#serving out that farm to table whump thoughts

[whump-queen]

“You did so well”

It’s the way whumper says it—the way they speak to whumpee. It’s their voice—half the time angry, biting, and degrading, only to mutate into something sickeningly sweet in the aftermath of the pain, when whumper leans in close with sticky murmurs of affection—of mocking praise.

A toxic, slimy liquid that drips from whumper’s lips and oozes thick and heavy down whumpee’s ears and neck and shoulders.

It makes whumpee’s skin crawl. 

Or at least, it did.

At first. 

But there comes a point, during the more creative of whumper’s tortures, where the pain becomes too much, where the excruciating burn of the knife or the sear of the brand is blacking out whumpee’s brain and shoving their head deep underwater, shrinking their existence down through a tiny pinhole, only to be materialized again on the other side, dazed beyond belief, panting and shaking and still bound in whumper’s arms. 

It’s those precious few moments of reprieve in the aftermath, where the warmth of whumper’s shoulder against their cheek is enough for whumpee to sink into it— For their teeth to unclench, for their shoulders to slump against whumper’s torso, for their shaking knees to crumple into whumper’s lap.

For each part of them to give up—to give in— until they’re spilling hot tears into the fabric between shaking, heaving breaths, staining whumper’s shirt with the small beads of blood that still weep from their bitten lip.

Whumper only holds whumpee’s head tightly against their shoulder and let’s them ride out the sobs. 

tags—>

taglist: @whumpshaped  @whumpsday  @emmettnet  @a-whump-sideblog  @whump-it-like-its-hot  @wolfeyedwitch  @whumper-soot @unorganisedalienrubbish  @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @hidden-dreamland @whumpedydump @lonesome--hunter @ashh-ed @whump-in-the-closet @oriantthegiant @banditosong @anonymustyou @feralwhump @jieunie-23 @whumpasaurus101 @morning-star-whump @whmp @captain-bo-bob-bobby @the-beasts-have-arrived just ask to be added or removed <33

#intimate whumper #whump aftermath #creepy whumper #whump writing #its just my brain thoughts #serving out that farm to table whump thoughts #you’re getting it hot and fresh straight from my hippocampus #whump thoughts #whump drabble #is this even a drabble #I just love intimate whumper tropes #creepy/intimate whumper #king of run on sentences let’s go #this got longer than I intended and I hate that I know tumblr is gonna cut off the post half way through but it’s rly not that long eeee #pls read the end it’s my favorite part 🥺 #:<<<< #i’m like happy I actually managed to write smth— even if it’s short #i’ve got a bunch of these like short lil things coming soon from the notes app so #we doing our best folks :) #my post #knife mention #tw knives #implied torture #torture #whump #whump inspo #I still can’t hear out of my right ear ://// #and mucinex is like $17 wtFF #sir I am CONGESTED not RICH #akia.txt

[misssquidtracy]

SOS Part 3

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

-x-

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

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

Everything hurt so much.

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

She was smirking at him.

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

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

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

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

Yes, he’d like to see them all again.

-x-

A familiar voice roused Gordon from the depths of unconsciousness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another tear leaked out.

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

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

“It’s okay, Gordon. I’m here.”

-x-

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

“Hurry, Parker! Please.”

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

More nothingness.

-x-

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’d wanted him dead.

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

The thought terrified him.

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

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

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

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

Hurk, hurk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Gordon.”

-x-

Gordon’s eyes fluttered open.

White. Everywhere was white.

His left arm was shrouded by a sling.

The floor was white.

His right leg was encased in a cast.

The curtains were white.

His head was concealed by bandages.

The walls were white.

His right arm was hooked to an IV.

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

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

Specifically, the shade of Havoc’s armour.

Luckily, the flowers on his bedside table were yellow.

-x-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As Havoc would soon find out.

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds tag #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fandom #thunderbirds fan #gordon tracy #scott tracy #virgil tracy #john tracy #alan tracy #grandma tracy #kayo kyrano #lady penelope #parker #thunderbird four #tracy brothers #tracybros #tracy bros #tracy island #thunderbird two

[black-wolf066]

Never a Dull Moment (Revamped) [1/?]

Words: 1827

Rating: pg-13 (for language and whump I suppose)

Summary: In which the land of untold stories should have been a warning, that it wasn’t just fairytales that were real.

Warnings: Killian Jones injured and BAMF!Henry protecting and taking care of him. (Slightly AU I guess considering I’m disturbing the canonical peace of Storybrooke and season 7 hasn’t happened yet)

(((A/N: Here is the rewritten version of “Never a Dull Moment” I had posted on Friday (you can click the link if you want to compare them both). I didn’t realize just how rushed I had felt when writing the first one, since I had places to be that night, until I came home and reread it and realized so much more meat could have been added to its bare bones.

