadistic."

"I still don't like them." Kotarou shook his head. "But I do understand the necessity."

"But removing vital organs without anesthesia? That's all good for you?"

"It proved necessary didn't it? I'd be a lot more worried about a demon loose in my lab if he was in good condition."

"About that..."

"Haziel's on guard." Kotarou sipped on the hot tea. "And I will take this as a nice moment of rest before that shit storm."

"Ah." Alejo's eyebrows crinkled. "You trust Haziel alone?"

"I trust him to stand at that door and not let anyone in or out." Kotarou sighed. "And I trust him not to lose to a demon who can barely breath."

"And not go in and antagonize Aziphem?" Alejo mused, folding his hands.

"... no, fuck you're right I should go deal with this." Kotarou rubbed his eyes. "Alejo... I need another favor."

"It always seems like you do." The older man chuckled. "What do you need this time?"

"I need you to look into who he was before he was brought to me."

"You should have been given Aziphem's file when you took him as your ward, that should have everything-"

"I meant Haziel."

Alejo paused, rubbing the small floral designs inlayed on Kotarou's teacup.

"You know we aren't supposed to ask those questions."

"Of course I know, why do you think I'm asking you to find out for me? I have enough eyes on me with this project and if I slip up, Haziel will be reassigned."

"And gods help us if they give him to someone like Ivior." Alejo sighed. "Fine, what are you looking for?"

"I want you to see if you can track his movements on the surface world, and specifically cross reference them with where Aziphem was at those times."

"You think they have history."

"It's hard to believe Haziel is just angry, this is something more."

"I doubt that both of them would be able to keep this a secret."

"Aziphem wouldn't tell me what he ate for dinner even if I was the one who served it. I'm lucky if I get an honest yes or no answer to anything." Kotarou sighed. "As for Haziel... he doesn't talk much about his previous life and I'm not supposed to ask. He could have lied."

"I think it's a long shot, but can't hurt to look." Alejo sighed, putting down the now empty cup. "I'll see if my archives entrance is still unsecured tonight and get back to you. Now, go check on those two before they kill each other."

"I owe you."

"That you damn well do, and I will accept payment in pleasant company." Alejo chuckled, leaving the small kitchen nook the two had been enjoying their rest in. "When we both have time of course. Which you should schedule in now by the way, because if my pocket book is correct you owe me quite a lot of pleasant company."

"And you shall continue to get IOUs until such time as I complete my work." Kotarou chuckled, walking his old master out of the small, unassuming countryside home he claimed as his personal residence.

"I'll check back in the next century then." Alejo chuckled. "Good luck with the little shits."

With a slight shimmer of the air, Alejo was gone, leaving Kotarou alone to deal with what he knew would not be a pretty scene at the lab.

@mediwhumpmay

Comics tag list: @whump-tr0pes @whump-queen @whumpsday @whumpinthepot @kixngiggles @onlywhumpcomments @project-xiii@quietly-by-myself @dontworrycomics

[jordanstrophe]

Silent Mercy

*･ﾟ✧ Pff, here I go again, gone to the whump side AND posting at midnight:･*✧

CW: Partially stripped, gagged, heavily strapped down, hair pulling, knives, held captive, medical procedure implied, (but doesn’t actually happen)

All Whumpee could see was the bright light slowly swaying over them like a spotlight.

All they could hear were their own quick breaths muffled through the distasteful ball of cloth shoved between their teeth. 

Footsteps started stomping around them, pacing between tables of tools. Whumpee’s eyes darted all around the room trying to spot the unseen figure, but the light blinded their vision.

They twisted their ankles and wrists against the thick straps coating their body, forcing them flat against the cold metal table. Whumpee let out a shouting grunt to get the attention of whoever was there.

The footsteps stopped only for a moment, before a cruel hand dug in their hair, wrenching their head back just far enough Whumpee got a glimpse of their face. 

Their vision was flipped from their position as they let out muffled cries and pleads of mercy. The face twisted into a smile, a smile that was a frown from Whumpee’s perspective, but it was clear as day no matter what way you looked at it, it was neither sorrow, nor joy.

But cruelty.  

“Now now, little doll. Hush please, I’m trying to work.” They whispered with a rasp as they grinned widely. They pulled on their grip as Whumpee's hair tore at their own scalp, forcing out a painful whimper, only to be muffled to silence.

The face disappeared as their hair was finally released with a wince. They squinted at the blinding white light as they felt Whumper move to stand beside them, fumbling with the buttons on their shirt. They belted a cry as they fought and struggled in vain.

“Be still, little doll! Don’t make me hurt you more than I have to.” They hissed

Whumpee responded by letting out an ear-cringing scream, surprisingly still loud behind the gag. Whumper lost all patience as Whumpee’s protests caused them to lose the grip of their fingertips on the tiny pearly buttons. 

They took a blade in hand, in one fell swing, they sliced their shirt all the way down to the belt. Whumpee laid still, painting for air. They were breathing so heavily, yet seemingly never getting enough oxygen. 

“That’s right, there you go.” Whumper cooed encouragingly, their hand settling on Whumpee’s forehead. 

They adjusted the light hanging over their body right onto their chest, then a cold wet cotton ball was dabbed above their abdomen. Just when Whumpee didn’t think they could tense up anymore, their whole body cramped when they felt the tip of a blade just grazing their skin. 

They let out a squeak, squeezing their eyes shut, balling their fingers into a fist waiting for the slice. 

*SLAM*

The room shook in an instant, Whumpee could no longer feel the presence of the blade, nor the figure looming over them. 

*BANG* *BANG* *BANG*

Over and over again, Whumper’s voice hissing and shouting against the unseen force.

Then silence.

Whumpee’s eyes were wide, wildly searching the room for a sign, a clue, anything to give them an idea as to what was happening!?

The lamp was carelessly slapped away as it snapped from it’s wire, falling to the floor with a crinkling shatter. Whumpee flinched, turning their head away from the loud crash. They blinked their eyes open, their vision readjusting from the cruel light.

The gag was tugged away from their lips as Whumpee stared up with tears forming in their eyes.

“C-caretaker?”

Tag list: @grizzlie70  @alien-octopus @lave-whump @amethysts-sideblog  @whump-it-like-its-hot  @thingsthatgowhumpinthenight @yet-another-heathen @princessofonward @whatwhumpcomments  @ill-eat-you-if-you-cross-me @mascmasochist @hamiltonwhumpdump

o(^∀^*)o Thank you for reading!

[gumnut-logic]

Bandages

@sugar-fiend​ asked:

From your Touches ask - Feeling another human's touch:

20. Bandaging/stitching up an injury.

As always, BroTP of Scott and Virgil, please.

And this happened. Post-whump? Comfort maybe? Dunno. Let’s just say neither are happy.

I hope you enjoy anyway :D

Touches Ask Game - Send me a prompt

-o-o-o-

Scott was refusing to look at him.

His big brother carefully and gently wrapped each of Virgil’s fingers one by one, blue eyes focussed ever so intently on the task.

No words were said.

None had been said the last time Scott had changed the bandages.

None had been said at the hospital.

None that Scott knew Virgil had heard. There had been the fog of anaesthesia, but he could have sworn he had heard his brother crying.

Virgil’s heart clenched at the memory.

“I’m sorry.” The words were out before he could think better of it.

Scott’s hands stilled a moment.

Those blue eyes looked up at him.

Lips moved as if to say something, but tightened almost immediately as his brother swallowed and went back to securing gauze.

But Virgil had had enough. “Scott, please!”

“What?!” He straightened, taking a step away from the infirmary bed. “What do you want me to say?”

“Tell me you’re okay.” A swallow. “That we’re okay.”

Scott’s shoulders dropped just a little. He grabbed the mitten that protected all the bandaging and fastened it over Virgil’s swollen hand. “Virgil, we will never be anything but okay.” He turned away and began packing medical supplies back into their storage box.

With both hands swaddled in various layers of cotton and non-stick dressings, there was little Virgil could do to grab his brother’s arm, so instead he hooked a long leg with a boot. “Talk to me!”

“So you can argue with me? Tell me it was the right thing to do?”

“Yes!”

“You’re wrong, Virgil! It was the wrong thing to do! I had a plan.”

“You were going to die!”

“I didn’t!”

“Because I saved your ass and you know it. That’s why you don’t want to talk, isn’t it! You thought you had it worked out, but it went south and I got hurt. That’s it, isn’t it!” He desperately tried to pin his brother with his eyes, but the man was still refusing to look at him.

Deep and forceful. “I. Had. A. Plan. You should have trusted me.”

“I do trust you. But you were going to die, Scott. And I refuse to let that happen.”

“So you decided to sacrifice yourself.”

“That’s what you were trying to do. At least doing it my way, we’re both alive to yell at each other.”

“But…” And Scott’s eyes fixated on Virgil’s hands. “At what cost?”

Virgil blinked before straightening. “Bargain basement.” His voice broke on the last syllable, but he meant it with everything he was.

His hands were burnt…badly. The rod had been that hot, it had melted through his heavy-duty gloves. There was question of scaring, possible movement loss and nerve damage. “I won’t lie to you, Scott. I’m scared.” He stared down at the swaths of white. “But nowhere near as terrified as I was of losing you.” He held his hands up. “This I can handle. With you here.” He let his hands drop gently into his lap. “Without you…” He sucked in a breath and, straightening up again, caught his brother’s wide eyes. “Without you, the world just doesn’t work anymore!” He glared at Scott. “And I will do anything to prevent that from happening!”

Blue eyes stared at him for a full moment before shifting away, wandering, and latching back onto the medical supplies like a raft in a storm. “That doesn’t sound very healthy, Virg.”

Virgil shimmied off the infirmary bed, onto his feet, and pushed himself into Scott’s personal space. His brother had always been taller than him, but Virgil didn’t need height. “You listen to me. You are integral to this family. You are the damned guiding light of this organisation and I will not see you sacrificing yourself if I can prevent it. You are my brother!”

Scott closed the lid on the medical box and looked down at Virgil. “And you are mine. So how can you expect me to watch you get injured like this for my sake.”

“Because the alternative would have hurt me more.”

Scott opened his mouth as if to rebut, but slowly shut it again.

Virgil continued to look up at him and if the pleading bled into his expression, he couldn’t help it. “Please, Scott?”

His big brother stared at him a moment, his eyes growing glassy until he had to blink.

Virgil tentatively reached out a bandage-covered hand and brushed it against his brother’s arm.

And Scott grabbed him, pulling him in, holding Virgil ever so close and tight. Bandaged hands fumbled and stuck out in awkward directions, but Virgil’s cheek found Scott’s shoulder and he clung the best way he could.

This was better.

Oh, so much better.

Virgil blinked a few times, but held on as if his life depended on it.

“I’m sorry, Scott.” Quiet, an attempt at reassurance.

Something was mumbled into his flannel shirt.

Virgil just hung on tighter.

-o-o-o-

[spencers-renaissance]

💫Moreid Masterlist

GIF by @criminalmindsvibez​

Hurt/Comfort or Angst with a Happy Ending

🌊Still Left With the River

Derek wakes up to find his boyfriend crying on the sofa. Cue the hurt, the comfort, and the fluff.

1.6k, hurt/comfort, fluff, caretaker!derek, autistic spencer, crying, sad spencer

🌳Trees and Seas Have Flown Away, I Call it Loving You

Derek says something hurtful, but it happens to lead to just about the best thing that’s ever happened to Spencer.

3.2k, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, fighting/making up, angst with a happy ending, autistic spencer, coming out, getting together

🍓A Chronicle of Loss

5 people Spencer Reid lost and 1 person he gained. A look at the traumas Spencer faces over the series, and giving him the happy ending he deserves.

3.6k, grief, loss, abandonment issues, insecurity, depression, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, getting together, ‘didn’t know they were dating’, protective derek, autistic spencer

🍯Honeysuckle

The BAU decide to head out for a picnic one summer afternoon, but they’re soon rudely interrupted by a bee sting and anaphylactic shock. Seeing Spencer carted off in an ambulance is not exactly how they expected the day to go.

