Warnings for this chapter: Gun violence, blood, death
My other stuff: Master List.
The king of Cordonia approached the podium to thunderous applause. The negotiations had been successful. He was one press conference away from the end of this trip, and the beginning of a new life.
He was nervous, but excited, to confess his love for the head of his King’s Guard to his wife. Jack was right, Eleanor was nothing like Helena. She hadn’t married him for the crown but for their shared love of Leo. She was kind and loving and there was no way she would abandon her child the way his first wife had abandoned hers.
He would tell her about himself and Jackson and she would understand, like Bianca had. He could be more freely himself, Jack could be a bigger part of his life. Everything was going to work out. He just had to get through his part of the press conference.
The peace accords had gone far better than expected and he was confident about the future. He shot a discreet glance at Jackson as he took his place at the podium and cleared his throat.
His parents and his wife were seated on the stage behind him, along with the heads of state of all the attendee nations. Rivala, Auvernall, Monterisso, and Vallenheim. All of them hereditary monarchies. All of them targets of the anti-monarchy terrorist group The Liberation Core.
“I’d like to start by thanking the Spanish government for hosting this summit,” Constantine turned his head to nod politely at the king of Spain. He smiled broadly as he opened his mouth to compliment the culture, the cuisine, and the hospitality they had been shown.
The words never made it to his lips.
Gunshots shattered the bright June morning. Screams erupted from the audience, from the stage, and from the security teams as people scattered and dove for cover.
The crowd that had gathered for the historic announcement descended into complete chaos as panicked people trampled each other in an effort to escape.
The government officials and their families that had been seated on the stage seconds before were being drug from the area by their security teams or already lying on the stage floor, bleeding.
Security team members stumbled and slid through the wetness that now covered the floor as multiple people lay dead or dying.
Seconds stretched out like an eternity as Constantine turned his head wildly trying to find the source of the gunfire. Before he could react, a body hit his full force, tackling him to the ground.
There was a loud ringing in his ears, the gunshots and the screaming sounded dim and far away as darkness clouded the edges of his vision. He blinked rapidly trying to clear his senses as every survival instinct he possessed screamed at him to stay conscious.
He turned his head to the left and felt bile rise in his throat. The king of Auvernall lay mere feet away from him, unseeing eyes fixed and empty, his queen next to him gasping for air as her lifeblood ran out of a gaping hole in her chest.
His eyes swept the stage in horror searching for his own parents. The ground was covered in blood. Bodies lay everywhere. He spotted Eleanor being pulled from the stage by the head of her security detail, hands clutching at her stomach as blood soaked the fabric of her dress.
“No!” The scream tore from his throat as he began to struggle to get free. He had to get to her, to all of them. Why couldn’t he move?
His attention shifted to the body that lay motionless on top of him. Time suddenly sped up again as he gazed up into the face of the man who had shoved him out of the line of fire. The man who wasn’t moving. The man who was bleeding out on top of him.
Hot, sticky blood covered them both, but Constantine wasn’t bleeding.
“Jack! Jack!” Terror clawed at his insides, panic washing over him as tears and snot smeared his face, “Wake up! Wake up!”
Then he was being pulled off the stage by another member of the King’s Guard as he fought with every ounce of strength he possessed to get back to the man he loved.
Three more guards joined the first and he lost the battle. He was pulled away from the danger as his lover lay in a puddle of blood, limp and unmoving.
Forestvale is supposed to be a town where nothing happens, unlike it's neighbor, Woodsboro with all their murders and masked killers. But life never works the way it's supposed to.
After the sudden grusome death of two of her classmates, Dove Kingsley's own friends begin to be picked off one by one, by the killer she's more than familiar with. An avid "Stab" fan, she - and her childhood best friend, Jackson Walker - must use her knowledge of the franchise and the stories she's heard all her life to defeat her very own Ghostface.
So much for writing anything in a chronological order! I spend a lot of time daydreaming during work and have just decided to go with whatever appeals to me. Think of it like the “Burger of the Day” board, but writing! Today’s special: Emmett back when he was still Jackson and how he ended up in Facility 004, featuring handler Rhys Snow.
This was inspired by @whumpthisway‘s April Is the Cruelest Month prompts -- specifically day 11. (Please note I am not an expert in how chloroform works on the human body and did very base level research; if you’ve got a way to make this scene work better please tell me!)
Enjoy!
Emmett Master List
Tags: @lave-whump, @pebbledriscoll, @highwaywhump (tag list is always open, let me know if you’d like added!)
Warnings: general bbu warning; drugging, noncon drugging, manhandling, alcohol, kidnapping, defiant whumpee, resistant whumpee, WRU general warning, Facility 004, derogatory language surrounding a kidnapped minor (i.e. Henry).
~*~*~
Rhys liked this guy. Sure, everyone liked their bartenders but Jackson was fun. He always had a story ready to make you feel better about your sad-ass self. He took shots with patrons to celebrate any occasion. He had a good laugh, a good smile, good shoulders and arms. Rhys was still reeling from his most recent breakup and Jackson had been helping soothe the sting. A charming man flirting with him wasn’t usually what Rhys went for, but he liked the attention, liked soaking it up.
