#it has to do with this caretaker instinct

[hotbloodymen]

What do you call it when a woman is only attracted to a man when he is vulnerable and in pain first?

[tildeathiwillwrite]

The Dangers of Jumping

WoW Birthday Whump Event Day 8: Stranded / Team whump / "Is anyone there?!"

Whumpril Day 6 (Dizziness)

WoW Birthday Whump Prompts List

Whumpril Prompts List

The Legend of Orian Goldeneye Masterpost

part 2

TW: head injury, concussion, unconsciousness, falling, dizziness, vertigo, environmental whump, blood, bruises

Context: Post-canon one-shot where Jas and Killian explore the universe together. Unfortunately this Jump has already gone south. (have I mentioned that these two are very whumpable?)

-----

Jas’s head was pounding, like someone was taking a hammer and chisel to her inner skull. She groaned softly, eyes closed as she slowly put her hand up to the source of the pain. It came away warm and sticky. She froze, and her eyes flicked open. She lay on her back on a rough, cold, uneven surface, one of her legs pinned uncomfortably beneath her body. Far above, stars glittered in unfamiliar constellations, with dark clouds obscuring parts of the night sky.

Jas slowly sat up and straightened out, cautiously probing at the wound on the side of her head. It bled heavily, but it wasn’t too big or too deep. The motion made her head spin, and it took her a second to focus on the rest of her surroundings.

She was on a ledge of some kind, bare stone jutting out of a cliff face with scattered tufts of wildflowers. Less than a foot to her right was a sudden drop of at least thirty feet, maybe more. She gasped and scrambled back, the movement not helping with her headache or sense of vertigo. Her rushed action drew her attention to the object in her other hand: a necklace with a glassy green pendant, the chain tangled around her fingers. 

This jump-started her panic. “Killian?!” she shouted, glancing around the ledge frantically, although she already knew he wasn’t there. Did he fall? Is he at the bottom of the cliff? Did he not come out of the portal?

Jas touched the side of her head again and winced. The blow to her head, whenever that happened, must’ve been worse than she’d thought. The portal. That was the last thing she remembered, forming a portal and stepping through, Killian at her side. And after… she didn’t know.

Was this how Killian felt all the time? Jas suddenly developed more sympathy for his problems as she pushed herself to her feet, relying heavily on the cliff wall. It sloped up more gently than the drop across from her. She could scale it if necessary. But first, she had to check over the side.

Jas was too dizzy to trust herself to stand so close to the edge, so she went onto her hands and knees and crawled until she could peer over the side without fear of falling. The drop had to be about a hundred feet, but it was hard to tell from this angle because a thick forest of pine trees carpeted the base of the cliff and blocked the view of the ground.

Far off in the distance was a faint orange glow, almost absorbed by the forest, one that wavered and flickered like a fire. A camp, maybe? Hopefully, it was civilization and not a forest fire. Jas continued scanning the forest, searching for any other signs of life. She might have to wait until sunrise, she couldn't see much of anything in the dark.

When she was going to give up and wait until morning, a small splash of color caught her eye. Was that Killian’s jacket?

She squinted. It certainly looked like it. The jacket was torn up, dangling from broken branches several layers deep in the closest pine tree. Killian must’ve fallen through the tree, the branches breaking his fall and tearing his jacket from him. His bag shouldn't be too far away.

Jas sighed sharply through her nose. I have to get down there, don't I?

She glanced around the ledge. Her headache was beginning to subside, the wound scabbing over and matting her hair into a red mess. Unfortunately, there wasn't any simple way down other than… jumping.

Jas sighed through her nose sharply before slipping Killian’s pendant over her head and rising to her feet. She backed up, cursing herself with each step she took. This is so stupid, you’re gonna kill yourself, or break something, or—

She sprinted and leaped off the ledge. Time seemed to slow as she sailed through the air.

Jas braced herself for the impact, but it still took her breath away when she crashed into the tree, its thin branches snapping under her weight. She flailed, trying to grab something, anything to slow her fall.

Her fingers wrapped around a thick branch, and she jerked to a stop, nearly dislocating her shoulder in the process. “Oww…” she mumbled. She would be finding bruises for the next week from this. “Okay, jacket.”

She’d aimed for the tree next to the one where Killian’s jacket had gotten caught, so it was only a matter of maneuvering and balancing precariously on branches before she snatched it from the tree’s grasp. Slinging it over her shoulder, Jas began to descend, taking care that she did not fall the rest of the way like Killian had.

Pine needles crunched underfoot as she dropped the remaining feet from the lowest branch. She paused, squinting. It was a lot darker down here than on the cliff face; the tall trees blocked out the light of the stars. So, despite having a rough idea of where to look, it still took almost two excruciating minutes before she found Killian.

He was crumpled at the base of the tree like a discarded toy, covered in dozens of cuts and bruises. He was unconscious, naturally, but his chest rose and fell slowly. Still alive, at least.

Jas nudged him with her foot. “Killian?”

He didn’t move.

She poked him again, harder. No response. “Damnit,” she muttered, “why do you have to be so delicate?”

Killian offered no answer, so Jas glanced around until her eyes fell on his bag lying a few feet away. “Well…” she said aloud as she picked it up and slung it over her head and shoulder, “I have no clue where we are, and there’re signs of life off that way—” she waved vaguely in the direction of the flickering glow— “and we’re pretty much stranded until your Pendant resets.”

Jas crouched beside him and, with much effort, lifted him over her head and across her shoulders. “And,” she grunted, straightening up, “there are probably things in this forest other than us.

“So if you think I’m leaving you behind,” she finished as she started walking, “you’d be dead wrong.”

Perhaps ‘dead’ was a poor choice of words. But it wasn’t like anyone but the trees could hear Jas anyway.

@fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds

[ehlnofay]

19 for the worldbuilding prompts + Torr?

the profound quiet of a small settlement at night

North Eastmarch is freezing cold all over, but it wears different outside the city than within.

Torr would never call Windhelm warm – not even in summer months, no matter how used to it they are – but what little heat it has it clings to with great determination. The walls huddle together, trapping the air so that it’s either still and muggy or a howling wind, like each close-knit house is breathing in tandem. The heat of the people run up and down its streets, blood through its knotted stone veins. The city is alive, an ecosystem unto itself; its snow, dark with footprints, runs sludgy down the roads; a fireplace is always burning somewhere.

Outside of the walls, surrounded by nothing but empty air and snow-laden trees, a slow-moving stream running with barely a burble – it feels dead, in contrast. Silent. Branches reach needle-sharp across the blue-black sky, the ground is gleaming white and undisturbed by anyone else’s footprints, and the nearest fire is the barely visible gleam of the Kynesgrove mining camp, up the hill and through the sporadic spindles of the trees. The breeze ghosts past Torr’s neck and whips the mud-stained snow into a flurry.

In the city, Torr’s comfortable sleeping almost anywhere – as comfortable as they ever get, anyway. Some of the buildings have great gaps under the porch where the snow can’t reach and no-one ever finds them; there’s places in the nooks of the walls, and sheds built into the side of the house that people don’t lock, and Torr knows a few people besides who don’t mind him kipping on their floor every now and again, as long as he doesn’t ask too often. The outside isn’t like that. There’s not many places to go. He’s lurking around Kynesgrove tonight – on his way back from a quick venture out to get some things done that pay better than running errands around the markets – and there aren’t many options. The inn, which he can’t afford – the mine, which would be warm but is very guarded – the miner’s encampment or someone’s house, both of which would most likely result in being chased off. Besides, there’s a performative element to meeting people, especially adults, in strange places, and Torr’s not in the mood to play to strangers. So much of his being is caught up in Windhelm’s grimy alleys, tangled in the hair and fingers of its discarded children; he doesn’t know how to be himself away from it all.