2.3k, whump, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, hurt spencer, friendship, medical conditions, severe allergic reactions

🌙The Noiseless Crash of Crumbling Walls

After Derek and Spencer are paired up on a science project in their senior year of high school, they become the closest, most unlikely friends possible. But what happens when Derek finally finds out what Spencer's dealing with at home? Inspired by the prompt “where did you get those bruises?”

4.5k, high school au, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, hurt spencer, protective derek, abuse, friendship, pre-slash, spencer just turned 16, derek is almost 18

🔥The Insistent Burn of a Falling Heart  - part two

Derek is hopelessly in love with his childhood best friend, and he can't even escape him at home, since they're living together while they study at Cal Tech. He's resigned himself to a miserable, Spencer-less fate until lasagne, bad memories, and a whole lot of crying bring the real truth out into the open.

4.2k, hurt!spencer, fluff, angst with a happy ending, mutual pining, getting together, college au, first kiss, misunderstandings 

💔let him be soft (and let him be mine) part one // part two

After Derek pulls another self-sacrificing stunt at the culmination of their most recent case, Spencer runs out of their apartment as he desperately grapples with how it makes him feel. (Collab with @criminalmindsvibez​! You can find her complimentary edit here.)

2.4k, hurt/comfort, crying, abandonment issues, injured!derek, hurt!spencer, miscommunication, angst with a happy ending, fluff, protective!derek

🪦how the cold numbs everything but grief

Six days after Emily dies, Spencer finds himself soaked in freezing water, catatonic on the bathroom floor. Only Derek can ease the roaring, burning, demanding agony of this grief.

1.2k, grief/mourning, emily’s ‘death’ in season six, hurt!spencer, hurt!derek, hurt/comfort, angst with a hopeful ending (serious tw for grief here)

✨storm-darkened or starry bright 

Spencer contracts HIV. It all falls apart after that.

6.5k, angst, illness, hurt!spencer, hurt/comfort, worried derek, depression, mutual pining, getting together, angst w a happy ending

⛈this heavy humanness

Spencer leaves the oven on overnight, and Derek - whose pent-up emotions get the best of him - loses it, exposing secrets neither of them expected to be spilled, for two very different reasons. They get there in the end.

3.9k, est. rel., past abuse, arguing & making up, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, miscommunication hurt spencer

💤I turn and reach for you

Three months after Hankel, Spencer starts getting terrible nightmares that keep him up at night. He tries desperately to keep his secret until one day when it's all too much to bear anymore. Luckily, Derek Morgan is there to hold him together as he falls apart.

2.1k, nightmares, hurt/comfort, ptsd, angst with a happy ending, fluff, literal sleeping together, getting together, post-revelations

Pure Fluff

🌒when I fall asleep (it is your eyes that I close)

Spencer’s not been sleeping, and as much as Derek adores his sleepy clinginess and physical affection, as soon as they get home he’s determined to get to the bottom of it.

1.9k, fluff, hurt/comfort, sleep-deprivation, clingy!spencer, physical affection, anxiety, cuddling

🎄A Christmas Like This

Spencer has a very specific plan for their first Christmas in their new house, and it has to be absolutely perfect. Derek’s going to do everything in his power to make his boyfriend as happy as possible, even if that means a house covered in garlands and a tree covered in animal skeletons…

2.9k, fluff, christmas fic, est relationship, neurodivergence, romance, domesticity, day in the life

💍my heart talks about nothing but you

Derek finds Spencer staring longingly at dancing newlyweds while on a case and once he gets to the bottom of why he’s tasked with making a proposal to a man who knows it’s coming special somehow. (He pulls it off.)

2.5k, established relationship, hurt/comfort, minor angst, fluff, relationship discussions, proposal, protective derek

✨I told the stars about you - part two

Derek and Spencer have their first date. They dance to Frank Sinatra and cuddle in an ice cream parlour, before kissing the hell out of each other at Spencer's front door. That's pretty much it. (Prequel to above fic.)

2.1k, first date, first kiss, pure tooth-rotting fluff, dancing, flirting, protective derek

🎂I can’t hold enough of you in my hands - part three

Derek and Spencer are finally getting married and the rest of the BAU are there to help them through every step of the day. Including a little surprise that Derek has up his sleeve for their first dance. (Third part to the above two fics.)

3.1k, tooth-rotting fluff, marriage/wedding day, team as family, team dynamics, domesticity, paternal hotch, maternal alex, just a whole lotta love man

🔪Shovel Talk

Hotch and Emily find out about Derek's relationship with Spencer and decide it's time for a chat.

1.5k, fluff, humour, est. rel., protective!derek, emily, and hotch, relationship reveal, mentions of past hurt spencer

📚I’ll (Never) Know What It’s Like Not to Love You

Spencer finds his old journals in the attic, and he and Derek reminisce on the days they used to pine for one another. Luckily, those days are over, and they have forever ahead of them.

1.3k, tooth-rotting domestic fluff, past mutual pining, past hurt!spencer, cuddling & snuggling, late canon

Getting Together

🌨Even More Beautiful

The BAU is stuck in Michigan with no case and no way home, so naturally, Spencer and Derek confess their love for one another. (Based on the prompt ‘You look even more beautiful covered in snow.’)

3.5k, fluff, love confessions, shy spencer, insecurity, hurt/comfort

🎧Hear it in the Silence

A short, fluffy chronicle of Spencer realising in increments how in love with Derek he is, and navigating a real, beautifully sweet relationship that's not always smooth sailing, especially since he's been hurt before. (Based on Taylor Swift’s You are in Love.)

3.7k, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, dev relationship, tw past abuse, domesticity

🎅🏼Secret Santa

Penelope rigs the BAU’s Secret Santa game to finally get Derek and Spencer together with extraordinary success, and they have her to thank for their future first date. Oh, and a sprig of mistletoe nearly throws the whole thing out the window.

2.8k, fluff, getting together, insecurity/anxiety, christmas fic, first kiss, misunderstandings, friendship

🌳The One Constant

Derek wakes up after having his appendix removed with temporary amnesia from the anesthesia, and Spencer certainly isn't prepared for the man he's pined after for four years to a) not recognise him, and b) start flirting with him. It all works out in the end, with a little help from Hotch.

4k, hurt/comfort, fluff, mutual pining, insecure spencer, flirting, getting together, misunderstandings, first kiss

☕️i’ll retire my bones to make you tea and read you poetry

Derek doesn't exactly expect to invite a sleepy Spencer over for a movie night after a case, but his blinding smile in response makes him happy he did. The kiss they share the next morning makes him even happier.

3.6k, fluff, getting together, cuddling, insecure!spencer, pet names, mutual pining, light hurt/comfort, first kiss, love confessions

Embarrassed!Spencer Drabble

A misunderstanding at a BAU get together has Spencer embarrassed and a long-awaited kiss finally happening.

1.2k, fluff, angst, getting together, first kiss

AU

📚100

Spencer's an academic researcher who spends every morning at his local library. Derek just happens to drop by one Tuesday and ask the pretty boy in the classics section if he can help him find a book. Sparks fly.

2.1k, library au, fluff, meet-cute, pining, shy spencer, coming out

💣Mayhem

Imagine that scene in S4E1 when Derek is driving the ambulance loaded with a bomb about to explode, except it’s Spencer on the other end of the phone and they finally get their shit together.

4.2k, canon divergence, spencer is the tech analyst, getting together, mutual pining, insecure spencer, angst with a happy ending, fluff, declarations of love

🧑🏻‍🦽 dry me off and hold me close

Derek has finally relented and is bringing his boyfriend Spencer to meet the rest of the team. That means, though, he has to finally tell them about his boyfriend's disability. Terrified that they'll react badly, he puts it off until he can't anymore. Turns out he was worried for nothing

5.7k, so much fluff, protective derek, disabled spencer, caretaker derek, spencer is not in the bau, team as family, hurt/comfort, light angst, est. rel, chronic illness, slice of life: disabled edition

💐I’ll bloom for you (while my heart still cries)

(Based on the age-old tumblr prompt) "Sometimes I steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery and today you've caught me and insisted on coming with me to make sure the 'girl is pretty enough to warrant flower theft' and I'm trying to figure out how to break it to you that we're on our way to a graveyard."

3.7k, fluff, meet-cute, au: student spencer, fbi agent derek, hacker penelope, grief & mourning, shy spencer, getting together, mutual pining

🌖This Gravitational Pull

Penelope Garcia sets her two best friends Derek & Spencer up on a blind first date. Even with the best intentions and highest expectations, no-one could've predicted it would go quite this well.

2.9k, fluff, first date, au: diff first meeting, shy spencer, insecurity, anxiety, flirting, cuddling, protective derek, silly amounts of affection

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Whumptober Day 25: Disorientation

 CW: Sick whumpee, emeto references, infection, medical whump, some references to institutionalized pet whump. Needles, track mark mention, IV placement (vague, non-graphic). Brief misgendering (out of delirium/not being able to see correctly, very brief/accidental). Includes hallucination referencing parental death.

TIMELINE: Immediately post-Infection

“Blood pressure is 100 over 60. That’s lowish, but not the worst it could be.” There’s a voice. He doesn’t know the voice. The words are familiar, though. Like a show on TV. “You got a temp?”

“One hundred three point four degrees,” Another voice says. They’re speaking so quickly he is struggling to follow them. 

“Shit. That’s up from when his guardian called.”

“We need to get that fever under control. What did she say about history?”

“Threw up this morning and didn’t stop throwing up. Says he admitted he’s been hurting for two days - classic symptoms, pain started at navel and moved right and down. His fever was probably present from when he woke up, but.” There’s a pause. Chris blinks his eyes and sees, blurry and bleary, a sense of someone shrugging.

“Why didn’t he tell anyone?”

There’s a snort. “Kev. You know why.”

“Yeah, okay. I’m going to get fucking blacklisted from EMT work if we get caught, you know. What we’re doing is illegal.”

“We’re not gonna get caught. I’ve been part of lib life since I was seventeen, just trust me on this.”

Chris tries to speak, to ask them who they are, where he is, but his lips move without sound. He can feel the vibration of an engine, hear it rumbling, and the world around him is shaking minutely, bumping along on a road. With each bump and pothole, the screaming pain in the boy’s abdomen crests like a wave crashing the shore inside him, and he can feel tears running freely, blurring his vision when he tries to blink, to see. 

Above him there is white inset with tiny round lights and his breath hitches. He tries to sit but there are straps holding him down, and his eyes widen, staring up in terror. 

No. No, no, no, they said I wouldn’t go back, they said-

He breathes in shallow whistles he can’t seem to control. His stomach is churning, flipping with new nausea, the pain throbbing through his abdomen, behind his eyes, all the way to his toes and fingertips. “Wh, where, where, where-where, where am, am I-”

“Sssshhhh.” Chris flinches and twists as best he can to look up and behind him, the person he vaguely saw shrugging before is there wearing a dark blue uniform with letters that hurt to look at across a pocket on the front. A plastic-gloved hand presses to Chris’s shoulder to help push him back down. “Hey no, you gotta stay steady, there, kiddo. Don’t move, you really, really don’t want to strain your muscles right now. We’re about to check and make sure Yoder’s guess is right.”

Chris keeps blinking, but his eyes are blurring with tears so quickly he can’t get a clear look at the person’s face. He can move one of his hands, at least, and he lifts it to lay it over the person’s glove, feels the slip-slide of plastic and the warmth of them underneath. He shivers, then whimpers when the pain worsens in response. “Nat? Where… where is… Please-... please, sir, h-hurts-”

“Not sir,” The person says, gently, a bit of auburn hair falling over their forehead. Their voice is low, soft and soothing. “Can you see?”

