#implied past abuse

[suzukiblu]

Day nine of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. tw: implications of past grooming/abuse and the inherent problems that causes for someone who was in that situation and hasn’t processed it trying to have a relationship with someone actually age-appropriate. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Tim doesn't let himself kiss Kon for quite as long as he wants to this time. He doesn't want to say he doesn't want to move too fast and then get them both all riled up five seconds later and, well–undercut that, or whatever. Or seem like he didn’t actually mean it, maybe. 

Also he does still need to make sure Kon’s gotten in enough calories today; he definitely still needs to do that. There’s gotta be a decent place they can get in last-minute with a carefully-applied bribe or two, if nothing else. Kon deserves “nice”, still, and also Tim is not gonna half-ass the date after that conversation. Whole-ass all the way. 

“Um,” he says, clearing his throat again. Kon grins all sunny and pretty at him and it is a very, very flustering sight. Tim wants to smudge his eyeliner and mess up his hair and buy him an entire apartment block, or at least a suburb or two. “Wanna find someplace to eat? Maybe look through a couple shops on the way?” 

“Oh, just a couple, huh?” Kon teases, his grin widening giddily. Tim feels very flustered. 

“I mean, we are in the shopping district,” Tim says, refusing to admit to any embarrassment about being that easily seen-through. He has an entire lifestyle to fund for Kon here, alright, and that he is gonna not only whole-ass but double-ass. Triple-ass, maybe. Quadruple. 

. . . though modeling age-appropriate relationship behaviors was already gonna be hard enough with how little personal dating experience he has, much less the sugar daddy thing. 

Yeah, that’s gonna require some planning. 

“And that was totally an accident, right?” Kon asks with a laugh that is actually more like a giggle than anything else, which Tim’s brain unhelpfully burns down an entire metaphorical warehouse district about. 

“I plead the fifth,” he says, tugging Kon back onto the sidewalk, and Kon giggles again and ducks his head as he shakes it, squeezing his hands one last time before letting go of one to follow him more easily. Tim feels stupidly wooed and soft and definitely wants to destroy the lives of everyone who has ever so much as mildly inconvenienced the adorable bastard. Kon wasn’t cute before, dammit. He was not prepared for Kon to turn out to be cute. 

“You are literally fucking ridiculous, babe, I hope you know that,” Kon tells him, still grinning as his face flushes again and tugging the collar of his jacket up over his mouth with his free hand. “Like, you actually got me a friggin’ flower, you friggin’ nerd. Like–seriously?” 

Tim can’t help suspecting Kon’s joking about that because flowers and cute little dating clichés aren’t the kind of thing he thinks anyone should bother doing for him, which honestly at this point seems like a pattern of behavior. Especially after earlier. Which–it's not like he didn't go into this already knowing that Kon's loudly overinflated self-esteem and cocky attitude was partially bluster and self-defense, but the more time they spend together like this, the more it seems less like “partially”, and more like “entirely”. 

Tim is going to get this adorable bastard so many flowers as soon as he gets him in a cul-de-sac to be keeping them in. He is gonna keep Kon in flowers until the goddamn heat-death of the goddamn universe. He’ll get a florist and set up a weekly order of varying tropical flowers and make sure the neighborhood is full of flowering bushes and trees and bring a bouquet to at least two dates a month, if not just literally every single one of them. 

“I wanted to,” he replies with a shrug, because that sounds more normal to say than any of the rest of it and sincerity seems to be the most efficient way to cut the legs out from underneath any attempts Kon’s making at downplaying the point of the gesture. “I was hoping you'd like it.” 

Kon turns red, then ducks his head and grins helplessly wide, still half-hiding his mouth behind his jacket collar. Tim feels an irrational urge to smother him. Like, affectionately, he means, but also kind of literally. 

Maybe he has some wires crossed right now, given how much of a workout the supervillain timeline’s been getting lately.

[whereallthewhumpgoes]

Pet Recovery Counter-Conditioning Phrases

"I am my own person. I am allowed to prioritize my own needs and assert my own boundaries."

"I belong to myself and only myself."

"I deserve to be loved by others, touched gently, and treated with compassion."

(Romantic specific) "My body is mine. No one is allowed to do anything to my body against my will."

"I am a human being, and I am entitled to human rights, such as food, water, and sleep. My needs are not a privilege that I have to earn, they are human rights, and I will fulfill them when necessary."

"I can think for myself and take care of myself."

"I am a human being, not a slave. I am under no obligation to obey anyone's command."

"What happened to me was unjust. I did not deserve to be abused by my former master, and I will not tolerate abuse from them or anyone else."

"I am a good person."

"I have a right to be treated with dignity."

"I am not worthless. I have value apart from my master's attention."

(Romantic specific) "I am allowed to say no."

(Guard dog specific) "I am not a monster. In the past, I acted to protect myself, and I will continue to protect myself with or without my master."

"My rescuers are not a threat. My rescuers do not want to hurt me. My rescuers are safe people."

"If I am ever mistreated, I will report it to my rescuers as soon as possible."

"I do not need to lie to protect myself."

"I am allowed to love myself."

"I am encouraged to form relationships with the other recovered pets, and they will not be hurt if I interact with them."

(Bonded pair specific) "I do not need to protect my bond. I do not need to depend on my bond. My bond and I are our own people, and I am allowed to develop my own interests and take care of myself before my bond."

"I am a person, not a pet."

[paingoes]

Rubies - Trial IV

hiiii. long time no see. wrapping up the trial now! this one is pretty light-hearted ❤️‍🩹

(Content: living weapon whumpee, implied past abuse, past captivity, dehumanization, crying, guilt, comfort, fluff)

“That was cruel,” Kitty hissed, all her hair standing on end, with the edge of a hiss on her voice. “That was torture.”

Silas sat gloomily in the chair beside her, nursing his black eye. 

“It was hokey,” he said with a tsk, “Did you really think I was going for sentimentality? If I wanted to press on old wounds, you would know it.”

“Bastard,” Kitty whispered as her eyes narrowed into slits.

Levon leaned forward in the desk chair as if he thought he might have to split them up again. He shot her a warning look.

“It did not seem calculated to me,” Levon admitted, choosing each word carefully. “I personally think torture is too strong a word for it. But the effect was the same.“

“The effect? Crying, running out? The effect was that he won the fucking trial. I gave it to you on a silver platter,” he said disdainfully.

Levon tilted his hand at the wrist. Eh. He didn’t argue the point.

“It was cruel,” Kitty repeated, “You said you’d make it painless.”

“As painless as I could, kitten. I can’t take away what he’s done. No one can.”

“You didn’t have to make him feel worse.”

“It wasn’t about him,” Silas cut in, “This isn’t a personality trial. All it’s ever been about is safety. The council deserves to know what he’s done — what he’s still capable of.”

“He only did it because he was forced. He’s not going to do it again. You know he’s not going to.” She looked skittishly between the two men now, as if she’d felt the ground shift beneath her. Levon’s expression was unreadable, impartial. He left the two of them to their own devices. Silas filled in the empty space.

“We know that? Why? Because he’s quiet? Because he’s polite? All you have to bank on is good will. He’s docile now because they beat it into him. Where do you think he’s going to be once all that brainwashing wears off? Wouldn’t you be mad, if that happened to you?”

Silas poked at the wound showing on the side of her psyche. She only glared back.

“I know I would be,” he answered himself. “I would be furious.”

~

“Is she going to get in trouble for that?” Delta asked quietly as he sorted through the remaining gauges. He arranged them carefully into their preassigned bins without error.

“Nah,” Apollo shook his head. “It was a legal move. They both had PVP enabled.”

“What?”

Apollo shrugged as he pulled the vinyl pin out from his pocket. There was a dial attached at the bottom end. It only had two settings — ON and OFF. 

“Mutual combat laws. As long as they both had theirs set to ON, it’s fair game.”

Delta blinked slowly before he returned his attention back to the color-coded bins.

“I don’t want him to hurt because of me,” he admitted quietly. It was a big deal for him — an admission, any expression of want. 

The lab was empty and immaculate but for them and Apollo suspected they both found a kind of calm in that. He liked to keep Delta occupied with the busywork whenever he could, watching as the high bounds of tension melted away into an easy concentration. It wasn’t working so well this time. He could tell Delta had been bothered by the violence. With one hand, he switched his own pin to OFF.

“She won’t do it again,” he promised. He was sure of it. There’d be no need for it anymore. Not here.

~

The screen flickered on and off, lagged and buffered, left the voices distorted. On the other end, Iza stood bundled up upon the rocky beach. Her red hair stuck out from beneath her woolen hat. In the pale distance beyond her, black birds made great arcs above the water.

Back in the conference room, the atmosphere was bustling, more jovial than it had been all throughout the trial. The air buzzed with a palpable relief. The end was near.

Delta was still quiet, his eyes downcast. In spite of his reservations, he kept his hand wrapped loosely around Kitty’s arm, still desperate for any support she could give. Silas had hit her hard in the sternum during their scuffle. It’d knocked her back hard, but she had no wounds to show for it now. Silas sat across from them at the table, arms crossed, disinterested. All he had to give were closing remarks.

The projector filled with black as a new person joined the call — camera off, mic muted.

“Hi Lun,” Apollo called instantly. “I love you.”

He’d been relieved of his medical duties, just for today. On the screen, a small “❤️” appeared in the chat box. Apollo grinned.

~

Iza’s image pixelated and then re-rendered itself. For a minute, all there was were cool colors in stripes against the screen. She cursed as she messed with the camera, then gradually materialized came back into plain view. Her gaze was icy, as cold as it must’ve been on the beach. Her breath came like puffs of steam against the frozen air.

“There’s a reason they recruit young. Psychic power tends to reach its apex around the age of twenty — or the equivalent age, for most species. What you’re going to see is a gradual falloff of psychic potency following that. And Delta, correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you getting doped the entire time?”

“…That’s correct.” Delta confirmed. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time. It’d become so routine, he almost forgot about the pills. Amidst all the other pains in his body and the remnants of illness, he couldn’t tell which symptoms were withdrawal and which were just heartbreak.

“Right. If you test him right now, he’s already going to chart lower than he did when he was picked up. That number is only gonna go down from her-“

She ducked, grunting. A small, dark shape dove into the frame. She flew her hands up over her head to protect herself, then swung her fists out at it. It pecked at her hat a final time before retreating.

“Sorry,” she coughed, “Getting fucking- swooped on- um. Yeah. It’s not going to be an ongoing security issue, is what I mean. The threat’s gonna dwindle.”

Iza flinched and waved at the air again, though nothing was around her this time. She sighed in disgust.

“And I’ll say, for character reference, he was very well-behaved when I was with him.”

Apollo tensed at his side, and Delta could tell he hadn’t liked that. He found himself blushing anyway. It was kind of nice when people recognized how hard he was trying. It was a respite from the constant torrent of ungrateful, awful, disrespectful, that played in his head these days.

Levon hummed a little, bouncing his palm off the edge of the chair. He hadn’t sat down once for the entire trial. 

“Thank you, Iza. Can we hear from Lun, on the espionage front? Anything emergent?”

The counsel waited a while in hushed silence. Eventually, a message flashed onto the screen.

“💀”

“Presumed dead,” Levon filled in the blank. 

“That seems a bit ambiguous,” Silas objected.

“Is he presumed dead, Lun?”

“👍”

“Is anyone looking for him, to your knowledge?”

“❌”

Silas grumbled, “It’s like a fucking oujia board.”

“I’m satisfied,” Levon shrugged. “Any further comments?”

“Hey, Levon, when can I come ba-“

“Thank you, Iza. Goodbye.”

The call ended as quickly as it could. The gradient blue-green wallpaper filled up the space of the projector. He ran his hand through his hair.

