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secretwhumplair · 1 year

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The proposal, p.2

1,373 words | Royal arms (sequel to The proposal, p.1)

Content | Captivity, fear for loved ones, implied starvation, political/implied forced marriage, discussion of a trans man getting pregnant

Notes | Rejoice! Arracen is now officially canonically trans!

Some of this probably comes a bit out of left field and that's because I didn't know from the start lol.

Taglist | @whumpy-writings @cupcakes-and-pain @whumpzone @newbornwhumperfly @nicolepascaline @thegreatwhodini @neverthelass @wolfeyedwitch @onlybadendings @quietshae @whumpcreations @whumpydaydreams @whumpsy-daisy @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @kixngiggles @tears-and-lilies @melancholy-in-the-morning @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whump-cravings

As Arracen got to his feet, the scent wafting up from the table made his stomach growl, easily loud enough for Idalis to hear, and he had to swallow down more tears, this time of sheer humiliation. But Idalis didn’t comment. Arracen didn’t even catch a smirk.

Idalis started eating as soon as Arracen sat down, implying permission to follow his lead. Arracen tried to remain civil, tried not to let on how desperate he was, even as the food in front of him pushed every other worry to the back of his mind. It shouldn’t, really. What was he, some kind of beast?

He felt Idalis’ sharp eyes on himself, still, and once he had sated the worst of his hunger, he forced himself to look at him again; he wouldn’t sit here with his head down like a kicked dog waiting for his new master to grace him with some insight into what was going on.

Even though maybe it would have been safer.

»I was under the impression you kept a human pet,« Idalis said abruptly, dipping his bread into the rich broth that had been served. »I’ve since been informed of the situation. It seems we are on the same page about this matter.«

Arracen’s mind, still reeling from the absurd accusation, raced to figure out what Idalis was trying to tell him. Was he trying to make him feel secure? Preparing to pull the rug by telling him this was their only common ground and so Arracen was currently having his last meal?

He had - at least heard about, if not met, Lint. Something must have happened, for better or for worse. That was, really, the only thing that mattered.

He couldn’t fuck this up, for his and Nelisa’s sake. »I’m glad to hear that.« Have you met Lint? Is he alright? What have you done with him?

»He’s fine.« This time Idalis smirked, and Arracen couldn’t keep looking at him, knowing how transparent he was. »He and your other lover.«

Nelisa hadn’t had the good sense to escape, then. He was momentarily overwhelmed with a mixture of terror and selfish relief, but he had to focus. There it was - the threat was coming, he could feel it, as inevitable as a monster approaching a ship at sea. Idalis was just about to tell him what he would need to do, what more of his dignity he would have to trade away, to keep it this way.

The worst part was that he would do it. Of course he would.

»But that wasn’t what I wanted to talk to you. I have a proposal to offer you.«

Oh, of course. A proposal. If Arracen hadn’t been so hungry, his appetite would have abandoned him at the duplicity. »I’m listening.« What else could he say?

»I purpose to marry you.«

For a moment, Arracen could only stare in shock. One among the two of them had lost his mind, there was no other explanation. »I beg your pardon?« he finally choked out.

»I wish to marry you.« Idalis set his cutlery down. »Your people love you, you know that. It will be easier for me, and them, if they learn to love me also, and what simpler way to achieve that than through you? And further, I will need an heir sooner or later. That is to say, a consort that will carry them.«

Arracen swallowed thickly. It was always going to come to this; he had known that his whole life. If there was one thing royals did not get a choice in, it was the matter of producing an heir. It had been easy to put it out of his mind, for a time.

But maybe he shouldn’t have.

Then it wouldn’t have hit him like a horse’s kick to the chest now, when everything hinged on his reaction.

»If you agree, and I find you trustworthy, you may rule this your country in my stead while I’m away. Your lovers will be safe - I won’t mind them-« his eyes flickered to Cassio, »-as long as the child is mine, and so long as my husband cares for them, I will protect them like family.« There was a genuine softness to his voice for a moment, before he sobered up. »And you are also royal. You, too, will need an heir sooner or later. I am offering you a mutually beneficial arrangement.«

Arracen still couldn’t find words. All his lessons in diplomacy and rhetorics, swept away by the notion that, in fact, he could not and would not lead the life of a man given a body that fit.

Idalis gave a small huff. »Let me be clear, I am proposing to take you as my king consort, not my queen. You can have all the moondew you want after you give me an heir; it will be easy, now that we can work on rebuilding the trade routes. But I do need an heir and - I like men. Which makes you the preferred candidate, politics aside.« His voice trailed off, and for the first time, his gaze did too.

It was true, Arracen reckoned. There weren’t many male royals with a womb, not that he knew of. The argument made his heart a little lighter, even; Idalis was choosing him because he was a man, not in spite of it.

Not to spite him.

He had heard of moondew - that fairytale substance that could transform someone’s body to match their soul. It wasn’t really a fairytale, but it might as well have been in the chaos of the past years, with him going to be a hostage at Thobrinos’ court, and then the war Idalis started messing up all the trade routes from the west.

Eliphion, the country that was truly Idalis’ own, held the largest known sources. He wasn’t making an empty promise, or at least he wasn’t thinking so, Arracen was willing to believe that much.

But none of that mattered; he had to stay sensible. All the sweet promises aside, he was being coerced into marriage with a man who had taken what was his, and was now offering it right back to him as if it was a great gift.

He might have to take it - that was the worst part - but he would not let Idalis pretend it was anything other. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to see what was underneath the mask, but he wouldn’t just let it slide like a helpless child. »And if I don’t agree?« His voice almost cracked over the words, and he hated it.

Idalis cocked his head, eyeing him as if he hadn’t particularly considered this eventuality. »I will appoint a steward I see fit, and you… well, I suppose I could just put you under house arrest. See to it that you don’t stir up trouble. Your people wouldn’t be thrilled to hear you’re dead, I’m sure, and I am no tyrant.«

Arracen had to hold back a snort at the last words; that was rich. »And what of… Lint and Nelisa?« Idalis had said he would protect them if Arracen married him. Which must mean-

»You really care for them, don’t you?« Idalis said softly, as if he didn’t know, as if he wasn’t holding their lives over Arracen’s head. »They could go into house arrest with you, if they so choose. Or they could go back to Skalasia. I don’t care, so long as they don’t start trouble here.«

Once more, Arracen found himself thrown off balance.

There was no threat - nothing that would make matters worse, when matters weren’t half as bad as he had feared, and an option that would make matters better.

Well, largely better.

»May I consider?« he finally managed. Part of him doubted he would be given time; surely, Idalis had purposely sprung the proposal on him like this, so he would feel cornered and make an unwise choice.

But part of him didn’t believe that any more.

»Of course.« Idalis smiled, and it looked bafflingly genuine. What did he think he was doing? Did he really believe this was a generous offer? »When you’ve finished your meal, would you like to see your lovers? Take it as a sign of goodwill.«

This one Arracen couldn’t think about twice.

#whump #whump writing #arranged marriage #my writing #royal arms #arracen #idalis #cassio is baaarely in this one but it's important that he is present c: Idalis wouldn't do this without him

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ailendolin · 2 years

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Whump Wednesday - 49 - BBC Ghosts

Title: One Day [AO3]

Characters: The Captain & Fanny, George Button, Lieutenant Havers

Prompt: Fanny and the Captain reconcile after the wedding - Prompt sent in by the lovely @viola-halogen.

A/N: This turned out to be a lot more introspective than I originally planned but I hope you like what I came up with 💙

Prompts are open, so if you want me to write a story for you as well just send me an ask with the fandom, characters and your prompt. I’m writing for Ghosts, Yonderland, Horrible Histories and Bill at the moment.

Six Idiots Whump Wednesday / Fluff Friday masterlist is here.

————

One Day

“What made you change your mind?”

With a frown on her face, Fanny turn to face the Captain. “Hm?”

“The wedding,” he explained. “What made you change your mind about attending?”

“Oh,” Fanny said softly.

It was one thing for Thomas to acknowledge her change of heart but quite another when the Captain did it. Fanny was very well aware of his … inclinations. He had tried to hide it when he was alive but one had to have been blind to not see the longing looks he’d sent his fetching lieutenant whenever said lieutenant wasn’t looking at him or recognise the constant stammering and throat-clearing for what it was when he was. It had bothered her a lot less than she’d thought it would, given her personal experience with men like him. Fanny had often pondered why that was. She’d always figured it was because of his self-control – something she couldn’t help but admire. Or selflessness, rather, Fanny supposed, thinking back to the day the young lieutenant had left and a letter full of secrets had been buried in the ground instead of shared as it had been meant to.

It had also helped tremendously that the Captain had never made any advances whatsoever on any of the other male ghosts after his death. Fanny would have bet her favourite brooch on him becoming a fumbling mess over Thomas’s admittedly handsome looks or perhaps Humphrey’s noble intellect, yet the only thing on the Captain’s mind in those early days of his ghostly existence had been establishing a new routine and sense of normalcy for himself. It was something they’d all done when they died, each in their own ways, of course, until they eventually realised how pointless that was. The Captain had never stopped chasing that reminder of his life, though – had indeed found a kindred soul in Patrick only a few decades later.

Fanny used to believe that the Captain kept to his strict schedule to keep his mind off the feelings he secretly harboured for one of the other male ghosts but now she wasn’t so sure anymore. Over the last few months – perhaps even years – he had become noticeably less guarded around them. Every now and then he would let a comment slip that would raise eyebrows – Julian’s, especially, seemingly unaware of how revealing his words were. No one had ever called him out on it and Fanny definitely would not be the first to do so but it seemed his personal stance on his attraction to men had weakened over the years.

Hence his excitement for the two-brides-wedding.

Fanny couldn’t say how she would have reacted if the Captain had made peace with that part of himself before this day, let alone shared it with them. On the one hand, he was the closest thing she had ever had to a best friend. They were of similar mind and opinion on so many matters that she couldn’t help but gravitate towards him, even knowing a part of him was like that no-good husband of hers. But on the other hand, she wasn’t sure she would be able to stand being constantly reminded of all those vile things George had done right under her nose.

She paused suddenly; reflecting, wondering if those things George had done had truly been as vile as she’d always believed them to be. The cheating was, obviously, not to mention the part where he’d pushed her out of a window and murdered her but Fanny couldn’t deny that her talk with Humphrey had opened her eyes to a world she had purposely ignored before – a world where something as universal as love was dangerous, where its discovery led to terror and blind panic and sometimes, as Fanny could attest to, ended in death and tragedy. Perhaps, she thought reluctantly, she and George had not been so different after all. In the end, they had both been stuck in an unhappy marriage with no way out, albeit for different reasons. She had found comfort in her pets and, like the Captain, in a routine that prevented her eyes and hands from wandering where they were not meant to be. George, always weaker of mind, had eventually reached for what life had denied him: happiness, even if it was brief and stolen in precious short moments.

Could Fanny truly blame him for that? For wanting to feel the touch of someone who actually loved and desired him? For kissing lips that smiled into the caress and reciprocated it gladly? For no longer hiding a part of him that he couldn’t change anyway?

Even more importantly: could she blame the Captain for wanting the same?

The answer, in retrospect, seemed so clear that Fanny wanted to shake her head at herself: of course she couldn’t. Just like she couldn’t blame herself for all the times she’d cried herself to sleep in this large, empty house and wished for a better life, a simpler one that would let her utilise her mind instead of forcing it into obedient silence. It was not weakness at all that had driven George into other men’s arms, she realised; it had been courage. Courage to reach for something no one would understand; to defy society and make the most of a life that was so terribly short and be true to one’s self instead of hiding behind polite smiles and proper manners.

Fanny blinked against the sudden burning in her eyes. Even in death, she still hadn’t found that courage that had come so easily to George and the Captain was slowly discovering inside himself. She’d pretended so fiercely all her life to be less than what she was that she did not know how to be anything else anymore. What was there left if Lady Button was stripped away from her?

Nothing but a lonely woman.

That would have been her answer before her death. Now, though – now Fanny looked around the room and saw Thomas dancing, Humphrey softly singing along to the music, Mary and Robin bickering, Kitty smiling like the brightest star in the sky and Pat stopping Julian from wreaking havoc. She saw a group of people she had chosen just as little as she’d chosen George all those years ago, and yet unlike him, they had become her family. With them around, she did not have to fear loneliness, no matter if she chose to be Lady Button for the rest of her afterlife or decided to finally uncover Fanny after all these years.

A smile tugged at her lips as she turned towards the Captain. “I had a talk with Humphrey earlier. About marriage and free choice and how those things, or the lack of them rather, influenced our lives. It opened my eyes quite a bit, I have to admit.”

“Did it now?” There was a spark in the Captain’s eye – a spark that looked an awfully lot like repressed hope. Fanny’s chest tightened in sudden sympathy as she realised just how much her opinion must matter to him, especially on this issue.

She linked her arm with his and gently steered him out of the room with its music and dancing to a quieter area of the house.

“We have been friends for a very long time, haven’t we?” she began softly.

The Captain glanced at her, surprised, and cleared his throat. “I’d say so. Almost seventy years now.”

“A lifetime, for some,” Fanny said. “I dare say that’s long enough to know someone and find out whether or not they’re a good person at heart. I never had that time with George, and even if I had I don’t think it would have been enough, given that we never talked to each other. Not like we do.” She offered the Captain a small smile.

“But if we’d had, I’d like to think I would have learned to accept him the way he was – and maybe he would have learned not to see me as a threat but rather as an ally. We might have even found happiness in life – not together, perhaps, but with each other nonetheless. It’s a nice thought, isn’t it?”

The Captain gazed past her out the window to the garden where he had buried so much more than military plans and mines a long time ago. “Do you really believe he would have confided in you?”

Fanny thought about that for a moment. “Under the right circumstances? Maybe.”

“And … you would not have minded that he had lied to you for years?” the Captain asked, looking anywhere but at her.

“No,” Fanny said softly, knowing they were no longer talking about George. “I would have felt honoured to have earned his trust.”

The muscles under her arm tensed and the Captain made a noise in the back of his throat that she couldn’t quite interpret. Then, at last, he turned towards her, and Fanny was relieved to see him smiling slightly. “We are very lucky to have you with us, Fanny. And so was your husband.”

It wasn’t quite the step forward Fanny had been hoping for but it was a step forward nonetheless. Deciding it was time to steer them back towards more familiar ground, she tugged at the Captain’s arm to lead him back to the ballroom.

“As I kept telling him!” she said. “Honestly, no other woman would have put up with all his nonsense – and managed to raise decent children on top of it! I’m telling you, he was–“

As she went on about her late husband, about all his many faults but that one, she slowly felt the Captain relax next to her.

One day, Fanny thought to herself as she looked at his kind face that had seen so much sorrow and so little acceptance from the world in its time. She hoped with all her heart that opening up to him about George was the first step in regaining his trust after she had trampled it so callously earlier that day with her behaviour, and countless times before that as well.

One day.

#the captain #fanny button #bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts fanfic #my fic #whump wednesday #wwff challenge

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lollybliz · 1 year

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🚀🧪💌 - For the fic ask (was gonna send these last night and passed out instead a;ldkj;flkf)

Hfjdjdjxhjss s l e e p

🚀- Do you like to outline your fic first or create as you go?

Little bit of both! The first wall of text just happened in my phone notepad while I was 100% supposed to be putting books away, but when I got back to my pc I put together an outline cus frankly the last fic I got any distance into fell apart cus I wrote myself into a corner and I don't want that to happen again. That being said, the oneshot was a 3 hour manic episode that just sorta poofed into my head fully formed, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ bit of both! I think I prefer an outline though, for the sake of my sanity lol

🧪- do you research for your fics?

Er. Yes and no. Did I spend an ungodly amount of time pouring through literal actual medical journals that I have access to as a librarian to make sure I knew what the fuck i was talking about? Yes. Did i throw that information out the window later because it was inconvenient and fuck it they're both deities anyway? Also yes fjdjdksk i've gone over entirely too much in game stuff to make sure I'm not making up toooo too much, but I also have a tendency to throw accuracy into the wind for the sake of either simplicity or 'this is a bit handwavey but Vibes Harder'

💌- is there a favorite trope you like to write?

