#hesitate caretaker

[seaweed-whump]

This is Hyacinth

A villain known to target the International Hero Network and considered too dangerous for sidekick aided missions.

He's 24 and having a very bad few months. I'd go into more detail but it's kinda spoilers for later.

But he wakes up, very cold and under a bed. Then apparently his only real shot at both medical treatment and escape is a hyperactive teenager who apparently brought him to the Training Center. Which is a very bad place for villains to be. Hope no one else finds out he's there.

[critterbitter]

How did Elesa get a Blitzle as a starter if she's from Sinnoh? (hang on this is ironic she could've learned about warden ingo in school back there)

Blitzle Elesa backstory under cut!

Blitzle was gifted to Elesa so she has an “easier time” integrating into Nimbasa by her well meaning dad. This is not the greatest move, since the two feel they are more obligated to stick together then, you know, actually choose each other. Blitzle’s meant to be a utility mon— he helps charge elesa’s hearing aid batteries and basically serves as an emotional support when things get rough. He’s… not the biggest fan. (I like to imagine Blitzle was originally part of a battle track, but his IVs aren’t the greatest so they shuffled him out. He’s a bit bitter about that.)

Inciting incident where they actually start taking the proper steps to becoming partners is when Elesa takes a tumble down a hill and Blitzle twists his foreleg going after her. (Local child eats shit! More at 11.)

They’re just kids, and they’re still learning.

(When Elesa decides to challenge the gyms, Blitzle’s so excited he accidentally trips their house’s circuits.)

((As for Elesa hearing about Warden Ingo, well… that’ll be a future issue.))

((DIRECTLY INSPIRED BY THIS ASK!! TY @scarftale-bryan ))

Yes. YES.

MASTERLIST FOR POKEMON CONTENT:

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

Sugu being a tummy hugger when you both cuddle and sleep 💕

He just finds hugging your belly comforting and you can rest your head on his lucious nice smelling hair 🥺❤️

YES. TUMMY LOVER SUGU YOU ARE SO REAL TO MEEEE….. he truly adores all parts of you but i think has such a fondness for your stomach 😔 he loves burying his head in it when he’s stressed. if you have enough body fat to grab he will be absently pawing at it…. i also think he likes flopping down on top of you like a big cat :33 having you play with his hair….. coddling him……. sugu is such a clingy little baby when he’s sleepy i’m so convinced of this

[beaft]

normally im violently resistant to spotify's ai generated playlists but i will be honest their "hauntology" mix really dungeons my dragons

[fallloverfic]

I know not everyone has read the Delicious in Dungeon World Guide: The Adventurer's Bible, but there's an interesting section I think even some folks who did missed when it comes specifically to Mithrun and what he can and cannot do in re: taking care of himself. Spoilers for the manga. (And obviously to each their own headcanon, but I'm just looking at what's in the canon text)

On p.73 of the Delicious in Dungeon World Guide: The Adventurer's Bible, there's this bit of text in Mithrun's character section, "Even though he has no desires, he still has routine habits, so he can handle everyday life on his own. However, when he's in a dungeon, he tends to neglect things like eating and sleeping." Nowhere in there does it say anything about him needing help to bathe or go to the bathroom. We know Cithis is assigned to look after him (so that he "doesn't collapse during missions." (p.82)). We know from Daydream Hour that he at least seemingly needed help to bathe while he was recovering. It's possible he's since gotten over this and can do it on his own (one targeted focus of Milsiril helping him was to get him to keep himself clean).

Another note is that while Cithis does kind of leave things vague when asking Kabru to "see to his needs" (p.144, Volume 9, Chapter 61), the only thing she specifically tells Kabru to do is make sure Mithrun eats. Kabru is the one who takes it a lot farther. And while, yes, carrying Mithrun to safety and making sure he rests properly is a lot more than feeding him, it's also not "make sure he goes to the bathroom regularly". You could argue Cithis was just being delicate or they didn't have time... But still. Cithis didn't say this. She just says, "Until we do, we'd like you to see to his needs. Food in particular! Three meals a day. If you feed him properly... ...we'll overlook this incident." And this matches what the Adventurer's Bible says. In the Cithis comic in the Adventurer's Bible, the only things we see Cithis telling Mithrun to do are: eat, sleep, and switch out his clothes. While the clothes thing is kind of a question mark (and probably a joke), again: the only things we really see him having an issue/getting help with are really eating and sleeping properly. Principally, while it's clear he does need more help than just someone to feed him... the things we see Kabru do are adjacent to his eating and sleeping properly. Mithrun doesn't register a need to rest or eat, so he doesn't sleep or ask for food until he collapses. He's unable to sleep without aid (and a foot massage, to my knowledge, does not solve "uncomfortable but ignored need to go the bathroom"). And he generally tends to overuse his magic until he collapses. He doesn't like... collapse because he just forgot to go to the bathroom for too long. Nor does Kabru seemingly indicate that he smells. The one time he noticeably has an issue bathing is with the mushrooms, and Kabru seems to be going to the next level with Mithrun's hair glossy, which implies maybe Kabru's either getting Mithrun better shampoo or cleaning and/or brushing Mithrun's hair himself. But outside the mushrooms it's not clear Mithrun needs the help bathing, and the difference might be because his body has changed completely due to the mushrooms.

Additionally, what does Cithis say when Mithrun is using his magic a lot on floor one: "We'll have to make sure Captain Mithrun eats soon. Once we're finished here, let's get some food in town." (p.146, Volume 8, Chapter 55). Again... all roads lead back to: he forgets to eat and sleep properly at least some of the time, and his comrades have to keep an eye on him for that. But that seems to kind of be it.

Where I think folks might be getting confused is in trusting Kabru's estimation of things a bit too much, and I do understand why. After all, he's the massage feet guy! He kept them alive (with Mithrun's help)! He helped Mithrun choose to live on! He knows his stuff!

...But that doesn't mean that Kabru is always right. In fact, he's not right a number of times in the manga (e.g., when he's describing Past!Mithrun in the Adventurer's Bible, or when he's trying to convince Laios to wait without explaining what happened to Marcille).