“I’m satisfied,” he repeated. “If there’s no objections, we can put this to a vote right now.”

Delta could not bring himself to look. Nobody objected.

“Out of the room,” Levon told him. 

Delta stood up immediately, sensing just from the tone that it was an order for him. Kitty followed him out, placing one hand gently on his shoulder to guide him. She held the door open for him. Apollo trailed quietly behind them, pausing only to glare back at Levon, as if that silent threat counted for anything at all.

~

In the end, it was unanimous. 

One year of probation. 

That was all.

He cried in his room all day. Levon had helped him to clean it up the first time he’d destroyed it, but none of the broken furniture had been replaced. He must’ve known it wouldn’t be necessary anymore. The new room wouldn’t lock from the outside. Delta would be allowed to leave it.

He would be allowed to leave base, if he wanted to. If he thought he was ready.

The conditions of the probation were as follows:

No usage of powers registering over 5000 psi

No death or injury to others, unless in self defense

Remain collared at all times, unless given explicit permission to remove it

He could not believe he was getting off so easily.

“I thought you’d be happy,” Levon said, half-joking as he passed another tissue over.

He didn’t know. It wasn’t fair.

It was easier when it wasn’t up to him. This was the only way he could rationalize it. They had more reason than anyone else to punish him for it — and they hadn’t. He had to accept it as gracefully as if they had.

He sobbed harder, pressing his forehead against his knees. 

“You’ll be alright.” Levon promised. What a tall order. 

“I’m sorry,” Delta mumbled, for a thousand reasons, to no one in particular.

“I know.”

~

Delta blinked the glitter out of his eyes as the confetti exploded in his face.

“Surprise!” Kitty cheered. The word was half-formed around the mouthpiece of the noisemaker. 

He blinked again.

“It’s the Not Guilty Cake. For the Not-Guilty Party.” She explained, moving both hands in large sweeps over the confectionery. On the cake, in large pink script against the sheet-pan background, it read: “NOT GUILTY!!!! :3c”. Red hearts floated around the edges.

“It’s birthday cake flavored,” she said, “To match the confetti.”

“We wanted it to be thematically cohesive,” Apollo explained. He wore the orange party hat directly over the chain of his headpiece.

Delta covered his mouth. He had smiled, despite himself, and he still felt the need to hide it. It still felt too forbidden.

“Sorry,” he said, not keeping the grin out of his voice. “That’s really funny. I’m sorry I can’t show emotions like a normal person.  Um. This is really nice.”

“Oh my god,” Apollo leaned forward with sudden urgency, “Are you laughing?”

Delta turned away, way too desperate to hide it.

“He is,” Apollo said in hushed awe. “Oh my god.”

“Sorry,” Delta said, smiling wider. “I’m really tired.”

He was, too. He was almost delirious. Kitty was laughing too, louder than he was, unmasked. It sounded so natural on her. He wiped at his eyes, almost choking. It was all so much.

“Do you wanna try it?” Apollo urged him to eat, “You don’t have to if you don’t like it.”

“We can bake a new one if you don’t. It won’t be a surprise, though.” Kitty tried to readjust the party hat to fit comfortably in between her ears, then seemed to give up. 

“Okay,” Delta agreed quietly. His face was still half-hidden by his hands, embarrassed by all of it. He have never said he didn’t like it. He didn’t want to be ungrateful.

But when he did try it, he was surprised at how sweet it was.

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @floral-comet-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @chiswhumpcorner

@bacillusinfection @dietofwormsofficial @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump

@jumpywhumpywriter

[fuctacles]

During a fight:

"You punch like a girl!"

"Clearly you've never been hit by my mom."

"Shit, dude wanna talk about it?"

[fallenwhumpee]

Traitor

• Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Masterlist •

Warnings: This is uuuh... heavier than my usual, and a bit quick in pacing? Probably. Mentioned torture, broken ribs, dysfunctional family, sickfic, intimate whumper, self-destructive behaviour, implied past abuse (in form of training).

"We don't need a babysitter!"

"Hush, you will wake them up."

Leader didn't stir, still pretending to sleep in the uncomfortable position they were stuck. They didn't mean to stay up, they had been awake for longer than they could remember, but the sleep just didn't come.

"They can't just decide for us or tell us what to do. We're not a bunch of newbies," Youngest continued, now more silent.

They... their intention wasn't restrict anyone. They were given to this team because of their ages being close, but even after months together, they felt like an outsider. At least now they knew the reason.

"I know you're still upset for them letting Villain come with us, and I am, too, but this is not the best time to talk. They just did what you wanted with less violence," Medic cut in, more silent.

"Better," Right Hand scoffed. They must be the one who warned Youngest. "But I believe there is another reason. We don't make reports anymore, so who knows which lies Leader fed the agency with? And..."

"And what?"

"There are rumours of a traitor," they finished.

Leader couldn't stop themselves from drawing a sharp breath, but it left unnoticed.

"You think Leader is..." Youngest whispered. "But that's not possible! It's true that they're too serious, but we've been together for so long."

"Yet we know nothing about them," someone finished.

"Leader knew we had a past with Villain, yet Leader let them come our home. They trust Villain for some reason, but..."

"It's concerning. They wouldn't team up with someone tortured them, but we can't be sure, " Medic completed, hesitant.

"We don't know if Whumper did. None of us saw."

Leader didn't know what they did to earn Right Hand's hatred.

"I patched them up myself!"

"Can't it be faked?"

Nothing could've broken Leader's heart more than the deep silence. Leader only wanted to be— what they wanted wasn't important. But for the first time, they thought they could be enough for something.

They couldn't be more wrong.

And not only that, now they looked suspicious to everyone. Just perfect. One more failure to add the never-ending list. Their team distrusted them enough to think they could do such a thing.

It was their fault. They were assigned to a close-knit team, ready to be a family, but Leader was late, and they failed to close the distance and formality.

With time, Leader found themselves negotiating between the agency and the team more often than not. It took them too long to realise that they were only meant to be a bridge, never belonging to a side. It was the only role given to them from both sides. A leash to the team and someone who could get them out of trouble.

Because neither their team nor their superiors were pleased with the results. Their team was reckless, rushing everything and running blindly when one of them was in danger, ignoring everything else. And the agency was too strict, probably looking for the smallest mistake to disband them. Leader was the only thing between, and keeping the balance was starting to cost too much.

The car jolted, Leader hitting their head lightly. They groaned, faking their movements not to give away their involuntarily eavesdrop, and the others just stared at them. No one had the guts to tell all of those to Leader's face, apparently.

-•-

After a long and uncomfortable silence, they were home. They carried Villain to the infirmary without a word to the others. There was no need. Leader had forced them too much and this was the payback. Even if the team didn't think Leader was a traitor, this decision was one thing the team was not ready. It was also the first thing Leader forced them to.

"I'm not looking at them." Medic said firmly as Leader came out. Leader knew what was coming, so they let Medic breathe and waited.

"I'm not looking at them, not after all they had done."

"I just want you to make sure they're not dying." They tried with a soft voice, ignoring a headache starting to bloom in their temples.

"You weren't the one who patched Youngest after everything!" Medic paced in the room shortly, huffing with anger. "You weren't the one who held them as they woke up with nightmares!"

Leader lowered their gaze slightly.

"You weren't there when they broke down and begged us to stop the pain."

No, Leader wasn't. They had done everything to keep Youngest out of Whumper's wrath, rather successfully, but Villain had taken on Youngest a few times Leader wasn't able to take more, especially towards the end. After it, they were too busy with making sure the team was free to look after Youngest, had three meals a day, and kept agency out of their tail while recovering from—

So, no. Leader wasn't there. They had been busy.

"I should remind you that there's someone who possibly needs the same support you have once given to Youngest. But I'm not asking you to do that."

With that, Medic looked away.

"I'm just asking you if they need it. I'm sure it won't be hard to come up with a diagnosis for the meeting. That's your job, isn't it?"

"I will try," Medic answered, voice thick with embarrassment. Good. Leader could now focus on the next thing.

They went to the briefing room as Medic disappeared into the infirmary. The big screen opened with their command, the shadowy silhouettes waiting for them.

The mission report went well, only trouble being Villain. The agency suggested things Leader would never approve. Luckily, their insistence with Medic checking over Villain gave its fruits.

Medic was almost crying as they barged in and told the list of scars and wounds yet to be healed. Too similar to Youngest, they whispered to Leader. If Leader was less than collected, they would let out a long, relieved sigh that Medic wasn't going to argue with Leader's choice about Villain when they woke up. But they were not, and they kept their face straight. There was going to be time to breathe when they were locked and safe in their room.

After Medic, everyone agreed that kindness would be a better approach. Leader couldn't help but let their shoulders slump a bit, knowing they had gotten at least one side's approval.

The call dropped soon after, and Leader felt a movement behind them. Quickly turning, Medic froze on their place, a hand stretched to reach them. Medic drew back without touching, Leader rubbing their one arm subtly to ease their discomfort.

"Villain will wake up soon."

Leader nodded.

"I think it would be better if they saw you first. We had... not the best start."

That was the only apology they were going to have.

They smiled slightly. "Of course. I'll be in infirmary in a moment."

Medic took the dismissal, and Leader slumped the second they left the room. They were too tired to deal with anything, and they knew that if they left the room, another confrontation was inevitable. But this time, they had an evidence for making people understand that Villain had been a victim as much as them, if not more.

With a groan, they pushed themselves back to their feet. They gave themselves a moment to still their trembling limbs. They were going to be alright. With stable steps and even breaths, they marched to the infirmary.

"Medic," they greeted. "What do you have for me?"

"Too much, too little. We're fine, Youngest is a little unsettled, but no injuries. You would better avoid Right Hand. They are just a little overprotective of Youngest and reasonably angry because of al lof this, you know."

Leader nodded them to go on.

"For Villain, nothing broken, but so much bruises. Wrongly healed wounds... knife marks, and..."

"I do not need a full report." They cut to save Medic from telling more. Whip marks, electrocution, possibly some nerve damage. Leader recognised some of the scars. Too similar to— they had to focus. "Tell me if they will recover, and when they will wake up?"

"I did my best. And I can't tell. If you don't want me to restrain them, you should stay here. It's nearly dinner time and you know we always eat together."

"Yes, alright. I'll stay here. You enjoy your meal." They swallowed the bitterness. There was no need to get upset. They had never been 'we' with the team.

"Good. Let me know if they wake up."

Leader sat to a chair, and at some point, everything blended into each other as they felt their body weight down and pull them deeper towards the silent lullaby their mind chanted.

Blinking, they cursed themselves for nearly drifting off on watch, the first thing they remembered being trusted with in a long time. They stood absurdly, ignoring the dizziness and shaking their head until their vision cleared.

A cry drew their attention, and they made their way to the bed, pushing down the panicking Villain.

"Calm down," they tried, gentle. They always thought they would be doing this to their teammates, not the enemy.

Surprisingly, Villain listened.

"I'll call Medic, is it alright?"

Villain nodded. Leader would like to keep being kind, but they had to get something out of this, or they were both doomed.

They pressed the call button and leaned over Villain.

"I will be honest," Leader started. "I told my higher ups that you're valuable, and I need to give them something soon. Anything works. A name, a place. Even just the numbers of Whumper's forces. I'm sure you understand that I don't want to gain information in other ways. Despite my job, I hate seeing blood."

"I see," Villain whispered, perhaps too stunned. Leader was bad at dealing with people. "I will help."

"Thank you."

-•-

Weeks after accepting Villain, Leader found themselves more tired than ever, with agency pressing for any information and the team having an awkward time with Villain hanging around freely.

Medic was first to warm to the newest addition, even if only a little, so it was weird to hear Villain laugh when Leader knew Medic was away.

