#this isn't whump AT ALL

[aceofwhump]

Broadchurch 1x06

[whumpanini]

God I love shower scenes

Not the sexy kind, not the kind that's there for fan service

The kind that shows someone at their lowest, beaten, broken down, and absolutely emotionally wrecked

Maybe they're physically hurt and blood is slowly running down the drain but they don't have to be

Just their forehead resting against the tile, maybe propped up with an arm, the thousand yard stare as they process something so far away from themselves

Sitting on the ground, curled up into a tight ball just wanting the water to wash away everything that has happened

It's so emotionally raw and relatable, where someone feels their safest to just break down, to be vulnerable, and I think they're vastly underutilized or just done plain wrong because people can't get nakey = sexy out of their heads

[floral-comet-whump]

Whumpee that deceives Whumper

They rack their brain to memorize every little movement, every indicator of Whumper's mood, every pattern. At some point, they even learn to predict Whumper.

They know what Whumper likes to see. They know what they want within a few minutes, what's going to happen to them. They're powerless to stop it.

Sometimes Whumper wants them to silently cry on the floor, so they do. It would be foolish not to conserve energy while they can.

Sometimes Whumper is already in a bad mood. They probe, both because the knowledge is invaluable and because then Whumper will take it out on them.

Whumpee has a little internal guide to how to take punishments. Begin as defiant, but still shake. Look like they're trying to conceal their fear. Gradually break. It starts off as a yelp or sob or whimper followed by an immediate insult, then Whumpee goes quiet for a bit until it's “too much,” begging quietly. And then it's as if a dam has been broken, frantically pleading for mercy, for a reprieve. They look at Whumper with wide, teary eyes, and both their true self and their facade just want it to stop.

Their cries turn quiet as their energy runs out, until they can't bear to look at anything. Their flinch at Whumper's hand on their chin doesn't need to be faked. Their distress is real, and they let themselves whimper. Whumper likes displays of exhausted weakness, it makes them feel as if they've won.

They lean into the little coos and pets Whumper gives after, trying not to gag. Alarms of panic ring through their head, and they acknowledge them.

It would be easier to lose themselves in the comfort after the torture. It would be so much easier to become a shell of a person. They already act like one. Why can't they give up?

The emotional exhaustion after they've been left alone. The dark quiet. Their steadying breath. The scent of both blood and anticeptic. The locked door. The pain.

They can escape once Whumper deems them broken enough to let out unsupervised. It's just a matter of time, just a matter of maintaining this act. A matter of trust from a sadistic torturer that keeps Whumpee in a basement for no reason other than their own pleasure.

They have to keep going.

[gascreates]

seeby s1 dino gaang :)

[whumpty-dumpty-doo]

Late night mush-brained I-really-need-to-edit-this-draft-because-this-is-probably-all-way-too-much-irrelevant-information late night thoughts

[necrotic-nephilim]

"--but why should I let you go when you look so pretty like this?" w/JayTim

send a quote and a ship and I'll write a short fic!

this one was such a fun pick, anon. i will warn you, this one has some... very dark dialogue. the JayTim is absolutely unrequited, but Tim is forced in a situation where he has no other choice bc of some Ra's tomfoolery. you *could* read into there being Ra'sTim as well, but that's not the focus, it's just 2.8k of unhinged JayTim. enjoy <3

Tim had lost count of the days.

He was pretty sure he was somewhere in the range of ten days and two weeks. He couldn’t use how often he was fed as a gauge when it seemed purposefully sporadic to throw him off. There were no windows in his cell.

Not that it looked like a cell, but Tim insisted on mentally calling it one, mostly for fear of Stockholm Syndrome getting the best of him. No matter how large the bed was, with an ornate carved cedar headboard and cotton sheets. No matter the plush carpets and en suite bathroom with a gloriously large shower with limitless hot water. No matter the shelf full of books to keep him entertained and patterned wallpaper.

This was still a prison. Tim was still forcibly attached to the bed by a long chain connecting to a thick metal cuff around his wrist he’d yet to figure out how to pick.

Tim had to let himself believe the lock could be picked. He had to hold onto hope there was some kind of escape.

The real contrast of the lavish room wasn’t the chain, though. It was Tim’s current state, naked and questionably close to bleeding out.

Not that it would matter if Tim died.

Ra’s al Ghul had already revived him with a Lazarus Pit at least four times, and he had made it clear he had no qualms doing it again. And again.

Tim went with ‘at least’ as a mental marker, because he was certain the Lazarus Pit was starting to influence his mental state.

However many times it took, repeating the vicious cycle of coming in to torture Tim until his body gave out, then giving him a violent, unwanted rebirth. Each time, Tim was pretty sure he lost a piece of himself, somewhere deep in those glowing waters.

He was sure he’d been angrier and fighting harder to break free once. Now, that anger was drifting somewhere in the Pit, far out of Tim’s reach. Tim had heard that rapid repeated exposure to the waters of Lazarus could have degrading effects on one’s mental state.

But he never thought he would learn that firsthand.

Instead of fighting and clawing at the wrist cuff like Tim had been doing for days, he just laid on the bed, sprawled out and staining the chartreuse sheets a bright crimson, staring at the cuff. One time, Tim had clawed at the cuff until his nails ripped out of their beds and he was biting a pillow in pain, watching his skin shred trying to pull it apart.

Those injuries, much like his feral desperation, were washed away now. Every scar Tim had earned over the years was gone now. He was losing pieces of himself.

After his next death, Tim promised himself he’d redouble his escape efforts. Run his hands along the walls again, test the door frame, find something that he must’ve missed his first dozen tries. He wasn’t going to let himself rot here and be changed into someone else, just wearing the corpse of Tim Drake.

Ra’s could take a lot of things, but he couldn’t have Tim’s humanity.

For now, though, Tim was just going to lay in the bed, breathing as shallowly as he could. All his body’s survival instincts were in overdrive, making him light-headed and his heartbeat a rapid, fluttering thing, trying desperately to hold on. He had yet to figure out how to get his body to let go of those responses yet.

Because the worst part wasn’t dying. The worst part was the animalistic attempt to survive that came just before his body gave out. Tim’s mind had fought alongside his body the first time he died. The second time too.

By the third, Tim had just naively hoped Ra’s would let him stay dead.