Chris rolls his eyes back towards the ceiling. The light coming from the little circles in the roof of the vehicle is slightly yellowed. It isn’t cold. It has weight but isn’t cold. There is padded blue plastic lining the walls, something like a bench on one side and a jump seat, like flight attendants sit in on airplanes…

She holds his hands, so so tightly, as they bump around. He clings to her, breathing fast. She tries to smile at him and her eyes are wet. “Just remember, Tris, even when the flight is kind of bumpy, you don’t have to worry about a thing. The pilots do this all the time.” Her face is pale, though, and he sees her looking ahead, where a woman in a skirt is buckling herself into a special seat.

“Mom? What’s, what’s, what-what-what is, is that, why does does she have a different-”

“It’s called a jump seat, baby,” The woman says, and the plane bumps up and back down, and his mother’s breath comes shaky and uneven.

“I love you, Tris,” His mother says suddenly, and her voice catches. “Baby, I love you so much-... l-love you-... it’s okay, baby, it’s okay-” Her voice is getting weird and thick like she’s speaking through water.

His breath catches at red spreading over the front of her shirt, and the plane stops tumbling through the air because she’s sitting with her back against a wall under a photo of the three of them last Christmas and her blood is on the wall behind her in a spray and Tristan starts to scream and he paints with blood on a cold white wall and the plane is hurtling through the air and his mother is gone and his father is gone and his life is gone-

The headache hits him and the thought he was having dissipates under the pain, one more piece of him throbbing.  “K-Kind... kind of… can see... hurts-... Mom, I’m, I’m sorry, Mom, I didn’t stay, stay hidden, I’m sorry-”

“Sssshhhh. You’re okay, you’re okay.” The person squeezes his shoulder, just a little. 

“What the fuck was that about?”

“Rescues do this. Don’t ask.”

“That’s fucking eerie, man-”

“I said don’t ask. We don’t ask them, they don’t tell us. It only makes it worse if they try to keep thinking about it, so just… forget he said anything. He probably already has.”

The headache slips back, and the pain in his stomach is stronger again. Chris hears a low voice from somewhere slightly further, relaying information, speaking in a monotone that is just soft enough that Chris can’t understand it. 

The person with the nice voice and pretty auburn hair is talking to him again. “Here we go. Tori’s going to help me get you some paperwork going and we’ve kind of got a system to get you in without the docs picking up on anything. Don’t worry, kiddo. You’re not the first we’ve pulled through this.”

“Th’ first…” He can’t keep his thoughts straight. Can’t understand what any of it means.

“Well, one good way to check,” The second voice says, and Chris turns to stare upwards at a man who gives him a tight-lipped smile. “Sorry, kiddo.” He presses both hands down on Chris’s abdomen, on the right side of his navel. Briefly, the sharp pain fades, and Chris’s breaths slow, just for a second. “All right, let’s check his response.” The man pulls his hands back.

Chris, strapped down to the table, arches his back in a nearly perfect arc as best he can, screaming hoarsely as the pain rushes back in, even worse than before. He is buried in it - he drowns in the waves of agony, like and unlike the pain of the shock collar, like and unlike the worst pain he’s ever felt.

His scream ends, and the two people in uniforms look at each other. “Well, that’s a fucking sign, isn’t it?”

“Check the heel. Okay, kiddo, we need to test one more thing to know for sure, okay?” The hand squeezes, one more time, at his shoulder, and then pulls back. “I’m going to prep fentanyl-”

“I don’t know, that pressure’s low for fentanyl.”

“... no, you’re right, it is, but... it’s our best option for controlling pain until we get there. It’s riding a line, but I think 100 over 60 can handle it.”

“You sure?”

“Confirm first, we’ll decide after that.”

“Got it.” Chris has only just settled back into the swaying nausea of hurt when there’s a flat, blunt impact against his bare heel - and he sobs, whimpering at the way pain rockets through him from his abdomen, spiraling like blades beneath his skin down his leg and up his side, gripping his heart. He jerks away but he’s strapped down too tightly to move. He wants to curl up but they just keep hurting him. They’re handlers, and this is fun, and once again Chris is the trainee and they’ve tied him down so he can’t stop them.

He starts to cry, hot tears running down his face, and the man who hit his heel says something to the other person but he can’t hear them over the rushing of his own blood in his ears, the pain inside him has taken him completely. He isn’t being good enough, that must be why they’re hurting him. He wasn’t good, and he is being punished, and the handlers have something they want he’s not giving, but he doesn’t know what, and he can’t… he can’t see…

“Please,” He whispers, groping blindly as much as he can. “Please, please, please, stop, please, I’ll, I’ll, I-I’ll do anything, please make it stop, I’ll b-be good-”

There’s a pause.

“Christ. Give him the fentanyl, Kev.”

The man’s voice is shaken. “... yeah, let’s do it. Uh, yeah, yeah. Right.”

“You handle the IV,” The first person says, the one who seems to know Nat. “Can you get him set up?”

“Dunham, I-”

“Just breathe, Kev. Let’s get his IV in.”

The Drip. No, not the Drip, no no no no-

Chris tries to beg - they have always loved his begging, and these new handlers will, too, he’s sure of it, he will beg them to let him keep Jake, he can be so so so good for them if they’ll only let him have Jake, if they won’t take his memory of Jake away. He can be so good...

He can’t make his mouth work any longer - it hurts too much, he can’t seem to force his brain and mouth to connect. He can’t do anything but cry, heaving wailing childlike sobs, and he is going to lose more people, all over again, he will never stop losing the people who love him-

Please, don’t take them away from me, please-

Mom, I’m sorry-

“Yeah, I’ve got it. You going to-”

“Hold his hand or something. He’s scared. They’re always scared.” The kind face, hazel eyes and auburn hair, slides back into his vision. Their voice softens and they brush a little hair away from his forehead. “Hey, you. We’re going to get you something to settle that pain, okay? Just hang on for me.” They turn away, briefly, voice raising above the rumbling engine, the low vibration, the rocking and swaying that neither of the two back here with him seem to notice like he does. “Amy, what’s our ETA?”

“Seven minutes,” A woman shouts back from the front. “Seven minutes and I’ve already confirmed Tori has a chart prepped to go. Before we stop I’ll make sure she’s ready to get us inside. She’s called in Mandela to do the surgery and you know the nurses wouldn’t tell WRU a fucking thing. Get that wrist bandaged over and we got this. Tori’s got our asses covered.”

“Gotta love that woman,” The person murmurs, turning back to Chris, smiling kindly down at him. “Look, we got you all set. Yoder-... uh, Natalie’s going to be there when you wake up, okay?”

What good does that do if they give him the Drip and he doesn’t know her anymore?

“Pl-please,” Chris whispers, managing to get his hand over the person’s, holding onto their wrist with the tightest grip of his thin fingers he can manage. Their skin feels blistering hot and he shakes, the world spinning around him. “Please, please, n-no, no, no no no, no needles, please-”

“I’m so sorry,” The person answers, soft-voiced and sincere. Handlers never say they’re sorry, Chris thinks. Handlers don’t apologize for hurting you. Handlers tell you you deserved it, or you wanted it, or you need it because you’re just a slut you fucking love this, but they never apologize. His hand is gently uncurled. He stares up into the person’s face, lost in the look of real compassion there. He has never seen someone who wears a uniform look at him like that. Like thy care. “This is just for the pain.”

“Jesus Christ,” The man says from the other side of him, and Chris turns, trying to see him more clearly. “I cut off the sleeve, Finn, it was too tight to roll up-” Chris hadn’t even noticed. “-and he’s-”

“Yeah, he’s a rescue, we talked about this, Kev, they’ll have a barcode-”

“No, he’s got track marks.”

They both go quiet, and Chris doesn’t know what the words mean together, although he knows them both separately. The silence draws out, and then the first person says, “They drug them. Heavily. You should always expect track marks on your rescue patients.”

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t-... this is the first one for me.”

“No problem. Just keep that in mind. Does he have a usable vein or no?”

“Yeah, these are old. I can get him set. Just… shook me up a little, is all.” There’s a swipe of something cold along the inside of his elbow, sickeningly familiar. Chris is good - he goes very still, waiting for the needle to slide into his skin.

He is a good statue boy.

“I, I’ve lost-... please, please, please don’t make me lose, make me lose them,” He whispers. “Please don’t, don’t take him away from me, please don’t take Jake-”

There’s a sharp pinch, more indistinct voices as they speak to each other, and then his eyes roll up and his body shudders hard, rattling the table.

He feels himself thunk back onto the softly-molded padded plastic, a burst of ache as he bites his tongue. The world goes white around all its edges, he slips and slides inside his mind, breath slowing or going faster and he’s no longer in his body enough to know the difference.

Both of the people in the back of the strange van start cursing low under their breath.

“Shit, shit shit shit, check that blood pressure again-”

“Could be a syncope, Yoder said he’s terrified of needles, could just be a trauma response-”

“It could be, sure, or he could be crashing. Fuck!”

“Don’t be crashing don’t be crashing don’t be crashing, come on kiddo, stay with me, don’t be crashing-”

Kiddo

“Could be the fentanyl, maybe his bp was too low to pull that off, oh shit what if we fucked this up, Finn-”

Little man

“We didn’t fuck this up. Okay? It’ll be okay, he’ll be fine. I’m checking his pressure again. Amy, what’s the hold up, we need to move!”

“Almost there, Dunham, I swear! Just hold him together until we get there.”

“Doing my fucking best, Amy!”

It’s okay, Tris

You’re okay, sweetie

It’s all right, baby, you’re okay, Mommy’s got you.

Chris takes in a breath, and blinks his eyes open one more time as something cool seems to pass through him, the throbbing agony fading, just a little. The world slows around him in its dizzying spin. He looks blearily up at the person, the handler or not-handler, who apologized. “Please… please…”

“I know,” They say, softly. There’s pressure, of some kind, but Chris is drifting now, his eyes moving without focus over the little circles of light. The two people move around him in some kind of strange dance that both of them know but Chris doesn’t, and that’s okay - he wouldn’t be able to dance like this, anyway. He’s dizzy but not sick with it, and that’s kind of funny, but he can’t remember how to laugh or why he thought that was funny at all.

Compression somewhere on his arm. It doesn’t matter. 

“70 over 40. God damn it.”

“Okay, let’s get that B.P. stable and check once more time before we get him inside to see if it’s up. Temp check?”

A pause, a sensation Chris can barely understand, and then more swearing. “His fever’s not fucking going down. Jesus fucking Christ-”

“Okay. Keep it calm, Kev.” The voice is even and steady, and Chris feels the barest brush of fingers over his shoulder. “We have got to stabilize this kid. Mandela can’t operate if he doesn’t stabilize. Come on, kiddo, don’t crash on us, come on come on come on-... Amy, confirm with Tori that we’re covered, please?”

“Tori is ready and waiting for us, Finn,” Amy says, a disembodied woman’s voice that swirls in a fog around Chris’s thoughts. “They’re prepping surgery, we can get him straight in. Mandela was close by and she’s already in the O.R. They’ll get him off your hands as soon as we stop, Tori’s got a new team called out to give us a break so you can tell his guardian the plan. Guardians will be in the E.R. waiting room, there’s two of them. They’re wearing-”

“Amy. We saw them when we picked him up, remember? Plus I’ve known Yoder for years.”

“... Right. Sorry.”

“You’re good. Tori really thought of everything, huh?”

“Christ, I love that woman,” The man - Kev - mutters. “Just… love her.”

“Didn’t I tell you? Tori’s on top of it. She’s been doing this longer than I have, she’s actually who got me into it at my last job. I was into the movement young but just, you know, flyers and stuff, little bit of sneaky shit. When I met her was after I got kicked out of the Army-”

“You got kicked out of the Army?”

“It’s a long story. Technically I’m not allowed over the Canadian border anymore, either. Anyway, when Tori got a new job, I just… kind of followed her here.”

“What, you weren’t born elbow-deep in La Resistance?”

“Ha, ha. Oh, here we go. Okay, kiddo, time to fix you up good as new.” The vehicle slows, and slows, and then there’s a hard turn, and Chris’s eyes close.

When the pain fades a little more, he finds he is too tired to open them again. He slips away into a warm and drifting darkness where the pain can’t reach him anymore.