Leader made their way to the common space but stopped at the doorframe, too stunned from seeing Youngest of all people sitting and laughing with Villain.

With a relieved sigh, Leader made their way to the kitchen, ignoring the jealousy starting to bloom in their chest. It took Leader months to get a genuine laugh from Youngest.

They buried the tought immediately.

Instead, they focused on what to cook, repetitive movements carrying their thoughts away. They had some time until the agency gave them their next instructions, and they needed peace if they wanted to keep going.

And probably some rest, considering how tired and sore they felt. They were leaning on the counter but still felt too heavy on their feet, struggling to focus.

"What are you doing?"

Leader flinched, taken off guard by the sudden appearance of Right Hand. "Cooking," they answered honestly, not wishing to talk about anything else.

"I mean what do you think you are doing?!" Right Hand snarled. "You just left Youngest alone with them."

"I didn't want to disturb them. They looked like they were having fun."

"Why do you refuse to see? Villain is evil."

"Would you torture me to save Youngest?" Leader asked, cutting sharply. They wouldn't normally do that, but the topic wasn't about them. It was Villain, and someone had to stand up for them. Right Hand frowned as a response.

"Would you?" Leader asked again. If they had said Medic instead of themselves, Right Hand would think. But the answer was obvious.

"Yes," came finally, after so long that Leader thought they would only stare. "But that's irrelevant."

"Why?" Leader asked, but this time they answered themselves. "Because Youngest is family, and one should do everything to keep their family safe." They stopped for a second to let it sink. "That was exactly what Villain was doing. Whumper had their family as a hostage."

"It's not the same! And it doesn't excuse what they did."

"No it doesn't," they turned their head, staring to Right Hand. "But it means you can't judge them solely from their actions. What do you see when you look at them and Youngest?"

They were cut by a notification, an unknown number texting them an address. Leader deleted it before Right Hand could see, but it only earned a suspicious glare. They cursed to themselves, apologising and leaving with a rush. They had to be at the other side of the city in half an hour.

-•-

"You make me look suspicious," Leader greeted Mentor, not caring about their attitude. There had been a time they would tremble with Mentor's one word, but they grew up. Sometimes, Mentor still tried to order them around, but Leader was getting better at standing against those. On a good note, it made Mentor proud, to see Leader managing on their own. At least, that was what Leader wanted to think.

"That's no proper way to greet someone."

"Neither appearing years later with only a location to go is. Just tell me why you came back," they replied back.

"They're suspicious. Wanted me to get a hold of you." Mentor looked just as Leader remembered. Not even a day older.

"You don't trust me," Leader hid the hurt tone in their voice with a fake anger. They weren't supposed to feel hurt. Mentor and them never had a close relationship, and they shouldn't have assumed Mentor would side with them over the agency.

"You're no traitor. But someone working directly above you is."

Mentor's confident tone was the only thing they needed to relax completely.

"I taught you. You can't be a traitor. However, I don't trust you to do what the agency wants you to do."

"And what is it?" they asked. They knew the answer already but had to hear from Mentor.

"They think you are too slow with the progress with Villain."

"I won't torture them," was their immediate answer.

"No, you won't. I would be more concerned if you obeyed the agency this time. I didn't raise a monster. But you have to find a solution. The higher-ups need something in exchange if you want to keep Villain."

So Leader did.

In six hours, Leader was back with the information and a promise to Villain that there was no cleaning duty for a week. They desperately wanted to sleep, their throat hurting from talking too much while interrigating Villain. They needed something warm, free of caffeine despite it being the only way to keep themselves awake at that point. They had texted the emergency number in their contacts, and another location dropped in. This time, it was close enough to walk, and the fresh air was like a blessing to the warm feeling clinging them.

"You look awful," Mentor greeted.

"That's where I learned greeting," Leader muttered.

"I thought you had passed your moody phases by now."

"You look old, but I neither tell this as a greeting nor to your face," they countered. They were sleepy, and they were less tolerant of Mentor, given... everything that happened between them.

"I taught you some respect," Mentor scoffed, sitting down. "Anyway, tell me what you have."

You would look like this if you had everyone breathing down on your neck too.

Leader bit back those words and put a smile on their face with a subtle deep breath.

"I know where Whumper's bases are."

-•-

Leader sank into their blanket, hoping to catch some break. Their blanket was too warm, causing them to realise how cold they were before with the chills wrecking them.

They were soon asleep, but sleeping until morning would be a miracle. Their door was banged before the sun was up.

Leader sat up slowly, their head pounding and vision blurring. The door opened before they could answer, and Right Hand came in with a concerned expression.

"What happened?" Leader croaked, shaking their head slightly to get rid of the exhaustion.

"Agency is making an emergency call."

That was not unexpected, but Leader hoped that it could wait until the morning. Right Hand's expression turned into annoyed with Leader's slow movements. Leader would care, but they felt too sore.

Right Hand let them be, and Leader opened their wardrobe—all black and hard to see in dark. They found their sweatshirt with little struggle, and got dressed. The mere action was enough to leave them exhausted, but they forced themselves to go on.

With the headquarters being close and hour being too early, they walked there at a steady pace. Leader found the once soothing wind freezing, their focus slipping every once in a while.

This continued through the meeting, too, much to their annoyance. Luckily, it was for a coordinated attack on Whumper's forces, and Leader knew every detail of it.

But their eye catched Mentor in the corner, staring directly to them. Mentor disappeared when Leader blinked, and Leader went out right after with a swear.

Following the doors opening and closing, they caught up Mentor in a small briefing room. They coughed as they tried to calm their breaths, their lungs burning with the effort.

"Don't tell me you are out or practise," Mentor didn't even spare a look to Leader bending slightly to their knees, drawing strength from the nearby table.

"Just tired," Leader countered as soon as their coughs subdued, leaving them quite drained. But they couldn't let themselves drop to the chair, a warmth they hadn't felt since their trainee days creeping up. Embarrassment.

They were glad that their hair was covering their ears.

"I, too, am tired but perfectly capable of a little chase. Now listen up because you're going to take one of the bases."

You can't be serious, Leader bit back. They sat down right after Mentor, trying not to make it look like they collapsed, but their mind stuck. No one could handle a base all by themselves.

"It is relatively a small one, at the outskirts of the city. You just have to blow up the foundation of it. Explosives are already prepared, and your truck is ready."

"I..." Leader didn't think they could do it alone, but also they couldn't voice their concern. They were given an order. "What about— what about my team?"

"They're out under someone else's command. And I'm afraid it will stay like that until the agency is clear that you're no traitor."

"This is a trick," they murmured, their controle slipping for a moment. Mentor's gaze softened, and Leader immediately hated the pity. "If I survive, I'm the traitor. How can I prove myself?"

"Just do your job as told. I know you won't let me down and this ridiculous matter will slove itself."

Leader opened their mouth to protest, but a wheeze escaped.

"Are you alright?" Mentor asked immediately. The concern in their voice was foreign. Mentor had never been worried about Leader before.

"Yes," they answered firmly. Mentor reached out to them, but Leader didn't let them. Leader knew they would fall apart at the smallest break they were given. They were in a bad shape, with how emotional and tired they felt, unbecoming of the person they were. They could push through those usually, and crumbling beneath pressure was never an option, until recently.

"Are you sure—"

"I said yes. If this is to relieve your coinscience, i dont need it now. I'm fine and I will do as you told." They cut sharply. I needed when I was young, went unsaid.

Mentor stated silent, and Leader took their leave.

-•-

Leader approached the base with careful yet faltering steps, the burdens of exhaustion and their nervousness weighing them down. Each step felt like an eternity, and Leader had to steady themselves against the structure's cold exterior to prevent a fall.

As they worked to plant the explosives, Leader's trembling hands fumbled with the devices. Their body screamed for rest, and the piercing pain in their temples seemed to meld with the weak thud of their heartbeats.

Still, the job had to be done before the guards came again.

But time was a cruel master, and as Leader tried to slip away from the base, they stumbled into Whumper's men. They turned the other way, trying the back door. More men flooded the area.

It was a trap, and the moment Leader realized it, it was too late.

But what drained Leader's spirit more was the unexpected appearance of Whumper themselves. The cold, empty eyes that had haunted Leader for so long now stared directly into their soul.

Leader found themselves surrounded, their weapon useless with an empty magazine and their fists weak— it only occured them that this wasn’t just exhaustion.

"You look even more pathetic than the last time we crossed paths, Leader," Whumper sneered, their voice a chilling echo in the dimly lit space. "Did your agency finally realize you're a burden? Kicked you to our doorstep, did they?"

Leader tried to gather the strength to respond, but their voice came out as a mere rasp. They covered it with a snarl.

Whumper's laughter, a guttural, unsettling sound, filled the room. "I see you've lost your bite, too. How the mighty have fallen."

Leader's voice was hoarse, but they weren't done. Not yet. "They think... they think I'll get the job done."

Whumper's chilling laughter echoed through the room as they closed in on Leader. "It's almost poetic, isn't it? The great Leader, broken and defeated. What does your precious agency think about you now?"

Leader's vision began to blur as Whumper's men pulled them up.

"You see, Leader," Whumper whispered, leaning closer to their ear, "you resort to lies you want to believe. You've failed. But you don't cry. No. That's not who you are."

Whumper pushed them to the wall from their neck, and Leader gasped, struggling to breathe.

"Any other person would be crying for their teammates or trainers. But you don't have anyone to cry. You are truly alone, and you know it."

Leader knew they wouldn't survive this, but they'd be damned if they didn't take Whumper down with them.

With one final act of defiance, Leader reached to their pocket. They hit Whumper, slipping a tracker to their sleeve as they pushed the remote, triggering a series of explosives placed throughout Whumper's hideout. The chain reaction of blasts tore through the structure, bringing it crumbling down.

Leader's vision blurred, and their body went limp as debris rained down around them.

-•-

When Leader's tracker went on, Mentor's heart stuttered.

They realised something was wrong when Leader didn't check in for transport. And the tracker could only mean that Whumper got away. Leader would never use it if it weren't for last resort.

"They must have let Whumper run away," one mused next to them from the operation centre.

"No," they whispered. "Something— something is not right. I'm getting them back."

They motioned to their friend, knowing they would need help.

[studyofnsfwhump]

NSFWhump Prompt 4

Whumpee suddenly experiences a traumatic flashback while having sex with their lover.

[cupcakes-and-pain]

Friendships Don’t Always Last

Sometimes your friends will continue down the path of evil and anger despite you telling them that creepy mentor was wrong and they need to heal. Just another sad fact of life.

Anyway, this is just a prompt that anyone can use, but the charterers demanded genders when I was writing it. You don’t have to use their genders if you do write tho. Also, it’s not long, but I put it in a read more because I like them. I think I should be allowed to use multiple read mores. Make people continuously click buttons to get more of the post. That’d be nice.

CW: crying, betrayal, villain whumper i guess, fist fight, broken nose, implied abusive mentor figure / implied past abuse

———

Whumpee began to tear up as she raced toward her friend's side.

"Please, Whumper, there's got to be another way. Mentor was wrong, okay? He was just a selfish, stuck-up old man! You don't need revenge or power or any of that!"

Whumper looked out the window, refusing to face their friend.

"Whumper, you know this is wrong-"

"Do I?" He spun around, glaring at her. "Do I, Whumpee? Because every single interaction with you and your Mentor taught me that the only thing that mattered was hurting people to get your way. So why is it so wrong when I do it?"

"He was using me, Whumper! He was using both of us."

Whumper held eye contact with Whumpee for a moment, searching her expression. Eventually, his gaze dropped.

"So, that's it, huh? You won't help me get revenge. And what, should I just give up forever?"

