#child whump cw

[seth-whumps]

Hi Seth! You listed "child whump" on your "I don't do this" list so I was just wondering if it was okay to respond to any of your prompts with a child whumpee (or child characters showing up in general as any of the roles) or if you'd rather people didn't. I had an idea for one of your prompts, but it would involve a preteen whumpee and I wasn't sure if you would be on board with that. If not, that's fine of course

also I feel like I should mention: This situation would NOT involve a child getting tortured, or physical injury, just them getting calmed down from a panic attack by Caretaker (in case this context is necessary)

Hey Feather!!

Child whump is listed to define what will be on this blog or not. It's totally okay to use any prompts of mine for any situation--however, if it's on the "nopes" list, it likely won't be reblogged, because if someone followed this blog for the sake of not seeing child whump on their dash, I wouldn't want to put it on their dash. Same for the other nopes on the list.

TL;DR: go right ahead! I may not reblog it, but don't let that stop you.

Thank you for asking!!!

[shreddeddescent]

raph is in an extremely fucked up place and equates all his problems with each other and blows up at leo about it.

⚠️ content warning: mentions of internalized transphobia, dubious consent, child abuse/incest (but not how you think) ⚠️

it might be a bit soon for this drama bomb for you guys, it might be a little out of order for how i wanna present anything in this story ive got going, but honestly... fuck it. lets just get that out of the way. tired of having it hanging over my head.

[mintflavouredwhump]

An eldest child whumpee who is always forced to be the 'role model' of their younger siblings while bearing the brunt of their parents' anger and expectations.

[the-bar-sinister]

What the hell is wrong with Kristoph Gavin?? (headcanons)

cptsd and potential bpd due to neglect, abuse and parentification by his parents

tyrannical, angry famous defense attorney father, dismissive, neglectful socialite mother

neglected as a young child and raised himself as an early reader. Straight As and "a joy to have in class. always polite" 

Polite due to terror of setting off his father's temper, well spoken due to voracious reading as escapism.

learned to manipulate people without asking directly for what he wants in order to get any kind of positive attention from his father or mother

parentified and put in charge of raising Klavier as soon as Klavier arrived.

golden child/scapegoat dynamic enforced by their parents which Kristoph hates. Tried unsuccessfully to protect Klavier from their parents' anger– by always pushing Klavier to do better to measure up to their expectations.

Constant attention seeking due to neglect as a child. 

Obsessed with keeping up appearances due to the fear as soon as people have a negative perception of you they'll leave or destroy you.

"the law is absolute" in that if you don't get caught, you haven't broken the law. Constantly had to evade and manipulate and loophole his father's tyrannical rules in order to avoid being punished for minor and abusive reasons.

[alicewritingstories]

Febuwhup Day 7: Alternate Timeline Self

Central character: Time

Warnings: Canon child death

---

"I… think this is my era," said Hyrule, though he sounded worryingly uncertain, especially given how in tune with his world he usually was.

"Are we between eras?" asked Time. He had been about to make a similar claim; something in the air tasted familiar, though not quite right.

"We must be. The magic feels… a little like mine?" said Legend in the same tentative tone. "But… worn out? Twisted somehow."

"That's what I was thinking. It smells like mine, but… more immediate."

Wild looked anxiously at his Slate, but shook his head slightly, though his expression didn't get less worried. "I don't know if I'd see anything on here if we were… before I activated the Towers," he said.

"I don't think this is yours," said Time. "I suspect we're between eras. We'd better get moving."

They set out, picking their way through a forest that looked unhealthy, as if some foul wind had swept through and damaged the trees. Hyrule and Wild drifted ahead as they often did, but just as Time was about to call them back he heard one of them - Hyrule, he thought, yelp with alarm and surprise.

They were all already tense and Wind and Sky had swords in their hands as the Chain ran to catch up with their wayward wanderers. Legend and Four shot off ahead with their Pegasus Boots, but it wasn't far and soon the others were behind them.

Legend was just turning back.

"No, it's nothing, let's move on," he said quickly.

"What's going on?" asked Time.

"We -"

"Legend, what happened?"

Legend bit his lip, more distressed than Time thought he'd ever seen him. He put a hand on his shoulder, trying to steady him, but looked past him.

In a small clearing on the other side was a grave, marked with a simple stone. Hyrule and Wild were standing next to it, staring at it.

"It's my and Hyrule's timeline," said Legend, "But before me. I -"

The words carved on the stone were messy: someone had cared enough to carve a marker for this grave - this very small grave, he suddenly realised - but not enough to do a good job with it.

He felt a sense of looming horror, but read them anyway.

Link and Navi

He did his best

[paingoes]

Destroyer - Memory

(Masterlist)

thank you to the anon who wanted to know more abt the institute! this part is dedicated to you :)

i dont usually write anything involving children in whump but delta was raised in captivity and this is some pretty important insight into what he was like as a kid. be advised.

(Content: living weapon whumpee, slavery, military whump, death, dehumanization, incarceration, child abuse, physical violence, minor drug mention, slight suicidal ideation)

===================

Delta shot up in surprise as his bedroom door opened. It didn’t lock from the inside, but it was so early in the morning that he hadn’t been expecting anyone to come looking for him. Besides, Simon usually knocked first.

It wasn’t Simon, though. Delta squinted at the figure in the doorway. It was one of the junior officers; he recognized his face, but wasn’t able to recall his name. They weren’t well acquainted. Nevertheless, the officer snapped his fingers, motioning for Delta to come to him.

Delta slid off the bed, moving to follow. He was uncomfortable with the strange silence, the strange situation, but he was not in any position to disobey a superior. The thought was laughable.

Still, it was unusual? The officer gripped his wrist tightly, dragging him out of the room, all without speaking. Delta bristled. He didn’t know this man at all — and a junior officer rank was nothing to get haughty about.

They were headed to one of the starboard observation ports. It was a large window, giving a nearly panoramic view of the terrain below. The officer pushed Delta in front of it. He kneeled out of pure habit.

“Take out the northmost mountain top. We need an avalanche. Make it look natural,” The officer finally spoke.

Delta turned to stare at him. He obviously couldn’t do it, even if he wanted to. The collar was still on. Neither of his handlers were there to take it off. The officer took his confusion for defiance, drawing his hand back as if to slap him. Delta flinched.

The door slammed open so violently it almost came off the hinges.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?!” Paris yelled. Delta immediately cringed at the tone, but he knew even then that it wasn’t addressed to him.

It was surreal to not be the one on the receiving end of Paris’s violence for a change. Delta scooted back a little to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. The officer had a few inches on Paris, which did not matter much once he’d been slammed into the ground. Delta saw the officer spit blood out, shielding his face, hands raised in surrender. Paris came up gasping for air.

“You’re fired,” He managed, “You’re lucky I don’t fucking kill you. And I’m telling you right now, it’s only because of the paperwork.”

The officer laid motionless, fighting to even remain conscious. 

Paris looked up in time to notice how Delta was staring. The bloodthirsty look had not yet drained from his eyes. Delta felt his stomach drop.

Paris smacked him in the back of the head — not enough to hurt, but enough to stun. The prince yanked him up by the arm and did not let go as they left, as if he didn’t trust him to follow anymore. Delta stumbled, caught off balance. They only just made it out into the hallway before Paris slammed him into the wall.

“Why the fuck were you with him?” The bone of Paris’s forearm presses into his throat, the pressure only somewhat absorbed by the collar.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness.” Delta led with. It was a struggle to keep his tone respectful, to not sound like he was arguing. “He made me.”

Paris pulled away, simultaneously pushing Delta further into the wall. 

“Fuck!” Paris kicked the wall instead of Delta’s shin, showing some measure of restraint. Or maybe he just needed something more solid to bounce off of. It made a sharp, metallic sound. Delta flinched back as Paris rounded on him in disgust.

“Don’t you have any fucking backbone at all?” He hissed. A rhetorical question, apparently. Paris stormed away without waiting for an answer. 

Delta stood aimlessly, alone in the hallway. He rubbed at skin around his collar. It was the only thing that hurt him; he hadn’t gotten beaten like he expected to. But that last remark had stung.

He walked back to his room and made sure to place the chair in front of the door before sitting back on the bed. Did he have a backbone? Obviously not. It had been beaten out of him at every opportunity, for as long as he could remember.

