#Taba
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Paw Taba Squishy! ≽^•⩊•^≼
#stim#squishy#taba#taba squishy#taba squishies#toy#pink#white#hands#mod flan#flan fave#flan gif#mine
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Rescue
1,147 words | Heir apparent
Content | Captivity, kidnapping, exhaustion, broken bones, whumper turned caretaker, past parental abuse, implied: beating, whipping, sleep deprivation
Notes | New series! How exciting! Meet an unfortunate kidnapped princeling and their shitty sorcerer parent!
(To be clear, they're shitty at parenting. They are VERY GOOD at sorcery.)
It had been days of a never-ending nightmare.
Sharru had barely hoped for his parent to come save him in any sort of a hurry to begin with, and with every hour, every blow, what hope he had faded further. It was his own fault, they would think, for being so weak and foolish as to be taken. It would do him good to learn a lesson at the hands of his captors.
His kidnappers had told him they had given their demands, but even they knew. »How long do you think their Majesty is going to leave you to us?« they’d laugh, clearly thrilled to have the son of their beloathed ruler at their mercy. »Best not waste our time together, huh?«
And they certainly didn’t.
He had at first tried to hold himself together, be as dignified as the heir apparent was expected to be, but that mask fell all too soon. He was used to pain, but not like this.
He was so exhausted - he could not even tell whether from sleep deprivation or pain - his head wasn’t working right, at any rate, so that he couldn’t figure out what it was that finally drew them away, he could only whimper in minimal relief. If only they hadn’t left him chained up to the walls by his wrists, his back bleeding from the last whipping.
There were screams, but they weren’t his screams, for once.
It didn’t last long. Someone entered the cell, and he knew his reprieve had come to an end. He couldn’t even be bothered to look up, he just attempted one more useless »Please…«, unsure if it was audible at all.
But no - he recognized that step.
He was sure who it was when he felt the pulse of heat of his parent’s magic at his wrists. The manacles fell away as if he hadn’t already tried everything to make them. He had never been able to reproduce the magic that flowed so amply through their veins, just one of the many ways in which he was a disappointment.
He collapsed.
He didn’t expect to be caught; he never had been. If anything, he would be punished for being so weak - so stupid as to be kidnapped, so helpless as not to escape, so weak as to now collapse at their feet.
Yet somehow - somehow - a pair of warm arms closed around him and prevented him from hitting the ground. His body screamed out in pain regardless.
Crying wasn’t allowed either, but he couldn’t help it, and what difference would it make now that they’d seen what had become of him?
*
It had been over twenty years since Taba had held their son, before he learned how to walk.
They hadn’t expected to do it now, despite everything. They hadn’t - they shouldn’t go soft on him. But then, and they were still reeling with the violence of the realization, it hadn’t done much to protect him, in the end.
And he certainly couldn’t walk now.
There were many things they hadn’t expected. They hadn’t expected the sheer magnitude of the terror that washed through them when they heard their son was gone. They hadn’t expected the irresistible force of rage when they were sent the demands.
It took eight days to find and reach him, accompanied by their bodyguard.
They had exhausted most of their magic in the fight, but there was enough left to set this place on fire-
But no.
They would need it to heal their son.
Their precious little son now lying in their arms.
They had always found him frail, but they- they had never-
They had told themself they were teaching him to protect himself.
They had, they realized, taught him nothing.
They lifted him up into a bridal carry, getting a pained whimper in return; his back was a bloody mess, and that wasn’t half of it. He was crying. They had often forbidden him to cry, and always he would eventually fail.
They hoped he knew he wouldn’t be punished this time.
»Round up all that are still alive,« they ordered the nearest guard on the way out. »And then burn this whole place down.«
*
In the state Sharru was in, he had barely managed to comprehend that it was, in fact, his parent carrying him before he was set down.
Of course he hadn’t expected it to last; he was more bewildered it had happened at all, that he hadn’t been made to crawl out after them - a valuable lesson - or at least carried by some random guard. Maybe they wanted to make sure his shredded back, his cracked ribs ached exactly the way they wanted.
Despite all this, he couldn’t help himself. It was ridiculous, and he would likely be punished for such a blatant display of weakness, and he didn’t want it to be them, he wanted it to be someone who actually cared about him - but he nuzzled into their arm, weeping into the fabric of their shirt.
But of course, he was set down soon enough. He tried to pull himself together, to get his wits about him, like he should.
If only he wasn’t so exhausted. His eyes were burning as he tried to focus on his parent, sitting right next to him, doubtlessly disappointed beyond measure, as usual. They were in one of the army tents. With what strength he had, he tried to push himself up, half because he was supposed to, wasn’t he, half to keep his weight off his back. »I’m sorry-«
Their hand caught his shoulder and easily pushed him down. »Stop. Rest.«
He couldn’t hold back a whine, or more tears rising to his eyes. The salty liquid seeped into the cut one of them had drawn across his cheek, burning worse. There was no point in arguing, so he laid back and tried to ignore the pain, all the pain, and give in to the exhaustion and just finally sleep.
