#mentions of past captivity

[darkthingshappen]

Reckoning (Merry Whump of May Day 1)

A Brother's Keeper Story Set about seven month's after Ben's initial rescue after fourteen months of captivity with Volkov.

Thanks to my always whumperful crew @whumpcereal @sparrowsage @quietly-by-myself, and @oddsconvert for the flash beta job this afternoon.

Tags list at the end.

Warnings: BRIEF mentions of past torture, captivity, and noncon. Though nothing too explicit. PTSD. Ben just has a moment where he's tired of being told it's okay and unfortunately, Jake gets the full brunt of it. Ben's not wrong, but Jake... well... you'll see.

@themerrywhumpofmay (I'm so excited this is back this year!)

The kitchen was brightly lit, it was Fall again.  Ben and Jake were doing the dishes.  They were nearing the second anniversary of Ben’s abduction, but it felt like the first since he’d spent the previous one still with Volkov. Jake was dreading it.  Everyone was dreading it.  Ben was jumpy and distant, caught up in far too many dark memories.  

Still, he had made so much progress, especially in the last month or so.  He was smiling more, Jake had even seen him laugh once, with Zoe.  Ben was slowly coming out of his shell after a brief stint in a mental hospital and months and months of intensive therapy.  Ben stared blankly out the window.  He never seemed to be able to get enough of looking outside.  

Jake slapped him playfully on the arm with his wet washcloth as he’d done a million times throughout their childhood.  

He shouldn’t have done that.  The loud smacking sound of the cloth on Ben’s arm sent him to the floor, arms over his head, curled in a ball and rocking.  

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Ben whimpered. 

Jake glanced around the kitchen in panic.  He was alone with Ben.  Their parents were out, his dad at work and their mom grocery shopping.  They were counting on him to take care of Ben.  He’d told them he could do it.  He was eight years Ben’s senior for god’s sake.  Think!  He could do this.  He could handle it.  Couldn’t he?  

“Shit!  Benny.  It’s okay.  Sorry.  That was stupid of me.  I was just playing like we used to.  I didn’t think...  Shit I’m sorry.  Please Benny.  Please,” Jake begged, trying to recall what the therapist had said about how to bring Ben out of these horrible flashbacks.  

Jake got up and ran to the living room.  He grabbed the heated and weighted blanket they’d got Ben recently.  They left it on most of the time for emergencies like this.  Jake draped the warm blanket over Ben and held Ben’s hand, rubbing soft circles on the back of it with his thumb.  

“It’s okay, Ben.  Don’t worry.  It’s okay,” Jake assured him for the millionth time since Ben had come home and had one of his prolific flashbacks that, at best made him freeze dead still and zone out, and at worst made him panic and react as if he were in the moment that he was seeing in his head.  

“It’s not fucking okay!” Ben snapped suddenly, throwing the blanket off and getting to his feet.  “Stop fucking telling me that!  You don’t know a damn thing about it, do you?”  He glared at his brother.  “You.  Weren’t. There!”

Jake recoiled, taken aback by the sudden and uncharacteristic anger and volume.  Ben was always quiet now, rarely talking and when he did it was barely above a whisper.  Jake attributed it to months of wearing a fucking shock collar.  He stared at Ben in disbelief.  He knew he deserved his brother’s anger.  Whatever Ben wanted to say, he deserved it.  He deserved to be reviled by the shell of a brother in front of him.  He wished to God he could fix it; could make his baby brother whole.  

“He didn’t take you, did he?  He didn’t fucking torture you on daily basis, did he?  He didn’t ra-” Ben’s voice, dripping with rage, cut off and he was left standing, heaving in breaths of air.  His whole body trembled and Jake saw the dam of emotions and torment and memories that threatened to overwhelm his baby brother.  

They both knew what he was about to say.  

“It’s not okay,” Ben finally finished, more quietly than before.  

“I-I know, Benny.  I’m not meaning to make light.  I know what he did to you.-”

“No.  No you fucking don’t.  Seeing my scars or reading that damn file that they gave mom and dad doesn’t mean you know.  It doesn’t.  It doesn’t.  There’s so much more than what they could fit in my fucking file.”  Ben made air quotes over the last word.  

“I spent almost every night curled up in a cage.  A fucking cage, Jake.  No blanket.  No pillow, no mattress.  Just a hard plastic or metal bottom of a cage.  And it was cold.  All the time.  I asked for a blanket one time.  Do you know what he did to me?”

Jake’s expression reflected the horror of what Ben was telling him.  It was the most Ben had directly said about what happened to him when he was with Volkov and Jake felt ashamed to want him to stop talking.  He shook his head minutely.  

“He tied me to a fucking cross outside.  Outside in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs.  Outside in the fucking Russian winter.  I thought I was gonna die.  Over and over and over I thought I was going to die.  Until it shifted from being afraid of dying to…” Ben’s voice dropped to a whisper.  “To hoping for it.”  He looked at Jake.  “I don’t know who I am anymore because of what he did to me.  Do you know what it’s like to hurt so bad, in every part of you, that you just want it to be over.  Permanently.  Do you?”

A tear slipped down Jake’s cheek and he shook his head,  “N-no.  No, Benny, I don’t. I’m… I’m sorry.  I wish I knew what to do.  I wish I knew how to take it away.  God!  Fuck! Benny I wish it were me.  You have no idea how badly I wish it had been me.  It should have been me.”

And for once, Ben didn’t disagree.  He just stood there watching his brother crumble.  He had always said, believed, told himself, that he wouldn’t wish what happened to him on his worst enemy.  But he was so angry, and so terrified, and so overwhelmed with all that he had been through, that a furious mean little voice that he never used to have reared its ugly head and screamed inside him, ‘I wish it had been you!’

Ben clamps his lips shut before he can utter the hurtful words, but he knew it was too late, he may not have said them, but Jake heard them loud and clear all the same.  Ben sighed.  

“I… I need to… I need a break, Jake.  I-I-I don’t blame you.  I don’t.” He said the words, but he was no longer sure if he believed them.  “But I can’t do this right now.”

Ben turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Jake standing in the middle of the room, holding a warm blanket that offered him no comfort. 

Tagging List: @i-can-even-burn-salad @peachy-panic @deluxewhump @arwenadreamer @whumpcereal @melancholy-in-the-morning @dont-touch-my-soup @whumpsday @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @oddsconvert @melennui @susiequaz12 @morning-star-whump @crystalquartzwhump @whump-and-other-things @mylifeisonthebookshelf @reflected-pain @hold-him-down @quietshae @quietly-by-myself @there-will-always-be-bloodblood @whumping-seven-days-a-week @hiding-in-the-shadows (I hope I’m not forgetting anyone - please let me know if I am and I’ll fix it. I’m still getting used to this) 

[heybiji]

sketching a ttrpg npc that has yet to show up on screen yet. i'm well.

[paingoes]

Rubies

Habits

i really struggled w this one for some reason LOL. hope the language isnt too messy.  this part is really heavy on the conditioning aspect 

(Content: living weapon whumpee, conditioning, past emotional abuse, past captivity, implied child abuse, brief suicide mention)

=========

Lun left shortly after that. They’d said it was because of work — Lun had been inexplicably spared any penalty for the Centurion disaster and was not kept on leave the way the others had been — but Delta could not help but feel that it was because of him. 

Apollo still flitted around the house, being a bit kinder than he needed to be. He apologized again and again for having yelled in the first place; it was clear they had different definitions of what yelling meant. Delta would not have resented him for it even if he had. He’d been the one to overstep; Apollo’s reaction seemed subdued, if anything. He felt like something worse should have happened. Was that why he’d done it? 

He was starting to push his bounds, a little, trying to see what would break. It was slow-going, though. He was still afraid, still respectful, still incredibly grateful. It was just unsettling to not see anything delimited. There was nothing to ground him.

“Can I come out?” Delta asked softly from his doorway. He knew the answer, but it made him feel better to ask.

“Can I use the laptop here?” That one was more important to him. He liked being in proximity to Apollo and he was slowly warming to the internet again, but never both at the same time. He still reflexively hid the device whenever anyone came close enough that they might see he had it. He could only use it comfortably in his room — and the room got too quiet sometimes.

“Mm. You can sit on the couch, if you want,” Apollo answered, patiently reminding him. Delta shook his head. One thing at a time. He lowered himself to the ground by the coffee table. The screen was mostly concealed the way he held it so close to his chest, but it was a start.

==========

They still hadn’t caught Paris. The latest CCTV footage showed him light up a spliff as he pumped the ship with gasoline. There was no audio, but the way Paris jumped back indicated exactly what moment the gunshot had sounded off. The bullet had just missed his shoulder. He scrambled back into the ship. The gas pump clanked heavily against the ground as the ship sped away from it.

“Fucking idiot,” Delta muttered beneath his breath.

“What was that?” Apollo called from the kitchen.

“Not you. I’m sorry,” Delta said quickly. He flinched in anticipation of being hit. But Apollo went back to baking without paying him further mind. When he saw that he was making no movement towards him, Delta returned his attention to the laptop.

He’d been following the manhunt with some morbid curiosity ever since he’d learned Paris had survived that night on the airship. He’d never known anyone half so hard to kill. Like a cockroach. 

He remembered how cold Nezu had been. That day had been forever burned into his memory. How satisfied the guards had looked when they had caught him. How he been locked alone in that dark closet, left to dread his own fate. The casual way in which he’d suggested Delta’s limbs be cut off so that he could never escape. Paris had protected him from it. It was the kindest thing he had ever done for him — and Delta had been in the palm of his hand afterwards. A fragment of that sickly loyalty remained. Nezu had not made public what he intended to do with Paris, but he wanted him alive. Despite everything, Delta felt a touch of concern for him. He hoped Paris had the sense to kill himself before he was taken. 

==========

“Concern” did not even begin to cover the atmosphere at Galatea. Even as far removed from it as Delta was, where they were supposed to be off-duty, it trickled down. 

“What’s going on at Uracy?” She had asked just before she left, leaning over the counter. She’d said it low so that Delta couldn’t hear, but he was very finely attuned to that hushed tone of voice. If anything, it drew his attention more.

“Don’t worry, Kitten.” Apollo had just shook his head. He didn’t like to talk about it while they were home. 

Still, Delta could see the way his eyes got distant and contemplative just looking through the mail. He heard the phone calls even as Apollo stepped out onto the porch to take them. Delta could tell there were too many fires to put out.

Apollo didn’t offer and Delta wouldn’t have dared ask what was happening out there. But his curiosity was unkillable. He got glimpses of it through the laptop — crackdowns by the capitol, martial law declared among the harder fought territories, mass executions and exodus among the nobility who had fallen out of lockstep. He knew from experience that the pinhole view that the internet offered was often so far removed from the reality of the situation as to be essentially useless. The dissonance had even been funny once, in the worst kind of way. Now that pinhole was all he had. 

========

It was late into the night when Kitty finally came home. 

She dragged herself in through the door, stumbling a little, a small bell around her neck jingling. She’d been giggling. One of her hands was wrapped around the arm of the woman she’d brought in with her. Iza moved a bit steadier, a bit heavier, but she’d been grinning too. The both of them were piss drunk.

Delta sank down a bit in his seat. He’d worked himself up to using the chair, gradually, as long as Apollo was in the other room and not looking at him too hard. His hand stilled on the notepad just as the door opened. From the angle he sat at, he couldn’t see them enter, but he still knew immediately that they were wasted. They couldn’t see him from that angle either, though. He held still.

Apollo came out from the back of the house, rushing to meet them in the foyer.

There came a little squeee~ when Kitty saw him again. She tackled him, knocking him back into Delta’s line of sight. He watched as the new person entered the frame along with them. Short cropped hair. A tight and muscular figure that stood out against the black of her dress. Apollo’s face fell a bit when he saw her. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, swaying a little. 

“Oh, Ize. You two didn’t drive, did you?” He said into her shoulder.

“We got a ride.” Kitty bounced back on her heels. She had moved into the house enough that Delta would have been visible where he’d tucked himself in towards the corner, but it was dark enough that she did not seem to.

Iza returned the hug, then slowly unbound herself. Apollo led her over by the kitchen. It was the brightest room in the house; Delta had been sitting in near darkness when they’d come in. He watched the way they moved cautiously. Iza still had the bottle in her arms, though by now it was mostly empty. 

He’d seen her only once before, the first time he’d woken up after the rescue. He’d still been stunned and in the aftermath of fever — and she had been brisk, one among many, not paying him any particular mind. He’d seen her once and then never again, but Apollo had spoken of her often. He said she’d taken the rap for everything. She was the only senior officer they could convince to go along with the plan; all of the blame fell on her when it was over. 

“I haven’t even heard that many bad things about Bartuga. I thought for sure it would be Iselin or Kone or something,” Apollo’s voice carried softly through the house.

