#whumptober2019

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober Masterpost

I have a couple years that I didn't finish that I never made Masterposts for, so I've made one now (: All are linked under the cut and all are Tumblr posts!

2019

Day 1| Fandom: The Man From UNCLE; whumpee: Napoleon Solo

Day 6| Fandom: Hawkeye; whumpee: Clint Barton

Day 15| Fandom: 911; whumpee: Evan "Buck" Buckley

2021

Days 1-4| Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast; whumpee: Juno Steel

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4

Day 5| Fandom: 911; whumpee: Evan "Buck" Buckley

Day 6| The Umbrella Academy; whumpee: Klaus Hargreeves

Day 7| Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast; whumpee: Juno Steel

Day 8| Fandom: 911; whumpee: Evan "Buck" Buckley

Day 9| Fandom: The Old Guard; whumpee: Joe and Nicky

Day 10| Fandom: The X-Files; whumpee: Fox Mulder

Day 11| Fandom: Black Sails; whumpee: John Silver

Day 12| Fandom: The Witcher; whumpee: Geralt of Rivia

Day 13| Fandom: Venom; whumpee: Eddie Brock

Day 14| Fandom: Limitless; whumpee; Brian Finch

Day 17| Fandom: Wolf 359; whumpee: Doug Eiffel

[embyrinitalics]

odd question but have you ever made a follow-up to Tear Stained from your Whumptober collection a few years ago?

Hello Anon :)

Wow I had to dig back a ways for this one! Tear-stained was part of whumptober 2019 (Ira Deorum). I never wrote a sequel, but it was inspired by a post-BotW epic I had planned to write; but since that now sits rather firmly on top of the "things I'll never get around to doing" pile, I'll tell ya all about it!

I feel like I talked a bit about this before but I can't find the post now, BUT ANYWAYS. This story was going to take place several years after BotW and basically follow the structure of the Riddle-Master trilogy. Link and Zelda are married, rebuilding Hyrule, and he still struggles with his memory loss.

He starts having these visions of a Sheikah Monk calling to him from a shrine hidden in the giant pit in the Yiga Hideout. They go on an excursion to find it, and when Link finally meets him, the Monk says he has ancient knowledge buried in his memories and he summoned him there to uncover it. Turns out the monk is actually a Yiga who infiltrated the monks' ranks, and lured Link there to pull information about the Triforce out of his subconscious.

(This was all before the DLC; when I was beating it with a friend I started telling him my ideas for an evil monk story literally as we're watching the post-Divine Beast cutscene and Maz Koshia's fingers move he pointed at the screen like 😱)

Anyways the pit implodes over the shrine entrance once the Yiga has him, and though Zelda and the Gerudo spend weeks digging through the rubble they don't ever find it again.

A year or so later Link finally busts out. The whole time the Yiga (named Qos) was torturing him with mind probes (a la Tear-stained), Link was also absorbing knowledge from him, and becoming incredibly powerful. He figures out how to tap into the Triforce of Courage and use its powers but is understandably Messed Up and consumed with ideas of revenge.

Meanwhile, the Gerudo tell Zelda about the explosion in the Karusa Valley and the reports that Link was seen there. She teams up with Riju and they go looking for him, and eventually meet up with him in Hebra. He basically says, "I'm gonna go kill this guy for everything he's done, stay out of the way," and Zelda doesn't really like the sound of that, and ends up getting herself into some trouble while trying to save him from himself.

The third act is a little hazy, I think I wanted Qos to do some serious damage to Zelda's mind and Link has to back off from his quest for revenge to help heal the damage, and it's pretty awful for him because the only way he can undo it is to go into her mind the way Qos went into his and it's just a lot of trauma? Anyways IT WAS GONNA BE GREAT GUYS. But the Dreaded Harddrive Failure of October 2018 pretty much killed it. I still have some snippets that were saved in my email. Here's one of Zelda Being Not Smart! :D

“So. You are the Zelda of this era,” he mused, watching her with calculating eyes. “You look a lot like mine. But you lack a certain air of confidence that she had.”

“I’m sure she was a formidable woman,” she deflected. She was not about to be baited into defending herself against 10,000 year old notions of who she ought to be. Not after everything she had done. Certainly not after everything he had done to Link. “I understand you’re after something that doesn’t belong to you.”

Qos laughed once derisively. “Who is to say who the power of the gods belongs to?”

“It doesn’t belong to anyone,” she countered, her pulse quickening at his brazenness. “But my family is tasked with protecting it from those who would use it for their own ends.”

“I see.” He folded his hands, as though to placate her. “And you mean to stop me.”

She pursed her lips. “If I must.”

“You may try,” he allowed, giving her a small smile. “But there is no need. I desire the power itself. I have no desire to wield it over others.”

“You tortured an innocent man until he lost his mind in an attempt to get at it,” she said icily, unable to entirely disguise her hate. “You’ll forgive me if I take little comfort in your alleged lack of ambitions.”

“His suffering was unfortunate,” Qos agreed mildly, “but necessary. I do not pretend to apologize for it.”

“I do not pretend that I would forgive you even if you did.”

“There is one thing I don’t understand,” he mused, narrowing his eyes gently. “Given what he knows I’m capable of doing to your mind, I’m certain the hero would do everything in his power to keep you from me. Yet here you are, and of your own volition. Tell me, how did you convince him to let you come looking for me?”

Zelda tried to swallow the lump obstructing her throat, but suddenly her mouth was dry as sand. “I came without his consent,” she admitted.

“Even knowing the pain the consequences of our meeting might cause him?” Qos’s smile grew wider. “It seems we’re both willing to hurt him, if it serves our purposes.”

“We’re nothing alike,” she spat before she could reign in her emotions. “I’m here because I’m trying to help him.”

“And that will only hurt him all the more.”

Hot tears burned in her throat as she stared at him, at a loss for words. No matter how she rationalized her behavior to herself, the ugly truth was that he was right. If anything happened to her Link would be devastated, and worse than that he would blame himself.

But despite knowing that, and despite having been asked by him explicitly not to confront Qos, she disregarded his wishes and the suffering the consequences might cause him under a banner of noble intentions.

“I can still feel his mind,” he murmured, his eyes drifting absently to the fire. “He’s consumed by his fears, and by his hatred for me. He thinks only of revenge. It must be difficult, being married to a man so devoured by rage. Can you truly think of him as your husband? Can you even love him anymore?”

“Stop it,” she demanded, biting back her tears. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of falling to pieces, even if his words were piercing the most vulnerable, tender places in her heart. She kept her voice steady. “You don’t know a thing about him. I won’t let him lose himself.”

“He already has.” Qos paused, his eyes sliding away from her, away from the fire, out into the night. “You can ask him yourself.”

Fear, cold and unforgiving, coiled itself around her throat. She turned, looking at the darkness. There was nothing. And then in the next instant he was there, standing at the edge of the ring of their fire as though he had always been there. His eyes were grim, his hands fisted at his sides, watching them with such a tangled mess of raw emotion burning behind his guarded expression that Zelda could not help her sudden tears.

“Link,” she breathed. He hardly seemed to hear her.

“I would’ve let her go,” Qos told him, his voice devoid of feeling.

She saw Link flinch. The conflict in him was evident: fear for her, fear for himself, hatred for Qos, a burning desire to kill him, an equally powerful desire to keep her safe. All of it left him immobilized, any action threatening to set off a chain reaction he couldn’t hope to break.

“Leave her out of this,” he warned him darkly. “She doesn’t have what you want.”

“Maybe she does, maybe she doesn’t. That’s beside the point now. She’s much more useful to me as she is: undamaged, but vulnerable.”

“If you so much as touch her mind—”

“You’ll do what?” he interrupted. “Kill me? I think you’ve already made your intentions to do that quite clear.”

