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thisfairytalegonebad · 8 months

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Flare - Whumptober day 14

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Character: Noctis Lucis Caelum Rating: Teen and up Warnings: None

Read below the cut or on AO3 here.

Noct got lucky, all things considered. Lucky he was born as the Crown Prince, with immediate access to medical attention from the best doctors in the country. Lucky his father shied away from neither cost nor effort to ensure that in addition to the scientific approach, he also got treated by the Oracle, Queen Sylva of Tenebrae herself.

If he were anyone else, he would have never walked again.

This is what he’s been told many times, by doctors, politicians, journalists, even his own father. Lucky, they call him, and he supposes he sees where they’re coming from, but it’s still kind of a stupid thing to say - it’s not like he’s had any control over any of it.

Right now, he doesn’t feel very lucky at all.

Waking up is always a chore, his internal clock’s factory settings are just running a few hours behind and he’s used to that. He hates getting up in the morning, hates how tired he is all day, and hates that this is the case no matter how early he goes to bed.

Today, the moment he sluggishly blinks his eyes open, it’s not tiredness that makes him want to curl up and die. No, it’s the dull ache in his back that spikes into blinding agony the moment he tries to move, and in his half-awake state, he can’t hold back a high-pitched whine.

Even if he wanted to get up, he’s not sure he could. If he had to guess, he’d say probably not, and that’s speaking from experience. It’s far from the first time this has happened, but it’s been months, nearly a year since the last time so he’s almost forgotten how much it hurts.

It’s a Wednesday, he’s supposed to get up for school, and even though he woke up before his alarm this morning - which in itself should’ve made him suspicious - it’s already light out so it’s probably almost time.

He knows he should get his phone, check the time, turn off his alarm and maybe call Ignis, tell him he doesn’t need to bother picking him up for school today - there’s no way he can go like this, he can’t even move - but he simply can’t work up the willpower to twist enough to actually grab it.

So he just lies there for a while, simply existing, and when his alarm finally does go off he tries to turn it off, but moving sends sharp bolts of pain down his spine, and his phone’s all the way on the nightstand and it hurts so much he can’t manage to reach it.

The alarm blares for what feels like hours while Noct grits his teeth and resigns himself to the fact that he’s going to find out how long it’ll go on before turning off automatically.

He doesn’t get to find out, because it’s still blaring next to his ear when his door opens and Ignis steps inside, clearly intending to wake him up.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise when Noct makes eye contact, which is fair, Noct usually doesn’t even see as far as the door yet when Ignis comes to kick him out of bed.

“Your alarm is going off,” Ignis points out helpfully, then frowns and comes to stand next to the bed when he realises Noct isn’t making any move to turn it off. “Is everything alright?”

“Back hurts,” Noct tells him curtly. Pain makes him crabby and he isn’t in the mood for pleasantries. Ignis will understand, he always does.

“I see,” Ignis says, bending down to turn off the alarm himself. “I’ll call the school, let them know. Do you wish to sleep some more?”

He does, but he doesn’t think he can with his current levels of pain. The dull ache he felt right after waking up has been slowly increasing to the point where it’s impossible to ignore, even without moving.

“Painkillers first, I think.”

“Of course.” Ignis saunters out of the room and returns within a minute with a glass of water and the painkillers.

“No water,” Noct quickly says, because he’s not sitting up enough to not spill water all over himself and he’s definitely not about to get into a position where he can comfortably drink.

He takes the pills from Ignis and swallows them dry, then closes his eyes and waits for them to kick in so he can go back to sleep.

----

When he wakes again, his curtains are drawn - Ignis’ doing, Noct always leaves them open at night so he can see the moon and stars when it’s clear out - and his back still hurts, but the painkillers haven’t quite worn off yet so he’s actually able to sit up somewhat and grab his phone.

It’s late morning and he’s got a bunch of texts from Prompto, concerned but not panicked, so apparently Ignis filled him in. He quickly answers them then puts his phone away and faces an uncomfortable truth: he really, really needs to pee.

Slowly, painstakingly, he turns in bed until his legs hang over the edge, and then he has to stop and take a few deep breaths in anticipation of the pain before he actually pushes himself to his feet.

Even when it’s expected, the pain is enough to take his breath away for a moment, but when it subsides to a more bearable level, he thinks he might be able to make it to the bathroom that’s attached to his bedroom, but when he goes to take the first step, his confidence falters.

If it were just the pain in his back, he thinks he could power through it long enough to shuffle to the bathroom, but his leg feels weak and unstable and he doesn’t really want to risk falling, so after a moment of hesitation, he sucks it up and calls for Ignis.

Ignis, of course, shows up within seconds and is by his side even faster than that.

“Do you want to lean on me?” he asks without preamble, bless him. For all his fussiness, Noct is really glad Ignis knows him well enough to figure out what he needs right now without panicking over him or asking him loads of stupid questions.

“Yeah,” he says and lets Ignis take most of his weight as he slowly, painstakingly limps to the bathroom.

While he’s in there, he also uses the opportunity to quickly brush his teeth because he is not getting up again after this.

When he comes back out, Ignis is there to support him back to the bed, and by the time he’s lying back down he kind of wants to cry with pain and exhaustion and just general misery.

“Do you need anything else?” Ignis asks, hovering by the door.

Noct is about to decline when he reconsiders. “My tablet?”

Might as well entertain himself if he's going to be stuck in bed all day.

----

The day passes in an uncomfortable blur of pain and sleep and boredom, with Noct alternating between dozing and watching mindless videos on his tablet, but by late afternoon, he can’t stand it anymore.

It’s been long enough for him to safely take another dose of painkillers, so he pops some pills into his mouth, and when Ignis comes to check on him the next time, he asks to be taken to the living room.

“Can we watch a movie?” he half-begs as Ignis helps him make his way out of his room and onto the couch.

Ignis hesitates for a moment, long enough for familiar guilt to well up in Noct’s chest - Ignis is so busy all the time, of course he doesn’t have time to watch a movie with Noct, it’s bad enough he’s been stuck babysitting him all day - but then smiles at him, soft and gentle, and says, “Of course, Noct.”

His back is on fire by the time he’s deposited on the couch, legs across Ignis’ lap, but the change of scenery is worth it.

Ignis lets him pick the movie because of course he does, so he picks a childhood favourite of his. It's an animated movie that he remembers Specs liking too when they were kids, hoping that it'll make up for his now messed up schedule a little

At first, Ignis has his laptop on Noct’s legs, working quietly while glancing at the TV screen and occasionally making a comment about the movie, but by the time the movie reaches its climax, he shuts the laptop and just watches.

It’s nice, in a way. Noct’s still hurting and he knows from experience that he’ll be out of commission for the rest of the week, he’s still in for a few days of agony, and after that, he’ll have to take up physical therapy with Gladio again, but he also gets to spend some downtime with Ignis for the first time in forever, and that, at least, makes it all bearable.

----

Read all of my Whumptober prompt fills here.

#whumptober2023 #no.14 #flare #ffxv #final fantasy xv #fic #thisfairytalegonebad's writing #noctis lucis caelum

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hardygalwrites · 3 years

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Anime/Manga: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure (Part 1: Phantom Blood)

Characters: Jonathan Joestar and Dio Brando

Synopsis: During a visit to London, Jonathan and Dio are confronted by some less than savoury characters.

Note: Originally written for Whumptober of 2020 - Day 16: A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day | Forced to Beg

Set during the seven year gap in Phantom Blood. TW for mugging and violence

—

“Seen enough of London yet?”

“You do not have to accompany me,” Jonathan said, perhaps a little more shortly than he should have. “You are welcome to go back.”

“I’ve already told you, Father insisted I accompany you,” Dio retorted. “He seems to think you will get yourself lost. I am more inclined to believe you will get yourself killed.”

“That’s not funny, Dio.”

“Good thing I am not joking then.”

Jonathan glanced at his adoptive brother strolling alongside him. Dio’s golden eyes appeared to sharpen as he walked, staring down the crowded path ahead of them.

“Here in London, there are plenty of streets and alleyways that would better be described as deathtraps for the unsuspecting. One misstep, one wrong turn, and you could end up dead in the gutter, shoes gone and pockets empty.” Dio glanced, in turn, at Jonathan. “And we would not want that, would we, JoJo?”

It was hard to tell if Dio was toying with him - something that Jonathan would definitely not put past him, especially after their recent argument - but the severity of Dio’s words and eyes still took Jonathan aback. He frowned, turning his gaze back towards the path ahead.

“No, I suppose not…”

George Joestar had come to London on business. As his sons were both fifteen years old, practically men now, he had seen it prudent for the two of them to accompany him, if for no other reason than to acquaint them with the responsibilities of his occupation.

If Jonathan was being entirely honest with himself, he considered his father’s occupation just a bit beyond what his own mind could grasp. All talk of enterprise, investment, and trade meant very little to Jonathan, no matter how hard he tried to make sense of it all. He never did have much of a head for numbers. All that said, Jonathan still made an earnest attempt to listen to and understand his father’s business meetings.

Dio did not seem to have a problem understanding the trade, which honestly did impress Jonathan. When Dio’s accomplishments were not being compared to his own, Jonathan found that there was a lot to admire about his adopted brother, and it made Jonathan want to improve himself in turn. In the case of their father’s trade, however, Jonathan wondered if this was one of those cases where certain people were just more suited to certain tasks than others.

No, Jonathan’s frustrations with Dio concerned something else. One of the men that George Joestar had met with had recently invited the Joestar family to his place for dinner. While there, the man introduced them all to his own family, including one of his daughters - a lovely young lady around Jonathan and Dio’s age.

While conversing with her had certainly been a genuine delight, and Jonathan found her to be rather charming and remarkably intelligent, much of the young woman’s attention had been stolen primarily by a certain blond headed young man. Dio’s behaviour towards her seemed to go just a little beyond that of a gentleman speaking to a lady, and she, in turn,was clearly infatuated.

Dio had been dismissive when Jonathan brought it up that morning. That had shocked Jonathan, who thought that Dio had been making an honest attempt to pursue the young woman. When Jonathan pointed out that the woman was clearly taken in by Dio’s behaviour, and Dio remained dismissive, an argument started. Jonathan was obviously appalled at the thought of toying with a young woman’s feelings, while Dio claimed that none of it was Jonathan’s business and that Jonathan was overreacting.

Their father ended up stepping in before Jonathan’s agitation rose to the point of shouting. After hearing what the argument was about, George lightly admonished Dio for being cavalier with the young woman’s emotions, whether intentionally or not. Dio, who had remained cool and aloof throughout the whole argument, accepted the admonishment and apologized.

Grateful that his father had taken his side, but still irked by Dio’s insincerity, Jonathan left with the declaration that he would be taking a walk about the city. The hope that he would be able to clear his head through a long stroll did not last, as Dio joined him shortly after.

Now though, as the walk dragged on, and Jonathan turned everything over in his mind, he wondered if he was being unfair. Perhaps Dio had not realised he was being callous.

(Memories of his early life with Dio sprang to mind in protest, as they often did whenever Jonathan tried to move past Dio’s more objectionable moments in the present day. This one was of a despondent, blond haired girl. Though his heart stung, Jonathan pushed it back like all the others).

“Listen, Dio,” Jonathan said slowly. “I suppose I may have… overreacted earlier. Or rather, I assumed the worst of you when you said you had no interest in Miss Langford. I’m sorry.”

Dio glanced at him. “...You apologise too much, JoJo. Keep it up and I may stop believing you.”

“We’re brothers now, Dio,” Jonathan pressed. “I know we have our disagreements, but I do want us to get along regardless of them. Don’t you?”

Dio did not respond, seemingly distracted by one of the surrounding shops.

The street that the two of them were on now was rather cramped. It left no room for carriages or horses, instead bustling with throngs of people looking to get from one place to another. Jonathan had pardoned himself many times now trying to navigate his way through the crowd without accidentally bumping into or against someone. He could not even begin to imagine what it would be like to grow up in such a place. Even on its busiest days, the town at home seemed less crowded than the widest streets in London.

