#I’ll take weird over whump most days

[babsvibes]

I think it’s usually that the fanfic fills in what the media lacks, so fluff fic for the stories where everyone dies and tragedy comes to the family that always lands on their feet. It’s cathartic for some. My old man yells at cloud moment is that, you’re right, there’s SO much of it, and I feel like it discourages people from getting weird with their alternate universes. Like “ahhh I can’t write a ghost, time travel, superpower, etc. story because that’s not what people write in this fandom” meanwhile I’m foaming at the mouth to see creatively done AUs

there needs to be a study on why bob's burgers fans are so obsessed with writing about the belcher kids dying of a horrific illness or accident and in so much detail. like to an extent I understand wanting to explore darker themes with these characters but there's SO MUCH of it omg I have never been in a fandom this obsessed with angst before

[cuddlepilefics]

Put your head on my shoulder

Fandom: Ateez

Sickie: Yunho

Caregivers: mainly Mingi

Prompts: Migraine / Light & Sound Sensitivity / “I can close the curtains…”

TW: emeto

@whumperless-whump-event

No one’s POV.:

Yunho knew he wouldn’t have a good day when stay started their dance practice that day. Facing the mirror, weird flashes of light hit his eyes and made him wince. He knew those funny spots in his vision, had seen them many times before. They were a telltale sign of an impending migraine, so he forced down a protein bar before swallowing some medicine. If he took it early enough, it might ward off the worst of it. Yunho knew he wouldn’t get anything done once it hit, so he was determined to give it his all now to allow himself rest later. There was no point in telling his friends yet, he could still speak up once the pain started to interfere with his work.

Mingi knew Yunho better than anyone else and picked up on his hyung being quieter than usual. When he bumped the older with his shoulder and asked if anything was up, the dancer winced, shaking his head. “I’m tired”, he chuckled, hoping the younger would accept his lie. The worst was, that he was supposed to lead this dance practice, so it’d be hard to hide his struggle from the members. They’d need him to teach them well or else they wouldn’t be able to keep up with their schedule. Luckily, most of the members were still sleepy too, so they didn’t notice… for now.

It went pretty well at first, though the aura lingered the pain didn’t come and Yunho functioned pretty well. Sure, his balance was a little off and he tripped a couple of times but they were able to laugh it off as plain clumsiness. Slowly the loud music blasting from the speakers got to him though and finally triggered bursts of pain pulsing with the beat of the music. A pained crease was etched onto his forehead and didn’t fade when Hongjoong decided they should take a break. Seonghwa handed Yunho his water bottle and whispered: “Are you feeling okay, Yunho-yah?” The younger nodded but grimaced when the movement sent a jab of pain through his skull and made his head spin.

Yunho was nothing but determined, so if he had his mind set on something, he wouldn’t let anyone stop him. Not even Mingi, who worriedly watched him stumble over and over again. The rapper was under no illusion, being sadly far too familiar with his friend’s headache-face to miss the signs. He was only a little surprised when he offered Yunho some painkillers. “Thanks but I already took something when we got here”, the older admitted quietly, “Is it really that obvious? I thought I was dancing well.” – “Hyung, you’re always dancing well”, Mingi sighed, “It’s more that you seem unwell in general, quiet and withdrawn with a tense look on your face. Your eye bags are quite impressive and you having a headache was a lucky, or rather unlucky, guess.” Drawing a shaky breath, Yunho bit his lip and whispered: “Not a headache, Mingi-yah. Had an aura earlier and now the pain is setting in.” – “Well, fuck”, his dongsaeng cursed, “The music isn’t helping, huh?” A look into Yunho’s eyes told him that his guess was spot-on.

“You know that you should tell Hongjoong-hyung, right? It’s risky to practice when you have a migraine. You could hurt yourself when you get dizzy and uncoordinated”, Mingi frowned, knowing that it wouldn’t be the first time, “Why don’t you take a sick day and go back to your dorm, sleep it off?” Rubbing his face, Yunho mumbled: “Someone’s gotta teach you guys and I can still function.” He noticed the look his dongsaeng gave him and added: “I know you don’t like it, Mingi-yah, but we’d fall behind schedule if I took a break right now. I’ll try to hold out for a few more hours, so we can go over everything together and by the time I’m completely out of commission, the rest of you will be able to practice on your own.” – “Please speak up before you end up hurting yourself, even if we haven’t gone over everything by then”, Mingi warned, shooting Hongjoong a look.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa didn’t catch the short conversation between their dongsaengs but Mingi’s worried and the fact that they were disagreeing about something, was enough to confirm their suspicions that something wasn’t right at all. They didn’t have to wait all that long to finally learn what it was. Yunho was supposed to do a spin while changing positions but immediately crouched to the floor, hit with a wave of vertigo. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get his bearings while his stomach turned. Seonghwa’s hands were already on his shoulders, ready to catch him when the dancer clamped his hands over his paling lips. Suddenly, everything was quiet except for Yunho’s ragged breaths. Someone must’ve stopped the music. The sound of the trash can being set down in front of him sharply cut through the silence, the oh so glorious silence Yunho had been yearning for most of the day.

“It’s okay, Yunho-yah, we got you”, Seonghwa whispered, gently pressing down on his dongsaeng’s shoulders to make him sit. Not daring to open his eyes to the bright ceiling lights, Yunho shook his head and lowered his hands. He wouldn’t throw up. He just needed to take a few deep breaths to calm his twisting stomach because throwing up was out of question as his head felt like it’d explode from the strain if he didn’t manage to fight it down. Sluggishly pushing away the trash can, Yunho drew his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead on them, partly to shield his eyes and partly to relieve some tension in his neck. He could hear his friends whispering but was too focused on not letting the nausea overwhelm him to focus on what they were saying.

Seonghwa still rubbed his back, despite his shirt being soaked with sweat, well, he assumed it was Seonghwa but couldn’t say for certain. The lights were eventually turned off and it grew quiet once again. Hongjoong had stepped out to arrange a ride back to the dorm, while San, Wooyoung and Jongho tried to call disperse to give Yunho space. Only Seonghwa, Mingi and Yeosang remained close by in case Yunho needed anything. Drawing a shaky breath, the dancer blindly started to feel around for the trash can and straightened up when someone nudged it into his hand. He tried to focus on Seonghwa’s hand on his back to distract himself from the pounding on his head but it could only work for so long. Someone took his free hand and gave it a soft squeeze. Yunho would recognize this hand anywhere, having known it for years. He returned Mingi’s gentle squeeze as he swallowed. He didn’t want to be sick.

Mingi was impressed that Yunho had managed to battle wave after wave of almost unbearable nausea and despite two hard gags, hadn’t thrown up. The older had used to get violently ill every time he had a migraine, so this was a first but Mingi decided not to question it. He was mainly glad that Yunho was hanging in there. Hongjoong had been able to clear not only Yunho’s schedule but also Yeosang’ and Mingi’s. Mingi was a given, being Yunho’s closest friend and the most experienced when it came to the dancer’s migraines, and Yeosang being his dorm mate arguably knew best where they kept their medical supplies. Considering the time when Yunho had thrown up on their manager’s shoes before passing out, Hongjoong probably shouldn’t have been so surprised about how easy it was to clear two members to take care of him.

It most definitely took both, Mingi and Yeosang, to drag Yunho to the car, the older suddenly unable to coordinate his long legs. Seonghwa’s foresight had resulted in both of them having a plastic bag and a travel pack of tissues stuffed into their pockets. Sure, the ride to their dorm wouldn’t be long and Yunho had been more in control of his body than any of them had expected but the eldest didn’t want to be lured by a false sense of security. Good thing he wasn’t because Yunho broke into a sweat as soon as Yeosang had buckled his hyung’s seatbelt and Mingi eased the dancer’s pounding head down, lowly whispering: “Put your head on my shoulder.” Though hesitant, Yunho swallowed and rested his head on his best friend’s shoulder, weakly patting his pocket. Mingi got the hint and retrieved the plastic bag. Clutching the bag in his clammy hands, Yunho felt a little safer, though barely.

Right as they pulled into the building’s garage, Yunho lost the battle he had fought for so long, lifting the plastic bag to his ashy lips in a panic. The first gag was immediately productive, a large wave rushing up his throat. Some even came out of his nose and he groaned in pain, grateful for the strong hand on his arm steadying him. Yeosang’s gentle hand drew slow, soothing circles on his back, at least somewhat distracting him from the pain when his stomach seized again. “Almost over. You’re doing so well”, Mingi whispered, holding his best friend steady while the older threw up repeatedly. Yunho barely caught a break in between, the plastic bag in his hands growing heavier so quickly. It seemed his stomach could only calm down once he was empty.

Gasping for air, Yunho’s breath caught in his throat. He coughed harshly, black spots clouding his vision. Yeosang carefully took the bag from him, afraid the dancer was going to pass out. It wouldn’t be the first time. Mingi’s grip on Yunho’s shoulders was tight and secure, though it loosened a bit once he had helped the older lean back into the seat. Yunho panted, squeezing his eyes shut against the vertigo. He was slowly catching his breath but the spell had taken a lot out of him. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he winced when he heard the crinkle of Yeosang tying up the plastic bag. Pulling out a tissue, Mingi gently dabbed across his best friend’s forehead before drying his tears. With another tissue, he wiped Yunho’s lips and breathed: “You tell us once you’re ready to go up to your dorm.” It was only then that Yunho noticed that the car had stopped moving. “I think I’ll go ahead and throw this out already. Might be able to set up some stuff and… I can close the curtains?”, Yeosang mumbled, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. Mingi gave him a small nod, mouthing: “I got him, hyung.”

Mingi sat with Yunho, the dancer’s head resting on his shoulder, while Yeosang already hurried up to their shared dorm. Yeosang had disposed of the bag on his way upstairs and quickly washed his hands before turning on the kettle. He prepared a pot of ginger tea in hopes of quelling his hyung’s nausea and while letting it steep, he closed the curtains. Wanting to get as much prepared while Yunho was still resting in the car, he quickly spread a towel over the other’s pillow and set a bucket next to his bed. Anything that he didn’t have on the ready would mean them moving around later, which would inevitably aggravate Yunho’s headache no matter how carefully they moved, so Yeosang already placed an icepack on his hyung’s nightstand before checking on the tea.

Swaying softly on his feet, Yunho hung onto Mingi’s arm, partly for balance and partly because he couldn’t stand to keep his eyes open. Though Mingi promised him that they were quick, it felt like it took them an eternity to get to the right floor, the elevator ride making his stomach flutter. The younger must’ve noticed the blood draining from his face because as soon as he had unlocked the door, he dragged him to the kitchen sink. It was their closest option and a truly lucky one at that because no sooner than he gripped the counter, Yunho was retching again. Yeosang, though a little startled by the way the two had barged in, was by their side in an instant, helping Mingi steady their friend. There was barely anything left for Yunho to bring up but he couldn’t stop his stomach from trying to turn itself inside out. Spotting the cutting board he had left on the counter while preparing the tea, Yeosang hurriedly cut off a thin slice of ginger and tapped the back of Yunho’s hand. “Here, try to chew this”, he whispered worriedly, “Might lessen the nausea.”

Yunho had wanted to argue that he could not possibly chew anything right now, already gagging every couple of seconds, but he was also desperate for it to stop, so he popped the slice into his mouth and bit down on it, trying to breathe slow and steady through his nose. Though he pitched forward with a closed mouth gag, he slowly regained control of his body and weakly leant against the counter. Yeosang handed him a glass of water to rinse his mouth with and whispered: “Your room is all set up, so as soon as you feel ready to move, you can go and lay down, hyung.” Taking a couple of moments to calm down and even sip some water, Yunho waited till Mingi had taken off his shoes and returned to help him with his. He doubted he’d be able to bend down right now.

Once Yunho’s shoes were removed too, Mingi helped him to his room and gently tucked him into bed. The rapper carefully draped the icepack over his friend’s forehead and whispered: “Do you want me to sit with you?” – “For a bit?”, Yunho rasped, linking his fingers with Mingi’s. Yeosang popped in for a short moment, bringing Yunho’s tea and requesting: “Get me if either of you needs anything, kay? I’ll give you two some space but I’ll just be in my room.” Mingi nodded and mouthed a ‘thanks’ before turning his attention back on Yunho. The dancer was already knocked out though.

[teeth-n-ambitions]

Second Bite

Lila gets to see her new room

TW: vampire whump, lady whump, pet whump, dehumanization, biting, mild sexual content

@deluxewhump @whumpyourdamnpears

They were all vampires, Lila concluded. Each servant so far had an impossible strength, cold touch, and fangs rooted in their mouths. In all fairness, that’d only been about four or five at this point, but Lila wasn’t inclined to ask any of them about it. She was being quiet. Just nodding and shaking her head. Partially—well, mostly, to spite Katherine, but also to take in everything around her.

Getting her metaphorical “collar” carved into her back meant she needed to change tactics. If Cassara could control her body at any moment, who’s to say the rest of them couldn’t as well? And even if they couldn’t, they could snap her in half if they wanted. Meaning brute-forcing her way out wasn’t going to work. She had to gather as much information as possible to figure out what would, even if it took time, even if she had to play along. That wouldn’t be so hard. She’d done it before.

So she kept her thoughts to herself as she was fed an overcooked steak, tape measure wrapped around her waist, and given underwear and a nightgown (both a few sizes two big) to throw on. She noted the windows in the hallway, scanned each ceiling for cameras. But most of all she watched the way the vampires interacted with each other.

There wasn’t a hierarchy as far as Lila could tell, but Katherine definitely had some power over the others. She never had to ask twice. Whether they were afraid of her or something else, Lila couldn’t tell. Marion’s body language hadn’t changed a bit when Katherine appeared, but Madeline’s eye twitched a few times as Lila ate, and the one who took her measurements—Andy? Ally?—her eyes kept darting over to Katherine in the corner. The air was charged with…something that Lila couldn’t place. It was weird.

She was tempted to ask about that, but Katherine stopped walking before Lila had the chance. They’d stopped in front of a door upstairs, just across the bathroom from earlier. Katherine faced her, searched her face for a moment.

“What’s the Xanax for?” she asked flatly.

Lila’s stomach dropped. “What? How did—?”

“Why was it prescribed to you?” Katherine pressed.

Lila had to fight herself to keep her hands from turning to fists. Playing along, that’s what she was doing. She couldn’t blow up every time someone cut her off. Instead, she folded her arms. “I get overwhelmed sometimes and it calms me down. That’s it.”

“How often?”

“I don’t know.” Lila shifted her gaze to the wall, gripped her arms. “A few times a month, every other week…It’s not consistent.” When met with silence, she added, “It just happens sometimes, okay? And it doesn’t even matter because I won’t be getting it anymore since I’m here so I’ll just have to figure something else out. It’s whatever.”

Lila felt her face flushing. Her nails bit into her skin.

Katherine lowered her voice some. “Don’t do that.” She reached out and unfolded Lila’s arms, inspected where she’d dug her nails in. The touch was firm, but not as rough as before. “She’ll have my head if you’re damaged on my watch.”

Lila risked a glance back at Katherine, who immediately met her gaze.

“You’re fine,” Katherine said. She dropped Lila’s arms unceremoniously and stepped back. “Now get over yourself. You can have a pity party later.” Before Lila could snipe back, Katherine knocked on the door. Cassara’s voice called them in.

The first thing Lila spotted were the floor-length curtains drawn at the end of the room. They took up about half of the wall, boxed in by tall, near-empty bookshelves on each end.

“It’s a balcony,” said Cassara. She lounged atop the queen bed that stood against the west wall, hands resting on her stomach like a corpse in an open casket.

A touch of nausea spiked in Lila’s stomach. She is a corpse.

“You can use it whenever you want,” Cassara continued. “I only ask that you close the curtains behind you during the day.” She nodded to Katherine. “Thank you for bringing her. You may go.”

With the slightest bow, Katherine made her leave, closing the door behind her.

“What do you think?”

“Of what?” Lila asked.

“Your room.” Cassara sat up and gestured to the east wall, where a large wooden desk stood beside a wire wastebasket. “I already filled one of the drawers with pencils and such, but there’s room for you to add more. And your closet is here.” She pointed to the south wall that extended past the door. It was a decent walk-in, though empty besides some extra blankets and pillows. “We’ll fill it up once your clothes arrive.”

“It’s…” Lila looked about the room, avoiding Cassara’s gaze. “It’s nice. Thank you.”

“You’re disappointed,” Cassara said.

“No.” Lila met her eyes. “I’m just surprised. I thought you were going to, like, make me sleep in a dog bed in your room…or something.”

Cassara laughed, a haunting sound that reminded Lila of an echo in a cavern. “Oh, definitely not.” She patted the bed. “Come.”

Lila seated herself on the opposite end of the bed, carefully tucking her legs beneath her.

“Closer than that, darling. Here.”

Lila suppressed a gasp at the grip on her waist as Cassara simply lifted her up and placed her just in front of her, making their knees touch.

“I told you before, I’ll treat you well as long as you know your place. And while I will have you in my bed sometimes, you need a space of your own.” She tucked a strand of hair behind Lila’s ear. “Somewhere you feel safe.”

Lila instinctively pulled back from that vicious hand, the irony of it all coiling around her lungs. But just as quickly, the hand was at the back of her head, yanking her forward.

“First rule,” Cassara said, tone even. “Never pull away from me. You’re mine to touch however I like. Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” Lila repeated quietly.

Immediately Cassara’s hold loosened. “Good girl.”

Something Lila couldn’t quite place swirled in her stomach, a slight blush creeping up her neck. She swallowed. “Starting training right away, then?” At least the shame on her tongue was familiar.

“It will be more formal tomorrow,” Cassara answered. “I actually wanted to take this time to get to know each other a little better. Since you were too busy mouthing off when I tried to talk to you earlier.” Her fingers fell from Lila’s head in favor of gliding through her hair. “Speaking of, how are you feeling? Does your back hurt?”

Of course it fucking does, Lila nearly said. Instead she replied, “When I—”

“Look at me when you answer.”

