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#whumpfic
readitandwip · 8 months
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Whump
Caretaker is not a crier.
Caretaker fell asleep during The Notebook and only muttered out “Wow bummer” when they saw Mufasa’s death in the original Lion King movie.
So Whumpee can’t make any sense of why there’s hot salty tears streaming down Caretaker’s face, as they hold Whumpee’s head in their lap and caress their cheek tenderly, a motion so soothing that it lulls Whumpee to sleep.
And yet Caretaker keeps calling their name and begs them to stay awake.
Whumpee’s hands feel too heavy for them to reach out and gently erase the tears off Caretaker’s face. Their tongue feels as though it’s made of lead, yet they’re determined to ask Caretaker what’s wrong.
All Caretaker hears is a stifled gasp.
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ms-ajt-whumps · 4 months
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Handholding and Asthma
Genre: Whump, Fluff. CW/TW: Bullying, Asthma Attack
Fandom: The Adam Project Characters: Young!Adam, Y/n, Ray, Chuckie, Ellie
2332 words
Let me know if any tags of warnings should be added, I want to be sure everything I post is properly tagged.
@almost-gabrielle
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Adam would never admit this, but Ray did scare him a little bit. It wasn't that Ray was actually an effective bully, it was more that he had a couple inches on Adam and serious daddy issues. There was also the chance that Ray would accidentally hurt Adam, worse than he himself was truly capable of. Freak accidents could always occur.
It had started simply enough: Ray had been picking on Adam’s friend Y/n during lunch. Now, it wasn’t that Adam like-liked Y/n, because he really, truly, most definitely, 100%, probably didn’t, but he couldn’t stand by while Ray picked on her. So, he’d instigated. Ray had rounded on him and bolted, and so did Adam. They’d run through the lunchroom and the school, dodging teachers, the principal’s grabbing hand, and other students until eventually Adam (who felt that his lead in the race would save him from a serious ass-kicking) burst outside. He’d hesitated, looking left and right, breathing heavily but not badly, and hurried to one side. He had felt, with his advantageous lead and stable (so far) breathing, that he’d win. He had not. Adam fucking tripped and went sprawling. Ray had been on him in a second, yanking him to his feet and pinning Adam up against a wall, glaring at him. Adam's mouth went a mile a minute. Quips, jabs, one liners, some of them even pretty good. They had flowed out automatically, the easiest thing in the world for him. It wasn't until Adam had said something about Ray and Chuckie being too stupid to snark anything back that Ray had really reacted. 
“You turds are standing here like a couple of mute mimes, ventriloquist dummies with no puppetmaster. You really think I'm going to be scared of a couple of meat bags who can't even talk?” Or something like that. Adam couldn't really remember what it had been right now, as he was on his back on the ground, Ray's foot stomped down into his chest. 
“You think you're so funny, Reid.” Ray had sneered. He had grabbed Adam by the front of his shirt and jerked him forward and around, pushing him to the ground. “Well, we'll see how funny you are when, …when you've lost!” Ray had put his foot on Adam's chest triumphantly. Chuckie had offered up his hand for a high five, a lumbering and slow gesture, a stupid grin on his face, and Ray smacked it, smirking down at Adam.
“That's your best? Really?” Adam snarked back from the ground, to which Ray pressed his foot down harder. This was when it began. It, the pressure. Then It, the crushing feeling, the internal collapse of systems intended to keep you alive. Damn it, he’d been fine running, even. You'd think providing oxygen to a 98 pound twelve year old would be an easy task, but no, apparently not for Adam's lungs. He sucked in a thin, wheezy breath, looking up at Ray. Adam tried to glare but the fear was setting in. He did the only thing he knew how. “Step any harder on me and I'll have to petition your mom to stop being so fat. The weight was…” he gasps slightly as pain snaked through him, “transferred to you in bone density. Thank God not in fat density, or you'd be enormous.” 
Ray looked presently peeved at this, and moved to punch Adam in the face. Adam sucked in another wheezing breath. Chuckie stood stupidly alongside Ray.
“Leave him alone!” An indignant shout rung out across the lot. 
Ray's head swiveled to see who it was. The girl from lunch. The quiet one. He smirked. “Go home, you're not involved in this.” He pulled back from Adam, his foot still on his chest, baring his own chest to the girl. He was trying to look big and scary. Ray almost didn't even bother really looking at her, he figured she would be scared off pretty easily, but at the last second caught a glimpse of her expression. His eyes snapped up, a thin trail of dread trickling down him. He saw anger. Crystal clear, unfiltered fury. More than Ray had ever seen, even from his mom when he failed tests. She also looked calm, like she knew precisely how to… how to…
“Let him go,” Y/n said firmly. “Before I have to fuck you up, Ray.”
This made Chuckie nervous; he took an unconscious step backward. Ray looked to him desperately, betrayed. “Chuck,” he hissed.
Adam wheezed tightly again, hands twitching against the concrete, searching for something to hold onto.
She stalked towards the three, a menacing stature about her. Determination, Certainty. “Go, Ray. Before I have to bring you home in a bag.” Y/n was two feet from him when his nerve finally broke. He stepped off Adam, who gasped and coughed, and took a couple nervous steps backward. Y/n looked at him darkly, shooing him away with her hands. 
Ray really wanted to be tough, but he kind of believed her. Maybe she would bring him home in a bag. Maybe she was insane or something. He took another couple steps away, still hesitating, looking for an opening he could hurt her through. But there were none, so he ran. Chuckie ran with him of course, much more slowly. 
Y/n called, “You're a bitch, Ray! Everyone knows it!” Then she was on her knees, talking to Adam very gently. “What's wrong?”
He wheezed, hands grabbing at his chest. He looked briefly at her, the panic now evident in his brown eyes. 
“Asthma attack, Ok. Where's your inhaler?” Y/n said quickly, hands at the ready, hovering in the air over Adam. “You have it with you, right?” Her eyes flashed to his, suddenly nervous.
Adam nodded, coughing, and grappled with the front pocket of his jeans. Y/n pushed his hands away quickly–they fell uselessly to the ground–and wrestled the inhaler from his pocket. She pulled the cap off and tossed it aside, bringing the inhaler to Adam's mouth.
“Ready?” Y/n asked.
He couldn't respond, just coughing and wheezing. He reached for her and grabbed her arm tightly, pulling it towards himself. 
Y/n put the inhaler in his mouth and triggered it. “3… 2… 1…” she counted down for him, watching his face closely. Adam let his breath out in a burst of air. Y/n rested a light hand on his chest, keeping the inhaler near his face. “Good?” she asked quietly. 
He shook his head, weakly pulling her arm back towards him, brown eyes wide with anxiety and focused on the next dose of medicine. He winced as his lungs wracked with pain again. She put the inhaler back in his mouth and triggered it again. Y/n counted again, watching him closely. Adam relaxed slightly, closing his eyes as he held his breath. He let his breath out slowly, the correct way, and sighed. His eyes flickered open, looking at Y/n with a surprised, trusting expression. He didn't talk for a long minute, just laying tiredly on his back, staring at this girl in front of him. Adam dimly realized that he still held her wrist and awkwardly let go, hand falling to the ground.
Y/n asked, “Should you sit up?”
Adam nodded, tiredly trying to get himself up. Y/n helped quickly, pulling him up by the arms. Adam ended up slumped against her, which made Y/n blush slightly. She supported his weight though, figuring that he needed the contact. Adam still didn't say anything, just breathing slowly. Y/n grabbed his hand and pushed the inhaler into it, wrapping his fingers around it for him. “There you go,” she said softly, feeling awkwardly self-conscious about holding Adam like she was. That wasn’t something that people who were just classmates did.  
“Thanks,” Adam finally said. “Ray is a bitch.” He continued to just slump against her, trying to pretend that he would get up soon and that he wasn’t really liking being this close to her. He didn’t have a crush on her. 
She nodded, smiling. They sat there in the quiet for a long time. Adam toyed with his inhaler and glanced shyly up at her and away quickly again when their eyes meet. He breathed slowly. “What makes you brave enough to…” Adam asked quietly, his eyes tracking her face.
She shrugged, jostling Adam slightly, looking off into the distance as she considered the question. The way Adam was leaning on her reminded her of the one time when she was a child and had found a puppy with a hurt foot. She’d cradled him too, as a protector. “I just know how to scare him. He's not really that big.”
“Bigger than me,” Adam mumbled, still fiddling with his inhaler. 
“Everyone's bigger than you, Adam,” she teased, laughing. Y/n looked back to him, catching a smile on his face.
Adam was laughing too. He found he didn't mind when Y/n teased him. He pushed himself up, sitting alone now. 
“I'll have to teach you my tricks.” She smirked. 
Adam nodded quietly, triggering another puff off the inhaler into his mouth. 
“Do you usually have to do more than once?” Y/n asked curiously.
Adam held up a finger to show that he needed a second. Y/n waited patiently. He let out his breath slowly, then speaking. “For the worse ones.” 
“Oh. Okay.”
Quiet again. Adam looked shyly between the ground and Y/n, who pretended not to notice. She looked towards the playground. 
The awkwardness present wasn't only because these were two awkward middle schoolers, though that wasn't helping at all, …it was because Y/n had had a crush on Adam Reed for a little while now. Sure, he was scrawny and had asthma but who really cared? His jokes in class always made her want to cry laughing, and he seemed to not care about all the stupid stuff teachers were always trying to make kids care about. It was kind of like he knew what was important in life. Like he knew there was something bigger out there. He looked at her and her insides would do flips and turns and some shy part of her brain would urge ‘look away, look away right now!’ So she stared at the playground. Y/n could feel his gaze on her, and saw in her peripherals that he seemed just as nervous as her. He was looking at her and then away, then glancing back.
The most hopeful part of her brain whispered quietly, ‘What if he likes me too?’ But the protective part was quick to reprimand, ‘don't think like that, he probably doesn't.’ Y/n glanced quickly at him, their eyes met, and she looked away.
Adam looked away too, blushing. 
He wasn't sure why he was feeling so nervous all of a sudden, he'd never felt nervous around Y/n before. Usually she would just let him copy off her homework and would trade good snacks at lunch. It was chill. Maybe he was feeling weird ‘cause she'd saved him from Ray, not that Adam wouldn't have survived on his own, he would have been fine. Maybe it was because she had been so smart about his inhaler, or like… something about her not judging him, or… he glanced at her again, noting the pinkish color on her cheeks and ears.
‘Oh, dear god no, please no,’ some part of Adam’s mind pleaded. He glanced at her again. ‘Fuck. …That’s it, we’re fucked. We’re fucked for sure.’ He tried to shush his racing mind, and think like one coherent thought at least but before he knew it was going to happen his mouth said, “Wanna come over and see a movie?” This was punctuated by a mental ‘Fuck! No! What are you doing?!’ But it was too late, he’d said it. Now he was trapped. He stared hopelessly at Y/n, waiting for her to… crush his heart, maybe? Perhaps he was still too young  for that. Would she accept? She wasn’t even looking his way, what if she said no? Would he just die on the spot?
Y/n turned to him with an abashed smile and said, “Sure.” She was blushing. 
‘Dear god, no! You’ll get cooties or something, god, stop!’ “We could watch something at my house, I’m sure my mom could bring you home after,” Adam said, trying to play it super cool. His hands danced nervously around the plastic inhaler. 
She nodded. “That… that sounds good, I’ll bet my dad could pick me up too if needed.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked nervously at him, never wanting to look away but also thinking, ‘I need to blink, did I blink enough? Or too much? God, I’m the worst. This is terrible.’
“My mom should be here soon, we could…” He gestured to the pickup area of the parking lot.
“Yeah.”
-
Y/n and Adam were sitting on the sofa before the big screen, Alien playing. Ellie was at the kitchen table, trying desperately to comprehend her husband’s tax filing system. 
The tension was palpable. Y/n and Adam could basically feel electrical vibrations passing between the two of them. Neither were watching the movie.
“Do you like the… movie?” Adam asked softly, looking to Y/n.
“Yeah, I think so.” Y/n smiled, looking back at him. 