Link took his eyes off Qos in a moment of indecision to spare her a glance. Her heart broke as she met his defeated gaze, desperate and paralyzed with fear. It was her selfishness, her pride, that had gotten them into this mess, and however it played out, he was the one who was going to pay the price.

“I’m in something of a predicament now that you’ve arrived,” Qos went on dispassionately. “I can’t outrun you. I’m not willing to kill you. And I can’t trust you to simply let me into your mind without mounting some kind of reprisal, even with her here. It’s in your nature to fight for her.”

“I’ll cooperate,” he promised, and it was so quick and sincere it made Zelda’s stomach drop.

“I’m afraid that’s not good enough.”

In the next instant Qos was gone, she heard Link shout, felt the Yiga run his hand through her silken hair, just grazing the base of her skull to her scalp, and she saw the unmistakable, terrifying flash of the red, inverted eye before she lost consciousness.

Hope that was a bit of fun for ya! Thanks for the ask!

[altomer]

Day 10: Unconsious w/ Seeley Booth

She was laying on the floor dried blood covered her forhead. Her wrists were bound in a strang postions and her clothes were ripped and bloody. If anyone walked in they more than likely would have thought she was dead except for the slight movement of her chest as she struggle to breath.

Footsteps pounded outside the abandoned house. Quiet commands were given in whispers. But they held the authority of a man trying to save the woman he loved.

Booth held up a hand silencing the officers who stood behind him. Footsteps started towards the house. Booth brought up his gun before rushing forward.

"FBI get you hands where I can see them!" The man turned and bolted. Booth waved for two officers to chase him down. He turned to the door. A padlock held it shut from the outside, there was probably a chain on the inside as well. He bit his lip before backing up. He kicked near the doorknob. Again, Again, and again, Until the wood snapped and the door flew open.

The moonlight flooded into the old house. Covering her body in an eerie glow.

"Y/N." Seeley’s voice was quiet as he rush forward. He fell to his knees and pulled her into his lap. He brushed her tangled hair away from her neck. His fingers ran up her neck trembling. Her heart was still beating. "We need an ambulance!" He yelled back to the officers,

"Seeley." A weak voice said from his lap. He looked down to see Y/N's eyes open slightly.

"Yeah Baby I got you."

[whumptober]

OCTOBER APPROACHES!

And so does Whumptober 2019! Feast your eyes on this year’s gut-wrenchingly glorious Prompt List, and get inspired to create some killer content starting October 1st. There are some changes to the tagging system from last year, so be sure to give the attached Event information a read! If after reading you still have questions, feel free to send an ask to @whumptober2019​ or reach out to the event creator, @la-vie-en-whump​ !

We hope you’re as excited as us to watch the Whump Community come together once again for a month of bone-crunching creativity and collaboration!

-Kat

The official Prompt List, Event information, and FAQs are all transcribed below the cut.

PROMPT LIST:

1. Shaky Hands

2. Explosion

3. Delirium

4. Human Shield

5. Gunpoint

6. Dragged Away

7. Isolation

8. Stab Wound

9. Shackled

10. Unconscious

11. Stitches

12. "Don't Move"

13. Adrenaline

14. Tear-stained

15. Scars

16. Pinned Down

17. "Stay with me"

18. Muffled Scream

19. Asphyxiation

20. Trembling

21. Laced Drink

22. Hallucination

23. Bleeding Out

24. Secret Injury

25. Humiliation

26. Abandoned

27. Ransom

28. Beaten

29. Numb

30. Recovery

31. Embrace

EVENT INFORMATION:

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 prompts - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined at your leisure.

Creators can produce work in media of their choice, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, and photo/video/audio edits.

Creators can participate as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don't have to do ALL the prompts if you don't want to) and prompts can be used in any order, and are free to use even after the event ends.

Anyone and everyone is encouraged to support creators by sharing and interacting with their content! Spread the love!

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to TAG with:

#whumptober2019                 .....(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3,               .....(prompt number)

#trope/#content/#tw:/#etc      .....(any additional tags you like)

#nsfwhump                            .....(only for nsfw content)

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Properly tagged posts may be reblogged to the official @whumptober2019 blog! Due to the volume of participants last year, we can not guarantee that your work will be archived, but we'll do our best! Feel free to tag @whumptober2019 in your posts - it makes your work easier to find. Questions about the event can be directed to this blog as well, or sent to the event creator @la-vie-en-whump directly.

FAQS:

Q. What kind of content can I make? Can it be NSFW?

This is a MULTIMEDIA event! You can write fic, post meta, doodle or paint, create a gifset or photoedit, link a song, or get crafty with video - anything goes. As for NSFW, make what you like, we just hope that you'll tag your work accordingly so that others participating in the event can stay safe :)

Q. Do I have to do all 31 Days? Can I post early/late? Can I combine prompts?

Participate as much or little as you like, and post whenever! Feel free to combine prompts, too! Just be sure to tag your posts properly (ex. #no.8, #stab wound, #no.23, #bleeding out).

Q. What if I don't understand a prompt?

Send us an ask! We're happy to help clarify. That said, the prompts are entirely up for interpretation :)

Q. Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges?

Absolutely! That's like shooting two whumpees with one bullet :)

Q. Can I upload/repost my whumptober content to other social media platforms?

Of course! That said, tumblr is the only place we'll be archiving content. Also, please respect the boundaries of any closeted whumpers in your social circle :)

Still unsure of something? Send us an ask!

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

WHUMPTOBER 2019

Prompts

1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5

6 // 7 // 8 // 9 // 10

11 // 12 // 13 // 14 // 15

16 // 17 // 18 // 19 // 20 

21 // 22 // 23 // 24 // 25 

26 // 27 // 28 // 29 // 30 // 31

[toomuchponytail]

Whumptober #20

Villain turned the corner flanked by two of their henchmen, their henchmen were chatting quietly between each other, mostly ignoring their boss--which was fine with Villain, there wasn’t any real threat of danger this time of night anyway. Plus the soft voices made the villain relax, reminded them of the more mundane parts of life, they sighed contentedly as they came within a few feet of the door to their base, ruffling for keys in their pocket--home again, home aga--!

Something hit the Villain from behind and tackled them to the sidewalk, they could taste the metal of blood in their mouth as their face connected with the concrete, the weight of a body on their back pinning them down making it hard to breathe. 

“Where are they!” an voice raged in their ear, “Tell me where you’ve put them you monster!” 

But then the weight was lifted, scuffling and scratching as it went, “Get off! I’ll kill you, I swear to god I’ll kill you!” 

Villain turned over to see hero fighting frantically with their henchmen, their usual fighting style and shining exterior long gone, they were fighting like a madman, but without any of their usual strategy or skill, their hits were random and weak. They were not even in their suit, just jeans and an over sized sweatshirt, they had managed to land a few hits but Villain was glad to see that their henchmen looked more bewildered than injured. They had the hero restrained in a few moments, struggling until they realized that they weren’t going to break their hold on them. So they let their head droop against their chest, breathing hard. 

Villain went over to them, wiping the blood off of their chin with their sleeve from the sudden attack, “Can’t say I’m impressed,” Villain stated blandly, “aren’t you a little young for a midlife crisis?” They lifted hero’s head with a hand on their jaw, what they saw stagged them. There were tears in their enemies hallow bloodshot eyes, and circles dark as the rest of the bruises on their face under them. There were some shallow cuts and deep mottled bruises in various stages of healing all over their face, like they’d been beaten several times recently, and they were so much thinner than the villain had seen them last, the state of them shocked villain into silence for a moment.  Hero grit their teeth in defiance against the kindness and worry that they saw in the villain’s eyes, even as hot tears ran down their face. 

“What is going on?” Villain asked, their voice gentler this time, almost as if they were asking themselves the question instead of hero. 