I love you, baby boy.

Hold on.

I’ve got you.

You’re going to be just fine.

He hears something, high-pitched beeping noise that seems to be fading as the world around him fades. It’s all dark now, and warm, and he’s going to be okay.

She brushes fingers over his face, and he can barely hear the voices of the people inside the ambulance with him as he sinks into the darkness. 

“Shit shit shit, not again-”

“65 over 35-”

“Fuck, I’m gonna have new gray hair after this-... come on come on come on-”

“Finn!”

“What, Amy?”

“We’re here.”

---

Finn Dunham and Tori (mentioned) belong to @whump-tr0pes and are used with permission. Thanks to Athena as well for her help making this sound remotely realistic!

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @slaintetowhump , @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary

[c-c-cherry]

HELL YEAH I HAVE SOME BRUNO :D

I fuckin love Bruno. Can’t really explain it, stoic/parental characters and found family tropes are just drawn to me and writing it just gives me immense joy! It’s time to dive right in this, babey >:)

Also I’m sorry for the recent inactivity. School’s been kicking my fucking ASS and I need to put in more time for that right now, so things might be slower until Holiday break. Hope y’all can bear with me a bit :)

//content warning for whump-related shit (sickness, major injury, drugs etc..)

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Pain Tolerance

-When it comes to physical injury, he can handle almost anything with grace

-With a job like his, it always helps to be quick on your feet and resourceful enough to save your life

-He’s not stupid, either. When he’s hurt in a way that he can’t fix himself, he doesn’t hesitate asking someone who actually can help

-He doesn’t particularly like it when people help him out because he’s supposed to be this omnipotent leader figure, but he won’t be stubborn when it comes down to it. He hates wasting time more than he hates showing weakness

-No one can tell him that Sticky Fingers ≠ instant stitches because that stand can get shit done

-Is it sanitary? Not really. Does it hurt a shit ton? Yeah. Does he care? Take a fucking guess y’all >:)

-This man is used to putting up with shit in order to survive and trained himself to take pain in waves. If he can just ride through it, he’ll eventually be able to function again

-Sometimes hesitating isn’t an option. Neither is acknowledging that the bullet wound in your side is bleeding out and logically you should be unconscious from how painful it is

-It takes a certain person to quite literally hold off on their own pain to help others (partly because they aren’t ready to acknowledge it) but Bruno is definitely that saviour-complex, martyr type

-He could have a fucking bullet still in his side but he’s too busy to worry about it because Narancia might have a concussion or Fugo’s arm is broken or they can’t find Giorno amid the stand battle the possibilities are endless

-The one thing he can’t seem to shake off? Getting drugged.

-He almost always has control over his surroundings with any other mishap but once his brain is messed with like that, he’s basically done for

-It doesn’t really help that he’s a lightweight with recreational things in general, but heavy stuff used for spiking or kidnapping absolutely fucks with him

-His stand completely shuts down, he loses control of all his surroundings,,,basically everything he relied on to get through stuff in the past is off the table

-It doesn’t happen very often, but when the gang has had to deal with him like that, its like watching someone’s entire self completely break down

-Suddenly any kind of feeling or pain is amplified and it’s unbearable. It’s awful seeing someone who’s usually so stoic act in such a manner, but it’s almost,,,,cathartic? It reminds all of them that he’s human and his stoicism shouldn’t be taken lightly

Injury

Rule #1 of Bruno’s moral code that doesn’t really make sense but you can’t really argue with him on it: DO NOT BRING HIM TO A FUCKING HOSPITAL.

-He’ll flat-out refuse to go

-Things are much easier now that Giorno is on their team, but things used to be borderline nightmarish during pre-canon missions that went awry

-He’ll have no problem recommending getting professional medical help to anyone else on the team, but there’s no way in hell you could make him go himself

-He hasn’t set foot in a hospital since his father was in one, and and plans to never go in one again

-To him, the medical system failed him (even though there was nothing they could virtually do)

-It’s an irrational way of thinking, but he refuses to talk about it either way

-Even when he is injured enough to require going to a doctor he can usually repress it, usually because he’s in shock, and his mind convinces him that he’s absolutely fine

-His refusal to acknowledge when he’s injured sometimes can get him in deep shit though

-Abbacchio is beyond counting on his fingers how many times a mission will be over and Bruno will be cooking dinner or reading a book and suddenly stop and get this look and Leone will be like “you good?”

-And Bruno just sets his book down and says:

“I fractured my arm and dislocated my elbow earlier today. I should probably look at it now, shouldn’t I?”

in the calmest fucking voice on the planet.

-Sometimes Bruno will just go on about his day and won’t have the chance to tell them calmly because suddenly blood is leaking out of the side of his head or they find him passed out oN THE FLOOR INSTEAD

-Needless to say it gives them all fucking heart attacks all the damn time

-Its actually so common post-canon that the gang has to do routine checks on each other to make sure no one is “withholding any injuries” (but they all know who the rule was really created for)

Sickness

-The. Most. STUBBORN MOTHERFUCKER

-Extremely irritable and hates not being able to do anything. Most people when they’re sick either get very clingy or very bitchy and we all know which one he’d be

-This is nothing like injury. He’ll KNOW he’ll be fine because it's just a fever, so to him that automatically means that no one is obligated to know and/or care regardless of how shit he’s feeling

-He either pretends it’s not happening at all, or he hides away in his room or some zipper dimension until he’s totally fine again

-Hates, and I mean HATES it when people try to take care of him

-Maybe he wants it. Maybe he doesn’t. Either way, he feels too selfless to “make someone do all that” for him

-Though Abbacchio and Fugo would refer to it more as self-destructive than selfless (but they aren’t exactly ones to talk)

-Seriously high fever? It’s just really hot in here, better turn the heat down.

-Can’t fucking breathe because he’s coughing so hard? No no, they still have another mission today to get through. Just have some tea and you’ll be fine

-So nauseous that he can barely stand up on his own? Probably just need to drink some more water today

-The KING of sick denial. The embodiment of the “parents don’t get sick because they don’t have time to” myth

-The times when they do catch him before he can disappear is when stuff is really bad. He’s gotta be too weak to move for them to pounce on him and force him to take care of himself, and even then he will only let Abbacchio do things for him because he doesn’t want to seem like a weak role model for the rest of them ;-;

-Bruno makes the best soup for when the rest of the gang catches something but Mista pulls out the good shit and makes the best fucking food for sick Bruno and it’s very wholesome and nice :)

Emotional Stress

-Bottles up everything, and I mean EVERYTHING until his limbs are fucking shaking and he’s unable to do anything else but sit there and cry

-He feels like he has to be stoic and emotionless most of the time, and although everyone knows that Bruno’s a bleeding heart, he’s also very reserved when it comes to what he really needs

-Things like nightmares or his father or things that happened to him in the past or things that you need to talk about to get off your chest are things that he keeps to himself

-Taking on too much and overworking himself is how he distracts himself from most things. He’d rather just pretend that things aren’t happening then confront it and end up breaking down

-It always comes out in the worst ways. He’ll start snapping at people when he normally would never, stops sleeping and eating, drinks too much even though he knows that it does nothing for him

-He hates the fact that he doesn’t tell people when he’s hurting, but he can’t bring himself to do it without thinking about how weak it would look on his part

-He zips himself away and cries in secret, but everyone can always tell when his nose is too red or the light is gone from his eyes later that day

-When things get bad, his hands will shake. It's almost an unconscious action that happens when he’s thinking too much about things or when he hasn’t gotten nearly as much sleep as he should, but it's extremely noticeable and he despises the fact that he can’t do anything to stop it

-His face and body will look completely put-together but the gang’s eyes will drift to the trembling paperwork that his hands are holding

-Fugo or Abbacchio will usually pull him aside and ask him if everything’s alright and the answer is always arguably a no

-It usually ends up with Leone dragging Bruno somewhere alone or kicking the rest of them out and just letting him let everything out

-Sometimes it’ll take hours and these giant “blow-ups” happen more often than they should, but Leone’s just glad that he’s communicating, even just a little bit

-Once things blow over, they actually talk. They find solutions as much as Bruno doesn’t want to, and things really don’t seem as bad once he starts actually talking about them

-The rest of the fam comes home and makes dinner/finishes up his paperwork for him and they all watch a warm-hearted movie together :3

-He loves giving people hugs because he’s all about that family love, but asking for one is a whole other story (good thing Narancia and his impeccable emotional intelligence always swoop in for a hug when Bruno looks like he’s on his last legs) :))))

-No one said opening up was going to be easy, but he’s got his supportive Passione fam to help him out when he needs it most :’)

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I actually had some fics in mind while writing this list! If you want some Bruno whump to inhale, here’s what I was thinking of while writing this: 

The Mighty Fall by @lady-wallace​

Only Bend When It Breaks  and Night go Slower by roktavor

and Yet here he was by Your’s Truly!!

[misssquidtracy]

SOS Part 3

So I grabbed the whump bat last night, took aim at my boi’s head, then proceeded to wallop him into the exosphere like the kickass cricket player I’m most certainly not. If you happen to see a moving star tonight, chances are it’ll be Gordon completing his first orbit, not a wayward satellite.   

-x-

‘Gordon, you’ve activated your emergency code….Gordon? Gordon!’

Gordon stirred feebly, his head screaming in protest when he tried to raise it to follow his brother’s voice. He could hear movement outside what remained of Thunderbird Four, but knew he was in no condition to investigate the source.

Everything hurt so much.

Cracking an eye open, he spied Fuse retreating back to the Chaos Cruiser, Braman in his arms. Underwater distance distortion made separating one fuzzy shape from another hard, but the aquanaut possessed just enough visual strength to make out Havoc staring down at him from the safety of the cockpit.

She was smirking at him.

The coldness behind those blue eyes, so different yet so similar to Alan and Scott’s, filled Gordon with hopelessness. He was critically injured and had never so much as raised an eyebrow at Havoc or her brother, yet knew neither of them were going to lift a finger to help him.

Hopelessness turned to quiet despair when the Chaos Cruiser turned and began to make its way toward the surface. Using every ounce of willpower he possessed, Gordon managed to crack his eye open again, only to be met with pitch blackness. With the Chaos Cruiser’s spotlights gone, he was reminded of exactly how dark and isolated the seafloor really was.

He hoped he’d get to see his brother’s faces again. The way Scott frowned at him in concern if he left for a rescue without eating breakfast. The way Virgil smiled indulgently at him whenever he tested out a new joke. The way John sighed and shook his head at him when he asked if denial was a nice river in Egypt. The way Alan gawped at him in silent adoration every time he pulled a successful prank on one of their older brothers.  

It would be nice to see Brains, Kayo, Penelope and Grandma again as well. Despite bearing no relation to the first three, Gordon considered them family and had fond memories attached to all of them. The way Brains chastised him every time he brought a pod or Thunderbird Four back in less than mint condition. The way Kayo smartassed him if he ever made tasteless jokes about her being Scott’s girlfriend. The way Penelope tutted at him whenever he requested iced tea instead of ‘proper’ tea. The way Grandma fussed over him on his rare down days.

Yes, he’d like to see them all again.

-x-

A familiar voice roused Gordon from the depths of unconsciousness.

If possible, everything hurt even worse than before. He was vaguely aware of water entering the demolished remains of Thunderbird Four’s cockpit and gave himself a mental pat on the back for having the forethought to put his helmet on. At least drowning wasn’t a threat.

The unbearable pain in his head, neck, left arm and right leg definitely was, though. His suit didn’t feel like it was torn anywhere, but he was fairly certain he'd broken at least two major bones.

Opening his eyes was far too much effort. Plus, doing so would confirm his worst fear; that he was still trapped in the dark, cold, terrifying carcass of his beloved yellow submarine.

Maybe his brothers hadn’t picked up his SOS. Thunderbird Four’s systems were damaged beyond recognition, and his comm device was equally redundant.

“Gordon? This is your brother, John. I need you to sit tight, help is on the way.”