Adam glanced over his shoulder at his mom, then to Y/n. His whole brain was screaming not to, but he hesitantly placed his hand onto Y/n’s. His breath hitched nervously, as he waited for her to punch him in the face or scream in disgust, but… her fingers laced into his calmly. Adam glanced up at her, face beet red. She smiled, squeezing his hand in her own. 
Adam looked shyly back to the TV, a grin creeping onto his face. 
-Fin
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whumpbot · 9 months
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WhumpAI Prompts #7 : (More *Realistic?) Chloroform Edition
Yeah, yeah, you heard all of the infos on how chloroform don’t work like they do in the movies at this point. So here are some Whump scenarios that are retains the ❇︎ drama ❇︎ : still improbable, but lean an inch closer to the way irl chloroform works *Also chloroform are super toxic, cancerous and likely to kill you, never even attempt to make them irl like ever. These prompts are strictly used fictionally.*
Content : Chloroform | Poisoning | Sedation | Abduction | Medical Whump | Implied torture | Educational?
*Phone beep* “Hello, (❛‿❛✿̶̥̥) You have reached The Whumper Help Center. On a scale of 1 - 7, how would you rate the success of your Chloroform attempt?”
Choose your whumper!
“I DIDN’T KNOW YOU HAD TO WAIT THAT LONG TO FOR IT TO TAKE EFFECT!”
“Totally messed it up, I was caught”
“A near-miss, I had to resort to classic... brute force.”
“I just don’t fail. I Calculate for things.”
“Had no problems! You just have to do it with *love*, dear!”
“Attempt? I already caught them”
“TOO SUCCESSFUL! TOO SUCCESSFUL! ABORT! ABORT!”
1. “I DIDN’T KNOW YOU HAD TO WAIT THAT LONG TO FOR IT TO TAKE EFFECT!”
(❛‿❛✿̶̥̥) Relative to similar drugs, chloroform isn’t actually that effective as sedative. They irritate the eyes and skin, and people can paradoxically feels more agitated when consuming some amount of anesthetics
Despite the initial encounter with chloroform, Whumpee summons an immense amount of strength and breaks free from their restraints, delivering a powerful strike to Whumper. Although disoriented and in shock, Whumpee remains conscious and aware of the urgent need to escape. "After him!" Whumper shouts to their goons. This sends Whumpee fleeing in a frantic rush.
Even in the short time they inhaled the vapor, the chloroform managed to impose its cruel effect on Whumpee. Their head throbs, and swaying on their feet as their vision is clouded painful sting. They pushes through, somehow finding balance on their steps and determined to shake off the goons. Along the way, Whumpee repeatedly stumbles, fall over, or violently collides with walls. Sending them groaning in pain but refusing to give up. The relentless pursuit of freedom propels them forward.
Eventually, Whumpee collides with another person, causing a surge of panic. "No—NO!" Whumpee's instincts kick in, fueling a desperate struggle to escape the grasp of the person in the obscured view.
"It's just me, Whumpee!" Caretaker's familiar voice interrupts, momentarily calming Whumpee's frantic movements. "What on earth happened to you?" Caretaker's eyes scan the out-of-breath Whumpee, horrified by the multiple bruises and the unfocused gaze. Whumpee is unable to respond, overwhelmed by the combined effects of the chloroform, collision injuries, and exhaustion. They teeter backward and collapses, finally surrendering to unconsciousness, caught by a panicked caretaker,
2. “Totally messed it up, I was caught”
(❛‿❛✿̶̥̥) Chloroform should never be left opened in a room without proper circulation 
Whumper attempts to chloroform Whumpee in a closed room, but Caretaker intervenes, knocking the Whumper away from their target. The would-be kidnapper, startled and caught off guard, quickly scrambles to their feet and escapes the room in a frantic rush. The sound of their hurried footsteps fades as they make their hasty retreat, leaving behind a coughing and disoriented Whumpee lying on the ground.
Caretaker wastes no effort in pursuing the fleeing Whumper, instead rushing to Whumpee's side, their voice filled with concern and urgency as they call out Whumpee's name repeatedly. However, Whumpee slumped over, their breathing shallow, only moans weakly occasionally. Caretaker's hands come into contact rag nearby, it is wet and cool to the touch.
With a growing sense of panic, the Caretaker kicks the chloroform-soaked rag far away, ensuring it's out of reach. "HELP! We've had an intruder!" they shout, frantically moving about the room, opening every available window in a desperate bid to allow fresh air to circulate and alleviate the lingering effects of the drug. Cradling the unconscious Whumpee in their arms, Caretaker carries them  running outside the building, determined to find a safe space and the much-needed fresh air.
3. “A near-miss, I had to resort to classic...*smirks* brute force.”
(❛‿❛✿̶̥̥) Any inhaled anesthetics can be dangerous when combined with brain damage or head injuries
During an attack, a defiant Whumpee manages to claw the chloroform rag away from the Whumper's grasp, locking each other in a wrestle. However, their triumph is short-lived as the Whumper swiftly regains control, overpowering Whumpee with brutal force. With a sudden and forceful motion, the Whumper slams Whumpee's head against the unyielding floor, causing a resounding bang that echoes through the room. Whumpee's piercing scream fills the air, ear ringing as the room spins. Undeterred by the agony, Whumpee summons every ounce of strength and willpower to crawling forward, their eyes fixed on the distant phone that holds the promise of escape.
Whumper, driven by a surge of adrenaline and dominance, rises to their feet. They proceed to deliver a swift kick, sending the phone spinning away from Whumpee's grasp. Seizing the moment, the Whumper once again seizes the chloroform rag.  He pins Whumpee down as he lie on top of them, locking Whumpee's exhausted and battered form.
Helplessly trapped beneath the Whumper's body weight. Whumpee's outstretched hand strains desperately toward the distant phone, their fingers trembling in a last-ditch effort to grasp it. But as the sweet-smelling rag is pressed against Whumpee's mouth, the world begins to blur and fade, their strength ebbing away as both the vapor and concussion claims them.
4. “I just DON’T fail. I calculate for things”
(❛‿❛✿̶̥̥) Unlike injected anesthetics, it is VERY DIFFICULT to calculate the dosage of inhalants like chloroform
Whumper cunningly lures the unsuspecting Whumpee into a room, biding their time for the perfect opportunity. With a sudden attack, the chloroform-soaked rag is thrust against Whumpee's face, causing their eyes to widen in shock. Whumpee instinctively struggles against the overpowering effects.
Whumper releases their grip on their target, casually extending their arms in an open gesture, allowing Whumpee to momentarily collapse to the ground, coughing violently. Panic courses through Whumpee's veins as they desperately try to comprehend the situation. "What... What are you doing, Whumper?!" their voice filled with fear and confusion. But the Whumper remains ominously silent, their expression devoid of emotion, as they coldly step over the trembling figure on their knees and firmly lock the door.
Whumpee's horror intensifies as they realize the gravity of their predicament. They frantically shout for help, their pleas echoing in the confined room, but the distance from any possible assistance renders their cries futile. All the while, Whumper is busy with their drawer, retrieving additional tools of restraint. First comes the rope, then, with deliberate precision, they pops open a syringe filled with an unknown fluid, carefully tapping out any air bubbles. Turning their attention back to Whumpee, the Whumper observes their feeble attempt to crawl away, their desperation palpable.
The desperate protests of "No! No--NO-NONONO--" abruptly cease as the Whumper swiftly overpowers  Whumpee, the latter’s already weakened state from the previous sedative dose rendered them powerless. Their hand was easily deflected away as needle is injected into a vein in their neck. Whumpee barely registers the sensation as their hand falls limply from the Whumper's shoulder. Darkness engulfs them, leaving just enough consciousness to gasp before a cold sensation courses through their shoulder, signaling the onset of a deep sedation.
5. “Had no problems! You just have to do it with *love*, dear!”
(❛‿❛✿̶̥̥) Descent to unconsciousness tend to be gradual instead of one single knockout, especially with chloroform
Credit to @thefaceless-man ‘s prompt
Whumper's strength overpowers Whumpee by a long mile, holding them in place with a chokehold and chloroform rag. A sinister smile curls upon the Whumper's lips as they watch their target's desperate attempts to break free from the clutches of the drug. Every minute only adds to the Whumper's sadistic enjoyment.
Leaning in close, the Whumper's mouth hovers near Whumpee's ear, their voice laced with twisted satisfaction. "Breathe in," they whisper, their words both chilling and seductive. "It's less painful if you just give up and let go now."
Whumpee's resistance soon weakens in the last minutes of the vapors inhalation, the effects of the chloroform taking hold not only in their body but in their mind as well. Fatigue spreads through their muscles first, yes, but their will to move them give out only shortly after. Encouragingly, the Whumper continues their sinister persuasion, their tone dripping with manipulation. "That's it, Whumpee," they coax, their words designed to disorient and detach Whumpee from the harsh reality of their situation. "You're being a really good boy. You're doing great."
The words work their insidious magic, further clouding Whumpee's thoughts and distorting their perception.Gradually, Whumpee surrenders their weight, their resistance fading into submission. Leaning into the Whumper's arms, they release a sigh, a visible sign of resignation. What were they doing here again? “NIghty night,” just with one kiss to the forehead, the fight within them extinguishes, replaced by a numbing apathy of their fate.
6. “Attempt? I already caught them”
(❛‿❛✿̶̥̥) Again, it takes considerable amount of time inhaling chloroform for it to knock you out
Whumpee's eyes burn with silent anger as they gaze at Whumper#1, their captor, inside the confines of the van. Bound and gagged, Whumpee is forcefully taken to a remote location deep in the woods. Suddenly, the van door swings open, revealing the chilling smile on Whumper#2's familiar face.
"Yeah, that's definitely him," Whumper#2 remarks to the Whumper#1, who steps out from the van and responds with a remorseful tone, "Sorry, kid, you don't get to see the rest of the journey."
Without further warning, one of Whumper's goons approaches Whumpee, brandishing a rag soaked in chloroform. Whumpee instinctively struggles as the brute walks closer, but their efforts prove futile. The goon forcefully presses the chloroform-soaked rag over Whumpee's mouth and nose, overpowering their resistance.
They dutifully hold the chloroform while their boss remain occupied outside the van, engaged in a heated negotiation with Whumper#1 over the price of Whumpee's life. Within the van, Whumpee awaits their captors' decision, their fate hanging in the balance as they are left at the mercy of those who seek to control and exploit them.
7. “TOO SUCCESSFUL! TOO SUCCESSFUL! ABORT! ABORT!”
(❛‿❛✿̶̥̥) Chloroform is hella, HELLA, dangerous. Intoxication can cause death
Credit to @promptsforyourwhumpfic‘s prompt :
Whumper releases his grip on the chloroform rag, allowing it to fall away from Whumpee's unconscious face in a dimly-lit room. They remains slumped in the chair, tightly bound and and unstirring. Their captor casually walks to the other side of the room to wash his hands, relishing in his cruel taunts directed at the helpless Whumpee.
 As Whumper washes his hands, he suddenly hears sound emanating from Whumpee's limp body. Curiosity piqued, he quickly turns his attention back to his captive. He sneers, "You're still awake, Whumpee?" and to open the cabinet housing chloroform bottle. However, he stops as his ears soon catches that the continued sound was not his captive's voice, but rather a suspicious gargle and rattle. Whumper noticed saliva dripped from Whumpee's mouth, his head slumped over, and slowly the gargling stops, his chest went still.
“What on eath are you doing over there?” They grow exasperated and holds Whumpee's chin up with one hand and while the other is hovering over the tied man;s mouth and nose. Whumpee is not breathing. Panic fills Whumper's eyes as he comprehends the gravity of the situation.
"Hey, Scum, you're making me angry!" He slapped Whumpee's face in a desperate attempt to revive his plaything, hoping to stimulate a breath or any sign of life. However, his efforts prove futile, and Whumpee remains motionless and pallor creeps to their cheek.
 "Shit--Shit--SHIT!" Rushing back to the sink, Whumper checks the concentration of the chloroform bottle and tries to recall the amount he had used. A sense of dread washes over him as he realizes the potential consequences of his actions. Whumper's desperation intensifies as he came back from the sink with a blade, swiftly cut Whumpee's ties, and push him to the floor, his focus shifting from his sadistic desires to the urgent need to save his captive.