Now, Tim was just tired and waiting for it to be over with.

Just when Tim was considering getting up and trying to speed up the process, he heard a commotion. He lifted his head and squinted.

The ninjas who brought his food were always so silent in how they moved that Tim couldn’t hear them even when they were in the room. So the running feet, the yelling-

The gunshots.

Definitely a fight. Tim snapped back to reality. He sat up as fast he could, trying not to let his body dip and sway the way his perception did. It had crossed Tim’s mind, that rescue would come at some point. But he refused to hold onto it as anything other than a futile last hope.

And even now, it didn’t feel real.

No one who would save Tim used guns. The ninjas definitely didn’t use guns either. Tim carefully wrapped the chain around his fist. Whatever energy was left in his body was better spent fighting like hell than just laying there and accepting death.

The door to Tim’s room slammed open and Tim sucked in a breath.

Of all the people it could’ve been.

“Look at that,” a smug, modulated voice crowed. “I’m the lucky guy who actually found your sorry ass.”

Jason Todd reached up and pulled his Red Hood helmet off, shaking his hair loose. Tim didn’t like the look of his smile.

Granted, he didn’t like the look of Jason Todd in general, but that was beside the point.

“What are you doing here?” Tim hissed through clenched teeth.

Jason just shrugged, walking into the room with slow, casual steps. “Bats wanted to find you bad. Bad enough he was willing to call me and offer a truce if I helped storm the stronghouse.” He shrugged like it meant nothing to him. “Looks like you’re lucky I said yes. You’re already half dead.”

“Others are here?” Tim’s breath caught on his hope.

“The whole fucking calvary.” Noises of a brawl sounded in the distance and Jason spread his hands, as if his point was proven. He took another step forward just as a ninja ran into the room, sword raised and charging Jason. Before Tim could warn him, Jason shot the person in the head over his shoulder, making them drop to the floor. A full-bodied flinch went through Tim at the sight of blood spraying the beautiful wallpaper. With an annoyed huff, Jason turned and kicked the door shut.

He didn’t signal for backup. Tim’s skin prickled at the sight of the shut door and Jason stalking toward him.

“This is the part where you say thank you,” Jason prompted lazily, getting within an arm’s reach of Tim. Tim couldn’t stop his body from recoiling, eyes flicking down to the dead body on the floor. “Oh come on. Now’s not the time to worry about morals. I gave them a quick death. You should be thanking me for that too.”

“I’ll thank you when you get me out of this,” Tim said, lifting his arm to show the cuff. He pressed his palm against the cut on his chest, the one responsible for most of his blood loss. Ra’s had blamed Tim for that one, saying it was his fault for squirming too much. Tim knew better, though. He knew every drag of Ra’s’ blade was always exact and purposeful.

Jason tilted his head to the side and leaned in close. He smiled with tiger teeth and snake eyes. “See, I would but-” his eyes dragged up and down Tim’s battered form- “why should I let you go when you look so pretty like this?”

Tim was suddenly all too aware of how naked he was, skin prickling. He grabbed a handful of sheets and yanked them over his lap, trying to cover himself. Jason made no move to stop him, just watching the motion of Tim’s arm as it grasped for a crude attempt at modesty.

“You said Bruce is here,” Tim chose his words carefully, trying not to show fear. He was better than being afraid of Jason of all people. He blamed the worst of his feelings on the vulnerable state he was already in. His fingers clenched the sheets to hide the way they shook.

“He’s around somewhere,” Jason waved his gun in the air dismissively. “But he’s not here, is he?” Another wave of the gun to gesture to the room. Jason’s eyes flicked down to the gushing chest wound. “You really need to cauterize that.”

“Do I look like I have something to cauterize it with?” Tim shot back, sluggishly. He didn’t let Jason distract him from the real point. “If you try anything, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Jason rolled his eyes. He searched around his utility belt, pulling out a lighter and a knife. “Tattle to Bruce? Fight me?” He snorted. “I don’t know which is more amusingly unrealistic.” He flicked the lighter on and held it under the knife.

Tim watched the blade heat up, eyes widening. “You’re not going to-”

“You’ve got a better idea?” Jason arched an eyebrow. “It’ll really piss B off if you fucking die.”

“Won’t be the first time,” Tim muttered under his breath. He cringed as soon as the words came out. That was too much information to be giving to Jason.

Another cruel snort came from Jason. “You got your own taste of the Pit, didn’t you?”

“No,” Tim tried to lie, shifting a bit.

“You did,” Jason hummed. He leaned in even closer, until his face took up Tim’s entire field of vision. “Trust me, I recognize the look in your eyes. Hold still.”

That was the only warning Tim got before a red hot blade was pressed against his skin. Tim opened his mouth to scream against the burning pain, but gloved fingers were shoved into his mouth to muffle the noise.

Tim tried to bite down on Jason’s fingers hard enough to break them, but the gloves were too thick and his body was too weak. All he could do was glare and grasp at the sheets.

The look in Jason’s gaze was terrifying. His lips held a slight smile and he looked hungry, eating up all of Tim’s tormented noises. Tim’s pain was a feast for Jason’s sadism. Tim was struggling just to stay alive and Jason looked like he was having the time of his life, licking his lips and swallowing hard.

Tim was starting to think maybe he preferred Ra’s over this.

Finally, Jason pulled the knife off of Tim’s searing skin and Tim sagged in relief. He almost fell over before Jason caught him around the waist, pressing Tim against his suit. Blood smeared over Jason’s jacket.

His fingers were still in Tim’s mouth.

Tim tried to speak around them but Jason just forced his fingers in deeper, making Tim gag.

“I could probably sneak out with you, you know,” Jason whispered into Tim’s ear. “Tell Bruce I got bored and left. They’d just think it was a bust.”

TIm had never understood Jason’s complex over him. He knew it was something he wanted to avoid at all costs. With Ra’s, Tim could at least find the root of the obsession.

With Jason, not so much.

He was always breathing down Tim’s neck and trying to get a rise out of Tim. Wanting Tim to work with him, pay attention to him, anything he could get. It reminded Tim of trying to tame a needy dog.

This was a step too far, though.

This made it all make sense in ways Tim regretted knowing as soon as it hit him. He twisted his head around until he managed to spit out Jason’s fingers, coughing.