“Don’t play that with me!” Hero spat, “You’re the last one left! I searched all of the others! Now where is sidekick?” 

Villain looked confused, shaking their head, “I don’t have sidekick, I’m not even working on anything really right now.” One of the henchmen holding hero nodded in agreement, villain shot them a look, “What?” 

The henchman hesitated for a moment, “If you need a plan my nephew has this thing with bridges, it’s pretty fantastic and--” 

Villain smiled down at hero, “See, I don’t even have any ideas, that are good right now, certainly not in the eyes of my employees.” 

The henchman stopped talking about his nephew’s bridge plans, the other henchman elbowed him, “Not the time man,” they whispered sharply. 

They were surprised when hero went limp in their henchman's arms, sobbing and pulling at their hair as they collapsed to the sidewalk, “They’re dead! It’s my fault they’re dead!” They kept repeating to themselves as they rocked back and forth coming undone in front of them. 

Villain handed the keys to one of their henchman mutely, motioning for them to open the door. They leaned closer to the moaning hero, putting a steadying hand on their shoulder, “When was the last time you ate anything or slept?” They asked gently. 

“C-can’t find them,” hero whimpered, “I d-don’t know--” 

“Hey, hero look at me,” Villain commanded firmly, hero’s eyes met theirs, villain swallowed at the dull despair and panic they read there, they sighed, this wasn’t on the agenda for tonight, “C’mon,” Villain motioned to hero, “Lets get you inside.” 

“I-I gotta--” The hero tried to stand on badly shaking legs but stumbled and would have fallen if the villain hadn’t caught them, picking them up without much effort, hero didn’t have the strength to protest, they murmured sidekick’s name as their head landed limply on the villain’s chest, they were shaking so badly that their teeth were chattering. Villain carried them through the door and set them down on an overstuffed couch, giving an order to the henchman with a nephew to get the hero some blankets and something warm to eat. 

“Now, what happened?” They asked for the second time, hero looked even less lucid than before, they blinked blearily at the villain as trembles rattled through them. 

“S-sidekick call-called me th-three we-weeks ago, panicking, th-they needed h-help, I-I di-didn’ get wh-where they were I-I tried--!” Hero’s voice broke as they started to sob again, “I’ve b-been l-looking for them s-since, b-but I-I can’t--!” They buried their face in their hands as their body shook with sobs. 

“Hey,” Villain took their cold hands in their own warm ones, “I’ll help you find them okay? But tonight you need to eat something, get a little rest,” they got the hero a bottle of water, hero gulped it down frantically. 

“Can’t,” hero breathed, their eyes already starting to sink closed as the exhaustion took it’s toll, “They’re st-still out th-there, I’ll n-never forgive myself if--” 

Villain cut them off, “None of that, I’ll get my people on it right now, we’ll know where they are in a few hours, but stay awake for a minute for me okay?” 

Hero nodded but their eyes were already closed, they hadn’t stopped shaking, they didn’t stop even when henchman returned and villain wrapped them in blankets. 

“Here,” Villain gave them a warm bowl of oatmeal, they didn’t want to give them too much and make them sick. Hero managed a few bites, but they could barely keep their eyes open anymore. Villain took the bowl, they helped hero lay down on the couch, tucking a pillow under their head, “get some rest, I’ll get you when we find them.” 

Hero was dead to the world the moment that their eyes closed, when sleep claimed them they were finally able to stop trembling, melting into the softness and warmth of the blankets. 

Villain sat back, they’d already sent out several of their men to search for sidekick, but hero was too weak to be left on their own. They sighed, and sat heavily in a chair that henchman pulled out for them, “So,” villain started after a long pause glancing over at their henchman, “How good is your nephew’s bridge plan?” 

Henchman’s face lit up as they began to relate their nephew’s scheme.

[corruptimles]

december doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop drawing AU prompts, it’s good art stream content

(Part 1 OCS) (Part 2, Part 3 BATIM)

[mevima]

Guardian Demon

Rated T. Warning for graphic injury.

*

"Shit, shit, shit," Crowley chanted under his breath, a litany of background noise he barely paid attention to. He ripped his sunglasses off and tossed them away, hands hovering shakily over Aziraphale's body. He hadn't the faintest idea how to fix this. 

"It's all right, dear." The words would have been gentle and reassuring if it weren't for the raspy, weak way Aziraphale spoke. He coughed, and the way his chest moved was wrong. "The child?"

Crowley whined in the back of his throat, but spared a glance for the young teenager sitting dazed on the side of the road. "Fine. The kid's fine, I swear. Angel, tell me what to do." His hands finally came down to cup Aziraphale's jaw, clumsily wiping the bloody spittle from the corner of his mouth. Miracles he could do, but healing wasn't in any demon's wheelhouse. He was the only demon he knew who could heal at all, and this was... this was beyond him.

Distantly, Crowley was aware of the driver panicking, their shattered car embedded in a pole nearby; the gathered humans were making a lot of distracting noise, and someone had called for emergency services.

None of it mattered, only the idiotic angel in front of him who had used his fragile human body instead of a miracle to shove a child out of harm's way. "How could you be so stupid?" Crowley muttered, trying to feel out the damage. Lungs, yes, that's what the blood meant. And bones, at least a few broken...

"Hush. No big loss." Aziraphale smiled, reaching towards Crowley with one arm. The other lay crooked, unnaturally still at his side. Crowley grabbed the offered hand immediately, clutching it to his chest, eyes wide and fully yellow. "Glad she's all right. I'll be - ngh - back in a jiffy."

"You don't know that!" Crowley cried, curling forward. The angel grunted sharply at the motion, and Crowley cursed in frustration, dropping Aziraphale's hand like it burned. "We haven't heard from Head Office in months! Angel, please. Aziraphale. You can't discorporate. They might not let you go this time! They'll have you just where they want you! Why, why, you stupid, beautiful, noble - "

He cut himself off abruptly, trying to pull himself together. Focus. Lungs. Lungs must be the most immediate problem. He could fix that. Couldn't he?

Crowley closed his eyes, pressing his hands to Aziraphale's chest, muttering an apology when that drew a pained gasp. A miracle from below - he'd done millions of them, he'd healed his own corporeal form of nicks and scratches, he'd brought a dove back to life, for Satan's sake, this couldn't be that hard -

There, the cracked sternum, the fractured ribs, the torn lungs. He could sense it like he was there, existing amongst the capillaries and the flesh that made up Aziraphale's earthly body, more intimate than they'd ever been. Somewhere outside of himself, Crowley laughed hysterically. He was finally inside Aziraphale. It was definitely not what he had imagined.

Focus.

Demonic miracles were not meant to do this, but Crowley wasn't just any demon. Crowley never did what he was supposed to; he bent the rules, he found loopholes, he took credit and passed blame and he knew how to twist the universe to his will, and the universe was not going to take Aziraphale from him, not after all they had been through, not to some stupid human vehicle hammered together from the bones of the earth. If anything took Aziraphale from him, it would have to be God Herself and nothing less.

The puzzle pieces fit together. The universe bent.

A sudden rush of energy nearly froze Crowley's fingertips with the shock of holiness that edged it.

And Aziraphale sucked in a sharp breath, clear and healthy.

Crowley would never admit to crying; it was sweat that dripped off the tip of his nose and landed on Aziraphale's ruined waistcoat. He crumpled forward, suddenly exhausted, and laughed dazedly, staring at Aziraphale's shocked face.

"My dear, that was - " Aziraphale lifted his arm again, and blinked. Lifted both arms and marveled. "That was wonderful. How ever did you - that was practically Heavenly!" Awe filled the angel's voice as he moved, discovering nothing broken, nothing damaged. The only lingering sign of how he'd been thrown across the pavement was his ripped clothing.