Then Delta did something he did not like to do. He remembered the Institute. So much of it had been pushed beneath the surface. But this time, something came up to the forefront of his memory before he could stop it.

===========

“Hey,” she tugged at his sleeve. Her face was mostly hidden under the strands of green hair. He could still see her smile poking out from beneath.

“Mmh?” Delta replied, barely looking up. He remembered they’d just given him new sleeping pills and his body had yet to adjust. That was why the memory felt so muddy. 

“You’re good with long range, right?” The girl asked. She was a new arrival, barely two months in. She showed enough potential to have landed her there, but she’d never crack the dean’s list. She struggled to manipulate anything that was outside of arm’s length. He followed her gesture out to the podium. The director was setting up there, preparing to give his address. 

“Can you just, like, knock him over?” She asked, pointing specifically to the box the director was to stand on. Delta thought about it. 

“Could, yeah. Won’t,” he responded, putting his head back down. It was almost too much effort to keep himself upright.

“Why not?” She whined, “It’ll be funny.”

“If you do it, it’ll be cute,” Delta shrugged, “If I do it, they’ll shoot me.”

He had already cracked it by then. The supervisors watched all the highest performers like hawks, always on-guard for any sign of defiance. They acted like they’d gotten in over their heads, like they hadn’t expected their stated goal. They had their weapons lined up — a few dozen of them. They weren’t grateful for it. They were scared.

==================

But Delta gave them less trouble than the others. He was younger, but already not half as spirited as his peers. He was calm. He didn’t like pain and he knew how to avoid it here. All you had to do was behave.

They didn’t get it. Delta chewed at the drawstring of his hoodie as he listened to them complain. He’d been at the school long enough that he never heard any new complaints. They always cycled through the same ones depending on the season. It was a bit annoying, honestly. Complaining didn’t change anything. It didn’t get them anywhere. It just worked them up worse than they had been before and got all their handlers in a bad mood. He did not mention this to the other students; it was never well received.

Today it was about the prisoner culling. One of the boys was all in a fit. His father had been falsely accused and sent to jail. He’d gotten his hands on the abolitionist literature. There was no way they could get him to use his powers against any of the inmates they’d brought in to practice against. Their handler had been irate all morning; the outburst did not help.

“It burns,” the boy insisted, “Mine burn. It’s not right. It’s not humane. Fuck this.”

“Language,” the handler warned him, “Who taught you that word?”

“Fuck?” The boy repeated.

“No. Humane. Where’d you learn it?”

Delta rolled his eyes. The handler caught it.

“You have a problem?” Her attention was suddenly turned on him.

“No, ma’am,” Delta straightened out.

“Would you like to go first, then?” She asked. 

It wasn’t an uncommon request for him. Everyone knew he was a total teacher’s pet. He steadied himself, sizing up the targets he’d been assigned. There was a bag tied around their heads and chains restricting their movement. Delta didn’t see what the challenge was supposed to be. He turned them all to dust.

Gasps. He remembered that for some of the students there, this was their first real training session. They got squeamish sometimes. Delta bowed, only a little sarcastically.

“See how easy that was? Your turn, then,___,” The handler had said. The remark had been followed by the boy’s name, or maybe his callsign, but time had completely washed it away.

“No. No, no, no,” The boy insisted.

The handler sighed, “107?��

“NO!” The boy suddenly interjected, startling all of them, “I’ll fucking do it, okay? Don’t sic him on me.” 

He shot Delta a warning look. Delta didn’t react, still fully poised to carry out the order.

The boy turned to the prisoners. Through tears, he muttered out what must have been an apology. The air filled with the scent of charred flesh.

=============

Delta shivered. It’d been ages since he’d thought about that. His memory skipped ahead a few years, all the way to graduation. Almost everyone he’d known at that school had been reassigned or killed or just disappeared. Nearly every student who had originally made dean’s list had been deemed too dangerous to live or had burnt themselves up all on their own. He was the only one who made it — powerful enough to be useful, resilient enough to not burn out, docile enough to be controlled. He was all that the Institute had to justify itself, besides the long, long list of what they now knew didn’t work.

