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maracujatangerine · 4 days ago

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87. Asking Cory

CW: institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump

There was something going on. Coriander could feel it. Miss Lydia was talking with other people about the pet. She tried to be discreet, but Cory had noticed the way she suddenly cut off her conversation with Carla when the pet entered the break room at the bookshop, and the worried looks they both gave it. The phone conversations with Indira when she closed her office door. The evaluating way she looked at the pet when she thought Coriander didn’t notice.

Masters had the right to keep secrets. But Cory wished she would just talk to the pet instead.

It couldn’t ask, though. That would reveal that it had been trying to spy into her private business.

It wasn’t until a few days later, when the pale golden light of an early winter morning streamed in through the kitchen windows, that Miss Lydia finally sat down on the floor next to the pet.

The sunlight brought out the flecks of gold in her brown eyes, and picked out highlights in her hair. There was a worried wrinkle between her eyebrows. A sign for the pet to steel itself for whatever was coming.

“Cory, there is something I would like to ask you about.”

The pet nodded. “Y-yes, Miss Lydia.”

“I have been talking with Indira…” She hesitated. “We’ve been discussing your injured shoulder. We’ve been thinking that you have had enough to deal with up until now, but…” She looked up at him with a little smile. “… since you are doing so much better now, it might be time to see if there’s anything we can do.”

Lydia pulled her hand through her hair. “Indira says that you’ll need an x-ray. It’s important to know exactly what we’re dealing with before you can get any treatment.” She sighed. “You know that it usually means going to the WRU…” She held up her hand. “… but I am not willing to take the risk of having them mistreat you. Instead, Indira has found a colleague at the hospital that has promised to help us sneak you in.”

Lydia searched Cory’s face, her own expression serious. “I know that you don’t… feel that good about hospitals. You know that this is not risk-free. If they catch us, I might be forced to let WRU treat you.” She paused. “Since your shoulder is still bothering you, I think it is worth taking the risk. However, it is your choice. What do you think?”

The pet had begun to slowly, unconsciously shake his head. His breathing came faster, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. Then, with a deep breath, he forced himself to stillness.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he straightened up. Then, he looked up to meet Lydia’s eyes.

“Miss Lydia, T-this pet is willing to try.”

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards-blog @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

#pet whump #whump fic #bbu #box boy universe #box boy multiverse #lydia and coriander #pet whumpee #writeblr #writers on tumblr #original writing

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secretsmutcorner · 23 days ago

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A first attempt

1,192 words | No Warrior (sequel to Fall)

Content | NSFW (they don't get very far but there is penis), past non-con, name-calling

Notes | Yves pushes his boundaries. It goes... well, it goes.

Taglist | @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @whump-me-all-night-long @whumpadump1939 @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight

@whumpzone @angel-stars @kixngiggles @whumpsy-daisies @yet-another-heathen

@rosesareviolentlyread @cupcakes-and-pain @hollowtreesinhollowwoods @pleasancies @much-ado-about-whumping

@nine-tailed-whump @whump-em @itsleighlove @newbornwhumperfly @tears-and-lilies

@deluxewhump @whump-cravings @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning @neverthelass

@whumpsday @silent-orchid-lady @everynameistakencarrots @scoundrelwithboba

Yves had never in his life felt this comfortable.

Another day was gone, and he lay in Runar’s arms, his hands easily tracing along the muscles in his — his lover’s? Could he call him lover yet? — chest. Runar was caressing him, too, his hand running in long strokes from the nape of his neck to his waist, and hesitating.

Yves was overcome with a rush of boldness, of cheek even. He grabbed Runar’s wrist and guided his hand back and down, a grin easily bursting across his lips as he stared a challenge into his face.

Runar chuckled, clearly surprised, but didn’t hesitate to grab his ass. Gently, like everything he did.

»How does that feel?«

Yves couldn’t answer immediately, too absorbed in the unfamiliar touch — a comforting unfamiliarity, too; the worry of being reminded had crept further and further into the back of his mind over the last few weeks. But as invasive as the knights had gotten, there simply hadn’t been much of anything there for them to grab at. Now, almost a year of good meals and swordfighting practice later, though… there was almost some kind of pride in the way he filled Runar’s, his lover’s warm hand.

That, and a sense of closeness outpacing the anxiety in its growth.

Instead of answering, he shifted forwards for another kiss.

»May I touch you?« The words, barely more than a breath, tumbled past his lips when they were free again, if only by hair’s breadth. He could feel Runar’s breath on his face and the heat rising into his cheeks as he heard what he said. As he processed the desire pooling in his groin. As he realized that, for the first time since the knights had torn him to shreds, he truly wanted more.

»You are,« Runar said, and Yves didn’t know whether he was really misunderstanding or gently rejecting him, but kissed him again regardless. No matter how much his hands prickled with longing, he, too, wanted Runar to know it was okay.

Maybe the warrior was shy in such matters. He couldn’t know.

Runar squeezed his ass while they were kissing, so softly he wasn’t sure it was on purpose, but he couldn’t hold back a groan.

You like this, little whore, don’t you?

He pushed the voice down like he had a thousand times before. It was becoming easier. It should become easier.

Runar pulled back, not sharply, just enough to give him a surprised look, chased by a grin. »Oh.« He kissed Yves again. »Did you mean-?«

Yves didn’t let him finish. »Yes.« He couldn’t look into Runar’s eyes, suddenly embarrassed.

»Well…« There was a deep almost-purr in his voice, a tone Yves hadn’t heard before that sent shivers down his spine, heated him up further. »Feel free?«

He traced his fingers down Runar’s body, warm and soft and strong, and he wasn’t sure his head was still working, and he put his lips in the spot his hands had just vacated, covering Runar’s chest in kisses.