Lila’s fingers curled reflexively in her lap. She returned her gaze to Cassara’s face. “When I move or touch it, yeah. But mostly it itches.”

“And I trust Marion cleansed it well?”

“Uh, yeah. I think so.”

Cassara hummed as she continued running her fingers through Lila’s hair. “I’ll have to go back over it at a later date to make sure it scars evenly. But I’ll bite you first so it won’t hurt as much.”

The spot on Lila’s neck throbbed as memories of last night (or two nights ago?) flashed in her mind again. Fangs brutally tearing into her flesh, her senses dissipating within an instant. The pain.

“Oh, don’t worry, dear.” Cassara moved her hand to Lila’s cheek. “I’ll be gentle.” She laid the other over Lila’s hands fisted into her nightgown. “Relax for me.”

“Gentle how?” Lila asked, flat as she could manage. “It hurt like a bitch last time.”

“Of course it did,” Cassara chuckled. Fucking chuckled. “I was killing you. But I can make it tolerable. Pleasurable, even. Here, let me show you.” She pulled back from Lila and patted one of the pillows. “Come lie down.”

Lila began shaking her head. “I don’t—”

“Do not make me ask again.”

Lila quickly laid her head on the pillow, biting her lip at the ache in her back as she situated herself. She nearly broke skin when Cassara moved to straddle her, a hand on either side of her head.

“Good girl,” Cassara repeated. She leaned down and deposited a frozen kiss to Lila’s forehead. “Now relax. I don’t want to hit a muscle and make you sore. Breathe.”

Lila’s heart slammed against her ribcage, each breath pitifully shaky. Yet, looking up at her captor’s face, parted lips and violet, inhuman eyes, that feeling in her stomach swirled into a vague heat. She swallowed, acutely aware of every twitch of Cassara’s fingers, of each strand of raven hair tickling her cheek.

“Deep breath in…”

She did as commanded, a hand snaking up to the right side of her face while the other pushed her hair from her neck. She felt Cassara descend further and move her head to the side. A shiver wracked through her when their chests pressed against each other, nearly making her gasp.

Another kiss to the side of her jaw. “And out.”

Shutting her eyes, Lila exhaled.

There was a pinch as Cassara’s viciously sharp fangs plunged into Lila’s neck, cold needles easing their way through her flesh until the vampire’s lips closed around it. Cassara gave her a moment to adjust before biting down in earnest, making Lila hiss as the rest of her teeth dug into her.

She could feel the venom flow through the curve of the fangs and release into her neck, could feel exactly where it spread out beneath her skin. It carried a light warmth with it, a pleasant tingling trailing behind. She sighed, all of the tension in her muscles melting away as it flooded her body.

It was so different from before. Where previously the puncture was swift and violent and the venom overwhelming, here, everything was soft, gradual, almost tender. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so…so calm. She barely even noticed the fangs leaving her neck, the tongue sealing the wound, or the lips gingerly kissing the area around it.

“You did so good, my pet,” Cassara cooed between kisses. “So good for me.”

Cassara’s thumb idly rubbed her cheek, and in any other moment Lila would have liked to slap it away, to push her off and race into the hall. But in this moment? This minute decimal of time along the stretch of eternity?

She felt pretty fucking good.

[whumpbug]

whumperless whump event day 19: the whump morning after! @whumperless-whump-event

tending to injuries / domestic hurt comfort / “let's check the bandages, okay?”

see this post for character information!

caretaker: Simon

whumpee: Archie

guys. it's here. i can't explain why but i think this is my favorite simon and archie fic i've written and i literally wrote it the week after i made them so PLS ENJOY!!

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

“Ow ow ow! Fuck!”

“Easy, easy! Jeez Archie, relax, would you? Are you trying to run a marathon or something?”

“I have to pee!”

Simon pinched the bridge of his nose and huffed.

“We’ll take it slow. The last thing we need is you popping a stitch because you're rushing it. That cut was a pain in the ass to suture.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever. Just help me? Please?”

Simon sighed.

Patrol nights were always rough on Archie. At least during the fights, he was always too hopped up on adrenaline to notice how injured he really was, and he usually conked out before Simon finished patching him up.

The mornings, however, were unrelenting. 

Every ache, bruise, slash and sprain from the night before now made itself very apparent, and Archie wasn’t able to ignore it.

As for this particular night, it had been a pretty rough fight between Archie and some lackies from a well-known drug operation he had been trying to dismantle. They were dosed on strength enhancers that rivaled Archie’s own abilities, and while he came out on top, it definitely wasn’t an easy fight.

Now, he was sporting a black eye, several broken ribs, a knife wound to the gut, a sprained ankle, a mild concussion, and a mosaic of bruises all over his body.

Rough night indeed.

“Alright, let’s get you up then,” Simon bent down and wrapped his arm under Archie’s. Archie braced as Simon started to guide him up, grunting sharply when they started to move from the couch.

“Go slower.”

“And here I thought you were about to piss yourself.”

“Just go!”

He grit his teeth against the all-consuming jolt of pain that overtook his body. God, the morning after really did suck.

“Alright alright, almost there..” Simon soothed, taking a bit more of his weight. “Just a little more..”

After a ridiculous amount of time, they were both finally standing. Archie was heavily favoring his left ankle as he began his hobble to the bathroom door with Simon’s help. Every step was agony.

“Alright, I’ll be fine from here,” He stated with a wince. He waved Simon away from the hallway, but Simon.. didn’t move.

“Nuh uh. No way. The last time I left you on your own, you fell and cracked your head on the bathtub. I’m waiting right here in the hall.”

“Ew, no! That’s weird! Go away!”

“It’s only weird because you’re making it weird. You forget I’m literally in school to do this for a living. This is strictly professional.”

“Whatever. Weirdo.”

“Strictly. Professional.”

Archie shot Simon a weak scowl as he shut the restroom door behind him.

Simon waited awkwardly for a few moments before he heard a zip, a flush, and the whoosh of the faucet. 

Archie merged from the bathroom, looking absolutely unsteady on his wobbling legs. He was just about to pitch forward when Simon closed the distance between them, slipping an arm around Archie’s waist. “Alright. Back to the couch we go.”

It took another eternity, but finally, Archie was lying down again, significantly paler than when he had started. 

“This sucks.” He whined, breathing deeply through his nose as the aftershocks of pain reverberated through his bones.

“Yeah, well, maybe you should think about that before you try to take on six guys that are three times your size,” Simon retorted, replacing the ice pack on Archie’s ribs. “That was the most stupid thing I’ve seen you do in a while, and I’ve seen you do some pretty stupid things.”

Archie would have crossed his arms indignantly if he could.

“You should have seen the other guys..” He muttered under his breath, rather childishly.

Still, despite his banter, the way sweat was beading on Archie’s brow and the way his face was void of all color was not lost on Simon.

“Hey, let’s check those bandages, okay? I think you might have popped a stitch after all.”

“I did not. I would know.”

“You absolutely wouldn’t. Lift your shirt.”

Archie rolled his eyes and slowly lifted the fabric to reveal… a bright red stain on the gauze.

He didn’t have to look at Simon to know the kind of smirk he was sporting.

Simon made quick work of replacing the suture and re-wrapping the wound. His hands worked deftly and with a practiced manner that Archie found himself feeling.. saddened by. He couldn’t quite explain it. It was more of the realization that Simon had been doing this for a while, enough that it was second nature, and Archie had done.. well, nearly nothing for him. He had yet to repay him for his undying generosity.

“Simon..” He began. His voice faltered the slightest bit. “Do you.. ever get tired of.. this.” He motioned vaguely to himself.

At the sudden change in conversation, a mixture of anger, hurt, and surprise flashed across Simon’s face. 

“What do you mean?”

“I just mean.. well..” Archie swallowed the lump in his throat and averted his gaze. “This can’t be fun for you. You come back from classes, from work, probably exhausted, and have to deal with me. I just.. I don’t want you to think you have to do it. I’ll be fine on my own if you don't want to. You’ve taught me enough that I--”

“Archie. Look at me.”

Archie drew his gaze up and met Simon’s unwavering eyes. 

“Listen to me. I don’t ever want you to think I am just dealing with you. I do this because I genuinely want to. Nobody is forcing me, I’m doing it because you deserve it. Archie, I know I don’t say it a lot, but you do so much to help others,” He said breathlessly, taking Archie hand and holding it tightly. “You deserve someone that will do the same for you.”

Suddenly, Archie found himself scrubbing viciously at traitorous tears that spilled over. Before he could say anything else, Simon pulled him into an embrace. It was the kind of hug that cradles every part of your soul, every part of your being.

He wept openly in Simon’s arms.

“You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not,” He hummed, rubbing Archie’s back and pulling away slowly.

“So you’d better start learning how to dodge.”

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

[whumpshaped]

Epilogue – Jonathan

Dollhouse Masterlist

tw aftermath of horrible trauma, talk of surgery the aftermath of it, mentions of drugs, rehab, suicidal tendencies, past implied noncon, rocky recovery, past lady whump with effects in the present, self-blame, self-doubt, mention of major character death within the family, parents sent to prison, it’s a lot but it’s happy i swear

Jonathan tried to balance all the boxes of food in one hand as he reached for the door handle with the other. He narrowly missed it, the door seemingly opening on its own; Honey stood in the doorway, quickly taking half the boxes with a concerned expression.

The transformation she’d made since last year still astounded him. Some of it was physical, readily apparent upon first glance, like slowly gaining back up to a healthy weight with the help of the family’s private dietitian, growing her hair out to be able to wear it in elaborate braids, and changing her wardrobe from custom doll clothes to jeans, sweatpants and T-shirts with smiling avocados on them. But for the most part, it was things like allowing herself to slouch a little, speaking “out of turn”, making decisions on her own… like officially changing her name to Honey after her escape and stay at the hospital. 

“You really shouldn’t strain your hands like that,” she said softly, the way she said most things. 

“They don’t really hurt anymore, really.” He pushed the door closed after himself with his foot, taking care to do it slowly instead of slamming it. “Thank you.”

“Well, you don’t need to make them hurt again. Plus, you’re gonna drop them one day. It’s an accident waiting to happen.”

He sighed, placing the boxes on the kitchen table. “I’m sorry. I’ll make two trips next time.”

Honey put the rest of the boxes next to those ones. “No, it’s… I don’t know. I didn’t mean to scold you. Sorry. I just… I’ve been feeling weird lately.”

Jonathan gave her a look of genuine empathy. Their situations weren’t the same, but unfortunately, they both had some trauma relating to the coming days. “The anniversary?”

She nodded. “Sorry. I know– It’s not the same. She was your sister. I shouldn’t be wallowing so much, I just… And not even just your sister–”

He shook his head. “Don’t do that to yourself. It’s difficult for all of us. Don’t– don’t try to go through it alone.” He spread his arms a little, allowing her to step closer and nuzzle against his chest. He wrapped her up in a tight hug, letting the words sink in for a moment. “You can feel things, yeah? And you can tell me about them. And you can cry, and be angry, and be anxious. I’m here for you, okay?” 

She didn’t respond right away. He knew she was mulling it over, trying to actually take in the meaning of the words instead of giving a manufactured reaction. “I’m here for you, too,” she said eventually, and Jonathan knew she meant it. She had been there for him throughout all of this, despite her own struggles. They’d been there for each other.

“Let’s call the others, yeah?” 

Seeing the dolls improve as they did was beyond Jonathan’s wildest dreams. Sure, he knew that their family fortune would be able to pay for a lot of procedures and therapy, but he didn’t think he would have access to that fortune after Grace’s passing. The fact that his father stepped up and ensured that everyone who was willing to accept the help would be taken care of was absolutely fantastic. Jonathan had never felt so much love for him before, and especially since they’d had that talk about Grace.

As it turned out, his mother was the one forcing him to play along. With Grace’s death, he realised he couldn’t do it anymore, and did what he could to remedy the whole decade of inaction. The truth came out bit by bit, starting with the events of that fateful day, but his father made sure that all the victims were set up with the best legal teams. When it came to his own family, he was as truthful as he could be, incriminating both his wife and himself in the process. He never protested the decision of the court. 

Jonathan had inherited the company, and he immediately dismantled it from top to bottom. He started a smaller business with part of the leftover money, spending the rest on the recovery process. Not all the dolls had decided to come live with him, of course. Some of them completely cut ties with him, and he had no idea whether they’d managed to get back on their feet. But the ones that were living with him? He was so fucking proud of each and every one of them.

The doctors at the hospital had managed to fix all of Dottie’s prosthetics almost completely. She had also received a considerable upgrade; she was now able to walk on her own and learning to use her hands again. Jonathan sat with her for hours upon hours, practising sign language together to make up for her severed vocal cords, helping her bend her artificial wrists and fingers this way and that. Her face wasn’t frozen in that one acceptable expression anymore either. She frowned, and she grimaced, and she cried, and she grinned with mischief and genuine delight. She had so much personality all bottled up, that much was clear even without being able to express herself perfectly. Even though she kept the name Grace had given her, she couldn’t have been any more different than the doll Jonathan had met.

Basil, now Nix, was under medical supervision for months regarding their several and serious addictions. The withdrawal symptoms were intense and at times terrifying, and Jonathan thought multiple times that he was going to lose them. He hadn’t known them for long at that point, but he knew that no human deserved to have to go through something like that, and it was pretty clear that they were doing their absolute best to come out on the other side. And eventually, they did, coming home with five bottles of different medication to keep them stable, but alive, and announcing the name change. “It’s short for Phoenix. I mean, if those weren’t the ashes, I don’t know what the fuck I’ve risen from,” they’d said with a laugh. “Besides… I kinda feel like I’m nothing without the– the whole persona. So… Nix.”

Toxicant-induced loss of tolerance wasn’t something Jonathan had ever heard of before talking to Nix’s doctors at the clinic. It wasn’t surprising, given that Grace had been pumping them full of chemicals for several consecutive years, day in and day out, but the effects were absolutely horrifying. It was like they were allergic to everything now. Cutting out everyday stimulants like caffeine wasn’t even the issue, really, it was trying to cut out things like food colouring; especially when that stuff was put into medications. And whenever Jonathan had made a mistake regarding their diet? Nix was punished with days upon days of heart palpitations, night sweats and vomiting. Their diet had slowly taken shape over the past half a year, and they were able to enjoy family dinners with the rest of them now.

The twins refused to part with either Dottie or Nix; the four of them were inseparable. They both had to go to vocal coaches to get their voice back in working order after close to eight years of forced silence, and they also had their gastrostomy tubes removed. They had been at risk of refeeding syndrome, like most of the dolls, but after clearing that obstacle and being allowed to eat freely, their symptoms of malnutrition subsided, even reversed. They went the opposite way in clothing stores now, making sure they looked as different as possible. Muffin went by Lux now, the name they’d originally wanted to change their birth name to before they got snatched up by Grace. They’d had their hair buzzed and several tattoos made before moving onto piercings, moulding their body into something they thought was furthest from a doll. Berry went back to his given name, Devante, exclaiming that his mother had already known he’d have to fight for his own justice against others’ horrible wrongdoings. 

Despite that sentiment, his mother never got to hear about it. Dottie, Nix, Dev and Lux had all decided not to contact their parents. They had been gone for way too many years. They had read their own obituaries, saw their family’s posts on social media about their passing on every single anniversary of their “death”. They had agreed it would’ve been too much to just come back after half a decade or more.

“I don’t want my mom to see me like this,” Dottie had told him. “I can’t even go back to the name she’d given me. I feel like the ship of Theseus. I want her to remember the old me.”

If anything, Jonathan could at least relate to losing a mother who was still alive, and he did everything in his power to make it better for everyone around him. 

Honey did contact her family after a few months, when she felt like she was ready. Jonathan held her hand throughout the phone call. He listened to her father ask whether there was a lawsuit, and whether she’d gotten any money from it. He listened to her mother say that they’d sold all her things already, so she didn’t have to go home. When Honey asked if they could meet anyway, she told her she was busy, and hung up the phone. He’d spent the next weeks consoling her.

As Jonathan watched them all take their seats at the kitchen table, he wondered what could’ve become of all these people, had he called Grace in advance about his visit that day. She would’ve told him it wasn’t a good day, and they would’ve rescheduled. All these amazing people could’ve been lost. All this laughter could’ve stayed a fantasy of their captive mind.

The phone began ringing before Jonathan could’ve had a single bite, and he sighed and put down his utensils. When he saw the number, however, he decided he wasn’t even annoyed anymore.

“Hey,” he said with a smile, despite Bora not being able to see it.

After being called Coral for several years, having his hair grown out and coloured to match the name, he decided he wanted to go back to his given name, chop it all off and dye it black. He’d gone into his kidnapping and captivity with a debilitating case of depression, and the therapy and medication he’d been able to receive since his rescue was beyond helpful.

“Hey, man. I just wanted to call, because… you know. Just wanted to check on you guys.” 

In all honesty, Jonathan expected a call from him sometime that day. Not even just because he was a good person, good people didn’t need to put their trauma aside to reconnect with others reminding them of said trauma. But the fact was, Bora had a lot of survivor’s guilt. Grace had never really done anything drastic to his body, nothing that couldn’t easily be reversed. His depression had been worsened by the situation, as anyone’s would’ve been, and he’d been forced to play along with a relationship he never wanted, but he had never gotten his limbs chopped off. He was working through the mental issues in therapy, and he was trying to live by the rule of not comparing his pain to others’, but every time he called, the overwhelming guilt was painfully obvious in his voice.

“I think we’re doing fine, considering, you know, everything. We’re all a bit out of it. It’s hard to think it’s only been one year… and at the same time it’s like, wow, it’s already been a year.”

“Yeah. I’m not�� super excited for the articles tomorrow.”

“Would you like to come over? I don’t know if we’d necessarily take your mind off of it, but we all kind of formed a pact that none of us would look at social media for a while.” He lowered his voice, walking a little further away from the table. “And they’d love it, too. They’re always asking me whether you’ll come visit after your calls.”

There was no response from the other side, and for a moment, Jonathan thought he’d pushed it too far. But then he heard quiet sniffling, and Bora choked out, “I’ll drop by.”