But they don’t have to, seeing as there’s the rickety old sawmill on the edge of a stream feeding into the harbour. It’s not bad, as shelter goes; no walls, so the wind rubs its fingers wraithlike down Torr’s cheeks and tangles them in his hair, but at least there’s a roof. It looks newly thatched, too, the floorboards free of rot, the water-wheel still chugging creakily along. There’s no wood to cut here, all the nearby surrounding trees too scraggy to be worth the bother. The only big ones are part of the grove up on the hill. There’s no point in keeping the mill running, but Torr is glad it is; he watches the distant firelight flickering through the scrub, and listens to the splashing of the wheel. It’s proof that people and the things they make do still exist – if not necessarily here.

It really feels dead, out in the cold, with the leafless trees and the wind that doesn’t even whisper. It always does. It’s a bit discomfiting, which is maybe why Torr doesn’t go on out-of-city endeavours as often as perhaps he could; but really, there’s not work out here enough to make it worth it. There’s always problems with bandits on the road, but Torr’s not a good enough fighter for bounty work; there’s collecting plants and things to sell Nurelion, but that’s easy enough to do on a day trip. (And, really, it’s more for Torr’s own enjoyment, besides. They never even venture far south enough to get to the sulphur pools, which is where the more interesting things grow.)

This trip, though, is an outlier. Unusually efficient. Just a quick job for Niranye, scouting a merchant’s cart on the road – almost definitely for something shady, but that’s not Torr’s business, and it was too much money too easy to turn down. And then – just earlier today, foraging out in the wilderness as best as Torr (a distinctly urban animal) knows how – they’d come across a giant’s corpse, stiff and white as the snow it lay in. Torr’s no master alchemist but they know the value of a cadaver when it comes to brewing alloys and admixtures, so they set to with their blunt-edged dagger and now they’ve got a sack full of what may as well be gold. (Long as it doesn’t start to rot before they can get Nurelion to preserve it, anyway.)

Torr’s going to be rolling in it when they get back to Windhelm. They could use that money for nearly anything – pay off a few things they borrowed, new warm things now that winter’s coming back strong, bedrolls, waterskins. Endless options – which, strangely, is more exciting than it is burdensome.

It’s all the sort of decision that would ordinarily feel life-or-death urgent but right now feels – not small. Not insignificant, not at all, but distant. A choice to be made at another time, by another person.

(Torr’s whole being belongs to Windhelm’s back streets. They’re someone else, away from it all.)

That’s the other thing about leaving the city, spending time in the discomfiting slow-paced ghost-world outside. It’s quiet. Torr sits surrounded by the wind in the trees, the lazy murmur of the stream, the creak of the water-wheel, and nothing else.

He’s been called a worrywart (mostly by Griss in a strop) but to tell the truth he doesn’t think that’s true. Torr doesn’t fuss for the sake of fussing, he just doesn’t like to leave things undone; can’t stop until he finds a solution. Out here, alone, in the empty cold, there are no solutions to find – same old problems back home, he knows, but no steps he can take at this time to right them. That’s never true while he’s in the city, so he can never stop thinking about it, every choice and action accompanied by a buzzing background chorus of everything else he really should be doing – that really should have been done by now – that should never have been left undone this long, what was he thinking? Everything is urgent when it’s doable. But here and now, there’s nothing to do.

So Torr sits hunched on the board floor of the ramshackle watermill, huddled among their heaps of bags and blankets, and thinks of nothing at all.

Not strictly true. They think of supper – haven’t eaten since an apple this morning, except for some snowberries they found around noon, and it’s been a long day. They nabbed some turnips from the garden of the Kynesgrove inn on their way to the mill. They’re fresh, if nothing else – also covered in dirt, so Torr rises reluctantly from their pile of stuff to crouch on the banks of the stream and dip the vegetables in to clean them off. It aches like hell, the frozen water turning their joints to ice – they almost drop the turnip they’re washing, so they scrub it as best they can with the frigid pad of their thumb and whip their hands out of the water soon as they’re able. They stick their fingers in their mouth to warm them back up.

Even after all that time spent warming up their hands, arraying all their belongings back around themself to conserve body heat, the turnips are still cold enough to hurt Torr’s teeth when he bites in. He eats them anyway, relishing a little in the unearthly silence and the aching of his lips and palms. They taste delicious.

With nothing else to do after, the gnawing of his stomach sated, he wraps himself in his shawl and stares up the hill at the camp’s fire until it goes out. The stars wink into brighter being. The wind whistles through the whip-thin branches of the trees. The water-wheel creaks.

Torr sleeps, but he feels like he hears it all – a silent observer, an echo, a beginning – until morning.

[honey-doc]

Why I appreciate Kabru and Mithrun's relationship in the story (with pictures!)

I just want to express how much I loved reading through the chapter with the 6 days they spent together and how I think their relationship developed in a pretty sweet way.

I feel like a lot of people reduce their dynamic to "nurse and patient" and that makes me sad because I personally got a lot more from it than that.

I do wanna start off by saying I'm here appreciating their dynamic as it is in the text.

Read more (spoilers ofc):

The beginnings

When they first met, there was an air of intimidation surrounding Mithrun as the captain of the ominous Canaries. He demonstrates his proficiency as a fighter and leader which worried Kabru because he knew it would lead to the dungeon falling into elven hands once again. But this threatening aura begins to dim in Kabru's mind as they get to know each other.

Even before they fell down the hole, the both of them ended up relying on each other's abilities a number of times (when the underground governor turned out to be corrupted Mithrun defeated him and Mithrun needed Kabru's deduction skills during the battle on the first floor) which is already the beginning of a great dynamic

(Kabwu is scared but Mithrun just asks for his help)

After Cithis tasked him with "taking care of Mithrun's needs" for the time being, Kabru treated Mithrun with proper respect and doesn't take advantage of his disability, even using his title “Captain” when he knew Mithrun wouldn’t have cared either way after learning about how he lost his desires. This is in contrast to Cithis who immediately took advantage of her position to mess around with Mithrun when she was taking care of him.

(When Cithis was put in charge of taking care of Mithrun)

The whole time Kabru is with Mithrun, he treats him like a person and more than just someone to be taken care of, as also he relies on Mithrun's fighting skills, knowledge of the dungeon, and teleportation magic.

When you reduce their dynamic to just "caretaker and patient", you're ignoring Mithrun's own capabilities and making him seem totally helpless. It actually feels rather ableist. They have a more balanced relationship with what Mithrun brings to the table than you may think. Mithrun couldn't have survived down there on his own, but it's the same for Kabru (who famously dies every time he fights)!

Kabru doesn’t show signs of trying to manipulate Mithrun either, and he's no longer intimidated by him in the slightest once he learns he’s not a threat or after his life. Though he does instinctively revert to his "sparkly" persona to get Mithrun to eat the disgusting mushroom, it doesn’t work so Kabru just has him eat it normally and never tries it again. This is the beginning of Mithrun unintentionally encouraging Kabru to be more honest with others.

(Kabru realizing he can chill out)

(Kabru being unreserved and Mithrun being silly)

bonus funny moment:

Bonding

Throughout the journey they talked to each other, shared things with each other, and ate with each other. And Kabru expresses genuine concern about whether Mithrun is comfortable (which is something he could live without and wasn't something the Canaries told him to do).