“It’s the flight conditions; they’re impossible. Bad connections too. You might not hear from me for a bit,” Iza explained glumly.

“What did he say to you?” 

“That I’m getting off too easy proportional to the consequences. He thinks he was premature about it.”

“Then do you think he’ll change his mind?” Kitty’s tail flickered quickly.

“No.” Iza shook her head, “He doesn’t go back on his word. It’s not like being any harder on us is going to undo the damage.”

“I think it was inevitable,” Apollo said, “The end of the war. The bloodline loyalists were already in a death spiral.”

“We thought we’d have a few more months, though,” Iza said, “Sunny, if I’d have known…”

Delta knew what she was talking about. The civil war had been a golden age for the resistance. Nezu and Paris were both getting routed constantly by rebel groups, too busy fighting each other to meaningfully suppress opposition. A divided empire was so much easier to topple. But that was over now. Nezu was in power. 

It gave Delta some bleak satisfaction to know he actually had been holding the line in some ways, some awful guilt to know that was no longer the case. He knew the kind of man Nezu was. He had felt marginally less sickened fighting against his forces than he did anybody else. 

If Galatea asked him to do it again, he would. The thought startled him, but it held firm even as he turned it over in his mind. It was his absence that had ended the war and allowed for Nezu to secure his position. Because he had asked them too. Because he had wanted an out. That debt would not go unpaid. If they asked him, he would. It was the least he could do. Of course he would. Why else would Levon have kept him alive? 

He clicked the pen a little, a nervous habit. He realized their conversation had faded out. When he looked up, they were all looking back at him.

“Oh hey,” Kitty laughed nervously. Her eyes were huge as she looked into the darkness that surrounded him. “Were you there the whole time?”

Delta nodded slow, like any sudden movements might get him hurt.

Apollo was looking at him strangely. Delta had received it plenty of times before, but never from him. It was the look people gave him when they realized he was listening — that he’d been listening the whole time. There was less suspicion in Apollo’s face, but just as much surprise and puzzlement. There was something irrevocable in it. Delta knew that once he’d seen him like that, it couldn’t be undone. He got the killer sense that he had shown his hand too early.

“Hey. C’mere.” Iza grinned drunkenly, “Got something for you.”

Something in her voice had done it. He had already stood up just as soon as he heard C’mere. He crossed the threshold and knelt in front of her, immediately, without resistance.

“Ize,” Apollo had said in warning just as soon as he’d seen Delta lowering. He couldn’t have held any sway over it, though. Delta was tethered. He was okay, too. He could do it. It wasn’t fear he felt, really. At worst, it was numbness. At its best, it was familiarity, the kind of binding he’d been desperate for.

He couldn’t tell if her expression was of confusion or exasperation, but he recognized the hand sign. Up. He rose obediently, forcing himself to keep his hands still. He didn’t know what to expect with her. It didn’t matter. He’d do it. Or take it, if he needed to. He wished dimly that the other two weren’t there to watch.

She fumbled through the sleeves of her bag. He stared blankly as she produced a silver key from inside one of the pockets. She pinched it in between her thumb and forefinger, holding it out to him.

“Here. Yours.” She tapped her neck a few times. 

Oh. He felt at his own gingerly, the place where the collar pressed up against the skin. His finger drifted over the cleft of the keyhole. The old collar didn’t even have a key. This new one was so tame and commercial that he could’ve broken it off with his fingers if he had wanted to. He never would’ve dared. He turned the key over in his hands. The meaning of the gesture was not lost on him.

“Thank you,” he said, genuinely.

“Mhm. I mean, I wouldn’t actually…”

“No,” he agreed. The powers were strong enough to burn his body up if they weren’t hemmed in, not to mention everything else. He wouldn’t actually unlock it. But she’d given him the key. It didn’t belong to anyone else. 

He played with the key in his hands, trying to look at her without quite staring. He realized he was still waiting to be dismissed. Apollo seemed to realize it too, gently calling him back. He pulled out one of the kitchen chairs for him. It still felt incredibly wrong for him to be doing it. He wanted to sink back onto his knees and to beg their forgiveness, for all of it. For all the complications his existence had caused. It wouldn’t do any good. He had to rationalize Apollo’s gesture as an order. He sat down in the chair.

“Isn’t Bartuga the one with the surfing?” Kitty pulled herself up onto the counter, lightly kicking her legs back and forth.

“It’s the one with the ennui, too,” Iza frowned.

Delta listened to their speech carefully. Their conversation had definitely lightened since they’d realized he was there. It made him feel like he’d gotten caught. But there was nothing reproachful in how they treated him. He stayed silent, watching out of the corner of his eye. 

========

“Delta?” Apollo caught him the next afternoon. He’d been on the living room floor again, still working at the notepad. He liked writing — and he liked that none of them could read Latin, so his annotations were kept safe. He looked up from the page.

“Yes, sir?” 

Responsive. Still respectful. Apollo didn’t correct him for it this time, which he’s grateful for. It was so deeply ingrained that it was hard to stop — and even the gentle reminders made him feel like he was being scolded for it.

“Do you want to sit outside for a minute?” He’d phrased it as a question, but Delta sensed it was not. He closed the notebook.

“Yes, sir.”

He followed him out onto the back porch. The air was kind of wet and sticky, like it might rain at any second. But when the breeze came, it was pleasant. It carried the smell of the magnolias that had been planted in a ring around the house. 

He sat down on the wooden steps while Apollo hung back by the railing — not facing him head on, which would’ve been a lot more intimidating. Not getting in his face, the way everyone else had always insisted on. Delta twirled his own hair between his fingers; it was another childhood habit he’d thought he’d outgrown. His early handlers had punished him for fidgeting until he learned to suppress it altogether. He understood why; if he looked nervous, it cast doubt on the whole operation. But it made him feel better — and so far, they hadn’t said anything about it, even though he’d been doing it almost constantly since he arrived. It hurt his heart how patient they were being with him.

“Are you comfortable here?” Apollo asked, like he had read his mind. Delta blushed; he didn’t know why. It embarrassed him how soft he had gotten.

“Yes, sir.” He nodded. 

“Are you just saying that?” Apollo tested.

“No, sir. I’m…really grateful.” He’d meant it the first time. Grateful was the right word. He might’ve said happy, had he not been told over and over again that his feelings did not matter. Had be not been made to repeat it until he believed it. He worked a small braid into his hair. 

“Okay. I just wanted to check in with you. I can’t really tell what you’re thinking, most of the time. I don’t want to assume and be wrong. Remember you can talk to us — not just when you’re spoken to. If you have questions, you can ask.” 

Delta nodded, feeling guilty. He’d gotten caught — really early on, too. Apollo’s expression softened. He came off the railing a bit, standing closer to the opening where the steps led down.

“Is there a reason you haven’t?” 

Delta did not know how to express just how compulsory his silence had been. His throat often felt like it was physically cutting him off from speaking. Even when he was asked to, given permission to, he sometimes had to force himself. The thought of doing so unprompted made his chest tighten. He looked at Apollo apologetically, at that exact loss now. Apollo seemed to understand.

“We weren’t trying to keep you in the dark. You have a right to know what’s going on out there. Levon just really wanted you to take the time to recover, so we didn’t volunteer it at first.”

“…Recover from what?” Delta asked.

His nose had mostly healed from where it’d been broken. His ribs were less sore and the cast around his arm could come off soon. And he never even needed any of those healed to use his powers. He could still work.

Apollo looked very sad. It was his turn to be stuck finding his voice.

“Maybe ‘readjust’ is the better word?” He settled on. “You’ve been through a lot and you’re in a new environment. We didn’t want to put too much on you. But if you really want to know, it’s your choice. You just need to tell us.”

Delta nodded. That was much easier said than done, but the instructions were clear. He hadn’t been punished for eavesdropping — and Apollo had made it seem like he wouldn’t need to. He undid the braid from his hair.

=======

Iza departed that night, having slept over the night before. She was leaving for real now, off to the new post she’d been assigned to, returning to work. Delta leaned against the arm of the couch, watching her search through her bags. making sure she had everything. She caught him looking and winked.

“Good seeing you again,” she said from around the edge of the pen she had in her mouth.

“…Thank you,” Delta said quietly. He messed with the sleeves of his hoodie, finding it difficult to look at her head on. 

“Apollo tell you to say that?” She asked. 

“No, miss,” Delta answered honestly. He didn’t have to. “Just me.”

He was oddly calm. He took in her appearance, remembering just how quickly she’d been able to get him entranced. She didn’t look like Paris, not really. She was just more battle-ready than any of the others had looked, angular, more haughty. The alcohol had helped, obviously. She reminded him of Paris when Paris was good. Unbelievably, he found himself dropping his guard around her.

“Yeah, well.” She shrugged, “You’re welcome.”

His gratitude was clearly an inadequate consolation prize. She held up a finger gun to him, pretending to shoot him with a soft pew noise. He did not react.

“Be good,” she said. He watched her go.

…………

tags:

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

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

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

[whumble-beeee]

Nah Sister, You Ain't Gettin' Me to No Third-endary Location!

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 12

Content: mentioned past attempted noncon, noncon drugging, needles, disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, defiant whumpee, flashbacks (ptsd), tied up/handcuffs, past captivity references, begging

* * * * * * * *

Excerpt from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters

[Drugging! What a wonderful thing! Drugs are an essential, if not the most important tool in your villain or bounty hunter toolbox. 

Their utility is truly endless; You can use a truth serum to gather information that your hero definitely doesn't want you to know. Or maybe you're drugging them to make them nice and sweet, pliant, bending them to your will. Just to show them how powerless they truly are in your possession. Or maybe you just want to go with the classic drugging to knock your hero out as the very method to capture them in the first place!

Truly, drugging is a jack-of-all-trades. But be warned: dosage is vitally important. Always make sure to consider the hero’s body weight, last time they ate, etc, lest you give them too much and irreparably damage them, or too little and they remain as strong-willed as always. You'll save yourself AND your hero so much trouble!]

* * * * * * * *

There was a certain bliss to the agony that Stan found himself in in those hours that Deeby was gone. Or was it minutes… Days?

After he calmed down from his initial freakout, all he felt was a bone-deep tiredness beckoning him to the sweet embrace of unconsciousness. But he couldn't. You weren't supposed to sleep when you had concussions, right? Even so, every time he did feel the warm relief of sleep overwhelming the pain and nerves and paranoia, he snapped right back awake with an involuntary shot of adrenaline that made him shoot up to sitting and whip his head around breathlessly looking for the danger that awoke him.

But there was none.

Unless of course, you counted the chain hanging from the ceiling, where Deeby had threatened to string him up. Or the chair he'd woken up tied to the last time he was unconscious, still bearing the twine that had bound him. Or the collar that made him all but defenseless, that squeezed his throat just enough to constantly remind that he wasn’t free, nor would he ever be. He was claimed.

He was powerless.

He was owned. Again.

After a while, he didn't even try to sleep. He limped around everywhere the length of his ankle chain would allow, which admittedly wasn't very far. His leg shot little pangs of white hot lightning with every step as he kept walking, along with an occasional protestational buckle that made Stan to nearly fall on his face every time, but he didn’t care. He kept walking around the chain and the chair. He sat in the chair. Then immediately sat back down on the floor. He didn't want to be in the chair.

He clutched Deeby's stupid leather jacket around his half-naked body, trying to ignore the sharp pain in his ribs every time he breathed, the light cloudiness that blanketed the world, the dizziness every time he moved his head, the rope burn, his aching knee weak knee, the hunger, the thirst.

The collar.

The distinct lack of his power, or any way to defend himself.

God he hated the collar.

Ignore it all.

His binder felt like it suffocated him every time he tried to lay down. Made the sharp pains of his broken ribs into more of a dull, ongoing agony. He wanted to take it off, but there was no way. Not with the handcuffs, not without a shirt.

Had Deeby forgotten about him?

He may have fallen asleep at some point, he wasn't totally sure. But when the door slammed open, Stan cried out from the shock and slammed his head against the wall, turning the world around him a bright white before his vision returned hazier than ever, making it that much more burdensome just to think.

Great.

“You done with the mental breakdown?” Deeby asked absentmindedly, plastic bags in hand and ignoring the way Stan glared at him. Stan would retort back, but as soon as he tried, a small wave of nausea silenced the sound before it could even reach his tongue.

An amused eyebrow raised at him. “What, giving me the silent treatment again?” He set down the bags and grabbed something out of it, beginning a meandering prowl toward Stan. 

Stan pulled his knees up to his chest. He was so tired of this game. “N–...” He could barely force out the response, the pressure of tears building up at the back of his throat. He swallowed and tried again. “No. Jus’… tired.”

Deeby dropped what looked to be a very large plain white shirt at Stan's feet.

“Understandable. I'm gonna need my jacket back now.”