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chaoticdreamers-world · 11 months
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Medic was on break when Leader called. They answered, all their attention focused on finishing the last paragraph of their essay. “I’ve got five minutes till lunch shift is over.”
“Great.” Leader didn’t sound in a hurry, so Medic assumed it was just a friendly call. “By the way, when someone has a nosebleed, do you tilt their head up or down?”
“What?” Medic said, still thinking about how to write their conclusion. “Lean forward, pinch closed. And you could’ve Googled that.”
A dry chuckle from Leader’s end. “I trust you more than Google. Plus the phone screen’s swimming. Thanks! Sorry for interrupting your lunch.”
Medic’s attention finally snapped back to the call as they capped their pen. “Wait, Leader. Who has a nosebleed?”
The line went silent as the words left their mouth.
Medic sighed.
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whumpschild · 4 months
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@writehardwhumpharder
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Introducing…the WLC 2023 Multimedia Summer Exchange!
Gifts will be in the form of written work, fanart, art of someone else’s OCs, or podfic 👀
Participants must be in the server for the duration of the event
Join us for some Whumpy gift exchange fun (:
Signups close May 17
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Further information can be found in the exchange collection
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whumpbug · 1 year
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first fic! woo!!
context →
A and B are either romantically involved or very close platonically (u can choose how to interpret but the writing is leaning towards romance)
C is more or less the adopted kid (maybe preteen to young teen) of the two!
this is my first kinda time period whump (1890ish wild west america but it’s not too important in this) because they’d be living in some kind of camp or forest clearing, away from civilization
whumpee: C
caretaker(s): A and B
[gender neutral A,B, and C]
༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶
A stumbled out of their shared tent with B, viciously scrubbing at the blur in their eyes as they had just woken up. They were ripped from their comfortable sleep by the biting cold air that seeped into the tent and below the thin blankets they were under. Now more than ever, A wished they had spent the extra time to find a place to stay, but it was too late. They and their family were going to have to brave the January chill for the foreseeable future.
“Cold wake you up?” B questioned from their place stoking a small fire in the center of the clearing.
A only nodded and found a place to sit next to the fire, reaching out their pale and shaking fingers towards the warmth.
B made their way over and rubbed up and down A’s shoulders, leaning down and pressing a kiss on their temple. A smiled and leaned into it.
“C’s still asleep?” A asked, starting to feel more alert and awake.
“Guess so.. it’s a wonder they can sleep through this..” B replied, sitting next to A and sidling up to their warmth.
“I only ask because.. well.. you saw them last night.. hardly touched their food..”
“A, you worry too much.. they’re a tough kid.. they’re probably just being lazy today! Can’t blame ‘em either!“
“You’re right…” A bit their lip in contemplation. They couldn’t shake the bad feeling they had. C really hadn’t looked good last night. They drummed their fingers along their knee and said, “I think I’ll go check on them anyways..”
B laughed softly.
“Whatever you say dear, but hurry back! I need your bodily warmth!”
A laughed off the comment and made their way to C’s small tent. It was a ratty old thing, littered with holes and stains and loose threads. I’ll have to go into town and get them a new one soon, A thought to themself.
“C? You in there?” They called out.
No answer.
“C?? I’m coming in, okay?”
They pushed open the flap of the tent and was first taken aback by the silence.
C was a snorer. Albeit softly, they still hardly ever slept silently. Certainly not this silently.
The blankets were strewn all about the small cot and the pillows were on the floor to the right of it. The whole scene was weird but it became gut-wrenching when A realized that C wasn’t in the cot at all.
“C?? C?!” A yelped out, suddenly patting frantically at the cot and rummaging all around the tent. “Are you here??”
B burst into the tent, wide-eyed and looking panicked. “The hells going on?!”
“C isn’t in here!”
“Where the hell are they?!?!”
“Do you think if I knew that I’d be standing here right now??!”
“I don’t know!!”
A pinched the bridge of their nose and stepped out of the tent.
“Look, the horses are all still here,” they said, motioning to the two horses hitched to a tree off to the side of the camp. “They can’t have gotten far without a horse. Not even sure they know how to ride on their own..”
B pursed their lips into a straight line. “You don’t think they.. well..”
The unspoken words hung in the air. The general area they made their camp in had been crawling with various gangs of outlaws for a while now. What outlaws wanted with an innocent kid, A had no idea, but the possibility send chilled down their spine.
“Let’s.. let’s not jump to conclusions.. for all we know, they wandered off to take a piss and got a bit turned around in the forest.. let’s just saddle up and have a look..” A said, keeping their voice calm as they could.
They grabbed their coats, mounted their horses and began riding separately into the forest.
••
“C!! Where are you!!” A called out, starting to feel restless. They’d only been searching for about half an hour but A was starting to feel restless. Every worst case scenario flashed through A’s mind.
How long had C been out here in this freezing weather? Had they the sense to at least bring a coat with them? What if a wild animal had already gotten to them? What if they were too late and they had frozen to death??
A shook their head. C was fine. They had to be.
They lead their horse with numb fingers through a patch of trees that they were sure they’d gone through before when something caught their eye.
A tiny figure, curled up against the base of a large rock, clad in only a union suit that was obviously too big for them. C.
A all but leaped off their horses and called out for B before racing over to the kid.
“C.. C.. oh lord.. are you hurt??” They asked while kneeling beside them and quickly scanning over their body for injuries.
C’s face was ghostly pale and their lips were turning a sickly shade of blue. They were shivering like mad and their eyes had a far away glaze to them. It took them a moment to recognize that someone was next to them, but as soon as they noticed it was A, they gave a pitiful whimper and all but threw themselves into their warm and solid arms.
“I’m c-cold…”
A breathed a laugh at the silly observation. They pulled C closer and nearly gasped at just how cold their tiny frame was. Their entire body was tense. They were shaking so hard C almost thought they’d break. “Sweetheart, what are you doing out here.. and how long have you been out here..” They asked as they smoothed their hair back from their face. At some point B had found the pair and was working on shrugging off their own winter coat in favor of wrapping it around C.
“D-Don’t.. don’t know.. heard noises.. th-they we’re chasing me.. had to.. h-had to get out..” C said, clinging to the lifeline that was B’s thick coat.
A and B shared a worried glance. C seemed really out of it. Neither A nor B had heard anything during the night. It was possible that C was sicker than either of them originally thought.
“We’re gonna get you home, okay? You’re safe now honey..” A cooed, bending over to pick up the kid. B mounted their horse and A passed C up to them, figuring it would be better to have C ride double with the more skilled rider.
A mounted their own horse and made their way back to camp.
••••
Once back at camp, C was wrapped in every coat, blanket, and towel A and B could find and then stuck in front of the fire to thaw out. It took a little bit of time, but soon their color started to return to normal and they became more alert.
Something was still off though.
The more warmed up C got, the more unnatural heat bloomed on their cheeks and neck and soon, they were entirely too warm.
“Yep, they’ve definitely got a fever..” B said from where they were gently cupping C’s face. “And a hell of a fever too! No wonder they weren’t hungry last night..”
“You think maybe that’s why they ran off? Fever dreams?” A asked as they added tea leaves into the kettle.
“I think that’s more than likely..” B gathered C into their arms and rubbed their back in slow, soothing circles.
“Well, they’re alright now..” A said softly as they pressed a steaming mug of tea into C’s thin hands. “Can you drink that for me honey? It’ll bring your fever down.. then you can get some sleep…”
C took a tentative sip of the tea and recoiled when the flavor hit their tongue. “Taste like.. dirt??”
“I know, I know.. it’s pretty gross.. but it’s good for you! Figured it was better than a dunk in the river..” A playfully glared at B. “Which someone did to me when I was sick.”
“Hey! You were really burning up! I didn’t know what to do!” B said, laughing and glaring back.
C also laughed softly, comforted by the gentle banter of their parents. They scrunched their face and downed the drink in one go before leaning back into B’s arms as they continued reminiscing with A. They were warm. They were safe. They were loved.
“Well I didn’t know if I was supposed to give you—” B was cut off when they looked down at their side and realized that C was sound asleep against their shoulder, breathing softly and evenly. They smiled and looked up at A who was doing the same.
“Let’s get them to bed..” A murmured gently, pressing a kiss to the top of C’s head, then one on B’s cheek.
Sure, the circumstances sucked. It was cold and wet and uncomfortable, but the important thing was the A’s family was safe and together. That’s all that mattered.
༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶
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whumplr-lite · 3 months
Text
A warm reunion
Yay, this is the first story that I'm posting on this blog! Hope there's many more to come~~
Part 1: here || Part 2
CW: heat exhaustion, female whumpee, female caretaker, emeto mention
...
End of August, 20??
This was the first time that A had been assigned the task to be at the wine stall.
It made sense. The first time she and her friend group had signed up as volunteer participants in the annual Festival of Traditional Handicraft, they were still teenagers, engaging only for the sake of earning an (almost) free getaway from their hometown and getting to fool around in nature while doing minimum labour.
A had felt a light pang in her chest when she found out that most of her friend group couldn't attend the festival this year, each too busy with their own newly established adult life to keep up with the tradition. In between her summer job and her upcoming second year of university, the one buffer half-week that the festival took place in was her only opportunity to truly enjoy the remainder of summer vacation, and reuniting with some of her friends was what she was looking forward to the most.
Not that she could blame them, really. The growing distance between them all was merely a byproduct of adulthood that she had anticipated, as cold of a fate as it was.
Besides, at the very least, B had promised to show up. Granted - B's way in to the festival was through her participation in a folk dance ensemble, with an evening dance program so intense that most of the dancers barely had the time to actually enjoy the festivities due to last-minute practice - so their reunion was destined to be short-lived. But it was something.
Carpet weaving. Embroidery. Blacksmithing. Pottery. Traditional bread ovens. Murals with art of national heroes.
Serving wine and multicolored slushies in disposable plastic cups wasn't exactly classy, but it kept the vibe going. Right across from the stall, a well-preserved, traditional carpet weaving machine attracted the attention of newcommers first and foremost, with a half-finished rug hanging off a hook on the side.
There was no way she could handle this for three more days. There was no way she could bear the heat, the noise, the bubbling anxiety, scratchiness of the fabric, the dehydration, the smell of alcohol while nauseous, the yelling children, the blinding light from the sun, the roaring engines from the nearby parking lot...
The harsh knock on the bathroom stall almost made her jump with fright, and she felt her own breath hitch in her throat like a pebble.
"O-occupied!" She stammered, and immediately regretted it.
Great. Now whoever was on the other side not only knew she was there, but was also likely to expect her to come out within the next minute or so. She clenched the muscles in her shaky legs in an attempt to steady herself, and slowly extended one leg towards the tiled floor, hoping to be able to keep her balance for long enough to exit the bathroom.
"A? Is that you?"
A felt her heart suddenly thump faster in her chest as she heard a familiar voice call out her name. Or maybe it was due to the dizziness and the blood rushing to her head. Hard to tell.
Either way, she unlocked the door and opened it with a force she didn't mean to deploy, squinting as the light from the lamp hit her eyes. It was weak and dim, but still bright enough to make spots appear in her vision.
But at the very least, her ears weren't playing tricks on her. Right underneath the lamp stood B, clutching a handbag to her side. Her lips stretched and parted to reveal a toothy smile that only lasted a second before the corners of her mouth fell, and a wave of concern distorted her features.
"Hi..."
"A... is everything alright?"
A didn't even realize when she had walked past B, suddenly finding herself gripping the edge of the sink with both hands, the fine hairs on her arms standing up on end underneath the tunic's sleeves. The red embroidery on each sleeve seemed to twist and turn, as if no longer forming its complex pattern, but instead an unraveling, spiraling mess, threads crawling all over the tiled walls, swirling across the white porcelain, wriggling all over her face...
"...feel sick."
"From what?" B reached over and turned the faucet. "Splash your face with water."
"Did that already." A mumbled, but placed her palms under the running water anyway.
"Oh... try again. I'll help you out afterwards."