Jonathan felt a pang of disappointment when Dio did not immediately answer his question, only for Dio to say lightly, casually, “I believe we’re being followed.”

“Oh?” Instinctively, Jonathan went to look over his shoulder.

“Don’t look, you fool,” Dio bit out. “They will know we’re on to them if you do that.”

“Who are they?” Jonathan asked, turning his glance into an offhand observation of one of the nearby apartments.

“Pickpockets, more than likely. A pair of men looking to take advantage of the two rich boys who have wandered carelessly into a less than savoury part of town.”

Dio sounded amused, but Jonathan did not find the situation all that funny.

“How do we avoid them?” he murmured.

“Simply keep a tight hold on your wallet, JoJo,” Dio said carelessly.

“Perhaps we should make our way back towards the main streets…”

“Also a viable course of action.”

Jonathan began to look around, earnestly taking in his surroundings for the first time since he had started his impromptu walk. “Where exactly are we, anyway?”

“What makes you think I know? I’ve been following in your footsteps this entire time, JoJo.”

Dio was definitely toying with him now. Holding back a sigh, Jonathan looked down a right turn in the narrow street. It led down a largely empty pathway, through which the afternoon sun shone through, unfiltered by any surrounding buildings.

"I thought Father sent you after me to make sure I didn’t get lost,” Jonathan stated, turning in to the pathway.

“And I decided that you were more likely to get killed,” Dio said in lieu of a retort.

Jonathan actually did sigh this time as the two of them turned one last corner. “Dio, if you’re still angry at me or–”

Three figures suddenly stepped into the alley in front of Jonathan and Dio, cutting off their path to the open street. Trepidation set in, and Jonathan glanced behind to see another two figures turning the corner.

Dio scoffed. “Recall what I said earlier about deathtraps, JoJo...?”

“Dio, please, not now...”

The tallest of the three men in front of them spoke up, a wide and disconcerting smile on his face. “Now what’s a pair of fancy lookin’ young men such as yourselves doin’ around here?”

“As if our business is of any concern to you,” Dio said snidely.

In spite of his aloof attitude, Jonathan could tell that Dio was just as tense as he was. His shoulders were rolled back and his hands were clenched. Jonathan, for his part, tried to remain calm.

The tall man’s smile took on a more obviously dangerous edge. “Fair enough, and I suppose it’s clear what we’re really after, anyway.”

The rustle of clothing had Jonathan turning around completely. The two men who had approached from behind now each had a fist decorated with a set of well worn brass knuckles. At the same time, Dio shifted into a defensive position beside Jonathan, focus fixed on the three men ahead of them.

Jonathan’s heart thudded in his chest, and he fought the urge to wipe away the sweat forming in his palms. “There is no need for violence…”

“Ha ha! Well, aren’t you a smart one?” the tall man exclaimed. “All right then, hand over those wallets.”

“One more step,” Dio snarled, “and I will ram your own weapons down your throat.”

Jonathan gripped his adoptive brother by the shoulder. “We have nothing on us.”

He was telling the truth, at least as far as he himself was concerned. Jonathan did not have any money on his person.

“Don’t make me laugh again, boy…! Young men as well groomed as you two are bound to have a pound or two tucked away in those fancy clothes of yours…! An’ me an’ the lads are more than willin’ to tear you apart t’ find out.”

The two men in front of Jonathan inched forward, cracking their knuckles, leering at him. He was nothing but prey in their predatory gaze, and Jonathan felt like it too. He hoped they could not see him swallow as he fought to keep his fear at bay.

“Just try it then…!” Dio snapped, wrenching his shoulder from Jonathan’s grasp.

“I said we have nothing on us,” Jonathan said pointedly. “Even if we did, I do not respond favourably to threats and violence.”

“Oh…” The tall man’s voice dropped, sending a chill down Jonathan’s spine. “I am willin’ t’ bet you don’t.”

Dio lunged forward.

“Dio–!” Jonathan’s protest was immediately cut off by a blow to the face, knocking his cap off and sending the Joestar heir staggering back. He recovered quickly and faced the two men in front of him.

“Oi, the lad can take a hit…!” one of the men laughed.

“No need t’ hold back then,” the other said. “Not like we was plannin’ on it anyway.”

Jonathan assumed a boxing stance, teeth grit, worry and fear forcibly cast aside. He really had hoped to avoid any violence, but it looked as though he would not be given much of a choice.

The fight was difficult. His opponents were older than him, more experienced, and just as strong, if not stronger. Both Jonathan and Dio largely matched their opponents equally in height, the tallest man being the exception, but Jonathan was not so naive to assume that gave him much of an advantage. The men still outnumbered him and Dio more than two to one. The odds were not in their favour.

Jonathan knew better than to dwell on his disadvantages, though. He had been working hard to improve himself over the past two years, and while he was not yet quite as fast or agile as Dio, Jonathan liked to think that he had become a lot harder to knock down. Indeed, in spite of every strike that the two men managed to land on the young Joestar, in spite of every moment that Jonathan was staggered, not once did he fall. Jonathan held his ground.

In the end, after withstanding many painful blows himself, Jonathan managed to knock both his opponents down. They were not unconscious, merely stunned, but it gave Jonathan the chance he needed to step back, to breathe–

Someone screamed. Jonathan spun around to see Dio on his knees, arm being twisted viciously behind his back by the tall man.

“Dio!” Jonathan rushed forward.

At Jonathan’s cry, the tall man’s focus turned immediately on the young man charging towards him. The tall man yanked Dio to his feet, wrapping his other arm around Dio’s throat and pressing a knife just below Dio’s eye. Jonathan stopped in his tracks, his drive extinguished by a cold horror.

The man laughed, showing off a blood stained smile. “You really are a smart one…!”

Laying sprawled out on the ground, the other two men who had accompanied the tall man groaned as they slowly regained whatever senses Dio had knocked out of them. Jonathan only noticed them peripherally. All his attention was on the man currently holding a knife to his brother’s face.

“I haf’ta admit,” the tall man said, sounding just a little breathless, “you two put up a far greater fight than I expected from a couple rich boys. But that don’t matter.”

The knife pressed deeper into Dio’s skin, drawing a trickle of blood.

“No, don’t!” Jonathan shouted frantically.

“You bastard…!” Dio struggled fruitlessly in the tall man’s grasp. His teeth were bared in a snarl, and there was a slightly wild glint in his eyes.

Jonathan recognized that look. DIo felt cornered.

“Hand over your wallet, and I’ll consider not carvin’ off your friend’s face,” the tall man hissed.

“I told you, I don’t have it on me…!” Jonathan cried, a pleading desperation colouring his voice.

“Don’t lie t’ me, boy!”

“I’m not, I–!”

The tall man flipped the knife around in his hand and stabbed it into the top of Dio’s shoulder. Dio screamed.

“Stop ! Wait, please, stop!” Jonathan’s voice peaked. To his utter relief, the tall man stopped, the knife no more than halfway into Dio’s shoulder. “I- I don’t have any money, but I do have something else…!”

Slowly, so the tall man would not think he was doing anything rash, Jonathan reached into his waistcoat pocket.

“This pocketwatch…” He held up said item by its silver chain. “It is bound to be of some significant worth to you.”

The pocketwatch had been a gift for Jonathan’s most recent birthday, given to him by his father. It was a fine piece, and Jonathan was fond of it, but...

“You can have it, it’s yours. Now please let my brother go.”

“JoJo, what are you doing?” Dio growled, whatever anger or frustration he was trying to convey ultimately blunted by the pain in his voice.

The tall man pulled the knife from Dio’s shoulder, drawing a tight groan from the young blond, and laughed again. “Well, now…! An’ here I thought you said you didn’t respond favourably to violence.”

Jonathan opted not to respond. Someone snatched the pocketwatch from his hand. It looked as though the tall man’s compatriots had recovered, including the two men that Jonathan had faced.

“Still,” the tall man said carelessly, “after all the trouble you boys have put us through, I think we’re deservin’ of a little more.”

Jonathan’s heart sank. “That is all I have on me, I swear…!”

“Well ain’t that a shame?” The tall man returned the knife blade to Dio’s face. “Guess we’ll just have to take this one’s life as compensation.”

“No–!”

“Stop it, JoJo!” Dio glared up at the tall man, pure hatred flashing in his eyes. “These pieces of trash wouldn’t dare.”

The tall man’s face morphed into a glare of his own. “You willin’ t’ bet your life on that, boy...?”

The knife cut into the base of Dio’s neck, instantly drawing blood and a stifled gasp.

“Stop, please!” Jonathan shouted.

“You had best give us somethin’ then!” the tall man shouted back.

“I have nothing left to give!” Jonathan watched as the knife cut deeper, and he could not keep his voice from peaking a second time as he pleaded, “Please, I’m telling the truth…!”

“Well, if you really have nothin’ left t’ give us…” The glare faded into a sly smile, and the tall man removed the knife from Dio’s neck. “...then how about you give us a show?”

“A… show?” Jonathan echoed, confusion overtaking his panic.

“The way you say ‘please,’ all polite an’ sincere-like. I think we’d like t’ hear more of that, right, lads?”

The other four men responded affirmatively with grinning and laughter.

“Basically,” the tall man continued, “we want t’ hear you beg.”

They wanted him to… beg?

“Well? Get on with it, then!” The tall man traced the knife blade down Dio’s temple. “Beg for this one’s life and maybe I’ll consider lettin’ the both of you go.”

“Do not listen to them, JoJo…!” Dio hissed. “They’re bluffing!”

Were they though? The cruelty in the tall man’s smile, in his eyes, was undeniable. Even if Dio was right, and these men had no intention of taking their lives, the tall man had already stabbed Dio - Jonathan had no guarantee that they would not do worse.

“Killing either of us right here, right now, would pose too great a risk! They would not dare do something so stupid– Ghk…!” Dio choked as the tall man tightened his arm around Dio’s throat.

“Shut up, boy,” the tall man growled, before returning his sights back to Jonathan. “What’s the hold up? Too high and mighty to give us a bit of a beg?”

For a moment, a deeply shameful moment, Jonathan hesitated.

The tall man shrugged. “Suit yourself then.” And began to carve the knife down Dio’s temple.

“Wait, no, please! Please, I…!” Jonathan swallowed. His panic or his pride, he did not know, but they were either way irrelevant in the face of the fear he felt for Dio’s wellbeing.

“I beg you,” Jonathan said hoarsely. “Please, spare his life.”

“Jo...Jo…” Dio had turned his glare on Jonathan now even as he clawed at the tall man’s arm with his free hand, disbelief flashing amongst the wild anger. “What the hell are you doing…?!”

“Ha!” The tall man scoffed. “Come on, is that the best you can do? Show some respect to your elders, boy! You can do better than that!”

Jonathan clenched his fists at his sides, and bowed as he had been taught to do. “Please, sir, I beg you, spare his life…”

“JoJo…!” Dio snapped, his voice still tight and breathless, but no less frustrated.

“Hmm, better,” Jonathan heard the tall man say. “But not good enough. I know you’ve been livin’ the high life an’ all, but even a rich boy ought’a know how t’ beg. On your knees, boy, an’ let us know you mean it!”

“Don’t you dare!” Dio veritably screamed. “JoJo, I swear to god, if you don’t stop this…! JoJo!”

Jonathan could only apologise mentally to Dio as he dropped down to his knees. Whether Dio actually cared about Jonathan’s dignity, or if he simply did not want Jonathan to do something like this for his sake - Dio always did seem to despise being in what he perceived as debt to others - Jonathan was still resolved to do anything within his power to save him. And if that meant humiliating himself, well…

What kind of gentleman could really say he had held on to his pride when, in trying to preserve it, he caused others to suffer?

