#tw forced to hurt

[serickswrites]

Better Me Than You III

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, forced to hurt, threat of death, referenced water boarding, burns, burning, cruel whumper

Whumper didn't let Team Leader rest long. "I was thinking," Whumper said as they dragged an outdoor firepit behind them, "that we should heat things up."

Smallest Teammate could feel Team Leader tense beside them. But Team Leader didn't open their mouth to protest. They knew what Whumper would say, what Whumper would do, if they did.

That didn't stop Smallest Teammate. "Me. Heat things up with me. I'll make it good for you, I promise."

Whumper stopped short, as though considering Smallest Teammate's offer. "I think this is more fun. We always have time to hurt you later." They turned and lit the fire pit.

Smallest Teammate's heart sunk. They opened their mouth to protest once more, but Team Leader grabbed their arm. "It's fine, Smallest Teammate. It's fine." Team Leader's voice was hoarse and rasping.

Guilt filled Smallest Teammate. Team Leader was hurt because of them. Team Leader was hurt by them.

"Cuff them to the chair," Whumper ordered. Seeing Smallest Teammate's hesitation. "Cuff them or I will hurt them. And you won't like what I do. I imagine you will be much more gentle than me."

"It's ok, Smallest Teammate. It's ok." Team Leader rose on shaking legs. They had to do this for Smallest Teammate.

Smallest Teammate slowly, gently guided Team Leader to the chair. They cuffed Team Leader at the wrists and ankles, carefully avoiding pressing on the raw skin. They squeezed Team Leader's shoulders, their words failing them. What could they even say? Where would they even begin?

"Good, now grab the poker." Whumper pointed at the fire poker they had left in the lit fire pit.

Smallest Teammate balked. They couldn't do this. They wouldn't do this.

Whumper rolled their eyes. "If you don't grab the fire poker right now, so help me God, I will shove this poker so far up Team Leader's ass, it will come out the other end."

"I'm getting it!" Smallest Teammate said quickly. They couldn't let Wumper kill Team Leader. The team was coming. They just had to hold out a little longer.

"Poke them with it until I tell you to stop."

Smallest Teammate looked from the poker in their hand to Team Leader, their heart pounding. They couldn't do this. They couldn't do this to Team Leader. Team Leader nodded, as though to reassure Smallest Teammate. Smallest Teammate held their breath as they lunged forward, poker in hand.

Team Leader didn't start screaming until the fourth burn. They had whimpered quietly up until that point. But with each poke after the fourth burn, they screamed. They couldn't help it. Feeling their flesh sear and burn away was more painful than anything else.

But they couldn't beg for it to stop. Couldn't ask Whumper to stop Smallest Teammate. They had to endure for Smallest Teammate. Had to hold on until the rest of the team arrived. They had to.

It was that thought they held onto as Smallest Teammate poked them over and over. As Smallest Teammate rolled the poker down their side neck. And as the darkness mercifully claimed them.

Tags: @aarika-merrill @gala1981 @lthrboy @bookworm7543 @echo-of-umbra

@whump321 @st0rmm @whump-lover-and-reader @corbytheking @acer-whumpstuff @annng567

@defire @artisticdemon @tender-traps @crazytechpersonzreal @orangeduckweed

@st0rmm

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Augusnippets Day 31

Bonus Day Prompt; "Breaking the Conditioning" + " Forgiveness" ("Mind Control/Betrayal" Part 2)

FINAL DAY of @augusnippets August 2024 Whump writing challenge! (Augusnippets Masterlist)

Characters;

- POV/Whumpee/Whumper; Lancelot - The Weeping Monk

- Whumpee; Gawain - The Green Knight

- Whumper; OC "Sorceress"/"Mistress"

(Characters; Whumpees)

(Characters; Whumpers)

(Ao3 Link)

Wordcount; 449

TWs; near death, mind control, hypnosis, betrayal, forced to hurt, whumpee turned whumper, abuse.

Continuation of Day 1, Day 16, Day 25.

Direct Continuation of Day 28.

Blood flowed where steel kissed skin.

Emerald eyes widened with shock, then narrowed in bitter pain and understanding.

Gawain's life-force stained the ground, the Knight sunk to his knees with a quick exhale of tremouring breath.

NO!

At the terrible sight the hold on Lancelot's captured mind shattered like a million shards of painted glass, a bloodied sword slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor.

Lancelot sunk down beside Gawain, horror upon his face. Futile hands tried to undo what he had done, pour blood back into a broken, feeble body.

A feeble body HE had broken.

"How...?"

A woman's voice, confusion. Her voice. The one who'd commanded his blade.

That sword found his hands once more.

He would break two bodies today, for the curse of what she'd asked of him. For the sin of his lover's blood upon his hands, leeching into the grass at his feet like melting snow.

The Sorceress spoke soft whispers once more and yet they made no mark upon him.

Faced now as she was with unwavering steel and a mind that would not break again, she quite wisely fled.

Her once sworn blade spared not even a moment to watch her go.

Lancelot dropped to his knees again, weeping into the dirt as he cradled the Green Knight to his chest and begged any God that would listen to undo his cursed actions, to wash this blood from his hands.

"Forgive me..." He cried, buried face into a bloody neck, a heartbeat that still somehow stuttered against his ear.

"Lancelot..."

The voice of the one man he loved, the one man who's destruction would have been the ultimate test of his loyalty to her. The loyalty he had proven until it was much too late.

"It takes more than that to kill me, Lance."

Vines of gold and green crept over the Green Knight's skin and stitched him whole once more, new growth drowning the marks of ruin Lancelot had rent upon him, this desperate prayer answered by Gods he could not name with unholy, blessed magics.

A memory Lancelot could not yet reach told him he'd seen this once before.

"You're free now."

"I'm sorry..."

"You're free..."

"Forgive me, my love..."

"I'm here."

A trembling vine wreathed hand cradled his sharp jaw, brushed a tear away and hooked it gently, then turned it to meet the soft, bloodstained lips of his lover. Lancelot made no move to resist.

This taste upon his tongue, this distant memory made true once more burned through the cobwebs of his mind, a searing clarity shining brightly against the fading throes of the Sorceress' magic.

Awareness flooded him like sun breaking through cloud.

And there we have it, all 31 days of @augusnippets Whump Writing Challenge complete!

Big thank you to @holy3cake for reading this one for me and reassuring me the stilted-for-dramatic-affect writing still read ok.

Hopefully these drabbles and snippets have made sense, being taken from random ideas at random points for/from my main story. Speaking of the main story... Chapter 1 of Horizons into Battlegrounds, my Lancewain fic, has been posted on Ao3 HERE and will be posted on tumblr too shortly, please do go and check that out!

I've really enjoyed these, and I hope you have too. Please let me know what you thought of these, even if your comment is just a heart, it means the world to me and motivates me to keep writing! Thank you for reading, you lovely lot :)

[scealaiscoite]

.☽༊˚ prompts for helping bathe an injured loved one

¹⁾ sitting on the edge of the bathtub and letting them lay their head against your thigh as the fatigue starts taking hold

²⁾ “i know, i know it hurts but hold on for just a little longer and we’re done, yeah? think you can do that for me, pet?”

³⁾ helping them lean up so you can wash their back, and pretending not to notice them shaking in your arms

⁴⁾ “you needn’t be so gentle, y’know. if today wasn’t enough to break me, i doubt an ill-applied handful of shampoo will.”

⁵⁾ using your soapstuffs because the familiar scent will, hopefully, help calm them

⁶⁾ “i can’t believe it took a night like that for you to let me help you with something.”

⁷⁾ having never seen them in a state of undress before and so, trying admirably hard to avoid looking directly at them in such a vulnerable state

⁸⁾ “so mr/mrs surly and serious likes having their hair washed for them, hm? don’t worry, i’ll keep your secret.”

⁹⁾ climbing into the bath/shower with them, more for the physical comfort than practicality

¹⁰⁾ “i wish the first time you saw me like this could’ve been under better circumstances.”

¹¹⁾ stripping down to the same level of undress as them in an effort to try and make them feel more comfortable

¹²⁾ “can we- can we just stay here, like this, for a minute? please?”

¹³⁾ using as gentle a touch as possible to clean them off and feeling your heart break each time they still suppress a pained whimper

¹⁴⁾ “it’s just me now. you don’t have to be brave anymore.”

¹⁵⁾ trying to towel them dry but ending up just cradling them to your chest with the towel pressed aimlessly between you

[sp0o0kylights]

Whole thing on A03

It didn't matter how much Steve explained. Not one member of the Party was going to get it. 

Tommy and Carol would, but then, they were no longer on speaking terms. A fact that hurt even if it was for the best--particularly in times like these, because they got it. 

They understood how he had been ensnared with the very same wealth people mocked him for. What it meant when his parents demanded Steve drop everything and go on vacation, his own plans be damned. 

They knew, because their families had done much the same, and so the lives they led also were tethered to leashes made of their parents' design. 

Dustin, whose mother bent over backwards to try and better her kid’s life, didn’t even have a frame of reference for this kind of thing, let alone sympathy. 

"Do they not understand you have a job?" Dustin asked incredulously, and Steve didn't have the emotional bandwidth to explain that his parents didn't consider working at Family Video to be a real job. 

As far as they were concerned, Steve could quit if he had to, and then go find another job when they were done using him to play the nice, All-American family. 

Likely for business purposes.

"They aren't the type to care." Steve said instead. 

It was easier than getting into it.

(Easier than explaining the BMW wasn't in his name, but his parents. 

How his money went into a bank account they had access to. 