But let's start at the beginning: the one set of panels where it's left sort of open-ended whether or not Mithrun needs help to remember to go to the bathroom:

(I personally imagine Mithrun just going along with it in the end might be due to the fact he's exhausted to the point of collapse, and just generally goes along with what other people want in these situations so long as it doesn't endanger his mission, such as with Cithis and Fleki)

I just think it's interesting it never seems to come up anywhere else that I'm aware of (even Daydream Hour doesn't show the caretakers going to that level of care, though I imagine he would at least need help getting out of his bonds to go to the bathroom), nor do we see how this specific scenario - Kabru literally dragging Mithrun out of bed to go to the bathroom while Mithrun protests he's doesn't need to go - turned out. The scene literally fades to black while they're running; not that I'd expect Kui to draw Mithrun doing his business or Kabru forcefully encouraging him to, but it does still leave it more open-ended than clear-cut. You could argue that because bathroom stuff grosses people out a lot, bringing it up once twice and solely for a gag works, but also only showing this much and not bringing it up again makes sense as well, so the fact that it isn't clear-cut + isn't brought up again doesn't necessarily mean that Kabru was wrong in his belief that Mithrun needed this help, so much as it's practical storytelling... Also Kui literally has a whole comic about Laios' poop creating forests from makeshift toilets, this comic is not above literal toilet humor.

But also it still leaves open the idea that Kabru was wrong. Because while Kabru is often right about things, he isn't right all the time (especially when he panics). And one of the notable times he was panicking about something, Mithrun was the one who slapped him to his senses.

(I mean part of it was probably revenge for Kabru knocking him out at Sissel's home earlier but the point still stands). This isn't even the first time Mithrun calls out Kabru's wild imagination: it's technically the second/third.

Also as astroloquacious pointed out in the notes: Kabru's role model for caretaking was Milsiril, who was notably overbearing. Specifically before he is thrust into working with and then looking after Mithrun, he recalls a memory of Milsiril being overbearing in her caretaking of Kabru, and how he would rather stay in Merini with its dangers than return to that life. He probably internalized some of the stuff he disliked about her. And if Milsiril, who is a lot older than Kabru, can get stuff wrong about his needs, then who's to say that Kabru doesn't get stuff wrong about Mithrun's needs?

tldr; Believe what you want about this aspect of Mithrun's lifestyle. Not showing a thing doesn't make a heavily implied thing untrue. But I think the Adventurer's Bible is pretty clear. Also, according to the complete Adventurer's Bible, it seems Pattadol is still helping him a little post-Merini, and he's clearly not averse to having a helper (e.g., Fleki). I just don't think it's necessarily factual that Kabru is right in that Mithrun needs this level of care/attention in this particular area, particularly outside a dungeon.

[impossibledial]

i’m so intrigued by dannyclara despite not shipping them. i think that relationship is an interesting addition to clara’s character arc and i’m still trying to to figure out it’s purpose.

[cozywhump]

A doesn’t have anyone who they can rely on. They don’t have any friends, and any family they have is too distant to ask for help.

A never considered their loneliness a real problem until one day, they ended up in the hospital with some pretty serious injuries. They can’t afford to extend their stay very long, so as soon as they’re given the approval to leave, they want to do so immediately—but due to the nature of their injuries (maybe something to the legs or minor to the head that would hinder their ability to move), A can’t exactly make it home on their own.

They give the hospital a few emergency contacts to try calling, most of which are family they haven’t spoken to in forever or mere acquaintances who probably don’t care about them enough to help. A begins to lose hope…because there’s only one person left who can realistically make it. B.

A and B never got along, ever. Some weird, drawn-out rivalry between them that they each swear only exists because the other started it, yet they find it impossible to get along. A only has their contact information to send them the occasional nasty, sarcastic text.

Begrudgingly, because they really just want to go home and have exhausted every other option, A gives the hospital B’s number to try. They know that B will probably just laugh and hang up, but they’re just so tired and their injuries ache and they just wanna get home so they can change into fresh clothes and sleep in their own bed.

They were shocked when the nurse told them that B was on their way.

A had to rationalize for a moment. They were probably coming over to laugh at them or something. They’d laugh, probably sneak a few pictures, too. There wouldn’t be an ounce of empathy in their body. But at the very least, A could go home.

It takes B about 25 minutes to get there (seriously, couldn’t they have gotten here any faster?) and when they enter A’s room, they’re stuck staring at each other for a few moments.

“Wow,” B starts, “you look way worse than I thought you would.”

A wants to bite back at them, but now that they look closer, there’s no enjoyment on B’s face at seeing A’s condition. There’s not exactly sympathy, either…if A could describe it as one thing, it was pity.

They wanted to hate being pitied, but honestly, it’s the closest they’ve ever gotten to someone actually being worried about them.

“Whatever,” A muttered. “I just wanna go home.”

They leave the hospital room and eventually make it outside (with more help from B than A was willing to admit), and with some struggle, they were able to slowly maneuver A into the car without aggravating any of their injuries.

The ride is slow and painfully quiet. A can’t tell whether B is keeping the radio off to spite them with the awkwardness, or maybe it was busted, or maybe they were so focused on driving that they didn’t even notice the tension. No matter the answer, it pissed A off.

“So.” B’s voice quickly snapped them back. “What the hell happened to you?”

A just scoffed, though there was none of their usual energy behind it. “None of your business.”

“Fair enough.” They were so nonchalant about it, that also began to piss A off. “Then, you mind explaining why I was the one you decided to call? I thought you had, like, way more friends than me or whatever it was.”

Oh. It was probably something stupid they’d lied about during the heat of an argument. B actually remembered that shit?

“Oh, yeah, that.” A paused, probably for too long. “I tried them. They didn’t, uh, answer.”

“Not one of them answered.”

“Yeah.”

“Out of every single one of your friends.”

“Um.” A faced away from B, even though B definitely wasn’t looking at them. If their hand wasn’t stuck in this cast, they’d definitely be fidgeting like crazy. “Yeah, uh…no, actually. I, uh, lied. About…that.”

“Hm.”

It didn’t sound like B was surprised at all.

“I really did try everyone else in my contacts, though. They were all busy, or it was just…inconvenient, I guess.”

“Sounds to me like you need new friends.”

Something leaped in A’s chest when they heard B say that, and their head quickly turned to face them, though B was focused on the road. “You…think so?”

“Yeah,” B said with a nod. “Because this is an inconvenience to me, too, but here I am suffering anyway.”