On his knees, palms turned up, Jonathan said, “Please, please, let him go. Please, I beg of you…”

“JoJ–!” The repetitive cry was cut off as the tall man clamped his hand over Dio’s mouth, allowing the knife blade to rest against Dio’s cheek. Dio began screaming in earnest, sheer fury clear in every squirm and struggle.

“Keep at it, boy!” the tall man bellowed over Dio’s muffled yells.

Jonathan clenched his fists and slammed his palms onto the moist cobblestones in front of him. “Please, I’m begging you…! Let him go! I don’t know what he thinks, but he is a brother, my brother…! We don’t always get along, and I often have trouble understanding him, but I want to keep trying–!”

Jonathan’s voice peaked and wavered dangerously. His eyesight blurred. No, don’t cry, Jonathan told himself, he was far too old to cry.

“Please…! Spare my brother’s life, I’m begging you, spare his life…”

One of the other men in the group laughed. “Sounds like the lad’s ‘bout t’ cry!”

Something struck against the back of Jonathan’s head, and he fell to the ground completely, face pressed against the cobblestones. Before he could even attempt to get back up, Jonathan felt a shoe slam itself down on his head with enough force to make his vision go white.

Dazed, Jonathan could not even hear what was being said around him. By the time his senses dragged themselves back to awareness, someone kicked him in the side, forcing a scream from Jonathan’s lips as the shoe connected with an injury he had received during the fight.

“Fockin’ ‘ell, ‘e is soft,” one of the men scoffed.

The shoe returned to Jonathan’s head, the subsequent increasing weight drawing another cry of pain.

“Best continue your snivellin’, boy–”

Someone screamed. Through the fog in his mind, Jonathan registered that it was not Dio who had done so.

The weight on his head suddenly disappeared, and Jonathan could hear shouts of alarm and panic, alongside a familiar voice snarling threats, and more screaming. As Jonathan pushed himself upright, someone stumbled into his blurring field of vision. It was the tall man, cursing and screaming as he lurched down the alleyway from which he had come, clutching at his face with blood covered hands. The tall man quickly disappeared around some corner, just as Dio entered Jonathan’s line of sight.

“Damned coward…!” Dio shouted into the alley. “Get back here so I can make you eat your own blade!”

“Dio…?” Jonathan tried to get to his feet, only for the pain in his head to force him back down to his knees with a groan, clutching his head.

“JoJo…”

The sound of rapidly approaching footsteps acted as Jonathan’s only warning before Dio grabbed the lapel of his jacket.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Dio shouted furiously. “I told you it was all a bluff, and yet you went and submitted to them anyway! You damned fool, why the hell would you do that–?!”

Dio suddenly pulled back with a cry, grabbing at his shoulder.

“Dio…!” Jonathan gasped.

“I’m fine!” Dio snapped. He threw the tall man’s knife - which Jonathan only now realized that Dio had been holding - to the ground, before again covering his wounded shoulder.

Jonathan watched him, not yet daring to speak. When Dio did not continue his rant, all his glares and attention focused on his injury, Jonathan let out a breath.

“Dio.” Jonathan received a glare in response, but he met it readily. “Even if you were right, I could not risk even the slightest chance that those men would kill you...”

Dio growled and turned his glare towards a nearby wall. “So you chose to submit,” he said through grit teeth. “Damn you, JoJo, how the hell could you throw away your pride so easily?”

“We’re brothers now, Dio, I’ve told you this before.” Jonathan tilted his head, trying to get Dio to look at him again, see that he meant what he was saying. “There is a lot I have yet to understand about you, and a lot I... have to move past… but regardless, I value the bond we have. If I must humiliate myself to save your life, then so be it. I will not apologise for that.”

Finally returning Jonathan’s gaze, Dio regarded him with a dark scowl. “Such selflessness is liable to get you killed one day, JoJo...”

“So be it,” Jonathan replied decisively.

Dio scoffed. A stretch of silence followed. Then, Dio approached Jonathan and held out a hand.

“How is your head?”

Jonathan tried to hold back as smile as he grasped Dio’s offered hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Another stab of pain had Jonathan clutching his head again, but he managed to remain standing.

“Still aching,” he admitted. “But nothing a bit of rest won’t mend. How is your shoulder?”

Dio pressed his hand back over his most severe wound. “It isn’t serious. The knife blade did not cut too deeply.”

“Oh, good,” Jonathan said with some relief. “We should head back, then. Father is probably wondering about us by now, anyway.”

Dio ‘hmph’d in response, and the two young men soon finally made their way out of the alley and onto the main streets.

After some time spent simply walking, trying to ignore the looks both he and Dio were receiving, Jonathan thought to ask, “Ah, Dio, I am wondering: how were you able to escape that man’s grasp?”

“I bit him.”

“You… What?”

“I bit him,” Dio repeated nonchalantly. “And I would have done far worse if he hadn’t run off.”

“Dio…!” Jonathan exclaimed. He knew (from firsthand experience) that Dio was not above using underhanded tactics, but still, biting someone?

“It was disgusting,” Dio admitted with a grimace, “but my options were limited, and with you submitting to getting your head kicked in, would you rather I had just done nothing?”

“...I see.” It certainly would not have been the first tactic Jonathan would have resorted to, or even thought of, but he could not deny that Dio had saved both of them as a result. “Thank you, Dio.”

Dio waved his hand. “Yes, well… I doubt it would have been as effective if they all had not been distracted by you.”

Jonathan could not hold back the smile this time.

“You look like an oaf when you smile like that,” Dio scoffed. “Especially with all those cuts and bruises.”

“Ha, sorry,” Jonathan chuckled.

Dio simply rolled his eyes and continued to lead the way onward.

#posting from THE ARCHIVES #and my second ever jojo fic still focuses on Jonathan and Dio #man I really do kinda wish for an AU where Dio is just kind of a dick and not a homocidal murderer #the brotherly relationship between these two is so interesting to think about #whumptober2020 #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo part 1 #phantom blood #jonathan joestar #dio brando #fanfiction #jojo fanfiction #HardyGal writes stuff #HardyGal writes fanfiction

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howtowhumpyourhiccup · 4 years

Text

Whumptober Day 18: To Fix What Is Broken

Summary: Written for Whumptober Day 18, follow-up to Day 12. Set after Httyd 2, not canon-compliant with THW. Years after their mistake, the Gang may need to force Hiccup to break down the wall he's constructed since then. It may not end as terribly as it did last time.

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hiccup, Toothless, Astrid, Snotlout, Fishlegs, Ruffnut, Tuffnut

Pairing: None

Words: 5 187

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: "Panic Attack”

Whumpee: Hiccup

Author’s Notes: NOTE: The rape/non-con elements in this fic are purely implied and referenced. Nothing is explicitly shown.

Not sure how much I've succeeded at portraying a panic attack in this one. I’ve only done it once before and it’s in an unposted one-shot. So I have no idea how well I’ve written a panic attack.

Might also be too long. I tried to look at what needed cutting, but I had no idea what.

Also written as a follow-up to Whumptober Day 12, which I will be linking.

Constructive criticism is appreciated!

Enjoy!

Ao3 to Whumptober Day 12

Ao3 To Whumptober Day 18

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In the end, nothing got fixed. After his outburst in the Dragon Academy and doing "damage control" with his father, Hiccup somehow managed to convince him to let him go back to the Edge, and then it's like everything went back to normal.

Normal as in Hiccup pretending like nothing happened and continuing on as usual. Giving orders, prioritizing dragons and beating Dragon Hunters, sassing, the whole charade. He simply goes about his business, truly as if nothing happened that day, as if they hadn't hurt him and he hadn't hurt them.

A part of them is selfishly relieved and wants to go along with the pretend, but a slightly bigger part of them knows it isn't right, that Hiccup is simply ignoring the issue altogether in the hope that it will just go away.

So they've tried to bring it up with him. At dinner, during game night, during a patrol, any moment where he can sit down and have a talk. But he always shuts them down as soon as the subject is brought up, telling them not to make such a big deal out of something so stupid and small and to let it rest.

Sometimes they don't even get the chance to start talking before Hiccup would leave the room as soon as they sit down. There's just something about the way they sit down whenever they try to talk to him that tips him off to what they're planning on doing.

This whole thing has made him a hypocrite because he wouldn't just let this rest if the person suffering isn't him. Though to be fair, he would be a lot more sensitive about it than they have been.

The worst part is that their attempts at reaching him aren't only in vain, they make things worse between them and him, too. Though he and Toothless seem to be doing fine, the two of them go off together without the rest of the Dragon Riders a lot more than they used to even at the very beginning of the Dragon Academy.

Hiccup spends more time by himself, while game night often keeps going until the wee hours of the night, he only stays for an hour or two before retreating to his hut or forge to do whatever.

And then they get captured again. The Riders fight and fight to make their captivity end as soon as humanly possible, to save Hiccup from more hurt, but when they get home, Hiccup and Toothless disappeared for days.

So instead of suffering through this period of pain on the Edge, he was suffering through it somewhere else instead, with only Toothless there to see it.

It's so unhealthy. The way he avoids it altogether, pretends like nothing is wrong, like his head isn't full of what he's enduring. The way he runs from his second home, from his friends, to suffer completely on his own only to return and continue to act like nothing's happened and like he hasn't been gone.

So they let it rest, feeling like they have no other choice. After telling Stoick had been disastrous, after returning to the Edge, after attempt after attempt ends in failure, they decide to let it rest. Maybe them "letting it go" will, at the very least, urge Hiccup to stay home when he has these troubling episodes. That way, he's safe with them when he has them and not off to Odin knows where.

Unfortunately for Hiccup, life has a way of confronting someone with their traumas.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Years pass.

Drago Bludvist happens, Hiccup finds out his dead mother isn't actually dead, Stoick is killed, Hiccup becomes Chief of the Hooligan tribe at the young age of 20, and Eret joins the Dragon Riders. Once again his life is turned upsidedown, but besides a few references here and there, Viggo's criminal acts are never talked about.

Despite this, the Riders know that the former Dragon Hunter Chief is far from forgotten, even while dead.

Because Berk is a very handsy place and Berk doesn't know about Hiccup's ever-growing aversion to touch. They act around him as they always have, Hooligan friendly, and his friends have seen his discomfort that everyone else is either blind to or attributes to his awkwardness.

On that front, Eret is very observant, keeping it at friendly shoulder pats.

But it isn't just the "no touching", the Riders can see Viggo's influence on other aspects of Hiccup's life.

They can see when he's having a particularly bad episode by the bags under his eyes from a lack of sleep, by the weight he loses when eating becomes a problem, or when he suddenly and inexplicably needs to leave a room and won't be back for hours.

They've never disturbed him before, but they know he's at the cove with Toothless when he does this. So at least they know he's safe.

But Hiccup's wardrobe isn't lost on them either. Going from a simple tunic and somewhat plain armor to layers upon layers with armor on top and belts in more places than they need to be, one dagger strapped to an arm, and his Inferno strapped to his thigh,... the Riders aren't idiots.

Berk may think it's his taste for the dramatic, but they know that he's making up for a concerning lack of a sense of security. Viggo's death hasn't made him feel any safer and Stoick's has made that even less so.

It's all leather, too, all except for his tunic.

It always takes him minutes just to reach his main tunic and knowing Hiccup that is bound to bite him in the ass someday.

And it did.

Having allies means coming to their aid in their time of need and that can sometimes result in one of the Dragon Riders getting hurt. This time, it so happened to be Hiccup.

Aiding the Berserkers when an enemy tribe thought to raid them, the Dragon Riders came to help and in the ensuing battle, Hiccup got knocked off Toothless.

It is easier to down a disabled dragon than a fully-abled one, even with a rider, but throughout the years, their grace in the sky hasn't just grown, but their chances of being downed have lessened.

Unfortunately for Hiccup and Toothless, that means crashing just hurts more. As a dragon, Toothless is sturdy and can therefore shake a crash or two off, but as a mere human, Hiccup cannot.