I was gonna say this is a hard one to answer because I just haven't written that much But-

There's a very Whumpy lean to everything I've written, finished or unfinished, and it frequently takes a sort of long term inevitability bend at some point. In the One fic I've posted (and abandoned since) Bakugo was going to recover, eventually, but he was going to have to figure out either how to be a hero without his eyes or ears, or find another purpose to strive towards. There's a pile of AAA in my notes about Fi, and how the master sword slowly rotting away over tens of thousands of years must have felt, when she hadn't been able to speak since the very first hero, when she'd been imprisoned inside this rusting breaking frigid metal. The oneshot is essentially a trauma flashback, the whole thing; and the big one is a fistful of excuses and headcanons for why the statues work the way they do, why the traveler can increase their stamina by making offerings to them, what effects having a massive part of yourself sealed away might have, where the energy to wield elements even comes from etc all balled up into a very specific kind of whump and my utter bullshit nonsense shenanigans to heal said specific whump fjdjdkdkk it's a whole mess

Tldr I like to hurt the characters I love, apparently :kermit scream:

Thank you for asking!! This is fun, i have more to say than I thought I would fjfjdk

#bliz rambles #ask game #wip talk #phoenixislost #essentially the travelers are /solar powered/ stars #and when the sustainer of heavenly principles took his wings #they took his solar panels fjfjsks #this is grossly simplified help #so he has trouble building up energy anymore; and he kind of cant store much #think having to fill your car's gas tank with a funnel and a cup each time; and only having space for a gallon or two at most #when the car you'd had before was a diesel engin with a 50 gallon capacity #yeah?#so certain actions drain him; and he can sort of osmosis absorb latent divine energy from the statues to a degree (a la healing)#and deities because plot device #but he cant actually absorb sunlight or starlight the way he's designed to because the stars of teyvat are fake #so he uses statues; he can absorb a little of what is essentially karma; and he can use Xiao; cus ive decided yaksha's are minor deities #its a Whole Thing its a mess its absolutely an excuse wrapped in a bow

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another-whump-sideblog · 1 year

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Can’t stop thinking about this, so here’s how I think each character in Jane’s Pets would act in different roles:

Whumper!Amanda - I think Amanda would be a whumper in any situation where she believed it was preventing more pain than it caused, either for an individual or humanity as a whole. Maybe she’s the employee of a bigger whumper, or maybe she does some experimental/lab whump. It would be possible for her to be talked out of being a whumper, she truly does it because she believes it’s for the best. She’d take the whumpee’s place if it was an option, but it’s not, for whatever reason.

Whumper!Charlie - Definitely motivated by revenge. “Eye for an eye” type shit. They’d only do to their victims what their victims had done to others. They’d run a safe-house for escaped whumpees during the day and torture previous whumpers until they begged for death at night. They’re not as good at keeping it a secret as they think, but the people under their protection don’t want to risk ending up on Charlie’s bad side, so they keep quiet.

Whumper!Liam - Figuring out Liam was tough, but I think he’d be an underling, a henchman. Whumperee. He does what he has to to survive, and tries not to think about what that means for the people he’s hurting. I can imagine a whumpee sassing him and him bursting into tears, and the whumpee being like “…what?”

Whumper!Diya - Carewhumper type. Keeps someone captive out of fear of being alone, but would never hurt them on purpose. Keeps eir whumpee(s) in a gilded cage, they have anything they could ever want- except freedom.

Whumper!Greg - Also a tough one, but I think they would use purely psychological torture. I could see them doing some interrogation whump if they thought it was super necessary, and I could also see them getting some revenge on their previous whumpers

Whumper!Barron - Protective to a fault. Similar to Whumper!Diya, but would hurt its whumpee(s) to “keep them safe” and kill anyone who it even suspected was trying to take its whumpee(s) away.

Whumpee!Jane - In order to be a whumpee, she’d have to either lose her powers or be whumped by someone so powerful they can keep her from teleporting away. She knows what it’s like to be on the whumper’s end, and she refuses to give them what they want. Once the whumper finds out the easiest way to get to her is boredom, though, she’d be a mess. Begging to be tortured if it just means something to distract her from the crushing boredom.

And now I’m having fun thinking about how all of them would interact as whumpers- or if only one was the whumper and the others were their whumpees, and all sorts of configurations. Highly recommend!

#jane’s pets

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femboykaz · 2 years

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if you want a whump prompt, 7. “You know I have to kill you now, right?” and jesper 🥺

This is probably far less whumpy than you were hoping for and was definitely rwitten in a half conscious state but ask and ye shall receive. (Putting it behind a screen... thing... whatever that's called... because it got a little long)

(Tw: injury, concussion, kidnapping, threats of murder, mentioned gambling addiction)

The pounding in Jesper’s head has nothing to do with the cheap whiskey and lager stashed behind the old, wooden bar counters of every gambling hall in the Barrel. In part because he never made it that far. If he had, that would mean he’d finished the job, and if he’d done that—

Jesper tries to jerk away from the ironclad grip that appears around his wrist, but it only tightens. Sparks shoot down his arm. His hand tingles, fingers going numb. A moment later, the grip is replaced with cold steel.

Definitely didn’t finish the job. Unless…

Steel. Steel, not rope or twine or whatever else might be lying around in the streets and alleys. And Jesper had— Oh, Saints, he killed a man – not even a man; a boy, no older than he is. Jesper had drawn his gun and pulled the trigger. It didn’t jam. The bullet found its mark. He killed someone and now there are handcuffs around his wrists and—

Blood. He smells blood. Feels it on him. It must be on him – is that why my shirt is damp? – because he’d shot—

Jesper gags and shudders, muscles aching as they spasm.

His head really fucking hurts.

“If you’re going to puke,” a voice says, “make sure you aren’t on your back.”

“Who…”

It’s all he can manage. His tongue is made of cotton and everything is spinning, tilting, turning.

It’s dark. He can’t see anything – just a curtain black, and when he tries to focus on it, there’s a pulsing behind his eyes that beats in time with his heart and the throbbing of his temple.

“I know I didn’t hit you that hard.” The voice. It isn’t one Jesper knows, but he’s certain it isn’t that of a stadwatch officer. And he’s no expert, but Jesper is fairly confident that the stadwatch wouldn’t bother blindfolding him. “Think real hard. I’m sure you can figure out who I am, Fahey.”

Jesper swears, fumbling with the cuffs cinched tight around his wrists.

“I d… They— I was— ‘m—”

“Do yourself a favor and get your thoughts in line before you run your mouth, for once.”

“You… know me?” he says slowly.

“No,” the voice – the kid – drawls. Jesper catches the faint lilt of an unfamiliar accent that hadn’t been there before. “Ghezen and the Saints appeared to me while you were unconscious to tell me your name.”

“My kidnapper has a sense of humor. Lucky me.”

The kid lets out a dry laugh. There’s a quiet rustling, then something not-quite-warm presses under Jesper’s chin, firm and unyielding and mocking, because it’s made of metal just like the cuffs and he should be able to use that, get free of his bindings, but he can’t do either. He can only lay here, thinking about how he should have worn a coat because his shirt is too thin and the ground is cold and covered in stones and broken glass and—

“You do know I have to kill you now, right?”

And it’s a nice coat. Smells a bit like home, if he concentrates hard enough. If he’s going to die tonight, it would be nice to at least have that shred of comfort, because Da won’t be here to hold him just like he couldn’t be there for Ma, and… And he might never know what happened to Jesper. His father will write to the university or come around to see it for himself and all he’ll find is a dead-end path that leads to notices of Jesper’s expulsion and a record of a dorm room containing nothing but the book he’d checked out from the library for the sole purpose of having an excuse to talk to Madeleine Michaud.

And a line of creditors, waiting to collect what Jesper owes.

“That’s it?” the kid asks. “You’re not going to bargain or plead for me to spare you?”

He should. But he suspects begging won’t do any good and Jesper has nothing to offer except promises – and what good is that coming from him, when he couldn’t even keep the one promise he’d made Da?

So Jesper just says: “You aren’t going to kill me.”

“There it is.” The metal disappears from under his chin. There’s a pause, then the sound of footsteps. Slow, careful. Jesper wonders, briefly, if his bullet grazed the kid’s thigh. “So what do you think you can offer me, Fahey, that I can’t just take for myself?”

“Nothing.”

The kid scoffs. “Was this your first time?”

“Being kidnapped? Not exactly.”

“No. Trying to kill someone.”

“Look, I—”

“Tried to shoot me. And missed.”

“I don’t miss,” Jesper says, indignant. First this kid knocks him out and puts a blindfold and cuffs on him, and now he’s insulting Jesper.

“Then you’re a coward.”

He sputters, searching for a way to deny it even though his heart is trying to break right through his ribcage. Of course, if being afraid when he’s been tied up and had his life threatened makes him a coward, then everyone else would be, too.

“You’re right.”

But Jesper wouldn’t be in this position in the first place if he wasn’t one.

“You aren’t good at this, Fahey.”

“Good at what?”

“How do you know I won’t kill you?” the kid asks instead of giving an answer.

“I— What?”

“How. Do. You. Know.”

“You… you could have done it already. You knocked me out. If you were really planning to kill me, you would have done it already.”

“Maybe I want information.”

“You blindfolded me.”

“Last I checked, you don’t need to see to be able to talk.”

“You don’t blindfold someone that you intend to just kill anyway. It wouldn’t matter if I see your face unless you intend to let me go.”

“Good. Wrong in this case, but good.”

Jesper laughs despite himself. “Did I answer your riddles three? Can I go home now?”

“You know your way around a gun, Fahey.”

“I take it that’s a no.”

“I have an offer for you that I’d like to discuss.”

“If I agree…”

“Then you walk away tonight and meet me at a time, place, and date of my choosing, and we’ll talk about it then.”

“And if I don’t agree?”

“You walk away—” the kid pauses, and if the situation were any less dire, Jesper might roll his eyes at the dramatics— “and make damn well sure you never get in my way again.”

“If I agree, it’s just to talk,” he adds quickly. “I’m not agreeing to your offer until I know what it actually is.”

“Just to talk. Do we have a deal?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then I’ll be seeing you soon.”

“Wait!” Jesper calls. “Don’t we have to… shake on it?”

“While you’re in cuffs?”

“You could take them off.”

“Not a chance. Just this once, I’ll take your word.” The kid’s voice grows quieter with every word. “Once I’m gone you can be on your merry way. I’ll even make it easy on you and leave the key.”

“At least give me your name!” Jesper says desperately, hoping that somehow, if he stalls enough, he can get the kid to take pity.

“You already know who I am.”

“That’s not the same thing.” The footsteps come to a halt. “What harm can come of it?”

Jesper is met with more silence and, for a moment, he thinks he might already be alone – left to search the dark, with a still-pounding head and already-stiff limbs, for the key to free himself. Then, the kid speaks again.

“My name is Kaz Brekker.”

And then he’s gone.

#six of crows #six of crows fanfic #jesper fahey #whump #hurt jesper fahey #prompt fill #my writing #don't ask why my brain decided to interpret this prompt as a chance for an AU #because I do not know

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coffee-bat · 3 years

Text

sure i do! (posting screenshot of ask for easier formatting)

(also, i have a whump headcannons ask that i've been compiling the response to for the past weeks (anon who asked, i'm so sorry it's taking so long, i'm not ignoring your ask), so this one will focus strictly on everything OTHER than whump.)

- he often bites his nails when stressed, or even just bored (or when he has no cigar on hand. he has a thing for chewing/nibbling on things). stopping himself from doing it is one of the reasons he wears gloves (other than for warmth and to shield his hands from damage), as having his nails bit too short is painful and can make his work almost impossible. (saying this as a nail biter. you literally CANNOT use a finger that you bit the nail of too short)

- speaking of stimming, aside from biting things, he uses the compass around his neck as a stim toy. it's useless around him, as his own magnetic field renders it impossible to point north as it should, but he'll often play with it by making it spin through altering his field. it requires both focus and a small bit of physical effort, effectively taking his mind off whatever's stressing him, at least for a short bit until he gets bored.

- he thinks he can cook, but anyone who's ever tried his cooking strongly disagrees. while his techniques are okay, like he doesn't burn or undercook stuff, the things he makes are borderline inedible. (he once made a party cheese salad for a family meeting and lowkey bonded with moreau over him being the only one to like the atrocity)

- he's the youngest of the lords (with the age order being alcina>moreau>donna>karl). donna looks younger than him, however it's mostly because of his healing factor being worse than the others', making him actually age (even if very slow) instead of being stuck in time.

- he DESPISES family meetings, along with the family dinners miranda keeps insisting on (which take place either at the castle or at donna's place, as moreau's reservoir and the factory are unsuited for that to say the least), but the latter's redeeming factor is that, if he's lucky, he gets a unique opportunity to fuck with alcina. which usually means eating her out of house and home (using the fact that she's too proud of her good manners to refuse a guest), getting drunk, wrecking her house (muddy boots who?) and then passing out somewhere. it gives him the opportunity to make himself her problem and he loves that. (i've actually started work on a comic a few weeks ago where alcina kicks karl off a random couch she finds him on (in a food coma), a shitposty thing with a SLIGHTLY wholesome-ish ending (as wholesome as alcina gets), but it was taking so long that i just gave up at some point. though, if any of y'all would like to see it finished, let me know, it'd be easier to motivate myself to do it if i knew anyone actually wanted me to lol)

- he holds animals close to his heart but would hate to admit it, in fear of appearing weak or soft. claims that he lets the one (1) cat stay in his factory ONLY because it helps with rats, totally not for company because he's a sad lonely man, what are you talking about.

-he's neither a cat or dog person, he likes both equally, but it'd be far harder to keep a dog in his quarters, seeing as it would require both more space and regular walks + playtime, while a cat is perfectly happy with just getting to sleep on him at night (in terms of contact/bonding).

- though, while he doesn't have a dog, he lowkey treats the lycans as such. keeps them under his control solely through giving them dog treats he buys from the duke. (took him a long time and lots of claw/teeth injuries to figure that out, but hey, better late than never).

--warning: the next few paragraphs discuss weight insecurity and body dysmorphia. i'll let you know when the segment ends so you can skip it if it's triggering or makes you uncomfortable--

- he's insecure about his body, both the scars littered across it and his weight. the first can't be helped and he's aware of it, however the latter TECHNICALLY CAN be and thus it bothers him far more. he used to be in a better shape, both mentally and physically, before his life was completely consumed by his work and plans of the rebellion, however these days, he just can't afford to focus on keeping himself in shape (he doesn't have the time and energy to exercise outside of the weight lifting he has to do while working, and same goes for taking care of his diet. cooking and eating balanced food takes too much time and energy, making him resort to whatever is the quickest to make and will keep him going through the day). he feels intense discomfort when looking at younger pictures of himself, he can't help but feel that he has "let himself go" in the recent years, however simultanously doesn't have the time and energy to do anything about it. it's frustrating and makes him feel out of control.

- alcina once touched on the topic while arguing with him, and it fucked him up. up until then he clang onto the small bit of hope that maybe noone has noticed the changes in his body, that maybe it was just him that was hypersensitive to it and in reality it wasn't that visible, and alcina's comment instantly shattered it. not only did she notice, but she apparently considered it worthy of using against him. there goes his last bit of confidence.

- it was one of the very few times she has seen him actually cry (before storming off to hide himself in his factory). it was also one of the few times she had apologized to him. she has made comments about his height and general looks before, and it never seemed to bother him, he always retorded back with a snarky remark targeted back at her, so she truly thought he had no insecurity issues- but this time, for the first time, he just looked hurt, almost disbelieving, and ran away without a word. it made her initial anger melt away instantly, realizing what she did. she ran after him a few minutes later, hoping it wasn't too late and she hadn't done unreversable damage. the whole incident was a major blow to her ego, especially as she was forced to beg karl over the intercom to let her in, but she wouldn't have forgiven herself if she didn't tell him that she was sorry and didn't mean it. she had to admit to herself that it truly was a low blow and she couldn't let herself be carried away like this ever again.