Whumpee began to smile. "Well, I wouldn’t have worded it so harshly, but yes. Come on, let's go home-"

"No!! You may have given up and become weak, but I didn't. I don't need your support! I only need your skills. And luckily, I don't need your permission to get that."

Whumper shoves her to the ground. Between the two of them, Whumpee was always the better fighter. But Whumper was right. She had grown soft. She couldn't bring herself to hurt her friend, only to defend herself.

But Whumper held no such qualms. After a few minutes of struggling, he grabbed her hair and smashed her face against the floor, smiling at the crack of her nose. Twisting her arms behind her back, he hoisted her to her feet.

"Come on, Whumpee, don't be like that. I've got a nice cell for you. And tomorrow, we can go over the plan."

"You are an idiot if you think I'm helping you. I don't care what you do to me! When I said I left anger and vengeance behind, I fucking meant it."

"Oh, we'll have to see about that, old friend~. I recall you saying something similar to Mentor before we knew better. Before we got our first scars."

[suzukiblu]

Day five of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. tw: implications of past grooming/abuse and the inherent problems in someone who was in that situation trying to flirt with someone actually age-appropriate. ( everyone's having fun! so much sugary, fluffy, definitely-not-emotionally-fraught fun!! 🙃 ) prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“That’s not–I told you that you didn’t have to do anything like that,” he says stiffly. “That that’s not a–condition of any of this.” 

“I–yeah, I know,” Kon says, frowning a little deeper and looking–uncertain, now. Mostly just around the eyes, Tim can’t help noticing. Mostly just around where opaque sunglasses wouldn’t show any tells. “You said. I just–I thought–” 

“It’s just–not something you have to do,” Tim says, because Kon doesn’t look like he knows how to find the end of whatever sentence he’s trying to say and he needs to say something, he knows. He just–he thought they’d had this conversation, and that Kon had laughed at him because he’d thought he was being stupid to feel like he had to say it, not . . . 

Is that why Kon had laughed, or did he laugh because he thought Tim was lying to him about something he didn’t think he needed lied to about, or . . . ? 

“I know,” Kon says, biting his lip for a moment. “Like–I wanna, like . . . do this. Like, I don’t think you’re, you know–trying to be an asshole about it or anything.” 

Tim hears “this”, and wonders if Kon means he wants to act like the way he was just acting, or if Kon just means he wants to date him, and thinks this has to be part of that. It’s not . . . clear, maybe. He’s not even sure how to ask Kon that, or if Kon would even understand the question if he did. 

He’s pretty damn sure that “trying to be an asshole” is a translation of something way worse, though. 

“I don’t know what that means,” he says, mostly to buy himself time to figure out what he should be saying. “You want to do–what, exactly?” 

“Whatever you want,” Kon says, and Tim feels nauseous. 

“No you don’t,” he says, inane and useless. 

“I do,” Kon says, shifting his posture into something too-deliberate and too-practiced and just not normal to see on another teenager, and Tim has a flashed moment of intense awareness of just how not-prepared for whatever’s about to come out of Kon’s mouth that he actually–“You can just–tell me what to do, if I’m doing it wrong. Or just do whatever you want. I’ll like it. Promise.” 

There is literally no possible way that Kon could know that, part of Tim thinks, but the rest of him is thinking okay so who EXACTLY gave Kon the impression that he should be saying things like this to someone he barely knows, and how do I most effectively destroy their credit and job prospects and also every single thing they’ve ever loved?

And on top of that, who the hell taught Kon that saying things like that isn’t, like–way too much way too fast, if nothing else? Because again, he has some lives to maybe destroy a little. Like–just a bit. 

Because it’s definitely, definitely something Kon got taught. It’s just–it’s way too obvious, that all this is something he got taught. 

“Why do you think I’d do that?” Tim asks, and Kon–hesitates, a little, a flash of embarrassed self-consciousness crossing the backs of his eyes again. 

“I–it’s just–” Kon attempts, half-fumbling whatever he’s trying to say, and then more or less babbles out an awkward, stuttered explanation of: “I mean technically this is already, like, our fourth date, counting the coffee place and all, and I just–like, you're–you said you didn't wanna do all this stuff for me just ‘cuz I saved your life. I thought that meant . . . I thought you meant . . .” 

He trails off, looking a little helpless and a lot more embarrassed, and Tim feels like an asshole and an idiot and ten steps closer to going supervillain and burning down the world. Or the reality. Or the multiverse.

Just–anywhere that made Kon have to be embarrassed about this. 

“That I only wanted to sleep with you?” he asks, trying not to let his voice get too tight. “I told you, that’s not–” 

“Ithoughtyoumeantyoulikedme,” Kon blurts in a rush, jerking his head to the side to look away and also looking just shy of humiliated.

[neonpaperlanterns]

Share this Burden

Chapter Six

Chapter Six: Stepped Out

[Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Seven] [Part Eight]

(A/N: Sorry this update took so long. I was having trouble with this chapter and am still feeling a bit unsure about it. But I wanted to post it as see what others thought. It's also a lot shorter than I wanted it to be.)

Ume wasn’t entirely sure what to expect when living with Sakazuki. She had assumed he would be an ever present looming shadow and he was. When he was home at least. He was very work oriented and stayed at Headquarters for hours. He didn’t come home happy though. She could feel him prowling down the street like an impending storm. His expression betrayed nothing but she knew. And it made her head throb. 

The first night had been interesting. It had been quiet, not uncomfortably so but still silent. But when it had gotten later and she was preparing for bed things had gotten tense.

“What are you doing?” His voice had come out as a hiss but she could feel the confusion rumbling around in his mind. She had paused in getting the guest bed ready. Ume was tired, she just wanted to sleep.

“Going to bed?” she tilted her head in question as he huffed. Heat rolled off of him in waves that made sweat bead along her spine. “Where do you expect me to sleep?” she sighed and leaned against the bed frame. 

“You will sleep in my-” his mouth suddenly snapped shut and the temperature dropped. “Nevermind.” His face was heated as he stormed out.

Sakazuki had left her after that and she had collapsed onto the mattress. The sun had barely risen when she was being awoken. He demanded that she eat breakfast with him. It was rather overwhelming. She could feel how much he wanted to take care of her. He meticulously counted out her medication and even helped her with the stretches laid out in the doctor's pamphlet. It would have been nice if he wasn’t so intense about everything.

When he came home that evening she got to learn that he was a surprisingly opinionated eater. Ume had made dinner and it had gone over technically fine. She knew that he liked that she did this for him. Knew that when he had walked in the door he was filled with a bubbling domestic bliss. But he gently informed her of everything she did incorrectly. The rice was over cooked, it had too much salt, and the fish hadn’t been made right. He thinks he is being helpful. 

He isn’t.

Yet she nodded along and when he was done she gathered the plates and threw it all away. 

Ume let out a sigh as she settled on the porch. It was still early, barely past ten but she already felt exhausted. She supposed that was to be expected. She can’t remember the last time she slept. Let alone in an actual bed. She wished she hadn’t been woken up before the sun had risen. It would have been nice to finally wake up naturally for once. But she guesses she can’t blame Sakazuki. 

He was trying to prove something after all.

Leaning back slightly she trailed her gaze around the garden. It really was perfectly maintained. The space was beautiful and a breath of fresh air from the suffocating blankness of the inside. She would have loved to have something like this back on Sirona. 

A frown pulled at her lips. She missed her home. It had been a small one story house in the middle of nowhere. The nearest village had been at least a half a day's walk. It had been wonderful. It had been simple. It had been hers and she missed it. A dull ache began to form in her chest. Suddenly she didn’t feel like sitting on the porch. Didn’t want to be here. She could feel an itch begin under her skin, it spread until she was pacing. The white walls of Sakazuki’s home mocked her. 

Ume needed to leave.

She wasn’t supposed to though. But she needed to. Just for a little bit. Her eyes darted towards the door. 

Really she shouldn’t. Sakazuki didn’t want her leaving, not without him at least. It would be overwhelming. The drugs the doctor had administered her had worn off by now. Nothing would be subdued. There would be no barrier between her and everyone else. Yet the itching was getting worse. 

The noise the lock made was deafening in the silent home. It sounded almost liberating. She should put the lock back. Should deal with just sitting in the garden. That should be enough but it wasn’t. Not right now. Ume wasn’t really sure what Sakazuki would do if he decided to come home early. He was already a maelstrom of unsaid emotion. She didn’t think he would hurt her, that would ruin everything that he thought he wanted. But she knew that silence could be just as painful as a hand.

The handle is cool under her palm and the door is silent when it opens. Sunlight filters in and she can see people walking down the street. She can feel the faintest trickling of their feelings. Someone is upset, another is bored. One is content, happy to be as they are. Taking a deep breath she carefully shuts the door behind her.

Ume really shouldn’t be doing this. 

[rosewriteswhump]

Mistake ch 3

CW: Lady whump (whumper and whumpee), fairy whump, immortal whumpee, non-human whumpee, flashback, panic attack, begging, implied wing whump, burning, mild gore, implied past abuse Let me know if I forget anything!

Dawn looked out the window, glaring at the storm clouds as they formed. All she could think about was the human responsible for hurting Marlie. Her adopted twin had gone to the store for new clothes with Harley and Cedar. Harley was a noble, offering to take Marlie shopping so her clothes could work. Cedar offered to go with them, wanting to leave the house for a few days. 

"Glaring at the clouds isn't going to make a difference. Marlie didn't want to talk about her problems before meeting Alice. Dawn, listen, you saved Marlie. Seriously, she would be dead if you hadn't found her." Bear handed Dawn a mug of tea, watching as she sipped slowly. He watched her gaze shift back to the clouds, both jumping as the door opened.

"Dawn! Bear! We have food!" Cedar shouted, cursing when Leader knocked his hat from his head.  

The two walked over from the window, Cedar offering to help set the table and Dawn following Marlie as she placed a few bags in her room. When Marlie and Dawn were out of earshot, Cedar looked at the two faeries. "Okay, so what should we do for their birthday? Make a cake and flower crowns like usual?" Bear asked, setting several plates out as Cedar used magic to set the food out. 

Cedar smiled softly. "Yes, and Marlie talked about going crystal mining when shopping. Dawn can use the magic in some of them. It would be a nice team outing! Harley wanted to go cave diving, too, right?" Cedar pumped his fist in the air as Harley nodded, turning their back to the boys as they went to find Marlie and Dawn. 

Marlie took a small jewelry box and hid it in the nightstand drawer; she smiled at the gift for Dawn inside. Marlie had always been small, so being a head shorter than Dawn was normal. However, fraternal twins always looked different, unlike the boys. 

Dawn smiled softly, knocking on the open door. Marlie flinched but smiled at her. "Hey, how was shopping? Get that dress you wanted?" The healer giggled when Marlie nodded excitedly, taking the dress from the bag and showing it to her sister. 

"Yes, and it was on sale too! There was a matching one in red, but they didn't have your size, but I can make you one." Marlie set the bags out of the way and crossed the room to hug Dawn tightly. "I missed you. Dawn, what should we do for our birthday? We always have a little thing for just us. I m-missed the last two, and I won't let that happen again."

Harley poked their head in, smiling when Dawn and Marlie pulled away. "Dinner's ready. Marlie, I need to talk to you for a second; can you stay back?" Harley brushed the hair back to the left, showing off their side shave and new purple dye job. 

Marlie stiffened, already knowing what Harley wanted to discuss. She knew she'd fucked up when she panicked at the mall, and they had managed to calm her before too much attention was drawn. That didn't change the fact that her lack of control caused her friends embarrassment, and embarrassing others was always the worst. 

Whumper's voice taunted her in her head, repeating herself over and over. 