"Don't know," Crowley croaked. He shook his head and scraped his hands through the tears dampening his face, but he couldn't stop crying and didn't know why. "I - I fixed you?"

"You did ever so well!" Finally sitting up, Aziraphale assessed their surroundings. The humans were handling themselves, emergency personnel bundling the driver onto a stretcher and others comforting the confused child. Their reflexive 'don't look here' celestial defense had taken care of their privacy quite nicely.

"That shouldn't have worked. But... but I couldn't let them have you." Crowley lifted his chin stubbornly, hands still shaking at his sides, until Aziraphale reached forward to clasp them in his own. Something buckled in Crowley's expression. "Upstairs wouldn't send you back, angel."

"I'm sure you would have marched into Heaven straightaway to fetch me, and given them a good tongue lashing in the process." Aziraphale squeezed his hands with a radiant smile, and Crowley offered him a watery one in return. "You have ever been my guardian demon, after all."

[diazevan]

ii. explosion

Morgan is a runner. 

Peter learned that on the day they met. Well, he was warned. She’s fast on her feet and is gone in the blink of an eye. Whenever he came over to play, she’d wear him out, with all her constant moving, from corner to corner, room to room. She was antsy, unable to stay in one place too long, and there was no way to distract her with a game, or a movie. She’d be up on her feet within a minute, looking for something else to do. Peter was built to chase after Morgan, according to Tony and Pepper, he was born to run after her. He was the only one who could catch up with her, and understand what she wanted to do next. He didn’t care if she wanted to play one-thousand different games in a single afternoon, he was more than happy to follow her anywhere, he had almost five years to catch up on, after all. However, going out for the day? That was a whole new task. Tony had, spontaneously, decided to take Morgan and Peter out for breakfast, while Pepper and May spent some quality ‘Mum’ time together, whatever that meant. Peter, being the paranoid older brother he was destined to be, started drawing up plans and solutions for every possible situation Morgan could run into. “Five minutes, twenty-two seconds….” Tony laughed, as they watched Morgan run off, towards a Florist, “That’s gotta be a new record.” Peter chuckled under his breath, he nudged Tony’s shoulder as he skipped forward, “You get our Pretzels....” He sped ahead, “I’ll get her.” “On it!” Tony called after him, with no argument. Tony was playing this off with his usual nonchalant bravado, but Peter knew that inside it killed him to see his daughter run, and know he’s not fast enough to catch up with her, not like before. Tony was adapting to life with a prosthetic arm, and still recovering from the fallout of using the stones. Peter had seen what Spider-Man was doing to him. Tony was reluctantly off-duty - he had to wait another four months before he could even think of stepping foot in an Iron Man suit again.  If Peter got hurt on patrol, Tony had to rely on other people to help. Of course, they were the people Tony trusted the most; Happy, Rhodey, and Pepper. It didn’t matter who helped though, it tore Tony apart - not being able to help his kids. “Petey, look at these ones!” Morgan pointed up at a red and blue arrangement of flowers, “They’re Spider-Man flowers.” Peter’s eyebrows shot up, he pressed a finger to his lips, he shook his head as he knelt down in front of her.  He loved that Morgan knew, it made life easier for them, but sometimes, it was hard to ask a four-year-old to keep a secret, especially one that big. His shoulders deflated, when he noticed that she was right because next to the flowers, was a small plaque that read, 'The Spider-Man Bouquet.’ Peter caught Morgan’s frailing hand as he stood back up to study the bouquet, his wasn’t the only one. There were arrangements for every Avenger. “Do you like them?” Morgan asked as she swung back and forth, using his arm as a monkey bar. Peter hummed as he looked down at her, “I love them...maybe, we…” His words died in his throat as a sharp pain shot up his spine and the hairs on the back of his arms stood on end; a warning he was all-too-familiar with. His Spidey Sense - commonly referred to as his Peter Tingle, thanks to May - was not reliable, but Peter knew that something was about to happen. Something big. He hadn’t felt dread like this, not since the final battle, when Tony snapped his fingers and almost lost his life, saving the universe. Tony. Logically, in Peter’s confusion, that’s where his mind went first. He clutched onto Morgan’s hand as tightly as he could, not wanting to lose sight of her. He snapped his head back, searching for Tony, he was on the other side of the street, talking to the Pretzel stand worker, wearing his signature ear-to-ear grin. He was safe. Reality hit Peter when he didn’t have long left to react to the coming danger. Tony was safe. They were not. Peter’s first priority was Morgan. Now, and forever.

He didn’t have his web-shooters, and they had no time left to run. So, he hoisted her up into his arms. Morgan didn’t need an explanation as she tightened her arms around his back, it was almost second nature for her to be in her brother’s arms. She was understandably protective of Peter because, for the first four years of her life, he was a bedtime story. When they first met, she hated letting go; she was afraid that they would lose him again. Peter tangled his fingers in her hair, to cradle her head; he threw himself onto the ground and he pulled her as close as he possibly could, acting as her shield. Peter was blinded by an explosion, and he felt the ground underneath him slip away. He locked his arms around Morgan as they were thrown around. He didn’t remember passing out, but he woke to the sound of Morgan, sobbing. “Petey! Petey, wake up…” He smacked his lips together as he tried to answer her, but his throat seized, he turned his head to his side as his reflexes kicked in, and began to dry heave, when his stomach failed to bring anything up, he erupted in a series of violent coughs; he bit down on his lip to conceal his hurt. Morgan was already scared, he didn’t need to add to that. “Stop it, Petey…” Morgan hiccuped, “Stop it!” Peter’s coughs came to an end. He wanted to open his eyes and reassure her that everything was going to be alright, but he could feel the darkness, wrapping its cold fingers around his ankles, trying to drag him back down. His body was on fire. Something metal and heavy was pressing down on his leg. The entire right side of his body was numb; he couldn’t even move that arm, he didn’t know if it was because of how he landed or if it was an injury sustained during the blast. This wasn’t like when the Vulture trapped him. This time, he’d taken every possible precaution to protect Morgan, so he took the full force of the explosion. He wouldn’t take it back, he saved his sister, and that was the most important thing. All he regretted was the fact that he couldn’t help her get out. He weakly brushed his left hand against the ground, and Morgan grabbed hold of it, as she cried out his name. “It’s…It’s ok..ay.” “Petey…?” Peter deflated, as he rolled his head to the side. He was overwhelmed by a repetitive buzzing in his ears, every noise sounded like it was thousands of miles away. It felt like he was about to drown, but he was able to stay afloat because Morgan was holding his hand. “Morgan!” Tony? That sounded like Tony. “Daddy? Daddy!” “Hey, sweetheart... I’m over here.” “Daddy! Petey is sleeping!” No, Peter thought, I’m not sleeping...just...resting…He tried to move, but he was paralysed; he could only tighten his hand around Morgan’s. “Okay, okay, honey…” Tony breathed, “Can you be really grown up for me?” “Hm-hm.” “Can you see if Petey’s breathing? Is his chest going up and down?” I’m okay...just...just... “Yeah, it is!” “That’s good. I’m gonna get you both out, okay?” “Okay…” “Morguna...baby,  I need you to crawl to me…” “No.” “Honey, you can do it, I know you can.” “I can’t leave Petey!” She pulled on Peter’s hand. “I know it’s scary…” “No!” Peter fought against the looming darkness to open his eyes, he couldn’t let Morgan put her life on the line, and he knew that she’d listen to him, “Hey…” Morgan’s lower lip trembled as she looked at him, tears rolling down her cheeks as she yanked on his arm, trying to get him to move, “Go…” She shook her head, “....Go.” “Morguna, I’m gonna get your brother out, I promise…” Tony coaxed, “Right, kid?” Peter couldn’t see Tony from where he was, but he could imagine the fear etched across his face, “Yeah...” Morgan looked back at Tony,  “You promise, three-thousand?” “….Yes…Yes, I do!” “Okay....” Morgan let her hand fall out of his, and she turned as she crawled over towards Tony. Morgan was Peter’s anchor, and she let go. So, he let himself sink to the ocean floor. Morgan was safe, and that’s all that mattered.

