#parental Whumper
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Tormenting/Soft whumper who pull the "This hurts me more then it hurts you" 🥺
"It's not torture if it's a punishment"
#whump#whumpee#whumper#whump prompts#whump scenario#whump angst#whumper prompt#torture prompt#whump prompt#possesive whumper#whump ideas#parental whumper#torture whump
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Moonflower #15
Masterpost
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Warnings: domestic abuse, alcoholism
Note: Ari is non-binary and uses they/them pronouns
Kit considered the pull-rope in the corner of his room. He’d seen Iris use hers once, to call a servant to pick up a dress that needed ironing before the usual laundry day.
Kit bit his lip. Slaves shouldn’t get to call servants, but how else would he be able to contact David?
He pulled the heavy cord, and waited.
It was only a few minutes before a servant appeared at his door. It wasn’t David, but someone he hadn't seen before.
“You rang for me, uh…?” they floundered for a title.
“Just Kit, please.”
“What can I do for you, Kit?” The servant had a nice smile.
“Do you know David? I need to ask him to do something for me.”
“Oh, sure! I’ll go get him for you.” The servant turned to go.
“Thank you. Oh, um, what can I call you?”
They looked back, confused. “You want to know my name?”
Kit worried the sleeve of his shirt. “Is that… odd? Sorry.”
“No. Well- a little. Most people don’t ask. I’m Ari.”
Kit winced at the wording. It wasn’t Ari’s fault they weren’t familiar with introducing themselves to faeries.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he said instead.
Ari gave him a smile. “You too,” they said. “I’ll go get David.”
___________________
David nervously walked down the hall to the royal wing. Kit had asked for him; for a favor, and he didn’t know what to expect.
He tugged on the sleeves of his uniform. It was a hot day, too hot for long sleeves, but it covered his marks.
He hoped Kit wasn’t mad at him for leaving so quickly. Dad had already been upset when he got home early, and he couldn’t handle more people yelling at him right now.
David took in a deep breath before knocking on the door.
“Come in,” called Kit.
David turned the handle and stepped inside, closing the door as quietly as possible.
Kit turned to look at him, and David suppressed a shudder.
The fae’s looked calm, but David couldn’t help but be wary. Kit was tall, and probably unnaturally strong, and had sharp teeth and strangely bright eyes and could do magic-
“Are you alright?” asked the faerie.
“Yes,” he squeaked.
The fae crossed the room towards him, and David tried his best to stay still.
“Hey,” said Kit, hand brushing over his, gently taking it in his. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Faeries couldn’t lie.
“Okay.”
Kit’s thumb rubbed a small circle on the back of his hand. “I just want to talk to you.”
“Okay,” he said. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Kit tugged him along to the couch, and David automatically sat down after him.
“I know we don’t really know each other. But, um, if someone’s been hitting you, I can help.”
Oh.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “It’s not like that.”
Kit tilted his head, his bright teal eyes watching him like a cat watches a mouse. Or at least, that’s how it felt.
“What’s it like, then?”
David bit his lip. “It’s not his fault,” he muttered.
“Who?”
Kit wasn’t going to let it go, was he?
“My dad,” he admitted. “But it’s really not his fault. He just gets angry, sometimes, and he’s been stressed. He’s fine the rest of the time.”
David knew what Kit was going to say.
“It’s still not right. We can get you help; away from-”
“I won’t go,” he blurted, and Kit went quiet. “I’m all he’s got left. Mom died, and I can’t-” David’s voice broke- “I can’t just leave him. He needs me.”
“Does he?” asked Kit quietly.
David nodded, tears beginning to gather at the corners of his eyes. “Family sticks together. And he needs the money I bring home.”
“He doesn’t work?”
David thought about the empty bottles of alcohol in the house, the smell of old beer and whiskey, the stench of drink on Dad’s breath.
“He’s sick,” he said, instead of the truth. “He never got better after mom passed away.”
Kit didn’t look convinced. “If you ever change your mind,” he said gently. “I’ll do whatever I can.”
