#this sure got whumpy fast

[unicornpopcorn14]

Hc that every time Chuuya is bandaged he's reminded of Dazai and hates it.

And back when they were working together Dazai is always overly excited about it not only because Chuuya detests it, but because finally, he isn't the only one who's gonna be sweating bullets due to the friction, he isn't the only one whose movements are considerably restricted, he isn't the only one seen as a 'poor kid' and taken pity on in the eyes of the public/their enemies, even if only for a handful of missions.

And Dazai will tease him about it, every damn time, poking fun at Chuuya's weak tolerance whenever he complains about them, about why Dazai even does this shit when 'he has no good reason'.

"But, slug!! We're matching!!"

"That's the worst part, I'm associated with a freak!"

But that makes way for an interesting scenario, where the roles are reversed. Where Chuuya, wrapped up in bandages courtesy of a recent mission, comes across a Dazai who's not (due to an attempt, perhaps, or they've been taken from him one way or another).

And Chuuya sees it for the first time, Dazai's wide-eyed vulnerability, him drawing into himself, the faded look in his eyes, like something vital has been removed from his body, much more than an organ or a nerve.

For the first time, they aren't matching when Chuuya is swathed in gauze.

So Chuuya begrudgingly offers his, slightly bloody and crumpled, because he hates being wrapped up in them anyway.

Though he can't help but wish to be encased in bandages more often from then on, just so he can understand, perhaps share, some of that pain...

[inkwell-and-dagger]

rahh I've got brainrot again.............

tllr and uarad save me.......

anyway this is heavily based on Hunger, which I've re-read and had an incredible idea.

let's say, Dew and Ruaridh are kept in the same place when Ruaridh is found. sure it's cramped, and Ruaridh smells like a wet dog, but it's nice to have company. and plus, they get a bunk bed!

like any human (or somewhat human, in his case), Dew has a heart beat. right there in his chest he can be relieved, or not, that he's still alive. fine and dandy, right?

and though, most of the time, Dew can't hear his own heartbeat, Ruaridh can. and fuck is it annoying

maybe it's night and poor Dew is fast asleep (or as asleep as he can get after the Horrors™) and oblivious, and Ruaridh doesn't think to consider that Dew's a friend and not a foe. thankfully they don't even get close to sinking their claws five inches deep into his chest before Dew makes it very known that they're hurting him

cue anton probably being woken up to the sound of a scream and a LOT of apologizing once Ruaridh realizes what they'd done. perhaps they get a light scolding from their saviour (COUGH COUGH CAPTOR), or they get a harsher punishment for hurting anton's precious original lab rat

of course, eventually they and dew make up, they probably need to be separated for some time until anton knows for sure that it won't happen again, but despite their close bond dew just can't help but be wary about just how sharp Ru's claws are / were (maybe anton clips them to stop them from hurting themself or anyone else?), or how close their fangs get to nipping his wings when they're nuzzling into the soft feathers. idk they're my baby girls

(TLLR BELONGS TO @whumpy-wyrms!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! GO READ IT OR ANTON WILL GET YOU /nf /j)

[themculibrary]

Uncle Rhodey Masterlist

5 Times Tony’s Intern Almost Called Him "Dad" + 1 Time He Did (ao3) - Sara (ctrsara) G, 11k

Summary: OR Peter Parker Spends 5 Chapters in Denial

A Fast but Steady Heartbeat (ao3) - spooderboyandtincan N/R, 1k

Summary: Peter, Tony and Rhodey are enjoying their afternoon at a restaurant until the building and their food explodes.

All I'll Ever Need (ao3) - PerseusPhoenix_Black61 G, 950

Summary: Tony son is born so its time for him to meet their little family. DUM-E is very excited for their new member.

And then he called me…that. (ao3) - TonyStarkWasAbleToBuildThisInACave G, 1k

Summary: After a particular incident surrounding a certain Spider-ling making a certain slip up with his words, Tony finds himself panicking and opening up to Rhodey about what to do. As always, Rhodey can clearly see the path ahead and employs a little manipulation to get Tony to that stage.

Best Night Ever (ao3) -happyaspie steve/tony G, 5k

Summary: Peter’s been promised a night of ice skating. At first, things didn't go quite as he planned. But in a joyful turn of events, he ends up having a night filled with unexpected surprises, a walk in the snow, the promised ice skating adventure and several heartwarming moments. It all wraps up with a few holiday treats and a lot of family bonding.

From Fraud to Father (ao3) - TonyStarkissist pepper/tony T, 67k

Summary: “Tony,” she placated, “all you have to do is read a couple children's books to them and answer a few of their questions. You’ll be fine.”

“Will you come with me? You’re so good with kids,” he pleaded as she finished up with his collar and awkwardly patted the lapels of his suit down, forcing a smile onto her face when she looked up at him.

“No. I’ve got a lot of work to do. Phil’s going with you, though, and so is Happy. You shouldn’t have a problem. They'll make sure you don't do anything stupid.”

Theres a long pause before Tony finally voices his true concern.

“But what if one of them sneezes on me?"

Get Out, Please. (ao3) - Kryi T, 1k

Summary: "FRIDAY?" Peter called to the ceiling, "What are they doing here?"

home for wayward (genius) youths (ao3) - ikarakie G, 1k

Summary: there is a kid on tony's couch. it is not peter, and rhodey is having a breakdown.

I had a feeling so peculiar (ao3) - Good_As_I_Am94 G, 1k

Summary: 6. Sick and injured

Memory Lane (ao3) - Strawhat_Pirate G, 6k

Summary: Peter is Tony Starks missing son. Peter doesn't realize this until he and his Aunt May see age progressions of the billionaire's missing son on TV. Age progressions that look just like him.

Moonstruck (ao3) - JAWorley T, 31k

Summary: After a bad accident where Tony and Peter both end up seriously injured, Peter is faced with the truth about what Tony thinks of him when a video surfaces of Tony calling out for his son and refusing to be treated until his son is taken care of.

OR

Three months after the final fight with Thanos, Peter is finding he has family in all kinds of places he hadn’t realized. A whumpy hurt/comfort/fluff fic about a family pulling together in a time of need. (Everyone is alive in this fic).

Peter and Mr. Panguin Partner in Crime (ao3) - PerseusPhoenix_Black61 G, 1k

Summary: Tony is in a debrief meeting one that he had to leave Peter with Happy until he's done. Captain Spangles is taking forever and Tony would happily give up an arm to just be back to his kid.

Peter ventures on, with Mr. Panguin to find his dad.

Scrambled Brains (ao3) - inkinmyheartandonthepage G, 1k

Summary: Rhodey takes a hit during a training exercise and forgets who Peter is.

Spider in the Warehouse (ao3) - PerseusPhoenix_Black61 G, 2k

Summary: Peter wasn't a genius, sure he was smart but he wasn't a genius. Although if someone asked his dad, Tony Stark, if Peter Stark was a genius he would say yes without hesitation. Over the years he built and fixed a lot of stuff. He completed his first Lego set at age 4, made his first circuit board at 5, could understand Uncle Bruce research of gamma radiation at age 6, he was very proud of his Lego set and showed it to his Dad once he came home from a conference meeting. He still didn't think he was a genius like his dad though.

Apparently his kidnappers thought differently

We Can Go Home... (ao3) - ObiAni T, 5k

Summary: Tony survives the snap, but he’s severely injured to say the least. As he recovers, he keeps an eye on Peter, and he does his best to help when the Elementals start to attack.

[dontfeeltoohot]

In an extra whumpy mood and wanna see chase get a flu so bad he has to be admitted -🦘

Ahhh yessss. 🤤☺️ Here you go Roo!

XX

He’s woozy and feverish and really wants to be in bed, but of course he’s far too loyal to this damn job to call out. He’s never called out in the seven years he’s worked at PPTH, and he doesn’t plan on doing so today either. Shivering, Chase drops his head to the steering wheel of his car that’s parked in the staff lot outside the hospital. After taking a few deep breaths, the Australian forces the car door open and gets out, steadying himself when it feels like his head and body are moving at different times.

His body is aching, his throat’s sore and swollen, he feels exhausted, like his energy has been sucked away. Gripping his backpack strap tighter, the blonde starts making the (surprisingly long) trek up into the building and to Diagnostics. Ignoring the looks he gets from the nurses at the check in desk, he scribbles his name on the clipboard and keeps walking, knowing if he stops for long enough he won’t want to move again.

Somehow, Chase gets lucky on the elevator and no one else gets on. It allows him to lean his head against the wall as the machine travels upwards. His stomach shifts uncomfortably. When the doctor steps into the large diagnostics room, his three coworkers are all discussing what he gathers is the new patient, if the blue folders in front of them are any indication. None seem to notice him as they carry on about the woman’s living conditions, for which he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t feel like talking, and wants to save his energy for the actual DDX.

The urge to make tea is strong, but the urge to sit the hell down is stronger, so he does just that, sitting gingerly in his usual seat and dropping his bag down next to him. When he goes to grab the patient file, he fumbles momentarily with it, trying to keep it in his hand. Once in front of him, he flips it open to reveal enough words that it makes his head swim.

“You’re quiet today,” Thirteen’s voice is directed towards him, tone curious.

When he raises his head from staring at the papers, Chase watches Thirteen, Foreman and Taub all pull faces. The woman’s eyebrows draw in, Foreman’s raise in surprise, and Taub grimaces. They all give each other looks, before-

“You look like shit,” spills out of the eldest doctors mouth, grimace still in place.

Normally, Chase would be lightning fast with a witty or sarcastic comeback; the only one almost on House’s level, but today he blinks and shrugs, chilled and fuzzy headed.

“You should go home,” Foreman speaks up, which makes Chase; even through his feverish haze, surprised. He and Foreman have definitely grown on each other the past few years, but he’s not expected for the neurologist to actually care about his well being.

“I’ll be fine,” Chase finally speaks, voice sounding croaky and tired.

“You sure? Because we’ve worked together for almost eight years and I’ve never seen you sick before,” the dark skinned man admits.

“Don’t get ill often.”

The last time he was sick, his mother had passed only weeks prior, and he was still in Australia, trying to get his sister to not go off the rails and end up dead next. Shifting and pushing those emotions down, Chase watches Taub go to speak again but they’re all interrupted by the glass door swinging open and House limping in. The intensivist should be amused by the way his boss is throwing his cane around and humming, but instead he’s swallowing against nausea, feeling too cold and too hot.

“New day, same old boring patients who are medical anomalies,” House says exasperatedly. “Someone, tell me what we’ve got.”

Foreman starts talking, and Chase listens, trying to follow along. Sluggishly, the thirty two year old flips a page in the folder and leans his cheek against his right hand, trying to go unnoticed by House. It lasts maybe two minutes, and then something is smacking his shoulder- wooden and long.

“Wake up sunshine!”

“I’m awake,” he grumbles, not bothering to turn and look at the man.

“Someone’s cheery this morning. Not get your wheaties? Or is it something different in Australia? Vegemite and toast?”

“I’m not in the mood, House.”

“Well i’m not in the mood to have someone on my team not paying attention or contributing.”