- karl's confidence never really healed from the incident, it's not something he can just forget. but he did get a kick out of having alcina beg for forgiveness, so he considers at least that to be an upside of the whole thing.

--weight/body dysmorphia discussion ends here--

- he gets sensory overloads easily, especially from loud noise, making him snappy if there's too many people talking/making noise. he also often has issues with things touching him when he's already stressed - due to this, he keeps a hairband in his pocket at all times (to keep his hair out of his face), and has tied the belt of his trench coat behind his back so it wouldn't touch his arms while moving around (that one is actually part of his character model). having things hanging off him irritates him greatly.

- he has a tendency to cling onto/hug whatever is in his reach while he's asleep. usually it's a pillow or his blanket, but it's also a risk one should be aware of when choosing to sleep in one bed with him. you're gonna wake up in a death grip. and he's a heavy sleeper, so don't even think about going to the bathroom.

- speaking of physical affection, he loves massages, they're one of his favorite types of affection to receive. any kind of them, really. he's sore most of the time, so a bit of relief is always greatly appreciated. back/shoulders after a long day of work, tummy if his cadou is bothering him or his eating habits fucked him over again, maybe even hands if he's worked manually for too long and his palms are starting to cramp. it's all really appreciated. (another factor contributing to why he likes them is that they're completely selfless acts of affection. his partner isn't getting anything out of it (like they would with anything sexual or romantic), its only purpose is to help him feel better. makes him feel loved.)

- speaking of, he literally cried the first time ethan gave him a shoulder rub. feeling the decades worth of pain, tiredness and muscle strain that he didn't realize he felt finally fade, be washed away, made his eyes water, he couldn't help it. it wasn't long after they had moved in together (as roommates, since karl had nowhere to go), and to karl, it felt like an affirmation that it's over, he can relax, he can rest now. no need to keep overworking himself, to keep not letting himself ever catch a break because "he might like it too much and stop chasing his goal", to keep doing anything to keep himself going for years on end despite knowing it's ruining his body. it's done, it's over, he finally deserves a rest. it made ethan deeply confused and concerned before karl sobbed out why he's crying.

these are all for now, i think! at least all that comes to mind at the moment. if you'd like me to talk about headcannons on a specific subject/topic (or expand on any of these ones), let me know! i'm sure to think of something that i haven't already, or forgot to write down. i just love talking about headcannons, man.

#this bitch took me 2 hours to write i really hope you like it #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #karl heisenberg #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #headcannons #long post

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ironwhumper359 · 3 years

Note

“Just a short little prompt fill” I said to myself. “Something to work on in my downtime between longer fics.” Oops I made a whole au and I’m attached to it now, lol.

14: “Good news! I brought you a friend.”

CW: Pet whump, creature whump, fantasy au, restraints, referenced conditioning, child whumper

---

“More tea, Daisy?” Matilda asked, holding up her porcelain teapot. Daisy eyed her for a moment, and Matilda giggled. “You can answer, silly!”

“Yes please, Lady Matilda,” Daisy said immediately.

“Here you go!” Matilda said, tipping the pot forward to mime pouring. “One lump of sugar or two?”

“Two please, my lady,” Daisy said, and Matilda nodded primly, picking up a small set of tongs.

She mimed dropping two lumps of sugar into Daisy’s cup, then one into her own. She put the cup to her lips and pretended to drink, grinning when Daisy did the same.

“I have to say, Daisy, your wings are looking particularly ex-quis-ite today!” Matilda chirped, slowly sounding out the larger word she’d often heard her mother use at grown-up garden parties. “I love how the light catches them just so!”

An expression Matilda couldn’t quite read flashed through her fairy’s eyes for a moment, but before she could figure it out Daisy’s smile was back, wider and brighter than before.

“Thank you, Lady Matilda.”

“You’re welcome!” Matilda said cheerfully, swinging her legs a bit as she pretended to take another sip of tea. “Oooh, ooh, guess what!”

“What is it, Lady Matilda?” Daisy barely had time to ask before Matilda launched into her story. Mother often said she talked too much for polite conversation, but that was part of what was fun about playing with Daisy, Matilda didn’t need to be polite!

“Father will be coming home today!” she said, clapping her hands. “And that means I’ll get a present! He always brings me a present when he comes home from trips, and I hope it’s something really nice, he’s been gone for so long this time…what do you think he’ll bring me? Maybe a new dress, or a box of sweets...do you think he’ll bring something for you, too Daisy? Oh I’d like that, maybe a new satin cushion for your cage, or a set of gold combs for me to put in your hair, wouldn’t that just look so beautiful with your leash and collar?”

“Matilda!” her mother called sharply, interrupting Matilda’s musing about her presents. “Time to put your toys away now, your father will be home soon.”

“Aww, but Mother-”

“I won’t tell you twice, Matilda,” her mother warned, and Matilda sighed.

“Fiiiine.”

She got to her feet and quickly scooped up the dolls and teddy bears she had set around the table to make up the rest of the tea party’s guests. She dropped them into her toy chest, then walked back to where Daisy was sitting, unhooking her leash from the brass loop on the side of the table.

“Come on, Daisy,” Matilda said, tugging on the leash, and Daisy quickly scrambled to her feet. When Matilda had first gotten her last year, Daisy had stood a few inches taller than her, but Matilda had grown a bit since her eighth birthday, and now she was about the same height as her pet.

Matilda led Daisy to her cage, which took up the entire corner of the playhouse. Her father had ordered it to be custom made just for Daisy, and it reminded Matilda of a bigger version of the parrot cage she’d once seen at a party at her cousin’s estate. Daisy slipped inside, waiting patiently by the door as Matilda made sure the lock was secure before reaching through the bars to unclip the leash from the shiny golden collar she wore around her neck. She hung the leash on a hook on the cage door, then grinned, waving at her pet.

“Bye Daisy!” she said. “I’ll come visit you again after supper, alright?”

She skipped out into the garden, where her mother was waiting to close the playhouse door behind her.

“Did you remember to lock the cage, dear?” Mother asked, and Matilda rolled her eyes.

“Yes, Mother.”

“Good. Now, come with me. Your father will be home any minute, and he has a surprise for you.”

A grin stretched across Matilda’s face. She couldn’t wait to find out what it was!

---

Matilda was not an unkind little girl. She was sweet, polite, and as far as Lorrella could tell, never hurt anybody on purpose.

This, of course, did little to soothe the chafed skin beneath Lorrella’s collar or the ache for freedom in her heart.

Matilda did not seem to realize that her beloved fairy was a prisoner in the opulent playhouse her father had built her on the grounds of their family manor. She never registered Lorrella’s discomfort, though that was mostly because Lorrella took great pains to hide it from her. Matilda was bound to become upset if her pet wasn’t acting happy, after all.

And rule number one was Don’t upset Matilda.

So Lorrella couldn’t really blame the girl for not realizing when she was uncomfortable, but Matilda still didn’t seem to think twice about leading her around on a leash like a dog or locking her in a six by six foot cage whenever they weren’t “playing together.” She certainly hadn’t been interested in learning Lorrella’s real name, content instead to dub her “Daisy” because it sounded pretty.

Daisy was a dress up doll, a hair model, an audience for impromptu storytimes and a companion for tea parties and garden outings. Whatever Matilda wanted for as long as she wanted, that’s what Daisy had to be. Lorrella was allowed to exist only in these quiet moments when Matilda left her here alone; when nothing was wanted of her and she could whisper her name into the empty room so that she would not forget it.

The most frightening thing was that while Lorrella longed for such a reprieve when she was with Matilda, whenever she was alone, she’d begun to find herself wishing for the girl’s company. Lorrella was nobody, did nothing, belonged nowhere when Matilda was gone. Daisy, at least, had something to do, had something to be, even if that something was little more than an object to be shaped and molded by someone else.

Daisy belonged to Matilda, but Daisy had a purpose. Lorrella belonged to no one, but her life had ceased to have meaning altogether.

The door to the playhouse suddenly burst open and Lorrella jumped in surprise as Matilda darted into the room.

“Daisy!” she cried, running up to the cage and grinning from ear to ear. “Good news! Father brought you a friend!”

Lorrella blinked and tilted her head, a silent question. Matilda reached through the bars and patted her on the head, then grabbed her collar and pulled. Lorrella suppressed a wince at the sudden jerk of movement and leaned forward so that Matilda could clip the leash on.

“Come on, come on, you have to see it!” Matilda said. As soon as she had Lorrella out of the cage, she dashed out of the room, and Lorrella had no choice but to follow as quickly as she could.

Matilda hurried through the grounds and Lorrella stumbled after her, biting back a yelp every time Matilda ran too fast or turned too suddenly for her to keep up. Her neck was already growing sore, and she’d tumbled over enough times that her knees would be bound to have an angry smattering of fresh bruises by morning. She desperately wanted to call out for Matilda to slow down, but she held her tongue.

Rule number two was Never speak unless spoken to.

Matilda finally skidded to a halt outside the family stables, and Lorrella let herself fall to her knees beside her, gasping for air.

“Father!” Matilda called, knocking on the stable door. “I brought Daisy to come see it too! Can we come in?”

Lorrella stared at Matilda incredulously. All this fuss just to meet a new pony?

Matilda’s father appeared at the door, and Lorrella shrank back, casting her eyes downward.

“Yes, my dear,” he said. “But you must remember to move slowly, alright? It is still quite wild, and not used to people yet.”

Matilda nodded solemnly, and her father opened the door wide, allowing her to pull Lorrella inside. They passed through most of the stable and Matilda occasionally paused to wave at a favorite horse, but they didn’t stop moving until they reached the end of the row of stalls. The stall at the back was open, and as they approached, Lorrella could hear the stable hands muttering to each other.

“Shit! Hold the damn thing still, will you? I can’t buckle these straps tight enough when it’s squirming so much!”

“I will thank you,” Matilda’s father said coldly,” to not swear in front of my daughter.”

The two snapped to attention instantly, twin looks of apology on their faces.

“Yes, Lord Tracey, sorry Lord Tracey,” said the one who’d cursed, ducking his head.

“Can I show Daisy now?” Matilda asked, and her fathers face softened as he looked down at her.

“Of course, my dear. The creature is secure?” he added to the stablehands, and they nodded quickly.

“Yes, my lord. Took a fair bit of wrangling, but it shouldn’t be a problem now.”

They stepped aside, revealing the animal in the stall, and Lorrella was unable to stop herself from gasping. She froze, glancing up at Lord Tracey, but he only had eyes for Matilda, who was staring at the creature with a wide grin

It was not, as Lorrella had first assumed, simply a new pony; it was a centaur. Their upper body was wrapped up tightly in a harness that forced its arms behind its back, and their face was partially covered by a bitted bridle, the lead of which was tied to a hook on the wall.

Lorrella had never seen a centaur before, and she was no expert on horses either, but even she could see that the creature was only a child. Judging by the face alone, one not much older than Matilda herself, or at least whatever the centaur equivalent was to eight years old. The poor thing was clearly terrified, too; they were trembling slightly and pawing at the ground with one of their front hooves.

“Daisy, this is Coco!” Matilda said happily. “Coco, this is Daisy! The two of you are gonna be the best of friends, I know it! What do you think, Daisy, isn’t she just the greatest present you ever saw?”

The centaur flinched when Matilda spoke, and Lorrella glanced back at Lord Tracey, who was watching the whole exchange with what on the surface looked like a bored expression. She swallowed, and shot the centaur what she hoped was an apologetic look before answering.

“Yes, Lady Matilda,” she said quietly. “She’s perfect for you.”

#whump #whump fic #creature whump #fairy whump #centaur whump #pet whump #nonhuman whumpee #child whumper #matilda's playhouse #my writing

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jordanstrophe · 3 years

Text

A Cinnonmon Bun to Pure for this World, 8

Maslterlist

CW: recovering conditioned whumpee, PTSD, stabbing, physical fight, manhandling, soooome medical whump at the end

“Mister Richard!” Cin ran into the kitchen. “Hey! Good morni-”

“How do I make money!?” He cried, jumping into his lap and grabbing his coat collar.

“Woah woah woah, slow down there, tiger...” Richard chuckled, lifting him back onto his feet. “What on earth do you need money for? If you want something, you can always ask. You know I take care of you here.”

“Of course you do, Mister Richard! And I am very appreciative. I owe you my entire life, work, blood, dedication and soul!” He chirped.

“Uhhhh.”

“Anyway! I need money for that nice man I met in the alleyway.”

“Cin... Cin no.”

“Cin yes!”

“Cin we don’t give money to... People we meet in alleyways. Especially when they have knives and threaten to hurt you.”

“But Mister Richard! He was so kind about it!” He swayed around on his feet.

Richard tilted his chin up to make sure he had his attention. “Just because someone is charming, doesn’t mean they're good. Sometimes the bad people are the good-looking ones.”

Cin’s head tilted in bewilderment, then his eyes narrowed as they darted left to right.

‘Oh what I would give to know what was going on in that head of his," Richard thought.

“Why don’t we go for a walk today? There’s a dock not far from here I think you’ll like.” He smiled. Cin’s face halfway disappeared underneath his sweater, but he reluctantly nodded.

Richard purposely took the route that had elegant stores. Cin stared at every window he passed with wide twinkling eyes, muttering a tiny ‘woah’ under his breath after passing each one.

“Let me know if you want to go in anything.” He said, but only silence answered.

He felt a presence missing from his side.

“Cin?” He turned around to find him frozen, staring blankly at a window. “Cin!” Richard called, walking towards him. He noticed his hand twitching violently, the closer he got the more he could see his trembling.

‘Oh dear…’

He gently took Cin’s arm to pull him away from whatever was triggering him. The window he was standing in front of was an appliance store, the display covered in knives and tools.

“Oh Cin��” Richard took his shoulders and steered him away. He crouched down till they were face to face. “Look at me, you’re alright.”

He still didn’t move. His face was blank, but his eyes were wide with horror. Richard reached to touch his hand, his fingertips just grazing as Cin flinched back and cried out like he had been struck.

“Hey hey hey! It’s okay. You’re okay.” He turned on his calm coaxing voice. “No one is hurting you, you’re safe.” His hand hovered just inches from his shoulder, but he didn’t dare touch him. A high pitch sound was coming from Cin’s throat, a whining, maybe crying. He didn’t know, it was almost inaudible.

“Hey, come walk with me.” Cin twitched slightly in his direction, his eyes unblinking, but he obediently gave his hand. “There you go, that’s it.” He encouraged.

He walked him to the next window, a toy store with a display of colorful stuffed animals. Cin didn’t seem to see them as he stared dead ahead. Richard turned his hand until his body turned with it, the only thing in front of him now was the colorful display.

“My mother took me here when I was a child. Told me I could pick one thing of whatever I wanted.” He gently wrapped his arms around him from behind. “But she was a cruel woman who wouldn’t let me buy the 500$ lego ferris wheel.” He chuckled.

He could see Cin give off a small smile in the reflection of the glass. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… Do you want to pick something? I know it’s a bit childish, but you can never be too old to have fun, eh?” He rested his chin in Cin’s hair. He felt a tiny nod.

Before he could take his hand, Cin was the one who took his, and led him into the store. Richard was surprised, but went along with it.

They silently walked the isles, Cin’s eyes darting to study every single thing he passed. He still clutched Richard’s hand behind him, pulling him along. His eyes locked on to something as he stopped.

It was a stuffed octopus with a happy smile. Cin pushed his hand into its soft head as it sunk in. “Oh! I think that’s the reversible ones.” said Richard. Cin looked down at his hand to try and figure out how to do it without letting go of him. He ended up locking his elbow around his arm so he could use both hands.

He flipped it inside out, the color changing from dark purple, to red with a tiny mischievous face. Cin started to laugh, flipping it back out.

“Is that your pick?” Richard chuckled. “...Yeah.” Cin murmured with a smile.