David nodded. “Thanks. I uh, better get back to work.” He stood to go, but Kit grabbed his hand again.
“I mean it,” said Kit, the scent of fresh flowers flooding the room. “Freely offered, freely given. I promise.”
David shivered, a tingle of magic running up his spine. “Thank you.”
___________________
He pushed open the door to the cottage, the acrid smell of old wine hitting him square in the face.
“I’m home,” he called out into the house.
“Shut the damn door,” grumbled Dad, his face buried into the couch cushions. He must be hungover again.
David closed the door. Dad glared at the sound, even though David had already oiled the latch a dozen times.
“Sorry,” he whispered. “Have you eaten today?”
“Obviously not,” said Dad. “You were at work.”
“Right. I’ll, uh, make dinner.”
David left the room before Dad could ask if he got more hours.
He checked the pantry. It was mostly empty; he hadn’t had the time to go to the market. And there was no way he would ask Dad to go get groceries. That never went well.
There was enough to throw together a soup, and some bread to help fill them up, but that was all he could manage.
___________________
“Is that it?” frowned Dad, staring at his bowl.
David’s heart sank. “I haven't gone shopping yet,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
Dad rolled his eyes. “Did you at least get a better work schedule?”
David looked down at his bowl. “No,” he whispered.
Dad slammed his fist on the table, and David jumped. “Dammit, David,” he hissed, “Can’t you get anything done?”
“I- the schedule is already made for next week,” he explained, “if you had asked me earlier-”
“Don’t you dare pin this on me, boy.” Dad jabbed his spoon in his direction. “It’s not my fault you’re useless. Do you even care about me?”
“I do!” he protested.
“Then do better. Am I understood?”
David bit his lip. “Yes, sir.”
___________________
Dad smashed the plate against the wall, and David dove out of the way.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry- Dad, please-”
“Shut the fuck up!” Dad screamed, his hand reaching for a framed portrait.
David watched in horror as the glass shattered right where he’d been standing, the frame bent.
“I let you stay here, for free, and this is the thanks I get!?”
“I’m sorry!” David pleaded, scrambling away. Dad stalked forward and grabbed him by the arm, yanking hard. David stumbled, and Dad reached for a bottle.
“Don’t!” he cried, but the bottle smashed against his temple, and the world went dark.
___________________
The house was empty when he woke up. His head hurt like hell. He pressed a hand to his temple, and it came away sticky and red.
He whimpered, the sound making his head hurt like one of Dad’s hangover headaches.
David slowly sat up.
The room was just as Dad had left it; trash everywhere. David picked himself off the floor.
The picture frame Dad had smashed still lay on the ground. David gathered up the remains.
It was an old portrait. Mom, Dad, and him; from years ago. It was the only one he could convince Dad to keep after the funeral.
It was torn, and the frame was unsalvageable.
David heard the key in the latch.
He quickly pulled the portrait free, folded it, and tucked it away in his pocket.
“Hey champ,” said Dad, swaying into the room. There was a bottle in his hand, half empty. Gin. “Back from work?”
His voice was cheery, as if nothing had happened and he hadn’t left his son to bleed on the floor.
“Sure,” he croaked. The clock on the mantle said two am.
“Great.” Dad looked around the room. “Clean this up for me, ‘kay bud? I’m going to bed.”
“Okay.”
David watched his father stumble into the bedroom.
He began to sweep up the shattered plates, his mother’s favorite pattern in pieces, and tried not to cry.
taglist: @paintedpigeon1 @cupcakes-and-pain @loserwithsyle @cepheusgalaxy @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @virtualbreadtale @bitchaknso @starfields08000
#oh david sweetie no#david is not a minor. jsyk#moonflower series#my writing#whump#slavery whump#domestic whump#parental whumper#fae whumpee#royal caretaker
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An eldest child whumpee who is always forced to be the 'role model' of their younger siblings while bearing the brunt of their parents' anger and expectations.
