#whump but add a little more spice

[hold-on-a-little-longer-whump]

Trope: Ignorant Traitor

In lieu of a previous ask, here's a little trope blurb that I love <3

Ah, yes. "The Ignorant Traitor," (which, honestly, could be considered a reversal of "used for bait") in which a character is bugged with a tracking device and unknowingly leads the enemy to their team/friends/family - to the place that was supposed to be a place of solitude and respite from everything. Maybe someone detects the bug in time for everyone to start bugging out, but it's too late, or perhaps they're all caught unawares?

Cue the self-satisfied smile of a victorious Enemy Leader as they stroll through the Team HQ, seeing that their plan had come to fruition after all. They even make a point of singling out the Ignorant Traitor by thanking them, standing taller as they take in everyone's horrified expressions. "Well done! I knew you couldn't be completely useless!" They praise, watching as the team is brought into custody with little resistance because - honestly - where can they run to?

And the whole time the Ignorant Traitor is desperately trying to convince their allies that they didn't know, I had no idea, no, why would you say that? You have to believe me!

Maybe they take the Ignorant Traitor prisoner too, forcing them endure the furious stares and betrayed shaking of heads and muttered resentments. Maybe it's even worse that, when the time comes for them to be separated from their team, nobody objects as they're dragged away.

That, or they're left behind because the Enemy Leader just shrugs, saying "you've served your purpose" or "you've done enough damage" or "do you honestly think I want you, after all the damage you've managed to cause?" or "please, you're more trouble than you're worth." Leaving the Ignorant Traitor, too injured to pursue right away, to shout after their captured team that they'll make this right.

And now the Ignorant Traitor is left to rely on themselves to set any breaks, suture any bleeds, and disinfect and bandage everything on their own. Maybe they're used to it, but it'd hurt even worse if they were accustomed to the whisper-soft touches of the dependable team Medic, of whom their last memory was a disappointed glower that turned away when they had tried to plea their case. It'd be even more gripping if they barely allow themselves time to recover before they're off to fix their mistake. Give me a limping, worn down, emotional wreck of a soldier. They look like hell. They feel like hell. And you could see hell burning in their eyes. Nothing was going to stop them from setting things right.

And the real kicker - after their team has shunned them? It just so happens that a different teammate was responsible for planting the bug on them in the first place - making them the True Traitor. Maybe the Enemy Leader separated them from the imprisoned team under the guise of leverage, to ensure that everyone behaved themselves, when in reality the True Traitor is thriving under the Enemy Leader's control. Now there's another layer of betrayal!

So, the Ignorant Traitor vows to make things right. They soon lose count of failed missions. After all, such a monumental task is nearly impossible when working solo. But even though they retreat with new scars each time, they doggedly continue to work at freeing their old team. Each time they are forced to retreat, the ire within their eyes burns darker. Do they manage to rescue their old team, regardless of their obvious hate? Are they tearfully forgiven or shunned? Are they killed in an attempt, which turned out to be the only successful one, and it is only then that the team discovers that the Ignorant Traitor was innocent after all? Or, my personal favorite, are they horrifically injured in a rescue attempt - during which the truth comes to light about the True Traitor? Can the old team rally amongst themselves and help the Ignorant Traitor? Does their old team manage to save them, or do they only manage to beg for forgiveness as the Ignorant Traitor dies in their arms? An ally turned martyr? Because, regardless... they succeeded. They managed to fulfill the promise they had made at the start of this whole mess - months or even years ago.

Idc if I just handed you a whole ass plot - take it! Take it apart and Frankenstein it back together and mold it to fit your own ideas and share it! I'd like to read more things like this please and thanks!! Even if they're rambling blurbs like this was! My TBR is sparse!! <3

[blazinghotfoggynights]

Can I get my 911 with a double side of drama and a pitcher of messiness?

I love it when fictional characters are being scandalous or whumped. It's okay to have no morals or limits in fiction.

Spice up the entertainment. Make it hurt so good! Bring the mess!

There. I said it.

That was liberating. Anywho.

In one of my perfect 'verses, the remainder of season 7 would be Eddie getting fully involved with Shannon 2.0, who has no idea he is with Marisol, Eddie being caught in bed with his side piece by Marisol, who tells the whole 118 Eddie is a cheating scumbag, and then a reveal that the woman doesn't even look like Shannon.

The season would end with some type of major emotional trauma pushing Eddie and Buck both over the edge. I need Eddie Diaz to be in a mental breakdown. Not a minor one, I mean a life-altering, mind-shattering, reality-altering breakdown.

Seeing Eddie suffering triggers something in Buck and it sets him on a path filled with confusion, because he doesn't understand why he is hurting so much watching Eddie suffer.

Season 8 could follow Eddie through his mental health, and possible physical health, journey, Buck through the difficulties of balancing being there for the Diazes with the demands of work and his boyfriend, and how the whole 118 rallies to support one of their own while thoroughly calling him out for his actions.

I want to see fighting the truth, slowly rising from denial, jealousy, resentment, anguish. Give it to me! You could have Eddie trying to ignore something he has known most of his life, Buck unsure of where to focus his attention, Tommy demanding Buck be more present and if that means cutting down on his time with Eddie and Christopher, so be it.

Just those three things would be fuel for a whole season of five alarm fire! There could be opportunities for numerous confrontations and conversations between characters who have historically had little to no interaction. There could be fighting, breakups, makeups, bad choices, regrets, etc.

Then, at the end, there is a final showdown. That could be huge and inclusive of all the main characters and many of the recurring. There could be secrets revealed, ugly crying with lots of loud sobs and snot, ultimatums, begging, and so much more.

Realistically, if the show got a season 9, the arcs could be stretched into that season.

I am a Buddie endgame girl; however, I'd love to see Eddie and Buck explore their true selves independently of each other initially. I'd like to see the BuckTommy relationship evolution as more than a stepping stone. I just hope for, and prefer, Buddie endgame.

I am saying this as a staunch Buddie girl over the past six years: If Buddie happens, it should not happen now. Eddie Diaz is too messed up right now to be with anyone. His actions are going to cause trouble and whoever is in the blast radius when his BS blows up will get burned.

Say it with me:

Characters can have other relationships then eventually get together. BuckTommy and Buddie can coexist, PEACEFULLY, within the same fictional show. Wank makes fandom sad.

(I felt I should add that after completing this post, it somehow turned into the outline for a new fic. Can very long sighs cause harm to your lungs, because right now...)

[whumpshaped]

@bones-arent-real

tw past trauma, bad memories, dehumanisation, conditioning, manipulation

"You have to knead it for a few minutes. Well, for a good while, actually. But it's okay, I'll keep you company."

Whumpee frowned as more and more pieces of dough stuck to their fingers. They turned around and raised their hand to show Caretaker. "What do I do about this?"

"Add more flour. Here." Caretaker stepped closer and grabbed the bag, pouring some over Whumpee's hands and the ball of soon-to-be buns. "Keep kneading."

Miraculously, the flour got rid of the stickiness, and Whumpee started to enjoy the process again. Kneading dough was a very... monotonous process. Fold, press, fold, press, readjust, fold, press, fold, press... Small bubbles of air popped under their inexperienced hands and the scent of spices filled the small kitchen. It was relaxing. Predictable, for the most part. They could've done it forever.

"So good for me. So pliable. You're really just putty in my hands, aren't you? I can shape you however I please, and you'll just bend for me."

Their frown deepened, and they pressed their palm into the dough a little more aggressively. Well, now they were shaping things on their own. And they were treating their little shapeless blob with the care that it deserved... for the most part.

"You can't expect to mould anything without any pressure or force. Surely, even you can understand that. I have to be a little harsh on you to improve you in the long run."

There were better ways to be harsh, they told themself. They were harsh in a very different way with this dough. They were better. They were different at the very least. Their shaping and moulding really did come from love.

Or did it? Did they not just want a pretty thing to devour later?

Well, people weren't fucking dough. What a stupid metaphor anyway.

Caretaker placed a gentle hand on theirs, slowly pulling it out of the bowl. "Now we let the yeast do its thing. We gotta cover the dough and let it rest and rise, yeah? We'll come back to all this when it has doubled in size."

Whumpee nodded, reluctantly stepping away from their newfound stress toy. Letting it rest... that wasn't something Whumper had ever done for them. They were under constant pressure, a piece of coal artificially compressed into a diamond, then polished until there were no hard edges. They had never been left to rest. To take up space. To rise. They were chipped away at, not being fed and allowed to grow.

They nodded to themself, some of the anger subsiding. They were different. And they were going to give this dough a better treatment than the one they had received if it was the last thing they did.