His hands found Runar’s cock, hot and throbbing like his own, like-

Go on, slut. If your runty little hands work me well enough, I might not even stick it in, how’s that?

And then, louder, something more than a memory. Look at you enjoying this, whore. I told you so.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t.

He was sitting up, hugging his knees, tears forcing their way out of his eyes when he had just felt so good.

Always crying when a real warrior graces you with his body, the voice in his head mocked. It’s not your place to choose this, is it, little bitch?

»… sweetheart?« Runar’s voice broke through the shadows enveloping him.

»Please say my name,« Yves begged quietly, feeling, in that moment, that it was far too much to ask.

Filthy whore.

»Yves,« Runar whispered back.

Worthless toy.

»Yves.«

Bitch.

»Yves.«

Slut.

»Yves.«

Runt.

»Yves. Yves Yves Yves,« Runar whispered, over and over. His hand, very softly, ghosted across his back, and Yves realized he was sobbing, and then he threw himself against Runar’s chest.

»I’m sorry.«

»Don’t be,« Runar murmured, his strong arms wrapped around him. »It’s-«

»I’m sorry. I ruined it.«

»It’s not your fault. Shhh, sweetheart, Yves, it’s going to be alright.« And then, quietly, »I love you.«

Yves just curled closer into him, his sobs slowly ebbing as he found himself again, found himself in Runar’s loving arms. Where he had been. The whole time. Why was he crying?

Why were they chasing him, even after death?

»I wanted it. I want it.« But he wasn’t allowed, and he was still so helpless. Powerless fury swept through him. It would never end.

»I’m- I’m glad. But we can take it easy. Nice and slow, as much as you need.«

»I don’t want to! I just want to- I just want to be with my lover, is that too much to ask?!«

Runar looked into his eyes, then kissed away the tears that were spilling again. His hand rubbed circles over Yves’ back. »It’s not fair. But we’ll work it out, yeah? No matter which way this goes,« he added, planting another kiss on Yves’ forehead, »I want to see it through with you, if you’ll have me.«

Yves rested his ear against Runar’s chest to hear the reassuring thump of his heart, steady, if a little fast. »Let’s just go to sleep,« he muttered.

»Mhm. Would you… can I hold you?«

»Please,« Yves whispered, and they nestled down for the night, cuddled up together.

Yves didn’t sleep well, but when he woke in the morning, he found himself wrapped in Runar’s arms and Runar’s gentle eyes upon himself and he felt better.

»Good morning.« He kissed Runar, and Runar kissed him back, gently pulling him closer.

»Good morning, sweetheart. How do you feel?«

The dread question. Why couldn’t he live a life where him feeling alright was a given?

»I’m better.« Before Runar could respond, he added, »I’m sorry.«

»It’s not your fault.« Runar stroked his cheek. »I’m just glad you’re alright.«

»Hm.« Yves returned the caress, wrapped his fingers in Runar’s long hair. »I’d rather it’d have gone differently.«

A small, sad smile. »Do you still… do you want to… ?«

»Yes.« Yes, he wanted to continue. It was downright embarrassing how much he wanted to. »But you don’t… you don’t have to. You don’t have to put up with this.«

»Yves.« A warm, strong arm squeezed him, and he barely held back a sigh. »I’m not… putting up with you. I love you. I want to do this with you.«

»What if they did break me?« He wouldn’t have dared asked the question before, and even now it was a mere whisper.

Runar’s thumb stroked across his cheek again. »I don’t think it’s possible to break you, sweetheart.«

A mangled chuckle wrested free from his throat… but as the words sank in, he found he trusted Runar enough to believe them, a little.

He kissed Runar, and he would do it a thousand times again, and no one could stop him.

He would face this.

With Runar, together.

#no warrior #whump #nsfwhump #yves #runar #my writing #whump writing

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motherfricker · 8 months ago

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if there are 1000 snow lover i am one of them. if there is 1 snow lover that is me. if the world is against snow i am against the world. if there are no snow lovers, i am dead

Plzplzplz ur villain whumpee writings give me life and I want morreee

omg ya ur ask 💀 no I will write it promise 😭

#wait bruh i meant to rblg on side blog #the tags i typed out -->#SNOW FOREVER !!!! VIVA LA SNOW!!#i will actually write ur ask tho 😭 im just trying to write practice pieces before attempting #bcs its been a while #but omg i have this cute hero-turned-villain x superhero taking-care-of-wounds trope fic #in my masterlist titled brightest stars under the romance section of my masterlist if u want 2 read that #or u could read the stuff in the whump section #there is also the new christmas fic i wote for kai which is whumpy #and also there's that old hero x villain hero-pretending-to-be-arm-candy trope fic #in the series section which has some whump #part 3 yet to be written 💀 one day #i dont write whump like whumpblrs sorry 😔#but for the whump like the whumblrs i have written the villain whump request fic in the series section #god bless snaur 🙏#sry for jus reccing my fics. i am not self obsessed i swear #there is also whumpzone & whump-willow for whump but theyre popular i think so u probs alr know them #other than thattt the whump channel in the server is also like there #sorry this is becoming awhump rec post

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newbornwhumperfly · 4 months ago

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whumpmas in july day 19: fav whump blogs

aghhhh, i've been so excited for this day because i get to celebrate this beautiful, talented community!!! 💖😍💖😍💖 rubs my little gay hands together gleefully...