That practically everything he owned was actually owned by Richard and Stella Harrington, and both were quick to remind him of that fact the second they felt Steve was acting out of line. 

And boy, had he been acting out of line. 

 Getting into fights. 

Turning their punishment of working a job they picked specifically for the humiliating outfit, into the far worse public embarrassment of being involved in a mall fire--an embarrassment because Steve had "lost" the keys to the BMW, had "put himself in danger" playing hero instead of letting the perfectly capable firefighters do it, then “paraded around” with bruises all over his face, racking up medical bills. 

Truly a sin for someone who hadn’t made it into college.) 

So no, this vacation they demanded Steve drop everything for  was not anything close to a reward, or even something they were doing to spend time together. There was a reason they needed Steve, and as far as they were concerned, Steve was at their beck and call until he shaped up and got his life back on track. 

His own plans be damned. 

"That's not fair though!" Dustin burst out and Steve sighed in relief, because here at least, he knew what to do to distract his younger friend.

 “We planned our trip months ago!” Dustin continued, looking two seconds away from giving in and stomping his foot. 

The kid might have been smarter than Steve--smarter than most people really--by a hell of a lot, but he was still fourteen. 

Smarts, Steve knew, didn't exactly equate to emotional intelligence, and it definitely didn't stop rampaging hormones.

Ice cream on the other hand, was a great aid in both areas. 

"You better be making this up to us." Dustin threatened thirty minutes later, spoon wedged deep into a sundae. “We can’t do, like, half the stuff we were going to do without you!” 

“I'm sure you guys didn’t need me to play ghost runners or whatever.” Steve said, but was quick to back down when Dustin nearly threw his spoon at him. 

Rather than antagonizing him more, Steve dutifully raised his hand to put over his heart. "I swear on your mom that I’ll make it up to you.”  

Dustin rolled his eyes, but otherwise, finally, let the whole thing go. 

Stupidly, Steve thought this meant the worst was over.

He was wrong. 

xXx 

Mike hadn’t cared. 

El and Will hadn’t really either, though both expressed some sadness that Steve wouldn’t be participating in the camping trip that the Party as a whole had been looking forward to for the past few months. 

Erica had simply snapped at him, making him promise much the same as Dustin had that he would be making it up to her sometime in the future. Likewise, she had been bought off by ice cream (even if she insisted it didn’t count because Steve owed her ice cream anyways.) 

Max was the surprising emotional standout. 

"You can't tell them no?" She demanded, arms crossed over her chest. 

Lucas was hovering awkwardly at her shoulder, shooting "what can you do?" vibes as hard as he could at Steve as his (currently on-again) girlfriend outright dressed the elder boy down; her shoulders creeping up higher and higher until she seemed to realize she was visually giving away her upset and forcibly relaxed them. 

Unlike Dustin and Erica, her tirade was very out of character and Steve was growing more concerned by the second that something was wrong the more she spat at him. 

“I mean for fucks sake, didn’t you tell them you had plans!?” She finished, eyes narrowed in rage. 

Which was rich coming from someone whose stepdad had Billy Hargrove running all over town before he’d run off after the guy’s death, but then, Steve knew better than to bring all that up.

(The image of Max, unresponsive in the hospital with casts on almost every limb, was still too fresh. 

Even now he didn’t like to push her, even if the Party as a whole did their best to take notice when one of them was isolating themselves again. 

Max, though she was down to one crutch, was still inclined to use it as a weapon and very much enjoyed practicing her swings on people’s ankles.) 

“I did indeed. They don’t care and they’re not giving me a choice, but for what it’s worth I am sorry.” Steve tried to keep his voice even and out of angry-shrieking range, and vaguely prayed it was working. “I swear, I will make it up to you guys, even if we have to go on a second camping trip.” 

This was clearly not the correct thing to say.

Though judging by the murderous rage being aimed his way, Steve was pretty sure nothing short of “You know what you’re right, let me go tell my parents to fuck off!” would make Max happy. 

“So you’re seriously just going to drop everything, all our plans, your job, us,” She took a very threatening step forward and despite her being a full foot shorter than him, Steve had to fight not to take a responding step back. “So you can go play rich boy in the Bahamas?” 

“We’re not going to the Bahamas--” Steve tried, but was interrupted with a loud “ugh!” of disapproval. 

“Whatever makes you happy, Steven.” Max spat, and then turned on her heel, storming off towards the rest of the Party (who had taken one look at Max’s face and fled into the arcade so she and Steve could “talk.”) “I’m sorry us peasants weren’t good enough to hang around!”  

“Sorry man.” Lucas apologized quietly, on his way to run after Max. 

Steve just scrubbed a hand through his hair and sighed. 

xXx 

“The kids are mad at you.” Nancy announced, appearing across the Family Video counter like a phantom. 

Steve swore, nearly dropping his stack of VHS’s, while Robin (who had clearly seen Nancy approach) cackled at his fumble. 

“Yeah, I did get that memo.” Steve said, after he stabilized his stack, safely moving them from his arms to the counter. 

Nancy peered around them, her face giving away nothing. “It is kind of shitty to cancel at the last minute like that. We were relying on you to drive.”

An old fury shook itself awake in Steve’s chest, taking an interest in the conversation the second Steve realized what Nancy was here to do. 

He took a deep, shuddering breath, and pressed it down, back into the box he’d slammed it in all those years ago. 

“I’d leave the keys to Robin here, but unfortunately, someone failed their drivers test.” Steve said instead, jamming his finger over his shoulder and blatantly attempting to pass the buck. 

Robin, who absolutely knew that was what he was doing, faked a gasp and kicked at his ankles. 

“That crotchety asshole failed me on purpose!” She protested, spinning to face Nancy. “He made like, three misogynistic comments before we even got in the car!” 

“Pointing out that he knew the car wasn’t yours wasn’t misogynistic, he was just surprised to see me letting you use the Beemer.” Steve shot back, rolling his eyes. “I don’t exactly let a lot of people drive it.” 

Unspoken was that Steve’s BMW was one of the town’s more unique cars, and thus easily identifiable by the locals at large. 

“How is that better!?” Robin returned, but Nancy cleared her throat before they could successfully get the Steve-and-Robin show on the road. 

“The point is that we--but really, the kids, were counting on you.” Nancy said, dipping into her patented “I’m upset with you” tone. 

A year ago it would have cut Steve to the bone, even if he didn’t show it. 

Now he just stared tiredly at her back. 

“I’m sorry, Nance, but it is what it is.” He said simply, hoping the apology (even if he knew it wasn’t so much a real apology as it was something he said to keep the rage from breaking out and wrecking havoc via his mouth) would soften his ex. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”

Given the abrupt narrowing of her eyes, it very much did not help his case. 

“For someone who was so vocal about trying to change I have to say this is pretty disappointing.” Nancy said simply, but with just enough of a tone that Steve had to close his eyes for a second. 

Feel the way that old anger, the one that had powered King Steve, hit the bars of its cage.

Robin stilled immediately next to him, her head ping-ponging between Steve and Nancy both as she too, clocked that Nancy was pissed, and here to chew Steve out about it. 

“Um.” She said, voice going high in discomfort. 

Steve grit his teeth. “I don’t exactly get a say in these things, Nancy. You know that.” 

He had to work to keep his voice even, fighting against the ice that wanted to sharpen his own tone. 

It was just---Nancy did know. 

Steve had told her all those years ago, in the safety of her arms, about his parents' expectations. Their predetermined path, the way they dictated large swathes of his life. 

How they’d allowed him to pick which sports he played, but required that he play a sport no matter the time of year. 

That the pool they had installed wasn’t for him, he just got to use it as much as he did in part because he’d joined the swim team, and the kind of mental mind games he and his parents played about things like that. 

Apparently either Nancy had forgotten, or simply hadn’t taken it in to begin with because she wasn’t backing down. 

(Not that Steve had ever seen Nancy Wheeler back down.) 

“I know you have trouble juggling your parents' plans with your own.” Nancy said, and her tone was absolutely icy now. “I certainly remember waiting for a date that never happened.” 

Steve sucked in a breath through his teeth, knowing immediately what Nancy was referring to. 

“I told you they came home unexpectedly.” He said, arms now crossed against his chest, nails digging into his arms as a way to help himself stay grounded. “They wouldn’t let me use the phone until the next day and I apologized.”

“And I recall having a lovely conversation with your mother where she said otherwise.” Nancy said, her words punctuated by another high pitched “Uhhhh.” from Robin. 

“Funny how you believe my mom over me.” Steve said and whoops, yup, he definitely sounded mad now. 

So much for all the effort he’d put in to staying calm. 

“Because I look at actions, Steve. Patterns. The same ones you kept repeating.” Nancy was clearly about to escalate, and Robin, bless her, had had enough. 

“He-eeey.” She said, wedging herself in between Steve and the counter Nancy was starting to lean over. “I totally get it, you’re both upset, but this maybe isn’t the venue to fight about it? There are customers in the store and--sorry Nancy--but I do kinda need Steve for work, so…” 

She trailed off, glancing nervously between the two of them. 

Nancy took a breath, blasting it out of her mouth like an academically inclined dragon. “You’re right. I’m sorry Robin.”

She then turned on her heel, making her way to the doors. She paused before them, and Steve prepared himself because he knew whatever she was going to say next, it was going to hurt. 

“I wouldn’t care if it was just me, Steve, but the kids don’t deserve you pulling this shit. Not after all they’ve been through.” With that, Nancy pushed through the door, head held high as she stormed to her car. 

As was typical for Nancy’s aim, she scored a direct hit. 

Steve, somehow, resisted throwing things. 

“Can you believe her!?” He said, the second the doors were closed and Nancy safely out of eyeshot. “Coming in here like that!?” 