(Kabru showing he wants to make him comfortable by making food for him which is a very important part of the narrative)

(Kabru sharing intimate memories with Mithrun)

(Kabru initiating conversation without hesitation or worry. This part also is referencing how Mithrun shared very important details of his life with Kabru. Kabru also ends up trusting Mithrun with information about Laios despite knowing he could possibly tell the other Canaries about him and impede his plans..which he does lol they do end up knowing about Laios before meeting him.)

For a bonus Lycion implies Kabru was taking better care of Mithrun than they had been which is interesting to me.

Mithrun also shows that he has come to trust Kabru's decisions over the Canaries' when he says he wants to stay in the dungeon after fulfilling the caretaker requirement. They did talk to each other a lot, during that time. I wonder what Mithrun's Shapeshifter double of Kabru would look like now?

Here, Kabru goes out of his way to make sure Mithrun doesn’t overexert himself by knocking him out after the demon leaves with Marcille (again, when his time taking care of him is already over), and I think that demonstrates an extra level of concern he holds for Mithrun.

(Kabru holding back a hellbent Mithrun)

(KNOCKOUT!)

He even managed to make Mithrun mad. It's probably because he "let the demon get away" but I think it's cute and funny because would he huff like that at anyone else? Lol

When the demon breaks through the surface

Kabru begins panicking after Laios turns into the giant monster because he's wondering if he made the right decisions etc. If Mithrun didn’t care about Kabru at least a little bit, he would’ve just left him alone when he started losing it (right after Marcille did the same thing and she is technically more to blame for empowering the demon than Kabru was for not allowing Mithrun to go after it), but he went out of his way to snap him out of it.

It also means a lot to me that Mithrun even says Kabru's name, because in Japanese you can go your entire life without referring to someone by name and it wouldn't sound wrong (just rude) and it's the first time Mithrun says Kabru's name on screen (I checked).

Though it was with a slap, I think it says a lot, because if Mithrun didn’t care at all he wouldn’t have done anything and left him alone. It's not like Kabru could've done anything to stop the demon. He didn't even to tell him to do anything even though Kabru looked ready for an order.

(To be honest I don't know exactly why Mithrun starts beating him up here but you can say it's another rare demonstration of emotion Kabru was able to evoke in him lol. Maybe it's payment for Kabru stopping him the first time. That can be interpreted as paying it back and/or paying it forward I think.)

The last few chapters

And in the end when Kabru’s motivating Mithrun to continue living his life, he speaks to him like they’re friends/have no rank between them despite using the Captain title for him the whole time. Even Lycion initially gets upset that he’s acting “too familiar” with Mithrun.

It feels like Mithrun changed so much in the short time he spent together with Kabru and before the final battle, and it’s thanks to Kabru that Mithrun finally starts to be able to move past his lingering obsession with the demon and begin to really heal.

This is despite the fact that he spent so much time with Milsril and the other elves who never managed to break through to him like that.

(Before Kabru) (After Kabru)

And even after his role as Mithrun's caretaker was loong complete, he still shows concern for Mithrun and tells him to take a break when he's using up all his magic to slice the Falin meat (lmao).

He didn't need to do that! But it shows how he at least slightly considers Mithrun some kind of friend.

It all culminates with Kabru helping Mithrun regain his wil to live and Mithrun confiding in Kabru. Their relationship is important. Kabru continuing to do things for Mithrun to me is more of a sign that he just plain cares about him. Isn't it normal when a friend needs medication for you to remind them to take it? I think it's like that.

Kabru is there with Mithrun when he comes out about his feelings of uselessness AND when Senshi helps him put a spin on the 'vegetable scraps' metaphor and he find meaning in his life again. He's the first one to see him cry :')

Along with the fact that it feels like Mithrun is the first person we see Kabru doesn't feel the need to change his personality with or put on airs for since Mithrun doesn't need buttering up and he won't get offended if someone were to say something socially awkward, I think they made a pretty good team!

BUT ALSO the REAL reason I became endeared to them is cute shit like this:

GOD I love them!!!!! There are so many funny sides to Mithrun Kabru was able to bring out, and really show his charm as a character. Mithrun also brings out the best in Kabru while Kabru’s the most genuine he’s been since his debut with Mithrun. We are able to see that he’s just a kind and caring person, rather than the shady obsessed guy most fans have come to believe him to be.

The true depths of their dynamic also grew on me over time :)

TLDR

All in all it’s so nice seeing how even though Mithrun is a really deadpan person, and Kabru is a really secretive and withheld person, they clearly seem to have developed some kind of bond while they traveled together and even changed each other to an extent.

Doesn't Kabru feel more honest near the end? Maybe it's because of how much he talked to and shared with Mithrun during those 6 days so candidly...because they taaaalked a looooot like wow.

They mean so goddamn much to me. I don’t need them to be in a romantic relationship but I do want them to be together forever :'))) or like at least hang out when they have off time since they're still in the same country lol. Praying for Kui to make another side comic of them some time (crying).

Thanks for reading if you made it this far, I mostly arranged this because it makes me sad to see people reduce their dynamic to only one singular aspect.

Anyways ya...love 'em (heart hands)

[yet-another-heathen]

On conditioned whumpees...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But those conditioned responses are still there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[whumpandothercomfort]

There's a flavor of whump I'm always craving that I don't see very often, I think because the possibilities are so context-specific. You can do some things in some universes that you can't in others! You can do certain things with non-human characters that you can't with others!

But hear me out:

Whumper making physiological changes to Whumpee's body.

Could be through programming for robot characters, dedicated brainwashing for humans, magic for fantasy settings, weird biology for aliens...

A few examples off the top of my head:

Alien species that instinctively responds to neck squeezing by going limp like a scruffed kitten, because this helped them survive encounters with predators. Delicious all on its own -- now throw in a quick surgery to permanently clamp the nerve responsible. Whumpee wakes up in a permanent state of relaxed submission and can't even show how terrified they are.

Obedience programming/training that's wired directly into a character's brain. When the system detects unwanted thoughts, it applies pain. Even after rescue, Whumpee can't think of themselves as an autonomous being because their mind is desperately protecting itself.

Characters with magic having their magic corrupted or bound so it either hurts them to use, or it can only be used to serve Whumper's purposes. Bonus points if Whumper has full control over their magic AND the use of it hurts them.

Characters given a brain implant or parasite that stimulates the reward center of the brain, which would be great, except they can't turn it off. They're kept in a constant state of bleary euphoria... with just enough sense of self left to know they want it to stop.

Characters being spelled or programmed so they physically cannot function independently. Characters who very literally NEED to be given permission to do things like relax or take a walk or even use the bathroom. Not being given this permission leaves them in a state of locked stasis -- fully aware of the time passing. Bonus: Caretaker can't reverse it, so they just HAVE to navigate All Of This.

Alien species that will a develop chronic physical illness if deprived of touch for too long. Said illness can only be treated through regular physical touch. Defiant Whumpees will often be locked in solitary confinement and fed through a slot in the bars until symptoms start to manifest. Sometimes they'll be left even longer, to make sure they end up a severe case. And now, oopsie, the only way to ease this horrible pain is by letting your captors put their hands on you!

Just. Physiological whump. The horror of someone else controlling your body or your mind. Betrayal of body. Etc. Do you understand.

