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the-baby-storyteller · 11 months

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Cw for minor whump

Adoption Whump

Think a teenaged character in an orphanage or foster care. They’d always had a relatively good life; despite being orphaned their home was always filled with lots of other kids like them and they were happy. But, they’d heard horror stories of the horrible lives kids lived after adoption. Lives of abuse, of fear, of pain. They’d be put through endless torment, used, thrown around and beaten up, degraded simply because they were helpless, without a family, without a way to call for help. They shuddered at the thought, but surely, those stories were just that right? Stories. They were satisfied with their comfortable life, and if they ever got adopted, well, they were sure it couldn’t be that bad.

They were right on one front.

It wasn’t bad.

It was worse than they could have ever imagined.

The home seemed nice from the outside, a beautiful exterior, lush greenery, fountains sprawled over the grounds. Everything appeared to be perfect. To the average onlooker it would seem like a luxurious place for anyone to reside. It only made the reality of the situation ten times worse. Once inside, though still littered with decoration, the atmosphere was different. A threatening and frightening energy lingered in the air and the teen turned slowly toward their new owner. And that’s when it began.

The pain.

If asked, the teen couldn’t tell you what their daily life there was like. It was all jumbled together and fuzzy, their thoughts incoherent, clouded by suffering. There was only one thing that remained stable the whole time.

Hurt. Beatings. Pain. Anger. Hands. Kicks. Punches. Pain.

Each day was filled with impossible loads of tasks to accomplish.

Clean every inch of the house and do the laundry. Cook dinner and take care of my kids. Go out to buy groceries and entertain the guests. And I want this done before I get back.

They didn't talk to anyone except to be reprimanded for things out of their control. Every word said to them was meant to beat down, to crush. And when, not if, they didn't complete the overwhelming amount of work...well, they didn't like to talk about what happened then.

They went through life with eyes glazed over and a mind that constantly wished to be away, away from life, away from reality. The only thing they wanted was to leave.

Then, they were adopted by a rich person.

When they heard the news, they grew even more draw in and frighteningly quiet. Their old foster parent was overjoyed to get rid of them which only made them more fearful for what was to come, terrified of what their new parent owner would do to them.

They arrived at the new house and were in awe of how grand it was. Every crevice of the exterior was fully decorated to display their wealth. But, the only thing it could make the teen think of was how much worse they would be hurt here.

They heard footsteps approaching and immediately directed their head downward, trying to radiate submission and not wanting to anger their new owner.

The footsteps got closer and they hunched in further as their heart rate sped up, until finally two feet stopped in front of them. They held their breath for a moment, waiting for something to happen, a word, and order, a sigh, a kick or a slap even. A hand suddenly came into their view and they held back a flinch, but it just slowly rose until it gently met their cheek.

"Hi." A soft voice said.

Their heart jumped and they widened their eyes. That voice was smoother than anything they'd heard before.

"Can I see your face?"

The teen blinked dumbly for a moment, then registered they were being spoken to, not spoken at and had to hold back a jump at the unfamiliarity of the question. Why would they ask me-

"What's your name, love?"

The teen realized too late that they'd taken too long to respond, lost in their own worries and thoughts. They quivered slightly at the consequences of ignoring their owner and being reproached already, but..

'Love...'

"W-Whumpee..." The teen whispered quietly, lowering their eyes and wishing they could curl in on themself and become smaller. They couldn't ignore a direct question, but were terrified knowing talking was a sure way to get into trouble. But the hand that was still on their face wasn't letting them escape.

Against their expectations, they weren't scorned or spit at for saying their name. Instead they heard a light response.

"Hello, Whumpee," They could almost hear the smile (smile?) in the voice, "My name is Caretaker."

"Would you look at me, dear?"

Their breath caught and their eyes darted around as their brain hastened to find the right thing to say. They couldn't in good conscience look their owner in the eye but the certainly couldn't disobey an order. Amidst their wrestling, they must have absently nodded their head because, to their terror, the hand on their cheek started raising their face.

Their breathing picked up but there was nothing they could do except let it happen until they were finally face to face with the person who would control their fate for the foreseeable future. They expected to see a harsh, stony face to match their status, but instead were met with overwhelming calm, a warm aura, and a tender charm that made them want to melt. Caretaker oozed control and confidence, and the teen could tell they held a lot of power; they held themself high, were dressed in sophisticated clothing, and Whumpee had to crane their neck to meet their gaze. And yet, there was a soft feeling about them and their face was filled with kindness.

"Thank you." Caretaker smiled with squinty eyes that reminded them of the little kids at the orphan home.

The teen had never been more confused, afraid, and in the presence of such serenity all at once.

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hyper-real-hedgehog · 6 months

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thats the SECOND time he wakes up strapped to a table this is becoming a pattern

and his mom's at him with a fucking laser cutter or whatever i get why the vivisection fics now you can stop doing this

#danny phantom #phandom #danny fenton #maddie fenton #minor whump #vivisection mention

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emmettland · 22 days

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Grievances

Summary: Prince Logan wants to be a good son and a good person. His father shows him that he cannot be both.

CW: royal whump, minor whumpee, adult whumper, prince whumpee, king whumper, family whump, child abuse, manipulation, public punishment, public humiliation, restraints, begging, crying, tearing whumpee’s clothes open (not full nudity), cutting whumpee’s skin, spanking (through clothing), mouth whump, forcing whumpee to be temporarily mute, inaccurate views on mutism

This story is minor whump. Logan is fourteen in this. Do not read if that makes you uncomfortable.

Also, this does take place in APOP, but I didn't include any of the main lore to keep things simple. That's why Logan doesn't have his Corrupted arm, Blessings are not mentioned or used, etc.

Once upon a time, Prince Logan tried to be a good son. He endured his lessons with an impersonal air, careful not to stray too close to either apathy or indulgence. He spoke down to those beneath him and bowed for those above – because, to Logan’s surprise, his crown did not make him worthy of respect in the eyes of his father’s court. Nor did being a snot-nosed prince earn him the respect of his people.

He wanted to be a good prince who would grow up to be a good king. For that, he needed to be a good son.

David tried to reshape him. Logan was to be diplomatic, charming. Yet he was to approach every conversation as if it were a secret battle. Every little thing that Logan paid no mind to suddenly mattered. A well-timed smile could secure victory. A slip of the tongue could admit defeat.

He struggled. The boy’s instinct was to be honest about what he thought and how he felt, not wrap up the truth in lies and niceties. But after countless beatings and humiliating public displays, Logan learned to hold his tongue. He learned the power of words and their hidden meanings, though he still could not quite grasp them. He watched as his father brought enemies to his side and turned allies against each other, weighed down with the dreadful knowledge that he would one day be doing the same.

David had kept him away from the people’s grievances for a reason. Logan had heard it many times, before and after each punishment; he was too soft. His heart beckoned him to ease the suffering of others before his own. It lay waste to his judgment, leading to selfish choices that benefited his conscience more than they did his people.

The people who mattered, of course.

Prisoners did not matter, but the king was generous enough to listen to their woes once a month, and grant the requests of a select few. This time, Logan was in attendance. He had recently turned fourteen, standing a bit taller now that he was leaving adolescence behind. Their audience consisted of the king’s court, here to oversee the proceedings and judge the young prince’s performance. Logan tried not to be intimidated by them.

David waved his hand to allow the first prisoner inside of the throne room, where they would kneel at the bottom of the steps and lay out their burdens to the king.

They will do anything to garner sympathy, David had told him earlier. It is very rare that I find one who was either falsely arrested or worthy of being freed. Remember, son, they would not be in chains had they not committed a crime.

As the first prisoner was escorted through the doorway, flanked by two of the royal guard, Logan took in their appearance. The man appeared to be near his father’s age, though that could be due to his gaunt features. Dark, matted hair fell over his face as he approached with his head down, wrists bound in front of him. The chains connecting his manacles rattled, a grating noise that Logan wanted to lean away from.

The prisoner nearly lost balance when he knelt down. Logan could tell he was starving. A flicker of unease threatened his composure. What crime did this man commit?

David gestured for the prisoner to speak.

“I do not expect mercy for myself,” the prisoner rasped. His voice was just as unpleasant as the chains, chafing Logan’s ears. “I know that my crime is unforgivable. All I ask is that my daughter be spared. She–” He burst into a coughing fit.

Logan glanced at his father. David nodded slightly, giving permission.

“And why,” Logan said, as royally as he could muster, “is your daughter here?”

The prisoner’s expression was mostly concealed by hair. But his voice tightened as he gathered his breath and said, “She is mute and cannot speak for herself. The guards who arrested us–they saw the blood on her hands and thought s-she–”

Another coughing fit seized him, this time producing blood. Logan realized it was not only starvation causing his body to decline. He waited until the man finished.

“--thought she was an accomplice. I swear to you, she had no part.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, in the way that a prince should when conveying his rightful skepticism. “And we should simply take the word of a criminal?”

“Not just a criminal. Her father,” the man said, more strained.

Logan scoffed. “All the more reason to lie for her then.”

Out of the corner of his eye, David looked pleased. It meant he was saying the right things, even though it felt wrong. But that was just one of the many flaws that his father had pointed out; his heart tried to mislead him.

The prisoner slowly shook his head. “She cannot speak, but–but she can write. If she was allowed to write what happened–”

“Can she write Helson?”

This was David’s question. It gave Logan pause, wondering why that would even be a question. If she was a Helsoner, and if she could write, why would it not be in the language of their country?

The prisoner seemed to flinch from the question.

“No. Only Born.”

“Because she is part Borna,” David said, answering the next question Logan had. The boy’s eyes widened in surprise. “You brought her to Helsoner because it was safer, and then murdered your own son when he tried to show his love for her.”

“That was not love,” the prisoner spat. “She did not want it. She kept refusing–”

“Because she was raised by snakes,” David cut in. “How could you expect her to embrace him when she has been manipulated? You should have been patient with them both, and yet you chose Borna blood over your own.”

The prisoner’s hands curled into fists. “I loved my son.”

David’s smile was cold. “Not as much as you loved your mistake.”

Logan was shaken. He understood now why the prisoner was being starved. He had sinned by having a child with a Borna and then committed one of the most egregious sins of all; killing your own flesh and blood.

But the half-Borna girl did not ask to be born. She did not, Logan presumes, choose to be mute out of stubbornness or secrecy. He had read once, when he still snuck out books from the library unrelated to his studies, that losing your voice was a result of something truly horrific. You no longer spoke because the fear was unspeakable, as if your mind wanted to prevent you from uttering a word about what happened. It was a sickness, not a choice.

Logan understood all too well. There were times where his throat refused to work, no matter how much he wanted it to. He could sympathize with the girl, and perhaps it was making him soft. But it was his father’s own words that led to his decision:

They would not be in chains had they not committed a crime.

Here was the father, in chains for his crime. Yet his daughter was in chains as well, and they never asked her why there was blood on her hands. Simply having Borna blood, while an unfortunate fate to have, was not a crime.

“Please,” the father begged. “She is innocent.”

“She speaks–writes in a language none of us care to know,” David said, dismissive of the man’s pain and his daughter’s plight. He kept it hidden, but Logan knew he took pleasure in it. Just as he took pleasure in bringing his own son to tears.

The injustice of it all swelled in Logan’s chest. He fought to keep his voice steady as he stepped forward and said, “I read Born. We will let her write, and I will translate.”

This was the wrong thing to say.

The king’s court remained silent, but visibly expressed their displeasure. Some of them were bold enough to shake their heads in disappointment.

Logan turned towards his father. Apprehensive, but firm in his stance. It would earn him a severe punishment later, but he could handle the pain. He could sleep with aching bruises and stinging lashes, so long as the image of an innocent girl wasting away in chains did not haunt his nightmares.