~

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

[crash-bump-bring-the-whump]

Taco Soup

Okay this isn't whump but @whump-captain wanted my taco soup recipe so here it is. It's a one pot dish, and it'll feed either three hungry guys for a few days or all my very spice intolerant coworkers for one luncheon if I go easy on the spice

Ingredients: -3 cans of whatever beans you like, go nuts, add more, it's your soup. Maybe go low sodium tho -minced garlic, you know how much you like, measure with your heart, I usually do like 5 cloves -2-3 taco seasoning packets (or cumin, chili powder, onion powder, pepper, garlic salt to taste) -2 bags of frozen bell peppers and onions (or fresh) -jalepenos from a jar if you want em or some other spicier pepper -cooking vinegar OR the juice from your jarred peppers OR tabasco, you just want acidity towards the end if it doesn't taste salty enough or seems like it's Missing Something -lime juice -A good box of chicken or veg stock/broth or like ten boullion cubes. However you make your broth is fine, just make however much you want (we add the broth last, so you can wait and eyeball it. This soup cannot be overcooked, I promise) -Cooked chicken if you want it, I use canned or leftover baked chicken but it's not necessary -Butter or some other fat -if you like it on your tacos, add it tbh. Corn? Fuck yeah. Tomatoes? Sure why not. Live your soup dreams.

OKAY SO HERE'S WHAT YOU DO: -Heat up the pot you'll be souping in to medium-high, throw in the butter/fat and let that melt -Then add the (ideally thawed but it doesn't really matter here if you don't have the energy) onions and bell peppers in. Let that get all soft and translucent then add the garlic. -Let that get all warm and aromatic for about thirty seconds to a minute, then if you're crazy and want to cook the peppers do that at this point, then add anything else you want that'll be warm and in the soup. -Add in your meat if you want it in here, it should be cooked already so we're just making the flavors mingle -Add your beans, don't bother draining them. -Add the taco seasoning, mix it in -Add your broth. -Let it simmer like ten minutes, adjust the seasoning as it does and add your lime juice and any other little dashes you want, follow your nose.

It's pretty much done since everything is fully cooked, it's just a matter of warming and seasoning it at this point. You can make it as thick or thin as you want, serve it over rice or anything else that makes you happy, add sour cream or salsa or avocado or guac, if it sounds good on a taco then do it!

[comfy-whumpee]

Jane

Whumptober Day 17 - Collar. CN: BBU.

Birdhouse Taglist: @neuro-whump​, @rosesareviolentlyread, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @whumpsday, @firewheeesky, @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question, @highwaywhump

-

Occasionally in her life, Avis had been stopped by strangers and asked for help. It happened more when she’d been out with Franco as a little boy, deemed safe by the social role of mother-with-baby. She had helped students, tourists and, once, a lost and very teary child. She had given directions, advised on train times, confirmed bus stops and held tiny, damp hands until they let go to run to daddy.

Even today, she was a middle-aged white woman, so she was occasionally deemed a trustworthy source to someone in need. So she was not overly surprised when a pretty young woman approached her in town and asked, in an American accent, if she had a second.

“Of course,” Avis replied, smiling. The stranger was wearing a simple thin jumper and leggings, so probably wasn’t selling anything, and wasn’t dressed up like she was from a Church either. Probably a tourist.

The girl smiled a wide and beaming smile. “Thank you,” she said, and seemed about to say something else. Then she switched tacks. “I’m trying to find a…government place. Or an embassy.”

They wouldn’t find one of those in this little town. As for government buildings, “I don’t think they’ll be open on the weekend. I can have a look online, though?”

“Oh.” The girl’s face fell, and then quickly she put a smile back up. “I’m sorry to bother you. Is there anywhere that could shelter someone?”

Avis looked at her more closely. Her hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed recently, just scraped back into a ponytail. She was clean and there was no smell, but there was a thinness to her face that suggested she wasn’t eating well. Habit flicked her eyes to the girl’s neck. Her jumper came up into a turtleneck, but…

There was something underneath, if she wasn’t mistaken. “I know somewhere. Can I ask how you ended up here?”

For the first time, the girl broke eye contact. She hesitated before saying, carefully, “I had to run away from some bad people.”

It made sense, but she still needed more. “Would you consider speaking to the police?”

The stranger shook her head. “They didn’t do anything illegal,” she explained. “I signed up for it.”

Avis closed her eyes suddenly, the words making her stomach lurch. She knows, she knows all to well, the lie that the pets tell. “Okay, sweetie. I want to ask you a more personal question. Before that,” she adds quickly, “I want you to know that keeping people as pets is not legal here.”

The stranger nods. “Okay.”

Avis studied her face. “Can you tell me your designation?”

There was no hesitation. No hint of confusion. No blanch. “Romantic.”

There it was. Of all the towns in all the fucking world, they’d bring a pet – illegally – to this one. Avis almost smiles. She’s going to make sure this poor girl never has to go back.

“Alright. You chose the right person to speak to. My name is Avis, and I’m going to get some help for you. Do you have a something I can call you?”

“354531,” the girl rattles off without hesitation. Then she pauses. “Or, um…” A blush blooms on her cheeks.

“I’ll call you Jane for now,” Avis interrupts swiftly. “And if you think of something you like better, just let me know. Do you have a place you’re staying right now?”

Jane shakes her head, not objecting to the name.

“Alright. Let me make some calls.”

-

Florence saw them coming up the drive. Avis went out alone to do the shopping, and now she was getting out of the car with no shopping and there was someone else with her.

The new person moved with fluid grace, holding herself like a ballerina. Every motion was a smooth one. She even closed the car door with elegance. Florence pushed their glasses up their nose to try and see her more clearly. They didn’t know her, but they recognised her.

They looked to Kamala. “She’s like me. A Romantic.”

Kamala looked worried. Often, Kamala hid that she was worried, from Florence and everyone else. But Kamala didn’t much like strangers. She said, “I wonder why she’s here.”

Florence got up. “Let’s go see.”

-

Tenten was ready for the shopping, and came out of the kitchen when he heard the door. His disappointment at the lack of groceries was swiftly forgotten at the sight of a stranger with Avis. Avis never brought strangers to the Birdhouse, not without lots of warning. Tenten felt his back starting to stiffen, his jaw lock up.

“Hi, Tenten,” Avis greeted him, a little sheepishly. “I’m sorry I haven’t done the shopping yet. This is Jane, and she needed some help.”

Tenten’s eyes flicked over to the stranger. She had black hair, pale skin, and had folded her arms behind her back. She smiled falsely. “Hello.”

He felt himself relax, just marginally, his shoulder blades lowering a fraction. She was a rescue. He couldn’t unlock his jaw yet, but he gave her a nod and tried to return her polite-pet smile.

“Jane is going to stay here for a day or two while someone from Durham drives up down to collect her and take her to a shelter that has room,” Avis explained. “I know I wouldn’t normally bring someone new here without letting you guys know, but she didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Tenten relaxed in compassion. He knew what it was like to be wandering, recently free but not yet understanding the weight of it. The streets all looked the same, and the people all looked away from you. She was lucky to have found Avis early on.

“Welcome,” he pronounced with care, only lingering on the ‘c’ for slightly too long. “It’s – safe. Here.”

Jane smiled a more genuine smile. “Thank you,” she replied softly, emerging slightly from behind Avis.

Avis seemed pleased. “There are a few more people about, but we’ll let them come down if they want to. Let’s go sit, through here if that’s okay. I can talk you through things in more detail, and then we can look at getting you some basics.”

-

“A new rescue?” Roman whispered.

Tenten nodded. They were together in the kitchen, sharing a moment at the table. Roman had snuck in after hearing unfamiliar voices. Tenten always seemed to know what was going on, so he had asked, and as suspected, Tenten knew exactly what was happening.

Tenten seemed calm, or maybe just distracted, sitting relaxed and still in his seat. “She met Avis in town. She’s not staying here bec-cause Avis says we don’t have space.”

Maybe he was trying to be calm for Roman’s sake. Roman was surprised to find he did not like the idea of a new rescue in the house. “We have spare rooms upstairs though,” he pointed out. “The music room and the craft room, and the library, and the box room.”

“I think-k,” Tenten takes a breath, hearing the stutter. He smiles kindly at Roman. He’s always kind. “Avis want-ts you to s, settle in more.”

“Oh.”

Roman thinks about how long it was since he arrived here, after the people who had taken him across America and across the sea. He wasn’t sure of the exact details, but it had been cold when he had arrived, and now it was starting to warm. There were green bits in the garden that hadn’t been there at first, and the afternoons were starting to be sunnier. It was at least two months, not as many as four. He could ask Avis for the exact details, but not if she was busy with a new rescue, one who needed more attention.