Chase finally looks up, eyes narrowing. He really doesn’t want to get into it with his boss, not today. He knows what House is capable of, he knows he’ll take things too far and the blonde doesn’t have energy for it. The grey haired man looks at his employee and he tries to hold his gaze but the urge to cough bubbles up from his chest and he turns, pulling his sweater up over his mouth, coughing tiredly. It scrapes his throat and when he’s finished he feels somehow more drained. There’s an almost worried look in House’s eyes, but then it’s gone.

“Gross,” House wrinkles his nose, and even Foreman rolls his eyes.

“Can we just get on with the ddx? Please?”

“Fine. But since you’re here, I expect you to still contribute and do your job, or you can get out.”

House’s voice is hard and almost cold. It makes Chase feel like he’s traveled back in time to when he’d ratted House out to Vogler, how his boss had treated him. He nods, rereading the pages in front of him.

“Could be Idiopathic Aplastic Anemia,” he offers tiredly, hoping it’ll at least satisfy his boss, whether it’s a good answer or not.

The day drags on. Chase is on lab duty, not that he minds. He’s feeling worse by the time 3pm rolls around, when they’re all reconvened in diagnostics and talking about lunch. Food is the last thing he want for once, and as Thirteen starts putting in everyone’s order on her phone, Chase allows himself to lay his head against his arm on the table, dizzy when he shuts his eyes. Thirteen says something about asking him what food he wants, but Taub cuts in with ‘I don’t think he’s wanting food. Let him be’. God bless him.

He must drift, because suddenly his skin feels too tight and he wakes abruptly. Everyone around him is eating, but he can’t focus on that. The only thing he can think is that he needs to pee, now. He stands, head rushing as he changes positions. Everyone looks at him.

“Sorry…have to pee…” he mumbles, body feeling oddly floaty.

Taking a step forward, it’s as if his soul leaves his body. Every ounce of color drains from his face, he feels an uncomfortably tugging sensation…somewhere in his body, he’s not entirely sure where. He takes another step and then he puts a hand on House’s shoulder when everything blurs. The last thing he hears is House.

“Are you kidding me? You choose the guy with the cane?”

Then it’s black.

“I need to take him home,” Thirteen says while foreman and Taub get the Australian onto the ground and into the recovery position.

“He’s not going home.”

“House! Come on-“

“He’s sick, he just passed out!”

“He’s being admitted, you idiots. His fever is too high and he’s dehydrated. I may be an ass but I’m not a monster.”

[maracujatangerine]

70. Fading light

CW: institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump

The edges of the world faded away into mist. Lydia passed beneath a stone arc, like the foundation of a bridge, her steps echoing.

The wet asphalt glistened in the light from the street lamps. Yellow leaves littered the road. Naked trees clawed their bare branches towards the overcast sky.

Suddenly, her parents were there.

“We moved far away so that we don’t have to see you too often.” Her mother said. Her father just shook his head.

“A Major in English, what good is that?” As one person, they turned away.

A group of girls she used to hang out with in high school laughed among each other, giving her pointed looks.

“If you really cared about the pets, you should have found out more about their past.” Andrew gave her a withering look. “You are just lazy and self-indulgent, playing with them like toys.”

“I’m getting tired of hanging out with you. Really, what do you have to offer? It isn’t scintillating conversation, that’s for sure.” Indira, dressed in an orange and violet salwar kurta, breezed past. Lydia turned with tears stinging her eyes, but the doctor was already gone.

“Darling, what use are you if you are not elegant and pretty?” Cecilia, leading Brutus and Absalom on two black leashes, laughed behind her well-manicured hand.

Some friends of hers from university just pushed their way past her without a second glance.

Carla walked by with Cassie.

“You are a burden to me.” She said, simply. Lydia could not keep down a sob, but before she could say anything, they disappeared into the dark.

And last, at the very end of the road, Cory, bloody, half-naked and kneeling, chained to metal bolts set into the asphalt. His eyes seemingly huge in a starved face.

Those intelligent grey eyes, she had been used to seeing them in fear, pain and worry, and increasingly in joy, laughter and affection. There were an expression in them that she had never seen before. Steely cold anger and deep contempt.

“This is your fault. If people like you hadn’t been willing to buy me, this would never have happened to me. I will never forgive you.”

She reached out for him, but the light faded fast and she was all alone on the wet road in the cold wind, all by herself.

*

When Lydia woke up, she felt disoriented. The sharp pain of grief in her chest dissipating only a little.

Quietly, she got up and walked down to the kitchen.

*

“Miss Lydia, c-can’t you s-sleep?” The pet’s timid steps came closer, a startled intake of breath. “A-are you c-crying?” Lydia quickly wiped away her tears.

“No,” she said, “I’m just fine, I’m not…” But then she met Coriander’s grey, concerned eyes and interrupted herself. She took a deep shivering breath. “I had a nightmare.” She admitted. “But I will be fine.”

“W-would y-you like a h-hug?” The pet continued very quietly. “T-this pet usually feels better after a hug.”

Lydia blinked away tears.

“Yes, Cory,” she said, “I would love a hug.”

And when the pet carefully wrapped his arms around her, she actually felt better.

She wasn’t alone.

*

This ask was a response to this post. I returned to the second half of the ask at a later time, and you can find that reply here. 🙂

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

[clairelsonao3]

Happy STS, Claire!

Half my dash is doing some variant of Nano right now. What do you hope to achieve this month? What are you most excited for?

Happy STS!, Elli! Thanks for the ask!

I hope to finish and post Ch. 29 of GSNBTR, and do as much as I can on Ch. 30. (Of course, this would have been my goal even if it wasn't November. 😂 But I guess if that means I'm doing CalmWriMo, well, sure, okay. It'll give me an excuse to post more updates!)

I know it doesn't sound like much, but 29 is going to be fast-paced with a lot of rapid POV switches (and cliffhangers, naturally), and so of course I welcomed the chance to put it off and work on something with lower stakes and less pressure. 😂

That would of course be my first Whumptober, which, despite my anxiety about that and the fact that it only resulted in 2.5 standalone pieces (which was always my goal), made me very happy with the way it turned out (They're here and here for anyone who missed them and just wants some SFW, romance-free whumpy goodness, since even though they are prequels they don't require any knowledge of the main story!)

I was hoping Whumptober would be a nice change of pace and that it would give me a new perspective on the story, and that's exactly what happened!

Oh, I almost forgot, the other thing I started "working on" (and by that I mean getting distracted by making haphazard moodboards and throwing shit at the wall) in October is the GSNBTR sequel, and if you want to add that in there as another "goal, for November why not? I have no idea what progress I'll make on it, but whatever.

Anyway, because I spent most of October on Whumptober and the sequel, followed by traveling and preparing to be in a friend's wedding, the main story definitely got neglected, sadly. That's all over, but I now have another busy week coming up before I can really get into it fully. I think I'm going to approach it with renewed enthusiasm, now, though!

[appalachianapologies]

Ok SO I've got some fishes I would like to share from the aquarium we went to a couple weeks ago. First here is my very very favorite fish. I have no idea what it was, but if I was naming it, it would be "patchwork quilt fish" because it looks like somebody just jammed 3 fish together. (Also here's a clownfish.)

And then there's THIS nightmare horror from the deep which apepared to have one red mouth and like 6 white eyes. I couldn't get a very good picture of this monster but trust me, it looks like it's about to start sucking out your blood while hypnotizing you with its 6 white eyes.

I have a request for a MacGyverism (maybe gone wrong? in a whumpy way? or maybe just a fact?) related to your chemistry homework. (Ok I literally have no idea what type of chemistry you're studying maybe this is impossilble in which case just.... whatever Mac thing strikes you.)

that fish just went thrifting and is showing off its outfit!! and ofc The Horrors™️

prompts

“Shit, shit-”

“Hoss-”

“Uh-” Mac shakes his head, having momentarily forgotten that he had his earpiece in. “How much time can you buy me?”

“I got three bullets and six assholes. Probably not as much as you need.”

“Can you at least keep them occupied?”

“I’ll do my best,” Jack mutters back. “What’s goin’ on?”

Mac swallows, glad that Jack can’t see what he’s seeing. “The casing is starting to erode.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that whatever container Moore was keeping the virus in, he chose the wrong one.”

“Can you fix it?”

“Temporarily, sure.”

“Good enough for me.”

Mac gives a nod to himself. He needs chemicals, and very specific ones. If the container starts leaking, which it inevitably will, he needs it to leak into an acid. The only problem is that he won’t be able to keep the solution acidic for long enough. At best, it’ll take a hazmat team hours to arrive. 

Mac exhales, eyes running up and down the shelves of cleaning supplies. Too many of them are bases, but finally, his eyes settle on the vinegar.

Unfortunately, that’s only half the battle. Before he can use it for any type of temporary containment, he needs to create its conjugate base to keep the solution at the same pH.

“Water,” Mac mumbles.

“What’s that?”

“New plan. Let the rest of the guards do whatever they want. I need you to find me some water bottles.” Mac looks back down at the canister, now blistering and looking more than ready to burst. “And Jack?”

“Yep?”

“Do it fast.”

[whumpy-wyrms]

🔴 for aspen (or any other blorbo of your choice!!) for the ask game!

- @whumpy-written-works

(from this ask game)

🔴 Red- What is a trait your OC has that those around them don't see very often? Is it seen by a rare few or completely overlooked?

hmmm i’m not actually sure! Aspen is the embodiment of a cringefail loser (affectionate) who is literally not afraid to be himself around others. he doesn’t mask or try to fit in, he’s literally so unapologetically Weird and i love that about him.

anyway i’m gonna infodump about him real quick :3

so ASPEN. this ended up being a disorganized mess but i dont care <3 so he talks all the time and is the most talkative person ever and never shuts up about his interest or passions. he will talk and listen to anyone about anything and never gets tired of it. he stims a lot in public but tries not to disrupt people, he just loves outwardly showing his emotions and being himself and not caring about people judging him.

he wears his headphones almost everywhere he goes because he’s sensitive to sound but loves blasting his favorite music into his ears and dancing/jumping around to it. he LOVES music, he loves to sing and plays a lot of instruments and he sounds amazing like he has a genuine talent for music and he does not give up on his dreams at all. he likes to write poetry and short stories also and definetely had a whole bunch of cringey deviant art ocs as a kid. he's a terrible cook but he tries anyway, and makes the messiest food you've ever seen but it honestly doesn't taste too bad.

he’s a picky eater and when he’s with other people, he doesn’t force himself to eat food that he doesn’t wanna eat because of the texture or taste. he literally doesn’t care how people view him, he does what brings him joy and won’t make himself uncomfortable just to fit in. he hates eye contact and does not force himself to make it. if people get annoyed by that, he’s not afraid to stand up for himself. like if he sees anyone picking on someone for being weird or different, he will drop everything and stand up for that person so fast.

he’s a genuinely nice and kind-hearted person and loves spending time around people and animals. he’s a very very social and loyal friend and an overall delight to be around, literally the embodiment of golden retriever energy. whenever he sees something that reminds him of another person, he brings it to them as a gift and shows affection just by being around people and understanding them. he goofs around a lot and is super hyper and playful, and is literally such a fun person to hang out with. he loves running around outside and climbing trees and making blanket forts and playing tag and hide and seek.

he loves hanging out in nature because that is his life. he knows everything about different kinds of plants and fungi and animals and just everything you could possibly know about nature. he goes into forests and forages for berries and knows which ones are edible and which ones are poisonous. he befriends every animals he sees and animals love him too because he’s so gentle and kind and literally would never hurt a fly (y’know, until he turns into a werewolf. and he also ate random animal carcasses he found in the woods but never got sick because he’s immortal). he loves to travel and wants to travel the world and see all the different types of nature everywhere.

he’s a wolf therian (otherkin) and he wears fake wolf ears and a tail because it makes him happy, and he barks and rolls around in the grass and howls at the moon because it makes him feel alive. he’s also a furry and has soo many cringey furry ocs and even though he’s not that good at art, he still makes art and is proud of it. he literally expresses himself in every way he can, and is not afraid of judgement. he loves himself and his ability to be cringe and free.

he tries not to let death bother him too much. he hates the cold. but he overcomes those obstacles in the end, just like every single other obstacle he’s faced. he finds happiness and joy in the worst of places, despite being constantly surrounded by death and constantly dying.