[jesuistrestriste]

you make art put on a skirt for the halloween party.

one that’s white and frilly and just barely covering him up; one that makes him compulsively pull down on the bottom of it to conceal himself everytime he has to talk to someone. fumbling with his red solo cup as he prays that whoever he’s in conversation with thinks it’s a joke.

and people do.

when you two walk through the front door of the house party, all of his fellow tennis players burst into laughter and rush up to him. they clap him on the back and tug on his pearl-covered corset. they put their hands all over his body; someone even manages to give him a playful slap on his ass. he feels like a piece of meat.

art’s dressed as an angel, while you’re dressed as the devil. fitting, he had thought when you helped him with his thigh-highs. he didn’t want to admit that you encouraging forcing him to dress so.. femininely.. made him feel hot under the collar. not to mention the grabby touches from his stanford tennis team buddies. it was all too much.

so the night goes on, and he sticks close to your side. one hand holding yours nearly 24/7 so he doesn’t lose you.

he gets more laughs here and there when new people arrive and see his costume. they, like everyone else, assume it’s some sort of gag he’s doing. or, at the very least, a humiliation ritual that you’re subjecting him to for some reason. art drinks cupful and cupful of the nasty, syrupy party punch to dull the weird warmth brewing in the pit of his stomach.

the party dies down and art is wasted.

like, completely gone.

while you’re in the middle of a heated debate with one of your friends about whether or not the guy she’s dating is worthy of approval, art presses his hips into the back of your body and mouths at your neck. it’s slow and a little sloppy, and then you realize you have to be on caretaker duty for the rest of the evening.

but then he kisses your jaw with more intention, his hips absentmindedly rolling against you from behind. you pull him away by his wrist before your friend has a chance to realize what he’s doing.

you drag him into the bathroom and shut the door, turning to look at him. he looks like a drunk college chick. costume slipping, tights somehow ripped, cheeks flushed, hair messed up in the most slutty way. and he’s managed to lose his halo headband somewhere.

he pushes you backwards to the toilet and you ungracefully fall back onto the toilet seat cover with a hard thump. you frown up at him and shake your head.

“art,” you hum, “babe, youre- god, when did you drink so much? i don’t even—“

he cuts you off by slowly climbing into your lap. his skirt rides up his thighs, milky skin being revealed as the fabric lifts. he whimpers.

“please..”

your hands instinctively come up to his waist, cupping it and playing with the dangling string holding together the back of his top. he shivers and blinks slowly.

“i.. i jus’ want you to touch me,” he breathes out, slurring the whole way, “please touch me..”

he takes one of your wrists and guides your hand up his skirt. you’re surprised when you feel how fucking hard he is inside the lacy panties you tucked his cock into before you both left for the night.

“im so fucking horny,” he gasps, “i don’t know.. dunno why ‘m so.. im leaking already, please-“

you grope him over the fabric and he keens, his chest falling forward to press against yours before he swallows thickly and his jaw goes slack. you feel him throbbing in your palm.

he turns his head so that his lips are right by your ear, and then one of his arms reaches around to wrap around your lower back. his blonde curls are starting to stick to his forehead.

“please… please jus’ play with me…”

he cums over your fingers after just ten strokes.

you make him walk home with you as the remnants of it drips down his thighs.

[faeriekit]

I feel like you’ll appreciate this flavor of feral brain rot as a true delicacy.

Ghostly Courting 101

1.) When you have someone you like, you politely sneak into their haunt and leave a gift that hints at your identity. If they’re interested, they’ll start hunting for you. If not, it’ll be removed without the other party feeling any societal pressure.

2.) For ghosts who died a violent or wrongful death, one of the most meaningful things you can do is avenge them. Attack their murderer, haunt their negligent doctor, etc. It’s not guaranteed to win their affection, but it’s a hell of a display.

Now, per the laws of unintended consequences, Danny finds Red Hood rearranging his freezer.

It’s 3:00 AM. He just wanted some water. Why is Gotham’s favorite son trying to leave him a fuck off huge casserole?

“Are you trying to propose or something?” Danny asks the liminal.

“Maybe???”

“Ghost weird or fruitloop weird?” Danny snatches his boo-berry ice cream and starts digging for a spoon.

Red Hood takes off his helmet to make sure Danny can see the Eyebrow of Judgment.

“Fruitloop then,” he says between bites. “We haven’t even sparred, and I sure as shit didn’t avenge you or anything.”

Oh. Oh no.

“Hood, why are you blushing?”

He couldn’t make out much from the outraged sputtering, but Danny nearly shat his fucking core out when it clicked.

“Is this about Joker???”

Danny was gonna take the stuttering as a yes.

Cool, cool, cool. He was calm. He was so fucking normal, it was fine, it was fine, it was—

Ancients take him, Danny beat the shit out of this guy’s murderer or something. He basically did a fucking flash mob proposal!

“Why the fuck am I even here?!” Red Hood screamed.

And the other guy’s fucking clueless!

I see, I see.

1: Which casserole. This is important. What casserole could the hindbrain of Jason Peter Todd's ghost instincts think is marriage material?? Is this like a comfort food can-of-cream-of-mushroom based casserole dish or like one of those newfangled sushi bake type things?? What did Jason whip out to prove he's marriage material??

2: What does JASON think is going on?? Did he hunt Danny down?? Did he just wake up in a stranger's apartment with a casserole in his hand?? Did he go to the grocery store with a list in mind or did he get home and realize he (for some reason) had every ingredient to make tuna casserole??

3: Wait. So does this mean that Jason thinks that casseroles are a good enough hint at his identity??? Does some part of Jason think that his most essential and core part of his identity is his tendency towards caretaking?? YO—

4: It's in a vintage pyrex. Look me in the eyes. This is not just Pyrex it's gotta be the old style pyrex that doesn't shatter in the oven without a pan underneath it. I am a connoisseur of white people culture and this is deeply important to me. It could even be one of the patterned ones. This is part of the gesture.

5: Danny is emotionally moved and it sucks considering that this was a complete accident

6: Jason is emotionally moved and has no idea what the fuck is going on. He wakes up at his safehouse one morning with bridal magazines in his hands which he apparently bought himself?? He's going insane. Is he cursed?? Did that twink who kicked the Joker's ass curse him??????? Curse him into...matrimony???????????????????

[sufrimientilia]

characters that become the whumpee for being the strongest one

the contrast of the strongest character being taken down to nothing. stoic characters shaking and gasping in a way that’s so unlike them, fighters left limp and lifeless when they’re needed most

characters who are always on the front line, the point man to every operation, taking down all the threats and enemies and generally the best at what they do until missions go wrong and the team has to scramble to the rescue

living weapons always getting beaten, shot, stabbed. so used to bruises and scrapes and violence until something serious really takes them down, forces them to rely on the help of others or suffer alone with only scraps of help from their handler(s)

the protector gets taken out and the other character(s) have to step up, save them, devise an escape plan while much more vulnerable and disadvantaged without their fighter in commission

caretakers that can barely drag whumpee around, much less carry them. whumpee bleeding out as caretaker desperately heaves their dead weight, blood smearing all over tile, slurred pleas to just leave them behind ignored

begging for whumpee to stay awake while pressing slack and bloody fingers around the hilt of a gun

“Please wake up. Wake up. I need you.”