Didn’t he have any backbone? He would never have survived if he did. He wondered, maybe, if that would have been easier.

~~~

Tags: @catnykit@indigoviolet311@snakebites-and-ink@vivulapom@scoundrelwithboba

@whatwhump@pumpkin-spice-whump@deluxewhump @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper

[sams-whumping-ground]

Nightmare

(Artist's note: the scars on his forearms are from a fight with a hero.)

Content: Child whumpee, child death, severe accident, severe injury, blood loss, nightmare, unintentional whumper, non-human whumpee, villain caretaker.

(If I have missed something please let me know.)

The subway was packed. Nothing unusual. It was late in the day after all and most using it were making their way back to their homes or to their night shifts. Among the commuters were a family of four catfolk on their way home from a day out at a theme park. A young Axton Esper, his older sister Elise, and their parents. Axton was wearing a new hoodie that he managed to persuade his parents to get for him. He sat quietly on the seat with Elise next to him, playing his game. Their parents standing so their kittens had a place.

Their commute was uneventful for the most part. That is until something, or someone, came crashing backwards through the subway cars. The moment lasted forever. Axton saw as his parents were torn from their place and then becoming almost indistinguishable from everyone else in the person’s path. Elise was thrown from her seat as she carried the rest of the momentum from the now stopped train. He tries grabbing onto her but each attempt in the fleeting moment fails. A long whip-like item flicks out from where the person went to try to grab onto something. Instead of its target it finds purchase on Acton pulling him with the figure shaped bullet through trains of people.

Axton wakes up with a horrid pain in his right side as it creeps up across his chest. Every movement was agony. His head pounded. The scent of blood filled his nose. He couldn’t see the train. Someone was begging Superhero to help. Calling for their mum and dad. Who was that? Sounded familiar. Pained. They called out for Axton. Elise. It was his sister. He tried looking at what was causing him so much pain. A large piece of metal lodged in his side. It was a miracle that he was alive.

“Lise!” Axton called out, but it was weak and didn’t carry even with the echo of the tunnel. “I’m over here!”

Elise called and begged constantly until her words faded into silence. It was deafening. Axton called out over and over. He heard footsteps echo closer but not from the direction of the crash. He started to panic and grabbed at the metal, the blood coating it making it hard to gain any kind of grip. That’s when a large figure came into his vision. It was Supervillain.

“I wouldn’t do that, kid.” Supervillain said with an odd comfort Axton didn’t expect.

“But Superhero is there. I need to get closer so he can find me.” Axton replied.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood already. Plus, he won’t do anything to help. I’m sorry.”

That wasn’t something Axton wanted to hear. Elise was hurt. He had to help his sister at last if Superhero wasn’t going to do anything, but heroes help people. That’s their job. Protect the people.

“I don’t believe you. You’re a villain. Why would I believe you?”

“You don’t have to, but I can help you. I need you to be quiet for a minute. Superhero is coming.”

Supervillain carefully picked Axton up and took him further away from the crash and into a nook where they waited out Superhero. Axton tried to stay awake. It was getting difficult. Superhero gave up trying to find Supervillain before leaving. Supervillain waited a little longer before leaving quietly with Axton in his arms. As soon as they’re safe Axton passes out.

“You left me to die, Ax.” Elise’s words echoed in his head. “Why would you do that to me?”

“No. I didn’t want to. I couldn’t do anything.” Axton replied.

“You didn’t even try. I called out to you and you didn’t even try to come to me to help.”

No. This isn’t right. Elise wouldn’t say that.

“Why didn’t you try?”

Stop.

“Why did you leave me to die?”

Axton bolted upright in his bed. He looked over his scarred body. He wasn’t ten anymore. He could feel the sweat making his fur stick to him. His mentor, Supervillain, wasn’t there tending to his old wounds. The metal replaced with a large jagged scar. It had been over a decade since the accident. Since Superhero had left them all to die in that subway. Since it was covered up. He held himself in a self-hug to try and calm himself down and pretend that Elise was hugging him.

~~Taglist~~ [If you'd like to be added, please let me know.]

@theninjabozo, @confirmedcannibal, @bestlittlesnek, @the-sinkmire-symphony

[hurtfortea]

Whumpuary Day 23: Tabby

“I’m fine” | missing | drowsiness

Contains: implied/referenced child neglect, sick whumpee, caretaker whumpee/parental whumpee

“Tabby?” Tabian wakes up to a soft voice and a small hand shaking his shoulder. His head aches, and he feels too hot.

“What?” He mumbles, his eyes cracking open.

“You said you’d make pancakes today.” Ava says.

Tabian groans, rubbing his face. “Shit.”

“Are you okay?” She asks. Tabian squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, trying to fight back his exhaustion, and sits up, looking down at Ava, whose face is round and soft. She doesn’t belong here, in this place.

“I’m fine,” he says, resting his hand on her head. His hand is big enough he can cover the entirety of it. “Give me a second to get dressed, okay?”

“Okay!” She says, easily deceived, smiling brightly at him before leaving him alone. She shuts the door. As best she can, that is. It doesn’t have a knob, only a chain. Sighing, Tabian rises from bed and takes off his clothes, which are soaked in sweat. He throws on some new clothes, namely a ratty pair of shorts and a thin t-shirt. He looks in the mirror, his usual scowl fixed on his face, and tries to smile. It doesn’t last long. Sighing, he stops and runs his hand through his dark, chestnut hair.

“Alright, let’s go.” Turning, he pulls open the door and steps out into the decrepit house.

The place is small, with a tiny bathroom, two bedrooms, and a living room with a connected kitchen- both of which are crammed with furniture that doesn’t really fit. He goes to the bathroom first, getting inside and opening up the mirror. The painkillers are missing.

“Fuck me,” he groans, and shuts the mirror. He tries the sink. Not a single drop of water to be had. “Fuck me.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Ava asks, taking his attention. She stares up at him with wide, blue eyes.

He sighs. “No reason, kiddo.” He pats her head again as he moves past her, causing her to wrinkle her nose at him. He wrinkles his right back and heads for the kitchen. “What kind of pancakes do you want?”

“Blueberry!”

He opens the fridge, searching through it. “Sorry, kiddo, no blueberries.” She whines, and he shuts his eyes as if it will block out the noise. “Just pick something else,” he says, fighting to keep his voice even.

“Chocolate!”

He turns to check the pantry, shutting the fridge. “Chocolate it is,” he says, grabbing out the chocolate chips. She cheers. Gathering the ingredients, he starts measuring them out into bowls while Ava waits in a chair behind the island. His headache is getting worse. He shouldn’t be around her while he’s sick, but if he’s not, she won’t get fed…shaking himself, he keeps working. The longer he works, the more tired he becomes. His nose is running. He wipes it off on his sleeve, his eyelids sagging.

“Tabby?” Ava asks when he reaches back to work his fingers into the aching muscles of his shoulders.

“I’m fine,” he repeats, looking up at the dilapidated ceiling. “What’d you learn about in school yesterday?”

“Uhm…multiplication!”

“That’s exciting. How are you feeling about it?” He asks, whisking together the wet and dry ingredients. Math was his favorite subject in school.

“It’s boring,” she complains.

“Hm. What’s not boring in school?” He asks. It’s a rhetorical question, but she begins talking about her friends and then how her mother won’t let them come over. That’s one thing Tabian really can’t blame Eliza for. He pours some pancake batter into the pan, getting out a spatula. The heat from the stove top exacerbates the heat already in his body and makes him more and more tired. His muscles ache so bad.

“Tabby!”

He jerks back to attention, eyes snapping to Ava in concern. “Wha- what?”

“The pancake!”

He looks down, to see its burning. “Fuck.” He scrapes it up and flips it over. “Sorry, I’ll have this one.” He finishes making breakfast and serves Ava first, cutting up her pancakes, before sitting down with his own, burnt, pancake. A couple minutes pass as he rubs his temples.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Ava asks around a mouth full of food.

“No. I’m not hungry.” Tabian says quietly.

[jamiesfootball]

Signed up for a Bad Things Happen Bingo card, and uh. Saw a prompt.

'Shock collar'

Shock collar whump? Jamie shock collar whump? Jamie fucked up backstory shock collar whump?

Whump below the line. mind the tags

"Stop it!" he shrieked, and the stupid fucking pubescent cracking of his voice sent them all into fits again. His thoughts weren't stringing together, head stuffed tight as humiliation pooled under his skin. "Fu- quit it!"

Denbo grabbed him from behind and his mind went blank.

His legs dropped out from under him, trying to scramble away from the bigger man, but he was stronger, fully grown where Jamie was still stretching for the weight the physios wanted him to be at. Denbo moved him like a puppet, hands gripped tight around the bones of his shoulders, holding him steady while Bug sprung forward with the collar and and his dad laughed hysterically, choking on his drink.

Up close, the collar was a small and inoffensive thing, not even as thick as his dad's belt.

His mind screamed.

"C'mon, Jam-Jam," Bug sing-songed, sloppily patting him on the cheek. "Don't be like that. Heard you were getting all fancy, wearing a bit of jewelry these days -- we're just gon' see how it looks on you."

Jamie turned and bit his hand.

Bug screamed.

His dad laughed.

Denbo slapped him round the head.

His ears rang. Bug shook him loose off his hand, and Denbo let go of his shoulder to cup a hand up under his jaw, tilting his head back so that his neck was bared and vulnerable to the air.