“You don’t have Ra’s’ manpower,” Tim bit out the words. He tugged hard and uselessly against his cuff. “You couldn’t hold me for long.”

“Sounds like a challenge,” Jason hummed. “Tell me, Drake, you pissed off enough to actually try to kill me, yet? Or do you need another dunk?”

“Give me that knife and find out,” Tim curled his hand into a fist. He was bluffing. Just the thought of killing someone nauseated Tim, his eyes briefly flickering over to the dead body on the floor.

No amount of the Lazarus Pit could turn Tim into that. A cold-blooded killer who didn’t even look before he shot. Tim was better than that.

He was better than Jason.

He just had to distract Jason long enough to find where he kept his lock-picking tool, stab him in the eye with it, and then break free and find anyone else.

Maybe Tim was against murder, but there was just enough cold rage in him to crave bloody violence. He squirreled away his logical thoughts on the matter, for now. The situation warranted just a bit of brutality.

Someone had to teach Jason that he didn’t always get to have what he wanted.

Jason dared to groan softly. “Tempting. So fucking tempting. How would you kill me, Drake? Would you gut me? Slit my throat?” He sounded far too into the idea of it. The knife in his hand started trailing up Tim’s bare back. Not deep enough to cut, but still leaving goosebumps of fear in its threatening wake. “We borrow enough Lazarus water and we can take turns killing each other.”

“Borrow,” Tim echoed the word with an incredulous laugh. “Like Ra’s would let you.”

Jason’s laughter was sickening. “Didn’t plan on asking permission.” He paused, just as the knife dragged up to the base of Tim’s skull. “I’m serious, you know.” His voice got quieter. “I’d do it if you wanted to.”

“Kill each other?” TIm’s heart was pounding. He was doing the exact opposite of getting himself out of this situation. He was sinking deeper and deeper into Jason’s clawed grip and didn’t know where the escape route was anymore. He couldn’t pull away from the hold, with the knife pressed where it was. He definitely couldn’t fight Jason like this.

Tim was trapped in what he was pretty sure was a prison of his own making.

“Kill, kiss, fuck.” Jason shrugged. “I’ll take any of the above.”

Tim swallowed down blood and bile. “You couldn’t handle me.” He couldn’t show fear. More than couldn’t, he refused to. Giving Jason his fear would just spur Jason on more. Or maybe piss him off to the point of just killing Tim and leaving him there.

Now, with the teetering edge of Tim’s sanity under Jason’s scrutiny, Tim was positive he’d shatter if he got dipped in those green waters again. And he refused to let Jason keep the pieces left of Tim to himself.

He was not going out like this.

“Wanna bet?” Jason asked. “Winner takes all.”

He sounded insane. He probably was.

And he wasn’t letting Tim dance around a lack of an answer any longer. The tip the knife started to press harder until blood was trickling down his spine.

Placating Jason seemed to be the obvious and smartest survival method. If Tim faked it long enough, he’d have to have an opening sooner or later.

“If you can keep me alive long enough to get the hell out of here, then we’ll talk,” Tim chose his words as carefully as he could. He kept his tone light, in a way that was practically teasing. He hoped it was enough.

Jason practically preened, his whole body shivering against Tim’s. He lifted the knife from Tim’s neck to reach for his belt. Tim was able to suppress his sigh of relief, hearing the lock on his cuff click.

“Can you stand?” Jason asked, pulling away to stand up, but still keeping a hand on Tim’s shoulder. Possessively, almost.

Tim gave him a withering look. “Do I look like I can stand?”

“Good point.” Jason shrugged. He lifted Tim almost too easily, an arm around Tim’s waist to haul him off the bed, forcing the sheet to fall away. “God.” Jason paused for just a moment, looking over Tim’s naked form. It made Tim felt studied under a microscope in a way that made him want to crawl out of his skin.

He’d just signed a deal with the devil, and he was already regretting it.

Jason managed to snap out of it and carried Tim toward the door. Tim just held onto Jason’s neck for support and closed his eyes, trying to convince himself he hadn’t just made the stupidest decision of his life. He could still distantly hear other Bats fighting off ninjas. Salvation so close to Tim, yet still out of reach. Jason easily stepped over all of the dead bodies as they slunk through the hallways, away from the noise and into the darkness.

Tim couldn't escape the awful chill crawling down his spine; pressed against someone who was possibly more psychotic than the madman he was being promised escape from, grandeur illusions traded for the ugly truth of Jason's desire. His flicker of hope felt like it was being snuffed out by every heavy step of Jason’s boots. The best he could pray for was for Jason to give him a cell as nice as the one they were leaving behind. 

Out of one den of vipers and into another.

[flowercrowngods]

why must i think of prisoners Ranger!Steve and Bard!Eddie so constantly and why must they be so tender and why hhhh

Steve’s whole body is made of pain, and has been for the past few days. His feet are aching and raw from trying to keep up as they were bound to horses and dragged along. His skin is chafed and bleeding where the unforgiving rocks have managed to destroy his clothes after one too many falls, and every smallest of cuts feels like his body is nothing more than a pulsating mess. 

Worst of all, though, is the dizziness. He doesn’t know if his head is still bleeding or if the wetness he can feel running down his temple is his body’s testament to the unfamiliar heat, but it wouldn’t make a difference anyway. 

There’s only pain. And nausea. His eyes are open but he needs a second to understand what he’s seeing — and what he’s seeing is a ceiling made of sand coloured stone. Distantly, he hears a door clanging shut, but that might just as well be a memory. 

He’s going to throw up. Tough luck when you don’t even know where up is. 

A groan leaves his mouth as he tries to take a deep breath and fails miserably. Instead, he can add two broken ribs to the list of misery. 

Gods above — whichever of them are listening — he’s tired. But he fears that if he closes his eyes, he might not open them anymore for the sheer release that would bring. He can’t sleep, can’t rest, not when— 

“Easy now,” a gentle voice interrupts his less than coherent thoughts and just moments later, a tender hand is combing through his blood-crusted hair. “You shouldn’t move, my friend. There’s nowhere to move to anymore.” 

Steve frowns, his brain trying and failing to provide any information at this point. The hits to his head must have been worse than he thought if his short term memory refuses to work with him anymore. 