the strongest character worked to the absolute brink, so drained after all the grueling back to back missions they eventually just collapse

fighter character forced into the ring at the whim of some villain or to save the rest of the team. winning round after round but never given any water, never given the chance to take a break. eventually every punch comes sloppy and misplaced, footing uncoordinated, until finally one hit makes them go down and they don’t come up again

fighting while injured, having no other choice but to protect other character(s) while bleeding all over the place, barely able to lift a gun or reduced to just throwing around the weight of their own body with the blind sheer instinct to survive

the strongest characters feeling like they should be last in line for medical treatment, presumed to be okay when really they're always taking the worst or bleeding out from a hidden wound

the greatest threat treated the harshest by captors. characters so dangerous they’re the first one taken down, drugged or hit the hardest, searched and restrained much more thoroughly than the others

characters whose only role is being the fighter/protector, which makes them expendable and first on the chopping block when the whole team is captured

alternatively, fighter character is whisked off to be used for nefarious purposes while the rest of the team is collateral. forced to commit massacres or countless crimes until they come back injured and the captors refuse any sort of care

[copperfoxandfriends]

Okay so I’m trying out a format where it’s like a SCP study’s report where y’all get more info and I get to info dump!! Please do say if you prefer this or the other format better as I strive for the enjoyment of my audience, GOODBYE~✨✨

+*——Start of Nerd Stuff——*+

[Photo shown above is of SCP 8783-A and 8783-B interacting with Dr./J’s 4 year old nephew under the research teams supervision]

Note from Head Researcher Dr.Y/N

(Date: REDACTED )

It has come to my attention as SCP 8783-A and SCP 8783-B’s main caretaker that I would ask for more resources and permission to study SCP 8783-A/B’s ability’s to take care of children further. It appears from my observations the two have a keen eye for easing scared or frightened children into a more calm and relaxed state despite SCP 8783-A and B’s looks.

From what I have been able to gather so far with the resources given to me and my team it seems that SCP 8783-A has a dopamine like ability that radiates off its body (Similar too it’s heat wave like attack) onto said target, this has mostly used so far on researchers in my team with mental health issues akin to SCP 999 and it’s dopamine like powers.

This shows that 8783-A is smart enough to care and build a bond with humans leading to my request to have more liberties to test out SCP 8783-A and B’s caretaker instincts.

With SCP 8783-B it seems to be a different story as 8783-B instead has a melatonin like aura around it when it’s vapor is inhaled, This seems to be controlled by 8783-B though has through many tests with D-Class depending on the situation D-Class were either lured to sleep or simply had no effects after sniffing the vapor.

In recent studies it has shown that sleep deprived and or insomniac D-Class are more likely to be lured to sleep by 8783-B than ones that had a full 8 hours of sleep the previous night.

For now this concludes this weeks study’s and I hope my request can see you through to the end.

-From Dr.Y/N

[lexirosewrites]

We are so back!

Rejection sickness is probably my all-time favorite trope from Omegaverse and as suck I love to inflict it on my favorite guy, Steve.

His parents aren't around, he goes through a secondary pack breakup, his Alpha says she doesn't love him and then cheats on him, he gets the shit beaten out of him, and he becomes the only leader of a secondary pack of feral middle schoolers all in the span of about a year. Omegas crave stability and they need pack and by the end of season two, Steve has been rejected by an Alpha he had a quasi-bond with and put through a level of mental and physical stress most Omegas, most Alphas even, will never come close to experiencing in their entire lives before he's 18.

The whole thing results in a rapid and brutal drop the likes of which Hawkins general has never dealt with. One minute he's getting checked for a concussion and the next he's collapsing on the floor. When he wakes up he's disoriented, confused, in a shit load of pain and alarm bells are ringing in his ears for no discernable reason. His instincts are going wild and his body is pumping out obscene amounts of distress pheromones, calling for an Alpha to help him and the longer his distress goes without being answered the more he drops. The doctors and nurses are clamoring to get him hooked up with hormone stabilizers, but they can only do so much for an Omega this deep in a drop.

Eventually, they do stabilize him but it's not going to be enough to bring him back. The mixture of physical and emotional distress means his body is trying to shut down on all fronts, leaving him in a kind of limbo at risk of slipping away completely. The kids all come and try to bring him back with pack scents and cuddling but while it does help it's not enough to bring Steve all the way back, even when he's trying so hard to just snap out of it so he can be there for his pups.

The hospital tries to find him a suitable Alpha match to be his caretaker and walk him back from the edge, but his extreme state makes him highly sensitive to unfamiliar scents and none of them end up working out. In a last-ditch effort, the hospital reaches out to his former Alpha, Nancy, with the hopes that if the Alpha who triggered the drop takes care of him his Omega hindbrain will be convinced that they have been taken back and proven themselves a good Omega.

Nancy agrees, guilt-ridden by her part in Steve's condition even if she knows it's not entirely because of her rejection, agrees to try and bring Steve back.

It has the complete opposite effect. As soon as Nancy enters the room Steve starts making the most heartbreaking distressed sounds, whimpering and crying out and eventually starting to thrash around and aggravate his wounds in his attempts to hide away in the corner of his hospital bed.

Nancy is immediately ushered out while the nurses try their best to get Steve stable again, but it's not looking good.

Fortunately for them all, Alpha Eddie Munson happens to be at the hospital stopping in with Wayne who's visiting a coworker who got injured on the job. He's waiting out in the hallway giving them space when the most heartwrenching cries break the silence. His instincts immediately go into overdrive because that is an Omega in extreme distress and his Alpha needs to help them now.

He gets to the room at the end of the hall to see Steve Harrington of all people surrounded by medical staff all trying desperately to calm him down. Before the nurses can spot him and get him to leave the room Eddie is emitting calming pheromones on max and crooning into the room. The staff are preparing to haul him out when they notice that Steve is starting to settle.

The Omega has stopped his thrashing and I looking at Eddie with big, pleading eyes. He looks at the Alpha like he's water in the desert, the one thing he's been searching desperately for. Eddie doesn't know Steve all that well but seeing the way the other Omega starts reaching for him from his sick bed he doesn't hesitate to push past the hospital staff and scoop the Omega into his arm.

Steve immediately buries his nose in Eddie's neck to get as close to that perfectly comforting scent as possible. It isn't long before he's sobbing with relief into Eddie's shirt. Finally, finally, a safe Alpha has come to help him. Eddie holds him and coos at him while he gets it out, snarling at the medical staff when they try to get close enough to check on their patient. Eventually, Steve's sobs taper off into soft whimpers which turn into sleepy purrs and kneading hands.

Eddie ends up staying with Steve, keeping him stable through the rest of his recovery. He never leaves Steve's side, and by the time Steve is finally ready to be discharged from the hospital Eddie presents him with his first courting offer, his mother's ring which just so happens to fit perfectly on the right finger of Steve's left hand.

if disliking omegaverse whump, omega drops, rejection sickness, and hurt/comfort is wrong, then i don’t wanna be right🥺

[khyann]

I just got thinking something.

We obviously know Falin is at most loved at least appreciated by the rest of the party, both because she is a natural caretaker as the party's healer but also because of her gentle personality, so of course most of the party is ready to go back to the dungeon asap in order to save her.

We also know in an alternate universe Falin fails to convince the others to go back into the dungeon to save Laios cuz everyone finds him off putting.

But now imagine if Falin does manage to convince the others to go back and save Laios. How many times through the journey do you think, when fighting a monster, they realize how much bigger a disadvantage they have now than they were when they had Laios?

How many times do they struggle coming up with strategies to fight the monsters cuz they lost the one person who knows them like the back of his hand and understands their behavior and instincts giving the party the upper hand?

How many times do they run into something they know Laios has mentioned before because of fucking course he is gonna ramble about every monster under the sun and are trying so hard to remember any useful information he might have babbled about at some point?

How long would it take them to realize maybe Laios played a role in the party beyond just being the leader that simply can't be replicated?