He ran his hand through his hair, once, twice. 

A third time for good measure. 

“Yeah, that was seriously public for her.” Robin agreed, sliding up next to him. “Like really public.” 

Steve shrugged, because well. Not really. 

Not anymore. 

But Robin didn’t know that, just like Robin wasn’t entirely familiar with the depths Steve’s parents went to save face. They hadn’t exactly had time to really dig into it all, given how fast the Vecna situation had hit after Starcourt and the sheer PTSD both incidents had caused. 

Most nights they spent together was spent trying to avoid reliving nightmares, not discussing ones they were currently still living in. 

A fact that Steve was more than happy to bring her up to speed on, but to do so involved a lot of backstory, and backstory involved Nancy, and God, he was fucking pissed at Nancy. 

Soon it was an hour into his rant and he hadn’t actually gotten around to the sheer level of shit his parents would pull, too busy with Nancy and old echoes of ‘bullshit.’ 

 He only stopped when Robin put a hand on his shoulder, shaking him ever so slightly. 

“Dingus. You know I love you, and I know you’ve changed, but you do gotta admit, canceling at the last minute is kinda shitty and I get why they’re upset.” 

It was like the carpet had been pulled right out from under Steve, yanked so quickly he’d have to pinwheel to keep his feet. 

“What?” He said, eyes round in sheer surprise. 

“I just mean like, I get your parents are dicks but,” Robin’s face screwed up, looking like she’d sucked a lemon. It was her “I’m going to say something you don’t like face” and it hit Steve like a punch to the gut. 

“Our shift’s almost over and no offense, you’ve started to repeat yourself about Nance, and I get it! I do, memory shit is hard!” Robin’s hands moved as she talked, her bracelets jingling as if punctuating her point. 

“But I also think admitting you double booked yourself on accident and just taking responsibility for it would help smooth things over. Middle ground, you know?” Robin waggled her hands in a gesture that, for the first time in a long time, Steve didn’t understand. 

He found himself suddenly struggling to breathe. 

“Are you--are you saying you think I didn’t tell them I had a trip already planned?” 

Steve wasn’t sure how he managed to get it out. Wasn’t sure how he was doing anything, given the heat that was shooting through him, a hot mix of confusion and betrayal as Robin fidgeted to his left. 

“No! Okay well,” The lemon face got worse for a second. “I’m just saying you did kinda forget to pick me up that one time, and you do kinda blame your parents when stuff like that happens.” She bit a nail, peering at him out of the corner of her eyes.  

“I don’t--” Steve said, completely knocked adrift. “I…”

Robin didn’t believe him.

His Robin. 

Who wasn’t--wasn’t exactly siding with Nancy, but wasn’t saying she was wrong either, or that she understood that this shit was out of his control, and in fact, was kind of implying that Nancy was right more so than Steve was and---and--

There was a ringing in Steve’s ears he wasn’t sure actually existed. 

“I’m sure a lot of it is your brain injury. The doctors said your short term memory can take a while to fully come back and I totally get why you don’t wanna say that, I just, I think it would be better if--Steve?” Robin jumped back as Steve finally found his footing, swiping his jacket and punching out before she could catch how badly his hands were shaking. 

“I’m leaving.” Steve told her, his own words a million miles away, entirely uncaring if Keith fired him. 

Keith was likely going to fire him anyway, given Steve was about to ask for a week-long vacation not even four months after the whole Vecna ordeal. 

“Wait, Steve, hey--Dingus! I wasn’t done, I mean, I had more to say I, dammit Steve--!” Robin called after him frantically as Steve bolted for the door. 

Steve ignored her, aiming for the Beemer and swinging himself numbly into the driver's seat when he got it open. 

Put the car in park and avoided Robin’s face entirely as he backed it out, punching the gas far harder than he needed to. 

The Beemer roared in response, nose rising as it shot forward. 

Robin was his best friend. His fucking--platonic soulmate, as she kept calling him. The very idea that she agreed with Nancy in general was a blow but in this?

Against his parents? 

Nausea rolled angrily in Steve’s stomach, matching the sudden wetness that coated his eyes. 

Angry and needing an outlet, Steve stomped hard on the gas, taking the next corner far too sharp and making the beemer fishtail, tires squealing . 

He didn’t know where he was going.

He figured he’d find out when he got there. 

xXx 

Given what Steve knew about the universe at large, (nevermind Hawkins) it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to hang around the Quarry at night.

But then, summer was in full swing. Kids were home from college and itching to find a place to party without parental overhead. 

Deep to the left side of the water, around a few bends and tucked oh so neatly out of sight, was a place where one could do just that. 

Party.

This stretch had long been claimed by the college kids of Hawkins, and guarded zealously for it. 

With the sheer number of drunk people whooping and hollering around the bonfires below the ridge where everyone parked their cars, Steve figured he was safe enough. 

Even if he was up with said cars, sitting alone. 

Not like it mattered. If a demodog or demogorgan or demo-fucking-dragon decided to come along, Steve had half a mind to just let it have him. 

It felt easier than trying to fix the current mess his life was in. 

So he sat up here, blowing through the alcohol he’d purchased from the one gas station that never carded, drinking his problems away. 

(That also wasn’t the best course of action but with his parents home to spring the whole “vacation” ordeal on him, it wasn’t like Steve had a choice.) 

He hadn’t grabbed a lot--had been so damn upset and struggling to hide it that he’d picked up a four pack of wine coolers instead of the intended beer he’d wanted. It was all he had though, and so he chugged the last bottle with a wince and wished he was a hell of a lot drunker than he felt.

Then promptly caught sight of the person walking towards him, and wondered vaguely if he was drunker than he felt. 

Of all the people to come and offer him a can of beer, Steve would have never expected Tommy Hagan. 

He eyed it and his old friend both, before slowly reaching out and taking the can. 

“Heard you and your parents are doing CoHo this year.” Tommy said casually, leaning up against the front of the Beemer like it was old times. 

“Yup.” Steve replied, drawing the word out. 

“Angie Tideman’s parents are going, they’re bringing her ith .” Tommy said it casually, and had the good graces not to grin when Steve audibly groaned.

“Oh god.”

Tommy sucked on a lip, nodding absently. “Yeah.” 

Then; “It gets worse.” 

Steve, who now knew what this conversation was about, instantly began tearing into the beer can. “How can it get worse? You know what Angie’s like.”

Angie, whose full name was Angelina, lived a few towns over. Born to wealthy parents who doted on their beloved only child, Angie had more in common with your average shark than she did her fellow humans. 

A comparison that, frankly, was unkind to sharks.

She was without a doubt the most selfish person Steve had ever had the misfortune of encountering, and the mere idea of being trapped in a room with her made his skin crawl. 

Their parents were business buddies though, and god forbid he ever insult a business buddies kid, 

“She goes to Purdue, you know, with me and Carol.” Tommy said, instead of answering directly. “We cross paths a lot, party wise.” 

Steve stayed silent. 

Knew how Tommy talked, how his stories meandered. Especially the juicy ones. 

“She’s been talking a lot recently. Given you don’t look all that informed, I’m gonna assume the one person she hasn’t talked to is you.” 

Steve gripped the can of beer, a sudden, sick fear blooming in his gut. 

“Tommy.” He said mildly, not loud enough to really interrupt, but with enough force to let his former friend know to get to the point, now. 

“Got all super fancy right before we left for summer break. Hair done, whole new wardrobe, nails, you know.” Tommy waggled his fingers playfully, but dropped them when Steve just stared. “Went full whore on us. I swear she was making out with any guy who even looked at her--” 

“Tommy.” He repeated, this time a hell of a lot firmer. 

Done pushing, Tommy let go of the proverbial bombshell. “Apparently you’re planning on proposing to her this summer. She’s gonna return next year as an engaged woman, with you in tow, because apparently, you got into Purdue. Congrats by the way.” 

Tommy clapped him on the shoulder, right as Steve’s mouth went dry. 

For the second time that day, he found himself fighting the burning heat of embarrassment and fury as it rolled through him. 

“I’m proposing.” Steve said, as if saying it out loud would scare the very idea away. “To Angie.” 

“Yeah we kinda figured you didn’t know.” Tommy said with a snide little grin. To the average outsider it was mocking, but Steve knew better.

Tommy was uncomfortable, because Tommy had understood what Steve’s parents had done. 

“What I’d like to know is just how much Angie’s parents paid to get you into Purdue. That’s gotta be a minimum fifty thousand dollar donation at least.” Tommy removed his hand, to instead lean his shoulder against Steve’s. Like this was the old times, before they’d fought. “ I didn’t think they had that kind of money to throw around.”  

A past conversation with his father struck Steve, running through the front of his mind like a bad horror movie. 

“They sold the estate.” Steve said vacantly, the implications not quite hitting. “The one they’ve been trying to get rid of forever, over in Cape Cod.” 

“Oh shit.” Tommy said, blinking as he too, recalled what was likely his father telling him the very same news. 

“They sold the place on Cape Cod, and they used part of the funds to fucking buy me like a toy.” And yeah, saying it out loud, it definitely sounded bad. “I didn’t think Angie even liked me.”

“Does Angie like anyone?” Tommy asked, incredulously, but nudged Steve’s shoulder again when his joke didn’t net him the laugh he wanted.. “I mean, you had to know your old man had plans to straighten you out. He keeps getting mad at my dad, because the ass won't stop making jokes that I’m going to take over the company instead of you.” 

“And this is it. Attaching me to Angie.” Steve said vacantly. “Because they know if I get married…” 

He’d put his wife first. His family, first. 

