#do I write whump now??

[piscespixiewastaken]

Despair and Desperation

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STORY BELOW CUT

content warnings: eye trauma, nightmares, implied child abuse, sexual innuendos, violence, mentions of blood, panic attacks, kidnapping

Artemis’s cry cut through Foaly’s consciousness. The tremor in the Mud Boy’s voice only accentuated by the mic on his throat. Spiro’s leering face could be seen through the iris cam as he grabbed a sharp implement from a nearby table and rushed at the boy. There was a scream for help before Spiro raised the blade above Artemis’s head. Foaly could do nothing but watch in horror as the blade struck and the scream for help became a scream of pain.

Foaly jumped awake, chest heaving as his mind processed where he was. A dream, he realized. It was only a dream. But no matter how much he assured himself, it didn’t make the dream less terrifying.

His wife, Caballine stirred next to him.

“Foaly, what’s wrong?”

He couldn’t answer, just trying to get his breathing back under control, to clear his head from the horrid scream. Because no matter how much he assured himself, that scream had been real. He had seen Spiro stab Artemis in a fit of rage. The screams and the way all feed, visual and auditory, suddenly cut off had been haunting Foaly’s nightmares ever since.

Caballine sat up and rubbed her husband’s shoulders. “You did everything you could, dear. It’s not your fault.”

Foaly took a shuddering breath. “I could have. I could have snuck him help. Something. He’s dead because we couldn’t help him.” Even if the Mud Boy had been annoying and arrogant and a general pain in the ass, he’d been improving. He didn’t deserve to be abandoned. He didn’t deserve to die.

Caballine said nothing as she hugged Foaly close. It was a long time before either of them got back to sleep.

~

Spiro stared out at the skyline of Chicago. He had needed this. A break from the office, from the workplace drama that was inevitable in such a large corporation. So instead of spending his weekend in the penthouse, he’d taken the day with Blunt and gone out on Lake Michigan in a yacht. Well, not just with Blunt. A few local mafia members, including one Carla Frazzetti and her boss, also sat on the boat, enjoying the first sunny days of summer on the deck.

He raised a glass of water in greeting as one of the mafia bosses approached his chair. The rotund man laughed as he plopped a deck chair beside Spiro.

“This is the life, ain’t it?” the man stated. Marco Giuliano was not a man to hold back from life’s pleasures, immoral or otherwise. Something Spiro could respect despite his inability to partake in the more drink-oriented ones. Hence his glass of water instead of the martini that Marco held in his beefy hands.

“It is indeed. Now if only we could get away to Cuba or a proper coastline,” Spiro commented, smiling.

Marco laughed again. “If only, if only. Say, where is that little brat I keep hearing you have tucked away in your penthouse. I thought you might have brought him out. I could use some fun.”

Spiro tried not to let a sour look cross his face. He would need to keep a tighter check on the lips of his security and tech staff.

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to there. We did have a new technician start up last month, young, fresh out of school. Maybe he’s the one you’re thinking of?”

Marco looked puzzled. “Could have sworn I heard different. But eh, work gossip is still gossip. This mean things are going well for you?”

Spiro’s smile returned with ease. “Absolutely. I can’t wait to stick it to Phonetix once they see what we release next.”

Marco grinned. “Well, just don’t be causing too much trouble. My buddy’s got connections there.”

Spiro took the hint. “Nothing that’ll put them under. Just something to show they have some upgrading to do if they want to stay in business.”

Marco nodded. “Excellent. Keep up the work for us, Jonny boy.”

He strolled away, glass still in hand as he grabbed the waist of an escort standing by the deck railing. At least Spiro thought it was her waist. He didn’t dwell on the thought. Carla however had some very choice words to say as she walked up beside him.

“Pig,” she muttered. Spiro raised an eyebrow in her direction.

“Didn’t think you were the judgmental type.”

She shrugged. “I had been looking at that one.”

Spiro glanced back at Marco and the young woman on his arm. “Ah, well, there’s plenty that’s been paid for.”

“And he’ll take them all at once if he could. Hence, he’s a pig.”

Spiro shrugged this time. “Fair enough. Need something?”

Carla did not sit down next to him. “I heard what you told Marco.” Her voice lowered so that only Spiro could hear her. “You kept him alive?”

Spiro nearly scoffed. “You expect me to kill a child in cold blood? When he’s much more profitable to me alive?”

“Profitable?” Carla’s voice betrayed a morbid curiosity.

“Of course! With a brain like his, I’ll be making bank on every patent possible. And if he ends up running out of use, his family has plenty of enemies who’d love a swing at him. Sell him off, profit regardless. I’ve already set up a way to destroy any evidence of his kidnapping as well. Nothing could point to him being under my possession.”

“He seemed rather stubborn and strong-willed by your description. It sounds like that’s changed,” Carla noted, her curiosity still piqued.

Spiro’s smile turned nasty, and for a brief moment, Carla felt a sense of pity for the Fowl boy. “Oh, it’s changed all right. He’s become an obedient little bitch, if you catch my meaning.”

Carla did catch his meaning. And her brief moment of pity for the young teen solidified. “I see,” she replied quietly.

~

Across the harbor in the tall, gleaming tower Spiro owned, a 14-year-old boy sat in the medical suite with the nurse. Two hulking guards stood outside, one of them with gritted teeth and clenched fists.

Chips watched as Pex’s knuckles turned white and thin bits of blood slowly dripped to the floor from his fists. He was angry. No, beyond angry, though Chips didn’t think he knew the right word for it. Whatever it was, it was bad and it was big. He heard the kid whimper from behind the door and then suddenly cry out. Pex immediately rushed to open the door. Chips peeked inside.

Artemis was shaking on the bed, clutching his head where his empty eye socket sat. Bloodstained wrappings lay around him from when the nurse changed the bandages on his eye and throat. Miss Scorzi made shushing noises to soothe the boy as he hunched forward. Chips heard a growl beside him as Pex stepped forward.

“What’d you do to him?” he demanded. Artemis flinched, looking up at the two men.

Miss Scorzi frowned at the significantly larger man now standing in her doorway. “Do not disturb my patient, Pex. He’s under enough stress already, and more sudden noises will only make this harder for both of us.

Pex wasn’t dissuaded. “Why’d he make that noise?”

Miss Scorzi stared the man down before sighing. “The bandage stuck to the wound a bit more than I expected, and it pulled at the skin. He’s fine, for now.”

Chips watched Pex look at Artemis and then back at the nurse. He growled again, this time in a different tone.

“I just… It was… It’s the same noise he made after Boss…” Pex stuttered. Chips felt like his body wanted to move down and inside of himself. It took him several minutes to realize that this feeling was sadness.

Miss Scorzi had a look on her face that seemed to match what Chips was feeling. She also looked back at the teenager on her medical bed. “I know. I wish the boss would do things differently. If Doctor Julio hadn’t been visiting that day….”

Artemis tensed, his breathing speeding up as his face went pale. Well, more pale than it was. Miss Scorzi rushed over to him, placing her hands on his shoulders.

“Hey, hey. Look at me,” she said, gentle and firm. Chips also moved forward and placed a hand on the boy’s head.

Artemis slowly began to breathe more normally again. Chips was relieved. He didn’t know how to handle panic, especially with Pex here. He knew Pex would panic first anyways.

“You’re safe right now, kid.” Chips found his voice was so quiet, he almost couldn’t hear it. He realized he was angry too. “He can’t get you here.”

Artemis nodded. Miss Scorzi gave Chips a grateful look before gently rubbing the boy’s arm. “Let’s finish getting you patched up, okay? Then these two will take you back to your room. Spiro will be out for most of the day, and I’ll see if one of the other staff members can stall him before he comes to see you. Okay?”