"How dare you humiliate me! I have a reputation to uphold and refuse to let something like you ruin it. Silver doesn't kill the fae, so your chains are made from it instead of iron." Alice dragged Marlie by her wings. They always hurt now, even if she was asleep. Whumper laughed when Marlie's legs buckled beneath her, the silver weakening her strength even more. 

It burns. Marlie could feel her blood boiling against the silver as it ate away at her wrists. Bone was the only thing it didn't melt. Instead, it sat there burning like lemon juice had gotten in a paper cut. 

Marlie returned to reality when Harley touched her back, guiding her to sit. "N-no! Anyth-ing but my w-wings. Please, please, please."  

"I'm not going to hurt you. Your wings are safe, okay?" Harley crouched to meet Marlie's gaze. The glint of hope and trust was heart-wrenching. "I promise no one will ever hurt you here." They smiled gently, relieved when Marlie leaned forwards to hug them. 

Several long moments passed before Marlie pulled back, taking a deep shaking breath. "You weren't embarrassed?" Harley shook their head, standing and offering a hand to their short friend. Marlie hesitated for a moment, gently placing her hand in Harley's. 

"No, I was worried. Something triggered you, and I wanted to ask what it was. Are you ready to talk about it?" Harley gently pulled her to her feet, ruffling her hair. 

Marlie thought momentarily, questioning if she was ready to bring up her trigger. "N-not yet. Can we eat now?" The young fairy changed the subject, wanting to process and think independently. Harley smiled gently, guiding Marlie to the dining room. 

----

Taglist: @nullb1rdbones

let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!

Ask box is open for anything you'd like to ask me or my characters! /gen

[fallenwhumpee]

“No one will believe you”

Day 7: Behind closed doors | Fake smiles | Touch aversion  • Masterlist •

Warnings: Implied past abuse.

Leader wrapped their hands around their arms, sliding out from the crowd subtly. They couldn't handle this gatherings— everything too loud, too close, too much. It was so ironic that they could handle everything they were thrown into and came back like it was just another day, but these kind of crowds put them on edge.

They were grateful that it was always on the headquarters of the agency, with many rooms they could retreat when they felt out of place.

"Going somewhere?" Whumper caught up with them as they tried to find a quiet place, and Leader straightened their posture.

"Yes sir. Just looking for a place to rest." They tried their best to smile, knowing Whumper appreciated a warm environment rather than a formal one.

Perhaps their team would provide a better company to their superior, with how lively they were. Constant chatter and attempts to make each other smile, like if one of them did, it would end all of their problems.

And maybe that was exactly why Leader was running away. They had never been invited to that closure, always pushed away and perceived like they were the leash agency put on the team.

Leader flinched as Whumper turned their chin up with a finger. They drew back slightly, tensing at the unexpected contact.

"I can see something is troubling you."

Whumper put a hand to their back over layers and layers of clothes, guiding them to a nearly deserted side.

"Whatever it is, get over it. We can't afford any distractions.I will let this pass because of post mission fatigue," Whumper pushed them against the wall, pinning them by one shoulder.. "But I should remind you that you missed our spar. It can't happen again."

"It won't," Leader said firmly. "But I'm not sure what to tell my Medic this time." Their voice was uncharacteristically meek.

"Oh, just tell the truth that I like to beat you even if it's only because I want to and you have to take every blow because you need to." Whumper smiled. "No one will believe you anyway. Now, go back to the gathering, give some nice smiles to the others. We will make up today's delay with a midnight training."

[whump-in-the-closet]

royal whump scenario where a servant witnesses the heir to the throne makes a mistake in their training—they flinch away during sparring. They dare to raise a hand to protect their face.

The heir, without waiting for their trainer to speak, drops to their knees and pulls their shirt off over their head. Their bottom lip trembles. They don’t beg they don’t speak they merely bow their head with the full crushing knowledge that mistakes cannot be made. Their back is already scarred with winding lines that crisscross their skin. And their trainer lifts a short-handled whip, “I really thought you would have learned courage by now.”

The servant presses back into the corner, a hand clasped over their mouth, horror burning like a newborn flame. They make brief eye contact with the heir and see fear— raw and pleading. The heir‘s gaze darts away almost instantly, faster than a moth in flight, as the whip cracks down

[deadsetobsessions]

Alley Drunk!Danny pt.5

If Danny hadn’t thought about quitting and going to rehab before, he’s definitely going to do it now.

It had been one of those days. Danny had sluggishly managed to usher Jason to school- pulling himself together for their walk to the building, because he wasn’t stupid and this was still Gotham- before going home and relapsing. He knew, going into the first bottle, that he was going to regret it. But he still hadn’t felt the buzz, so he went out to get more.

“Just one. I can stop after, if I want to.”

Spoiler: he could not, actually, stop if he wanted to. Because he didn’t want to, which was the whole problem.

So, one bottle became two, two became three, three became six, and by the time the sun slipped below the horizon, Danny had a pile of bottles scattered around the couch and an intense look of self hatred set upon his brow. He was buzzed, but his stupid ghost biology refused to absorb anymore alcohol.

“Stop brooding, Danny. It’ll hurt your brain.” Jazz said, a hint of worry around her joking insult. “You’re forgetting something important.”

“Wha-?” He mumbled out back at the haze of her-hah- ghost.

The door clicked open. Danny whipped his head to wards the door, snarl on his face and ready to lunge at the intruder, when he came face to face with a scuffed up Jason.

They froze simultaneously, but before Danny could do anything, Jason’s hands tightened on the door knob. The kid’s eyes darted to the floor, where the bottles laid, and back up at Danny’s face. What he found there must not have been good, because he took a step back.

It was fear.

Danny felt his heart drop and his throat go dry. The self hatred doubled in size and weight, but he smacked it down in favor of scrambling for the words- anything- to fix the damage his stupidity and addiction caused.

“Jason.” He said, voice raspy. Had he been screaming again? Good start, good- nope. Never mind, Jason is using the door to shield himself now. Danny glanced outside and-

“Oh. I- I didn’t realize it had gotten so late.” He turned back to Jason, who eyed him warily. “I- I forgot to pick you, didn’t I.”

“…I can walk back by myself.” The hesitant but full of bravado reply made Danny’s ghostly obsession to protect rear its head.

“Still. I’m… I’m sorry, Jason.”

Jason evaluated him, noticeably eyeing his open hands and purposefully lax posture, before stepping inside. He doesn’t close the door behind him- clearly leaving it as an option just in case he needed to bolt. Danny stood up slowly. Jason watched him, and his hands. His smaller hands- Ancients, Danny was scaring a kid- curled up into fists.

“What… how did you get hurt?”

“Got mugged.”

“Are you okay? No- wait,” Danny flooded his liver and blood stream with ectoplasm, and his head instantly cleared. Ah, the agony of being coherent.

Danny subtly shook his head to clear his thoughts. Focus.

“Of course you’re not.” Danny stepped away from the incriminating bottles, slowing to a stop once more as Jason shifted backwards like he was either going to spring at Danny or bolt out the door. “Why don’t we get you patched up? And you can tell me about your day. That I missed, when I forgot to pick you up and that I’m really really sorry for.”

Danny held his breath as Jason considered it. “Are ya drunk?” Jason asked, tilting his shoulder to slide his Wonder Woman backpack down, hand clutching at the opposite strap. A good bludgeoning weapon, even if Danny would rather be electro shocked to death again before he ever hurt Jason.

“No.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, scoffing as he looked down again. Danny recognized the motion, a bolt of heavy nostalgia slamming into his chest as he remembered another red-head doing the same thing when he tried to bullshit his way out of something.

“I was buzzed but… I’m a meta. Alcohol doesn’t exactly affect me. I had to drink a lot to even get buzzed, and it’s gone now.”

“Y’er a meta?” Jason straightened, not completely losing the vigilance, but less tense.

“Yes. I’m completely sober right now, I promise.”

Jason stared at him, inhaled, and relaxed. “You better be.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Whatever.”

——

Danny placed the bandages over Jason’s cuts.

“I am so, so sorry I didn’t pick you up.”

Jason shoved at his shoulder, grumbling “I c’n do it myself.”

“I know. You don’t have to, though.”

The kid looked away for a moment before softly admitting, “I was… worried. Cuz, I thought somethin’ happened.”

Danny swallowed the lump in his throat. Jason slipped more into his alley accent the more upset he got these days, having learned some of the local accents at his new school and regularly swapping those out instead of sticking with his alley accent.

“Thank you. For worrying about me. I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not.”

Point. From the mouth of babes came the painful truth, right?

“No. I’m not. But I will be. I’ll go to rehab, Jason. I don’t want to forget picking you up again.”

“Whatever.” Danny hid a smile as Jason ducked his head, looking endearingly like a grumpy duckling. Like, Jazz, when their parents made those blueberry ectoplasm pancakes she liked but thought they’d forgotten that she liked.

“And thank you, Jason, for coming back alive. I- I should have been there, but I’m so glad that you’re okay.”

“I want waffles and ice cream for dinner.”

“Yeah, we can do that.”

“Wow, you musta felt real bad if you’re letting me eat that for dinner.”

Danny grinned down at the head of black hair (with their red roots once more poking out) and ruffled Jason’s head. “I let you eat like five chili dogs in one go. This should not be surprising. But I’ll let you skip the veggies today too.”

“… No, I want the veggies too.”

Danny let out a bark of bright laughter.

Yeah, there’s no way he’s ever risking Jason looking at him like that again. The kid looked like he thought Danny would come swinging at him, despite their previous meetings where he had, perhaps and with plausible deniability, swung for Jason, but never against him.

That night, after he tucked Jason into bed, Danny signed up for rehab. As a matter of fact, Jazz’s words coming into mind, Danny also signed up for therapy. For him and Jason. Yeah.

——

Off camera, they talked about why Jason react to bottles and hands the way he does, and why he’s so scared whenever Danny slips back into his addiction. I’m just rlly too tired to write it.

——

Danny, who thought his addiction wasn’t that serious and that he could stop anytime because he stopped for Jason: I’m cured!

Also Danny: drinks as soon as Jason goes to school

Danny was one hundred percent using Jason as a crutch and when he felt like Jason was safe, he slipped back to his habits. The only reason Danny’s not dead- well, deader than he normally would be- is because ghost biology makes it so that alcohol is cycled through quicker. Like the Flash, but less fast? Anyways, he had enough to make him lose track of time and forget important things (Jason) and that’s what addiction can do to you, amongst other things.

Jason might seem calm but that’s actually a combo of his go to trauma response (fight) and his experience of 1) being on the streets and 2) living with a previous drunkard coming into play. Also, you might be like what kind of kid wants to eat veggies? And to that I answer: KIDS THAT NEVER HAD ENOUGH TO EAT. I would have killed for a veggie stir fry with a lot of chicken back as a kid lol

On a lighter note, the whole time they’re having this interaction, I kind of imagined it as two chickens just kind of dancing around each other.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

What if all the yeerks suddenly died? AU

Part 3.5; Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 are here. All you need to know from earlier parts is that all the yeerks disappeared at once after the events of #19, and that the Animorphs and ex-controllers have been trying to resume a normal life ever since.

• Hedrick Chapman wanted to be an ecologist when he grew up.  Or a veterinarian.  Barring that, he’d have settled for being rich.  At no point did he ever want to be a vice principal of a criminally underfunded public high school.  That had been a yeerk decision, not his.  Certainly not his.  And yet, here he is.

• Then again, Chapman reflects as he watches Andy Mitchell vomit into the potted plant on his desk, this job has recently involved far more working with wild animals than he initially anticipated.

“It was horrible,” Andy sobs.  “Her f-face, it… it split open.  I could see bones under the—”  He cuts off, retching more.

Probably in shock, Chapman thinks.  A perfectly understandable reaction to having seen someone morph for the first time.  “What did she turn into?”