"No!" She exclaimed and splashed a handful of water all over her face, letting the cooling sensation. "I just need a few minutes in shade. It's still warm outside."
"A, listen. I really need to pee. Like, urgently. But I'll be back as soon as I can and uh... try to take off some of that stuff, okay?"
She rolled up the other girl's sleeves
She had taken off the belt, apron and vest, leaving on only her white tunic.
The crickets overwhelmed the silence with their arrythmic song.
"A, where did you get that costume?"
"X rented it for me." She took a shaky breath. "Why?"
"Because I think that's wool..?" B took a fistful of the fabric. "The apron feels really thick and heavy... Yeah. He got you a woolen garb. For a festival that's in the SUMMER!"
Feeling her own voice rise because of her frustration, B covered her mouth with her hand, though A didn't budge much either way.
"Yeah... a bit inconsiderate, huh..." A muttered as she closed her eyes and finally let herself relax.
"Did you not notice?" B asked with a gentle tone, not wanting to pin the blame on her friend, who was merely following instructions.
"Mhm... thought it was a bit heavy, but... didn't think too much of it..." A trailed off.
She placed her arm over her waist and let the fingers of her left hand rhtymically tap her stomach, one by one, as if to signify that she wasn't asleep, but simply enjoying the moment of peace and relief she was granted.
And yet her fatigue was evident, her friend noted.
Opting to let her get at least a bit of rest, B tenderly drew some circles on A's shoulder with her hand and looked up at the sky and the golden edges of the clouds in the distance, letting the evening wind and the fresh air cool her down. Her own trip to the festival site had been exhausting, with the bus' stuffy smell of old, dusty upholstery and exhaust fumes, and its insufficient air conditioning sapping away her energy and motivation before her adventure had even started.
But the finality of the sunset and the low hum of the festival site in the distance felt recharging, and she could only hope the tranquility of the summer night could bring the same sense of relief for her long-time friend.
Speaking of...
A suddenly bolted up.
"Alright!" Her voice was much steadier now, despite the new colorful patterns in her vision from standing up so fast. "Let's go back. I think I lost my evening break privileges."
"You sure??" B tossed the straps of her bag onto her shoulder.
"Yeah." A put the apron back on with a sigh and picked up the folded vest. "Let's go."
B watched in silence as the girl put the metal belt back on, her figure lost among the fabric. She reluctantly stood up as well and took one look around, as if to take in every bit of the silent paradise.
Among the aeolian clamour and the low hum of the festival area in the distance, a nightingale's chirping complimented the natural harmony. Cornflowers, clover blooms and dandelions in different stages of blooming were sprinkled in the grass that lined the pathway.
But as the girls stepped away from the bench, one concern remained in B's mind, as if festering itself the further away they strayed from their newfound idyl.
"Hey, A..." B started. "Tomorrow is supposed to be hotter than today... are you still gonna wear that garb?"
"Huh? Well... I brought some casual clothes, but... you know. Wearing traditional clothing is half the charm of the festival, so I can't not wear it. X will chew my ear off. Plus, it's gonna ruin the vibe."
B sighed.
"You know what else is gonna ruin the vibe? You getting a heatstroke."
"It shouldn't be that bad tomorrow. X will reset the stall in its original place in the morning and I'll actually get to spend the day under a roof! And I'll get a chair."
"... All but in woolen clothes." B muttered, deadpan. "No, look. Our ensemble has a few spare costumes, just in case someone forgets or damages theirs. The ones we have are made of linen and cotton so we don't get overheated when dancing. I can try to get one for you, or at least a lighter tunic."
A stretched her arm to mindlessly rip a leaf off a low-hanging linden branch.
"It sounds good, but your instructor will definitely NOT allow that." She twisted the stem in between her fingers.
"They will. Trust me." A devilish smile appeared on B's face, made a tad bit more sisnister by the shadows cast on her face.
A chuckled regardless.
"But seriously though..." B looked up at her friend, smirk falling off. "Are you feeling better now?"
"Yeah..."
Well, her limbs still felt stiff, her eyes were still burning, the back of her throat was still dry, the heat trapped in the garnments was already making her sweat and she felt more than ready to hit the hay despite it being the mere beginning of dusk. But there was no point in worrying B further, right?
"It's all good."
"Alright then." B exclaimed. "Now let's go find X. You gotta at least tell him what happened."
"Nah..." She sighed in embarrassment, fingers gripping the edges of the tunic sleeves. "That's not necessary."
"Then I will let him know." B shrugged, her intentions concrete despite her playful tone.
Internally grateful for the support, A shot her a faux look of disappointment and followed along as the lights of the festival engulfed their silhouettes.
...
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syncopein3d · 7 months
Text
Superhero Whump short story, M/M
This is kind of a soft whump story about someone getting the kind of help I always felt like Bruce Banner should have been offered from more or less Day 1. Here is the link.
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sleptwithinthesun · 10 months
Text
quick disclaimer before i get into the fic, if you'll bear with me. i have tourette's syndrome, and was diagnosed about a year and a half ago. i've had TS since before i was fifteen, and now have over six years of experience with it. it is a normal and daily aspect of my life. this fic and possible subsequent ones, depending on the reception it gets, are not meant to be representative of every person's experience with TS. it is based on mine because that is what i can attest to. if you have any questions at all, i'm very open to talking about it, and you can absolutely send an ask :)
now that that's over...
3.3K of r/obert c/hase with tourette's syndrome from h/ouse m/d (yes, people with TS can be surgeons). set in season one before vogler arrives because chase is also less of a dick then. no snz yet, just because i want to introduce the condition first. i really hope that you enjoy because i'm super excited to post this :D
It hurts not to tic.
Chase hates to admit it, but it really does. He's tried explaining the premonitory urge to people in the past, likening the feeling to a building sense of pressure, and usually sudden enough for him that it's almost like a shock. Not awful, but enough to make you flinch at the sensation. If he doesn't tic, the feeling just builds and builds until it hurts, and he has no option but to let them out.
On some days, though, it's not quite that mild.
Today, for instance, he feels like someone's put a live wire underneath his skin, like electricity is beginning to spark through his body, like he's out of his damn mind because for some reason, the feeling of wrongness in his neck and shoulders won't go away until his neck jerks to the side and his shoulders tense upwards and lock in place, hard enough that he's shaking, for a good ten seconds. His breath forces itself out in choppy exhales through his nose, getting progressively shallower as more time passes without an inhale. Chase is more than aware, even with his eyes squeezed shut, that House is side-eyeing him while scrawling out the list of their patient's symptoms, and that Cameron, seated behind him, is going to pull him aside for a few moments once they're done here. He's done this song and dance so many times, and it's exhausting.
House finally puts the marker down just as Chase's shoulders drop and he does his best to inhale quietly, his head jerking over to the right a few times as House gives him a look that Chase knows means keep it together. Then, he limps a step back to stare at the list of symptoms along with the rest of them. Fever, swollen lymph nodes, migraines, sore throat, seizure.
"It's way too general," Foreman says, breaking the silence.
"How do you explain the seizure?" Cameron challenges.
Chase juts his chin forward twice in another tic. Foreman shrugs. "Her fever got too high. Febrile seizure."
"It's something else," House says, without detracting his gaze from the board in front of them. He's tapping the marker against his arm. "Try again."
Cameron sighs. "I mean, it could just be a case of encephalitis. Explains the flu-like symptoms and the seizure."
House shakes his head again, finally turning to look back at them. "She'd be more disoriented, first off, and her friends haven't reported any personality changes." His gaze slides to Chase, and he frowns. "You've been awfully quiet. Any ideas?"
"She's immunocompromised," Chase states, and his head jerks again when House nods exaggeratedly, obviously unimpressed. He blinks, hard. “And, uh, she's what? Twenty? Twenty-one?"
"Twenty-three," Cameron provides.
He gives her a short nod of gratitude. "It could be mononucleosis. Foreman's probably right about the seizure, given her condition, but that only takes one symptom off the list. The rest points to anything similar to the flu, and, well, there's a hundred diseases that could be. Do we know if she's dating?"
"Boyfriend. He's out of town, though; her friend who brought her in said so," says Foreman.
Chase nods again. "We can put her through a CT scan, see if either her liver or spleen are swollen."
"It's a start," House murmurs, then nods, standing. "Alright. I'll put in the order; you three start treating her. I've got clinic duty." With that, he swings his cane around in front of him and limps off through the hospital hallways.
The second he's finally out of earshot, Chase lets out a loud hum, two-tone, high to low. The tic repeats a few times, all the worse for trying to suppress it, before it calms down and his shoulders tense for only a brief moment. When he looks back up at Cameron and Foreman, they're both wearing identical looks of veiled concern.
"I'm fine," he reassures, and it's immediately offset by yet another jerk of his head and a firm set of blinks. "Really. I'm okay."
"Are you sure about that?" Foreman asks, raising an eyebrow with heavy skepticism. "This is the most I've seen you tic in the four weeks I've been here."
Chase rolls his eyes, jutting his chin forward. "Yeah, and?" 
"Is this going to affect your ability to do your job?"
"Foreman, hey—" Cameron starts to warn. 
Chase's head whips in his direction, half a tic and half out of anger. "Excuse me?"
Foreman meets him with a cool gaze, unflinching. "Your job, Chase. Are you still capable of—"
"I heard you perfectly fine the first time," Chase growls, low and irate. His shoulders tic sharply up to his ears, and he willfully ignores the pointed look Foreman gives. "I've been here longer than you have. Believe me, if I was incapable, I wouldn't even be a passing thought in your mind."
"Then why are you so afraid to tic in front of House?" he demands. 
"I'm sorry, would you be eager to twitch around like an imbecile?" Chase snaps. His elbow jerks backward; the rising tension's making his tics worse, triggering the bigger, more complex ones. "I'm sure you're just so damn excited to watch me have a tic attack."
"Everything I know about Tourette's says that you're not supposed to suppress your tics."
"Oh, yeah, just lecture me about my own disorder, why don't you."
"I'm the neurologist here!"
"And I'm the one who's had Tourette's for the past twelve years." Chase glares at Foreman, valiantly ignoring the way his neck jerks sharply to the side once again. At least, until it doesn't stop. 
Cameron's hands press down on his shoulders, guiding him into a chair as his head snaps to the right over and over and over again. "Chase," she says quietly. She's done this a few times before; Chase prefers to ride it out alone, but sometimes, a grounding presence becomes necessary and Cameron's never had any qualms about it.
"I-I-I'm f-fine," he manages, eyes squeezed shut, voice stuttering with every sharp twist of his neck. "Gi-ive it a minute."
Both Foreman and Cameron are quiet aside from the shuffling and gathering of papers while he rides out the loop, jerking his head violently enough at one point that his neck cracks. It's immediately followed by the heel of his palm coming up to press against the bottom of his chin, forcing him to look up at the ceiling for a long handful of seconds until his hand drops back to his side.
"I tic in front of House," Chase murmurs, once the irrepressible urge to tic finally dissipates. "But I'm not going to interrupt him with a vocal tic if I can hold it back until he's done talking. Our jobs are the one thing standing between our patients and death. What we do every day, that matters. My Tourette's cannot get in the way of that."
Before Foreman can say anything else, a nurse throws the door open. "Your patient's just had a seizure," he says, face grim. "Grand mal."
Cameron sighs, gathering her supplies together, changing topics easily. "Let's rule out mono, then."
-
He makes it to just past two in the afternoon before the exhaustion actually slams into him. Foreman's statement earlier was true; while he's not having a bad tic day, per se, he can still admit it when they're worse than usual. He can't even make it through a full minute without ticcing in some regard, whether they're motor or vocal, and frankly, it's tiring to jerk his limbs around for the entire day. His neck is sore, his shoulders ache, and his eyes hurt from the amount of pressure his blinking tics puts on them, not to mention the constant buzz in his throat that threatens to interrupt him if he talks. 
More than anything, Chase just wants to go home and sleep.
He glances up from the centrifuge when Cameron walks in with yet another blood sample in hand, aiming for the microscope. The door shuts quietly behind her, and she waits until she's pressed a drop of blood in between two slides to say, "Hey."