Aspen is just like the embodiment of harmless cringey weirdness and honestly i aspire to have his confidence to be himself around people!!! so, no, there’s not really a trait that those around Aspen don’t see very often

except maybe his immortality. nobody else in the world knows that Aspen is immortal besides Silas and eventually the ghosts and werewolf who turned him

[littleperilstories]

Fen & Freddie: Wherever You Find Love, It Feels Like Christmas

Warnings: a few references to the events of Whumptober's Fen & Freddie, like Fredde's hand getting impaled and Fen being kidnapped and tortured; difficult parental relationship; lying about going to therapy; implied ptsd; weird government shenanigans/getting a tracking implant. honestly it's not really whumpy unless you count Bridget angsting all over the place.

Less serious warning: I wrote this pretty fast and didn't do a whole lot of editing. I've no doubt there are typos and bad sentences. 😂 Enjoy!

Fen & Freddie Masterlist

Word count: 3543 || Approx reading time: 14 mins

Teaser: Bridget hadn’t always hated the holiday season. No, this was a relatively recent phenomenon, born last year—an awful Christmas, the worst she’d ever had and would ever have, she was certain. The one that fell only a month and a half after Fen and her boyfriend got out of the hospital, still trying to recover from everything Kain Brockhurst had done to them.

Bridget pressed her face into the steering wheel, groaning into the metal logo in its centre. The metal letters dug into her forehead, cool and sharp.

Get me off this highway.

Of course she was here, of all places. Of course she was living out the second-worst of holiday clichés: being stuck in gridlocked traffic, crawling along a four-lane highway at a snail’s pace, with no relief or accessible off-ramps in sight.

The only thing she could see to be grateful for was that it wasn’t snowing.

Wailing in frustration as the radio blared the fourth rendition of “Winter Wonderland” she’d heard in her hour-and-a-half -and-still-counting drive, she turned the volume to its lowest level and felt around on the cluttered passenger seat for her phone. Using the device while driving was, of course, illegal, but the car barely counted as “in motion,” and if she had to listen to one more a capella, glee-club style cover of a Christmas song, she was going to purposely ram her car into the one in front of her.

Once her blissfully un-festive playlist was blasting through the speakers, Bridget heaved a sigh of relief.

She hadn’t always hated the holiday season. No, this was a relatively recent phenomenon, born last year—an awful Christmas, the worst she’d ever had and would ever have, she was certain. The one that fell only a month and a half after Fen and her boyfriend got out of the hospital, still trying to recover from everything Kain Brockhurst had done to them.

Fen, her gorgeous, sweet, kind-hearted, innocent sister.

Freddie, the adorable if dopey love-struck idiot who’d gone running after her and nearly died for his courage.

Bridget could only assume last Christmas had been more of a nightmare for them than it had been for her, but she couldn’t know for sure. How would she? Her mother had told her, in no uncertain terms, that she wasn’t welcome in their house for the holiday. Or, in fact, any other day.

Bridget had been entirely prepared for another Christmas alone—no Fen, no Starr, no nothing—but this year, her sister had intervened.

You’re coming for dinner on the 25th, read a text that had lit up Bridget’s phone only a week ago. No ifs, ands, or buts. Bring cookies.

The message and its unspoken implication—I talked to Mom, and she said it’s okay for you to be here—had sent Bridget spiralling into sobs for a good half an hour. She’d been straight-up ugly crying: wailing sobs, face buried in a pillow, nose streaming in a slimy, hideous mess.

Now Bridget glanced at the stack of cookie boxes piled precariously on the back seat, emotions in check, at least for now. She’d meant to bake some treats from scratch, she really had. But that had been before the last-minute plans that had transpired in the days after Fen’s text. A secret encrypted message arrived in her email with a time and place,and she’d enjoyed a few days away from home with the friends who meant the most to her. Then, though, there had been the subsequent phone call from her federal agent, Donna, that resulted in a non-negotiable, unskippable appointment downtown. “I know it’s Christmas. And I don’t care. You missed a check-in, Bridget. You knew what the deal was, and you broke it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Bridget’s gaze roamed from the baked goods to the fresh scar on her wrist, barely an inch long, and her stomach contracted.

Well, so what if Donna and the feds could always keep tabs on her, know where she was, for the rest of her life? They were already doing that, anyway. The little procedure yesterday had just made it more official.

But seeing Starr and Jeff for the first time in months had been worth it.

And being back at her parents’ house, seeing Fen smiling and happy and whole, that would be worth it, too. Worth the diabolical traffic, the trek across town—to multiple supermarkets—to buy cookies, the thirty-minute-plus waits in line.