It would be lonely with a new rescue, he thought. Even though everyone was nice, especially Tenten with all his experience and knowledge, and the understanding they had of being Help At Home pets together… It wasn’t the same as getting that special help from Avis. He would miss her gentle encouragement when he tried new things. He would miss knowing that she was looking out for him, and if he struggled at something, she would step in straight away to coach him. It was going to be difficult to be like the others. They were all so good at being free.

But that was what Tenten said wouldn’t happen. There wasn’t going to be a new rescue. Roman would be the new one for a while longer.

“I think I need to settle in more, as well,” he admitted.

It was hard to admit those things to Tenten, who was so good at being free that he ran away. But Tenten could already name the million ways that Roman wasn’t perfect, because that was what they were both trained to do. One more wouldn’t matter.

There was no judgement in Tenten’s smile. His eyes were warm chocolatey brown in the afternoon sun. “Don’t-t worry,” he said. “You’ll – get there.”

-

There was an extra place set for dinner. Everyone was here except Avis and there were two plates set. That was the first sign.

They had been asleep for the last two hours. It had been a bad night, a night of staying awake and trying to be calm and trying to not disturb anyone, while sitting under their desk waiting for the intruder to break in. A night where their training ran around and around in their heads, the threat assessments they can’t turn off any more than Kamala can stop diagnosing people. They almost went downstairs, as if they would find Florence there, and help them in some small way to make up for everything they were meant to do. But they hadn’t been able to move.

So now, on waking up at the call for dinner, and coming down, and sitting at the table in the dining room while Tenten served up food for them all, Boo stared at the two empty plates that were side by side and wondered whether the knife on their right would be deadly enough if thrown.

When Avis came in, the intruder loomed behind her, tall and slim in an old jumper and with a low ponytail hanging off her shoulder. She moved like a Romantic, feet silent, limbs coordinated with grace. She smiled like a pet. She sat like a pet, back straight, head upright, with a diffident cast to her gaze that suggested she wasn’t used to making eye contact. Around her neck was a thin golden band, with some clear gemstones sparkling along it. Pretty as it was, it didn’t try to deny that it was a collar.

When Tenten brought in the food, she leaned to the side and glanced up from under her lashes to thank him in a sweet voice. She picked up her knife and fork, and paused, waiting for someone else to start eating.

Boo couldn’t ask, of course. Their words had never been further away. Their face had never felt more frozen. They couldn’t do anything about this. The stranger at the table was something they could not control.

Florence and Kamala. Tenten and Roman. Avis. All as normal. Chatting softly, eating, relaxing together, and she was in the middle of it all as if she belonged.

But she didn’t. The barcode on her wrist looked real, but her expressions gave it away. Not a hair out of place, not a twitch, not a flinch, nothing. Nothing at all except exactly what she wanted to show.

Control yourself. The voice in Boo’s head. The voice in hers, they had no doubt.

Her eyes lingered on Florence. Florence was looking back at her with interest, no doubt drawn to the performance of a Romantic.

Boo had failed in their mission, and Mistress Tara knew. She knew because she had sent someone to do it for them. She knew, and she didn’t accept failures.

Boo hadn’t even known there had been more than just them. Was this impostor new, or had she been trained after the hunter had failed to return?

They had to make their choice.

[kharmii]

last week I stopped looking at the submas tag here on the hellsite... and I'm feeling less frustrated about the fandom. If I look at the toxic positivity and passive agressive additude towards anyone thinking differently.

Taking a step back and only and unapologetically all the content on X feels a lot better. I'm happy that even if they get shit the fans in Japan keep creating wonderful content. Was just thinking about that when I saw your post earlier when I looked into the tags here earlier.

Little furry bs no forced political messaging unique and interesting takes on the twins gorgeous art and comics and so much more

the western "hellsite" side of the fadom has worn me out but I feel rejuvinated whenever I look at the content Japanese and Koreans create. Shipping or not. Their content is so much better. Stuff from here can be good too but they're the exceptions and not the norm.

and thank you for sharing work here so I can discover new great artists!

I'm having a better time with the Submas tag because after being into this fandom for 2+ years, all the obnoxious people have blocked me by now. Some people I actually liked blocked me as well, but I'm still able to see enough new material that I'm reblogging a tumblr artist every day.

It's the damn shipping tags I stopped looking at so much, and I haven't checked Blankshipping on AO3 in over a year. *checks just now* What do we have? Lets see....mermaid bullshit, zoroark bullshit, omegaverse, niche fetishes maybe two people are into, two Ingos and one Emmet, gross transgender mutilation crap, father/daughter with a minor, more mermaid bullshit except Ingo and Emmet are a COLOSSAL SQUID AND SPERM WHALE, WHICH ARE NATURAL ENEMIES, YO!!! (My OCD making me flinch because if they are identical twins, then they'd have to both be one or the other).

Whoa, I'm actually amazed I got two pages in reading summaries, and didn't see a single thing labeled 'whump/hurt no comfort/dead dove do not eat/major character death...' That used to be the majority of content when I first got into Submas Yaoi. Maybe that clique moved on. Still, there's not a single description that made me want to open something up and read it. I'm into the Japanese/Korean aesthetic more than the actual ship. Other blankshippers did a more thorough job turning me off of brother-fucking in that couple months when PLA was at its height of popularity than any foaming-at-the-mouth antis could have done in a lifetime.

I wouldn't give up on general here on Tumblr though. There's still a lot of good content to be had. I've always liked general more than shipping because there's more of the casual intimacy and cutesy spice-of-life. Add to that, but there's a few Asian artists posting here too. The craziest part is there are probably a handful of people who would agree with me, or at least they'd rather see fluff than explicit, but they blocked me anyway for political reasons.

Art credit: 寿@kaz8ens Twitter.

[faofinn]

So we've mentioned before about AUs, but here's a bit more info!

MAIN @brothersinmorethanarms

What started it all, a quick question of "what if" that turned into our canon. Sheila and Fred Daniels end up fostering Faolan Blackwood after an awful tragedy, and gain another son. Finn gains a brother and a lot of trauma.

FAO x HARS @thesetwilightmoments

Fao and Harrison get together, but a bit more than normal canon. They're gay, we're gay, it's great.

CRIME AU @thewolfandtheghost

Add a little ✨spice✨ to the brothers, the Daniels are now a notorious London crime family. Fao falls in with them and the rest is history. Bending the rules of ethical medical treatment, but when everything you're doing is illegal, does it matter?

WEREOLVES AU @whatimmortaldareframe

Essentially Brothers, but more wolf.

MEDIEVAL AU @heavyheadwearsthecrown

A late night prompt fill turned into an AU. Finn is crown prince and Fao has the unfortunate job keeping him alive.

TAIDGH X HARS (aka normal canon now)

Fao and Hars don't work out long term, but that's okay. Enter the lovable physio with another difficult to pronounce Irish name, and Hars is head over heels. Watch them fall in love and start their family.

ARCC (The Academy for Rehabilitation of Children in Crisis)

An AU of an AU. What if werewolves followed the classic special kids boarding school trope? This one is still under development. The brothers are brothers, there's mischief and werewolves and whump. What's not to like?

Whump Introduction!

Welcome to the blog!

Ran by @evadenly (aka Ev) and @7thchevronlocked (aka Shiv), we attempted (and completed!) Whumptober with our boys! So we finally caved and started a whumpy blog together.

We have loads too much more original content we’ll be posting (If we both manage to stay out of hospital! - Though we promise to be nice and behave for the nurses!).

Again, if Ev gets her finger out, we should have some art too! Lots from our boys in various whumpy and questionable situations hopefully.

We’ll be writing vaguely (Read: Too medically accurate for our own good) medical whump, seizures, chronic pain, mental health issues and general fun times, with plenty of comfort…eventually. And of course we can’t stick to one AU, so we have several. Obviously 😅

[squigglywindy]

Whumptober Day One

Title: A Little Out of the Ordinary

Prompts Used: Unconventional Restraints, "This wasn't supposed to happen

Warnings: Not much for this one. They get tied up I guess. There's a kinda sinister guy

Whumpee(s): Warriors and Four

Whumpometer for those hesitant to read these bad boys, as some are Very Bad and some, like this one, barely qualify as whump: 0 for Emotional Turmoil. Maybe like a 1 for Physical Distress

General Notes: Y'all've heard me talk about day one. Idk. Bear with me until day three at least, please and thank you, this one's A Mess. *Yeets it at you and runs away* Take it from me.

Four swung his sword and hacked through a vine, just to add a little spice to their trek through the wilderness. Warriors plodded along beside him, heaving his fifth bone-weary sigh in as many minutes. The others were back at a pond, gathering fish to restock their dwindling food supply. Four and Warriors had drawn the shorts straws and were elected against their wills to scout ahead. Check for monsters, maybe find a path, a noble task for sure. But it was also hands-down the most boring assignment they could have received.