He expected David to oppose him. After all, only the king could grant the prisoner’s request. But he was prepared for an argument, and the longer that it went on, the more embarrassing it would be for his father. He was supposed to have Logan under control; this display of defiance proved otherwise.

It all came down to appearances, as David often told him. The boy could not help feeling a bit smug for using his father’s own tactics against him.

David gave him a long, unreadable look before turning back to the prisoner, speaking with a note of finality. “My son is willing to show mercy towards your daughter. I will grant your request, but not out of mercy. We shall see how innocent she truly is after receiving her word.”

Logan’s smile fell in an instant. Of course. Even if the girl was innocent, her words could be twisted against her. Nobody was going to trust a half-Borna to tell the truth; it made no difference whether she was allowed to tell it or not.

The girl’s father had to have known this. Yet when he finally raised his head, his eyes were soft with gratitude, and they were looking at Logan.

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

His face carved itself into Logan’s memory. That was before the guards came forward and turned the man around, leading him out of the throne room. The sound of chains could be heard in the corridor, followed by a hoarse sob.

Logan did not even know his name.

—

Once upon a time, Prince Logan tried to be a good person. He listened to a total of twenty prisoners beg for mercy, and did his best to be fair. King David ended up granting more requests that day than he had ever granted in a year.

He also broke a few of his son’s ribs, but Logan still considered it a victory.

About a month later, the splitting pain in Logan’s sides had faded into a dull ache, and he could stand straight again. He was surprised when his father invited him to another grievance hearing, but did not refuse. He dared to hope that he had impressed both the king and his court. There might not even be a beating this time.

With that in mind, Logan was in high spirits when he entered the throne room, unable to stop grinning. This was proof that he could be both a good son and a good person. That he did not need to compromise his morals to be a ruler worthy of respect. David was simply lost in the traditional ways, but now that he was starting to value his son’s opinions, Logan could show him the right way.

He made to ascend the stairs leading up to the two thrones, letting his guards stay at the bottom. But before he could reach the first step, his arm was grabbed.

Unhand me, he was about to order. It came out as a startled yelp when his arm was wrenched behind him, and another set of hands circled his waist. Logan failed to squirm out of their hold before something heavy and metal clicked into place, worn like a thick belt. He gasped as a manacle was attached to the wrist of his only hand, the chain looped through a ring in the belt.

The guards stepped away. When he tried to move his arm out from behind him, the chain went taught, and his muscles throbbed in protest.

Frazzled, the young prince’s wide eyes darted around the room. His father’s court had taken their places already, a mixture of satisfied looks and smug whispers. His father, Logan realized, had walked past him while he was being restrained and now sat on his throne, the perfect image of a vindictive king.

Logan snarled at him like a trapped beast. “Father! What is the meaning of this?!”

David’s eyes looked colder than usual. “You wanted to grant mercy to our prisoners, and I allowed it,” he said, smirking. “Now, we will see if that mercy was deserved.”

“What do you mean? I only granted it to those who–”

“Send in the first one,” David said to the guards.

Logan whipped around. There was a young man approaching, keeping his head bowed in the presence of royals. Logan recognized him as one of the prisoners that were freed; the circle of bruises on his wrists had not yet faded. He staggered away from the man when he got close, baring his teeth in warning. The man just smiled back.

“You are a freed man now,” David said, voice filling the room. “You told my son that you were wrongly imprisoned for defending yourself against a thief. What is the truth?”

Logan stared at the man, heart in his throat. He remembered the prisoner’s emotional tale, the guilty tears that stained his cheeks when he spoke of the unintended killing. He did not mean to do it; the thief was armed, and the man simply panicked. Logan could not fault him for wanting to live.

But now, the man’s eyes gleamed with spite. “The truth,” he said, far too proudly, “is that the bastard made me lose my job. I took his wife to lure him into my home, and then I stabbed him until he was more holes than flesh.”

Logan’s stomach twisted.

That–that was far more repulsive than the crime he alleged.

He turned on his father. “You knew all along! Had you just spoken up–”

“You would have accused me of being cruel,” David said. “But no, my son, I did not know until the man later confessed. I could only tell that he was lying, as you should be able to do by now.”

Logan’s pride flared in response, and then quickly deflated. His father was right. How could he have been so naive? He trusted his instincts to warn him of dishonesty, yet this vengeful killer slipped right past him. He only had himself to blame.

“Tell me,” David said, speaking to the killer. “What would you like to do to my son, to show him the kind of man you really are?”

The killer unsheathed his dagger.

“I would like to cut off a few of those layers and mark up that perfect skin.”

Logan’s mouth was agape. He could not believe–he did not want to believe this was happening. That his father would let him be tortured by a sadistic murderer just to teach him a lesson. He stepped forward in a hurry, desperate to earn his father’s forgiveness.

“Father, please–”

“Your request has been granted,” David declared.

The boy’s shrill scream echoed off the walls when the killer grabbed him, grinning as he raised the dagger. “Keep moving and this might go in you,” he warned, pressing the blade to the front of Logan’s vest.

Logan was too afraid to listen. He kicked the man’s legs, screaming again when he was shoved down to the marble floor. The man’s weight pressed down on his thighs, keeping his legs flat as the buttons of his vest were snapped off. The fabric split open, exposing the intricately laced tunic underneath. With a single movement, the laces were cut, falling to the sides as the tunic was forced to open.

Logan thrashed against him, uncaring of the sharp blade. It was not the pain he feared. It was the humiliation of it all. A prince being pinned down in his own home, while a filthy criminal rips off his clothing. It was depraved that his father would allow it, but nobody else seemed to agree. David’s courtiers looked viciously pleased.

David looked no different.

His throat and sternum were exposed. The indecency made Logan flush, now panting from his efforts to escape. The killer seemed to enjoy it. This time, the tip of the blade met skin instead of fabric, and left a throbbing trail down Logan’s chest as it dragged across his skin. Blood rose to the surface.

Logan’s eyes were burning. “Stop! Father, please stop this!”

“Should have listened to Daddy sooner,” the killer sneered.

Another line was carved over the first one, deeper this time. Pain swelled, twisted in with fear and shame. Logan could not bear to think about how he looked right now. Being cut into, being forced into an immodest state, all while he cried and screamed; this was a punishment fit for a prisoner, not a prince.

Yet nobody came to his defense.

It was David who, after two more cuts, told the killer to stop. Logan rolled over as soon as he did, stifling a sob. He could not bring himself to look when his father told the next freed prisoner to enter.

“You are a freed woman now,” he heard David say. “You told my son that you were remorseful. That you were blinded by rage when you defiled one of the statues of my visage. What is the truth?”

Logan was hefted up by the guards. He fought to swallow back tears, thick in his throat and still rolling down his cheeks. Surely, this one could not be as bad. She was just a petty vandal, not a hardened criminal worth keeping in the dungeons.

Truthfully, though it was not the reason he gave for extending mercy, he found it amusing to think of David’s stone face being pissed on.

Now, however, there was nothing to be amused about. Not when the woman’s lip curled back with apparent malice. “The truth is that all you royals make me sick, and I would have smacked your boy silly for disrespecting his father.”

Logan stared at her in shock. “I gave you mercy!”

The woman scoffed. “You have no idea what mercy is.”

“Tell me,” David said, humored by the woman’s attitude. “What would you like to do to my son, to show him the kind of woman you really are?”

She narrowed her eyes at Logan. “A good spanking should suffice.”

“No,” he blurted out, stepping back when she came near. His legs were trembling. “No, you are not my father, that is not for you to–”

“Your request has been granted,” said David.

A guard stepped behind to hold him. His chain rattled during the struggle. The boy shouted and cursed and flailed his legs, much like a child having a tantrum. But he was almost a man now, and the thought of being spanked in front of his father’s court, the guards, any servant who passed by the throne room–it was too much.

It was no use. He was shoved to the floor once again, a gloved hand forcing his head down while another pressed firmly between his shoulder blades. The woman did not pull his leggings down–thank Fotia for that–but she knelt behind him where he could not see. Raising her hand to strike him as he writhed on the floor.

“No,” he cried out. “No–stop–get away–no!”

His voice broke off into a sob when her hand made contact, followed by a sharp sting in his backside. It did not hurt as much as the bleeding lines in his chest did. He tried to concentrate on that. Tried to listen for the small drops of blood hitting the marble instead of the mortifying smack smack smack coming from behind him.

He did not count how many there were, as he would have with his father.

Eventually, she was told to stop. He heard the woman let out a harsh breath before standing up, and the strong hands holding him down were gone. The boy grit his teeth, forcing himself to stand on shaky legs.

His backside was aflame. His cheeks were burning. Part of his torso was exposed and still bleeding. Every inch of his skin felt tainted, sinful. The indignant anger he felt was nothing compared to the shame coiling in his stomach, writhing like a ball of snakes. He thought it would devour him.

He looked up at his father silently, knowing his pleas would be ignored. David looked satisfied, but not placated just yet. “If you stay still and do not need to be held down,” he told his son, “I will make this the last request. Otherwise, there will be more.”

Logan’s lip quivered as he stifled a sob. He nodded to show he understood.

Footsteps sounded behind him. Logan did not turn around. He kept his head down as they stopped near him, dropping in a bow for the king. When the boy finally chose to look, his eyes went wide. He recognized the man’s face; it was the father who killed his Helson son to protect his half-Borna daughter.

No, his heart whispered. Not you as well. Please, not you.

“You are a freed man now,” he heard David say, but that made no sense. Only the daughter was found to be innocent, after she was allowed to share her story. “Tell my son why that is.”

Logan looked up at the man, dreading his answer. He was not nearly as thin as before and his hair had been combed, now tied back in a low ponytail. Logan wanted to be happy for him.

The man hesitated. “Your father promised to free me if I did this,” he said, heavy with remorse. There was a vial of some liquid in his hand.

Logan stepped back without thinking. “Do what? What is that?”

“Tell me,” David said, like a blade descending. “What would you like to do to my son, to repay him for his kindness and live freely with your daughter?”

The vial in the man’s hand shook. He spoke as if reciting by memory.

“I would like his voice to be gone as well.”

Logan looked to his father. Opened his mouth. David glanced at the guards, an unspoken reminder of his offer. Stay still and his punishment would end.

“Your request has been granted,” David told the man.

Logan forced himself not to move. He heard the cork of the vial being popped, and nearly recoiled at the foul odor that escaped. The man stepped in front of him, gently taking the boy’s chin between his fingers to tilt it up. More tears slipped down Logan’s blotchy face as it was lifted, looking up at the man with resignation.

He was not just a man. He was a father. He put his daughter’s freedom before his own, and now he had the chance to be free as well. What was one boy’s suffering compared to his daughter? A part of Logan knew this. Yet his heart still hardened into a cold, tight fist of fury when the rim of the vial touched his lips. He let them part.

The pain was instant.

It was like liquid fire. It scalded the inside of his mouth and raked over his tongue, like hundreds of stingers pricking at once. Logan was torn between choking and screaming, somehow managing both when his mouth was pried open and the rest of the vial emptied inside.

It burned everywhere. Down his throat. In his nostrils. Behind his eyes, where he could no longer see past his tears, squeezing them shut as he swallowed the last of the liquid in agony. The pain made his head throb. He clutched it with his hand once his restraints were taken off; he did not see the man’s expression before he left.

The prince fell to his knees. He was reduced to short, wheezing breaths, feeling his senses go fuzzy from the lack of air. But after a moment, his throat went numb. It started there and worked up to the inside of his mouth. His tongue felt heavy, useless. The fire was snuffed out, and the boy could breathe again. He opened his mouth to speak.

All that came out was a soft, strained gasp.