And there goes that. “You ass!” A shouted, much to B’s amusement. “I actually thought we were having a moment—oh, you’re so lucky I’m stuck like this, or I’d…”

“You’d…?”

Another prolonged silence, and A just silently dropped back into their seat.

Even then…B was kinda right. A had other people, people they tolerated way more than B, and people who didn’t seem annoyed by everything they said. Yet it had been B who showed up to help.

…No. That didn’t mean anything. In fact, that said more about B than themselves. It meant weakness. B had a weak spot! They weren’t so tough, and deep down, they actually did…

…Wait a second.

“Hold on,” A cut in, sitting up as they watched out the window. “You passed my complex. It was back there.”

“I know.”

They turned back towards B. “I wanna go home.”

It was almost pathetic how whiny and tired they sounded, but right now, A didn’t care. Something seemed to flash across B’s face, but for A’s own sanity they chose to ignore it.

“So, I was thinking about just dumping you off at home,” B began. “And that’s what I was gonna do. But honestly, looking at you again, you definitely can’t fend for yourself right now—“

“Don’t word it like that.”

“—and I don’t want you calling me in the middle of the night to come over because you got your shirt stuck over your head or something. So, until you look like you got hit by…maybe a motorcycle instead of a truck, you’re staying with me.”

…Oh.

A blinked up at B, who just kept their eyes on the road the whole time. After a few seconds of silence (which felt weirdly comfortable now. A was probably too tired to feel awkward), they settled back into their seat again.

They thought about it again, and A couldn’t help the small smile that spread across their face.

“Good to know that you do care about me.”

“Just shut up before I leave you in a cardboard box on the street.”

[tildeathiwillwrite]

"Is that a kid!?"

WoW Birthday Whump Day 7: Bloodied knuckles / Wounded / "Is that blood?!"

Whumpril Day 7 (Hesitation)

WoW Birthday Whump Prompts List

Whumpril Prompts List

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

TW: blood, referenced kidnapping, referenced poison, referenced torture, cleaning wounds

Context: Draven receives an unexpected visit from Octavian. And he's not alone. A.K.A. Draven meets a child who is definitely not traumatized.

-----

Draven was in the middle of housework when the front door lock clicked. He froze, dusting cloth in one hand, the other reaching for the pistol at his side. The door creaked as someone pushed it open, then it shut just as quickly. Was that two sets of footsteps?

The door lock clicked a second time, and Draven drew the pistol, letting the dusting cloth fall to the floor. “Hiro?” He called, scrambling off the table—where he was dusting off the lamp above—and moving towards the doorway that connected the kitchen to the main living space. What he saw when he entered the room gave him pause.

“Is that blood?!”

Octavian glanced down at his hand. The skin on his knuckles had broken, and the cloth wadded tightly around his palm was soaked in the pale red liquid. A nasty gash above his right eye dripped blood down his face like tears. “...yes.”

Draven jumped as a small head popped out from behind Octavian. “And is that a kid?”

The girl flinched at his words and ducked back out of view. She was young, couldn’t have been older than twelve or thirteen, with short blonde hair.

“Also yes,” Octavian said simply. “I found her in the forest while hunting.”

Draven slid the pistol back into its holster. “Did you lose a fight with a bear? I expected better from you, de Silv.”

The devar rolled his eyes. “Obviously not. I sustained these injuries while trying to escort her home.” He gave the girl a significant look. “Because she hadn’t bothered to tell me she’d been kidnapped.”

“I said I was sorry,” the girl mumbled, barely audible from across the room.

“Kidnapped? Is that why you brought her here, of all places?” Draven crossed the room and reassessed both their injuries. Other than the bloody knuckles, the cut above his eye, and probably a few bruises, Octavian looked all right. The girl, however, was another case.

Upon first inspection, she only looked to have a partially scabbed-over cut on her left cheek. But the deep red stains on the sleeves of her jacket, too big for her, told a different story. She also didn’t look like she’d had a proper night’s sleep in some time. Draven could relate.

The girl’s face reddened at Draven’s inspection. Her eyes were downcast, and she picked at the hems of her jacket.

“Yes. I assume that whoever had taken her had agents in Zariya, they tried to snatch her off the street before we got out of sight.”

The key word was ‘tried’. Draven nodded before turning on his heel and darting back to the kitchen. Snatching his bag from its place on the table, he returned and dropped it in front of one of the couches. “Sit,” he ordered.

Octavian did so without question or hesitation, and the girl meekly followed. Draven rummaged through the bag, searching through the disorganized mess for the medical supplies he kept on hand. The hunting business was notorious for many on-the-job injuries, even for the mercenaries.

The first thing Draven shoved at Octavian was the tiny bottle of augri, alcohol so pure that ingesting it might cause death. “For cleaning the wounds. Not for drinking.”

The devar regarded him with mild amusement. “My people—er—my poison tolerance is greater than you realize, Cozenson.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Draven handed him a pair of handkerchiefs. “I don’t have extra on hand and it doesn’t taste good anyway.”

“...how do you know that?” the girl asked quietly as Octavian wet one of the cloths with the augri.

Draven tossed the rest of the medical supplies onto the couch next to Octavian. It was a jumble of different bandages that he hoped would be enough to bind their wounds. All as clean as possible, of course. He had standards. “Hiro—my roommate—dared me to try some once when we were in training. I didn’t swallow it, obviously, but let’s just say I prefer whiskey.”

The girl frowned. “‘Training’?”

Octavian pressed the handkerchief to his injured knuckles and hissed out through his teeth. “He’s a lycanthrope hunter. My apologies, I didn’t introduce you. This is Draven Cozenson, my partner. Draven, this is Reese.”

Reese’s eyes widened. “Wait, you’re the werewolf hunter? The one who used to work in the northern forests?”

Draven rocked back on his heels, mystified. “Yeah, that’s me.” He knew his fame had grown since training, but for a random Zariyan girl to know who he was… had he really gotten that famous? Apparently so.

Octavian finished cleaning off his hand and started wrapping it. “You’re going to have to remove the jacket,” he said softly. 

Reese glanced down at her forearms, hidden underneath the stained sleeves, and grimaced. “Oh… yeah….” She slowly slipped off the jacket, jaw set as her wounds were revealed.

Draven cursed. “What in the depths did they do to you, kid?”