@much-ado-about-whumping because they can settle into a character's headspace like its his home, building the beautiful furniture of reaction, justification, trauma, interests, and calculations around that space until each hurt feels like watching the hammers being taken to the boards of a beautiful house. his compassion for his characters is what makes them full, rich, and realized, in all of their crystals and cobwebs, their windows and cellars, and the gift they give to their readers is the ability to feel how they feel and what they feel as surely as if you lived in that house. 💖

@whump-tr0pes because every character they write is jagged and flawed with broken edges, no easy answers or clean lines, where most all of them have hurt and been hurt, they still can get better. when their stories, as langston hughes says, “cuts the world in two to see what worms are eating at the rind��, there are also seeds and despite the worms, maybe even because of the worms, a new tree is planted. their stories say that love and hope and trying are never ever wasted, no matter how ugly or cruel people get or the world becomes. even with worms, nothing is worthless or unable to grow and change. 💖

@haro-whumps because their stories often bear a sharp edge of dark camp, pulpy and vivid, the absurd in the nature of horror itself which, through all of their macabre delights, reveals so often a person just trying to carve out a pocket of stability. the effort reveals the world they live in as absurd. through forging relationships with fellow sufferers, through dutifulness, through healing or maintaining dignity or helping others, there is always a trying at the heart of their characters to make the impossible possible. their villains and victims, whether it’s “i’m a god” or “i’m just a slave”, are all just people at the end of the day, stupid and messy and layered, a thing that horror at its best employs to make its subjects more lovable and more hateable. 💖

@whumpzone because her sense of tenderness serves the underlying traumas in her stories. since most of the horror lies in the pasts of these characters, it is always mind-blowing how well the characters reactions and bodies tell a story about what happened to them, from how they react to the gentle efforts of their caretakers or a perceived harm, so often these boys will break your heart through how thoroughly beaten-down they are and how obvious it is when they don't expect to be safe anywhere. the utter humanity with which the whumpees are treated highlights their past dehumanization all the more and that linearity in storytelling is so damn effective. 💖

@ashintheairlikesnow because what is there to say about her that hasn't been said ad nauseam by writer after writer in this community, for every aspect of her writing? so what i will restrain my praise to the specifics and say that her world-building is a rare and beautiful talent. her worldbuilding serves the themes of her story at every single turn, the tapestry of horror that capitalism wrecks on the world and the shape of the tools trying to cut those threads. there is no corner unexplored in the halls of institutions - she shows us exactly how fucked things are and the manual for how its done. never stop writing because i am hard pressed to remember a dystopia that felt so immediate and so realized. 💖

there is so much talent on whumblr that i could name bloggers all day, these authors just happen to be at the top of my list. your brilliance awes and inspires me and pushes me to higher standards with every new read and reread 🥰🥰🥰

have a very merry @whumpmasinjuly everyone! 💖💖💖

@whumpmasinjuly-archive

#you're all so wonderful and I love you and I would go to war for youuuuuu. don't mind me am just emotional about writing thisssss 💖🥺😍#whump community #whump #favorite #whumpmasinjuly2024 #wij24day19 #much-ado-about-whumping #haro-whumps #whump-tr0pes #ashintheairlikesnow #whumpzone

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secretwhumplair · 2 months ago

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Solstice, p.1

1,494 words | No Warrior (sequel to Solstice, p.0)

Content | Idk what to put. Dealing with past trauma, perceived betrayal?

Notes | Well that went well! Until it didn't.

Excited to get back to this story and give it its long-awaited finish! We're not there yet. But I am full of optimism.

Taglist | @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @whump-me-all-night-long @whumpadump1939 @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight

@whumpzone @angel-stars @kixngiggles @whumpsy-daisies @briars7

@yet-another-heathen @rosesareviolentlyread @cupcakes-and-pain @hollowtreesinhollowwoods @much-ado-about-whumping

@nine-tailed-whump @whump-em @itsleighlove @newbornwhumperfly @tears-and-lilies

@deluxewhump @whump-cravings @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning @neverthelass

@whumpsday @silent-orchid-lady

Runar felt bad for not offering Yves the option to stay at home with him. But it was the solstice festival, and—no matter how callous and selfish it felt in the moment—he couldn’t put every part of his life on hold for him.

It was, therefore, doubly relieving that Yves seemed to be okay. He kept close to Runar’s side as they made their way to the hilltop where wood had been stacked up twice as tall as Runar was, the yet unlit pile silhouetted against the dusky sky, but that might have been due to how narrow the paths through the snow were—more had fallen just this morning.

It was about time for winter to begin its slow retreat, and Yves seemed to welcome it as much as anyone. There was a shadow of a smile on his face, even.

Runar was irrationally proud of how brave he was being. »I’ll go say hi to my family, and then we can check out the food, yes?«

Yves nodded timidly. They hadn’t had lunch yet; after all, the potluck feast would begin as soon as the bonfire was lit once dark had fallen, which would be soon, and last as long as anyone could still eat. Runar had offered Yves to snack with him, of course, knowing how starved he had been when he first found him, and not wanting to stir up dark memories. But Yves, after hearing his explanation, had declined, had wanted to wait for the feast with him. That, too, Runar was proud of for him.

They trudged their way up the hill, and Runar could feel his mood rise along with their path.

It was going to be good.

* The stars were coming out, and Yves felt nervous to the bone.

Nervous enough to trail closely after Runar, no matter how pathetic it felt, no matter how much it stirred the bitter, helpless anger seething inside him all the time now. It ebbed and flowed—his sword practice, as silly as it was, seemed to help, but then there were moments like this, when his anxiety peaked for no real reason and there was nothing he could do, and it felt so deeply unfair. He wasn’t even properly scared—he knew nothing bad would happen to him, and somehow that made it worse. If his nerves could at least save themselves for actual threats—they should have enough experience with them to know the difference.

Still, Runar’s company comforted him, and the joy he and his family shared rubbed off. When Ingunn smiled at him, he found it easy to smile back.

»Yves! Glad you came too, it’s a big day!«

»Yes… I’m glad too.« And it was true. The air was filled with cheer and excited chattering, even among the cloudy wisps spewed forth by every breath. Soon, the warmth would come—first from the fire, and then, eventually, from the sun.

It was an important event.