Gordon stirred in response to the voice that had dragged him back to a state of semi-consciousness. He tried to say his brother’s name, but lacked the strength. The pain in his neck was starting to make him feel sick.

“Virgil, Scott and Alan have just left Tracy Island. Their ETA is approximately six and a half minutes. I’m going to stay with you until they arrive, okay? You don’t have to answer, but know that you’re not alone anymore.”

A stray tear leaked out of an eye that still refused to open.

“I’m not getting any vitals from your suit, so can’t say for certain what shape you’re in,” John continued, his voice calm and soothing, “But I promise that we’ll get you out in one piece. I’m half hoping we’ll have to shave your head, then maybe I can be the one making fun of you for a change.”

Another tear leaked out.

“Hey, do you remember that donkey mom adopted?” John gave a laugh that sounded genuine and forced at the same time, “You were very young, so may not remember. We called him Brandy because of the way he weaved like a drunk whenever he came to the gate. He was a working animal from a neighbouring farm who ended up at the local auction house when he couldn’t plough in straight lines anymore. His owners couldn’t afford basic farm machinery and were ineligible for a government grant, so were in no position to get him veterinary treatment. Mom felt sorry for him, so bid on him as a companion for Apollo, who was dad’s horse at the time. Mom used to sit you on him and lead you around the paddock. Well, I say lead…poor Brandy was so wonky he usually just ended up dragging mom diagonally across the field, but you loved it. He died of a colic complication right before Alan was born, but we told you he’d gone to live with a wild donkey herd on Carrot Mountain instead.”

Two more tears managed to escape before John’s voice faded and nothingness descended once again.

“It’s okay, Gordon. I’m here.”

-x-

His head was resting on something soft and sweet-smelling.

“Hurry, Parker! Please.”

Penelope reminded him of a swan; beautiful yet dangerous. He wondered if she liked the colour yellow as much as he did.

More nothingness.

-x-

Gordon’s next brush with consciousness wasn’t pleasant.

He was being carried, which meant he wasn’t underwater anymore. Whoever was carrying him smelt familiar and was cradling him in a firm yet gentle grip. He hoped it was Penelope, but knew it was probably Scott or Virgil.

“…multiple broken bones, severe whiplash, moderate head trauma.”

John was around as well, though Gordon couldn’t tell if his presence was physical or holographic. The voices he could hear were hurting his ears.

“….Chaos Cruiser sighted three miles northwest. I recommend immediate evasion.”

Gordon suddenly saw Havoc’s cold smirk imprinted on the inside of his eyelids.

She’d wanted him dead.

Even after all the lives he’d saved, someone had wanted (and presumably still wanted) him dead.

The thought terrified him.

“Whoa, Gordon!” Scott cried, tightening his hold when the aquanaut suddenly began to thrash in fear, “Easy! You’re safe now!”

Gordon didn’t think he’d ever feel safe again. Ignoring the agony brought on by his shredded muscles and shattered bones, he began to spasm and jerk in Scott’s arms, his caramel eyes wide his fear.

“Virgil!” Scott yelled, swearing loudly when he almost dropped his crippled brother onto the floor, “A little help!”

Two sets of hands were suddenly restraining him. One yanked his helmet off so that he could breathe unencumbered, but the rush of cool air to the face only served to worsen his frenzied writhing. A bolt of unimaginable pain shot up his spine and exploded at the base of his skull, making his vision swim.

Hurk, hurk.

“Virg, you need to back off,” Scott suddenly instructed, his tone offering no room for negotiation as he lowered Gordon’s lower half onto the floor and propped his torso up against his knee, “He’s going to be sick.”

“Won’t he choke?” came Alan’s frightened voice.

“Not so long as he’s sat upright,” Scott replied, patting Gordon gently on the back when the aquanaut began to hyperventilate, “I’m more worried about what he’s doing to his existing injuries in this state. We need to calm him down somehow.”

“There are handcuffs and some olanzapine in the first aid kit,” Virgil yelled from Thunderbird Two’s cockpit, “Restrain him and give him a 10mg intramuscular shot after his stomach has settled. That should calm him down.”

Poor Scott was powerless to do anything as his second youngest brother proceeded to puke all over him. Granted, he’d had people throw up on him before (they all had), but this time was different. Gordon’s condition made movement impossible and Scott was acutely aware that the stress of vomiting was making the aquanaut’s pulse erratic.

“I’ve got you,” Scott reassured, rubbing his brother’s back, only to recoil in horror when his hand travelled too far north, the resultant pressure causing Gordon to scream in agony.

The next ten seconds passed in a blur of pain glazed stupor. Scott yelled something at Virgil. Virgil yelled something at Alan. Alan panicked and began to cry. John yelled something at Virgil. Virgil swore and abandoned his post in Thunderbird Two’s cockpit to fetch something from the medical bay. Scott took whatever Virgil had found and stabbed it through Gordon’s suit and into his bicep, apologising quietly as he depressed the plunger.

In the background, a familiar British accent cut through the mayhem.

“Oh, Gordon.”

-x-

Gordon’s eyes fluttered open.

White. Everywhere was white.

His left arm was shrouded by a sling.

The floor was white.

His right leg was encased in a cast.

The curtains were white.

His head was concealed by bandages.

The walls were white.

His right arm was hooked to an IV.

The lab coat on the kind looking lady studying his heartrate monitor was white.

White had always been Gordon’s least favourite colour, but not anymore. He had a sudden newfound hatred for the colour purple.

Specifically, the shade of Havoc’s armour.

Luckily, the flowers on his bedside table were yellow.

-x-

Gordon’s first week in intensive care was not smooth.

Nightmares plagued him every time sleep beckoned, images of dark water, purple armour and cold smirks tormenting him as he sought relief from the pain of his battered body.

Scott rarely left his side and asked the nurses to take shifts so that one was always in the room. They’d been happy to oblige, but had been less happy with Scott’s habit of falling asleep next to his brother’s bed.

Virgil took over the running of International Rescue while Scott stayed in the hospital. John answered distress calls that necessitated the use of Thunderbird One and Alan covered space monitor duty when his redheaded brother was earthbound. Sally channelled her worry into cooking and freezing enough homecooked dinners to fill Thunderbird Three’s cargo bay, while Kayo took out her fury on her kickboxing dummy.  

Scott was strict on visitors, mainly because Gordon tended to get emotional when he received them. Virgil visited every day with supplies for Scott. John came in every second day with bags full of Gordon’s favourite snacks. Penelope visited whenever her schedule permitted (which was quite often) and offered Sherbert as a form of pet therapy. Kayo and Sally took their turns after Virgil departed, their arms laden with homecooked culinary disasters and bunches of fresh hibiscus flowers from Tracy Island’s beach.

Alan wasn’t allowed to visit. His first proper time seeing Gordon had been three days after the aquanaut had been admitted. He’d landed the Helipod in the hospital’s car park, retrieved the stack of magazines he knew Gordon enjoyed reading from the backseat, asked a nice nurse for directions, found the correct room and pushed open the door, only to be met with the sight of his usually cheery brother having a full blown panic attack.

“OUT!” Scott had bellowed, releasing his hold on Gordon’s forearms to shove Alan back into the hallway. In the temporary absence of his oldest brother, it had taken the combined effort of two nurses to keep Gordon in bed.

Scott’s insistence that Alan not see Gordon for a bit was an exercise in futility, considering Alan had seen and heard everything in his brief six second visit. The youngest had received a tongue-lashing that was both unfair and unjustified, but he’d given Scott a free pass. The eldest Tracy was under a considerable amount of stress, which was further compounded by the late night vigils he held in a bid to alleviate Gordon’s night terrors.

It was two weeks before Alan learnt, second-hand from Virgil, about Gordon’s newfound fear of the Chaos Crew, specifically Havoc.

Unfortunately, it was another four weeks before Gordon recovered enough to tell them the reason for his fear.

Rage was an incredibly rare emotion to witness in the aquanaut, but when it happened, the world and his wife knew about it.

A common misconception outside of International Rescue was that it’s youngest operatives relied on their older brothers for protection. While Gordon wasn’t adverse to Scott or Virgil defending his honour, he could be quite the formidable foe when sufficiently provoked.

As Havoc would soon find out.

[kingreywrites]

sorry to bother you, but you seem like a good person to ask for this! :) i’m currently writing a post-series fic where eugene and rapunzel are both injured. since he would be the prince consort and she would be the queen, would they both be treated in an infirmary? maybe they would have private doctors in their bedroom? sorry i’m not really sure how things worked back then 😂 if you could shed some light on this, thanks!!

Hi! You're not bothering me at all!!

First, a disclaimer: I don't make as much research as you seem to think I do, so this is going to be mostly my assumptions 😂 To be honest, the TTS universe is weird, because it's definitely not in our time but it's also not in a set period at all. Google says it's around 1780, but there are things that match this and things that don't... Plus, there is magic so, from there, accuracy is pretty difficult to reach. And if we don't even think about the time period, we still don't know where TTS is truly based: it's kinda european, but then again, Europe has had very different kinds of royalty over time.

All of that to say: most of it doesn't make sense. And clearly, when writing fanfiction, it's pretty hard to make it make more sense than in the show, so my advice is to not worry too much about how it actually worked back then, because "back then" isn't truly defined, neither in time nor space. (Except if you love the research!! You do you! There are people who do world building way better than me in the Tangled fandom)

Then, for your actual question: technically, TTS never tells us there is an infirmary (in Secret Of The Sundrop, when the Captain is injured, they simply put him in the middle of the guards room which is pretty funny to me). BUT I assume they have one because... I feel like they should 😂 Huge castle with a lot of staff, lot of guards, lot of prisoners AND the royal family? They need to have medical help available. There was a royal infirmary in the Palace of Versailles at some point, if I'm not incorrect, so it doesn't sounds too far-fetched to me that there would be one in Corona too. Would the actual royals stay in it? What I'm sure of is that Rapunzel and Eugene aren't your usual royals, so, again, it doesn't sound impossible.

Then I'd say that it all boils down to the type and severity of the injury, and to what Rapunzel and Eugene actually want.

If they are conscious and able to communicate, do they want to go to the infirmary? Because, by doing so, they admit that they need help, and it can be hard for some people. Maybe they want the comfort and the normal offered by their bedroom, or maybe they're aware of how life threatening their injuries are and think that the infirmary is the best place to go... And maybe they can even disagree about it! People stubbornly refusing medical assistance make for some great angst in my opinion ahah

If one or both are unconscious (or simply not aware of their surroundings enough to make a decision), I'd say infirmary. Because, one, you get all the medical equipment in one place and easy to access, two, same thing goes for medical staff, and three, no bleeding on their probably expensive bed sheets. I think that where one goes, the other follows, so if one of them does end up in the infirmary, the other will too, even if they are less hurt. They definitely would have more privacy as Queen and Prince consort, and probably be separated from other patients and guarded, but I don't think that's impossible to do. Then it's all a question of how long they stay there before wanting to go back to their bedroom (because, as I said, constant medical staff in the infirmary = they'll probably miss the intimacy of their bedroom sooner or later)

They definitely would have private doctors still able to treat them in their bedroom, but if their injuries are severe enough, any emergency could be a question of time (and doctors running up the stairs leading to their bedroom in a panic would be funny, but not that effective I guess). Then again, if you prefer that kind of setting and the drama that comes with it, it can too be an option!