It wouldn’t be much. Chips really hoped Boss came back in a good mood. He thought back to what Pex had mentioned a few months before. And he realized something. Chips realized he didn’t like Boss holding the kid here either. He had thought after a year, things would calm down. But they hadn’t. They’d gotten bad, real bad. Maybe someone needed to do something about that. He just didn’t know who.

Taglist: @artemis-fowl-angst

[whumpasaurus101]

[wisteria-whump]

wait im thinking about a whumpee who kept a journal throughout like their entire life (or at least since before whatever trauma they've endured) so their friends post-rescue either find the journals and read them or whumpee even offers them to their friends as a way of showing what they were like before or articulating their feelings without having to say anything out loud..,,... and there's just such a difference between before, during, and after.....,,,,,,

[3-2-whump]

TW: Rape/Noncon, intimate whumper, obsessed whumper, domestic violence

Imagine this with me: an angry, jealousy-fueled noncon between whumper & whumpee. Clothes-ripping, hair-pulling, being bodily slammed into hard surfaces, no love nor lube, etc.

Imagine me, trying to decide who’s crying during this angry, jealousy-fueled noncon. I could go for the easy choice -because whumpee almost always looks good crying- but then, my partner said something about crying being an emotional outlet, which got my brain turning. If crying is an outlet for humans to let out emotions (any emotions), what if both of them were crying?

So now imagine with me: an angry, jealousy-fueled noncon between whumper & whumpee where both of them are crying.

Whumper is crying something like “What do they have that I don’t? Why am I not enough for you?!”

Whumpee is crying because “No, stop, it hurts, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

[boxboysandotherwhump]

I polished an old piece of mine, trying to get into creating stuff again :3

[fallenwhumpee]

There's not enough leader whumpees. They desperately try to stay strong because people depend on them. They are distant because they are an authority figure. They don't get the attention they need because they seem like they're holding themselves and the team together just fine. They never stop, so the others can. They do everything to keep their people safe. Just. Leader whumpees.

[whump-queen]

Do you have any OC’s or Whump scenarios that came along via spite? I know for me I get a lot of inspiration by eating traditional media where they imply something bad did/or is gonna happen, but then they cut right before it!! And I’m like “well I guess I’ll do it myself!!”

Is this pretty much the basis of fanfic yes yes it is but are there any specific instances you remember or want to mention?

Okok you want like specific instances??

How about when there’s a pretty servant boy but he never gets hit/hurt onscreen??

I’ve written a lot of servant whump and I really wish more media would explore the ~full potential~

Like, you’re telling me they never punish this guy??

They never just throw him down and beat the bloody shit out of him for fun?? For things that weren’t even his fault??

like.. He’s meant to take it. It’s literally what he’s there for.

You can beat him to the ground cuz it’s fun. Play mind games with your affection. Set him up to fail and then punish him anyway. Anything goes!

Don’t tell me you don’t wanna slap a pretty servant boy across the face with a couple rings on and hear him apologizing to you~

Leave a few nice bloody marks on his pretty face~ It’ll help him remember what he did.

You’re doing him a favor, really. helping him remember his place~

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s2 episode 8 thoughts

tears. in my eyes. shaky breathing. oh. okay.

well. no place to start but the beginning.

stares at my laptop screen for a long, long time before typing. give me a minute. allow to me collect myself.

okay. we start with scully's mom narrating. and we learn, thanks to the subtitles, that her mom's name is margaret. this is information i will also be storing in my useless scully facts book.

so we knew she had two brothers, but a sister is also mentioned, named melissa. and we get this story from her childhood, about how dana- which feels wrong for me to type, but i will- was given a bb gun by her brothers, and she joined in with them shooting a snake. but then she realized it was bleeding and she cried as it bled out in her hands and held it while it died. which is already So much to handle. and her mom is saying that she feels how her daughter felt that day watching the animal die.

the next thing we see is mulder is there, and. he's saying it's still too early to know if she's gone. but. well.

we see a gentleman bring something out. and it is a gravestone with her name carved into it.

he turns away like he was burned from even looking at it. and man. that hurt. very badly.

we see that her middle name is katherine. and we learn this because we see it on her gravestone.

he goes back to his place (where he still sleeps on the couch) but then he gets a phone call that they've found her. and he busts into the door when the nurse says he can't go in there. that's our man!

he's screaming at these poor healthcare workers, somewhat rightfully suspicious they're involved with the government who took her, but also man. they don't get paid enough. however, i understand the emotional explosiveness this had to have provoked. so he is really just screaming, at the nurse, at the doctor, demanding to know what the hell happened, where she came from, and he says "i swear i'll do anything, i'll find out what they did to her" while being escorted out

then there is a very tense conversation between the doctor and her mother and him. the doctor must have already have been in quite a state, because mere minutes ago a raving angry man accused him of stealing his friend, and now he's sitting with said angry man explaining that they genuinely have no idea how she got here, and that she has no indication of injury.

we also learn that she had no desire to remain on life support past a certain point. and mulder knows this because. he. he. he uh. well he signed her will.

now i think maybe that's just something you have to do at the fbi and i can see them making a little joke out of it- a nice little trip to get each other's will signed, make a day of it, keep it light and funny- but man. man in this context. oh i'm gonna be Sick.

so we see a woman holding a crystal over her body and we learn it is her sister melissa!!! she's really pretty. she tries to show mulder that you can feel her energy by holding his hands over her but he gets angry and leaves.

(i love this dichotomy here, that somehow the ultra skeptic has a sister who is into talking about spirits and crystals. truly i feel this is what happens to people raised catholic)

at this point i wrote "girl i'm stressed tf out" and yeah. kinda the whole mood.

melissa is saying that his anger and fear is blocking the positive emotions she needs to feel, which echoes my statements about how he has been too cranky this season. but i can't even laugh because the man is in Distress.

he goes back to his place after saying he needs "to do more than just wave his hands", and he's bouncing a basketball and putting tape on his windows. i get it. that oppressive feeling of being unable to sit still. every moment dragging like a lifetime. bounce bounce bounce. he wakes up and rips the tape off his windows.

and back to attending to her bedside. i do not think this man has been clocking into his shift at the fbi.

we see a fellow enter wearing a suit and carrying flowers and i was like oh shit is it last rites time? um. so maybe i don't know what gets worn to a last rites event. i realize my weakness in this area and will do some research when we're done here.

but it's not anyone here to do that- it's frohike, the guy from the lone gunman who was making weird comments about scully! he must have come to pay his last respects. he picks up a clipboard and i thought oh my gosh he's gonna start reciting poetry- but he notices something weird on her chart and sneaks it out

it seems the whole thing was orchestrated, because mulder goes back to the freaks at the lone gunman, who invite him to come over and watch earth 2 and point out the factual inaccuracies- which, all things considered, is very sweet- but they send her blood data to a hacker that uses a richard nixon persona and he says that yeah, her blood is weird. and mulder's like, is she gonna make it, and they say no. it got very somber.

in terms of scully view, we see her on this dock of a boat between life and death. i thought that was nice imagery, and extremely eerie. those around her bedside are on one side of the dock, and it looks like the rope could snap and drift away at any moment.

the nurse comes in to do some blood work and i have another "augh blood" moment. so i look away. and mulder is REALLY pondering her blood. i thought he was honestly gonna take it for himself, maybe bring it in for testing or keep it like an emo.

but no! a strange man in a suit STEALS the blood!

so mulder is back into track star mode and is SPRINTING after this guy. i always forget that he is a runner. and he is RUNNING around this hospital and makes it to the parking lot until...