The one he’d wanted, dreamed of, since he first realized he didn’t have one. 

He’d been playing checkers the entire time, too busy fighting fucking monsters and Russians to realize his parents had upgraded to chess. 

In a dizzying array of mental connect-the-dots, Steve replayed the last years worth of conversations. All the odd little things they’d said. All the dumb things Steve had just ignored. 

 They’d warned him. 

Had told him he better shape up, or they’d be forced to do something drastic. 

That his parents hadn’t wasted all this time, effort, money on him, for him to throw away his life like he was. 

“You better start acting right and figuring out how to get your life back on track, because you won’t like what happens if I have to fix it for you. You get a month Steven, and after that? Well. Just remember you forced my hand, Steven.” 

They knew. They knew him, and what made him tick.

“I think the real question is what Angie’s parents see in you.” Tommy teased, but then they both knew the answer to that puzzle. 

For all that Steve’s mom complained about her husband, the guy was a shrewd and calculating businessman. Those weekends, then weekdays, then more and more time away hadn’t just been so he could go screw his secretary. 

Richard Harrington had fast tracked his business to the point where it was now getting attention. The business journal, ‘Top 50 Companies to Watch’ kind. 

Even if Steve fucked up entirely, he was set to inherit a fortune and a business that would continue adding to it, for some time to come. 

Provided he did what his parents wanted.

Such as marrying Angie. 

Thing was, if his parents did what they always did, and held their wealth (his car, his home, his life and all the little things in it) against him like a gun to his head, if Angie got that ring around her finger? 

 Steve would bow to their whims. 

 Because they could fluster him into proposing so he didn’t embarrass Angie, and her parents and anyone else who’d undoubtedly be watching. They’d make a spectacle of it. 

Because once he did propose, they wouldn’t let him back out, burying him under guilt trips and veiled threats until he was marched down the aisle in a groomsman suite and told to stand. 

Because against all common sense, Steve wanted a family who loved him so desperately he’d chase it like a dog if he was presented with the opportunity and told to make it work. 

It didn’t matter that Angie was selfish. 

Steve would try anyway. 

His parents were maneuvering him as easily as they had back when he was a kid, using love as a tool to get him to do what they wanted and even seeing the nose hanging from the rafters, they knew just the right words to get him to place it around his neck. 

“Thought you’d wanna know.” Tommy finished, pushing himself off Steve’s car. “Before your parents sprung it on you.” 

“Sonofabitch.” Steve hissed angrily, a million thoughts racing through his head, the heat of being caught in a trap blasting down his spine. 

“Yeah.” Tommy added, rather unhelpfully. “But hey, given that you’re about to go on vacation to propose, why don’t we consider this,” here Tommy swept his hand, gesturing to the party below, “your proposal party?” 

It was a downright horrible idea.

But then, Steve didn’t exactly have a better one. 

Not  when the world itself seemed against him, grinding its heel into his back and laughing about it. 

He knew the drill. If he went down there, arm in arm with Tommy, then it wouldn’t matter that half those kids were from a few towns over, driven in by new college buddies.  

They’d see him as a reason to get wild, absolutely uncaring that they didn’t know who the hell he was. 

Steve needed that.

People who weren’t mad at him, buying into the easy lies his parents wove, or who didn't understand the games played against him. 

“Fuck it.” He announced, standing up from the hood of his car as Tommy’s grin morphed into something he used to see in the days of old, back when they were sneaking drinks from their parents' alcohol cabinets. “This way at least I get a party.”

Not like his parents were going to let him have an engagement party. Or a bachelor party, or likely let his ass back into Hawkins. 

No matter how long the engagement. 

Tommy cheered, raising his arms to the sky and Steve grinned wildly with him. 

He’d figure out how to get out of all this later--but for now, he wanted just a few damn hours where he didn’t have to think. 

Not about his parents, or Angie, or possible attempts to force him into marriage, like this was the yee olden days and Steve was a Victorian maiden who needed to be brought to heel. 

Likewise he didn’t want to think about the Party, or Russian torture, or how Nancy could be so damn smart in some things and downright stupid in others. 

He absolutely didn't want to think about Robin. 

“Hey boys and girls, look who I drug up!” Tommy yelled as they approached and soon, word had spread.

This was Steve’s proposal party, and he was here to get absolutely smashed (while encouraging everyone else to do the exact same, in his honor.) 

Which would be how Eddie found him a few hours later.

Still at the quarry, crossfaded off his ass, a forty in one hand and a lawn dart in the other. 

“Are you kidding me, Steve?” Eddie grit out, desperately trying to wrestle the lawn dart out of his hand. “You’re fucking partying with Tommy Hagan!?” 

Steve blinked at him a few times, finally catching on that Eddie was in fact, actually there. 

“When did you show up?” He asked, though given the wince on Eddie’s face and just how hard it had been to move his lips, Steve correctly assumed he’d slurred the shit out of the question. 

Somehow, Eddie understood him anyway. 

“Robin called me a while ago, gave me a list of places you might be. Almost skipped this one until I stepped out of my van to take a piss and heard the party.” Eddie explained, and somehow while doing so, he’d successfully gotten a hold of the dart. 

He was now working on removing the 40 ounce. 

Steve frowned, using his newly freed hand to grip it closer to his chest. 

“Harrington.” Eddie warned, and oh, wow, they were back to last names huh?

Well why not, it wasn't like his night could get worse. 

“This is mine, Munson.” Steve fired back, putting as much vitriol into Eddie’s last name as he could.

This did not detour the metalhead. 

“Come on man, give me the bottle.” Eddie said firmly. 

Steve shook his head stubbornly, enjoying the way his hair whipped at his face. “No.”

Another man stumbled over, a guy Steve absolutely did not know. He frowned, looking between Eddie and Steve. 

For two seconds, Steve thought they might have trouble, and given the way Eddie was tensing, he clearly thought so too. 

Instead, New Guy just kind of rocked on his heels. “Hey, shove off it, buddy. It’s this guy's bachelor party, let the man drink!” 

Eddie’s face did something complicated then, pulling the sort of expressive looks only he could manage.

It was both adorable and hilarious, and if Steve hadn’t just been reminded of the very reason he was drinking, he’d have told Eddie so. 

“Yeah!” He said instead, raising his hand in the air, toasting his bottle of forty against the other guy’s red solo cup. “It’s my proposalengagmentbachelor party!” 

Given the second, adorable-slash-hilarious look on Eddie’s face, Steve assumed those words hadn’t come out right either. 

“Okay.” Eddie said hands on his hips in a stance Steve was pretty sure Eddie had gotten from him. “Here’s what's going to happen. You’re going to put the bottle away. Then you’re going to give me your car keys, and then the two of us are going to my house to sleep whatever is happening here, off.” 

At least, that's what Steve thought he heard. It was a pretty un-Eddie like speech, and Steve maybe, might have been the one to say it, because he maybe, might have been mocking what Eddie had actually said.

Maybe.

It was hard to know, given that Steve’s thoughts were a thick soup on a bit of a time delay, and he was having a hard time figuring up from down, let alone what Eddie had been actually saying. 

Speaking of; 

 “When did I get into your car?” Steve asked, blinking as the van’s passenger seat appeared before him.

“Just now.” Eddie said, helping him in.

“Huh.” Said Steve, and then he maybe passed out a bit, because once again, he found himself awake and alert at a place that wasn’t where he’d just been. 

“Come on.” Eddie said gently, one of Steve’s arms over his shoulder as Steve leaned heavily into him, guiding the jock up the stairs and into the small house he and Wayne now called a home. 

The guy might have muttered a few things about bachelor parties along the way, but Steve was too focused on walking straight to really take notice. 

Part Two

[bigassmoonchild]

Maple Syrup Masterlist

THIS SERIES IS COMPLETED

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Total Parts: 17

Total Word Count: ~43.3k

Summary: A mission that was supposed to be easy doesn't go your way, but when does it ever when the 141 is involved? Aphrodisiacs that were incredibly powerful were used on yourself and Simon, and with one accident it took over your lives. Now, you need to figure out how to go about life as a newly mated Omega in a world made for Alphas.

Content Tags: Smut, Dubious Consent, Sex Pollen, Fuck or Die, Heat, Rut, Angst, Knotting, PIV Sex, Biting, Hurt/No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Canon Typical Violence, Depictions of Violence, Mentions of Pregnancy, Kinda Pregnancy Loss, Teasing, Use of Pet-Names, Simon is shit at talking and emotions, He figures it out tho, Dropping of the L word, Near Death, Pregnancy, Vomiting, Task Force 141 is a Pack, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha! Ghost, No Use of Y/N

A/N: I just wanted to make sure anyone who needed (or wanted) to have a one-stop shop for the Maple Syrup series (and drabbles pertaining to it) can have it. Please send me asks! Masterlist under the Cut!

🧼 = smut, 🧸 = angst, 💞 = fluff

Main Storyline:

Part 1: Maple Syrup 🧼

Part 2: The Aftermath 🧸

Part 3: Alpha, Please 🧼💞

Part 4: Feral 💞

Part 5: The Hearing 🧸

Part 6: Talk 🧸

Part 7: Lost and Found 🧸 💞

Part 8: Hot and Cold 🧼 🧸

Part 9: Hoops 🧸

Part 10: Thirteen 🧸

Part 11: Tags 🧸

Part 12: Ghost 🧸

Part 13: Tea 🧸💞🧼

Part 14: Meetings 🧸💞

Part 15: Tears 🧸💞

Part 16: Nothing 🧸

Part 17: Happy 💞🧸

Drabbles, Oneshots, Side-Stories:

Simons Rut 🧼

Headcannons 💞🧸🧼

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (XXVIII)

Part one // MASTERPOST // continued from here

Haha— this part is shit and all over the place, but it is published today!!! So there ya go🙂‍↕️ some whumpy stuff, the end is crap— yeah, idk, it will be edited at some point 🤷🤷‍♀️🤷‍♂️

*~*~*~*~*

Kit really needed to pee. Like he really needed to go, but here he was, still handcuffed to the headboard of the bed, and every possible position he tried to get into to unbutton his pants didn’t work out so he was sitting on the bed like a bold child and trying not to think about how much he really needed to pee.