Warriors slowed slightly, drawing his own sword to whack at a vine. “So...” he kicked at a clump of grass and looked Four up and down as if he were appraising him. “...We don’t hang out a lot, do we?”

Four shook his head and kicked a rock, watching it roll down a hill until it splashed into a small puddle at the bottom.

     “Why is that?” Warriors pondered aloud, but was silenced when Four grabbed his sleeve and shushed him. “What?” He whispered, but quickly turned to look around when the question was answered by a rustle in the trees.

     Four’s sword was off his back in an instant, and Warriors hastily followed his example and pointed his blade toward the sky. “Hello?” He called hesitantly, choosing to believe it was something harmless until he had evidence to the contrary.

     “Hello!” The voice came from above, and the next thing Warriors knew, a person landed on his shoulders.

     Warriors yelped and tried to shake the person off, but he held on tight to Warriors’ head and refused to be shaken.

     “What do you what?” Four had his sword leveled at the both of them, seemingly willing to run Warriors through if it would mean getting at the intruder, who Warriors really couldn’t see and was honestly just guessing was a person at all.

     “I want you,” the maniac cackled, and Warriors’ hands flew to his neck when the guy on his shoulders grabbed his scarf, acting for all the world like he intended to choke him.

     “For what!?” Warriors demanded, fingers threaded under his scarf so he could pull against the stranger, preserving his ability to breathe and speak, however fruitless it was proving.

     The stranger didn’t answer. Instead, he launched himself off of Warriors and toward Four.

     It was all a blur after that. Warriors’ sword was knocked away, and Four’s clanged on top of it a moment later. Both of them hit the ground when tackled by the stranger, and as hard as they fought, it was useless.

     The strangers shoved them together, back to back wound Warriors’ scarf tightly around them; their arms pinned to their sides and legs folded beneath them.

     “Why!?” Warriors demanded. “Why was this necessary!?”

     “Going to your camp,” the stranger chuckled, and they could see him more clearly now. He wore a cloak, the hood of which mostly obscured his face; but what they could see betrayed his age, and the smirk across his face. “Gonna take your stuff.” And with that he turned and ran away, high-stepping as he did a strange little dance along his way.

     There was nothing but silence for a moment before Four spoke. It was muffled, his face wrapped in the scarf that wound around Warriors’ chest. “If they ask, there were five of them and they weren’t a hundred and thirty.”

     “Agreed,” Warriors nodded slightly and shifted, trying to get his feet under him. The scarf was bound tight enough to make maneuvering and breathing both a little too hard, but he eventually got in a slightly better position more conducive toward standing. “Okay. Stand on three?”

     Four grumbled. “My face is strapped to your shoulders; if you stand I’m dangling.”

     “Maybe you’ll slide out the bottom,” Warriors shrugged hopefully, wiggling them both with the motion.

     “If I don’t?”

     “I’ll jump around a little, shake you out; it’ll be fun,” Warriors insisted. “One. Two. Three.” Warriors got his feet underneath himself and stood, dragging them both to his feet. As predicted, Four turned into a person-shaped backpack, and kicked his legs like a frustrated little cat. “Should’ve tied us to a tree, he wasn’t very smart,” Warriors hummed as he hopped once, doing a little wiggle to try and dislodge Four and free them both.

     They were bound far too tight, and Four didn’t budge. “What now Mr. Bright Ideas?” Four harrumphed as he kicked some more in a futile attempt to free himself.

     “I don’t know, this wasn’t supposed to happen!” Warriors huffed, beginning to waddle back toward camp; movement significantly impeded by the cocoon the stranger had turned his scarf into.

     “You can’t just go back, we’d have to explain!” Four protested.

     “He’s on his way to rob them!” Warriors reminded him, no small amount of frustration bleeding into his tone; more over being bested by a rogue old man than anything else. “They’re going to find out either way.”

     “And at this pace we’ll never beat him there anyway,” Four argued. “If we go now and he is fighting them, then we just become a liability. We’re defenseless. We need to solve our own problems before we worry about theirs.”

     Warriors hated it, but he was right. They were unarmed and tied together, and that was the last thing their brothers needed if they were, in fact, fighting the scary stranger. He looked around and his eyes landed on their discarded swords, tossed together beside a fairly small tree. “New plan,” Warriors decided. “I’m going to back up to that tree, and you’re going to wrap your legs around it. Then I’ll jerk forward, but you hang on, and maybe we’ll pull apart and we can waltz back to camp like nothing happened.”

Four grumbled unintelligibly under his breath, but Warriors felt him nod, so he backed up to the tree and waited for Four to wind his legs around it as instructed. “Okay go,” Four gave him the nod, and Warriors jerked forward, successfully dislodging Four slightly from his back.

“You’re going to break my neck,” Four decided, now bent at an impossibly more awkward angle thanks to the shift in position.

“You’re fine, I’ll go easier next time,” Warriors insisted, jerking forward again with exactly as much force as he had the first time.

“If it’s not my neck it’ll be my legs,” Four continued to complain, which was fair given how much his joints had just been yanked, but Warriors bristled at the comment anyway.

“The offer to walk back into camp like this stands,” he grumbled, and took Four’s silence as an invitation to continue their current course of action.

It took three more jerks, but eventually, they yanked apart and Warriors stumbled forward with the momentum and crashed face-first onto the ground. The ground had never tasted so sweet; and he pushed himself back to his feet with a triumphant: “Hah! Take that creepy old man!” He whirled around to face Four with a smile, and the smithy waved a thumbs-up from his position on the ground, flat on his back with his legs propped up against the tree, forming an L shape at the base of the trunk. He offered Four a hand, and once they were both standing, he cleared his throat a little awkwardly. “So um...we’re not telling the others?”

“Absolutely not,” Four shook his head and picked up their swords, sheathing his own and holding out the other toward Warriors. “If they’re allowed to have their secrets then so are we.”

Warriors nodded in agreement, accepting his sword and taking the lead back toward camp. And if they acted a little too surprised when the others recounted the tale of a stranger they had teamed up on and scared off, then nobody commented.

[t0rture-memoved]

🥰 - Post-nightmare cuddles or ☺ words of reassurance for Danny, maybe? If you feel like it

{this takes place well into danny's captivity, like 2+ years into it, just for context as to why marcus is acting the way he is}

[CW kinda gorey descriptions in a dream, i think that's the only big thing but lmk if i should add something!]

Run run run run run run run. Why can't I move? Oh god it's behind me. Please, please no, let me go let me go let me go.

Claws gripped his shoulders but he couldn't see them. He looked behind himself but there was nothing there. It was just an invisible beast with sharp claws about to devour him.

"You're mine." It said. Danny felt blood pour from his arms, the invisible claws digging deeper into his skin. "I am going to eat you whole. Are you ready to experience hell, Danny?"

Oh god, it knew his name, how did it know his name? He screamed as the claws scraped down his arms, slicing them wide open. The creature bit his back and he could feel every single razored fang pierce his skin. He was shaking. Or, maybe it was shaking him.

"No, nonono please, god please stop." He cried. He screamed.

"There is no god, Danny." It sang. "Danny, Danny, Danny, Danny~"

"DANNY!" He bolted awake, his heart beating out of his chest. Marcus was leaning over him, holding his shoulders, undoubtedly from attempting to wake him. "There you are." He sighed, relieved. "You were having a nightmare, I think."

"N-nightmare?" Danny gasped, his pulse trying desperately to slow.

"Yeah, just a nightmare, sweet boy." Marcus pushed some sweaty hair from his face. "You remember what we do when you have nightmares? Five."

"Mm-- F-fish." That was one. Thankfully she heard her name and moved from the foot of the bed to curl on top of Danny's chest.

"Four more. What else do you see?"

"Alarm clock... Um, l-lamp. Y-y-you, and- and v-vv-vase."

"Good. Four."

"Blank-ket, fur, mm, p-pillow and pjs."

"Three."

"Purring, c-clock, breathing."

"Two."

"Sweat a-and incense."

"One."

"Spit."

"Very good. Are you feeling a little better, now?" Marcus asked, wrapping his arms around the ever-so-slightly trembling man in his bed.

"Yes, Sir. Thank you for w-waking me up."

"I'll always wake you up. Do you want to talk about what happened in the dream or do you want to try to go back to sleep?"

"Sleep, p-please, Sir."

"Of course, sweet thing." The light flicked off, plunging the room into a comfortable darkness. Danny sighed, he could feel his pulse begin to slow back to normal, and with the slight warmth of Marcus and Fish, he was able to fall back asleep fairly quickly.