Cin held the octopus close to his chest as they walked the dock. “You like your octopus?” Richard asked. “I love it! Thank you, Mister Richard! Its name is Fishsticks.’’ He smiled proudly.

Richard didn’t question it, he just hummed in acknowledgement. A wave underneath them passed as Cin cringed and pressed his body against his side. Richard wrapped an arm around him for support.

“Mm… M-Mister Richard, may I please go ahead to the car?” Cin whined.

“We’re almost there, stay with me.” He soothed. “Bu-but it’s right there! I’ll go straight to the car, plleease?” He begged. Richard really, really did not want Cin on his own again.

“I’m sorry, hon. But I would really be more comfortable if-” Cin turned Fishsticks to the angry face, cranking it’s mischievous eyes to stare at him. Richard started to regret letting him have that thing.

“Cin, I-” He peeled his eyes off the octopus's face to see Cin’s sad devastated one staring up at him.

“Ugh! Okay fine! But straight to the car, young man. Got it?”

“Got it, Mister Richard!” He cheered, running off down the dock.

“How on earth am I going to keep this man alive…” He muttered, burying his face in his hands.

Cin made it to the end of the dock, hopping off with a relieved sigh.

“Wait… Cin?!” A voice called. He froze as he glanced around. “CIN!” The voice shouted angrily. He spotted a white vehicle parked nearby, the window rolled down with…

Nathen.

The door slammed open as he crawled out of it, burling towards him with his hands extended with confusion.

“..N-Nathen?” Cin took a step back. Nathen’s face twisted even more when he saw his defiance.

“Where have you been!? I’ve been looking all over for you!” He hissed. He grabbed his arm and yanked him forwards as he grunted. “Please don’t tell me you got into any trouble out here. I swear if you talked to any cops.” He jerked him up by his arm so he could growl in his ear.

“You were… looking for me?” He looked up at him with gleaming eyes.

“Of course I was, you idiot! You wouldn't last five minutes out here by yourself! ...Unless you got adopted by some pack of wolves of course. Now into the car, let's go.” He nudged.

“But! But Mister Richard!” Cin pointed in his direction.

“Who the-.. Whatever, just get in the car.” He roughly started dragging him by his arm.

“W-wait! Nathen! I can’t go!” He cried, weakly struggling against his grasp. His cries and pleas were ignored as frustration built in his chest.

“I... Said… NO!” He shouted, twisting his arm as he broke free. “Wha-?”

“I-.. I don’t want t-to go with you an-anymore!” Cin squeezed his eyes shut, crossed his arms and stood up straight. His posture died a little when he peaked an eye open to see murder written on Nathen’s face.

“I erm, I mean… No... P-please?” Cin returned to his self conscious posture, shying away.

Richard had caught up, coming to a stop when he found Cin talking with a stranger. Great… What did he get himself involved with now?

That... That was no stranger.

“CIN! Come here now!” Richard commanded, his pace increasing. He could see Cin glancing fearfully between the two men, taking a step back.

Nathen’s eyes shot to Richard, finally piecing together what had happened. His face turned soft into a charming smile. “Sweetheart, it’s me! You know me, I’m family! Come home, little one, I missed you.” He gently reached a hand out. “If you come home with me now, you won’t be in any trouble, mmkay? Everything will go back to the way it was. Don’t you miss me? I’m the only one who can take care of you, remember?” He smiled.

Cin whimpered as he his arms hugged himself, visibly trembling.

I should go home.... I wanted to go home so badly this whole time!

He wants me.. Still.. After all the trouble I caused.

Trouble follows me everywhere, he’s… He’s the only one who can put up with me.

“Cin, please! Don’t listen to him! I know what he’s saying is temping, I do! But do you remember what I said this morning?” He begged.

Cin wiped his tears away, his eyes falling to the ground.

“Just because something is charming, doesn’t mean it’s good…”

Richard smiled with a proud sigh at his words. Cin took another step away from Nathen, but not before a hand snagged his hair. “Aah-!” he cried.

“You! What have you done to him!? After everything I did, everything I taught him, you unravel it!? Do you know how hard it was to get him that way?! Nathen barked.

“You didn’t teach him anything! You conditioned and abused someone who depended on you!” Richard grabbed Cin’s arm, ripping him from Nathen’s gasp as he fell backwards into the grass.

“You don’t own him, Nathen! Not anymore…” He growled, stepping between him and Cin. Nathen raised a brow.

“So he still talks about me, hmm?” He crossed his arms. “He must miss home so, so much. I’ll tell you one thing, work has been soooo much harder without him being the lil distraction. So I’d really like my baby back.” He shrugged.

“Oh, over my dead body!” Richard yelled. “Round two then.” He smirked, pulling a knife from his belt.

Cin struggled to sit up, finding the two fighting over a knife against the car. Nathen was shorter and less built compared to Richard, who had his wrist pinned to the window. He took his hand and slammed it against the glass, shattering it as Nathen let out a grunt. The knife fell from his grasp, causing Richard to ease up a bit, forgetting he hadn’t quite won. Nathen used his free hand to grab his hair, slamming his head against the car.

He hit the ground, dazed, but surprised Nathen wasn’t immediately on top of him after his fall. He blinked up to find Cin on his feet, Nathen behind him with the knife to his throat.

“M-... Mister Richard?..” Cin whimpered, tears silently falling down his cheek.

“N-no! Nathen please, do-don’t do this! Don’t hurt him!” He begged.

“Ehh, it’s a little late for that.” He shrugged. “Looks like I won again, ‘Mister Richard’.” He chuckled.

“Oh yeah?” He huffed, twisting his body till his back was against the car. “You-.. You forgot something this time.” Richard grinned, the hand behind his back revealing a phone that had been dialed.

“...No.” Nathen gasped, as approaching sirens blared in the distance. “D-dammit…” He scoffed, his grip loosening.

“I’m not letting you leave here, ‘Mister Nathen’. You lost.”

Nathen’s eyes fell, his brain wracking as he weighed his options. His face slowly turned into a deathly smile.

“We’ll see.”

Cin let out a gasping choke as the knife was plunged into his chest.

“NO!” Richard cried.

Cin crumbled on his knees at Nathen’s feet. His hand dug into his hair to push him over on his side as he stepped over him.

“No no no no no no no!” Richard crawling over to him, pressing the palm of his hands into the wound. Nathen had climbed into his car, hitting the gas to fade down the road.

“Cin! Stay with me! Keep breathing… Please! Keep breathing! Hey!” Richard sobbed.

His every breath was a light wheeze, but at least it was a breath...

Fishsticks laid nearby, its blood-spattered mischievous face blankly staring at the blue sky.

(CIN IS NOT DEAD, I REPEAT, CIN IS NOT DEAD.)

@milk-carton-whump @whumpasaurus101 @happy-whumper @as-a-matter-of-whump @alien-octopus @unicornscotty @yesthisiswhump @flower-whump @whitebluebell @shokuhoemisaki

ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ Thank you for reading!

Special thanks to @milk-carton-whump and @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi for helping me pick one ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

#whump #whumpee #whumper #caretaker #conditioned whumpee #recovering whumpee #tw stabbing #tw knives #returned whumper #stabbed whumpee #injured whumpee

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distinctlywhumpthing · 3 years

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Apart 27: Collapse

Whumptober No. 27 - I’M FINE. I PROM... passing out | vertigo | collapse

CW: Lady whump, shock collar, passing out, unconsciousness, gaslighting, manipulation, breath control, oxygen deprivation, conditioning, dehumanization.

@alittlewhump thank you for being my wonderful beta-reader and muse.

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July 24, 2011

“Emmy,” Wyatt sighed. He was tracing the edge of the collar, thumb brushing against my windpipe. “I know you’re frustrated today but, please, give yourself some slack. You’ve been doing so well.”

“But I—” I tightened my grip on Wyatt as all my muscles locked with the shock. The second, because I had already accidentally groaned. But I can’t do anything right.

He held my elbows and let me dig my fingertips into his forearms.

I sucked in a breath as soon as I could. It was more of a wheeze in the wake of the shock, not all my muscles quick enough to release.

Wyatt moved his hands to hold my face, eyes heavy and full as they captured mine. “Please, Emma. I’m begging you. Stop doing that to yourself.”

“I don’t—”

He pulled me against his chest and held me close through the next one, even though I was rigid and not soft or pliable.

I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to give you what you want. I don’t know how to get what I need. I’ve never known. I shuddered as the current dissipated before relaxing into his embrace. My eyes watered and my breath was ragged from the shocks getting progressively stronger.

Wyatt rubbed my back. “I understand if sometimes you can’t help it but I hate when you do it on purpose.”

I still hadn’t caught my breath but I sat up to glare at him, wishing there weren’t tears on my face.

Wyatt sighed. “You know I can’t stand to see you suffering needlessly.”

Do you think I don’t know that? I looked down, watching his hands out of the corner of my eye. He did hate when I hid my face from him and could easily reach out to reclaim it. When will you realize that I don’t care what it takes? That I just need to get something right, finally.

“Please, Emma.” His voice broke on the last syllable of my name but I avoided looking at him. I couldn’t stand his concern on top of everything else. “I can help you find another outlet. Don’t make this harder. It’s not worth the pain. Just have a little self-control.”

Self-control? “Get fucked, Wyatt,” I managed to growl before the electricity tore through me. I collapsed onto the desk, spine arching, muscles locking me in discomfort on the smooth mahogany.

When the shock finished, I rolled onto my stomach and pressed my forehead to the desk, pounding my fist onto the wood as I let out a frustrated cry. It was never going to stop. The next shock knocked me out before I hit the desk a third time.

— — —

My eyes fluttered open to meet Wyatt’s. He smiled at me softly.

I sighed. Maybe I can figure out a way to make this time different.

But when I tried to inhale, something stopped me. My lungs wouldn’t expand, they couldn’t expand. Like they were still locked from the last shock. My hands only met smooth fabric covering my torso. All I could see was black—

Wyatt tilted my face up to his again while I continued to claw at my chest. “Emma, it’s alright, I’ve got you.” He held his thumb against the pulse point on my neck.

I found his eyes again. I didn’t have enough air to tell him I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

“Please, Emma. Just—”

— — —

“Emma, look at me.”

Fuck. I just passed out again. I blinked to force my eyes to focus on Wyatt. My ribs ached, fighting and straining. I still couldn’t breathe.

“Emma, Emma. Please, just relax. You can breathe but you have to relax. You were breathing fine just a moment ago. Don’t struggle for control.”

What? You were just telling me I needed better self-control! What are you talking about? I can’t—I don’t—

“Let’s breathe together, hm?

I could feel my pulse racing eratically against his thumb on my throat. I nodded, blinking back my tears and hoping I could at least manage this.

“Inhale. One, two. Mhm. Exhale. Three, four. That’s it, Emma.” He nodded.

I bit my lip.

“Again. One, two. Out. Three, four. Perfect.” Wyatt smiled.

I let him guide my breath and kept my gaze fixed on his, just about the only depth I was able to grasp.

After a few more cycles of measured inhales and exhales, I could feel more of myself. It wasn’t just that my ribs couldn’t expand but also that my shoulders couldn’t rise. I had to direct all of the movement of breathing to the top of my chest.

Wyatt’s fingers trailed down my hairline. “Alright?”

I don’t know—I—

“I know this has been difficult but you’re doing so well, Emma.” He took my hand in his and lifted my fingers to his lips. “It’s incredible, what you’ve accomplished in just a few weeks.”

Come on—I don’t think—I mean— I felt my cheeks flush. Amazing considering how little oxygen I was getting, which must be impacting my blood flow.

His eyes circled my face, lingering to watch me breathe before returning to my eyes. “You don’t want any more pain do you?”

I shook my head.

“You’ve worked so hard, fought so hard, you just want it to be easier.”

My breath hitched. It’s not fair when you do that. A tear slipped out of one of my eyes, tickling down my temple.

Wyatt stopped it in its tracks, pinching it to nothing between his fingertips “Emmy, please don’t cry. You’ll pass out again.”

Well, I don’t want to be a basket case anyway. I looked up to blink away the tears.

“Do you want to sit up?” He didn’t wait and wrapped his other arm around my waist to tip me upright.

The room spun.

I forgot how to breathe again.

But Wyatt held me steady, he didn’t let me fail.

“Maybe some water?”

I nodded but I caught his wrist when he stood.

He put his other hand on top of mine.“Aw, Emmy. I’ll be right back,” he said, smiling down at me.

I released him before he had to peel me off.

He was already being patient with my repeated failures, I didn’t need to add clinginess to the list. Anyway, he was already turning around with my water from the wet bar, eyes watching me carefully again.

My hands only shook a little as I raised the glass to my lips.

“Small sips, careful now.”

My first was too big, out of proportion to my need for air, and I sputtered half of it out.

Wyatt knelt down in front of me while I tried to remember the rhythm that fit into this new space. He pulled out his handkerchief, collecting the water I’d spilled. His touch was gentle but it echoed behind my bones, reverberating through my empty chest. I was holding my breath on purpose by the time he reached my chin, which he took between his fingers once it was dry. He took an exaggerated breath and waited for me to follow, then smiled. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

I made sure the next sips were more measured, more controlled. I drained the rest of the glass without another fuck up.

He set it down on the side table. “Do you want to try to stand?”

I nodded and let him take my hands.

He had to catch me immediately because my vision tunneled and my legs felt like they weren’t even connected to my body. “Probably too much, too soon…”

Well, I never was one for patience.

“Shh, you’re alright. Just keep breathing.”

I nodded, face buried against his chest. Holding fistfuls of his shirt sleeves like I could relocate any of the pressure away from my torso.

Wyatt pressed his thumb to my neck again. I could already feel my pulse dully behind my ears but now I could feel it against his thumb.

Eventually, it steadied. I didn’t faint, I didn’t fail. I found my control.

“It’s almost impossible how adaptive you are. And so fucking nimble and graceful as you recenter yourself. There’s nothing you can’t do, Emma.”

I pulled back to look up at his face, even though I knew, of course, he meant it. Wyatt was always genuine.

I couldn’t help but smile.

“You are perfect, Emmy. The corset just makes it a bit easier.”

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@gearbee @whumpy-writings @writer-reader-24 @deluxewhump @no-whump-on-main @maracujatangerine @whumptakesthecake @painsandconfusion

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phoenixkaptain · 2 years

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ADHD be like:

“tell everyone everything that is going through your mind, word for word, and if you miss a word, you will die”

“never tell anyone anything that is going through your head because if they knew your thoughts they would think you are insane”

“tell the person you’re sitting across from about that really fucked up thought. Tell them. Explain to them the details that I have pushed into your head, tell that person everything” “

“after considering it and being awake for several hours, I have reached the conclusion that the gorey nightmare actually was scary. You’re scared now. You’re going to be shaky and want to die everytime you think about it, but you won’t be able to stop thinking about it because every single detail will be going through your head on an endless loop you have no escape you will be forced to watch this over and over again until it feels like your brain is melting and theres a buzzing in your ears and your shoulders are hunched and you know that youre panicking but you cant do anything other than write a silly tumblr post about it. And you don’t even expect anyone to read a word of it, you just need to put words on metaphorical paper and release it into the world. Maybe if you release enough words you’ll stop feeling like your mind is so full of words and memories and things and you dont remember the things you should and you remember some things you shouldnt and you wish you could remember how you used to be able to forget things on purpose, but you cant remember. You cant remember anything. You cant remember words in any language and you just stare at your hands, trying to figure out, trying to remember words because it scares you when you cant find your words, it scares you and youre terrified and you want to cry but you dont want anyone to know what youre going through because they think adhd is just a joke, just something that you take a pill for and youre fixed forever. You get meds and suddenly all of those years of feeling like you were broken are over, they think. But theyre wrong, so wrong you cant even begin to describe how wrong. Sometimes you read whump fics and a character acts like you do and you dont know why. Youre scared and you wish you could talk to someone who could help, anyone that could give you an answer because all youve ever wanted is to understand but how can you understand when no one explains anything to you they just expect you to know but you dont know. Are you broken? Were you right the whole time? Is there something fundamentally wrong with you and no one has any answers because the answer is that youre broken? Why do you have to be broken? Why cant someone else go through this? But that feels selfish to even think about so you shut it down. You shut down everything. Your mind shuts down everything to the point where you can remember words, all you can remember are thenightmares that scare you, the questions that haunt you.”