Because it was verging on the edge of painful.

The sun had fallen since Jude had tried to strangle him and get his revenge. Ambrose must have left a few hours ago, and Kit was hungry and tired, but not tired enough to sleep.

And fuck… he really needed the toilet.

So eventually his organs overclouded by his better judgement and he reached out for Ambrose.

Psssttt… Dickhead.

Nothing. Kit stared at the wall ahead of him and shifted his position a little on the bed.

Psssst… Omenbitch.

Still nothing. Was Ambrose ignoring him? The fucking nerve of this guy!

HEY! Kit thought louder. YOU PIECE OF SH—

WHAT?!

Kit physically recoiled at the anger and deafening reply Ambrose shot him.

Kit… Ambrose said, and Kit could picture him sighing. Sorry, what do you want?

I need to piss.

Then piss.

On the floor?

Why not?

I’m not a fucking untrained dog for one, arsehole!

Well that is debatable.

You are such a dickhead.

For fuck’s sake, Nathan boomed in Kit’s mind and Kit’s ears rang from the sheer intensity of his voice. Nathan didn’t master the same control Ambrose did. He didn’t grow up with the gift, just appropriated it. What are you two arguing about?

I need to piss, Kit said at the same time that Ambrose said, he needs to piss.

Then piss.

Kit let out a frustrated sigh and stomped his foot on the ground.

Actually… Nathan continued. Hmm, Kit, perhaps you can piss and join us for dinner. I’ll have Jude fetch you.

Wait— Kit thought but winced as an invisible hand grabbed his head and slammed it back against the wall to cut him off. Kit hissed, his brain fogging over as the heat from the impact blossomed along his skull. Fucking dickhead with his stupid fucking powers. Maybe he should find someone with the power to not be a dickhead and he would be palatable then.

Don’t resist, Kit, Ambrose said in his mind. Kit knew not to reply because Nathan would hear him, but still. What would he say to that? His muscles were stiff from being cooped up on the bed for so long, unable to leave the room. And he was fucking starving. Dinner sounded great right about now.

A few minutes later and Kit heard footsteps coming up the stairs towards his room. He sat up on the edge of the bed as much as possible, eager to stand up finally. His eyes found cruel green when the door opened. Jude smiled at him as he walked in.

Kit swallowed the riling remark on the tip of his tongue, Ambrose told him not to resist so he would be good.

“Look at you, sitting and waiting like a good puppy. Well come on, everyone’s waiting,” Jude said and Kit frowned. He pulled on his cuffs as to remind him that Kit was stuck on the bed. Jude tilted his head. “Well?”

“I—” Kit began but cut himself off. “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t,” Kit said through clenched teeth, rattling the cuffs again. Jude hummed and walked over to Kit. His green eyes lazily went over Kit’s arms locked behind his back to the bed, clearly seeing the handcuffs before he looked Kit in the eyes again, his smile sharp.

“Looks like you’re not trying hard enough,” Jude said with a shrug. Before Kit could ask if this guy was fucking mentally deficient, Jude’s hand shot out and he grabbed Kit’s cheeks, squeezing them hard until Kit couldn’t close his mouth or do anything except try and shake Jude’s hand off.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Jude said, wrenching Kit’s head up so he was staring Jude in the eyes. Kit struggled in the cuffs, metal clanging dully against wood, trying to dislodge Jude’s hand but it was all in vain. Jude’s eyes seemed to get darker and Kit froze.

“No!” Kit protested, but with his mouth half open it just sounded like oh. As in, I know what you’re about to do, kind of oh.

“Kit, I think you’re not putting any effort into following me downstairs like a good boy. So how about you get out of your cuffs,” — even before he finished Kit could feel the fog settling over his mind, his struggles seizing momentarily, — “and follow me downstairs.”

Jude let go of Kit’s face and Kit’s expression turned blank as he began to pull at the cuffs. Yanking his wrists free, trying to twist and turn and pull them out of the cuffs, hut the cuffs were on too tight, locked with no wiggle room. All his struggles earned him was pain and he cried out as he yanked and tugged and pulled.

Kit?! Ambrose asked but Kit couldn’t answer. He had to get out of the cuffs. Jude stepped back and grinned, watching as the hero struggled and writhed in pain, trying to free himself from his restraints. There was always something so beautiful about overriding someone’s self-preservation and watching them destroy themselves.

“Fuck!” Kit screamed as he felt warm blood trickle from his wrists as he yanked violently at the cuffs on the bed. “Please, please— AGH!”

“It’s not difficult, Kit. Come on now, chop chop. Everyone’s waiting for you.”

Kit ripped and tore, his shoulder slammed violently forward as he squirmed, using one foot on the floor and the other on the bed to try and pull his hands free as the stench of iron filled the room. Jude chuckled behind him, his cat-like amusement palpable as Kit changed position again.

He turned his body, his arms twisting around and he pulled with a horrific scream until a loud crack echoed around the room and Kit cried out in pain, falling to the floor. He let out a loud, pained grunt as he cradled his broken hand and brought it to his chest.

“KIT!” Ambrose screamed up the stairs, but Kit barely heard it, the world swimming in front of him as blood poured from his wrists. A hand grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and yanked him to his feet. Kit stumbled into a standing, his feet stumbling and fumbling over each other as he was pushed forward.

They stopped just before the stairs and a door was opened in front of him. All he saw was white before he was shoved in and Kit went sprawling, his hands out to catch him and he screamed.

“JUDE YOU FUCKING— I SWEAR TO GOD, NO GET OFF ME, NATE!”

“You have sixty seconds,” Jude said sweetly. “I’ll even close the door for you.”

Kit blinked, pain vignetting his vision. His blood coated the tiles with a putrid crimson, oh, he was in a bathroom. Right.

He had needed to pee…

Kit grabbed the edge of something white with his good hand and started to pull himself up, blinking away the pain, his body numbed to feeling. His teeth chattered as he looked around, searching for the toilet. Just in front of him… he would— he could make that.

Bloody handprints smeared the walls as Kit made his way over, the handcuffs still locked around his good wrist. It was an effort to unbutton his pants, but he felt so much better after peeing. Like his hand wasn’t mangled right now.

When he saw his face in the mirror over the sink he recoiled, disgusted. He wasn’t pale, he was white. White as the bathroom tiles, almost see through, his skin translucent and stretched taut over the bones in his face. His skin was breaking out in red sores and his eyes were veined with that luminous red lightning stretching like branches across his face.

He looked like a monster.

Like something from a ghost story.

He washed his good hand and glanced down at his mangled one, a heavy, warm feeling turning in his stomach that he swallowed as he grabbed his bad arm and forced it under the cold water. He cried out, biting his cheek and lips to dampen the sound but he abandoned that all together when the water hit his thumb and he cried out.

“Times up, drama queen,” Jude said, opening the door. Kit looked at him with wet eyes, a shivering, pale mess, like a cancer patient or a terminally sick man. Was he going to die with this red lightning? Was that his future? He didn’t…

All of sudden Jude was in front of him, turning off the tap and grabbing Kit by the hair, yanking him out behind him. “Fuck, ow! Let me go! Stop! Let me—”

“Go?” Jude asked, coming to a sudden stop. “Gladly.”

With a strong swing, Jude dragged Kit in front of him and then kicked Kit in the hip and Kit fell. Only he didn’t stop. His elbow hit one stairs, his head following, his feet going over his head, hitting his knee, his ankle, his bad hand and he gasped as he rolled and bounced and tumbled until he stopped and he whimpered at the bottom, coughing, trying to get some air back in his lungs.

“I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!” Ambrose seethed and Kit was vaguely aware of a struggle but his brain wasn’t cooperating enough help him fill in the gaps. He wheezed as he put his good hand under him, still wet from the water and it slid across the floor and he fell again. Pathetic.

Weak.

He can’t even lift his head, god, what would Mentor think of him like this? If he saw him now? His second chance? His strong legacy? Would he turn away like he did to Ambrose? Would he throw him out and tell him to never come knocking again?

“Kit, hey,” a pair of black eyes met Kit’s, but even holding a gaze seemed too monumental a task. “It’s okay. You’re fine. I’m going to get you up, okay?”

Kit hummed in pain. Ambrose took it as assent. He hooked an arm around Kit’s waist and grabbed his bad arm at the elbow, putting Kit’s arm over his shoulder. Kit moaned wetly as his hand bounced off Ambrose’s shoulder as the villain stood the two of them up. Kit put weight on his leg and one of his ankles folded and he gasped as he crumbled, but Ambrose kept him up.

“It’s okay. Hey, it’s okay. I got you. Come on, it’s okay,” Ambrose said as he walked Kit to a chair at the dining table. “You’re fine. Come on. It’s okay.”

Kit was openly crying but he didn’t care. He was exhausted and starving and humiliated and in pain, he wanted someone to be nice to him. Even if Ambrose did torture him before, he needed, no he craved the kindness now and he would take it from anybody. His life has been too hard lately, he just wants something nice, something soft.