The cuts were shallow, thank the celestials, but so much of her blood was smeared over the skin that it was impossible to tell the extent.

“The cuts weren't them,” Reese said, numb. She pointed to the bruises on her inner elbows and wrists. “That's what they did. The cuts were done by… I think it was a fellow prisoner. With broken glass.”

Octavian froze in the act of scrubbing the blood from his face. “You didn't tell me that.”

Reese only shrugged, reaching for the augri and the other handkerchief. She winced when the alcohol made contact with the cuts but did not cry out.

Draven made uneasy eye contact with Octavian as the devar cleaned the gash over his eye. This changed things, and they both knew it. Not only had the people who'd taken Reese tried to get her back, they'd done so in broad daylight. Octavian defended her, and although they escaped, her abductors would be keeping watch for both of them.

“I need you both to lie low for a few days,” Draven began, rising to his feet. “Perhaps even move to my other safehouse when it gets dark. Then we get Reese home safely and figure out our next move from here.” He glanced at Reese. “Did you learn any of your captors’ names?”

She hesitated before responding. “Only Sagon. I don't know his last name. He has long black hair, it's always pulled back, but he wore a mask like a black circle to cover his face.”

Octavian folded his arms. “I can handle myself, Cozenson. They were no match for me.”

“Clearly…” Draven deadpanned, eyeing the cut on his head. “How'd you end up with a wound like that, anyway?”

The devar muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

“Hmm?”

“...I let myself get slammed into a table…” Octavian repeated, face darkening.

Draven smirked. “‘Handle yourself’, indeed.”

“Shut up.”

@fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds

[zaricats]

maybe this is a stretch, but there is something very compelling about brian as a mother-adjacent, mother-proxy figure to dexter, and how brian is at complete odds with harry, dexters obvious father figure

[katwriteswhump]

Whumpril 2024 Day 7: Hesitation

@whumpril get tagged

Content: selma being scared of finn again but what else is new

this is from right at the end. when finn’s about to land in jail (it gets more complicated but you can find out about that later this month <3)

this is like, barely whump unless you’re putting angst under the whump umbrella

Day 7: Hesitation

Selma paused, for just a moment, outside the door of the courtroom. Morgan went in, but Everly noticed Selma and hung back.

‘Are you OK, Selms?’ she said gently.

‘No,’ Selma immediately said. ‘I can’t be OK until he’s behind bars, locked away forever, or better, dead.’

‘He will be, soon, so soon.’ Everly reached forward and took Selma’s hand. ‘C’mon, Selma. Just a few hours, and you’ll be OK forever.’

Selma nodded, wishing desperately that she had the courage, the conviction, to go ahead into that courtroom. She wishes she was brave enough to go and talk and look that bastard in the eyes while explaining every last detail of what he did to her, proving his guilt once and for all. But what he’d done had changed her. She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t face him.

‘Hey, Selma…’

‘Mm?’ she said in the most nonchalant tone she could muster.

‘He hurt you. And if you want to wait, if you want to stay outside, then that’s fine. I wouldn’t blame you. I understand. He shouldn’t have done those things to you, and if it were me I’d never want to lay eyes on him again.’

Selma looked at Everly, searched her eyes.

‘There’s a “but” coming, isn’t there?’ she said.

‘Yes,’ Everly sighed, taking Selma’s shoulders. ‘I’d understand if you don’t want to come, but wouldn’t it just be the final slap in the face for him if you walked in there, and looked him in the eye, and proved to him that hurting you was not only pointless but a waste of his fucking time? That you can come back from anything that he does to you, stronger and more powerful that you were before?’

There was a silence.

‘Yes.’

‘So? Are you coming?’ said Everly gently, aware that she was asking a lot of Selma.

‘Yes,’ said Selma slowly, ‘if you hold my hand.’

And she did, and so together they walked into the courtroom, ready for Selma’s nightmare to be over at last.

Selma couldn’t know that Everly was also hesitating. Wondering if she’d be able to wait until they were out of sight to get her hands on that bastard. Hesitating around the notion of letting herself kill him. She knew Selma wouldn’t feel safe, truly safe, unless Finn was dead.

She knew she could kill him, if she wanted. She had the ability. The only problem was how she was itching to get to him, waiting desperately until she could catch him in the shadows.

Well, no matter. Selma would never know.

[seaweed-whump]

This is Creo

He's Rye's mentor and the IHN's golden boy, he specializes in preemptive missions and bringing villain in. More off the books he's also very good at getting information out of the villains he brings back.

It's not as relevant to the actual plot but Creo also found Blitz and brought them back to the Center, at the time he was a trainee himself and partnered with Wren. That team didn't work out very well due to uh. moral differences

[whomeidontknowthem]

Content warning: slavery, implied sexual slavery, implied torture, implied non-con

From the author: THIS STORY IS GOING TO BE REWRITTEN. The details will change. Once I have a new version, I will take this one down and repost it as it's own thing. It's necessary so I can get the story progression and worldbuilding straight, as now I have plans for a series based on these characters, but initially I didn't put much forethought into it.

When six years ago Kris promised she'd never give up until she found Ayzan, she didn't know how it'd be. She thought it'd be simple: she had a trail to follow and people to interrogate, and she'd not give up until she got to the bottom of it all. She did, get to the bottom of the whole slave trade organization. Ayzan was not there.

She followed more trails, then, went through the names in encrypted documents, through sellers and buyers and all the people in between, got into fights that almost killed her and conflicts with higher ups that nearly ended in worse disasters.

Ayzan wasn't there. They weren't anywhere. No matter how she tried, what lead she followed, how many times she rode across the country and visited places where only a quick smile and smart words separated her from being found at the bottom of the nearest lake, they were not there.

Ayzan had simply disappeared. Kris was told that they had probably died and that she should give up. Should accept it. Move on and live her life, not haunted by the echoes of her past.

Deep in the dark of the night, these words rang in her head and she gritted her teeth against the desperation and grief.

She dreamed of them often.

She saw them:

As the teen barely older than her, when Ayzan cheated her in a game for all the money she had left, and then bought her a dinner and showed how to move someone's attention away until their pouch found a new home in her hands.

As a friend that held her during the long nights after her mother's death and made her laugh through tears until she felt alive again.

As a lover with a tongue made of silver, who teased and teased and teased until she learned how to answer and then it was Ayzan's turn to hide their red face behind their hands.