#adhd #adhd problems #adhd stuff #long post #block of text #it almost feels freeing to just write #whatever comes to mind first #even if the topics jump #sometimes it helps #sometimes

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cyhyr · 3 years

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Summer of Whump Day 15: Sleep Deprived

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: G

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi & Umino Iruka; Umino Iruka & Uzumaki Naruto

WC: ~3320

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Notes: AU backstory for the purposes of I Wanted To.

A/N: This is just. I don't even know guys. I started writing and then it got bigger and bigger and I couldn't stop. It's just. A Lot.

Kakashi has not been able to take care of his sensei’s child the way he should, the way the boy admittedly deserves; and yes, absolutely, he takes that fault personally but also doesn’t do anything about it because really… what can he provide for this child besides instability? He’s hardly in the village anymore, though Sandaime has hinted that, if Kakashi asked, he could be assigned missions closer to home. Instead, Kakashi does what he can without bothering Naruto or letting the boy realize that he even exists. He ensures the bills are paid up in six-month increments, and has the utility companies know to charge to his personal account anything he misses due to being out on mission. He provides non-perishable groceries, placed in the pantry late at night every month or so: oats, rice, dried or tinned meats, beans and legumes. He’ll bring a small selection of vegetables with him at the same time, (no more than three or four items, so they don’t rot before Naruto feels obligated to eat them) usually pilfered from Gai’s garden so he knows they’re not poisoned.

And whenever he’s in the village, he makes a stop at Naruto’s apartment at least once to check in on the wards wrapped into the walls and window frames.

This is how he learns about Umino Iruka and the interest he’s taken in the village jinchūriki.

The wards when he gets to Minato’s son’s apartment this time are different. Odd. Not… well, actually, they might be stronger; Kakashi glances at the walls with the sharingan and finds himself mildly impressed. Whoever placed these wards knew about the ones Kakashi put up, and modified their own to augment and strengthen Kakashi’s.

Kakashi says modified because he’s seen these styles of wards before, but never used like this. The key in the front door jingles a bit, like the person unlocking the door knows Kakashi’s in here and is giving him time to leave. Kakashi takes the out for what it is and slips out the window, closing it quietly behind him. He stays plastered against the wall beside the window for a moment, however, wanting to get a glimpse of who’s taking care of his sensei’s kid in Kakashi’s stead.

The door opens and Naruto—gods, how old is he, seven? Eight?—barrels by the figure in the doorway with a grin and shoots straight for the pantry.

“Naruto-kun, take your sandals off first. I mopped for you just earlier this week, I’m not doing it again so soon.”

One arm balancing a paper bag of fresh groceries, a leather school bag over the same shoulder; hitai-ate and vest both neat, but his sleeves and pants legs are scuffed; and his fingers carry the faint dusting of chalk that hours of holding ingrains and a quick wash won’t wipe away. A teacher.

“Iruka-sensei, I can mop later; I’m hungry now!”

“I won’t ask you twice.” The man—this Iruka-sensei—walks barefoot through the apartment and sets the grocery bag down on the kitchen table. Naruto hangs his head and goes back to the door, and once he’s out of the room, Iruka looks at the window Kakashi is peeking in, scowling initially. The scowl lessens when he sees the Konoha ANBU mask, and he nods, but makes a slight shoo gesture.

“What’re we making tonight, sensei?” Naruto bounds back into the room, barefoot as his sensei.

“I’m thinking of teaching you breakfast for dinner,” Iruka says. “Miso soup, tamagoyaki, steamed salmon; how’s that sound?”

“Sounds great!”

“And if we make enough, you’ll have enough for the morning, too,” Iruka ruffles Naruto’s hair. “Go grab out the rice and we’ll get started, okay?”

Kakashi leaves. Iruka-sensei seems to have only good intentions.

Iruka is a new teacher, one that (if the very quiet rumors are to be believed) didn’t initially want to be the jinchūriki’s homeroom teacher. Something changed his mind, clearly, and now he’s spending every moment outside of class with the kid.

Every. Moment.

Kakashi notices the third time he’s in the village after meeting Iruka—notices how tired the man seems. He follows the teacher from just before dawn when he wakes up and heads out to Naruto’s apartment and fixes him breakfast. Kakashi watches Iruka herd Naruto around the apartment, brushing teeth, getting changed, gods Naruto where’s your homework I told you to put it right back in your bag last night after I helped you with it. Then they’re out the door and one of them locks the deadbolt while the other activates the wards (Iruka always double-checks the wards if Naruto does them) and they walk to the Academy together.

Iruka spends the day in the Academy staunchly refusing to play favorites. If Kakashi didn’t know that the man had made Naruto eat breakfast while searching for a clean shirt for the child to wear, he’d swear Naruto was Iruka’s least favorite student—based solely on the amount of yelling.

But the two of them have lunch together, talk and hang out during recess unless Iruka shoos him away to play, and then they walk together to either Iruka’s or Naruto’s apartment after school. Sometimes they’ll go out for ramen, or to one of the training grounds to work on a technique they started in class which Naruto needs more time to fully grasp. Iruka is a patient teacher, especially one-on-one, and even though Minato-sensei’s son doesn’t perform well on the tests in school he learns the techniques after class and gains the appropriate muscle memory.

Which is admittedly much more important than the grades Naruto earns. Iruka won’t say as much, but it’s obvious that he agrees when his teaching style puts emphasis on practicals rather than paper tests. Kakashi approves.

After a day of minding twenty-five ankle-biters, an afternoon of extra training for the village jinchūriki, and an evening of making sure Naruto is fed and happy and his homework is completed to the best of his ability, Iruka then helps Naruto get ready for bed. Against the kid’s token protests, they’ll read a story together (Kakashi suspects Iruka does this because Naruto’s reading skills are lacking, but he could also very well just be doing it because he enjoys it—the man’s motives are enigma to him) and Iruka will tuck Naruto in. He stays at the apartment until he knows Naruto is asleep, tidying up here and there or even just leaning in the bedroom doorway watching the jinchūriki’s chest rise and fall.

Only when Naruto’s asleep will Iruka leave, activating the wards and locking up after himself.

It took only two times of Kakashi watching these kinds of days go by before he realized that Iruka knew he had been watched all day. As he passes the tree outside of Naruto’s building, the only one that reaches high enough to afford a glance into his apartment, Iruka looks right up into the limbs where Kakashi is crouched, waves, and continues back to his own home.

(He had been underestimating Umino Iruka’s awareness. He’s intrigued.)

(But anyway.)

Once he’s home, Iruka rushes through grading and lesson plans and adjustments. He makes lunch for himself and Naruto for tomorrow. Cleans, if he remembers; showers, if he has any energy left. Then, Umino-sensei crashes hard around one or two in the morning.

All to start over again at five-thirty the next morning.

It can’t be sustainable. Kakashi is morbidly interested in how long Iruka planned to keep up this kind of schedule.

It starts out with checking out during lunch. Kakashi is lounging in the trees on the Academy grounds, pretending to read but listening intently to Naruto ramble on about some new topping Ichiraku is introducing on Friday and please Iruka-sensei can we go? Then the soft click of dropped chopsticks against a bento box made Kakashi look down to the pair sitting at the base of his tree.

“Iruka-sensei? Are you—?”

“Oh, I’m. I’m alright.” Iruka laughs it off, fumbling for his chopsticks. “I was just thinking too hard there.”

“You shouldn’t do that!”

“Hu—?”

“You tell me not to think too hard all the time,” Naruto pouts. “That I’ll hurt myself.”

Iruka’s laugh crinkles his eyes and he tips his head back. “Gods, Naruto, I’m sorry—no, not—um. Listen, forget it, okay? Ramen, on Friday, right?”

“YES!”

And it was forgotten. Except, Iruka is unconsciously rubbing his fingers together beside his hip and Kakashi can see it. Something happened to force the drop—likely, he lost feeling in his hand briefly.

Kakashi’s out of the village as it gets worse, but he hears all about it from Shikaku and Inoichi when he gets back. They’re in the hallway outside the Hokage’s office, talking in low tones like they were discussing an attack on the village.

“What could cause such a serious mood shift?”

“Genjutsu; one of the other teachers sabotaging him; another student practicing poorly.”

“Iruka-sensei?” Kakashi asks.

Both men look at him as he approaches. He’s still in his ANBU armor, but the mask is in his locker. It’s an open secret he’s in ANBU; only his codename is high-clearance.

Shikaku nods. “Shikamaru’s complaining about the man’s temper being shorter than usual.”

“My Ino confirmed this behavior shift. We’re understandably worried, if someone if trying to use an Academy teacher to attack the kids—”

Kakashi shakes his head. “It’s not that.”

“And you would know?” Shikaku prompts.

“He’s taking care of Naruto,” Kakashi shrugs. “It’s probably catching up with him, finally.”

“What is?” Inoichi looks honestly confused.

Kakashi tilts his head and then realizes. “Ah. That’s right. You’re both married. You have a way to share the responsibilities.”

Sakumo hadn’t ever been irate with him, but Kakashi can remember him being tired. He lifts his hand and walks away. “I’ll see if I can’t have a talk with Iruka-sensei,” he says, as though he speaks with the man on a regular basis instead of just waving back from his shadowed space in the tree at night when Iruka leaves Naruto.

He doesn’t get a chance to talk to Iruka for weeks. When he gets back, it finally comes to a head.

Kakashi is perched outside Iruka’s apartment where he and Naruto are preparing their dinner. Naruto, still talking a mile a minute, hardly notices that Iruka is dazed at the counter, his hands going through the motions of peeling carrots and separating pieces of broccoli without being fully cognizant. He’s much paler than the last time Kakashi peeked in on them—all except for the bags under his eyes; those couldn’t get much darker if they were black.

He flinches forward as Iruka drifts to the side. Naruto catches his teacher before Kakashi can take a step, and the clang of a knife hitting the floor is more than a little startling. Together, they stick Iruka’s hand under running water from the tap, and then Naruto disappears further into the apartment and returns a few seconds later with a first aid kit.

“What was that about, Iruka-sensei?”

Iruka takes a bit to answer. “I haven’t been sleeping well,” he says. “I’m a bit tired, that’s all. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Naruto says. He finishes caring for his sensei and then says, “How about I go get some take-out, and then we can clean up and you can go to bed?”

Iruka smiles tiredly. “We can bring the take-out to your place, okay? I’ll clean up when I come back home.”

“But—”

“It’s okay, Naruto,” Iruka puts his unbandaged hand in Naruto’s hair. “I’d rather make sure you’re fed and well-rested for school tomorrow. That’s what's important.”

“You’re important, too, sensei,” Naruto says.

Kakashi can’t help but agree.

“Let’s go get some ramen, and we can argue about this later.”

Kakashi flashes away to Ichiraku to put in their order and pay. It’s the least he can do, right?

Later that night, Iruka leaves Naruto’s apartment and like always, lifts his head to wave up at Kakashi in the tree. Only, his eyes roll back with the movement of lifting his head and his knees collapse under him and Kakashi makes it just in time to keep the sensei’s head from hitting the ground. He catches Iruka with one hand under his back and the other cupped behind his head and eases him down against his raised knee.

As soon as Iruka is horizontal, his eyes flutter back open. “Oh, ANBU-san,” he mutters. He’s dazed and foggy, but tries to stand up on his own anyway.

“Sensei, are you well?” Kakashi asks, knowing the answer but needing Iruka to admit it.

Iruka waves him away. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

It’s more than that if you’re slipping into micro-sleep, Kakashi thinks, but lets the man stubbornly stand up. He’s still holding his hands out, ready to catch him again, when after five paces Iruka tips sideways and falls again. Kakashi keeps him upright this time, arms tight around his waist and back.

Iruka stays under for a few seconds this time, and when he wakes he leans more heavily into Kakashi’s armor and groans. “What’s happening?” he murmurs.

Normally, he would stay and look after Naruto all night, but this seems more important. “Umino-sensei, I’m going to see you to the hospital now,” he says.

“But… Naruto?”

Because of course Iruka figured out that Kakashi—his ANBU persona at least—stays close to Naruto at all times. “Together, our wards are top-notch, sensei,” Kakashi says. “He’ll be okay for a night.” He slips Iruka onto his back, pulling his arms over his shoulders. Iruka’s light breath huffs past his ear as he says, “Hold on.” Then, they’re gone.

Iruka wakes up much later, Naruto tipped against his hospital bed, snoring. He feels so much better after however many hours of sleep he’s gotten. He wonders briefly why he’s here, and where the ANBU that brought him here is. If Naruto is here, that ANBU is likely closeby. Iruka lets out a jaw-cracking yawn and settles back down on the pillow to sleep some more.

When he wakes up the second time, it’s because he has to pee so bad oh gods. It’s night time and Naruto is gone—Iruka tries not to feel disappointed. His legs shake under him when he tries to stand to get to the restroom; whatever’s wrong with him, it’s making him weak as a newborn but he will not embarrass himself by not making it to the toilet. He pushes chakra through his legs, and, finally, blissfully, makes it.

He gets a good look at himself in the mirror as he’s washing his hands. His eyes are puffy and red, but he has some color back in his skin. His hair could use a wash and some heavy conditioning—he hadn’t had time for that in awhile. All in all, it’s not bad; but he’s still wondering why he’s here.

Iruka leaves the restroom and is halfway across the room to his bed when his chakra flares unexpectedly. He stumbles, collapses, and feels his eyes blur and begin to roll back.

Before his head can hit the tile, he’s caught and cushioned by Naruto’s ANBU. The ANBU gently picks him up, one arm under his knees and the other around his back, and it’s like Iruka weighs nothing as the ANBU stands and carries him back to bed.

“Thank-you, ANBU-san,” Iruka says, flushed. “I promise I’m not usually so weak.”

The ANBU fusses with the blanket and covers Iruka back up. He (Iruka assumes they’re a he, the voice and height lead him to believe it but he’s been wrong before) seems frustrated, in the way that ANBU show frustration: by being busy, and then by being absolutely still. He’ll make sure the water pitcher is full, and then stand silently by the window for a few seconds. Pace the width of the room from window to door and back, and then stand at the end of the bed.

“What’s going on, ANBU-san? Is Naruto—?”

“Uzumaki-kun is safe, healthy, and well-cared for,” the ANBU says, cutting him off. “You are a godsend to this village, if only to care for the uncared for.”

Iruka glowers. “Someone had to do it. He’s seven years old and living alone and has lived alone his entire life. I couldn’t—”

“I’m aware,” the ANBU holds up a hand to stop his rant. “Believe me, if I could have done more, I would have. But an ANBU is no role model, especially not me. I’m glad he’s had you. That said.” The ANBU somehow matched Iruka’s glower through the mask; he was suddenly glad for all the time spent in Sandaime’s office around the ANBU that he can pick up on these micro-aggressions for what they are.

Iruka folds his arms and waits for the ANBU to continue.

After a heavy sigh, the ANBU says, “Sleep deprivation.”

“I—what?”

“What you’re here for. You’ve been running yourself into the ground, sensei. You slept for twenty-two hours, and you’re still not fully recovered. The medics say it could take up to a week of proper sleep for you to feel normal again.”

Iruka flushes and ducks his head. “I… But, that doesn’t…”

“How much sleep have you been getting? Three, Four hours a night? And then you’re exhausting yourself all day looking after pre-genin and then Naruto.” The ANBU folds his arms. “This isn’t sustainable.”