Unable to just walk it off, he was taken to the healer to be looked at and treated. He'd been unconscious the whole way there, a blessing because that meant he didn't need to feel them move him and cause him more pain in the process, a curse because that meant he woke up in a stranger's home.

"He won't let me treat him," The healer had to tell the Riders and Heather, the Berserker Chieftess. Despite her many attempts at soothing him and telling him that he needs to be examined, he still won't let her.

The Riders, standing outside of her shack, all look at each other, knowing why Hiccup is refusing treatment and too afraid to say.

Heather places a hand on Astrid's shoulder, sharing her troubled mood. She, too, knows of Hiccup's fear, having lived on the Edge for a time and experienced his episodes for herself.

"Maybe it'll help if his friends are there? A familiar face can do wonders." She suggests, while Eret steps forward.

"This is so strange. The Chief has his reckless moments, but refusing treatment just seems... not like him." He says and he's right. This is beyond being reckless, this is endangering his own life. And not just for some stunt, but for refusing treatment!

"We can go in and see what we can do, but you're going to have let Toothless in. Hiccup won't accept treatment without him in the room." Astrid tells the healer. It's not a plan that guarantees success, but it's better than forcing him to comply with something that triggers an old fear.

The healer sighs and nods. She's not particularly happy to have a Night Fury in her home and place of work, but she recognizes that she needs to allow it for her patient's sake.

Astrid turns to face Toothless, who was all but glued to the door of the shack, awaiting the moment he could join Hiccup's side again. Was because he's already entering after pawing the door open.

So she turns to Eret instead.

"Eret, I know you want to help, but I need to ask you to stay here." She tells him and Eret nods. It's not that she wants to exclude him, it's just that he probably doesn't know and Hiccup would probably like to keep it that way. Until he wants to talk about it himself, that is. They've learned their lesson about telling people something this personal, even if they think it's for his sake.

The rest of the Riders, they follow Toothless inside. What they find is Toothless and Hiccup having what can only be called a stand-off.

"Oh great, guys, can you tell Toothless to move? He's not letting me leave." Hiccup requests when he notices they aren't alone anymore, but quickly resumes his staring contest with the dragon, who is rumbling challengingly. In a "you just try to get past me" kind of way. His tail is swaying behind him.

"Leave? You need medical attention, you can't leave!" Astrid replies surprised.

"Which I can get plenty of back home. Berk isn't far by dragon." Hiccup passes Toothless and for all his bravado, he realizes that he can't actually stop him from leaving the healer's hut.

The Riders and Toothless watch him limp towards the door, holding his side. He still looks like just as much of a mess as when Eret brought him in, including the bloody pants that he has bandaged rather messily. As someone who knows at least a thing or two medically and knows of the importance of proper treatment, this only shows his urgency to get out of here.

Catching him trying to limp past them and out the door, Astrid comes to stand before him, effectively stopping him in his way. Blinking in surprise, Hiccup looks at her.

"Wow hey, you can't just leave. A few hours by dragon is still far when you have injured your ribs. Especially when you have healer and supplies right here." She tells him and Hiccup doesn't like what he's hearing. She's making sense to him as well, of course, but his high levels of discomfort are overruling his common sense.

"Astrid, I'm fine. I can breathe fine, albeit, with a little bit of pain, I can make the trip back to Berk."

"So you say and then, once we're over the ocean with no island for miles you discover that, oh no, you suddenly can't breathe out of one lung! You faint, you and Toothless crash, and you both drown." Astrid puts her foot down and crosses her arms, scolding him for his way of thinking. "A little bit of pain" does not equal "okay".

"But that's why I have you guys, to keep that from happening." He says.

"Oh yeah, because we can definitely fix a collapsed lung on the spot." Snotlout sides with Astrid and comes to stand next to her, obstructing Hiccup's way out further.

Hiccup sighs and a look of pain passes on his face, the too deep release of air hurting his side.

"Hiccup, why don't you want to be treated?" Astrid asks, having some idea, but not wanting to jump to conclusions.

"It's just... It doesn't feel good to have a stranger..." Touch me, he wants to say, but having put up a wall between the Riders and his "issues", he refuses to say it.

"To have a stranger what?" Astrid asks, suspicious of what he actually wants to say.

"I just trust Gothi's expertise more." A rude thing to say, especially for him. They're lucky the healer isn't here to hear him.

The Riders glare at him and Hiccup looks away, uncomfortable with how rude he's just been to a woman who simply wants to help him. The words had left him before he could stop them and he regrets them already.

"Okay, we'll stay." He finally decides, but keeps standing by the door because he doesn't actually feel like moving, more so because of how much it hurts to use his injured leg.

He doesn't know what he cut his thigh on, just that it bleeds enough to require stitches and be at risk for infection. Which makes his decision to leave seem even more foolish and unlike him.

But the Riders don't blame him because they know exactly what causes this out of character behavior.

Offering her hands, Hiccup lets her help him sit down on the bed behind him. He'd been lying on it before, when he woke up and the healer tried to examine him and he was being too difficult of a patient.

Hiccup wipes his sweaty palms on his pants, he's anxious and his friends notice. Astrid crouches down in front of him.

"We can stay if you want us to. Fishlegs knows how to heal, he can even do it while the healer watches and helps where needed. We already convinced her to let Toothless stay. If having a familiar face helps you get through this, we're here for you." She talks vaguely about him not needing to be touched by a stranger or being left alone with a stranger on an island full of strangers.

Hiccup mulls it over, thinking about her offer, but then shakes his head lightly.

"This is stupid, she's not even..." A man, like he was. But he doesn't say it, whispering more to himself than he is talking to Astrid. They don't need to know. As if they don't know already.

"You're really anxious, it's not stupid." It's Snotlout who says this as he's surprisingly sensitive about this forbidden topic.

Hiccup looks up at his friends, Toothless purring as he invites himself in their space and nudges his human's uninjured leg in support.

He's not ready for this. He can feel himself sweating, his heart is pounding so much in dread that it aches, his anxiety is already through the roof.

He doesn't want to do this, but Astrid is right, this could potentially be needlessly life-threatening and he would be dragging Toothless down with him.

He just has to stop being so stupid and let the woman do her job.

"Okay, call her back in." Hiccup requests and lies back down with some difficulty while Fishlegs leaves to get her.

It'll be fine, it'll be fine, it'll be fine. It doesn't matter how many times he'll be repeating that in his mind, he'll have to do it as many times as it takes.

The old healer enters her hut again and she wants to get to work.

Hiccup watches her move around, his eyes following her as he attempts to control his breathing, as hard as it is with his ribs aching. Every breath in and out hurts him and that some part of him wants to draw shorter and shallower breaths with his rising nerves doesn't help.

She takes everything she may need. Cloth, bandages, water, herbs, anything to treat his injuries with.

It'll be fine, it'll be fine.

Everything in hand, Fishlegs helping her carry her stuff, she approaches and sets it all down.

"It'll be fine." Astrid looks at him when she hears him mutter.

But the second he feels hands trying to undo his belts, he panics. He takes her hands and pulls them away from him before rushing to sit up and hurting himself in the process. A cry of pain leaves him, everyone jumps to attention.

"Hiccup, wait, it's okay." Astrid tries to tell him, grabbing a shoulder.

"No! Nope! None of this is okay! I'm not okay!" He tells her before he winces and has no choice but to fall back down, holding his side and jostling his leg, which has bled through the bandages by now.

The Riders and Toothless gaze at him, the healer keeping her distance as she can tell this is a rather personal matter and so doesn't involve herself.

They listen to him groaning in pain, see the expression of agony as well as the sweat already glistening on his skin in the candlelight. His air intake is ragged. It is shallow and too fast, which only hurts him more.

"Hiccup," Astrid speaks his name, he shivers beneath her hand.

"No, I can't I... I just can't. I can't let this happen." This is wrong. This feels so wrong to him. The hands of someone that he doesn't know on his body where they don't belong.

In the past few years, the only ones who have been able to infiltrate his personal space in such a close manner have been his father and Toothless, maybe occasionally the Dragon Riders. Though, the Dragons more than the Riders.

And Berk, of course, but that was beyond his control. He doesn't like any of it and that is already hard to suffer through. Doing this is more than he can bear. He wants out.

He can already feel it creeping onto him. The hands.

"Hiccup, you need a healer." Astrid gently reminds him.

"I can put you under a sedative if that makes this procedure easier on you." The healer offers Berk's Chief some peace, at least for the next few hours.

"What? No! No sedatives!"

"Not even painkillers? It might help." Ruffnut suggests.

"No, no painkillers either. I want nothing." He's breathing so fast, he's becoming lightheaded. Meanwhile, his ribs burn.

"Then what do you want us to do?" Astrid asks, hoping Hiccup can tell them what he thinks will help him get through this most.

They've already gone behind his back once and it had made everything worse for him, had made things terrible between them.

But Hiccup shakes his head, not even knowing the answer to that question himself.

Gods, he can feel them. Disembodied hands where they don't belong, touching him where they were never meant to touch.

He wants to cry.

Astrid offers him her hand and he takes it too quickly and squeezes too hard. He's dying for comfort.

But he knows he needs to go through with it.

"Just go ahead with it. Just do it." He tells them uncertainly and the healer steps forward again, hands moving to his belts to undo them.

This time he lets her, but his hyperventilation worsens and so does his trembling. His eyes close as if it'll help if he can't see her hands on him. Feeling them on him is already bad enough.

He can feel other hands creeping upon him. They're bigger with more callouses and they aren't actually there, which is why they creep.

They belong to a man that isn't even alive anymore and yet, with every unwanted touch forced upon him, he can feel him again.

"Shhh, it's okay. You'll get through this. Just breathe, Hiccup, breathe." Astrid tells him and he tries to keep a hold of himself to the best of his ability.

His vest is splayed upon and more wounds are made bare. Besides the aching of his ribs, there's a splotch of blood on the right side of his lower abdomen, close to the hem of his trousers.

"He's bleeding through his tunic." Snotlout mutters, bringing attention to it. The healer takes the hem of his tunic in order to take a look.

Hiccup can feel it, is too aware of her every move. Still squeezing Astrid's hand, he squeezes even tighter and she lets him. Tears wet his eyes and when she cautiously pulls it up, they slip free and he seizes her hands again, unable to bear any more of this.

"Hey, shhh, it's okay." Astrid holds all of their hands as she hushes him.

Toothless intervenes and headbutts his human's face, a gesture of affection that Hiccup returns.

"Yeah, it's okay, we're all here with you." Snotlout tells him, stepping forward, but not daring to go as far as Astrid is going. One of them is probably enough.

"Breathe, Hiccup. Breathe."

"I can't. I-I can't."

Fishlegs comes closer.

"Then maybe I can help! Try to follow along with me, okay?" Hiccup leaves Toothless to face him, who exaggerates his breathing in a slow and timely manner so he can keep up.

It's hard, but Hiccup tries his best to follow along until his breathing comes to a more natural pace and his lightheadedness doesn't turn to darkness.

Astrid manages to make Hiccup let go of the healer and hold onto her instead.

They don't like any of this, the panic attack, the sweat sticking his clothing to his skin, or the tears now sliding down his face. His lip is trembling, his everything is trembling.

This is what he hid from them after their damning talk with Stoick for so long, this is what Viggo has done to him. Their fearless leader rendered to this. The fact that they still don't know the details haunts them to this day.

He can still face any enemy, can stare down death itself if he has to, but he can't stand being touched, not even if it's for his own well-being.

"This is so stupid." They hear him mutter, something they've heard him repeat over and over again with whatever involves his issues. They don't know what he thinks is so stupid, but they've heard him say this so many times by now.

Astrid dares to take a seat on the bed next to him and lets go of his hand to cup his cheeks. He stares up at her with a wild look of panic. If he wants her to let go, she trusts that he'll let her know.

"Hiccup, please listen," She starts and hopes that's what he'll do.

"We're all here to protect you. I know we've failed you before, but no more. You're safe with us. Tonight, tomorrow, every day for the rest of your life, you're safe." She tells him and his hands take hers, but he doesn't pull them away. Her touch is light, so it wouldn't be hard to remove them, he wants them there.