I feel like I'm just rambling but I hope that in the middle of all of that, you found some kind of an answer that is satisfying to you! It's not very historically based though, sorry for that. Research is fun, but when I write, I usually go with what's more interesting to write, not the most accurate, so I'm not sure I'm the best person to ask ahah

Anyway, I'm very interested in what you're writing!! I love whump, so I'll be watching out for your story!! 🥰

[hearse-song]

FUCK I love all those titles spill the tea

aaaa okay, this is going to probably going to be Vague and Rambly and Incredibly Long but hell yeah let’s go! (possible spoilers for things that I don’t know if/when they’ll actually be written)

The Daydream That Started It All

Probably the most developed out of all these the OCs have names and everything, but still mostly an unplanned mess bridging more clear scenes. This one started out as a vague daydream that I eventually decided that I wanted to try (keyword being “try”) to actually write. Basically, the soon-to-be-whumpee, Holly, has the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time during a road trip, and they end up a captive of a whumper who turns out to be an anthropomorphic personification of violence currently going by the name Kate (”currently” because she doesn’t actually think of herself as having a name, and because she’s collected a lot of temporary names during her very, very long time of being around solely to cause problems on purpose). Holly’s able to bargain their way out of being tortured to death, but the captivity part’s still a thing (Kate says they’re friends, Holly Very Much does not agree). They’re later joined by a second whumpee, James, who fun(?) fact was originally intended to be there just to be killed, but I decided it would be more fun to write if Holly had someone else to talk to, and also I ended up liking him too much. I’ve actually started writing this one, and I’ve got some outlines of Shenanigans that will Ensue.       

A Family Can Be Three Unrelated Serial Killers And An Anthropomorphic Personification Of Violence

This one’s actually related to the one above. What’s the fun of having an immortal villain if you can’t play around with them having a historical rap sheet of some sort that lets me fit in more references to my horrifying historical special interests/obsessions? I decided pretty early on when developing her that Kate would have been her universe’s equivalent of at least a couple historical serial killers, including as part of her universe’s equivalent of the Bender family, who I’ve tentatively called the Gebhardts in my story’s universe (big general warning for that link). Because sometimes, Kate comes across humans who know how to party are also super into murder and she decides they’d be fun to hang out with for a while.

I’ve got some ideas for like, how they meet and some Murder Shenanigans, but also, as much as this idea absolutely fascinates me, and as much as I really want to write it, this series is also kind of intimidating? Because a) now there’s four of these assholes to keep track of, and b) I know for certain my perfectionist ass will overthink the historical accuracy of the thing despite this deliberately being an alternate universe/alternate history deal. But, I guess we’ll see. This one, though, is one of the ones that has an actual title. If I ever write it, the series if going to be officially called “Likely Companions”.

All Roads Lead To Cannibalism

This one is still just a vague idea of “I should really write a survival cannibalism piece one of these days, that’d be fun.” I’m not really sure yet the events that would lead up to said survival cannibalism, or what time period I want to set it in, just that sometimes when a group of people get lost in the mountains, sometimes things happen. But! This is the only other story that I might have a real title for. I’m thinking if I ever actually finish it it’s going to be called “’Tis A Curious Place” as a reference to my favorite lines from the song “Words From The Executioner To Alexander Pearce”:

And tell me how do we taste It's a curious place, a mountain To resort to customs of the sea

because listen, this piece is already going to be incredibly self-indulgent, I may as well get a reference to a special interest in there too 

Local Immortal Straight Up Not Having A Good Time Right Now

Oooh, now this one’s the most recent, and is a bit of a half-formed thing. I actually got the idea as part of a dream, and it was fun enough that I wanted to try making it into it’s own thing. It’s more captivity whump, and the bare-bones basic idea from the dream was of a whumpee as the shared captive of two serial killer whumpers. I actually decided on the whumpee later on, but I figured that both me and the whumpers could have way more fun with a whumpee with regenerative healing powers. I’ve got some incredibly vague ideas for this (there will absolutely be cannibalism at some point, I’m certain of that) but I’m still at the stage of figuring out who the fuck everyone even is.

That said, some things I do know about this nonsense. Whumpee has been on the receiving end of being whumped at least once before in their past (though nothing quite like this situation) and Cannot Believe they’re having to go through this bullshit again. And, the whumpers were already friends but neither of them knew that the other was also a serial killer until they both went to dump a body at the same place at the same time because I thought it would be funny and then team-up happened.

Victorian-Era Surgery Is A Hell Of A Thing

This one is actually probably the most vague, another “I should try writing this, it sounds fun” thing. Basically like, I’d never been all that interested in medical or lab whump until I saw this post (that I can’t find again for the life of me) on ideas for steampunk whump, and one of the ideas was essentially lab whump but with Victorian era surgical and medical capabilities, pre-anesthesia and all, and I was pretty much just *slams a copy of Lindsey Fitzharris’ “The Butchering Art” down onto the table* count me the fuck in (my story probably won’t end up being steampunk, I really like that genre but I’m feeling writing a more historical piece, if I ever get an actual idea for the thing)

[mtngirlforever]

SRK ❤ pt. 2

So since I'm not really feeling this work day have some Carlos whump with a adorable Tarlos and a baby! Thank you to all you who offered medical input on this! I tried to gloss over it as much as possible so as not to screw it up too bad! Enjoy!

Here is part 1 if anyone needs a refresher https://mtngirlforever.tumblr.com/post/190830195629/srk-pt-1

Oh & In my head for this fluffy story  Iris doesn't have any problems sorry not sorry 

10 months later 

They'd settled into a fairly good routine with Sofia. Iris kept her when they were on shift at the same time which happened more often than not. If Iris couldn't, then usually Grace did if she was off and free. If neither could they resorted to plan c but that rarely happened. They were currently planning her first birthday and waiting for actual words instead of adorable babbles. She'd started walking when she was ten months old and they'd not been able to stop her since. Everybody loved the adorable little girl but none more than her parents. 

They'd left her with Iris for the day as they both had shift. TK was on a twelve covering for somebody and Carlos would be off in eight. They'd left her with kisses and promises to return soon. 

Carlos ended up having to work over when a call kicked off before he clocked out. He’d texted Iris and TK letting them know he’d be working over, but TK hadn’t heard from him since. TK had two hours left in his shift when they got the call to respond to an officer involved accident. It'd been a routine chase until a car came out of nowhere t-boning the side of the officer's cruiser sending it rolling through the air. The officer was currently trapped in his car and barely conscious. TK's heart dropped into his stomach when he heard Grace's calm voice say "Captain it's Carlos." 

Owen gave him an appraising look and Judd leaned over squeezing his shoulder giving him something to ground him. He could only nod back at his dad; his mind running on a loop of praying Carlos would be ok. He had to be ok. 

It took all TK had to resemble being professional when they got there. The cruiser was right side up, but  the passenger side was caved in, and it was noticeable that the cruiser had flipped. TK was in the car before Owen could even finish giving out the orders; he knew his son would want to make sure Carlos was fine with his own eyes. 

It felt like an eternity, but TK knew his team worked as fast as they could to get him out. Carlos was in and out, and TK was worried about internal injuries he couldn’t see. He could tell Carlos for sure had a broken ankle, and multiple cuts and bruises. He was almost positive Carlos had a concussion, and with the way he was in and out, TK was worried something inside was bleeding. As soon as they had him free, TK jumped in the ambulance with Michelle, praying the whole way Carlos was going to be ok. 

They'd been at the hospital for two hours now and TK was going stir crazy. He just wanted to see his husband and know that he was going to be ok. Michelle had called her sister and asked her to keep Sofia longer explaining what had happened. Iris readily agreed and told Michelle to keep her updated. 

Another hour passed before a doctor came out informing TK that Carlos was out of surgery. His ankle had been fixed, and they’d had to remove his spleen. He had a low grade concussion as well. A few of the cuts required stitches, especially one on his head. The doctor was certain he would make a full recovery, as long as nothing went awry and no infections set in. He promised TK that as soon as Carlos was moved to a room, he could see him.  

Owen hugged his son tight once the doctor walked off. He could see that TK was at the end of his rope and just needed a minute.  "It's gonna be ok. He's strong and he's gonna be fine," he whispered. 

"I know… I just…"

"I know," Owen said, giving him a squeeze. "I'm gonna go get Sofia from Iris but you call me if you need me ok?" 

"Yea…. Yea I will. Thanks dad. Give her a hug and kiss from us, yea?" He said giving Owen another tight hug. 

"I will kiddo." Owen and the rest of the team minus Judd and Grace left TK with it. Judd refused to leave until he was sure his little brother got back to see Carlos. 

Once they had Carlos in a room, TK went back to see him, and Judd and Grace went home making TK promise to call if he needed them. TK walks into the room and let's out a soft sigh. He pulls up a chair and grabs the hand that doesn't have an iv in it. He holds the hand tight, finally letting the tears fall he'd been holding in since they’d gotten the call. 

"You've got to be ok. Please be ok," he whispered. He sat there holding his hand and just watching his chest rise and fall until exhaustion took over and he fell asleep. It wasn't restful with nurses coming in and out, but he did get a little sleep. The doctor had told TK with a combination of the concussion and pain meds and anesthesia, Carlos would probably sleep for a while or be really in and out. The few times Carlos woke during the night, TK was asleep and the dim light in the room hurt his head too much to even wake TK.  TK's woken the next morning by Owen calling. 

"Hey dad," he said, rubbing his eyes as he answered the phone. He could hear his baby girl crying in the background and it broke his heart. 

"Hey kiddo. Guess you can hear little miss is not very happy."

"Yea I hear her. Put me on facetime." He just wanted to hold her tight and kiss the tears away but he wasn't sure if she needed to be there and see Carlos like that. 

They clicked over to facetime and TK’s heart broke even more when Sofia kept crying trying to reach for him through the phone. 

"Hey baby girl. You're ok. You're ok," he cooed at her. "Pops ain't that bad baby," he chuckled. 

She kept crying "dadadadada" over and over. She'd started saying dada a few weeks ago, and they were working on getting her to say papa now. 

"I know Sof. I'm sorry baby girl. You're ok tho. Daddy and Papa will be home as soon as we can." 

He blew kisses at her but nothing was working. "Just bring her on down dad. She's being stubborn like her papa," he smiled. "Oh and maybe a change or two of clothes for us?" 

"Yea kiddo if you're sure." 

"Not really, but she doesn't look like she's gonna stop anytime soon," he sighed. There was nothing he hated more than seeing his baby girl so upset. 

"Alright we'll be there in just a little bit," Owen said as they signed off. 

TK put his phone back in his pocket and sighed, picking up Carlos's hand again. "Your daughter is being stubborn just like you," he whispered. "She's giving dad a fit. So you better wake up because I don't want to scare her, you hear me Carlos. You gotta wake up," TK pleaded as he brushed the wayward curls off Carlos's forehead. 

Carlos stayed asleep and TK sighed. He kept rubbing his head and holding his hand just praying he'd wake up soon. Carlos came around a little, but his head was hurting too bad from the stitches and the concussion, that he drifted back off with TK whispering sweet nothings to him. TK hated seeing him in pain, so he was glad he was resting some. TK let everyone know he was wake but really in and out from the pain but they could visit.

Owen and Sofia arrived about thirty minutes later. She wasn't crying, but her little face was still red and she was still sniffling. As soon as she saw him, she started crying again babbling dada as she tried to get out of Owen's arms. "Oh baby girl," TK chuckled getting up and getting her. "You're ok Sof," he chuckled, rubbing her back and kissing her cheeks. He settled back in the chair by Carlos's bed glad she hadn't seen him yet as she snuggled into his neck sucking her thumb. She let out the occasional hiccup sob making TK chuckle a little. 

"Sorry dad," TK said once she'd settled. 

"It's ok kiddo. I remember someone else being just as dramatic when he was younger," Owen laughed getting an eye roll and a smile from TK. 

"Sofia Kennedy, Pops thinks we're dramatic," he cooed, rubbing her back. She just sniffled and closed her eyes, not loosening her grip on TK. 

A few hours later Sofia was sitting on Carlos's bed patting his legs and babbling to TK. Carlos had slept most of the day, only rousing a little while Sofia was napping. The whole team had been by to check on them and when Grace offered to take her, Sofia threw another fit making TK sigh. "Thanks anyways Grace," he told her when she gave him a hug and told him to call if he needed them. 

"Sof, what is your deal?" He cooed picking her up. She had always been easy going staying with someone else until now. 

"She knows you're worried and can sense something is going on," Owen said from his perch in the room. "She'll be ok once you're ok TK." 