As a figure larger than life and the closest family she ever had.

At the end of every dream, they smiled, their eyes turning into half-moon slits of pure giddiness. And then they turned and walked away, and no matter how she tried to run and reach out, she could never stop them.

So, it was easy to hold on to the hope the first few weeks. It was easy to cling to the determination as the weeks turned into months that threatened to turn into years. When years passed by and the features of their face in her dreams grew more and more blurry, she wondered if the others had been right. If she was supposed to move on.

Which was why Kris wasn’t searching for them that day. Walking through the underbelly of a city as if it was her second home, among the dangerous and the poor, the unlucky and the cruel, she didn’t think about Ayzan, focused on the mission at hand. She was far from the lands she called home, on the southern peninsular with different customs, traditions and laws. Slavery wasn’t frowned upon here. She felt her skin crawl and kept her mouth shut because she was alone. In places like this, it was all too easy to disappear and never be found if you’re not careful.

Kris meant to walk past a makeshift slave trading ground. She did it more and more often lately, sparing a glance or two to the poor dirty things huddled together in front of a small scene, because stopping and truly looking felt like flaying herself row only to be met with unavoidable disappointment. Hope hurt, these days. And there didn’t seem to be much reason to hold on to it anymore, — Kris started to accept.

Nearly accepted, before her eyes locked with the familiar pale blue. Before their eyes blinked, widened, suddenly focusing, as she stopped dead in her tracks. Before she looked at the dirty face with unfamiliar scars and greasy short hair that once fell on the shoulders in radiant curls, and her whole being froze, overwhelmed with the sense of recognition.

Someone bumped into her and she muttered a quick apology and ignored the obscene yelling, and with a long look sweeping across the market, noting the other slaves and the seller and the few people walking by, ducked into the nearest side street to wait for her hands to stop shaking.

Ayzan was right there.

Thoughts ran through Kris’ mind in a hurricane, leaving a few facts in their wake:

She could not confront the slave seller. Back in her kingdom, sure, she could afford to deal with whatever mess it would cause, but not here. She couldn’t get into a fight directly, nor did she know enough to go through the indirect means.

Besides. Kris could not tolerate the idea of leaving the market when Ayzan was right there, so close. Closer than ever in these six years. She couldn’t leave and hope she’d find them again. She needed to get them now, and leave with them.

It meant playing by the disgusting rules of this place.

She opened her purse, counted the money. Cursed. Took a deep breath. She’d accomplished more with less. Failure was not an option.

Kris returned to the market from another street and strolled by, her gaze lazily moving from one face to the other and never stopping at Ayzan for longer than a second. Her clothes made her look like a wealthy foreigner, she knew and made sure her face reflected the bored expression she often saw on an experienced buyer. It didn’t take long for the merchant to come to her.

“Have something caught your eyes, lady…” he drifted off.

She inclined her head. “Teyol,” a fake surname naturally rolled off her tongue, made more realistic with the skilled northern accent. The merchant immediately answered with a wide smile.

“Come, lady Teyol,” he invited. “I have many remarkable items here. Something for anyone’s taste! Has any of them caught your eyes?”

Kris let him lead her closer to the slaves, all sitting right in the dirt, all tied to a long railing by short leashes connected to rough leather collars. Hardly the astounding selection the merchant was trying to sell it as. Ayzan was among them, sitting to the side, and Kris felt their stare on her face as she refused to look in their direction more than necessary. She inspected other slaves instead, letting the merchant pitch his property and feigning interest. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Ayzan sink back in line as the merchant pushed them back in passing. They didn’t do much of anything to make her turn attention to them, and Kris was infinitely grateful. It would go so much easier if the merchant didn’t suspect any connection between the two of them.

After looking at two slaves and nodding along to the merchant’s tales, Kris finally decided it was enough. “What about that one?” she asked and pointed at Ayzan, who flinched from the sudden attention of the both of them. “They seem pretty.”

“Ah, you have a great taste, lady! They’re one of the better ones,” the merchant hurried to assure her. “Years of training. Very obedient, and can do many things, too, outside and inside the bedroom, if you know what I mean.”

He flashed a grin, untied the leash and tugged at it, making Ayzan follow on their knees. They didn’t try to use arms to help them. Ayzan stopped before her, kneeling and keeping their head low, the looks they’d been giving her this whole time disappearing in an instant. She could see their hands, one curled on their lap, shaking slightly.

It took all her willpower to not reach out to hug them then and there.

Instead Kris let her gaze slip from their form, rising to meet the merchant’s eyes with a pleasant smile. “Where were they trained, then?”

“In Ashtar,” he answered instantly and proudly. Kris nodded in understanding and approval as her stomach sunk. Ashtar. She met enough people who’d been through that place to know it was nothing short of awful. She knew also that a slave from Ashtar wouldn’t end up in a place like this for no reason. There was something else there, something that’d lowered Ayzan’s price so much they ended up covered in dirt and rags, sold on the street among other cheap slaves. And these were cheap, Kris could see, no matter what the merchant was trying to tell her. She’d been to enough auctions to know.

“Ashtar,” Kris felt her lips move when the silence went on for two long. She was distantly impressed that her voice sounded calm as it did, tinted with curiosity and doubt. “They have an awful lot of scars for someone from there.”

Slowly, she reached out and put a hand in their hair — so, so short, when she knew they always preferred to let it grow out, — coaxing them to look up. There was a moment of resistance as they tried to flinch away, sink even more onto themself. The merchant noticed immediately and tugged their hair with no hesitation.

There was a quiet, sharp exhale, and then Kris could finally see their face. Her blood turned cold from just one look.

There were scars there, those she’d noticed even from afar: a wide one crossing their cheek, an old one through their brow, leaving pale skin where once was hair. This close, she could see more: a thin line starting from under their ear and going down to their neck. Many small but uneven, angry red dots around their lips, in an uneven pattern Kris took long seconds to recognize as what it was: the marks left behind from the thread that once held their mouth shut.

Never, in all her years, had Kris wanted to kill so much as at that moment.

And then, there were their eyes. She looked into them, finally, and had to fight to keep her features relaxed. There was so much in those blue eyes, so much she never wanted to see there: hurt and barely contained fear, and confusion, and, more than anything else, desperate, painful kind of hope. They didn’t say anything, didn’t even try to, only looked, until a smack came from the merchant, forcing their gaze down.