He swung his free arm to scratch out Bug's eyes, but Bug caught him easily -- him and Denbo holding him spread open by the arms like a moth to a pinboard while his dad howled with laughter from the kitchen.

He heard the distinctive clink of glass on glass as his dad poured them all new shots.

He heard a strangled, "No!" rip from his own throat as Bug fumbled the collar around his neck. For a moment, his greasy hand slipped, and he let the collar hang loose and limp around Jamie's neck while he wiped his hands against the front of his t-shirt, right over the City logo.

He clicked the collar shut, and something broke in Jamie's chest.

He pulled the remote out of his pocket.

He hit the button.

Jamie's knees jerked out from under him.

It didn't hurt the way he thought it'd hurt. Felt like getting flicked really hard in a neck, but all over. It didn't really hurt. It didn't.

His eyes stung. He dug his nails into the carpet.

Denbo was cursing, "Fuckin' hell! Warn me next time, man. That could've shocked me."

"Ah, sorry 'bout that. But fuck, he really fell didn' he?"

[rosalind-hawkins]

Whump joukai

The Wheel has spoken!

OMG I'M SO SORRY! THIS GOT BURIED IN MY DRAFTS SO FAST AND I LOST IT!

Geez, these boys never get a break, do they? Not when I'm in charge! 🤭 I've definitely used this element with this ship before, but I tried to do a new take on it ("new" in that I haven't done this one before). Enjoy the late whump story!

"You're an idiot."

Joey hissed at the sting of the words and the alcohol-soaked cotton pressing to the fresh scratches on his back, left behind by has father's broken belt buckle.

"Shuddup," the bottle blond grumbled.

"It's true." Kaiba brushed over the fresh welts with more force than necessary. "You could take him down if you tried."

Joey grit his teeth, determined to keep his mouth shut. He let Kaiba clean his wounds for a little longer, expecting his attention to gently add his anger ebbed, as it had before.

The blond teen hissed at another harsh swipe and snapped, "Geez, ease up, won'tchya?"

"My apologies," Kaiba retorted with complete sarcasm. "I thought you couldn't get enough of this shit."

"Okay, rich guy!" Joey stood up from the stool Kaiba'd had him sitting on and worked around, hands balled into fists. "Whatchya tryin' to say?!"

"You shouldn't have to take this from him!" Kaiba shouted back, jumping to his own feet, his whole body taut with tension. "You could take him down easily if you just tried!"

"I can't do that!" Good grief, not this fight again. "He doesn't know what he's doin'!"

"Then move out!" Kaiba bellowed, the full force of his conviction making his words resonate and shake the walls of the bathroom. "You don't have to take his shit anymore!"

"I ain't takin' your charity!"

"Then stand up for yourself, because I'm not doing this again!" Kaiba threw the bloody cotton balls on the floor. "I can't put up with your noble bullshit! Fight back!"

"You don't understand!"

"Because you're not making any sense!"

Kaiba stormed out, and Joey opened his mouth to stop him, to say something, to say anything—but nothing came, because there was no way to change a Kaiba's mind.

[that-boleyn-boy]

An animatic for Proud Kiramman’s Daughter

https://archiveofourown.org/series/4520818

[eeveearoace-creative]

a hurt/ comfort chara dreemurr fic <3

cw: child abuse, broken bones, blood, trauma, self-hatred, suicidal thoughts (um. yeah. maybe this one is a little fucked up... whoops!)

~ 2500k words

chara makes sure asriel is fast asleep before slipping out of his bedroom.

for the first couple months chara stayed with the dreemurrs, chara had been given asriel's room — asriel, meanwhile, temporarily moved to asgore and toriel's room. being alone in asriel's room made chara feel like an invader — this was his space, not theirs. how dare they kick him out of his own space? it definitely had nothing to do with how sick chara felt seeing the evidence of asriel's happy life, filled with toys, and drawings hung on the walls, and soft, fresh sheets, and a family that actually cared, one that saw him as more than just a burden. chara can't help but wonder if asriel had ever gone to bed hungry. or if his parents had ever hit him. chara's not sure which answer would make them feel worse.

after a couple of months, chara had convinced toriel and asgore to let asriel move back into his room. that was only fair, right? well, no, not really — it wasn't fair that asriel had been forced to move out of his own room, but toriel and asgore said that they had wanted to make chara as comfortable as possible. they had lost so much, they said, going from a life free aboveground, to a life trapped in underground. that, plus a newly broken leg, had been enough for the king and queen to insist that chara have their own space, at least until they recovered or they had figured out what to do next. but although chara had protested that they'd be fine sleeping on the couch in the living room — it was more comfortable than their bed back "home," anyway, although they didn't share that part aloud — the dreemurrs refused to let chara move out of asriel's room, instead setting up another bed for them. but perhaps strangest of all, asriel had seemed excited to share his room with someone. chara didn't understand.

… they don't mind sharing a space with him.

asriel's snoring causes chara to nearly jump out of their skin. squeezing their eyes shut, chara takes a moment to catch their breath — it's fine, it's just azzy snoring, everything's fine — before silently hurrying to the kitchen. it hadn't taken chara long to figure out how heavy of a sleeper asriel is. honestly, it was a relief to find out. chara's good at being quiet, of course, able to move about a space without making a single sound — but having the extra assurance of asriel being a heavy sleeper is nice, just in case.

no floorboards creak as chara slips into the kitchen. as far as they can tell, the dreemurr's home doesn't seem to have any creaky floorboards, unlike the house they grew up in. still, they make sure to step as quietly as possible, any potential sound muffled by their thick, fluffy socks. their ears strain for the slightest noise — but after a quick check of their surroundings, chara swallows back their fear eases open the door to the pantry.

chara's eyes flicker across the shelves for anything they can eat quickly and quietly. they bite their tongue, their heart pounding faster and faster by the second. why do they have to have so many baking supplies? toriel's baking is delicious and everything, but it doesn't help chara right now, not when they have to build up a stock of food, just in case. just in case.

after what feels like an eternity, but couldn't have been much more than a few heartbeats, chara decides to grab a bag of what they can only assume to be trail-mix. they don't recognize everything in it, and they're not sure what parts of it might make a crunch — but if worst comes to worst, everything is small enough to be swallowed whole. as an added bonus, there's enough bags of trail-mix that one going missing shouldn't be too noticeable.

chara flinches as the trail-mix rustles in the bag. they send a quick prayer up to a god that clearly never loved them, praying that nobody else heard their fuck-up, before easing the pantry door shut as lightly as possible.

all they have to do now is make it back to asriel's room unnoticed. they hold the bag of trail-mix as still as they possibly can as they sneak back to safety, not wanting to risk making another sound. when they get back to asriel's room, asriel's snoring should be enough to cover up the rustling of the tail-mix — they can hide it somewhere then.

they just have to make it there first. i'm so close.

chara's heart free-falls in their chest as they turn around, finding themself face-to-face with asgore.

asgore blinks in surprise. he doesn't look mad, but when he opens his mouth to speak, all chara can hear are alarm bells blaring in their ears. their breath hitches in their throat. tears begin stinging the corners of their eyes, because i fucked up, i fucked up, it's all over, it's done. i'm done. he's going to kill me.

asgore's brows knit together in something that, if chara was any dumber, they might've mistook for concern. asgore's mouth opens once more, but nothing other than that awful ringing comes out. at some point, chara's trembling hands had dropped the bag of trail-mix — the prize they had risked so much for, gone. and for what? they have no-one to blame but themself.

before they even realize what they're doing, chara is running. they throw open the front door and run like their life depends on it — and maybe it does. they've never fucked up with asgore before — maybe he isn't one for second-chances. maybe he'll refuse to forgive someone he caught trying to steal right under his nose. when chara's own father had caught them stealing before, the consequences were severe — asgore doesn't have that same connection to chara. what if his punishment is worse? he took me in when i had nowhere else to go. chara's blood runs cold as they realize that whatever punishment asgore has planned for them, it'll be far, far worse than anything their father had ever done. what if he kills me? how tragic that chara finally doesn't want to die anymore.

muddy water splashes around chara as they run straight through a puddle. their socks, now soaked, squelch uncomfortably, and despite everything, they find themself grimacing. before they can stop themself, they steal a look over their shoulder, their heart somehow sinking further as they spot asgore chasing them.

fuck, fuck, fuck. stupid, useless tears sting the corners of chara's eyes as they futilely try to blink them away. they rub their eyes with the back of their hand, trying to clear their blurring vision.

unexpected grief fills their chest as they gravity of what they've done truly hits them. they family they've been accepted into — even if they're not their family, because who would ever actually want chara? — will surely want nothing to do with them now. if it was their real family, the humans who had raised them and they had grown up around, who wanted nothing to do with chara, that would be fine — because chara doesn't want anything to do with them, either. it's not like they still ache at night, trying to figure out what they did wrong, why their parents and siblings and community never loved them.