#anyone who's an eldest child raise your hand *raises mine*#eldest child#eldest daughter syndrome#eldest daughter#eldest child whump#eldest child whumpee#parental whump#parental whumper#parent whumper#familial whump#dysfunctional family whump#tw emotional abuse#tw emotional neglect#cw emotional abuse#whump#tw whump#whump prompts#whump scenario#whump writing#whump inspiration#ides of whump
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frothing at the mouth and begging for more cruel lawrence content. either with marshall and nathan but since you mentioned nathan had it the worst, could you write something for that?
I've been so busy and burnt out lately, but I pushed through for once lol. I've written Nathan being tortured before, but since this has been sitting in my inbox forever, I decided I'd give it another go.
TW: Torture with hot iron, failed escape attempt, parental whumper, burns, infantilizing behavior
...
Even when Nathan tried to conform to Lawrence's twisted views on family and parenting, he always did something wrong. Even if he hypothetically didn't hate Lawrence's guts, he wasn't nearly as much of a lovey-dovey person as his captor was.
When Lawrence would hear what he deemed as a sarcastic comment or rude tone, he'd give him a warning and blank stare that hid any emotions that might be bubbling underneath the surface.
The situation was so bizarre, it was almost funny to him. How many people in the world had gotten kidnapped by a delusional man who believed he was their father?
Not a lot, he could assume. How unlucky could one be, right?
It seemed that Nathan was one of those people.
Surprisingly, Nathan's least favorite punishments weren't getting tortured in the basement. The punishments he hated the most were the infantilizing ones, where Lawrence would talk down to him like a goddamn baby, and then go make him stand in a corner or something equally degrading.
At least Lawrence treated him like the adult he was when he kicked him repeatedly in the ribs and called him every name in the book.
Nathan had a high tolerance for pain. He thought that was the farthest Lawrence was willing to go, physically speaking. As much as Lawrence liked to play daddy, Nathan didn't think he'd ever go so far as to truly hurt his "kid".
How wrong he was.
For a week now, he managed to pretend to be the sweet little angel Lawrence wanted him to be. Lawrence would see through his sardonic comments or wry tone and Nathan would get a warning look.
It would stop there, thankfully. Maybe if he played his cards right, he could gain Lawrence's trust and get the hell out of here.
The biggest issue was he could barely even be physically close to Lawrence without cringing and feeling his stomach turn. His fist wanted to act on its own when the blond bastard would call him "sweetheart" or kiss his forehead.
"You're quiet today," Lawrence mentioned at breakfast.
Nathan poked at the pancake on his plate with a fork. He wasn't very hungry. "I'm fine. I just didn't sleep well."
Lawrence tilted his head in sympathy. "I'm sorry, bud. Did you have another nightmare?"
He hated being reminded of that. One night he woke up screaming because of a nightmare--about Lawrence, of course. Lawrence had rushed into his room and cradled him in his arms like an infant.
It was nauseating. Nathan could remember vividly how his body had shuddered in fear when Lawrence insisted on holding him for the rest of the night.
The only reason Nathan allowed it was because Lawrence had hurt him badly the previous night. The last thing he wanted was another violent punishment so soon after his last one.
"No," Nathan lied. "It wasn't a nightmare. I just couldn't sleep."
Lawrence frowned, lifting his eyebrows in worry. "That's no good. Maybe you need a nightlight. Would that help?"
Nathan didn't know whether to laugh or cry at that suggestion. Sometimes he wondered if Lawrence was directly trying to piss him off.
"Sure," Nathan decided to humor him. "A nightlight might help."
Lawrence's features softened in happiness, thinking he had found a solution to a problem that wasn't even there. "Anything for you, buddy. You know that."
He took a bite of his pancake so he wouldn't have to say anything back to that. He finished the rest of his breakfast quickly and put his plate in the sink. Nathan wasn't in the mood for interacting with Lawrence today, so he went into his room and tried to nap.
Nathan didn't actually manage to get much sleep. He was exhausted, but the memories of everything Lawrence had done to him wouldn't stop playing over and over in his head.
If he didn't go insane in here, it'd be a miracle.