“What?”  Andy lifts his head.  Milk-pale, except for those red-rimmed eyes.  Definitely in shock.  “What do you mean?”

“Rachel.”  Chapman didn’t get a name, but that description could only apply to so many students.  “What did she morph?”

“I don’t know,” Andy wails.  “Her face got all baggy and horrible, like the skin was coming off, and it…”  He makes a pulling motion, away from his own mouth.

“So she turned into an elephant.”  Chapman notes that down.  “Then what?”

“You don’t understand,” Andy says.  “She… she… her body was melting!”

Chapman sets down the pen, looking him in the eye.  “I believe you.  You saw her turn into an elephant.  Did she try to attack you, once she was done?”

“I don’t know!  I ran for it.”

“Smart choice.”  Chapman massages his left temple, which is where his Rachel-shaped headache seems to have taken up full-time residence in Iniss 226’s absence. “I figured as much, since we’re not having this conversation in the hospital.”

“It was horrible,” Andy says again.

“And what did you say to Tobias Fangor that precipitated this incident?”

Andy blinks.  His color looks a little better, anyway.  “How did you know that?”

Chapman does not roll his eyes.  Because he’s an adult, and in control of his own body.  “I just so happen to be fluent in English, Mr. Mitchell.  Which is, by enormous coincidence, the language used to write your disciplinary file.  I’m also capable of basic pattern recognition.”

“What are you going to do to her?” Andy asks.  “Rachel.  What happens to her?”

An excellent question.  Bringing a deadly weapon to school results in a ten-day suspension.  But if Chapman applies that statute in this case, then he’d be forced to suspend all five Animorphs for the rest of eternity.  Threatening a classmate can result in expulsion, though it sounds like no actual threats were issued.  There isn’t a rule on the books for showing a classmate something so disturbing his brain tries to turn itself inside-out from sheer horror, although in light of recent developments there really should be.

“Not your concern,” Chapman says.  “Thank you for telling me.  Back to class.”

Andy takes several more minutes to collect himself before he goes.  Chapman uses that time to catch up on paperwork, though he does offer the young man a tissue.  And a breath mint.

• Andy is barely out Chapman’s door when it swings open again and Tom Berenson strides in.  “You have to tell my parents it’s not Jake’s fault,” he announces.

I am not your therapist, Chapman would dearly like to say.  I am not your best friend.  I am not, regardless of Iniss 226’s relationship with Temrash 114, your fucking subordinate.  I do not ‘have to’ do anything.

Not being snippy with vulnerable teenagers is probably one of those things they’d cover M.Ed. programs, if Chapman had ever actually been to school for this job.  “Why don’t you take a deep breath and explain from the beginning.”  There.  That sounds like something a vice principal would say.

“Jake.”  Tom sits down.  “My parents keep forcing him to go to school.  They think he’s, like, being a moody teenager.  Or faking it.”

Chapman may not be a therapist, or even a college graduate, but he does recognize that Jake’s entitled to as many sick days as he feels like taking, for the rest of eternity.  However, “That’s between your parents and your brother.”

“You can’t do anything?” Tom asks.  “You have the ability to give kids permanent excuses for made-up medical conditions— Iniss did it all the time—”

“I am not,” Chapman says severely, “Iniss 226.”

Tom stiffens.  “I just meant…”

“I recognize it is not your fault you have entirely too much information about the administration of this school.”  Chapman tries to soften his tone.  “But if you can do without using the Krav Maga or ability to home-assemble a working handgun that you also didn’t choose to receive, you can do without that.”

“But— Jake.  They don’t get it.”

“I will speak with your parents.  I’ll express these concerns to them,” Chapman says.  “In the meantime, might I suggest you focus on your own grades?  Thanks to Iniss, you’ve missed far too much school already.  If you want to have any hope of graduating on time, you need to catch up.”

“Why?”

He says it so simply.  It’s a question Chapman’s been asked before: Why bother?  Of all the kids who’ve asked him, only Marco Santiago has been more entitled to ask.  Why, indeed, bother with school?  Why care about Civics and Algebra when the world itself has already ended around you? 

A real vice principal would make a speech about learning being its own reward, or the importance of insuring one’s future.  “Because,” Chapman says, “when I speak to Coach Lu about letting you back on the basketball team, he’ll point out that student athletes need a minimum two-point-oh GPA.”

Tom’s whole face lights up.  Suddenly looking years younger.  Looking like a kid, for the first time in months.  “You’d do that for me?”

That M.Ed. program no doubt would have advised against bribes.  “No skin off my butt,” Chapman says.  “Now go do your homework.  And let the adults worry about your brother.”

“Yes sir!”  And he’s off like a shot.  Possibly even, miracle of miracles, off to work on that backlog of English essays.

• The first time Jake called a meeting in Cassie’s barn, even though they don’t really have a reason to meet anymore, it was to discuss what they can do to help the hork-bajir—taxxon alliance.  The second time, it was to make a plan to help Tobias get caught up in school.  The third time, he doesn’t even make an excuse.

Rachel complains about the press hounding them for a statement.  Marco complains about his parents making out on the couch while he’s in the house.  Tobias complains about Ms. Paloma’s workload, and about the hork-bajir constitution negotiations.  Jake complains about his dad’s horrifying questions about how morphing affects puberty.  Ax complains about Alloran’s frequent, extremely snobby, emails.  Cassie complains about her parents constantly asking her to morph their patients to figure out what’s wrong with them.

It’s silly.  It’s fun.  It’s playing at being teenagers with teenage problems.

“This time next week,” Jake announces, at the end.  “And if there are any major developments in the meantime, keep the rest of us posted.”

• “Tobias Fangor’s aunt called again,” Principal Walsh says, when Chapman gets to the office on a Tuesday morning.  “Don’t you think we should at least speak to her, see what she wants?”

“No,” Chapman says.  “I don’t.”

“His uncle.  This…”  She glances at the paperwork.  “Axel Mili-Esgarrouth.  Didn’t show up for last parent-teacher conference.”

Small mercies.  Chapman doesn’t explain Tobias’s living situation.  Doesn’t reveal that he owes the kid’s parents the kind of debt that cannot be repaid in an entire lifetime of favors.  Doesn’t deign to find out if Maggie Walsh knows what an andalite is.

“Tobias Fangor,” he says, “is part of the one-tenth of one percent of students who are, somehow, attending this high school because they want to be here.  If you give him reason to transfer out, I will resign.”

• There are reasons that Chapman stays in this job, despite being stashed here against his will.  Not the pay.  Not the sullen ingratitude from the teens he helps.  Certainly not the parents.  It’s because he’s needed here, now more than ever.

• He stays for the times Loren’s kid comes skittering into his office, wild-eyed and muttering, “Sorry, I just, sorry, I’ll be out of your hair soon, I promise…”  Chapman knows to open the window, when that happens, knows to shove a chair already well-deformed with talon marks out from behind his desk.

•  He stays for the kids who on paper had straight As, perfect attendance, promising gigs at The Sharing — and overnight became failing wrecks with insomnia and dozens of unexplained absences.  He can explain to their teachers, to their parents, in a way that someone who hasn’t been there will never be able to understand.

•  He stays for the way Eva Santiago clasps his hand and says, “You will look out for him.”  Half-supplication, half-command.

•  He even, despite himself, stays for Tom.  Who showed up at school the day after Aegas 1909 died, trying to pretend like nothing had happened.  Who is a truly godawful actor — he took one look at Chapman, went dead-white, and ran for it.  Who was backing away even as Chapman cornered him in the parking lot.  “Wait!” Chapman had said.  “Wait! Iniss is dead too.”  And Tom had burst into tears.

•  No one else would understand them.  No one else would know why nearly every one of the seventy-three ex-hosts in this school has been sent to his office for not paying attention, for sleeping in class, for allegedly being stoned during school hours.  No one else would overlook the absolute illegal mess of Tobias’s paperwork, or give Rachel a fortieth second chance after she has yet another hair-trigger reaction to being bumped in the hall.

•  But there’s one reason above all others that he stays in this job.

“You don’t mind?” Melissa says, every single time he offers her a ride to school.  As if he’s doing her a favor, letting her take up space in the car he’s already driving that way.  As if it’s a chore to get to spend time with his daughter and hear about her day.

“You sure you don’t mind?” he always answers, smiling, and she always runs to get her bag.

It takes so little — a smile, a nod, an offer to feed the damn cat, sometimes even just a glance her way — to get her to light up with gratitude.  It breaks his fucking heart to know the reason why.

He drives her every day.  He helps her with homework every night, and cooks her dinner afterward.  He drops more than he can afford on leg-warmers and Lisa Frank and Limited Too.  He’s every parenting cliché: on a trial separation from Alison, spoiling their kid rotten because of the guilt.

Anyway, time with Melissa is worth a hell of a lot more than mere money.  And it’s almost enough to make up for dealing with parents.  Almost.

•  “But Cassie’s a good kid,” Michelle Logan says.  “She’s always been responsible, and she’s always taken care of herself.  There has to be some kind of mistake.”

Chapman looks at the good kid sitting between her parents.  Thinks of watching her rip a hork-bajir’s throat out, taking an innocent life along with the guilty one.  Trusts that she had no choice in the matter, because if it was him she’d killed instead then he would have understood.

“I recognize that Cassie has had an overall clean record thus far,” Chapman says.  “However, the Rain Forest Café is filing charges against the school for the impersonation and theft of several live animals, and I don’t have other suspects.”

“Cassie would never,” Michelle said.  “She’s a good kid.  She just fell in with the wrong crowd, that’s all.”

“Of that,” Chapman says dryly, “I have no doubt.”

Cassie lifts her head then to look straight at him.  “I’m sorry,” she says, not sounding it.  “I was trying to help the parrots.”

I.  Yes, she’s a good kid.  “It’s admirable,” Chapman tells her, “that you’re covering for your friends.”  Probably also on the list of things a real vice principal wouldn’t say.  “But there is no way that you could have acted alone.”

“Can you prove that?” Cassie asks.

“Can you even prove it was her?” Michelle says.  “What about Marco, or Rachel?  They morph.  Isn’t Tobias a bird quite often?  Who says it wasn’t him?”

Cassie and Chapman make eye contact.  Marco is one incident away from being expelled.  Rachel is about negative eight incidents away, and Chapman can only do so much to protect her.  Tobias isn’t supposed to be at this school at all, which the board will surely notice if he comes to their attention.  Cassie confessed, because Cassie can take the heat.  And Chapman’s letting her take that fall.

“It’s okay,” Cassie tells the adults.  “It’s only a week of detention.”

Because that was the lowest sentence he could propose, while still avoiding a legal proceeding.  She really is a good kid.

•  “Where you going?” Jake asks, not looking up from his Spanish homework, when Tom unlocks the front door at 8:00 PM on a Sunday.

“Sharing meeting,” Tom says casually.  “Wanna come?”

Jake sets down his pen.  He looks at his brother.

Tom stares back, smirking.

“Where are you actually going?” Jake says.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”  And with that, Tom walks out the door.

Despite himself, Jake follows.

 • It’s an under-21 nightclub that Jake vaguely recognizes as being a front for The Sharing, but the crowd spilling onto the lawn around it is truly all ages.  There’s a giggling pair of 10-year-olds standing too close to the beer keg for his comfort, a middle-aged guy handing out glow sticks, and a woman with gray hair and a hand-knit sweater smoking a joint on the curb.

“Tommy-boy!” That’s the guy standing next to the door, an ex-controller Jake thinks is named Bill.  He throws out his arms and, before Jake can react, has grabbed Tom, spun him around, dipped him, and kissed him on the mouth.

“Hands off, asshole,” Tom says, laughing as he pulls loose.  “You are so fucking drunk.”