"We love you. Please let us protect you." She requests with genuine emotion.

He nods.

"Okay," He says quietly, barely above a whisper as most of his voice is stuck in his throat. It's a miracle he even got that much out.

Toothless rumbles encouragingly and invites himself partially into the bed, pretty much wrapping his forelegs around his Rider, but staying mindful of his injuries.

Hiccup lets go of Astrid's hands, gaining some control over himself.

Snotlout, Fishlegs, Ruffnut, and Tuffnut take them, watching for any reaction that might tell them this is the wrong move to make. So far, there isn't any.

This might be it, the opening they've been waiting for. For years Hiccup has been completely closed off on this topic, he's locked his fears up tight and thrown away the key. But now, perhaps the door stands open on a creak and they're allowed a peek inside with a promise for more.

Whether this is what it is or not doesn't matter at the moment. What does matter, is helping him through tonight.

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"Hey, how're you feeling?" Back on Berk, Astrid asks Hiccup this question as they enter his home a few days later.

Looking up from his blueprints, he watches them enter with a tired smile.

He's sitting on a chair, wearing a comfortable tunic to spare his bruised ribs the weight that comes with many layers. The stitched gash on his lower abdomen benefits from this, too. He doesn't like it, but Toothless is with him always and so is Sharpshot, who lies curled up on the table. His injured leg rests on another chair, the wound having been stitched closed and showing no signs of infection so far.

"Eh, tired. Maybe in need of some more painkillers. It's been a few hours and my everything hurts again." He answers as they walk further into the home, greeted by Toothless who croons their way happily. He's lying curled up around Hiccup's spot, helping him feel secure as he can't wear his "shield".

Ever since that night, something has changed in their group again. Talking with him, being around him, it's easier. It's as if there's been this tension for so long that nobody even noticed after a time, and now that it's finally gone and they can all feel that lack of weight.

"I'll go make some!" Fishlegs offers himself up and disappears into the kitchen.

"How is everything with the village outside?" Hiccup asks, hoping that his work isn't stacking up as he spends his time inside recovering. He is weirdly okay with staying indoors. So far, at least.

"We're managing things, the twins are actually fixing stuff more than they break it," Astrid informs him.

"Hey, we can be very good repair people." Ruffnut protests.

"Besides, just means there's more for us to break later," Tuffnut mutters to her, and the two snicker. Astrid and Snotlout both roll their eyes.

"We'll make sure they don't break stuff later." The latter promises with a deadpan. Hiccup smiles at him gratefully.

"Here it is!" Fishlegs returns with a painkilling, and possibly sleep-inducing, broth and hands it to Hiccup.

"Thanks," He says, taking it and then staring at it as he holds it in his hands. He's not exactly looking forward to it, these broths never taste that pleasant. This one doesn't even smell good.

He should take it, get rid of the pain, and maybe get some shut-eye. These blueprints can wait.

But first, there's been something that he's been contemplating as he waited for his friends' inevitable visit for the day. They always come by.

"Hey, um..." He starts, gaze still on the cup with the broth.

The Riders look at him, wait for him to talk, and say what's on his mind as there is clearly something.

They aren't quite prepared for the topic he's about to bring up, but the day they've been waiting for has finally arrived.

After some hesitation, Hiccup forces himself to say it.

"He never went all the way."

Surprised to hear him talk about it, the Gang listens.

"Vi-Viggo, he... He never..." Hiccup stops talking then and they don't interrupt or try to finish his sentence for him. They can tell it's taking him everything just to talk now, he's not even looking at them, hand coming up to hide most of his face from view.

Toothless purrs, sitting up to meet Hiccup at eye-level, but he's not looking at him either.

"It really did just stay with words and... and touches... Every time I got captured and taken to him, but... That's it, nothing else." It's not like they don't know that something's been done to him, but to actually hear him say it, to hear their suspicions be confirmed is something else entirely.

The twins share a saddened look, Fishlegs looks down at his hands, and Astrid and Snotlout both feel themselves tense up. It's been a good few years and still, it makes them so angry that any of it happened.

Back to the conversation, Snotlout wanted to remind him that that wasn't nothing, but Astrid stops him. Hiccup is finally talking, they should let him have his say before they comment.

Still unable to bear to look at his friends, Hiccup wipes his sweaty palms on his trousers.

"It-it-it... "It" never actually happened so-so it-so it just seemed so stupid to feel the way I did. The-the way I do. Like-like I was hurt when I wasn't." That was part of the problem, it wasn't as bad as it could've been and that made worrying about it seem so dumb to him.

He's lucky. That's what he's been telling himself. He's lucky.

"So stupid," He repeats, feeling like an attention seeker for something that was "not as bad as it could've been". So many people have suffered worse than him, he shouldn't complain.

He rocks nervously, trying to cope with the influx of memories that have festered over the years, with the shame welling up. Thus far they've only been dealt with by cramming them into the darkest corners of his mind, a fruitless effort that usually ends in frustration and anger. There they have continued to rot and chipped away at him piece by piece like an untreated infection.

Bringing it up now still hurts just as much as it would've hurt to bring up back then.

As a brief silence sets in, Astrid dares to take a step and sits down at the table on a seat next to him.

"I think you and I both know that he doesn't need to go "all the way" for this to hurt, Hiccup. What happened was so, so traumatizing, doesn't matter how far he did or didn't go. And it happened... It happened multiple times." Astrid has to swallow, feeling like she might throw up if she doesn't.

"If we were in each other's shoes, you would be telling me the exact same thing." She tells him and Hiccup finds that she has a point.

If this had happened to Astrid, to any of his friends, he wouldn't stand for them to call their reaction to being... to being... He wouldn't call them stupid, he wouldn't call them calls for attention.

"He hurt you and you have every right to be angry, even now." She continues.

"We all hurt you." Snotlout admits, coming to sit at the table as well. The others, they swiftly follow their example.

To hear them tell him that he has every right to be angry, to be hurt, is more relieving than he can ever express.

But there's a question Snotlout has been wondering about this whole time and he wonders if Hiccup will answer.

"How... I understand if you don't want to answer, but how far did he get?" If he's not ready to tell them yet, if he'll never be ready, then he'll understand.

Hiccup doesn't answer and while he's told them he never went "all the way", "not all the way" still seems to be pretty far.

He wants to cry again. The memories running rampant inside his mind, the non-existing hands that refuse to leave him, they make tears gather in his eyes.

He's in pain and has been for much too long. He feels like he's been on fire this entire time and that someone is finally putting out the fire.

It's with a mere cup, but it's a start.

Managing to look at his friends, Hiccup cautiously gazes at them all, fearing judgment as he finally bares it all.

Astrid reaches and takes his hand, squeezing it lightly. Perhaps, it's time to talk and let his family in.

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bisadiemccarthy · 4 years

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Grief/Death of a Loved One

Not Psych today, folks... it’s Call the Midwife time! While ordinarily I write almost everything for this fandom in an AU where Barbara lives, I decided we can acknowledge her death today for the sake of whumptober pain. Since we got so little of Trixie reacting to the loss of one of her closest friends... it’s time to fix that.

Warnings: grief, MCD, referenced Alcoholism

She had left them.

That’s the only thing Trixie can think as she sinks into the green sofa in her aunt’s parlor.

She had left, and she had needed to leave, couldn’t stay when the smog she’d breathed for years suddenly began to choke her. But regardless of why, she had left and now she’s not there when she needs to be.

“Trixie?” the concern in Valerie’s voice is audible even over the phone. “Are you still there?”

Trixie takes a deep, shuddering breath, surprised there’s any oxygen left in the room. “She- she’s gone?” She doesn’t even try to stop her voice from breaking, sure she’ll be crying any minute now. The prospect of her mascara running is a far away, trivial concern.

“Late last night,” Valerie confirms. Her words are shattering Trixie’s heart, but at the same time, her gentle voice is soothing. She’s missed the strong, rich sound of a cockney accent, Trixie realizes. She’s missed Valerie. She’s missed home.

But will home feel like home without Barbara?

Trixie swallows hard, working up the courage to probe further. “What happened?”

“Septicemia,” Valerie answers, and Trixie flinches at the thought. “We didn’t even know she was sick. And then she told Tom she needed a lie-down instead of attending some celebration or other and Phyllis was staying with her, and she noticed the rash...”

For a moment, Trixie can’t do anything other than nod, though she knows Valerie can’t see her. She tries to swallow the urge to cry but it rises anyway, and her next breath is a small sob.

“Oh, love,” Valerie murmurs, her own voice tight. “I know. I’m so sorry you’re not here.”

“Me, too,” Trixie manages. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left.”

“No, you needed to,” Valerie refutes. “You couldn’t have known. We still miss you, though.”

“I miss you, too.” Trixie takes a shaky breath. “When is-- when is her service?”

“Sometime next week.”

Sighing, Trixie wraps her arms around a throw pillow. “Blast. I can’t make it back that soon.”

“We know you’d be here if you could,” Valerie soothes. “But take as much time as you need. Hell, I wouldn’t blame you if you needed more time off after this.”

Again, Trixie finds herself nodding, despite being on the phone. “How... hoe are you all holding up? How’s Phyllis? How’s Tom?” She’ll need to write him a letter, check in with him personally. A phone call would be too much for both of them.

“As you’d expect,” Valerie sighs. “Phyllis hasn’t left her room yet this morning; I don’t think she wants us to see her cry. Lucille said something about checking on her. And Sister Julienne went to see Tom just before I called you. The general consensus is that he likely won’t so much as eat without outside influence.”

“Poor man,” Trixie murmurs, feeling hot tears beginning to fall. She closes her eyes and lets them come. “I can’t even imagine what he’s feeling right now. I wish I was there with you all.”

“I do, too,” Valerie agrees. “I would really like to hug you right now.”

The thought of a warm hug from Valerie makes Trixie cry harder. She’ll smell like a damp wool sweater, like cigarettes and saline. The Nonnatus house couches are far more comfortable than her aunt’s “stylish” parlor. Trixie would give anything to be crying among friends instead of stranded so far away from home.

She would give anything to not have a reason to cry at all.

There’s a series of clicks and rings from the phone, and Valerie curses quietly. “Another call. I’m sorry, Trixie, I probably do need to take this.”

“Of course,” Trixie manages. “Babies come on their own schedule.” She’s trying for levity, but ultimately just sounds even more sad.

“I’ll write soon,” Valerie promises.

“I look forward to it.” Trixie tries not to let her voice shake. “Take care.”

“You too.”

Trixie hangs up the phone and melts against the couch cushions, her tears coming even faster. She can’t fathom the idea of Barbara being gone, dead, having left them forever. Not Barbara. Not when she’s so young, after all the good she’s done and with everything she still had in front of her...

This isn’t fair, she thinks. It isn’t right.

But there’s nothing she can do about it.

All too recently, she might have instantly reached for a bottle, tried desperately to drown her sorrows. To do that now would be to destroy what little foundation she’s built for herself in these weeks away. Trixie owes it not just to herself but to her family to be better.

Hurrying up the stairs before she can attract her aunt’s attention, she curls up on her bed with a pad of paper and a pen. She scribbles the date, takes a deep breath, and begins.

Dear Tom...