“There,” Ambrose said, gently depositing Kit in a chair. Kit shivered as Ambrose let go of him. Before Ambrose could step away, Kit’s good hand shot across his body and grabbed Ambrose’s sleeve. Ambrose stiffened beside him. “Hey, Kit— it’s—”

“Oskar.” Nathan said, his voice commanding, and Kit whimpered. He tightened his fingers in Ambrose’s sleeve, begging without speaking for Ambrose not to leave him. Silver eyes cut into Kit’s face. He trembled and shut his eyes, turning his head into Ambrose’s arm. “Come here, now.”

“Nate, please, he’s—”

“Do you want me to let Jude come and break you up?”

Kit tightened his grip and whimpered again. “Please,” he whispered. “Please, please, please,” he said as Ambrose took his hand and plucked it off his sleeve. “Ambrose please, don’t leave.”

“I’m not leaving, I’m just sitting over here, okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Anything else happen to me, Kit corrected silently.

Ambrose’s shoulders wound tight at that, but he continued walking past Nate to a seat at the opposite end of the table. It wasn’t a big table, but in Kit’s current state, it would take him years to cross it or reach safety. All he could do was shake in his chair like a fucking chihuahua.

Kit’s eyes slid to Nathan’s silver that were fixed on him, swirling slowly like mercury. It made Kit motion sick. “I’m guessing we don’t have to restrain you, do we?”

“F-f-fuck you.” Kit spat. The effort pulled a cough from his chest, he doubled over the table and gasped. He could feel the beginnings of a nosebleed trickle down his nose, warm and sticky on his face as it ran over his lips.

“Mmm, I’m terrified, little hero.” Nathan said as he turned away and walked to the other end of the table, pulling out the seat directly opposite Kit. He sat down in his chair and reached his hand out to grab Ambrose’s hand in his.

Kit glanced at Ambrose who stiffened, but allowed Nathan to lift his hand and press a possessive kiss to his knuckles. “It’s so nice to get to know your new friend, Oskar. Tell me. How did you two meet?”

Kit steadied himself and sat back in the chair, resting his head against the soft cushion. The room was swirling in front of his eyes, everything hazy and a little too bright so he closed his eyes but that didn’t help the wooziness that followed and made him feel worse.

“Work,” is all Ambrose replied. Kit opened his eyes again at the answer.

Amused mercury eyes found Kit’s. Nathan rubbed his thumb over the back of Ambrose’s knuckles. “Did you try to stop the great Omen, Kit?”

Kit didn’t answer. He just stared. A small searing ring started to echo in the back of Kit’s mind as Ambrose lurched forward and wrapped two hands around Nathan’s. The ringing stopped as Nathan turned to Ambrose, smiling a little sadly at him.

“Don’t. He won’t be able to handle anymore pain!” Ambrose said, his voice pleading.

“So?” Nathan asked, reaching his free hand up to brush Ambrose’s dark curls away from his eyes. “What do I care if he dies?”

“If you kill him, I’ll leave.” Ambrose snapped. That seemed to suck all air from the room. If Kit wasn’t lightheaded before he certainly was now. Nathan’s expression was as calm as the eye of a storm, but even here Kit could feel his cold fury at Ambrose’s ultimatum.

Nathan sat back in his chair, pulling his hand from Ambrose’s. His eyes flickered to Kit, then to Ambrose and back to Kit before he smiled. “I see. That’s how it is, is it?”

“Yes,” Ambrose snapped. “That’s how it is.”

Nathan let out a small, humourless chuckle. His eyes glinted like gunmetal as he pushed back on the table, wood scraping against wood. Ambrose stood too.

“Nate—”

“Sit down, Ambrose.”

“Wait, what’re you—” the wind was knocked from Ambrose’s lungs as he was thrown heavily into his chair. The wood bent like liquid around his arms and hardened again as Nathan started towards Kit. “Nate! Stop, wait. I’m sorry— I won’t—”

“No, Oskar, you’re right.” Nathan said. Kit clicked his fingers below the table, but all he could generate was a measly spark with the cuffs still locked around one hand. He was too weak. “I don’t want to kill the boy, do I? But that’s okay. We can rough him up as much as we like. I can give him to Jude as a toy and tell him to bring him to the brink of death over and over and over again.”

“Nathan!” Ambrose cried, grunting as he struggled to break his wooden shackles.

Nathan grabbed Kit’s broken hand and squeezed. Kit screamed, crying out as he tried to escape or push Nathan off of him. Nathan turned to Ambrose.

“Nathan, stop! Please!”

“Hush, you worry too much. Look, I can do this.”

The sound of bones breaking echoed through Kit’s skull and he roared as his body repaired itself. He could feel his body stitch itself back together artificially, the heat of his cells and blood working overtime as he writhed under Nathan’s touch.

After what felt like an eternity Nathan released him and Kit’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. He slipped from the chair, boneless, his head slapped off the wooden floor and he woke again, moaning in pain. He reached a hand up to his temple and he shivered when he realised that was his broken hand. The hand Jude forced him to rip from the cuffs.

Kit turned, his body moving like molasses, sludge-like and slow, as he turned onto his back and scrambled back from Nathan who was advancing towards him again.

“Nathan! The trauma on his body will kill him! His heart—” Ambrose stammered, struggling in hushed wooden prison. “He can’t take another healing like that in such a short amount of time.”

“Oh don’t worry, Osk.” Nathan said, smiling shark-like down at Kit. Kit’s heart stuttered in his chest as he clicked his fingers but nothing. Fucking! STUPID CUFFS! FUCK!

“Don’t come near me,” Kit yelled. “You fucking psychopath! Let us go!”

Nathan stopped advancing as Kit’s back hit something solid. He froze, his chest rising and falling erratically. He didn’t recognise the solid thing behind him was a pair of legs until knees were bending into his shoulders and he jerked away. Kit threw himself to the side on his hands and knees and pushed himself up, running towards Ambrose’s chair and pulling at the wooden beams locking his arms down.

“Kit, I’ll be fine,” Ambrose said, his voice sounded strangely gentle and pleading. “Go! Just—”

“Kiiiiiiiiiiitttt,” and Kit swayed on his feet. Ambrose turned his head and said something but the words turned to water and slipped through his fingers like a sieve, unable to catch them or decipher them.

A hand grabbed his face and turned him to look into dark green eyes and Kit snapped out of his trance, smacking Jude’s hands away and grabbing the free cuff in his fist before sending a punch straight to Jude’s jaw. Then his nose.

The maniac stumbled back, blood dripping from his face but Kit didn’t give him an inch and stepped in again, clicking his fingers with one hand while he punched Jude in the eye this time and the villain screamed as something squelched. Lightning sparked in Kit’s fist and he channeled it into the hand with the cuff and grabbed Jude with his free hand, going for the final blow.

A hand caught his fist and Kit’s eyes shot to Nathan. The veins erupting from his silver eyes were electric purple, and the electricity consumed Kit’s until Kit’s grip on Jude let up. He jerked back, yanking his arm back but Nathan just crushed his hand around Kit’s until Kit’s wrist bent under the sheer strength.

“OKAY! Okay! Fuck!” Kit screamed, folding with his arm to his knees but Nathan didn’t relent.

“Nate! Nate, please! Stop!” Ambrose cried frantically. “Please! Leave him alone!”

“Just who is this kid to you, Oskar?!” Nathan demanded, kicking Kit onto his back and stomping on his chest. “Why do you care about him so much?!”

“Because he’s— he— fuck,” Ambrose yelled, slamming his head back on the chair. “He’s…”

“He’s?”

“I don’t know!” Ambrose snapped. Kit’s eyes went to Ambrose, brows coming over his eyes. What the fuck was Ambrose talking about? “Mentor adopted him when I left, Nate.”

Nathan froze above Kit. His head snapped to Ambrose and he got off of Kit. It wasn’t like Kit could move, he could feel a telekinetic energy rippling above him like a barrier, keeping him pinned but he could turn his head to Ambrose and Nathan.

Nathan’s eyes were hard, his brows lowered slightly and pinching together in something like concern. Nathan grabbed Ambrose’s chin and forced Ambrose to look at him. “What?” Nathan demanded, breathless.

“I didn’t know,” Ambrose said. “I didn’t know it when I met Kit, but— it’s true.”

For a long, tense moment, Nathan said nothing, just stared, his eyes searching Ambrose’s face for something, anything.

“Oh Oskar,” Nathan said with a sigh, leaning down and pressing a kiss to Ambrose’s forehead. Silver eyes glanced down to Kit. “We can kill him together if you like.”

“No!” Ambrose said quickly. Kit’s heart thundered against his ears, his blood rushing through his body quickly, preparing his muscles for a fight. “No. That’s not what I want.”

“Then what is it, Osk?” Nathan asked, leaning back and cupping Ambrose’s cheeks with both of his hands, forcing Ambrose to look at him. “What is it about this fucking kid that would make you sacrifice everything for him? This isn’t you. You’re not a hero.”

“This isn’t about being a hero!” Ambrose protested.

“Isn’t it?” Nathan challenged. “You think if you can save this kid that maybe it will change how your father looks at you?”

Ambrose didn’t hesitate. “No.”

“You’re lying, Oskar.”

“I already took everything from him, Nate!” Ambrose snapped. Kit flinched on the ground. Everything from him? How much did Kit have to offer? Not much, if everything meant that Kit’s life was already used and ruined by Omen.

Wasn’t it though?

Kit didn’t even struggle to fight the barrier holding him anymore. He was tired, he realised. Tired of fighting to try and not get hurt, to try and stop people hurting him. He didn’t want to be used as leverage against Ambrose anymore. He’d rather Ambrose just kill him.