“Sssshhhhhh,” Bill says, not disconfirming the accusation.  He points to the Employees Only printed on the door.  “Just meat-puppets tonight.  Ditch the tagalong.”

“Oh, come on.”  Tom gestures at Jake.  “The kid was a controller for a hot second last November.”

Bill squints at Jake.  “Wait, really?”

Jake shrugs.  He doesn’t want to talk about it.  “Yeah.”

“Well all right, then.”  Bill ruffles Jake’s hair, Tom slaps Bill on the ass, and they shoulder their way inside.

• The club is jammed full of bodies, most of them sweaty and partway naked.  Jake retreats until his back is against the nearest wall, looking over the mess of dancing humans.  Tom has split off, chest-bumping with some other guy Jake doesn’t know and stealing a drag off his cigarette.  None of them are acting remotely like controllers, which is reassuring, and now he’s wondering if it’d be rude to leave without Tom about 10 seconds after having arrived.

 No one would notice if he turned into a bug, he decides after about an hour of this.  Seriously.  This crowd would not notice, and it’s not like they’d care if they did.  Tom can find his own way home.

A small form sidles up next to him.  “Hi, Jake.”

“Melissa!” he says too loudly, glad to see a familiar face.  “Hi.”

“You want some drink?”  She holds up a clear plastic cup, three-quarters full of liquid.  “There’s plenty more over…”  She points to the punchbowl behind her.

“Drink?” Jake asks.

Melissa shrugs.  “From the empty bottles, it’s mostly beer and tequila, with a little bit of Bloody Mary mix.  Which is probably why it…”  She grimaces down at her cup.  “Looks, smells, and tastes like urine.”

“Um.”  Jake peers at her cup; her assessment isn’t wrong.  “I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Cool.  There’s also a guy around here with E, if that’s more your speed.”

“Gee.”  Jake looks back over the crowd, which includes several couples openly pawing at each other, a group of four with hands inside each other’s clothes, and Tom apparently attempting to eat some woman’s tongue before she can eat his.  “There’s ecstasy here?  I never would’ve guessed.”

“People are just glad the war’s over,” Melissa says.  “And your brother’s a really good kisser.”

It’s official: this is worse than the gathering of alien slugs plotting Earth’s destruction that Jake expected to find.  It’s not even a proper orgy, just a whole crapton of giddy ex-hosts hugging each other and then getting too enthusiastic about the hugs.

“Look,” Jake says.  “This has been nice, but I have school tomorrow, so…”

•  Which is when the commotion breaks out near the door.

“Gatecrasher!”  That’s Bill, brandishing a mason jar as he continues to yell.  “We have a gatecrasher!”

Several people crowd around him to get a better look, someone holding up a glow stick to reveal that, sure enough, the jar in his hands contains a single wolf spider.  Among this crowd, animals that act strange or aren’t native to California don’t go without notice.

«I’m innocent!  And even if I’m not you can’t prove anything,» the spider says.  «Maybe I just wandered by accidentally, and this is all a big misunderstanding.»

“This thing’s for full members only,” Tom says, straight-faced.  “There’s a sign on the door, can’t miss it.”

«Maybe I want to join the Sharing?» the spider suggests.

This gets him several unamused looks.  “Toss him out,” Li says.  “And let’s get back to the keg stands.”

“Nah, let him stay!”  That’s Koko, piping up from the back.  “God knows every person in this bar owes the Animorphs a drink.”

Looking between them, Bill turns back to the jar.  Finally he lifts it up to eye level, starting at the spider’s middle two eyes.  “Repeat after me,” Bill intones.

«Uh-huh.»

“What your mom doesn’t know…”

«What my mom doesn’t know…»

“Will not hurt her.”

«Dude, I wouldn’t narc on you!  What do you take me for?»

“A chip off the old block,” Tom mutters.

“Repeat it,” Bill says severely.

«What my mom doesn’t know, won’t hurt her.»

“Great!”  Bill unscrews the lid of the jar, dumping it out on the ground.  “Welcome to the Sharing.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Melissa says to a slowly-demorphing Marco, “I got the same speech.”

“It really does.”  He presses a hand over his heart.  “Now, someone mentioned buying me a drink?”

•  A small nightclub on the outskirts of the city burns to the ground, shortly after having every piece of its furniture and glassware smashed in a pile in the middle of the floor.  The local police force, over 30% of whom were controllers three months ago, elects to ignore this development.

•  Chapman loathes paperwork to the absolute depths of his soul.  Nothing, absolutely nothing, is worse than filing paperwork to get permission to file paperwork, and yet here he is.  The state of California cannot possibly need this many copies of Ashley Shawn’s transcript.  This has to be a torment invented by an evil god to punish him for everything he did aboard the Jahar.  There is no other explanation.

So when Ms. Hanna comes skidding into his office and announces “Science wing! There’s a brawl!” his first thought is, oh thank god.

His second thought is to wonder why she came to get him, skipping the security officer and Principal Walsh, but they’re already running by the time that occurs to him.

When they get there the press of screaming-chanting bodies fills the hall from end to end, but kids still find room to crowd out of the way when they see Chapman coming.  The circle of spectators breaks long enough to reveal the melee at the center, and—

Oh hell.  Chapman can tell exactly why Ms. Hanna got him first.

Fiona Aherne has one hand fisted in the collar of Tom Berenson’s shirt, and is punching him repeatedly in the face.  Joe Lassen catches her around the middle and rips her off Tom, tossing her to the floor, only to be caught in a side-tackle by Li Saren.  Beyond them, Hailey Ng and Bill Renaldi are hanging onto Asher Reed, until Asher suddenly rolls forward and body-slams Bill to the floor.

Chapman winces — so much for not using that Krav Maga. He's knocked aside as Jake shoves past him and dives in to the fray.

Principal Walsh is across the battlefield, staring in bafflement.  Shouting ineffectually for everyone to stop.  She doesn’t know, of course, what Tom and Joe and Asher all have in common.  What Bill and Li and Fiona and Hailey do.

Li has Tom by the throat from behind, which is why Jake throws himself onto Li with the gracelessness typical of a high-schooler.  Li head-butts Jake, only to have Jake, snarling, bite him in the face.

“Stop!” Chapman bellows.  “ALL OF YOU!  STOP!”

Jake drops off Li.  Hailey drops Asher.  Slowly the others lower their fists, glaring.

Good to know everyone’s fear of Iniss 226 is still good for something.

“Everyone in the Biology classroom,” Chapman barks, pointing at the door.  “Bill’s lot near the windows, Tom and the others by the door.  Move it!”

Principal Walsh stares at Chapman in confusion, which deepens when everyone obeys him without question.  He beckons first to Ms. Hanna, then to Mr. Tidwell, pointing them into the room as well.  They also take their places without question, Mr. Tidwell supervising the voluntary half of the room as Ms. Hanna covers the involuntaries.

Pausing in the doorway, Chapman turns at last to face Maggie Walsh.  His boss.  Who has the ability to fire him, if she misunderstands the situation.  “It’s about yeerks,” he settles for telling her.

Her look of bafflement doesn’t fade.  “How?”

Chapman opens his mouth. Hunts for words.

“Jake had nothing to do with this.”

Chapman doesn’t have to turn his head to know who spoke from the involuntary side of the room.  What a surprise, a Berenson kid running his mouth.

“Thank you for your input, Thomas.”  He spins around.  “That isn’t your call.”

Tom crosses his arms.  Between the fingernail marks down his cheek and the broken knuckles of his right hand, he looks the very picture of delinquency.

“He’s right,” Joe says, from the voluntary side of the room.  “It’s nothing to do with Jake.”  In Chapman’s peripheral vision, Maggie Walsh blinks several times.  He’ll explain later.  Or try to.

“Fine,” Chapman says.  “Jake, get back to class.”

Jake lifts his chin, blood striping the lower half of his face.  “I chose to get involved,” he says.  “I’ll take my punishment.”

“Oh yeah?” Tom says.  “Then what was the fight about?”

Jake looks from one side of the room to the other.  Both sides have ninth graders, twelfth graders, jocks and nerds, white and Black and brown kids.  Jake’s probably smart enough to identify several ex-controllers, and to guess at the rest, but unable to tell how or why they sorted themselves like they did.  Nonetheless, after a second he opens his mouth.

“That’s what I thought,” Chapman cuts him off.  “Anyway, if I suspend you then Marco and Rachel will have burned down the school within a week.  Fix your nose, then back to class.”

Knowing when he’s beat, Jake leaves.  Chapman makes a note he’ll also have to explain to Maggie how morphing works, and that he didn’t just order a 14-year-old to hand-set a broken nose.

“The involuntaries started it,” Bill announces, the moment Jake is gone.

“Yeah,” Tom snaps, “and the voluntaries are the ones who—”

“Who were lied to, instead of being coerced?” Mr. Tidwell suggests.

Tom shuts his mouth.

“Asher called me a traitor.”  Li points a finger across the room.

“Six months ago Li told me,” Asher says quietly, “that I should really join the Sharing.”

“And so,” Chapman drawls, “you had no choice but to punch each other in the face.  Is that correct?”

Tom mutters something under his breath that Chapman chooses not to catch.  He can’t threaten them, not this crowd.  Most of them have survived worse hells than the Geneva Convention ever dreamed of.  Detention means nothing.

Fine.  Persuasion it’ll have to be.  Fuck his life.  Chapman raises his voice to address the involuntaries.  “They—” He points to the voluntary side of the room.  “Are not the enemy.  The yeerks are the enemy, and the yeerks are dead.  Don’t start doing their work for them, you hear me?”

There’s a long silence.  Asher scuffs the toe of his shoe on the floor.

“Yeah,” Tom says at last.  “We hear you.”

“Everyone get checked at the nurse’s office,” Chapman tells the room at large.  “You’re all suspended for the rest of the week.”

Maggie Walsh takes a seat next to Chapman, even as the kids all file out.  Yeah.  He owes her an explanation.  Taking a deep breath, he tries to sum up what just happened.  Hopefully in a thousand words or less.

Don Tidwell, coward, takes that opportunity to slip out the door.

•  “Does anyone have anything to report?”  Jake looks around Cassie’s barn.  It’s still odd to see Ax and Tobias sitting out of morph and in the open.  There was a brief collective panic when Cassie’s mom poked her head in earlier to ask if they want any lemonade or feeder mice.

“I have,” Marco says grandly, “a date… with Destiny!”

«Oh, you mean Destiny Trembull in tenth grade?»  Tobias immediately undercuts this, because of course.  «She seems nice.»

“And we don’t even have to spend the next three days following her around,” Rachel comments, which gets Marco to lob a horse comb at her head.

«I have accessed one-hundred twenty-three additional channels on my television,» Ax adds.

Cassie and Jake exchange a glance.  “How’s it going, getting a ride home?” Cassie asks.  “Any word on that?”

Ax shrugs — he isn’t even going to fit in on the andalite homeworld anymore when he does finally get there — and looks away.  «I’ve been told that there are more important priorities concerning the Navy.»

«Their gratitude,» Tobias drawls, «is overwhelming.»

•  Chapman explains to Jake’s parents that Jake needs a therapist, and also permission to miss school if he needs to.  Chapman explains the Yeerk Empire and how exactly they recruit humans to Li Saren’s parents for the third, then the fourth, then the fifth time, until they are in tears and begging their son’s forgiveness for doubting him.  Chapman explains to the district that he has no idea how the school ended up with a staircase leading from a supply closet to the alien sinkhole, but that he wants it sealed up posthaste.  Chapman explains himself to Naomi Berenson, and then he does his best to explain Rachel as well.

• "No," Chapman tells the officious-looking little man sitting across his desk. "I don't know of anyone like that. I'm sorry, I wish I could be more help."