Watching the crowd made him feel better as they gathered around long tables set up around the fire, some already taking their seats, but most standing and occupied in various tasks, or simply commenting on the stake and the food the tables were laden with, even as families were still carrying up more filled pots and plates.

No one would go hungry tonight, that much was certain.

Even actually spotting Brandr, who stood with two other warriors near the stake and seemed to be engrossed in discussing the quality of the wood or some such thing by the way he gestured aggressively at one log or another, couldn’t fully dispel the warmth of the occasion.

If Brandr confronted him again, this time, Yves would stand his ground. Or so he told himself, even as his heart beat faster at the thought.

He balled a gloved hand. No, he would. He wouldn’t let anyone take this from him, not when Runar’s family was so welcoming. They wanted him to enjoy the night, and he did too.

Dusk crept by slowly, the rising darkness dispelled only by their cheerful voices, but they became quieter and quieter, until darkness and silence were complete.

That was when the eldest lit a torch, its brightness momentarily burning in Yves’ eyes. Everyone watched, rapt, as she approached the wood and with one decisive strike pushed the torch into it.

The center, carefully constructed from dried leaves and twigs, caught fire at once, and cheers erupted from the crowd. Runar joined in, and Yves, too, though his voice was still drowned out.

The flames licked at the larger wood pieces, climbing up and up, until the bonfire reached high into the night sky. The light and the warmth lifted Yves’ heart. Maybe it was all going to be alright. Maybe the darkest days were truly gone now.

Once the cheering was done, the feasting began. After that, it wasn’t long before musicians picked up their instruments, and many voices joined in songs that must be long familiar to the community. Even Yves had heard some of them before by now, though his voice stayed quieter than the rest. Soon people were dancing, and Runar, after checking in with Yves once more, like he always did, like he never abandoned him without notice, jumped into it too.

Yves was undecided, and even that seemed big. He hadn’t danced in—a long time. It seemed fun. He didn’t know the local dances yet, though, and in truth, he felt a little out of place. So he simply sat and watched.

After a while, Signy fell into the now vacated stool opposite Yves, laughing, one of her spouses on each arm. Her wife let go of her and chattered something about getting some of the fish that was being roasted over the other side of the bonfire before she disappeared. Signy noticed Yves sitting opposite her, and gave him a wide grin. Her face was heated, not just from dancing, but her demeanour was, if anything, more jolly than usual. »Yves! How’re you holding up? Having a good time?«

Yves nodded, smiling without effort. He was having a good time. He was having something close to fun, just like he had wanted. He was still a little nervous, yes, but the all-around cheer of the event was rubbing off on him, and he wasn’t feeling unsafe.

»That’s good! That’s good.« Signy’s grin turned into a warmer, deeper smile for a moment, then she focused on her husband again, so intensely Yves looked away, heat creeping into his own face.

Signy’s wife returned to release him from the awkwardness of the moment—or make it worse, who knew—carrying a plate of freshly grilled fish, which she sat down before Signy, in the middle of the three of them.

»Thanks, s͏w̧e҉e͟t̸ḩe̵àr̀t͢« Signy said and kissed her wife’s mouth. When, turning back to the table, she noticed Yves staring at her, she just gave an enthusiastic little wave with her knife before she tucked into the fish.

Yves, though, sat frozen with realization, unable to avert his eyes from her and her—her wife. Her lover.

Her sweetheart.

Each breath caught in his throat. Was that how Runar saw him—what he expected of him?

Since when had he been calling Yves that? He couldn’t be sure, not with the way his mind raced, but it seemed to him it had been since ever. Since the very start?

Was that the reason he had rescued Yves?

Had all his kindness been a ploy to get Yves to-? The thought was terrifying. But why bother? He could easily overpower Yves.

What did he really want? And why hadn’t he been honest about it?

Yves’ head was reeling, and he dug his nails into the stool he was sitting on, desperate to find a grasp on reality.

»Yves?« Runar.

Yves couldn’t answer, or even look at him. He just stared down at the plate in front of him, trying to figure out what this was, even what feeling it was that was rushing through his heart, fear with flashes of fury.

»Are you okay?«

»No.« The word plopped out of his mouth before he could stop himself, and a spike of panic shot through him. He pushed himself up forcefully, still without looking at Runar. »I’m. Going home.«

»Yves… ?« But Runar didn’t move to stop him, and a word was not enough to, not anymore. There was a bitter triumph in it.

As he walked off into the night, he could hear Runar ask Signy and her companions what had happened, heard Signy’s full-mouthed, »No idea.«

It angered him more. How could they be so oblivious?

It was unfair—how would they know?—but everything was unfair, anyway; why should it only be unfair to him? The darkness swallowed him, the light of the bonfire only faint reflections on the snow as he escaped.

Home, he had said, and he almost regretted it.

#whump #whump writing #yves #runar #signy #we're back!#no warrior #my writing

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revelisms · 4 months ago

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New WIP has me deep in the emotional whumpzone (per usual)—so even more Ghost headcanons: Angst Edition. Because why not ❤️‍🩹

CW: Family dysfunction, parentification, negative self-image, anger issues, relationship issues, grief. Also some heartwarming-ish moments? Sorta kinda? (;-;)b

Primo

Faced the harshest transition within the church as the first successor to the new Order, having to meet both the old clergy's expectations as well as the standards Nihil, as part of his bargaining, had been pressured to achieve.

Also saw first-hand much of the darker underbelly of the church (e.g., murders caused by the ghouls, corruption in the clergy, etc.), which he tried to shield the younger ones from witnessing. It's not all champagne and caviar in these halls—especially at the top.

Has had few consistent lovers in his life, but has loved them all deeply. Getting beneath his surface-level affections can be challenging, though. He has a kind, nurturing presence with most everyone, especially those he likes to have around—but as a partner, he can be protective to the point of patronizing. Very cautious, at times condescending, and ultimately fearful of ever losing someone again. Loves like a dragon guarding a horde of gold, and can get just as ugly for it.