Kris silently let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding, before tuning in the merchant’s words.

“…long time. They were a feisty one once, you see, with a spirit. All the better when they’re finally broken, isn’t it?” he smiled as if it was a joke. She laughed and nodded in agreement. “I can lower the price for the scars, but believe me, they’re worth every coin you pay for them.”

“And how much is the price?” Kris asked. The merchant smiled widely.

And said, “two thousands.”

It took her a moment to convert the sum to the currency she was more familiar with. She didn’t need to fake the indignant snort. “That much?”

Kris knew the prices, that was the thing. She saw so many of such places, so many of such people putting a tag on a person’s worth, and she learned the numbers. Slaves from Ashtar meant to be pets, toys, pretty playthings for their owners, trained to be obedient and appealing in every way the owner wanted. They were meant to be kept healthy and beautiful, and any permanent mark immediately dropped their price.

Two thousands was too much. She’d give it barely seven hundred, maybe eleven if she was generous.

She felt bile rise up in her throat as she realized she was thinking about Ayzan in these terms. She felt the shudder go through their body as her hand stayed in their hair. Kris hoped the gentle touch felt reassuring.

“They’re the best you can find around these parts,” the merchant answered quickly.

“A pleasure slave, scarred like that?” she replied coldly. “Hardly.”

“A highly trained slave with just a few unfortunate but faded marks. You said it yourself, lady Teyol, they’re pretty. You won’t have to work hard to forget the scars are there at all.”

“Well, I don’t think I can just ignore them, they’re quite unsightly, in my opinion,” Kris argued. “You said you’d lower the price for them.”

“And I already have,” the merchant assured her. “You see, ordinarily I’d ask two and a half, even three thousands for them!..”

“Don’t try to cheat me,” Kris cut him off. She crossed her arms, letting go of Ayzan’s hair with the last gentle stroke, and added, softening her voice. “You are a smart man, lord…”

“Just Relo, lady Teyol.”

“Relo. You must know when what you’re asking for is beyond any limit.”

“Forgive me, but I don’t think it is,” the merchant continued stubbornly. “They’re the best you can find around these parts. Try finding other shops or even going to the auctions, see for yourself. Ashtar slaves are hard to come by.”

“Perhaps they’re hard to come by because there’s no need for them here. Who else would you sell them to? The mines? Even with all their… training, you’d be happy to receive even a few hundred.”

“I’m sure there’ll be those who understand the value of what I’m offering,” Relo countered.

Kris saw as his pose changed, closed off. She spoke quieter, friendlier once again. “I must say I am one of those people. An Ashtar slave is something I’d gladly buy, but not with this price; like this, I’d be better off making the trip myself. It wouldn’t be much more costly, and I’d surely find one there that isn’t so… defective.”

Ayzan was quiet before the two of them, hunched onto themself now that nothing held their head up. Kris sneaked a glance at them and saw the white of their knuckles as their fingers dug into their thighs. Ayzan made themself so easy to ignore with how quiet and motionless they were, and Kris hated herself for talking over them like this.

“Perhaps, I could go a bit lower without it being a loss,” after a few seconds of consideration, the merchant relented. “Eighteen hundred, how does that sound?”

Kris laughed, “I was thinking more in terms of five or maybe eight hundred,” and quickly raised her hand when Relo opened his mouth to protest. “But I apologize, I understand, it’s not an adequate compensation for your efforts. The transportation itself must have cost quite a bit. Perhaps, we could settle on a thousand?” she flashed a persuasive smile.

The merchant answered to her smile with his, but then shook his head. “I’m afraid it is so low I’d have to try my luck somewhere else. Seventeen hundred is the lowest I can go.”

It was better, closer to the real price. She only had fourteen hundred in her purse. She needed to go lower.

She turned her attention to Ayzan once more, looking them up and down in search of something to use as a leverage. They were skinny, pale, but this was normal for a slave, even desirable in the eyes of some. Easier to control, when they’re weak from hunger. Ayzan didn’t look like they’d starve at any moment, and that meant she couldn’t use it as an argument. Kris needed something else, and fast.

“It is a serious investment, you understand,” she said to the merchant who nodded. “I don’t want to disrespect you in any way, Relo, but, you understand, a slave bought for… the reasons… that I’m considering, needs to be in an appealing form everywhere. With such scars on their face, who knows what can be hidden underneath their clothes? Please don’t take it as a sign of distrust…”

“No-no, lady, I understand,” Relo reassured her. “It’s only natural to want to make sure.” He tugged the leash and then once again when Ayzan hesitated, frozen in place. Relo frowned and shot an apologetic look to Kris, which she waved off with a smile. “Get up and strip for the lady,” the merchant spat, “you know what’s going to happen otherwise.”

Finally, Ayzan moved, slowly rising to their feet but never looking up. They tugged the coarse, badly cut in shape fabric they had for a shirt up with their left hand, Relo helping them get it off the leash. Silently, Kris begged for forgiveness as they pulled their pants down with one hand. When she caught a sight of their face, it was uncomfortably, eerily empty.

Finished, they stood before her and the merchant, not making a single move to cover their body. They trembled slightly, and Kris wasn’t sure if it was from cold.

There were scars on their body, but not as many as she feared. The one starting below their ear continued on to their chest. On the opposite side, there were lines starting from under their armpit and going down, where Kris knew very well the skin was more sensitive than in most other parts of the body. Even the shallow cuts must’ve hurt as hell. A few were on the legs, but they looked more accidental and less like deliberate torture. Their right hand was half covered in pink scar tissue, their little finger missing in its entirety. When Relo told Ayzan to turn around and they obeyed, Kris could see the long, numerous lines left by lashes, layered on top of each other so that there was barely any healthy skin left.

She stepped forward, raising a hand, and barely kept her face neutral when Ayzan tried to flinch from her touch. “Stand still,” the merchant grumbled and tugged the leash. He looked apologetic once more, “You know how some of them are, when with new people.”

“I understand,” she brushed it off once again. It was a good excuse to use with something else, but it wouldn’t get her much of an advantage by itself. Instead, she ran her fingers down Ayzan’s body as they kept horribly still except for rapid, panicked breaths. She prayed for forgiveness once more, taking their left hand and rotating it around.