"Hello," Chase replies, and carefully opens the centrifuge after the light turns green. He pulls the first of the vials with their patient's blood sample out of the chamber, then examines it with a critical eye.
"You find anything?"
He sighs, head jerking before he places it back down in the rack on the table. "Both her plasma and her blood cell level seem normal. What're you checking for, antibodies?"
"Yep," Cameron says, unconsciously popping the 'p'. Chase mimics it as a phonic tic, shoulders hunching forward just as Cameron looks back to him, sympathy on her face. "It hasn't calmed down at all?" she asks, brows furrowed.
"No, it has, just, you know," he says, shrugging, "echopraxia. I think." He makes a face; phonic tics aren't technically motor or vocal, and Chase's mimicry doesn't exactly categorize into either being echopraxia or echolalila.
"Have you been able to talk with Foreman about it?"
"I don't plan on it."
Cameron stares at him. "What do you mean?"
"I don't want to talk to him about it. It's simple," he says, taking out another vial. Same result; both the plasma and blood cell levels appear completely normal.
"You kind of have to talk to him about it, though," she says, ever the pragmatist, "if he's going to continue to bother you about your ability to do your job. You've spoken to him about it once before, right? Surely, it's not that hard to do it again?"
Chase glances up at her. "House was the one to tell him I have Tourette's. I didn't have that discussion with him."
The heavy sigh Cameron gives is audible, even from Chase's position all the way across the room. "Chase," she says, disappointment lacing her tone.
"What?"
"You have to talk to him, or else he's going to keep questioning you."
Then, it's Chase's turn to sigh. "Cameron, do you want to know just how many times I've dealt with people who've doubted my ability to perform as a doctor?"
"...Not really."
"Exactly. What I'm saying is, people like Foreman? He's not going to believe me if I just tell him I can do my job. Today, and every day onward, I have to actually do my job and do it just as well as he does, if not even better," Chase says. "That's just how it is."
Cameron frowns. "That's not fair to you."
"Well, most things rarely are." The first shrug he gives is on purpose, and the second, more violent, is a tic. "I'm used to it. People like to focus on the one reason they consider me incompetent rather than the many reasons that I'm not. It’s just a fact of life. Nearly everyone I've ever learned, trained, or worked alongside has doubted me in some capacity. I've learned not to take it personally."
The expression on Cameron's face is indecipherable. Chase doesn't bother trying, though, just disposes of the samples and walks out of the lab. They have bigger and more important things to deal with than Foreman's issues with him.
"Chase, wait!" Cameron's shout makes him tic, an elbow jerking back and narrowly missing a passing nurse, who glares at him. He tries to give an apologetic smile, but the nurse just scoffs and keeps walking, clipboard tucked under their arm. His opposite shoulder jerks inward twice as they walk away, and he sighs before turning back to Cameron, who's just now caught up to him.
"You didn't leave that blood sample in the rack uncovered, did you?" he asks. "If so, that's a violation of the sanitary codes."
She ignores him. "Have you ever thought of the fact that people might stop doubting you if you actually talked to them?"
"Did you listen to a single word I just said? Evidently not; you're j-ust like the rest of them."
"Chase."
"Cameron."
"Just talk to Foreman," she says. "It doesn’t have to be a lot, but just talk to him. At the very least, give him a chance."
"Why should I?"
"You said it yourself, House was the one to tell him about your Tourette's," Cameron points out. At Chase's raised eyebrow, she rolls her eyes. "What? I listen. The point is, Foreman hasn't heard anything directly from you, and knowing House, the only thing he said to him was 'one of your new coworkers has Tourette's Syndrome' and nothing else."
"How do you know that?"
"What do you think he told me?"
Cameron's wry smile gives him pause. "Was that all he said to you?"
"Yep." She doesn't pop the 'p' this time.
"Did you press him for more details?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"It seemed like an invasion of privacy."
"Nobody doesn't want to ask questions."
"Of course not," Cameron agrees. "I had questions. I just waited to ask them until the situation was appropriate. I really didn't want your first impression of me to be the asshole who asked if you curse all the time."
"Yeah. I appreciated that."
"You're welcome. Still, Chase, I've asked you plenty of questions since I started working here, and I'd like to think that you're the most open with your tics around me. Or... Wilson, maybe, but from our team? You do trust me more than House, right?"
He thinks for a moment. It's true; Cameron is the one who knows how to properly deal with his tics if they're overwhelming him, despite the fact that he's worked with House longer. The elder doctor doesn't acknowledge them much, just makes jabs occasionally or takes offense on Chase's behalf. Which, on one hand, doesn't make them worse, but on the other, always makes Chase feel just a bit more awkward when interacting with him. Cameron doesn't ever go far enough as to respond to his vocal tics the way Wilson does, but she'll ask if he's okay after a particularly violent motor tic or give him a few extra moments to gather himself in conversation.
Chase has to admit it. "Yes."
"Trust me on this, then. You can clear a lot of things up if you just talk to him," she says, then starts to walk away. Halfway to the lab, she pauses, and turns back toward him. "Chase?"
"Yes?"
"In the five minutes we've been taking, how many times did you tic?"
"I don't know," he says, dubious. "Five, six, maybe?"
She smiles. "They've calmed down a bit, at least."
It's the little moments like that one that really get him to appreciate Cameron. Of course, he immediately ruins it by ticcing and smacking the bottom of his chin with the heel of his palm, but he'll take the small victories. Five minutes of minimal ticcing is better than none.
-
"Toxoplasmosis?"
"It fits. And better than anything else we've come up with."
"But toxoplasmosis?" Foreman repeats, incredulous. "Are you sure?"
"He's right," House says, limping over to the board. "Toxoplasmosis covers every symptom displayed." He erases their previous diagnosis, then scrawls out TOXOPLASMOSIS at the top before nodding at Chase to continue.
"She's immunocompromised," Chase explains as his left elbow jerks idly backward. "It's very possible that she's one of the few cases that actually presents with symptoms. Especially considering how perfectly said symptoms fit her illness."
Foreman nods. "Alright."
"Give her a combination of pyrimethamine and sulfadiazine, along with leucovorin," House instructs. "If that doesn't work, and it should, switch her over to sulfamethoxazole-trimethoprim but keep the leucovorin. Cameron, go tell her friend that she's going to be fine."
"On it," Cameron says, heading out of the room. As she does, she locks eyes with Chase and cants her head toward Foreman, then pushes the door open and leaves.
Foreman looks over to him, brows furrowed. "What was that about?"
Chase sighs. "I'll explain after we treat the patient."
"Alright," Foreman says, obvious in his suspicion.
Nevertheless, he leads the way over to the pharmacy, gives half of the medication to Chase, and then follows the younger up to their patient's room. "Kayla, how're you doing?"
The woman smiles tiredly up at him. Her red hair is splayed out wide across the pillow, her hands resting on top of the blanket on her lap. "I'm okay," she says, propping herself up on her right elbow. "My head still hurts, though. Could you maybe give me something for that?"
"Even better," Chase says, holding up his vial of leucovorin for Kayla to see. "We've got your treatment." His opposite shoulder tenses up only slightly, not enough for Foreman to notice. Kayla, however, does, judging by the sudden crease in her brow. She doesn't press, thankfully, and Chase's face screws up in a momentary grimace before he moves over to the drawer to pull out a drip.
It's not like their patients haven't known about it before. Hell, Chase nearly had a tic attack in a patient's room after they kept purposefully triggering his tics, despite the instructions not to and House's increasingly angry glares whenever they did so. Needless to say, Cuddy hadn't protested when House requested to transfer them to another doctor when the guy just wouldn't stop.
They set her up on the drips and give her a shot of morphine for the residual pain, and leave with the promise to check up on her in a couple of hours, as well as a probably release tomorrow, once they get the medication in pill form.
And then, Foreman drags him out of the room and into the hallway, asking, "So, that exchange with Cameron?" as they walk back toward their room.
Chase sighs, nodding. He opens his mouth to speak, and—
—nothing.
Awkward, uncomfortable silence lies stagnant between them, and Foreman only stares at Chase as he tries to gather his thoughts enough to actually say what he needs to say, doing his best not to tic and ruin the seriousness of the moment.
"We need to talk," he eventually blurts. "About my Tourette's."
Foreman sighs. "Look, Chase, I'm sorry if anything that I said earlier upset you—"
"I should have phrased that differently," he interrupts. "I need to talk. You need to listen to me, even if only for a moment." Chase, determined, sets his jaw and meets Foreman's surprised gaze.
"Okay," he concedes, shockingly easily.
Chase nods, once, sharp and curt. "You don't get to lecture me about my disorder," he starts. "You just don't. I honestly don't give a damn that you're a neurologist; my Tourette's is not something you're entitled to comment on just because it's come up in your studies. You have to earn that privilege.
"I get that you're new. I get that sometimes, it's hard to believe me what I say that I am more than capable of doing by job, but you need to believe me when I say I know my limits. I am not going to do something just to prove a point, just to say that a person with Tourette's can do it. If it is unsafe for me to do something, I will ask someone else to do it. Cameron and House can both attest to that.
"If you trust me, then I will trust you back, and I will go to you in case I need a moment or someone to fill in for me. If not, then we might waste valuable time while I find someone else who I am comfortable enough with to speak to. Alright?"
Foreman stares at him, eyes wide, incredulous. Maybe it's because Chase has never been so candid on the matter, or maybe because this was not the conversation he was expecting to have. Regardless, he nods, almost dumbfounded.
"Good. I'm glad that's clear," Chase says, then walks off, white coat swishing behind him. He hums, the same tic as earlier in the day, and smiles faintly to himself.
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||ARGUING CAUSES ACCIDENTS|| Bucky x F! Reader WHUMP
Inspired by my own whump prompt that you can read here
Summary- After an argument on a mission, you and Bucky are captured and held in a basement in a remote location. Bucky is restrained and you are on the other side of the room. Reader tries to attack the HYDRA agent but is attacked by the nearest ojectin this cluttered basement- a bowling ball.
WARNINGS- Reader getting seriously whumped with a bowling ball (ouch), Bucky being cut with a dagger, Bucky begging for your safety, slightly creepy agent whumper, reader choking on their blood. EVERYONE SURVIVES, WORRY NOT.
Bucky woke up with a blinding headache, waiting to adjust from the harsh light of the sun but it never came. He blinked a few times and groaned, he went to move his hand to his head to check for injuries but was alarmed by the clink noise that came when he tried. Both his hands were cuffed to a thick metal pipe attached to the wall he was leaning on. The cuffs were designed by HYDRA  to hold his metal arm without breaking. He suddenly remembered the mission he was on and the events that lead to now came back to him. 
He was on a mission to extract valuable information from a HYDRA base in a remote location, he was with you when you were both attacked- you. (Y/N). If he was here where were you?
“(Y/N)” He called out softy, hoping that your voice would be the next thing he hears. Instead of your voice a click was heard from somewhere in the room and a dim light brought Bucky out of the darkness. 
He looked at his surroundings to see walls lined with shelves, and the shelves were filled with random objects, things like sports equipment, and fishing gear. This looked like a basement, there were no windows, it was cold and damp, the only sound he could hear was a slow drip of water coming from a corner of the room.
With the light now illuminating the room he scanned it for any sign of you, and he found you. You were lying down up against the wall across from him, still unconscious, bu not restrained in anyway, he was relieved to see there were no new injuries on your body, he called out again, hoping that he might be loud enough to wake you up . 
Following the light turning on, he turned his head towards the sound of footsteps on creaking stairs.
“Don’t worry Winter Soldier, she is still alive.” A man, presumably a HYDRA agent, heard Bucky calling out to you, and registered the slight panic in his voice.
Bucky scowled at the man, now face to face with him he recognised him. this was an agent by the name of Agent Roman, an agent who worked closely Alexander Pierce, and was one of many agents who was in charge of keeping the Winter Soldier in line.
“You should really learn to keep your guard up soldier, you might not be in this mess if you were paying attention.”
He was right, the only reason you and Bucky were now being held captive was because you were too involved in an argument to notice you had been followed, and the attack could have been prevented. you had made a risky move, and succeeded, but Bucky was angry you had done something so reckless on a mission, and had you failed you’d both be dead right now. Bickering became full blown shouting and you were distracted enough for a group of agents to sneak up and knock you both out.