He should have just killed him…

Kit…

Kit didn’t acknowledge Ambrose in his head. He just lay flat and stared at the ceiling. Had all his fighting been for nothing? Was he destined to die at the hands of a villain? A supervillain?

Maybe his golden years were the ones he spent with Mentor, and he already knew during that time, even that happiness would end. He wasn’t born to be happy. He wasn’t built for happiness. Some people just weren’t. That’s okay.

Kit, if I knew… If I could take it all back…

Kit just stared at the ceiling above him. It didn’t matter. None of it… he cast his eyes down to his forearm, looking at the scars there, Ambrose’s special ownership. Like a collar on a dog, something that would be there for a long time, longer than Kit would like.

What was he if not just a chew toy for stronger people to use and abuse however they wanted? Make him do whatever they wanted him to? Jude… Ambrose… Nathan.

They were all the same level of strong.

God. Kit was such an idiot. He didn’t realise he was crying until a hot drop dripped onto his cheek and he flinched.

He should have never joined the Academy. He should never have let his head be filled with ideals of being a hero, a fucking Hero?! Against villains like these? He couldn’t even fight back without being slapped into last week by one of them, or forcing himself to torture himself for their sick, sadistic pleasure.

Silver eyes leaned over Kit, staring down at him with a hard look on his face. Kit stared back, blinking blankly up at the villain. He straightened and snapped his fingers with a sigh. The sound of wood creaking snapped Kit out of his spiralling thoughts and then black eyes were above him.

“Kit, hey.” Ambrose said, slapping his face lightly. Kit turned his head away.

“Just take him to a room,” Nathan said. “A proper room. I’ll lock the door once you leave, Oskar.”

“Can I—?”

“Do what you like,” Nathan said with a sigh. Kit ignored the conversation as Ambrose pulled him to his feet. Ambrose glanced over his shoulder at Nathan.

“Thank you, Nate.”

Nathan turned away. “No problem, darling.”

“Really,” Ambrose said. “Thank you.”

Kit didn’t care about whatever moment the two bastards were sharing. He just wanted to be dead, to be killed. He wanted Ambrose to just join Nathan and team up against him already, make him regret ever being born.

Fuck… he…

“Kit, please,” Ambrose whispered quietly. Kit didn’t answer. He just kept walking.

*~*~*~*~*

@beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @blood-enthusiast t t @tippytappytyping @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios @whatwhump @acer-whumpstuff @fa1rie @jesterrinobutter @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @dutifullykrispyland @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @ehobep

[uncanny-tranny]

I'm actually so done with people (including "allies") using trans* men in order to attack trans* women. There is no trans liberation without all of us.

"Oh, you don't see trans men doing [x], but you see trans women doing it!" Actually, that just tells me that you intentionally leave trans* men out of this specific bias against trans people. It tells me everything about your attitude about trans* men and trans* women.

[jordanstrophe]

Omg what I nice trope! For some reason I couldn’t find anything fresh abt with…

Would you mind writing a smaaall drabble/whatever you want for this trope? 🥺😭

[the trope in question] I was going to try and go smaaaall but then my hand slipped

CW: Medical whump, trauma, wound cleaning, hurt/comfort, recovery from torture

There was a look caretaker had never seen from whumpee before.

Mistrust

Fear

Agony...

"It's going to sting a bit, just take deep breaths" Caretaker said, shakily holding a antiseptic-drenched cloth.

Whumpee's eyes darted between caretaker and the cloth before letting out a breath. From that breath alone, you could tell just how much they were shaking.

"Try to lean your head back, please." Caretaker put their hand on whumpee's forehead and forced them to relax. It did rather little for how tense they were, and caretaker could feel it.

Blood from their leg started trickling down the bed. Time was growing short, and caretaker's hesitance was doing no one any good. They put a firm hand on whumpee's knee and pressed the cloth against the wound on their leg.

Somehow, it felt like -every muscle- in whumpee's body burned simultaneously.

"STOP!" Whumpee gasped, snapping up and clinging to caretaker's shoulders. "Caretaker stop- please stop," Whumpee heaved through gritted teeth.

"It's okay, It's okay... Hold on to me, everything is going to be alright... Ssshhh-" Caretaker soothed almost like a plea.

Whumpee acted as if they were being electrocuted. They could barely hold themselves still and were trying to curl their legs to their chest- specifically their wounded leg that felt like it was being slowly stabbed through all over again.

They could hear them- whumper's voice screaming at them, cursing them, laughing at them. The arm around them didn't feel like caretaker's, but whumper's.

"MAKE THEM STOP! Caretaker please, make them stop!" Whumpee suddenly cried, no longer able to hold anything behind a clenched jaw. Caretaker guided them back down onto the bed, finishing up what was left of the cleaning before dressing their injury.

Caretaker's chest was wracked with guilt, they pretended the tears on their face weren't there.

"It's almost o-over... You're okay, it's al-almost over, you're doing great," Caretaker repeated, feeling a ting of relief as the worst of it seemed to fade.

Whumpee let their leg relax with their knee over caretaker's elbow. Caretaker felt it and laid whumpee's leg down and brushed their hand over their hair.

''Are you back with me?" Caretaker asked, their other hand tracing over their face like they were scared to touch. Whumpee's eyes darted between unfocused, and fixated on caretaker. They stared blankly, before letting them close.

"Good... Rest is good." Caretaker huffed out of breath, adrenaline from their own body began to calm down and their hands started trembling.

Only then did they acknowledge their tears and dragged a hand down their face to wipe them away. They sank into a chair next to whumpee's bed and grasped their hand, the seemingly only safe thing to hold.

"You're going to be alright."

[vivitalks]

man. derek is such an interesting character in season 1, especially when you can look at him through the lens of having seen the whole show, because he's like an unreliable narrator for scott, even though he's not a narrator for the show.

the thing is, derek in season 1 is the primary vehicle for werewolf lore. as new viewers, we're reliant on his character to explain to us the rules and conceits of the genre, but once you've seen the whole show, that role is no longer necessary. but for scott, in season 1, derek is the sole source of werewolf intel. derek is werewolf jesus. which means that everything scott initially learns about being a werewolf is filtered through the Derek Hale Trauma Matrix, and neither of them know it.

for example: in 1x05, derek tells scott that pain is what keeps you human (which is a mantra that gets repeated and referenced a ton over the course of the rest of the show). scott has been a werewolf for all of five seconds, and has no choice but to take the word of this obviously much more knowledgeable werewolf. in that way, derek operates as a kind of narrator for scott, giving him information and context he couldn't really get any other way. but it's unreliable info. don't get me wrong - derek isn't trying to be an unreliable narrator; he's not aware of how much his life experience has colored his understanding of his own species. it's just that...well...derek is a twenty-something with the kind of trauma that eats other trauma for breakfast. of course he would say that pain is what keeps you human. at this point in the show, pain is all he has.

this is the same guy who, in the next episode, says this:

DEREK: You getting angry? That's your first lesson. You want to learn how to control this, how to shift-- you do it through anger, by tapping into a primal animal rage, and you can't do that with her around. SCOTT: [defensively] I can get angry. DEREK: Not angry enough. This is the only way that I can teach you.

except we know, and scott quickly learns (in that very same episode, in fact), that this isn't true. anger doesn't work for everyone, and it doesn't work for scott, who's not an angry person. the things that work for derek won't work for all werewolves - but how would derek know that? he's never had to teach someone to be a werewolf before. he's not actually werewolf jesus.

to scott, derek is the only trustworthy source of information on being a werewolf, because he's the only werewolf scott knows. and from derek's perspective, everything he knows about being a werewolf must be true, because it's true for him. derek is the narrator, and it's only as his backstory unfolds that the viewers, and scott, learn just how much his history and trauma have obscured the reality of things, even for derek himself.

pain is not what makes you human. it's what makes derek human. because the moments in derek's life that stand out to him most are all tinged with tragedy. mercy killing his high school girlfriend. losing his entire family in a house fire. the death of his sister. for derek, to be human is to be in pain, and to be angry about that is the only way to be in control. after all, he doesn't have anyone teaching him otherwise.

[raiiny-bay]

everyone say hi to cricket

Interviewer: Can you state your name and age please? Cricket: Cricket... 19. Interviewer: [whispering] Look into the camera. Interviewer: And what's been happening to you, Cricket? Cricket: ...I'm... mutating. Interviewer: Can you show us what you mean? Cricket: ... Cricket: ... Okay. [Cricket holds his hand towards the camera]

[serickswrites]

Better Me Than You V

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6 Part 7

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, referenced burns, referenced drowning, electrocution, knife, forced to watch, forced to hurt, infection

"I have the most amazing idea," Whumper said excitedly as they returned.

Team Leader refrained from groaning. All of Whumper's ideas were painful. All of them were difficult to endure. But Team Leader had to endure or else Whumper would surely kill Smallest Teammate.

"Chain them up in those standing cuffs," Whumper ordered Smallest Teammate.

Smallest Teammate helped Team Leader stand. Team Leader's body ached with each small movement. "I'm sorry," Smallest Teammate said again.

"It's ok," Team Leader said as they slowly walked to the cuffs. They weren't going to do anything to provoke Whumper. Smallest Teammate was gentle as they raised Team Leader's wrists to the standing cuffs, gently clicking the cuffs in place.

"Excellent, let me get the other part set up," Whumper said, their glee evident from the skip in their step.

Team Leader sighed. Whatever Whumper had planned. It would be painful. But they had to endure it. They could endure it. They had no choice.

They could endure being burnt again. Probably. The burns that littered their body were definitely infected. But they could endure that pain.