Didn't want to have to step into the role of essentially father and mother for the boys, but he felt he had to. There's a hardness to him, for that, and a sense of young adulthood that he's lost; he feels ancient in a way that's difficult to explain, and always has. There's very little of him that feels youthful anymore.

His love for gardening runs deeper than most take it for. He's always been interested in healing magick and herbal remedies, and it's an older field of study he gravitated to in his earlier days. He's been on the cusp of too many tragedies to turn a blind eye to it, now, and so this is his way of doing something. He sees himself as too old, too frail, and frankly too booksmart to do so, otherwise; it's an underlying resentment of his, after watching too many ritual acts go wrong.

Having the Sight of clairsentience (aka: seeing into the minds of living things) has made him a bit of a chronic skeptic. He has lost his trust in most things; the few that he keeps to are the realms of possibility and self-determination: that what he sees in one moment does not have to be Truth, overall. But it hurts, being cursed to know what others truly think and would wish to do, even if they won't voice it. He tries to stay kind, despite that.

Secondo

He was always an angry child, and wrestles worse with his frustrations as an adult. His spite and his rage have fueled him; in many ways, Wrath has been the one constant of his life. But it has broken countless relationships in the process, and created a reputation that most siblings fear.

He's a very bitter, armored man—and, as a result, can be a bit of an ass—but he's aware of it. (Unlike someone else. Grumble grumble.)

Despite their theoretical closeness in age (I HC a bigger gap here), and quite a few shared emotional traits, he and Terzo couldn't be more polar opposite. Since Secondo was unwantedly looped into Primo's surrogate parental role once he got older, he took the brunt of this with Terzo, who was hell to manage. He has a lot of regrets over this, and puts silent blame on himself (in fairness, more than he should) for Terzo not getting the support or affection he should have when he was younger. Their relationship has always been strained from this.

Daddy issues out the wazoo—and it's translated into most relationships (work or otherwise) he's had with authority figures, since. He's a beast to deal with, when it comes to the clergy; most members of the cloth will toss him straight to Nihil before they have to even think of handling him (which is disastrous, in itself; he's inherited much of Sister's traits when it comes to bickering Nihil into place, and their All-Father can't stand it...but c'est la vie).

In short: Hell forbid you share a table with these two. Copia and Nihil's mess is tame, comparatively.

Genuinely one big tender-hearted teddy bear beneath it all, but few are given the privilege to see it. He's a very romantic man stuck in a complacent chain of disposability, and he's made his peace with that. He's certainly not an easy person to love; being in a relationship with him is a constant yo-yo of moods that can explode at the drop of a pen—but with the right balance, with someone who can ground him, he could rival the poets of old with his lavishness. Roses and wine and sweets for days. (And kisses. Satan, don't forget those.)

Having the Sight of retrospection (aka: seeing the the past) has been both the root of his fascinations with history and, ironically, his complete disgust of those who claim to study it (...which he is, but anyway). It's also led to some hard wounds due to Primo trying to safeguard him from the darker nature of the church as a child vs. the realities he was forced to bear witness to once gifted the Sight. It broke a lot of his security in the doctrines, and his trust in Primo. As a result, he views their eldest, above all, as a liar and has learned to take the guidance he shares with a grain of salt.

Terzo

Was a very rambunctious, escapist-driven child, and it has led into him being a flippant, snide, and at times callously individualistic adult. However, this battles with his desire to be valued by others—most of all, to help someone feel better in themselves. He's incredibly kind and soothing, when he wants to be.

The mix of priorities can be puzzling. As much as he can be selfish in one moment, he would roll out of bed at 2am to conduct a blessing for an insomnia-riddled sibling of sin, without question (which is...other WIP shh). This can make it hard to know where one stands with him, and whether any special treatment they've seemingly been given is all that special, after all.

Can be extremely petty for the spite of it, often through comments that cut to the bone, but almost as frequently in performances he knows will pull eyes. Nihil and Sister are often the joint instigators of this, and it tends to trickle down, unfairly, into his treatment of Copia—though he knows it shouldn't. He's not proud of this, and attempts to curb it when he can, but in many ways his temper is a mirror to Secondo's own; once something sets him off, he can become fiercely cold and hurtful. Getting on his bad side is a vile place to be.

Has, for lack of a better term, a tightly controlled persona: almost impeccably funny, sly, and suave, especially once he's ascended into the papacy (and been put on a tightwire of clerical demands). Few have seen the quiet, withdrawn, fidgety side of him. Few, he doubts, would want to.

At his most fundamental, he is heavily driven by a need to feel seen, accepted and loved—but he's repeatedly sabotaged it once it's been given. The siblings dubbed him a "loose kite" well before his Cardinal days: someone without a tether bound to land wherever (and with whomever) he wants. Most are aware that he's an egregious flirt, and little else, and have learned to never take his affections too seriously—and, to an extent, that's exactly what he wants. On the other hand, he's shot himself in the foot with this: a self-fulfilled prophecy of nothing ever panning out (and one he fears ever panning out at all, as much as he wants it).

Having the Sight of premonition (aka: seeing the future) has been dual-edged. He's seen the beauty of his own future, and of select others, countless paths over—and, just as wickedly, their demise. Countess potentials, countless lovers, countless beings, countless deaths. It has never been a source of peace, for him; he can only know with certainty what may occur once he has taken the first step onto a bounded path. Starting the route to his Papacy was his only confirmation that he was doomed to fail—but, for years, he knew little else.

The biggest splint in his Path, always, was Omega. Saints and demons, it was always Omega.

Copia

You could fill a jar with the things this man would nitpick about himself—and still, he would nitpick more—but he is nothing if not a source of reassurance for any who have known him: both in his bumbling Cardinal days, and in the slow-sewn confidence he's found in his senior roles. One of the sweetest, if sweetly awkward, souls one could meet—but give him any passing compliment, and he'll scrape it under his heel.