—

Logan’s voice returned in the morning. Before it did, every member of David’s court took great lengths to let him know how much they enjoyed his silence. The guards who were present for his punishment shared the details with their teammates, laughing at their prince’s expense. Even a few servants were audacious enough to make a snide comment that Logan could not respond to.

He stayed in his chambers for most of it.

When sunlight snuck into the room, Logan turned away from it. He lay flat on his stomach and buried his face in the pillow. He wondered if it was possible to suffocate himself with it. His body’s self-preservation would most likely prevent that.

The sound of a key turning interrupted his morbid thoughts. Logan assumed it was his personal attendant come to wake him, but the footsteps sounded different. Heavier, like boots, not the soft pad of a servant’s slippers.

It was certainly not a servant who laid a hand on his back.

Logan stiffened. Even through his sleep clothes, his father’s hand was an unwelcome touch. Or so he told himself. The bed dipped with David’s weight as he sat next to his son, and despite all of Logan’s anger towards him, his body relaxed. This was not another punishment; this was the part that came after.

David’s voice was soft. Soothing. “I will grant one more request, only to you.”

Logan wanted to stay upset with him. In his mind, his request was some kind of punishment for his father, one that might make up for what he put his son through. Or it was something personal and gutting, an attack disguised as a request. The type that David might deliver had their positions been reversed.

The hand on his back started rubbing in circles.

Logan’s anger wavered.

David did not offer him kindness out of remorse, but he still offered. No matter how badly he hurt his son, or how horribly he embarrassed him, Logan could expect mercy once he earned it. After every punishment, Logan was treated to a side of his father that cared for him. A part of David that did not utterly loathe his son.

It was the closest thing he had to his father’s love, and Logan could not bear to lose it.

He raised his head to look up at David. Already, there were tears in his eyes. His father was here to help, and he was grateful. He had already forgiven David, and now he needed his father to do the same.

The boy’s voice cracked with emotion. “Can you please forgive me?”

He could never quite tell what his father was feeling. But he wanted to believe it was something close to affection when David smiled at him. Logan’s chest felt lighter, his guilt lifted, as his father leaned down to press a gentle kiss to his son’s forehead.

“Your request has been granted,” David said.

my writing x my whump x a promise of purity au x ko-fi

#whumplr #whump writing #royal whump #royalty whump #minor whump #emmett whumps #whump tag #emmett writes #A Promise of Purity AU #emmett ocs #logan oc #david oc #ty for liking/rbing if you do!#A Promise of Purity AU (writing)

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shion-yu · 3 months

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Not Your Fault (part 2)

Part 1 | Alex has fever dreams, Shu comforts him. Fill for my @badthingshappenbingo space "It's All My Fault." Original work, 1,474 words. No TWs, CW: PTSD, vomit, Alex is 13 here. And don't worry, of course Shu's gonna get whumped in part 3 :P

Shu was woken up by the sound of screaming. He ran into Alex's room not bothering to knock where he found Alex sitting up in bed crying and coughing. His breathing was fast and congested, a mix of tears and snot running down his face. Without the confident scowl on his face that he usually protected himself with, he looked exactly like the teenager he really was.

"Alex, Alex! Look at me bud," Shu urged him, hands hovering over Alex's shoulders. Alex looked at him with such a hurt, scared expression that it was clear he wasn't in the present moment. Shu took a chance, placed one hand on Alex’s shoulder and rubbed Alex's back with the other in the hope that it would help bring Alex back to reality. He knew that nightmares were a common occurrence for Alex, but usually Alex would shout once or twice in his sleep and then go quiet. This time he seemed to be in a full blown panic though, likely thanks to the fever Shu could feel through his t-shirt.

Alex looked up at Shu with a heartbreakingly devastated expression. "It's my fault," he whimpered, his eyes shining with tears.

"You haven't done anything wrong," Shu soothed him, his voice low and gentle. "It's okay. Just focus on me now."

Alex let out a small sob and gripped the hem of Shu's shirt. He was shaking, either with fear or chills or both. "I killed them. It's my fault they're dead. I-I-" He shuddered violently. Shu pressed his hand to Alex's cheek and grimaced at the high heat coming off the teen.

"No honey, it's not your fault," Shu tried to soothe Alex like he was far younger than fourteen. He wasn't exactly sure what Alex was talking about, but it likely had something to do with how everybody else in that apartment had died the day of the explosion - Alex's mom, his mom's boyfriend, and the downstairs neighbor. Alex had been the only one to survive it because he’d been in his bedroom with the doors closed, suffering only minor injuries while everybody else had died on site. Such an event would haunt anyone, let alone a thirteen year old boy who clearly did not have the best coping mechanisms. Alex tried to act like it didn’t bother him, but Shu found that impossible to believe. He made Alex go to talk therapy even though the kid almost always found some way to bail on it, thinking that maybe if Alex didn’t want to tell him about his troubles then at least maybe he could tell someone else.

Shu kept rubbing Alex's back, something he usually wouldn't be able to do without Alex slapping his hand away. "Breathe for me, can you?" Shu asked gently. "It's just you and me here. You're safe."

Alex seemed to listen for about ten seconds, growing momentarily quieter, before his breath quickened again. "Alex?" Shu questioned him. All the color had suddenly drained from Alex's face.

"I'm gonna puke," Alex said, gagging once before Shu managed to shove the waste basket under his chin just in time. Despite skipping dinner, Alex managed to vomit a substantial amount before collapsing back onto his pillows, trembling violently. Shu hummed sympathetically and took the basket away, tying the bag up and bringing it to the kitchen where he double bagged and tossed the mess. He returned with the bin containing a fresh bag, the thermometer and a wet rag. Alex was lying there with one arm over his eyes. It was difficult to discern an expression in that position, but it was clear he was upset.

"Let's get you cleaned up and I'll take your temperature," Shu said softly. Alex just groaned in response, not moving. Shu hummed and pressed the dampened cloth to Alex's sweaty neck. Alex flinched but then took the washcloth and wiped the rest of his face off. Afterwards Shu traded the washcloth for the thermometer.

"It doesn't matter," Alex muttered, but begrudgingly placed the small instrument under his tongue. The number rose until it stopped at 102.3 and beeped. Shu took it and made out the reading using the dim hallway light that flooded into the bedroom from the doorway.

"Oof. You must feel awful," Shu hummed softly.

"No, I feel great," Alex said sarcastically. This usual snarkiness actually made Shu feel a little better. The wet, "Ht'ksshh!" and whimper that followed did not.

"Do you think you can stomach some more Tylenol?" Shu asked him, handing Alex the glass of water. "Just try a few little sips first," he urged when Alex looked at the glass apprehensively. Alex followed instructions and then nodded after managing a few sips without throwing up, so Shu handed him two more Tylenol to take. "We'll bring you to the doctor in the morning," Shu said.

Alex looked annoyed. "I don't need to go to the doctor," he said. "I just need to sleep it off."

"Is that what you're used to?" Shu asked, perhaps a bit too pityingly because Alex scowled and pushed the glass back into his hand. "Alex..."

"Sorry for waking you up," Alex growled. "Go back to - to be... H'nnxgh-“ Alex managed to halfway stifle the first of the fit of three sneezes only, the rest too strong for him to hold back. He launched straight from sneezing into coughing and Shu was surprised when Alex grabbed onto Shu's forearm, although it seemed simply to prevent himself from pitching forward. Shu reached for a tissue from the box on Alex's nightstand and held it to Alex's nose.

"Blow," he said. “Just do it, you're choking on your own snot," he added when Alex glared at him with watery eyes. Alex took the tissue and blew what sounded like far more than what could fit in one tissue's worth. Shu held out his hand for the used one and traded Alex for another, which he also filled. "Good," Shu said. "Better?" Alex nodded slowly. He looked miserable. "Do you think you can go back to sleep?" Shu asked him hopefully.

Alex shook his head no, sniffling pathetically. “Everything hurts,” he whined.

"Okay, that's fine,” Shu said. “Do you want me to stay with you? Or we can go watch TV in my room." Alex didn't go in there much, but Shu always tried to make him feel like he could enter whenever he wanted. The first night Alex had lived with him, Alex had slept there while Shu slept on the couch since he didn't have a bed for Alex yet. It had all been very sudden, how Alex had come to live with him, and Shu still couldn't believe everything that had happened in the handful of months that had passed since then.

Alex didn't answer, but he was looking at Shu with a strange expression that Shu couldn't read. "Or the couch," Shu added awkwardly, trying to come up with other options in case maybe Alex didn't like any of the first ones. "I could make you something warm."

"You're too nice to me," Alex blurted out suddenly. His face turned red, but Shu wasn't sure if it was all due to the fever.

"Alex," Shu sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed and facing him with a serious expression. "You're my kid. I know I'm not what you'd prefer but it's what you've got, and I'm trying my best. I want you to feel safe, this is your home now. Whatever happened or didn't happen before isn't your fault. You deserve to be taken care of."

Alex went quiet again. Shu waited for him to process this, half expecting Alex to kick him out. But instead he sniffled and said, "TV in your room sounds okay." Shu smiled and tried not to make it obvious how thrilled he was. They moved to Shu's room where Shu set Alex up in his bed with lots of pillows behind him and a hot water bottle to hug. If Alex's sniffles sounded more like crying than just a runny nose now, Shu kept his mouth shut. They watched late night TV until Alex slumped lower in Shu's bed and Shu could tell he'd fallen asleep. Shu adjusted the pillows and tucked him in so he would be comfortable enough not to wake up.

Alex was a handful and often Shu felt like he was far more than Shu could handle on his own, but right now he looked so boyish and peaceful. Poor kid was going through it, and illness and nightmares only made things worse. Shu hated to see him suffering, but at the same time a tiny part of him was grateful that it had pushed Alex to trust him just a little bit, even if it was only for tonight.

Part 3

#shionwrites #sickfic #fever whump #parental relationship #bad things happen bingo #It's All My Fault #oc: alex #oc: shu #whump #illness whump #flu whump #sicknario #male cold #sick whump #minor whump #oc sickfic #emeto #nightmares

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crash-bump-bring-the-whump · 10 days

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Whumpril 2024 - Day 18 - Broken Glass

Manager Mariano time c:

TWs: blood, hand wounds, ableism, glass in wounds, a teenager gets hurt and also scared

"Don't move."

Violet froze as her new manager's voice boomed through the empty coffee shop from the back office, right on the heels of a whole box-full of special, holiday-themed glass stirrers hitting the tile floor and exploding. Tears immediately sprang to her eyes as she tensed, hearing the quick footsteps of the man immediately starting towards her. She was so dead.

This was her first day and her first job and she'd been stupid to believe Abby when she said that this job was easy. Abby would kill her if Mister Cross didn't, she'd vouched for Violet and talked her up about being a good worker. Good workers didn't make a huge mess three hours into their first shift.

Hastily she crouched and started trying to scoop the broken pieces back into the cardboard box. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry--" She whimpered, gasping when the glass tore at her fingertips.

"Hey, hey, don't move." Mister Cross repeated, scooping the broom and a roll of paper towels into his hands as he arrived. "Just leave it there."

Violet pulled her hands tight against herself, nodding in acknowledgement. She watched as he swept around her, quick strokes of the broom collecting the biggest pieces of glass into a pile. Then he tore off some paper towels, got them wet in the sink they washed their hands in, and wiped a careful ring around her.

"There," He said, finally, standing to toss the now-glittering paper towels into the trash. "There, now you won't get glass on your shoes."

Violet watched, vision wobbling from the tears still gathering in her eyes, as he offered his hands out. She didn't want to take them. They were scarred, and weird looking and rippled like a brownie's surface, and the thought of them made her skin crawl.

"Let me get you to the office so I can get your hands cleaned up. I won't let you slip."