Stan's heart skipped a beat. He clutched the jacket closed around his body.

“Dude,” Deeby held his hand out. “I got you a shirt so you don’t have to whine about only being in your crop top, put it on and hand over the jacket.”

Stan felt the heavy leather lifting away from him, and he grabbed the lapels and clutched it to his chest for dear life before he could even think about what he was actually doing. What was he even doing?

Deeby let out an exasperated huff. “Is this about your chest thing? I don't care if you used to be a girl or whatever, let go–”

“No, not–!” It was actually. But not only that. It was that and the nearly invisible brand that marred his right bicep. The one that all supers were forced to bear, marking a super as a ‘non-threat,’ or a ‘threat’. Like Stan. It was the tattoo on his shoulder blade, which told all about his powers, which marked him a criminal, which marked him a test subject, as someone else’s property. Even now. That let anyone who cared to look know that he was a state-sanctioned torture victim for ‘the greater good.’

“Ca-can't put the shirt on. Cuffs.” He held out his cuffed hands to illustrate his point.

A valid enough excuse.

The mercenary groaned, but thankfully stopped pulling at the jacket and knelt down in front of Stan, holding his hand out expectantly. Stan took the cue to tentatively plunk down his cuffed wrists and to his surprise, Deeby produced a hairpin from his spiked locks and slid it into the teeth of one of the cuffs, cinching it open with practiced ease. 

Stan was free! 

Ish. 

“Fifteen seconds ‘til I recuff you, shirt on or not.”

“A h–... hairpin?” Stan questioned. Maybe stalling slightly for time. He relished the weightlessness his uncuffed wrists allowed, even if it was just a facsimile of true freedom.

“Mhm.”

“Why?”

“Stan, do you know how to use a handcuff key to undo handcuffs?”

Stan nodded slowly.

“And did you know how to use a hairpin to undo handcuffs?”

He almost nodded again, but paused. He could… probably figure it out. It didn’t look hard when the bounty hunter did it.

“There’s your answer, then. Five seconds”

Ah crap. Stan quickly shrugged the jacket off and grabbed the shirt. It was probably one of his Deeby’s extra undershirts, like the one Stan could see peeking up through the unbuttoned gap of his flannel–

Deeby grabbed his forearm and yanked it forward suddenly, twisting it to expose his inner arm, letting the jacket fall off the captive’s back and drop to the side. Stan screeched as he tipped forward off balance, then ice gripped his heart when he realized what Deeby was inspecting.

The super brand.

Supposedly only visible under black-light. Psh. The invisible ink they used always discolored the skin, easy to spot for anyone on the lookout for it.

“Deeby. Let-let go.” Stan whispered, tugging against the iron grip.

“I told you my name's Declan, didn't I?” 

“‘m not calling you that.”

“I seem to remember you saying the same thing about calling me ‘DB’.”

The mercenary's gaze drifted up towards his face, searching. Stan looked away, tried to bury his head into his shoulder, but Deeby's other hand reached up and grasped his jaw, forcing his face back up for the bounty hunter to inspect.

“No. No. No. Get off,” Stan wheezed, grasping Deeby's forearm, trying to wrench it off of his face. The bounty hunter didn't even really seem to care, simply squeezing Stan's jaw harder. Stan's headache pounded, spreading slowly and thickly like molasses out from the pressure of the wall digging into his head.

Deeby's eyes crinkled. “I need to see your villain brand.”

“Fuck no,” Stan gritted immediately, kicking at Deeby’s legs.

His grip loosened slightly. 

“Chiquito, you already know how this is gonna go. Why don't you just show it to me?”

“Because screw you and everything that you stand for!” Stan yelled.

“I don't care about your man tits, runt, but I'm going to see that brand–”

Stan threw a haphazard punch at Deeby's face, hard, erratic. Satisfaction flowed through Stan's chest like ichor when an explosion of pain in his knuckles signaled a fully connected hit.

Even more when he realized that the blunt teeth of the one open handcuff had also flung across his face, evident now by the pretty nasty looking gash at the seam where the burn scar met intact skin, smearing a small bit of quickly pooling blood across his cheek. Stan took the opportunity to squirm out from under Deeby,  and immediately stumbled up into a wobbly fighting position, fists raised. God, the world around him wasn’t supposed to spin like that, was it?

Deeby turned to look up at him from his position crouched on the floor, stunned. 

“Huh,” he whispered to himself, clutching at his face.A small tilt of the head when it came back covered in shining red blood. It dripped down his cheek and started tracing his jawline, as if he himself were a work of art.

Blazing-red eyes flitted over to the captive, fury of a darkening storm evident with each crease of his eye. The red-stained hand balled into a fist in front of his mouth.

Stan’s breath stuttered. He wasn't gonna win this fight. 

Just like every other fight. 

But he wouldn't stop trying, he wouldn't give in. Even if he did stumble and the edges of his vision were dark, unreceeding. 

That’s fine. 

Normal, even.

Deeby stood slowly, and Stan couldn’t help but shuffle back, heart racing ever-faster.

“Y'know what, Stan?” His shoulders relaxed as he let his fist fall to his side, taking a loud, deep heaving breath. “Fine.”

…

Wait…

What?

There was no way.

Deeby was just…

He–...

Giving up?

He wouldn't!

No way.

“... what?”

“I'm not fighting you on this,” Deeby said softly. “State you're in, it’d probably kill you anyway.”

Stan didn’t drop his stance. He waited for Deeby to pounce on him as he moved to the other side of the room, but all he did was grab the bags he'd first entered with, and sit in his own chair not far away. He was so close, unguarded, completely relaxed. Blood still pouring from the open wound.

Stan could go over and kick him if he wanted to.

“You just gonna stand there all day?” The mercenary asked as he pulled out a first aid kit and popped it open. 

Stan stared straight ahead, processing through the wet cement that was his mind, before crossing his arms. “Yes.”

“Okay, whatever. You at least wanna put the shirt on?”

Uhh… Right. The shirt.

Stan crept over to where the shirt laid, where he’d been pinned not one minute ago. Just like he thought, the fabric consumed his figure. Definitely one of Deeby's.

A roll of gauze nearly pelted Stan in the face. “If you need to patch yourself up, do it now. We're leaving.”

Stan fumbled the gauze. It fell to the floor right next to his aching leg. “Leaving?!”

“That's what I said.”

“Where?”

Deeby snorted as he cleaned the blood off his face. Didn't even flinch as the alcohol wipe cleaned out his skinned cheek. “Nah, you gave up the right to that information when you started having a nervous breakdown.���

Ah. Right. Deeby was gonna tell him about a phone call. The one that left Stan alone with that psycho, the one that nearly got him–

Stan's heart dropped.

“You're– You're gonna give me over to that sweater-vest freak! I won't let you!”

“Wrong,” Derby laughed at Stan’s un-founded defiance, pressing some sort of gauze pad to his face. “Not yet anyway. I'm gonna have to keep you longer than we thought, actually. Lucky me…” 

All the air left Stan’s lungs. “How long?!” 

“Hours, weeks, years. Who’s to say, really? Boss-lady certainly won't.”

Stan could not deal with Deeby for weeks. He couldn't. Not that this mysterious Lana character would probably be any better… or the evil sweater-vest. 

He needed to get out of here.

“You could… let me go instead…” Stan tried. “Wouldn’t have to ’keep me’.”

The bounty hunter chuckled. “Funny.”

“Well I'm– I'm not letting you take me to a secondary location!”

“Stan… buddy,” Deeby stood with a grunt and made his way over to where his jacket now laid abandoned on the floor. Stan countered as far away as he could from the man, all the way to the end of his ankle leash, pulling it taut with a clang. The mercenary paid the scramble no mind as he pulled on the jacket. “You're already at the secondary location.”

“We'll, I'm not letting you take me to a– a–... a third-endary location!”

Deeby searched around the various inside pockets of his jacket. “Tertiary?”

An irrational anger bubbled up through his stomach. “Whatever! You're not better than me because you know words!”

“Mm,” he murmured, amused.

This version of Deeby was almost worse than the one who didn't hesitate to use physical violence. Stan didn't have anywhere to let out his frustrations, and he was hungry, and thirsty, and tired, and hurting, he hurt so much, he just wanted to go home, tears started to form at the bottoms of his eyes for some reason– and he was really lightheaded, the room felt so dark, was the floor getting closer somehow?

“Woah, woah, hey, careful–!” Deeby yelled, suddenly halfway to his side.

Stan caught himself as he fell, shot of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He hadn't even realized he was falling. Why was Deeby holding him up?!

Stan lept away from him. A headache pounded at his skull, like a railroad spike through his head. When did that start?

“I'm fine, I'm fine! Don't touch me!”

“Christ, Stan–”

“No, no you fuckin! Don't!” He pushed the hand that Deeby extended away. He just wanted to go home! “You-you-you kidnapper! You're doing it again! You’re not my friend! Stay away!”

“Bud, did you eat anything while I was gone?”

“No!” The tears stung as they fell. “You probably poisoned those stupid protein bars anyway! How could you just leave me alone like that?!”

“Well there's your problem! You haven't eaten or drank anything in like two days!”

Two days?!

Stan stopped in his tracks. Blinked. 

Two days, huh?

Two days…

He'd been kidnapped for two days.

Before he had the chance to glare at Deeby, a hand grabbed his wrist and shoved a protein bar into his hand.

“Eat it,” Deeby ordered. “It's also gonna calm you down for the trip.”

Stan narrowed his eyes at the mercenary. Apparently hungry, thirsty, concussed Stan had no sense of self preservation. Good.

“What, is it drugged or something?” Stan asked sarcastically.

“Yeah.”

“Wait, actually? I was just–”

“Yup. For the trip. Eat it.”

“No!”

“Eat the bar, Stan.”

His hand was involuntarily wrenched closer to his face, and Stan quite literally flopped to the side to avoid it.

“Why do you want to drug me!” Stan yelled. “What’re you gonna do to me?!”

“I don’t fucking trust you to not be a brat while I’m driving! Also, frankly, I’m tired of dealing with your shit!”

“You're gonna have to shove that thing down my throat if you want me to eat it!”

The grip on his wrist tightened and Stan let out an involuntary squeak. Deeby locked eyes with him. Stan paled. He wouldn't actually do that. Would he? 

“Stan. Look at me,” He jerked Stan closer. “Either you eat the drugged protein bar willingly, or I use whatever-the-hell drug cocktail the bosses cooked up for exactly this scenario and inject you with that.”

Declan pulled out a small capped injection needle from his pocket, holding it up in front of Stan's face. 

Stan froze.

Needle.

Needle.

Injection.

The fire spread out through his leg, Soon he couldn’t even move his leg to kick out at the faceless doctors staring down at their clipboards.

“And trust me, the effects of that are worse than you could ever dream.” 

Stan turned ghost pale. Eyes widened and tunneling on the glinting needle. Breathing turned to a shallow staccato.

“But I don't wanna do that to you,” Declan continued evenly. “Because you're freaking the fuck out about it even now. So eat the damn protein bar.” 

Stan wrenched his gaze away to look at Deeby. To plead with him. Even when he wasn't looking at it, it was like the syringe took up his entire vision.

“Deeby. De-Dec-Declan. Please, I don't–”

Needle needle needle needle needle needle.

“Ca-can I just e-eat a regular one?”

“After the drugged one, sure. I don't think you'll have time after the shot though, you'll probably be writhing in pain on the floor–”

“No, no, no, no, no–!!” Stan gasped. He stumbled back and tripped over his stupid barely working leg and then clutching onto the sleeves of Deeby’s jacket with white-knuckled force when he snatched him up just before he completely tipped. Stan never thought he'd be reduced to a begging mess, grasping for comfort from the very man who administered the pain that caused the need for it. 

Yet here he was. 

Begging.

His terrified begging always fell on deaf ears.

No one cared about the pain of a lab rat.

No one cared if the next injection made the screams louder. 

“Stop. Please. Please, please…”

He looked up into Deeby's eyes, pleading. Shrill. His voice broke like a knife broke through skin. Like a needle broke through flesh. “I don't wanna be drugged.”

Deeby’s gaze softened, just barely. He slid the syringe gracefully back into his pocket, pushing Stan's hand and the accompanying poison close to his mouth.

Stan’s didn't resist.

“And it's not that bad, really. Ya ever been roofied before?”

Stan shook his head. 

“Ah… Well it’s not even as bad as that. You’ll be conscious. Mostly…”

Stan pursed his lips, squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head fervently.

“Uh. It's like weed, kinda. Except… more. It doesn't knock you out, just makes you a little more pliant. Easier to deal with. More relaxed, more okay with everything.”

Stan whined. “I-I don’t… None o-of this is okay.”