“We all love you, okay? Don’t feel like you need to hide from us.”

Another pause. “Is Val coming?” 

Well, maybe he needed to hide from one person. After their time spent together in captivity, all that forced intimacy and shared trauma, it was understandable when Valerie drew a line in the sand about seeing each other. Her doll name, Anise, was way too close to her original name, Annie, so she decided to go the complete opposite direction and choose an entirely new one. That was around the same time when she told Bora she needed to get as far away from him as possible, in a desperate effort to distance herself from her past entirely. 

It was a difficult situation for everyone. After having her face surgically frozen at Grace’s house, Val wasn’t even able to communicate anything. Bora somehow ended up taking on the role of her helper, which Grace took full advantage of, but at least he was able to apologise, or ask things, or request things not to be done to him, whenever that was even an option. Valerie had her voice taken away, her sight, her facial expressions, everything. The doctors were able to do some reconstructive surgery, but she was told that seeing and speaking were completely off the table with the way her body adjusted. Learning sign language without being able to copy by sight proved to be a massive task, and Bora, as always, attempted to be as much help as he could be. Almost the first thing Val had told him was that she couldn’t handle his skin touching hers, or the sound of his voice, and she wanted to leave immediately. Bora had respected her wishes, as was the right thing to do.

Jonathan had spent the next few months almost constantly on call with him, and when the two of them weren’t talking, Bora was phoning the hotlines. Being riddled with guilt to the point of not wanting to live anymore was a common sentiment across the board when it came to their little patchwork family, but Bora was alone, and he refused to get any help that would’ve put him in direct contact with others. It was always just the phone, and always only Jonathan. He still had nightmares about the phone ringing and him not being able to reach it in time. 

“We haven’t talked in a good while,” Jonathan admitted. “I tried to send her a text earlier today to make sure she was doing okay, and it didn’t go through.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sure she’s okay, though. She just doesn’t want to talk about being okay with us specifically.”

The rest of the call went by quickly, and when Jonathan rejoined the rest of them for lunch, he found them all dead silent and clearly trying to eavesdrop. They didn’t even try to hide it.

“Is he coming, then?” Lux asked.

“He said he was, yeah.” They all looked at each other in utter delight, smiles spreading from one face to the other so quickly it was impossible to tell who started it. 

The next day, Jonathan immediately bumped into his sister on his morning walk. “One Year Has Passed Since Killer Barbie’s Funeral”, read the headline on the stupid magazine that was displayed at the newspaper stand, showing her eerily smiling face and pink casket. He had to turn around and go right back home, desperate for one of Honey’s sweet, warm hugs. 

“I didn’t break the rules,” he sobbed as quietly as he could. “It was– it was a newspaper, I just– I glanced in the direction of the stand–”

“I know.” She pet his hair gently, tears of her own slowly joining Jonathan’s in soaking their clothes. “I know. You don’t need to explain yourself.”

Jonathan’s morning breakdown set the tone for the entire day, and they all took turns hugging and holding each other while the other cried. Board games, tremendous amounts of snacks they could now enjoy freely, and a massive pity party took up the entire day of the anniversary; no tears remained unshed, and no one was left without several friends’ worth of consolation and compassion.

And when the sun rose again the next day and Jonathan turned over in his bed to see Honey sleeping soundly, he got the distinct feeling that it was all going to be okay. If they could survive one year despite all that had happened, they could survive a thousand.

~

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[whumpzone]

(masterpost) (this entry contains noncon references)

Pet passed the night slowly.

His dog bed was so high up, on the kind of soft thing that he knew humans slept on- and he would sometimes be disciplined on. The feeling of the springy bed underneath him took him right back to his punishments, his knees digging in and his ankles tied to the bedposts. Pet spent a lot of his nights wide awake, back there, being bruised and bent and battered again and again.

Maybe if he was good Master would decide he didn’t need this reminder. He knew what Master could do to him, whenever he liked. He’d rather be forced to sleep next to the whip than like this.

The blanket over him felt nice, though.

The sunlight in his eyes usually woke him up here, rather than the pull of an empty stomach, or a fresh wound crying out to be soothed. Pet would watch the sky through the ivy-clad window, with the delicate bronze-coloured panes that sometimes rattled in the wind. His training, that had been so useful, had made him so good, vibrated through his head like a train on a still night.

Master controls everything. He is everything. Master decides if I’m allowed to see, speak, eat. He decides what I see and when. Even breathing is a gift that Master can take away. I am nothing. I am his.

I am very, very lucky to get to see the sky every morning.

It was overcast this morning, and the days were gradually warming up. Master came down not long after Pet had dressed and got himself looking pretty and pliable.

“Morning, Col,” Master smiled softly. “Sleep well?”

Pet nodded. He was being good.

There was that word again. Col. Perhaps Master assumed if he repeated it enough, Pet would start to think of himself as Col too. That was how he got his current name, of course. If Pet counted as a name.

He had had another, once, he was pretty sure. He couldn’t remember it now. It gave him a headache to even try.

“Hmm. Me too. I’m actually going to be leaving the house in a second, though. I won’t be gone for too long… my cat has been on a little holiday, shall we say. I thought for your first few days here you didn’t need a silly furry creature clambering all over you. If you don’t mind her coming back, though, give me a little nod.”

Master looked at him, and Pet nodded once more. A cat was fine, wasn’t it? Cats were quiet and independent. Pet was a dog. An inferior, weird kind of dog. Pet was good and alert and had to gift of being able to follow orders. He wouldn’t be thrown out. Lots of people had multiple pets. Master would come back, wouldn’t he?

“I’ll be back very soon,” Master said, and the relief on Pet’s face must have been visible, because he followed it up with, “It’ll take half an hour, an hour at most.”

Pet still followed him all the way to the front door, hardly knowing why. The time alone wasn’t too bad- he cleaned and watched the sky a little more. Master’s house was tall, with books stacked almost as high as Pet’s head, and slippers discarded along the bare wooden floors. In the utility room Pet found the cat food and a little bowl, and set it out for her.

The front door opened again, and Pet flinched instinctively. Master coming home usually meant pain; it usually meant his owner had had a long and stressful day and his useless mutt was definitely going to piss him off. He tried to remind himself that this was his new Master, he could be different, but still- probably best not to risk it.

He quickly went to kneel in front of Master, keeping his eyes down and moving his face to Master’s shoes. Before he could kiss them, though, Master took a step back.

“Hey Col. You don’t have to do that here,” he said, and Pet froze, screwing up his eyes before the kick. Or was Master giving him a chance to learn? He didn’t sound angry. “Hey, come meet my cat. Come on.”

Master walked past him without hurting him at all, and Pet did as he was told, following him into the living room. Master sat on the sofa, and Pet knelt on the carpet, curling his fingers into it without even noticing. Master had a wide brown satchel balanced on his lap; Pet watched as he reached in… and brought out a small grey cat.

“This is Jaffa. She’s ever so sweet, Col, really.”

Pet nodded warily, his eyes fixed on Jaffa’s, which were bright orange and pointed in slightly different directions. She leapt down to the floor gracefully and padded over to Pet, giving his hand a sniff and a little lick with her rough tongue.

“Ahh, pretty kitty,” Master said affectionately. So, he did use pet names? Pet hadn’t been sure, what with his refusal to use any on him. But of course, he hadn’t earned them yet. Right?

-

Dusk crept along the floorboards, the colour of a healing bruise. Jaffa bumped her head against Master, then prodded him with her paw. Not shaking or whimpering. Not crying- could cats even cry? Oh, stop thinking, stupid Pet.

He watched as Master scooped his hand over her ears, scratching gently with his clipped black nails that Pet couldn’t take his eyes off. “Such a little sweetie,” he murmured.

It looked like it felt nice. Jaffa was slowly melting under her owner’s touch, becoming a grey purring cloud, her eyes seeing two corners of the room, and yet absolutely nothing at the same time. Maybe Pet needed to look more empty, like she did. She was cute.

He did worry a lot. He was probably frowning without even realising. And he didn’t purr- he’d never been trained to.

And he knew that he didn’t deserve to be called cute names, or petted gently. He didn’t and it was useless hoping for them. He still didn’t know what Master was keeping him around for, but with the arrival of Jaffa, he knew he wasn’t destined to be a cute lapdog. Pet couldn’t help the way his heart sank at the realisation. He also felt his skin start to prickle with nerves. What was he here for? And when would Master tell him?

Maybe the bed was a clue, as well as a warning. He pressed his palms further into the carpet, trying to calm down and keep himself in the present. There was nothing he could do, if that was the case, and that calmed him a little bit. At the end of the day, Master alone decided how Pet would be treated. He could behave, sure, and try to beg, but his life was not his own. It was this thought that finally allowed him to fall asleep that night, in the depths of the witching hour, the sky outside dotted with stars.

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[morganaspendragonss]

Tarlos prompt.

Carlos just had a break down about life. And his mum sorts him out. Which ends in his Mum having a convo with TK about how much Carlos and her were close until the weird coming out thing

thank you so much for your prompt! i hope you enjoy what i came up with!

also written for day 1 of @911lonestarangstweek: Emotional whump + “How do we fix this?”

ao3 | 2.1k

Of all the people TK might have expected to show up at the house when Carlos is on shift, Andrea Reyes is not one of them.

Unfortunately, however, she has, and TK is now painfully aware that he’s barefoot, wearing a stained t-shirt and sweats in front of his boyfriend’s mother, who he has only officially met once. She raises a solitary eyebrow, looking him up and down, and TK flushes deeply.

“Um, Mrs Reyes, hi,” he stammers. “Carlos is at work.”

“I know.” She smirks at his clear surprise, then gestures inside. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, uh, sure.” TK steps aside, wringing his hands together nervously as Mrs Reyes walks in. She looks around the space as though seeing it for the first time, which he vaguely registers as strange, given Carlos has lived here for years. Most of his mind, however, is taken up with freaking out over the fact that Carlos’s mother is here; she had seemed nice enough when Carlos had taken him over for Sunday dinner last week, but TK is in no way prepared for one-on-one interactions yet.

Especially now, when he’s barely been awake for an hour. “I-If you want to take a seat,” he says, trying to tame his anxiety, “I’ll just go and get changed into something a little more, um, presentable.”

He’s about to make a break for the stairs when Mrs Reyes catches his arm, her grip gentle but firm. “Don’t be silly,” she admonishes. “I may be Carlos’s mother, but this is your home too, no?”

“Well… It’s not... We don’t exactly… Can I get you something to drink?”

“You can sit down.”

Mrs Reyes smiles in clear amusement, and TK’s pretty sure he couldn’t be redder if he tried. He studiously avoids eye contact as he shuffles to the opposite end of the couch, sinking down into it with his gaze firmly fixed on his lap. He wishes Carlos were here, but he’s still got hours left on his shift. 

Which reminds him. “Mrs, Reyes, I don’t mean to be rude, but…” He trails off, unsure how to phrase the question without sounding horrifically insulting. 

Thankfully, she seems to understand. “You’re wondering what I’m doing here.”

TK nods. “Not that you’re not welcome!” he hurries to say. “But I figured you’d be here to see Carlos, only he’s not here, so… So.”

He winces at his own awkwardness, knowing he’s cutting a stark contrast to his behaviour at dinner. Sure, he can turn on the charm when he’s prepared and awake and with Carlos, but alone, half-asleep, and totally not expecting a visit? 

He’s doomed.

Mrs Reyes sighs deeply. When TK looks back up at her, her expression has turned sad, a weariness in her face.

“Carlos came by our house before his shift this morning.”

TK raises a surprised eyebrow at the news; Carlos had left at six this morning, and he hadn’t said anything about going to see his parents. Not that he was supposed to, but TK can’t help but worry, especially with the way Mrs Reyes is looking at him.

“You know that two days ago was his first shift back after the suspension, yes?” she continues, nodding at TK’s confirmation. “He… When he arrived this morning, he was distressed, panicking over everything - mostly work, but he hinted at other things that I don’t… I’m not really sure what he was talking about. I was hoping you might have a little more insight?”

TK’s heart clenches at her words, but he forces a smile for Mrs Reyes’s sake. “What did he say?”

“What I understood was that he was anxious about going back to work. He thinks that no-one trusts him anymore, and he said that maybe they were right not to. I told him he was being crazy, but I don’t know if he listened to me.”

“Carlos never told me any of this,” TK whispers, horrified. He’d had no idea Carlos had been struggling so much, and he could kick himself for not pushing when he’d said that he was fine.

Mrs Reyes smiles thinly. “Of course he didn’t,” she says, almost fondly. “My Carlitos is a worrier; he’ll fuss over everyone else and never give a thought to himself, even if it runs him into the ground. I’m sure you know this.” She gestures to the scar on his forehead, and TK reaches up to touch it, running his fingers lightly over the ridged tissue.

He nods, sighing. “I’m sorry,” he says, barely able to look at her now. “I should have made sure he was okay. I asked, of course I did, but -”

Mrs Reyes cuts him off by reaching over to grab his hand. She smiles at him when TK looks up in shock, then squeezes gently. “You are not to blame. Carlitos can be very stubborn, especially when it comes to himself. He gets that from his father.”

She chuckles, then her face takes on that heavy look again and she lets go of TK, sitting back in her seat. “We talked for a while about his worries over work, but there was a point when I don’t think we were just talking about his job anymore. He said something about Gabriel and never being enough for him, but he wouldn’t explain when I asked. He left soon after that.”

TK swallows nervously. He has a pretty good idea what Carlos might have been referring to, but he doesn’t have a clue how to go about talking to Mrs Reyes about it. It feels wrong to do it without Carlos’s knowledge, anyway.

“It was your husband leading the investigation, wasn’t it?” he hedges, trying to steer her in that direction.

“It was, but this was more than that, I’m sure of it.” She sighs, sudden tears glinting in her eyes and - oh, TK is so not prepared for this. “We used to be so close, you know? All of us. But, one day, something changed. I don’t know what, or why, but suddenly he started keeping his distance more, and he stopped talking to us. I love my son, I only want the best for him, but it’s been years and now I don’t know how to help him.”

She meets his eyes, her gaze almost pleading with him. “You clearly care for him, TK, and I’ve never seen my son so happy as when he’s with you. Please, if you know anything… I just want to understand.”

TK bites his lip. Talking about this with Mrs Reyes feels like a betrayal of Carlos, but he’s not seeing a way out of this anymore. If she’s half as stubborn as her son, she won’t leave until she has at least some answers, and there’s no way she’ll believe he knows nothing.

“Did things change when he was around seventeen, by any chance?” he asks eventually, guilt twisting in his gut. “Maybe just after he, um, came out?”

Her lips part in surprise, a small crease forming between her brows. “Yes. But, I don’t understand, are you implying this is because of that? All we care about is that he’s happy, not who he loves; Gabriel and I have always done our best to support Carlos.”

TK winces. “All due respect, Mrs Reyes, but I’m not so sure that’s true.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Look, this is really a conversation you should be having with Carlos, I’ve already said too much -”

“If you have something to say, TK, please, just say it.” The warmth has dropped from Mrs Reyes’s face and she seems to be holding herself tighter. TK’s heart sinks; he’s just ruined things with his boyfriend’s mother. Perfect.

He swallows, staring hard at the floor. “It’s just something that came up after we met you at the market,” he explains quietly. “Carlos...he wasn’t sure how you would react to - to us, so he did what he does best, and chose to protect us both.”

“Protect?” Mrs Reyes’s voice is horrified, and TK looks up to find her staring at him in open confusion. “From what?”

TK doesn’t respond, but his grimace must be enough to tell her all she needs to know. She gasps and lifts a hand to her mouth, eyes shining.

“We thought…” She breaks off, shaking her head. “How do we fix this?”

He sighs. “Mrs Reyes… I can’t speak for Carlos, nor can I claim to fully understand what he’s been through. I came out to my parents when I was fourteen, and they were vocal about their support, to say the least.” TK chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck, his teenage embarrassment returning for a brief moment. “I’m not saying that’s the way to go, god knows it was awkward and overwhelming for all of us, but maybe talking to him would be a start? Carlos knows you love him, ma’am, but it wouldn’t hurt to let him know that you love all of him, if you understand what I mean?”

Mrs Reyes nods, sniffing and wiping at her eyes. “Thank you, TK,” she says, sending him a barely-there smile. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.” She stands and TK hurries to follow, grabbing the door for her.

He’s equal part relieved and worried over her abrupt exit; much longer, and TK thinks he might have lost it, but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s fucked up beyond repair. So, he’s surprised when she turns in the doorway and pulls him into a gentle hug.

“I’m glad Carlitos has you,” she smiled, patting his cheek. “And, it’s Andrea.”

With that, Mrs Reyes walks out, leaving TK staring after her, more than a little confused.

*

That night, TK watches Carlos move about their bedroom, his conversation with Andrea weighing on him as he twists the bedsheets in his hands. He knows he needs to talk to Carlos about it, but he has no idea where to start.

Carlos slides into bed beside him and TK instinctively leans his head on his shoulder. He’s just about worked up enough courage to say something, when Carlos interrupts, playing with TK’s fingers.

“My mom said she stopped by today.”

TK freezes, Carlos’s careful tone sending fear down his spine. He looks up slowly, biting his lip. “I was going to tell you, I swear. I just…couldn’t figure out how.” He pauses, waiting for some sort of reaction, but none is forthcoming. “Did she… Did she tell you what we talked about?”

Carlos hums. “Some of it. She wants me to go over tomorrow to talk about the rest of it.”

TK closes his eyes, slumping back against the headboard. “Shit, Carlos, I’m so sorry. I know I overstepped. I - I shouldn’t have said half of that stuff, I was way out of line -”

“TK.” Carlos’s voice is firm but gentle, cutting through TK’s panicked rambling. He looks over at him, some of his anxiety melting at the small smile on his boyfriend’s face. “You don’t have to apologise.”

“Don’t I?”

Carlos sighs. “Would I have preferred to have been there? Sure. But I’m not mad about anything you said. I know you didn’t really want to; my mom said she practically forced it out of you.”