As Bucky remembered what happened, he reached a question, why where you here and what did the agent want?
Agent Roman wandered over to you and Bucky pulled against his cuffs to stop him. He tilted his head and looked down at you, letting out a satisfied huff.
“If you touch her I swear!-” He stood quickly and made an attempt to move forward to you in fear.
“Relax, Soldier, if you give me what I want then no harm will come to her”
Bucky was quick to speak for your safety, but he spoke too soon. You and Bucky’s relationship was not public knowledge to anyone other than the Avengers, because that knowledge in the wrong hands would but you both in danger. But with that sentence the agent was quick to assume his relationship with you was more than professional.  
“What exactly do you want?” Bucky had grown impatient very quick;y. He was stood, still cuffed and unable to protect you from where he was, and he knew he would need to because HYDRA only want one thing with him.
Agent Roman slowly moved to a desk in front of a row of shelves, to withdraw a long sharp blade. He scraped the desk agonizingly slow and walked back to stand in front of Bucky.
“I want the Winter Soldier.” he grinned.
...
You could feel consciousness coming back to you, and it hurt. Your forehead was forming a bruise where you had been hit and knocked out and the pain radiated through your entire head. You let out quiet weak whimpers and lifted your head slowly off the ground.
As your eyes are struggling to come into focus you can hear grunts of pain from across the room, Bucky’s grunts of pain.
“James?” You were too quiet to be heard be either of them.
You looked again, eyes finally coming into focus. You could see Bucky with various cuts across his chest, soaking his shirt in blood, while a man stood beside him with a dagger in hand. You furrowed your brows together as you pushed yourself up lightly.
While Agent Roman was looking away from Bucky to clean the blood off his knife, Bucky caught you in his sight awake and trying to move. He grit his teeth and shook his head, silently begging you to stay down. You squinted back at him, obviously about to ignore him.
“Come on, soldier there is no use in resisting. HYDRA always get what they want. Come willingly and your teammates won’t be harmed...but if you resist, well we’ll get you anyway but I will personally see to it that your lover over there will be subjected to a similar torture.” The Agent sneered at Bucky, growing impatient.
Bucky squinted in confusion, caught off guard by the agent’s comment about you being the lover of HYDRA’s precious Winter Soldier. He was trying to play it off but the agent could see right through him.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about” Bucky bit back. He was careful not to dart his eyes across the room to you as to not give away your position.
You were in a crouched position now, slowly rising up so gather as much strength as possible. There was a small pipe just out of your reach so you carefully leaned over to grab it. Your plan was to kick the agent from behind and knock him out. Though he wasn’t looking at you, you could tell Bucky was pleading that you put the pipe down and be quiet to avoid getting hurt.
“Nice try, Soldat. Do you think you’re being subtle?” The agent let out a hearty fake laugh. “It’s so obvious. if you touch her I swear!” He mocked Bucky’s words from earlier.
“Go fuck yourself-”
“Maybe I’ll fuck her instead, raise the stakes a little would you like that?” There was no laugh or sarcasm in his tone, you froze in slight fear and so did Bucky. You stared at him as he was fighting back from trying to escape and kill him before he could say another word. You were fully stood, creeping over behind him ready to take your swing.
“What do you say soldier? If I’m feeling nice maybe I’ll let you watch”
“Shut the fuck up you sick bastard!” Bucky screamed in his face while he rattled his cuffs.
“Let’s consult the little lady-” Before he could fully turn around you kicked him at the back of his knee and swung the pipe against his face, but he dodged the swing and the pipe clattered as it hit the floor, he threw a quick right hook that he narrowly missed. You used the strength you had  to kick him into a set of shelves at the side of the room. That was your mistake.
“James!-”
“(Y/N) just go get help I’ll be fine!” He wanted you out of there so you could have a chance to find the others and save yourself. There was a clatter upon the agent hitting the shelves, followed by a heavy thud on the ground but you hadn’t had time to register it.
You bent down to quickly grab the pipe but as you lifted your head back up to speak to Bucky, the agent grabbed the object that made the thud, a bowling ball, and ran at you. He smashed the ball against your face and you were blindsided. All you could feel in that moment was pain.
Before you could really process what just happened you fell to the ground, hearing the faded screams of your boyfriend as you fell.
“(Y/N)? (YN)!” He screamed your name until his voice was hoarse. 
You were writhing in pain on the floor, your face streaming blood from your nose that broke on impact. You could barely breathe so you let out labored breaths and groans. You could see Bucky across from you but he was blurry He tiresomely pulled at his restraints, desperately trying to help you but he was powerless. He sank to the ground shouting, trying to meet your eyes but the damage was already done to your head and you couldn’t see right.
“Tsk tsk, what a silly decision that was, (Y/N)” Agent Roman was standing above you while you wriggled on your side, bowling ball still in his hand. You knew he was talking but you couldn’t hear a word he was saying. Blood dripped from your nose and your now split lip. The blood mixed with spit as your mouth lay slack and the only audible sound you had the strength to make was raspy gasps of agony. 
You tried to pull yourself up but a swift kick to the stomach knocked you onto your back and the agent cocked his head. 
“I’ll do whatever the fuck you want please ju-just leave her alone!” Bucky tripped over his words begging for your life, he kept all composure and fought against the sharp tip of a dagger but seeing you in harms way threw all his reserve out the window.
“I want the Winter Soldier!” The agent screamed, slowly raising his arm to hold the bowling ball above your chest. He turned his head to Bucky, waiting for him to give him what he wants and return to HYDRA. Bucky opened his mouth to speak but hesitated for a second. In that moment of silence no words left Bucky’s mouth. The room was quiet except for the sharp inhale of agent Roman, the panting from Bucky who looked down at your squirming body on the floor
Agent Roman was done with the games, he took Bucky’s hesitation and decided that the only way to get what he wanted was to take it by force, and eliminate the reason for his hesitation.
He let the ball go and stepped away to retrieve the knife that was knocked out of his hand. The ball collided with the bone of your ribs and you screamed out weakly in pain. You’re whole body was on fire as the intense pain of your broken nose spread throughout your torso. You tried to speak, to get any words out but the words never found your tongue. Your face was a burning hot red, tears blazing a path of fire as they rolled down your cheeks and into the cold basement floor.
You turned your head to the side, meeting Bucky’s eyes to silently plead for help, again you tried to speak but a long line of more spit and flood dripped onto the floor, this time the blood coming from the inside. 
Agent Roman held the knife in his hand holding it to Bucky's throat.
“You have 2 options, Soldier. Come with me, or death.”
“I’d rather die” Bucky spat back with as much anger his body could hold, still trying and failing to fight off the tears. 
The agent walked over to you for the final time. He crouched beside you and focably gripped your chin, tilting your head in line with your body, holding you tightly so you couldn’t move. After a few seconds the blood from your insides began to pool at the back of your throat, you tried to move your head to the side but it was held firmly in place. Agent Roman slowly peered up at Bucky as you began to choke on the blood, and he flashed a sinister smile. 
“I never said your death did I, soldier?” 
Bucky went back to screaming and pulling at the cuffs until his wrists were raw. The agent only laughed at every attempt you made to pull his hand off your chin. 
“Buck-Bucky” You choked out his name along with spurts of blood, you couldn’t manage another word but you wanted to tell him that you loved him. The blood streamed down your cheeks as your body began to thrash and jerk, unable to catch your breath you were certain you were about to meet your end. 
Bucky used every bit of rage he could find, and he finally pereserveered, just as you were close to blacking out he broke the pillar he was attached too, his hands were still cuffed but the second he broke free he charged at the agent, knocking them both away from you.
You were still hazy but managed to roll onto your stomach, letting the blood pool under you. The sounds of clattering junk and grunts was the last thing you heard as the injuries took over your body, you tried to stay awake but blacked out. 
“(Y/N) just hold on alright!” Bucky shouted back to you, not noticing that you were no longer conscious. Your head  was lying in the growing pool of blood. He managed to headbut the agent and knocked him out cold, he searched for the keys to undo the cuffs and found them in the drawer where the agents knife was being kept.
“You’re gonna be alright, (Y/N), Tony should’ve tracked us by now.”
And he did, the tracking devices located in the comms earpieces had picked up your location, and help was already on the way.  
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raggedbreathwhump · 1 year
Text
Whumpfic: The Hunt (Part 1)
Setting/fandom: Generic futuristic spy-fi.
Content warnings: Torture, PTSD, brainwashing, implied noncon, suicidal thoughts
Relationships: M/M
Total word count: 9906
Rating: T
Summary:
When Zack's cell door is inexplicably unlocked, he makes a run for it.
He has plenty of time to regret that, later.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
"You shouldn't have done that, prisoner."
The voice comes out of nowhere and Zack jumps, heart in his throat. It takes him a moment to pinpoint the source – a panel of speakers up by the ceiling, something innocuous made for announcements. He swallows, tries to calm his racing heart and slips into the next room, navigating through this corporate maze. Almost every room seems outfitted with an announcement panel. The voice, growling with every syllable, follows him like a shark.
"That trick was cute, the booby trap on the door. Took me out, fair and square. But you didn't get far, did you? I can tell you're nearby. Don't worry, I'm going to be with you every step of the way now. Until we're in the same room."
Zack tries to tune it out. This is just a cheap demoralizing tactic. Even if the whole thing was a setup, he has a real opportunity here. If he sticks with it, he might get out. He might.
"You even took away my gun. Like I said: cute. Did you really think that one through? I already got a replacement, and let me promise you one thing, prisoner: No matter what you do, I'm going to use it."
He slips down the corridor. The room has at least three speaker panels and the voice is all around him, a tangible presence in his ear. If his heart was racing before, it's pounding painfully now, the gut-deep fear threatening to overwhelm his senses. He forces it down, recalls the entirety of his training – keep his mind cool, search for openings, wait for the opportunity, then move, with boldness and decisiveness.
The corridor is empty. It might have felt reassuring, but really, it just strikes him as the deserted death maze it really is. An arena to play cat and mouse in. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself at that thought. Keep moving. The next door, the next room – he peeks inside. There is a turret, facing away from the door, towards the other end of the room, Still no people. He steps inside, hugging the wall and ducking behind cover out of habit.
"Or maybe you thought it would... what, delay me? The extra minute or so I would have to spend to go out of my way to secure a replacement gun. That could be the difference between life and death, is that right, prisoner?
Wrong.
Listen closely. I'll let you in on a little secret."
Damn that voice. He can still hear Diego in it – his old partner, his old lover – but there is nothing he can recognize of the person he used to know. His lyrical taunts, waxing poetic about the mission at hand... Zack can remember that, still. But he's never had to hear it like this, with only the cold, vicious cadence of a hunter who can't wait to get his claws into him.
"You're here because of me." Diego's voice drops to a confidential whisper now, deep and gravelly. "That's right. It doesn't matter what you do, how much time you buy, how much of an edge you gain. None of it will matter. If you haven't figured it out already, this was all just a fun little exercise. A thrilling little chase for me. And a test for you, if you like. You failed, though. You fell for it hook, line and sinker. But I've been calling the shots from the beginning. I let you off with a head start. And I'm the one who made sure the entire area around us is on lockdown. You're not getting past that. And when I start to get bored... I'll start tightening the noose."
Zack's heart sinks. He begins to tremble, has to stop and lean back against the side of a desk for a moment to calm the queasiness inside him. He'd known, of course. He'd known it was a trap for a while now, and on some level, even before he'd set foot outside his cell. It was all just too convenient, but that was the training: leave no opportunity unseized.
Hearing it from him is something else, though.
The turret – he can slip past it if he's quick enough. Zack gathers his strength, disables it with a touch of his hand and the pulse generator built into his arm, then makes a mad dash for the door on the other side, slips through into another, bigger room. A conference room or something of the like.
"Couldn't wait to spring free, could you? I'm surprised at you, prisoner. I thought you had quite a cushy deal going on here. You work for us, and we keep you alive. But those terms just weren't good enough for you, were they?"