#whumptober2020 #no. 19 #grief #death of a loved one #call the midwife #ctm #trixie franklin #valerie dyer #barbara gilbert #fic #mcd tw #grief tw

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vyther16 · 4 years

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count to seventeen and close your eyes

Whumptober 2020 Theme 1: let’s hang out sometime; prompt 2: shackled (loosely)

More specific CW: a small child stabs a guy with the help of his father, pov character gets stabbed a lot, graphic depictions of violence, torture, body horror, major character death, White No-Face’s general creepiness, it’s That Scene from book four except Worse, minor dissociation

Glossary for ppl like my mom who have no idea what any of this is -Xie Lian/dianxia/gege -- the guy getting stabbed a bunch; he’s a disgraced god and the former Crown Prince of XianLe, a fallen kingdom -San Lang/Hua Cheng-- he is a ghost, and is the ghost flame; he’s in love with Xie Lian -White No-Face-- he is also a ghost, and he wears a white half smiling-half crying mask; he’s pretty creepy even when not in strange nightmare territory. -Human face disease-- a disease reminiscent of the chicken pox, but instead of red bumps, it is human faces, and it is deadly if not cured, but there is only one cure *cue croods dun dun dun sound effect* -A’die-- dad, informal -(xiao-)baobei-- (little) treasure; a nickname for small children -Dianxia-- your highness

The first half of this is a nightmare, which becomes progressively more obvious as it goes on, so strange body horror stuff is not editing errors. It is not a rewrite of the temple scene in book four; it is a nightmare about that scene. (though, to be fair, i only went through and edited for grammar, not narrative consistency or flow.)

—start—

Xie Lian sits in the decrepit shrine, avoiding looking at the toppled statue, even though it looks nothing like him.

Slowly, more people arrive. The scene feels familiar, the way dreams are familiar.

He blinks, and the room is full of people, farmers and families and merchants and performers. A little boy waves at him from the doorway. Xie Lian waves back, but his hand is caught by a freezing grip.

“Hello, dianxia,” White No-Face says from behind him. Xie Lian freezes.

There’s a crash outside the temple, followed by moaning. A ghost flame appears above White No-Face’s head. White No-Face catches it easily as he guides Xie Lian to the altar in front of the toppled statue. Xie Lian wants to struggle, but he can’t.

White No-Face speaks to the crowd as he ties Xie Lian to the altar. Xie Lian doesn’t come to his senses until it’s too late for him to struggle free. His breaths are coming too fast, short and panicky. White No-Face strokes a hand across his cheek in a gesture that is meant to be comforting, but it only serves to heighten Xie Lian’s fear.

White No-Face continues speaking to the crowd, telling them all about the Human Face Disease. “The cure is murder,” White No-Face says. Xie Lian’s panic grows again.

“Who are we supposed to kill!” a merchant shouts.

White No-Face tilts his head. Xie Lian can only see the smiling part of his mask from this angle. “After seeing dianxia’ s face, I should think it would be obvious who to kill.” Xie Lian gets the sense that White No-Face is smiling under his mask.

The little ghost fire caught in White No-Face’s hands flickers angrily, flashing between red and silver. Xie Lian realizes it wants to kill anyone who even considers what White No-Face is implying.

“Oh right!” a farmer cries. “He’s a god! He’ll come back!”

The crowd shoves forward eagerly. A family of three pushes their way to the front. “Our xiao-baobei has a face already! We should go first.”

The little boy from earlier takes up the sword White No-Face offers him. “ Dianxia will be okay, right a’die ?” he asks, struggling with the weight of the black blade.

“Of course, baobei ,” the father says, placing his hands over his son’s. Together, they stab into Xie Lian’s chest, through his heart.

It hurts.

More people take up the sword, stabbing through his heart and neck equally. White No-Face continues stroking his face through the whole thing, in a mockery of comfort.

“I tell you the truth,” a merchant says, stepping forward to take the sword. “There were rumors that he knew the cure long before XianLe fell. All those deaths from the Human Face Disease would be considered his fault.”

The crowd considers this. “Of course it would have to be his fault,” a performer calls.

The rest of the crowd agrees.

I didn’t want to turn my entire people into murderers, Xie Lian tries to say. The sword slices into his throat again.

It hurts.

White No-Face pauses in his caressing of Xie Lian’s face to say, “oh, but dianxia . They don’t really blame you.” White No-Face’s head turns, so that Xie Lian can only see the smiling half of the ghost’s mask. “You’re just convenient.”

Xie Lian can’t reply, his throat too mangled to speak. He’s not sure how he’s even able to hear right now; his ears are drenched in his blood. He can’t feel his legs, or his arms, or anything beyond pain.

It hurts.

The sword slides into his chest again.

It hurts.

Xie Lian’s eyes lock onto the little ghost fire trapped in White No-Face’s hands. It never told Xie Lian its name, but he knows it anyway.

Why does he know its name?

The flame flickers silver.

The sword slides in and out of his stomach. Another death.

It hurts.

San Lang, he tries to say. San Lang. San Lang, save me.

All that comes out is a garbled sound, muffled by the blood clotted in his mouth. He can’t breathe.

It hurts.

White No-Face laughs. “ Dianxia , your San Lang can’t save you.”

Xie Lian watches in horror as White No-Face reaches down with one hand. When did he get another hand? San Lang is still cupped in two of them. White No-Face’s mask has gotten bigger.

White No-Face trails a finger along Xie Lian’s face, dragging the tip through the blood and tears drying there. “So messy,” he chides. “Now, where’s your necklace.”

If Xie Lian’s heart hadn’t been stabbed through already, it would have stopped at those words.

No! He tries to shout. San Lang’s flame flickers silver again.

It hurts.

“Ah, here we are.” White No-Face’s mask is even bigger now. Another hand closes around the ring looped around Xie Lian’s neck. “I’ll take that.”

White No-Face gives the chain a single sharp tug, and it snaps. Xie Lian struggles to move, to do something to take it back, to take it out of White No-Face’s hands.

It hurts.

White No-Face tuts. “Now now, dianxia . You can’t go moving just yet. You’re injured.” He holds up the broken chain, fist closed around the ring. “Now, let’s see. This is a very pretty trinket. It would be such a shame if it were to… fall.” The chain slips through White No-Face’s fingers. Xie Lian watches it fall with growing horror, trying to move to catch it.

He can’t, tied too tightly. The sword slides in again.

It hurts.

There’s a distant crash.

It hurts.

The ghost flame in White No-Face’s hands flickers silver one last time, then explodes into silver butterflies.

Xie Lian tries to scream.

“Now it’s just us, Dianxia,” White No-Face says sweetly, palm still cradling Xie Lian’s face like a parent would to a child. “We’ll have so much fun together.” The hands that were holding San Lang have disappeared.

Xie Lian watches the last butterfly flicker out of existence and sobs.

The sword slides in again.

It hurts.

Xie Lian jerks awake in the quiet of Puqi Shrine, muffling a scream on his fist. His other hand scrabbles at his chest, searching for wounds that aren’t there, until it finds San Lang’s ashes looped around his neck. He closes his hand around the ring, hunching in on himself, and shudders, holding back sobs.

He wants San Lang here, but San Lang is in Ghost City right now, dealing with the new Supreme that’s risen up. Xie Lian can handle nightmares without bothering San Lang; he’s been doing it for over eight centuries now.

His fingers close around the dice anyway, and before he’s consciously aware of it, he’s already walked through the doors into Hua Cheng’s receiving hall.

Xie Lian is wearing a simple white outer robe; it had been cold recently, so he’d taken to sleeping with both an inner and an outer layer. He’s holding his bamboo hat in his hand, and he looks conspicuously out-of-place among the more grotesque fashions of the ghosts and ghouls watching Hua Cheng converse with the new supreme.

Hua Cheng’s eyes snap away from the supreme when Xie Lian appears, and Xie Lian regrets coming, because this was silly, he can deal with nightmares on his own, and San Lang is clearly busy, but then San Lang is right next to him and the citizens of Ghost City are grumbling but leaving, and one of San Lang’s servants is leading the Supreme to a guest room and Xie Lian is wrapped into a hug.

“Dianxia, gege, what’s wrong?” San Lang murmurs into his hair, and all Xie Lian can do in response is clutch San Lang closer, pressing his face into San Lang’s maple-red tunic, and let out the sobs he’s been holding in since he woke up.

San Lang holds him tightly, humming a song into Xie Lian’s hair. Xie Lian lets San Lang’s song wash over him, washing away the taint his nightmare left on him.

Xie Lian comes to himself in Hua Cheng’s private chambers, curled up on San Lang’s lap while San Lang cards his fingers through Xie Lian’s hair. San Lang is humming quietly.

Xie Lian shifts to sit up, and San Lang’s arms tighten momentarily before releasing him. “Is gege alright now?” San Lang asks, gentle.

Xie Lian hums in acquiesce, pressing a kiss to San Lang’s cheek, before gingerly moving off of San Lang’s lap to sit next to him. “I’m sorry for disturbing San Lang’s meeting,” he murmurs. “I know it was important.”

Hua Cheng huffs. “Not nearly as important as dianxia.”

Xie Lian buries his face back into San Lang’s shoulder to hide the redness of his cheeks. “San Lang is too good to me, truly,” he protests.

“Nonsense. Gege deserves everything good, and more,” San Lang declares. “Nothing this San Lang does could be too good for gege.”

— fin —

Author Notes

Title is from the My Chemical Romance song S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W, which is *technically* a post-apocalyptic lullaby set last year. *Looks outside.* Well, they weren't too far off. if you look at the lyrics closely, it fits v well with hualian and also it's one of my fav my chem songs and i am but a humble emo. Also, i just really like that line in the song bc it's so odd and strangely comforting.

I toyed with using the phrase "It hurts" bc I used said phrase eleven (11) times in the nightmare portion of this fic. I counted. (With the find and replace function on google docs bc i'm lazy) Make of that what you will.

the Ao3 link is on the reblog to my main

Personal-ish notes that are skippable past here (TL:DR is VOTE, goddammit, for my USA peeps.)

Anyway, this note is brought to you by me ignoring my parents "discussing" black lives matter. I swear to god, I can't wait until I can move out because guess whose parents are probably going to be voting for trump again this year. I am Not Pleased. In fact, I'm pissed, bc I am a queer white girl in a small white town, and right now, I'm not as disproportionately affected by trump as some people, but there are people who will not survive another trump term. there are people who didn't survive this trump term. anyway, repeating the tldr bc its important. tldr is VOTE, goddammit, and I swear, if you support trump in any way, you might as well just leave.

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snezfics-n-shit · 4 years

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Whumptober Day 23: Shiver

Fandom: Ace Attorney

Characters: Larry Butz, Phoenix Wright, Miles Edgeworth, Trucy Wright

Notes: Respecc Larry 2020. Trucy’s going away to college in two months and her Uncle Larry has come all the way from his last book-signing tour stop to celebrate Laurice Deauxnim style. In which Larry lies about as well as a Weeble and earns himself that extended stay with the Wrightworth family he’d been wanting since Miles and Phoenix got married. He just wishes it was under better circumstances. Now who wants some wholesome fluff?

“You’ll remember to call us as much as possible, right?” Phoenix scribbled a checkmark next to a few names on the RSVP list for Trucy's graduation party.

"Of course, Daddy! I'm not going for another two months anyway, so don't worry too much yet." Trucy grinned, peeking once or twice in the hallway, looking for someone.

"Uncle Larry is still sleeping off his jet lag." Phoenix knew exactly what Trucy was going to ask before she even spoke. "He had a long trip here, so naturally he was pretty tired."

"See? When I suggested we prepare the guest room before his arrival, it wasn't for nothing." Miles commented before checking what names were on Phoenix's list, raising a brow at a few names that were clearly only contacted via spirit channeling. He could understand his father and Mia Fey, but then there was Harry Houdini written as if he could just be sent an invitation by mail. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Trucy, sweetheart, remember when we said your guest list should be realistic?”

“It is realistic! Aunt Maya said the mediums she’s training could use the practice.” Trucy crossed her arms. “I’m officially an adult now, so why can’t we go all out?”

“He’s right, Trucy.” Phoenix nodded, proud to see Miles putting his foot down about this. “We should really restrict the channeled guests to just family and friends.” He looked over the list again, noting how Trucy’s biological father was not even considered once. It wasn’t like he could blame her, but his heart ached sensing the hurt and betrayal that fueled Trucy’s decision. He put on a smile, though, just as his mentor taught him.

“Fine.” Trucy sighed. “I hope Uncle Larry wakes up soon, then I can talk to someone who likes fun.” She teased.