TK huffs a laugh, but doesn’t try to deny it. “Still,” he says. “Is everything okay between you guys now?”

“We’re fine.” Carlos pulls him close, kissing his cheek. “Don’t worry.”

“Like I could ever stop,” he mutters, resting his head on Carlos’s chest and drawing his arms around him. Carlos moves as if to lie down, but TK stops him, another question burning in his mind. “Why didn’t you say anything about how worried you were to go back to work?”

Carlos tenses, silence dragging out for a brief moment. “I didn’t want to worry you,” he confesses eventually. “You had enough on your plate with the kidnapping and recovering, and I couldn’t add onto all of that. I was dealing with it.”

TK’s heart breaks at the words, tears pricking at his eyes. “Oh, Carlos,” he breathes. He twists to meet Carlos’s gaze, gripping his hands tight. “You know I love you, right?”

Carlos nods, frowning a little. “Of course. I love you, too.”

“Exactly,” TK continues. “This relationship is a two-way street, babe. I know you like caring for people, but you’ve got to let me care for you as well. You can come to me about anything, and I promise I’ll do my best to help you, just like you do for me. Please, let me in, Carlos.”

Carlos blinks, clearing his throat. “I… I’ll try,” he says eventually, ducking his head.

TK smiles. “That’s all I ask.”

[whump-a-la-mode]

Nemesis - Choose Your Own Whump 2

With A receiving the most votes on my last post, for this adventure we are going with a drugged Villain whumpee. Sorry about the generic name for this one, I really couldn’t think of anything else ^^

I hope you enjoy, and thanks to everyone for replying to the last post! As always, votes can be sent in through any method you want. Comments, asks, and PMs are all just fine. I’ll see it!

CW//Falling off a building, hostage situations, shapeshifting, medical abuse, extensive talk of sedatives, brief mention of a needle

Please note that the third scene of this piece is from the point of view of a drugged character, and thus the scene has some aspects that could be described as unreality. Please skip this scene if this would make you uncomfortable.

The video was grainy.

It was always grainy. That was the strange thing about it-- everyone carried around miniature computers in their pockets, equipped with tiny cameras that would have rivaled the most powerful devices of years prior. Any civilian could take a 4k quality video on some social media, but the moment anything actually important was happening, technology seemed to regress twenty years.

Hero supposed it didn’t matter. Their memory of the incident was certainly clear as day, better than any camera could ever capture.

And yet...

They clicked a button on the remote, and the clip restarted.

The sides of the screen were blocked out in fuzzy grey-- the video having been taken through the bars of a metal fence. Between them, the camera focused at first on the foot of a brown brick building, before panning upwards, only stopping upon reaching the roof. It took a moment for the visual to adjust, focusing against the glare of the sun overhead.

Two figures, on the building’s roof. Two figures seen so often together, in so many similar videos.

The standoff had taken from dawn till sunset. How Villain had gotten into the building unnoticed had yet to be fully understood, but, regardless of method, they wasted little time in taking hostage a group of professors, eating lunch together. A single one had been released, bringing with them a message:

“Everyone leaves. No one comes in. Everyone stays outside the fence.”

It had seemed like a trap, at first. Of course it had. It wouldn’t be the first time that Villain had played such a trick. After much debating, however, evacuation was deemed to be the best option, and the campus was soon barren.

The hours afterwards had been as long and hot as they had been nerve-wracking. The very thought of following orders from Villain made Hero’s stomach twist, but their orders were incredibly clear: Don’t do anything stupid.

It was an incredibly difficult order to follow.

Establishing a line of communication had been the hardest part. Villain had quickly disconnected any security cameras in the vicinity, alongside confiscating any technology their hostages might have held.

In the end, it was decided that a reporter would be the one to go in. One of the most recognizable faces in the city, and one that was neutral. Not fighting for either side, but representing the citizenry.

The whole plan bet on one fact: That the shapeshifting Hero could pull of the imitation.

It worked. At least, it worked for as long as it needed to. Villain accepted the olive branch, and allowed the supposed reporter to enter unharmed.

Of course, the illusion broke as soon as Hero opened their mouth. No matter how good they were at changing their shape, it did not change their voice. In the brief moment of confusion, the hostages had managed to make their escape.

Leaving only the two nemeses, and the building as their battlefield.

It was hard to remember the fight. They had waged so many battles against one another, they all seemed to blend together, at one point or another. There was broken glass, pushed over tables, exploding equipment, and then-

And then they were on the roof.

Villain was stupid, but they weren’t, well, they weren’t stupid. They may have had the moral compass of a kleptomaniac feline, and the brain cells to match, but they had common sense. A sense of self-preservation.

Forcing them to the edge of the roof... it was supposed to be like pushing them to a corner. Trapping them.

In the video, the two figures danced. Forward, and back, until one took the lead. Until they were up against the edge, with nowhere left to go.

They were supposed to stop. They weren’t supposed to fall.

They stopped their own fall, or at least they tried. They were telekinetic. Of course they did. But they were surprised, or confused, or, or something. They slowed themself down. But they did not stop. The force with which they struck the concrete parking lot below was more than enough to knock them out.

The video ended.

And... that was it. The end. Years and years of battles, some won, some lost, all ended. They should have been happy, and they were! They hated Villain, sincerely and truly hated them.

But no other villain fought like them. No other villain had their tongue, their wit. Their skill. Their fight.

Villain’s defeat should have been epic! The ultimate confrontation of good and evil, of chaos, and order.

Yet, their downfall was a simple trip.

In the corner of Hero’s TV screen, small white text helpfully reported to them just when that video had been recorded.

One year ago.

One year, since that day. Since Villain’s downfall. And now...

Hero’s phone buzzed. A text message. The confirmation of a meeting.

One whole year, and still, Hero’s mind was consumed by their lost nemesis.

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The diner was terribly busy, and yet, when Hacker walked through the door, Hero had no doubts as to their identity.

Despite their rather stereotypical appearance, there was nothing about the person’s manner that would have indicated the sheer amount of time they spent behind a computer screen. They greeted the receptionist, pointed to Hero, and exchanged a few words beyond that. With a smile, then, they parted, and made their way to Hero’s table.

Their manner only seemed strange when they sat down, and Hero noted that the way they smiled seemed to pain them.

“Is this seriously what you people act like?” They hissed through bared teeth. “Can I stop smiling now? Or will they look at me weird?”

“They’re already looking at you weird.”

“They are?”

“You- You don’t need to do that.”

“Oh thank god.” Immediately, their expression fell into one far more analytic. Far less friendly. “I, uh, don’t get out much.”

“Really?” Hero raised a brow incredulously. 

“I’ve got more important things to do than, uh, than going out. Anyways.” They stuck a hand outwards. It was partially covered by a fingerless glove. “I’m Hacker.”

“I figured.” Hero shook the offered hand. “I’m Hero, though I suppose you already know that.”

“You’d think people here would be, uh, a bit more in awe? It’s not everyday you get to eat in the same building as a superhero.”

“Keep your voice down, please.”

“Oh, sorry. Is it, like, a secret? You don’t have a secret identity, do you?”

“No. But when I’m out of costume, I’m not exactly that recognizable. So let’s keep it that way. Kapish?”

“Kapash. But, still, oh my god. This is so cool! A real life hero...”

“Yeah... Yeah. A real hero alright.”

A hero who could hardly focus during battle. A hero who infuriated their team leader more than they aided them.

“Anyways.” Hacker raised their head, a far more natural smile coming onto their face. “I have the... thing.”

“You mentioned that. It’s about Villain, right?”

“Mhm.”

The person across the booth leaned down, prying a laptop from a carrying case and placing it atop the table. It was a bulky thing, and as soon as it was turned on, the shrill sound of fans struggling not to overheat filled Hero’s head. Hacker clicked around a bit. They gripped the edges of the device, as if about to spin it around, before they stopped, frowning.

“It’s been a year now, hasn’t it?” They commented.

“Since Villain was captured. Yes. 374 days.”

“You remember?”

“Yes.”

“You miss them, don’t you?”

It was so direct. Hero couldn’t help but stutter:

“I don’t- Of course I don’t miss them. I hate them.”

Hacker looked up over the laptop screen to give them an incredulous look. It wasn’t a convincing lie.

“I don’t miss them.” Hero stood their ground. “But I want to make sure they’re contained.”

“I just... I don’t know if this is something you want to see. You’re trying to move on, and-”

“Show me it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. If it’s something to do with their containment, I need to know about it. I can’t let them hurt anyone else.”

“Well, that’s not the problem here. If you’re sure.”

With a sigh, Hacker spun the computer around, so that it’s screen faced Hero.

They weren’t sure what they expected. Some kind of... deep web threat? A message from Villain? A copycat? An escape attempt?

But they didn’t get any of that. Instead, the screen displayed a simple PDF. Medical records. At the top, in bold letters and a rather ostentatious logo, the header read:

Specialized Criminal Rehabilitation Unit of Organization

For the most part, the page was Greek to Hero. A slew of ID numbers and attending physicians with far too many acronyms following their names. What did make sense to them was the spreadsheet that made up most of the page, labelled:

Approved Daily Medication Dosage for Patient: Villain

The spreadsheet took up two pages with solid text. Hero did not recognize the medication names, of course, but they did not need to be a doctor to understand the entries written under the column labelled “Medication Purpose.”

Every single data cell, even as they scrolled to the bottom of the document, contained only one word. The same word.

Sedation

“This is...” Hero muttered, furrowing their brow. Scrolling up and down. This had to be wrong, somehow.

“I don’t understand most of it.” Hacker commented sheepishly. “But, uh, I have a few friends with some more medical knowledge than me. They’ve never seen anything like it. It’s more than enough medication to sedate a fucking elephant- sorry, excuse my language.”

“It’s fine.” The confusion in their voice was rapidly melting to fury.

“Even for major surgical procedures... nothing near this level would ever be used.”

“This has to be a mistake.” Hero shook their head. “A mix-up. Maybe it’s like... all the medications the facility ordered. And they just labelled it wrong.”

“Well, if it’s a mistake, they’ve been making the exact same one for an entire year. I’ve got 374 of these files. Newest one just got uploaded a few hours ago.”

“And they’re always the same?”

“With some minor dosage adjustments, but yes. That’s not, um, that’s not all of it.”

Hacker reached over, dragging the computer back so that it faced them again. There was more clicking this time, along with typing at a speed that made Hero’s fingers hurt, just to watch it.

When the laptop was spun back around, this time, it was a video.

A camera feed.

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Villain felt about to choke on their tongue.

It wasn’t a new feeling. More or less, it was the only thing they felt, anymore. That heavy block of muscle in their mouth, threatening at any moment to block throat choke air no air no-

They were losing their words again. Words... wordsssssss... Voices. Voices spoke words. Sometimes, they did. Sometimes they grumbled and muttered and sputtered and murmured like a car murmured. Cars... or was it cats? No, cats didn’t murmur. They purred. What else did they do? Not bark... no, barking too loud for cats. Cat go mew mew, real quiet like.

Cat’s meow, that is a cat’s voice. There were other voices, too. Quiet like cats. Two of them, two voices. They knew those voices, those were the doctors’ voices. The doctors liked to talk a lot. They talked, but they did not see. Or... no. They were not seen. Villain did not see them. They wanted to, but their eyes were broken. The engines in their eyelids would not run anymore, would not open the garage door, Sally!

One of the doctors’ voices got closer. A million miles away, a hand was laid upon Villain’s wrist, flipping over their hand so that their palm faced downward.

“Let’s move it.”

It was a silly thing to say. Nothing moved in this place. Nothing that Villain could see, as their eyes were broken.

“Is the other vein healed enough?”

“It’s going to have to be.”

Silly words... Villain wanted to laugh, but their muscles were firmly locked away behind a padlock.

“Okay.” The doctor sounded so sad. Why were they so sad? Villain’s mouth was full of soil. The doctor was tired. “I’ll get the rest of the medicines.”

“We’re going 30 milligrams up from yesterday on the Propofol.”

“Oh? Why?”

“They opened their eyes, yesterday.”

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Hero felt sick. In the top right corner of the security footage, the same logo from the medical records was displayed. The Specialized Criminal Rehabilitation Unit of Organization. Below it, a subtitle.

“Keeping the city safe.”

Was this safety? It shouldn’t have been. They had known, of course, what had happened to Villain after their capture and very brief hospital stay. It was what happened to all villains. They were sent to the rehab unit.

A therapy program. Helping villains to control their powers and reform their lives. To return them to the straight and narrow. But, now that Hero thought about it...

Villain was the only one who had never been released.

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Thanks so much for reading! Just like last time, there are two options along with every part of this story. Alongside each options is a question, so that you guys can give more specific suggestions if you so wish. The option that receives the most votes will be the choice that our Hero makes!

A.) Tell someone about what is happening - Who should Hero tell? (They are on a small team, as well as part of a larger Organization, for reference.)

B.) Attempt a more direct approach. Visit Villain in the rehab program - Should Hero try to rescue Villain immediately?

[cupcakes-and-pain]

Robin’s Nest: chapter 4

My tumblr has been glitching more than usual lately, so if weird stuff happens, I’m sorry and I’ll fix it as soon as possible.

CW: pet whump, implied past abuse, implied past non con, fear of torture, fear of punishment, fear of non con (blink and you miss it), arguing between close friends. Tell me if I missed anything!

Masterlist

———

Robin POV

Robin woke up and stretched, thinking to herself. They felt like she was forgetting something. After a few minutes of trying to remember, she just shrugged it off and got dressed. As they were walking down the stairs, the smell of bacon and eggs greets her.

“What in the...?” They whispered to herself as they continued down. When Robin reached the bottom and saw Spencer taking out the last pieces of bacon and Remington pouring a glass of orange juice, she remembered what they were forgetting: the two guys she bought the other day.

“Hey you two. Man, that smells so good! You guys must have really outdone yourselves.”

“Thank you Master. Please tell us if it’s not to your standards. We are more than happy to remake it.” Spencer said, his smile holding a hint of uncertainty and worry.

“Oh I’m sure it’s amazing, don’t you two worry. Besides, the dinner you made last night was great, so I’m sure your breakfast is great too.”

The boys both nodded and Robin wasn’t sure if they believed her. Spencer seemed more on edge than usual, probably because of what happened last night. Robin was sure to give him extra praise and he seemed to cheer up slightly.

But now wasn’t the time to worry about all that. They had promised the boys some rules for living at her house today and they couldn’t go back on her promise now. As much as Robin hated it, it would help the boys in the long run.

“Alright you two. I promised some rules, didn’t I?” They noticed how Remington and Spencer somehow looked terrified and excited at the same time.

“Y-yes Master, you did.” Spencer said.

“Well, here you go. The first and probably most important rule is that I have no plans on harming you two or having sex with you. Especially not just on a whim. If I had angry issues or anything like that, I would’ve bought an actual punching bag. The second rule is don’t hurt yourself, ever. Even if you are almost completely sure I want you to do it, always confirm it with me. Third, similar to the second rule, always come to me if you aren’t sure about something. Whether it be a rule, an upcoming punishment, or whatever, just come and ask me questions. I won’t be mad. Forth, don’t go in my room without permission. I like my privacy. Fifth, I’m fine with you guys cooking breakfast and cleaning up around here, but don’t feel pressured to do chores. You guys are more like companions for me, not butlers if that makes sense. Sixth and final rule is that you don’t need to call me Master. I’m comfortable with you using Mx. Robin or just Robin if you you want to. That’s all the rules I could think of, I’m pretty laid back so I’ve never been good at having rules or a strict routine. If I think of more I’ll tell you.”

“Thank you M-Mx. Robin. We are v-very grateful for these rules. Have a good day at work.”

“Thank you Spencer. You two have a good day as well. I’m going to be a little late coming home today.”

Robin smiled widely as she replied and walked out the door, despite how disgusted and upset they were feeling. They knew that she shouldn’t, but the way Remington and Spencer were so terrified of Robin made so angry. They had done nothing to give the boys a reason to be afraid, and yet... no. Robin had to remind herself over and over that it wasn’t Remington and Spencer’s fault. They had this fear and obedience beat into them. Robin just had to strong for the boys, sure them that this house was safe, that they were safe.

Spencer POV

“So, uh, what do th-think of the rules?” Spencer asked nervously, knowing Remington rarely has anything good to say about whoever owned him. Remington just scowled and turned away.

“Master gives us a few vague rules that were obviously made to trick us and make us disobey. And you’re asking me what I think?”

“Oh Remy, please don’t be like that. I don’t think Master wants us to disobey. I mean, she said we were companions, lap dogs, so why would she want to punish us constantly?”

“It’d make us dependent on Master, always begging for forgiveness and compassion. She wants us to become small and submissive to their whims. Master wants to break our spirits and I won’t let her.”

Spencer put his head in his hands. Remington had been hurt way too much and it gave him such severe trust issues. But still, Spencer got so frustrated sometimes with his constant pessimism. Spencer just wanted to be a good lap dog, be finally loved and wanted. And Remington wanted to take it from him.

“I don’t think Master is like that at all Remy. I know you’ve been hurt and betrayed, but please just try to behave for once. I don’t want to see you get punished for stupid things anymore.”

Remington sighed and turned away, clearing the dishes a bit forcefully. Spencer wished he could go after him but he knew it wasn’t going to help.

Spencer spent most of the day worrying, a lot like yesterday. Except this time, he didn’t know what was coming. Remington would eventually get himself into trouble and Master Robin would be angry. But what kind of punishment could they expect from her? Their previous Master would lock them in the basement when they were bad, often in addition with fresh bruises or sensory deprivation.

But the worst was when Master burned them. Spencer only suffered burns twice in his life, and the first time had been a brand that said what company trained him. The other was after Remington and Spencer’s first and only escape attempt. Master dragged them down to the basement, and it began. Scalding metal strips placed on their feet, hands, and back as they struggled to hold in their screams. Afterwards they were left in the basement for several days, Spencer can’t remember the exact number due to pain and exhaustion, without food or water, chained on opposite sides of the room and gagged so they had no way to comfort each other.