________________________

Peter knew where he was. He didn’t even need to open his eyes. The distance sound of Tony’s Alpaca enjoying his afternoon snack was the confirmation he needed. He was in his bed, at the Stark lakehouse.

Peter felt fingers brush against his hand,  “Kid, you with me?” 

“Hey…” He locked his fingers around Tony’s hand.

“Hey.”

The clogs turned slowly, and as soon as Peter caught up with what had happened, he bolted upright, screaming out Morgan’s name in a blind panic. The head rush made him regret sitting up so hastily but he needed to know where she was.

“Hey, hey...” Tony caught Peter’s arms and held them, “Look at me...” Tony knelt down on the mattress, “Morgan’s downstairs, she’s got a few scratches and bruises, but she’s going to be fine…”

Peter relaxed, and leaned his forehead against Tony’s shoulder, “...Yeah?”

Tony lay his chin on Peter’s head, “Yeah, I promise, bud. She’s okay.”

“That’s…Good.”

Tony leaned back, and cupped Peter’s cheek with his hand, “You... scared us, bud.” His throat cracked, as he pushed his hand back through Peter’s hair, “If you didn’t have your powers…”

Peter swallowed the lump in his throat, “But...I do.” He’d passed out after Morgan got out. Meaning, he’d been unconscious when Tony got to him, he couldn’t imagine how fucking terrifying that must have been. Tony had only just got Peter back, so seeing him like that, couldn’t have been easy.

“Yeah.” Tony bent down, pressing a kiss against Peter’s temple, “Yeah, you do.” He gently nudged Peter’s chin up, and his mouth twitched into a smile, “You ready to be lovingly tackled by your sister?”

“Always.”

You can follow this month of scheduled Iron Dad Angst on AO3!

[katagiriemily]

whumptober 2019 day eight: stab wound

another character from 『D.Gray-Man』, Lavi this time. in chapter 121, trapped in a dream world and swarmed by undead projections of his friends, Lavi stabbed himself to stay sane. 

[echo-bleu]

Five Things You Can See

I originally wrote this for the Whumptober “Asphyxiation”, but I never posted it on here. So it’s not technically new, but it’s my entry for day 1 of the Missing Alex Manes weekend ( @alexmanesappreciation) since I didn’t have the time or energy to write new things.

[panic attack, PTSD, abuse, mentions of war]

“Hey, I'm heading out,” Kyle says, passing behind Alex's chair.

Alex checks the time on his computer to see that it's already lunch time.

“Got a date?” he asks.

“No, just a healthy work routine,” Kyle shoots back. “You should get out more.”

“I'm eating out tonight,” Alex shrugs. “So I just brought a sandwich for lunch.”

“Eating out, uh? That's what got you mooning at your screen all morning?”

Alex turns in his chair to look at Kyle, who is opening the bunker door. “I'm not mooning!” he exclaims.

“Right,” Kyle rolls his eyes. “See you later.”

Alex glares at his back and goes back to his monitor. Seeing the shimmering out of the corner of his eyes, he pulls back his sleeve to admire the handprint on his palm. The colors and shining still mesmerize him every time he sees a handprint or the console, and today it's tinted with a rush of pride−and a foreign feeling of love love love mixing perfectly with his own. Michael did that.

He's been struggling with his powers for weeks. After Isobel shared that she manage to make a picture frame explode, and that Noah said they all had more powers than they thought, Liz became convinced that the only way to bring Max back was for Isobel and Michael to figure out how to heal him. Since then, they've been working at it most days, and it's been a trying time.

Alex has tried to support Michael through his grief the best he can, ever since he came back to his trailer late the evening Max died, after Alex waited for him all day, and collapsed in Alex's arms. He told Alex everything, talking through the night, about Noah, about Max, and finally about Maria. How he'd tried to find solace in paying guitar and Maria's lips and found out that all he wanted was Alex's arms.

Alex welcomed him into his arms gladly.

Isobel is now good at tossing objects around the room, and Michael is a convincing telepath. But neither of them had made any kind of progress on healing wounds. Liz, always self-sacrificing, has given herself countless paper cuts−all in the controlled environment of her lab, of course−and even convinced Alex and Kyle to help, but nothing has seemed to work.

Until last night, when Alex cut his hand deeply while trying to cook for a date dinner. The date almost ended in the ER, which Alex should have known because he's a terrible cook, but Michael sat in front of him as Alex was trying to control the bleeding with a bunch of tissues, cursing, and grabbed Alex's hand.

It took almost half an hour before the wound was completely gone, and Michael spent another hour throwing up and chugging acetone, but it worked. And it gave Alex an interesting new perspective on Michael's feelings for him, as their emotions started to mingle.

That's why he's spent the whole morning smiling to himself like a newlywed, but he's not going to tell Kyle that.

Pulling his sandwich out of his bag, he absently presses play on the next of the Caulfield surveillance video. He and Kyle have been going through them for months, now, and by now they're mostly doing it to give themselves good conscience, because it's highly unlikely they're going to find something new. The videos Alex is currently speeding through are nearly twenty years old.

Except the image on the screen makes him stop in his tracks. It's his father. Alex has seen him pop up in the surveillance images often, but he's almost never taking part in the experiments. But this time he is.

He's towering over a woman strapped to a table, whom Alex recognizes immediately as Michael's mother. Fuck. His father and Michael's mom in the same room doesn't sound good. There's no sound, which is part of the reason why the surveillance videos have been less than useful, and the image is grainy.

Alex watches, transfixed, as Jesse Manes talks. He has the same expression on his face as the one he gets every time he tells Alex how much he's disappointed in his son. Alex can't tell what he's saying, but his features slowly turn angrier at Mara's lack of reaction. She looks strangely immobile, peaceful, like her mind is not even there. She's dissociating, Alex thinks. I recognize that look.

Alex can't take his eyes off the screen. He flinches, the first time his father slaps Mara. He can hear the sound in his mind, like a clap of thunder.

This would have been...he checks the date in the corner of the screen. A couple of months after his mother left. Alex was eight. His father was angry all the time then, and Alex bore the brunt of it.

It turns out he wasn't the only one receiving the abuse. And he wasn't the only one who was completely defenseless in front of Jesse Manes.

Alex bites on his finger as Jesse slaps Mara again. He can almost feel the slap on his own cheek, but worse than that, he remembers the marks on his mother's cheek, more and more common in the last few months before she left. Jesse Manes has always liked people he can tower over, people who will cower in front of him. His wife. His youngest son. His son's seventeen-year-old already-abused boyfriend, once.

And, apparently, tied-up alien women.

Alex doesn't even realize he's having a panic attack until the world is swimming in front of him. He gasps, desperate for air that won't fill his lungs.

Dammit. Alex tries to focus on breathing, but the video is still going, and his hands are shaking too much to stop it. Not that he can. He can't take his eyes off his father and Mara.

Breathe. It doesn't help.

Five things you can see. Alex has done this hundreds of time. He learned this particular technique in therapy, but he used some variation of it long before he even made it to basic training. The screen. The bunker around him. His father, in the goddamn video. Shit.

Wheezing, Alex lets himself slide down from his chair and to the floor. He huddled under the desk. At least from there he can't see the screen anymore.

The legs of the chair. Part of the table. His bag, on another chair beside the desk.

No movement. Jesse Manes isn't there. Alex gasps.

Four things you can touch. Er, the floor. Probably dirty, because no one has bothered to clean since Jesse Manes ended up in the hospital. Alex closes his eyes at the thought of his father. Focus. The wall behind his back. The desk, with the top of his head. His neck is going to hurt later. His leg, too. The prosthetic, he can feel it, the sock around his stump. His clothes.