“Trucy.” Miles feigned an authoritative tone, chuckling as he shook his head. In the corner of his vision was a figure sporting an oversized T-shirt in a familiar shade of orange.

"He's up!" Trucy sat up from the sofa to greet her Uncle Larry, who was now surely full of energy ready for a night of movies and calling Mr. Grossberg to ask if his refrigerator was running.

"Hey Nick, did you turn up the air conditioning while I was asleep?" Larry shivered on his way to the living room. "It's really cold in here!"

Phoenix and Miles looked at each other. The last time they significantly adjusted the air conditioner this year was during a particularly bad heat wave that had since passed. Not to mention, wouldn't Larry feel warmer in the LA heat after staying in states with far cooler climates?

"No, Uncle Larry!" Trucy giggled, assuming Larry was joking.

"I don't get it." Larry blinked a few times, looking bewildered by something only he could see. “I guess I might just have gotten too comfortable in that cozy guest bed of yours. I never really had a good sleep from those hotel beds.” He rubbed his shoulder. “All those hard mattresses really added up.”

“Then I’m sure you’ll appreciate every bit of sleep you’ll be getting this weekend.” Miles smiled. If this had been ten years ago, he wouldn’t have dreamed of letting Larry even set one foot in his house, let alone stay for two nights. He had to admit, seeing Larry so successful that his busy schedule typically only allowed weekend stays made him proud, but there was a tug of guilt about how he and Phoenix treated him in the past. Miles wondered, if it weren’t for Trucy, who had taken a liking to Larry from the start, would Larry have even wanted to associate with them?

“So, Larry,” Phoenix stood up to pat his old friend on the back, “are you rested enough for tonight? Trucy’s really been talking up that movie night you suggested.”

“Should we order the pizza now or after a few rounds of Uno?” Trucy asked. Uno was a long-standing tradition for Larry’s visits, probably because it was one of the few card games he stood a chance against Phoenix, since having a card-playing professional win every time wasn’t very fun. Larry even had a solid win streak across his recent visits once Trucy declared herself too old for him to let her win.

“Actually, uh, I’m not really that hungry.” Larry shrugged, shivering again, already twice too many times for the middle of June.

“Did you eat before we picked you up from the airport?” Miles pushed up his glasses. “I don’t think you ate anything here before you fell asleep.”

“Nope.” Just as he answered, Larry was caught off guard by a deep tickle in his chest. He attempted getting rid of it with a brief cough, but as soon as he started, he couldn’t stop it on his own and let the fit overtake him.

"Larry?" Miles frowned in concern. "Are you alright?"

He was still coughing. It felt like an eternity until he could finally stop, and when he was done it was like all his muscles had left his body.

"Yeah." Larry's eyes were wide, he was still trying to figure out what just happened. "Allergies, probably." He guessed, tilting his head.

"That's odd." Miles said softly. "I recall you saying you were only allergic to cantaloupe just a few months ago. Something you told us you didn't eat from our fridge while you had hives on your arms proving otherwise."

"We caught you red handed there, Uncle Larry!" Trucy added, laughing at her own joke. The laughing stopped just as quickly as another coughing fit started from Larry, this one sending him dropping to his knees. “Uncle Larry?”

“I know that cough.” Phoenix held his chin. “You didn’t get your flu shot this year, did you, Larry?”

“How did you know?” Larry looked up from his position on the floor, his cheeks discolored from the strain. “I really planned to do it, though! I just forgot, is all.”

“It may be too late.” Phoenix crouched down to press his palm on Larry’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“That’s impossible.” Larry insisted. “I feel great. Can we play Uno now?” He attempted to stand up on his own, but instead almost immediately fell back down, this time supported by both Phoenix and Miles holding him so he wouldn’t hit the floor again. “This takes me back to those trust exercises we did when we were in school. Remember those?” Larry smiled as if that could prove his claims of good health.

“You can’t lie to us, Uncle Larry.” Trucy singsonged. Lying to any member of the Edgeworth-Wright family was just about impossible to get away with. Sure, a little fib here and there would be overlooked because it wasn’t worth the fuss, but Larry certainly wasn’t telling Phoenix his novelty ties were not at all tacky. “It’s not like we can’t play a game of Uno while you’re in bed, if that makes you feel better.”

“You’re absolutely right, Trucy.” Miles nodded. “Can you help us carry our guest back to bed?” He ignored Larry’s weak attempts to wriggle out and run for it. Where would he run to, anyway? Miles looked at Phoenix, then back at Trucy, signalling he was ready for the three to use their collective strength to hold Larry upright as they led him to bed.

Larry thought it wasn’t fair. Not just the fact he was outnumbered, but also that this would be how his desire for a longer visit would be fulfilled. There was no way he’d be allowed out of bed by Monday, not when blinking of all things was a source of discomfort. Don’t get him wrong, he couldn’t think of a better family to take care of him, but that in itself made him feel like he was intruding. He figured it was probably that ‘dad instinct’ he knew both Phoenix and Miles had down pat by now that explained their willingness to not only carry him to bed, but tuck him in as well. His face felt hot as he wondered if he was even worth being cared for like this.

“Don’t you, uh, think this is kind of weird?” Larry stared at the blanket over his legs, disappointed that it barely warmed him at all. “I mean, I’m not your family or anything.” He let his head rest on the soft, definitely expensive pillow.

“I don’t think it’s ‘weird’ at all.” Miles said as he walked to the guest bathroom.

“Yeah, it’s not weird.” Phoenix agreed, pulling the end table’s drawer open to grab the box of Uno cards that resided in it.

“And of course you’re family!” Trucy added. She sat on the edge of the bed, dangling her feet above the ground despite her being tall enough for them to touch the floor. “If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be Uncle Larry, you’d just be ‘Larry.’”

“Or we would just call you by your pen name,” Miles entered the room again with a digital thermometer in hand, “‘Laurice’ or perhaps ‘Mr. Deauxnim’ to be more formal.” He slid the thermometer between Larry’s lips and felt relief when Larry lifted his tongue in cooperation instead of fighting off the device like he initially expected.

“Besides, bedside manner isn’t exclusive to family anyway,” Phoenix smiled. He slid the card deck out of the box and into his hand. “What else would we do? Just leave you alone, coughing up a storm and being generally miserable?” He heard the thermometer beep and closely watched his husband gently take it to analyze the numbers on display.

“Congratulations, Larry.” Miles’s tone remained flat. “You have a fever.”

Larry wasn’t sure what it was about everything his old friends were saying that made him flustered enough to hide his nose under the blanket. Maybe it was the attentiveness, which, to him, seemed undeserved and out of nowhere. This was only made more apparent when he broke into another intense coughing fit that sent him doubling over. He could feel Phoenix’s hand carefully sliding up and down his back.

“You said you don’t have any more book signings scheduled, right?” Phoenix saw Larry nod in response. He was grateful Larry wasn’t straining himself by talking if he didn’t need to. “So you shouldn’t have anything stopping you from resting.”

“Can Uncle Larry stay with us for a few more days after he’s feeling better?” Trucy looked up at Miles with puppy-dog eyes that held an impressive success rate over the last ten years.

“I’m fine with that arrangement.” Miles adjusted one of the pillows to provide Larry with some elevation. “It would be a shame if you two never got your celebratory movie night. Of course, that’s only if he wants to extend his stay longer than we already have.”

“I don’t know.” Larry closed his eyes, finding that to be slightly less painful than keeping them open. “Are you really sure you guys want me here that long?”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Phoenix trailed off before he shook his head with a laugh. “Just give it some thought, but first get some sleep.” He closed the curtains to keep the summer sun out of Larry’s eyes.

“We’ll leave you be.” Miles ushered Phoenix and Trucy out of the room. “I’ll bring you some water for when you wake up. If you don’t have an appetite, you should at least stay hydrated.”

Larry nodded in understanding. His eyes fluttered open temporarily to watch the family leave the room. He picked up some of their conversation as they left, bits and pieces of debating when they should consider him seeing a doctor, a few comments about a trip to the pharmacy. The sincerity of their concern was not lost on him, prompting him to smile as he dozed off.

#whumptober #whumptober 2020 #sickfic whumptober alt #snez attorney #in this house we respecc Larry

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echo-bleu · 4 years

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By The Sword

Malex Musketeers AU. I’m reposting this little series here (from AO3) ahead of the @alterarnm fic I’m hoping to finish by Thursday (movie fusion, though it’s a show). This was originally written for the Whumptober prompt “Stab Wound” but it also fits with today’s theme “Pre-1900s”.

Alex barely makes it all the way to the garrison before he collapses. He falls to his knees the moment he's inside the large doors, with no energy left in him to make it to his quarters.

“Captain!” someone calls out. “Liz! Maria! The Captain's back, and he's injured!”

“Alex!” This time it's Maria's worried voice. Alex feels her crouch beside him. “Alex, what's wrong? Where are you hurt?”

“Shoulder,” he murmurs. Maria gently pries his hand away from the wound on the inside of his left shoulder, not far above his heart, and hisses.

“Alex, you got stabbed?” she asks. “Kyle, get over here!”

“Alex!” Liz calls, joining them.

“I'm okay,” Alex murmurs, trying to stand back up.

“No you're not,” Maria says. “You have a stab wound and you've lost a lot of blood. Now how about you let us get you to bed?”

Alex just nods and relents. Liz slings his right arm around her shoulders and pulls him up. Alex tries not to put too much of his weight on her, but between the bloodloss and his leg, he's unable to stand under his own power. Liz supports him without flinching, though. She may be short, but she's stronger than she looks−otherwise she would never have made it through Musketeer training.

Maria stays on the other side for balance, though she doesn't touch his arm. Alex is grateful for that, because he almost passed out the last time he tried to move his shoulder. The three-hour ride back to the garrison has been hell.

Kyle, the garrison's doctor, joins them halfway to Alex's quarters, his medical bag in hands. He helps Liz lower Alex onto his bed and immediately starts removing Alex's leathers.

“Your shirt isn't salvageable, but these can be cleaned,” he says, handing them off to Maria. “Good leather is pricey.”

“Kyle, no offense, but we don't really care about his uniform right now,” Liz says, annoyed. “How about the wound?”

“Get me some water to clean it out, and I'll tell you!” Kyle rolls his eyes.

Alex only barely follows the conversation, exhausted. He grits his teeth as Kyle runs a wet cloth on the partially scabbed wound.

“It's not life-threatening, as long as it doesn't get infected,” Kyle diagnoses. “But it definitely needs stitches.”

Alex winces. He expected it, but it's never fun. He's had his fair share of injuries over the years−more than his fair share, actually, since an infected wound took his right leg in the last war. Everyone expected him to retire then, or at least retire from the field, as he'd just been made Captain, but he got thoroughly bored of desk work after a week, and Liz and Maria were simply not as good a team without him. So he worked his ass off to get back on his feet and train to fight with his new prosthetic, and within less than a year, they were the best Musketeer team of all Antar again.

Liz hands him a glass. “Bourbon,” she says. “You're going to need it.”

Alex nods his thanks. He barely has time to swallow the drink before Kyle digs into his injury, checking for dirt, and he arches back, biting back a scream. Liz offers him a cloth to bite onto.

“I'm going to bind your arm to your chest for now so you don't tear the stitches,” Kyle says when he's done with the stitching. By then, Alex is exhausted and covered in sweat, so he doesn't protest. His leg has definitively cured him of his tendency to take injuries lightly, anyway.

He gestures to his leg, which is painful and raw after the abuse it took today. “You want me to remove it?” Liz asks. Alex nods.

“So, who was it this time?” Maria asks, while Liz pulls of his boot and works on the latch of his prosthetic.

“My father's men, who else,” Alex answers tiredly. “But they had someone else with them, I couldn't see his face.”

He could swear he recognized his stance, though. But it's impossible. The man it belonged to is long dead. But the way he ducked left, right before plunging his blade into Alex's shoulder…

Alex doesn't know many people who can fight that well. He's one of the best swordsmen in the kingdom, even now, and this person bested him like he already knew all his tricks.