That night, plus a few other times that hadn’t been as horrific, made burns the only sure way to make Remington deathly afraid. Afraid enough to beg and cry and grovel, submit himself and degrade himself to the lowest of levels. Remington denies it, but once when previous Master had threatened another burning session, Spencer swore he heard Remington refer to himself with it/its pronouns.

And Spencer knew it was only a matter of time before Master Robin found out all of this. People were smart. People knew how to figure things out, especially when they’re dealing with dumb slaves. Spencer would not, could not allow himself to wishfully believe that maybe Master wouldn’t find out about their pet’s fears. Master would know eventually, Master always found things out in the end.

They made dinner in another attempt to appease her. Spencer suggested it, since it’d be good to build up a good reputation before their inevitable mistake. Remington wasn’t exactly on board with the idea, but even when angry he’d do whatever he could to protect his friend. Spencer often wished Remington would stop treating him like some fragile thing that needed to be guarded at all times, but in this case he was actually thankful for the fact.

The sound of her car pulling into the driveway made Spencer flinched. Right in the nick of time too, as they had just gotten the silverware on the table.

“Master, welcome home.”

“Hey Spencer, oh, that smells good! And hey Remington, didn’t see you there. Uh, hope I wasn’t interrupting anything. You two seem tense. Is something wrong?”

“No, of course not Master. It’s just, um, I guess you got here earlier than we expected? Of course, that’s not a bad thing, I didn’t mean-“ Spencer just barely avoided stammering and making everything worse, but Master still seemed calm, not a upset in the slightest.

“Oh, yeah, I guess I did day I’d be home a little later than usual. Traffic was great and we had less work today, which made up for the time I spent at the store. Which reminds me, come here. I want to slow you something.”

Spencer tensed up even more. What could it be? Would it be painful? Was it for regular torture or a toy for the bedroom? So many possibilities!

But despite both of the slaves panic, Master Robin very calming reached into the bag she’d been carrying and took out a- stuffed bird?

“W-what exactly is it, Master?”

“Oh, don’t be frightened. I, uh, well I had heard that stuffed animals can be good for slaves, um, like it helps them cope or something. Just something soft and small to hold onto if your scared. I don’t know, I just thought maybe it could help you with the transition of moving here.” They explained, handing it to Spencer. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it yet, after all, it could be a trick. But if it wasn’t, maybe he could finally prove to Remington that Master was nice.

“But uh, yeah, that’s for you, Spence. And then I got this here,” Master went on, pulling out something else, “for Remington. It’s a weighted blanket, so you could wrap it around yourself or something and it feels like being touched, but you’re still uncomfortable around me. Which is fine, by the way! I get it, your past owners haven’t been great by the looks of it. It’s just nice I guess, to feel touch and comfort without having to actually be around people.”

Remington just huffed and took it begrudgingly, but Spencer could see in his eyes that Remington was definitely at least interested it. He wondered if Master could tell, but they seemed to buy into the ungrateful act. Her face twisting up slightly, then forcing it to relax.

“Thank you so very much for the gifts. We promise that we love them, sometimes dumb slaves are just bad at showing it. We love them and we love you, really Master. I promise.”

“Thanks Spencer, it’s okay though. Relax for me buddy. I’m not upset right now. In fact, I’m happy! I have two wonderful, um, slaves to spend the evening with, and they made me dinner. It’s really great to have you two. You’re still good.”

Master was so strange, but Spencer was grateful for that fact. Thankfully, the rest of the evening went off without incident and Master was now watching TV in the living room while Spencer and Remington finished cleaning up. They wouldn’t get time to talk except now, because Spencer knew that they would have to be by Master’s side the rest of the night and when it was time for bed, Remington would claim he’s too tired to discuss. Spencer had to act now.

“Stop doing that. Stop trying to purposely get yourself hurt.”

“Now isn’t the time-“

“Now is definitely the time. We are together, Remy. Master doesn’t anger easily, we have soft rules, and we were even given presents! This is all we could have ever dreamed of. Why do you insist on being so difficult? Why won’t you accept that this is our lives?”

“Because it shouldn’t have to!”

“Keep your voice down.” Spencer hissed. He was not getting in trouble over a stupid argument.

“We shouldn’t have to be slaves. ‘All we could ever dreamed of’? Do you even hear yourself? We could run away together, we could succeed where others failed.”

“Don’t bring that up again. We’ll fail. We’ll always fail. There’s nothing we can do about it. And I can’t watch you die for some fantasy. I can’t lose you, Rem.”

“But we could be happy, sunshine, actually happy-”

“Don’t you sunshine me. And I am happy. A slave’s purpose is to fulfill their owner’s wishes. If Master is happy, I’m happy. And this Master is so easy to please, so can you just give it a try? P-please? I can’t lose y-you, really. If I did, I don’t know- I-I don’t-“

Spencer started tearing up and his breath caught. Remington was the only source of comfort he really had. He should get happiness from pleasing his Master, but he had never been that great of a slave. That’s what he and Remington always had in common, no matter what.

“Geez, Spencer, I- I’m sorry. I may hate it here, but I never meant to make you upset. Please don’t cry. You know how awful I’m at dealing with emotions, haha. Um, god. Okay, shh, it’s okay. Let’s get you cleaned up and then let’s go to Master. I’ll tags the blame for the hold up. And that’s not me trying to get into trouble, don’t you even start again. It is my fault, I was just picking a fight.”

Spencer let Remington wipe his tears, being careful to not make too obvious of tear stains. Remington may be an idiot at times, but at least he cared for Spencer. He really didn’t know what they’d do without each other. Now, if only Remington could be convinced Master wasn’t setting up some elaborate trap. But one thing at a time.

For now, Spencer was just glad to be in moment with his friend gently drying the wet eyes and saying sweet nothings to him.

Tag list: @whumpzone @whump-me-all-night-long @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @physicsfibber @starnight-whump @whump-em @kim-poce just ask/dm me if you want to be added or removed!

[brutal-nemesis]

E&T: The Price to Pay

Hello welcome back to actually whumping Erebus 💕 I missed his screams

←Previous - Masterlist - Next→

Ingredients: tooth whump, noncon body modification, noncon touching (unsexy)

Far too soon, Erebus found himself immobilized and staring up at Zander the rat once again. They’d let him keep his shirt on this time, but that wasn’t exactly reassuring as that made it much more likely that she was going to mess with his face or somewhere else that would be difficult to hide. 

That is, if he ever even got the luxury of hiding the thing he was turning into.

Neteri came over, returning his wary gaze with a beaming smile. “How’s my favorite test subject?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m your only test subject.”

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love ya.” She ruffled his hair affectionately, and he hated that he was starting to like it when she touched him like that. “And even if I had other ones, you’d still be my favorite.”

“That so.”

“Yeah! You’re just so cute and well-behaved.” 

“I-I’m just not stupid. I know fighting doesn’t do me any good. I’m not doing it for you or anything.”

“And that’s perfectly fine, as long as the end result is the same!” She gave his head one final pat before turning and putting her gloves on. “Now, let’s get started. This should be pretty quick and easy since we’re...going to take things a little more slowly. Well okay not slowly but just...sticking to my original plan. Which means starting with the simpler procedures and working our way up. In conclusion, today really won’t be anything too bad.” She patted his cheek. “Open up.”

“I still don’t-ahh.” Erebus was expecting her to gag him again, but he felt his stomach drop when she shoved the rubber block in between his teeth instead. If she wasn’t going to do something to his tongue again, that meant...she wasn’t going to mess with his teeth, was she? 

She held up a pair of pliers, confirming his worst fears. His abject terror must have shown on his face, as she gave him a sympathetic look and squeezed his hand in her gloved one. “Just two, okay? I’ll be quick, I promise. And it’s either this or I give you a tail, which I assume you don’t want a tail.” Erebus tried to shake his head, because he most certainly did not want a tail, but the strap around his forehead prevented him from moving much. “Uh, thumbs up if you don’t want a tail and thumbs down if-wait no you can’t move your wrist.” She stared into space for a moment before coming to the solution Erebus had been thinking of from the beginning, which was pulling the rubber block out of his mouth so he could speak.

“No, I don’t want a tail,” he said tiredly. “I really don’t want you to...to pull my teeth either, but if I had to pick between the two...I’d really rather not have a tail.”

“You sure? It would be a cool tail. Venomous.”

“I am now even more sure that I absolutely do not want it.”

“You’re no fun.” She shoved the block back in, and Erebus found himself a little bit calmer, because at least he sort of chose this. Not that he in any way consented to what she was about to do to him, but he preferred it over the alternative, which was guaranteed to make him feel completely inhuman. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to steady his breathing as she started to move towards his mouth.

The sensation of the pliers against his tooth was...unpleasant, to say the least. The cold, hard metal scraped against it, sending horrific echoes through his skull. His heart started beating even faster as their grip tightened and he felt her start to pull. Was she even strong enough to do this oh Drottkia there was so much pressure building up but he knew once it gave it would-

Hurt like hell, lighting up his entire face with agony oh it felt like someone had stabbed the spot his tooth used to be with a molten nail and he tried not to scream he really did there was blood dripping down into the back of his throat and already something cold and wet was pressing into the tender flesh around the hole she’d just made it was so cold and one, two, three now it was itching, burning, agonizingly white-hot and there was nothing, nothing else besides anguish as the foreign tooth wormed its way in.

At some point after the pain mostly died out, Neteri removed the block, allowing him to relax his jaw. He tried to catch his breath as he did so, his throat already raw from screaming. Hesitantly, he moved his tongue towards the new tooth, foolishly hoping it wasn’t-it was.

A fang. A long, sharp fang. He had a fang. 

And in a few minutes, he was getting another one.

“You did so well, bud, halfway done,” Neteri reassured as she gently wiped some of the blood from around his mouth. “Can you bite together for me?” He begrudgingly did so, resisting the pointless urge to bite her as she examined the new tooth. It hadn’t aligned quite right, and it took a few tries for her to get it right, each time involving her painfully twisting it with the pliers.

When Erebus’s upper and lower jaws finally fit together properly, she shoved the block back in and gripped his remaining canine with the pliers. He hoped he’d never have to feel pliers in his mouth after today, they were so hard and cold and-hurt hurt hurt they hurt so much pulling pulling the pressure’s building up again I want this over with but I’m scared to feel that pain again but you chose it and you deserve it because you failed so endure it even as the agony stabs you in the skull even as you can’t stop screaming even as the magic burns and forces another fang into your mouth you have to endure because it’s all you can do anymore endure it endure it endure it

Thankfully, the second tooth didn’t need as much adjusting as the first, and soon enough Erebus found himself breathing a sigh of relief that at least the pain was over, even if the effects of what had just happened would be with him forever. Neteri patted him and praised him before calling in the guards, saying she’d come by his cell to check on him once she got everything cleaned up.

Back in the cell, Erebus stood in front of the mirror, as had become his weird sort of ritual after a procedure. The blood around his mouth was something he’d seen before, but as for what was inside...he knew they were there, he could feel them in there. A part of him knew, though, that once he saw them, there was no going back. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth.

The fangs were so, so apparent. They were noticeably longer than the teeth that had been there before had been, even if they weren’t as long as he had originally feared, but they looked as sharp as they felt. Once again, he couldn’t help but feel like he was some sort of monster, since he was certainly starting to look the part. He closed his jaw, hesitantly pulling his lips back into a smile-and oh, oh, that was horrific, no, no, absolutely no one would ever see that without wanting to run for their life. Maybe it was for the best that he never felt like smiling much these days. 

When Neteri came in a few minutes later, Erebus was laying on his bed, curled around his pillow as he stared blankly ahead. She crouched in front of him, head cocked to the side. “Your mouth doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“No, it’s fi-ow.” In trying to say that he felt physically alright, he’d accidentally nicked his lower lip.

“Aw, poor thing,” Neteri chuckled sympathetically, reaching up and healing the little puncture with a tap of her finger and a spark of magic. “You’ll get used to them eventually.” Erebus elected not to respond, simply looking away. Why did she think she was in any position to feel sorry for him when she was the one causing him all this pain in the first place? And for what? He didn’t move as she stood up, but he was startled when she gently scooped up his head, sitting down in the spot where it had been before letting it drop back down. Onto her lap.

He panicked slightly, trying to sit up, but she held him down. “It’s alright, Erebus. Just lie still.” He opened his mouth to protest, but how was he supposed to explain that he didn’t want to be comforted this way, that he didn’t want to associate this feeling with her, that this was something only his mother (and Lythia, on a couple wonderful occasions) had done with him? Thoughts of both of them, of his life before all this, of his home, started to overwhelm him, and before he knew it he was crying. Again.

Neteri didn’t say a word, simply stroking his hair and rubbing his back as he clutched the pillow and sobbed about anything and everything. He missed his father and his home and his bed and his friends and the palace gardens and his freedom and having control over his own body and not being chained up all the time and how, how could Neteri act like she cared about him while she was cutting him into pieces he wished she would just stop because part of him was starting to like her and want her to do things like stroke his hair and that was wrong he shouldn’t like the person who-who owned him because he was owned he was he knew it deep down and he’d never admit it but it was true and he hated it and he wished he could hate her and he didn’t see how things would ever, ever be okay again and he was powerless to do anything but cry as the woman who was keeping him captive imitated the love of people he’d never see again.

At some point after he started to calm down, he felt one of Neteri’s hands leave him and opened his eyes to see that she was holding something in front of his face. “Here, I found this when I was going through my bag the other day. Did you want to keep it?” she said as she held out a light blue ribbon, the one she’d pulled out of his hair before cutting it off. The ribbon that had belonged to his mother. He quickly snatched it up and held it close to his chest, afraid of losing it again. 

“Thanks,” Erebus said quietly, rubbing the familiar silk between his fingers. It really did mean a lot to him to have this little piece of his old life, even if his hair was nowhere near long enough to tie it in. 

“Of course.” She stroked his hair a few more times before giving him a final pat and sliding out from underneath his head. He sat up and wiped the last few tears out of his eyes, not even flinching when her hand slid under his chin and tilted it up slightly. “Erebus, I just want you to know that if you ever want to talk about anything, you can just let me know, alright? I understand if you don’t want to, given, uh,” her other hand poked at the tag attached to his collar, “but if you do...I’m here, okay?” He just nodded, despite the fact that he sincerely doubted he’d ever take her up on that offer. Accepting comfort like he’d just done was bad enough.

After Neteri left, Erebus looked down at the ribbon, wondering what he should do with it. The thought of tying it to his collar crossed his mind, but he decided against it. He didn’t want something his mother had touched anywhere near that awful thing. His wrist, then? Not his right one, not on that foreign arm that he still hadn’t had any luck in transforming. He settled on his left wrist, tying it rather sloppily since he could only use one hand to make the knot. 

Looking at it, thinking of everything he’d lost, Erebus realized that despite everything, despite how miserable he was, despite how much he wanted to escape this place, he still didn’t want to die. He didn’t know if it was hope that things would get better, fear of death, or something else entirely, but he realized that he wanted to live. He wanted to survive.

And if he needed to accept Neteri’s comfort every so often in order to keep himself sane, then so be it.

Next→

Tags: @dramaticcollapse @thehopelessopus @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @galaxywhump @as-a-matter-of-whump @mnmlover2002 @tears-and-lilies @yet-another-heathen @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @starnight-whump @unicornscotty @thebewilderer @kixngiggles @itallstartedwithharry @inky-whump

[hale-13]

Conditioned

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 16 - Touch Starved

“Can I take a shower?” Peter blurted out, shifting uncomfortably. He felt gross from the dried sweat and the bloody residue that was left on his scalp and around his hair line felt the intense need to get cleaned - broken arm be damned.

Words: 2084, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Helen Cho

TW: Literally None - Just Fluff

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Well Peter, I see no reason why you should have to stay here any longer as long as you promise to actually rest and allow yourself to heal,” Helen said firmly but with a smile toward him and Peter nearly sagged with obvious relief.

“Oh thank god,” he said he’d, already struggling in his attempts to climb out of the MedBay bed he had been sentenced to since the day before with some help from Tony. He flinched a little as he tweaked his sore arms, moving the wrong way, but trying to keep his muscles as relaxed as possible to prevent any further damage. His recovery is going to be annoying enough as it is without making it worse.

In his most recent fight against the Shocker the night before, he had caught a direct hit on his right arm which had successfully and cleaning broken his radius and ulna in two. In his haste to get away and then catch himself on a poorly shot strand of webbing he had dislocated his left shoulder. The pain had been so stunning he had barely been able to finish webbing up Shocker and get away before the police showed up.

It probably didn’t do much to help the injuries when he had swung back to the Tower but he had been numb and delirious by that point so he probably wasn’t really thinking straight. He does remember Tony not being super impressed with him when he nearly passed out as soon as he landed.

“I’m serious about resting,” Dr. Cho warned him as she helped him settle his, still sore and recently reduced, arm into a sling. “You need to take it easy for at least another few days or you’ll risk re-injury and possibly surgery.”

“Oh that shouldn’t be a problem,” Tony said breezily. “I have no problem cuffing him to a bed if I have to.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whined, trying to stand and balance without using either of his arms – it was much harder than he thought it would be – and already trying to edge toward the door. Tony just quirked up an eyebrow at him.

“Your aunt, definitely against her better judgement and with an amazing amount of misplaced trust, is letting you stay here with me so you don’t get into any more trouble during your convalescence so if you could just work with me for a couple of days here that would be much appreciated,” he told Peter very pointedly with a final wave at Helen as he herded Peter toward the elevator at the end of the hall.

Peter just rolled his eyes at his mentors dramatics but allowed himself to be directed – to tell the absolute truth, his arms still hurt pretty badly and he wasn’t really looking forward to his oral painkillers (that made him sleepy and emotional) and his anti-inflammatories (that made him into a right bastard if he was being honest) and trying to convince Tony that he didn’t need either. He wasn’t super confident about his success rate with that. “Can I take a shower?” He blurted out, shifting uncomfortably. He felt gross from the dried sweat and the bloody residue that was left on his scalp and around his hair line.