but the thought of the dreemurrs not wanting chara? it hits them like a tidal wave of sadness, even if, logically, they know it shouldn't. the dreemurrs just took care of them out of a feeling of obligation — just like everybody else. it's nothing different, nothing new. nobody has ever actually wanted them. they've known this for a long time, and they've since then accepted it. so why is the thought of losing the dreemurrs so devastating?

a sudden spark of pain from chara's bad leg sends them crashing to the ground with a scream. their knee scrapes the ground, dust and dirt pricking at their skin — but chara has no time to stop, not with asgore, the king, chara's increasingly terrified mind provides, in hot pursuit. whatever he was going to do to me before, running no doubt made it worse. chara struggles to their feet, but after just a moment, their leg gives out for a second time. they try to stand again, but the pain in their leg quickly turns to agony. their leg slides across the rough ground, leaving behind a splattered trail of blood.

chara's head pounds as they stop and turn around. there's nothing they can do now.

rage burns in their father's eyes as he steps forward.

"i'm sorry!" they cry, trying to shrink away from him. they've barely moved an inch away when their back hits the wall. "i'm sorry," they sob again, "pl-please, don't—"

a stinging, burning pain runs across chara's face, cutting them off.

"silence," their father hisses.

he grabs them by the wrist. they can't stop themself from whimpering in fear as their father drags them up the stairs. they try to pull away, try to free themself, but he's too strong — only a few heartbeats later, their father flings open the door to their empty storage closet, a tiny, cramped space, just big enough for someone to stand in.

"p-please," they stammer, "please, don't, i'm sorry, please—"

their father doesn't listen to their pleas. they're thrown inside the room. a second later, a click! confirms they've been locked in. they sink to the floor with a sob.

"i'm sorry," chara sobs, but they've heard this story before — they know how it plays out. they know what happens next. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry—"

"child, are you alright?"

… what?

"i don't understand. what happened? did i… did i do something to frighten you?"

chara doesn't respond, not sure what to say. asgore reaches out a fluffy white paw, only for chara to flinch away. asgore freezes — a moment later, he draws backward.

he's… not mad? chara doesn't understand. or maybe monster anger just looks different…?

"… i'm sorry," chara says eventually.

now it's asgore's turn to be confused. "for what? child, if i did something to frighten you…" he shakes his head and sighs. "i should be the one to apologize, not you."

chara's not sure to say to that, so, they simply don't say anything. they look away, fiddling awkwardly with the sleeve of their sweater.

"you're hurt," asgore realizes, snapping chara's full attention back to him. "we should get you home so we can get you fixed up. can you walk?"

… home? he wants me to come back with him? is… is this a trick? but as chara looks up at asgore, they can't help but think he looks so sincere, like he's actually worried about them, actually wants them in his life. and maybe this is a trick, and maybe chara should know better, but… they push themself to their feet. they stumble, but they manage to remain standing. asgore reaches out a paw before snatching it back.

"may i?" he asks.

chara hesitates. they want to say no, but the numbing pain crawling up their leg tells them that they won't be able to walk on their own. reluctantly, chara nods.

asgore picks them up. chara yelps in surprise — they had expected asgore to help them walk, not pick them up entirely.

"are you alright?" asgore asks. there's a note of worry in his voice. chara still doesn't understand.

"mhm."

if he suspects any differently, he doesn't say so. he just begins walking back towards his house. after a few moments of hesitation, chara sinks against his soft fur, breathing in the comfort.

"whatever you think you did, just know, you're not in trouble." asgore pauses. "do you… do you want to talk about it? whatever you say, i promise i won't be upset."

chara bites their tongue. what is there to talk about? asgore might not think he'll get mad, but what if he does? they shudder. they don't want to risk that. "uh-uh."

"… okay." asgore sighs. to chara's relief, he doesn't press any further.

it doesn't take long for the two of them to get back to the house. the door is still flung wide open "close the door! we raised you better than that!" when they get there. asgore carries chara inside, setting them down gently in a wooden dining room chair.

"it doesn't look like we woke tori up," asgore mumbles to himself. he steps away for a moment to close the front door, returning a heartbeat later with a first-aid kit. he puts it on the table, then steps away once again. he comes back with a damp cloth.

"i'm just going to clean your knee really quick, okay?" asgore waits for chara to nod before beginning to wipe away the dirt and blood. their leg tingles with pain, but thankfully, they're able to keep themself from squirming. asgore finishes quickly. he dries chara's leg, then ducks away to dispose of the cloth. when he returns, he opens the first-aid kit with a click and pulls out a tube of ointment.

"this might sting a little," he warns. chara nods, putting on their best brave face — they're not scared of a little pain. but as asgore begins spreading the ointment across chara's knee, they're left whimpering from the pain as asgore whispers hushed reassurances. finally, he's done, and he bandages up chara's knee. he gives their bandaged wound a small kiss before stepping away. "ready?" he asks. again, chara nods.

asgore picks chara back up and heads for asriel's room. the door gives a soft creeeak as it opens. asriel is still snoring, and despite everything that happened tonight, chara can't help but smile at that. asgore sets chara down in their bed.

"what drawer are your socks in?" asgore whispers.

too tired to say anything in response, chara just points. asgore opens the drawer, pulls out a pair of socks, and hands them to chara. at the same time, chara pulls off their soiled, muddy socks, and holds them for a moment, not sure what to do with them.

"i'll take care of them," asgore offers. silently, he trades chara's soiled socks for a pair of fresh, clean ones. chara slides them on, then slowly begins to tug their blanket over themself. it feels like such an anticlimactic ending to the night, but it seems to hit all at once just how tired chara is.

"good-night, chara," asgore whispers, smiling softly.

"good-night," they whisper back.

asgore eases the door shut. chara closes their eyes and rests their head on the pillow. it isn't long before they slide into unconsciousness.

[whumpsmith-participates]

Medwhump May 2024

Day 1 - Under Anaesthesia / Dislocation

TW: minor whumpee (16), organ theft, blood, strong language, verbally abusive whumper, physically abusive whumper, toxic familial relationship, tobacco

@medwhumpmay

Erick liked to think he was accustomed to pain. Living with someone who lashes out over the smallest things or locks you in the kitchen pantry for fun tends to do that to you. But hey, it could've been worse. He knew damn well what his short-fused caretaker saved him from, so he kept his head down, did what he was told, and tried not to complain. Though, sometimes, that still wasn't enough.

Fetch was a large man. Tall, well-built, with a decent exercise regime of carrying kidnapping victims or pushing Erick around to do the heavy-lifting for him. He was a doctor, once upon a time, still considered himself one. Not having a license to practice due to one misplaced liver was just a minor technicality if you asked him. And it certainly didn't stop him from misplacing even more organs...for the right price.

It also made him feel less guilty (read: not at all) about the way he treated Erick. He was more than willing to admit that he could go a little far sometimes, but the kid had nothing to complain about. He always patched him up afterwards. In fact, he should be grateful that Fetch not only could patch him up, but always did so. No matter how he got injured. It usually was his own fault, after all. If he didn't want to get hurt, he shouldn't have mouthed off.

Today was no different. Fetch had picked up a relatively simple job. All he needed was a kidney, and all he needed to get that kidney, was for Erick to get some more ice from the motel's ice machine. But he had the fucking nerve to complain about it.

"Even more?" he asked.

Fetch rolled his eyes, getting up from the bathroom floor and wiping his hands on a towel, leaving the white fabric stained red. Erick already knew he had messed up, quickly getting up from the bed and heading for the door with the empty bucket.

"I'm going, I'm going!" he said.

Fetch wasn't having it, following him outside and catching him at the top of the staircase, grabbing a hold of his shirt as he yanked him back and forced him to face him.

"You have one job!" Fetch hissed, "and that is to follow orders! You don't know how much ice I need, so who the fuck do you think you are to question me?"

"I-I'm sorry, sir—"

"Shut up, and get me the fucking ice!" Fetch hissed, before pushing him away as he let go.

Erick tried to catch himself, but the floor behind him abruptly stopped and he tumbled down the stairs. It could be worse, he'd probably feel it in the morning, he thought, until he tried to catch himself on the pavement at the end of the stairs. First it was the scrape on his palm that bothered him, that first burning sting of freshly broken skin. Then he tried to pick himself up, and he felt the most immense pain in his shoulder, spreading throughout his arm. He bit his lip to stop himself from crying out, letting out the most pathetic whimper instead.

Fetch cursed as he realised what he'd done. Great, now he probably had to get his own ice. With a sigh, he first pulled a pack of marlboro red from his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and clenching it between his lips as he searched his other pocket for his lighter.

Erick choked out a sob as he watched Fetch's face light up from the small flame that ignited his cigarette, trying to at least sit up while Fetch slowly made his way down the stairs. But the pain made it hard to move. He tried holding his shoulder, but that just made it worse. He tried supporting his arm, but that also made it worse. Everything he tried just fucking hurt.