“Besides, you still need to eat something. We can get you some food and water, you’ll feel a lot better. Can't even imagine the trip the injection would give you after not eating for two days…”

Stan yanked his arm, then some sort of whine-sob fought its way out when his arm twisted back. Stan stared at the bar. Then back at Declan. The pit in his stomach begged for something to fill it, yet the thought of eating the thing he held in his hands made him want to swear off any morsel of sustenance ever again.

“I could… just eat a regular one…”

Deeby's face hardened and he sighed, hand reaching for the pocket. 

Stan shrieked, “NONONONONONO WAIT WAIT DON'T, I’LL EAT IT!! I’LL EAT IT!”

“Then fucking do it already!” Deeby shouted, exasperated. “Christ, if I'd injected you we'd already be on the way by now!”

“Okay! Okay, okay-y, I'll–”

“No more stalling.”

Stan's vision tunneled on the protein bar. He'd only ever had that happen with injectors. Needles.

No needles. No injection. Only if you eat this. Right now.

It's just like weed. Except more. Except worse. Except it'd make him okay with and unable to fight back against whatever Deeby wanted to do to him.

Pliant.

A deafening roaring filled his ears.

At least he'd be conscious. supposedly.

Stan fumbled with the plastic wrapper for what felt like an eternity, time stretching out as an endless road before him.

This. Or injection. Needle piercing his skin. Easy choice.

Yes. Easy choice. So easy…

He bit into the bar. Swallowed it. Bit again. And again.

Swallowed it.

The bar was gone all too soon.

* * * * * * * *

Next

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid | @painsandconfusion | @books-are-everything

@paperprinxe | @tippytappytyping | @chaotic-orphan | @notactuallyluska

[whumperofworlds]

Caretaker-turned-Whumper where they torture Whumper for hurting Whumpee, except they hide that fact from Whumpee.

Whumpee grew suspicious of Caretaker, and when Caretaker is away, Whumpee looks for the truth. They find Whumper chained up in Caretaker's basement, beaten and bloodied, and begging for help.

How would Whumpee react? Would they be joyous and even help Caretaker torture Whumper? Would they be shocked to realize that Caretaker did this, and they are now scared of Caretaker? Would they keep their mouth shut?

[sparrowsage]

Revenge, Part One: Ghosts of the Past

Hello! I know I haven't posted in while. I've had some major stuff pop up in my personal life, but things are on the mend! This is the first part in a mini series that takes place six months after the end of Warehouse. It's very far out in the timeline for the Warehouse series, but my brain wanted to write this, so here it is! I'd like to give a special thanks to @oddsconvert and @darkthingshappen for the mention of their oc's Henley Allen from A Taste of Your Own Medicine and Agent Vaughn from Brothers Keeper. And I'd also like to thank them as well as @whumpcereal and @flowersarefreetherapy for their support as I wrote this! I got the inspiration and motivation for this piece from day four of the Merry Whump of May event as well and it was a ton of fun!

TW: Vague mentions of past captivity, vague mentions and implied past noncon, kidnapping, noncon drugging, mentions of past character death, threatened murder (if I missed any, let me know and I'll add them!)

MWoM Prompt: Day 4 “Forgettable, ‘Who are you?’ Lamp, Alleyway” 

If Sparrow would have been asked when he was teen where he thought he’d be when he was an adult, his response wouldn’t be what you’d expect. As far as he knew, he was going to be in the Warehouse facility for the rest of his life, or with some random person who had bought him if he ever got to the point of being sold. Not once did he ever think that he’d be living with a close and trusted friend, free to make his own decisions, able to finally carve out a life for himself of his own free will. 

It had been six months since the Warehouse had gotten raided. Six months since Damon had tried to escape the facility with him in tow. Six months since he was reunited with his friends and finally free from the hell he never thought he’d be away from. 

Sparrow snapped out of his thoughts as he heard his friend giggle, looking over to him as Felix spun around in a small circle, arms outstretched. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve been able to go and see a live show like that!” he exclaimed. “Thank you for coming with me.” 

Sparrow gave his friend a soft smile, putting his hands in his pockets as they walked back to their apartment building. “Thanks for offering to take me. I’ve never seen something like that! I’m surprised they have all those lines and stuff memorized, it looked like a lot!” 

Felix nodded, looking up at the clear night sky above them for a moment before looking back at his friend. “It’s their job, and it does take a lot of work, but it’s totally worth it. I’ve often had thoughts of trying to get into theater like that, but I think my stage fright would get in the way of it all.” 

Sparrow chuckled, giving Felix a light nudge as they continued on their way, “With how often I hear you singing in the apartment, I know you’d do great!” 

Sparrow let out a sigh, recalling the memories. It had been a whirlwind to try and get things back on track once he was released from the hospital this time. He still had weekly therapy appointments with Alex, but it had been more difficult to fall back into old routine with Felix this time around. There had been a short period of time where there were awkward conversations when the two interacted, both from Felix’s guilt over the invitation Damon had sent out and Sparrow not showing Felix the invite before he left amongst other things. Over time, they had talked things out and their friendship only got stronger from there. Henley still came by frequently as well, often spending a lot of time with Sparrow when he was free, which Sparrow appreciated. The two of them would help teach Sparrow how to read and write alongside teaching him about other things while also having some fun. 

At the thought of Henley, Sparrow took his hand out of his jacket pocket, looking at the digital watch Henley had given him a few months back. 

“Hey, it’s already 10:43. Do you think Henley would mind much if we moved movie night to tomorrow?” he asked. 

Felix looked at his own watch in return before looking at Sparrow, “I don’t think he’d mind. We did warn him the show may run late and he seemed fine with the possibility of postponing movie night. We’ll text him when we get home.” 

Sparrow hummed in agreement, putting his hand back in his pocket as they continued home, looking around the street as they walked. Due to how late it was, there weren’t any people out and about, the only lights coming from the lamp posts lining the sidewalks and the light up signs in the shop windows, long since closed for the day. 

Being outside at night was something that Sparrow had never realized he’d appreciate so much. Sure, there was anxiety lurking in the shadows, often keeping the man on edge, but nights like this where he could look up at the clear sky and see the glittering stars and enjoy the light breeze and inhale the nightly air, it felt freeing. 

As the two passed by a dark alleyway, some rustling caught Sparrow’s attention. He paused his steps, Felix looking back at him a few seconds later when he realized his friend wasn’t beside him. “Sparrow, you alright?” 

Sparrow stared into the dark alleyway, trying to see what was hidden in the shadows before shaking his head slightly to clear it. “Y-yeah, just thought I heard something is all.” 

Just as he was about to continue walking, a voice called out to them, “P-please help me.” 

The two hesitated, giving each other a look before Felix hesitantly approached the entryway to the alley. “Are you alright sir?” Felix asked. 

“Do either of you have some spare cash, or some change?” the voice asked, his voice sounding rough and raspy. 

Felix squinted as he hovered at the edge of the alleyway, trying to make out whoever was talking to them. “I-I’m sorry, but we don’t have any cash on us.” 

“That’s quite alright,” the voice responded. There was something about the voice that seemed off to Sparrow, but he couldn’t place it. There couldn’t be a way for Sparrow to know that voice, but the fact that it sounded familiar ate away at him the more the stranger spoke. 

“Felix, we should be getting back home,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. He didn’t want to scare Felix just because he felt uneasy. It was probably nothing. 

“Could you just help me up, sir? Before you leave? I have a bad knee.” 

Felix looked back at Sparrow for a moment before he stepped into the alleyway, the shadows swallowing him, “U-uhm, yeah sure.” 

From Sparrow’s spot on the street, he kept an eye on the dark alleyway, expecting Felix to come out seconds later, but all he heard was rustling before a muffled shout came from the shadows. 

“Felix?” Sparrow asked, taking a step towards the alley, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. 

Something was wrong. 

Sparrow heard some more rustling and a bit of muffled cries before he spotted a figure in the shadows of the alleyway. 

“You should teach your friend to be more careful. Helping the wrong stranger is going to get him into trouble,” the figure said. 

“Who are you and what do you want?” Sparrow asked, his body frozen in place on the sidewalk. 

The figure started walking forward towards him, an unmistakable limp to his step that made the blood in Sparrow’s face run cold, further cementing him to the sidewalk. 

This can’t be him, Sparrow thought. He didn’t remember Agent Vaughn telling him about some Keeper’s getting free from the raid. He thought that since his name didn’t get brought up in the court case or the fact that he didn’t see him in court meant that he died during the raid. 

“I bet you’re surprised, aren’t you?” the man asked, the light from the lamp posts illuminating his face as he stepped out of the alleyway. “Because who would have thought that you’d be seeing me, of all people, again after so much time.” 

“What do you want with us, Logan?” Sparrow asked again, his voice low but lined with fear. 

“You’re in no place to be demanding answers here, Sparrow. You should know that. Has living outside the facility for six months really put you back so much on your training?” 

Sparrow’s hands balled into fists at his side as he tried to figure out an answer. Logan took the hesitation of an answer to motion whoever was behind him in the alleyway to step forward, causing Sparrow’s breath to hitch. 

Five more people stepped out of the alleyway, one of which had Felix flush against his chest, a hand clamped over his mouth while the other held his wrists behind his back. Felix looked at Sparrow with a scared expression, his whole body trembling as his eyes started to water. 

“It’s been hard, these last six months, you know,” Logan started, slowly walking towards Sparrow. “Having to hide from the police all because the facility got shut down. They’d arrest us on sight if anyone found us. But you know what kept us going?” 

Sparrow let out a low and quiet growl as Logan got close to him, taking a small step back as Logan leaned in close. “Finding a way to get back at the person who ruined the entire operation.” 

“Felix wasn’t the one who took down the Warehouse, the FBI did,” Sparrow said, his gaze flickering between Logan and Felix. “You have no business with him.” 

Logan straightened himself as he faked a look of thought. “You’re right, it wasn’t the runt who got the Warehouse shut down, not in full. But he played a part in it.” 

“Vaughn was the one who found the place, not Felix.” 

“Yeah, that fucking agent found the place, but you know who went crying to the FBI when you didn’t return home that night you went to that party? Him. And why did he go to the FBI? Because you managed to escape and make friends, connections, something of which you had no right doing. He cared about you so much that he did everything he could to find you and get you back safely. If you hadn't defied orders and escaped the facility ten months ago, then we wouldn’t be here now.” 

This wasn’t good, Sparrow didn’t know what to do! If it were just him facing off against these guys, he’d fight back, but with Felix trapped, Sparrow couldn’t risk his friend getting hurt all because of his actions. 

“Just let him go, Logan,” Sparrow tried, a hint of desperation leaking into his voice. “You have issue with me, not him. Let him go and we can work this out.” 

At that, Logan let out a laugh, as did the other men standing around them, causing Felix to squeak in fear at the sound. “You think it’s that easy, pleading with me to let your friend go? And that I’m here for you? I often forget that you’re not that fucking smart when it comes to how the real world works. We came here for him and you just so happened to be with him. We’ve had our eyes set on this runt for months, we just needed the perfect moment to grab him, and what better night than tonight!” 

Sparrow glared at Logan as he spoke, trying to work out a way to get them both out of here safely, but anything he thought of wouldn’t work. In every idea he thought of, Felix would get hurt and Sparrow couldn’t let that happen. 

Logan looked around the empty street for a moment, turning on the spot to look back at his men and Felix, who stared back at Logan in fear. “Get him ready to transport, we’ve spent enough time here.” 

At the word ‘transport’, Sparrow started towards the men around Felix, anger and fear powering his limbs. “Don’t you fucking touch him!” he shouted, lunging for the closest man that was around his friend. 

Before he could get very far, three of the remaining four men pounced on Sparrow, quickly grabbing onto him as the fourth man grabbed a prepped syringe from his pocket. Felix started squirming the moment Sparrow was grabbed, just about missing the needle headed straight for his arm. He let out a loud but muffled yelp as the needle was jabbed into his arm, causing Sparrow to struggle even harder, but it was no use. The three men holding onto him were too strong and he was very outmatched. 

Amongst his struggles, Sparrow watched as Felix started to grow limp, his eyes slipping shut as the drug he was injected with took hold of him, forcing him into an unwanted sleep. Once he was under, Logan turned his full attention to Sparrow, who only continued to struggle. 

The former Keeper nodded to his men and they forced Sparrow to his knees on the ground. Sparrow let out a hiss as the gravel and pavement dug into his knees as he tried to pull his arms out of the grips that held them, but he slowed his attempts as Logan stepped closer to him, leaning down at the waist slightly. 

“I swear to god, Logan, I’m going to fucking kill you if you hurt him,” Sparrow growled as he glared at the former Keeper. 

Logan chuckled at the sight of the former pet, letting out a short sigh. “Your threats don’t work on me. Over the twenty years I worked to train you, you’ve only come close once, and that’s because I let my guard down. I’m not making any mistakes this time. You’re going to watch as I destroy your friend, bit by fucking bit, til there’s nothing left of him, and you’re going to help me do it.” 