“We have reached Capital City,” the voice continues and Steve has to blink the fog away to make out its owner. When he does, it must show in his eyes, for the worry in Theodore Munson’s eyes makes way to the briefest of smiles before returning even stronger than before. “Do you not recall?”

Steve just stares up at him. That’s all his wrecked body and mind allow him to do right now. That’s all they want to do when gentle hands comb through his hair and chase away some of the pain. 

It is then that reality slowly comes back to him and he realises where he is. Where they are. What is at stake if they fail any more, if they decide to torture information on Elanor and William out of them — out of him. He’s not sure how much he can take. They have been held prisoner for weeks. Steve has been hurting for even longer.

Shame rises in him and he has the urge to apologise to Jim, to explain, but moving his head to the side, he sees that his old master isn’t any better off. He appears to be sleeping, his face bruised, and a teary-eyed Maxine is wiping blood away from his face with a piece of her cloak. 

Steve blinks once, twice, and takes in the man who practically raised him, watches the steady rise and fall of his chest and listens, beyond the pulsing rush of his own blood, that his lungs are not rattling. Shame makes way to satisfaction when he sees that none of their party has taken as many hits, kicks and punches as himself. His distractions have worked, then. 

That’s good. Now if only they didn’t make him so nauseous. So tired. So…

“Don’t fall asleep, Steven,” Eddie demands, and the world tilts slightly, which makes everything worse until… soft. It’s softer now. 

Eddie has moved him so his head is resting in his lap now. 

“You don’t look too good, Ranger. Sleep is dangerous in your state, no matter how badly you might need it. Give it a few hours, please.” 

A beat passes where Steve tries to process the words that are just too many. Since when does Eddie talk with him so much? 

“Lies,” he says after a while and with greater effort than should be necessary.

“Lies?” 

“I look very good. You just can’t see it under all the blood and the bruises.” He tries to crack a smile, but even the huffed breath jolts his head too much. 

Eddie does him the favour of a brief chuckle, and Steve feels better for it. Lighter. Light is good, he finds. Maybe all he has to focus on is Eddie and his hands working out the clumps of dirt and blood from his hair, maybe all he has to to is make him smile and the world will be a bit less painful. 

His world narrows down to all the ways Eddie is close to him and it does keep him occupied, but it also gets his mind wandering, the adrenaline of the past days wearing off. 

“Keep doing that and I will fall asleep,” he says after another beat of silence. Fall asleep and dream. Dream of what this could mean. Dream of smiles that make me feel lighter. 

“Keep doing what?” Eddie asks, and Steve senses a trick to just keep him talking, no matter how slurred his speech is. He needs a moment to remember what he said.

“This,” he says eventually, and Eddie only hums. Finding words is hard. He tries. And tries again. “Being gentle.” 

Another smile, and Steve wants to close his eyes to keep it there to hold on to. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, my friend.” 

“Can’t not be gentle?” He’s losing force on the consonants. The pain is getting stronger, his nerve endings more frayed and his vision blurry. This is familiar. He gives himself another quarter of an hour at most before he will lose his consciousness, no matter how hard he tries to stay here. With Eddie and his wavering smile. 

“Not with my friends, no.” 

This time it’s Steve who smiles at the word friends. He likes to be Eddie’s friend. The man, as it turns out, is admirable, he’s strong, he’s wise when he wants to be and gentle with young Maxine. He’s kind, he’s quick-witted and patient, and his hands are impossibly soft. 

“I know you said not to sleep, and I’m not normally one to deny a well-respected bard’s command, but…” He swallows. Words are hard. He’s not sure they come out as planned, but he perseveres. “I’m afraid I have to prove to you now just how stubborn the Queen’s Rangers can be.” 

Another hum from above him and Steve opens his eyes he hadn’t even noticed closing. The world is fading, but still Eddie is at its centre. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up, then, stubborn Ranger.” 

Will you smile at me still? Steve wonders. 

“Always,” Eddie says, but before Steve has time to wonder if someone else has said something, darkness has swallowed him whole.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

A Different Ending

written for @steddiemicrofic October

prompt: dress || wc: 350 || rating: E || tags: main character death (steve), hurt/no comfort, blood, gore, body horror, grief, s4 canon-divergence, pre-steddie