“You know that you can’t get your cast wet,” Tony reminded him holding up a hand when Peter opened his mouth to interrupt. “I mean, I suppose I can wrap it in a bag or something if you really want to shower that bad.”

“Yes please,” Peter eagerly agreed. Ever since the Bite all of his senses had been more sensitive but none more so than his sense of smell and he wasn’t a particularly big fan of the fact that he could currently smell himself. It made his skin crawl and was completely disgusting.

“Alright then,” Tony nodded. “Shower first and then a movie marathon slash prescribed nap directly after. Do we have a deal then Mr. Parker?”

“Only if we can get pizza for dinner later,” Peter bartered as the elevator opened up on Tony’s floor of the compound. “With pineapple this time,” he continued with a wrinkled nose, “the olives you got last time were disgusting!”

“You have astonishingly terrible taste but yes fine. Pizza later.” Tony nodded, herding both of them into the kitchen with a single-minded determination. The Wal-Mart and cling wrap cast protection apparatus Mr. Stark rigged together left a fair amount to be desired in the looks department but was completely functional when it came to water-proofing which was good enough for Peter.

It took some skill to slip away from his mentor but Peter was soon slipping into his room, struggling to get out of the sling on his own and finally succeeding. It made him wince from the extra pain it caused but it didn’t overshadow the relief of doing it on his own. He knew his limits from previous dislocations and knew that it was crucial to not overdue it while the joint was healing or he risked the chance of re-injury and, as Dr. Cho had reminded him earlier, surgery.

With a grimace, Peter rested that arm across his stomach and used his bagged up right arm to pull his shirt over his head. He was barely able to manage it when it pulled at his sore muscles and broken bones. Maybe he should use a button down or zippered hoodie instead.

Thanks to FRIDAY (bless her seriously), the water of his shower was already running and warmed up to his preferred setting of skin melting and he was quick to turn his back into the spray and luxuriate under it for an extended time. The high pressured water felt amazing on his back and shoulders, loosening up the knots and clenched muscles and providing relief.

“You doing okay in there kid? You drown yet?” Tony asked, knocking on the door and indiscernible amount of time later and knocking Peter out of his stupor.

“I’m good!” Peter called back, hurriedly reaching out for his body wash and cloth painfully and cleaning himself up to the best of his – limited – ability. By the time he was ready to wash his hair and hairline he felt exhausted and achy despite the excellent water pressure and all the good work it and the heat had done to relieve the pain in his shoulder and back. “Fuck,” he cursed, trying to lift his arm above chest level and spectacularly failing, finding himself unable to without making his muscles seize.

Peter was pretty bendy due to his powers so he attempted a couple different contortions to reach his head before just flat out giving up, turning off the water and taking his towel off the heated towel rack installed in the bathroom (rich people – seriously). It took longer than Peter cared to admit, but he was able to dry and dress himself in sweats and a zippered hoodie. He was even able to shuck the bag off his cast with little struggle so he was feeling pretty decent when he ventured into the living room with his hair sopping wet and dripping onto his shoulders since he wasn’t able to adequately dry it. Whatever. It would dry on its own eventually.

“And what’s all this supposed to be?” Tony asked, glancing up from his phone and wrinkling his nose but not moving from where he was leaned against the counter in the kitchen. “Why are you dripping all over my floor?”

Peter fought off a blush and tried to hunch his shoulders, stopping when it hurt. “I couldn’t reach up to get my hair,” he grumbled, failing to completely push down his blush.

“I guess that explains all the blood still caked in there,” Tony hummed, leaning over to move the dampened curls around to look at the blood still matting some of his hair together and crusting up around his scalp. “Well that’s pretty easily remedied. Welcome to the salon Underoos,” Tony said, pulling over one of the barstools and setting it in front of the kitchen sink, gesturing for Peter to sit.

“Uh… what?” Peter questioned, brows furrowing in confusion.

“I’ll wash your hair for you,” Tony clarified, looking pointedly between Peter and the stool again. “Just sit down while I go and grab some things!” And, with that, he took off in the direction of the bedrooms and associated en suites.

Peter, still pretty confused but (mostly) trusting his mentor, sat down unsteadily on the stool just as Tony came back around the corner with an armful of towels, shampoo and conditioner bottles along with a wide-toothed comb and an expensive looking hair dryer. He triumphantly arranged everything on the counter next to the deep sink and wrapped one of the towels around Peter’s neck. “Lean back buddy,” Tony said, using a finger to push on the center of Peter’s forehead until he gave in and let himself be pushed back to lean back with his head in the sink.

Doing his best to ignore the weirdness of it all (weirdness was pretty common around Tony Stark after all), Peter closed his eyes and crossed his arms across his stomach as the water turned on. He tensed up a little when he felt fingers start dragging through his hair but was quick to relax and release the tension in his body under the careful massage of his mentor’s hands through his hair and the warm water cascading across his scalp. He let out a little hum of contentment.

Tony let out a soft chuckle, squirting a healthy dollop of the shampoo into his hands and lathering it up before applying it to Peter’s hair, working through the snarls and tangles with care and scrubbing the leftover blood out of the curls. Peter went nearly boneless under his ministrations and Tony would definitely be lying if he said he didn’t milk the washing and conditioning portion at least a little bit. He knew that Peter had to be feeling pretty miserable and it settled something buried deep inside him to provide just a little extra comfort.

All too soon, though, he had rinsed out the last of the conditioner leaving Peter’s hair clean and dripping as he turned off the water. Peter made no move to get up or to open his eyes, breathing deeply and seemingly on the very verge of sleep, so Tony grabbed one of the towels and started to wring the extra water out of the kid’s hair, running the towel through it cautiously. “Just need you to sit up for a second here kiddo okay? Then you can nap, scout’s honor.”

Peter grunted and grumbled but did slit his eyes open and let Tony help him sit up, swaying back and forth and little on the stool and Tony ran the towel through his hair a couple more times to really get rid of the water as much as possible. He dropped the towel on the counter in exchange for the comb and the hair dryer. He ran the comb through the mess a few times before starting the hair dryer up. Peter practically melted as the warmed air fluffed up his curls. It didn’t take long to dry at all and, by the time he was done, Peter was listing forward nearly into Tony’s chest.

“Couch or bed buddy?” Tony asked with a fond smile, running his hands through Peter’s warmed and clean hair.

“Couch,” Peter muttered, leaning into his petting and making Tony’s chest warm up. This kid… god. He ended up supporting most of Peter’s weight but was able to quickly get him lying face down on the supple cushions with his head pillowed on one of the throw pillows resting on Tony’s lap, the ratty fleece blanket Tony kept draped over they back of the couch draped over him and a heating pad resting across his healing shoulder.

“Let’s start a Star Wars marathon FRI. Volume at thirty percent,” FRIDAY was quiet as she dimmed the lights and started the movie, the familiar logo and music making Peter relax even further into the couch, completely gone. As the opening theme ended and the camera panned to the shots of Leia’s ship, he felt Mr. Stark’s hand rest on his back, digging into the knotted muscles of his back.

It maybe wasn’t ideal to mess up his arms so much but, Peter thought, he couldn’t think of a better way to spend his recovery.

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

whumptober day 10: bleeding out

spn time!

i think i’ve come to the realisation that i just can’t write whump--i get too distracted with the weird stuff.

summary: set during 15.19. there’s one final roadtrip that sam and dean have to take with michael and jack before they figure out a way to outsmart god. 

warnings: spoilers for 15.19. AU, somewhat. non-graphic description of major injuries. not much whump per se, more weirdness.

i was thinking of @katsidhe while writing this! i hope to write more fics set during this time in canon.

bleeding out

The drive from Hastings to Lebanon would usually take about ten hours, give or take an hour depending on traffic and how long they stopped for refreshment. For someone who’s lived on the road their whole life, it’s quite average as journeys go. Sam-as-a-kid would’ve counted the distance with chapters of the book he was reading; teenage Sam with songs on his beat-up walkman; post-Stanford Sam, burning and raw, with nightmares and breathing exercises. 

It’s different after the Cage--time’s different. He can go on for ages before its passage starts to wear on him. If anything, he prefers being on the road to the weeks spent in the Bunker; at least on the outside, he can ground himself in the passage of day and night. It’s easier, too, now to fill the silence between too-loud rock music and too-glib banter: Sam disappears inside himself while Dean…

Well. That’s what he spends time inside of himself to try not to think about.

This is all to say that when the world ends one last time, and they have to make the journey from Hastings to Lebanon as the very last living beings on Earth, Sam expects the journey to be quick, or to at least feel that way. Jack and Michael sit in the back--determinedly not looking at each other--while Sam and Dean sit in the front, silent and utterly out of platitudes. It’s all familiar to the point of comfort.

It’s just that when they actually get on the highway, the road is filled with vehicles. It’s not the apocalyptic scenes that Sam was imagining: cars careening into each other and exploding into giant fireballs as their drivers disappeared, planes falling out of the sky, the lesser disaster of a billion cups of coffee all falling to the ground all at once. Instead, the cars are parked in neat lines, doors closed, as though their drivers decided all at once to just… stop, step out, and disappear forever. Sam thinks it’s the eeriest goddamned thing he’s ever seen as Dean slowly navigates the Impala through this maze of vehicles.

“This is His mercy,” Michael says, out-of-the-blue. His voice breaks the utter stillness of the world around them and makes Sam jump a little. “After everything, He’s given humanity a way back to what they were.”

“Shut up,” Dean growls, and pours on some more speed.

“He hasn’t destroyed life, though He well could have; merely suspended it until He sees what He wants to see from us--”

“Did I stutter? Shut it.” They’ve reached a relatively vacant stretch of the road, and the car goes faster. “Chuck never has a deeper plan. All he wants to do is sit back and literally watch the world burn.” Dean grits his teeth. “Not this time--”

He makes a sharp turn, just in time to see a gigantic eighteen-wheeler stopped haphazardly across the width of the road. Dean slams the breaks and turns to avoid crashing into the truck--Michael and Jack make concerned noises while Sam braces himself against the body of the car--it skids and teeters nauseatingly before Sam is thrown forward--his head hits the dashboard with a sickening thunk and then he knows no more.

-

Sam wakes to a clear blue sky and Michael sitting next to him, humming… an old pop song?

“Adam’s favourite,” Michael says without a pause to let Sam take stock of what was happening. “Annoying little ditty to have to hear for centuries, but… catchy.” There’s a sudden cold menace to his voice that would’ve taken Sam aback had he been able to form more than one coherent thought. “Good at drowning out your screaming, at any rate.”

“Dean,” Sam tries to say, gurgling it through a mouthful of blood.

Michael casts a disinterested look at somewhere beyond Sam. “The spawn’s taking care of him.” He tilts his head. “He’s alive. I think.”

“I--” Sam tries to move. His chest lights on fire almost immediately, but he’s able to curl the fingers of one hand and that’s--that’s earth. He’s on the ground, out of the car. Which means--

“I pulled you out. Well--” Michael gives an amused huff. “Most of you, anyway.”

Well if that doesn’t sound terrifying as fuck. Sam takes a quick inventory of his own body--scrapes, cuts, burns, broken bones, nothing he hasn’t dealt with a million times before--then realises that he can’t feel anything below his right elbow. There’s a warm puddle of blood that’s quickly gathering underneath him.

Sam opens his mouth to ask for help. Realises there’s none to ask for, none to give. Sinks back into the ground.

Michael’s pulled his knees to his chest, resting his chin on his arm, and is staring at the sun dipping under the horizon. “If He thinks you have a purpose, he’ll bring you back.” He smiles, and it’s sharp and bitter. “How many ever times it takes to prove His point.”

(i’ll just bring you back, sam.)

“Sammy!” At least Dean sounds ok. That’s good. Wouldn’t do for half of the world’s remaining population to go down together.

“Keep… keep singing,” Sam says.

For the first time, Michael looks startled, but he obliges and begins humming again. Sam closes his eyes--to the music, to the sky over this silent, frozen world, and to the snake tongue whispering in his ear.

[jolinarjackson]

Hey! Do you have any irondad fic recs? I just started reading Peter and Tony fics again and I would love any recs you have!

Hello!

Yes, I do! :D It's by no means complete because I am still busy compiling, but I have quite a few already.

For all the below stories, please heed the tags and warnings on AO3. And of course, feel also free to check out my stories. :)

My AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JolinarJackson/works

The below fics are not compiled in any particular order.

If I Die Young by MusicalLuna

Summary: Tony and Steve are trying to keep their little boy (who's not so little anymore) out of the superhero business for as long as possible, but when a kid's as stubborn as Peter is, they can't always stop him.

And sometimes things go wrong. Really, really wrong.

Categories: Superfamily, Not MCU!Peter Parker

Comment: This is a wonderful whump story that I go back to again and again.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/423790

-----

Lightning in a Bottle by Gruoch

Summary: Peter takes the tablet and looks down at the screen, where a picture of Spider-Man intimately entangled in a passionate embrace with Johnny Storm is displayed across the majority of the Daily Bugle’s home page. TORCH CAUGHT IN SPIDER-MAN’S WEB, the headline reads, bracketed by spider and flame emojis. Peter looks back up at Tony, who is still staring at him completely stone-faced.

Tony reaches across the island and taps the screen. “So. What do you have to say about that?”

“Well. For one, I’m a little disappointed with the headline,” Peter offers.

Tony lets his chin drop against his chest, momentarily defeated, before taking a deep breath and once more skewering Peter with a hard look. “You could have at least given me some warning that the two of you are...I mean, I had my suspicions, but—”

“You’re misconstruing the situation. Spider-Man and the Torch are dating,” Peter explains. “Johnny and I are just friends.”

“Boy, you’re really leaning hard into this whole alter ego thing, aren’t you?” Tony deadpans. “How’s that working out for you?”

Categories: Irondad, SpideyTorch

Comment: I love stories taking advantage of the havoc that secret superhero identities can wreak on romantic relationships. The best about this particular story is the witty writing, which makes Peter being a chaotic mess in this even better.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23413219

-----

The doubts that complicate by @frostysunflowers

Summary: "But he’s smart!" May had blurted, looking up at the teacher with misplaced anger. "I don’t...how does this make sense?"

She was worried, unaware, unprepared, not like Peter who had known for a while that some things were trickier for him than other kids. All the rules hidden in cheerful little rhymes and singing songs about which letters get along and those who don’t play nice; all the robotic reciting of the alphabet nearly every day: none of it had ever truly helped Peter understand how it all worked.

A brand new door opened in his life that day. On the front of it, the word ‘DYSLEXIC’ was printed in bold, the certainty of what it meant holding the letters permanently in place.

or

Nobody ever said being smart was easy.

Categories: Irondad

Comment: This is a wonderful read. @frostysunflowers manages to describe dyslexia in a way that makes the struggle understandable. The relationship between Tony and Peter is heart-warming. This is a great read if you're in the mood for something that is not too long and still want a good dosage of H/C.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23989531

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Accepting the Tides by Emma_Anacortes

Summary: Tony had dragged Peter from the depths of despair after May's death. It was normal that he'd grown to care a little about him, right?

Yeah, okay. He freaking loved the kid.

So naturally he would feel a little weird when Richard Parker randomly shows up in Peter's life. Naturally he'd feel protective, nervous, and confused because where has Richard been all this time? And why does Tony feel sick every time he sees him around Peter?

All he knows is if Richard hurts his kid, Tony's gonna give him hell.

Categories: Irondad, Steve & Peter

Comment: This story is intense, no doubt about it. Please heed all the warnings and tags carefully. However, if you give it a try, it's so worth it. This story presents a different backstory to the relationship of Peter and his parents (especially his father) while exploring Peter and Tony forging a father/son-bond in the wake of May's death. I have to say that the the relationship between Peter and Steve in this story is just as prominent and amazingly written. I loved every second of it.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11885844/chapters/26843274

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with arms wide open by @parkrstark

Summary: Tony and Pepper are expecting a baby and Peter may be the one most excited...just maybe…

Categories: Irondad, Pepperony

Comment: This is undeniably cute and heart-warming: Tony and Pepper get pregnant and Peter is right there with them, freaking out. Peter spends this story preparing to become a big brother while still being unsure about whether this is the role he is going to fulfill in the baby's life. This stoy focsses on the found family that is Tony, Pepper and Peter, but there are wonderful interactions with May, Rhodey and Happy as well.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14540409

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the stars the moon they have all been blown out (you left me in the dark) by @madasthesea

Summary: It starts off with his vision fading in and out.

What kind of demon drug can make someone go blind by inhaling a single lungful? Whatever it is, Tony doubts it’s reversible. And while Peter’s no idiot, he can be idiotically optimistic. He's determined to fix what appears to be unfixable.

Categories: Irondad

Comment: This story is experienced entirely from Tony's point of view, which make the effects of the drug and his reaction to it all the more poignant. Tony's relationship to Peter is especially highlighted in this story. You can only imagine the worry and pain Peter geos through unil the very end of the story and the pay-off is worth it. I want to highlight the way that Tony's experiecne of the effects of the drug are described here, because I thought that was superb writing and put the reader righ in Tony's shoes.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15795141/chapters/36757500

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turn back the clock (and I'll try again in the morning) by @madasthesea

Summary: Peter gets stuck in a time loop. In it, he lives through some of his worst nightmares, only to wake up that morning and have no one remember. He needs Tony to help him get through.

And if that isn't bad enough, his identity is revealed over and over, every day.

Categories: Irondad

Comment: This story is just SO GOOD. Not only is Peter experiencing the same day over and over again and his identity is revealed, but the way it happens also gets more and more taxing and gruesome. This story has emotional highpoints that are written fantastically and the Irondad in this is just heart-warming.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18023177/chapters/42585071

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How The Mighty Fall by Meep_Morp

Summary: Since his duel against Toomes on Coney Island, Peter's life has settled down considerably. May knows about his double life and accepts it (mostly). Tony has welcomed him back, and given him more independence as New York's Spider-Man.

One night during patrol he crosses paths with Connor, a teenager who has Extremis in his blood and answers to the wrong kind of people. Though Tony is quick to distrust him, Peter finds himself reluctant to follow his mentor's lead, and a bond develops between the two boys. Their relationship is further complicated when Connor's former master, Negative, makes it a personal mission to destroy them both in his quest for power.