he is stopped by deep throat 2.0, a man for whom i realize i have no other name. but you know who i'm referring to, right? so i guess that name will work for now. deep throat 2.0 says that mulder needs to stop NOW, and that HE got deep throat 1.0 AND scully killed by looking into things too hard. which is an absolutely awful thing to say btw. deep throat 2.0 has a gun to mulder's head and says to stop searching.

mulder proceeds to run after the blood thief despite these warnings. can't say i blame him. he finds the blood thief!!! and they have a bit of a fight until...

deep throat 2.0, who earlier said he wanted to remain out of this mess, rolls up? so we're getting mixed messages here. and he says i'll take care of this and SHOOTS THE BLOOD THIEF?????? in the head.

back to the hospital. mulder is not pleased about the prospect of life support being removed but melissa says he has to honor her wishes. and he's going on about the blood protein and the doctor is like "why do you think this has anything to do with blood protein" and he Does Not Explain

her mom calls him "fox" again and says this is a moment for the family, but he can come too. and he won't come in. he's the wettest and saddest a man has ever looked as they go in there. and then the rope holding her to the dock of the afterlife is severed.

man. if i had been a contemporary viewer i would have been sobbing. thank god i've seen gifsets that prove this wasn't the end for her. because if i hadn't, i would have been in shambles. i mean i Was in shambles but like i would have been bawling on the floor.

cig man is with skinner. i honestly didn't think we'd get up to any sort of fbi related tasks in this episode, but he hands skinner a report and leaves. and then mulder comes in and denies being involved with the shootout at the hospital

(it's worth noting that he is doing all the denying to be an ass to skinner, and yells about "how does it feel, all the denial")

and he says that it was "cancer man" who took scully. i had been calling him cigarette man, but cancer man is very comparable.

the next thing i wrote was "SKINNER IS A BITCH????" this was because he said that mulder is "just as responsible" as cancer man for scully's situation if he knew the risks of this line of work and didn't warn her.

skinner baby YOU CAN'T SAY THAT? seriously i cannot figure this guy out. every time i think i have a read on him he does something like this that shifts my interpretation. what a horrible thing to say to someone.

cut to scully cam. she's on a table in metaphysical land. and her dad is there. he calls her starbuck and refers to himself as ahab- so the first mate and the captain. and he's monologuing about how he never knew how much he loved her until he realized he could never be with her again, and he says they'll be together "soon", but not now. so i'm wondering if she can hear all of this going on. i would guess so.

mulder is in the cafeteria with melissa and she is trying to talk a bit of sense into him. she says "you could spend the rest of your life finding every person that's responsible and its still not gonna bring her back" and he replies "including myself?"

now usually i would say that mulder taking the blame upon himself is tragic and typical, but here, having it also been implied by skinner AND deep throat 2.0, i am thinking, man, he's got to really believe it, even more so than all the other times he couldn't save everyone. which is. fucked up. so immensely fucked up. i'm sorry you pissed me off last episode baby but we can go to the zoo again like i planned. let's go see some tigers and cheer you up.

a woman walks in and asks him for change for the "cigarette machine", which was the first time in my life i have ever heard the term "cigarette machine", so maybe the earth really is healing

but he finds a pack with an address in it, and then, straight from my notes:

"CIG MAN'S HOUSE. OH MULDER IS THERE AND POINTING A GUN AT HIM. AND ALSO SCREAMING. "why her" oh his finger gets very close to the trigger"

cig man says he likes her and mulder, and. wow. what a despicable human being. he says that he likes mulder more for showing up to his place with a gun. says he's playing the game. mulder seems to have a realization he is acting just like those he swore to destroy and puts the gun down. cig man says it'll be their secret. and also that he was the one that told skinner that mulder shot the guy in the hospital even though he didn't think it was true.

we next see mulder sadly tapping at his computer. he prints a one sentence resignation letter "effective immediately" NOT even a two week's notice, that's how bad they fucked this man up

skinner comes by and says it's unacceptable while mulder is packing all of his things. and mulder says:

"i hate what i've become"

man. fuck. he hates the rage he has been driven to. the loss of control. the way he sees himself as being responsible for deep throat and scully. and all of it stemming from his need for answers, to track down his sister. he hates what that feeling of insufficiency has led him to and the path he now walks upon. hates it. hates his situation and himself and the world.

skinner decides to share some personal story time: he went off to vietnam- willingly enlisting on his 18th birthday. and then while he was there he shot a kid who was covered in grenades. the camera glances back at mulder occasionally, who, despite all of his grief, seems to be consulting his oxford training to try and remember what you're supposed to say to a guy who just told you he killed a child in vietnam.

and then he says he watched all his friends die and that he almost died- he was put in a body bag, and was in a coma for two weeks- and he was too scared to learn what happens next. but mulder isn't. and that's why his resignation is unacceptable.

mulder adds things up and realizes that it was skinner that gave him cancer man's location. again. complicating the vibe i get from skinner in doing something positive now. he says that every day is a risk.

deep throat 2.0 rolls up, saying that the people who did this to scully are going to break into his apartment tonight, and he'll have to kill them. he looks displeased by this- aversion to taking any sort of lives- but resigns himself to it.

so he's in his place in the dark ready to start blasting, when he gets a knock on the door. and it's melissa.

this is where we get the iconic exchange "why is it so dark in here?" "because the lights aren't on" which made me laugh so thoroughly seeing it out of context before i ever decided to watch this show

and melissa is MAD. scully is weakening, and she came to get him to say his goodbyes, but he won't go because. well. shootout is about to go down. this is his ONE chance to learn who did this to scully. but she doesn't know that is why he won't leave, so she YELLS at him, about being in a place even darker than her sister, and asks "why is it so much easier for you to run around trying to get even than just expressing to her how you feel? i expect more from you. dana expects more from you"

and man. those words are heavy. he locks the door, knowing that his place is gonna be robbed, and that he'll never know who hurt her, and comes down to see her.

and he's talking to her. holding her hand. saying he's here. he doesn't know if it'll change anything, but he's here.

when he goes home, his place is entirely ransacked, and he falls to the ground crying. fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. i can't even put into words how bad this broke me. big strong mulder weeping on the ground, his career in shambles and his best friend dead.

i feel like i need to pause there just for how heavy it was. like this was his lowest low. lower than even vampire sex.

but he soon gets a call and he smiles so wide!!! and we learn her eyes are open!! it is the sweetest smile i have ever seen!!!!!!

he gets down to the hospital and she's awake and talking- but she doesn't remember anything- and he, being the insufferable man that he is, says the following:

"i brought you a present (holds up a vhs tape) superstars of the superbowls"

man. man. man. man. she deadpans so quickly. "i knew there was a reason to live"

he must have grabbed a random tape off his shelf and brought it to her with the express intent of antagonizing her back in the realm of the living. and he thought of something to say along with it on the car ride down, his hands shaking. something, anything to make her laugh. a stupid vhs tape. his constant sports references. her quick tongue. oh dear lord help me these two have ruined me.

he gives scully her necklace back, which i wrote about in all caps, while her mother and sister watch

and then we learn that the nurse who was taking special care of her was never actually there when scully wants to thank her and the other nurse is like "um no one who works here has that name" so. SCULLY PARANORMAL EXPERIENCE (POSITIVE)??!?!?!?

overall. man. i am experiencing such a volume of emotions. what the hell. she's back, though. and we saw how much she means to him. and i feel like i could type a million words on the subject but i don't even know what to say because they're still all stuck in my chest. they love each other sososo much.

will he ever tell her what he did in her absence? how he tried to quit? how he broke every rule trying to save her? how he screamed at the doctors, how he broke into cigarette man's house, how he almost pulled the trigger? how he watched a man die when deep throat 2.0 shot him? how he was blamed for her condition by himself and by others? how he left his apartment to be ransacked, giving up his one chance to catch whoever did this to her, to try and let go of his grief and be with her instead? or will he keep quiet except for the latest witticisms and frequent visits and presents and stories by her bedside while she gains strength and recovers?

and how he left, too, when he knew she was okay. how he must have wanted to be there more than anything in the world, but knew she needed to rest, so he left her with her family. how he could breathe easy again. how he had to make it seem like it was cool, and everything was contained.

man. this tv show. i just typed all of those words out and i still feel like i didn't even begin to cover the things i'm feeling. i feel like i need to shake them up and down.

but this should be good, because the x files are reopened... so are we seriously, as the kids say, so back? only time will tell!