“I know that. I just.” Iruka groans. “I don’t have time for—” He scrubs both hands across his eyes. Now that he’s actually gotten some sleep he’s really tired. “No one else takes care of him, not the way he needs it; he’s just a kid! It bothers me enough that he lives by himself—”

“Your immune system was compromised when you arrived, sensei.” The ANBU snapped, quieting Iruka’s tirade. “Who’s going to take care of Naruto the way he deserves if you’re stuck on your back with a perfectly, normally treatable form of the flu? What will happen to him if you critically injure yourself due to a micro-sleep at an inopportune time and find yourself off-roster for weeks? What then, sensei?”

The silence is heavy. Iruka picks at a stray thread in the blanket on his lap.

“I don’t know,” he answers, his voice small. “I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking that far ahead, I guess.”

The ANBU nods. “At least you’re aware now.”

There’s a long, awkward pause as Iruka wonders what else there is to say.

“You have a spare room in your apartment, yes?” the ANBU breaks the silence.

Iruka nods, slowly, not sure where this is going.

“Maybe…” the ANBU continues slowly, “maybe changes in Naruto’s living arrangements can be made. If Naruto were living with you, could you agree to a better sleep schedule—one with which you can better take care of yourself and Naruto?”

Iruka could kiss this man.

“Yes! Yes, please, I’ll—yes! I’ll take him, even if it means I have to lose him as a student, I’d take him as a foster.”

The ANBU chuckles. “I’ll speak with the Hokage. If he says no, well… There’s nothing saying that Naruto himself can’t choose where he lives, is there?” Then his micro-aggression is back, leaning over the foot of the bed with his arms wide. “My only stipulation is that you take better care of yourself. A sick guardian can’t very well keep up with any child, let alone a jinchūriki.”

Iruka nods. “Deal.” He covers a yawn with his palm and asks, “Can this taking care of myself clause start now, with me asking you to leave so I can go back to sleep?”

“I’m not leaving,” the ANBU says, standing back up straight. “If you’re to be the guardian of our jinchūriki, you’ll need to get used to the ANBU guard, sensei. But please, get some sleep.” He chuckles lightly, “I think I’ve caught you enough in the last thirty-six hours, don’t you?”

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump15 #sleep deprived #fanfic #hatake kakashi #umino iruka #uzumaki naruto #my writing

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brutal-nemesis · 3 years

Text

E&T: Return of the Blep

It’s back but also not! (no i wont explain it you’ll see what I mean) Thank y’all for bullying him so much yesterday, it was a wonderful way to end the erabus!

←Previous - Masterlist - Next→

Ingredients: mouth whump, noncon surgery, lab whump

Erebus wanted to back away, to run, to hide, to resist, to fight. But doing so only made it hurt more when he lost, and he knew he was going to lose. So when the guards came to get him the next morning, he let them grab him and guide him down the hall. He promised himself he would be strong, no matter what awaited him, he could face it...right? He had to. He had to.

But as soon as Erebus laid eyes on the metal table, with its leather straps and bright overhead lights, his legs gave out. This was real. Right there, right on that table, he was going to be tied down and… he started to struggle desperately against the men dragging him, panic destroying his resolve to go quietly. He would not just let them do this, he was a person, he wasn’t a lab rat, he couldn’t let this happen. “Stop resisting,” one of the men growled, but Erebus hardly heard him through the haze of terror that had settled over him. Frustrated with Erebus’s squirming, the guard punched him square in the stomach. He gasped for breath, going limp long enough for the men to hoist him onto the table and strap his limbs down.

“Hey!” Neteri rushed over from her worktable, fuming. “Did you just hit him?”

“I’m sorry ma’am he was being difficult-”

“Well, I’d think two trained guards shouldn’t have a problem with one boy.” She got as close to the offending guard’s face as she could, somehow looking threatening while standing on her tiptoes. “You do not hurt him unless I explicitly tell you too. He is my experiment, my property, and there will be hell to pay if you mess that up in any way. Are we clear?”

“Y-yes, ma’am.” Seeing the guard’s regret, she stepped back.

“Good. Now out of my sight.” Neteri turned to Erebus the moment the guards had left, her fury melting into concern. He couldn’t stop shaking, the table was so cold and he was so helpless and he was her experiment and what the hell was she going to do to him-

“Hey, hey, you’re alright, Erebus,” she said softly, sitting down on the table next to his head. She took off one of her gloves and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry he hit you. I know you’re scared, but I promise today won’t hurt that much. I’m just going to give you a new tongue so you can talk again, won’t that be nice? Though there are a couple conditions you have to agree to first.”

Erebus froze. She...she was going to give him his tongue back? But why? Hadn’t she cut it off as a way of saying that she...wanted him? Unless...she did that instead of severing his vocal chords so it would be easier to reverse? Part of him started to hope that things weren’t going to be so bad after all, but he doubted that would be the case. She was pretty upfront about how she thought she owned him, like anyone could own a person, and she certainly didn’t treat him as an equal. Still, being able to talk would make this situation a whole lot more bearable, depending on what her conditions were.

“Basically, I just want you to cooperate and be honest with me, and those sort of go hand in hand. If I ask you something, I want you to answer it, and I want you to tell the truth. If something’s bothering you, I want you to speak up.” Erebus made a face at that one. He had a very long list of things that were bothering him, and he doubted she’d take the collar off him or let him go just because he asked. She chuckled. “No, I can’t guarantee I’ll fix whatever it is, but I do want to make you as comfortable as possible within what I want. There’s no harm in asking though, because the worst thing that’ll happen is I say no. And if I messed up a procedure in some way and it hurts or something feels off, I need you to tell me. So can you agree to do that?”

Erebus considered it for a moment and then nodded. He didn’t have much of a choice, and he’d gladly voice his thoughts and complaints if it meant he’d have the ability to do so again. Neteri smiled and gave his head a final pat before getting up and putting her glove back on. He felt her pull another strap over his forehead, tight enough that he couldn’t move it at all. Despite his best efforts to remain calm, his breathing started to quicken again. He hated being immobilized on a table like this; he was just so completely helpless and vulnerable. She could do whatever she wanted to him and he would just have to lie here and take it. Neteri noticed and gave him a sympathetic look.

“You’re still nervous, huh?” Erebus tried to nod, but the strap around his head prevented it, so he bit his lip and looked away. He wanted his tongue back, but...he wasn’t exactly excited to have her messing around inside his mouth again, and he doubted it was going to be painless. “Well…” Neteri thought for a moment, looking around her lab. Her gaze landed on something he couldn’t see, and when she returned to his line of vision, she was holding a small jar and a brush. “I don’t know how much this will help, but it’s all I can think of, so hopefully it’s good enough.” Erebus’s fear gave way to confusion as she climbed up onto the table, standing over him. She started to paint something on the ceiling, but, upon realizing he could kind of see up her skirt, Erebus squeezed his eyes shut. At one point she planted a foot on his chest, probably in an effort to reach higher up, and he couldn’t help but cough at the extra weight. “Gah, you messed me up. Oh well, he has a little scar now I guess.”

When he felt her step down off the table, he opened his eyes again to see that she had painted...something...on the ceiling. It just looked like a potato with ears and a tail. And a beady little eye with a splash of paint under it, likely from when she stepped on his chest. At first he was sort of confused as to what the purpose of the strange drawing was, but the longer he stared at it, the cuter it looked. Its simplicity was sort of endearing, and soon he found himself enjoying the sight of the round little rat. Wait, was he really being comforted by a stupid little drawing on the ceiling when Neteri was about to operate on him? Though...it was all he was going to get, wasn’t it?

Seeming to think he’d calmed enough, Neteri pried his mouth open and shoved some sort of rubber block between the teeth on one side of his mouth, forcing him to keep his jaw open wide. Holy Drottkia, she was starting, it was happening, there was a knife moving towards his mouth. He whined and tried to keep still as she made an incision along the stump of his tongue. He figured it was probably to make the reattachment easier, but the reminder of the pain he’d felt when she cut it out the first time was enough to bring tears to his eyes. No, no, this was going to fix it, he would be able to talk again, this wasn’t that day all over again.

At the sensation of something cold pressing against the wound, and Erebus couldn’t help but feel a little spark of elation. He really was getting his tongue back. But as Neteri started her healing spell, he realized the operation was far from over. Both of her hands were in his mouth, healing magic lighting everything ablaze. The feeling of his tongue was starting to come back, each nerve reattaching with an agonizing spark, every pain circuit firing all at once. He tried his best not to scream, but it was difficult not to with his mouth stuck open like this. After what seemed like an eternity, the magic finally stopped flowing. Neteri pulled her hands, and the rubber block, out of his mouth, allowing him to close his aching jaw. Having a tongue in his mouth again felt so strange, even if he had only been without it for two days. Neteri opened his mouth again, gently examining his tongue one last time before nodding and stepping back.

“Okay, it looks good! So just...go ahead and talk. About whatever. I need to see if it works right, you know?” Erebus opened his mouth, but his mind drew a blank. What was he supposed to say after...that? Neteri looked at him quizzically. “Is something wrong? Does it still hurt?”

“I…” Why couldn’t he think of anything to say?! He’d wanted nothing more than the freedom to voice his thoughts the past few days, but now that he could, he was coming up with nothing. In his defense, he hadn’t exactly been expecting her to ask him to monologue right away.

“Seriously, Erebus, you can say whatever you want. I really don’t care. If you want to yell at me and tell me how much you hate me, feel free! I won’t, like, punish you or anything. And I’m not one of those people who’s like ‘I said I wouldn’t punish you but I was lying and you should know better’ or whatever, that’s so dumb. I’m not here for mind games, I’m here for body games.” There was a pause. “That came out wrong. Incredibly wrong. I don’t mean-”

“Shut up.” The words bubbled up out of nowhere, and he let them come. “You never shut up, and you’re so…awkward. Enough that half the time, I wasn’t sure what I would even say if I could talk. And now that I can, I don’t even know what to say. I mean, there’s been a lot I’ve wanted to say over these past two days, but I don’t remember any of them, because what the hell-?” Erebus stopped, suddenly realizing what he’d just said and who he’d said it to. He felt himself go red as he cautiously glanced at Neteri.

For a moment, he couldn’t read her expression at all, but a smile soon crept across her face, and before he knew it she was laughing uncontrollably. “Oh-hahaha-oh man, Erebus, Erebus, you,” she paused in an attempt to stop her laughter, “I was worried you weren’t going to be able to be honest with me, what with you having been a prince and all, but that was just-” she giggled one last time and took a deep breath, “it was unexpected. Good, but not what I expected out of you at all what with your sad little eyes.”

“I-I don’t have sad little ey-”

“Yeah, you do,” Neteri cut him off as she unbuckled the strap around his head. “But for real, how does it feel? Talking doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“It...feels fine. Talking feels normal, and it doesn’t hurt at all, but it just feels kind of...different? I didn’t think I’d forget what my own tongue felt like, but I guess I must have.” He ran it over his teeth. Something was definitely off, it felt rougher somehow.

“Well, seeing as that isn’t your tongue, that’s not exactly shocking.”

“Not my...wait, what?!”

“Yeah that’s part of the tongue of a gluttony demon. You didn’t think I was going to just put yours back, did you? What would have been the point of cutting it off in the first place?”

“What’s the point of putting a-a demon tongue in its place though?”

“Erebus,” she leaned down over him and placed a hand on his cheek, “I’m just going to tell you right now, you’re gonna have to get used to it. Because it’s only going to get worse from here.”

Tags: @dramaticcollapse @thehopelessopus @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @galaxywhump @as-a-matter-of-whump @mnmlover2002 @tears-and-lilies @yet-another-heathen

#i wrote something #erebus & terror #erebus #neteri #mouth whump #noncon surgery #lab whump #yes that is rat zander he's canon shut the fuck up. my king #can we get some :P out in here #this mans can lick halite again rejoice fuckers #hopefully no one is too upset about mans getting his speaking rights back #yeet we getting into the fuckin Experiment hours now i am pleased #fuck can't believe i have to start writing dialogue for erebus again #no more just him sad little eyes. he do got sad little eyes tho #oh uh and because im mean if you ever want to ask mute!erebus a question you still can because it's funny #just like. specify. that you want that #erebus is finally strapped to the table. where he belongs <3 #erebus really said shut the FUCK up neteri #god im excited for them to have like actual conversations i enjoy their dynamic too much #there WAS gonna be a bit more to this but i decided to move it to ch8 so that can have some angst #because it's not gonna be all that whumpy so like. gotta spread it out #and then people who arent comfy with the surgery bit dont have to pick around this as much

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johnnys-green-pen · 3 years

Note

Do you have any writing advice for people who want to write Emergency fanfiction?

Oh boy! Probably? Okay, let's see. First off: Obviously, I am not exactly the ultimate authority on E! fic, neither as a writer nor as a reader. All of these are really just casual observations. Not all of these are going to apply to your own writing, probably - as per usual with writing advice, take whatever seems useful, leave the rest. And if there’s something you want me to go into in more detail about, feel free to send in another ask.

Also, as per usual, feel free to add on to this, folks!

Respect and appreciate the characters you’re writing about, even the ones who’re maybe annoying you in the actual show. It’s impossible to make a character as infinitely complex as they’d be as real-life humans, but if you just keep in mind that everybody’s the hero of their own story, it��ll help with avoiding stereotypes.

In my personal experience, people will forgive a lot of nonsense as long as the characterization's fun. Everybody loves a good plot and good writing, but a mediocrely-written fic with a bland plot can still be fun as long as the character interactions are entertaining enough (and as someone who’s written several fics that are really just about two people standing or sitting in one place and talking if you stop to think about it, I am exceedingly grateful for that), so my first priority when writing fic is to do a lot of thinking about the characters and their relationships and thinking them over until I find a lesser-explored angle maybe, or some detail that just amuses me.

This is still a massive work in progress in my own fics, but I always keep an eye (ear?) open for fun canon dialogue and character mannerisms. Some of that stuff is pretty obvious (”ya twit”, “pally” and “junior”), some of it less so (like Johnny’s habit of going “yeah?” at victims or generally just echoing them, Cap’s amazing “I don’t believe a word you’re saying”-look - y’know, the one with the eyebrows - or Chet calling everyone “babe”. Or Johnny’s all-purpose hand motion, though I don’t think I’ve included that in a fic yet). Point is, mannerisms like that are super useful to add a touch of canon, and they make it easier to string readers along for the stuff that’s a bit more “out there”. Take notes, re-purpose and remix, basically.

Another characterization note: Agency. Kinda an issue that shows up in hurt/comfort fic sometimes (especially when Johnny’s the one getting whumped), where a character just kind of gets tossed about by the plot without ever actively doing something. Basically, the “sexy lamp test” may have been aimed at female characters originally, but it applies here just the same: If you can replace Johnny with some pretty, fragile object and the story still mostly works, chances are you fucked up the characterization somehow (unless this was specifically what you were going for and you know exactly what you’re doing, I guess).

Fun address fact: the way the writers usually did addresses on E! was by picking real roads and then bullshitting the house number by putting them within a range that doesn’t exist. Alternatively, I’m currently putting together a fic writer’s resource (because of course I am) featuring addresses plus the stations and/or vehicles responding there. It’ll take a good long while until that one starts being truly useful, but you can still use it to nab some addresses and stations in the meantime.

If you need some of E!’s trademark “this is too fucking weird to be fictional”-rescues, I’m sure there’s a compilation of Florida Man headlines somewhere out there.

Also, I figured out a way to use a tarot deck to randomly generate rescues and fire responses; if anybody’s interested in a post about that, just say the word.

Need some nice fic hooks? Pause an episode pretty much wherever and consider the implications of whatever happened so far. How would they feel? What might be going on off-camera? What’s maybe bothering them right now? A distinct lack of lunch or coffee? Bruised ribs? Cactus needles where there shouldn’t be any? Still frazzled from nearly burning to death in a garage? Or from being dumped, again? Tired as hell? You get the idea.

A lot of fic writers are extremely optimistic about recovery times. Humans are pretty fucking sturdy, but there’s a difference between “yeah, they’re going to be alright (with a few months of physical therapy and probably really only mostly alright)” and “up and about in two weeks”. You don’t really need much to make somebody very uncomfortable for a very long time.