"Don't tell me you broke something, I don't got fuckin' time for that," Fetch said, having reached the bottom of the stairs.

"I-I don't know," Erick said, trying not to cry. Fetch ignored him, though. Picking up the bucket he dropped and going to get his ice first.

Erick tried to sit up again in the meantime, alternating between holding his breath to stop himself from crying out and gasping for air, the occasional sob escaping along with some breaths. He finally managed, scooting backwards slowly to rest his back against the stair railing, while his injured arm dragged uselessly over the floor.

"Figured it out yet?"

Erick looked up. Fetch had returned with the ice, taking a drag from his cigarette as he towered over the teen.

"I-I can't move my arm," Erick said.

"Great," Fetch grumbled, crouching down and putting a hand over the teen's mouth. Erick was a bit confused as to why he started with that, until he also grabbed his injured arm and moved across his chest. Erick yelped, the sound muffled behind Fetch's hand.

"Hold it like that," Fetch ordered, "keep it across your chest like that, with your other hand under your elbow— That's it."

He carefully lowered his hand, making sure the teen would stay quiet, before grabbing the back of his shirt and pulling him to his feet, nudging him to get back upstairs while he picked up his bucket of ice and followed closely behind.

Erick stumbled back towards the motel room, waiting for Fetch to unlock the door and let him in. Then he sat down on the edge of one of the beds, holding his arm while Fetch finished up with his victim.

When he finally finished, he stepped out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on the towel again, before placing a coolbox on the dresser next to the TV. He glared down at Erick, not an ounce of pity on his face even though the teen was trembling from the pain at this point.

"Learned your lesson, kid?"

"Y-yes, sir," Erick just said.

Fetch seemed satisfied, putting the towel down and pulling a chair closer, pulling Erick's sleeve up to see how his arm was dislocated. A bruise was beginning to form around the joint, but other than that it didn't look too bad from what he could tell without an X-ray.

"Okay," he said, unbuckling his belt, "I'm gonna put it back into place, and it's going to hurt like a bitch, so bite down on this."

He pulled his belt off, and folded it a couple of times, holding it up so Erick could bite down on the leather, before bracing himself as Fetch grabbed his arm again.

We've all seen at least one scene in an emergency room, or even in the middle of anywhere, where dislocated shoulders are pushed back with a quick but very painful move, right? Well...Erick wasn't so lucky.

Fetch didn't pull hard enough on his first try, so all he really gained was to inflict more pain on Erick, who bit down as hard as he could on the belt, but he couldn't help but to cry out in pain a bit.

"Shut up!" Fetch just hissed, before trying again.

Erick really tried to stay quiet, but the pain was so bad it dizzied him. He even tried to just pull away and bury his face in the sheet to at least muffle his cries. It felt like Fetch was trying to rip his arm clean off, when suddenly he stopped.

"Breathe," he said, to which Erick realised he hadn't been breathing. He lifted up his head, gasping for air a bit, coughing as he accidentally breathed in some saliva. Fetch helped him sit up, giving him a second to calm down, before making him support his own arm again while he looked at his shoulder.

"It's back in," he said, "it'll be sore for a while. Keep supporting it. I'll get you a sling after I finish this job, okay?"

"O-okay," Erick said, "I-I'm sorry..."

"You're fine," Fetch said, "c'mon, let's get out of here before he wakes up. And before his kidneys expire, or I'll give them yours."

Erick nodded, taking another second to breathe before getting to his feet. While wondering how to carry his own backpack, Fetch already picked it up for him along with his other things, before holding the door open for him.

"Come on, we don't have all fucking day," he hissed impatiently, to which Erick quickly followed him out, briefly glancing back into the motel room over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the blood left on the bathtub through the open bathroom door.

So,,,if you haven't read Villian's View on DA, meet Fetch and Erick. I wanna try using them for all the prompts, but might change my mind later ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The rules didn't say a valid MD was required for this event, so I decided to grab my whumpiest doctor :3

Also immediately had to switch out with an alt prompt because frankly, I just have no clue about aneasthesia. Never been under it and dislocating something just drew my attention way mooore

ok rant over, thanks for reading!

Masterlist Main account

[workingdownthewordmine]

Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter 5 Every Man Is Guilty

Bucky struggles with the attitudes of his so-called friends and Hive makes themself scarce.

Read this chapter on AO3 here.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 4

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Nonbinary OC, Steve Rogers Rating: T CW: Guilt, bullying (mention), violent child abuse (mention), homophobia (mention), mild dissociation Prompts filled: @lgbtqbingo : Hickeys @fluffbruary : Day 6 - Embarrassment @multifandom-flash (Compliments) : You are better than you think you are

@fandom-free-bingo (World Book Night Edition card 1) : "I don't need you." @fandom-free-bingo (Flight Edition) : Can't make it to dinner, Teasing @anyfandomangstbingo : Best friend's boyfriend @febuwhump : Day 24 - "I'm doing this because I care about you." @seasonaldelightsbingo (Winter Wonderland) : Situationship

Dividers by @unfortunate-beetle-and-friends

Chapter 5 – Every Man is Guilty

“But I have my life, I’m living it. It’s twisted, exhausting, uncertain, and full of guilt, but nonetheless, there’s something there.”

Banana Yoshimoto

“You’re not selling me on this, Steve.” Bucky leant back on the kitchen wall, chin lowered and arms crossed.

“I can’t give you specifics right now. Security’s too tight. If you’ll just come and talk to Fury-”

This was the guy who’d lied to every draft office in the tri-state area? When had Steve become so damn hidebound? “I’m not interested. I told you before, I’m not going to work for SHIELD. And you can save Barton and Romanov’s very touching Different Call story. I’m grateful for what you did for me, really, but I never agreed to get away from Hydra just to sell my soul to someone else.”

Steve’s hands dug deeper into his pockets. “SHIELD isn’t Hydra, Buck. It’s not the same at all. Just let me set up a chat with the director and you’ll see that.”

“Why won’t you let this drop? You’ve got your whole Captain America deal with your team. I’ve got an actual life of my own now. You don’t need me.”

“Fine. You’re right. I don’t need you.”

Never had someone agreeing with him felt so much like a fist in the gut. Bucky didn’t get the chance to tell him to go fuck himself. Steve kept going. “This isn’t about me needing your help, Buck. I’m here because I want your help. I need people around me that I can trust and I trust you. You’re my oldest friend. And I gotta say, Bucky, this whole ‘new life’ you say you’ve got going on looks a lot like walling yourself up in a different cell. I’m doing this because I care about you. What good was getting them to let you go free if you’re just going to lock yourself back up? You look like shit, Buck. When did you last eat? Or drink anything that wasn’t coffee or at least eighty proof? You aren’t one of the bad guys anymore. You can do something worthwhile with your life. You don’t have to be all alone. Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Fuck you, Steve. I’m not gonna be your goddamn bad guy outreach program poster boy. And I had a cheese sandwich just last night, as though it’s any of your fucking business.” And I’m not alone…

They both looked up at the same moment, both heads turned towards the hall closet. “Shit’s always falling down somewhere round here. Place has gone to hell.” But even Steve wasn’t dumb enough not to recognise a sneeze when he heard it.

“For a guy with his windows rigged to blow, you’re weirdly calm about someone climbing around inside your walls.” The tinge of suspicion he heard in Steve’s voice hurt more than Bucky had expected. Who the hell did he think he’d be hiding in a wall cavity? Then he cringed inwardly as Steve began looking around with more intent than he had before. Bucky practically felt his eyes rest for a moment on the extra sleeping bag. His eyebrows visibly rose when he spotted the mug with its weird cute cartoon dragon thing. “Buck?” The suspicion had gone from Steve’s voice and Bucky missed it already.

“Hey, kid, it’s okay. Just a social call.” He listened for a beat of silence, then he and Steve both hear the departing scraping of Hive heading up to the roof. Knowing what he did, Bucky could pick up the unevenness in their movement and made a note to ask to check their injuries later. If he ever saw them again, of course. They might be too spooked to come back at all. He looked down at their mug. They’d be back. He hoped.

“I guess it’s cool that some things don’t change. But I don’t remember you being this coy about your girlfriends even in the forties.”

“‘Girlfriend’ is a real strong word for anyone I passed the time with back then. And that’s not… what this is. They’re just a friend.” Or something. This was definitely not the time to start seriously questioning the weird-ass situation he’d found himself in the last twelve hours or so.

“A friend who hides in the wall when your other friends drop by?”

Other friends? Did Steve think Bucky was having poker nights with the guys every week? What other friends?

“They’re shy, okay?”

“Buck, you don’t have to be embarrassed. I’m glad you’ve found someone you don’t mind having around. I hated thinking of you cooped up here with nothing but a bunch of old memories.” Steve, buddy, you have no idea… “Think I’ll ever get to meet them? What? I can’t be curious about the first person apart from me to ever know the notorious Bucky Barnes well enough to leave a mug at his place?” He couldn’t help but be mildly impressed at Steve’s rapid and unquestioning switch to the neutral pronoun.