He couldn’t. They took his hand and - most of his fingers had been broken under the cruel heel of a boot - he only didn’t wail because he hadn’t the strength any more - it hurt.
Then he felt the familiar sting of heat again. Not enough to burn him or even really hurt, but only just. It took him a moment before he realized - they were healing him.
He had never gotten more magical healing than what was necessary. His parent believed there was a lesson in suffering from the consequences of one’s mistakes.
So this could only mean - oh, no. Please, no. He would be expected to resume his duties as heir at once.
He couldn’t. He couldn’t.
But he couldn’t argue. He couldn’t even beg - it hadn’t worked on his captors, and his parent would despise it. He could only lie back, bleeding and hurting, and quietly weep.
#whump#whump writing#captivity#parental abuse#whumper turned caretaker#royal whump#my writing#heir apparent#sharru#taba#taba how is he supposed to know that#as always there will be a happy ending and in this case it *will* involve sharru getting (mostly) away from taba#... eventually
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.🐈
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Last night I told my bestfriend that today I'll take a break from social media, it's my day off, 1989 is coming out, my whole feed is full of Gaza and my mental state degraded by light years this week.
I never thought I'd wake up to my mom waking up my dad to tell him "wake up, Israel bombed us too"
This is where the American taxes go.
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🩵🩵
#nature#redsea#sunrise#sunrizing#sand#mountains#sun#soundwave#taba#egypt#landscape#relaxation#relax#sea#calm vibes
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animorphs
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Photo
2 whole Pride razum-dar sketches!
#my art#razum-dar#razum dar#pride 2022#eso#taba#arana#for those who dont know#taba is the little snow leopard boy he and syke adopted#and the little red head girl is he and sykes first bio kid#and raz is trans and bi
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Healing
1,089 words | Heir apparent (sequel to Rescue)
Content | Sleep deprivation, painful medical care, starvation, past parental abuse, whumper turned caretaker, bruises, implied past caning
Notes | Taba is acting weird.
Taglist | @whumpycries @whatwhump
Sharru dozed off by the time his parent had mended his ribs, finally allowing him to breathe without their crushing pain. He shifted back and forth between consciousness and inquiet dreams enough to feel the cool, yet still burning touch of a wet washrag on his open wounds; to whimper at the magic travelling down the cut on his face, where the skin was so sensitive the heat did hurt; to notice himself being turned over onto his belly. Once, he thought someone entered and exchanged brief words with his parent.
They were still here, then. It was still them caring for him.
The thought was so surreal it might as well have been part of his confused dreams when he finally slipped fully into sleep.
He woke to the sight of his parent sitting next to his bed, asleep. They had never needed much sleep; Sharru knew all too keenly, because while they had begrudgingly accepted the fact that a child needed more, he had been expected to keep their hours for years now. They must have stayed awake and watched over him for - well, there was no telling how long. He barely even had an idea what time of day he had been carried out of that horrible place.
He was too distraught to say whether he was touched, or confused, or scared of what this might mean, but his body protested there were more pressing matters at hand anyway. His stomach was hurting so badly with hunger that it took him several breaths to realize most of his other pains were gone. A bunch of lesser bruises were left, without doubt to teach him, but aside from the hollow in his belly and the most likely related lightness in his head he was certainly functional.
He started crying again at the thought even as he worked himself up into a sit. He didn’t want to - oh, he hadn’t cried so easily in years, why now when he had already failed so badly? - but the tears just welled up.
Just the right moment for his parent to wake. He looked down as they scrutinized him, taking stock of his faults.
He was dizzy just from sitting up; it couldn’t wait - fainting wouldn’t speak in his favour. »Parent, I’m starving.« His voice came out awfully thin.
»When did you last eat?«
He shook his head and regretted it immediately, he nearly toppled over. »I - I haven’t.« He didn’t even know how long he had been there. But they would - it might not be for his sake, but they wouldn’t be so careless as to lose track of time.
»Wait here.«
He was supposed to sit up straight, but when they exited, he hunched over, leaning on his knees; he felt so feeble. How long had it been since he had last eaten? His captors had given him water once or twice - it took a while before they had broken him down enough for him to drink from the bowl on the floor they taunted him with, accompanied by their jeers. Given how little was enough to keep him alive through his captivity… it couldn’t have been that long.
That was worse. He just would look all the more pathetic to his parent, having turned into this crying wreck so quickly.
He didn’t hear them enter soon enough to sit up, and for a moment, he feared they would withhold the food they had brought as a punishment. But that was irrational. They didn’t want him to starve. His punishment would come later.
»Eat slowly,« they said, and that was cruel enough. They didn’t even pass him the bowl of stew, just the spoon, ready to pull away when-
»Slowly,« they reiterated, doing just that.