And whatever frosty glare her mom threw at her from across the room, or whatever argument born of blame and bitterness she started over the dinner table—the number one winner for terrible Christmas clichés—seeing Fen smile would be worth that, too.

~~~

Darkness already blanketed the street when Bridget pulled into the driveway behind her mom’s grey SUV. She sucked in a breath as she stepped out, stretching her cramped muscles, and stole a glance toward the yellow glow seeping from behind the curtains. Was everyone already inside and waiting for her? What was the reaction going to be like once she walked through the door? Fen and her dad, she usually saw about once a month. Freddie, only in the pictures Fen posted online. Her mom…

The incision spot on her wrist twinged in protest as she rubbed it nervously. What was she afraid of? What was the worst her mom could do to her? If anyone hurled a turkey leg or a gravy boat at her, what did it matter? One, she’d heal the bump or burn away in no time. Two, she deserved it.

Balancing the mountain of cookie boxes in her arms, Bridget dragged her feet up to the front door and hesitated. Moment of truth…

Before she could knock, Fen whipped the door open.

“You made it!”

Suddenly, Bridget was inside the foyer, her arms were relieved of their burden of baked goods, and Fen was wrapping her in a hug.

“Yeah!” Bridget cringed. She’d meant to sound bright and enthusiastic. Instead, the word came out sounding like she had a severe stomachache and desperately needed the bathroom.

Whispering in her ear, Fen said, “I know you’d still be standing out there if I hadn’t opened the door. Don’t be nervous. It’s gonna be fine.”

The reassurance did not quite have its intended effect; it made Bridget want to throw up. How utterly backwards it seemed for Fen to be comforting her.

“Okay.” Needing to change the subject, Bridget inspected her sister once they’d pulled apart. “You look nice.”

Fen grinned. “I found the sweater secondhand with the tags still on! Can you believe it?” She did a twirl to show off her outfit. She’d gone for an understated Christmas look: a deep, pine-green knit sweater with gold sequined details; a pair of skinny jeans she’d had since high school and which, infuriatingly, still looked incredible; gold stud earrings; and a satin headband printed with gingerbread houses. Bridget was keenly aware of, and a little embarrassed by, the baggy Christmas sweater, patterned with faded candy canes and reindeer, that she’d dug out of a box under her bed that morning before she hit the road. No amount of fabric freshener had been able to quite banish the musty smell clinging to the wool.

“I feel a little underdressed.” A flush crept into her cheeks as soon as the words left her mouth. Had she really said that? Was that really what she was going to complain about? What was wrong with her?

“Don’t be silly.” Fen rolled her eyes. “Freddie matches you. He’s wearing an ugly Christmas sweater, too.”

As if on cue, a figure appeared at the top of the stairs. “Hi, Bridget. M-Merry Christmas.”

Well, there was no enthusiasm in Freddie’s tone. His green eyes were serious. But there didn’t seem to be much bitterness in his face, either. And while the smile he gave her was small—it was still a smile.

It was ridiculous how happy Bridget was to see the enormous snowman splashed across his chest. A stupid amount of relief that she wasn’t the only one wearing a goofy sweater. God, why do I even care? “Hey, Freddie. Nice sweater. Merry Christmas.”

She had to concentrate on that garish snowman, because if she didn't, she’d stare at his hand—once shattered by Kain Brockhurst and then reconstructed by Bridget’s own healing gift—or his face, surely haunted by the horrors Kain had put him through.

“I can take these to the kitchen,” he said, descending the stairs to retrieve the stack of boxes. “See you in a minute.”

Bridget waited until he’d disappeared to speak. “If it’s going to be awkward, I can go. I—I get it.”

Fen grabbed her hand. “Bridget.”

Tears were already prickling the back of Bridget’s eyes, and Fen hadn’t even said anything yet.

“I want you here.”

Bridget squeezed her eyes closed. What had she done to deserve a sister like Fen? Nothing. “You shouldn’t, though. And I know Mom doesn’t. Not really.”

How Fen had found it in her heart to forgive her for what had happened was beyond her understanding. If Bridget had never stolen Kain’s formula, then he never would have kidnapped and tortured her sister. If she’d kept a better eye on Freddie, he never would have snuck out and gotten captured and nearly murdered—poisoned. And if she’d given up the formula as soon as Kain asked for it, or gone to the government earlier, then so much of their pain could have been avoided.

Yet here was Fen, gazing at her with sorrow in her eyes, but no blame. “B…” She choked on the old nickname. No one used it anymore. Not since Kain had ruined it for everyone. “Listen to me. I want you here.”

Bridget flung her arms around her sister. Why did it feel like her heart was cracking down the centre, when her sister was being nothing but kind? “I know. I’m sorry. I want to be here, too. I swear.”

“Good.” Fen wiped a tear from her own eye, sniffing dramatically. “You’re going to make me ruin my mascara. Then you’ll really be sorry.”

Bridget snorted. “When did you get so vain?”

Fen chuckled but didn’t answer. Bridget held onto her hand, not ready to let go of the moment. Not yet.

“Fen…” She swallowed. “Will you tell me, seriously? Are you doing okay?” It was a stupid question, a preposterous question. Maybe even a little disgusting that Bridget needed to ask when she should have just known. But Fen was back in school, and when they met up for brief coffee dates, they never talked about what had happened. Just about papers and exams and commutes and work and other awful, mundane things.

Fen’s gaze softened, turned distant, roving absently over the paintings on the foyer wall. “I… really am.”

Squeezing her sister’s fingers, Bridget said, “For real?”

With a gentle nod, Fen squeezed back. “It… I… It’s taken some time. It has. Taking the winter semester off last year… That was a good idea. I needed that, um, time. And rest. But it was also really good once I went back to school. All the papers keep me busy. I still have bad dreams sometimes, but..” She glanced up the stairs, at the space where Freddie had been standing. “I mean, I think he might have it harder. He still has nightmares, too. And the stutter comes back more often now. You remember when it was really strong in high school?” Bridget nodded. “And, you know, other stuff. He’s a little sad.”

As she finished speaking, a faintly stricken look crossed Fen’s face. “Don’t repeat any of that, okay? Like, I know it wasn’t… bad or anything… but don’t mention it. Please. I’m trusting you.”

“I promise,” Bridget said, halting a shudder as it attempted to travel down her body. Her gut was churning; she could only imagine the nightmares Freddie had been left with. “Is he talking to someone?”

Fen nodded. “We both are. We all are, actually.”

Bridget blinked. “Mom?”

“Yup.”

The thought of trying to explain the context—the comic-book-fodder drama—to someone unfamiliar with Kain Brockhurst and the lab that had turned him into what he was now made Bridget dizzy. The thought of their mother talking to a therapist nearly knocked her to the floor.

Fen raised her eyebrows. “Did you make any appointments yet?” She tapped her foot against the floor.

“In the New Year, actually.” Bridget kept her voice light, hoping Fen wouldn't detect the lie.

Her sister’s eyes narrowed, and Bridget knew she hadn’t gotten away with it, but Fen didn’t press the matter. “Good…” She paused. “Yeah. Good. Come on. Let’s go upstairs.”

Their dad was by the kitchen table, dancing along to “Jingle Bell Rock,” which seemed to be causing difficulties as he poured himself a glass of eggnog. Bridget smiled. The sloshing against the side of the glass and over its rim wasn’t deterring Dave Bailey from his dance at all.

“Hey, Dad,” Bridget said, giggling despite the knot in her stomach.

He nearly dropped the carton. “Bridget! I didn’t hear the door!” He flung his arms around her, pulling her in tight. “I’ve missed you, kiddo.”

I've missed you too, Dad.

“Don’t stay away so long next time.” He brushed a piece of hair out of her face, then grinned and gestured toward the eggnog. “You want some?”

Only if you’re adding some rum to it. She opted not to say that out loud.

“I’ll get you a glass,” Freddie said. He’d just reappeared, but he ducked away again, heading for the cupboard.

“Where’s Mom?” Bridget’s voice was flat, and she hated herself for it. Mrs. Fiona Song was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh… you know. Doing Christmas things. Running around.” Her dad accepted the glass Freddie handed him and began to pour.

Avoiding me.

“I have something for everyone,” Fen said before Bridget could accidentally verbalize her thought. “Ready?”

Even Freddie’s eyebrows drifted upwards. Apparently, whatever Fen was about to bring out, it was a surprise to him, too.

A grin swept across Bridget’s face as Fen grabbed a glittery, oversized red stocking that had been resting in a corner of the room. “Dad first!” From within, she pulled the ugliest, gaudiest Santa hat ever to exist, complete with a jingling bell at its tip.

Dave burst into laughter. “Wow! It’s what I’ve always wanted.” He accepted the gift with a flourish and tugged it over his ears, snorting when it just barely fit.

“Freddie next.” Fen’s cheeks pinkened as he crossed the room to stand next to her, his fingers grazing hers. He also received a Santa hat in his outstretched hand, this one bright green. Her next words were an almost-conspiratorial whisper, meant for him but audible to everyone. “It matches your eyes.”

Freddie’s face turned bright red as he leaned down to let Fen crown him with the ridiculous hat. “I love it.” He was smiling, though the flush still stained his skin all the way to his neck as he brushed his lips against Fen’s. “It’s p-perfect.”

Had it been anyone else, any other time, Bridget would have been rolling her eyes and pretending to gag. PDA, even when it was subtle, was so not her thing.

But with these two, it was hard to get annoyed.

Eyes alight, Fen turned to Bridget. “Your turn.” Excitement radiated from every inch of her, from her beaming face and bouncing feet. “Here you go!”

Bridget braced herself for her own Santa hat. What awful, hard-on-the-eyes colour had her sister chosen for her?

Her breath caught in her chest. It wasn’t a goofy hat that Fen pulled from her stocking. The gift in her hands was a satin headband, adorned with gingerbread houses—a perfect twin to the one she was wearing in her dark hair.

A lump grew in Bridget’s throat. “Thank… thank you.” Was she whispering? She hadn’t meant to. “It’s… It’s so….” She swallowed. “It matches yours.”

“Put it on!” Fen gave her a gentle nudge with her hip. “I wanna see what it looks like.”

With trembling fingers, Bridget tugged her hair out of its messy ponytail, gave it a half-hearted finger comb, and slipped the headband behind her ears. “I’m sure it looks cuter on you.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Fen said. “It looks awesome. Doesn’t it, Freddie?”

The corners of Freddie’s mouth quirked upward, and Bridget appreciated his answer even though it was clear what his true opinion was. “It looks great on b-both of you.”

Soft, slippered footsteps scritched across the floor in the hallway, heralding the arrival Bridget had been waiting for yet dreading. Every muscle in her body, relaxed and easy for a solid three and a half minutes, tensed again.

“Hi, Mom.” She’d forgotten to take the tag off the end of the headband, and it was cutting into her skin, stinging and itching at once. May as well be the one to make an effort. “Merry…”

God, she felt stupid, in this ridiculous Christmas sweater and this silly gingerbread headband, and it was hot in here, and when she glanced away, it was Freddie’s hand on her sister’s arm that caught her gaze, the shiny pinkish-white scar in the centre of his hand and the horrific memories that accompanied it—

“... Christmas.” Every drop of moisture was gone from her mouth.

Fiona stood in the doorway, still half in the hall. “Hi, Bridget.”

Bridget held her breath.

Slowly, as if she were approaching an undetonated mine, her mother inched closer. “Glad you made it safely.” A long pause. “How was traffic?”

Spinning, rumbling fractures rumbled beneath Bridget’s feet, resonating from the earth’s crust. This is really happening. She’s actually talking to me. Her mother wasn’t kicking her out. Wasn’t throwing a frying pan at her face. Wasn’t even shouting.

“It was, um, awful.” A nervous giggle slipped out of her, and the honest answer came out before she could think of something less true but more positive. “I thought I’d be on the highway forever.”

“Typical holiday traffic.” Her mother shifted her weight, shuffling in place for a few moments before she turned to the oven. “I should check the turkey.”

“Wait!” Fen bolted across the room. “You still need yours!”

“My what?” Their mom was stiff, her voice hard, but her gaze softened when she looked over at her younger daughter. Who, despite everything, was smiling. Laughing. Giving out silly gifts as if, a year ago, she hadn’t been bucking off the ropes of trauma that had tried so hard to tie her down.

“Your present, obviously.” Fen reached into her stocking and whipped out the last item. Bridget choked. It was the most ridiculous one of all.

“Oh, Fen, really?”

Fen ignored the weak protest in her mother’s voice and slipped the headband, decorated with sequined antlers, onto Fiona’s head. “You look beautiful.”