Taking down a superpowered psychopath? Tough, but Peter isn't going to back down.

Stopping Tony from blasting his first potential boyfriend into space? He might need a miracle for that.

Categories: Irondad

Comment: This story is so intricately plotted and just a joy to read. The characters are written to perfection and this includes an absolutely fantastic and fleshed-out OC who, as a reader, you come to care about easily and quickly. Much more subtle is the relationship between Peter and Tony in this fic but every single scene is on-point. I have read and re-read this story several times and it is hard to put aside once you start.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18084407/chapters/42745826

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Project Pride by TheSleepingOwl

Summary: In hindsight, it should have been obvious. The signs were all there, unwittingly scattered by Peter like breadcrumbs for Tony to follow—the way he would fall into uncomfortable silence when the topic of dating came up, or become flustered whenever Tony teased him about the mysterious Michelle-Call-Me-MJ character Peter was constantly gushing about, or deflect Tony’s mostly-joking inquiries into whether or not they needed to be having The Talk with a hurricane of splutters and blushes.

And even without the signs, Peter was still his kid. Tony was just supposed to know these things.

So when FRIDAY pulled up Peter’s search history—‘how can i make myself not like boys,’ ‘can you force yourself to be attracted to girls,’ ‘how to stop your friends from knowing youre gay,’ and, most devastating, ‘how can i keep my parents from finding out im gay’—Tony wasn’t surprised so much as deeply, unquantifiably ashamed. Because he should have known.

Categories: Irondad

Comment: This story is an incredibly written POV of Tony coming to terms with Peter's sexuality. It's achingly realistic in the way Tony struggles to connect to Peter, knowing that he's gay. Additionally, this story has a hefty doese of Hurt/Comfort thrown in that hurts when reading it. This is a gem.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22135138/chapters/52834021

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Birds Eating Other Birds by aloneintherain

Summary: Peter wishes he hadn’t gotten out of bed that morning. Then, maybe, he wouldn’t be reduced to this - limp-crawling through the rabbit burrows that is Oscorp Tower, a monster of a man on his heels, bloody and bruised and choking on a panic attack.

Categories: Irondad, not MCU!Peter Parker

Comment: I love aloneintherain's stories. I read them when I first got into Avengers fanfic and the way they write dynamics is great. This one is intense and the way it's written sucks you right into it. Norman Osborn is so evil and creepy in this one. Part one is mainly hurt, but stick around for the comfort in part 2!

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7626433

----- And here are some Avengers team dynamic fics as well -----

It Was Probably The Pudding by Serendipity_Cometh

Summary: Given that over the course of the past eleven months Peter Parker hasn't contracted so much as a head-cold, the teenager thought it safe to assume that the whole 'irradiated spider bite' gig had equipped him with an immune system of steel that rivalled Captain America's.

So when he wakes up one night in the midst of the worst asthma attack he's suffered in almost eight years, neither he nor the rest of the team can think of a logical explanation.

And everything sort of goes downhill from there.

Categories: Team, Stony, Clint/Phil, not MCU!Peter Parker

Comment: When I started out reading Avengers fanfictions, I stumbled across this one and go back to it on a regular basis. Lots of whump and great team dynamics.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953538/chapters/1865305

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In the Home by aloneintherain

Summary: The Avengers have been infected, turned violent and aggressive against their will. And Peter, the only one unaffected, is trapped inside the Tower with six feral teammates.

“Natasha,” Peter says cautiously, “what happened here? Steve attacked me, and if there was ever a sign that something was wrong, it’s having the embodiment of Truth, Justice, and the American Way throw you across the room -”

Natasha comes closer, her stride controlled. Nothing necessarily out of the ordinary, but there’s something in her face, in her eyes -

Natasha lunges across the space, and slams into Peter, hard.

Categories: Team, not MCU!Peter Parker

Comment: One of my very early reads when I started out in the Avengers fandom. Excellent whump, hurt/comfort and team dynamics.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5388563/chapters/12446069

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Fitting In (Tiny Spaces) by aloneintherain

Summary: Peter's trapped beneath a collapsed building during a mission, hurt and unable to move. Luckily, his comm still works. Unluckily, the Avengers don’t realise how bad of a state Peter is in, and Peter isn’t inclined to tell them.

“Spidey, they’ve got reinforcements. We’ve hit a bit of a snag here, and I don’t think anyone will be able to help you for a while. Think you can sit tight while we deal with this?”

The pressure on his lower back and legs was becoming too much. Peter swallowed thickly, fighting down panic. He could handle this.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I can do that.”

Categories: Team, not MCU!Peter Parker

Comment: There are so many "Peter trapped under a building"-stories out there but this is the one I read first and it stuck with me. Loved the team dynamic in this.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4232937

[eugene-not-flynn]

chanteur depths

title: chanteur depths

word count: 1762

Warnings: drowning and peril (or the belief that someone is), siren-like creatures, eugene cries, almost throwing yourself overboard, Varian angst/emotional whump, Eugene angst/emotional whump, unedited. 

Summary: Eugene had heard rumors and stories. None of them prepared him for what he’d hear sailing through the Chanteur Depths. He has a strong will. He also has a breaking point. Eugene-centric New Dream fic (with some platonic Team Awesome + Lance content in the beginning). 

A/N: this was supposed to be a short textpost and then my brain went “hey, lets make it a fic right this very moment”. So have this. I wrote it in one sitting in an unexpected burst of inspiration and did not edit it. I may go back and edit it, but that day was not today. Hope you enjoy it anyway! 

--

The wood of the ship creaks with the waves, and Eugene squints up at the darkening sky. Slate gray clouds block the early evening sun from view so effectively it’s nearly dark, and the ship tilts with the crest of an angry wave. Eugene’s hands tighten around the rope he’s holding to keep the sail steady, his gut rolling with discomfort.

He was not a sailor by trade, but he’d been on a ship or two in his lifetime. By his best calculations, he knew they had to be approaching the Chanteur Depths and the thought makes his stomach squirm. The rumors and stories he’d heard all those years ago had been enough to make his skin crawl. Eugene wasn’t much for superstition, but he knew enough about reading people to tell, most of the time, when someone was making something up.

The haunted, shaken look in those sailors’ eyes hadn’t been fabricated.

They draw you in, kid, one sailor had told him years before he’d met Rapunzel. She’d looked a little green as she’d said it. You think your will is strong but then you sail into Chanteur Depths and… well. I’ll never forget those sounds.

When Varian mentioned needing a rare mineral that could only be found, based on his extensive research, on in island just past the Chanteur Depths, Eugene had actually laughed. It was just their luck, really. Eugene had explained what he knew, and Varian and Rapunzel had set to work on pursuing their own research. There wasn’t much information about the Chanteur Depths, and it didn’t take them long to learn it was because few ever come back from it. Still, despite this, they set off together with Lance in tow.

Eugene was beginning to wonder if maybe it was a huge mistake. It didn’t matter though. It was too late to turn back now.

They had agreed to plug their ears with wax, just in case. It had been Rapunzel’s idea, based on Eugene’s recounting of what he’d heard. Through the torrential downpour of rain that drenches the ship’s deck in the raging storm, Eugene sees Lance shove wax into his own ears and Rapunzel disappear down below to retrieve more for Varian and Eugene.

And then, so suddenly that Eugene nearly slips, everything stills.

The rocking waves are abruptly—unnaturally—still. The rain stops, and Eugene flips his sopping wet hair out of his eyes. The sky is still overcast, but everything is calm and still and it should, by all accounts, relax him. Instead, it sets his teeth on edge.

He locks eyes with Lance across the ship, matching his frown. He knew his friend well enough to recognize the look. Lance was suspicious too. He cocks an eyebrow at Eugene, who sets his mouth in a grim line. I don’t trust it. Lance gives a single nod. His grip around the helm flexes.

Still, without the wind buffeting the sails, Eugene lets his grip on the ropes go a little lax, if only to get circulation back into his fingers. He takes a deep breath of salt and brine, letting his gaze flit over the rest of the sailing vessel quickly. His brow knits together when he sees Varian, standing in the middle of the deck, staring out at the horizon line.

For a moment, Eugene is struck by just how young Varian is. The kid is sixteen and he looks every bit of it, with his sopping wet clothes hanging off his lanky frame and hair falling into his eyes despite the goggles on his head. Then Varian’s head tilts, and Eugene frowns at the weird, clouded look in his eyes.

When the kid takes a faltering step forward, Eugene moves on nothing but instinct.

“Varian!”

Varian breaks into a run for the edge of the ship but Eugene is a few steps ahead of him. He lunges at the same time Varian does. They land hard against the wood of the ship and the wind is knocked out of him. Eugene blindly grabs onto the messy tangle of limbs, tasting copper when a sharp elbow makes contact with his jaw.

“Varian--!”

“I’m coming, Dad!” Varian’s voice is strangled and desperate. “I’m coming! Eugene, let go—”

“Kid, you can’t—”

“Let go!”

Eugene squeezes tighter as Varian nearly slips from his grasp, yanking the kid back and trying to roll on  top of him. Varian was slippery and quick, but Eugene was heavier and stronger. Varian makes a noise that doesn’t sound fully human—something almost like a broken sob—and there’s movement in the corner of Eugene’s eyes that is just enough warning for him to block the wide swing of a fist.

“It’s not real, Varian,” Eugene grits out as he manages to wrestle Varian’s weight to the ground. “Whatever you’re hearing, it’s not—”

“I do!” Varian shouts over to the ocean, thrashing against Eugene’s grip, and it’s then that Eugene sees tears beginning to form in the corner of the teen’s eyes. “I do, Dad! I want to—I’m coming! Don’t—”

But the deck is wet with rain and Eugene’s hands are slippery and Varian wrestles away. Eugene grabs for him blindly and his fist closes around air.

“Wait--!”

“Oh no you don’t, kid.”

Eugene sees Lance intercept Varian and coughs a breath in relief as he manages to get Varian into a firmer hold. Eugene rolls from his back to his hands and knees, taking a second to catch his breath. He tries to pretend he can’t hear Varian’s desperate shouting for his father, or Lance muttering something to him under his breath.

“Eugene.”

Eugene’s mouth twitches in a soft, relieved smile. He knew that voice. Rapunzel was back from below deck with the wax.

“Hey, Sunshine.” He looks up, sitting back on his heels and freezes. Rapunzel was nowhere to be seen.

“Eugene, I’m over here.”

Eugene glances in the direction of the sound. Portside. From the ocean? His blood turns cold, and he pushes himself to his feet. He manages a weak laugh.

“Yeah, nice try,” he says with a bravado that feels flimsy. “Look, I don’t know what you are, but I know Rapunzel is—”

But then there’s that laugh. That soft little giggle that always made that odd swooping feeling in his stomach, and Eugene finds his voice faltering for just a moment.

“The water is really nice, Eugene,” says Rapunzel’s voice. “Come join me. Just for a quick swim.”

Eugene blinks hard and shakes his head. Not real. It wasn’t real. Rapunzel was below deck.

“Please, Eugene?” the voice continues. “I just wanted to get a moment alone with you. A moment with just you and me. The water is so nice, Eugene.”

Eugene clenches his jaw. Crosses his arms over his chest. He breathes deeply. Not real. “No dice, mysterious disembodied voice,” Eugene quips. “But—”

“EUGENE!” The voice is still Rapunzel’s, this time closer to the stern. Eugene is moving before he’s even thinking about it, the raw fear in her voice palpable. Eugene lurches towards the sound a few steps before his foot slips. The sudden balance shift is enough to jolt him back to awareness.

That…. That’s not Rapunzel either. Right?

“Eugene, please!” Rapunzel’s voice echoes from that same direction, strained and terrified. Eugene’s stomach rolls. “Please, I can’t—please, Eugene. I’m—” Her voice cuts off and there’s the sound of splashing water and Eugene falters in his steps again.

Rapunzel… where was Rapunzel again?

Another splash. Her voice, higher and more panicked. A wordless, throaty scream.

Not real, not real, not real— The reminder repeats like a mantra in Eugene’s head but it is hard to listen to it when the sound of Rapunzel drowning and begging for him seems to ricochet in the air. It makes the air itself hard to breathe.

Eugene squeezes his eyes shut, and when he hears her broken, gurgling gasp for air that chokes off with the sound of his name, he nearly leaps over the edge. He clamps his hands firmly over his ears. It’s not real, it’s not her, it’s not real, it’s not her—

But it sounds like her, so crystal clear that it hits like a hammer against the caving feeling in Eugene’s chest and he can’t quite contain the pained noise in the back of his throat as he curls around himself (when did he drop to his knees? He doesn’t know). He’s listening to Rapunzel drown and he’s not doing anything, why isn’t he doing anything—

Suddenly there’s warmth covering his shivering hands on his head, trying to pry them away and Eugene instinctively flinches away from the touch, his gaze flying up as he rears back.

His eyes lock onto green ones, wide and worried under a furrowed brow. Her short brown hair is wet with rain and a windswept mess, but Eugene meets those beautiful green eyes and suddenly can’t look away. A part of him is afraid to, as if this is just one more hallucination or trick.

“Sunshine?” he manages weakly.

Rapunzel’s gaze flit over him and she reaches out again for the hands that are still clamped around Eugene’s ears. The contact is just as jarring—and just as warm—as it had been a moment ago, but Eugene lets her pry his hands off of him and hold them in her own. It’s not until Rapunzel’s grip tightens that he realizes he’s trembling a little.

A second later, Eugene realizes everything is silent again. He’s distantly aware of the sound of Varian sobbing.

Eugene opens his mouth to say something, but his throat closes and he just shakes his head and shrugs a shoulder at Rapunzel’s searching gaze. He doesn’t know how to explain it. He doesn’t have the words right now.

Rapunzel moves closer, slowly like she’s afraid of startling him again. When she cups Eugene’s face in her hands, Eugene sinks into the touch. Real. Grounding.

“Eugene,” she whispers, and that’s her voice, her real voice, and Eugene inhales sharply at the sound. The softness with which she says his name is such a stark contrast to the strangled, desperate way the echoes of it had been calling to him from the water that he finds his vision blurring with sudden tears.

Rapunzel presses her forehead to Eugene’s. When he blinks, Rapunzel’s thumb brushes the tears off his cheek. Eugene grips her forearm for a moment before pulling her into a closer embrace. Eugene buries his face into her neck. Warm, real, here, safe. She’s safe.

None of them move for a long time.

[sideblogformindtrash]

Prompt: Farlan just got bois and call Oferu to help him, as he have no idea what to do so things won't end like with Haru

that’s just reality tho

CW: dehumanization; pet whump; discussion of human trafficking, trauma, past abuse, therapy;

 …Granted, he was a bit nervous when he let Orfeu inside his new apartment. He wasn’t sure how the man would react. Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if Orfeu just attacked him on the spot.

…Instead, he turned, slowly, very slowly, away from the pets and stared at Farlan, pushing him outside of the apartment again and closing the door.

“…I thought you said you wanted to be better. Be different”

“I do” he answered “I… I didn’t get them for… You know”

“…So you could hurt them” Orfeu whispered, nearly hissing “Why the fuck them?”

“I want to help them” He said, nearly blushing “I want… I want to help them this time”

And Orfeu just… Sank his face into his own hands with an angry annoyed sound.

“Farlan when you said you did something by impulse… I was not expecting that” He put his hands down, forming a fist “Look I… I want you to do better. I do. I’m happy you doing therapy and honestly? Yeah you are better. But this? You are gambling with other people’s lives”

“…If I hadn’t gotten them…” He leans against the wall, holding his arm.

“…Maybe they would be worse. Likely, actually” And Orfeu sighed, letting a bit of his anger dissipate… And turn into just… exhaustion. He looked more and more tired these days “…But how can I know this will be different, really? What you did to Haru-“

“I don’t want to be that person anymore” He whispered back. I don’t want to be like my father. I don’t want to be like those people. I don’t want to be what they want me to be “…That’s why I called you. I know I’m a fuck up. And I need your help”

They stared at each other, Orfeu leaning against the other corridor wall. One of his neighbors appeared, saying a weak ‘hi’ for Farlan and staring Orfeu up and down a bit nervously. They just waited in awkward silence till the person was gone.

“…Will you help me?” Falran said, looking at his feet. Well… Honestly he had all the reasons to not want to get involved in this one. He usually didn’t, anyway.

“…It’s difficult” Orfeu sighed “…Farlan it’s not… It’s not all nice and lovely and like you give them hugs and they are suddenly okay. It… It looks like that sometimes but it’s a façade. Most of the time they’ll annoy the living shit out of you. They’ll intentionally do that and see what grinds your gears. They’ll beg you to hurt them even though they don’t fucking want that to happen. They’ll cry for no reason and for weird fucking reasons, or scream and cry and just, overall, be a fucking mess, and you need to be calm, and help them through all of it”

“I know…”

“Do you? Do you really?” Orfeu sighs, controlling himself not to scream, staring at the ceiling. The automatic lights went off, leaving them in half-darkness.

“…Well they are already here aren’t they”

Orfeu quietly nodded, then seemed to remember something.

“Also… Is that the pet that fucker that had Blue got after him? And… And that other one. It’s… Is that one that wanted to be like Blue? Are you fucking serious? Don’t tell me you liking that fuckers content I Swear I’ll-“

“No. No I’m not” He sighed “…He is far too cruel. Even I can admit that”

And Orfeu crossed his arms, looking away.

“…Then why?”

“I did watch his videos…” Farlan shifted his weight, a bit nervous “I… I couldn’t really see it when I was hurting Haru… But I fucking hated when father did it to him… And watching his videos was… Was really fucking hard too. Because yeah it felt like something wrong and disgusting. I don’t know why I… I never realized it when it was me. It always felt different… But it isn’t, is it?”