He couldn’t help the tears spilling over, furious and desperate. »Please-«
»You haven’t eaten in eight days,« they said, as evenly and coolly as ever. »I’m not letting you kill yourself.«
He could hear the reproach in their voice and forced a breath, forced a »I’m sorry.«
They let him finish the bowl; apparently he had managed to exhibit sufficient self-control, even though he didn’t know how, even though he was crying, even though he wanted to scream for the precious food they were tormenting him with.
It was a small portion, but it felt better than anything he could think of. He wanted more, but there was no point in asking. He just had to be grateful for the food he had been given; grateful to have been saved at all; grateful for the canteen of water they gave him now.
»Sit up.« They set the bowl aside.
It was, he thought bitterly, more surprising they hadn’t demanded it sooner. He didn’t know how he could possibly explain himself to them, when he had slept and eaten and drunk and even been healed from the worst of his injuries - how he could explain how exhausted he still felt in his soul, how terrified and lost and utterly unable to be the prince.
They wouldn’t care.
»I can’t.« Maybe he could do this little thing. But he would reach his limit all too soon, so why not safe himself the trouble? He would be punished regardless.
He waited for their reaction. There were still canemarks on his body, albeit no more bloody ones, so hopefully they would refrain from caning him. One time they had, by their sorcery, given him a headache that lasted for three days. That would work, even in the state he was in. There was an ugly laugh stuck in his throat as he caught his own thoughts, doing their parent’s work for them.
»Then lay down.«
Confused, he obeyed. That was easier, even though he dreaded what might come next.
Sure enough they promptly put their hands on him, right where the remaining bruises were, vivid splotches all over his ribcage.
But they didn’t hurt him.
Without commentary, they healed what injuries had been left. Mere bruises he would have suffered through in his daily duties, canemarks the likes of which they had inflicted plenty of themself over the course of his life. Nothing that should have stopped him from functioning.
Nothing that he would have expected them to see a reason to help him with.
Looking at them properly for the first time since they had come to get him, he realized he had never seen them look quite so weary - their sharp eyes tired, their mouth twisted into more than just their usual half-frown.
Something was different.
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Amazing Day tours with ETB Tours Egypt
With ETB Tours Egypt you will enjoy the best day tours like Luxor day tours where you can explore the Valley of the Kings and other attractions, then take your back bag to explore the best destination on the Mediterranean Shore, Alexandria day tours, you will live a different experience in Alexandria city and it's sites, after that, we will take you to enjoy the best city in the Red Sea, Taba trips and excursions.
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Today I woke up to someone saying "Israel didn't bomb Egypt it was Yemen" so here is how the things went:
Taba got hit by a missile, later Israel came out with "we bombed it by mistake, the missile was meant for Eilat" at 3am
Sadly no western media outlet has any article regarding that "mistake" so here's an Egyptian article:
That was before they came out saying it was a rocket from Yemen.
The person who fought with me about this saying no it wasn't Israel ended up telling me "okay now I get it's Israel but you still gotta post that it was a mistake, they didn't mean to"
Since when was bombing other countries a mistake?
And why would anyone believe that Israel would fire a rocket headed for Eilat to start with?
As an Egyptian I don't think I should put that oh my country was bombed by a mistake, it's okay, peace, when are you gonna do that mistake again Israel? Please be careful next time, you almost hit a hospital, I know that's what you love to do but innocent people get treated in there y'know?
This is how you speak to a child who stepped on their classmate's foot by mistake not a country bombing another.
And as I addressed that person that nothing is called hitting by mistake they said I'm only throwing a "hissy fit" & that my government is okay with it & that's how I should be, like what?
I know how we middle easterns get treated, I know how they've been dehumanising us at the start of the Russian-Ukrainian war, they called us animals after all, but now I don't get to be mad about my country getting bombed?
Is it just me or middle eastern countries getting bombed is becoming a normal to the west?
Stop dehumanising us, stop making less of us, we're all humans, you're not superior to us just cause you're western, let me be mad for my own country, let me express my feelings on my own freaking blog, it's mine, it's with facts & sources, if they're not attached then ask & I'll send them, but stop calling me a liar or saying that I'm just acting like a brat because my country "just got bombed" & I should just get over it.
#Palestine#israel#Egypt#sinai#taba#israel is a terrorist state#palestine#gaza#genocide#ethnic cleansing#free palestine#israel is an apartheid state#this is where the american taxes go#egypt
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¡NUEVA EDICIÓN DE TABA!
Festival Temporada Alta en Buenos Aires
Desde el 2 de febrero en Timbre 4
Desde el 2013 El Festival Temporada Alta en Buenos Aires – TABA se realiza en forma ininterrumpida. Ya se ha convertido en una cita cultural del verano porteño, donde se dan cita artistas locales e internacionales, como así también actividades paralelasdesde el 2013, como el Karaoke Paraíso, Torneo de Drmaturgia y Fuera…
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❤️
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fantasy shenanigans
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