For all he craves true praise, hungers for it, he is so hesitant to believe it. He has never felt good enough in his own skin. Not for Primo's success, not for Secondo's intelligence, not for Terzo's confidence. Certainly not for the clergy's standards. And Sister—Mother—well. He's never quite known how to untangle the dreams she poured into him from his own.

Was effectively the black sheep of the family for much of his youth, despite receiving more affection from Sister—which, in retrospect, only added to the resentments. He had always been seen as an other, most harshly by Terzo, who felt that his ability to even have a relationship with his own mother was squashed by Copia devouring her attentions.

Losing them all made it easier, in some ways. It had to be done. (Hell, he misses them. He misses them so much.)

Loving him can be an overwhelming experience. As a partner, he goes overboard on the regular (often, humorously, with disastrous results). It's challenging sometimes for him to realize he doesn't need to perform, in this; that he can just be. He hadn't taken the best cues from Terzo, in that—but who else could he have looked up to, but Terzo: who was beautiful, and desired, and bright as a star?

There's a cruel irony in that. Terzo had never quite opened up to his little brother—but if he would have, Copia would have only known how much they had in common: how much of their black-sheeped image-loathed performance-pillared suffering they'd shared. (But the past is the past, now. Copia can't think on that, too long.)

Having a belatedly repaired relationship with Nihil and Sister has been complicated for him. There's an unspoken attempt at correction, for their (seemingly) final and "true" heir—attempting to be a better father, a better mother, to be a family. He'd never quite had that, in all those years before. A part of him loathes that only now he's being given it.

The Sight of clairvoyance (aka: seeing the Bridge between realms) is strange sort of blessing, in this. They're all with him, always. Through life and death, through all of it. And perhaps that's what he'd always been meant to be—a homestead for those lost souls to gather; to live free again, if for a moment. He finds comfort in that, much as he can.

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newbornwhumperfly · 1 year ago

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eeeeeeee more of my boys!!! 😩💖😍

@whumpzone i am absolutely in love with this concept??? it fits with our beloved colton so well and it’s so clever how you make our sweet boy feel just as vulnerable somehow when he’s a literal *bodyguard* as when he’s physically crushed 🥺🥺🥺

dude, my heart melted during the scene where colton is panicking in the kitchen, the tension and the resignation were so good?? just!!! so many gorgeous lines, especially “Col was strong but the belt could still make him howl” 😭😭😭

and “he’d be a big brave dog for this. Guard dogs didn't feel fear- they didn't feel anything. Col didn't feel anything.” 😭😩😭 AGHHHH. i felt very much like Vik in this moment of just wanting to give him a reassuring hug 🥺

when you’ve read the brilliant vampire AU where vik hits colton, this protectiveness hits different 😩😩😩

god, it’s lovely to see your writing again friend, this was so delightful 💖💖💖

Linden & Colton - Guard Dog AU

(masterpost)

exactly what it says on the tin! as you may know I've not written in months so I'm super super happy that I enjoyed this and got it done!!

CW: pet whump, dehumanisation + dehumanising language

The guard dog had been taken in. Everyone at the shelter was shocked, but none more shocked than the pet himself. Even better than that, he had been named. He was Col now, or sometimes Colton. He had figured that Col was the nicer, more affectionate version, but his new Master used it all the time, so perhaps he’d misinterpreted. Humans named all sorts of possessions, from plants to cars to, it seemed, guard dogs. Col happily accepted the gift.

The second he laid eyes on his owner, Col felt every ounce of loyalty he possessed being placed squarely at this man’s feet. He would be a worthwhile purchase, and protect his Master no matter what.

Master had come as a bit of a surprise at first, when Col was taken from the dog shelter to his home. He didn't look like the kind of person to make much use of a guard dog. Col stayed up all night, watching for threats, but Master's entire road was as peaceful as the man himself. The worst he'd ever seen was a few teenagers letting off fireworks.

Everything was just... a bit strange, with this new Master. He didn't have any heavy weights, no punching bag, nothing to keep Col strong. He never doled out punishments, never made sure Col knew where his devotion was placed. Col knew anyway, he was a good boy after all, but he thought all Masters needed to enforce it. His old owner had talked a lot of weak minds and needing to keep the lesson fresh. Clearly Colton's new Master had quite a bit more trust in him.

Which was weird, considering Col was a stray. But it made him all the more determined to prove himself.

Col made sure to keep busy during his otherwise unnaturally quiet new life: he lifted plastic bottles of milk for hours until his arms finally gave out; he filled a suitcase with books and squatted with it; he recited his rules at night, fighting off sleep, fighting off complacency. He spent the daylight hours pacing the house unless Master told him to calm down, which he soon realised was an order to come and kneel by his side.

The day Col fucked everything up was a day the same as any other to begin with. Master had gone shopping without him, like Col was useless, and that always made him frenetic with anxiety. He had begged, knelt with his head to the floor, to accompany him, to do his job and keep his owner safe, but Master had refused. I'll be fine, Col, he'd said softly, and then as a follow up, you can guard the house, right?

Col had done step-ups at the bottom of the staircase to try and work through his wasted energy, and when that hadn't worked, he'd stared out of the kitchen window like a hawk, every wail of an ambulance siren or police van sending his mind spiralling downwards. By the time Master returned unharmed he was a nervous wreck (utterly unfit for a guard dog, no wonder he wasn't allowed out) and he'd thrown himself at his owner's feet in relief. He knew what a wonderful rush of power his old owner had got from such an imposing pet cowering below him, and Col hoped Master might want to take him out next time, keep that feeling of power going.

In the present, Col was dutifully following Master's order to do some yoga.