Sparrow tried to jerk one of his arms free, his gaze never breaking from Logan as he let out a grunt at the wasted effort. “You’re fucking crazy if you think I’d willingly hurt him.” 

“Ah, well you see, I know you. You’d do anything to trade places with him, no matter the cost, and I think that seeing you get tortured in more ways than one will do just as much damage to him as if he were the one being hurt.” 

Sparrow stilled as the words registered, his expression falling for a moment. Logan was right, he’d do anything to make sure Felix didn’t bare the front of what they were about to endure, even if it meant sacrificing himself. 

“You’ve been told, time and time again by multiple people that you’re not supposed to form connections or to make friends because it isn’t your place to have feelings. Your job is to serve and please whoever owns you, doing whatever they ask of you with no hesitation. I am excited, if I’m to be honest, Sparrow. You know why that is?” 

“Why?” Sparrow asked through gritted teeth. 

“Because I get to hit you where it hurts. Just because we were going after him doesn’t mean that I won’t be paying special attention to you. You’ve caused me so much trouble ever since you were brought into the facility, especially after Damon took on your case. Now it’s my turn to level the playing field. You remember how you used to protect Jayden when he was alive? How compliant you got all because of a simple threat to his well being?” 

Logan stood then, nodding to one of the men holding Sparrow. “Well, you know that I won’t hesitate to kill your friend here if you step a toe out of line. I highly doubt that you want another one of your friends to die all because of you.” 

The mention of Jayden made the blood drain from Sparrow’s face as a new fire blazed inside of him. This wouldn’t be a repeat of what happened with Jayden, Sparrow couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let another one of his friends die by the hands of this fucking bastard. 

Just as Sparrow was about to start struggling again, he felt the pinch of a needle in his neck and a coolness spread throughout his body. As his vision started to tunnel, he looked up to see Logan start limping back into the alleyway as he started to lose feeling in his limbs.

“Let’s get these guys into the van, and don’t forget to restrain them. The runt will be out for a while, but with this shit’s tolerance, I don’t know when he’ll wake and it’ll be easier to handle him if he can’t move.” 

The last thing Sparrow remembered seeing was a set of headlights turn on far back into the alleyway and hearing an engine roar to life as the drugs dragged him under. 

Taglist: @mannerofwhump, @honey-is-mesi, @painful-pooch, @whumperfully, @hiding-in-the-shadows

@flowersarefreetherapy, @goronska, @blueyellow8green (If you want to be added, let me know!)

[another-whump-sideblog]

Fixing Tracy -- Routine

TWs in the tags

Masterlist

She’ll figure something out. She just has to wait and gather information, and she’ll figure something out. That’s the plan. She has a plan, she’s not powerless.

She’s… she has to accept that she’s in here for the long haul. She’s going to have to find a new job when she escapes, and comfort Alicia after the stress of losing her sister and not knowing why. 

She can do it. She just needs to buckle down. No more crying and pouting and freaking out.

Tracy falls into a routine with Molly. They eat breakfast together in the mornings, Tracy usually letting Molly make it herself. There are chains attaching all of the pots and pans to hooks inside the drawers, now. She hadn't noticed, but Molly probably did it right after the time Tracy tried to use a frying pan as a weapon. The chains are long enough that the pots and pans can be taken basically anywhere in the kitchen, but not outside of it, which Tracy supposes makes sense.

Usually they eat in silence, but sometimes Molly talks a bit about herself.

“Would it help you settle in if you knew more about me? I keep forgetting I’m basically a stranger to you. Hmm… I’ve always wanted to take care of people, ever since I was very small. I’ve tried all sorts of things. I was a therapist for a while, a nurse for a while… I even did politics for a bit.”

“Then… why? Why wasn’t that good enough? Why’d you have to— why’d you kidnap me?”

“…that would just upset you. You know full well there’s no answer to that question that you would be happy with. Let’s talk about something else.”

After breakfast, they usually do something together, like watching a movie or playing games. Tracy does her best to be friendly and engage Molly in conversation in the hopes that she'll let something important slip, but more often than not Tracy just gets too frustrated with Molly to do anything but scream at her or be silent, and she usually chooses the latter.

After that, they have lunch. Molly is a good cook, and Tracy finds herself eating a lot more than she did before Molly kidnapped her. She ignores the gnawing thought in the back of her head that she hasn’t earned this, because she has no doubt Molly would find a way to force her to eat if she refused.

That’s… that’s taking comfort in being powerless. That’s what Molly wants. 

No, no. She’s choosing to eat so that she’s strong enough to fight back. She doesn’t have to earn food. Her needs aligning with Molly’s wants benefits her, not Molly. Her priority is escape, not defiance.

“How… um… how did you get me here?”

“You don’t want to talk about—“

“Stop that!” She’s already shaking with rage. Talking to Molly without screaming is impossible, sometimes. “Stop acting like you know what I want better than I do!”

Molly stares at her like a deer in headlights. “I… um… you don’t like it when I apologize. I’ll just… um, I waited until a night when you were alone in your apartment, then I waited until you were asleep, and then I brought you home.”

“I knew that much! I’m asking how!”

“Right. I… drugged you. I’m sor— nevermind.”

Tracy waits for her to continue, but she doesn’t. Deep breaths. “…And my stuff? All of my clothes are here.”

“Just packed it up in my trunk. And I took your phone, which you know, and your keys and wallet and stuff so it would look like you left on your own.”

So no one’s looking for Tracy. She deflates. It’s still information, though. She got some information. She’ll just ask a couple more things so that it wasn’t obvious she was fishing for that. “You had time to fold up all my clothes and put them in the dresser and closet. What the fuck did you drug me with?”

“You wouldn’t recognize the name of the drug. It only took a few hours to organize your stuff, anyway. I didn’t— it wasn’t dangerous, I promise. You were perfectly safe the whole time.”

Tracy jumps to her feet without thinking. “You only drugged me once? And it only lasted a few hours?”

“Yes. You’re so clever, figuring that out from what I said.”

There’s no sarcasm in Molly’s voice. It’s a completely sincere compliment, and it makes Tracy’s stomach turn.

A few hours by car could still be quite a ways away from her apartment, but… she’s probably still in the same state. She shouldn’t have too hard of a time getting home after escaping.

That’s what she was already assuming, but having it confirmed is still very helpful. She’s on a roll, gathering-information-wise. It… probably wasn’t actually a ‘jump out of her chair in excitement’ level discovery, and now it’s really obvious she was fishing for information relevant to her escape… but that’s fine. She can work with that.

After lunch, Tracy usually takes a nap. She hasn’t just been eating a lot more, she’s been sleeping a lot more, too, and she’s positive she’s being drugged despite Molly’s insistence to the contrary.

“…Please stop drugging me. You don’t have to, I’m not a danger to myself or others right now, right?” All she can do is ask. Molly is the one who stocks the kitchen, so as far as Tracy knows, literally all of her options for food are drugged.

“Dear, I’m not drugging you, I promise.”

“But I’ve never been this tired before! I’ve never slept this much every day, or napped, or anything like that! How could I possibly believe you’re not drugging me?” There’s a mortifying lump in her throat that makes her voice come out sounding more scared than angry.

“Tracy, dear… you averaged four hours of sleep a night before you got here. You were in survival mode, and your body saw no point in using its limited resources to ask for sleep. But now you’re safe. Now you can heal, and that takes a lot more energy than surviving. You’ll feel less tired as your body adjusts and recovers from the constant stress you were under.”

That sounds like bullshit. Tracy is positive she’s being drugged. 

After her nap, Tracy usually takes advantage of the little gym setup Molly made. It’s really just a treadmill, a pull-up bar, and a few yoga mats, but it’s better than nothing. Sometimes Molly joins her, but usually she just sits and reads while Tracy tries to build her strength.

Afterwards, they have dinner. Often, Molly uses the time while Tracy is napping to bake some kind of treat, so there’s usually dessert. Then Tracy showers, brushes her teeth, and goes to bed. Molly always offers to stay with her, and Tracy always refuses. She knows now that Molly will never fall asleep in front of her unless Tracy's restrained or drugged, so there's no point.

Time goes by so fast. Before Tracy knows it, her hands and black eye have healed, and she still hasn’t made any real progress towards escaping. She's even considered setting a fire to try and force Molly to let her upstairs, but there's a fire sprinkler system on the ceiling. 

Molly hasn't restrained or shocked her since the time Tracy tried to take the cattle prod from her. She doesn't seem to be looking for reasons to do either, and Molly never seems even slightly annoyed with Tracy no matter how nasty Tracy is to her. She genuinely seems to want Tracy to be happy, even if she's really, really bad at it.

Every night, before going upstairs to bed, Molly tells her she loves her. Every night, Tracy believes her a little more.

Tag list: @whumpyourdamnpears

[suspensefulpen]

Whumpuary Day 30: Aftermath

TW: Past Torture, Captivity, Bad Caretaker and Character Deaths

@whumpuary

Whumpee sat on the chair underneath the shade of the porch awning. Seeing pure greenery around them was refreshing. They loved to be outside. It made them feel at ease, less boxed in. They felt a reason to smile. All of the pretty flowers blooming around them made them hopeful about the future.

They remembered seeing all those same flowers years ago. When they were broken and without a home or a soul to care about them. When they had to bring themself up from the ground where they’d spent a huge part of their life. It never seemed to get better. They met two people who they believed would be the people that would bring light into their life.

It turned out that Whumpee judged incredibly wrong. Nothing would ever make them forget about Whumper and Caretaker. They were the most sadistic humans Whumpee had ever met. After showing their true colors, Whumper took their time in hurting them. The pain came either slow and dull or quick and sharp. There was never an in between. Then they met Caretaker, who after some time, was quickly revealed to be a fake working with Whumper. Whumpee had to admit, the way Caretaker had tricked them into believing they were genuine was actually quite smart.

For several months, there was a huge back and forth between the two, arguing and even hurting each other just to get to Whumpee and break them in any way possible. And now, several years later after their deaths, the memories still linger in Whumpee’s mind today. The road to recovery had been long. And painful even. But now Whumpee was happy, thriving and healthy. While they still weren’t fully healed from their trauma yet, they knew that someday they’d be like all the pretty flowers that grew in their garden.

Bold, happy and free.

[jamiethebee]

I don't know what to think, but of the League who made it to the second half of the manga, Spinner is the only one who's family backstory/circumstances we never hear of.

Dabi is a Todoroki

Toga's parents rejected her

Twice's died

Compress has his family legacy

Shigaraki is a Shimura

Spinner is ??? Does he have siblings?? Parents? Grandparents? Anyone? No one? An orphan? We get nothing about him specifically, nothing that can't be related (or parallels drawn) with other characters.

And with the weakest quirk of the League, he's left alive? Like he's not even a threat to the heroes as himself? The complete lack of care that he's given in the story is...

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

For your 'fic I wish you would write' prompts: I would absolutely lose my mind if you did anything with a winged Spider

Losing my mind at this request! Inspired, of course, by your spectacular chrysopteros.

(warnings for past wing clipping and brief noncon implication)

ao3

He ends up leaving the marui to make sure, farther down the beach where he won't get in anyone's way. Not that that keeps passing fishers from staring as Spider twists and turns in a circle, carefully stretching his wings as far as he dares.

Really, he doesn't need any of that. He knows the feathers are coming back in, has felt the growing weight (there's something on my back), the terror-hope of regaining something that he's learned can be so easily taken away.

He knows this, and really, he's already gotten a good enough glimpse to know what he'll see as the sun hits the new feathers full on. As they gleam against the older white ones that survived the (first?) clipping, the contrast so vivid it hurts, the new color impossible to overlook.

Red. Red as blood spilled hot from a wound, a permanent stain, an opening in his back where the guts can slither. Red as a warning, red as defiance, red as fire and smoking ashes and setting suns, red and red and red.

He doesn't need to ask Norm or Max whether clipped Winged feathers grow back a different color, back on earth. He already knows their answer, he can hear them saying no, of course not, why do you ask?

Kiri is the first one he shows, to rip the bandage off fast. Her face works as she stares at him and he wonders if his suspicions will right, if she'll push him anyway, falling him filthy, tainted, (scarlet fucking whore).

But then her face smooths out in wonder, like she's just seen something miraculous. "Beautiful," she breathes, and it's not a lie, Kiri doesn't lie about things like that. She holds out a hand. "May I?"

A beat, and then he nods, letting her stroke the feathers as gently as she's ever done. "I can feel them," she whispers.

Spider laughs nervously. "Cool, huh? Are they super soft?" They'd felt that way when he reached behind his back; strange to feel such tenderness from such a jagged color.