This close, when he'd taken off his hoodie and was just in his jeans and tee, she realized that his biceps were about the size of her head and that his arms were just as messed up as his hands were. He'd definitely killed people before. The thought made her stomach drop.

When she rested her wrists against his palms, she shuddered. His hands were warm, though, and he was steady when he helped her stand again. The office was quiet, and when he helped her into the computer chair she shivered. The chair was comfortable at least, even with his hoodie draped over the back of it.

He walked to the storage room and grabbed one of the plastic chairs, setting it over the weird stain on the carpet before taking a seat next to her.

Reaching into the desk drawer, Mister Cross pulled out a plastic case with a blue taped plus sign on it and a tiny bottle of rubbing alcohol. "I try to keep a first aid kit stocked in here, it has most anything you'd need and plenty you might not." He said, retrieving some tweezers from the kit and disinfecting them with the rubbing alcohol.

As he waved them in the air to dry them quicker, he held out one of his awful hands again. "May I see your cut? I want to make sure we get all the glass out before you go to an urgent care."

"I'm going to a doctor after this?" Violet asked, disbelieving. She hesitantly lowered one of her hands into his palm. He didn't squeeze or hold her tight, he just leaned a little closer and squinted like her mom always did when she had a splinter.

"Of course. You can call your parents after we get you bandaged up." He said, tilting Violet's hand slowly. She saw little glimmering shards in her fingertips, and groaned. "It's alright, just lean back. I'll do the hard part. It'll be over in just a minute."

"I can't do it, Mister Cross." Tears started to roll down her face as she felt the delicate scrape of the tweezers, and her eyes slammed shut as she leaned back. "I can't--it's gonna hurt too much." She didn't want him to dig into her fingers. She didn't want to feel him pulling at anything, she just wanted to go home. The biggest one looked so deep, there was no way he could get it out without making it worse.

"First one is out, you're doing great Violet."

"What?" That startled her, and when she opened his eyes she saw him delicately placing the biggest glass splinter onto a tissue. "How...?"

"None of them are deep at all, they just need a little help. I wouldn't do this if I thought I'd have to dig for them." He spoke with the same tone he'd used to explain how to make a frappe earlier that day, calm and flat. His eyebrows were furrowed just a little bit in concentration, and he tilted her hand back and forth before moving in with the tweezers again.

She didn't expect this process to be so gentle. She found herself watching as he removed the other two, and she wasn't as hesitant to let him take care of her other hand after he'd bandaged the first one. "I...I don't need to go to the doctor, I'm probably okay." She said, voice small as she watched Mister Cross work.

He clicked his tongue and shook his head. "No, no. You don't want to play around with the health of your hands. It's better to take an hour out of your day to make sure you get some decent antibiotics and a professional's opinion, at least." He set the tweezers aside once he got the last of the glass out, starting to bandage those fingers too. "Your family won't have to pay for it, either. There's a doctor not far from here who'll sort out the bill with us and give you a note if you need it."

Mister Cross treated her like she was made of glass. He didn't even sound angry, really. He wasn't slamming anything, or yelling, or huffing, or sounding frustrated with her. "Why aren't you firing me? Those stir stick things were special."

Mister Cross shook his head and laughed, quiet and just as calm as before. "Accidents happen. I've spilled a whole bag of coffee beans before and had to toss all five pounds. It wouldn't be fair to fire you over something we've all done.

"Plus," He started, a conspiratorial edge winding its way into his voice. "I probably would've tossed them myself anyway. They just seemed like they could snap in someone's drink if they hit ceramic too hard."

Violet let out a sob that she didn't know she was holding in. Mister Cross froze, looking startled as she dragged her wrist over her eyes. "I--Violet, are...do you want a...a tissue?" He hesitantly offered her the box of tissues, and she sobbed harder.

The wide-eyed expression on his face made her laugh, caught between the ache of her fingers, the emotional release of knowing she hadn't lost her job and the realization that Abby hadn't lied about Mister Cross not being that scary. She took one of them and nodded, pressing her face into it as the sudden rush subsided.

"Yeah! I'm...I think I'm okay." Violet took a deeper breath, letting it out and feeling steadier than she had all day. "Thank you for helping me, Mister Cross."

He seemed to need a moment longer to process what she'd said, hesitantly setting the tissues back on the desk. "Of course." He finally said, standing again and turning to leave. "Call home and hang out in here until your ride shows up, no need to worry about the rest of the day."

Somehow, Violet thought when Mister Cross returned for just a moment to set a freshly warmed muffin down on the desk next to her, she sort of understood why Abby didn't quit after that shooting happened.

@whump-captain @whumpr @whumperofworlds @lektricwhump @cyberwhumper @bxtterflystxtches @inscrutable-shadow @honeybees-125

#whumpril2024 #whumprilday18 #day 18 #broken glass #blood #hand whump #minor whump #glass in wounds #it's a pretty light little thing overall though #very low stakes with a happy ending #mage of violence #violet #she's just 16 and intimidated and it's her very first job and oh god she just broke something special #and Mariano is just huge and hard to read and ex-military and scary looking and surprisingly gentle #idk I had a NEED for gentle mariano today we're all welcome

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surplus-of-sarcasm · 8 months

Text

Number 30

TW: Blood, to some extent: gore, somewhat detailed description of injury, murder, angst, smoking, hero is a minor, knife usage, bruises, restraints, (I promise this is [hopefully] not as bad as it sounds)

Notes: No, I have not died. Apparently, I do not die easily. Enjoy tho < 3

Word count: 3.9 k

Today had been uncharacteristically dull for the villain so far. He wondered if he'd described it properly, though, because it had been like that for the entirety of a week. And sure, he wanted the fearsome reputation and days where no one was around to irritate him, but if total, action-free normalcy was his desire, he could have easily stuck with an average, brilliantly staid, white collar job.

And sure enough, fate had heard his pleas, and he found his lip involuntarily curling upwards into a lopsided smirk as he felt someone attempt to sneak up on him.

With his usual deadly efficiency, the criminal had grabbed their arm attempting to twist it backwards, almost successful until the figure broke out of his vice-like grip. They were much smaller than he was; a little short and somewhat scrawny, but the villain knew better than to underestimate someone simply because of size. However, his opponent wasn't just small, they were young. From the attempt to make the grunt sound a lot rougher than it actually was, he realised he was fighting a teenage boy.

Not being the sentimental type; the hero's age hadn't sparked a sudden pang of sympathy in the villain, but it was a little disconcerting fighting someone he practically saw as a child. Functionally though, that simply meant that the fight would end a lot faster than he'd anticipated.

The villain aimed a kick to the teenage hero's shins, only for him to dodge narrowly and counter with a kick of his own. It was barely strong enough, only slightly irritating against the older man's leg. The criminal simply slammed his fist into his adversary's face, leaving a trail of dull, purple bruises lining the cheekbone, more to assuage his pride than anything else. And the villain was no sadist, but it was just slightly amusing listening to the little hero grumble a filthy curse under his breath.

"Better watch your tongue," he mock-chastised, as he punched the kid's nose.

"Bloody hilarious," the teen answered dryly, having the audacity to roll his eyes, ignoring the sting in them as he maneuvered his body away from the villain's reach, managing to aim a harsh punch to his lip, and when the villain's fingers reflexively trailed down his lip, they came away stained with crimson.

For a brief, almost imperceptible moment, the hero's own shock matched the villain's, but while the little bastard's expression turned ever so slightly more smug as one of his eyebrows arched subtly, the muscles in the villain's face worked to pull it into a dark scowl.

His arms snaked around the younger's neck in a relentless death grip, the hero kicking and flailing uselessly in his grasp. "Playtime's over, short stack. Whose sidekick are you? Wouldn't want to break some hero's little toy," he growled, his hold still rough on the teen, but loosening only slightly so that he could speak.

"No one's. . .sidekick," he barely managed to breathe out as he gasped for air, taking in greedy breaths.

"Don't play martyr," he snapped, tugging slightly at the hero's hair, not meant to be awfully painful, rather just enough to pull him out of whatever foolish trance he was attempting to immerse himself in.

"I'm. . .not, I just st-started out as a hero. Sixteen's the youngest age."

"Like hell you're sixteen," the villain scoffed, even though to him that age seemed absurdly young to be anywhere that wasn't high school. He knew for a fact the hero wasn't lying because knowing the agency, they were just that desperate.

Or more accurately, just that scummy.

He let him go, the hero practically stumbling and slamming into the building behind him, wheezing and gasping for air, and yet there was a fiery look of absolute loathing burning in the grass green eyes as he held the villain's gaze for a few moments before storming away.

Maybe he wasn't feeling insanely surly, but a quick shower and being back home had lightened his mood just slightly. But for the most part, the villain wasn't sure what to make of the interaction. He wasn't so weak-willed that the hero's little lucky moment of bravado had intimidated him, letting out a cocky snort as he dabbed at his lip with a piece of cotton soaked in antiseptic, the familiar burn crawling across his skin still slightly irritating.

And sure, he wasn't exactly elated at having practically beaten up a kid, but maybe not every fight had to be rewarding. Then again, wasn't like most criminals would actually bat an eye over his age. If anything, he was doing him a favour showing him exactly what he was up against. The villain assumed that this was another minor irritation that would melt away as he pushed himself through rudimentary tasks and then slept through it.

And as the sky darkened into an inky black and stars littered the dark canvas, and he pushed himself into his sheets and let his exhausted mind finally rest, he'd proved his own theory correct once again. Even more so as the start of the next day went by as normally as it would for well. . .a villain.

But most theories had to be tested time and time again till they either persevered or shattered into a million shards like glass, and unfortunately for Villain, the latter was the punishment he was condemned to. Sure, he wasn't particularly appreciative of yet another slow day, but his daily dose of sanity-preserving action really didn't need to be teenage hero shaped.

Taking in a long drag from his cigarette and letting out phantom shapes of smoke in an impossibly slow exhale, an inconspicuous side-eye was the only acknowledgement he showed of the little bastard's presence.

And of course, as he predicted, the young menace didn't seem to appreciate the blatant trampling on his ego that the older man was handing to him, inching closer till he was practically in the villain's face.

"What? Got lost looking for your babysitter? I'm not even asking for trouble now," he drawled coolly as he breathed in the tobacco smoke, the familiar burnt taste numbing the inside of his mouth again, not that he cared much.

"You wouldn't be dressed like this if you weren't asking for trouble," the hero snapped back, raising a half-skeptical, half-annoyed eyebrow and gesturing to the villain's costume.

The snort the man let out was genuine. Sure, the kid was an absolute pain, but in all honesty, he had a point. He quickly sobered up from the mildly amused expression just to remind him he wasn't here to screw around. "What I mean is, I'm not really interested in playing with children. So in the nicest way possible, piss off, kid."

"Why'd you let me go yesterday?" the hero asked, aiming a punch to to the villain's stomach that he effortlessly countered, throwing his cigarette in the snow and crushing it under his boot.

"Because I felt like it? What would I gain from decking a goddamn kid? I've got better crap to do. The real question here, is why did you come back to try and fight me, Superbrat?" he countered flippantly, aiming a kick to the hero's shins.

The kid's eyes narrowed and he grit his teeth in such a manner that anyone would assume it physically pained him to answer. "Because you actually took me seriously."

At this, the criminal outright cackled. "You call that taking you seriously? Have you ever been in a fight before?" he scoffed, aiming a particularly harsh kick to his abdomen, knocking him to the ground. "This is taking you seriously. Don't like it much?"

Instead of the petulant remark he expected, all he received was a heavy wheeze as the hero tried and failed to lift his form up. And just before he could sneer at him, his vision was met with a violent spurt of crimson from a nasty gash across the boy's form, staining the snow a deep red as it seeped out across torn flesh, shredded layers of angry skin and muscle clumsily sutured to cause more harm than good, probably the kid's handiwork.