“Your usual, Snow?” Jackson called from the bar as he walked in.
Rhys shed his coat as he walked to his usual stool. “You know it! Add a shot of something while you’re at it!”
“What kind of something?” He flashed that devil-may-care smile his way, tossing a rag over his shoulder. Rhys watched his hands as he picked up a glass, expertly pulling his usual stout. Good hands, expert handling. He didn’t see a lot of that even in his line of work; a lot of the trainees were thin little slips, their desperation apparent in the choice to sign the paperwork.
“Dealer’s choice,” Rhys shrugged. “But something strong.”
“Work shit again?”
“Yeah, same one too.” Rhys took a long drink, watching the other man as he moved to the back shelves. “He’ll be getting picked up in a week or two, so here’s to just getting through it.”
“In that case,” Jackson grinned, bottle in hand. He poured two shots and pushed one to Rhys. “Here’s to the little shit going far, far away from here.”
“Cheers to that.” Rhys knocked back the drink, squeezing his eyes shut until the slight burn passed. He set the tiny glass down, nodding for Jackson to pour another one. “Goldschläger?”
“Yeah, why?”
“That’s a fun choice with the beer.”
Jackson laughed, pouring another one for himself as he did. “I don’t have stickers so think of it as an adult gold star. For powering through, y’know?”
Rhys laughed too. He took the second shot, then reached for the beer again. “Hoo, that’s bad. Shoulda given it a minute.”
“Probably.” Jackson leaned away, taking the bottle with him. Another regular flagged him down from the other end. He winked at Rhys before he left. “Back in a flash.”
Rhys smirked and took another long drink. He let his eyes wander over to the other man again -- the curve of his back, the shaggy wave of his hair, the muscles in his forearms. To anyone else in the vicinity, it probably looked like Rhys was checking him out; looking for a rebound since Kayleigh had dropped him on his ass for her ex. Rhys wouldn’t have told them otherwise. In a way, he was.
Being a handler, he knew he evaluated people the same way he evaluated his latest trainee. What would they be good for, what could he make better, what he would have to get rid of or cut out of them, how much money they could go for. All that jazz. Jackson would fetch a pretty penny with his good looks and natural strength.
Four-hundred-thousand at the very least, maybe a combination too. Romantic and something else...
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He reached for it, eyebrow raising at the text message. It was from one of the Facility doctors. The governor’s kid was acting up again, had to put him under. You cool with that?
Yeah sure, do what you need to. He texted back quickly and took another extra long drink. The James kid was going to send him into an early retirement, Rhys thought bitterly. Sure he was a million dollar baby -- as were all the under-agers -- but was all that cash really worth having to deal with a bunch of wild card teenagers? Rhys didn’t think so and sneered at the thought of having another one to beat into submission. It would happen sooner or later.
Unless... he looked up at the bartender. Jackson was chatting with two women now, probably trying to persuade them away from the rosé that was really red and white mixed. Maybe flirting a touch too; Rhys would have if he was closer to them.
Instead, he reached for his cell phone again. Hey, you think you could meet me somewhere?
How far away?
Ten minutes tops. The Horseshoe Bar. I’ve got a potential recruit.
What do you need?
Something to chill them out. Catch my drift?
100%. Will put it on your windshield and text you.
Rhys grinned. I owe you one.
“What are you smiling about, Snow?” Jackson reappeared, filling another beer for another customer. His dark blue shirt was starting to stick to his neck. “Found yourself someone new?”
Rhys leaned back in his chair, easing into his usual pulling stance. He tilted his head in one direction, then the other. “Something like that. They had to put my trainee under.”
“Oh yeah?” Jackson snickered. “Never a dull day over at that place, huh?”
“Looking for another job?”
“Nah, I’m happy here. Besides, if I joined up, I wouldn’t get to hear all the good stories you have.”
“You’d get to see the good stories happen for yourself.”
“But then you wouldn’t get shots on the house and then where would we be?” Jackson grinned again, rakish and come-hither. Rhys bet it worked on a lot of the people who came in the door. Not him perhaps, not totally, but plenty of people.
“I guess you’re right about that.”
Rhys’ cell phone buzzed in his hand. Here. Good luck.
Rhys typed faster. Can you wait a minute?
Why?
New plan. I’ll be out in a sec.
Fine.
“Hey, Jacks?” Rhys tucked his phone back into his jeans pocket. “Can you hold my place for a sec. I left something at work and the person bringing it is in the parking lot.”
The man nodded. “Yeah, sure. Another beer?”
“Yeah, why not?” Rhys stood and made slowly for the door. A wide grin pulled at his face as he slipped outside. A silver sedan sat idling in the parking lot; he walked right up to the drivers’ side window, tapping his knuckle on the window.
The window rolled down and the man inside raised an eyebrow. “What’re you doing, Rhys?”