[brutal-nemesis]

big question!! dude can we please see a scene in the AU where castys has his tongue cut off and he has to deal with that? like man, the shock and the pain and the fuckin grief? and neteri just being herself ofc

anyway the latest erebus chapter was heartbreaking you’re so good at being awful to these lads (i can’t stop reading)

Thank you I try,,,,,

Okay strap in fellas I think this is banger as hell I had a great time and let me know if you have any other requests for the AU!

Ingredients: shockingly, tongue gets cut off! some suffocation as well

Castys wasn’t great at sitting in chairs normally, something his parents had always reprimanded him for, but, hey, they’d never taken it as far as to fucking tie him to one, and Castys was grateful. This shit was uncomfortable. Like, yeah, the rough ropes around his wrists and ankles were tight and itchy, but also the position just sucked. Not that he’d rather be standing or something-

“You must be Castys!” The door had swung open, and now this little lady with a white coat on was walking up to him. 

“Yes, I’m Castys,” he said flatly as she scurried behind him before coming back without her bag. And then she just…stared at him. Castys wasn’t sure what she was looking at, since there really wasn’t much to see, just, like, him. Eventually her eyes wandered up to his, and she jumped in place a bit.

“Oh, right, I’m Neteri.” She stuck her hand out like she expected him to shake it.

“You know I’m tied up, right?”

“Ah. Yeah.” Her skin was dark enough that it wasn’t immediately obvious that she was blushing, but Castys was pretty sure she was. She ended up awkwardly grabbing his right hand and shaking it a bit. “I, um, I’ll be preparing you for this afternoon. Sorry, I’m just a bit nervous.”

“Well, you’re not tied to a chair so I think you’ll be okay.”

She laughed. “You’re right, you’re right, but I’m just…I think I’m going to do something I’m not supposed to do.”

Castys raised an eyebrow. “Let me go because I’m funny?”

Neteri rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, so clearly she did think he was funny. “No, you’re staying put, sorry bud. But I think I’m going to keep you. You’re kind of perfect.” She tried to cup his cheek in her hand, but Castys leaned away, staring at her with wide eyes.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” His mouth was really dry all of a sudden, he wasn’t perfect, he was a fuck-up, a useless heir, that had been his goal, he wasn’t good at anything he was supposed to be good at, he wasn’t well-mannered or polite, he had a huge fucking scar on his face and a lopsided smile because of it, he was filthy and vulgar and didn’t have any interest in getting married he was absolutely anything but perfect. So why the hell did she want him?

“It’s not important right now. You’ve got a big day ahead of you!” She clapped her hands, dismissing the subject entirely. He wanted to press her further, but after seeing the lovely object she pulled out of her pocket, everything else was forgotten.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Aw, what are you gonna do about it, Castys? I thought you were tied to a chair!” Great, now it was his turn to feel his face grow hot, because, yeah, what the fuck was he gonna do?

Normally, he doubted he’d immediately recognize it for what it was, but today, right now, after just being told this lady wanted to keep him, it was instantly clear. And Neteri was right, he was only able to squirm uselessly and lean away as she wrapped the collar around his neck without much trouble. His first swallow after she’d sealed it shut felt horrible, and he absolutely did not want to get used to it.

“See, it’s not so bad. It looks cute on you!” She ruffled his hair, which only made Castys more uncomfortable.

“I don’t want to be cute. I’m not a fucking dog.” He wasn’t sure whether the collar was part of Neteri’s weird desires or just to humiliate him, but either way he hated it.

“No, you’re not, but you’re also not a prince anymore, and you’re the property of the Xernan Empire, and this is a good reminder of that,” Neteri said as she walked around behind him, probably to her bag. Castys rolled his eyes. He didn’t need to be reminded that he wasn’t a prince, since it was his favorite new development in all of this. Unless…unless it wasn’t just a reminder for him, but for everyone else, too…He really, really hoped there wasn’t going to be some sort of public display, but given how Neteri’d said he had a “big day” ahead…fuck, that was probably the case, huh?

“Now, I’m going to…oh, I might get in so much trouble for this,” Neteri muttered as she stared at the floor, standing in front of him once again. She had leather gloves on, which would have been nice earlier when she was touching him, and she was holding…a pair of shears? He didn’t think she’d put on gloves if she was just going to cut his hair, and given that she thought she might get in trouble for it, it seemed like she was going to…maim him somehow. Castys curled his hands into fists as Neteri slapped her cheeks with her palms, still talking to herself. “No, I’m going to do this. I deserve it. It’s not that far off from what the emperor wants. Okay,” she held the shears up and gave Castys a concerningly bright smile. “Any last words?”

For once, Castys didn’t take the opportunity to speak.

Instead, he locked his jaw shut tight, teeth clenched so hard it hurt, lips pressed together, walls of protection around his tongue. 

That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it?

Neteri cocked her head, watching him. “Nothing to say all of a sudden? No jokes?” Her smile disappeared as her eyes narrowed. “You figured it out, didn’t you, Castys? What I’m going to do to you.”

He didn’t bother nodding.

Neteri stepped up to him, her knee on the chair in between his legs, leaning over him, her face right above his as he craned back to avoid her. “You’re going to have to get used to obeying me, Castys.” The cold metal of the shears rested on his cheek. “So open your mouth.”

If there’s one thing Castys was good at, it was disobeying orders.

After a few moments of neither of them moving, Neteri pinched Castys’s nose shut with her free hand, not saying a word. Fine, he could play that game. Hold on as the pressure in his chest built, as his head started to spin, as his vision started to darken, every fiber of his being screaming at him to just give in to the inevitable and take a breath. He could do it quick, a little gasp, fast enough that she wouldn’t be able to do anything. Okay, three, two…

The exhale was shaky, but it was fine, just a quick inhale as he snapped his mouth shut-

His teeth scraped against metal, the sensation sending shivers down his spine.

Neteri stared at him with a detached coldness as she rotated the shears, forcing his jaw open wide, wide enough for her to stick her hand in and grab his tongue, pulling it out despite his attempts to pull it back, turning the shears to the side now, opening them up, the cold blades-

Snip.

Castys’s mouth was hot it was burning he was choking the smell of blood was so strong he was suffocating on it her hand was still in his mouth her fingers pressed against his wound magic piercing through his jaw he’d scream if he had the air and then that was it her hand was gone he lurched forward coughing and spitting blood and saliva all down the front of the threadbare shirt he’d been given and once he saw the discarded little piece of pink flesh on the floor he couldn’t look at anything else he couldn’t believe that was it it was gone it wasn’t in his mouth his mouth was empty there was only the blood still dripping out and when Neteri laid a hand on his back he wanted to growl at her not to touch him but he couldn’t he couldn’t say anything anymore he was quiet nothing to say no thoughts or opinions of his own just how his parents had wanted him-

“It’s alright, Castys, just breathe. It was a little more difficult than it needed to be, but you did it.” And why did it need to be at all? “Just two more things left today and then you can rest. And then hopefully…” Her hand slid up, resting on the back of his neck, on that awful collar, and Castys wanted to scream. He never, ever wanted to belong to her.

But what he wanted didn’t matter anymore.