Zack takes it in with a practiced gaze. Two doors on the opposite end. Between here and there – furniture, several low tables with chairs, a powered-off projection screen, a decorative sculpture, and a fancy chessboard (likely just as decorative). He starts to move towards the doors, keeping close to cover.
"I'll tell you what... listen closely, prisoner-"
Zack freezes briefly, eyes wide as he hears the voice again – from the speaker panel, as expected, and a second, fainter source, from behind the door to the right. It's him. Fuck, it's him. He finds his wits in time to make a dive for the couch by the wall, the one that's facing most of the room, and hunkers down behind it. The door opens a split second later and a pair of footsteps in heavy boots enter the room.
"...because I'm only going to say this once. My superiors aren't too happy with you. Neither am I, you can imagine. After all, we had a deal too, didn’t we? I made you a promise, last time you tried to escape..."
Zack is frozen, pressed against the back of the couch. He doesn't dare peek past it. His body is screaming at him that he's about to get caught, overcome with an irrational conviction as solid as his bones that Diego will see him, smell him, can probably hear his thundering heartbeat right now all across the room. He tracks the heavy footsteps, his mind blank. He's been deployed on countless missions and found himself hiding behind cover, inches from an enemy, but never before has he felt such fear.
"Right now I have every inclination to make good on it, and I might not stop there. And after you're caught... well, who knows what the top dogs will do to you, when you're being so inconvenient. But I'll tell you what. You come out of hiding like a good boy right now and I might take it easy. Maybe put in a good word for you. Mistakes were made, but I'm not a monster, you know. What do you think?"
The footsteps are moving away now. Maybe it'll be okay – his mind jumbled, Zack realizes too late that maybe Diego doesn't expect to find him here, is failing to search behind cover as thoroughly as he might otherwise. After all, they do not know he can disable devices as easily as he can. They weren't expecting him to head this way, past the turret.
He can use this. Surely he can use this. If he can bring himself to move. Zack shuts his eyes, quietly takes a deep breath. His heart feels ready to burst out of his chest. His blood is pumping in his temples, something between nausea and a headache pounding in his head, and he feels achey and hollow and not quite attached to his own body. He has to snap out of it. Now. He needs to snap out of it.
"Are you here, little fox?" Diego says teasingly before sharply kicking open the door to the next room – the room Zack last came from. The turret! Fuck, if it's still disabled, if it hasn't completed its reboot...
Zack doesn't wait to finish that thought – Diego's back is turned and this is all the time he gets. He darts out from behind the couch and to the next scrap of cover. His heart sinks as he hears Diego hiss softly in realization.
"Interesting..."
The door – now! It's a straight line of open space between him and the exit, but he has to take it. Zack makes a mad dash for it, across the room, reaches it, pulls on the handle. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Diego's shape in the opposite doorway, turning towards him.
"There you are!"
Zack shoves the door open, all but falling through it. Inches behind him, plasma fire shatters the glass inlets of the door and  a shower of glass shards peppers the ground. Zack scrambles into a sprint. Another hallway. He has maybe one, two seconds out of sight and out of earshot. He picks a door at random, closes it behind him, keeps running past desks and chairs, kicks one out of the way, curses himself, chooses another door at random and keeps running. If he had a grasp on where he was in this maze of office rooms and cubicles before, he's lost now.
Diego's boots thunder through the corridor he left behind.
"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" Diego sounds pleased, and – dammit, he knows the voice is coming from the corridor, but the sound of it over the speakers diffuses it, makes it harder to pinpoint. Zack is standing in the next room, briefly frozen. The way he's facing looks familiar, but he doesn't think he's been here before. He snaps out of it and keeps moving. Spots a door with a fire escape sign on it. Filled with a strange, sudden sense of hope, he runs to it, slips inside. If he can get to another level...
The staircase is there, and he can spot another door several stories up. His legs aching and lungs already burning from the chase, Zack runs up the metallic grate steps as softly as he can. Up close, the door is solid, metallic, with a round 'submarine' style window in the top half, and another office area behind it.
It's locked.
Zack has a brief, hollow moment of wondering just how long it would take Diego to find him if he just... stops here. Stops running and waits for him. As he was told to. There is no way out, he can feel it in his bones no matter how hard he tries to delay the inevitable.
The boss would be disappointed. This wasn't how he was trained.
It's an odd thought, but it helps.
Zack tries and fails to put his back into it for a few seconds before giving up, gasping. He glances back down. He cannot hear or see Diego except through the announcement system, but backtracking feels equivalent to death. He looks back at the glass window. Double sheeting.
Zack grits his teeth and pulls off the top of his jumpsuit to wrap it around his elbow. Desperate times, desperate measures and all that.
He smashes through the glass. It takes him a couple of tries and sends glass shards flying everywhere, and painful jolts through his arm, but he can worry about that later. The noise of breaking glass is deafening. He somehow reaches through for the handle on the other side, grasping blindly. Miraculously, he feels a set of keys in the door. He has just enough leverage to turn it, with the tips of his fingers.
"I heard that, little fox." There are no speakers up here, and the area looks older, but he can still hear it from the level he just left. Like a spur, it jolts him into action. He needs to keep moving. There has to be an exit here somewhere.
Before Zack has taken even a dozen steps into the room, it becomes clear that coming here was a mistake. The area is essentially one large room full of cubicles. An exit to the left has been sealed off for construction. An exit to the right has been bricked up. An elevator door – but there is an old-timey grate gate in front of it, with the key nowhere to be found. A ventilation shaft by the ceiling looks promising, but is higher up than he can reach without moving furniture around. Not when he's already out of time.
Out of breath, Zack ducks behind a cubicle just as Diego bursts through the door.
The enforcer stops in the doorway and surveys the room. He takes a deep breath, sniffing the air. Melodramatic as always...
"I know you're in here."
He says it calmly, matter-of-fact, and it sends a chill down Zack's spine. He watches as much as he dares through a crack in the cubicle wall he's behind. A dead end. He's trapped with no way out, but if he plays it smart and keeps his head, waits until Diego has moved away from the door and circles around, then-
As if reading his thoughts, Diego looks around thoughtfully and grabs a large, heavy cabinet next to the door. He pulls on the sides, and Zack winces at the deafening noise as the metal legs drag over the rough concrete floor. Diego pulls and pushes it into place until the exit is securely barricaded.
Zack stares, cold resignation flickering through his heart. Well, that's it, then. He'll never move it quickly enough to slip out, not with that amount of noise... This was place was a death trap, and he blundered right in.
In soft bewilderment, he wonders if this has been the plan all along. If somehow, Diego had meant to herd him into this one area where he would finish him off... he couldn't have planned that, could he? This hadn't been the plan from the beginning. Zack had gotten farther than they had ever meant for him to get, of that much, he was sure. For all the good that did.
Diego continues his soft, cruel taunts as he begins to search in a circle through the large room, clearing a row of cubicles with every few steps. He's away from the exit now. Zack could try, if he's foolhardy enough to try till the last, but he knows a losing match when he sees one. There seems to be something pathetic about being shot in the back while scrambling to move some furniture out of the way.
Diego is not close to him now, but he will be. There is no escaping him. There is no point, no feasible way for him to make it out of this, no benefit he will gain by trying to drag it out, stall for time. His heart is pounding, his limbs shaking from the chase, and more than anything Zack wants to curl up someplace dark and not... think, or feel, anytime soon. He'd never understood people who, in response to a crisis, simply hid in a corner and cried in panic, but he can relate to that a little bit better now.
He stands up, not bothering with cover. Diego can't see him yet, but he will as soon as he clears that pillar and makes another sweep. Any moment now.
Zack wants to close his eyes, gives in to it. Let Diego find him. Let him shoot him, for all he cares. He's had enough of this cruel game. He's ready to lose, just for it to be over.
"There you are." The voice is smug and satisfied, sending a lurch through him. Zack looks up silently at the figure of the enforcer facing him – gun at the ready, visor only partially concealing the pleased, hungry smile, and he is panting slightly. Zack has nothing to say to him. He's tense, bracing himself for the worst, but refuses to let himself fidget. Some deep, ancient instinct in him is telling him to play dead. Maybe if he doesn't move, it won't be as bad...
"Look at you," Diego continues. He can't see the man's eyes behind that visor, but wagers he wouldn't like the look in them. "Not even trying to hide now, are you? Smart. Pity you weren't this smart when it mattered."
He raises his gun, gesturing at Zack. "Now, while you're at it, why don't you raise your hands, too? Show me you're unarmed."
Zack glares at him slightly, a weak reaction that breaks its way through the fear. This is wildly unnecessary. Any idiot could tell you he's unarmed.
Slowly, he raises his hands. Diego smirks, nods with satisfaction. "That'll do. Keep still, now."
Zack swallows, everything in him tensing as Diego approaches him with slow, heavy steps. Zack can see him better than he wants to, now, can see every scratch and scuff in that heavy guard armour, can tell just how much Diego is relishing this. He feels sickened.
"On your knees, now." Diego's voice is almost soft, but there is nothing soft about the way Diego is looking at him. He stops a few paces away.
Zack obeys him, hands still in the air. He watches the sights of the gun adjust on him. On the other side of it, Diego is watching him with his head tilted, as if surveying a particularly exquisite piece of art. Zack stares back impassively, past the barrel of the gun. He has no more defiance left in him, not anymore. Somehow, that feels more like losing than anything else has.
Diego nods softly. "Good..."
Zack barely has time to process it as the man lowers his gun and shoots him through the knee.
With a cry and a shudder, Zack drops to the floor, then simply lies there, gasping. He can't quite breathe past the pained, choked noises clawing through his throat, and his leg is on fire.
"Sorry, peach. A promise is a promise," Diego says quietly.
Zack barely hears him. He's squirming on the floor, helplessly cradling his knee and making noises he can't quite stop. The splintering, burning pain in his knee is slowly fanning out, as if engulfing him in radiation. The concrete floor is cold against his arms, the texture rough. Heavy footsteps, coming closer. He tries to lift his head to look up. Something heavy – a boot on his back forces him back down, crushes him briefly to the floor. He chokes on his whimper.
"I've got him." Diego's voice seems high above him, and it's exuberant, breathless. Footsteps again. Diego is walking away, towards the door. "Yes, we're on floor 47. Send someone to bring him in."
Zack closes his eyes and rests his face against the concrete. He has trouble thinking past the blazing pain – he can't move, can barely think about moving his leg without feeling like his knee has become a thin sack filled with white-hot shards. Something in him distantly realizes that it's not good news for his mobility, or his future chance of escape. Can't run very far on one leg. They've got to patch him up, right? They have to. At least it's over now. It sinks in with cold, sickening relief. The hunt is done. It's over.
Peach. Diego called him 'peach'. His blood runs cold at the realization. An old nickname. A word Zack remembers being murmured in the dark, affectionately, with a kiss pressed into his hair before they both get ready to face the new day. A glitch, or a rediscovery? Of all the damnedest things to remember...
"Belay that," the voice snaps him out of it – Diego's footsteps have stopped without him noticing. He's still in the room. "Five more minutes. I'm not done yet. No. Don't interrupt. Vulture out."
Zack hears a click as Diego shuts off comms, and then the heavy boots again... walking towards him, again, back towards him, slowly. No, no, not this, it's over, it is supposed to be over. Zack squeezes his eyes shut, unable to think past the overwhelming dread, so much stronger in its comeback now that it had been minutes before. He stays still as a corpse. Play dead and maybe he'll lose interest...
Diego's breathing is hungry, as if he's savouring the air as he stalks closer. He doesn't say anything, but the next thing Zack knows, a hand has seized him by the collar and is dragging him across the floor. He groans with pain as his leg is jostled in the process, tears springing to his eyes. "Diego, don't..." he manages to gasp. His leg catches on the leg of a table and he only just chokes back a sob.
Diego doesn't grace him with an answer. He drags Zack through a doorway into a cul-de-sac of a side room that must have been a kitchenette once, as far as Zack can tell from his vantage point near the floor. Diego kicks a turned over empty water cooler out of the way. Zack groans as he is pulled upright, shoved with his back against the counter and his legs stretched out in front of him. He has no choice but to look at him as Diego crouches in front of him, leering.