Bridget bit her lip, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry, and waited for their mom to sigh and tug the antlers off. “They look good, Mom.”

“They’ll get in the way when I lean down to get the bird,” Fiona said, looking a little helpless.

“I’ll check it,” Freddie said, his voice quiet, his mouth still turned slightly up. And in what was perhaps a Christmas miracle, Fiona didn’t argue with him or rip the silly headband off her head.

“Well,” said their dad with a wicked grin, turning on the heat beneath the steamer pot that housed a mountain or broccoli, “if Freddie’s handling the food, let’s go see what movies are on the TV.”

Freddie shot him a baleful look at the implication that he was now in charge of the entire Christmas dinner.

“Yeah,” said Fen, her eyes sparkling, “thanks, honey, for volunteering. See you later. Maybe the Grinch is on.”

“Hilarious.” But when Freddie stood upon straight again, waving steam away from his face, he was smiling. “How’s this?” He pulled the roasting pan’s lid free. “How’s it looking, in your expert opinion?”

Fiona peered over the pan, examining the skin with a discerning eye. “Few more minutes. What about the Brussels sprouts? They doing okay?”

Freddie returned the turkey to the oven and pulled out the vegetables. “They look good to me.”

Not even wincing from the heat when her fingertips plucked a glistening sprout from the tray, Fiona took a bite. “Perfect.”

And it was, Bridget realized. Not the stupid Brussels sprouts—she hated the damn things—but this. This Christmas. Her mother being stiff and standoffish, but actually looking at her. Freddie stuttering and keeping his distance, but wearing forgiveness in his gaze. Her dad cracking jokes and downing eggnog that might or might not have had a few glugs of rum stirred in. Fen pulling out her phone and dragging everyone to the Christmas tree for a truly embarrassing set of selfies.

Bridget grinned as the iPhone light flashed. Even with the ever-present knot in her belly and brand-new tracking chip in her arm, this Christmas was already a hundred times better than last year’s.

“Glad you came after all?” Fen whispered in her ear, handing off the phone to Freddie so he could hold it in his longer arms to get everyone in the picture.

Blinking away tears, Bridget nodded. “Yeah. I really am.”

“I know I already said it, but…” Fen bit her lip, her eyes also shimmering. “Merry Christmas, B. I love you.”

“Merry Christmas.” Bridget wrapped her arms around her little sister. “I love you, too.”

[danafeelingsick]

Could we get a whumpy version of the 'not nice caretaker' prompts, but for the sickee? Not sure if this makes sense lol

thank you so much for sending me a request, anon! you are my very first.

i didn't really understand if you wanted me to reverse the roles and have a whumper sickie being mean to the caretaker (which i'm not even sure how it would work), or if you wanted the sickie's response to the mean caretaker's threats. i went with the latter, but if i got it wrong feel free to send me another request.

sɪᴄᴋғɪᴄ ᴅɪᴀʟᴏɢᴜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛs #4

ᴡʜᴜᴍᴘ: sɪᴄᴋɪᴇ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴛᴇɴᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴀɴ ᴜɴᴡɪʟʟɪɴɢ ᴄᴀʀᴇᴛᴀᴋᴇʀ [ᴛᴡ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴛs]

1. “I'm so sorry, I couldn't help it.”

2. “Please don't be mad.”

3. “I can't... I can't...”

4. “I'm trying to not get sick. I swear that I'm trying. But you're going way too fast.”

5. “I've apologized already... Please stop yelling at me.”

6. “I can pay for the cleaning, I swear.”

7. “Caretaker please, I feel really nauseous.”

8. “Please pull over, I don't think I can hold it back–”

9. “It isn't contagious... You're safe, I swear.

10. ”Can you help me with these? I got puke all over myself... Can you at least grab me new ones?”

11. “It's nothing you can catch, I swear. Stay with me... Please.”

12. “Caretaker, I need you... please don't go.”

13. “I don't have anyone else to stay with me... I need you.”

14. “Can you please bring me some water? I swear I won't ask you anything else.”

15. “I-I need a bucket, right now. Please. I don't want to make a mess all over myself.”

16. “Stop laughing… It's not my fault.”

17. “This is funny to you!? You just like to see me miserable, don't you?”

18. “Why are you being so mean to me? What have I done to you?”

19. “If I'm so repulsive, just go ahead and leave! Wait, I didn't mean it... Wait, please!”

20. “Then leave if you are just going to berate me for something I can't help.”

21. “You don't have to be here... Just go, I can take care of myself.”

22. “I mean it, go. Leave me, I don't care anymore.”

23. “I'm sorry for being such an eyesore. I'll just stay in my room until this is over.”

24. “I'll clean this up, I swear. Just please don't hurt me.”

25. “My head already hurts... Can you please stop screaming?”

26. “I can hear you just fine... You don't need to– Argh, please stop.”

27. “I feel miserable already, I don't need your help.”

28. “You say that because you are not the one sick.”

29. “You're not the one hurting, are you? Then shut up.”

30. “I'm sorry... *sobs* Please don't be angry.”

31. “I think I need to go to the hospital… But the closest one is miles away from here.”

32. “I-I can't go on my own. Can't you drive me there? Please…?”

33. “Are you sure you cooked this through? It tastes a bit off.”

34. “It's *urp* delicious.”

35. “I'm already full... I don't think I can stomach anything more.”

36. “I'm sorry I couldn't keep it down. I'll pay you back.”

37. “Caretaker... I don't think I can eat anything yet. My stomach hurts.”

38. “Please don't make me eat this. I can't...”

39. “Why did you do this? I told you I wouldn't be able to keep it down..."

40. “I swear it didn't do this on purpose. It came up so suddenly... I couldn't hold it.”

41. “I'm so sorry for your (piece of clothing), you can borrow one of mine... You can even keep it if you want.”

42. “I'll buy a new one, I swear, just please calm down.”

43. “Why are you blaming me? You were the one who made me sick!”

44. “You really hate me that much? It's not my fault, you know?”

45. “It's not like I chose to get sick!”

46. “You were busy? That's why you didn't respond when I called? But you said I could call if I needed...”

47. “You're back... Did you bring the medicine? Y-You forgot? But I gave you the money...”

48. “The money I gave wasn't enough? I think you got the wrong one...”

49. “Sorry, did I wake you up? I'll try to keep it down...”

50. “I... can't eat this, I'm allergic. It's true! You've seen it before, I could die from it.”

*if you use any of these prompts, no credit needed, but reblogs are appreciated

[thecyrulik]

Deep

Here is the second chapter of this fanfic story for @whumpy-writings's Of Vampires And Men! There's gonna be at least 2 more, I think!

Chapter 1 here!

Content warning: institutionalized slavery, some dehumanization, environmental whump, fear of drowning, blood drinking, drugging (vampire venom)

Hooves stomping angrily on puddles of mud just outside the tent woke Arek up. It took him a moment to realize it was not yet fully dark out, and so he breathed out a sigh of relief. He didn’t know those two vampires very well and had no idea how they might react to him sleeping in or giving the impression of being lazy. If he were bitten, they might have been more lenient – he wasn’t sure about the black-haired one, but the older one seemed to know a thing or two about how humans reacted to feedings. He would be okay with Arek sleeping a little longer – if only he were bitten. Not that Arek enjoyed the bites, of course, but there was safety in being so out of it due to being drained, they just left you alone.

He sat up unhappily and noticed he was the only one still inside the tent. The other two sleeping bags were rolled up already and all the blankets folded neatly, military style. The chain on his ankle was also gone, which surprised him even more. For a little while he just sat there, thinking about the other night and what might happen to him soon. The young vampire seemed normal – or rather not normal, but pleasantly non-cruel. The older one, in the rank of a captain, was odd. Arek had yet to decide if it was a good kind of odd, though.

Guess he’d figure it out soon.

Not knowing what else to do, he crawled out of the tent to see the captain sitting by the smoldering firepit, about to start shaving. The vampire was clothed only in breeches and a plain shirt. Arek shivered, jealous of the leech's immunity to cold. After a careful glance to make sure neither of the vampires wanted anything of him yet, he got into the tent again to fish out his thin jacket, then put it on. After a thought, he folded his sleeping bag and the spare blanket, doing his best to copy the way the vampires did it. No need to risk getting in trouble for petty reasons, after all.

“Evenin’, 218,” the captain’s voice welcomed him. Arek figured he had no other choice but to go with his strange attitude towards humans, and answered, “Good evening, sir.”

Sure, let’s go with that. If the vampire wanted to play buddies, Arek was fine with that, as long as it kept him in a good mood. He didn’t dare hope it would last – it almost never did, they always got bored with being friendly pretty fast. Still, it was nice while it lasted. He only had to survive 2 or 3 weeks and then he’d probably end up in another feeding tent. Such was life.

The younger vampire, Briggs, was tending to the mule – the one Arek had nicknamed Betsy to help himself bear the journey easier. The animal was, as always, completely focused on eating all the green parts of plants she could reach, not caring much for the vampire’s warning pulls on her reins. Arek stood there for a second or two, trying to make sure the mule was treated right. It’s not like he could do anything about it, but it seemed like those particular vampires treated their livestock right, considering how both Betsy and Arek were still in a rather good shape.

“We’re getting going as soon as I finish shaving and the corporal packs us up. As far as I know, you guys eat much more often than we do, so grab a snack if you want to, because we’ll be walking all night soon,” the captain said, noticing Arek’s staring at the mule’s packs and misinterpreting it. He also adjusted his position to better see the left angle of his jaw. The razor shone in the fire, almost ominous in the still-red of the evening sky.

Arek stopped at the tent again, taking the sleeping bags and the blankets with him to the mule. Unbothered by the younger vampire, he put them in the sacks and grabbed some dry provisions, slipping some dried meat inside his pocket, in case the captain was being literal about walking all night. He returned to the dying fire, eager to warm himself up before the trip and analyze the vampire a little bit more. The captain reminded him of someone he used to know, but he couldn’t put a finger on it – not even narrow it down to vampire or human.

“Ready for another night of wonderful trekking?” the vampire smiled at him and Arek decided to check the waters just a little bit.

“As I’ll ever be,” he answered, eyebrows rising as he sat at the fire. Captain didn’t seem offended by the not-so-humble answer, so Arek relaxed and focused on his breakfast. Soon enough, the vampire finished shaving and got up. Arek tried to rise too, but the captain ordered him to stay where he was with a gesture.

“Finish your meal. I’ll help Fabian with the tent. I’m sure he’ll need it.”

Arek had no choice but to nod.

***

The captain had finally lost his patience. After another dead end, a body of water that was impossible to cross on foot, he ordered Briggs and Arek to stay behind while he did what he was a master of – scouting. They would follow him slowly, saving their strength, as he bravely got through the marshes, seeking the best way to get through the worst part of their journey.

Arek had no other option and so he just followed Briggs, dragging Betsy behind him. The younger vampire wasn’t nearly as chatty as the captain and Arek started missing that pointless babbling that kept his boredom at bay. The corporal wasn’t exactly a funny guy, though he seemed nice enough, considering he was addressing a human.

Not long after the older vampire had disappeared between the trees, they started hearing intermittent shots. They sounded like lazy practice shooting and not any genuine fighting, but it made them both tense, Briggs more than the human. Arek kept thinking about the Torins being so close by, and about which units he hoped would be there. He even considered making a run for it, but the swamps were dark and dangerous, and he was pretty sure he’d drown before he found anyone, human or vampire, if he were to travel alone.

Besides, he felt pretty safe in those two’s possession. He’d rather keep them around until he was ready to run.

Neither the vampire nor the human said anything about the shots as they walked slowly through the swamps. Arek stayed behind the corporal, weighing his options carefully. The two of them being oddly devoid of cruelty for now, the uncertain terrain, lastly the fact that they apparently intended to chain him every day when they made daytime camp – it all made choosing the best option very hard, as he didn’t know what the best option actually was. He also wasn’t sure what military units there might be around. Sure, he had some ideas, both from what he heard in the Lucian commander’s tent and from before that, but still, it all came down to the fact that he wasn’t willing to risk it, considering the… more dangerous possibilities, in case he was wrong.