At one point, Nathan could hear his bedroom door opening. He buried his face under his pillow, pretending to be asleep. Lawrence must have bought the act, because Nathan heard him close the door.
After a few more minutes of laying down, Nathan sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes.
He was tired, but his mind was too noisy. He really needed something to do around here, or he was going to lose it. He decided talking to Lawrence was better than nothing, so he got up and headed into the living room. Lawrence was usually there, but this time there was no sign of him.
"Lawrence?" Nathan called out. No matter how much he was going to try to play nice, he was not going to call that man his dad. No way in hell. "Where are you?"
There was no answer, which was odd. Usually Lawrence was in the living room at this time.
He frowned, beginning to wonder if maybe he had gone out. He looked out the front window to see his car still there. That meant Lawrence was definitely here somewhere.
Nathan trudged back up the stairs until he heard him talking. He was using that different tone of his voice, more professional. Oh. He was on a business call, or maybe even doing some kind of interview or audition. He was usually on those calls for hours at a time, which meant Nathan was always restrained while Lawrence did his work.
This was a perfect opportunity he couldn't just not take advantage of. It was risky, but his gut was telling him to give it a shot.
He crept back down the stairs and to the front door. Knowing Lawrence, his room was likely locked and he probably had his keys and phone on him anyway, but maybe if he could find something to pick the lock with...
Nathan looked through the kitchen drawers and found a paperclip. It would have to do. He carefully inserted it into the hole, feeling around for a moment before the lock clicked and the door opened.
For a brief moment, he hesitated. Was it really that easy? Could he really just walk out that door?
No alarms, no locks, no Lawrence holding him back?
He stepped outside, shutting the door quietly behind him. As soon as it was shut, he took a deep breath and ran as fast as his legs would take him.
On his left was the eerily bleak and empty beach, and on his right was a thick forest that surrounded the house, that was somehow even creepier.
Nathan made a split second decision and ran for the forest, hoping there would be a road there.
He ducked under trees, sidestepped bushes, and leapt over rocks and sticks. He didn't stop running even when his legs began to feel like lead. Even when he had the wind knocked out of him by a low-hanging branch. He kept running.
For what felt like a lifetime, Nathan continued through the woods. It was mostly silent, save for his heavy breathing and footsteps on the ground below.
After a while, he slowed down so he could catch his breath and assess his surroundings.
Nothing looked familiar. There was a bit of sun coming through the leaves and branches of the trees above, but the sun would soon be gone. The farther he walked, the darker the area became. Nathan had never been afraid of the dark, but something about this place just made him uncomfortable.
Even if he wanted to return to Lawrence, to admit he fucked up and take whatever brutal punishment he'd be given, he wasn't sure if that was even an option right now. He had no idea where the hell he was.
Nathan gulped, deciding to keep walking.
The birds were going to bed, but a few cicadas and frogs remained awake. Their song was the only thing breaking the silence.
For the first time since his escape, Nathan began to doubt himself. Maybe running away was a bad idea.
After what felt like hours, he finally saw something other than trees and bushes.
A road, finally.
He sprinted down the hill to the pavement, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw there was a car heading down the road. Nathan held up his arm to flag the car down. It didn't stop for him.
Nathan couldn't help but groan. "You've gotta be kidding me."
He spent so long getting through those damn woods that the sun had completely gone down. And now here he was, following the road from the side and waiting for another car to come by.
Despite how late it was getting, Nathan was determined to get out of here. He'd follow this road for miles if he had to.
Hours passed, and the weather began to grow colder. It was practically pitch black now. Nathan's feet hurt from walking so much, and his hands were freezing. He wished he had grabbed a jacket or something before running out.
Nathan wasn't sure how long he'd been walking down the road before he heard something in the distance.
Headlights.
He perked up, running a few yards and holding out his arm again. "Please stop," he pleaded. "Please."
The car stopped right in front of him.
Nathan's heart leaped with joy. He jogged around to the driver's side window. "Hi, I--"
He immediately shut up when he realized who the driver was. Lawrence didn't even bother wearing that emotionless expression, he looked enraged. Nathan had never seen him look so mad.