"Alright now, prisoner. Just you and me again," Diego murmurs, exhilarated, like he can't get enough of Zack's terror. Zack can only barely focus through the haze of pain, and even worse, the helplessness that has washed over him. He's hobbled, unarmed and has nothing to do except sit there and pray that Diego will get bored quickly enough. That face – fuck, he can't bear to look at it. All the familiar lines are still there, except for the glint of those eyes through the visor – twisted and dark like nothing he has seen before.
He finds himself looking away, trying to avoid that gaze, but Diego reaches out to non-too-gently grasp him by the chin. Zack hisses, staring into those eyes again. "Before I take you back, let's make sure we understand each other," he says softly, menacingly. "You've learned your lesson, haven't you? I must admit, I haven't had this much fun in a long, long while." His smile drops then, his face deadly serious. "But the time for fun and games is over. I want you to promise me something. Repeat after me: I will never try to run again."
Zack stays silent. At this point, only the rush of fear and adrenaline is still keeping him lucid, but there are lines he won't cross, some tiny vestiges of his spirit still remaining that he refuses to let go of. No way in hell is he going to play along now.
Diego's expression twists in an ugly way, he seems both outraged and smug. He's enjoying this, Zack realizes with a cold jolt. He'd never thought Diego, his Diego, had it in him..
"...One more time," Diego says slowly, deliberately, growling every syllable like a dog chewing through a particularly delicious bone, "I want you to promise me. That you will never try to run. Ever again." He tightens his grip on Zack, shifting his weight, and with an awful certainty Zack anticipates the pain a moment before it happens – Diego brings his boot down onto his knee, and Zack twists, a sound ripping from his throat as the pain flares white-hot, sparks dancing in his eyes. Mindlessly, he tries to scrabble for something, but Diego pins him down effortlessly. "Because let me promise you something, prisoner," Diego continues, his voice low and gravely, "if you ever try that again, I will find you, prisoner. I will hunt you down, and I will make damn sure you will not walk again for the rest of your short, miserable life. So tell me. Do we have an agreement?"
Zack doesn't answer. And then a moment later, he can't speak – Diego presses his boot down onto his knee and grinds it hard against the floor, and Zack is screaming again... he barely registers it, only feels it as the strain in his throat and the sound ripping through the building, his vision blurring with white noise. He loses track of things for a while. When he comes to, Diego is slapping his face, and then there is a splashing sound, something cool dripping down his skin, and Zack slowly blinks as Diego caps a flask at his side again. "There we go," the voice mocks him, a hand is roughly holding up his chin again. Zack squints at the bright overhead lights, his eyes won't quite focus on the figure blocking them out. Another slap to his face, harder this time, enough to whip his head around and make his ears ring.
“You with me again, peach?” A hand grabs his chin again, rough, but the nickname stings more.
“Stop...”, Zack manages, barely able to focus on his face past the haze of pain, the bright overhead lights bathing Diego's face like a halo. He cannot comprehend this. His Diego... his Diego was never like this.
The hand at his chin drifts up his cheek, oddly gentle now, and into his hair. Zack's head drops, he doesn't have the strength to hold it down, and the cool fingers against his scalp are the only thing that feels good right now. He leans into them dizzily. “Matthew?” he murmurs, before he can think better of it. Before he can regret it. Diego's name, his real name-
A terrible, empty beat of silence, but Diego's voice is inhuman when he breaks it.
“Quiet,” he growls, hand tightening in Zack's hair again, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut against the sting. Squeaking noises – bottlecap again, and his head is being held up again as water sloshes down his throat. He coughs, convulsing, and tries to swallow.
"That's better," Diego is saying, as if through a thick wall of cotton, his voice cold and merciless. "I want to make sure we understand each other. So tell me, one more time. Are you going to run again?”
Zack squints up at him against the glaring lights, grits his teeth, and doesn't answer.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Zack stares at the floor.
His back is to the side of the bed, arms folded over his knees. In the background, the distant alarm noises blare on and off. The emergency lighting is flickering every so often. It looks real.
The door to his cell is open, the force field having fizzled into nothing some minutes ago, but he refuses to look at it.
It looks real, but it isn't.
He tells himself there's a reason. It's been two weeks. Thirteen days, to be precise. His knee still gives him jolts of pain when he places his weight on it too rapidly - advanced corporate medicine can only do so much. He's in no shape to make a run for it, even if it's real. He'll just have to wait for a better opportunity. After all, he never did make that promise not to run again.
That's what he tells himself.
Inside, he knows he'll stay put the next time, too. And the time after that, if it comes to it. There is no leaving, not for him. Not with the heavy weight that settled in his limbs two weeks ago and has refused to leave – a taste like lead and the cold tang of dread.
He starts to imagine running. Making a break for it, navigating the maze-like corridors, alone. Taking out the guards. Hacking into security. Pursuit, the heavy presence hot on his heels. Hiding with his back to a couch, barely daring to breathe.
His mind shrinks away from it and he releases a breath, slow and deep, emptying it again.
The boss would probably fire him on the spot, if she could see him right now.
Heavy footsteps down the corridor. His heart sinks, and only when they come to a stop in front of his cell does he dare to look up.
Diego – the Vulture, Zack needs to stop thinking of him as him – cuts an imposing figure in the doorway, with his visor and shoulder pads and semiautomatic held in a leisurely but firm two-handed grip. The unsettling smile on his face only widens when he sees Zack. He takes a step into the cell, taps at at key on his wrist. With a hum, the force-field doors reactivates behind him, but everything else – the cameras, the lighting – does not.
Zack's heart sinks. Not him again. Diego – the Vulture has mostly left him alone since that... hunt. With the exception of being there when Zack woke up, a cheap cup of coffee ready by his bedside in some kind of mocking gesture. He hadn't touched it, didn't know what to make of it. The less he thinks about Diego, the better.
Diego slowly holsters his gun, stepping closer. The cell is small enough that Zack already regrets his far too vulnerable position now, sitting on the floor. He wants to jump to his feet, back away from Diego into a corner, put all the distance he can between them... but something in him makes him stock-still. Something about the predatory glint in Diego's eyes, the memories of that day, of having learned that if he runs, Diego will give chase. Avoid giving him reason to, even the slightest. Stay still. Play dead, give him nothing to respond to. He will get bored.
At least that's what Zack tells himself when Diego stops in front of him.
“Good boy,” the man murmurs. Diego holsters the semiautomatic, then reaches out, ruffles Zack's hair, and he shudders. “You didn't run.”
There is nothing he can say to that.
The hand in his hair drifts down, cups his chin.
Diego's voice is smug, but soft. “I knew you'd learned your lesson.”
Zack stares at the floor and finds himself wishing for a gun.
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sadhoc · 6 months
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they should write a whump about oikawa having to send his 600 page medical record to the mayo clinic when nobody fucking owns a fax machine anymore, and he can't bring himself to try to print it at work
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whumpschild · 1 year
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Seizures at school
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They were walking to third period  chatting away, Carson explaining the concept of magic spells and how they worked for today's upcoming magic class. The boys were always excited for those classes, showing off their skills not having to worry about nonsense equations, a class to relax for once. They continued talking and Carson had stopped paying attention to Tyler and started paying attention to the teacher herding the students into her class. 
He didn't  notice when Tyler had stopped to lay  down until he had turned his head and Tyler wasn't there. He swirled his head around looking for his friend to see him faceing the wall on his side. He walked up to him and crouched next to him.
"Seizure?"
"Hmm" he mumbled taking deep breaths trying to fight it off.
"What are you two doing? Why are you two messing around getting in here now or getting detention." They heard a rather annoying voice.
"Its a seizure-"
I don't care what your excuse is, get up and get in here now." They hated her, she never gave them a break didn't give a damn about Tylers seizures.
From down the hallway  another teacher stepped out of his classroom, he heard the shouting. 
"Mrs.Maren, what's going on-" he said walking up  in between the three, they had now acumulated a small crowd. Mr.Resnick stopped in his tracks and gave attention to the kids on the floor. "-Carson is it a seizure?"
"Yeah-" Carson responded. Tyler had stopped taking deep breaths and had started twitching but only slightly, 
"How long?"
Carson went and checked his phone and the clock on the wall," about 10 seconds.
"Okay-" the instructor turned to face the other. "You realize he has protocol right? A standard set of rules and instructions you or other teachers have to follow in case of a medical issue? You should have gotten emails, papers to sign and I know he told you at the start of the semester."
She scoffed and rolled her eyes "there obviously just-"
"UGH!" they heard Carson from behind, both turning their heads in their direction. "I am not cleaning that up this time." The educators could see Tyler had vomited, one of the main reasons someone having a seizure is turned on their side.  Resnick had stopped what he was saying and turned his attention to them.
"Is he okay? Asperating at all?"
"No, hes fine."
The bitch  inturuped them "oh come on hes obviously fakeing it, just leave it alone and let me-"
"Mrs.Maren i highly suggest you Stop. Talking." He said very strongly puting his index finger  and  thumb together and moving horizontally indicating her to zip it. "Whats the time?" He questiond getting down next to Tyler. 
" one minute, 3 seconds" as Carson stated that Tyler's twitching had slowed followed by a final jerk of his leg that slammed into the locker.  Regardless of him not moving so much, he was out of breath, exhausted. His stomach felt as if it was  twisted in a knot. 
"Tyler, buddy are you good? Do you know where you are?" He brushed tylers hair out of the way to see his face, if he responded well. He was unfortunate enough that there was some bile stuck to the hair and got it on his fingers, he had no current way of wiping it off.
Tyler was quiet for a while, while mrs.Maren fumed. People giveing into  what she thought were these childish games. Tyler looked around and listened for a minute, never daring to move too fast. "Hall." He responded, returning his eyes closed.
"Good, now do you know who's with you?"
"Carson, Mr-'' he took  a second to find his words msr,resni-" he slurred, that was common for tyler. After seizures his ability to talk would be slightly hindered. They were decideing what to do when tyler spoke up again "tha-fuckin bitch." He mumbled referring to their history teacher. Carson choked on a laugh while Mr.Resnick fought as hard  as could to not join him.
"I think we should call the nurse, stay right here ill be right back." The man started to walk away when he paused for a moment "Oh, and mrs.Maren i'll be sure to go over protocol with you personally later tonight. 
She seemed enraged. The woman barked at her students to get in class and in their seats while she had been made a fool.
An au made by me and @writehardwhumpharder that was solely created for the purpose of whump along with like 5other aus we made over the past 2 years
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whumpapalooza · 2 years
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late by a day, but I made a tiktok for whumpmas in july day 25 and plan to make more
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Chapters: 44/? Fandom: One Piece Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Nefertari Vivi & Roronoa Zoro, Mugiwara Kaizoku | Strawhat Pirates & Roronoa Zoro, Kuina & Roronoa Zoro Characters: Roronoa Zoro, Monkey D. Luffy, Nefertari Vivi, Nami (One Piece), Usopp (One Piece), Vinsmoke Sanji, Tony Tony Chopper, Nico Robin, Franky (One Piece), Brook (One Piece), Strawhat Pirates, Kuina (One Piece), Trafalgar D. Water Law, Heart Pirates Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Found Family, chosen family, Hurt/Comfort, Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Nakamaship, Friendship/Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Rape, depicted ONLY in opening scene, Slavery, Human Trafficking, Roronoa Zoro Needs a Hug, Protective Mugiwara no Ichimi | Straw Hat Pirates, Roronoa Zoro hurts so pretty, Crew as Family, Zoro is from Alabasta, kind of, Roronoa Zoro is Bad At Feelings, Touch Aversion, Touch-Starved, No beta we die like ace, on fire but smiling, Platonic Cuddling, Additional Warnings In Author's Note Summary:
"Don't be stupid." Zoro rolled his eyes, setting his katana down. "I'd never leave you." "But, I want you to." Vivi sat down beside him, blue eyes shining with tears. "You want so much more than this. I know you do. I saw it in your eyes when we were on Merry. You were meant to be an adventurer, Zoro. You were meant to be free." 
or
After a twisted turn of events, Zoro starts out as Vivi's swordsman and ends up as Luffy's.
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