And then. Just as they are starting to accept Laios and his strange personality... he is turned into a chimera. And what's worse, he looks happier like this, his body disfigured into a hybrid of human and a red dragon. And he looks happy like this

[yandere-daydreams]

Would childe fuck his feverish sick darling, or would his caregiver instinct take over, or both.

If not or apart from him, who would fuck a sick darling, definitely dottore but there has to be others

nothing on the face of the planet could ever stop childe from fucking his darling whenever possible, but i think he might fuck you a little less ferally when you're all red-faced and feverish, too out of it to do anything but grumble complaints and whine while he ruts into you. he still does all the caretaker stuff - making you tea, checking your temperature, keeping you fed, etc. - it's just, after he's done being concerned for your health and acting like a loving, dutiful partner, he's going to think about how nice it would be to bury his face between your thighs while you're too disoriented to cry and scream about how much you hate him and get distracted.

on the bright side, when he inevitably catches whatever you have, you'll get a few days of reprieve while he's on bedrest. on the not-so-bright side, you'll be forced to wait on him hand and foot while he deliriously whines and moans for affection, so maybe weigh your options before deciding how sick you're going to be.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Protector

Requested by @captaincvans

Dean Winchester x little sister!reader, a little bit of Sam Winchester x little sister!reader

Synopsis: your big brother Dean has always been your protector

It started when you were four years old. Dean answered one of John’s phones, and was shocked to hear your tiny voice on the other end.

“Who is this? How did you get this number?”

“My mommy,” you were sobbing into the phone, and Dean’s heartbeat picked up. Had someone hurt the little girl on the other end? “My mommy said to call if-if bad things happened. She said it was my daddy’s number.”

To say Dean was shocked would be the understatement of the century, but he forced himself to remain calm, if only for the little girl who clearly needed help. John had gone out on a job, and Sam had walked to a nearby store to grab some supplies.

“Ok, well where’s your mommy?”

“The monster…he-he…” you broke down into sobs, and Dean didn’t need to hear anything else.

Dean was usually used to waiting for John’s orders before doing just about anything, but somehow now he knew just what to do. Every instinct inside him screamed to help you from the moment he heard your voice.

He didn’t know then, but that instinct would follow him for the rest of his life.

…

Dean’s relationship with you was different than his with Sam. Dean had practically raised Sam, but he literally raised you. The older the boys got, the more John left them for hunts. And there was the age difference; he was only four years older than Sam, but Dean had already grown up and started hunting by the time you came into his life. And after John died, the two of you became closer than ever, and he took on his role as caretaker even more seriously.

So, needless to say, hunting wasn’t in the cards for you. Of course Dean taught you how to defend yourself, but he knew that once you started hunting, you’d be stuck in that life forever, and that wasn’t a choice he was going to let you make as a teenager.

A part of you always wanted to fight him on it, not because you thought you’d love hunting, but because your big brothers risked their lives on an almost-daily basis, and you wanted to be there to help them. However, it didn’t take long for you to realize that being on a hunt would just put them in more danger; Dean would be so worried about you that he wouldn’t keep his head on straight. You weren’t going to be the reason he got distracted and killed on a hunt.

So you stayed behind.

But that didn’t mean that you were always safe.

…

“Crowley I swear, if you touch one hair on her head-“

“Let me guess, they’ll never find the body?”

“Oh no, they will,” Dean’s fists were clenched so hard, his palms were going numb. “They’ll find it, and they’ll keep finding it. Little bits, everywhere, maybe I’ll even drop you in a couple of different states. I’ll cut you up nice and slow, it’ll take weeks before you’re dead, and that’s if I’m feeling generous enough to let you die at all.”

“My my my, someone is very protective about his little pet. However, your mummy should’ve taught you some manners, because you see…” Dean flinched when he heard your screams over the phone. “I don’t like to be threatened, squirrel.”

“Ok, ok!” Dean relented. Your screams stopped.

“Good. Now, here’s my ultimatum,” Crowley’s voice rose in anger, “If you ever want to see this little runt again, the first thing you’re gonna do, is drop the attitude, and show some respect!” Crowley cleared his throat, and returned to his easygoing, neutral tone. “After all, I am the king of hell. And then, after that, you’re going to stop meddling in my affairs. That’s not so bad, is it?”

Dean was about to throw out a snarky response when your voice broke in.

“Don’t listen to him, Dean. He’s just a liar, he’ll betray y-“ your desperate, frightened voice cut off with a high-pitched scream, and Dean could swear he heard Crowley laughing.

“Now now, darling, that’s not very nice. Name-calling is for children. Oh that’s right,” Crowley’s laughter started up again. “You are a child.”

“Stop it!” Not seeing what was going on was driving Dean insane. He could only imagine what Crowley was doing to you. “Alright, Crowley, you get what you want. Just let her go!”

The screaming stopped again.

“Now, that’s sweet, Dean. But I’m afraid I don’t exactly trust your word. So, I’m going have to keep your little rugrat here for a little longer, just to make sure you make good on your promise. Deal?”

“No no no, Crowley you can’t just-“

“I think we’re done here.”

The click that followed might as well have been an atomic bomb.

…

“We got a location.”

Dean had never jumped up that fast in his entire life.

“Finally, let’s go.”

“Dean, hold on,” Sam placed his hand out, stopping Dean in his tracks. “We don’t know how many demons are guarding it.”

“You know what, Sam? I don’t really care. There could be a thousand demons in there for all I care. She’s in there, so I’m going.” Dean brushed past Sam, who reluctantly followed him into the Impala.

“I’m just saying, it would be nice to have a plan.”

“I have a plan.” Dean peeled out of the driveway and sped along the road.

“The plan is get her back.”

…

You heard them before you saw them. It would be impossible not to; the screaming of demons and the thud as bodies hit the floor wasn’t exactly quiet.

However, when the door burst open, it wasn’t your brothers who came in.

Crowley rushed toward you, his hand outstretched to grab you and teleport you with him. A split second before his hand reached your shoulder, the demon blade whizzed past his ear and struck his arm, throwing him off balance and onto the floor. Before he could get back up, Dean was on him, not even bothering with the knife as he pounded on Crowley’s face. Sam rushed in after him, grabbing Dean by the shoulder and pulling him off.

“That’s enough, Dean! Just use the kni-“

Before either brother could move towards the demon blade, Crowley had disappeared.

“No!” Dean slammed his fist against the wall, and was about to do it again when he heard it.

“Dean?”

Never, not even when you were little, had Dean ever heard you sound so small; so fragile. He turned, his gaze instantly softening, his fists relaxing as he rushed to your side. He quickly untied the ropes holding you to a metal chair, and as soon as you were free you collapsed into his waiting arms.

“You’re ok,” Dean’s eyes stung as he gripped you tightly to him. “You’re safe now, I’m here.”

“Is she ok?” Sam stepped up behind Dean, and Dean reluctantly pulled away to check you for injuries.

There was a gash along your cheek, and he saw several cuts on your arms and legs, but what really worried him was the blood covering the front of your shirt.

“Baby, can you…” Dean touched the pool of blood dripping down your stomach. You lifted your shirt a few inches, and he saw a deep cut running along your ribs. Blood was still gushing freely from the cut, and Dean quickly removed his top layer of flannel, pressing it against the wound.

Sam flinched when you cried out, and Dean winced.

“I know, I know it hurts honey. I need you to hold it there, though.” You took the shirt from him and he nodded, “Yeah, good, press it tight.” He glanced around one more time to be sure no demons were coming, before he scooped you into his arms. You cried out again when he jostled you, and he tried to ignore you as he turned to Sam.