The man — he's probably a real detective, he has a badge — leans across the desk to push the photo array a little closer to Chapman. "You're sure? None of these individuals is a..." He glances at his notes. "Voluntary controller."

Chapman looks at the array, which includes images of nearly 100 students. Some of whom weren't controllers at all — that's Tobias Fangor in the upper left corner. Some of whom were lied to by the Sharing, and then lied to by the Yeerk Empire. Some of whom, like Bill Renaldi and his absolutely debilitating major depression, felt they had no choice but to give up their bodies. "Sorry," Chapman says. "None of these individuals appear to be voluntary controllers to the best of my knowledge."

The detective stares at Chapman, waiting for more information. Chapman stares back, waiting for the detective to get bored. He can do this all day, literal hours of silence if that's what it takes. He doubts any mere civilian can say the same.

Sure enough, the detective breaks first. "You see," he says, "we know for a fact that some of these individuals did, in fact, collude with the Yeerk Empire. And we have CCTV footage indicating that you might have been one of those colluders yourself. So anything you can do to help us out..."

Chapman lets the silence go for another minute, long enough for the detective to shift in place. "You're mistaken," he says at last. "About what it means to be a voluntary controller. Or an involuntary one, for that matter. The distinction you're seeking does not exist."

"I'm sorry." The guy has his notepad out now, pen moving. "You're saying... there's functionally no difference between the voluntary hosts and the involuntary ones?"

"Yes," Chapman says, unaware of the hell he's about to unleash. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

•  “Ms. Paloma’s being a butt,” Melissa says, spinning her chair with a toe on the floor.  “I told her that I have a French test the same day as the Bio one, but she just said that means I have to learn to manage my time.”

She just walked into his office.  Without knocking.  Without asking if he’s busy, if he minds, if he’s sure.  Without apologizing for her existence.  She walked in, she sat down uninvited, and now here she is complaining to him like any normal teenager.

“That sounds stressful.”  Chapman is choosing his words with infinite care.  He’s six years old again, holding a butterfly cupped in his palms and knowing that even a millimeter’s clumsiness will crush this precious living jewel.  Thinking this.  This is what I want.  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says.

She came in unprompted.  She just walked right in.

“I hate French.”  Melissa spins the chair again.  “It’s all those lists of vocab words, and I can’t even say half of them correctly…”

“Do you want me to help you study?” Chapman asks.

Her head pops up with the force of her surprised, pleased smile.  “You’d do that?”

That’s it, then.  He’s never leaving this job.  Paperwork and all.

[suzukiblu]

Day four of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. tw: implications of past grooming/abuse and the inherent problems in someone who was in that situation trying to flirt with someone actually age-appropriate. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Sidewalk,” he says, quick and abrupt. “Uh–please. Just . . . can we land somewhere?” 

He needs to think straight, and he needs to take a step back, and he needs to–compartmentalize, and focus. 

Kon’s talking like–Kon’s acting like– 

Robin’s met a lot of people who feel like they need to sell themselves in one way or another, and a lot of kids who don’t act quite like–who aren’t– 

He doesn’t exactly like to think it, but right now Kon’s reminding him of some of the abuse and trafficking victims he’s met; the call girls and rent boys and just . . . 

Just the kids who act like somebody gave them a script, instead of like they figured out what they wanted to say for themselves. 

“Um–yeah, sure,” Kon says, just barely frowning, which is probably because Tim is having a very hard time acting okay about Kon talking to him like an escort chatting up a client or–

He really cannot act okay about that, no. 

It makes him think about Cadmus taking advantage of Kon’s time and life for barely anything more than room and board and wonder just what Kon was doing in Hawaii and just what kind of girls he’s dated, and–

He really, really cannot act okay about this at all. 

Kon shifts his grip on him and then flies them down to the mouth of an alley that opens out onto a sidewalk–again, terrible Gotham survival instincts, but Tim really doesn’t have the bandwidth to get into that right now–and lets Tim down onto the concrete and gravel. Tim takes a step back from him and clears his throat, trying not to be–not to seem–

Robin knows how to talk to escorts and prostitutes and victims and people who think they’re a product in just about every possible situation. Because obviously he does, and of course he does. There is just–there’s not a situation in which a Robin wouldn’t know how to do that. That’s just not a thing. 

But Tim Drake doesn’t know how to talk to Kon-El in this situation. 

“Thanks,” he tries awkwardly, and Kon shifts his weight and looks like he’s about to hunch his shoulders, but instead visibly redirects to stand up straighter; links his hands together behind his back. It pushes his chest out a little, and the way he’s standing is–

The way Kon’s standing is a display, even now. 

It always is, isn’t it. 

Tim thinks about the stupid teen-magazine poses, and thinks maybe he wasn’t actually prepared enough for the kind of relationship that involves paying for literally everything in the life of someone who views themselves as . . . whatever, exactly, Kon views himself as. 

Tim didn’t actually realize Kon viewed himself as anything but a superhero, and didn’t really follow through the logic of what somebody who thinks their entire purpose in life is to be useful might . . . assume here, maybe.

“Did I do something wrong?” Kon asks, looking uncomfortable. Tim tries to figure out how to say yes but I’m ninety-nine percent sure it was actually someone ELSE doing something wrong and you not knowing that said something WAS wrong in a way that won’t sound patronizing or too heavy or make Kon get defensive or just ditch him or–“I, uh–I just haven’t really done it before–with a guy, I mean–so I just . . . well, you can give me some tips, right? I’m not, like–I’m up for anything, y’know?” 

Tim hates this conversation.

[neonpaperlanterns]

Share this Burden Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight: Today

[Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Nine]

(A/n: Things have been oddly domestic so far. They aren't getting along but things are okay.... I can't wait to ruin that)

Ume knew he wanted to say something. He wasn’t mad at her not anymore but an inkling of frustration still lingered. She didn’t want to deal with it though. She was exhausted and feeling strung out. 

He hadn’t said anything as he set her down. She hoped that his indecision would carry on for the rest of the day. Sluggishly she made her way down the hallway. The need to lay down was borderline unbearable. Though when she came upon her room she stopped. The door was leaning haphazardly against the wall. Splinters of wood littered the ground and the doorframe was in shambles.

Shame and embarrassment fizzled behind her. Turning she looked up at Sakazuki. He wasn’t looking at her, instead he was very invested in the wall. Ume opened her mouth to say something but she snapped it shut. He hasn’t said anything about her venture outside so she wouldn’t ask about any of this.

“You should get some rest.” He still wasn’t looking at her as he scratched along his neck. Nodding along with his suggestion she stepped over the mess.

“I’ll wake you in a few hours.” She let out an acknowledging hum as she buried herself under the blanket. Curling around a pillow, she focused on Sakazuki’s emotions. Pushing out anything else she honed in on him. Picking apart his apprehension and stilted eagerness until it all swirled into a mass of muddled hues as she fell asleep.

Sakazuki stood in the doorway for a moment longer. Watching as her breathing slowly evened out. He had wanted to say more, ask her why she left but it hadn’t felt worth it. Not right now anyway. His gaze drifted towards the door leaning against the wall. The cracked wood glaring at him as he ran his hand down his face.

People say that one’s wedding day is supposed to be the happiest day of their life. And even if he didn’t feel as if that were entirely true he had no intention of ruining today. He refused to give anyone room to needle his decisions. He wanted this. He wanted her. After today was done she would be his and there would be no room for doubt. 

Letting out a low sigh he looked at Ume one more time. Her form was mostly hidden under the blanket, only the top of her head poked out. She was unnaturally still, even when unconscious her body refused to relax. He wanted to do something to put her at ease but he couldn't. He didn't know what he would even do and he needed to get ready. It was the most important day of their lives after all.

A gentle hand ran over her back as Ume slowly cracked her eyes open. Blinking against the soft light it took a moment for her vision to come into focus. Tilting her head slightly she stared at Sakazuki. She can’t remember the last time she was woken up so kindly.

“It’s time to get up.” He removed his hand and lifted up from the bed. Sitting up herself she rubbed at her eyes. Sleep still clawed at her, she wanted nothing more than to slip back under the covers. 

“Come on, you need to get ready.” What was she getting ready for? Her confusion must have played across her face because he sighed as he picked her up. 

“We’re getting married today.” He said it so dully, like he was talking about the weather. It was funny really, his expression so at war with how he was actually feeling.

“Oh.” Her response affected him more than he was willing to show. His desire for her to want this made his jaw twitch. 

“We leave in an hour and half.” She had upset him with her lackluster response. She sighed as he slammed the bathroom door shut. Maybe she should have tried to muster up something more? Assured him in some way no matter how shallow it would have been. She knew that he didn’t get why she was doing this. It wasn’t clear but she thinks a part of him was convinced she wanted this in a similar way that he did. He didn’t understand and she hadn’t tried to explain it. Honestly she didn’t truly want to tell him that this was a marriage of convenience. At least for her it was. But when this was all over she wasn’t going to have much of a choice. She really didn’t know how he would take it when it was all said and done. 

Maybe he would come to regret his rash decision making and unwillingness to listen to reason. Or maybe he would double down and still tell himself he wanted her.

Rubbing at her temple and the slowly building headache she went to turn on the shower. Steam slowly filled the room as she stood under the water. Letting herself get lost in thought as she scrubbed at her skin. There were things she never thought she would have again after she had been taken. 

Being able to see the sun.

Eating.

Sleeping without fear.

Though the one want that took the longest to leave her was being clean. The simple joy of washing the day away was something she had ached for. It was a thought that plagued her as she laid on that cold blood streaked floor. 

Ume’s eyes slipped closed as she woefully turned the water off. She wanted to stay in this humid wonderful bubble forever. She had to tell herself that this wouldn’t be the last time. 

Stepping out of the shower she took note that there was a black bag hanging on the back of the door. She reached for the zipper as she dried off. Dragging the tab down revealing more and more flowing white fabric. Slipping it off fully she took in the pristine kimono. It was soft to the touch and had intricately embroidered flowers dancing along the edges.

It was beautiful.

Ume almost didn’t want to put it on. She didn’t want to ruin it but she could feel Sakazuki pacing. He was getting antsy, his nerves buzzed through the house. Carefully she got dressed. Layering and smoothing the fabric as she went. 

She dared to look at the mirror when she finished. Her dark hair was in stark contrast with the white. It brought attention to her face and how pale she was. Color was gradually returning to her complexion and her cheeks were slowly filling out but a picture of a perfect bride she did not make. She knew her eyes still looked sunken and while the bruising under them was lessening it was still there. She looked more akin to a corpse than a blushing bride.

Ume tried not to think too hard about that. Instead she focused on the only color in her ensemble. The deep crimson obi was the only thing preventing her from being entirely monochrome. 

She liked it. 

Red meant life. It told her that she was alive.

Taking a deep breath she exited the bathroom. Sakazuki was waiting in the hallway, his back against the wall as his fingers drummed along his forearm. His gaze roamed over her. He wanted to touch her. It was his strongest thought. She watched as his hand raised like he was actually going to but it dropped back into place.

“Come sit down.” Tilting her head at him curiously she did as she was told. Sitting down in one of the kitchen chairs she felt small as he towered above her.

He was apprehensive again and she didn’t understand why. 

“Is-” Ume stopped as she felt his hands in her hair. They were careful as he twisted her hair up. She felt a few loose strands fall on the side of her face as something was slipped into place. His thumb rubbed along her neck as he rounded the chair. Contentment settled over her as he grabbed her hand. Ushering her out of the seat his fingers intertwined with hers.

Sakazuki’s hand was massive and encompassed her much smaller one. She let him pull her along as she tightened her grip. He was warm, borderline uncomfortably so. It made her palm clammy but she didn’t want to let go.

Ume can’t remember the last time she held someone's hand. She hoped rather childishly that when today came to a close he might still want to hold her hand.