“Just chill for a minute.” Rhys rolled his eyes and smiled. “I’ve got‘im all warmed up. You got the stuff to mellow him out?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” A rustling sound came from inside the car and then a paper bag appeared in the window. “Here. It’s chloro. I figured you had a hankie or something on you.”
Rhys nodded, tucking the little bottle into his jeans pocket. “Perfect. Park somewhere and wait a minute. We’re going to stick him in your car, okay?”
“Why?”
“Easier exit. Sit tight!”
Rhys turned and rushed back into the bar. He sat back in his usual spot, tucking the bottle and his handkerchief into his coat pocket. The place was slowly starting to fill up, the second bartender now standing to help Jackson cover all the new customers. Jackson was pouring a few fresh beers, chatting with a few people. Rhys leaned forward, taking a long drink from his new glass. Perfect set up; this would be almost too easy.
Jackson found him again. “Got your stuff?”
“Yeah, not a big deal,” Rhys resumed his flirting stance. He could feel the moment when Jackson picked up on it, leaned into it, accepted the invitation. Excitement ran through him; the thrill of the chase coursing through him. He’d never done this part of the equation before. He understood why the guys who did liked it so much.
Jackson leaned forward on the bar, eyes shining just the tiniest bit. He must have done a few more shots when Rhys wasn’t looking; just making himself an easier target. “You know, no one’s ever called me Jacks before. I kind of like it.”
Rhys leaned forwards. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Especially when you say it.”
“You asked me earlier if I had found someone new, Jacks,” Rhys let his voice slip lower, warmer and richer. “I have, maybe.”
“Maybe? Why maybe?”
Rhys shrugged, taking another drink. “Maybe because it depends if you’ve got a good place no one would walk in on... and if you’d join me.”
Jackson hummed, making a show of thinking it over. He winked, pushing away. “Gimme a minute to get Haley to take over my spot and I can show you around.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Rhys reached for his coat, sliding it back on. He fingered the metal cap of the chloroform bottle, tapping his nail against the glass. If he took his time, he could douse the handkerchief inside his pocket, have it all lined up and ready to go by the time he got Jackson by himself. He held off. A better way might make itself available.
“Hey, let’s go,” Jackson whispered in his ear as he walked past, headed towards a narrow hallway. It led to the bathrooms, the door to the small kitchen, a door leading to the outside. Rhys followed a few paces behind him, hands tucked into his coat pockets. Waiting for the right moment, waiting to strike.
His next trainee wouldn’t be another crappy teenager.
The idea made him grin even wider.
He moved quickly when the door shut behind them. He pushed Jackson up against the painted brick wall with one hand, watching the man’s eyes flash excitedly. Fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him for a crushing kiss. Rhys let it happened, relaxed into it, pushing up against the other man like he was one of his girlfriends. Jackson wriggled underneath him, grinding against Rhys’ leg.
Rhys smiled into the kiss. He pressed in closer, pulling the bottle and handkerchief out of his pocket. He blindly doused the fabric, dropping the bottle without another thought. He let his free hand slide up Jackson’s neck, tangling in his wavy dark hair and pulling slightly.
Jackson broke the kiss with a laugh. “Geez, you’re good.”
“Yeah?” Rhys pulled again.
“Oh yeah.”
Rhys grinned. It was too fucking easy. He tightened his grip in Jackson’s hair, slamming his head into the wall once. The honey-warm look went dazed and confused, pain flashing across his face. Before he could re-focus, Rhys covered his nose and mouth with the soaked rag, shoving his knee hard between Jackson’s legs. The sharp inhale was the first nail in the coffin. Jackson’s eyes went wide, hands scrabbling at Rhy’s wrist and arm. Rhys only pressed his hand harder, pressed the other flat against Jackson’s throat.
The fight started to drain out of Jackson as his eyes started to glass over, focus leaving him. Rhys pulled the rag away when he was on the verge of collapse, shoving it into his pocket and catching the other man’s whole weight as he stumbled forward. Jackson tried to push away, tried to keep up the fight but he couldn’t.
Jackson scratched hard at his neck, coughing and gagging “Th-the fuck’re you doing?”
“Calm down, babe.” Rhys wrapped an arm around his back, dragging him towards the parking lot and the silver sedan. “You’re gonna be just fine.”
“Let go’f me. F-F-Fucker.”
“In a second. In a second,” Rhys answered, victory laced through his tone. No more stupid teenagers. He just had to get the man in the car. The rest would take care of itself.
He opened the door to the backseat. The man in the front seat turned around, looking almost bored with his appearance. “This the one?”
“Yep,” Rhys answered, shoving Jackson backwards. His head cracked against the opposite door, curling in on himself in pain. “You go on ahead, yeah? I’ll meet you there.”
“You got him good enough? I don’t want to lose an ear because he’s not limp enough.”
Rhys rolled his eyes. “Chill, Insung. Just slam on your breaks a few times, knock him around. I’ll be right behind you.”