story under the cut

~~~

“Someone help me dress these!” Eddie screams over his shoulder. His hands are pressed so far into the wounds on Steve’s chest that his fingers squish against something warm and wet. Steve winces at the pressure, and more blood pours from his mouth.

Eddie turns around to find Nancy still standing behind him. She should be running to grab the gauze and bandages from Steve’s pack, tearing her clothes into strips like the last time the bats ripped him open. She shouldn’t just stand here, motionless, dread and acceptance scrawled across her face.

Robin would kill her if she wasn’t dragging Dustin away into the trailer after Nancy agreed to help Steve. Now Eddie understands– she just didn't want them to watch this.

It wasn’t supposed to go like last time. They were defenseless. Steve didn’t even have a shirt or shoes when they traversed this hellscape. But this time they wore their War Zone gear, Eddie and Robin prepped molotov cocktails, and Steve had hammered nails into a shield ’to match my bat, Robs, how cool is that?’. 

They agreed it’d be more dangerous at the trailer, so of course Steve volunteered. He’s the fighter, sword and shield. He’s the goddamn babysitter and if Dustin’s here, then so is he.

But Steve promised Eddie a date, he promised not to do anything cute. Now–

“Eds,” Steve coughs, dark red blood seeps out from between his teeth, trickling down the corners of his mouth. It soaks his hair. Out of everything, that’s what rips the first sob from Eddie’s chest. “Please, Eds, you have to go. Get them out of here.”

“No, no please, Stevie– you promised me, remember? Enzo’s, a movie at the Hawk, and a goodnight kiss.” Snot drips from Eddie’s nose into Steve’s chest wound, and he swallows the vomit that floods his mouth.

Steve chuckles, the sound so wet it gurgles. His lips are blue, his eyes unfocused. “Don’t remember promising a goodnight kiss, Munson.”

“Let a guy dream, big boy,” Eddie sobs through a fake, comforting smile.

“You’ll be in my dreams, Eddie. For always.”

[foundfamilywhump]

truly i don't care who thinks it's stupid or boring or "doesn't count" or can't be as intense as what they think of as "real whump" or whatever else, whump with comfort and recovery and caretaker(s) is always going to be my style of whump and i'm gonna have a blast vibing with people who also enjoy that

[rainbowsandwhumperflies]

The Winged Servant - 14

content warnings: unhealthy ideas about food (I'll put a more detailed warning about this in the comments but I don't want to spoil stuff here), brief discussion of religion, mention of death, begging

prev chapter | masterlist

“Here you go, bud.”

I stared at the plate in front of me. It was ceramic. Less detailed than what we’d had at the house, but breakable all the same. I would have to be careful, then, but I knew how to do that. The crepe itself was a different story.

“Thank you, sir,” I said anyway, beginning to scissor a piece off with my fork. Crepes were meant to be eaten with hands, I remembered, but that wasn’t how a servant was supposed to act. Not in front of other people. Really, servants weren’t supposed to eat at all in front of other people if it could be helped, but exceptions could be made when food was handed right to me.

Kieran sat down on my left, a bowl of fruit in front of him. There was mango in it. There was mango in my crepe, too, if Kieran had really put everything he’d said he would. Prince Ryan didn’t let me eat mangos when he could help it. They made my cheeks red, my lips puffy, and my throat itch, but they weren’t so bad that I could refuse them. Not by a long shot. I’d have to eat egregious amounts before I was in any real danger, so I took a small bite of the crepe.

That was- shit, that was good. It wasn’t the strawberry jam that I was used to, but the combination of flavors more than made up for it. The mangoes that I was not supposed to eat practically melted on my tongue. Or maybe it just felt that way because of the gnawing feeling in my stomach, because of the tiny portion of dinner I’d received the night before.

“I’m assuming you don’t know much about who I am,” Kieran said from his spot next to me, reminding me that he was there. I dragged my fork back and forth as I swallowed.

“His Highness Prince Ryan talked about you last night. When we were on our way to your room.”

“Yeah? What did he tell you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

I shrugged. “He said that he is more fit to run a country than you, sir. He is more fit to run a country than most people.”

“Because of his qualifications?”

“Because the Rao family has held the crown for sixteen generations. Sir. That is all the qualification they need.”

“I don’t think-” He hesitated. “Okay. Let’s take this in a new direction, actually. What’s the point of having royalty?”

The point? What was the fucking point? Did it matter? I was a servant. I wasn’t supposed to understand things like this. The point of having a ruler was for them to rule. And that’s what the Rao family did, which meant that they could not have been unfit for it.

“Um,” I said slowly. “The point of having royalty is to make things easier for people who aren’t royalty, right, sir? Like… they make decisions about important things that other people don’t understand. They protect their subjects.”

“Yes,” he agreed, and I sighed in relief, cutting another bite of my crepe off with the dull edge of my fork. It would take longer this way than with a knife or my teeth. It would give him a longer time to have this conversation in an environment where eye contact was not expected. I wondered if he’d noticed me staring at the tablecloth while he’d asked me questions with Blue. I would have to be less obvious next time.

“Yes,” he repeated, “they are supposed to make things easier. And if every citizen gets together and decides that the royalty is making things harder, why shouldn’t they pick new royalty?”

“Because that would make them traitors, sir.” That was an easier question. I knew the answer just fine for that. I took another bite of my crepe.

“Not if they succeed. If they manage to overthrow the previous royals, and put new ones in and adjust the laws, it’s no longer treason.”

“Treason is illegal whether or not you’re punished for it, sir,” I said, covering my mouth while I chewed. It had been a long time since I had eaten in front of anyone except Jayden, but I couldn’t let my manners slip now. “Even if you’re the only one who knows about it, you aren’t supposed to think treasonous things.”

“Hm.” I did not turn my head to look at him, but I could feel his eyes on me. These were different questions than he’d asked with Blue. Those had been about me. These were… philosophical, maybe, or a test of some kind. “I am the current king of Sathenn. DId you know that?”

I stared at the table. I was supposed to behave. Prince Ryan had told me to behave. But Kieran was wrong.

“Do you have an objection to that?” he asked.

I stared intently at the crepe. “... No, sir.”

“Right. You’re supposed to listen to people. I keep forgetting, sorry. If a… a well-meaning subject who was loyal to the crown had an objection… what would that objection sound like?”

“Um. Well. Sir. The royal family has the divine right to their power.”

“Divine right?” he repeated, and he almost sounded like he was holding in a laugh.

“It’s, um, a theory from hundreds of years ago, sir. Monarchies are passed through families because their bloodlines are superior.”

“I’m familiar with the concept. The most recently I’d heard, the Raos aren’t religious, though, so I’m surprised that they taught it to you. The word divine in that phrase implies that their right to rule was given to them by some sort of god.”