“I doubt it. They’re shy, like I said. And it’s not really an ‘introductions to old friends’ kind of thing.” Of at least that much he was sure. Hell, it wasn’t even a thing. Just a really weird couple of days… that had left an extra sleeping bag on his floor.

Steve was frowning again. “You, uh, you’re not in trouble, right? I’ll believe you, whatever you say. I just can’t help noticing you’re a bit more banged up than I’ve seen you in a while. And you smell like that stuff your mom used to cover my hives in when we were kids.” He tried a weak grin.

Well, believe it or not a Hive was responsible… Buck almost returned the smile before he shook himself.  “I’m good. Just had a run in with some kind of funky old insulation while I was doing some repairs. Nothing to worry your pretty head about. The scratches are all healed up anyway.” He turned his shoulder to indicate the one Hive had uncovered. “Only covered them up so I wouldn’t get blood on anything, just didn’t get round to taking off the rest of the bandages before you stopped in for the little recruitment drive. Speaking of which –”

Steve held up a hand to stop him. “Speaking of which, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said… a lot of what I did. It wasn’t my place to judge what you’ve got going on here. I’m sorry.” The renewed anger Bucky had been preparing to unleash petered out more quickly than he had expected. “I meant it though, about wanting to work with you again.”

Buck grunted. “Howling Commandoes reunion tour? This time with one hundred percent less falling out of trains, right?” He hadn’t expected Steve to take the weak joke so hard. Steve hadn’t looked this green since a kid landed a kick in his stomach that left him puking his guts into a trash can. He’d been waiting on the ground by the can when Buck came back with split knuckles and a grin of triumph. They’d gone back to Buck’s place to clean up before Steve’s dad could see the mess on his shirt and add a bloody nose to Steve’s problems. Buck’s place. This place. The sink where they’d rinsed out that faded threadbare shirt had been torn out long ago or it would have been right about where Steve was standing now.

“I should have looked harder.”

“Huh?” Maybe Hive’s attention span was catching, somehow. It took him a second to reconnect the dots.

“I went back. To the pass. I went back about a dozen times, looking for – well – for a body, I guess. Maybe if I’d been smarter about it, I would’ve… would’ve found you. Maybe we wouldn’t be where we are now.” Steve’s words sounded like he was trying to swallow them rather than speak them aloud. “But we are. And I can’t fix what I abandoned you to, but I can’t walk away again. Please, Buck, stop by the compound sometime – nothing to do with SHIELD, just come say hi. Or answer your phone once in a while. I miss my best friend, Buck. The guy I knew back in forty-five, back when our lives made some sort of sense.”

“That guy died in the fall, Steve.”

Steve shook his head. “No, I think he’s very much alive. I see him in there. Don’t bury my best friend in this place, Buck, please. You might feel like you deserve that but you don’t. I’m not talking about showing off how ‘rehabilitated’ you are or anything like that. I mean that guy still deserves the life he should have got the first time around.”

Was that part of you given a choice?

Yes.

There’s always a choice.

No. I would never have chosen that…

Bucky managed to look up at Steve’s eyes. Still fucking insane that he was taller than Buck now. “He’s getting a life. And, I guess, if you’re going to be clingy dork about it, that life can involve spending more time with you than it has done so far. Happy?”

“Yeah, happy. Jerk.”

“We’re in the twenty-first century now, for fuck’s sake, Steve. Learn to curse, I’m begging you.” For just a second they shared a grin. The moment was broken by a beep from Steve’s phone. The sudden awkward energy that radiated from him came as a surprise. “I don’t care if you check your phone, you know? World might be hours from destruction or something.”

“That’s unlikely.” Steve blushed. “It’s probably personal.”

“Stark sending out mass dick pics or something? You’re practically glowing there, Rogers.” The blond head ducked, Steve pushing a hand through his hair. He successfully blocked the blush from view but the new angle… “Steve, that’s a fucking hickey! That’s… at least three hickeys!” Captain America’s complexion was a riot of crimson, the blush spreading down to the livid bruise just below his jaw. “You bruise like I do – those are new and vicious. Christ, Steve, you been hooking up with a moray eel?”

“I, ah, I’m seeing someone.”

“No shit.” Probably he should have expected it. Steve must be one of the most eligible bachelors in the country now. Superpowers, a name like “Captain America”, and serum-enhanced looks on tops of his natural Steve-ness… The girls were probably all over him. Weird thought. “Well? Who is she? Do I need to check she’s good enough for my best friend?”

The tips of Steve’s ears became practically scarlet. “It, uh, look, Buck, I–” Bucky frowned. “The person I’m dating is… he’s a guy.”

Well, Bucky couldn’t say he’d never wondered. The immediate mental maelstrom was much the same as it would have been in the forties. How much trouble was this going to cause him? How many more beatings because hiding himself was absolutely alien to Steve’s nature? It took a few seconds for the twenty-first century to impose itself on his thinking. No, probably no beating for Captain America, but public opinion could be a hell of a thing to reckon with – especially for the nation’s golden boy. And Steve was standing there right now closer to cringing than Buck had seen him since his dad was alive. God, there was a man – if he even deserved the word – who would have exploded at the news that his son was a fairy. He probably would have tried to thrash it out of him, Avenger or no.

“He’s not off the hook for best friend judgement just because he’s male, you know. Do I get to meet him?” He felt the pressure in the room change as Steve relaxed. Had he really expected hostility over his confession? From Bucky?

He doesn’t trust you…

“Uh, I guess, sometime. No one else has yet but it’s not… not really a secret. The team knows.”

Bucky nodded. “Well? You gonna see what he wants?” On cue, Steve’s phone chimed again. Reluctantly, ears still hot, he pulled it out of his pocket.

“Just asking where I want to get dinner tonight.” He tapped out a reply, making Buck smile at the geriatric concentration he had to put into the exercise, betraying the boyish face.

“Cute.”

He knows, deep down, what a monster he unleashed by letting you go.

Stop.

That’s why he’s scared of you, even now. Guilt for leaving you behind? More likely guilt for not finishing what he started when he let you fall.

He didn’t “let me fall”.

We’ve been over this, asset. You used to be less naïve. You know the resources he has at his disposal. Do you really believe he didn’t just decide you weren’t worth the trouble?

Steve pushed his phone back into his pocket and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”

Bucky waved the apology away.

“I should probably get going. I’ll see you? Soon?”

Bucky nodded, but…

Empty offer. You really think he and his new friends want someone around who tried to kill them – however poorly you executed your assignment? Stark didn’t even trust you unsupervised in this dump, let alone in his precious Tower.

“Steve, you sure the others won’t mind me just stopping by? Doubt I‘m popular over there. Not real eager to get teargassed soon as I set foot over the perimeter.”

Steve smiled, his confidence returning. He’d swung his leg over the sill already. “Sure, I’m sure. It’s not like everyone trusted Natasha when she first showed up either. They’re the good guys, Buck. They believe in second chances.” His smile was warm as ever as he ducked out of the window, not seeing the way the temperature of Bucky’s blood had plummeted. “And charge your phone,” Bucky heard him say as his feet landed on the tarmac.

Second chances… isn’t that sweet? So much for his assurances of your deep and abiding innocent soul, it seems. You could have almost believed that choir boy act, couldn’t you?

It was three hours before Hive returned the way they had left. The hum of the generator wasn’t quite enough to drown out their scuffling descent. The faceless apparition was unnerving until they loosened their hood strings and pulled their hoodie down to uncover their lower face. “Protection,” they explained, though Bucky had already guessed as much. From the looks of the stretched fabric round their wrists, they’d had the sleeves pulled down over their hands too.

“Good call. Skin still itches like shit.” He’d had another go with the cream – Steve was right about the smell barely having changed in almost a century – but ran into the same problem as before. He’d had to spend a good twenty minutes scrubbing the stuff out of the joints in his arm with a toothbrush.

He was turning to offer Hive some of the beans he’d been heating on the camping stove, when he realised what else had bothered him about their appearance. They were huddled in the hallway, dressed as they’d been when they made their exit earlier – hoodie, cargoes, black and purple striped socks…

“You’ve been hanging around Brooklyn with no fucking shoes on?”

“You’d be amazed. Saw one guy with no shoes, no socks, and only half a pair of trousers. Guess I should be grateful for what I’ve got. Anyway, I wasn’t stopping for pre-flight checks while I was busy fleeing for my life, was I?”

“You need to check that you’re wearing shoes?”

“Told ya,” They seemed almost proud. “My brain is wrong.”

“Won’t be the only thing that’s wrong if you do shit like that. You’re lucky you haven’t got tetanus or something.”

“Probably too soon to be sure if I have or not,” they pointed out as they dropped down by the fire and stuck their feet out to warm near the flames.

“Not real comforting, kid.”

Hive watched him for a moment, maybe wondering the same thing he was: at what point had their continued well-being become a matter of comfort to him. Then again, maybe not.

“You call me that a lot. Kid. ‘M not a kid, you know.”