Three things you can hear. There isn't much, with the bunker underground and soundproof. Ventilation. The computer's buzzing. His phone, ringing.

Wait, his phone is ringing.

Alex ignores it, still panting. The world is coming back into focus around him, slowly, but he feels exhausted.

Two things you can smell. Dust. Plastic.

One thing you can taste. Ashes.

Alex swallows.

The ashes taste is what he gets for letting his traumas mix up together, because that's one from the explosion. Oh, well. He could rinse out the taste, but his water bottle is in his bag, too far away. He lets his breathing slow down instead.

His phone is still ringing. It's on the desk, where the video is playing on the screen. He can't deal with it right now.

It stops ringing, and Alex makes no move to get up. He'll need to, before Kyle makes it back here, but he has maybe another half-hour. He rests his head on his arm instead, so tired that he would lay down on the floor if there was enough space under the desk, and traces at the shining mark on his hand, trying to find comfort in it.

Alex scrambles to stand up when he hears the door of the bunker open, almost hitting his head in the process. His neck and his leg have seized up from the awkward position he was in under the desk, as he suspected, and he lets himself drop onto his chair just before Kyle walks in.

“Alex? You're still here? Liz's been calling you,” Kyle says.

Shit. “I guess my phone's on silent,” Alex answers as casually as possible. He makes a show to check it, and the screen shows three missed calls from Liz and one from Michael.

A cursory, though apprehensive, look tells him that while the surveillance video is still playing on his computer monitor, it's now showing an empty room. He lets out a breath of relief. “What's up?” he asks.

“Apparently something weird happened to Michael during training,” Kyle says. “They called me to check him out.”

“Weird? Weird how?”

“He said it was like he was being asphyxiated for a couple of minutes, and then it was gone just as silently.”

Alex frowns. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he's fine, just a little shaken up. But we don't know what caused it.”

“I should go check on him,” Alex says, standing up. “I haven't eaten,” he adds, taking his sandwich. He hopes Kyle doesn't notice that there's several bites missing, or that Alex limps more than usual when he walks out of the bunker. Kyle doesn't need to know about his father and Mara.

Alex shudders just thinking about it, the images stuck in his mind. Trying to distract himself, he starts his car and puts the radio on, thinking about Michael. Is something wrong with him?

He makes it to Max's house, when Michael and Isobel have been training, before he's even finished his sandwich.

“Hey,” he knocks on the door, coming in without waiting for an answer. “Kyle told me something happened?”

“I've been calling you,” Liz says immediately, pulling him into the living room. Alex stumbles, but catches himself on a bookshelf. “Oh, sorry. You okay?”

“Fine,” Alex says through gritted teeth, riding the sudden added pain. “Michael?”

“I'm okay,” Michael walks up to him from the couch. “It was nothing. It's gone.”

“I still think you should come with me to the lab to draw some blood, see if I can figure out what caused this,” Liz says.

“Maybe you should,” Isobel adds. “It was kinda scary.”

“I don't think anything's wrong with me,” Michael says. “I feel fine. It felt more like...it came from somewhere else. Maybe the mind stuff went wrong somehow. Maybe Isobel choked me without knowing it with her telekinesis, she's still not fully in control.”

Alex looks between them, trying to follow the conversation. “You should do what Liz says,” he pipes up. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Fine,” Michael sulks. “Wait, didn't you feel anything? You're supposed to feel everything I feel,” he indicates Alex's hand.

Alex starts to shake his head, frowning, but he stops himself. What if−

Fuck. He looks at Michael, then down at the shimmering handprint. He did this. He made Michael feel−

Fuck. Fuck Fuck−

“Alex!” Michael chokes out.

“Michael!” Liz shouts.

Michael's hand goes to his throat, as Alex struggles to breathe.

“Shit, that's what it was!” Liz exclaims, catching Alex before he falls down. “What the hell?”

“He's having a panic attack,” Alex dimly hears Isobel says. “Alex, breathe with me.”

Alex tries, but he can barely see Michael in front of him, struggling to breathe. “Alex, focus on me!” Isobel tries, forcing herself into his field of vision. “Count down from twenty, okay? With me. Twenty−”

Alex shakes his head, looking wildly around him. He has to get this under control. Right now, before it affects Michael even more. Only the thought that he's doing that to Michael is making it worse.

Arms engulfs him, squeezing him tightly, and−it's Michael. Alex can hear his wheezing, irregular breathing in his ear. The hug grounds him, almost immediately.

Count down. Twenty. Nineteen.

Michael is like a warm cocoon around Alex's trembling form.

Eighteen. Seventeen.

Alex forces his breaths to lengthen, ignoring the burning feeling in his chest. He has to do it, for Michael.

Fourteen. Thirteen.

“You're doing good,” Michael murmurs haltingly.

Ten. Nine.

They're on their knees, and Alex knows he's not going to be able to walk after that, but it's okay. Michael's there.

Not his father.

Five. Four.

“Almost there,” Michael says.

Two. One. Alex lets himself falls fully to the floor, unable to hold himself up. Michael gently accompanies him until they're both lying down. Their hearts are beating in unison, too fast and too strong.

“There.”

The girls have retreated somewhere else. Alex will care, later, that they saw all this, but right now he doesn't. “You okay?” he asks Michael in a whisper.

“Yeah,” Michael says, pulling himself up to look at him. “Looks like I feel what you feel, too.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I'd like to know what brought it on the first time, but we'll talk about it later. Right now, just let me get you to the couch and you can rest.”

“I don't need−” Alex starts.

“Alex, if the next words to come out of your mouth are that you don't need to rest, I'm going to choke you myself.”

Alex laughs weakly, surrendering. “Fine.”

He lets Michael pull him up and help him to the couch, using both his body and his telekinesis to keep Alex upright. Once Alex is lying on the couch, he sits down on the edge, running his hand down Alex's back.

“You don't have to stay,” Alex murmurs. Two panic attacks in a row are a bit too much for his body to handle. He feels his eyes closing on their own.

“I'm not leaving. I'd rather not end up randomly choking again without knowing why. So I'm stuck with you for the next few days.”

“Won't happen again,” Alex mutters.

“Yeah, well let's make sure of that together, alright? You can sleep. I'm just staying here.”

Alex nods, too tired to fight it. The hand on his back is still grounding, and he never wants it to go.

[ceruleanmindpalace]

Inktober # 13 - Boring

"Come on, Sherlock, I need you to breathe. I don't care if it is boring, so do it!"

 From @bluebellofbakerstreet​ 's Prompt List (No. 13 - boring) and @whumptober2019‘s Prompt List (No. 10 - unconscious).

 Colour Ink on brown cardboard, A4

I tried something new - again: a wild hatching style. It works surprisingly well as long as the nib allows fast erratic movements in all directions.  

 Do not post this on other sites/social media or use in any other way without my written permission.

[altomer]

Day 8: Stab Wound w/ Tony Dinozzo

WARNING: Life threating wound, Cursing,

I watched as the man lunged at Tony and without thinking I jumped in front. I felt the knife cut through the side of my shirt and lodge itself in my rib.

"Y/N!" I fell back hitting the ground hard. I grasped at the handle holding it steady. Shots rang out and the suspect hit the ground a few feet away.

"Fuck me." I muttered. Blood soaked through my blue NCIS shirt. Tony ran towards me dropping to his knees.

"You idiot."

"We have a man down I repeat man down!" Gibbs growled into his phone. Ziva and Mcgee crowded around me.

"Tony give me your shirt." I cringed. He pulled his ballistic vest off and tore his over shirt off handing it to me. I pressed it around the knife. Tony shifted around so he was by my head. I leaned my head into his lap. My eyes grew heavy.