Castys was dragged out and whipped and branded and left out on display, brought back and patched up by Neteri and given soup that he couldn’t taste, and when the door slammed shut behind her, he finally allowed himself to cry.

His back and chest hurt, of course, the wounds aggravated no matter how he moved or what position he laid in, but he could deal with it. It was nothing compared to what he’d lost, the little pocket of empty space inside his mouth.

Words were all he’d ever have to really fight back, complaining when he was forced to do things he didn’t want to, scaring off all the suitors his parents picked out, jokes keeping him calm when he was scared or upset, even when he couldn’t do anything he could still say something, make sure everyone knew how he felt, and now he was more helpless than ever before and he couldn’t say a single fucking thing. 

He didn’t even know where he was going to end up, either sold off to some asshole or left in Neteri’s clutches, and no matter what, he wasn’t going to be treated like a person. The collar made it pretty clear. He was less than human now, a pet, a lab rat, property, something that didn’t need to have thoughts or opinions anymore. 

He’d rather be a prince after all.

Castys Cult: @as-a-matter-of-whump​ @blackrosesandwhump​ @fanmanga1357-blog​​ @thehopelessopus​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@hearse-song​ @muddy-swamp-bitch @whumpasaurus101 @yet-another-heathen​​ @galaxywhump 

@starnight-whump​ @his-unspoken-words​ @misspelledwitch @suspicious-whumping-egg​ @pumpkin-spice-whump​ 

@painsandconfusion @i-can-even-burn-salad @befuddled-calico-whump​ @whumpinggrounds​ @whump-queen​

@whumpedydump

[echo-goes-mmm]

Ambrose and Elliot #28

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: strangulation 

He couldn’t move. His old master straddled his lap, looking right at him, and he couldn’t move.

How was he here?

He opened his mouth to scream for Ambrose to help him, for anyone, but nothing came out. Master smiled that horrible smile, and wrapped his cold hands around his neck.

He began to squeeze, tearing the breath from him. Elliot wheezed, gasping for air. He pulled at Master’s hands, prying at his fingers, but he only tightened his grip like a vice.

Master leaned down. “You’re never going to get away from me,” he whispered into his ear. “Did you really think you could?”

Blood ran down Master’s wrists as Elliot frantically clawed at his hands and arms.

His strength was fading fast. He weakly tried to hit Master, but he dodged it with ease, laughing.

His vision went black.

___________________

Elliot woke up with a gasp. He shot up, his head and heart pounding. He was alone.

There was no weight pinning him down, no pressure on his throat. He gulped down the cool night air.

It was only a dream. It was only a dream.

He pushed his sweaty bangs up his forehead. His chest heaved, and his legs were tangled in the covers.

He pulled his knees to his chest, hugging them tight, and tried not to sob.

The stuffed bear Ambrose had given him lay on the floor. It must have fallen while Elliot thrashed in his sleep.

Elliot leaned over to pick up the bear. He smoothed over its fur. “Sorry,” he told it.

The bear’s black button eyes looked back at him, and he felt a bit silly for apologizing to a toy.

He shivered, sweat cooling on his skin.

It was a chilly night. Elliot put the bear back on his bed, and pulled a blanket over his shoulders.

His socked feet didn’t make a sound as he crossed over the wooden floor.

Elliot took the fire poker from the stand and prodded the glowing embers in his fireplace. He pushed in some more logs with the poker, and went back to bed.

___________________

He couldn’t get back to sleep. 

Every time he closed his eyes, he could hear Master’s laugh and feel his cold hands on his throat. 

The logs hadn’t caught yet, and it seemed like an omen for how the rest of night would go if he stayed here.

He threw off the covers again, and grabbed his bear. 

Ambrose wouldn’t be mad, right? He said he loved Elliot. Whatever that really meant.

He shuffled out of his room and went upstairs. He didn’t bother knocking on the outer door.

He closed it quietly. The fading scent of incense still hung in the air. Master Ambrose must have been up late, or perhaps the night was younger than he thought.

Elliot knocked on the bedroom door before turning the handle.

Ambrose half sat up, leaning back on his elbow. 

“Ellie?” he groaned, rubbing his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Um, can I sleep with you tonight?” Elliot fidgeted with the stuffed bear.

Ambrose yawned. “Yeah, ‘course you can.”

Elliot crawled into bed, and Ambrose shuffled aside to make room. 

“You okay?” murmured Master Ambrose, pulling the covers over both of them.

“Yeah. Just had a bad dream.”

“Mmm.” Ambrose’s eyes fluttered, clearly half asleep. Elliot snuggled into him, bear still in his arms. 

It was nice and warm under the blankets, and Elliot knew Ambrose wouldn’t let his old master strangle him.

Ambrose’s faint flowers-and-bergamot perfume was soothing, and it was easy to fall asleep to the sound of his steady breathing.

___________________

Elliot woke up late in the morning. He looked around, and was surprised to see Ambrose propped up against the headboard, book in hand.

“Morning,” said Master Ambrose. He turned a page.

“Good morning, sir.”

“I think I’ll need to go to the bank in Lakeview soon.”

“Lakeview?” Elliot sat up. He didn’t know where that was.

“Mhm. I need to make a deposit and arrange some payments.” Ambrose put the book aside and stretched.

“I’ll be gone for a couple days. You can either come with me, or stay here, whichever you prefer.”

Ambrose hopped out of bed and began to dig through his dresser. “I’m going to take a bath,” he said, pulling out a set of clothes.

Elliot watched him go into the bathroom.

He didn’t want to travel all the way to Lakeview, but the idea of being left alone for two days made his skin crawl. Anyone could walk in.

Anyone, like his old master. Elliot shuddered.

Lakeview it was.

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @starfields08000 @littlespacecastle @mylovelyme @whump-cravings @zeewbee @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @keepingwhumpwiththekardashians @fanastyfinder @roblingoblin285 @whumpzone @snakebites-and-ink @astrokea @magdalena-writes @latenightcupsofcoffee @tobiaslut @whumpsoda @loserwithsyle

[kasper7489]

I kinda hopped into the dc fandom by reading fics (I know I know lmao)

But as I've read more comics and looked into different characterization and analysis I now have a more developed idea as to how I view a lot of the characters and have preferences to how their written. I'm def the type to click out a fic if I find myself thinking 'he would not fucking say that'

Anyway this is just to say it's very funny to me when I go thru some of the fics I bookmarked at the begining of my interest and find myself going Uh Oh! I don't think I can read this anymore!

[wyvchard]

Even if you can't see me as me anymore...

... would you still be kind to me?

CW: Whump, mentions of alcohol

Prompt: Agent Phoenix went missing in the middle of a mission, only to return to the agency with the coldest welcome they've ever received.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reginald took in a breath as he sighed, wine glass stained with the 4th? 5th? He lost count after three.

It was supposed to be an easy mission. Unlike how retrieving Roxana's research had been. It was just "go to the abandoned location, poke around a bit, and head back".

But of course things always had to end up this complicated.

His agent went missing after a blurry set of events. The camera they were equipped with and their ocular units were struggling to keep track of everything, the signal grainy as the waves travelled through material designed to hinder such transmissions.

But the disrepair was sufficient to be able to send just enough information to paint nightmares that will last for days.

"How do I explain this to the board of directors? Even I don't know what happened." He sighed, looking at his scratchy notes as he tried to rewind the footage. He paused when he head a transmission in his headphones.

"Crane, we got a situation in the Enhanced Operatives Division. Apparently, some agents saw a Zoraxis operative wandering in the building. However, others are saying they saw a ghost."

"Why isn't the building on lockdown?" He suppressed a sigh, the hangover coming closer than he thought possible.

"The building is on lockdown, just that it can't be announced. We're rewinding footage as we speak but the security team is in arms arguing at who they saw."