He ponders on that for a long time, after the other file out of his room. He's spent but restless, the pain preventing him from sleeping for more than a few minutes at a time. He can't find a comfortable position to lie in. His free hand keeps going to the pendant around his neck, as his thoughts wander. He traces the gold ring, and then the medallion, without opening it.

Why did this man, cloaked and hooded, remind him so much of the man he once almost married?

He swipes at his eyes before the tears can fall, angry with himself for letting his thoughts take him there. Of course that man wasn't Michael: Michael has been dead for ten years. The anniversary is coming up, Alex realizes. He died the day their wedding was set to take place, a reflection of his father's twisted mind. Ten years, in less than a week. Maybe that's why Michael was on his mind so much today.

Sitting up, Alex decides he's done lying in bed. He can be careful of his arm and still make himself useful. Putting his prosthetic and his boots back on is hell with only one hand, but he manages after a few minutes. He rummages his chest for a clean shirt and pulls it over his head awkwardly, leaving the left sleeve empty as his arm is strapped to his chest.

“Alex!” Liz exclaims from the courtyard, when she sees him coming down the stairs. “You shouldn't be out of bed yet!”

“I'm fine,” Alex says. “Don't worry, I'll be careful.” He knows Liz is just as scared as he is of him getting another infection, but he really wants to shake off her concern. This whole business has put him in an awful mood, and the fact that he's light-headed from bloodloss and in pain doesn't make it better. “Anything happen while I was gone?”

“The king requested us to escort his children tomorrow back from the summer palace,” Liz says.

Alex sighs. “Are we on babysitting duty again?”

The twin prince and princess, Max and Isobel, who are about Alex's age, aren't really as annoying as children, but they tend to scoff at having bodyguards, and regularly ignore the Musketeers' safety requests. They like to travel a lot, especially between the royal houses all over the country, and the king has taken to requesting his best Musketeers to guard them since the latest threats on their lives, even though it should be a job for his royal Guard. But everyone knows Valenti's Musketeers are better fighters than Manes' Red Guard, especially with Alex Manes at their command. Something that angers his father to no end.

“They're not that bad,” Liz shrugs. “You won't be going anyway, you're injured.”

“And you're not saying that at all because you have a crush on Prince Max,” Maria interjects, handing Alex a bowl of soup as he sits at the table. “How are you feeling?” she adds to Alex.

“I'm okay,” Alex says. “Just sore.”

“You're the one who keeps flirting with Princess Isobel,” Liz retorts to Maria. “What, you thought I hadn't noticed?”

Alex shakes his head at his friends' antics. They've been inseparable ever since he first joined the Musketeers. They're the best of friends in every situation, funny and supportive. With them, he even forget, sometimes, the life he left behind.

“What's got you so worked up?” Maria asks, and Alex realizes he's gotten lost in his thoughts again. His hand has made its way to his pendant against his will, and Liz and Maria are both giving him knowing look.

Over the years, they've become really good at gauging his moods, and especially at noticing when he's taken by bouts of melancholy. He's never told them anything of his former life, and he doesn't intend to, but they know which subjects to avoid.

“Sorry,” he says. “Just...I hate being injured.”

“We know,” Liz says, putting her hand on his arm. “But you still need to rest up, okay?”

“I know,” Alex sighs. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone march up to them. “And I guess it's time for me to report,” he adds, standing up to welcome Commander Valenti. “Commander.”

The woman looks him up and down with severe eyes.

“Captain. Who did you piss off this time?”

Six days later, Alex is in the foulest mood. He's been dreading this anniversary for months, and it's proving as bad as he thought it would be. Everything is going wrong. His arm still isn't healed enough to use, now resting in a sling, so he's been on desk duty for the last few days, and he's remembering exactly why he hates it. And then, whether the effect of his injury or simply the time of the year, the nightmares started. The anniversary of the day he lost his fiance and the day he lost his leg are just two days apart, and it's always a bad time for him, filled with alcohol and fevered dreams.

His team is set to spend the day at the palace again, and this time the King specifically asked for his favorite Musketeer despite his injury. Alex doesn't understand why, but as he's not bed-bound, he has no choice but to obey. He hoped to be able to take the day off and drink the pain away, but the universe is against him. To top it off, both his shoulder and his leg are killing him, and he's forced to ask an aid to hold his horse's reins on the way to the palace, because he barely has enough balance to keep himself on the saddle.

“Come on,” Liz tries to motivate him, as he mopes on his horse. “It's going to be okay. There's to be some kind of celebration planned, for some noble guy who just came to court.”

“That's usually not good news,” Alex remarks. “Means we'll have to be twice as vigilant.”

“Leave that to us,” Maria says, bringing her horse to his other side. “Just because the King requested you doesn't mean you should overtax yourself.”

“My father will be there,” Alex sighs.

“And you can't help showing off your Musketeers in front of him, in hope that he'll acknowledge your accomplishments someday. Alex, you don't need him. Everyone knows you're better than him.”

“He's still the Prime Minister, and he has the King's ear. He could have me executed if the fancy took him to see me gone.”

“The King loves you far too much for that,” Liz says. “That's why your father is reduced to sending his Reg Guards to fight his battles and try to off you in a skirmish.”

Alex sighs and readjusts his sling. “We're here,” he says.

As usual, the day at the palace involves a lot of waiting around and standing guard, far more than Alex's leg should really be put through today. But sitting in front of the Royal Family is simply unthinkable. He watches Prince Max and Princess Isobel, lounging in comfortable armchairs under a canopy, with envy and a twinge of resentment.

“Who's this?” Liz asks him, midway through the day. She discreetly points to a man on the other side of the canopy. He's wearing red like the Red Guards, but his uniform is richer and perfectly clean, and his stance isn't that of a guard. He has a hood over his head, hiding his hair and his face. Alex frowns. Someone who can get away with hiding his identity in the middle of a royal event must be high-ranking, probably from the Royal Family, but he can't think of who that could be.

“Watch him closely,” he tells Liz. There's also the option that he's an imposter.

He's not. Minutes after Liz notices him, the man approaches the canopy at a sign from the King. The king stands up, and everyone immediately stops talking.

“I would like to introduce to the court my natural son, Michael,” the King says, one hand on the man's shoulder. Alex feels his breathing pick up, like his body has already figured out what his brain refuses to understand.

The mysterious man reaches up and removes his hood.

“Thank you, my King,” he says, kneeling quickly. “I have lived my whole life in the shadows, and I will go back to a modest life as soon as my purpose is complete. I have come to court for one reason only: to challenge Captain Alex Manes of the Musketeers to a formal duel.”

Alex gapes. Liz and Maria rally around him, confused. “What?” Liz frowns.

Michael stands back up, and turns to look straight at Alex. It feels like a punch to his gut.

“But why? Alex, do you know him?” Liz presses in a murmur. The court is getting agitated, the announcement raising eyebrows. A King introducing a natural-born son to give out a title and a land is not uncommon, but for that son to challenge the Captain of the Musketeers? That's unheard of.

“Yes,” Alex mutters, still in shock.

“Who is he?” Liz asks.

“Michael was my fiance,” Alex says. “My dead fiance.”

“What?”

“He can't be alive,” Alex breathes. “It's not possible. He was hanged because of me.”

Liz looks about to shake him, but she's interrupted by Michael raising his hands. “Do you accept?” he shouts across the space between them.

“But he's injured!” Maria shouts back.

“No,” Alex says, squaring his shoulders and taking a step forward. “Reparations are deserved. I will duel you. Choose your field of honor.”

He meets Michael's eyes for a moment, and the emotions are almost too much to keep inside. Alex feels like he's going to burst. Michael is alive. The man he's missed so much that he would have ended his life, had the Musketeers not given him a purpose again.

Michael takes a step back and looks toward the King, who nods.

“You will duel here,” he says. “The two of you are likely the best swordsmen in my kingdom. This should be entertaining. Please refrain from killing each other, though. Although my court may well be bloodthirsty enough to enjoy the show, I have uses for both of you.”

Michael bows deeply, and Alex scrambles to do the same. His leg gives out of under him, and Liz has to hold him up as he straightens again.

“Elizabeth and Maria will serve as my seconds,” he says when he's balanced again, waving at his friends. “Who are yours?”

“Oh, I was hoping for sweet Maria,” Michael tilts his head. “Are you as good with the sword as you are in bed?”

Alex looks at Maria in shock.

“I didn't know who he was,” she whispers hurriedly. “It was just a drunken hookup.”

“I know Michael,” Alex murmurs back. “He's a charmer alright, but he didn't approach you by chance. He was fishing for information.”

Maria frowns in anger. “I'll stay with my friends, thank you,” she shouts across the field.

“Then, will my King allow his daughter to second me?” Michael asks, bowing respectfully. “Obviously the heir cannot risk a hair on his head,” he adds with a smirk to Max.

“Did you have to make me second choice?” Isobel whines.

“You can never be a second choice, dear sister,” Michael assures.

It's only then, that the King's proclamation from earlier makes it to Alex's brain. Michael is the King's son. How is it possible? A man who came to him poor and alone, with no family and no name, is the King's bastard? A man, as he discovered, convicted and branded for thievery?

Did Michael know his heritage, back when they were together? Did he hide that from Alex, too?

For the first time today, Alex looks over to the chair to Max's right, a little to the back, where his father sits. Jesse Manes gives him back an enigmatic look. Alex has no way to know if he knew about this, if he knew that Michael was alive and who he was this whole time. He closes his eyes in dismay.

“I will allow it,” the King says. “Now prepare yourself.”

“Alex,” Liz shakes his good shoulder. “Are you sure you can do this? You don't look good.”

“I'll be fine,” Alex says. He doesn't know if that's true. He's the one who taught Michael to fence, and even back then, he was amazingly good at it. God only knows how much he's improved in the last ten years. And he's able-bodied and uninjured, while Alex can barely stay on his feet.

He's read to be beaten, though. It's only what he deserves.

He removes his sling, keeping his left arm close to his body. It's useless, but he needs to be able to move for balance. He gives Maria his hat and his blue uniform cape, and draws his sword. He'll give Michael a run for his money, if nothing else. Michael has always enjoyed the challenge.

Trying not to limp too much, Alex approaches Michael, in the middle of the field everyone else has vacated. They have an audience, a good portion of the court. Duels are a highly-valued form of entertainment to the noble class.

When he's close enough to Michael, he turns toward the King to bow deeply, then gives Michael a smaller bow, without taking his eyes off him. Michael returns it with a smirk.

“You look good in blue and leathers,” he says, low enough that only the two of them can hear.

“How are you alive, Michael?” Alex asks in the same tone.

“Not thanks to you,” Michael shrugs. “I've come for revenge. You had me hanged!”

Alex averts his eyes.

His father gave the order, when Michael was exposed as a thief and a fraud, and Alex wasn't strong enough to stop it.

That's why he joined the King's Musketeers. To become strong enough.

“Fight!” the King shouts.

Alex raises his sword.

I’ll be posting part 2 in the next few days, and then the new stuff Thursday or whenever I manage to finish it.

#roswell new mexico #alteraroswell2020 #malex #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin #whumptober2019 #alex whump #violence tw #blood tw #wound tw #mine #echo's fanfiction #musketeers au

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elite-guard-hardygal · 4 years

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Whumptober 2020 Day 16: A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day | Forced to Beg

@whumptober2020

Anime/Manga: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure (Part 1: Phantom Blood)

Characters: Jonathan Joestar and Dio Brando

Rating: T

Genre: Suspense and Family

Synopsis: During a visit to London, Jonathan and Dio are confronted by some less than savoury characters.

Author’s Notes: Wow, this is spectacularly late. This oneshot really did just spiral out of my control until I finally reigned it back in. Enjoy some fifteen year old Jonathan and Dio whump, with a side of Jonathan trying to be a good brother.