Kiri shakes her head. "No, I meant..." She lifts her hand off his wings, holds it in the air. He watches her close her fingers in a fist, power humming through the air.

His new feathers twitch in response.

[sweetvalentinescandy]

trying to make some tweek designs just to like practice or somethin idk ell oh ell im not feeling very confident in my art anymore lowkey

big yap fest for each design under the cut !!

Barbarian Tweek

"ive never really thought of tweek as afab outside of TSOT, but i feel more comfortable drawing top surgery scars [than i do like.. nipples.] ive always seen tweek as trans, usually non conforming/non binary/androgynous in general, but ive never considered transmasculine. but i like the idea!

this is probably my least canon compliant design of this bunch. i feel like the fantasy of TSOT is just so ripe for headcanons. i NEVER draw sp characters with canon in mind really, probably the autism taking over or somethin, but i always at least age them up [more in the main tweek design]. for this design, i was thinking more of what tweek thought they looked like, if not the more au version of TSOT. like, The Thief by Wintergrew on ao3 kinds of non canon compliant. thats also most of the inspiration for basically every TSOT thing i do ever. i love that series (i did cry) (a lot)"

Tweek Tweak

"its the original guy lets have a round of applause honestly..., not my favorite time ive drawn bro. he looks so boring when hes just standing there. i always see tweek as non binary, just because i project on them a LOT.. like. i know that hes a guy and probably doesnt care [in canon], but i just headcanon like that i guess. i also age him up, along with every other sp character, to be around my age so like 14-17. i know thats controversial [and by "i know" i mean i saw someone on sp whisper pinterest say they hated it] but i just dont know how to write kids. theyre kinda boring. i can project more onto teens i guess. thats kinda all there is to say. sometimes i draw tweek with brown pants, but thats because i just like the earthy aesthetic [on them]"

Wonder Tweek

"this is the most canon compliant one. im just not that much of a TFBW guy honestly (which is sad because its the only source of not really canon twenny sigh) but i guess its also the source of some of the best creek. i am not a creek hater but sometimes its hard to fight the allegations when i start crying over them having a cute scene in a video game [not because im mad its because i miss being in a relationship] [frowney tumblr loser behavior] when i say this is the most canon compliant one, i mean it. this is SHORT HAIR TWEEK. [i usually draw tweek with like longer hair like 2021 wolfmullet hair and with the little twin sideburn things idk what theyre called, mostly because i didnt know how to draw short boy hair before getting into sp and thats just how i drew them instead but a year later i finally decided to just do it and thought it was okay for startin out] code red. sound the alarms. theres not a lot to say besides that. (can you tell i hit my peak with barbarian tweek.) [i ordered this by order of how i finished them and yes you can tell sigh]"

[whumpshaped]

Epilogue – Dusk

there u go :) last chappy...

Dollhouse Masterlist

tw major character death, funeral, aftermath of trauma, paranoia, anxiety, police mention, hospital stay, murder mention, alcohol mention, implied past alcohol problems, implied past noncon, lady whump, implied eye gore, aftermath of surgery, past captivity, divorce, estranged family, again it's a lot i tried to get everything i'm sorry if i didn't

They weren’t supposed to be there that day. “It would be a small ceremony,” they’d told them, “it wouldn’t be appropriate. Or good for you.”

Dusk– no, he wasn’t Dusk anymore. He would never be called Dusk ever again. Diell wasted absolutely no time finding a way to be able to get out of the ward in time and take Ginger with him. They both agreed that just spoken accounts of the funeral wouldn’t be enough. They had to see the body be lowered into the goddamn hole and immediately deface the tombstone. 

He was fairly sure that Grace and Jonathan’s father played a role in them being able to sneak off as easily as they did. He would never thank the guy, not even in some weird, abstract way, but he was definitely pleased to know that he knew that any doll had more of a right to attend the ceremony than even family members.

They had to leave Pepper in the hospital, to all of their dismay. They were more hurt than the two of them, plus they wouldn’t have been able to see anything anyway. They asked for the most gruesomely detailed retelling of the funeral later, which both Diell and Ginger agreed to provide.

“I hope she’s cremated,” Ginger muttered on their way to the cemetery. “No, actually, I hope she’s not. I want to see that it’s her. If she was cremated, they could totally just put whatever in the urn, and no one would ever know.”

“Don’t even say that, holy shit.” The thought of Grace being alive in the world somewhere was a terrifying one. He had managed to kill her one time, and only because she was unconscious, but maybe that luck wouldn’t last a second round. “I’m sure they’ll bury the whole body. Like, intact. I bet it’ll be open-casket as well, with corpse make-up and all that shit.”

“Oh, she would never go six feet under without proper make-up. Never.”

Diell was the first to begin laughing, and Ginger followed soon after. The sounds of their joy felt wildly out of place at the enormous gates of the cemetery, but neither of them could find it in their soul to care. They saw people running around in pink instead of black, pink suits, pink dresses, pink ties to match. It was something out of an absurdist horror movie.

They ducked behind some gravestones when they caught a glimpse of the witch mother herself, their excitement suddenly giving way to fear. If Grace was that unhinged, that could only mean two things: either she had surpassed her mother in unhingedness, going on to become the supreme unhinged demon, or she’d learned everything from the even more unhinged woman who came before her. Diell held his breath, hoping with all his heart that it was the former. 

When he looked at Ginger’s face, he could tell that the same thoughts and fears were playing on her mind. Maybe this had been a bad idea, and maybe the hospital staff had been correct, and maybe it was embarrassing and weird to be hiding behind the markers of others’ final resting places. Diell glanced at the tombstone that was a couple inches away from his face, squinting to be able to read the name through all that moss. 

Sorry, Thomas and Esther Taylor. This is kind of an emergency.

“You think she even knows what we look like?” Ginger whispered.

“No idea. Maybe Grace showed her photos.”

“We should’ve planned further than two sweatshirts with hoods.”

“I’m happy that I even managed to snatch these up. Imagine if we had to come here in dresses or hospital gowns.”

Ginger shivered. “Yeah. Fuck that.”

They spent the entire ceremony huddled behind the headstones, listening to the priest go on about what a loving daughter and sister Grace was, occasionally peeking out to try and get a look at the body. Thankfully, not many people were attending, and Ginger turned to him with a triumphant smile soon enough.

“It’s her. It’s really her!”

“Fucking good. I hope the end to this whole shit isn’t some weird, Jesus-type resurrection.”

“Now you’re just being stupid,” she teased, but placed a dirty hand on top of his, her expression turning deathly serious. “If she moves a muscle, I’ll choke her right back to hell. Yeah?”

She meant it, Diell could tell. There was no condescension in her voice. She wasn’t telling him that he was too paranoid. She sounded exactly like someone who had thought about this before, in excruciating detail, and came to the conclusion that she was willing to risk her own life in exchange for the peace of mind that’d come with feeling Grace’s pulse disappear under her own hands. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, giving her hand a squeeze.

They watched as the crowd started swarming towards the actual grave, and they followed them from a safe distance, pretending to be taking a leisurely walk or something. Diell didn’t even know what their cover story was, honestly. But no one ended up paying them any mind, instead focusing on the wailing mother. 

From what Diell could tell, there were no other people from Grace’s close family. Maybe her grandmother? It was hard to tell. It didn’t really matter. He was happy to know that her father decided to spend time with Jonathan in the hospital instead of coming to attend this pretentious display of wealth and ridiculousness. 

The casket was slowly lowered into the hole, and both Diell and Ginger were watching it like hawks. No tricks. No ghosts. No vampires, no zombies, no nothing. Grace’s body was dropped down and buried, so deep that there wasn’t a single chance that she could’ve crawled out. Her mother knelt on her grave, weeping like someone out of a tragedy, grabbing handfuls of dirt without a care in whether it’d ruin her expensive-looking, pink gloves.

Diell turned to his friend, briefly pretending he was gonna retch. Ginger had to hide a smile. 

They lingered until after everyone else had already left, only competing with Grace’s mother by that point. She had to eventually be escorted out by the police while she kicked and screamed, claiming that they were disrespecting a mother’s right to stay with her beloved, deceased daughter. Ginger rolled her eyes at the argument, finally sauntering over to the grave with Diell in tow. 

“So… that’s that,” he said. “She’s gone.”

“I really want to grab a hammer and fuck up the headstone.” Ginger looked up at him, tears shining in her eyes. “One of those big sledgehammers. I want to just… go at it. I want to fucking destroy it.”

“I know.” He carefully pulled her closer, slow enough to give her plenty of chances to push him away if she didn’t want to be touched. But instead of pushing him away, she wrapped her arms around him, sobbing into his chest.

“It’s so unfair. It’s so unfair. We were there for years, and she just gets to go out like this? And– and then she gets a fucking funeral? And some disgusting, liar priest kissing her ass? What did any of her victims get? The ones who didn’t make it? What did Belle get? Or Sunny? What did the ones I didn’t even know get? What– what the fuck is wrong with people?” 

He rubbed circles into her back as he listened, survivor’s guilt, sorrow, and the anguish of injustice eating away at him too. Ginger was right, and it was a horrible feeling to know that neither of them could do a thing to right Grace’s wrongs. They especially couldn’t force her to right them herself, now. She was out, just like that, enjoying her vacation in Barbie hell somewhere. 

Ginger took a while to calm down. When she did, Diell gently pushed her away by the shoulders, looking into her puffy, red eyes. “It’s over, Maya,” he whispered, a part of him still scared that he might’ve uttered the magic words too soon.

She couldn’t get a word out before she had to cover her mouth with both hands, attempting to muffle her whimpers. “You fucking asshole,” she choked out, and Diell was worried he might’ve genuinely messed up. “You waited ‘till I was somewhat okay, and then you spring that shit on me? Why are you even bringing up the weird shit I told you during– what’s wrong with you?” She half-heartedly punched his arm, then wiped at her face with the sleeve of her sweater. 

“I– I’m sorry, I–”

She hugged him again, with even more momentum this time, her frail body slamming into his with the power of a three-tonne truck. “I can’t believe you actually remembered something so stupid. You really– you safekept it for me… You really did…”

Diell hesitantly put his arms around her again, waiting for her to change her stance on this again. But she didn’t. The two of them just stood there, right on top of Grace’s grave, in an embrace so tight it probably cracked some ribs. 

They didn’t leave the cemetery until the next morning. They didn’t even sleep, – or at least never at the same time, – they just sat on a nearby bench, watching the pile of dirt for any anomalies or paranormal activity. Hell, they wouldn’t have been surprised if Grace’s mother showed up again with candles and chicken blood. When nothing like that happened, they crawled back to the hospital, allowing themselves to be yelled at and sent for an immediate shower and check-ups. 

-

Messed up. It was entirely messed up that it had already been a year. While Diell had been with Grace each day seemed too long, but they also just blurred together. On the day of his escape, he’d been informed that he’d spent fifteen months in that hellhole. He later counted; exactly 477 days. More than a year. He both thought it had been shorter and longer than that, and honestly, he had no idea what to feel about the actual number.

He knew he was the newest acquisition at the time. No other doll had been added to the collection after his kidnapping, which made him the… luckiest? His one year was absolutely nothing compared to what he’d heard the twins say. Eight years… More than eight, even.

Maya had a more difficult time counting, both mentally and from a memory standpoint. At first, she didn’t want to do anything with the data. Her first order of business was to make an appointment with a hairdresser and get rid of her naturally ginger hair, demanding a deep blue to forest green gradient. She’d come home that day to see Diell on the computer, obsessively counting and recounting his days spent in captivity, and she flipped her hair and told him to enjoy being out.

Later that day, Diell saw her checking the calendar app against old newspaper clippings. “I can’t remember when I was taken. Can’t remember the day. I… I even got the year wrong.” 

Diell couldn’t even imagine. She had counted and counted, eventually coming up with the final numbers: 5 years and seven months, or 67 months, or 2039 days. They had both stared at the numbers for a very long time.

“I’m so much older now,” she’d whispered. “I’m twenty-six now. I… I was celebrating my twentieth that year.”

That wasn’t the only thing she had to reconcile with. Her disappearance had turned out to be the last nail in the coffin of her parents’ crumbling marriage. After she’d been presumed dead, her mother filed for a divorce. Her childhood home had been sold, and her parents were both in another relationship now, ones she wanted nothing to do with. She didn’t even tell them she had come back, dismissing their calls and slamming the door in her mother's face when she tried to visit.

She was living with Diell instead, in an apartment the two of them had bought with the compensation money they’d been awarded. He was now sitting on the couch, bouncing his leg and trying not to think about tomorrow.

“I invited Tai,” Maya said as she entered the living room. “They said yes, like, immediately. They didn’t even give me the whole ‘Oh, I don’t know, do I wanna hang out with losers?’ talk. I think they're stressed out too.”