"Why is that the case? Is there an agent breaking probation?"

"That's the issue. The security team saw Agent Typhoon walking in."

"Isn't Agent Typhoon on probation for provoking several security officers?"

"Exactly. But when security called, Agent Typhoon answered, which the agent in the camera did not do. And then security started freaking out since the agent in the cameras vanished, as if they knew where it is. If we issue a lockdown, they might get away."

"Do you think we've been-"

Reginald cut his words when he received the notification that his agent returned to the building.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Phoenix walked back to their apartment, deciding to take a pit stop there to patch up the shallow cuts so their handler wouldn't fuss over them all over again. The visits to the medical wing was troublesome as they would be taken off the field for a while once more. Something about the latest time they almost died seemed to have caused him to fret about their well-being way too much.

They were already unsettled by the fact that their ocular implant was causing their vision to turn to static. They hesitantly turned it off as soon as they regained consciousness, shivering away the thought of their handler losing contact with them as their earpiece and body camera was left shattered after that frigid wind caused them to shut their eyes. As much as they would want to keep contact, they were nervous that the static would render them unconscious.

Bandages covered their skin by the time they were finished with patching up. Their fingers were still trembling as the cold jabs of the disinfectant started to subside. They steadied their breathing before deciding to abandon the floor to grab their debrief and broken equipment with their hands.

Securing their hat with the feather pin in their head as the rest of their hair was tucked into it, they headed to their office in the agency, hoping that their handler hadn't decided to confuse liquor with water.

It was supposed to be an uneventful walk, considering it was way beyond what time any reasonable person would walk down the street in. They faltered in their steps several times as the hostile gaze of the ones they passed by traced up their back.

It wasn't the usual gazes of a Zoraxis operative who wants to kill them that bothers them, no. It was the feeling of loathing someone right in front of your face while showing a smile, waiting to pounce for the moment you can wash your hands to pretend you aren't the one who wrung the life out of your abhorred.

They adjusted their hat and trench coat as they entered the agency, still feeling the same looks from the bystanders a couple of blocks before. They still pushed through, 'maybe they got worried', they thought.

"Agent, shouldn't you be in probation?" The security officer greeted them with hostility, taking away their voice with the way they were looked at.

They merely shook their head before passing through the checkpoint and bolted to Reginald's office.

Probation? What would they be in probation for? Was it their hobby of publishing papers?

The gazes of the other agents don't matter to them, ignoring the gasps and silent weeps from the other agents. Others peppered them with profanities.

They have to get to Reggie. Everything is just too much. He must know what's going on.

They avoided the cameras out of habit, despite the fact that the entire agency already knew they survived the death engine. Old habits die hard and those months of hiding the fact they survived that in order to keep up the cover story don't just vanish out of nowhere.

Reginald opened his door, only to pause with a forlorn gaze. Phoenix walked in and shut the door, calling out his name.

"Agent, not tonight. Please. I don't have the energy to deal with this right now. Maybe tomorrow but not now."

Their words, begging for answers and reaching out to hug him, paralyzed him, as if they were something he wasn't meant to be holding onto.

"I'm really sorry, Agent. It was all my fault. I shouldn't have-I should have-" He heaved, shaking as his eyes widened once more. "... Please leave me alone. Please." They refused and merely held onto him for a hug, caging him so he doesn't escape.

Phoenix was in the brink of tears when they noticed the bottles of alcohol on his desk. They used their TK to activate the emergency line and hoped that he wouldn't pass out from drinking.

They quietly counted the minutes in their head and tried to calm him down, supporting his trembling body with their own.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Handler, what's going on? Why is this happening?" His agent was crying as the water was leaking in the escape pod.

"I was told that those escape pods are safe. Hold on, I-I'll think of something."

"Don't bother. It's too late. Thank you for trying anyway, Handler."

He knows. He knows he shouldn't be clinging to the phantoms of his imagination, of the wish he could come to them and tell them he's proud of them. But it's too late. That agent's dead and his current one is missing.

But will it be so bad if he clings to this for tonight? Clings to the thought he could say sorry for failing them one more time?

The warmth of the hands patting his back soothed him a bit but it was awful. He was the handler, he should be the one taking care of his agents and yet here he is, pathetically crying in the arms of the agent he failed to save.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Phoenix knew not to interfere with the medical personnel when they took him away.

They were still shaking when one of the medical personnel told them to get rest back in their ward and telling them that Phoenix will come back to take care of their Handler soon.

... They weren't injured. They have no reason to get to a ward. Right?

But... it still doesn't explain why Reggie called them with a different agent's name, a mix of syllables that they know they have read or heard somewhere.

Maybe they're both sleep deprived. Some water may help.

They paused when they saw the mirror when they were washing their face. Those eyes weren't theirs, nor the shade of the lips.

It wasn't their face.

But that doesn't make sense. Their handler never... None of the other agents...

Just what did that chemical in that laboratory do to them?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AAAaaand Cut!

Spoilers on how it works here.

I hope to make a multi chapter version soon. There is a rough outline but I am not sure if I'll stick to it.

@phoenix-and-found-family , I wonder how your Phoenix will react to being in this situation.

[peachy-panic]

This Could Be The Moment

This is it. The chapter I’ve been fist-fighting for weeks. This was one of those moments that was in my brain since the original conception of Do No Harm, so naturally there’s a lot of internal pressure to get it right. I hope I’ve done it some justice for y’all.

WARNINGS: BBU/BBU-adjacent, ongoing sleep deprivation, nightmares, PTSD, the most fucked up of headspaces, whumpee fearing caretaker, noncon kissing, nudity, two survivors of trauma navigating some messy, messy waters

Jaime wakes in a cold sweat.

His first instinct is, as always, to look toward the bedroom door. Where moments ago there was a vivid silhouette against a backlit hallway, lurching toward his bed, there is now only a closed door. The house beyond it is still and silent, and Jaime is alone. As always, the only looming monster in the vicinity is his own imagination.

He closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath. It’s routine by now, but even after so much repetition, the physical toll never seems to lessen. The bed sheets beneath him are soaked through, his hair matted to his forehead in clumps. Jaime sits up, peeling the soiled nightshirt from his body and tossing it into the laundry basket. 

He rolls out of bed, knowing there is no point in trying to steal a few more hours. Some nights, he gets lucky enough that the exhaustion wins out over the lingering anxiety and knocks him out. But most nights, his only solace is a hot shower while he waits for the sheets to dry. It doesn’t do much to quash the crawling sensation under his skin, but it’s a few less minutes spent tossing on a mattress and watching the slow approach of daylight through the curtain.

Blinking away the last remnants of sleep, he drags himself silently to the bathroom. He cranks the faucet to the hottest setting and forces his body under the flames.

As the water runs through his hair and scorches lines down his back, Jaime finds himself swaying. Crumbling. He doesn’t cry easily these days, but he feels the burn of frustration building behind his eyes. How long can he sustain this? How long can he wait out what feels like the inevitable?

It feels so much like those first few terrifying weeks at the training facility, where sleep was a commodity earned through acts of submission. The deprivation was torture then, and it’s torture now. This house is nothing like the cold, cement walls of that prison, and Sebastian is nothing like Handler Smith, but the fear is the same. He can’t seem to separate the feelings in his head.

At least in the facility, and even with the Keepers from his past, Jaime had learned what to expect. And he never had to wait long to find out for sure.

In the daylight, things with Sebastian have begun to crawl, slowly, toward a better place. The two of them have found routine in the small things: morning runs around the neighborhood, cooking sessions in the evenings, movie binging on the weekends. It is, objectively, the best living situation Jaime has had in years, and beyond what he could hope to have again. He recognizes this as fact. But Jaime can’t control his subconscious mind. He can’t help what comes at night.