“You gotta watch my back, I’ve got her, but I don’t know if there are any more demons still here.”

Sam nodded, taking the demon blade.

“Alright, I’ll drive.”

…

“Do we need to take her to a hospital?” Sam glanced to the back of the Impala, where your head was resting in Dean’s lap as he held his shirt against your cut.

“I’m ok,” your voice was quiet, almost sleepy.

“We should take her in,” Dean insisted.

“It doesn’t look like she’s lost that much blood,” Sam hesitantly argued.

“Dean, I’m ok,” you turned your gaze from your injury to your big brother. “Really, just stitch me up. I’ll be fine.”

Dean relented hesitantly, mostly because he didn’t put it past Crowley to try to alert local authorities to all the bodies he’d left in his wake saving you. The last thing you needed was to be stuck in a hospital while Sam and Dean got arrested.

“Alright, ok. But you gotta stay awake, understand?”

You were silent for a few seconds, and when your voice lifted he could hear the tears you were trying to hold back.

“He wouldn’t let me sleep.”

Dean felt the white-hot anger rising in him, but he forced it down.

“You…but you were gone for three days.”

“I know. But ev-every time I tried to sleep…” you picked at one of the cuts, and Dean got the picture. He glanced up to see Sam gripping the steering wheel with all his might, his knuckles turning snow-white.

“I’m sorry,” Dean’s soft voice was only beat by the softness in his eyes as he looked down at you. “I’m so sorry. But you gotta stay awake just a little bit longer, I’m sorry.”

You knew he wasn’t just apologizing for that.

“Dean, it’s not your fault.”

He turned to look out the window, and you knew he didn’t believe you.

“Dean,” you tried to raise your voice, but it just sent you into a fit of coughing. His head whipped back to look at you, and he squeezed his hand under your head, lifting you up a little so you could breathe.

“Honey, don’t talk, don’t talk. You’re ok, just breathe.”

“Dean,” you took a deep breath, “Dean it’s not. It’s not your fault-“

“Shh, shh,” he insisted, eyes flitting nervously over your face. “Kiddo please, don’t talk.”

“Then say it.”

Dean sighed, and you knew he wouldn’t mean it, but you wanted him to say it anyway.

“It wasn’t my fault.”

…

“I’m sorry,” Dean winced when you sucked in a breath, trying desperately to stay still as he sewed you up.

“I’m ok,” you insisted.

“Ok, I’m done,” Dean tied off the last stitch, and you hesitantly stood and headed to your bathroom to shower off the blood that was all but covering you.

Dean sat on your bed while you were gone, staring down at the blood on his hands, disgusted but somehow unable to get up to wash it off.

He stayed there until you returned, a clean shirt and your pajama pants on. You stepped up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He glanced up, opening his mouth to speak before closing it again. You tugged on his arm without speaking, and he followed you mechanically as you pulled him into your bathroom.

You turned on the sink water and guided his hands under the flow, rubbing his hands until they were clean and your blood was running down the drain. You handed him a soft towel, and he slowly dried his hands.

The two of you stood there in silence, unsure of whether to move or not. Then suddenly, the two of you moved in sync. He opened his arms just as you moved towards him, and he wrapped you into his arms. One of his hands cradled the back of your head, while the other rested on the small of your back. You felt his chin rest on the top of your head, his arms tightening around you.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked.

You wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but you knew that you could scream it til doomsday and Dean still wouldn’t believe it. So instead you said what he needed to hear.

“I’m ok.”

…

You weren’t the only one who hadn’t been able to sleep during your captivity, and you knew it. Dean looked horrible, his eyes dark and his hair greasy and sticking out in strange angles. You didn’t think you could convince him to eat or shower, not yet at least. He hadn’t left your side in the hour since you got back, and you figured he would want to watch over you while you slept.

So, if you couldn’t make him eat, you figured you at least knew a way to make him sleep.

You let him tuck you into your bed before grabbing onto his arm as he turned to go.

“Stay with me,” you insisted. He nodded and reached to grab a chair.

“No, with me,” you lifted a corner of the blanket. Dean didn’t speak, he just climbed in next to you and let you lean against his arm.

After a few minutes, Dean’s breathing evened out and you smiled.

He was your protector, always.

But maybe there was some ways that you could save him, too.

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.75)

(Sneak Peek)(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Getting you home and into the nest proves to be a bit more of a challenge.

Tags: forced caretaking, feral omega's, m/c acts a little violent at the beginning, biting, blood, brief injury, kinda inspection kink if you squint, pre-heat, nudity, cramps, scenting, nesting, mindless fluff, hurt/comfort, omega/omega, possessive behavior, omegaspace, yoongi has slight self-esteem issues, manhandling,

W/c: 8.6k+

A/n: i feel guilty because i had to snip this chapter in half because there was simply too much stuff going on in my life at the moment. on the bright side i will try to get the second part out in one week, and i will also be very drunk at a engagement party when this is posted <3 gotta love that for me. in all honesty although it says 5pm...it will probably be posted a little earlier in the day so...be aware!

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

"I don't think her fingers are broken, fuck- do you think Jin would let me take her to the hospital?"

"You just got home Joonie-" Tae whines while Jimin shakes his head, handing over the gauze for Namjoon to wrap it.

"I know but-"

Instead of wiggling your fingers, you flick water in Namjoon's direction. It hits his face with an audible plop. The pack alpha flinches.

The rest of them just stare at you.

Namjoon wipes the water off of his face, slow and intentionally with every movement of his body. No one breathes and no one moves. You sense Namjoon's composure is about to slip. Good- you really want it too.

"See! Pups fine!” You flick water at Namjoon again. Grinning, dopy and so high on heat hormones that you think it is funny how his jaw rolls. Your hand isn't broken even if your knuckles are a little scraped up. Really- you'll be fine. They don't need to act like you're dying.

You try to do it again but Jimin grabs both of your wrists, holding you still. "That is the opposite of helpful." Tae snaps.

"Don't yell at me. I'm too tiny." You say, your voice that. Small.

Namjoon whips his hands on a kitchen cloth slowly. Staring you down without saying anything.

Yoongi runs his teeth over the back of your throat, hard enough that you feel it. He's not sure why you need the release of violence before your heat begins, but you do. Whatever instinct is currently making you act like a brat needs to come out one way or another.

Yoongi would rather it be now than when you're actually in heat.

Jimin and Yoongi keep you in one place as you try to lunge for Namjoon. You barely even jerk in their firm hold. Strong as they are. every one of them has more than half a foot on you, you'd never stand a chance really. Jimin holds you effortlessly- without even breaking a sweat. muscles and veins in his arms hardly flexing.

You want to bite him, teeth and gums aching for it. To feel the give of your alpha's under your teeth, under your claws. To bite and nip and see what he's made of.

It's like Namjoon can see the ache rocking through you, the violence of it in the honey tremble of your body. He cups your face so tenderly, and you almost want to hiss at him. Lip lifting in a soundless snarl. His voice is a gentle hush, a tone you are intimately familiar with.

it's the same tone of voice that has preceded every punishment and scolding you've ever received from the pack alpha. Every time he's ever coaxed you to take his knot (icky) or an orgasm (less icky). As he drags you close and speaks to you. Soft but firm. Gentle but unyielding.

"You are allowed to be needy, you are allowed to be small. You are allowed to need everything and anything and I will personally make sure that each one of those needs are fulfilled."

You snap your teeth at him, trying to bite his hand. He only just gets away. Your teeth brushing his knuckles playfully. You giggle, behind you, Yoongi snorts.