Then, she moved to the right hand. The moment she raised it, slightly rotating the wrist, a shudder when through Ayzan’s whole body and a quiet, pained whimper escaped their tightly pressed lips.

Kris immediately let go of their hand and turned to Relo, who looked incredibly upset. “You must be kidding me,” she said, letting some of her fury reflect in her tone. The merchant frowned and stepped closer.

“Must’ve pulled something,” he found an excuse and shot a glance to Ayzan before grabbing their hand and forcefully rotating the whole way. Ayzan tried hard to stay silent. Kris saw how their breath hitched, their eyes fluttering shut, and stopped the merchant’s attempts to pretend it was nothing.

“Do you want to hurt them more,” she snapped. “Because if you do, I won’t be buying them for sure.”

That made Relo hesitate and ultimately let go of Ayzan’s hand. It fell limply down their side and they took in a deep, rough breath, their eyes still tightly closed.

“I apologize, lady Teyol, there wasn’t anything like this yesterday,” the merchant explained, and Kris felt too tired to guess if he was lying or somehow managed to genuinely overlook such a problem. “I’m sure it’ll heal in no time, but, because of the circumstances, I will cut down some more. Sixteen hundred.”

“Thirteen,” Kris replied. “I can’t know if the injury is permanent or will heal, but it’ll require attention and money. I’ll have to find a healer to look at them! Not only at the arm, too, who knows what else is wrong!” she made sure it didn’t sound like a threat, but was sure the merchant did hear it as such. She didn’t know what else she’d find if she continued on with the inspection. Whatever it was, it was in Relo’s interest to stop from trying.

“Fifteen,” Relo returned an offer with a wince. “You must understand, going any lower would put me at a loss…”

“Fourteen. They aren’t even as obedient as you promised, hesitating like this. Can I even trust you that they’re from Ashtar? Or is it something you’ve lied about just like you neglected to mention that they can’t move their right arm?”

The merchant winced again. He must know, Kris thought, that with such an injury he had no luck of selling them to anyone. Even the mines would refuse a slave that couldn’t use one hand. Now that it was noticed, he couldn’t afford to cling to the bigger price. What she was offering was already generous. He must know that. He must accept.

Relo chews his lips, deep in thought.

Then sighed.

“Fourteen hundred it is, then. Deal.” She shook his hand and gave nearly all the money she had to him. After being paid, Relo smiled with much more sincerity. Kris found it hard to much his enthusiasm.

She helped Ayzan dress up, mindful of their arm, and took the leash from the joyful merchant. Just a few minutes, until they got to the room in the closest inn, she promised herself.

Ayzan didn’t make a single attempt to look up at her, following her steps as a second shadow, quiet and gloomy as one.

In the inn, she cut the small talk with the innkeeper short, getting a key for a room with one bed (it would be suspicious if a slave was given their own bed; she’d sleep on the floor if needed) and swiftly making her way upstairs. She let them inside the room first and shut the door after herself, immediately slumping before it.

“Holy fuck,” she breathed and then muttered a whole string of curses as the adrenaline wore off, leaving her fingers shaking. She did it. She’d got them. She’d got them.

She took half a minute to herself, staring at her hands and willing her emotions back under control. Then she looked up.

Ayzan stood where she left them, in the middle of the room, their head hanging low and left fist tightly clenched. They were so still she couldn’t even notice if they were breathing. They didn’t move to look at her, not even once.

“Hey,” she whispered and stepped closer. They tensed but didn’t back away. She worked on removing the collar, letting it fall down once she was done. “Ayzan, will you look at me? Dear?” gently, oh so gently she touched their chin and guided it up. They used to be higher than her. Slouched as they were now, she had to look down to meet their eyes.

Back in the market, there was fear there, and she’d thought it was the worst. Now, she searched and searched and could only find — something like defeat. Like resignation. They looked at her with pale blue eyes that always used to crinkle in a smile, and this time there was nothing.

Kris was the one who let out a shaking breath and had to fight to hold back tears. “I’m sorry,” she said, softly as she could, when her voice was back under her control. When she let her hand fall, Ayzan’s head immediately hang low, too. “I didn’t mean any of what I said to that bastard. I just— you're worth so much, but if I didn’t make him think I didn’t care, I— I couldn’t let let him take you away! I’m so so sorry you had to hear it. You had to— I’m so sorry. None, none of that is true.”

Ayzan’s chest slowly rose in a deeper breath than they’d taken before. If Kris wasn’t staring at their features so intently, she’d miss the way their lips twitched, just a bit.

“Love,” she begged. “Ayzan. Say something, please?”

Their lips twitched again, opened just a bit. They didn’t look Kris in the eyes, but their gaze moved just a bit closer. Slowly, quietly, they breathed out in a raspy voice, “Kris?” and then fell silent again.

“Yes. Yes, Ayzan, it’s me. I’m here, I’ve— I’ve got you. I won’t let anyone hurt you anymore, okay? I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” she repeated and reached out to clench their good hand in hers. Ayzan didn’t move, staring at their hands as if unable to see it. “I’ve got you,” she repeated again as her heart bled from the distant, uncomprehending look on their face.

After a long stretch of silence, Ayzan’s lips moved again. “What do you want me for?”

It felt like a punch. Like somebody made a hole through her chest and squeezed her heart until it turned into burning mash, coating her insides with pain. She took a breath that sounded like a sob.

“Nothing. I— nothing like that. I needed him to believe that I did, but I wouldn’t— I didn’t—“ she tried to find words to explain and failed. Ayzan stood before her, terribly still, terribly distant, terribly tense. As if they weren’t safe. As if they expected her to hurt them.

She tried again, “You’re not here as my property. I am very, very happy to see you alive. I’ve been searching for you,” she paused as her breath hitched. She hadn’t been searching for them this time, had she? She would walk right past them, not pausing to even find out that they were so close. She’d nearly given up. She forced the thoughts down, focusing on here and now and the fact that she’d found them. “I want you to be free, and safe, and happy. This is all.” She repeated, helplessly, when they didn’t move, “this is all.”

Kris watched their face as they breathed. There was no reaction to see if they understood, if they even heard her. Ayzan’s face used to be so open, so emotive, all their feelings written loud and clear all over it, be it a bright smile or childish pouting. She rarely remembered them genuinely upset, but even that was better than the careful, nearly complete blankness. As if they weren’t here at all.