The nightmares about Sebastian—about Sebastian touching him, hurting him—haven’t stopped. They haven’t even slowed down. If anything they’ve increased, and a vicious cycle has ramped into a hurricane: the more nightmares he has, the less sleep he gets, and the more difficult it becomes to discern reality from fiction. The nightmares get worse. The sleep becomes more sparse.

Even after a good day, Sebastian (or the shadowed version of him that exists in Jaime’s worst fears) finds him in sleep. The warm eyes that Jaime has come to recognize in the light get replaced by a cold leer, the gentle touches turned rough and demanding. The ghosts of those memories follow him into the daytime, whispering in his ear that everything Jaime so desperately wants to believe is a lie.

It’s the anticipation that suffocates him. The not knowing, but the suspecting. The when, not the if. Even when Sebastian has done everything he can to make Jaime feel safe, the guess work that goes into trying to brace for the moment when the rug gets ripped out from under him bleeds him dry of all his energy. No one has ever signed his contract with pure intentions. All kindness comes at a price.

Every day, Jaime stares at the black and white “rules” posted on the refrigerator door, listing out a dozen iterations of promises not to hurt him. Every day he watches Sebastian from the corner of his eye—when they’re in the kitchen, on the couch, in the car—and wonders if this will be the moment it happens. The moment he finally reaches out, lets his skin make contact, lets his hand linger the way it always begins in his nightmares. Jaime knows, sure as anything, that he won’t fight him when it happens. Even if his position as a Companion allowed him the space for resistance, Sebastian has been so good to him. And Jaime has done more for less deserving men.

This is the thought that plants the seed of an idea—one Jaime has never entertained. He has never been the one to initiate sex, and he wonders: if it’s going to happen anyway, would it be better under the illusion that the choice is his? He doesn’t know how he would go about it, if he ever gathered the courage to try. The thought floods him with nausea that he can’t seem to shake, but so does the waiting. Sometimes he just wonders if it would be easier to get the first time over with.

Then, at least, he will know.

He takes as much time in the shower as he can allow himself, but eventually the thought of wasting water forces him to shut off the faucet too early. He shivers in the sudden absence of the spray, but he doesn’t think it has much to do with the temperature. In a daze, he wraps himself up in one of the soft towels that Sebastian bought specifically for him. He makes his way back toward his room, but a light from the end of the hallway freezes him in place.

Sebastian is awake.

He doesn’t know what compels him to walk toward the living room, but he feels his legs moving beneath him, operating several steps ahead of his mind. He sees Sebastian before Sebastian sees him. He is on the couch, hunkered over the computer that rests on his crossed legs, and Jaime’s heart begins to race, because there it is again: that small voice in the darkest corner of his mind whispering, This could be the moment. Something has to give.

He tries to fight against it, to swallow it down, because he doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want to do this. He could turn and pad back to the relative safety of the bedroom that Sebastian has never once entered without Jaime’s explicit permission and sweat it out until daybreak like always. But then Sebastian looks up, noticing him for the first time, and the voice in Jaime’s head gets louder and louder.

This could be the moment.

“Oh. Hey there.” Sebastian smiles at him.

Something has to give.

Jaime’s fingers tighten briefly around the towel at his waist, and before he can process his next move, the idea crystallizes into a plan.

****

Sebastian scrubs the heels of his palms over his eyes, but it only seems to dry them out further. He’s been staring at his computer screen for the better part of the last two hours, and that’s on top of the work day behind him. Not that he’s complaining. The work he’s doing now is entirely voluntary, and he doesn’t regret taking it on for a second.

Aria had helped set him up. It involved a secure VPN, some protective softwares that, ironically, look like they might infect his laptop with a virus at any given moment, and a long vetting process; though Sebastian suspects it might have been a little more rigorous if their need wasn’t so urgent.

There are less than fifty doctors and registered nurses in the database who take on Companion cases across the US, and now Sebastian is one of them. It’s a fairly new system, and thankfully a growing one, slow as it might be. Mostly, the cases are a matter of remote visits: giving medical advice, diagnosing where they can, and—at the discretion of each provider—writing prescriptions. Always in the name of the unmarked person helping them. By design, it’s nearly impossible for a Companion to seek assistance or gain any amount of freedom without depending on someone on the outside.

He was surprised to find out that there were others like him; people who have purchased a contract with the intention of helping someone for as long as they can. There are others—fewer, rarer—who are like Ezra. People who have somehow broken free of the system altogether and exist under the radar. The details of those cases are always lock-and-key. Sebastian doesn’t ask, and no one seems eager to tell. Probably safer for everyone that way.

Sebastian’s patients tonight have been fairly simple ones. He was able to provide antibiotics to a young woman with an ongoing infection, sleeping pills to a man with debilitating sleep anxiety, and advice to someone else on managing their chronic pain. For the first time since graduating with his medical degree, Sebastian feels useful.

And still, it never feels like enough.

When he pulls his hands away from his face, he nearly launches out of his skin. Jaime is standing in the mouth of the hallway, hair dripping and wrapped in a towel. Sebastian hadn’t even heard the shower running through the music in his headphones.

He settles himself with a hand over his heart and smiles up at him. “Oh. Hey there.” He starts to take his earbuds out, but he is interrupted by the world abruptly shifting on its axis.

It takes a few seconds after the towel hits the floor to process what happened. What is actively happening. And then he still doesn’t understand.

Because what. The fuck.

Jaime is standing—naked—in his living room, still as a statue, with a towel pooled at his feet. Sebastian is fairly certain Jaime isn’t even aware of the silent tears tracking down his cheeks.

Calling upon every conceivable ounce of composure he can muster, he removes his headphones the rest of the way and sits forward, setting his open laptop on the coffee table. He unfolds his legs and stands, each movement pronounced and broadcast.

“Hey.” His own voice sounds far away, and far more calm than he feels. He keeps his eyes dutifully trained on Jaime’s, refusing to dip away for even a second. “Let’s just… Why don’t we just talk? Okay? Let’s… here.” Acting on the instinct to cover him up, Sebastian reaches for the zipper on his hoodie.

Across the room, Jaime’s breath hitches. His eyes pinch shut for just a second, fists clenching at his sides.

“Hey. No, no, it’s okay. I’m—” Sebastian pulls the zipper down as quickly as he can, only jamming it twice on the cloth. As soon as it’s free, he extends his arm, not daring to take a step closer, and shakes it in his direction. “It’s for you.”

But Jaime doesn’t move to take it. His pale chest heaves with breaths that are coming too fast and too short, and the glassy look in his eyes tells him that Jaime might not be all the way with him. He needs to tread lightly.

Sebastian takes a cautious step forward. “Jaime?” His eyes snap to him, wide and wet. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” When he’s within arm’s reach, Sebastian holds his sweatshirt out again, and Jaime’s gaze falls to it for a moment, before flashing back to him. He still doesn’t take it.

Sebastian is about to reiterate his assurance that Jaime is okay, that he is safe and that he is not in trouble, but before he can speak—

Jaime—

He—

Jaime’s mouth is on his.

Their lips only touch for half a second before Sebastian jerks back, but the brief contact sends a shockwave of horror through his body. It’s so much happening at once: the heat of naked skin through his clothes, wet hair dripping onto his chest, the tremble in the arms draped around his neck, but Sebastian can’t afford to panic right now. They can’t both be falling apart at once.

With all the deliberate gentleness he can manage, he reaches up and wraps his hands around Jaime’s wrists, pulling his arms from around him. They stand painfully still for several long seconds, Jaime’s arms suspended between them. The whites of his eyes jump as he searches Sebastian’s expression, utter terror written all over his own. Slowly, Sebastian lowers his grip, releasing Jaime’s hands at his sides.