TK just nodded letting Sofia snuggle on him some more. He softly talked to Carlos more and Sofia climbed back on the bed babbling to him. She kept looking at TK all confused when Carlos wasn't paying her any attention. 

"Papa's just sleeping baby girl," TK said, picking her up. 

"No no no no," she cried, reaching for Carlos again. 

"Alright baby girl I think Pops needs to take you home," he told her, kissing her cheek. Owen knew how hard this was on TK and he felt for his son. 

"Come on Sof, we'll go check on Buttercup," he told her trying to take her. She wrapped around TK tight crying. 

'Sof baby," TK cooed rubbing her back giving his dad the saddest look. 

"Ty," they barely heard over Sofia's cries. "Sof," Carlos said slowly waking up hearing his baby girl cry. 

"Dad," TK said, pulling Sofia loose and handing her to Owen. 

"Carlos babe? You ok?" He asked leaning over and rubbing his hair back as he gripped his hand tight. The few times he'd been in and out hadn't been enough for TK and he could tell this time he was fully waking up. 

"Tyler," Carlos said, finally fully opening his eyes.

"Hey babe I'm here," TK said softly kissing him. “You hurting? How’s your head?” TK asked softly. He reached over dimming the lights as low as possible knowing they'd bothered him earlier.  

"Sofia?" Carlos asked looking around. He knew he'd seen her napping on TK earlier, and he heard her crying but didn't see her. 

"Dads got her. She's ok. She's just being stubborn," he chuckled. 

"Or dramatic," Owen piped up bringing her back in. 

She was still crying, mad TK had handed her off earlier. "Sofia," Carlos cooed, getting her attention. 

Her big eyes settled on him before she rubbed them and reached for him. "Pap pap pap pap," she said for the first time trying to say papa. 

"She just…. Carlos she said it," TK said, lighting up as Sofia finally said it. "Come here baby girl," TK cooed, taking her and kissing her face. He held her down for Carlos to kiss on her and she turned the tears off. 

"Be easy Sof. We gotta take care of Papa while he's hurt," TK cooed at her when she tried wiggling out of his arms to get to Carlos. 

Sofia was getting sleepy, but cried once again when Owen tried to take her. "Take her home," Carlos said, still sleepy himself. 

"No. No way. I'm not leaving you here," TK said holding Sofia like a football swaying her back and forth to settle her. Her eyes were so heavy as she babbled sleepily watching Carlos. "She'll be asleep in just a few and dad can take her." 

Carlos sighed but nodded. He knew if the roles were reversed he wouldn't leave TK. Twenty minutes of swaying later and Carlos told TK she was out. Her thumb was in her mouth and she was sound asleep. TK shifted her up to his shoulder to make sure she'd stay asleep. Once they were sure she was out, Owen carefully took her telling his sons he'd see them tomorrow. 

TK slipped on an APD hoodie Owen had packed and sat back down by the bed. "You really scared me," he whispered, squeezing Carlos's hand tight. 

"I know… I'm sorry," Carlos said trying to tug TK to him. 

"You know I can't," TK chuckled leaning over and kissing him.

"You can break the rules just once," Carlos turned up the puppy eyes he'd learned from TK and it had TK caving. He crawled in the bed beside him and softly kissed his husband. "Never again, you hear me babe? Never again even if it got our daughter to finally say Papa." 

"I know. Never again," Carlos said, running his hand through TKs hair before they both drifted off. 

[rustedlaurels]

Just getting that first post out of the way by rambling a little, lol.

So, proper second blog for the self-indulgent shit that doesn’t mesh TOO well with my usual steadfast-fandom-archivist persona. Not that anybody would be surprised, mind you, but I figure there’s a difference between enjoying my mildly whump-focused analyses and original writing and like,,, full-blown h/c shit on main.

So. Who am I? You can call me Laurel (or whatever other abbreviation you can find I guess) or Guardy (they/them or he/him). I’m 24 years old as of now, I’m neither American nor British, I am queer as heck, and I’m into way too many old and obscure fandoms, fml. I also enjoy breaking fictional characters and then putting them back together for extra sappy happy endings.

I’m here for character analyses and headcanons, especially of the hurt/comfort-y persuasion, along with potential fanart, almost certainly writing (with some of it being original work instead of fic), hopefully gif sets, and many interesting fandoms you may never have heard of.

This is very much a multifandom blog, but if you like ONE thing I’m into, you may want to stick around for the others - there’s a pattern there. I like my fandoms a hint old-fashioned and reasonably light-hearted, with characters that are just a little... cracked.

Some stuff you may find here includes:

Hornblower:  1940′s/50′s books and an excellent late 90′s/early 00′s miniseries (... mainly the miniseries) featuring Ioan Gruffudd. (favorite whumpee: all of them minus poor Archie, but really more interested in emotional H/C; canon supplies enough physical whump to last a lifetime, lol) (ships: hornblower and/or bush and/or archie and/or côtard in any and all configurations)

Due South: 1990′s series about a Mountie in Chicago. (favorite whumpee: Fraser) (ships: ... I don’t really care as long as it’s not het)

Forever: A series about an immortal pathologist who ends up naked in rivers a lot, yes really. Featuring more Ioan Gruffudd. (favorite whumpee: Henry) (ships: none, really.)

White Collar: 2009-2014; series about a con artist working for the FBI. (favorite whumpee: Neal) (ships: low-key Neal/Peter/(Elizabeth, either as OT3 or with her being okay with it), but not necessarily romantically and/or sexually? Love of Some Kind, basically)

Star Trek (VOY/DS9/DSC mainly): ... you know what Trek is, I hope. (favorite whumpee: right now? Probably Bashir. Also Captain Janeway, though I normally feel decidedly iffy about femwhump). (Ships: Garak/Bashir) (EDIT: OHSHIT also ENT. Archer and Reed, both for the whumps and the ships)

Emergency!: 1970′s medical drama about two firemen/paramedics. Very, very interesting despite my usual dislike for medical dramas. (favorite whumpee: Johnny) (ships: ... idk? ideally none, except for queerplatonic Johnny/Roy if you wanna count that)

Assassin’s Creed 2: video game, but you knew that; also there’s a short film for that one called “Lineage”, which is one of my favorite pieces of media. (Favorite whumpee: Giovanni Auditore; yes, really.) (ships: Gio/Lorenzo is my problematic fave. Also Ezio/Leo because obviously.)

Rivers of London: book series; wizards in modern-day london. Imagine the Dresden Files but less grimdark. (favorite whumpee: Nightingale) (ship: Peter/Nightingale)

... aaand many many more, including my own, original projects.

[jarienn972]

Only a Little Superstitious - Chapter Four

I’ve been trying to catch up on chapter updates and realized that I’d forgotten to add this new chapter that’s been up on AO3 and FF.net for a couple of weeks now.  I’ve got to remember not to try to keep track of two WIPs at the same time again. 

I’d seen a post by @killian-whump earlier tonight that she’d been in a mood so perhaps a new chapter featuring a semi-conscious pirate might help cheer her up.  Again, my apologies for not getting this up on Tumblr sooner.

From the beginning:  Chap 1  Chap 2  Chap 3

At some point, Emma lost track of how long she'd just been sitting there at the desk dividing her attention between the intriguing map displayed before her and monitoring Killian's fitful slumber. She listened to his pained moans and occasional gasps for breath amidst the rumble of thunder and brilliant flashes of lightning. This tiny cabin might be small, but at least it appeared to be well constructed – a fact she was extremely thankful when she gazed through the front window, mesmerized by the rain pounding the gravel parking lot. She didn't even dare think how awful things would have been if they'd been caught without shelter in this weather.

Eventually, the downpour tapered off and the skies gradually began to brighten, the grey clouds pushing off to the east. She was feeling more optimistic now that the storm had passed, hopefully that either the phone service would be restored or that someone would come by to ensure that no hikers had been caught unprepared. It was a long shot that either would happen, but at least they were safe here for a while, even though she was being reminded by the displeasure of her growling stomach that they didn't have any food. She finished off one of the bottles of water, knowing it would do little to placate her hunger but she didn't want to become dehydrated. There wasn't much she could do for Killian though. If they could get him to a hospital, she knew he'd likely need intravenous fluids and probably a blood transfusion, but first he had to survive until help arrived.

Her sight drifted down to the map once again where a red square marked their current position, so she sort of knew where they were. A red box in the middle of a desolate wilderness. Nothing in her knowledge of how magical portals were supposed to work should have brought them here. Neither of them would have been thinking about such a foreign place so why did the portal dump them out here on the side of an arid mountain? That was the nagging question that still bothered her, as did the vaguely familiar names depicted on the map.

Salt River… Superstition… Lost Dutchman SP…

And just like that, something clicked.

They were all places she remembered from her time spent in Arizona… Time spent in Phoenix that she'd desperately wanted to forget.

Somehow, they were back in Arizona – somewhere deep in the Superstition mountains east of Phoenix but how the hell did a portal bring them here? Killian had never been here so this would never have been a location which would have crossed his mind and it certainly wouldn't have been in the forefront of hers. There must have been something unusual about this portal – something that only that crazy plum headed witch might be able to tell them, assuming that anyone could get her to spill her secrets. The only positive note was at least they'd been dropped in a place where getting home would be relatively easier unlike Neverland or some other far off realm. Granted, until Killian was healed enough to travel, even getting back home to Storybrooke from here was going to take a few days at least.

But first they had to get off this damned mountain. With the storm now a safe distance away, Emma tentatively reached for the telephone receiver once again, bringing it to her ear fully anticipating silence, but to her surprise, this time there was a dial tone. She started to dial 911, but stopped herself before pressing the second 1, reminding herself that they were in the middle of an isolated National Forest roughly an hour from the closest major city. 911 probably wouldn't work up here but while logic should have told her to dial 0 to reach an operator who could connect her to the closest emergency services, the only numbers she could find swirling around in her head were those of family and friends back in Storybrooke. Family and friends who were likely worried sick wondering where she and Killian had been transported to.

So, she punched in the digits for a more familiar number and waited – hoping that they'd answer even though it was going to be an unknown number displayed on the Caller ID.

"Hello?" came the confused yet desperately welcome sound of her father's voice.

"Dad!" she exclaimed. "It's me – Emma. I'm so glad I got through!"

"Emma?" David's voice still echoed with confusion, wondering how his daughter was managing to call him. What other realm could she have been sent to that had working telephones? "Emma, where are you?"

"It's a long story, but the portal apparently dropped us into the mountains of Central Arizona."

"Arizona? You mean like the state out west?" she could hear him relay some muffled information to someone else in the background. Probably telling her mother but she couldn't make out all of the voices until he put the call on speaker. "Emma, your mom, Henry and Regina are all here."

"Good," Emma stated, hoping that maybe with all four of them hearing their plight, perhaps they could come up with a group solution. "Maybe together we can all figure out how this happened…"

"How the hell did you end up in Arizona?" Regina asked bluntly.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Emma replied. "You'll have to ask that cotton candy haired sorceress with the gold scepter how she managed to send us here. Maybe she'll shed some light on our current location. All I know is that we got dropped out of the portal onto the side of a mountain east of Phoenix. We managed to find what appears to be a Park Service way station at the end of one of the hiking trails. That's where I'm calling from but we're going to have to find a way off this mountain soon or Killian might not make it…" Her voice quivered with those last few words as her gaze drifted over to her wounded husband across the cabin.

"It looked like he got stabbed right before the portal opened," Snow spoke up. "How is he?"

"Pretty bad," Emma responded. "The wound is pretty deep and it hasn't completely stopped bleeding. He's asleep right now, but I'm honestly getting worried…"

"We found the dagger that our mystery man stabbed him with. Nasty looking thing that if I'm right might be older than Hook himself," David said.

"The guy dropped it after he stabbed Killian?"

"Yeah – right before he jumped through the portal behind you…," David continued.

"He jumped into the portal too?" she lamented. "If he ended up on this mountain, he didn't get dropped into the same place we were. We haven't encountered another person, but I swear, if I see that guy again, I might just shoot first and ask questions later…" Emma insisted.