[1] [Part 2]  [Part 3]  [Part 4]  [FF.Net Link]

I’m happy with the final result now (pretty much tripling the word count from the 600’s to 1800’s), and I hope you guys enjoy!! (I don’t know when I’ll update again, but I promise I will eventually update when the time allows… I honestly don’t see this being any more than 2 possibly 3 chapters)

Also tagging @killian-whump (hope you don’t mind, I just figured it’d be easier for you to find if you were still interested in reading it)

P.S. on an unimportant note... it’s 2am now after finishing this and I need sleep.... why won’t my brain shut off when I need it too!!!!)))

Chapter 1: Goosebumps… Really?!

Henry should have expected this.

Their current predicament should not, in any way, have surprised him as much as it did. It was Storybrooke after all.

(You would think after six months filled with nothing but a crock full of crazy–beginning with his Aunt Zelena, watching the man he’s grown to see as a dad die not once but thrice, and ending with the madness that was the Black Fairy–that one would have become desensitized by now.)

Yet it had.

Four years of nothing but utter, blissfully wonderful, peace would do that to a person, he supposed.

So, like every disaster to wreak havoc on Storybrooke in the past, it had happened suddenly and without warning.

They had been on his grandparent’s farm, with most of his convoluted family and their friends gathered to celebrate his graduation; all sides of the property filled with wide smiles and echoing with mirth filled shenanigans. It was just after food and presents (finally being handed down his Grandpa’s broadsword, and the pleasant surprise of his moms and dad gifting him the brand new motorcycle hidden in the shed), that Henry found himself filled with contentment; his momentary stress of deciding what he wanted to do with the rest of his life taking a back seat for now (his first mistake he realized too late).

Out in the field, his little Uncle Neal and little Robin both were squealing joyously as they were chased across the grounds by old, faithful Wilby. And close by to them, was the ever watchful eye of his heavily pregnant grandma and Aunt Zelena; the two leaning against the wooden fence and smiling and laughing as their children were herded around by the sheep dog. In the house, both his mothers, Grace, Granny and Geppetto, were clearing the food away and getting the desserts ready, their easy chatter and laughter that filtered out of the opened windows nearly being drowned out by the impromptu ‘sword’ fight taking place by his Grandpa, his dad, August and Jefferson; the others goading the four good-naturedly as they observed from the sidelines.

Henry himself had just finished putting most of his presents away in the back of the bug, his hand reaching for the broadsword to put on top of the boxes, when it happened.

An orange swirling portal had opened up far off to the side of the house, the whirling wind it created blowing trash and table cloths across the ground as it slowly grew bigger in size and strength. Not bothering to slam the trunk shut, Henry gripped the handle of the now unsheathed sword tight and raced back around the house toward the backyard where he could hear orders being shouted over the panicked cries of the guests.

Across the field, Zelena and Snow were ushering the kids and those closest to their location to the barn, where Regina had poofed herself to the front of and was already throwing up a protection spell to shield them. He caught a glimpse of Emma doing the same to the house as he rounded the corner, with Jefferson, August and some of the dwarves ushering everyone else inside the home when the first attack from the portal came.

Green leafy vines, the size of tree trunks, shot out of the opening like speared whips; knocking David—wielding the pitchfork he had been using for the ‘fight’—and Grumpy and Happy—both wielding their pickaxes, that none of the dwarves ever seemed capable of being without—off their feet while acting as a line of defense for the others. Henry was stopped from moving any closer to help as a few more vines came slithering toward him. He jumped and rolled, a move he had perfected over the years of being taught by David and Killian, and blocked the point of another vine from piercing straight into his gut.

“David!” He heard Killian shout; risking it as he spared a quick glance toward the house to see him, Jefferson and August racing down the steps, each with swords in hand that his grandpa had retired to be decoration over the fireplace.

In the next moment another vine was shooting for him, and Henry was forced to back up and farther away from help, and he cursed as he caught sight of the size the portal had become. It was large enough now to engulf the two-story barn, and the ‘oh shit’ feeling didn’t recede as the massive plant the vines were attached too, came out of the gaping swirling hole; with more than seven dozen, equally as massive, Venus fly trap heads snapping and hissing as they slithered into view.

And seriously, the ventriloquist dummy cackling manically, and hitching a ride on the back of one of them, should not have surprised him as much as it had to know that “Goosebumps” was a bloody thing too.