"Hey," he smacked my face lightly "Hey stay awake, talk to me."

"Don't hit me dumbass" I laughed.

"that's my girl." I could see the fear set in his eyes.

"I'm not going to die Tony," He looked down at me with a smile.

"Of course not," He laughed. "Your to damn stubborn to die."

[clintbartonswife]

Don’t go

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Summary: the first few months after Bucky arrives at Wakanda you’re quick to notice his hesitance at being touched. When you finally break down his walls, you find that he doesn’t want you to stop.

@whumptober2019  Alt prompt #14 : Touch-starved

Warnings: bucky’s messy mental state

masterlist  ||  whumptober masterpost

From the first time Shuri introduced you to Bucky, you knew you’d get along. You were a visitor to Wakanda yourself, having been here for a few months already, so Shuri thought you’d be a good friend for Bucky once his other friends had left.

It didn't take a genius to see that Bucky was adverse to touch, and it took 3 months of rocky friendship until he felt comfortable enough for you to give him a hug.

You now found yourself, 5 months into your friendship, sat on your sofa with Bucky’s head resting on your lap, your fingers slowly carding through his hair. Your eyes were carefully watching his face for any signs of discomfort, but his eyes were closed in sleepy bliss.

The silence that had settled across the room was comforting, and a small smile played across your lips as you revelled in the feeling of his silky hair between your fingers.

Thinking he had fallen asleep, you carefully removed your hand and reached for your book on the coffee table. You halted mid-way as Bucky’s voice came out quietly from below you.

“Please don't stop” Bucky groaned quietly, his eyes fixating on you, welling with depths of vulnerability he had never shown you before, “please”

The pure emotion in his voice had you nodding, immediately returning your fingers to his hair.

“I’m sorry, it’s just - fuck - I think I forgot what human contact felt like”

it was at that exact moment that your heart broke even more for Bucky, and you stopped stroking his hair for a few seconds.

“Wha-?”

Putting your hands under his arms, you pulled him further up your body so his head was resting on your chest. Understanding what you were doing, he curled his hulking frame around your body, a small whimper escaping his lips as you wrapped your arm around him, the other finding its way back into his hair.

The position made him feel small and protected, a feeling he hadn't had since he was a child in his mother’s arms. He was always the fighter, the protector to Steve and his sisters. But here, laying in your arms, he just had to be Bucky.

You hushed him gently as he started to cry, murmuring soothing words as revelled in the touch. Placing a kiss to his temple, you wiped away the tear tracks on his face, your heart aching for him.

“Thank you” he whispered, face half-buried in your neck, “Thank you so much”

________________________________________________________________

Tags:  @xxloki81xx​  @geeksareunique  @bangtan-serendipity

[losingmymindtonight]

Whumptober: Unconscious

AN: Whumptober is just me seeing how quickly I can write something. It’s not quality, nor is it quantity, but it sure is fic. That’s about all I’ve got in me.

--

The alert went off just after 3:00 am.

Which was, as a general rule, not one of Tony’s favorite times to get alerts.

“Boss,” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice startled him from his hyperfocus on the exposed circuitry in front of him, “I have detected strange anomalies in Peter Parker’s vitals.”

He looked up in surprise. “What time is it?”

“3:03 am.”

He blinked. “And why the fuck is the kid in the suit at 3:00 am? It’s a school night. His curfew is 11:00.”

“Mister Parker is not in the suit. My readings are coming from the biotech in his watch.”

Okay. That… that wasn’t exactly ideal.

“What are the anomalies?”

“Mister Parker’s heart rate is unusually elevated and his blood oxygen levels appear to be rapidly decreasing.”

Did the kid go on patrol without his suit? Tony was going to kill him. “Where is he?”

“In his bed.”

Wait, what?

“Are you… are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“What the fuck? F.R.I.D.A.Y., track his phone.”

There was a pause as the AI completed the request. Then,

“It appears to be on the table beside his bed, Boss.”

“Call him. Now.”

“Of course.”

The sound of the phone ringing filled the lab. Tony pushed away his project. He had more important things to worry about now.

The phone kept ringing.

And ringing.

And ringing.

Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system. Peter Parker is not available. At the tone, please record your message. When you finish recording you may hang up, or press 1 for more-

“Push the call through, FRI.”

“Yes, Boss.”

There was a brief rush of static, and then quiet.

If he listened really, really hard, he could just barely make out the sound of someone breathing.

“Peter?” The kid must be asleep (or unconscious), because there wasn’t any answer. He tried again, louder. “Peter!”

He heard the rustle of sheets, then a huff of confusion.

“Mis’er St’rk?”

“Thank god, you’re alive. You had me wondering there for a minute.”

“Huh? Where’re you?”

He blinked. “Try your phone, bud.”

“Wha’? Why’re you in my ph’ne?”

No, no, no, no, no. The spark of concern that had settled at the sound of the kid’s voice lit right back up, bright and sharp. This was a serious step above you-just-woke-me-up-and-I’m-still-half-asleep confusion. This was… that was something much, much worse.

“I-I’m not. I called you, Pete.”

“Called me?”

“Mhm. Are you alright? F.R.I.D.A.Y. says your vitals went wonky and you seem… a little out of it.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I don’ feel good.”

He sat up straighter on the bench, hands clenching with fear. He’d known something was wrong before, but hearing the kid admit it only gave purchase to the panic. “What do you mean?”

“Feel weird.”

“Define weird.”

“Dunno. Head hurts. Feel sick.”

Tony blinked. “FRI? Does he have a fever?”

“No, Boss. Although Mister Parker’s O2 levels are dropping low enough to be an imminent concern.”

He leapt to his feet. A little early morning trip to Queens wouldn’t kill him. Who needed sleep, anyway? “Pete? I’m coming over, okay? Can you get up and wake May?”

“Not here.”

“May isn’t there?”

“No. Graveyard shift.”

“Okay. Okay. That’s alright. I’m gonna come take care of you. Just keep talking to me.” The suit folded around him and F.R.I.D.A.Y. flipped the call to his heads up display without being prompted. “Do you feel like you’re gonna throw up?”

“Mhm.”

“If you need to, just do it. I’ll clean it up later.”

“M’kay.”

“Good boy.” He rushed out onto the roof and shot into the air. He was so hasty in his takeoff that he had to quickly correct his trajectory with his thrusters, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Did you feel sick before you went to sleep?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm.”

“Alright.” He muted himself and finally let the panic seep through his voice. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.? What the fuck is wrong with him? Is it the flu?”

“The flu does not usually involve such a rapid drop in oxygen levels.”

“Then what’s wrong with him?”

“My sources indicate-”

“Those sources better not be WebMD.”

“They are not.” If Tony didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought that F.R.I.D.A.Y. sounded offended. “As I was saying: my sources indicate that Mister Parker is likely suffering from a drug allergy. However, it is also possible that the symptoms are the precursor to an epileptic episode or a brain hemorrhage.”

“Why the fuck would he have a brain hemorrhage?”

“Considering Mister Parker’s age, state of health, and activity level, the most likely cause would be trauma. Until I can run a more in-depth scan, your best course of action would be to continue assessing his mental status.”

He switched his audio back on, nodding as if F.R.I.D.A.Y. needed his confirmation. “Hey, buddy. You still with me?”

“Mhm.”

“Good job. Hey, I have some questions to ask you, and it’s really important that you answer them honestly. I swear I won’t get mad.”

“M’kay.”

“Did you go on patrol earlier? Without the suit?”

“No.”

“Do you promise?”

“Mhm.”

“So no injuries I should know about?”

“No.”

“Did you take medicine before you went to sleep? Ibuprofen? Anything?”

“No.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Mhm.”

“Alright. Have you ever had a seizure, Pete?”

“Wha’?” That question seemed to wake the kid up a bit. “No. Why?”