They could endure being drowned again. Probably. That was harder. To lay there and not be able to breathe. But they could endure the fear.

But as Whumper turned around, cattle prod and knife in each hand, Team Leader wasn't so sure they could endure. "Take these," Whumper ordered Smallest Teammate.

"No," Smallest Teammate said quickly, not even glancing at Team Leader.

Team Leader worked to keep their face blank. They weren't sure they could endure being shocked again. They weren't sure they could endure being cut up. That might be too much. Their body was so weak as it was. But they had to endure. Or Whumper would kill Smallest Teammate.

"It's ok, Smallest Teammate," Team Leader said quickly. They braced themself. They could hold on. The rest of the team would be here soon. "Do as Whumper orders. It will be ok."

Team Leader hoped they were right. They hoped that the team would arrive soon. And most of all as they watched Smallest Teammate take up the knife and cattle prod with shaking hands, they hoped that Whumper wouldn't let this go on for very long.

Tags: @aarika-merrill @gala1981 @lthrboy @bookworm7543 @echo-of-umbra

@whump321 @st0rmm @whump-lover-and-reader @corbytheking @acer-whumpstuff @annng567

@defire @artisticdemon @tender-traps @crazytechpersonzreal @orangeduckweed

@st0rmm @a-living-canvas @whumpy-mountains @pic-star01 @mousepaw

@jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump @steh-lar-uh-nuhs

@celestialsoyeon @ay5ksal @corbytheking @dragonfireridge @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Augusnippets Day 21

Path of Whumperless Whump Prompt; "Delirium" (mentioned) + Alt. "Drugging"

Day 21 of @augusnippets August 2024 Whump writing challenge! (Augusnippets Masterlist)

Characters;

- POV/Caretaker: Gawain - The Green Knight

- Lancelot - The Weeping Monk

(Character Masterlist)

(Ao3 Link)

Wordcount; 815

TWs; unconsentual first aid, drugged, pinned down broken ribs, severe injuries (referenced), gravely injured (referenced), near death (referenced), choking, oxygen deprivation, asphyxiation, carewhumper, forced to hurt (In order to help), delirium/aggression/stubbornness from pain

"Let. Me. Help you!"

Gawain breathed hard, glaring down at the Fey he had rather unceremoniously pinned beneath him.

"...No!" Lancelot spat up at him, lips stained with blood, clawing at the arms that held him down, snarling like a wild animal with wide eyes near feral from pain and what Gawain guessed was at least a degree of fever-induced-delirium.

In Gawain's hand, a wineskin of poppy milk- a powerful pain reliver and sedative he had brewed earlier from the crimson blooms in the neighbouring fields. Despite severe injuries in dire need of treatment Lancelot was blatantly refusing aid of any kind with threats to flee if Gawain tried to help, resulting in Gawain having to pin his unthinking arse to the ground lest he bleed out on the damned moors somewhere.

"Do you expect me to just sit here and watch you die?"

Lancelot didn't answer, his teeth bared, mouth parted in a silent snarl. Is that not for the best? his eyes seemed to say, no matter that he did not voice it aloud Gawain heard it as loud as a shout.

"Because I won't."

Lancelot refused to reply, though Gawain wasn't entirely sure whether it was intentional or by design now.

"You give me no choice." Gawain warned. Lancelot looked away with a bitter expression, as if aware what was about to happen.

Gawain sighed heavily, steeling himself to the task, then grabbed Lancelot's jaw in an attempt to force the medication down his throat.

Pain sliced through Gawain's finger as Lancelot bit him in response, hard.

"Ah you son-of-a-- Stop!" Gawain growled, swallowing down every insult known to Fey whilst scrabbling to free his finger, cradling his hand away from the fucking animal. Gawain glared back at the triumphant smirk Lancelot had the utter audacity to give him now.

The moment he drew near again did Lancelot shut his mouth and refuse to open it.

"Arawn give me strength, Lancelo-- oof!" Gawain grunted in pain as Lancelot swung at him. Lancelot's injured arm collided with his chest with a suprising amount of force, enough to half wind him.

Oh that's it...

Having finally had enough of the ungrateful sod's antics, Gawain clamped a hand over Lancelot's nose, cutting off his air.

In his head he began to count, Lancelot's steel grey eyes widened in near immediate terror.

Ten seconds.

When Lancelot seemed to realise what Gawain was doing he clawed at Gawain's arm hard enough to draw blood, his back arched and his hips bucked as he writhed and raged against Gawain's hold.

Thirty seconds.

"Open your Gods-damned mouth!" Gawain yelled, but if Lancelot could have responded he was long past hearing him, completely lost to blind panic, thrashing violently. Leaning on him with his elbow, Gawain tried to force his mouth open, Lancelot bared his bloodied teeth at him, refusing to give in, fighting like his very life depended on it.

One minute.

Lancelot's struggles were growing weaker. Gawain's arm ached fiercely and sweat dripped down his brow.

Gawain continued to count, preparing to let go, those claws in his forearm barely soft touches now, Lancelot's eyes started to flutter shut...

...and at the last moment Lancelot gasped a breath.

Gawain immediately rammed the wineskin between Lancelot's bloody teeth, releasing his nose and gripping his head still. Lancelot made no move to fight him, exhausted.

"That's it, good."

Gawain saw the immediate flash of defiance in Lancelot's eyes even as he tried to soothe him. Thinking quickly, he held his mouth shut even before Lancelot had chance to spit out the Poppy milk. The murderous glare he got in response told Gawain well enough he'd been correct in the assumption he'd try.

Gawain released him the moment Lancelot swallowed, staggering back from on top of him. The entire interaction had knocked him suddenly sick, he swallowed back bile, dragging in a breath, closing his eyes against the nausea.

Lancelot didn't waste a second. Gawain heard him move immediately, his eyes flew open to see the Ashman leaned up, teeth gritted in pain, making as if to flee--

"For fuck's sake Lancelot, Don't!"

Gawain wasn't expecting Lancelot to actually listen, yet he'd halted all the same; collapsing back down to the ground and clutching at his injured side with an agonised groan in his throat like he was only just holding back a scream.

Gawain raked a hand through his hair without even thinking of the blood it was coated with. He watched and waited now for the drug to take affect- he knew it wouldn't take long, and sure enough, within a minute Lancelot's panting had slowed. Within five, Gawain watched the pain as it slipped from his angular face, his body beginning to relax. Within ten, and he'd slumped unconscious entirely.

Gawain watched the look of desperate relief that flooded Lancelot's eyes before he closed them.

"Finally." Gawain breathed.

I like how this one paralls yesterdays prompt of Gawain helping Lancelot tend to injuries- these snippets both written from very different stages in their relationship though! It wasn't actually done intentionally, but it works better than I hoped it would.

This is one of only two prompts that I just couldn't get under the 800 mark no matter how hard I tried. It was originally written for Day 11 but I needed way more time to edit it as it was like. 1000 words, whoops... So I wrote something else for that day and saved it until I had whittled it down some and could vaguely get away with pairing it with today's "Delirium" prompt...

As always thanks for reading, onto the next!

[quietwingsinthesky]

Dean is such a paradox for me because on the one hand, I have been actively triggered by him in the show, there are moments where, intentionally or not, the writers managed to create a portrayal of manipulation and abuse and control issues that it sets off actual alarms for me. And on the other hand, I would not have him any other way. There is something — not comforting, that’s too soft a word — about knowing where Dean’s actions stem from, having seen and learned all that we do about his childhood neglect and parentification and the trauma he goes through repeatedly in the show, and that he doesn’t come out clean. He comes out a goddamn mess who ends up hurting the people around him in reaction to his own pain!

There’s a reality there that’s. Almost nice, actually. Distressing to watch, but it is a fucking mess, it’s a good mess! He’s got zero healthy coping skills and a healthy relationship with say, his brother, is terrifying because it leaves him open to abandonment!

I’m not sure I’m wording this correctly. There is a way to be a good abuse victim. Take the pain, martyr yourself on it, and then, even if you have no support or idea how to, then you have to become a Good Person who never hurts anyone the way you have been learning to your entire life. Simply toss everything that shaped you out the door and emerge a saint with a tragic backstory. And Dean is not that. And that’s so fucking good. Everything that he has gone through continues to effect the way he treats the people around him, and he can’t fight the behaviors he might recognize as harmful because he also sees them as protecting him (or protecting Sam by keeping Sam with him.)

And sometimes, idk. It feels good to see a guy who didn’t heal the “right way.” Who mostly didn’t heal at all, just keeps the wound open because it’s easier that way.

[tariah23]

This is such a harmful sentiment to push considering that you don’t necessarily have to be “attractive,” (beauty is subjective, yada yada) in order for men to want to harm you in the slightest… like man, what…

[bonefall]

I genuinely have no clue how someone can think "getting hit on the ear doesn't hurt"

Getting hit ANYWHERE on the head fucking hurts. I've got plenty of experience with it (various sources) for me personally, top of the head hurts worst (I have a gnarly scar there from a dog bite, very sensitive), but ear is pretty high on the list. Bonus Points for how the sensation made my tinnitus act up

The head is like a thin layer of watermelon rhine wrapped around the most precious organ in your body, and to discourage you from bashing it open, it was wrapped in meat that screams when it gets too close to a dangerous object.

I'm also having a hard time understanding how a person can come to that conclusion. It's... it's right there. You can touch and pull and smack your own ear. You will feel it hurt more than most other parts of your body.

I can only conclude that the anon has never had their ear physically abused, and quite frankly, I hope they never do. I hope they know their lack of personal experience is enviable.

[what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom]

don't listen to him, guys, that's the concussion talking