The battle froze just long enough for the puppet to ask where R.L Stine was hiding, before the chaos erupted again, and it took everything Henry had to avoid the slithering groping vines as they fanned the expense of the property; hissing in outrage as their path was blocked by the barriers his mothers threw up to prevent it from leaving and entering the rest of town.

“There’s too many!”

“Regina, stop throwing you’re fire, you’ll burn us all!”

“Where’s Henry!?”

“I thought he went into the house with the others!”

Henry didn’t have the time to answer, let alone take stock of where his family was and how they were fairing off in the fight; too busy dodging, hopping, blocking and hacking away at the plants to do much of anything else. Sure he had come a long way in four years, but that didn’t negate the fact that this was his first real battle and not just a simple sparring match. His life—and his family’s—were on the line here and he couldn’t afford to risk anymore distractions; not at the wild rate the vines were multiplying and striking all around them.

“Jefferson, watch out!”

“Regina, there’s your opening!”

The shouted commands from his family seemed to grow fainter the more he fought and dodged. He was no longer by the house, and every time he took one step forward to get himself back within range, the vines and snapping fly traps made him take two more in reverse.

“Henry! Behind you!”

This shout was louder and clearer as he twirled with his sword up to see a fly trap aiming right for him. It was easily bigger than he was, with saliva dripping off sharp thorn-like-teeth; the mucusy-liquid hissing and sizzling each time it made contact with the ground. He had just enough time to side-step left to dodge its gaping maw and slash his weapon to the right, the inhuman screech nearly bursting his eardrums as it made contact.

“Henry!”

He was about to yell that he was fine, but the air was suddenly knocked from his lungs by a body pushing him harshly to the ground on his stomach; barely having the time to register who had done it before the heavy weight was lifted off his back and a familiar, and very much human, scream rent the air.

It shook him to his core and would forever be the new soundtrack to haunt his nightmares to come.

With a grunt, he rolled out of the way of yet another reaching, groping vine, and looked up to see Killian’s upper body dangling upside down from the mouth of another fly trap; the former pirate’s face scrunched in uninhibited agony as he dug his namesake into the head of the carnivorous plant.

“Killian! Henry! Where are you!?” he vaguely heard his mother cry out at the same time he yelled, “Dad!” 

His body involuntarily tensed at the second scream that tore from Killian’s throat; watching in utter horror as the mucusy concoction began to mix with blood as it eat at his clothes and exposed skin.

“Shit!”

Right, there wasn’t time for panic, Henry thought frantically as he ducked and rolled away from another fly trap snapping its jaws toward him; his eyes sweeping around for an opening or a way to reach his dad when he spotted it. With a dive over a vine, and a well-timed swing to take down the chasing fly trap, he rolled onto his feet and used the opened space to race head long for another; using the momentum to jump and spring up toward the barely conscious pirate.

With a shout of strain on his shaking arm muscles, he managed to dig the sword into the upper stem of the thing to prevent himself from falling back to the ground; cringing as another ear-splitting screech bellowed out and caused his ears to ring.

“Dad, hang on!” he yelled over the roar; yelping and clinging to the handle as the monster began to shake to and fro to try and dislodge him.

The movement only served to work the broadsword through the multi-cellular tissue however; effectively decapitating the head of the fly trap and causing him and the carcass holding Killian to fall back to the earth with a thud that once more stole the air from his lungs.

He definitely was going to feel this come morning.

With the flailing and the screeching ringing louder, and some of the vines retreating to lick their wounds, Henry used the opportunity to roll and crawl toward the now unconscious pirate. Jabbing the point of his sword into its mouth, he began to pry open the jaws; hissing out in pain when the toxic saliva spluttered out and onto his exposed arms and hands. Gods did it hurt, far worse than anything he could remember (even that one time when he and his ex-girlfriend had unfortunately and quite literally stumbled upon a fire ant hill), but he pushed through the scorching pain and moved as quickly as he could; knowing the monsters would be back with a vengeance otherwise as he worked.

It was after the third crunch of something breaking within the head as he worked it open, that Henry heard the movement from behind. He pivoted around with a rage filled cry as he swung the sword at its next victim, only to groan as they were replaced by two more (and Henry felt for all the world like Hercules battling the Hydra, only he wasn’t a demi-god and his tired arms were screaming murder for a single moments respite).

As he hacked and blocked and dodged, keeping his protective stance by Killian’s vulnerable form; he realized too late that they were being surrounded on all sides, the thick vines weaving into walls and effectively cutting them off from help by the rest of his family. 

Than a portal opened under his feet and he and Killian were falling through it and landing only the bloody gods knew where. 

#captain cobra #killian jones #henry mills #killian-whump #BAMF henry #once upon a time #ouat ff #ouat fanfiction #set four years after season 6