I frowned. I supposed that technically, Kieran was right. I hadn’t thought about that before—or rather, I hadn’t been told. I wasn’t supposed to think through it the way he was doing, I was just supposed to listen to what I was told.

“It’s not about a god, sir,” I said eventually. “Divinity is not just from religion. The first Rao royal brought back the stars. They are the reason any of the kingdoms are able to exist at all.”

“Brought back the stars, yes, because they were one of the most brilliant scientists we’ve ever seen. But there are plenty of brilliant scientists we haven’t seen.” He took another bite of his fruit, giving me a few moments to wonder what the hell he meant before he continued.

“I used to know a person who was accepted to college at the age of fourteen, but xe died before xe could graduate because Lucia had xem killed. Xe could have been brilliant, too, if xe’d been given a chance to become that. Instead of giving xem that chance, Lucia nipped it in the bud. The first Rao may have brought back the stars, but fast forward a couple centuries, and Lucia was pulling shit like making it illegal for angels to fly at playgrounds without something attaching them to the ground. When the royalty does not serve the subjects, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with starting over.”

I swallowed another bite. My tongue was starting to feel awkward in my mouth. That was fine. It would swell a bit and probably get itchy, but it would not put me in actual danger, so it was fine. It wasn’t lethal. It didn’t even affect my breathing. It was fine.

I did not see the issue with what Kieran had clearly listed as a failing of the queen. She knew better than I did what was safe at a playground. She knew better than any subjects what was safe at a playground. That was the problem with subjects deciding that their country was in need of new royalty. If the Raos truly had been unfit to rule, that was up to the Raos to decide. Not the subjects.

“It’s not technically illegal to be loyal to them,” Kieran said when I didn’t respond. “Legally, you are free to have that opinion, as long as you don't try harassing people who don’t or something. But it’s ignorant at best to pretend that they did not hurt people while they ruled.”

“Their job isn’t to help people or hurt people, sir. It’s to rule, and to make decisions that no one else does. That’s what they did.”

“I guess.” He shrugged, taking a bite of his fruit. “They could’ve ruled much better than they did, though.”

I did not look at him as I mumbled, “Yes, sir.” He started staring at my face anyway.

“Is your… mouth swelling, Onyx?”

“Yes, sir. As is the usual result of me eating mangos.”

He grabbed my hand on its way to lift my fork to my mouth. “Please tell me you’re not allergic to mangos.”

I blinked like a deer caught in headlights, glancing between my crepe and Kieran’s face. “I’m… not… allergic? Sir?”

“Please tell me the honest truth about whether or not you’re allergic to mangos,” he amended, and I nodded. His mouth set in a tight line. “I asked you if you had dietary restrictions. Why didn’t you say anything?”

How was I supposed to know this is what he’d meant? “My apologies, sir. I thought… um, my mango allergy is included in the list of foods that the royal family did not allow me to have. I was under the impression that you did not care to know what they did not give me.”

“Well, yeah, but-” He released my hand, running his own hands through his braids and tugging on the ends. “I mean, I asked if there were foods you couldn’t eat. You said you could eat whatever I saw fit.”

“And if you saw fit to give me food I was allergic to, sir, I could eat it. I am grateful for any food I receive.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he hissed.

My eyes traced the grain in the table to avoid looking at him. “My apologies, sir. I did not mean to misinterpret your command.” Would Kieran punish me? Was he allowed to, out in public, in the middle of the day? Prince Ryan wouldn’t have tolerated it. Prince Ryan was in jail at Kieran’s order.

“How allergic are you? Are you risking your breathing ability when you eat mangos? Are- are you risking your life?”

“No, sir. I’m only mildly allergic. Previously, it hasn’t resulted in any more than mild swelling and itching.”

“I don’t have angel medicine,” he said through gritted teeth.

I was frustrating him, I knew, but I didn’t know how to respond to his questions. I knew how to respond to things Prince Cardan said, or Prince Ryan, or Her Majesty, but I did not know Kieran. I did not know what he wanted from me.

“My apologies, sir,” I said again. He shook his head sharply.

“It’s fine! It’s fine. I’m glad that your allergy isn’t worse than it is.”

His shoulders were tense, and when I glanced at him, he was glaring at the table too. It was not fine. I had messed up, and I hadn’t even said all the things I was supposed to say. “My sincerest apologies for not informing you of the allergy when you wanted me to, sir. It won’t happen again, and I would be grateful if you would punish me to help me remember.”

Kieran turned his glare toward me. I flinched back. How had I forgotten already how disapproving he had been when hearing about my punishments? Of course this was not what he wanted me to say. What was I supposed to say? I could fix this. I could still fix this, couldn’t I?

He started talking before I could, reaching out and taking my plate.

“I am,” he said, and his voice broke, so he cleared his throat and started over. “I’m going to take this back to the kitchen. Stay here until I return, please.”

I stared at him in horror as he stood up with the crepe. The royal family did not permit me to beg, didn’t permit me to want things enough to beg, but this was not the royal family. And it wasn’t want that I felt as he took my plate—it was plain old hunger. I had slept for maybe four hours the night before. I had been tired and hungry before, but the royal family was careful. Prince Ryan paid attention to my body’s limits. If I continued to be deprived of both sleep and food, I would collapse soon, and then I wouldn’t be useful to anyone at all.

“Please,” I blurted out when Kieran began to walk away. “Please, I- my apologies, sir, but I didn’t mean to seem ungrateful. I can eat it.”

“Onyx, I’m not going to force you to eat something you’re allergic to.”

“But you could, sir,” I insisted. My heart was racing, and I knew my words were too fast, not making sense, but I needed the crepe back. “You wouldn’t even have to force me. I appreciate you going out of your way to have breakfast made for me, and the mango really isn’t that bad, and-”

“Onyx.”

“Please, sir,” I repeated, trying not to cry. Her Majesty hated when I did that, when I tried to make other people feel guilty about my own body’s failings, but I couldn’t quite get rid of the pinch behind my eyes. It worsened and twisted until it turned into a familiar wetness building up behind my eyes. I couldn’t cry now, not if I wanted to convince him I deserved the crepe. “Please. I didn’t even eat half of it. I’m so hungry.”

Kieran stared at me for a long moment, eventually bringing his free hand to rest on my shoulder. I held as still as I could. It was okay if he punished me. I had broken so many rules in the past few hours, he had every right to correct me, but all he did was gently squeeze my shoulder.

“You’re going to eat breakfast,” he told me softly. “I am taking your crepe back to the kitchen, and I’m having them make a different one without mango for you. Okay? I’m sorry that I wasn’t clear about that. I’m not going to punish you, and I’m not going to starve you. I know I seem frustrated right now. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”

A different one, he said. Without mango. For me.

He’d just apologized to me while he explained that he was making me a personalized breakfast. People weren’t supposed to apologize to me. People weren’t supposed to give things to me.