Pepper had thought long and hard about the name change situation. They wanted something absolutely deadly and dangerous, but also something that sounded cool. They had browsed a long list of venomous snakes for days, finally settling on Taipan. “If I’d had venom back then, aside from just… insults, then I would’ve been fine. Manifesting or whatever.”

“It's weird,” Diell muttered. “Like, the whole anniversary thing. Just weird. I don’t like it.”

Maya sat down next to him, sighing heavily. “You think the others are also this fucked up from it?”

Diell shrugged. “You think it’s fucked that I don’t even text them anymore?” he asked quietly, the ever-present guilt in his heart throbbing a little more as he said the words. This time, it was Maya who shrugged.

“I don’t either. So either we’re both fucked, or neither of us is.”

They sat there in silence, listening to the clock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Each second brought them closer to the dreaded day, increasing their anxiety tenfold. 

“Do you also have these… weird fears about it?” Maya whispered. “Like she’ll bust down the front door at midnight?”

“Yeah. Like, ‘haha, time’s up, you got to be free for a year, but now let’s get back to the–’ you know. Back to all that shit.”

Maya nodded without a word. She looked absolutely haunted, and if Diell had to guess, he probably looked similar. “It’s so stupid. I saw her be buried. It’s not like many people come back from the dead.”

“I know. I can’t logic it away either, though. So we’re just stuck with our weird paranoia.” He put his arm around her shoulders, gently pulling her closer. He’d learned early on that Maya would never ask to be comforted like that, but more often than not, she was very appreciative if someone made the decision for her. “But we have each other, right?”

“Yeah, Captain Cheesy.”

Taipan barged in with such force that both others jumped, flinching away from each other as if they’d been caught red-handed. “Stop doing that!” Diell snapped.

“Absolutely not!” They pointed in his vague direction with their cane. “How else would I prove that I’m still a menace?”

Their doll eyes were taken out almost immediately upon arriving at the hospital. Grace had done the sort of job on them that was expected of an amateur with no surgical knowledge or training, and the doctors worked tirelessly to reverse as much of the damage as possible. But before the operation even started, Taipan had been offered two routes they could go with their new prosthetics. Diell naively thought they’d jump on the opportunity to make it as natural as possible; he’d seen some absolutely amazing work on the wall of the private hospital’s ocularist.

Well… They were now rocking two pitch black orbs with realistic stars painted on them, looking like they held all the secrets of the universe behind them.

Maya laughed, jumping up to go and hug them. Diell watched the two of them with a smile, his fear-based irritation melting away. “I’m so glad you came, I need someone to back me up with the music choices.”

“I would never live with someone who refused to acknowledge that his taste is inferior and I should be the only one with party-music privileges.”

“I’m not gonna be bullied in my own home!” 

Maya stuck her tongue out at him; as did Tai, without even seeing that she was doing it too. Diell couldn’t stifle a grin. 

“Are we ordering pizza?” they asked as they walked over to the couch, plopping down right next to Diell. “There’s this new place that’s just opened, and I’m telling you, neither of you have ever seen cheese with a better pull quality. It’s glorious.”

“I mean, if they have Hawaiian–”

“You’re absolutely disgusting, Diell. I am stealing Maya away.”

Before more insults could’ve been thrown his way, Diell’s phone went off with a notification. Valerie’s name flashed on the screen, and he quickly checked the texts to see if it was something urgent. She probably wasn’t in the best headspace either.

By evening time, all four of them were sitting on the living room floor, eating pepperoni pizza off the coffee table. It was a weird little sleepover, with plenty of laughter and tears both. Sometimes they almost completely forgot about why they had even gathered together like this, and sometimes all they could talk about was Grace and their time spent in her pink little prison.

“When you can actually see, when you can actually get out and see the outside world, and know you’re not there– I imagine that’s different. I’m sure it was so different for Bora.” 

Maya was saying the words out loud, so Tai could also know what the conversation was about. Valerie had an easier time talking to them one on one; when a little group of them were together like this, it was easier to have someone translate as she signed. 

“But for me, all I had for the past years were sounds and scents. And touch. And Bora felt the same out here as he did back there. I just couldn’t stand it. He kept making me feel like I was still there.”

“Are you okay now, though? With us?” Diell asked, and Val nodded.

“Yeah.” She paused a little. “It’s different with everyone else. I don’t even understand how Bora could put aside his trauma to try and help me. It must’ve taken so much. Me leaving was the best decision for both of us, even if he was upset at the time.”

Diell glanced at Maya, wondering whether she felt the same way. Their ‘relationship’ at Grace’s place didn’t last more than maybe a couple months, and never went further than a kiss on the cheek or a peck on the lips. It wasn’t really comparable to what Val had talked about at the hospital. Still, he couldn’t help but hope he wasn’t going to lose his best friend.

“I fully get that. And you gotta put yourself first, right? That’s just how it is.” Tai felt around for another slice, and Diell quickly put one on their plate for them. “I’m sure he has plenty of people’s support from within Jonathan’s little group. And outside of that, too.”

“I’m sure as well.” Maya put a gentle hand on Val’s knee. “It’s not your responsibility to nurse others back to health when you’re still working on yourself. We’ve all been through a lot. You get out, you do the best you can– it’s all you can do.”

The conversations  fizzled out as they inched closer and closer to midnight. They were all either deathly still or fidgeting constantly, no inbetween. Diell and Maya were staring at the clock, giving quiet reminders of time’s passage. It was like the most fucked up New Year’s Eve party. 

“One minute.”

“Thirty seconds.”

“Twenty.”

“Ten.”

“Five.”

“Four.”

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

Diell held his breath, and with how quiet the room had gotten, he assumed everyone else did too. He thought about that day from exactly a year ago; stabbing Grace, the feeling of blood sticking to his hands, the sun’s blinding light outside, the sirens of the ambulance and police cars, the bumpy road leading to the hospital. The funeral. Jonathan taking in some of his friends, giving them all a second chance at life, the first of which his sister had taken away beforehand.

“Happy anniversary?” Tai tried, half-jokingly, breaking the spell.

“Well, I’m fucking happy,” Maya said confidently, and Diell knew he was the only one who saw the tears shining in her eyes as she did so. He pretended not to. 

Through the open windows, they could hear all the street noise; cars coming and going, groups of intoxicated teenagers having a fun time, dogs barking at nothing. The world didn’t end at midnight. Grace didn’t show up to take them all back. 

“Maybe we should go to sleep,” Diell suggested. “I’m– Okay, I know it’s not very popular with you two to admit to having a shit time, but I’m honestly exhausted from all that stupid anxiety.”

“Maybe we’ll start admitting to it in this new year.” Maya playfully shoved him a little. “Go to sleep, grandpa. We’ll keep it down.”

Diell smiled, then went to take a long, very hot shower after saying his good nights. It was comforting to be able to do it alone, even if he sometimes still felt Grace’s hands on his naked body, scrubbing him down without a care, like he wasn’t even human. He avoided looking in the mirror when he got out, knowing that all he would see in it this late at night were blonde strands of hair and soulless blue eyes. 

He didn’t fall asleep for a long time, still just lying there by the time Maya came to crawl into bed with him. He turned towards her, noting the distinct scent of alcohol. “Maya?”

She hummed. “What?” 

“You didn’t drink too much, did you?”

“No such thing as too much. Not on the anniversary of your kidnapper’s death.” 

He scooted a little closer, pulling her into a hug. “Yeah, there is. And I’m so happy you didn’t overshoot this time.”

A whole year had passed. Instead of Ginger, Maya was now crying in his arms. They had different problems, even if none of them felt less serious than the ones from before. She wasn’t passed out on the floor, only slurring her words a little.

It would be okay. It would all be okay, in the end.

~

taglist: @whumpsday @lonesome--hunter @reblogging-whump @panic-and-chaos @kim-poce @uwu-scraptrappy @mikaelaix @whumpinggrounds @hidden-dreamland @the-scrapegoat @whumplr-reader @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @whumpinthepot @devourerofcheesecake

[richardgrimes]

i was standing in line for a snack at work and looked to the right where i could see a hyena through a group of flamingoes and was like. wow....effervescent

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Foolish Dreams

TW: Implied past torture & captivity (choking, bruises, scratching), touch-starvation, being guarded due to past trauma, kinda emotional???

Full credit to @shywhumpauthor for this prompt. I hope this is a good read!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♤♤♤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They thought they were over it. That it was just another fleeting emotion they could ignore. A frivolous want they could quite easily live without. After all, Whumpee had managed to function even with a scarce amount of their basic needs.

Sure, they'd already been with Caretaker for well over six months, but that didn't mean that all the scars from their past had been completely erased. Time isn't magical enough to make everything fade. This time; however, it wasn't thet they were in physical pain, aside from the usual come-and-go tension in their muscles, partially from apprehension and totally from their past torment.

It was a different kind of ache, something that plagued their soul, a monster lurking in the darkest corners of their mind. It made their chest tighten and their breathing go shallow just thanking about it. Like an itch they couldn't scratch.

They longed for a gentle touch. They didn't have anything specific they wished for, just whatever they could get to cater to their insatiable craving. It was something they could never do for themselves. It made them feel weak and desperate. Much like an animal trapped in a cage trying to claw its way out to no avail.

All they had to do was ask Caretaker. They'd gotten better at that. But they'd only ever asked for things they'd needed. Like help with stitches where they couldn't reach because the consequence of attempting that by themselves would be their death or severe blood loss if they were fortunate. Dire needs.

Caretaker had managed to slowly coax some of their wants out of them, but there was a major difference between what they liked on their pancakes and. . .this.

It wasn't just their pride that stood in their way, rather, it was a much deeper concern. The thought of someone else touching them for longer than was needed, for something unnecessary, made their skin crawl. It felt far too reminiscent of their time with Whumper, where they would have given anything to be free of that monster's touch, of the nails that dug into their fresh cuts, the fingers that wrapped around their neck, leaving deep purple bruises in their wake. They'd come to make synonyms of the words 'touch' and 'pain'.

But today, even the memories of their captivity couldn't torture them out of this.

"Whumpee? Is everything alright, love?"

Caretaker's gentle voice snapped them back to reality, and they turned their attention to them instead of the movie they'd pretty much drowned out anyway.

"Yeah. I'm fine," they replied evenly, their voice a million times calmer than the crashing waves of an overwhelming amount of emotions in their head.

Caretaker sighed deeply, the look in their eyes a clear indication of the number of times they'd had to deal with Whumpee's well-feigned stoicism. "Whumpee, you know you can talk to me about anything that troubles you, right?"

"Yes, I know," they snapped, and it came out much harsher than they'd intended. "This is just. . ." they faltered, and finally whatever resistance inside of them was obliterated.

"I-I know you'll probably think I'm just pathetic, but I don't care. I'd do anything for it, but please, please just hold me. Just a touch beyond necessity, anything, please. I'm not picky, jus-just PLEASE DO IT! I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE, CARETAKER, PLEASE!"

Their lip quivered violently, and it had taken them a moment to register that they were crying as fresh, hot tears rolled down their cheeks and wet their shirt.

It had been so long since Caretaker had seen Whumpee's gaze fall downcast or heard them beg for something. It broke their heart, but they couldn't just watch.

Slowly, with just a small amount of trepidation, they reached out for them, pulling them close into their arms, letting them rest their head into the crook of their neck. As expected, Whumpee flinched violently, but they actually made no effort to leave Caretaker's embrace.

After a few solid minutes of crying, Whumpee let go, pulling out some tissue paper from the box near them and wiping their face.

Once they'd calmed down, Caretaker put each of their hands down on their shoulders, exchanging glances with them to silently ask if it was okay.

Whumpee flinched again, though less intense as the first time, but they nodded their affirmative, and Caretaker gently began to knead the corded tension out of their shoulders.

Even Whumpee themselves was shocked at how fast they melted into the touch. They couldn't actually believe what they'd been depriving themselves of, for so long, when it had been at their fingertips this whole time, all they had to do was ask. Okay, to their credit, maybe it wasn't that simple. It had felt like having to move mountains of trauma. But the way the tightness blissfully dissipated from their muscles and how Caretaker was concerned enough to ask what felt too soft to be relieving and what felt rough enough to be slightly too painful, just the fact that they genuinely cared made it seem all the more worthwhile.

Whumpee had relaxed enough to close their eyes, to go completely boneless under their touch. . .the same Whumpee that still slept with one eye open and a penknife near them on their worst days. It sparked a few tears of joy to prick at Caretaker's eyes.

Whumpee turned to them, and a rare smile found its way onto their lips. "Thank you," they breathed out, and they meant it with every fibre of their being.

"Don't mention it, lovely. Anytime you need this, just ask me. I've been meaning to for a while actually, but I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. You're never a burden, Whumpee, especially not when it comes to something like this," they replied, voicing out Whumpee's internal fears.

"Besides, you look adorable like this, so why wouldn't I want to?" they added, grinning.