Honestly, doing research for E! fics fucking sucks (it’s a show about a kind of insular subculture of emergency responders from fifty years ago, featuring a need for outdated medical knowledge that professionals generally do their best to remove from circulation and update; good luck with THAT) and I sincerely hope nobody looks at them too closely because I bullshit a lot, too, but a google search here or there sure doesn’t hurt.

I’ve had Carson added to my weather app for the past couple of months to get a better feel for the climate and stuff. Also, fun fact, the ocean in California is largely much colder than you’d think, thanks to some funky ocean current action. ALSO, remember that we have stuff like Google Maps these days if you need any environmental inspiration. Sure, it’s not 1970′s LA County, but the geography won’t have changed that much - and maybe there’s pictures of the old stuff out there as well.

#penworks #also THANK YOU VERY MUCH for that question #p sure this is the first time I've ever been asked for writing advice #emergency!

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Text

Tell Me Everything

Follows Found Out, Akio, Chris Sees, and I’m Here

CW: References to murder, suicide, grief, pet whump, abduction, whump of a minor, ableism, Oliver Branch manages to be creepy even now in brief reference

He’s shorter than Ben thought he would be.

Ben sees him first, but, like of course he does - Akio Nakamura isn’t exactly famous but he has his own youtube channel and is like an Olympic-level athlete, so he’s pretty fucking recognizable... if you’ve spent two days scrolling through every Instagram photo of him on three different accounts that you can find.

Ben showed up thirty minutes early, because Ben has never been late to a fucking thing in his life and something tells him this is maybe one of the most important things he’ll ever do, even though he doesn’t quite know why.

Something about it keeps picking at his mind, taking it apart, unraveling him with the reality that someone fucking cared about Chris, before whatever happened. Chris doesn’t remember much, and Ben and Laken had done the googling and searching and shit, trying to get some idea of what the hell could have happened to make someone like Chris - bouncy and full of sunshine optimism even on his bad days - end up at a place like WRU.

They’d found nothing a first. But Ben hadn’t known what he was looking for, then. Now that he knows what to look for, he can’t stop finding things. He feels like a detective or someone who has lost his mind, desperately piecing together a life that was interrupted, like someone disappearing mid-sentence, and Ben is following a trail of the words he said before.

He finds human-interest stories from ten years ago, digitized articles from old community newspapers. He finds more photos from the gym, photos where the redheaded boy is in the background, or in the front always looking slightly off to one side, rarely smiling for the camera but happy to smile as long as he didn’t have to look right at it.

He finds out Veronica Higgs, murdered in the double-homicide that had destroyed the life of Tristan Higgs, had a facebook page, and it’s marked as In Memorial. So is her husband’s, but Paul Higgs’s page is private and his profile photo is a meme that hasn’t been a thing since…

Since they died.

Something about that makes his throat close up as he scrolls Ronnie’s last few public updates, the scattering of people who have left comments saying they miss her, they’re thinking of her, they hope she’s in a better place. Comments are left on the last post like clockwork, once a year, by the same few people.

Thinking of you today, Ronnie.

Saw your favorite bird today!

Hope you and Tris and Paul are happy wherever you are now, Ronnie. I take comfort in knowing you’re still together.

Happy Heavenly Birthday, Ronnie!

Left flowers for you today, Ronnie. Jennifer did a routine this year that uses some of Tristan’s music, we’re always thinking of you!

Thinking of you

Miss you

Hope you three are happy together

Miss you, big sister, always.

One day I’ll stop leaving comments like you’re still here. I was watching the old videos and gosh, I couldn’t help but think how proud we were of our boys back then! Rest in peace. Give Tris a kiss for me. That’s Aimi Nakamura, that’s Akio’s mom. Her profile photo is her with her arms around Akio himself, wearing his leotard and holding up a medal with a bright smile, and a younger teenager who must be his little sister - she’s just wearing regular clothes. Feeling like a stalker, Ben opens the mom’s facebook page in a new tab. He absolutely does not look at the photos of Akio she’s posted. He does not do that at all.

He might do that later.

For now he goes back to Ronnie’s page, sees that her last post was brief, something about looking for a recipe, crowd-sourcing. Tris asked to try baked oysters, isn’t that funny? Only my kid, I swear. He’d said seafood is ‘slime’ except for tuna since toddlerhood, but no, this week he wants oysters. He said he wanted to try something new for once and he might as well go as far from the usual as he could get. I

One of the joys of all of this is how when he gets something in his head, I just go with him, and we see what’s on the other side of the jump, right? Watch him spit it right back out.

It’s fucking ordinary.

She posted it a couple days before she was murdered.

That doesn’t seem fair, does it? He just can’t wrap his head around it. She was a good mom taking care of her kid, she got some recipe ideas... but then she never cooked any of them because she just… died?

She died, and Tristan’s - Chris’s - dad died, and then there just wasn’t anybody? There wasn’t anybody to take care of a kid who couldn’t take care of himself yet? Nobody at-fucking-all, to keep Tristan safe and loved when the people who loved him the most were gone?

How the hell did he go from placed in the care of relatives to just... gone? How did he go from gone to a rescued runaway pet with a new name and a new life? What happened in all that gray space in-between?

Ben blinks back tears.

Whatever it was... could that happen to Jamey? Ben’s whole family has built their existence on holding his little brother together through the ways the world wants to shred everything about him. He’s spent nearly all the life he remembers with his brother’s hand closed in the fabric of his shirt, shadowing him through the world, reminding him that you can’t trust everybody, not everyone has good intentions.

Ben doesn’t even have to think before he’s moving in front of him to block out the noise and chaos of the world that Jamey just can't filter the way Ben can. He knows that when - hopefully forever from now - their parents die, Jamey’s going to move in with Ben.

It’s never been a question. He doesn’t want it to be a question.

But... what if Ben wasn’t there? What would happen to Jamey if his Mom and Dad were gone, and nobody was there who wanted to keep Jamey safe? He can’t stop thinking about it. He cycles around and around, and Laken called him yesterday and said not to talk to Chris for a few days, that he saw the video and he’s not okay, and Ben’s not fucking okay, either, is he?

This could happen to Jamey.

Someone could see him, alone and vulnerable, and think, no one will stop me and he can’t stop me either, and then Jamey could disappear and then just not be Jamey anymore, and there wouldn’t be anyone to save him-

Ben looks up from his phone without focusing on anything, sniffing back the pain, the tight feeling in his chest at the idea of his little brother, disappearing into some dark hallway and never coming back. Just some photos on Instagram, a video of two, some mentions on somebody’s In Memorial Facebook page, that’s all that’s left of his silly, serious, annoying, funny little brother?

Like someone turned out the light on Jamey’s life and the world just forgets him, because his family isn’t there to keep him safe and Jamey can’t always tell who you can trust and who you can’t, and… and Chris can’t either, can he?

He just wants to think the best of everyone, he forgives everyone who hurts him so easily, so quickly, like it’s second-nature, like...

Did Tristan Higgs want to think good things about whoever did this, whoever had him erased, whoever handed him off to be turned into one of those blank empty-eyed dolls celebrities and rich people drag around? Did Tristan Higgs trust the person who gave him away to be erased, because he didn’t know not to?

Who the fuck bought him?

How did it all fucking happen?

The bell chimes. Akio Nakamura is right on time.

And he’s short.

He’s got a natural almost-smile on his face at all times, a hint of tan to his skin even now in the early spring, wearing a thin gray hoodie, unzipped over a plain white t-shirt and blue jeans. His muscles aren’t visible, like this, but Ben has seen the videos and knows they’re there, the body of a trained athlete hidden under casual clothing. His hair isn’t as short as it is when he competes, in the videos Ben has already watched over and over entirely for research purposes. It’s a little longer, starting to flop over his forehead.

Dark eyes scan the interior of the store, and Ben raises one hand to catch his attention.

The smile brightens, briefly, with a quick nod - like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, Ben feels that smile as a physical warmth in his chest - and he pushes the rest of the way inside, walking straight over.

“Hey,” Akio says, and his voice is a little deeper than it seems in the youtube videos where he narrates, and Ben, for one shining moment, completely forgets how to speak his own fucking native language.

His mouth opens and nothing comes out - except maybe kind of a croak, which, please let that not have been audible - and he clears his throat, waiting for his brain and his body to remember how to work together. “Uh… um, h-hey,” He says, finally, and shifts uncomfortably. “You’re-... right. I’m, um. I’m Ben.”

“Yeah. I, I figured, you look just like your profile photo.” Akio laughs a little, dropping into a seat cross from him, sitting casually and letting his eyes roam over the mostly-empty interior of the shop, painted with bright colors and lined with posters about ice cream.

Ben could not possibly have picked a worse place for a professional athlete to go to… meet and talk about his dead friend, could he? Oh, God. Oh he’s a fucking moron. “Right. Uh, sorry, I couldn’t-... when you asked to meet on the phone, I kind of blanked and this was the only place I could think of-”

“Hey, that’s all right. I like coming here, when I’m off from competing. It’s been a while. Hope you don’t mind if I stick with an iced coffee today, though, I’m not feeling ice cream.” Akio grins at him, and Ben’s knees might buckle if he wasn’t sitting down already. The smile takes over his entire face, lights it up, and it reminds him so much of Chris when he’s really happy, the way Chris smiles with his entire fucking body, not just his mouth.

“Yeah, it’s… no problem, I’ll order, I picked here, anyway. Just the iced coffee?”

“Yeah, please. Also, I should warn you - my mom is lurking across the street faking an interest in whatever they sell at Paisley Poses and she’ll probably stop pretending she’s not here and show up before we’re done. She’s… uh. Well, get the stuff, and then I’ll, um, I’ll explain.”

“Right. Got it.” Ben’s grip on his phone is white-knuckled as he stands up, aware of every movement of his body as he walks - and he walks normally, right? Not, like weird? It’s not like Akio is watching him walk anyway, probably - over to the cash register. The cashier, whose hair is dyed a pale faded sort of seafoam green, almost the color of those weird mint shakes you can buy from McDonald’s in April, takes his order with a flat affect, unbothered, uncaring.

Ben doesn’t know what he orders for himself. His mouth moves and words come out and then he realizes he doesn’t know what he just said.

Whatever it is, he pays for it.

He takes the little number-on-a-stick, and carries it back to the table to wait.

“Iced coffee it is,” He says a little breathlessly. “Um, it’ll be just a sec. They’ll bring it out with my… with mine.”

Shit, what the fuck did he even order for himself?

“No problem.” Akio’s eyes move over his face, considering. He’s sitting slouched a little, but it doesn’t look quite natural - like his posture is usually so much better and he’s trying to look like everyone else. Ben’s eyes are drawn to his hands, folded over his stomach, over wrinkled white shirt fabric. He has a blood-bruise under one thumbnail.

What a weird fucking thing to notice about someone.

“I-I don’t really know where to start,” Ben admits, slouching himself. He runs his fingers over the textured case of his phone, a charcoal-black with rough edges. Jamey likes the texture on his phone, will just sit and rub the pads of his fingers on it over and over and over again, smiling in a distant way, sitting next to Ben on the couch while Ben watches TV and Jamey, who can go days without speaking and is currently one hundred percent all about how they film movies and tv shows, explains every fucking cinematic trick every camera is using at any given moment.

It’s nice.

It’s how Jamey says he loves you, by sharing what’s up in his head whenever he can, and Ben - when he’s home - always tries to listen.

“Yeah.” Akio laughs again, and Ben decides it’s a good laugh - strong, and not overly loud, and a little infectious. “Yeah, me neither. I don’t-... how do you even begin a conversation like this? Hello, nice to meet you, what do you know about my dead best friend? I don’t know what to say, just… we don’t even know they’re the same person, do we? Maybe they just look alike. Fuck.” Akio laughs once more, but this time it’s shaky, breathier. “I genuinely can’t decide if I want him to dead or not, I just-...”

Ben takes a breath, thinking of Laken’s voice on the phone yesterday morning, exhausted and rambling after a night of not sleeping, their fear and grief and love for Chris, telling Ben to go ahead with this meeting, but Chris needed time. “They’re definitely the same person,” He says, voice low and quiet. “We, um. He saw the video you posted, and he kind of-... freaked out.”

“Freaked out?” Akio blinks, sitting up a little straighter. His eyes are focused completely on Ben’s face, which would make him blush if he weren’t trying not to look directly at him. “What do you mean?”

Ben swallows. “Um. Just. He’s-... he doesn’t remember. Or… he didn’t. Seeing the video might have… brought some stuff up. Like, a lot of... bad stuff.”

Fuck, I’ve never heard him scream like that. Laken’s voice, rough-edged, laced with their tears. I can’t believe… he needs a few days, he can’t go with you to see this guy, Ben. He’s-... he’s super fucked up right now. I’m so glad his brothers know what’s happening to him because I-I don’t know what to do and he won’t let me anywhere near him.

Akio nods, slowly, and his hands worry at each other under the table, the smile faded and replaced with seriousness, uncertainty. “Yeah, when you said-... anyway, I looked the company up, and it’s-... it’s weird, I knew about pets, but I guess… I mean, he wasn’t old enough to…”

“Um… yeah. So, um. I know, but they-... clearly they still did...”

They sit there in an awkward silence, and then Akio pulls his own phone out of his pocket and unlocks it. “Let me show you something. Tris and I shared our passwords for Instagram, way back, and when he-... went… when his aunt took his phone away-”

Ben’s eyebrows furrow. Something about that pricks at him. Miss you, big sister, always.

“He went to live with his aunt?” Ben asks. The cashier reappears, setting a plain iced coffee down on the table, and Ben discovers he apparently ordered iced coffee with a scoop of ice cream for himself, and that’s not bad, good for him. It’s even his favorite ice cream, vanilla with almond and chocolate chips.

“Yeah, his Aunt Jo, his mom’s sister.” Akio shrugs one shoulder. “I never met her, she never came to meets or anything. Tris always said she was kind of a shit to him and his dad.” Something in his jaw is tightening - and the line of his jaw is catching Ben’s eyes entirely too much for the seriousness of this conversation. He can’t stop himself from looking. “She’s who he went to live with, after. She took his phone away because he was complaining to, um, to my mom and I - my mom and Ronnie, Mrs. Higgs, were… you know, team moms.” He shrugs, and Ben doesn’t know, but he nods anyway. “He was complaining about how she took him out of therapy, and… uh, you know, Tris needed therapy, just-... it helped him to, um-”

Ben swallows. “Self-regulate,” He says, softly. “Redirect potentially harmful stims. Figure out how to filter.”

“Right.” Akio smiles, a little shamefaced. “Sorry, it’s been… fucking years since I had to think about this so much. It’s… I would show my mom his messages, and my mom would call Jo and tell her to get him back in therapy and back to practice, but… you know, the social workers said there was nothing we could do about it. We weren’t family. We made complaints, but...” Akio slumps, closing his eyes briefly. "God, I don't even know if they did a home visit."

Ben closes his eyes. Jamey, trapped with someone who didn’t let him go to his own therapy. Jamey, nonverbal on hard days, trapped with someone who didn’t learn signing to talk to him during meltdowns like Ben’s family did.

Jamey, trying to say he needed help with his hands again and again but no one’s listening, no one’s even trying anymore-

“Yeah,” Ben says, voice hoarse, and uses a thin plastic spoon with a long handle to get a bite of ice cream soaked in cold coffee taste, letting it dissolve on his tongue to buy himself some time for his throat to open back up. It’s fear in his chest, yeah, but beneath that is a bubbling, simmering fury, a distant anger for a hypothetical that he understands was Chris’s reality. “Yeah. My brother’s-... um, autistic, so I know… I know about it.”

“Yeah, I saw that.”

Ben blinks, caught off-guard. “What?”

Akio flushes, reddening along his cheekbones, and rolls his eyes at himself, slumping back down. “Okay, so, I promise I’m not a stalker, but when you messaged me I looked at your profile to see if you were just a creep. I saw the autism banner, so I looked and you wrote this really sweet thing about your brother-... how old is he?”