I stared up at him. I remembered what he had said about how royalty is supposed to help subjects, about how he was the king.

“Thank you, sir,” I whispered.

He nodded, and then he turned around and briskly walked back toward the kitchen.

~

taglist: @kaleidoscope-of-thoughts @toyybox @rainydaywhump @risk606 @jay--o

[befuddled-calico-whump]

smacked around

[whatiswhump]

Character is a new test subject, captured in the last raid. No warm bodies put to waste and all.

The scientists logged them and began their work, unhappy this one is Classed "B", reported chronic illness. They'll probably last only a few weeks at best.

They are shocked and then delighted when they realize it's quite the opposite. Sure, Character is paler than most at the end of each day and they don't gain weight even after increased rations... But, they also don't scream, their heart rate doesn't increase under duress like the others and they've somehow outlasted all of the others that came in their group.

[sharada-n]

As a disabled person, I'm so disgusted by what happened on the @whumptober blog recently and how they're trying to sweep it under the rug.

Discussions about AI aside, deleting replies from disabled people speaking out against the rampant ableism you're spreading and that is happening in your comments/reblogs, is so fucking gross and I can't believe they did that. Like, I used to love the whump community but now it just feels incredibly unsafe.

The whump community has always been accused of being ableist and I hate that now I can't even argue against it because some of the biggest names in this community apparently are really fucking chill with silencing disabled people for speaking out against that behavior.

These mods and anybody who is supporting that behavior can go fuck themselves <3

[pixelatedraindrops]

Ya know with the pneumonia post makes me wonder how sick Yuma would get if he had pneumonia. Especially since it would be a much different situation from him having the flu given the NDA can't go to the doctor and get medicine easily.

I admit I’m honestly not a huge expert with pneumonia, but I know he’d be UTTERLY MISERABLE. And I’d love to see it 👀

Maybe in this art I made, he has pneumonia… 🤔 (edited it a bit)

The NDA would surely panic over this.

Their poor little trainee being so sick and in so much pain...

and as the outsides of kanai ward...what could they possibly do?

[cepheusgalaxy]

Day 4 of me trying to get better at writing

CW: Assholes and child abuse. Sorta.

If someone had asked it, Espa would have said it did not have favorites.

Bit if it were to actually make a tier, Ms. Ann would be somewhere in the middle of it. She wasn't very stern, but she was a little tough to deal with when stressed, which was an unfortunately common occurence. Mr. Juste would be near the top, with all his treats and headscratches, although his punishments were tougher when they slipped up near him.

Mr. X, however, would be at rock bottom of its list.

“Espada!” Espa tried to supress a flinch. She despised having him at the back of the room like that. “Have I told you to stop counting?” He spat.

“No, sir!” They yelled, catching their breath.

It started counting its repetitions out loud. From the fucking start, as he liked. Espa couldn’t see his face, of course, but they’d bed he was ripping a vein out of his ugly scowl. It fueled its animosity into its arms, gritting its teeth.

Espa was in a wide gynasium, with a bunch other weapons and a handful of equipment. They were doing some bimonthly conditioning sessions while most handlers and leaders did their occasional meetings. Espa didn’t know what they were about. It wasn’t their business to know. Her business was to keep up with whatever was thrown at her by the person assigned to assist them in training on those days.

Which this time, to everybody’s dismay, had been Mr. X.

Espa finished her push-ups. She moved on. The next part of the disgustingly long course the handler had set up for all of them was—of course, she thought, with a hint of annoyance—running. As they resisted the urge to take a sip of water—which could very well earn them a few hits from the belt—and got up on the dreadmill, they took a glance at their siblings on the other stages.

Sabre was already at the leg press, on the back of the room. Lilo was panting hard, limbs trembling, and had just gotten on the wooden floor at the left, accompanied by other five, to do his push ups. There were seven on the treadmill with it. Espa looked foward before Mr. X could catch her distracted and started running.

“Lilo!” X’s voice startled her. “I want fifty more outta you! Stop being such a pussy!”

Espa didn’t dare look on his direction. But it wasn’t hard to guess Lilo wasn’t doing very well. He’d need some massage and maybe some drink later. Espa supressed a twitch of her eye. X, of course, wouldn’t care. He had something personal against Lilo. Once, they’d overheard him talking to another handler about how he wished the higher ups would greenlit for refurbishing him already. A chill had perked up Espa’s spine that day. It didn’t want for Lilo to be refurbished. It’d never see him again. The other handler had laughed and patted Mr. X on the back, talking something about everybody knowing why Lilo hasn’t been refurbished and probably wouldn’t soon.

She did a favor to her own mind and did not remember the rest.

Finally, Espa catched up with Sabre at the leg press. It felt really uneasy having Mr. X behind it, without being able to see what he was doing. Not that his sight was an exactly pleasurable one. He was sitting down on his chair now, on the other side of the wall, as if guarding the door, spiky hair tied back into a short ponytail, with a few controllers—nope, don’t think about it—on his left hand. They side-eyed Sabre, in a way of saying “Isn’t him the worst?”

“Right? Poor Lilo,” he half-gestured to him, agreeing. “He probably wants him to mess up so he can have an excuse for shocking him.”

“I wish they’d forbid him from training us. He’s gonna get the newer ones killed one of those days.” She sent in a glare

They catched a supressed laughter. “Oh, you think he’d care?” Espa gave him a defeated smile in answer.

If it were with Juste, or even Ann—anyone, really—they’d be allowed to chat normally. Mr. X, however, didn’t like them opening their mouths to let out anything that wasn’t whimpers of pain or a “Yes, sir!”, so they had to improvise. X said it was soo unproductive and distracted themselves, and their siblings, and himself, and wasted breath, or whatever.

Sabre finished his repetitions, and Espa went back to focusing on the task ahead it. There were only three stages left on the course, and from her spot, she could see that only one person was in the last two. She was panting very hard, movements wobbly, and Espa bit her lip. At that rate, she was probably gonna be the first one to pass out. X would end up shocking her awake. As if having the same thought as them, she slowed down a little bit. Espa glanced at X anxiously, wondering if he’d complain, but as always, he was too focused on Lilo, watching him like a hungry eagle, ready to punish him at any slip up. That didn’t help the knot curling into her stomach. She looked away.

As Espa finished her bit, tights burning and sore, she dared to catch a second to catch her breath, throwing her head back and inhaling deep. X was focused on Lilo. It was okay. When her vision stopped spuning, she went to grab the spot Sabre left when he moved on with the girl on the next stage.

There were fifteen of them behind her. They were going to stay in there for a while.

[necrotic-nephilim]