"I didn't do this to you," the villain half-whispered, unable to completely mask the horror in his tone.

"W-whatever," the hero wheezed out as he let out a weak, shuddering breath, biting down harshly on his bottom lip to stop himself from howling out in agony, still letting out a sharp hiss.

As if on instinct, the villain scooped his form up, surprised at how little he weighed in his arms. He himself had been on the skinnier side at that age, but he reckoned he wasn't this light. He tried his hardest to staunch the bleeding with one hand, muttering curses under his breath as his feet worked mechanically to get him home.

"Happy?" the hero breathed out, smirking almost cruelly at him as his head lolled back and forth, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

"No," he wanted to scream, but all that came out was a frustrated snarl from the back of his throat, desperate and almost animalistic in nature. He had no bloody idea what he was doing. But he didn't think of that. The hows and the whys were pushed to the back of his mind, far away from the conscious parts of it, his actions all purely reflexive.

If he wasn't so frantic, maybe the villain would have been irritated at the blood seeping into his leather couch, but right now, his attention was fixated on the still unconscious teenager as he cleaned out his wound as thoroughly as he could and started stitching him up.

And of course, mid-stitch, he just had to wake up again, his eyelashes fluttering gently as his eyes cracked open, and he let out a sharp gasp and the villain had to force his shoulder down as he tried to jerk away. "Stay down," he barked, like it made a difference.

But to his luck, the hero's gaze flitted down to his abdomen noticing the needle and while he hadn't completely relaxed, at least he'd stopped squirming. If he was being honest, he was surprised the kid was still holding out through the process, trying his hardest to release the tension in his muscles so as not to mess up the process. His jaw was clenched, his face set in a sombre expression that made him look years older than he really was. But his eyes held a look of fear and mistrust that mirrored the villain's younger self to disturbing degrees.

Still, he kept his attention on the wound and after what felt like eons he was finally done. He backed away, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, looking the wound over before cleaning up and washing his hands in the kitchen.

When he walked back in, he was met with the hero's stern expression. "What the hell?" he attested, raising a confused eyebrow.

"So manners weren't included in your agency training?" The villain raised an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest.

The hero let out a laboured breath in response, his eyes practically boring into the floor before turning towards the villain. "Why'd you help me?" he questioned, rubbing his left temple and part of his forehead.

"I'm not entirely opposed to killing, but I need a good reason to get my hands dirty. You aren't one. And you know damn well why a hospital is too big of a risk," he replied evenly.

"Don't you think helping a hero would soil your reputation? They'll think you're going soft." An involuntary shiver racked the hero's form, his current lack of a shirt being the culprit as he continued trying to melt his headache away with his fingers.

"And you'll go telling? You really think I got here without knowing how to hide my dirty laundry? If I kiss up to the soulless bastards, the others will think I'm disgusting for murdering some child. If you can't play by your own rules, you might as well already decide what you want on your gravestone. God, why am I still talking to you?" He pinched the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes shut.

The kid said nothing, shivering again and staring at the floor. Manipulative little bastard. The villain tossed him a blanket draped on an arm chair as flippantly as he could before walking out.

Soft. He didn't like that word, didn't like its implications. He didn't like how the hero, with all his childish naivety, was still sharper than he expected. Sure, he was a kid, a bloody injured kid technically at his mercy, but the magnitudes of his trust in the hero and that of the ridiculous distance he could throw him had an awfully large difference between them. If he could spare this kid once and then nurse him back to health, what was to guarantee that with enough time he would melt into something unbearably weak and malleable? He tugged at the roots of his hair in frustration, wishing his mind could shut up for even a moment.

It looked like the kid had even managed to ruin a steamy shower for him.

"Where are your parents?" He asked, walking in, now in fresh clothes, not bothering with a mask since the hero practically knew where he lived now.

His head snapped up sharply, his shoulders tensing in apprehension underneath the blanket. "I don't know. We've never met," the boy answered with perfect emotionlessness, and the villain despised how well it mirrored his own attitude. The hero felt more like a pseudo-adult than a kid.

"Okay." He wasn't going to pry any further, and it seriously didn't matter to him if the hero was lying. But he imagined he wasn't. The kid didn't have the slightest idea what a sense of self-preservation was. But was it really the villain's job to give him one? To do any of this?

He found himself in the balcony again, his elbows resting on the railing, another cigarette between his lips. He was twenty-five, not intending on having any kids now, if ever, and here he was. "Just a merciful mood," he thought. That was all it was. The hero would recover, they would go on their separate ways and hopefully never encounter each other again.

Right now, however, he realised he was going to have to grit his teeth and play pretend parent for the little brat. "Go clean up. Upstairs, bathroom on the left. If you pop your stitches, I'm not bloody redoing them again, don't care how much you bleed out," he bit out tersely.

He was lucky he still had enough food left over from yesterday because even though he normally didn't mind cooking, he was in no mood for it today.

It wasn't so long before the hero was done showering, and in some of the villain's clothes, comically loose on his frame. "I swear if you ask me some dumb question about the food being poisoned, I just might do it for real," he warned, something entirely feral in his eyes. And if the hero had known the man better, he would've known the gesture was purely theatrical.

"Some place you've got," the hero attested, breaking the tense silence between them.

The villain couldn't help as his lip curled into a lopsided smirk. "I'd love to tell you that I'm in this field purely for my moral stance, or lack thereof, but the pay is just too sweet to ignore."

"Alright. No henchmen or servants to do your bidding?" He raised an eyebrow at him inquisitively.

"Nah. If you work alone, no one can stab you in the back or slack on the job and screw everything up for you."

The hero let out something between a tired sigh and a laugh, and the tension in the atmosphere resurfaced again, thick and uncomfortable but not at all unfamiliar.

The rest of the evening they'd spent in total avoidance of each other until the villain had practically thrown himself into his own bed, after giving the hero a room to sleep in. He'd tossed and turned so many times he'd lost count, the dark corners of his mind tormenting him with disturbing ideas of the consequences of his decision. He'd known he was paranoid, but was it really this severe?

His tired, red-rimmed eyes had cracked open only a little after sunrise, the jolt of waking up with a start infuriating to him. Grumbling under his breath, he threw a robe on his form, too lethargic to even put a shirt on, and almost instinctively he slowly made his way upstairs. . .

. . .to find the hero's room empty, his clothes on the bed, and just like he'd suspected as he went downstairs, the dirty suit missing along with its owner.

Well, the kid was out of his hair now, left to face the consequences of his own pathetically foolish decision. Any lingering feelings of disappointment in him had simply and efficiently been ignored as he went on with his day, completely teen hero-free.

"Just a merciful mood," he'd reminded himself every time he'd wondered if the hero would randomly show up and attempt to fight him again. And the day turned into weeks and then into almost a month or two, he wasn't counting, and the hero no longer disturbed the peace of his thoughts.

Until he didn't. . .

All it took was an inconspicuous text notification he wouldn't have even noticed if the phone wasn't in close proximity of him. Other Villain was at it again with trying to piss him off, subtle threats, trying to ruin his plans, all sorts of stupid garbage in a series of pathetic attempts to get back at him.

Well, he would give him exactly what he wanted, as a last wish of course. Kindness was a virtue.

The drive there felt longer than it actually was, but everything felt slow when he was pissed anyway. But there wasn't any reason to care about speed, was there?

He must've thought he was so clever, like Villain hadn't bypassed his fortress's crappy security a million times before, as he was doing right now. And he'd finally found the room where the prick was cowering away, kicking the door in effortlessly.

"It's playtime bast-"

His words were immediately cut off and caught in his throat as his gaze flitted over from Other Villain's sick, smiling face to Hero's diminished figure. If he'd believed the hero looked terrible before, there was a whole new level of hell written all over him, bruises on every inch of skin that his tattered suit exposed, tried blood caked over his lips and matted hair, the golden blond now a dishwater gray with filth. He was bound in ropes, and still through it all, his jaw was set, the muscles of his face tensed perfectly in place just not to show emotion.

And yet his eyes betrayed him as he looked at the villain apologetically, doing everything in his power to stop himself from breaking down in tears.

"Listen, whatever the hell you want, leave the kid out of it," the villain growled.

Other Villain merely let out a soft, genuinely amused chuckle. "So you do care for him. Well, you'll be happy to know that even after all this," he tugged on the hero's hair harshly, and the villain wondered if he could grit his teeth any harder, "he blatantly refused to give me your location. I'd almost thought you'd kill him, but when I saw you take him, and then he was back alive and well, I figured it out."

Of course. He was nothing, if not a cowardly rat. He couldn't possibly let Villain know he was being followed, rather deciding to drag him right here in his territory.

"Close your eyes, kid."

"Bu-"

"Close your goddamn eyes," he snarled, and the hero obliged.

He knew the kid could still hear everything, but it was better than nothing, no matter how much he hated it.

Once again, everything the villain was doing was reflexive, but this time, an inexplicable rage took over his limbs, spreading like wildfire all over his body, something akin to poison in his bloodstream.

He mercilessly kicked the other man down, and once he'd gotten up, the villain's switchblade was in his thigh, twisting it through the skin and flesh and tearing through it with reckless abandon, blood spurting everywhere.

He couldn't even hear Other Villain scream, seeing only red both literally and figuratively, as he pulled his knife out and pushed it back in so many times he lost count, till he finally pulled away from the other criminal's mangled corpse, bone and blood vessels sticking out grotesquely in some places, his breathing laboured and his shoulders tensed as though he were no more than a wild animal.

He wasted no time cutting through Hero's restraints. "Didn't I tell you not to bloody play martyr?" he choked out, pulling the kid into his arms as the knife clattered to the ground.

"Why'd you do it?" he said softly.

The hero had stiffened at first at the contact, but now he was practically leaning into the villain with all his weight, barely able to hold himself up as he shook like a leaf in the older man's arms, slowly reciprocating. "You c-could've let me d-die," he breathed out, tone uneven and shaky as the villain felt the fabric of his costume get progressively damper. "You didn't. Yeah, I ran away, I freaked. I can barely trust. . .people I'm supposed to trust, let alone a villain, and I'm sorry, didn't mean to screw you over."

"It's okay," he replied carefully, tears streaming down his own face silently, awkwardly patting the hero's hair. He was still fairly new to the whole affection thing. "Let's go home." The villain waited till the hero pulled away before gesturing for him to follow.

One year later. . .

"I take it your date went well seeing as you're back this late?" the kid, now seventeen, and a considerable few centimetres taller asked, sprawled out lazily on the couch, practically his now as much as it was the villain's.

"Was a bloody disaster actually," he said through a snort, sliding his jacket off on a chair, a bit too lazy to change right away.

The teen let out an amused hum, gesturing for him to explain further.

"She tried to poison my drink. Shame she was pretty cute, though." He sat himself down next to the vigilante (he still fought crime, but he selectively ignored what the villain was up to. . .), letting out a tired sigh.

"And you just. . .called it a day?"

"I told her if she led me to her employer, I wouldn't shoot her. never go anywhere unarmed if you can. See, I spilled my drink on the floor. And it turns out she works for a bastard, and well. . .hungry dogs aren't loyal. So he's dead, and I'm even with my sugar-sweet date."

The hero couldn't help it as his smile turned into a laugh, the villain soon following suit. Instinctively, the villain wrapped his arm around the younger's shoulders, mirroring the kid's grin.