Lawrence rolled down the window, just enough so that Nathan could hear him. "Get in," he growled.
Nathan weighed his options. He could either get into the car and face whatever consequences Lawrence had in store for him, or he could try to outrun him. But even he knew that was a terrible idea--Lawrence had a car, and likely weapons on him too. Not to mention Nathan was already exhausted. He didn't really have a choice.
Reluctantly, Nathan climbed into the passenger's seat. He expected Lawrence to say something to him, but he was quiet.
For a moment, Nathan saw Lawrence's eyes scan over his body, looking for injuries. Nathan almost laughed at that--as if Lawrence gave a shit about whether or not he was hurt.
Lawrence began driving back the way Nathan came. Neither of them said a word for the entire ride.
Nathan stared out the window at the trees, occasionally looking back at Lawrence's profile. The only emotion he could see was anger.
He wanted to break the silence so badly. Ask him what he was going to do to him when they got back to the house, beg him not to hurt him too badly, but nothing came out. His vocal chords were frozen.
When they pulled up to the house, Lawrence parked in the driveway and shut the engine off. He exited the vehicle in silence, making Nathan shrink into himself with fear. Lawrence opened his door, gripping his wrist so tightly Nathan hissed in pain.
He practically dragged him back into the house, slamming the door behind him and locking it.
Nathan struggled to get his wrist out of his grasp. "L-Lawrence, please--"
"You're not speaking to me," Lawrence interrupted. His tone left no room for argument. He dragged Nathan down to the basement, and Nathan just wallowed in his own self-hate for feeling too paralyzed to object or fight.
He was forced to lay on his stomach and have his hands cuffed behind his back. He could hear him rummaging through things in the corner, making him swallow anxiously.
When Lawrence returned to his side, Nathan closed his eyes. He refused to watch what Lawrence was doing.
A moment later, he felt the cold metal of handcuffs attach to his ankles as well.
Lawrence exhaled deeply through his nose. "You are in big trouble, Nathan," he told him in a low voice. "Do you have any idea what you put me through? I was terrified out of my mind when I saw you were gone."
Nathan still refused to look at him, and he wasn't even going to humor him with an apology. If Lawrence was expecting him to feel guilty, he would be sorely disappointed.
"I'm disappointed in you," Lawrence continued. "You know better than to run away."
"You don't know shit about me," Nathan snapped at him.
That only seemed to anger Lawrence even more. "Wrong answer."
He could hear him move behind him and his mind raced, wondering what he was going to do. It wasn't like he hadn't been punished in the basement before, but the air felt heavier than usual. He wasn't shocked, he had never gotten as far as he did when attempting to run away. Lawrence had always been able to find him quickly.
Nathan heard something being plugged into an outlet and tensed. "What are you doing?"
"I've been too lenient with you. This is the last time something like this happens again."
His words sent a shiver down his spine. Nathan wanted to shrink into himself when he felt Lawrence lift up the back of his shirt, exposing his bare skin to the cold air of the basement. "What are you doing?!" Nathan repeated frantically. "Stop it!"
Lawrence didn't say anything back to that. He thrashed and tried to buck Lawrence off of him, but he didn't budge.
"Lawrence, what the fuck are you doing?! Let me go!" Nathan yelled. "I'm sorry! Please, I'm sorry!"
"No, you're not," Lawrence argued calmly. "You're only sorry because you got caught."
Nathan's brain was racing at a million miles per hour, trying to figure out what Lawrence was doing. After a few more minutes of meaningless pleading and horrifying tension, he felt something on his back and screamed at the contact.
Whatever it was, it felt like it was burning him, and Nathan thrashed even more violently than before.
Lawrence didn't react to his cries other than putting more pressure on the object against his skin. Nathan could hear Lawrence mumble something along the lines of "it'll be over soon, kiddo."
The younger man was seeing stars behind his eyelids while he screamed in agony. This was so much worse than all the times Lawrence had tortured him before--he wanted to die. Anything was better than this excruciating pain. He could hear his skin sizzling through his own screams of torment.