So right now, he just walked, sogging wet, fighting a migraine from the rotting smell that surrounded him. Betsy followed obediently enough, one creature that didn’t have full power over him or couldn’t order him around – though to be fair, she managed to prove the latter statement wrong whenever she pulled the reins and made him go another way around a puddle or a fallen tree husk. She was mostly right though, so he didn’t complain.

***

It happened quiet. One moment Briggs was walking right in front of him, either tired or annoyed, but steady; the next one he was gone, no shout, no sound except a bit of bubbling. Arek’s eyes widened, trying to find the vampire in the darkness of the night and the trees surrounding them.

“Shit,” cursed Briggs, and Arek saw him again – legs deep in the swamp, hands grasping at mud that gave no purchase at all. The dark figure of the corporal wasn’t exactly clear in the dark, but despite that, Arek was almost sure he saw terror in the young vampire’s face.

He knew there was a chance of him regretting it later – this was a vampire, someone who held him captive and would have bitten him yesterday if he were allowed to. Arek really should just let him drown; at the very worst, the captain would be sad or angry, and could possibly take it out on him. It was unlikely, though – they still had a destination to reach and the captain had to eat something on his way there. And he had already made it clear he didn’t feel like carrying a bloodbag through these swamps, so obviously…

A loud splash brought him back to the corporal, currently up to his waist in what looked like a deceitfully shallow body of muddy water. Arek ignored all his human instincts that told him to leave the vampire to die, and pulled out a blanket from one of Betsy’s sacks. He managed to grab a corner of the soft material before she ran a couple of feet away, annoyed by the ruckus.

“Stop thrashing around! I’ll get you out,” he said in a nervous voice as he walked carefully towards the corporal. The ground was slippery and he felt it swallowing his shoes completely. He stopped, his legs wobbly from fear and the mud around him. He rolled the blanket into a makeshift rope, then threw the end towards the vampire.

Another loud splash and muffled swearwords told him he missed.

“To the right!” Briggs managed to say, “And hurry up, I’m up to my chest here!”

Arek rolled the wet blanket again, thankful for the extra weight that made it easier to throw. He made a knot at one end, hoping it would help the vampire to grip it.

The force that almost pulled the blanket out of his hands told him Briggs caught it this time.

“Stop!” he screamed, “I’m not strong enough to hold it if you pull it so hard!”

Mercifully, the corporal stopped struggling quite so heavily. Having stabilized the situation for a little while, Arek started thinking intensively about a way out of it. The mule was only a few steps away, disgruntled by the commotion. He knew he wouldn’t be able to pull Briggs out of it without any help; he just wasn’t sure if Betsy was enough.

Arek realized he had no choice.

“Help! Captain, help!” he screamed, hoping the other vampire could hear them at all.

“Fuck! The Torins, stop screaming, blergh! They’ll– bleugh, they’ll hear us!”

The vampire probably wanted to tell him off even more, but the muddy water getting inside his mouth successfully discouraged him.

“Would you rather drown here than be captured? Now stop thrashing around, I can’t hold you for long!” Arek whispered theatrically to humor Briggs. To his great relief, the pull on the blanket eased as the vampire kept still for a moment. Arek was able to grab Betsy’s reins, whose disturbed snorts and huffs made it clear she was not enjoying the situation either. The man tried to tie the blanket to the reins, but the material was very slippery. Another idea came to him.

“I’m gonna have to let go for a moment! Can you grab something near you that will give you support for half a minute?”

A couple of disgusted spitting sounds preceded the vampire’s answer, “Yeah, if I have to! But hurry, I’m gonna choke here soon!”

“Doing my best,” hissed Arek through clenched teeth, tying the blanket as hard as he could, to give Briggs a few precious seconds more as he started rummaging through the sacks. His hands found the cold metal chain in the dark soon enough. He pulled it out, trying to find both ends. He ignored the burning feeling deep inside his heart, telling him to leave the drowning vampire behind and just run.

“Can you say something? I can barely see you in the dark and I don’t want to knock you out with the ankle piece,” he asked as he was looping the other end of the chain through the mule’s reins.

“I’m here,” came a weak reply, followed by some more mud spitting sounds. Arek threw the far end of the chain a little to the left from where he heard the vampire’s voice.

“Got it?”

Instead of an answer, he heard some more squelching sounds, spits and curses, and then finally, mercifully, the sound of the chain rattling. Betsy bleated, surprised by the sudden pull. Arek stopped waiting for Briggs’ answer and got a hold of the mule, slowly leading her away from the treacherous pond until there was visible tension on the chain.

“I have it!” the vampire answered, his breath heavy.

“Okay, hold tight! I’m gonna try and make Betsy pull you out,” explained the human, staying close to the mule and urging her to walk away from the pond. He was extra careful with where he put his feet and where he led the animal – he didn’t think he’d last nearly as long as the vampire if he were to slip and start drowning. Betsy trod slowly, the sound of the rain muffling the squelching sound her hoofs made on the muddied grass.

Arek was straining his eyes trying to see how the vampire was doing. It appeared that he managed to keep his chest above water for the most part, though his energy was dwindling fast. Something about the swamp, Arek figured. Just like the ocean, it drained people of their strength quickly.

The mule stopped suddenly. She ignored the human’s urges and then he saw the reason for that; this was the end of the road as far as she was concerned. A narrow path of solid ground between two pools, not safe enough for the mule. They’d have to find another way.

“Help!” he screamed again, annoyance rising through the stress and the worry. Where the fuck was that stupid leech captain?

Stupid leech captain apparently heard his thoughts, because he came out of nowhere, trodding through halfway to his shins with inhuman speed. Figures, thought Arek as relief flooded him. He’s not human, after all.

“Here, grab this, I’m not strong enough to pull him out,” he said, putting the chain end into the vampire’s hands, “and Betsy won’t go any further, she’s afraid of being stuck too.”

Captain stared at him for a split second and Arek felt the confusion of the older vampire. He knew the reason for that, of course; it was odd for a human to try so hard to save a fucking vampire, obviously. Still, the captain’s stare made him feel weird, like he was judged, and so Arek shivered, feeling those eyes on him. He felt like he should explain himself somehow for caring about Briggs, and for… other compromising things he did that the captain might have noticed.

The vampire quit staring after a hot second and started pulling at the chain slowly, methodically.

“You’re still good, Fabian?” he asked casually, as if Fabian wasn’t up to his waist in the swamp.

An unsure mumble was all they got for an answer. Still, with the combined strengths of the captain, Betsy and Arek, they finally pulled the young vampire out and soon enough he was breathing heavily, lying on his back, entirely covered with the most slippery mud Arek had ever seen. Then again, he wasn’t much cleaner himself.

Legs gave out under the human and he just sat down near Briggs’ head, staring at his face, full of exhaustion and fear that was slowly fading. The captain kept quiet for a moment, but in the end he said quietly, “Alright, let’s move. I’ve good news for you, though.”

“Fucking finally,” rasped Briggs, and Arek couldn’t agree more.

“There’s a decent-sized hill just a few minutes from here. It’s not as wet as the rest of this wretched place, covered in trees, and there’s even a stream with water that seems mostly clear. So, up you go, Fabian, and let’s go before someone comes to investigate all those screams and splashes,” the captain explained and helped the corporal to his feet as Arek pulled himself up, too.

Their destination point really was just a moment away, but that was about it when it came to good news. The spot captain picked for them was indeed on a tree-covered small hill, but there was a wide strip of flat, uncovered land between them and the tree line at the foot of the hill, and the moon hung high. Even Arek saw the faint glow on the horizon that could only be the Torin camp. It was playing with fire in his opinion, but he didn’t have a say in this, after all. Besides, he was barely standing and the promise of dry land and clean water was too tempting to refuse that call.

They made camp silently, if slowly. Arek brainlessly pulled out all the parts of the tent from the sacks, then continued unpacking as the vampires put it up. He helped roll out the bedrolls and the blankets, well aware he was doing it mostly for his own sake. Then he left the vampires without a word, walking up to the stream that hummed nearby. The captain insisted they set camp a little away from it, in case some lost Torin soldiers came to clean themselves up – the sound of the water flowing could hide the sound of them coming, and their little team would be at a clear disadvantage in that case.

Arek was shivering as he took off his jacket and shirt, but he needed to get the mud off, otherwise he was sure he’d go mad. He managed to get his face and arms clean without his teeth chattering before he started on the shirtsleeves. Sometimes the splashes were interrupted by shots coming from the Torin camp, but he ignored them, too numb to feel anything but cold and exhaustion.

Even the sound of the captain coming up to his side didn’t make him react.

“Next time you want to leave camp, I expect you to tell me beforehand,” he said, reprimand in his voice, but it lacked any real threat. Arek just nodded, not looking up from the wet clothes he was holding. The vampire put a cool hand on his arm.

“Leave it. Go to the tent, warm yourself up. You’re shaking.” Arek nodded again and did as ordered. Corporal Briggs was in the tent already, dressed in spare clothes. There was a candle in the middle of the tent, and a map that the vampire was studying carefully, huddled over it. He looked up to stare at Arek, but the human ignored it and simply wrapped himself up in the first blanket he saw. He curled up near the candle, savouring the faint warmth, and almost dozed off, not caring about the vampire’s intense looks.

The captain entered the tent, waking Arek up.

“Okay, Briggs. Your turn.”

Turn for what, Arek didn’t know. It seemed like Briggs did, though, because he crawled out of the tent wordlessly and the captain took his place at the map. The human’s skin almost itched with anticipation and he was annoyed with the way the vampires drew this whole thing out, but it seemed like he had no other option but to wait. He shivered, half from cold, half from annoyance.

Captain must have noticed that because he folded the map and looked up at Arek. He sighed and shifted slightly so he now sat in front of the human, cross-legged and thoughtful.

“I’m Nicodem. What is your name, human?”

He almost didn’t hesitate before answering.

“Arek.” He purposefully omitted the ‘sir’ but it seemed like the captain didn’t care.

“Arek? That’s an odd name.”

“Nicodem isn’t exactly the most common one, either.” He smiled just a little, trying to make it clear that he didn’t intend to offend anyone.

The vampire bristled visibly, but Arek was now almost sure he managed to win him already.

“It’s a completely normal name for a Lucian vampire,” he said, a little indignantly.

“Well, that may be so, but I’m neither of those things,” pointed Arek. “Sir,” he added, half a second too late to sound respectful and meek. The captain just rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, don’t bother with all those ‘sirs’. At least, not with me, I can’t say it for Fabian here. But unless sticking to calling me 'sir' makes you feel better for any reason, ‘Nicodem’ or ‘Nico’ is just fine with me.”

Well. That was… maybe not a first, but it certainly made Arek reconsider some ideas he had regarding the vampire.

“Alright,” he simply nodded, deciding to think things through later.

“You did a strange thing tonight,” the vampire continued. Arek simply shrugged.

“Thank you.”

Now that surprised Arek. Vampires didn’t exactly thank humans for things. Still, he said nothing.

“I’m quite sure Fabian is grateful, too. You kind of threw his world upside down. I’m not sure what shook him more, almost drowning or the fact that he owes his life to a human now.” Nicodem smiled, hiding his fangs carefully, though Arek could still see the hint of them in the faint candlelight. “You have to give him some time to process it before he thanks you, though.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” Arek smiled sourly.

“All this talk about how we’re doing something noble by taking care of a lesser, vulnerable species that you sometimes hear from vampires – well, it’s bullshit, but it’s such a common belief it’s hard to get rid of it. Not only did you just save the kid’s life, you also changed it irreversibly. Made it worse, to be exact, due to the guilt that is gonna torment him for the rest of his life, but I’m pretty sure it will make the lives of humans he feeds on easier, starting with you.”