The cat, Jaffa, was doing her own set of stretches alongside him, something that pleased Master greatly.

The sound of the front door unlocking pulled him from his meditation. Someone was trying to get in, Col realised, with a burst of aggression.

He sprang up like a startled animal and ran into the hall, but he still wasn't fast enough: the stranger was inside. Col noted a lean, strong build, with no obvious weapon, and tried to plan accordingly in the split second before he collided into him. He grabbed the human roughly by the shoulders and slammed him against the back of the door, letting his head crack against it with the momentum. Not enough to do any real damage, just to make him see stars. He wasted no time in pressing one forearm against his neck, letting it sit snugly against the windpipe, tight with pent up force. There was no mistaking that if he needed to press harder, he would. His other hand stayed gripping the man's shoulder, holding him in place.

'Who are you," he growled.

"Whoa! F-fuck, Linden! Get off me you crazy bastard!" the man shouted, but there was a smile on his face, which only made Col angrier.

Before he could bark his question again or tell the man to shut up, his Master appeared, running over to them. Col bent his head just enough to see both him and the intruder- he had been trained that dealing with a threat was not an excuse to ignore his owner.

The intruder gasped in what sounded like a sigh of relief, or a strained laugh. Col was still pushing on his throat.

"Mate, get off me," he said, and it was infuriating that he didn't seem at all bothered by Col's presence. Col had the upper hand, didn't he? Was there something he didn't know? Maybe this man did have a weapon concealed somewhere?

"I take orders from my Master only," Col replied, and hoped he would get one.

"Let him go, Col," Master said, "and come over here, please."

He obeyed instantly and moved to stand behind his Master's left shoulder, arms folded, glaring at the stranger. Hoping he knew that it would only take one wrong move for Col to knock his lights out.

He expected Master to tell the man to get the fuck out of his house; Colton was more than a little confused when the stranger instead threw one arm out for a hug, and Master leaned in happily.

"Hey Vik."

"Hey. Nice bodyguard you've got there."

"I'm sorry about that. Col," he turned to face his dog, "this is Vik. My brother."

His brother?

Oh, fuck.

All the blood drained from his face and he actually flinched back, his arms unfolding and instead resting hesitantly by his side. Now wasn’t the time for him to look dangerous.

He looked between the two men. Their physical similarities were suddenly glaringly obvious.

Col had fucked up. He'd fucked up and he didn't know how to make it better. He'd just tried to choke Master's brother for god’s sake, and Col was strong, sure, but he still howled when the belt was used on him, or when his owner had held his lighter to Col's arm, or when his back was slashed open and his owner kicked him between the shoulder blades. He was going to have to pay dearly for this.

"-hear me? Col? Hey, hello?"

Col blinked. His mind had wandered- a bad habit he never shook off despite hours of training. Master and his brother were stood together, eyeing him.

He pulled himself together enough to curl his hands against his heart and bow in submission.

"I'm so sorry for my mistake, Sir, it was unforgiveable, and I'm sorry," he said, forcing the words out mechanically. He didn't sound remorseful in the slightest, and he'd said he was sorry twice, it sounded stupid. His panic was starting to seep through. "I didn't know, b-but that's no excuse, and, and I'll take any punishment you see fit."

The sentence was familiar, and Col managed to dig deep for some composure. He'd be a big brave dog for this. Guard dogs didn't feel fear- they didn't feel anything. Col didn't feel anything. He straightened up, but kept his head bowed, and listened to his heart pounding in his ears. He waited to see if Vik was the type to show mercy.

Master spoke first. "No, it's okay. Just a misunderstanding, right? Vik has a key, so that's how he just appeared-"

"Hey, stop giving me evils."

"-and you were just doing what you thought was right, Col."

Col looked up slowly. Master seemed to be waiting for a response.

"What I did was unforgiveable," he tried, the panic smothering his thoughts. He had to get this right and he just didn't know how- except through pain. "I promise I'll take my punishment well, Sir, very well."

He saw Vik's eyes widen as he tried to catch Master's gaze, but it stayed fixed on Col.

"Well... you could apologise to Vik, I suppose, for- for-" Master's words were eaten up in an outburst of laughter. Col's fear took a sharp, and weird, left turn. What the fuck? "I’m sorry, I just can't believe you almost bollocked my older brother, that’s fucking hilarious!”

"Stop laughing!" Vik snapped, giving Master a mild shove that made Col bristle. "Or go do it while making me a cup of tea."

"Sorry, I'm sorry, haha, I'll leave you two alone for two seconds, I'm gonna-"

Master put a hand to his mouth to contain his laughter, and breezed past Col towards the kitchen, giving him a pat on the shoulder as he went. Master figured this was all a big joke, then.

Left alone with Vik. That would be Master's strategy, and Col figured it was more than fair. Vik had been the offended party.

He was about to lower himself to his knees, but Vik reached out a hand, stopping Col. He tensed just a fraction, no more than that: he wasn't allowed to mitigate pain.

"Fair play, mate, you were very quick. Good form, too. Got the jump on me like that." Vik snapped his fingers, making Col stiffen even more. "But we can be cool now, yeah? Now you know my face. You'll probably see me a lot, I come round all the time. So let's put this behind us and shake on it like two gents."

Col realised why Vik's hand was held out.

He thought about protesting for half a second- his old owner had always reminded him how dirty he was- but the last thing he wanted to do was look like he was buying time.

Vik would probably grab his hand and pull him down, try to throw him to the floor. Col didn't think he had the strength, so he prepared to fake it.

The handshake was the most human thing Col had ever done. Vik did pull, but towards him, and not in the rough way Col had expected. He'd forced himself to go so limp that he almost stumbled into him- he caught himself at the last moment and stood still, grazing Vik's shoulder.

"My brother's a really good man," he said, and Col was sure he knew the threat that would follow it up. So if you make one wrong move, I'll break you.