Taglist - @whumpsday @pumpkin-spice-whump @ramadiiiisme @octopus-reactivated @wolfeyedwitch @whumpiguess @thecyrulik @whumpeedeedoo @morning-star-whump @interdimensional-chaos @annablogsposts @oddsconvert @melancholy-in-the-morning

[hold-him-down]

What are some of your favorite whump series?

Here are some recommendations. I almost always reblog things that I love, so none should come as a surprise. I also still don't consider myself particularly well read on whumblr, so please, feel free to add or send me recommendations any time :)

Danny Michaelson's Story by @ashintheairlikesnow [captivity story. one of my favorite works of fiction of all time, I can (and do) reread parts of it over and over. i can't stress this enough. when i don't know what else to read, i just pick a random chapter of this and it always slaps.]

Collarbones by @ilasknives [evil medicine, the background is unclear to me. Two whumpees/captives are being taught and experimented on by a sadistic doctor? anyway i love]

Endurance by @whither-wander-whump [human-like alien whumpee, lab whump, if I get a notification that it updated I immediately go read]

Do No Harm by @peachy-panic [BBU-Adjacent, similar to the fighter, if you like the fighter, read this, you will not regret. Lots of med whump]

58 days by @peachy-panic [captivity story. this story deserves way more attention than it gets and that IS a hill I will die on]

Bo's Story by @deluxewhump [captivity story. also, like generally anything she posts I'm going to read, they're all my fave, but this is my fave fave]

One Night's Mistake by @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump [BBU. female caretaker, accidentally purchases a box boy when drunk one night, all the angst that feeds my soul]

Reap the Harvest by @pumpkin-spice-whump [medical/experimental horror. i've really enjoyed all the pieces that i've read so far, pumpkin never really shies away from violence/gore, the characters and the anguish are so so compelling]

Shadow by my Fireplace by @quietly-by-myself [slave whump/captivity whump. recovery story, i've recently started reading this and have really been enjoying it, the whumpee is just a sad scared little guy and i am OBSESSED with sad scared little guys]

Behavior Modification by @whumpcereal [bbu. have recently been reading this, i love LOVE post-freedom comfort here, the writing is *chefs kiss*.]

[wolfeyedwitch]

��� for bailey

😌 - Someone gently brushing their hair

------

"I can... you know, I can do it myself," Bailey said hesitantly. "You don't have to."

Zera grinned at them. "Yeah, I know. I want to." They sobered. "As long as that's okay, I mean. If you don't want me to, that's fine."

They were sitting in the medbay. Zera had just finished changing the bandages on Bailey's back, and noted that their hair was a bit of a mess. It was matted and tangled with several stressful day's worth of events. Since Bailey was still on bedrest until Maeve could heal their leg, showers were out of the question, and a bath would have aggravated their back. Zera offered to at least brush it out and add some dry shampoo.

Bailey looked at them for a long moment, seemingly looking for something in their expression. Finally, they nodded. "In that case, um. Yes, please?"

"Sure thing," Zera said. They grabbed the necessary supplies and a rolling table to set them on, then got to work.

They liberally applied the dry shampoo, distributing it through Bailey's hair with their fingers to avoid catching on any tangles. Next came a wide-toothed comb. Zera started at the ends and worked their way towards Bailey's scalp. Zera themself had hair short enough that tangles weren't really an issue, but they knew how to deal with them, at least in theory. They were rarely called upon to put it in practice.

With the tangles taken care of, Zera switched to a brush. They ran it through Bailey's hair in long, gentle strokes.

Bailey let out a soft sigh, nearly inaudible except for how close Zera was sitting to them. Tension visibly left their shoulders, and they slumped a little.

Zera smiled to themself, not wanting to draw attention to the reaction. If this made Bailey feel more comfortable, feel more relaxed? They were happy to keep it up as long as Bailey wanted.

Taglist (let me know if you'd rather be tagged for just the main story rather than asks as well):

@heathenville @nonbinary-disaster @kim-poce @whump-world @dolls-circus @pickleking8 @appleejuice @cupcakes-and-pain @badluck990 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @extemporary-whump @multiple-characters1-acct @sunflower1000 @fleur-des-lore @equestrianwritingsstuff, @scp-1296 @livingforthewhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @suspicious-whumping-egg @kaiwewi @lelly-belly @neuro-whump @newbornwhumperfly @whumpthisway, @whumpcreations, @wicked-whump @heart4brains, @myhusbandsasemni @lifeisexhausting892 @kixngiggles @kurochan @whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @pattonvirglsanders @neverthelass @we-write-as-one @elrys-creates @whumperflies-and-roses

[whumpinggrounds]

Stress Testing

Finally! It’s T, my beloved. I’ve written hypothermia for Liam twice and as much as I love that look for him...for @febuwhump day 6, I decided to do something new.

Tagging the robot crew! @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @redwingedwhump, @winedark-whump, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @whump-cravings, @impalasexual, @i-can-even-burn-salad, @whumpingmydarlings, @ocean-blue-whump, @light-whumps-dark-fics-archived,

CW: male whumpee, nonhuman whumpee, techno whump, hypothermia, training whump, lab rat,

The training room had been cooled to approximately fifteen degrees Fahrenheit. T’s body registered the change and adapted accordingly, but he had to wait to overhear a handler’s muttered words before his suspicion was confirmed. Following the incident with the virus, they wanted to stress test a few components to ensure they were still performing to specification. T well understood the need for this. He even appreciated it. If he was to use the arm, he needed to know that it was capable of working like it always had.

He just wished they weren’t using cold.

Studded all over with metal as he is, T loses body heat about double the rate of a standard human. Already, the arm has adjusted core temperature so it isn’t wasting energy by running too hot. All over, T’s mechanical pieces began to cool themselves. The first involuntary shiver threatens in T’s exposed torso. He’s wearing standard testing attire – black tank top, blank pants. His feet are bare on the freezing floor. His breath fogs out in front of him.

“Operative.” The voice in his ear is pitched just loud enough to be heard, and T is glad for small mercies. “You are to complete the obstacle course before you, forward and back once. Speed is primary, stealth secondary. Consider avoiding damage to the body a tertiary objective. You may begin.”

Almost before the word registers, T’s legs are moving. He dives into the white-walled maze he knows so well, anticipating a changed course from the last time he ran it. Feet sticking slightly to the smooth, frozen floor, T dodges electrified tiles by hearing their almost imperceptible hum. He doubles back from dead ends with a reaction time that would make a standard human look like a snail. He climbs nets like a spider, slides under walls raised just enough to allow the height of his chest. Swinging from ropes is no obstacle, and he moves faster through a sunken, underwater section than he does on land. The whole way through, T pauses only once.

He’s soaked from the pool and shivering, a meat brain response that’s best ignored. All across his skin are pinpricks of pain, little prickling electric spikes of freezing cold that attempt to drag him away from his single-minded purpose. It’s worst where he can feel the metal, unnaturally chilly, surrounded by, embedded in, shivering human skin. The place where the arm connects is aching, the stump of his shoulder on fire where it meets frigid steel. Within his chest, wires and motherboards drop his core temperature until it feels like his very heart is trembling. It’s a bone-deep cold, a cold that can’t be helped by running or sweating or shaking his cropped hair dry. Right then, right when he’s at his coldest, he’s hit with a blast of hot air.

It’s not another channel, an option for him to run. The warm air that makes T want to stop and press close and purr like a cat is just a vent, set innocuously in the otherwise featureless white wall. It’s a distraction and T knows it. There isn’t enough power there to heat the whole room, and the warmth dissipates mere inches from the hissing grate. More importantly, it has absolutely nothing to add in achieving his objectives. He couldn’t even make a case for preserving the body. T knows that his inorganic components can easily survive this chill, and the organic body is overly responsive, anyway. It sends off alarm signals far too early and far too aggressively. T is tough. He’s going to be fine.

He pulls away from the grate, knowing that his microsecond of a pause will be noted by his supervisors. He runs the rest of the course in a matter of minutes. At the end, the restored arm downloads a completion code, and as soon as its loaded, he turns and pelts back through the course. The body is so, so cold now. Involuntary shivers keep throwing off T’s movements. His feet slip on the smooth, frozen floor. T can’t tell if it’s grown colder, or if his movements have just grown sloppier, less capable. His organic and inorganic body is failing. His muscles are responding slower. Everything aches. The cold air stings. When T plunges back into the icy water of the pool, it punches every last scrap of air out of his lungs.

He makes it back to the beginning of the maze and uploads the completion code in twenty-three minutes and change. Then T stands there, shaking, for twelve more minutes while he waits for the handlers to come.

First, the doctors and the techs come to examine him. Layla and her pale-faced, ever-present assistant check reflexes and readouts while the doctors take T’s vitals. When Dr. Pole takes T’s temperature, T sees his eyebrows lift.