"Glad you still have some sort of weapon since you don't have magic out there," Snow stated. "Be careful."

"I will be - especially now that I know we might not be alone up here," Emma assured her. "Have you learned anything about these two?"

"She's not talking yet – other than to express her anger over you stealing her gold," Regina stated, "but I'm working on that. Right now, she's locked up down in Zelena's old cell with the cuff curtailing her magic. I'll get her to open up one way or another…"

"Her gold?" Emma scoffed. "What did she mean by that? The thing only gold up here would be the color of the sand and the sun. If her portal was supposed to send her somewhere with gold, she must have miscalculated. Pretty sure this would count as a total failure."

"I don't know, but it's certainly an interesting development considering all her ranting about it," Regina said. "We'll find out what we can, I promise."

"Thanks," Emma responded, pausing momentarily to think. If the man who'd stabbed Killian followed them through the portal, where did he end up? He didn't land in the same clearing they had, but that didn't mean that he couldn't be lurking nearby. That fact was certainly going to complicate things. He knew Killian was wounded because he's the one who'd inflicted the injury so he'd naturally assume that they'd attempt to get medical attention so now, attempting to get him to a hospital might not be the safest option – but neither was staying here. "I might have to rethink a few things on this end…" Emma stated after a few seconds of silence.

"What do you think you're going to do?" her mother wondered. "At least you're still in this realm – could you fly back home?"

"That's probably not a good idea," Emma cringed. "A three hundred year old wounded pirate on an airplane? Even if we could get through TSA scrutiny, I'm not sure I could deal with that trip… I could probably rent a car and drive back but it would take days and right now, I don't think he's strong enough to manage that long of a road trip. We might be stuck here in Arizona for a while…" If she'd felt secure enough to leave Killian here in the cabin, she contemplated hunting down his assailant, but she felt safer staying here with him.

"We'll figure out a way to get you both home," her father insisted, ever the optimist.

"Well, like I said, our first priority is finding a way down this mountain. I'll call you when we're somewhere safer."

"Please keep us updated," Snow urged.

"I'll try – and please, see what you can get out of that witch," Emma reminded them. "Hopefully you'll have some answers when I call next time as to how we ended up in Arizona."

"Oh, I'll get her to talk," Regina insisted.

"I hope so. I'll be back in touch as soon as I can," Emma stated as she wrapped up the call then placed the receiver down onto its cradle, deciding it was time to check on her husband. Even from this distance, she could see beads of perspiration arching across his forehead and noticed his fingers trembling slightly. How long had it actually been since he'd been stabbed? An hour and a half? Maybe two hours? She wasn't naïve enough to deny he was getting worse, but the knowledge that the stranger who'd done this was somewhere on the same summit as them complicated matters, not to mention gave Emma an unnerving, queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had to think of a way to get them out of here and find Killian some sort of proper medical attention that wouldn't draw too much attention. A helicopter would be far too visible even if it was the fastest and probably safest means. By the looks of the gravel parking lot and minimalist road heading away from the cabin, an ambulance, even without lights and siren, was probably out of the question too as this area was most likely accessible only to four-wheel drive vehicles.

The more she thought about it, the increasingly frustrated she found herself. Even with transportation, how could they go to an Emergency room? Hospitals would ask lots of questions – questions that she might not be able to answer and there was of course the concern that their mystery opponent might have ended up closer to the city. Maybe he was already stalking hospitals and urgent care centers… Emma was smart enough to know that a few dollars passed to the right person could provide all sorts of information and it wasn't like the treatment of a one handed man with a stab wound to the chest would be a daily occurrence so they'd likely garner a lot of unwanted scrutiny.

But for the moment, her concerns would have to be pushed aside as her astute hearing picked up the unmistakable sound of gravel being crunched under vehicle tires. Someone was in the parking lot. She listened keenly as the vehicle stopped and cut the engine, followed seconds later by a door opening, then slamming closed. Instantly tensing, she tried to get a look at the vehicle but couldn't make it out from her vantage point. Instinctively she drew her weapon and crouched down attempting to stay out of view as she tried to position herself between the doorway and her slumbering husband who was thankfully oblivious to the potential danger.

She hadn't heard the approaching footsteps but a rattle from the other side of the only door alerted her that someone was testing the latch once held closed by the ruined padlock that now hung uselessly there. The door began to inch open as she awaited the confrontation.

"Who's there?" a male voice called as she caught a glimpse of a law enforcement style service weapon leading through the slightly ajar door. "You're trespassing on Federal Government property…" the voice continued as the door opened further to reveal a tall, slim man in a tan and olive green uniform and wide brimmed hat who seemed somewhat startled to find an attractive blonde woman crouched on one knee beyond the door aiming a gun back at him. "Easy, lady…," he said calmly without lowering his own weapon. "I'm National Park Service Ranger Carlos Littlecreek and you've broken into one of our way stations…"

"Sorry," Emma replied, remaining taut and unrelenting. "Didn't have much of a choice. My husband's injured and we needed shelter from that storm that just went through here. I'll buy you a new padlock…"

"Okay, I don't blame you. If you'll put the weapon away, perhaps I can help?" He raised his open left palm, extending it toward her as he used his right hand to tuck his service weapon back into its holster. "See – not a threat…"

"I'm not trying to be either, but the person who wounded my husband may still be looking for us and I can't take any chances," Emma explained, exhaling deeply as she lowered her own gun and softened her stance.

"Okay then, let me help you. You said your husband is hurt?"

"He was stabbed. I'm having trouble getting the bleeding under control…"

"Well, I see you found our primitive first aid kit," he said seeing the white plastic case spread out on the floor behind her but she hadn't yet stepped aside to let him through to approach her husband. "I can go radio for a rescue chopper…"

"No – no helicopters," she insisted. "That would bring way too much attention."

"You sure? It's not like we can get an ambulance up here that easily…" He wondered if she was being a tad overprotective but her body language spoke for her – she absolutely wasn't taking any chances. "You're really worried about this person following you…," the Ranger said, trying to be as empathetic as possible despite his confusion. This woman was armed and quite obviously knew how to defend herself and yet she was worried about drawing attention to them? Just who the hell were they running from? "Okay, I'll be happy to drive you down to the city, but its gonna take longer that way."

"That's fine. My first concern is getting somewhere safe."

"Let me go radio back to base and let them know I'm aiding some stranded hikers…," he stated. "I'll be right back and then maybe on the way, you'll tell me how you got yourselves into this predicament? You definitely don't look like you were out for a hike…" He pointed at Emma's knee high leather boots with their two and a half inch block heels.

"I'll try, but I'm not promising much... Mainly because honestly, I don't know myself," she replied – and that wasn't even stretching the truth. "Let me see if I can wake him and find out if he's strong enough to walk out to your vehicle."

The Ranger smiled and gave a quick tip of his hat before returning to his vehicle to contact his dispatcher. Emma was a bit reluctant to accept his assistance, certain she was about to get bombarded with tons of questions but her super power insisted she could trust him. He had the authority to simply arrest them for breaking and entering or trespassing, but he hadn't – at least not yet. He had offered to help them even if he might have thought her insane for refusing a helicopter rescue.

She couldn't dwell on that thought right now though as her priority was ensuring that her husband was prepared for a long, likely bumpy trip down to the valley below. She knelt beside the cot and lifted her jacket off of him, tossing it for the moment onto the pile with his stained clothing. Before trying to wake him, she decided to check the bandages and upon peeling back the blanket, found blood was soaked through both layers of gauze so she hoped Ranger Littlecreek would be patient enough to allow her time to change them. She hurried to the bathroom to wash her hands, drying them on the last remaining clean hand towel before returning to the main room to pull the necessary supplies from the first aid kit.

It didn't take quite as long to swap out the gauze as the initial process of cleaning and dressing the wound had taken, but she grew worried when Killian didn't react to the sting of the alcohol. Was he so soundly asleep that he hadn't felt it or was he simply going numb to sensation?

"Killian?" she called as she gently wiped away the sheen of sweat from his forehead with the towel. "Killian – I need you to wake up. A park ranger found us and can give us a ride down to the city, but we need to get you on your feet to get to his car…" She felt him shift, grimacing and groaning from the pain as he stirred.

"Emma…?" his voice sounded deeper than normal as he woke. "How long was I asleep?"

"Half an hour? Maybe longer? I'm not really sure but the storm is gone so it's safe to go out…" She wasn't about to let him find out yet that his assailant had followed them through the portal. "Do you think you can walk outside to his car? I'll help you…"

"Aye," he replied, forcing himself to sit upright while wincing through his own agony. He let the blanket fall to the floor as he swung his feet over the side of the cot, but no sooner had his heels hit the floor, Emma stopped him before he even attempted to stand.

"Hang on – give me your hook before the Ranger gets back," she demanded, her tone rushed as she reached for his artificial appendage, giving the steel hook a brief twist to pop it free from the base. "We're going to face enough questions as it is. I don't want this to trigger any more than necessary…" He nodded in understanding as she tucked it away amongst the heap of leather before retrieving the plaid blanket from the floor and wrapping it about his shoulders to cover the rest of his brace. "We'll just keep you wrapped up in this, okay? I really don't want to fight with your blood soaked clothing right now…"

"This will do splendidly," he replied with a lazy grin but she knew he was deflecting, hiding his anguish behind a smirk. She positioned herself directly in front of him, extending her arms toward him as he stood. She quickly grasped his forearm with her right hand while slipping her left hand around his waist as he waivered trying to find his balance.

"Easy…," she instructed, urging him to lean into her as much as possible. "We'll take it slow…" Lightheaded from dehydration and blood loss, he had to check his balance with every tentative step, relying almost entirely on his wife's strength to keep him from falling by the time they reached Ranger Littlecreek's black SUV with the National Park Service emblem painted across the hood and front door on each side of the vehicle. The Ranger yanked open the rear passenger side door while Emma helped Killian climb inside, nearly having to lift him herself when he stumbled. Once he was safely inside the SUV, she closed the door and darted back inside the cabin to fetch the first aid kit in case they needed it and collect both of their leather jackets, although the air temperature had warmed considerably since they'd arrived here. She also picked up the last unopened bottle of water that she'd removed from the refrigerator earlier figuring as long as Killian was conscious, she'd try to get him to drink more.

"Ready?" Ranger Littlecreek asked her as she came back to the vehicle with arms laden. He was standing beside the front passenger door as she exited the cabin and for a moment, she might have thought he'd opened that door for her, but he reached into the glove compartment instead, withdrawing a combination padlock.

"Yes – I'm quite ready to get off this mountain," Emma replied as she strolled around to the driver's side of the SUV and climbed into the backseat. Once buckled in, she fought to fasten Killian's seatbelt as his head fell onto her shoulder.

"Okay – let me lock up here. You can replace our padlock later," the Ranger grinned as he swapped out the previous lock Emma had destroyed. It only took him a few seconds to secure the way station once again and as he climbed into the vehicle, he turned to face his passengers before starting the engine. "Alright – the closest medical facility is in Apache Junction, but I'd feel safer taking you into Mesa to an Emergency room."

"I'm not sure that would be safe. For all we know, the man who stabbed my husband is already staking out Emergency rooms or urgent care places… I'd rather go somewhere that's off the grid – maybe a private doctor if you know one…"

"Are you sure? I mean, I know someone who might be able to help, but we're not talking modern medical facilities…"

"Please – any place where we won't be asked a zillion questions," Emma insisted.

"Okay, I know a Native healer who can help you out. She's basically a Navajo pharmacist, but she does a lot more for the tribe."

"Kind of a medicine woman?"

"No – not really. She doesn't do all of the traditional rituals and chants. She an herbalist - she blends plants, flowers, spices and stuff to create natural remedies. She'll know what to do."

"Sounds like just the person we need right now."

"Well then sit back and buckle up. The storm washed out part of the road through the arroyo south of here. It'll be a little rough until we reach the main highway."