Whatever that was between them may have been far from perfect. Sometimes, there were days when they'd accidentally aggravated each other's older wounds, days when they just didn't have the right words and days where they didn't fully understand. But maybe they didn't have to all the time, maybe they just had to try. They still had time, much to learn and a lot to figure out. But at least they knew for a fact you can find a family in people you can choose.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @a-fucking-simp-00 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @m3rakii @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling @avloki-pal @kaiwewi@those-damn-snippets @whatiswhumpblog

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

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sparrowsage · 5 months

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The Warehouse: Digging Up Old Memories

Buckle up, because this piece is something. I really enjoyed writing this piece, even if it is a giant emotional show lol. A huge shoutout and thanks to @flowersarefreetherapy for giving me the general idea for this piece! I hope I did it justice! And thank you to @darkthingshappen, @oddsconvert, and @whumpcereal for cheering me on as always!

HEED THE WARNINGS FOR THIS ONE!!!

TW: Minor whump (Jayden is 14), head injury, threatened noncon drugging, implied noncon (off screen), threatened noncon, mentions of past noncon and torture, implied future noncon, character death (off screen), suicidal thoughts, adult character referred to as 'boy', adult language, heavy grieving ((If I missed anything, please tell me and I'll add it!))

“No, I’m sick of doing this shit!” Jayden yelled, stepping back from Logan as the Keeper moved in closer, towering over the teen. “You never stay true to your word! I can’t let you stand by and hurt Sparrow after I’ve done everything you’ve asked me to do!”

Sparrow stared at the two of them, wide-eyed as fear grabbed hold of him. Sure, Sparrow’s challenged the Keeper’s here plenty of times, but that was because whatever ended up happening would happen to him. Jayden fighting back like this? All for his sake? It was thoughtful, but he couldn’t handle the wrath of the Keepers.

Logan backed Jayden up against the wall, his hand shooting forward to the kid’s neck, taking hold of his throat in a tight grip just shy of suffocating him.

“I’d be real careful about your choice here, boy. That piece of shit over there doesn’t deserve a hero, let alone a scrawny one such as yourself. Everyone always comes to the realization that they can’t escape this fate, one way or another. It’s easier for the both of you if you just follow my orders. So what’ll it be, pretty boy? Are you going to show me and the bastard here how much of a good listener you are and suck me off or are you going to continue your little defiant act thinking you can best me?”

Jayden’s hands were around the Keeper’s wrist, doing his best to try and scratch Logan in an attempt to get the hand off his neck, but it wasn’t working. He was too weak. At the question, Jayden stared right back at Logan, his expression sharp enough to cut diamonds.

“Jayden, please-,” Sparrow tried, on the verge of getting up from his spot against the wall by the door. Logan had told him to stay put and that if he moved, he’d force Sparrow to watch the worst Showing he’d ever put Jayden through.

“Shut up, runt,” Logan growled, his head turning slightly in Sparrow’s direction. “He has to make this decision on his own.”

There was silence for a couple seconds and Sparrow could feel the anger rolling off the both of them in waves.

“You and this whole place can go rot in hell. I’m not following another one of your stupid orders just because you think you deserve respect,” Jayden finally spat, bracing himself against the wall before kicking his foot out, his heel landing a direct hit to Logan’s crotch.

The Keeper could hardly brace himself before Jayden’s foot connected with his crotch, Logan doubling over for a moment, his hand never leaving Jayden’s throat, before a loud, angry scream erupted out of his mouth.

In a fluid motion, Logan used all the strength he could muster and lifted Jayden by his neck and threw him to the left over by his desk. Sparrow watched on in horror as he saw the fear and terror flash across Jayden’s eyes as he went flying before the back of the teen’s head connected with the sharp corner of Logan’s desk. He crumpled to the floor as Logan doubled over again, letting out small groans of pain.

“Jayden!” Sparrow shouted, his body jerking momentarily as he went to get up, but remembered Logan’s threat from earlier, causing him to stay in place.

He wasn’t getting up and there was blood leaking out onto the floor. Sparrow couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

“Jayden, get up!” he cried out, Sparrow’s whole body frozen in fear.

“Shut the fuck up!” Logan yelled, his head turning sharply to look at Sparrow.

“No, please, he’s not getting up!” Sparrow pleaded, his fists white with how tight they were balled up. “Please, I’ll do whatever the fuck you want, just take him to the medical ward, please!”

Logan chuckled slightly as he was finally able to stand up straight again. “Oh, you think a bit of pleading will convince me to get him treated? As if. The little shit deserved it, thinking he could fight back like that. Besides, you stupid mutts always seem to recover. He’ll be fine come tomorrow.”

Instead of continuing on with what he had planned, Logan gave one last look to Jayden and Sparrow before deciding to leave his office. There’d be time to do things with them later.

Sparrow let out a snarl as Logan passed him to leave, waiting for the door to shut before he rushed over to Jayden, his hands hovering over his body, afraid that a single touch would make his friend crumble into dust.

#####

“No, you have to let me stay with him!” Sparrow shouted, desperately trying to fight his way out of Josh’s grip on him. “Let me go!”

“You’re scheduled for a Showing and there’s no way you’re missing it,” Josh growled, his grip seeming to get tighter the more Sparrow fought. “He’ll be fine and you’ll get to go back to the main room and see him once the Showing is over.”

“No, he needs me to stay with him since you fuckers won’t take him to the medical ward! Let go of me!”

Josh stopped trying to drag Sparrow forward and out of Logan’s office, instead pulling him in close with an iron tight grip on both his wrists. Their faces were mere inches apart and Sparrow could feel the warmth of his breath. “I won’t hesitate to inject you full of muscle relaxers, boy. You know as much as I do that you’ll do anything to fight back during these things, so do you really want to give up being able to move all because you want to sit by your little friend?”

Sparrow’s body froze at the threat, his eyes going wide for a moment. Josh was right, he couldn’t go through a Showing drugged up like that. He’d have no control (not that he did during Showings) over anything. He couldn’t get injected with that stuff.

Josh smirked as Sparrow stayed still, finally continuing towards the door to the office. “That’s what I thought. Once it’s over, you’ll be able to spend as much time with the little runt as you want.”

#####

Sparrow wasn’t proud of the Showing he just went through. It had to have been the most compliant he’s ever been during one, but he didn’t want it to be dragged out. His only thought and priority was getting back to Jayden to make sure he was okay.

Josh had been surprised with how compliant he had been, as was the audience that showed up to watch. It was utterly embarrassing, but he didn’t care enough to not do it. He would have been the most compliant pet in the entire facility if it had meant getting out of that Showroom faster.

Once the Showing was done, Josh walked him back to the main hallway before leaving him there to do his own thing. The moment Josh left him, Sparrow started running to the main rooms, his heart rate picking up as he tried to get to the room as fast as he could.

Sparrow was almost certain Logan would have moved him out of his office during the Showing, so the most logical place to put him would be one of the main rooms. That, or Jayden had woken up and Logan kicked him out of his office and he made his way to their spot in one of the main rooms. If Sparrow didn’t see him in there, he wasn’t sure what he’d do.

When Sparrow finally made it to the doorway that led into the main room he and Jayden usually ended up in, he scanned the entire room, trying desperately to locate his friend. His anxiety was starting to climb with each face he saw, none of them being the young teen before his eyes landed on a figure in the corner where Jayden and him sat most of the time.

He was there, sitting in his normal spot, looking completely fine. Jayden was waiting for him.

Sparrow did his best to make it over to the back corner of the room, nearly tripping over several pets as they tried to sleep or just pass time, not even bothering to let out any kind of apology before making it over to his friend.

“Jayden!” he called out, falling to his knees in front of his friend before embracing the teen in a tight hug.

“You’re okay! You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” he said, his voice going quiet as he spoke, letting things sink in. His friend was okay, he was alive and that was all Sparrow cared about.

“Of course I’m okay. Do you really think a bump on the head would keep me down?” Jayden joked, hugging Sparrow back.

Sparrow pulled back slightly, his hands still on Jayden’s shoulders, afraid that if he let go, Jayden would disappear. “It’s just - you collapsed once your head hit the desk, a-and Logan refused to bring you to the medical ward, and then I was dragged off for a Showin-”

“Sparrow,” Jayden interrupted, his voice a bit firm, “I’m alright, I promise. I can’t die that easily. Besides, we promised each other we’d find a way to escape this place some day. I can’t go back on my word, now can I?”

Sparrow wiped at his eyes, tears starting to form. “I’m just happy you’re okay. And you’re right, we are going to escape this place one day. Just please don’t go pissing off any more Keeper’s. Leave that to me, I can handle it.”

Just then, the entire main room started to fade out, a black abyss surrounding the two of them. Sparrow didn’t even notice, his entire focus was on his friend.

Jayden looked at Sparrow with a soft smile, his head slightly tilted to the side.

“I know you can. That fighting spirit is what’s giving me hope that you’ll be able to make it out of here alive. If you hold onto that, you’ll be able to escape. Just keep fighting. For the both of us.”

Sparrow faltered a bit at that. “W-wait, what do you mean by that? We’re going to get out of here together.”

Jayden didn’t answer, continuing to give Sparrow that soft, warm smile that he cherished so much as he slowly faded away. Before Jayden was completely gone, Sparrow reached forward, trying to grab hold of him before he fully disappeared, leaving Sparrow alone in the dark abyss.

#####

Sparrow woke with a jump, jolting up from his spot on the floor of Damon’s office. Looking around the dark and empty room, Sparrow couldn’t see Jayden and was a bit confused, but mostly worried.

Where was he? Jayden had just been in front of him a second ago. He wanted that back, he needed it back.

The more he woke up though, the more things finally started to settle in.

Four days ago, he had been brought back to the Warehouse from his two week stay at Volkov’s island, having gone through his ‘welcome home’ Showing yesterday. Two months ago, Damon had been put in charge of training him, starting up a brand new hell for him to navigate on his own. Five years ago, the Keeper’s gave up trying to train him because he was deemed a lost cause and couldn’t be trained, instead just using him as a free-for-all and overall enjoying causing him pain, discomfort and humiliation. Seven years ago was when he had watched Logan give his one and only friend a death blow and then later finding out that Jayden had died all alone while he was in a Showing Josh forced him to go through, unable to be with him in his final moments to make him feel safe and loved.

As reality came crashing back, Sparrow couldn’t help the gut wrenching sob that erupted out of his throat, the pet clutching his hands close to his chest as he curled into himself.

Ever since it happened, Sparrow had done all he could to repress that memory to the point that he couldn’t remember it at all. All he chose to remember was that Jayden died. Everything else, how it happened, the look of fear and terror right before his head connected with the desk, how much he tried to fight back as Josh dragged him off to the Showing, Logan’s fucking taunting once he finally told Sparrow what they did with Jayden after he died, he wanted to forget and never remember.

He had no idea why the memory resurfaced. It had been so long ago, yet now he could remember every detail clearly, as if he were reliving it in full. It was the worst pain he has ever felt and would probably ever feel. And what made it worse was that his head went and twisted the events, giving him the false hope that Jayden was alive and fine. But Sparrow could never see him again.

After a couple more minutes, Sparrow wiped the tears from his eyes, trying to get his breathing under control. It had to have been close to morning, if he had to guess, and Damon would be here soon to put him through another day of hell. If the Keeper walked in and saw him crying or saw the evidence that he had been crying, Sparrow would never hear the end of it.

Before he could put a cap on his emotions, he felt another sob bubble up from his chest and before he could stop himself, he reared his fist back, sending it straight towards the wall beside him. The wall stayed intact but Sparrow let out a loud shout before biting his tongue, cradling his hand.

Why couldn’t one of these guys have killed him too? Why couldn’t he have had the peace that his friend had? All he wanted was to be with Jayden again, because he was the only one that made this place bearable. His smile and laugh lifted his spirits no matter how he felt and his presence made Sparrow feel safe, even though there wasn’t a single thing either of them could do when the Keepers came for them. If he didn’t have that, if he didn’t have him here, there wasn’t much of a point to keep fighting.