The four supervisors murmur to each other, mostly, occasionally telling T to move an arm or a leg, to open his mouth or flex a muscle. The doctors ask him to stop shivering, and when he can’t, they write that down. The techs test the grip strength of his metal arm versus the flesh one, and they write down those results, too. When all the poking and prodding and experimenting is done, the doctors step back first.

“Hey, hey,” Layla complains. “You two can’t walk out now. T’s half-frozen. That’s your responsibility.”

Dr. Zhu rolls her eyes behind her glasses. “We have results to input. Surely you and Wagner can handle this?”

“We surely cannot,” Layla replies, acid in her tone. “As the doctors on the team, it is your job to get him back to neutral status after-”

“Don’t whine Layla, you sound like a child-”

Wagner heaves an expressive sigh, loud enough to sound over the arguing women. “Make the kid do it.”

Dr. Zhu frowns. “What do you mean? The…the new kid?”

“Yeah. Whatever his name is with the floppy boy-band hair.” Wagner waves a dismissive hand. “He’s so excited to be a member of the team, make him figure it out.”

“The kid doesn’t know what he’s doing.” Layla sounds like she’s arguing, but even T can see the crafty look in her eyes. “T’s pretty iced out. What’s he going to do about it?”

Wagner snorts. “Oh, come on. Sit him in a warm room, get him some clothes. It’s not that hard. Even the newbie could do it.”

They’re all in on it now, all exchanging sly glances, smiles that creep up the sides of their faces. “I would love to get out of all that caretaking,” muses Dr. Zhu. “Why not? It can be a little initiation. The kid’s got a lot to learn before he actually works on T.”

They’re all looking at Dr. Pole, now. He’s the strictest, the most by-the-book. They also all know that it’s his son’s fifth birthday. He stares back at them impassively as long as he can, and then, finally, a smile cracks his disapproving façade.

“What the hell?” he announces, to quiet cheers. “Someone get Fred in here.”

[whumpflash]

The Cold

( a prequel to Sun and Glass)

previous part

cw: slavery, captivity, disjointed mindset, very vague noncon reference

His new master names him Fawn and sticks him in a cell and it's cold and it's cold and it's cold. When he has the strength to stand, the little barred window tells him that the trees have lost their leaves already. Some mornings there's frost on the bars. Some mornings there's frost on his blanket.

New Master had seen him on the stage and wanted more than one night in his company. 

(and had enough gold to persuade the troupe, and soon he was away from the colorful tents)

But why would new master pay so much for him only to leave him here? 

(he was tired of being touched, but was freezing to death better?)

He could guess at intentions. He knew what he'd been bought for, had been expecting it as soon as Master pulled him stumbling into the keep

(but instead of following up the stairs he was taken down down down to where it was always cold)

He can't say how many days have passed. He spends his time huddled under a blanket, shivering. Counting the stones in the walls and the floor and the ceiling. Trying not to think.

76, 77, 78, 

(I used to be a prince)

79, 80, 81

(I don't deserve this)

He eats whenever the faceless guard brings in a bowl of stew

(even that is barely lukewarm; he still holds the bowl tightly in his hands, trying to absorb any heat)

And he sleeps when darkness takes hold of the cell. Or, he tries to

(his dreams are hands that hurt and hands that grab. All of them made of ice)

But one morning, the faceless guard comes down the steps not with soup, but with keys. The guard unlocks the cell, and hauls his shaking body to its feet, and leads him up the steps

(his legs give out once, halfway up, but the guard does not kick him. The guard is kind)

When the door at the top of the stairs is unlocked, the warm air that hits him almost makes him cry with joy. There are more stairs, and another door, this one heavy wood with ornate carvings

(he remembers a door to his father's study, one much grander than this)

And the door swings open to reveal a grand bedroom, a roaring fire, a bed with many furs--

"My lord. Shall I run him a bath?"

"No," says a voice from the bed. A figure pushes itself up, stands. "I'll take care of it. Thank you, Lorens."

The door closes behind him and the man steps closer and he can see now that's it's his master. 

Master says nothing, only pulls his still-shivering body into him, and it's warm. Blissfully warm. He nuzzles into his master's neck with a small whine as the man scoops him up and carries him toward the bed.

"I thought I'd like you better like this. Did you like the cell, my Fawn?"

He shakes his head against his master's chest. He's stopped shivering at last, his muscles aching from the constant tension.

"It's not pleasant this time of year, hm? Well, not to worry. You can sleep here with me instead, if you ask nicely."

Fawn is too busy drinking in the warmth to hear the first time. He's jarred back to the present when Master throws him onto the bed.

"Can you ask nicely, Fawn?" he says, voice more stern this time.

"Y-yes," he looks up with wide eyes. "May I stay with you?" then adds, "Please?"

(knew this would happen, don't think, just do as you're told)

Master brushes hair out of Fawn's face. "Ask one more time."

Fawn nods. "M-may I please sleep here, with-with you?"

"Of course," Master says. "And if you make me happy, you never have to go back to the cell again, do you understand?"

(don't talk to me like I'm a child, you pompous--)

"I understand," Fawn says, and Master climbs onto the bed, looming over him, hands placed at either side of his head

(just like before just like before you knew this was coming just do what you're told--)

"Good."

And as his hands trace their way down his chest, Fawn counts himself lucky that they're warm.

tag list:

@fleur-des-lore , @fandomseksta , @whumpwillow , @and-then-there-was-whump , @pumpkin-spice-whump , @suspicious-pools-of-blood , @melodyvonmelody , @fantasywhumpco , @silent-starry-night , @i-cannot-remember

[comfy-whumpee]

Tenten: Perfect

Just a lil warmup drabble. CN: BBU, slavery. @neuro-whump​, @rosesareviolentlyread​, @whumper-in-training​, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @pumpkin-spice-whump

Everything had been perfect, today.

 Tenten got up at six to prepare Sally's breakfast smoothie before she went on her morning run. He made sure it tasted sweet and sharp, while still having the correct amount of kale. He smiled and listened to Sally's conversation when she came down to drink it, and locked the door behind her when she went out.

 He started preparing breakfast for when she got back and the family woke up properly. He cooked honey-fried bacon, French toast and Phillip's granola with yoghurt was sprinkled with honey and brown sugar. When Sally returned, he had just finished setting the table with the little spoons. Rupert's coffee and Amy's tea were poured into their favourite mugs and waiting on their coasters by their usual chairs. The blinds were up and the windows ajar to let in the sweet smell of the flowers in the garden.

 Sally showered and changed, and as they ate breakfast, Tenten went upstairs to collect her running clothes and put them into the laundry basket. He brought the whole container down to sort after breakfast was finished. He re-joined the family and sat at his little table against the wall, listening to their conversation, sometimes included in it, as he ate his porridge with honey and dried fruit.

 Tenten was part of the family, and he was part of family breakfast.

 He cleaned up once the food was gone, and Phillip lingered to talk about his new book, which Tenten listened to with eager, thoughtless enthusiasm. By the time Phillip had finished rambling about the intergalactic alien wars, breakfast had disappeared without a trace. Tenten waited until Phillip left before he went to the laundry room and started sorting through the hamper, separating the clothes into darks, lights and colours, checking pockets and turning everything inside out. He also made sure to pull out Rupert's silk shirts and Sally's lace, so that they could be handwashed later.

 The back pocket Amy's skinny jeans yielded a tissue. Robert had left his work keys in his trousers again. Phillip, as always, had a variety of things to take out of his zipped jacket pockets. There was a yoghurt lid, small enough to fold neatly, with Phillip's favourite TV character on it. There was a pebble, white and three-pointed with a dark crevice in the middle. A penny, a balled-up foil wrapper, a bus ticket, and a crumpled scrap of paper ripped from something larger. Tenten smoothed it out to add to the pile.

 His heart dropped when he saw what was on it, copied meticulously in Phillip's scratchy handwriting. The average American household does not have a pet. Those who do are almost exclusively wealthy individuals, or more rarely, affluent families and businesses.

 His heartbeat pulsed under his skin. It was a question Phillip had asked him once before. How many people have pets?

 Across the industry, the standard terminology remains broadly consistent. In order of pricing, these are: Domestic pets, who take care of everyday working activities such as cleaning and cooking; Platonic pets, who provide care and attention for those around them; and most controversially, there are

 The next part was scribbled out. Tenten knew what was underneath, and that Phillip must have been too embarrassed to write it down in full.

 There were only a couple more lines on the page. Tenten dragged his eyes down to them. What had Phillip wanted to know?

 Other companies greenlit the use of punishment as a way of reinforcing desired behaviours. We have categorically refused to take this approach. A pre-trained pet is a blank slate, an innocent. Violence is never necessary, and is strictly forbidden in our fulfilment centres.