But instead, Vik's voice stayed low, and calm, with no hardness that Col could discern. There was even a smile on his face. "You're gonna be fine here."

. . .

"You're gonna be fine here," he said, doing his best to use his inside voice because he couldn't let Linden hear him being nice about him for once.

And also because the big guy still holding his hand seemed shit-scared already.

Vik had a damn good view being so near to him: Colton's face was absolutely littered with scars. That was meant to be a bad sign when it came to guard dogs- meant they were volatile or picked fights constantly. Vik wasn't so sure. He'd backed off the minute Linden intervened, and Linden had already told Vik that Colton was clearly terrified of him, even though he tried to hide it. Standing with him now, Vik reckoned he wasn't hiding it very well at all. He could feel Colton's heartbeat thrumming from his wrist like a drum.

He briefly imagined a scene in the far future, when Linden's gamble had worked out and this man was alright again, where the three of them were hanging out together, where they were all close friends. Vik would tease him for the time they first met, when Col had tried to chuck him straight back out onto the street. Linden would probably make some joke that he should’ve gone through with it. They’d all laugh – Col would be laughing hardest of all.

Right now, Vik felt like laughing wasn't a physical possibility for Colton.

"Please punish me as you see fit, sir," Col replied, just as quietly.

"Ahh, well," Vik said brightly, giving Col a pat on the shoulder - making him flinch - and drawing back to a normal distance. His voice raised with it, giving his brother a hint that all was okay. "You weren't to know. No harm done."

Except for the back of my head which hurts like fuck, but whatever, I don't want this guy to start grovelling.

Col looked at him, his frown loosening a little bit. “Really, sir? You’d give me mercy?”

Ew. “Er, yeah, man. We’re cool.”

Linden’s voice came from the kitchen, accompanied by the sharp rings of a teaspoon being tapped against the rim of a mug, shaking off the final drops. “Tea’s ready!”

Col looked at Vik, waiting for something- instruction, probably. Vik gestured forward. “After you, mate.”

. . .

The rest of Vik’s visit passed without incident. The two brothers settled on the sofa so fluidly that Col got the impression they both sat in the exact same place every time. He felt overwhelmed with shame and apprehension as his mistake replayed in his mind. Running at Vik and pinning him to the wall, snapping at him, intending to hurt him. His Master must feel so embarrassed to have such a poorly-behaved pet.

Col knelt behind his owner and stared at nothing, keeping his back straight and his ears on the world outside. Occasionally the cat threatened to distract him with her purring and big eyes, but Colton didn’t allow himself to enjoy the sight of her. She wasn’t for his enjoyment, anyway.

“Come to mine next time, yeah?” Vik asked.

“Sure, it’s been a while. That’d be nice.”

“Alright, well I’ll head off. Nice to meet you, Col.”

Vik’s face appeared in Col’s peripheral vision, and Col looked over, giving him a nod and looking to his owner for permission to speak.

When his Master gave him an encouraging smile, Col said quietly, “Nice to meet you, sir. I’m sorry again.”

“It’s alright, Col,” Master said, reaching down and giving Col’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. Col flinched that time, too. The shame only twisted deeper in his guts. Master turned back to his brother. “I’ll wave you off.”

“You’re always keeping me out of trouble, aren’t you,” replied Vik with a wry smile.

. . .

Linden didn’t have to catch Vik before he walked out the door – they clearly both wanted to have a debrief. Their chat had been more than a little stifled with Colton kneeling right there, ramrod straight, his eyes wide and unfocused. Vik bent to put his shoes back on and stared up at Linden with a face that said what the fuck.

“Yeah,” Linden whispered. “Someone’s clearly done a number on him. Did he hurt you?”

“No, no,” Vik said, unconvincingly. “It was funny anyway. But he really is fierce when he wants to be.”

“At least I know he’s… loyal, now. Not that I took him in to be loyal. Or violent. Ah well.”

“I know, but I get it, it’s good to know he doesn’t want to use any of that strength against you. You’re safe as anything as long as he’s around.”

“Bless him. He’s so nervous all the time. He won’t even pet Jaffa.”

“You’ve got this, mate,” Vik said sincerely. “He’s still new. Maybe you’ve gotta be a bit more clear with things. Next time he looks at Jaffa, just tell him to go and pet her.”

“I’ll try. You should still come round whenever, I’ll tell him not to worry about you.” The thought of Vik almost having his ass handed to him made Linden’s lips curl up again. “Maybe buy a helmet for next time just in case.”

“Oh shut up, I could still batter him and you, you better not start thinking I’m soft. I’ll see you later. And buy him some weights or something, for god’s sake. He’ll go crazy otherwise.”

Linden laughed as Vik headed off. When he walked back into the lounge, Colton was still kneeling. Of course he was – Linden hadn’t ordered him to do anything else.

“Uh…I’m glad you’ve met my brother. Please don’t fret about earlier, Col. You’re genuinely not in trouble. Vik wasn’t mad in the slightest.”

Col didn’t move except to cast his eyes towards Linden’s face. It made him look creepy, like a mannequin. “Thank you, Sir. It won’t happen again. Thank you for this mercy.”

“It might be helpful to mark Vik as someone who’s completely trusted, you know. You don’t have to be afraid when he’s around. You don’t have to be… on high alert. He’s not going to do anything.”

. . .

Col nodded. If Vik made a move to attack, it would be for him, never his Master. Col wasn’t to fight back. “I understand, Sir. Thank you.”

taglist part 1:

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#(screams) MY BOYS 💖💖💖🥺🥺🥺#oh guard-dog!colton is my LIFE now??? what a good good boy!!!#linden and colton #whumpzone #whump #whumpee #caretaker #pet whump #vikram #angst #misunderstandings #panic attack #past abuse #allusions to past abuse #scarred #fear #hurt and comfort

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