After what felt like an eternity, the torture finally stopped. Lawrence set down the object he had been using, and Nathan sobbed in relief, hearing it make contact with the hard concrete floor.
He wanted to turn around and look at what the hell Lawrence did to him, but it was excruciating to even move in the slightest.
Lawrence sighed above him, as if this was just a chore that he was happy to be done with.
"Are you going to run away again?" he asked in a gentle voice.
"No," Nathan choked out through sobs. If it weren't for the fear of the iron coming back into play, he would've told him to go fuck himself.
"Good." Nathan stayed still while Lawrence undid his bindings. He was exhausted and barely had the energy to move. He laid on the ground, trembling, while Lawrence stroked his hair gently. "Poor thing," he murmured sympathetically. "Are you gonna listen to me from now on?"
Nathan didn't even care about saving face anymore, he was in so much pain that he'd probably agree to anything Lawrence said at this point. "Yes."
"That's my boy," Lawrence praised him. "It's okay, pumpkin. It's all over now. Dad's got you."
Those words were the last thing Nathan wanted to hear right now. He had been tortured with an iron, and Lawrence had the nerve to call himself his dad?
The two of them remained in the basement for a while, Nathan weeping on the floor while Lawrence cooed at him in a soothing tone of voice.
Eventually Lawrence got him to stand up on his feet, and led him up the stairs to the bathroom so he could clean his wound.
Lawrence dabbed the burn with rubbing alcohol, causing Nathan to squirm and grit his teeth in discomfort. When that was over, he carefully bandaged it. It made moving around very difficult, but the throbbing pain was starting to become slightly more bearable.
After Lawrence was done cleaning up, he took Nathan into his room and tucked him into bed.
Nathan usually slept on his back, but had to settle for his side for now. Lawrence ran his fingers through Nathan's dark locks. Nathan could make out his eerie smile through the dim lighting.
"Do you have any idea how lucky you are that I found you?" Lawrence's smile faltered. "What if someone bad decided to pick you up? You could've ended up dead in a ditch somewhere. I'd be heartbroken."
Nathan turned his face into the pillow so Lawrence couldn't see the fury on his features.
"If something happened to you, I would never forgive myself." Lawrence tucked some of Nathan's hair behind his ear. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself."
Then die, Nathan bitterly thought.
Lawrence leaned down to kiss Nathan's forehead. "I love you." Nathan didn't reply back, and Lawrence didn't seem to mind that. He simply smiled again and stood up straight. "Goodnight, sweetheart."
Nathan waited until Lawrence had shut the door and locked it to finally let himself cry. He bawled his eyes out into his pillow, shaking with sobs until he fell asleep from pure exhaustion.
#answered ask#lawrence oc#nathan oc#tw torture#tw burns#tw parental whumper#parental whumper#ive mentioned nathan has canonically gotten burnt with an iron so i decided to go that route
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FEBUWHUMP DAY 6 - "You lied to me"
CW: parental Whumper, hypnosis, emotional manipulation, interrogation, conditioning
Previous | [Masterlist] | Next
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
"There are still plenty of thoughts inside your head, so let's get them in order."
Shepard was intently focused on his son. Above now dried tear tracks, his unblinking attention denied Ben to be unguarded for even one second, whilst his assertive but nevertheless mellow tone carried him along a carved-out path.
Possessive strokes down his back dragged him further: "Down, just down, always deeper down. We can't choose our sorrows, but you can choose to let them go for a moment, to let me help forget them. Follow my lead."
In and out, it was impossible to resist the pace he was taught so well.
"I would count you down, but you know all my old tricks."
Shepard was not naive, he had to be extremely lucky that his charade still worked after all these months Reuben spent on his own, poisoning his mind and spirit out in the world. That he still responded obediently to the suggestions of the past was a goddamn miracle. One he would gladly use to its full potential.
"Remember all the times we did this before," Shepard repeated for good measure. So many, many times, half of which Ben couldn't even recall. Today was far from the first instance he helped to quiet his ward's nettled thoughts.