That made Arek smile against his will.

“I’m also pretty sure you don’t have these kinds of discussions with vampires. I don’t mean to force you to be sympathetic with us, so apologies if it sounded like that.”

Arek thought about similar talks at different camps in different places. They all seemed so far away, so long ago, even though they weren’t that distant past.

“No. It doesn’t happen all that often,” he answered eventually, keeping his voice neutral. He might not have done that good of a job because the captain stared at him curiously. Whatever he wanted to say to that had to wait, though, as corporal Briggs entered the tent again, his face tired and his sleeves rolled up.

“I brought you food,” he said, dropping a pack of bread and dried meat at Arek’s knees. Oh well. It was as much of a “thank you” as Arek could have hoped for.

Captain scuttled a little closer to the human, pulling the blanket away from his throat and shoulders gently.

“I assume you’ve been given venom before?” he asked, his voice gentle, devoid of previous snark or thoughtfulness. Arek thought of those other nights at other campfires, the brand on his arm burning as if fresh.

“Yes,” he answered, in the end.

“Would you rather have me give you a lot so you can go to sleep? Or do you want to stay awake, and maybe eat your food after we feed?”

Arek managed to suppress his eyebrows rising.

“I’d rather eat after feeding. If you allow it,” he added humbly, figuring a little flattery wouldn't harm him. Nicodem nodded and pressed his hand, palm open, on Arek’s chest. The human lowered himself obediently to the ground, hands tight in the woolen material he kept around himself until the vampire carefully pried his fingers open, making him let go.

He was now lying on his back on the blanket that formed a halo around him in the faint candlelight. The captain was hovering over him, his fingers moving up and down the column of his neck as he lowered his head.

“Easy now,” he whispered in Arek’s ear, and bit.

The pain was sharp and short. The human didn’t grunt, or wince. He was far too experienced for that. He just lay there, breathing through pain that soon gave way to numbness and calm that he knew was fake, but he still welcomed it. He heard some movement next to him and then a cool hand grabbed his left arm and pulled it straight. Fingers brushed at the brand on the inside of his arm, then closed around his forearm. Soon enough, there was another set of fangs in his wrist. Fabian Briggs drank like a man starved, but he still gave Arek an additional bit of venom. The human got dizzy, but he couldn’t do anything to stop either of them.

Mercifully, the captain finished quickly and he pulled Fabian away, too. The corporal stayed just above Arek’s wrist for a little while, licking it clean to heal the bitemarks. Then he moved to Arek’s neck, but as the human tensed a bit, expecting another bite, all he felt was a cool breath at his ear and a whispered “thank you”.

Briggs crawled away and burrowed inside his sleeping bag right away. Arek couldn’t really blame him, he figured, his thoughts floating lazily through the venom’s fog. Kid almost died tonight, after all.

The human looked around the tent. Nicodem was sitting cross-legged at his head now, staring at him with something like concern on his face. He held the food bag Briggs had brought earlier, ready to hand it to Arek if he asked for it.

“Thanks,” he whispered, holding out his hand for the bread. The vampire handed it to him and watched him start to chew slowly.

“You’re an odd one, you know that?” asked Nico, wriggling into his sleeping bag. Arek stared, his eyelids heavy.

“To you, yes. It’s not my fault, though,” he pointed out and returned to his bread. He saw the captain shrug and lay down near Briggs. Arek finished eating and saw the captain gesture towards the space between the two vampires.

“I’m not gonna chain you tonight, the lock is clogged with mud anyway. But don’t try to run,” he whispered casually in Arek’s ear as he lay down between the blood drinkers.

The human had no desire to do so, not now, but he still nodded obediently. He wrapped himself tightly in the blanket and drifted off to sleep. The last things he felt were Kern blowing out the candle and putting his arm on Arek’s shoulderblades, half protective, half warning.

Part 3

taglist: @that-sapphic-whumper @whump-cravings @thegreatwhodini

[gumnut-logic]

The Mine (Part 10)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 - Bit 1 & Bit 2 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 - Bit 1 & Bit 2 | Part 10

Okay, here’s the bit that was requested. I hope it lives up to expectations ::hugs the lot of you:: :D

Thank you so much to @katblu42​ for the read through. She is so kind to me ::more hugs cos I can::

Warnings: Non-graphic Virg!whumpy angsty stuff.

Thank you for waiting and I hope you enjoy it.

-o-o-o-

I was being held by my brother. Uniform, dirt, the unique scent of Scott’s jetpack, it was all so familiar and reassuring.

Scott was here.

I was safe.

I could let go.

There was pain, yes, but it was far away. Every now and again it would spike and shatter the illusion of safety.

But Scott was there and there is no one I trust more…

And he was humming a lullaby.

John doesn’t sing, but Scotty does. Rarely, but he does. Of all of us, he had the most time with Mom and she took every opportunity to bring music into the house.

The tune was fragmented and his breathing harsher than it should be, but the song from our childhood was repeated as if he was clinging to it as much as I was.

I love the moments where my brothers join me at the piano. It takes me back to earlier family times and I can almost hear Mom singing along with us.

“Almost done.” The words interrupted the music, but Scotty returned to the hum, almost full voice.

His gloved hands moved across my body, tightening things, moving limbs that did not want to move. The mask was both warm-wet and cold-dry as it pumped oxygen into me.

Breathing hurt and was exhausting.

“Hey, hey, Virgil. Focus.” Gloved fingers brushed across my cheek and I wanted to reach up and hold them there, keep them with me. But my body was somewhere else, all tied up.

The music became desperate and I frowned. I wanted to sing with it, but all I could manage was a gurgle.

“Relax, Virgil, but stay with me, okay?” Scotty’s voice was shaking. “I’m going to slide you onto the stretcher. I’ll be gentle and quick, I promise.”

Scott used to sing it to Alan, a very long time ago. Back when Mom had been lost and Dad was almost as lost in his grief. It had been a bad time.

But we had worked through it. We are Tracys. We never give up.

Scott slipped his arms under me, all tough uniform and silicon leather. “On the count of three…one…two…thr-“

Everything whited out.

“Virgil!”

Gloves against my cheeks.

“Virgil!”

I was trying to pant, but the pain…

Fingers in my hair.

A hiss as the oxygen in my mask increased, cold against my lips.

“Virg, you with me?”

A thumb brushed against my cheek.

“Sc-“

“Don’t try to talk, just open your eyes…that’s right. There, now I can see you.”

The hands on my face trembled as I tried to focus on my brother. My big, blue, blurry brother.

My heart was pounding ever so fast.

Another blink and he snapped into focus - worried blue eyes stared down at me through plexiglass.

“Scott.” My voice was little more than a parched whisper.

“I’ve got you.” Those leather-clad hands relaxed, one of them again slipping into my hair. “Strapped up and mobile, let’s get you outta here, okay?”

That tremble was no longer in his hands, but in his voice.

His hands slipped away as he rocked back on his heels and stood up.

“Scott?”

God, breathing hurt.

“Yeah?” And he was close again.

“Sing…sing for me?”

He visibly swallowed. “Yeah, sure.”

He didn’t ask what, and for that I was grateful because I didn’t care…I just needed to hear him.

So it was to the tune of that same lullaby that my big brother nudged my stretcher into movement and we began the trek out of that goddamned mine.

-o-o-o-

TBC

[cosette141]

Dreamshade 👀

hehe thanks for the ask! <3 and of course you picked the whumpy one lol ;)

It's a Neverland canon divergence/AU where Hook is poisoned with the arrow instead of David. Probably still gonna be mostly captain charming

Some lines:

“Emma! Hook,” came David’s voice, followed by his wife. “What happened?”

“Are you all right?!” Snow whispered with a touch of panic.

Hook lifted himself to his feet, offering his hand to Emma. She took it, telling her father, “An arrow almost hit me, but Hook knocked me out of the way.” Two sets of impressed and gracious eyes flicked his way. “We’re both okay.” Emma looked to Hook, with a little concern of her own. “We’re both okay, right?”

“Aye,” said Hook, giving her a flick of his devilish grin. “Any reason to get you under me, love.” He winked.

Emma looked relieved, despite the roll of her eyes… and the glare from her father, drilling a hole in Hook’s head.

“If you’re all done making sure no one broke a nail,” came Regina’s irritated voice, “I’d like to get back to finding my son.”

Emma’s face hardened. “Regina’s right. We’ve got to figure something else out, and fast.”

The group made their way out of the clearing.

Hook followed, but hung back a bit, finding a bit of cover from the trees.

Quickly, he yanked his shirt from his trousers, pulling it up to reveal his abdomen. His fingers shook.

Because there, at his side, was a long cut, sliced from the arrow that had been meant for Emma.

And it was quickly turning black.

[whumperfully]

Psst... Slips into the ask box~*~*~ Transcript:*a black and gold elegant back-tie style invitation*Sand invites you to...The Whumpers' SoiréeA whumpy writing event run by - @painsandconfusionInformational post pinned at the event blog - @the-whumpers-soiree

I did one here (in case you missed it):

However, thanks a lot for sending me another! There is no lack of whumpees interested in getting an invitation! (Besides I needed an excuse to try it again :D)

Lucky Mistake

My second entry for the whumpers' soiree

CW: Casual mentions of dehumanization, alcohol consumption, drugged whumpee, creepy/intimate whumper

"Your invitation, please." The receptionist smiled, dimples forming at her cheeks. Emery handed her the elegantly designed letter and she took out a blue glow stick.

Pouting at her least favorite color, Emery sighed. "Don't you have another?"

"Another?" She raised an eye brow. Could you be more specific, please?"

They looked down at their red dress. "How about red?"

A moment of hesitation and the smile returned to her face. "Sure!"

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Butterflies fluttered in Emery's stomach as they entered the hall. Blue and gold lights dappled the room, accompanied by soft classical music. The cling of glasses against each other. The chatter of the guests all blurred together. The scents of various perfumes and drinks wafted all around the high ceiling and marbled floor.

"New here?" Someone tapped Emery on the shoulder, taking them out of their trance. They turned around to see a lady with brown curls twisted up in a high bun.

The truth got stuck in their throat. "Oh no. It has been a while though. This time's decorations are really pretty." They smiled their best smile, maintaining eye contact throughout.

"Indeed. The venue might be the best one they've chosen so far. Come now, sit with us." She beckoned them to a small group of people laughing and drinking.

Emery introduced themself and eventually got along with them all. The conversation was rich and polite and they tried their best to keep up with it, inexperience hopefully not too apparent.

Soon, the topic shifted to pets. Emery happily introduced their innumerable childhood pets along with others. The situation, however, got out of hand when the man with the slicked back silver hair started talking. "I was 16 when I got tired of animals."

Emery let out a small chuckle. "I could never."

The man smiled. "I used to believe that too. For my 16th birthday, however, I got my first human pet and my views completely changed. Even now, the appeal for animal pets has completely died down for me."

"Human... Pets?" Their skin paled.

"Oh! You don't know, Em?" One of them asked. "They're like slaves except... Hmm..." They tilted their head to the side. "I suppose you dehumanise them."

"D-dehumanise them?" They tried their best to calm their racing heart. Surely they must have heard wrong. Surely they can't talk about something like that so casually.

"Yeah!" They continued. "Some owners get super attached to them and actually treat them well. Most pets however, don't get so lucky." Their laugh turned Emery's blood cold. "Still, who cares! It's so fun to see them begging and groveling and-- Em, are you okay?"

Emery most certainly was not. "I- uh- yeah!"

The lady with the brown curls swished the wine in her glass around. "You're too soft with your whumpees then, huh? New to the whole thing?"

Emery nodded, dread pooling at the bottom of their stomach. They wanted to get out of there as fast as possible.

The silver haired man gave a soft smile. "Don't worry! Everyone starts somewhere. Even I nearly let my first pet go. You'll get it eventually."

Sick. Sick. Sick. Sick. Sick. Sick. Sick. It was all too sickening. Emery abruptly stood up. "I need to... go."

"Ah! Right! Of course! We got too absorbed in our conversation, didn't we? I suppose we should start finding our toys now." The lady stood up as well.

Emery desperately hoped she didn't mean human toys.

"Seems like your first time around." The man ran a hand through his hair. "Let me help you out."