The pain that now pulsed from his bleeding and possibly broken hand acted as an anchor to the real world for him and Sparrow was able to stop the tears from falling, taking in a couple deep breaths before he felt like himself again. Damon would probably point out his hand when he came in later, but right now, Sparrow didn’t care. If Damon was overly concerned about it, he’d get it looked at because unlike Logan, Damon wasn’t going to sit by and have a wound that looked serious enough unchecked. Sparrow had no doubt that the Keeper wouldn't let him die before he himself molded Sparrow into the perfect pet.

Taglist: @mannerofwhump, @honey-is-mesi, @painful-pooch, @whumperfully, @hiding-in-the-shadows, @flowersarefreetherapy, @goronska, @blueyellow8green, @oddsconvert, @darkthingshappen, @whumpcereal (if you want to be added, let me know!)

#The Warehouse #Sparrow Cresky #Jayden Cresky #Minor whump #head injury #threatened noncon drugging #implied noncon (off screen)#threatened noncon #mentions of past noncon and torture #implied future noncon #character death (off screen)#suicidal thoughts #adult character referred to as 'boy'#adult language #heavy grieving

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whumpberry-cookie · 1 year

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Caretaker being great with kids

(Cw: Implied minor whump, forced to watch)

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A parent, maybe one of main characters, falls asleep while holding a baby. The baby starts crying. Caretaker just quietly whispers "I'll rock her to sleep, may I?" and holds the baby securely, with an elbow for head protection. "Go to sleep, I'll handle this" tells to the parent.

Caretaker being called uncle or aunt by the local kids. Imagine Whumpee going "How about it, Uncl- ekhm- I mean Caretaker. Sorry. I'm so sorry."

When a kid approaches, Caretaker simply shows interests. Listen to what a kid is saying and asks questions. "Oh, you found this treasure by yourself? Amazing! What are those called? Which one do you like best?"

In a danger, the younger protagonist (teen?) instinctively grabs Caretaker's sleeve and steps behind them. Caretaker instinctively covers the younger with arm and pushes them behind.

Extremely stoic while being in danger themselves. But when Caretaker's forced to watch the younger protagonist (teen) getting hurt, immidiately becomed agressive, fights back, screams, tries to break the restrains and finally spills the information just to protect them. (W:) "I could take it" (C:)"I don't care, you're not getting hurt under my watch. Now leave the adult decisions and fixing problems for me and stay out of trouble"

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aceofwhump · 2 months

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Avatar the Last Airbender (2024) 1x06 "Masks"

#whumpedit #whump #avatar the last airbender #netflix avatar the last airbender #atla #netflix atla #zuko #dallas liu #my gifs #mod post #minor whump #crying #emotional whump #bandages #eyes #eye whump #burns #burned #recovery

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comfy-whumpee · 7 months

Text

Echoes

Whumptober Day 10 - "You said you'd never leave me." CN: referenced domestic violence, minor whump.

Jax taglist: @bloodybrambles, @wildfaewhump, @lektric-whump, @that-one-thespian, @raigash, @burtlederp, @rosesareviolentlyread, @eatyourdamnpears

Savvie, Izzy and Jamie belong to @ashintheairlikesnow.

She says, “You said you’d never leave me.”

She is staring at him from across the metal table. The inmate jumpsuit is a good look on her, he can’t deny, and he likes seeing her hands cuffed to the table too, unable to grab or touch him anywhere at all. Her nails are short and round and unpainted, which he has never seen before.

She says, “You’re mine, Jax.” She has tied her hair back from her face and it makes her look more her age. He looks older than her, has for years, because of how they have lived. But now, she looks as haggard as he feels, without the makeup he is used to seeing on her.

He doesn’t have an answer for her demand. He remembers promising many times that he wouldn’t leave her. He’d never betray her. He couldn’t. That always satisfied her well enough.

Of course, the moment he could, that all became moot. But he’d said all the right promises without worrying about that. Looking to the future was never his strong suit, anyway.

“I thought you loved us,” Savvie continues. She doesn’t need him to reply. “I thought you cared about us, as a family, Jax. But you just wanted to hurt us.”

Jax thinks about her nearly dropping Jamie when he spit up on her shirt. He thinks about Izzy coming into the kitchen white as a sheet from one of her ‘talks’. He thinks about how sound carries in her old house, and how both kids have heard his screams.

“My poor babies.” Savvie is a one-woman show of grief. Her eyes glitter with crystalline tears, but they don't leave him, watching for his reaction. “You can’t take them from me. They’re mine, Jax. I’ll fight for them. I just need to see them again, to make sure they understand what’s happening, to make sure they know why you decided to break up our family.”

“You did that, Savvie,” he interjects. “You did that every time you took me away from them.”

“You never wanted them,” she replies dismissively, trying and failing to gesture with a rattle of chain. “You just wanted to lecture me about them. It’s thanks to me they even exist.”

That is all true. But none of it matters. It stopped mattering as soon as there became real children involved. He couldn’t just abandon a baby to her.

“You’ve ruined our family,” she adds. She’s been refuelled by his words. He needs to stay quiet. “It will never, ever be the same, after what you’ve done. I hope you’re happy, Jax. I’ll never be happy again.”

His mouth is already open to speak, to retort, when she adds the rest. But it only becomes more true. “Here’s hoping.”

“Daddy,” she sniffles, arms tight around his waist. Her face is pressed into his stomach and he strokes her hair gently. “I’m sorry, daddy,” she hiccups. “Please d-don’t go without me an’ Jamie, please.”

“I’m not going anywhere without you two,” he promises. He gently loosens her arms, but keeps hold of her hands as he drops stiffly to one knee. He meets her wide, tear-filled eyes. “Hey. I said I’d never leave you two, didn’t I?”

She stares at him, full of fear. He should have seen it coming, of course. He can’t talk about a holiday without reminding her of Savvie’s version of a weekend getaway: kids abandoned with zero warning, sudden trips to the airport while they were still asleep, Jax dragged along on half-baked promises that Isaac would send someone.

“I want to go on holiday with you both,” he promises her. Her little hands are gripping his back, her fingers soft and warm against his callouses. “That’s what holidays are like now. I will never run away on holiday without you, especially not if you are sleeping.”

“Never ever?” she asks, her gaze so afraid and so desperately trusting.

The weight of his words feels so heavy, knowing she will hold onto them tightly, repeating them over and over to herself. How to pick words that will comfort her through all their uses?

He starts with the fundamentals. “Family is me, you and Jamie.” No Mommy. No Savvie. Not even grandpa makes the cut, at the end of the day. With this established, he adds, “Family holiday has to be me, you and Jamie too.”

She leans forwards, asking for a hug in that careful way she has with touch. Touch with him, anyway. She isn’t this cautious with the others.

He hugs her close. “Never, ever,” he repeats. Sometimes he likes to imagine how long he could go without un-hugging his baby girl. He could sleep with her in his arms again. He can eat with her on his lap. Walk the dogs with her in his arms. He could keep hold of her forever.

Of course, it’s just an instinct. He lets her go. “And,” he adds, to lift her spirits, “you get a say in where we go on holiday, now. We choose together.”

She doesn’t care as long as she’s with him, he knows. It’s the same for him. But maybe, with some time, he can get her excited for the holiday, and give her back some of the joy she never had.

Here’s hoping.

#whumptober2023 #no.10 #you said you'd never leave me #whump #past trauma #comfort #recovery #minor whump #abandonded #jax

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somber-sapphic · 11 months

Note

Hi!! Um so I just read your Carina DeLuca x Maya Bishop x Reader and now I’m opposed. Your writing got me into this ship and this show bahaha- and speaking of your writing I f*cking love it. Literally lights up my day/days whenever I read one of your posts and I get so excited ahaha so legitimately thank you🥲 if possible could you do another one of Carina DeLuca x Maya Bishop x Reader? Idrc about what prompt, just like a bad situation, to worse to better you know. If you don’t want to write for them I’d love to read another WandaNat x Reader🫣 (but if u really need a prompt something like insult to injury) thank you!

I hope you’re doing okay and it’s okay if you aren’t <3 and hopefully u are taking care of yourself. I’ve been reading ur fics for ages so if u ever need like a randoms imaginary shoulder to cry on I’ve got you ;) 🌸

Worse Alone

I am so, so sorry it took me so long to get to you 🌸! I can't express in words how much what you said means to me though, like (and I say this a lot, I know, but it's true) stuff like this truly gives me so much motivation. I love you so much and I will give you my imaginary shoulder any day that you need it. Btw, you don't have to sensor your swears unless you truly want to, I am the queen of obscenities <3

[[Summary]] Smoke and semi-working lungs don't go too well together. But you have a job to do. (marina x reader)

Word Count: 1.8k

-----

A five-hour blaze wasn’t something that anyone wanted to deal with, but it was something that you and your team knew how to deal with. Of course, it was dangerous for everyone around, but it was also thrilling. You all ran into fires for a reason, the eight of you were adrenaline junkies who felt the irresistible need to save lives.

Every so often after a particularly rough day Maya, Carina, and you would just curl up together in bed, no one sleeping despite how exhausted the three of you would be. The brunette would alternate between stroking your hair and rubbing Maya’s back, cushioned in between the two of you as if she needed the pressure to prove to her that you both were safe.

To call today a ‘rough day’ would be an understatement. Thankfully everyone had survived, but a young woman had been sent to Grey Sloan with severe burns, screaming about her baby. The baby, a severely annoyed two-year-old, was thankfully fine. The little boy had been distracted fairly quickly as the other paramedics checked him over, focusing on the stethoscope which he for some reason found absolutely fascinating.

His mother was rushed to the burn unit but from what you and everyone else knew she was holding strong and the boy's other mom was taking care of him. That wasn’t the worst part though. The worst part was that your body was utterly pissed with you for deciding to treat it so badly and it was taking it out on you at the worst possible time.

You had done the best that you could when it came to fighting the blaze, resisting the urge to attach yourself to an oxygen tank even when you were outside of the house, away from the smoke. Entering the house was an atrocious idea, but your girlfriend was in there. You had ignored Andy’s orders and raced to rescue the woman you loved.

The blonde knew that you weren’t feeling very well, she had heard you coughing in the bathroom before the call had come in and had tried to convince you to go home. Then of course the alarm sounded and there was nothing that either of you could do. Sure you wanted to be anywhere but inside a burning building with your lungs already starved for oxygen, but it wasn’t like you had much of a choice.

Maya was fine, momentarily hindered when a piece of the roof collapsed leaving her needing to find a new way to get herself out. You had helped despite her protests that she could do it on her own and that you needed to leave. Instead of doing what she asked of you, you took the time to help her get out, working strategically and quickly around the debris.

You made it through without passing out even a little bit and the fire was finally extinguished. When you got outside you pulled your helmet off and half stumbled over to Ben in search of oxygen. He noticed your struggle and passed over a mask, asking repeatedly if you were okay as you sat down on the bumper of the Aid Car, your gear practically pulling you down. Gravity was not working in your favor.

“Y/n, let me take your jacket off,” Ben ordered, sounding like a doctor. He was a doctor. The damn man had too many careers, it sometimes frustrated you just how accomplished he was.

“Back off, Probie.” You rasped, shrugging him away. Technically you had rank over him, so technically you could order him around. The loophole totally worked for you as long as it mean that he’d leave you alone. You didn’t have any problem with Ben as a person, he was actually a pretty nice dude, but you had absolutely no wish to be ‘Doctored’ right now.

You were expecting to be yelled at, but thankfully Andy hadn’t come over to shout while you were still on the scene. You could see her casting you frustrated looks while she talked to your girlfriend, but left it alone. That only lasted until you got to the station.

“L/n!” Andy yelled, stomping over to you. She looked angry but also concerned. Maya was beside her, wearing a similar expression. “What the hell were you thinking? You endangered every one of us!” The captain snapped, glaring down at you.