“No… I guess it’s because it’s easier not to think about it” Orfeu suggested. He thought he was saying that as scolding but… He seemed just… Understanding, almost “Look I, I get it. It’s hard to admit you fucked up. It is. I’m glad you can do that, but… caring for them Is a whole new story”

“How… How do you do it?” Farlan looked, honestly defeated. He wanted to do this right. He really did. But he was nervous, this was making him more nervous… “You are angry too. I know you are. How do you don’t…. You know”

“…I see myself” Orfeu shrugged, his face seeming to fall, distant green eyes “…Just… It’s me, you know? Right there, shivering and scared, and lost… And you have no idea how vulnerable admitting this makes me feel. I could hurt them to like… set us apart. Pretend there is a distance or whatever. But that would not be true. Why would I hurt them when I just… I just wanted someone to be there for me? To fucking listen?”

“That’s what you are doing? Just… Just treating them like you wish you had been?”

…Farlan frowned. That… Wasn’t such a bad advice.

“…Yes. That’s… That’s basic fucking kindness…?  Don’t take that too literally though. We don’t always want the best for ourselves” he pulled down at his sleeves. Long, oversized hoodie, over a way too small skirt.

“So… Will you help me?”

Orfeu stared at him angrily for a… For a while.

“Yes. But you will do the work. I’ll help you but it’s your fucking job now and you better do it right or I swear I’ll rip your arm off and shove it up your ass” Farlan smile, despite the threat. He didn’t think Orfeu was exaggerating on it. His tone changed a bit as he continued “Your soul changed a lot lately, you know?”

“…Hm?” He lifted his eyebrow, remembering the acid-trip bullshit stuff Orfeu sometimes spilled. He was still a weirdo after all.

“It changed. It’s… A way more pleasant shape. But… Don’t get that get to your head.”

“…I don’t even know what that means”

“Yeah it’s… It’s different. I hope that means you are better” Orfeu sighed, tumbling his fingers over his arms, those long dark nails always impeccable “…It’s been one year right? You doing therapy and shit… You really think you can do this? You want to?”

“Yes. I told you so”

“One more thing” He says, stepping closer “…You want to help them – actually fucking help them – or you just want to be a good ‘pet owner’ that doesn’t abuse his pets or whatever bullshit the activists say…”

Farlan frowned a little bit. He hadn’t really… Considered there was much of a difference.

“I… I want to help them”

“…Then don’t forget they are people” Orfeu said, his tone dropping a bit, menacingly “…They are people. Nothing they ever did or had done to them changes that”

…Farlan quietly nodded. He… hoped this wasn’t more that he could handle.

Suddenly, Orfeu pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket…. And a pen out of Farlan’s pocket.

“Hey, what-“ Orfeu shoved the paper back at him. It had some numbers scribbled on.

“…I’ll be taking Haru to a speech therapist. You’ll pay for it” He stared Farlan up and down. He wasn’t going to refuse. Specially not now after he had asked Orfeu a favor, too, and a massive one at that. Still Orfeu was on the defensive “…You don’t just get a fresh start, alright? You have a rotten past to take care of too”

“…Fair”

Farlan whispered, pocketing the number and biting on his lips, thinking of the little songbird pet – hell, the boy – he had worked so hard to shut up. That was still quiet, nearly a year later. How fucking cruel had that been?

After a moment of silence Orfeu offered him a tiny, tiny smile, and looked away. He found that to be comforting.

[whumpshaped]

ok this is a long one but i promise its not bad. yes this is more spk content from my collab w @whumpsday what abt it

trigger warnings: pet whump, dehumanization, manipulation, humiliation, blood, mouth gore, cutting, knives, recorded torture, restrained, muzzled, sadistic whumper, multiple whumpees, nonhuman whumpee, noncon... licking (nonsexual i promise), slight emeto

There was something in the air that day. Something tense, something unbearable, something that made both Pumpkin and Kane restless and uneasy. Kane was pulling against his restraints more than usual, almost rubbing against the chains and enjoying the fact they weren’t silver this time. The rest of the place was made vampire-proof over time, so the chains were really just an extra measure Seth took sometimes, but not the night before. He’d allowed the poor thing to have the regular chains instead - yet that something in the air was making him struggle against them nonetheless. 

Pumpkin was equally as weird that day, not being able to keep their hands off the bars of their cage. They kept trying the door every two minutes, as if it would magically unlock itself and they would be let out. They themself didn’t even know what had gotten into them, but what they did know was that they needed out, they needed to move.

With an atmosphere that tense, it was no wonder that both of them reacted instantly when they heard the basement door open. Kane cringed away from its direction, while Pumpkin pressed up against the bars to get closer. Seth, though… Seth was as relaxed as ever, taking his sweet time walking down the stairs and looking over his captives like their sight was the most mundane thing on a Monday morning. Something boring, something that didn’t even really catch his eyes, as if torturing them was just an unwelcome obligation.

“I’ve been thinking…” They walked over to the table that had all their tools on it, rummaging through the mess, clearly unsure of what he wanted to do. “I’ve been thinking all damn night, trying to come up with something fun to do today. But truth be told, I’m not feeling particularly inspired.” He made a face, somewhere between disgust and contempt.

Pumpkin’s breath hitched, the same thought crossing their mind for the thousandth time. Was this the day Seth killed them out of boredom? Was this the day they were going to be thrown away? They looked over at Kane, who seemed to have similar things running through his head. Neither of them spoke, however. They didn’t want to make the situation even worse.

Seth turned around, no tool in hand, leaning back against the table. He didn’t have a plan, which meant that he was coming up with one on the spot. And for that, he needed a victim. Those long seconds of anticipation were always the worst, but that day… that day Pumpkin had the feeling they weren’t going to go first. Seth’s eyes kept trailing up and down Kane’s battered body, and really, it made sense. He was bored, and his best source of entertainment seemed to be the vampire as of late.

“What do you think, leech? Think you could turn this around and brighten my day a little?”

Kane swallowed hard against the collar on his neck, making the silver spikes dig into his already fried skin. He slightly winced, trying his best to stay still under Seth’s gaze and think of an answer at the same time. “I- I’ll try my b-best, if y-you want, Sir, I’ll try my very best.”

Seth grinned, pushing himself away from the table and going over to the other side of the room, hooking a finger between Kane’s collar and his neck. “Is that so?” He pulled, making the spikes on the other side bite into his flesh, his amused smirk only becoming wider as Kane cried out in pain.

“Y-Yes, yes, Sir, p-please- please, please…” He whimpered, keened when Seth pulled further, his string of desperate pleas becoming increasingly incoherent. Pumpkin covered their ears, trying to block out the sounds of torture, curling up in their cage. They didn’t want to be let out anymore. 

“God, messing with you already brightens my day.” Seth finally let go, leaving the collar to hang loose around Kane’s neck again. Oh, the vampire was already crying. It was so delightfully easy. “How about I give you a nice and fair chance to earn some collar-free time?”

The words had an immediate effect on Kane. “Yes! Please, Sir, p-please, please give me a chance, I’ll try my best, please!”

“Will you? You could be lying to me, you know. Why would I believe you?”

“I- I’d never!” Fresh tears rolled down Kane’s cheeks, and he just looked so, so desperate to get that chance to prove himself. “Please! I’d never d-dare try to deceive you, Sir, please!”

Seth let him beg for a little while before he sighed theatrically, unlocking the chains that kept him upright for the whole night. “Fine, fine, you get a chance. And the task is simple as well, really, I’m spoiling you today.” Dropping down into his leather chair, he grinned at the vampire. “You know I always get a kick out of seeing you grovel. Why don’t you come and lick my shoes clean?”

There was a split second of silence after the command was uttered, the tiniest bit of uncertainty on Kane’s face. Not because he would’ve hesitated to comply with an order so humiliating, no, his pride was so far down the gutter, it was probably never getting fished out of there again. He was confused more so because the reward seemed so huge in comparison to the price, it seemed unreal. It seemed like a trap. 

Even if it was, though, Kane wasn’t one to disobey a direct order. Or any order, for that matter. He crawled over to Seth’s chair immediately, almost eager to degrade himself like that. He would’ve done anything to have some time without the collar, really, and for Seth to offer it so freely, for such little work on his part? Oh, he was enthusiastic, he didn’t care one bit about the dust or the mud getting into his mouth, he didn’t care about Seth’s mocking laughter, not even Pumpkin’s horrified and pitiful expression. He could do this. He could do well. He was given a clear order, and he was going to execute it perfectly, because if there was even a fraction of a chance that Seth wasn’t just taunting him with the reward, then he wasn’t going to miss it. 

Well, that had been the plan, at least.

But in his overflowing enthusiasm, his fangs got caught on the fabric of Seth’s shoe, and the basement was suddenly filled with the terrifying sound of it ripping through the threads. 

Seth could barely stifle a chuckle as he tilted his head to the side, faking empathy. “Oh, isn’t that unfortunate…” He let Kane tremble before him while he ran through the more interesting punishment options in his head, he even let him start apologising after he’d already chosen one he liked. One that could get rid of that horrible boredom that had been plaguing him all day. “Was that really you trying your best, leech? Because if so, I’m so deeply disappointed.”

“I’m s-sorry, Sir.” Kane couldn’t possibly bow and press his forehead against the floor any further, but god knows he tried. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry f-for being useless, I’m sorry, I wasn’t deserving of the chance y-you gave me, I’m sorry… I’m so- so sorry…” 

“Well, it doesn’t matter now, what’s done is done.” Seth stood up, this time walking to the table with clear intentions. He grabbed the pliers without a second thought, almost giddy by the time he returned to the chair. “Sit up for me, bloodsucker. Let me see those fangs that tore my precious shoes.”

Kane shakily rose from the ground, unable to get a single word out before Seth grabbed him by the face and pulled him closer. He wasn’t joking about seeing the fangs, he pried Kane’s mouth open immediately, chuckling when he saw a single piece of thread still stuck between his teeth. 

“I do wonder how you’ll feed without these… But that isn’t really my problem, is it? Even if you can’t feed at all, you won’t just die on me.” He shoved the pliers in the vampire’s mouth, clamping it shut on one of his fangs. “I wish I had silver pliers. That would make this even more fun,” they mused, relishing how Kane’s breath quickened in anticipation. 

Kane screamed, gripping the fabric of his shorts like his life depended on it. He tried his best to stay still, but it was so hard, it was so hard not to struggle and pull away. Especially knowing that this had only been half of it. 

And then he ripped it out.

“Remember, nice and still…” Seth dropped the detached fang on the floor before moving on to the other one, once again taking his time before he finally did it. As soon as he let go of Kane, he clamped both hands over his aching mouth, crying like a child. “That should do it.”

“Th- thank you,” he choked out, his voice distorted by the blood flowing into his mouth. Still, he sounded relieved that it looked like his punishment was over. “Thank you, Sir, thank y-you for your mercy…”

Kane had been chained against the wall and muzzled before Seth opened the cage and got to work on Pumpkin. It wasn’t the silver muzzle, it was the simple, leather one - it wasn’t for torture, just to ensure that Kane didn’t bother him while he tormented his pet. He liked to hear Kane beg him to spare his friend, of course, but some days, when he was strictly after writing reference, he didn’t care for that. Pumpkin noted that with some relief, however guilty it made them feel. For them, that usually meant a simple day, maybe some whipping, cutting, but none of the more… creative methods. 

That day, it was the knife. Seth made a few shallow cuts here and there, then a couple deeper ones, taking photos and notes in his phone inbetween to use later. Pumpkin didn’t resist for a moment, they lay there like a proper little test dummy, taking the abuse without a single complaint. The casual torture session was interrupted by the rattling of chains, and both Pumpkin and Seth turned towards Kane to see what was going on. Pumpkin immediately recognised that look in his eyes, the look he always gave them when the smell of their blood was getting too much to bear.

“S-Sir-”

Seth hushed them by pressing the blade against their lips, clearly more motivated to keep cutting now that he saw that Kane was hungry. “What, are you afraid it’ll attack you again?” Kane snapped out of his hunger-induced trance at that, turning his head away in shame. “I thought you and the leech were best buddies, surely, it wouldn’t do that to you.”

“C-Can- p-please, c-can he- can, can it have some of this blood?” they asked timidly, voice so quiet it was barely above a whisper. “P-Please? Since, since I’m already bleeding, and, and…”

“Getting very bold here.” They dragged the knife down, cutting along their jaw and scraping their neck, making Pumpkin freeze up. They pushed it too much, they shouldn’t have asked, oh, they’d made a mistake, such a horrible mistake. “But why not?” Why not? “Let’s make it a whole buffet for the bloodsucker.”

Seth pulled the knife back before plunging it into their shoulder, wringing a scream from Pumpkin’s cracked lips. Kane winced in his restraints, whining against the muzzle. Pumpkin squeezed their eyes shut, trying to breathe through the pain, anything to avoid accidentally trying to pull away like a bad pet. Unfortunately, that meant they couldn’t see the knife coming down again, this time piercing their other arm.

“That should do it.” They pulled the knife out, and Pumpkin heard them walk away from where they lay, going to get Kane. Except they couldn’t hear the chains being thrown onto the ground, only the soft thud of the leather muzzle. “Smells nice?” 

They turned their head to see what was happening, and they saw Seth taunting the poor vampire with the bloody knife, holding it just outside his reach. “Please, Sir, p-please, it does…” he whined, flinching hard when Seth grabbed him by the face to steady him.

Kane glanced at Pumpkin, and they gave him a reassuring smile despite the pain. It’s okay. “Please- p-please let m-me… d-drain, drain my friend…” It looked like the word was physically hurting him, though it might’ve just been the frustration of having blood so close, yet just far enough. “Please, please Sir… p-please let me…”

“Good.” He wiped the blade off on Kane’s cheeks, making sure to only smear it where his tongue couldn’t reach. “Beg some more for me. Beg me to let you drain your stupid little friend.”

Seth placed the blade under his chin, tilting his head up until he had to stand on his tiptoes to avoid it digging into his flesh. “I’m being very generous today, despite your fuck-up, so listen to me very carefully. I want all those cuts closed, and the entire pet clean. I’m giving you about… a minute, let’s say. Maybe two. Every speck of blood I find on them after is one full day for you in the silver muzzle. Understood?”

Pumpkin turned back towards the ceiling, shivering at the thought. Closing cuts meant licking. Cleaning meant more licking. Letting Kane feed without his fangs meant even more damn licking. And the time limit? That meant Kane was going to be frantic. It suddenly made perfect sense why Seth allowed him to have some blood, and Pumpkin tried to brace themself. It was okay. They could take it, and they could be still and quiet so as not to hinder him.

The chains fell to the floor, and Kane beelined towards them, dropping to his knees next to their body with no care for his already bruised skin. Pumpkin looked away as Kane grabbed their arm, licking along the wound on their shoulder hastily. They could stop the whimpers, but they couldn’t stop the goosebumps, and they heard Kane mutter a quiet apology.

He didn’t have any time to waste, Pumpkin knew that, but still, they hated feeling like a piece of meat. Kane dragged his tongue across all the small cuts, all the dried spots of blood, sucking on the other stab wound on their other arm, and Pumpkin just couldn’t stay still anymore. “Stop!” they cried out without thinking, yanking their arm away and snapping Kane out of his frenzied cleaning duties. “Stop, please, please, I can’t-” It was so disgusting, it was unbearable, they couldn’t take it, they just wanted him to finally stop. And Kane did, his eyes darting between them and Seth.

Of course. The punishment.

Pumpkin quickly raised their arm, almost shoving it in Kane’s face. “I’m sorry,” they choked out, covering their mouth with their other hand to muffle the stupid pleas. “I’m s-sorry, hurry and… and just finish up…”

“I’m sorry,” Kane repeated again, hesitantly taking their arm and continuing to lick all the cuts closed with way less momentum. He was trying to be effective now instead of just lapping at the blood, and Pumpkin hated themself for it. He wasn’t going to get through all of them in time like this, and it was their fault, because they couldn’t control themself. 

“Time’s up, leech.” 

Pumpkin looked down at their body, horrified to see how many cuts were still bleeding - bleeding, because Kane couldn’t work fast enough due to their outburst. “N-No, wait, please…”

Seth sighed when he saw the state they were in, shaking his head like he was so let down. Like this wasn’t what he’d been playing at. “That’s gonna be a lot of days for the leech, eh? Shame…”

“Sir!” Their breath caught in their throat when Seth pinned them with a cold stare, and they tried again, careful not to sound like some stupid, entitled brat. “I’m sorry, it’s- it was my fault, please… I’ll take it, I swear, please let Kane finish!”

“It’s alright,” Kane said gently, voice shaking with fear. Of course it wasn’t alright.

“Please. Please, d-don’t do this… Please have m-mercy…” 

Seth grinned at the expression, thoroughly enjoying the fact that Pumpkin had picked up on it when they realised how much they liked hearing it from Kane. “Mercy, huh? Well…” He took out his phone, turning it towards his two victims. Recording. “I guess I could let it finish. In fact, I won’t set a new time limit, I want the leech to take its time.”

Kane swallowed, visibly uncomfortable by both the order and the fact that he was being taped. His gratitude outweighed both of those feelings, though. “Thank you, Sir. Thank you s-so much. Thank you for your mercy.”

“Leave a couple nice marks on them, won’t you?”

Pumpkin was inadvertently reminded of the actual leeches, and they almost gagged. They couldn’t do that to Kane. They couldn’t make him feel disgusting like that, they couldn’t, they couldn’t-

“You look a little pale, Pumpkin.” Seth grinned at them, and they shook their head silently, shuddering when Kane started up again. “Don’t you just love all this pampering?”

“Y-Yes, Sir.” Don’t gag. It’s not a real leech, it’s not a leech, there are no leeches on your body now. It’s just Kane. It’s okay. Don’t gag. Don’t gag.

“Leave a pretty mark right there, leech. Make it nice and prominent.”

Kane sucked on their skin, and no amount of grounding could’ve convinced them that it wasn’t a real leech. They turned to the side, retching, and Seth burst out laughing. 

“Oh, that’s something alright! Fuck, how disgusted do you have to be with the poor leech to react like that?”

“I’m n-not, I’m not, I’m sorry-”

“Keep going, bloodsucker. I wanna see if they actually throw up.”