Whumpee laughed softly as Caretaker continued rubbing their shoulders.

Sometimes, it was okay to let down your guard. To break down reinforced concrete walls of indifference built by years of pain. With the right person, you could learn to live freely again, without the shackles of constant anxiety and apprehension. It is true that a simple touch does not possess the power to erase all the scars of the past, but it could tremendously improve the present.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @catsarecool00 @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @shr3ya @crotchgoblin69

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

[sparrowsage]

Give Sparrow a happy memory. Or a happy occurrence. Like something goes right, he’s free and has a good day. Maybe cuddled up by the fire just quiet and content. Or he has a social success after being freed. I want to see him smile.

Thank you so much for this! I had a ton of fun writing this and it made my heart warm seeing my boy be vulnerable and not rejecting the help he needs. This piece is so sweet and I can't get enough of it! Thank you so much as well for the use of your characters Ben and Zoe from your Bother's Keeper series @darkthingshappen! I can't wait to see more of Sparrow and Ben (whether they're having good moments or traumatic ones hehe).

TW: implied and briefly mentioned past torture and abuse, past injuries that are still healing, mentioned past captivity (if I missed any, let me know!)

Repaying the Favor (A Warehouse Drabble)

The doctors told him it would do him good if he got up and walked around every few hours. To build up his strength and stamina again, they had said. Despite it being a bit of a struggle at first, Ben told himself that it would help in the long run. 

Walking the halls of the hospital floor he was on was his safest option. It also felt like his safest option. Plenty of doctors to help if something happened, as well as still being close to his brother. Ben wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if something happened to Jake and he wasn’t there for him. 

The Adkins brother was barely ten minutes into his walk before he passed by an open hospital room. The sounds coming from the room had him on edge and before he continued on so he wouldn’t end up panicking, he realized it sounded familiar. 

Hesitantly, he approached the open door, kicking it gently as a form of knocking to alert the person inside so he wouldn’t hurt his hands. The figure’s head shot up from his spot on his bed, anger and fear plastered on his face before he recognized Ben, his expression softening slightly. 

“You alright, Sparrow?” Ben asked, leaning gently on the door frame to catch his breath. 

Sparrow shook his head slightly as he averted his gaze from the other, trying to get his expression to level out. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. What are you doing out of your room? I thought you couldn’t walk around much.” 

“The doctor’s told me that it’ll do me good to walk around every few hours. B-Build up my strength again.” He paused, looking Sparrow over. His hair was messy and disheveled, heavy bags under his eyes, his arms had red hand prints in spots where the other probably squeezed them as tight as he could, the blankets on his bed all shoved to one end, and several different items littered across the room as if he had thrown them. “Y-You sure you’re alright?” 

Sparrow nodded in agreement to the explanation before letting out a soft grumble. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

Ben didn’t believe it, not with what he saw. When he saw Sparrow the other day, he looked just as tired, but he seemed to be holding up well enough. He had come to visit Jake in his room and the two talked for a bit. His brother still wasn’t awake, but the doctors had told him that things were improving and that he should be awake within the next few days. 

As he continued to look around Sparrow’s room, an idea blossomed in his head. When he had first run into Sparrow here, he had learned that Sparrow couldn’t read on his own. Upon having more conversations, Ben had learned that Sparrow enjoyed listening to books, especially fantasy. Sparrow had explained that Dr. Sharpe had introduced the genre to him with the help of audio books and that they helped take his mind off of everything. Why Sparrow wasn’t listening to a book right now, Ben didn’t know, but he thought it might help him since it didn’t look like Sparrow was going to seek out help on his own. 

“I have to go grab s-something,” Ben told him, but Sparrow gave little to no reaction to the statement, merely pulling his legs up to his chest before placing his forehead on his knees. 

He turned and started back to his room again, and while it took a bit to get back, Ben found exactly what he was looking for when he entered his room on the side table by his bed. A day or two ago, Dr. Sharpe and Ben had been talking about trying to find healthy distractions while he healed from everything he had been through and Ben had mentioned how much he had missed reading. The conversation switched to how much he wanted to read, but with his injured hands, it was extremely difficult to hold books, so Dr. Sharpe had come up with a temporary solution while his hands were still healing. 

A couple hours after their session, Alex went and visited Ben’s room and gave him an iPad with a case that had a shoulder strap on it filled to the brim with books from the different genres Ben liked to read. He had been overjoyed when Alex gave it to him and he had already read through several of the books on there. 

Zoe was on one of the chairs in his room when he came back and she looked up from her phone, a bit surprised to see him back so soon.

“You doing alright?” she asked, setting her phone down on her lap. 

“Yeah,” Ben responded, still a bit out of breath. “I just wanted to grab the iPad. I passed by Sparrow’s room and it looked like he wasn’t doing so well, so I thought I’d read to him for a bit.” 

Zoe’s expression softened more and Ben mirrored it. He could never get enough of her smile, it always warmed his heart to no end. 

“That’s very sweet of you, Ben. Are you sure you’ll have the energy?” she asked. 

He nodded, carefully slinging the strap over his shoulder, resting his forearm along the side of the case to ensure the strap wouldn’t fall off his shoulder. “I think so, and I believe he needs it. His room is down near the end of the hallway before the nurses station if you need it.” 

Zoe tilted her head to the side a bit, letting out a small content hum, “Alright. Your mother said she’d be by later to bring us something to eat that’s better than hospital food. If you’re not back when she comes by, I’ll come grab you.” 

“Sounds good,” Ben said, giving her a soft smile before making his way back out into the hallway. 

It took him a little longer to make it back to Sparrow’s room, pausing every few minutes to catch his breath, but once he reached his door, he knocked gently again with his foot. Ben heard a soft groan from inside and he took that as his invitation to enter the room, letting out a breath as he leaned against the door frame. 

Sparrow hadn’t changed positions from when Ben had first left, lifting his head from his knees at the sound before giving Ben a bit of a sour expression as he looked the Adkins brother over. 

“I brought something that might lift your spirits,” Ben said softly, trying his best not to take the bitter look to heart. 

“There isn’t much you can really do to help,” Sparrow mumbled, laying his head back on his knees. 

Ben let out a small hum before making his way over to Sparrow’s hospital bed, pausing before he sat down. “May I sit?” he asked.

The other lifted his hand and gestured beside him, Ben smiling slightly before taking a seat. It took him a moment to scoot himself backwards so his back was against the wall, but once he was settled, Ben gently swung the iPad onto his lap. 

Sparrow paid him no attention, letting out a few mumbled words here and there while Ben unlocked the iPad and scrolled through the books, trying to find the right one. 

It pained Ben a bit to see Sparrow like this. He had come to learn things about the other over the past week or so that he never thought he’d learn and it had brought new light to how he saw Sparrow. Despite how awful his own captivity had been, Ben couldn’t help but feel bad for Sparrow’s go of things. He couldn’t even imagine what it would have been like to grow up in such an awful system and still come out of it twenty-one years later with the same fighting spirit he had when he first got there. If it had been him, Ben would have been a hollow shell with nothing left of him after a few years. 

Ben’s face lit up when he found the book he was looking for, opening it before glancing towards the other. His head was still buried in his knees, but his hands were starting to go white with how tight they were gripping the sides of his arms. 

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit,” Ben began, trying to keep his voice level and light. 

At the start of the book, Sparrow lifted his head in confusion, looking over to Ben. Seeing the iPad on his lap while Ben read clued Sparrow in that he was reading. To him. At first, Sparrow’s immediate reaction was to tell him to stop and leave so he could be by himself, but that didn’t last long. The more Ben spoke, the more Sparrow became interested in the story. 

A very light blush flooded his cheeks as he listened to Ben read, part of him embarrassed that the other was reading to him. Sparrow hadn’t even thought of finding his iPod to listen to any of his books. It truly showed how tired and on edge he was. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Ben could see Sparrow perk up, how he scooted closer and stretched out his legs, peering over his shoulder to look at the screen. It made Ben smile, spurring him on even more to continue. 

Sparrow didn’t know how to outwardly explain why he enjoyed fantasy books so much. It had been one of the first books Alex had read to him before the doctor had given him the iPod, and it all just sounded so interesting. They made him feel safe in a way as he lived the life of the main character. It was something different and it took him out of the real world and into a much different one. It was magical. 

At one point as Ben continued to read, the different voices he was attempting as each character spoke started to make Sparrow feel drowsy due to the lack of noise in his head. His entire focus was on Ben’s voice and the words seamlessly flowing out of his mouth, allowing both his mind and body to finally start to relax. 

Ben had read these books countless times as he grew up but each time he returned to the series, it was like he was reading them for the first time. His attention was so focused on the book that he nearly startled when Sparrow leaned against his side as he looked over his shoulder. It made Ben smile once the initial startle wore off, continuing on without pause. 

It only took a few more minutes before Ben felt Sparrow’s head gently fall on his shoulder, the older man letting out a heavy, relaxed sigh as he continued to listen to the book. The slight pressure against his side brought back awful memories for Ben, but they were short lived as he thought about it rationally. Sparrow wasn’t going to hurt him and after a bit, the feeling felt rather calming. It was gentle and the only movement came from Sparrow’s breathing, which Ben could tell was slowing down to a relaxed rate. 

At the end of the second chapter, Ben paused, slowly trying to turn his head to look at Sparrow, and with what he could manage without hitting Sparrow’s head with his chin, he saw that the other was asleep, light breaths leaving his nose every other second. 

Ben couldn’t help but smile softly at the sight, recalling a memory from several months ago when Sparrow had offered him the same kind of comfort back at the Warehouse. He had stayed awake and promised to look after him and Jake while they slept until Damon and Volkov returned the next morning, allowing Ben to rest against him in the exact same way that Sparrow was now. He was honored that he could repay the favor after so much time. 

After another moment, Ben flagged the second chapter in the book before he continued reading out loud, hoping to provide some ambient noise for Sparrow while he slept so he didn’t have any nightmares. Ben got so wrapped up in the book, he didn’t even realize how much time had passed until Zoe gently knocked on the door. 

His head shot up at the noise, Ben trying his best not to jostle his body much as to not wake Sparrow. 

“Hey, your mom is here with the food,” she said, walking into the room a bit. Ben raised his right hand, doing his best to bring a finger near his lips. 

“Shh, try not to be too loud. He fell asleep a while ago and I don’t want to wake him. He looked like he needed the rest.” 

Zoe gave Ben a heartwarmed smile at the sight and it made his heart swell seeing it. 

“I’ll go tell your mom you’ll be a bit then. You’re still doing okay though?” she asked, her voice now in a whisper. 

Ben nodded softly, looking over to Sparrow, who was still asleep on his shoulder. “Thank you, Zoe.” 

Zoe gave him a smile in return before she waved goodbye and left, leaving Ben and Sparrow alone so Ben could continue reading. After a few seconds, Ben picked up where he left off and he could have sworn that the moment he started again, he saw Sparrow smile a bit out of the corner of his eye.

Taglist: @mannerofwhump, @honey-is-mesi, @painful-pooch, @whumperfully, @hiding-in-the-shadows, @flowersarefreetherapy, @goronska, @blueyellow8green, @oddsconvert, @darkthingshappen, @whumpcereal (If you wanna be on the taglist, let me know!)

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

❄️ your Octo-Mer? (I don't recall if you named her yet)

Or for Seraphina.

-Mysticwhump

OMG thank you!! I actually want to write both of these, I'm going to make this one my Octo-Mer (her name is Nori!), but if you send me a separate ask for Seraphina I have an idea for that too. ;)

I'm trying to keep these short and sweet, just for fun and to maybe get some writer momentum going~

Send me ❅ to find my muse out in the cold, under-dressed and almost passing out from hypothermia.

Content Warnings: lady whump, mer whump (octomaid/octomer OC), cold weather, cold whump, hypothermia, frostbite, past captivity, left for dead, 'it' as a pronoun, second person POV, rescue, mentions of death, slight dehumanization but in a well-meaning sort of way??

----

Your boat slows as it cuts through increasingly icy waters, inching towards the creature up ahead.

It is draped across a floating slab of ice, discarded without a thought by ink harvesters much too far north of its natural habitat.

Most octo-mer are too far gone by the time you reach them, and all you can do is ease their numb bodies into the water with gentle hands and kind words.

Not this one. Startled by the hum of the approaching boat, the octo-maid stirs. Her dark lashes flutter and her lips part slightly, letting out a puff of fog. She is still quivering slightly, still pained by the sting of cold air. Frostbite hasn't claimed her fingers or tentacles, and her damp hair hasn't frozen.

When she finally manages to open her eyes, you see it - that spark of life you got so used to not expecting.

Just this once, you aren't too late. Just this once you get to lift the poor creature into a special tank, a cramped but warm, safe place to recover until you release her to warmer waters.