You stood to meet her gaze, trying to look less weak than you felt. Fighting her on this was probably a poor decision, but you had no intention to take this lying down.

“I was doing my job, Captain.” You bit back. Andy bristled at the comment, rage hardening in her eyes. The woman beside her bit back what would definitely be a remake would probably upset everyone and reserved herself to a slight shake of the head.

“Check. Your. Tone. L/n. I am your boss, not your punching bag. I don’t care that you aren’t feeling well, that doesn’t give you an excuse to be an ass. You could have gotten yourself and others hurt.” Now it was your turn to bristle.

“Maya was trapped, she needed-”

“She needed you to do what you are told instead of ignoring direct orders. You aren’t the only one on this team Y/n, do you understand that? If you ever do something so stupid again I will have you suspended. For now, you will be taking two weeks paid leave. Take care of yourself. Come back when you’re done making stupid decisions.” Her voice softened on the last sentence, expression fading from stern boss to worried friend.

You sagged slightly, shrugged, and looked over at Maya in hopes to find support there.

“Come on Y/n. Carina’s off today, I bet she’ll make you some soup.” She held out a hand and part of you didn’t want to take it. Part of you wanted to prove yourself to your boss, but Maya’s offer was too good to pass up. Carina made the best soup and she was always so good at knowing exactly what you needed.

You took the hand and allowed yourself to be led out of the station, ignoring everyone’s kind words and well wishes. Maya got you situated in the car, both of you silent. She was incredibly gentle, brushing your hair away from your face and lingering a bit with her touches, but she was still frustrated with you. It was okay, you understood. You had scared her.

The ride home was quick and quiet. You were half asleep and Maya was listening to the radio, your cough overpowering the soft music. Carina would probably insist that you sleep with at least two humidifiers tonight, but it wouldn't matter, at least you’d be with them.

You let your eyes slip closed and you leaned against the cool window, shivering in your loose clothes. You wanted your bed and someone to hold you. Unfortunately, you’d have to wait for those things. They’d probably make you shower before you were allowed to climb into the bed.

You were right. The second you got into the house Carina was all over you, asking a flurry of questions and speaking in rapid-fire Italian about your condition. Normally you loved to listen to speak the language that you didn't understand, but now it was just messing with your mind.

She had ordered you and Maya into the bathroom, promising to have your room made up with whatever she believed that you would need to feel better. The shower was nice enough. Maya washed your hair, allowing you to lean back against her in your exhaustion. It was tough to stay standing, but she was there, making sure that you would be okay.

“M’sorry.” You rasped, blinking teary eyes at the worried looking blonde. She tilted her head to the side and smiled, gripping your elbows tightly.

“Babe, I just want you to be safe. I’m sorry you don’t feel well. I wish that you had told one of us sooner, then you would have gotten to be with Carina all day. It could have been a good day, not an awful one. Okay?” You nodded your understanding and sniffled softly, your nose running in what you were sure was a disgusting way. Maya looked at you lovingly nonetheless.

When the brunette said that she was going to get everything you could possibly need, she had really meant it. The room that the three of you shared was decked out in everything one would want for a sick day. Boxes of tissues, a mug of tea on the bedside sitting beside a glass of apple juice, three humidifiers, a bottle of cold medicine, a fluffy blanket, and extra pillows.

“You did that pretty fast, Car.” You forced out, climbing into the bed with the help of both of your girlfriends. Maya followed and wrapped her arms around your waist, holding you close while Carina measured out a dose of medicine.

“Si, I work quickly. Now open your mouth, I want to see how high your temperature is.” She was in work mode right now, they’d be time for joking after you did what you were told. You pouted but opened your mouth, holding the thermometer under your tongue. The brunette carded her fingers through your hair as you waited for the reading, looking utterly disappointed.

“102.3, oh Y/n, no wonder you do not feel well. Take this, alright? Then you can go to sleep.” She kissed your forehead, prompting you to obey her wishes. You were a sucker for physical attention, even more so when you were sick.

The medicine tasted like you licked a fake plastic cherry and stung your throat, but it was what it was. Both women smiled when you finished it and you got twin kisses on each of your cheeks. These women were amazing.

You felt your eyes fill with tears and you ducked your head, not wanting to show them that you were about to cry. That was just too much, they didn’t need to deal with your unnecessary emotions at the same time.

“Oh baby, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” Maya crooned, tilting your chin back up so that you were forced to meet her crystal blue eyes. You felt Carina’s arms slip around your waist as she sat on your other side and that was about all that you could take.

You broke into stifled sobs and pressed your head against the blonde's shoulder in search of comfort. You didn’t want to talk about it, you just wanted to cry. Which was stupid, because earlier you had been completely fine. Now you were bawling like a baby in the arms of your girlfriends.

Neither of them said anything while you cried, they just let you, holding you close until you were too tired to cry anymore. You didn’t actually remember falling asleep, all that you knew was that one minute it was dark out, and the next you were laying down with your head on Carina’s chest, both of the women asleep beside you.

Your body still hurt and you still felt disgusting, but at least you weren’t alone. Being sick and alone was worse than being sick with people who loved you.

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the-baby-storyteller · 8 months

Text

Tw: slave whump, minor whump

Pt 2.

For a second all they could hear was ringing. The faint echoing of wrong wrong wrong chanting in their ear strung them through a trance as the world seemed to twirl around them.

And then it all came rushing back in.

They began to hyperventilate on their knees. The Young Master stood, rubbing his forehead and groaning. Their breaths picked up.

How could I do that how could I make a mistake already I fell into the master? I've already messed up I'm going to be beat and so soon-

Whumpee bit their lip to prevent the whimper threatening to escape. They heard the young master shift above them, and they shakily moved onto their hands and knees into a full bow before him. Angling their head down, they tremulously choked out,

"P-Please forgive me, Master! I promise I didn't mean to bump into you!"

They breathed wetly, not daring to look up or move, but still, against their will, trembling. they didn't know how to convince Master that they were so so sorry may they please not be punished yet it was too soon.

But it was their fault, they should never have been foolish enough to err this easily so they deserved it and they were just the type of slut to mess up so easily. They couldn't hear anything above them so they were just left to wonder what response the master would give as he stared and stared and stared at their trembling-

"Are you..."

Their body and thoughts froze when they heard his voice above them. He was now going to ream at their, to deal out their punishment-

"...scared?"

“…”

A pause. Whumpee blinked. Their hyperventilation slowed for a minute, and then quickly picked back up.

What kind of question was that?

Their eyes darted around, as their mind sought purchase on something that made sense in this confusion.

Whumpee…had no idea how to answer that. No one had ever asked them a question like that before. Were they supposed to be scared? Should they affirm being terrified, shaking in fear at the power their master held, at the knowledge that he could and would do whatever he pleased to them and that they must sit there and take it like a good slave because they were the one who messed up in the first place? He had total control over them and their life, after all, and they knew their place. Frankly, they were terrified and were certain it could be seen.

But maybe the point was for them to deny it. To say they weren’t afraid because how dare they be afraid of their master doing something he was well within his rights to do? Something they deserved.

Their head ached with all the battling thoughts and struggles, and they felt themself growing light with dizziness. What did Master want-

“Tell me the truth.”

Whumpee’s stomach flipped.

“Y-Yes!..”

Their breathing labored and they fought with the effort to keep themself still despite their shaking. They still didn’t dare look up, the confusion of the atmosphere weighing on their mind.

“Why?”

Whumpee blinked.

“B-Because…”

Why? Why was he asking them this? No one had ever cared. Whumpee didn’t want to answer. Didn’t want to let it out and be more vulnerable than they already were.

But they had to answer. Their eyes drifted to the side.

“I’m s-scared of what you m-might do to m-me.” they stuttered out, not quite daring to whisper, but quiet all the same.

They immediately closed their eyes. Was that disrespectful? They shouldn’t have insinuated him hurting them. Oh, they were a fool for talking to a master about his decisions on them. Why couldn’t they have lied? Said anything less presumptuous, less risky. But, they sniffled, they were scared, and they’d tried to do it tactfully, they just really didn’t want to dare lie to the young master now but still-

Their internal fears and ramblings passed the eerily silent time until they heard a footstep. Peeking an eye open, they realized Young Master had taken a step closer on the floor.

To them.

Panic flooded them and instantly they squeezed their eyes shut again.

A light touch brushed their shoulder. Whumpee tensed. The sensation left and the anxiety automatically flowed out from their body. But then the touch came back, somehow even lighter and more gentle than before, but also more confident.

Idiot. How could they think they were safe-

A surprisingly strong arm quickly and softly pulled them, drawing them upwards off the floor. It maneuvered their shakingly pliant limbs, and before they understood what was going on, they were stood weakly, being held in Young Master’s arms. The young master wrapped his arm around them, bracing them against him as they shook so badly they could barely stand, his other hand holding up their face so they were face to face with him, if not for their still closed eyes.

What was happening. What was happening?

“What’s your name, and how old are you?”

“M-My name is Whumpee, and I’m 17, Young Master.”

Silence.

“Look at me.”

Shoot.

Slowly, Whumpee’s eyes quivered open. For the first time, they were face to face with the Young Master.

It was terrifying.

Dark eyes met them back. The Young Master was as they thought, young, and a closer look at his face only confirmed this. He was taller than them only by a little bit and his gaze was resolutely intent as he stared at them.

Their skin flushed at the closeness they could no longer try to avoid by not seeing. They really did not want to be forced to look at him. But they had no choice…

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Whumpee nearly choked. Their heart skipped a beat.

W-What? I-I…

Their eyes grew wild, searching Master’s face. His expression was just as serious and firm as before, something underneath it that they didn’t dare try to interpret. Fear seeped into them. They didn’t understand and not understanding was the worst thing that could happen when dealing with a master.

“You don’t have to be afraid.” His voice rang out.

Whumpee twitched. They hurriedly avoided eye contact with the young master, turning to the side and trying to control their breathing. It wasn’t working. They couldn’t keep their trembling under wraps because the situation was just so weird but they had to obey Master and not look like they were-

“I can tell you don’t believe me by the way you’re shaking.”

Blood drained from their face as their eyes darted back to Master, the fear making his gaze appear stone cold. He knew they were faking. They squeezed their eyes shut. Please no punishment.

“Have you…”

Their eyes peeked open.

“Been hurt before?”

Hesitantly, whumpee looked askance. “Yes, Master.” they muttered, quivering. As if they weren’t a slave.

They could feel him staring at them in silence.

Why is he asking me these questions? I-Is he really not going to…hurt me?

“Whumpee.”

Their shaky gaze traveled back to their terrifying master. Who was still holding them.

“Don’t be scared of me.” He spoke, vaguely, strangely, softly. For the second time they caught something odd in his eye. Something they couldn’t make out. They didn’t dare to. “I’ll never hurt you.”

Again, Whumpee found themselves not knowing what to do, how to respond. Could they trust him? He was their owner, after all.

He can still do whatever he wants with me.

Whumpee’s face clouded over.

After a pause, Master spoke. “I’ll let you go now.” But it was distant.

They were too caught up in their thoughts, brought back too much to the knowledge of all the things he could do to them and they would have no power to do anything about it because they belonged to him. Whumpee held their arm, drawing in on themself.

They waited. And waited longer. Master just stood in the silence.

“Don’t you want to leave?”

“I was waiting for your order,” they replied quietly, “or command, Master.”

“You…” they heard him sigh, “You can be excused. I’ll eat.”

“Yes, Master.” they whispered, bowing, and hurriedly turning to walk as quickly as they dared out of the room.

It was only after they left that they noticed Master hadn’t hurt them.

#slavery tw #minor whump #whump #slave whump #conditioned whumpee #whump writing

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