"Oh uh... Thank you but I must decline." Emery took a step back, ready to run away at any possible moment.

"I must insist." In one quick step, he crossed the distance between them, his eyes now boring into theirs. "It would be a shame if you'd get stuck with one that doesn't suit your taste, wouldn't you agree?"

Emery was at a loss. One wrong word slipped out of their tongue could bring the entire facade down. They managed a smile. "Thank you. I believe I do need some assistance."

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

"There, try her. She should be an easy one." He kept a casual tone, one eye focused on the figure in the shadows.

Emery still couldn't believe what they were about to do.

"Just keep my words in the back of your mind. I'm sure you'll do well." He gave them a small pat on the shoulder.

Emery braced themself as they walked over to their target-- a lady wearing enough black to be nearly invisible in the quiet corner. She looked up from her phone as they sat next to her.

"You don't mind, do you?" They stopped their hands from fidgeting.

"Not really, I guess." She shrugged. "What's up?"

"Nothing much. I just got a bit tired of all that excitement, that's all. Wanted to find someone a bit more on the quiet side."

She eyed the red around their wrist. "How'd you get that? I thought they only had blue ones."

"I thought so too but I decided to ask. They apparently have red ones as well."

"Ah pity." She sighed. "Red would've looked better with my outfit."

"Blue looks great on you too!"

"Blue's such a stupid colour." She rolled her eyes. "My six year old brother used to like blue."

They smiled. "You have a brother?"

"Used to."

Their smile vanished. "Oh. I'm... Sorry about that."

The lady bursted out laughing. "Oh! Don't be! I just have a sister now."

It took a while for it to sink in, but by the time it did they were laughing too. "Oh! I'm so stupid!"

"Nah! Everyone falls for it. It's my favorite joke."

The conversation went on smoothly after that. She was an easy person to talk to. After a while, they felt like they had been friends with her for years.

"--and then the stupid thing exploded. He didn't come out of his room for hours after that! Can you believe-- Hey... Do you know that guy? He has been staring at you for a while now."

Emery followed her gaze. The silver-haired man stood leaning against a wall, a small frown on his face. As soon as their eyes met, he raised an eyebrow. Conflict brewed in their stomach.

"He's a friend." They churned out.

"Oh."

An awkward silence reigned.

"So... Do you wanna get some drinks?" They braced themself.

"Sure." She smiled, getting up. Unaware of the thoughts in their mind, she followed them to the counter.

They talked more, the conversation jumping from one topic to another. One refill. Another. Another. Anoth-- a sudden chill danced up their spine. A glance backwards. Eyes glinting in the distant shadows. It was time. They couldn't postpone it any longer without arousing suspicion.

Resting their chin on one hand, Emery smiled at the bartender, ready to throw up at the thought of what they were about to do.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

"Oo! I really like this one!" She raised the glass to her lips. "You are a good guesser, huh."

"You just seemed to be the type." Emery smiled.

"Your voice... Feels distant..." She frowned. "W-weird..."

They caught her head before it hit the counter.

"Took a while, hm." A soft hand was placed on their shoulder. "Making friends with them first huh. You must enjoy the look of betrayal on their faces. How cruel!" His amused and excited voice made the hairs at the back of their neck stand upright.

They slowly nodded, their eyes too wide. The hand remained on their shoulder as they stood up.

"You don't look so good."

"I don't feel so good." The alcohol made quick work of the knots on their tongue. "I just feel so... Sick." They sat back down with a thud, clutching their head. "I'm tired of this... Stupid game."

"I believe you're a little drunk." The man now occupied the second seat next to them. "Perhaps you should return a little early." His hand slowly moved to their collarbone, up their neck, fingers brushing against their ear. "There is no shame in that." His thumb stroked their cheek.

"Shut up, you sick bastard." They slapped his hand away. "I'm sick of your shit."

He raised an eyebrow, a hostility clear on his face. "Excuse me?"

Emery stood back up. "I'm leaving." They turned around--

A hand grabbed their chin and twisted it around, forcing their face close to his. "I had my suspicions. You're enchanting, you know that? A pity your heart's too weak." His breath tingled their ear as he moved his mouth close to it. "You know what though, I believe I can fix you."

"Fuck off." A knee dug into his stomach, earning not even a flinch.

"Too bad." He smiled at their horrified expression. "I'm used to my pets struggling, you see."

Grabbing the glass with the drugged wine, he forces it to their lips.

"Sorry. I believe my friend here got a little too drunk. Don't worry! I'll accompany them and make sure they safely reach their home!" His excuse was the last thing that ringing in their ears as darkness consumed them whole.

@the-whumpers-soiree

Such a great prompt that I really wanted to try it again! Thank you once more! :D

[sylvies-chen]

Brettsey prompt 51

Thank you!

This is part 249294929 of me turning whumpy/angsty prompts into fluffy ones (and maybe even borderline smutty for this one?? 👀) Anyway, I’m sure no one’s complaining about that so enjoy!

51. "I can't breathe."

Matt doesn’t know what it is about Sylvie in that moment, in that particular second, that had driven him crazy.

All he knows is that one minute, she’d been in his quarters asking him about a report from the house fire they’d been to earlier this morning. And he’d noticed how close she was standing to him, how good she smelled, how she put a hand on his arm while reviewing something in her report. She’s always beautiful, and things between them have been especially good lately (he blames it on still being the exciting honeymoon phase of their relationship, the first few weeks of dating) but today, he notices how beautiful she is more than usual. Which is saying something, because he thinks about it a lot.

Everything is sort of a blur after that. Sly grins, flirty touches, and coy remarks all mix together and before he knows it, he’s closing the blinds, suggesting she locks the door behind her, and she eagerly complies, pulling him in by the shoulders to kiss him.

They’re at work, and it’s heated and sloppy and completely unprofessional, but damn. He swears any trouble they could get in would be worth it for the way she’s kissing him right now.

“Oh screw it, the report can wait until later,” Sylvie chuckles against his lips as they move over to his cot. Her hands urge him down onto it, leaning him back as she stretches one of her legs out until she’s straddling him.

They aren’t normally like this. They agreed when they first got together that they don’t need to be Stella and Severide 2.0– the PDA can be kept to a minimum for him and Sylvie, even though it can be tough for him. Today, however, for one reason or another, it’s harder than usual to resist the urge to kiss Sylvie senseless.

She’s not resisting that same urge either though, because they’re here. They’re here, and she’s letting it get intense very fast.

Not that he’s complaining or anything. Or at least he isn’t, until ten minutes in to their impromptu makeout session when her being on top of him finally becomes a problem. Her hands wander down his chest, grazing over the fabric of his white Captain’s shirt, when her arm runs out of space and she shifts one inch too far to the right. Then, he gets an elbow to the solar plexus and feels her entire weight on him. She weighs practically nothing but it’s a sudden movement and the abrupt additional weight placed on him combined with the elbow makes for a less than comfortable position that crushes his lungs a little.

“Ow,” Matt winces suddenly in between kisses. “I can’t breathe. Y— your elbow is crushing my chest.”

“Oh, sorry,” she offers with a breathy laugh. She shifts her weight off him slightly and moves her elbow off of him. “Maybe we’re a little too old to be doing this. Aren’t we supposed to know better by now than to fool around at work?”

“Hey, you’re the one on top of me. You can stop or leave any time you want,” Matt argues confidently. He knows that’s the opposite of what she wants and she gives him a playful scowl in return.

“Not a chance,” she dismisses firmly. A wild smirk dances across his lips when she says so, revelling in the wild glimmer in her eye. “But I don’t have anywhere to put my elbow now.”

“I guess that’s what you get with a tiny cot like this,” he grumbles. In his head, he’s already cursing the tiny bunk and wishing to God that their shift be over already so that he could take her back to the loft and finish what they’ve started.

“I mean, it is only meant for one person,” she counters. “I don’t think the people who made these necessarily took into account that firefighters might want to—”

“Have some alone time with someone?” He finishes her sentence for her, his eyebrows raising slightly as he does. “They should have thought of that before they put locks on the doors and blinds on the windows.”

“If I remember correctly, you were the one who pulled the blinds down,” Sylvie points out, moving to press kisses on his cheek and letting her lips trail down to his neck. She keeps talking in between each tender kiss. “You weren’t complaining then.”

He tries to control himself, tries to manage the heat and stiffness growing between his legs, but is unsuccessful. Sylvie Brett knows what she’s doing to him with every kiss and fighting the excitement is pointless.

So he doesn’t. He gives in, and lets himself follow that carefree, exhilarating feeling.

“I guess I just like the privacy,” Matt replies, his voice low and raspy and hungry. His grip on her waist tightens and he pulls Sylvie back into him, their bodies flush against each other as their lips crash together. Her tongue dances at his lips asking for entrance and he can’t help the reflexive buck of his hips that it pulls from him.

Everything is perfect after that. Her weight and her elbow are no longer crushing him, her hands cup his face as he lays back on the pillow, his own hands stay planted against her waist, one straying below the waistline in all the right places and the other to the small of her back. They guide her further into him, the pressure of their bodies pressed against each other finally making Matt give in to the overwhelming arousal. There, in the privacy of his quarters, he lets himself get lost in her. For a moment, he never wants to leave.

That is, until the bells go off and they remember exactly where they are.

At work. Where things never stop, and they never seem to be able to catch a break.

“Ugh,” Sylvie groans, pulling away from his lips and frustratedly burying her head in his chest. It’s a call for 61, he realizes as he listens to the overhead speakers. Disappointment seethes through his body as he groans. She props herself back up on her hands, still on top of him but now putting a slight space between them. His hands reluctantly loosen their grip on her hips as she stares down at him.

“I hate these damn bells,” he huffs, not attempting in the slightest to hide his disappointment.

Sylvie eyes him, soaking in the frustrated look on his face. If Matt didn’t know any better, he’d say she was enjoying seeing him so pent up and disappointed over having to let her go. There’s a grin on her face that just proves his point. But she leans in for a quick peck, smacking her lips as she pulls away, and smiles at him again. This time, it’s warm and understanding, albeit still disappointed just like Matt.

“Duty calls,” Sylvie tells him, stroking her thumb over his cheek one more time before awkwardly dismounting Matt and slumping off of the cot.

“Right,” he sighs, staying in the same position layed back on the cot. He can’t quite move anyway, for fear of making the growing firmness between his legs too obvious. “Go, save lives. I’ll be here when you come back.”

“I’ll hold you to that promise,” she giggles lightly, smiling again before running out the door. He lays back, takes a deep breath to control himself again as he returns the smile she’d so lovingly flashed at him.

And damn. If that smile alone isn’t a perfect reason to wait there for her— a reason to throw all logic out the door and break the rule he’d constantly chastised Severide for breaking all these years— then Matt doesn’t know what is.

[trope-appreciation-tuesdays]

Have a whumpy snippet from a superhero story I'm working on:

"I’ve got to stop doing this.

It’s a passing thought, there and gone again in an instant as he tries to summon up the energy to move. The adrenaline that’s kept him going since he got hit is fading fast, now that he’s out of the fight and the wound is bandaged. He listens to the faint buzzing of the fluorescent lights overhead, and forces his eyes open as soon as he realizes they’re closed.

Come on, he thinks. Can’t fall asleep here. I’ll get caught.

It’s that thought that finally gets him up, leaning heavily on the wall as he walks over to the paper towel dispenser. He can see his reflection in his blood as he scrubs red off too-white tiles, and when his stomach rolls he isn’t sure whether it’s from anxiety or pain.

He changes into street clothes and shoves the bloodied paper towels in his backpack with his suit, and swallows a couple painkillers with a palmfull of sink water. Hopefully those will kick in before he gets home."

Fantastic! Thanks for sharing this with me!