I’m gonna be honest I didn’t realize the new 52 messed with Kon that much till I read your post and now I can’t get over the potential. I’m a Tim/Kon girly at heart so I would devour anything you write exploring the 52 vs typical Kon. Also Time being in a clone sandwich is 👌.

the new-52 messed Kon up SO bad it's ridiculous. like, to the point i would personally argue he's a completely unrelated character to pre-Flashpoint/Rebirth Kon. his personality, his suit, his origin, all different. the only real similarities are the name and powerset. and even New-52!Kon's powers are slightly different from pre-Flashpoint!Kon. New-52!Kon is a clone of a future version of Jon Lane Kent, cloned by N.O.W.H.E.R.E. to provide genetic material to Jon Lane Kent, whose body was not handling being half human/half Kryptonian well, it was a whole thing. New-52!Kon is also where we get the infamous "Kon-El means 'abomination of the house of El' and Kara basically named him a slur in Kryptonian culture" tidbit, because that is the only time that's canon. (originally Kon-El was a name gifted by Clark to accept Kon as his family way back in the 90s) he also never went by Conner Kent. New-52!Kon just straight up didn't have any real human identity or connections, outside of being very close to Tim and some Titans.

the very TLDR of Kon's history is: during post-Crisis/pre-Flashpoint, a clone called Superboy is created by CADMUS. at first, he's considered to be a clone of a dude named Paul Westfield and is not Kryptonian whatsoever, he was simply made to look like Superman and only has Tactile Telekinesis as a power. then, it was made canon that actually he was a clone of Lex Luthor and Clark Kent, but Lex hid this fact and slowly, Kon developed more Kryptonian powers. he's given the name Kon-El by Clark, and is taken in by the Kents, getting the name Conner Kent. then Flashpoint happens, we get the New-52, and we're given the above version of Kon-El, who is a clone of Jon Lane Kent, created by N.O.W.H.E.R.E. who has mostly very strong telekinesis powers and some Kryptonian powers. he's with the Titans for a bit, then at the end of the New-52, he kills some aliens and feels bad about it so he decides to fuck off and is never seen again, it's presumed he's dead but never confirmed. then Rebirth happens and DC makes Jon Kent the current Superboy, we get Supersons and all that, and it's assumed that no version of Kon-El exists. just at all. he's not around whatsoever, Jon is our only Superboy. *but* in 2019, we get a new Young Justice run and the pre-Flashpoint Kon-El is back, and we're given the explanation of: Kon got accidentally teleported to this alternate realm called Gemworld and then Flashpoint happened, and since that was a Crisis Event that changed the timeline, the poor lad got *erased* from the timeline, causing most people to *not fucking remember him* and for him to remember a timeline that no longer exists. some of the Young Justice team vaguely remember him, Ma and Pa Kent remember him, but notably, Clark *does not remember him*. it's not an issue of "Clark ignored Kon in favor of Jon" it's an issue of "Kon was erased from the timeline and didn't exist for years bc he was stuck in Gemworld and Clark just doesn't remember Kon or Kon's timeline" which to me, is far more tragic but i digress. since then, Kon has been back and is present in most significant Superfamily runs, with his own recent mini-series, Superboy: Man of Tomorrow. (which was very good btw)

so basically: the New-52 fucked Kon up so bad they wrote him out of comics for years and then brought back the pre-Flashpoint version, but never *explicitly* killed the New-52 version off. so hypothetically, it's possible that there are currently two characters existing in the DC universe named Kon-El who have been Superboy. and like i said above, one of New-52!Kon's only real significant relationships was with Tim, it was the only thing the New-52 managed to get right about Superboy, his closeness to Tim. they have a *lot* of moments that read incredibly queer. and ofc, it's just outright confirmed in Dark Crisis: Young Justice that Tim had a crush on pre-Flashpoint!Kon at some point. so while comics are intent on pretending New-52!Kon doesn't exist, i am intent on putting Tim in a clone sandwich.

because i do think it's fun to play with Tim having genuine feelings and potentially a relationship with both of them. and the fucked up nature of him not fully *remembering* his relationship with pre-Flashpoint!Kon (which is a canon thing, in YJ(2019) Tim has vague memories of Kon he's struggling to piece together and understand why he cares about this guy he doesn't recognize so much) and how frustrating that is for Tim. he knows he loves Kon, but it's all foggy besides that. and so it's even *more* fucked up if Tim dated New-52!Kon before he got emo and ran off into the unknown. obviously in canon no one has told current Kon about New-52!Kon bc comics are doing the good ol' tried and true of "sweep that shit under the rug" but for fanfic, i think it's fun to ask the question of: would anyone *tell* Kon? especially Tim? who now remembers dating both versions of them? would he admit to Kon that briefly, he had another Kon? how would Tim cope with that and move on? personality wise, they could not be more different. they dress and act and look different. they're not the same person, but there's certainly a questionable factor of Tim's dating history including two Kon-Els.

the idea i've had for a while is Tim slowly starting to date pre-Flashpoint!Kon again. it feels familiar and like home. and Tim has grieved and accepted that wherever New-52!Kon is, he doesn't want to come home, he didn't love TIm enough to stay and try. so Tim takes the Kon he has, and genuinely has a happy relationship. like for once, life is good and things almost make sense for Tim. but then, of course, New-52!Kon comes back. he decides he wants to try again and he finds Tim. only to find well. he's been replaced. and technically, he's been replaced with the *original* that he didn't even know *existed*. and if being a clone is bad enough, that just makes it a hundred times worse. because imagine knowing you're actually the second Kon-El your boyfriend who you never *technically* broke up with fell in love with. that's gotta give you some kind of complex.

so i think it's fun if both Kons try to step back and let the other Kon date Tim. both of them have reasons to feel like the "replacement" or "fake" Kon, and it makes them incredibly awkward with each other. do they count as the same person? bc they definitely don't *feel* like the same person to each other, but with weird timeline stuff, who can really say. them settling on an awkward throuple that's really meant to be Tim just dating them both but somehow they end up dating each other too is so fun for me. they both feel like imposters to the Superboy name but are so deeply in love with Tim Drake, it's the one thing truly connecting them. and then of course, Tim feels bad in that somehow, he's betraying both of them for having feelings for the other. but they make it work, with a lot of awkward angst and miscommunication. i just think it'd be fun. very difficult to write to get all the weird timeline nuances down in a way that's understandable in a fanfic (bc you can't just. infodump like i did on this post) but doable. also difficult to tag, because even though i argue these are two different characters, i'm pretty sure Ao3 groups them under the same character tag. so it'd be difficult to convey it's not *really* as selfcest-y as it would imply. comics, man. DC will never acknowledge New-52!Kon again, and he's admittedly a terrible adaptation of Kon-El, but. i think he was sort of neat in his own right and i'd *love* for DC to just inexplicably bring him back and make the current Kon deal with the consequences of all that. and them make Tim kiss them both. obviously.