Ben almost forgets how to speak again. “He’s-... fifteen. Just turned fifteen. Jamey’s, um, his name is Jamey.”

“Cool. Yeah. So. I’m not a stalker. But, I’m just… listen, Tris and I started training at the gym together when we were like… seven. And I was seventeen when he, when she said… when she said he died.”

Ben’s breath catches. “Shit. She did?”

“Um. Yeah. A month after she took his phone away - we were calling her all the time asking to speak with him and stuff, my mom had kind of threatened to get social services involved again - she called my mom and said he-... um. Sorry if suicide is a thing for you, but…”

“No, I-I’m okay, I just…”

“Yeah. She told us he killed himself. We thought she was lying - oh fuck, she was lying, wasn’t she? - but so... but then you know, she had him cremated, and... I fucking-... I lost my shit, Ben. I didn’t compete, I didn’t train, I just, I just sat in my room for like six months bawling my eyes out and I told my mom it was just like she killed him, taking him away from everything when, you know, he was so sad and scared without them.”

Ben nods, quiet, watching Akio’s face as he speaks.

“My mom offered to take him, have him live with us, but… you know, she said no, and then he-... but he didn’t.” Akio drinks his coffee, absently, and Ben realizes his eyes are red around the edges. “Oh, god, he probably thought nobody cared about him anymore. Oh, shit. He probably thought we stopped giving a fuck. That h-he was al-... alone-”

He’s been crying. He’s maybe going to cry again.

Akio takes in a deep, shuddering breath. “He didn’t know-... shit. He probably just thought, no one’s coming, nobody cares, and… shit. I don’t know what to even think right now, just...” Akio slides his phone across the table. “Look at this. I locked it, when I thought-... but I kept it, anyway. I kept everything, I couldn’t-... I mean it’s just a box of stuff under my bed, but… I couldn’t throw any of it out, because… I don’t know. Somebody needed to, to r-remember him, and she wouldn’t have-... that fucking bitch told us he was dead. And she threw out all his stuff, so I’m... I guess I’m the only one who still has anything, so I just... kept it. Everything. And... this.”

There’s a moment where they both pretend Akio’s voice isn’t trembling.

“What is this?” Ben knows before the question is fully out of his mouth, but he looks anyway. Akio’s phone is still warm from his hand.

“Tristan’s Instagram account. We, uh, we took pictures of stupid shit a lot back then, and Instagram was, like, super new and all filters all the time, so you just-... but this is his. His mom encouraged him to use it because, you know, sometimes he could show stuff better than he could say it.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Ben tilts his head, scrolling through the images. Most of the photos are just nothing - a cloud, books on a bookshelf, a tree leaf. Ben kind of quirks a smile at all the old Instagram filters right there, like looking in a fucking time capsule. Sometimes there are gymnastics photos, of the gym or of someone training. Sometimes Tristan himself appears in the photo, a blur of constant motion, photos taken by someone else. Photos of dinosaur bones at a museum, seemingly every fucking skeleton or fossil in the place.

“That’s our trip to DC, the team went,” Akio says, and points to a photo of Tristan and Akio, gangly awkward teenagers, standing in front of the Lincoln monument. Akio is smiling, and Tristan is looking up at the sky instead of the camera. “I like to look at this stuff sometimes? I know it’s been… it’s funny, we were talking a few weeks ago about how it’ll be a couple more years when he’s been dead longer than how long I knew him, but he’s not-... he was never dead.” Akio swallows, and his voice catches. When he speaks again, he sounds strained, forcing his voice to stay calm around the emotion that threatens to overtake it. “He was never dead. I keep getting caught up on that, because-... because how did we not know? How did we never… find him?”

Ben pushes the phone back to Akio. “You didn’t know to look,” He says, softly. “How were you supposed to find him if you didn’t know anyone needed to be looking?”

“I guess. My mom feels like shit, she’s been crying since we spoke to you. Well, I have, too. But my mom feels like she… she should have showed up at Joanne’s door and just taken Tristan by force, but, you know, the cops would’ve taken him right back, probably? That’s fucking kidnapping? And I keep telling her not to feel guilty, but she-”

“Yeah,” Ben says, thinking of Laken’s voice on the phone.

I didn’t know he’d come home early. I keep saying I’m sorry but... He wasn’t-... he wasn’t ready for this and he’s so… he’s so fucked up. He won’t even talk to me. Every time Jake leaves the room we’re scared he’ll hurt himself again. He keeps telling me to find someone else, somebody easier, but I don’t want anyone else, god damn it, I want him!

“She’s taking it really hard,” Akio says, finally, breaking into Ben’s thoughts. “I mean. We both are. But, you know, I keep thinking I can’t do this but then I think… I want to see him again. I want to see this guy in person, not just in those photos and videos you had. I want to see how he’s doing, he looks-... he looks so good.” Akio coughs, like he’s trying to cover up a sob, not quite managing it. “He looks really good.”

“He is, he’s doing… he’s good. Um, he’s having a hard time with remembering some stuff, but overall... he’s good.” Ben picks his own phone back up, pops back to Ronnie’s page. “What did you say the aunt’s name was?”

“Jo, um, Joanne… something. Sorry, I don’t really remember her last name, my mom would-”

“Botham?” Ben looks up, and god, he kind of wants to hug Akio until there aren’t tears in his eyes anymore. But also that’s a stupid thing to think, isn’t it? But he wants to, anyway.

“Oh, that sounds right.”

“She left a comment on his mom’s-... I’ve been looking for everything I could find. I’m sorry, I know that’s creepy. But Joanne Botham left like a comment about missing-... hold on.” Ben clicks to open up Joanne Botham’s profile. A woman smiling in a profile photo, with dark hair. Something about the shape of her mouth is similar to Chris’s, but that doesn’t mean much, really. He scrolls down.

Name, stupid quote from a stupider movie, current city is a while away from this one, like a couple states away, but she could’ve moved… There it is.

The answer to his questions, all of them, all at once, right out in the open.

“Joanne Botham,” He says out loud, “works at WRU.”

“What?” Akio looks up at him.

“His aunt. The mom’s sister, she works for WRU. That’s where Chris was-... where they hurt him. Where they make pets.”

Where they erase people. Where they take someone like Jamey and destroy him and how many versions of my brother are there who weren’t rescued by somebody like Chris’s big brother?

“WRU?” Akio’s face twists, an ugly pain written across it. “They’re one of our team’s sponsors. I’ve never thought about how… oh my god. I, I never liked… I mean, none of us are, like, political about it because you can’t be if you want an Olympic career, not really, but we all kind of hated taking the money. My coach thinks it’s good because it gets people off the street, which is super fucked up, but…” His iced coffee thunks down on the table.

“What?”

“Oh shit. Oh holy fuck. They’ve been sponsoring us since we met with the old governor - he’s the one who hooked our coach up with their marketing team, and… oh my god. I’m gonna be fucking sick. WRU’s been my sponsor since like… a year after Tristan died-... didn’t die, I guess...”

“You didn’t know,” Ben whispers, staring down at Joanne Botham’s profile photo, scrolling through the profile picture photo album. He’s not maybe the smartest person on earth, but he can put two and two together for four. Tristan Higgs’s parents died, he goes to his aunt - who works for a human pet company - and he’s dead, supposedly, four months later.

Time passes. No sign of supposed dead boy.

Then Chris, identical in every way, appears with no memory of his life and a thousand traumas to heal from, rescued from something that Ben doesn’t know the details of, but he doesn’t have to.

Life as a pet, a life that made him terrified of bad weather and scared of people who raise their hands too quickly, unable to say no to anything when he gets scared, nervous about big vans with no windows, someone who says stupid fucking bullshit like silence is better than stammering when he’s upset, who sometimes has screaming nightmares that Laken has to wake him from that he refuses to explain to them...

Meanwhile, Aunt Joanne is putting up photos of herself traveling internationally, buying a new house, a new car, stuff she couldn’t afford to do before.

The math does itself.

It’s fucking true crime textbook, and it’s right in front of his eyes.

Akio’s jaw is working, and his eyes are glimmering again. He looks at Ben, and he looks weirdly lost and young, and Ben reaches out without thinking and grabs onto his hand. Akio grips on tight. His hand is warm, almost too warm, but also it’s the perfect amount of warm. “Do you think-... do you think she-”

Ben thinks about Jamey, scared and alone. He thinks about Jamey - and Tristan, the two of them mixing together in his mind - being dragged away, to be lost and overwritten, because no one was there to stop it.

Because someone did it on purpose.

Because no one stopped it.

“I think maybe she was lying to you because she didn’t want you to take Tristan,” Ben says, softly. “I think maybe she wanted to-... make money on him.”

Akio chokes, and leans forward, and Ben holds his hand as tightly as he can, feeling the other man’s fingers tremble in his grip. “I can't-... I can't even begin to deal with that, I just… So h-how did he end up in college? Pets don’t-... go to school, they’re not capable… are they?"

"Um. It depends, apparently?" Ben doesn’t know how much of this is something Chris would ever allow him to share. But Akio’s eyes raise, and catch his again, and Ben smiles, just a little, in an attempt to comfort. “He was rescued,” He says, softly. “I don’t know how, or when. He’d have to tell you that himself. But he’s, um. He’s just Chris now.”

“He’s just Chris, now.” Akio groans resting his head on his hand. “But not Tristan. So he really is dead, his body’s still just-.. walking around.”

“No,” Ben says, and leans in, getting Akio to look at him again. “He’s not gone. Not, like, the core of him, I think. We knew him as soon as we saw him on your video. We knew the smile, and how he moves, all of it. Everybody in the room knew him as soon as we saw him smile at you. He’s still there, he’s still him. I promise.”

“I knew it was him on your stuff as soon as I saw him dancing,” Akio says, brokenly. “H-he always did get obsessed with those fuh-fucking musicals and we used to make up routines to th-them-” His head drops, shoulders shaking, and Ben puts his other hand on Akio’s shoulder, moves around the edge of the little circular table, so he can put an arm around him.

“It’s okay,” He whispers. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Akio says, muffled. “It’s not okay. We should have saved him, w-we didn’t know, we didn’t know she would… he probably th-thought we didn’t care... the social worker said it was fine, we’re not re-relatives, we didn’t know he wasn’t dead, we didn’t know he wasn’t gone, I thought I l-lost him and he probably thinks I didn’t even give a fuck-”

“I’m sure he never thought that,” Ben says, softly, and Akio’s hair brushes a little against the side of his face and he tries not to think too hard about how nice that feels, this is not the time or place, Benjamin, stop thinking about his hair stop it stop it stop it.

“We thought... “

“I know. But… you found him, now. He’s found.”

Akio sniffs back tears, mumbling, “Can I see him?”

Ben hesitates. “He needs-... he might need some time.”

Akio nods without looking up, but he leans a little on Ben. “I’m sorry, I’m being a fucking moron about this, making you comfort me and you don’t even know me, but I just-... missed him, and mourned him, and we go to see is parents wh-where they’re buried every year on the day that his aunt said he-... Is he h-happy? Now?”

Ben closes his eyes. That’s what I’d want to know, isn’t it, if it was Jamey. Is he happy now? Does his new family sign, do they know how to calm him down when it’s too much, do they know, do they care, if I’m not there does someone love him as much as we did?

I’d claw my way out of the fucking grave to make sure someone loves Jamey as much as he deserves.

“He’s happy,” Ben says, softly. “He was adopted by the guy who saved him, I think. There’s a whole lot I don’t know, you know, it’s not really my-... my story to, um, to tell. I just know some of it. He’s, um, he’s with someone, and… he’s… he’s happy.”

“Good. I just-... I want to see him.”

“I know. I’ll ask. But his partner... I’m friends with them, and they, um, he’s n-not... not okay right now, so...”

“I can wait.” Akio looks at him, intense, intent, eyes so dark Ben could fall in. “I’ve waited this long, I can-... I can wait a little longer, I just... I just want to see him, when he can see me.”

The bell over the door chimes again, and the two of them turn and look to see a woman who could not be more obviously Akio’s mother entering, looking at them, her eyebrows furrowed in immediate worry when she sees the tears on Akio’s face. “Aki?”

“It’s him, Mom,” Akio says, and she moves to him as if drawn, and Ben fights himself to pull back and away, to watch mother and son. Tristan had this, and lost it, but Chris has it, too. Life, interrupted at the second act, begun again with new actors around the main character. “It’s definitely-... it’s Tristan. But, she-... I have to tell you what happened to him. He, they-they made him a, um, a pet-”

She hitches in a breath, pulls a chair with a loud scrape from another table, and sits, looking Ben over, expression serious. “Tell me,” She says, softly, but fiercely.

“It’s, um, it’s a lot…”

“I’ve got time.” Ben is reminded of his own mother, in the simple steel flashing under her perfectly styled hair and carefully done makeup. Her eyes are red around the edges, too. She lays a cool, dry hand over Ben’s, and her dark eyes bore into him with focused intensity. “Tell me what happened to our Tris. I want to know what happened to-... I want to know what I didn’t stop.”

Akio looks sidelong at his mother, putting an arm around her, and he’s shorter than his mom but she seems to sag against him, and he can see how Akio takes after his mom, with the same wide mouth that normally seems always on the verge of a smile, the same dark eyes flashing with anger and guilt. “M-Mom, you couldn’t have known, we couldn’t do anything-”

“I could have gone to that woman’s… house, or wherever she was, and taken Tristan right out the door, and I didn’t,” Aimi says, and her voice doesn’t shake, but her face is bright red and her eyes are overbright and glittering. “I could have called lawyers, or the cops, I could have tried to fight for him and I didn’t. Ronnie deserved-” Her voice catches and her hand is over her mouth. Ben watches her eyes well up, her struggle to calm herself, throat working as she swallows and leans into her son’s embrace. “Ronnie… would have wanted someone to fight for him. I want to know what happened because I did the normal thing and not the right thing, because I didn’t let myself see it. I want to know what exactly it is that I didn’t stop when I had the chance.”

Ben sits back, takes a breath.

“He, um. His name is… Chris now,” Ben starts, slowly. “Christopher Stanton. He’s, um, he’s a sophomore in college, and… he was a human pet, for a while. We don’t know how long, nobody knows for sure, or who had him. I mean, I guess he knows and I think his brother knows, but h-he, won’t… won’t tell anyone who it was.”

Aimi’s whole body shudders, but her face doesn’t change, and her eyes don’t leave Ben’s. “H-how-”

Akio licks at his lips, and hesitantly says, “Ben thinks maybe that aunt they sent him to sold him. She works for WRU.”

Aimi’s eyes slowly close, and her breathing is slow but trembling. The two young men watch her. Akio’s knee bumps his under the table, and he doesn’t think about that, either, except it’s all he’s going to think about for the rest of the day.

“Okay,” Aimi says, after a long pause, and her eyes open again. A kind of perfect calm settles itself across the pain in her expression.

Ben thinks that this woman is probably fucking terrifying if it’s you she’s angry with and not herself.

“Mom, if we need to stop, that’s okay-”

“We don’t. Ben-... that’s your name? Ben?”

“Uh, yeah… Benjamin Prentiss, but-... call me Ben.”

Prentiss, Akio mouths to himself, and Ben hopes, in another weird moment, that Akio likes his last name.

“Got it.” Aimi leans forward, smacks the table with one hand. Ben flinches. Her jaw sets. She’s definitely terrifying. Like his own mother when they tried to kick Jamey out of school, this is a woman who could stare down the sun itself unblinking and walk away undamaged, if the sun was a threat to her children. “Ben?”

“Yes, um, Mrs. Nakamura?”

“Keep talking. Tell me everything about Tristan-”

“Chris.” He clears his throat. “He’s, um, his name is Chris.”

“... tell me everything about Chris.”

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary @orchidscript

#whump #suicide reference #brief self-injury reference #pet whump #bbu #box boy universe #chris the strawberry blond romantic #ben is a good bean #akio nakamura #abduction ref #grief tw #parental death tw #ableism tw #guilt #survivor's guilt #murder mystery #sort of #jesus joanne #wru

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