“No,” the word stutters out of him. “Jaime, I… No.” He needs to find the words to elaborate, to tell him he’s not in trouble and that Sebastian’s rejection isn’t meant as a chastisement, but before he can formulate them, Jaime sinks to his knees, and a fresh pit opens in Sebastian’s chest.

“Please,” Jaime says—the first he has spoken since coming into the living room. Fresh tears leak from his eyes. “Whatever you want to do, I… it’s fine. We can do it. I… I want to.”

Unable to tolerate towering over him right now, Sebastian sinks down to one knee, then the other. Carefully, he takes the sweatshirt in his hand and drapes it over Jaime’s shoulders. “Jaime,” he says finally, “you’re crying.”

In a desperate, childlike gesture, Jaime swipes at the tears running down his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he says.

You don’t have to be sorry. But it’s very clear to me that you don’t want this.”

“I can,” Jaime insists, fixing his wide, brown eyes on him. “I can learn to want it. With you. Please, just tell me what you want.”

“I…” Sebastian’s mind is speeding past him in circles, unable to land on a singular thought except the resounding question of How the fuck did we get here?  Because genuinely, Sebastian had thought things were getting better. He thought things were, if not ideal, at least okay. But this… This is the furthest thing from okay.

“Did I…?” Sebastian clears his throat and starts again. “Can you tell me—did I do something? To make you think that I wanted this?”

He remembers the stilted half-conversations they had once upon a time. In the clinic, when Jaime was brought in for testing after each contract. Sebastian knows what happened to him with past Keepers. His tests may have come back negative, but Jaime had confirmed in the only way he could that he had been sexually abused. He had hoped that Jaime knew he never had to fear that from him. He realizes now how selfish that assumption was.

Jaime’s gaze breaks away momentarily. “No, but I…”

“What?” he prompts gently. “If I did something, I want to know. I’m not going to be upset with you. I just want to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

The inquisition seems to press him further into himself. He curls over, retracting into a ball before he can reach out. The notches on his spine protrude through the shirt in a trembling arch. His fingers are twisted through his hair, pulling so tightly at his roots that Sebastian has to restrain himself from tugging his hands away. Then the noise. At first it sounds like he’s choking; a desperate, clunky gasp for air where there is none. And then the sobs erupt, almost completely silent but heavy enough that his entire body convulses with the force.

And Sebastian is absolutely fucked. His heart is thumping against his ribcage like it wants to escape, his fingertips have gone numb, and the spot where their lips had briefly touched buzzes with the intensity of a fresh wound. But he can’t fall apart right now. After a moment of hesitation, Sebastian places a palm over one shoulder blade, and when he is not shaken off, he begins to rub a slow, steady circle.

“Jaime,” he tries as soon as he is sure his voice will withstand it. “I don’t know what’s happening right now. I don’t… I don’t know what to say to you to make you feel okay, but you are safe. I can promise you that. I am not going to hurt you. No one is going to hurt you while I am here.”

It goes on for as long as it takes Jaime’s body to exhaust itself to silence. Over the next several minutes, the sobs whither to raspy pulls for breath, and then eventually soft sniffling. Sebastian doesn’t remove his hand. When he has gone nearly silent, Sebastian makes a decision.

“Can you sit up?” he asks softly. “Please? Can you just… look at me for a minute?”

Jaime obeys the request a little too quickly. When their eyes meet, Sebastian takes a deep breath, willing his own tears to stay where they are.

“I want to talk about this,” he says. “We absolutely should talk about this. But before we do anything else… Do you maybe want to put some clothes on? We can just… we can take a minute.” God knows he could use one himself. “If you want to keep talking after that, I’ll put some coffee on and we’ll stay up and talk, for as long as you want. If you would rather go to sleep, that’s okay too. I’ll still be here for you in the morning. It’s your call. Sound okay?”

Jaime hesitates, then nods.

“Okay.” Sebastian picks up the towel between their knees and extends it to him, already turning away. Once Jaime takes it, Sebastian shuffles around awkwardly on his knees until his back is to him. “I’ll wait out here. I won’t look. Just… take your time.”

Sebastian listens to the brief silence of his hesitation, then the quiet rustle of cloth and clicking of joints behind him. He counts the soft pad of footsteps retreating down the bedroom hallway and waits for the door to latch shut before he breaks. He pulls his knees out from under him and puts his head between them, taking slow, even breaths.

Slowly, his heartbeat recedes to a sustainable pace, but his mind buzzes with the prospect of the conversation ahead of him, and his lips still burn from a kiss that never should have happened.

***

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[liauditore]

biomechanical horrors <3 <3 <3

Part One

~

<RETRIEVED FILE. CODE: HCS9DO2.>

Tango's alive.

We don't know how and we don't care.

He was... Half of him was covered in that stuff. Sculk. He's been down there for months, it should've eaten him alive by now, according to everything we know.. His survival could mean endless things for the scientific community but I don't even care to think about that right now.

When.. When I saw him in that thing's mouth the cockpit, limp and curled up in his seat, I'd feared it was confirmation of what we had all been expecting..

I hate to admit it but I.. didn't want to look any longer. If it was just me back there, Tango would've really been a goner...

Skizz.. has never been one for logical thinking. It drives me insane but it might've saved our friend. That moron has a heart too good for this world. I hadn't thought it possible that human hands could shatter Decked Out's windshield like that... maybe she was worn from her time in the Deep Dark?

Either way, he's.. stable, according to the medics. Breathing. He woke for a bit earlier and was just kind of.. standing there, staring at something off in the distance. I put him back in bed and told him to try and rest.

Morning. We'll look for answers in the morning.

<End Log>

~

RETRIEVED FROM SITE

PILOT Tango Tek - Unconscious. Sculk-infested. Currently receiving care. Missed you, buddy.

PILOT SUIT, TEK Variety, mark07 - Tango's pilot suit that he designed himself. Covered in sculk. We're trying our best to clean it but the stuff's stubborn as hell... Might be good to just discard it. Surely Tango wouldn't be too mad?

SCULK SAMPLES - that thing was covered in sculk and shriekers alike... it's like it was... pulsing... like it had a heartbeat...

DECKED OUT - she's beyond help, I'm afraid.

~

<RETRIEVED FILE. CODE: HCS9DO2.>

Tango's gone again.

He clawed my face in when I tried to hold him down. It'll heal, but... I just... I didn't expect that from him, I guess. He took the suit too, barrelled through a dozen nurses and security guards to get to it.

That thing, it... it heaved itself to the surface on its arms. You could hear it from the centre of town. The ground beneath it screeched. It looked like it was in pain.

It dragged itself all the way to the edge of the shopping district. We had no idea what to do, it shouldn't be able to move without a pilot or power. It shouldn't have teeth either.

It sat there for half an hour. Its jaw unhinged and slacked onto the pavement. I remember the first time I watched a whale beach itself. It was a lot like that but... this thing felt like it knew what it wanted from us.

Eventually it just got up and left like nothing happened.

I think Tango's in it again.

[wisteria-whump]

whumper forcing whumpee awake by putting them in dangerous situations so their only choices are wake up or be irreparably injured

[mearchy]

I used to read a lot of really really dark sad whump fics pretty much exclusively. Characters getting absolutely mentally and physically annihilated in the worst, most soul-crushing circumstances possible. Lots of hurt no comfort. Lots of apocalypses. Over the past five or six years, I’ve turned to reading mostly stories about characters getting dogs and having adventures with them, or growing old together, or escaping bad circumstances against all odds. Fix-it AUs. Slice-of-life fics. I’m not necessarily a happier person. I think I just value those stories more than I did. Something something the dystopia is here something something wisdom comes with age. Dykwim