 "That's why Help At Home is the ethical choice for your domestic needs," Tenten whispered, shivering as the old aches started up again.

 He crumpled the paper back up and placed it on the pile as though he had never read it, and tried his best to put it from his mind as he continued with his work.

Everything had to be perfect, today and every day.

[professional-benaddict]

i'm so excited for drug raid pt 2!

part one here!! eeee took forever before I got around to part two bUt here it is!! I hope y'all like it xx

Cop Tony, paramedic Stephen, 18+ Little Peter, Littles are known verse, police raids, drug dealing, illegal drug use, referenced forced drug use, referenced kidnapping, past abuse, withdrawal, hospitalisation, whump, angst, comfort, 1.5k

The next day, Tony waltzes into the hospital with a latte in his hand. Still riding the high of the raid from the night before, the cop feels at the top of his game. He and the rest of the department have the upper hand. The evidence and statements keep pouring in, and it’s all in their favour, which means not so much in the drug dealers’ favour. It’s their third successful raid in just two months, and yet this feels different. The stakes feel higher, and Tony feels like he should be here taking the Little’s statement. He was the one who found him after all, abused and forcefully drugged at the hands of the drug dealers, and on top of it all he was manhandled by an overly excited SWAT guy. Perhaps the SWAT guy had an aggression problem. He wouldn’t be the first. 

Tony’s intentions feel more pure than that of the SWAT guys, at least to him, and he likes to think that that was why Fury let him come take the Little’s statement out of all the other officers. To be honest, he likes the kid. He’s intrigued, and not just professionally. Tony doesn’t exactly know what it is, but he’s giddy while waiting in line at the reception to find where his informant is. 

“You can just go wait in the car if you want, honey bear.” Tony teases to Rhodey, who’s with him at the hospital. They are partners after all, and they go everywhere together. Well, maybe not everywhere since Rhodey actually takes him up on the offer, muttering something about his overly sensitive nose and the antiseptic smell of the hospital being a perfect mix for a headache. Tony waves him off and tells him to get out of there before he gets cranky. 

The receptionist is not able to tell Tony exactly where Peter is, but directs him to the neurological wing where they can show him where the Little is. So, Tony heads up and tosses his empty latte cup on his way there. After some more waiting and flashing of his badge, Tony is escorted by a nurse to see Peter. 

“He’s going through withdrawal, and quite badly too. Don’t stress him out, okay? You can always come back another time.” The nurse informs while they walk through some automatic and lockable doors. 

“How long is he gonna be here?” 

“Till the withdrawal wears off, but the doctor is planning on having him on psych hold when the withdrawal is over. The Little’s handle it the worst, you know? He’s having awful nightmares and suicidal thoughts already. Poor babe…” The nurse adds sadly. 

“Yeah…” Tony agrees quietly and steps a bit to the side to let a transporter pushing an empty bed pass them in the hallway. A bit further down the eggshell coloured hallway, the nurse stops and gestures to a door. 

“I’ll just head in first and see how he is.” The nurse smiles and slips through the door, leaving Tony to wait in the hallway alone. 

The cop resists the urge to look through the window in the door. Just what kind of shape is Peter in? Last time Tony saw him he was unconscious after a seizure. It’s almost unheard of that Littles take drugs, precisely because they can hardly handle it. Their vulnerable bodies cave in at the smallest doses, while a caregiver like Tony could take triple the dose and still get up the next morning. And that is why Littles are never legally punished for drug possession, and instead they are put into treatment to get rehabbed. Some might say that is the same as prison, if you think about the principals of each setting. Limited freedom. And yet there’s a major difference. Tony isn’t here to arrest Peter, only talk to him. 

A few moments later, when Tony is about to give in and peak in through the window, the nurse exists again and invites the cop in. The hospital room is quite sad, actually. There’s signs of attempts to make it Little-friendly, but the poorly drawn and creepy cartoon dinosaur has the opposite effect that what was probably intended. The hospital bed is Little proof though, with side rails going all around the bed to keep the patient safe. And Peter does look safe, but also absolutely terrible. 

The big, brown eyes go wide when he lays his eyes on Tony, and the cop stays back a bit. The nurse comes forward then and guides Peter to lay back again when he tries to get up. The boy’s movements are clumsy and shaky. Tony guesses he is experiencing muscle aches and fatigue. 

“No, no- I don’t- I didn’t…” Peter stutters and looks pleadingly at the nurse. The cop tries to ignore the feeling of being assigned ‘the bad guy’ role, even though he has not said a word yet. He wouldn’t be surprised if the drug dealers brainwashed the boy to never trust cops, or anyone else outside their gag for that matter. Just another manipulation tactic to keep him in check. As if forcefully drugging him isn’t enough. 

“Shhh, honey bee. The police office is just going to speak to you. It’s all right.” The nurse coos. 

“I didn’t wan’ to do it. They forced me, please…”

“I know, sweetheart, I know. That’s what the officer is here to talk to you about. Just tell the truth and everything will work out, okay? You can push the button anytime and Amanda or one of the other nurses will come, okay?” 

And with that the nurse takes her leave, but not before whispering to Tony to take it easy. The officer nods and thanks her, then turns to the boy on the bed. 

He looks absolutely terrible, that much is obvious. It looks like Peter is hollow inside, and that his skin is just a facade made of the thinest paper. It the wind where to blow, it might just take Peter along with it. But, Tony knows he is not all hollow inside. The boy’s eyes are pained, and it looks like he is aching to tell his truth, to get everything that is inside out into the world and to someone who can do something. Something to save him. And Tony wants to do precisely that, and so he sits on the chair next to the bed with a soft smile. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi…” 

“I’m Officer Stark, but you can call me Tony.” The officer starts. “You’re Peter. What’s your full name?” 

“Benjamin Parker. Peter Benjamin Parker.” 

“Benjamin, huh? That’s cute.” 

“Is’ after my uncle.”

“Is he around?” 

“Dead.” The Little deadpans, fiddling with the hospital blanket. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Tony says sincerely. “Do you have any other family around? Someone we could call?” 

“No- uhm, they all dead. But, Beck took me in.” 

“Quentin Beck? Right.” Tony sighs a bit. Quentin Beck, as in the Beck who is now in custody at the station. They are still putting together the bigger picture and hierarchy of the gang at the station, but it seems like Beck is in the middle there somewhere. And it seems like Peter is very much in the middle of it all too. “Tell me what happened, from the beginning.” 

Peter talks for over half an hour. The boy is so detailed in his descriptions, like he has a photographic memory, that Tony barely has to ask follow up questions, and instead listens as carefully as he can while noting down some key words in his notepad. Sometimes, the boy has to pause to catch his breath or stop himself from crying, but by the end of it the tears finally spill over when Peter starts describing how Beck and the others would drug him against his will. At one point, the boy’s crying is so pained that Tony reaches out to hold his hand. Peter clutches back, like Tony is his anchor in the storm that is his emotional and psychological turmoil. The Little definitely needs to be on psych hold. 

In the middle of Peter’s cry, a nurse knocks on the door and enters with a concerned look. She must have been altered due to Peter’s heart rate picking up due to the crying. 

“Is everything all right here?” The nurse asks, giving Tony a look. The officer feels like she is accusing him of going too hard on the Little. Once again the bad guy. 

“Is- is okay, Amanda…” Peter hiccups and dries his tears bravely. He forces a smile at the nurse when she comes over to check on him. 

“Okay, sweetheart, but I think this is enough for today. You need to rest.” Amanda orders kindly, and once again she gives Tony a look. Getting the implied message, Tony rises from his seat and tucks his notepad, now his very precious notepad, into his jacket. 

“I’ll come back another time, then.” The officer says. 

And Tony does exactly that. 

tag list: @petersmocha @garcia-reid-lovechild @stressedboyinprogess @ikneelbeforemygod @sugar-and-spice-parker @robynofthestars @pastel-parker-bitch @tightaroundthewebshooter @puppypeter @carttorchdeatth @starkerplusstrange @starkermoodboards @smits-stuff @honeybunstarker @xsmallplum @everyonelovespetey @ihonestlydontevenknow @baly0110 @velvetjoker @starkerparkerstark @allaboutthatshowmanlife @itsrachael @holographic-starker @bisexual-spiderling @liesversusjoy @littlespaceofyaoi @spanglesandstars @avengerscollection @bennywantstogotosleep @goldenmogar @justanotherfandomthot

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Whumptober Day 24: Alt Prompt: Comfort

CW: Referenced wing whump/nonconsensual piercings, dehumanized whumpee, noncon touch (nonsexual), pet whump

As always, details of fae biology and this universe in general all belong to @wildfaewhump and they are Vic’s express creation

“Hey there.”