She fought to blink back tears. “May I hug you?”

Their brows twitched, barely perceptible. Their eyes moved to the side. They didn’t answer.

She didn’t reach out to touch them.

She took a deep breath instead, trying to ground herself. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I know it’s sudden and hard. We have time now, okay? You have time. You’re safe, and here, and—“ another deep, deep breath. “You’re safe. I promise you. I won’t ever let you be hurt again. I promise.”

Ayzen didn’t answer, but Kris saw as their breaths grew deeper, slower, calmer. It was okay. They were here, and they had all the time in the world.

Whump prompt XVIII

Caretaker is trying to buy whumpee to free them.

Only they cannot afford the asking price, so they're left haggling down whumpee's value, picking out every conceivable flaw and arguing with the seller that whumpee really isn't worth that - all fully within earshot of whumpee.

[gemsofthegalaxy]

my friend: Okay fuck marry kill. Cait. Vi. Jinx

me: kill cait. Easy. I don't dislike her actually but fuck no. Look. I love Jinx so much she's my favourite character but I don't know if she'd be a great wife, especially for me. I mean, she would love HARD but still. I'd have to marry Vi, because Vi is a protector and a caretaker and I love to be taken care of. So fuck Jinx. Marry Vi.

her: okay. fuck marry kill Vander. Jayce. Heimerdinger.

me:............ heimerdinger?

her: yeah lol. i mean. would.

me: WOULD?

her: i LIKE MOUSTACHES, OKAY?

her boyfriend, also part of this conversation: and that's all it takes??

[valleydoli]

ʚɞ Sukuna Ryomen Fic Recommendations ʚɞ

Clipped Wings (O)

Blank Canvas (C)

Cosa Nostra (O)

Yuji’s Caretaker (O)

They Kiss on The Ring. I Carry the Crown (C)

Silent Love (C)

Shameful Attraction (O)

Karma (O)

The Black Swan (C)

First of You (O)

Blackmail (C)

Done Waiting (C)

Forgotten Souls (C)

Knockout (C)

Him & I (O)

Anger Management (O)

Bonds of Fruition (O)

Chained (C) (Dead Dove: Do Not Eat)

Fuck The List (O)

Barley Beloved (O)

The Apartment Across The Street (O) (Dead Dove: Do Not Eat?)

Hopelessly Devoted (O)

Completely Casual (C)

Hesitance (O)

Defiance (O)

The Butcher (O) (Dead Dove: Do Not Eat)

If You Really Love Nothing (O)

Below The Belt (C)

I Wanna Be Your Endgame (O)

Controller (O)

[blushedfemmes]

i really do need to spread more nursing kink propaganda bc anxious dykes with mommy issues and oral fixations and equally anxious dykes with caretaking complexes and pretty tits need to find each other and see the light. nursing feels so good once you get past the ‘this is kinda weird’ social hesitation like who gives a fuck we’re all so tired and anxious and it feels SO GOOD. Nurse a Tired Dyke Today

[yet-another-heathen]

On conditioned whumpees...

Y'know, I think one of the things that people get wrong with conditioned whumpees is their rules. Specifically, when a whumpee was in long term captivity/training and they later get released or escape.

Most people write them as latching onto a caretaker or new whumper, and begging for new rules so they know they're doing something right. A new set of laws to live by, a new framework to behave to.

And that's... not really how conditioning works.

Conditioning means automatic reactions. Your body doing something that was trained into you without consulting your brain first.

There is no decision making. There is no choice. The trigger hits, and you are immediately performing the correct action regardless of anything else.

You're told to kneel? Your knees have already hit the ground. You're supposed to be standing in one part of the house when a certain noise is made? You've launched into movement before you even realize what you heard.

These rules are woven into the fabric of your body. And they are insurmountable. The conditioning overrides emotion, internal conflict, hesitation, beliefs, wants... everything.

Your whumpee may very well hate what is being done to them, and after the moment has passed they're cursing themself and their whumper. They're still a person on the inside. And that person is still very much alive. Most of the time, they will have some level of awareness that what's being done to them is wrong. They'll be angry. They'll be hurt. And they will hate that there is nothing they can do about it.

But the next time that trigger occurs, the response still hits them exactly the same.

So now take your whumpee out of that situation. They ran away, were rescued, were sold. They got out. Now they're with new people, a new caretaker, a new whumper. Or they're on their own and trying to make their own way in the world.

But those conditioned responses are still there.

There's no turning them off. You don't just replace them with new rules. They are in your every fibre. They have been built into the very framework of who you are.

The next time someone says the word "kneel", your knees are on the ground again. No matter where you are, or who you're with. The response happens before you can stop it. If they don't know why, everyone looks at you like you're insane. And you feel like you are.

Deconditioning is an agonizing process that takes more effort than I can even begin to describe to someone who's never experienced it.

Every time they hit that trigger, that response will still be there. Over, and over, and over, and over.

Breaking those rules down takes YEARS. And it is a constant effort that the whumpee has to choose to undergo every single time. Progress is measured milimeter by milimeter. You're told to kneel, and you kneel. You're told to kneel, and your mind catches up with the fact that you already did it— but a little sooner than it did before. Then a split second sooner. Then as you're doing it. Then you feel the impulse just before your knees hit the ground. Then you have a split-second of resistance before you go down. On and on and on and on, inching toward progress despite the fact that you're fighting with all your might. And that progress is anything but linear.

You don't just start obeying new rules. You don't latch on to your caretaker's new way of doing things and drop everything that you were conditioned to do before. These rules don't just get replaced.

Conditioning is not a belief system. It's a flinch response. Programmed deeper than the instincts you were born with.

You can be ordered not to obey the old command, and moments later when the trigger comes, you will anyway. Because in conditioning, the action comes before the choice.

These rules, these laws of your existence, come above everything else. And if your new whumper wants to replace them, they are going to have to beat the new rules into you so often and so severely that the pain becomes stronger than the old conditioning. At which point, the newly desired response will very, very slowly start to take over.

You're not swapping out new rules. You're layering new, worse conditioning on top of the old. And your brain will spend time stuck in that split-second between both responses before one finally grows stronger than the other. And even then, the change will not happen quickly.

That is what your conditioned whumpee is up against. That is what makes it such a horrible—HORRIBLE— and powerful tool.