“I’m just checking. How do you feel?”

Peter seemed to contemplate that for a second.

“‘M... ‘M really tired, Mis’er Stark.”

“No. Nope. Stay awake, okay? I don’t know what's wrong with you yet.”

“Somethin’s wrong wi’ me?”

This is wrong. This is so, so wrong. “Yeah, buddy. You told me you didn’t feel good. Remember?”

“Mm. Oh, yeah. I really don’ feel good.”

“I know. I’m,” he glanced at the ETA F.R.I.D.A.Y. helpfully threw up on the screen, “I’m three minutes away from you. Hang on.”

“M’kay.”

There was something impossibly frightening about having something wrong with Peter and not knowing what. He’d had to get used to the idea of the kid getting hurt on patrol, rolling into the Tower clutching a bleeding wound or a broken bone. It was an uncomfortable truth, but one he’d learned to assimilate into his life.

But this… this was exponentially more frightening. This was something happening to Peter, not Spider-Man. He could sew up bullet wounds and cast broken bones. He couldn’t fix something he couldn’t even diagnose.

God, he hated being stuck in the dark.

“Can you tell me more about what’s wrong, kiddo?” Honestly, he didn’t really expect to learn anything useful. He was just trying to keep Peter as lucid as possible until he could get there. “What feels bad?”

“Head.”

“Your head hurts?”

“Mhm.”

He could see Peter’s apartment complex now. Every inch closer made his heart rate climb. “Anything else?”

“Dunno. ‘M just… tired.”

“Alright. Remember what I said, though, right? No sleeping.”

“No sleepin’.”

“That’s it. Good boy.” He landed on the fire escape outside Peter’s room with the discordant clatter of metal on metal. It was loud enough to be unwanted at 3:00 in the goddamn morning, but Tony couldn’t bring himself to care. “I’m here, bud.”

“Took a long time.”

Don’t I know it, kid.

He ended up climbing through the window into Peter’s room. There was a part of him that nearly went into the main entrance and took the elevator to the apartment (May had given him a spare key, so he could’ve just let himself in), but the half-panicked ball of worry in his chest convinced him otherwise.

“Pete?”

The lump on the bed shifted. “Mis’er Stark?”

He rushed to the kid’s side, metal-clad knees knocking into wooden floors as he knelt beside the low-slung mattress. “Hey, squirt. Told you I was coming.”

Suddenly, an alert, red and flashing and impossible to ignore, exploded onto his heads up display.

WARNING: DANGEROUS LEVELS OF CARBON MONOXIDE DETECTED DO NOT REMOVE HELMET INITIALIZING OXYGEN RESERVES OXYGEN RESERVES INITIALIZED

He froze in realization. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“Mister Parker’s symptoms match those of carbon monoxide poisoning, although it is notoriously difficult to diagnose without context. There is likely a leak somewhere in the building.”

“What do I-”

“It is advised to remove Mister Parker from the contaminated area and into fresh air as quickly as possible. I have notified emergency services. They should arrive within five minutes to assist the other residents.”

At some point during his hurried conversation with F.R.I.D.A.Y., Peter’s eyes had fallen shut. He didn’t move when Tony pressed his gauntlet against his shoulder. He shook him, first gently and then with more vigor, and the kid just stayed limp.

“Pete?” Nothing. Shit. “Alright. Don’t worry about it, kiddo, I’ve got it handled.” He tore Peter’s comforter away in a manner that definitely did not denote I’ve got it handled, but he supposed it didn’t really matter when Peter was unconscious. “I’m gonna pick you up now, okay? We’re going on a little trip.”

Peter offered no resistance when Tony scooped him up. And, fuck, the kid was heavy. Sometimes it was easy to forget that the kid was 5’8” of pure muscle.

Pure muscle that was now a complete deadweight.

Great.

He clambered onto the fire escape with a lot more grace than he’d really expected. Then again, he had the added motivation of not wanting to jostle the precious cargo cradled to his chestplate. As he went, he found himself babbling nonsensically to the kid.

“It’s all gonna be fine. I’m gonna take you back to the Tower and pump you full of oxygen. That’ll be nice, yeah? And I’ll call May, tell her that you can both bunk at the Tower until the leak gets solved. It’ll be great. You love sleepovers.”

Peter didn’t twitch during the flight back to the Tower, but F.R.I.D.A.Y. didn’t alert him to any worsening vitals, so he did his best to focus through it. He didn’t waste time taking the suit off when he landed on the roof, just headed straight for the MedBay.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” He called, skidding his way into one of the MedBay rooms. “What do I do? Why hasn’t he woken up yet?”

“He needs oxygen, Boss.”

He felt like screaming. “He’s getting oxygen.”

“Not enough.”

He deposited Peter onto the bed in a tangle of uncoordinated limbs. His lips were tinged with blue, just slightly, and the sight made Tony feel like he wasn’t getting enough oxygen himself.

“Sorry, sorry.” He winced in sympathy as the kid’s head lolled unnaturally against the plastic mattress. “I’ll make you comfy when you can breathe, kiddo, sorry…”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. chimed in before he could even process that he needed her help. “The oxygen tanks are located in the hallway supply closet, along with tubing and a mask.”

He jogged out the door and tore open the closet door. It only took him a few seconds to bundle everything he needed into his arms, but they felt like wasted moments all the same.

He’d helped set up a few oxygen tanks in the past, and it wasn’t necessarily difficult. Attaching the tubing was made slightly more complicated by the tremors running through his hands, but he pushed through it. 

“There ya go, buddy.” Relief rushed through him once the mask was snug over the kid’s face. “All better now. Or, at least, we’re on our way, yeah?”

The next few minutes dragged by. Tony resisted the urge to glue himself to the vital monitors. Instead, he forced himself to trust F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s judgement, and stuck right by Peter’s side, brushing his hair back and talking gently. He knew firsthand the adrenaline rush of waking up in a place different than the one you lost consciousness in, knew how terrifying and disorienting it was. He wanted Peter to have an anchor: something that he understood, even if he didn’t understand anything else.

“His oxygen stats are improving rapidly, Boss,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. offered after what felt like an eternity. “I estimate that he is likely to regain consciousness soon.”

Sure enough, Peter groaned a minute or two later, forehead wrinkling and he shifted weakly against the mattress. 

“Hey buddy,” he murmured, cupping Peter’s face and tilting his head so he’d be lined up perfectly in the kid’s vision when he opened his eyes. “C’mon. Look at me, yeah? Let me know you’re alive in there.”

Peter’s eyes snapped open. For a brief second, his entire body keyed up, muscles coiling, but then his gaze cleared and his pupils found the face hovering above him and Tony could see recognition shoot through his expression. He melted, then, a tiny smile quirking up the corner of his mouth.

“Morning,” Tony whispered. Peter just blinked up at him slowly, brow furrowed in confusion. “It’s alright. Just keep breathing, nice and slow.”

A sluggish hand fumbled up to the oxygen mask, but Tony caught it before he could pull it off. “Yeah, I know. Leave that be. It’s helping.”

“Patrol?” Peter slurred, and Tony had to strain to make out the word through the mask.

He shook his head. “Shh. Don’t worry about it right now, alright?”

To his surprise, Peter relented, eyes drifting closed again, any hint of lingering tension releasing from his expression. “M’kay.”

Tony let his head bow forward, shaky with relief. He felt like he’d spend the rest of his life chasing after Peter Parker, scooping him up and stitching him back together again.

“I’m really glad you’re alright, buddy,” he said, voice low and strained.

Peter didn’t answer, just turned his face sleepily into his palm, but Tony didn’t need to hear anything from the kid, anyway.

He knew.

[random-fandom-whump]

Whumptober Day 30 - Alt. Prompt #12: Waterlogged ↳ The Mentalist S04E10