It was about time to rectify old lies.
"You always knew where Lukas was, though we both know you claimed otherwise," Shepard sighed low, "Will you tell me now?"
The soft face on his shoulder began to stir back to wakefulness, his bottom lip scrunched up in painful guilt. Rough start.
"Shh, forget that, it was a stupid question. You did nothing wrong." Comforting reassurance and soft circles drawn onto his temples helped to smooth out any risen qualm. "I know it's difficult for you to stay alert during this state, so I'm keeping this easy for us. Just Yes or No from now on, you don't even have to say a word."
Reuben showed himself more agreeable and leaned back against him.
"Is Lukas doing well?"
A small nod. Good.
"Is he eating enough? You know how he always skips breakfast."
Again, Ben nodded against the rough wool of Shepard's sweater while the same tediously tried to keep this interview on track: he could embrace his success later, when both of his sons were near him again. However, the abandoned father was ready to reap the fruits of his endeavor.
"Do you want to tell me where he is?"
Ben quickly shook his head. No, not yet.
"Mhh, I understand."
It felt horrible how easy it was to make him tell the truth, but Shepard had no interest nor intention to question his parenting methods at the moment. He knew exactly what limits confined them: he couldn't make Reuben do or forget anything he didn't want to, at least if he failed to be persuasive enough.
Shepard's boy was easy to read and just as simple as he was loyal to both his brother and father. But not in equal parts, Shepard was at a certain disadvantage he ought to correct.
Children like them were too inept for the world outside the settlement, so it was no wonder Reuben merely crumpled under the first selfless act of affection in a long time. If his forgiveness was not given freely, Shepherd could just rip it from his fragile heart. For both their peace of mind, nothing else.
"You know how much I love you, both of you."
The shake of Ben's head said it all. It hadn't even been a question, but the blunt answer pricked nonetheless.
"Oh, well, I love you more than the world. I did everything to get you back!" Shepard mused softly, "If not me, what about the rest of our family?"
Kind memories of the people who waited for him outside rinsed Ben of any stray thoughts and drifted with him into the depths. He never wanted to hurt any of them with his decisions.
"Did you miss us?"
Ben affirmed this shyly, grabbing a corner of Shepard's sweater.
"You are safe here, right?"
A nod.
"You are safe with me."
At the claim, Ben's head rolled around aimlessly, as if he was trying to stir awake again. Shepard tutted; this was a tricky one.
"You are here with me and the others, all together. We watch out for each other, we keep each other secure."
Yes, this made sense. Through the pleasant, thick fog that filled his head, Ben knew it to be sincere.
"Here, you are safe. With us, you are safe."
Safe...together. He couldn't possibly disagree with these smooth words.
"You are safe and loved by us all, we were awaiting your return. Always putting an extra plate on the dinner table for when you decide to come back."
Shepard had to endure countless days of waiting before accepting that his youngest would stay gone. He had searched for him for so long it made him sick with fear, not knowing if his sons were hurt or fraternizing with God knows what kind of people. Yet, he didn't want for Reuben to realize the damage he had caused, not when he was so calm and open for the right input.
"And today our wishes were granted!"
Warmth, safety, love. Encased by these sensations, Ben's mind caught itself slipping into easy relaxation once again.
"Can you say it for me, can you tell me that you're safe and loved?"
"'m safe and loved," he slurred quietly against the wool. It felt good to be here in his dad's arms, it felt right.
"That's my boy, I knew we could stand above the past."
Shepard's sweet promises hugged his exhausted soul, he was too tired of hiding, adapting, changing. They tried to teach Ben what to say and what to hide out there, but the only thing he understood was to never be himself; another truth nobody could ever tell his brother. He remembered exactly how angry and disappointed Luke loved to get with him.
Cupping his face carefully, Shepard pushed him to sit straight up: "Open your eyes."
With a wide, empty stare but not awake in the slightest, Ben continued to sway back and forth. He was unsure what Dad wanted from him and too dizzy to care, silently begging to be allowed back into the stream of soft, dark dreaminess. Tears collected at the corners of his eyes, but Shepard was far from done with him: "Ben, tell me what you are when you're with us."