Instantly the pack hold your face, your jaw, not jimin but your mate and tae. Holding your mouth open. Fingers digging into your lower lip. Making your lips push out. You push at them but they hold you still. saliva pooling around a whine as you try to gnash your teeth again but are unsuccessful.

"Cute drooly puppy, so messy. what are we to do with you?" Tae's voice is a lethal purr.

You like it. You like feeling your alpha's strength, your mate's strength. Where they begin and you end. You want to test it want to make sure they can protect you.

For what? You can't say. You think it might have something to do with the terrible sensitivity between your thighs, the bleeding hot need slowly gripping you, a distant storm rumbling. But you're not sure.

"You need to make sure we're capable of protecting you through your heat? is that it pup?"

You whine, needy around Namjoon's fingers.

Tae keeps your mouth open and Namjoon taps his finger against your tongue, your lips, your teeth. Does he like how sharp they are? They feel awfully sharp in your mouth. Good omega, see? You want to tell him. Strong like you. Not a pup.

You don't whine and recoil the way an alpha would at being poked and prodded at. You fight one moment then go pliant the next. Letting him look, letting him touch and pinch your tongue between his fingers, loling it out and making it cute. Tears building at the corner of your eyes by how frustrated you feel, how much you want.

Tae grips your jaw, turning you this way and that, jimin's claws tangle with yours. yoongi digs his teeth into your scent gland, going sweeter and sweeter and sweeter with every moment.

Tae coo's and you hiss at her- or try too. Namjoon's finger pressing against your tongue stops you from doing anything but whine. Saliva pooling to the point where it almost drips, a little gross, but Namjoon's smile is darker, wickeder.

Namjoon strokes your tongue once, twice, and then a third time. Near your gag reflex but just barely. If you want to act like a disobedient pup, he's going to make you work for it.

You are the lowest ranking packmate, you can't expect your anger to be anything remarkable. they all coo at you- at your innocent imitation of your alpha's behavior.

Jimin smiles. agreeing, flashing his teeth at you that actually are sharp- actually could bite. you like them, like him. jimin holds you so well- so firmly you feel it in the small bones of your wrists. any other time you'd say it was uncomfortable, but it makes you leak slick, just a little. you know they can smell it.

"Cute little omega, acting like an alpha." Namjoon's thigh is between your legs, and you try and grind down on it. He stops you, holding your hips firm. You can't move more than a millimeter without one of them stopping you.

"No, none of that pup. If you want it you'll ask nicely, and you'll ask Jinnie first. I know you can be good."

But you don't want to be good, you want to fight.

~-~

Coming Saturday September 28th at 5pm EST (Time Zone Adjustments below)

[rainbowolfe]

Why Aym and Baal?

They were, according to Shamura, supposed to be Narinder's replacement family/companions. Narinder never really got that memo, but like, what did Shamura expect? Relationships don't work that way. You can't just throw two strangers at someone and have them fill the void of a millennia-long relationship.

But the question of the hour is, why Aym and Baal? I don't think it's because they're cats.

It's implied Narinder had his own family (made up of cats or whatever he is) and chose the Bishops, a goofy assortment of non-mammals over those blood relations. So he's not exactly inclined towards members of his own species. So that doesn't feel like the reason why Shamura chose them. And it doesn't feel like the reason Narinder kept them.

I noticed that this photo from Jalala's journal had to have been of pre-servitude Aym and Baal, cause they're much younger. Baal's hair is shorter, they're both just wearing basic tunics instead of their signature robes, and Forneus isn't wearing her hat. So Aym's always looked a bit scuffed, and it wasn't the result of his time spent with TOWW in the Realm Beyond.

Which means Shamura saw him and went "wow that's literally Kallamar". Scar over one eye? Check. Messed up ears? Check. It would also loosely confirm that the boys were sent after they sealed Narinder, since Kallamar's ears wouldn't be scuffed before then.

It would be really funny if what Aym's looking at is Shamura, and this picture was taken 5 seconds before disaster.

Now, my first instinct was that Baal would be Narinder, and what Shamura hoped to recreate was Narinder's relationship with them and Kallamar. But that doesn't quite make sense. The new "family unit" already has a Narinder, so why would Shamura give him another?

Baal can't be filling Shamura's role for two reasons. One, as the head of the family, Shamura would be more likely to be Forneus (the role they are now placing Narinder in). If not Forneus, then the unseen father presumably taking this picture. Two, Shamura does not believe that Narinder loves them. That's. Kind of why they're doing all of this. So they wouldn't give him a replacement-Shamura either, unless they were feeling really really egotistical.

Which leaves us with two options.

And the correct one is Leshy. Leshy, whose core item is the red camellia. And whose symbol becomes a black heart when he's cleansed.

While we don't get to hear much from Baal, Heket's core traits are that she's a shit-talker and likes to eat. Leshy's core traits are that he's chaotic, but has an appreciation for/focus on the world around him. Smells, sights (when he could see), and sounds.

Baal is actually the politer of the two and, based on his recruitment dialogue ("So much color... so many creatures") he too is the worldly type. Also, Baal thanks Lamb for helping them. Leshy and Narinder are the only Bishops who thank Lamb in the end.

And, you know, if you take the order Shamura lists the family in into account, Leshy and Kallamar are the first and second sons respectively.

...

Of course, this can be taken one step further in another direction :3c I can't just leave Heket out of this.

Although Shamura only gave him Aym and Baal, theoretically what they saw was a four-person family unit that reflected their own... before Narinder entered the picture. I mentioned before that if Shamura isn't a reflection of Forneus, then they're a reflection of the unnamed father. (Who I suspect to be Paean)

Which means they saw Heket in Forneus.

Do you see the vision??

Cause this is a found family, age order doesn't necessarily matter to the familial hierarchy. Even if Shamura wasn't the eldest, they would still be the head (whether matriarch or patriarch) because their role is as the leader of the other three. Heket would be below Shamura, but above Kallamar and Leshy, because she serves as caretaker. She's even the one who takes charge upon Lamb's return, as the matriarch would do if something were to happen to the patriarch.

((Traditionally, while the father is seen as the protector and provider, his purpose is specifically to rule/lead the family. It is the mother whose sole purpose is to protect. Primarily the children, as their (often only) caretaker. But in traditional circles, it's commonly felt that the mother should sacrifice everything for the father as well.))

It would be particularly fitting because a lot of Heket's side of things revolves around sacrifice. How she's burdened by it, and seemingly how much she tried to do to find a better/different outcome. She's characterized as particularly family-inclined.

...

This would suggest that who Narinder valued the most in the family were Leshy and Kallamar. At least, it would suggest that's how Shamura saw it. But I'm liking this line of thought, so let's say their read is accurate.

Shamura saw that Narinder. Could also be Forneus. And Shamura loved Narinder the most, so...

Narinder and Heket's disdain for each other stems from them competing for the same role in their family: The matriarch. Shamura's second in command, and the boys' caretaker.

Not in a "raise them" type of way, at least not in Kallamar's case. But to guide and influence them. To be the one they trust and rely on. Heket has been that. And, intentionally or not, Narinder intrudes on that.

Narinder's the 'other woman' lmao

As a bonus:

Baal is aligned with his father (you get Tears of the Vengeful Father in exchange for him). Aym is aligned with his mother (ditto for Tears of the Merciful Mother).

If Aym = Kallamar; Baal = Leshy; Forneus = Heket; and The Father = Shamura

Then that dynamic is actually reflected in this Tarot Card. It pairs Kallamar with Heket, and Leshy with Shamura. :3