He grunted in reply. “I’m an old man, kid. Don’t take it personally.” That was apparently acceptable. They huffed but smirked. They wiggled their toes. Unsurprisingly, the soles of their socks were filthy, damp, and holes in more than one place. One big toe poked free. They saw him looking and wagged it pointedly at him.

“Rude to stare.” They were grinning.

“Sure your feet are okay? There are landfills cleaner than the streets round here. No cuts or anything?”

“Will you feel better if I check?”

“I’ll have less concern about my apartment stinking of gangrene tomorrow, yeah.”

They rolled their eyes but folded their legs and peeled off their socks.

He doled out beans, giving Hive the bowl and keeping his own in the pan, while they performed their inspection.

“All good,” they pronounced, hopping up with only a bit of a wobble to rinse their hands under the lonely sinkless faucet. Bucky wasn’t sure if it had been seeing Steve standing in the old place, looking not so much like he’d grown as like the room had shrunk around him, or if it was just having someone else inhabiting the space with him for a while, but the apartment’s wasted, skeletal feel was more noticeable to him now. He was making food over a camping stove. His bed was a sleeping bag. For someone who’d finally come back home, he looked pretty homeless right now, didn’t he? Was that what Steve had seen? Did Bucky have that same look? An abandoned shell, like the building?

What makes you think you deserve any better? You could have been so much more…

“Cheers.” Hands clean, Hive had grabbed their bowl and clunked it lightly against the pan. Seeing his confusion, they repeated, “A toast to toes not turning grey and dropping off! Which… now that I hear it again, may not have been the most genteel toast ever raised at a meal. Oops. Hope I didn’t put you off.” They tucked into their own food with no sign of discomfort.

“A toast to not losing body parts gets my vote,” he conceded. They shared a grin. “Where did you go earlier anyway? Guessing you didn’t find a café that didn’t care about the lack of shoes.”

“Rooftops, mostly. Nearby ones. Figured if it was a social call I probably didn’t need to flee the state. Thought about a library but figured I’d attract a bit too much attention.”

“Library?”

“They have books there! The wild kind, not the kind you have to pay for. Like a book zoo – except members can foster the animals. The analogy got a bit lost, sorry.”

“I followed, most of it anyway. I do know what a library is. We had ‘em when I was a kid too, you know.”

While he did the sparse dishes, Bucky could see Hive moving around out of the corner of his eye. A glance found them rolling up their sleeping bag and gathering the small quantity of trash they’d been accumulating into a sack. He dried his hands and grabbed his phone; it had turned up beside the plant pot. The generator fell quiet. Bucky turned the phone on and almost immediately wished he hadn’t. It lit up with message after message, the device rattling in his metal grip.

Steve: Been a while. How are you getting on?

Steve: Hope you are doing okay. There is a briefing later today that you might be interested in. Let me know.

Banner: Shuri sent me over your updated records. I think we should discuss a pain management regimen. Contact me.

Steve: Clint and Natasha are planning a movie night. How about joining us?

Steve: You really need to answer a text (or a call) once in a while.

Fen: You’re 30m late

Fen: Where are you??

Fen: Call me, James

Steve: I tried to call twice and didn’t get an answer. I’m going to drop by this morning. There’s some SHIELD business I want to discuss and it’s been a long time since you checked in. Miss you, man.

Fen: This is real shitty of you. You’re decent at the job and I like you but you can’t just ditch for the day without a word. The garage was busy today. We need to talk.

Steve: ETA 10 minutes.

“Fuck.” Hive looked up. “Everything going on since yesterday… Seems I forgot to go to work today.” He started moving automatically, grabbing his jacket off a picture nail, and toeing his boots upright. Hive must have taken them off for him while he was unconscious. He’d have expected to feel more latent objection to the idea but he definitely did not have time to stop and consider the unfamiliar close, warm sensation he experienced instead.

“I should have thought… sorry.”

“Huh?” He stopped, half inside his jacket.

“I mean, I knew, didn’t I? Where you work. That’s how I found you in the first place. Should have occurred to me that you ought to be there.”

He was already four hours late. What difference was five more minutes likely to make to his boss’s bad mood. “Wasn’t your problem if I went to work or not. I’m a big enough boy to handle my own routine.” He was a bit unsettled to see Hive huddling into a corner again, much as they’d done last night. They were still on their feet but they’d shrunken down into their hoodie and were not looking at him. “Hey, kid, it’ll be okay. My huge personal charm will smooth things over with my boss and anyway it is not up to you to have shit to do with my schedule.” They nodded but still wouldn’t meet his eyes. Their gaze was unfocused, drifting around the floor. Trying not to wonder why he cared, he cast around for something to ground them.

“Know what? I’m gonna try to make a dinner tonight that doesn’t come straight out of a can. What do ya think? Sound good?”

“I mean… it’s pretty vague.” He was relieved to see some… presence come back into their face. “Are we talking closer to a dead pigeon you found on the roof or delicately braised sustainably-farmed salmon?” Bucky’s expression apparently satisfied. They grinned a little.

“I guess somewhere in the middle but a little closer to the dead pigeon. I’ll do my best.”

The grin brightened. “Sounds good. I don’t like salmon much anyway.”

He nodded. “No salmon. Got it. See you later – gotta go save my job.”

The garage hadn’t been too bad. Fen had been obliged to rake him over the coals a little – sure it was real useful having a guy on staff who could jack up a car on one hand, in addition to being able to handle basically any bike issue she could remember being brought, but only if he was gonna decide to turn up when expected and not just when it was convenient to him. He knew she took no pleasure in playing the hard-ass, except with assholes who didn’t believe she was more than capable of dismantling their tricked out dick substitutes down to the nuts and then reassembling it faster than they could jerk off over a climate change denial manifesto; she just wanted her garage running smooth. He’d worked out the rest of the day and hung out past close to put away some late deliveries by way of apology and all ruffled feathers had settled. His extended shift had meant it was already past dark when he got to his supply run, though. He hoped Hive wasn’t getting too hungry waiting.

If they were, it wasn’t causing any notable chaos. The building was quiet and dark. Maybe they were taking the opportunity for some much needed sleep. A smile crept over his lips at the thought. He tried to keep quiet and not disturb them when he manoeuvred his awkward haul through the window, catching the new wok as it made a dash for the floor. But he’d no sooner set things down than he knew the apartment was deserted. It felt empty in a way he couldn’t recall it feeling before they’d arrived. He stuck his head out into the hallway but the whole building had the same mournful, abandoned echo. A shiver gripped him – all the more dramatic in a body that always ran so hot. He searched the apartment. Their sleeping bag was folded neatly in a corner of the hall. His own he found moved to his bedroom, spread out with pillow, blanket and a sheet of paper laid on top. He recognised their handwriting.

Hey Bucky,

Wasn’t sure when to expect you back. I’m so sorry – looks like I might have to miss dinner after all. I need to go do something. Should be back by 9 at the latest so… maybe save me some if I didn’t piss you off too much by ditching? Sorry, again. Sorry sorry sorry. See you later.

Hive x

Bucky stood in his bedroom doorway with the note in his hand and shot a look at the things he’d left in the kitchen – the wok and utensils he’d been managing without, the extra bowl, plate, cutlery, and the bag spilling spring onions and packets of noodles beside them. Gotta do what they gotta do, he supposed. The note creased in his fingers. No problem. Might take him a while to get this right anyway. He’d cook, and they’d probably be back by the time he was done, sure.

With how many people who’d love to know where to find Bucky Barnes in tow?

They don’t want to be found themselves. They wouldn’t bring anyone back here…

The nightmare act really sucked you in, didn’t it? Who knows who they really are? Even if they are in hiding from someone, aren’t there plenty of people who’d trade the whereabouts of the Winter Soldier for better protection than hiding out with a monster who already nearly killed them? Not a high bar, is it?

So what’s your suggestion?

What time is it?

What?

They said they’d be back by nine.

Probably so we’d stay put and off guard.

What time is it?

He’d never bothered to get a clock. He pulled out his phone.

22:27

His eyes shot to the window.

Note: Thanks for reading, y'all! And thank you to all the wonderful providers of prompt events without which I probably wouldn't have started writing again. Special thank you to my boys for inspiring me and keeping me motivated.

[the-bar-sinister]

I've already talked about my headcanons and speculation about Kristoph and Klavier's parents and upbringing based on their behavior in the game. Extremely abusive, neglectful, and concerned primarily with appearances.

I'm going to go a step further and say specifically that Kristoph bit his nails as a child and was punished in a severe and memorable way for it, giving him a complex about it in particular.

"First rate in all things. Accept nothing less." -- Kristoph Gavin, parroting his father.

[cynicalone94]

Demonic Possession?

In The Hard Part, it's revealed that Wes's first social worker refers to him as 'The Demon'. Here's the horrifying reason why. CW: child abuse, references to child neglect, religious extremism, a monstrously awful social worker, and a sad ending. This is hurt/no comfort and if the ending breaks your heart as badly as mine, I suggest my solution. Go re-read Chapter 7 for the reminder that this sweet little boy eventually gets the love and the family that he deserves.

Read on AO3 here.

@febuwhump