The creature looked up, and the girl managed only with an effort to hold back her wince at the sight of the strange fae eyes that looked at her from such a deeply human face. 

Lord Regyn’s contribution to the salon’s theme of something we haven’t seen before was quiet, faintly trembling, and the girl had seen the poor thing eyeing the cups of steaming coffee poured for everyone else, seen the rush of saliva as those big fae eyes looked at plates piled high with pastries that no one ever moved to feed him.

The creature did not speak, not right away, but she smiled as though he had, sweeping her skirts up a bit with one hand so she could drop into an easy crouch, getting down to its level where it sat, legs crossed, on the smoothly polished floor.

On the other side of the room, the nobility had all gathered around someone else’s bit of pride, a centaur foal pressed shivering into her mother’s side. Centaur born in captivity were exceedingly rare, and the poor dear would keep the attention of the lords and ladies for a while, the girl thought. 

“My name is Melody,” The girl said, nearly extending her hand, but then she realized the creature’s right hand was nothing but wickedly sharp talons, and it was bound in front of him to his left. “Oh, I’m sorry. What’s your name?”

The creature blinked once, twice. Watched her, tense and maybe suspicious, and then shook his head. “No… no name.” He spoke slowly, as though words came only with difficulty but a soft little trill sounded under one voice, layered it with another. “Pet.”

His wings were heavy with copper-colored chains that held them closed even though it clearly pained the boy to have them wrapped so tightly. Chain wound through piercings again and again until left wing and right were forced to touch along the first two joins and then curved down into his back. The chains clinked together a little as he shivered, and Melody wondered what it must feel like, to have great big wings and know you could fly, but to be trapped here on the ground instead.

Melody shook off the melancholy thought and wrinkled her nose. “Well, I don’t like the idea of calling you that. I’ll call you…” Her eyes scanned the room, trying to think of something that might be a good placeholder name. “I’ll call you Ale.”

The creature blinked at her, and one eyebrow raised.

It made her smile, a little more brightly. Whatever his eyes, whatever his wings, the look on that thin face was utterly human.

“Well, if you won’t give me a name, what do you expect, hm?” She poked forward at his arm, cocked her head to the side.

When he smiled - faint and barely there, not even a smile but just a softening of the serious lines of his face - her own smile widened in response.

“Can I get you something to drink, Ale?”

“I’m not… one of them,” The boy - and he was a boy, even if he was half-fae, something she’d always been told wasn’t possible, it would kill a human woman to bear a fae fledgling with wings, wouldn’t it? Or it would kill the tiny fae to bear big human babies. She’d always been told that, anyway, but seeing him…

Melody wondered how much there was in the world she had been told could not exist that stubbornly existed anyway.

“I don’t mind whatever you are,” Melody said, firmly. She reached out, and he let her touch his hand, staring at her with that serious expression again as her fingers rubbed over the rough almost scaly skin of his talons, then the smooth keratin that curved down with a sharpness greater than any man’s blade. “You are a thirsty boy in my brother’s cafe, and I would like to get you something to drink. What’ll you have, manda?”

His eyebrows furrowed, and Melody laughed, a little.

The crowd of nobles had moved on to a mer, who was settled in a tank of water moved in for the occasion and chained to a small rock they had been settled onto, muzzled to make sure those sharp teeth caused no one any dangers.

The mer had been glaring at the boy, earlier - all the rage it should have had for the humans who held it captive had been on the boy instead, who had only cringed back away from the heat of its gaze. 

“My brother and I come from the far south,” Melody said, cheerfully. “Manda is how we say ‘sir’, down there, or ‘my lord’. Tu ba dom pi’lar, manda?”

“I know,” The boy said, and it was Melody’s turn to furrow her eyebrows in surprise.

“You… know?”

“I’m… from the south,” The boy said, in nearly a whisper. Outside of the cafe, the snow fell in great drifts, as it would fall for days and days this time of year. Piling high outside all the doors, so that Melody’s brother would have to go out and shovel clear the walk from the street to the little house he kept the cafe in. They would wake to pure whiteness only to watch the passage of carriages and horses and men and women smash it to gray slick flat nothing.

“Are you?” Melody sat back, and looked him over. He was pale, but it was a paleness underneath a natural tan, a grayish look of someone who had gone too long without the sun his body had been born to. “I didn’t know there were fae in the south.”

“In the… the mountains, there are. Not fae,” The boy said, wearily, sadly. “I say it and say it, but…” His sentence ended in a soft, sad chirp. “I’m not… anything. But I was from the south, once.”

Melody nodded, slowly, and when he looked up at her this time she could see the tiniest hints of stitches around the corners of his eyes, and see the places where his talons had been connected to a hand that had once held fingers.

Not born, she thought with horror, but made. She wondered if Lord Regyn himself had done it, in the pursuit of endlessly novelty. She hid her horror behind her sweetest smile. 

“I’ll get you some of our tea from our home in the back,” Melody said softly. “My brother keeps the spice tea here, the chirag. Did you ever have it?”

The boy’s eyes widened, the slut of his pupil dilating to wide and round with interest, and Melody swallowed down her discomfort. His wings ruffled a little, rattling the chains. “Would you?” he whispered, eyes flickering to the lord and his friends, and back to Melody again. “Chirag, mandar?”

She grinned. “Hai, manda. Tu bak mazi?”

“Hai,” He replied, quickly, and held up his thumb and forefinger to show how much. “Juul, du?”

“Hai, juul du, ill’nah.”

“Tak, mandar.” His voice stumbled over the words, it must have been so long since he spoke them to anyone but himself, but the longer he spoke the more easily they came. “Tak.”

“Ill’nah, manda.” She was up in a flash, happy that her brother kept water boiling for customers all day long and it was an easy thing to steep the tea and warm the milk and add the imported juul, a honey from bees who could not live in this cold climate. She worried that the boy would be the centerpiece by the time she returned but he was still sitting just under the table, watching the crowd watching a dancing girl who spun with ribbons in her hands, creating a blur of elegance and movement.

So long as you didn’t look at the desperation in the dancing girl’s eyes, it was beautiful.

Melody came back with the steaming hot tea, cardamom and black pepper and the sweetness of honey and warm milk surrounding her, and placed it into the boy’s hands. She didn’t pull back when his talons came close, but kept herself steady, and her eyes on his.

He whispered his tak, his thank you, and she smiled at him, wondering what would have brought a boy from the south this far north - and what had ruined him with fae parts where there had been human bits, before.

The boy finished his tea just as the lord turned to beckon him to his feet, to be the final subject of their attention. Melody took the still-warm empty mug from him and watched him push himself up, moving with careful steps, his eyes focused on his lord.

She swallowed against the sight of the lord lifting a hand to run fingers through the boy’s hair, whispering a command that the boy nodded to. He leaned forward, and the lord’s fingers moved to the chains that bound his wings, pulling on one hard enough that the boy trilled in pain - and the chains fell in a clatter of metal to coil on the floor, the boy’s wings spreading out all at once with a dramatic whoosh of air that ruffled the hair along the sides of Melody’s neck.

She stared, mug forgotten in her hands, at how beautiful his wings were. Deep reddish brown, with shades of lighter color - nearly to cream - and wide flight feathers.

The lord hooked his index finger through one of the brass rings that had been pierced into the joins and pulled hard, causing the boy to whimper and trill again, but he forced his wings to spread even wider, showing their full span, as Lord Regyn smiled and praised him.

The boy smiled, sad and slight, and leaned his head eagerly in to the lord’s touch, nuzzling into the palm of his hand. Melody felt her stomach curl in something like fearful disgust. His talons could have torn the lord’s throat open in an instant. Instead, when Lord Reg bade him give one more call again, he chirped, and the lord whispered poison praise to him while the crowd applauded the sight of it.

Oh, she couldn’t stay out here. It was an honor, for nobility to use the cafe for their salon, an honor and a great deal of coin, but-

Her eyes went to the centaur foal, the little filly still hiding against her mother. The little filly - the little girl, really, for all that centaur had liquid dark eyes like horses did - looked back at her, and Melody felt an ugly twist of guilt for even existing in a place where thinking, breathing, speaking beings were put on display for the nobles to poke and prod and treat like things.

Melody fled to the back of the cafe when the boy, who was fae and not fae, was ordered to show his fae voice, and his trills grated down all her nerves. It was a song whose refrain Melody couldn’t stand to hear, and she demanded her brother serve the nobles now instead.

You could help, but you won’t, the boy’s trilling said. You could do good things, but you won’t. You could you could you could-

All she’d been able to give him was a moment of being human and a bit of warm tea. 

It wasn’t enough.

---

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