"I'm safe and I'm loved," tumbled from his lips without thinking twice about it.
"Yes, you are." Relief washed over Ben like a tsunami: he didn't do anything wrong after all, nobody hated him here.
"Now close these heavy eyes and relax."
As he sagged back down, the inward pull doubled its force. He felt that the soap bubble his brain had become threatened to pop. Too much to focus on, nothing to think about, clutching onto the inner peace Dad had so kindly given him.
"We all love you so much. Missing is too weak a word to explain how desperately we wanted you back. You are always wanted here."
Every word was law.
Shepard should feel dirty at using Reuben's obvious weaknesses so bluntly against him, but not today. Today they would celebrate his return and plan the one they enjoyed as soon as the other prodigal son decided to come home. A selfish sting inside Shepard's heart forced the next question out: "Did you miss me?"
A final nod made tears run down Ben's face. Shepard hugged him tighter, as if he never intended to let go again:
"I missed you too, starshine, it's going to be alright. Everything falls into place when we are together."
Numb with joy, Ben felt too tired to hold on to the present any longer, a problem his father gladly helped him with: "Sleep now, sleep and let my words manifest as truth in your mind."
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Thanks for reading 🤍 [Febuwhump 2024 Masterlist]
@febuwhump
#whump#whumpblr#creative writing#whump community#whump drabble#febuwhump#febuwhump2024#febuwhumpday6#recapture#Carewhumper#touchstarved Whumpee#dubcon touching#love bombing#parental Whumper#cult setting#mind control#hypnosis whump#emotional manipulation#referenced past abuse#hangover#alcohol#scars#conditioned Whumpee#regretful Whumper#conditioning
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Whumper who watched Whumpee grow up - who knows their every tic, every little childish fear that they pretend to be over but so clearly aren't. Who presents themselves as a mentor, a confidante, someone who's authority is simply meant to be trusted without question.
And when they finally all of that against Whumpee - it hurts all the more.
#catc originals#parental whumper#i mean not explicitly but it could be if you wanted#mentor whumper#whump prompt#whump scenario
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Day 116: "You're making a mess" (Out of Their Element)
kitty burger, i know you're reading. just know you are the only reason i managed to finish this piece. (no, i did not proofread it, good luck)
“Rob? You look freezing, kiddo. What happened?”
“I hope you fucking freeze out there. Jesus, if I’d known how much trouble you’d be I would’ve left you out there in the first place.”
“Come inside, okay? You’re making a mess of your clothes with all that mud.”
“You’re making a fucking mess. Look at this floor, does this look clean to you? Does it?”
“Is that blood? Please look at me, Rob. Where are you hurt?”
“There’s blood all over the place. Hey, look at me, brat-”
Rob gasped, stumbling backward and tripping over the edge of the carpet. He went down hard and couldn’t help but cry out as the fall tore at his already-aggravated wounds, eyes watering. He could just make out Sage standing in front of him and talking, face full of concern, but he couldn’t hear the words over the sound of blood roaring in his ears.
A gentle hand landed on his shoulder and he flinched violently, banging his head on the wall behind him. Pain rippled through the back of his skull and he whined, falling back to the floor in a heap.
“It’s alright! I’m sorry, kid, I really am. It’s just me.”
Rob blinked the tears from his eyes, realizing the hand was Sage’s. They were kneeling in front of him now, arms outstretched in a show of peace.
“Everything’s okay, sunshine,” they said quietly, “Just-”
Sage was nearly knocked into the opposite wall as Rob launched himself at them, curling his hands into their robe and sobbing into their chest. Sage recovered themselves quickly, wrapping their arms around the boy.
“There you go, kiddo. Easy now.” Sage scratched the nape of Rob’s neck, twirling his curly hair around their fingers soothingly. “Breathe for me, okay? Just one deep breath.”
Rob’s chest stuttered as he fought to obey, barely managing it before dissolving into tears once more. “I-I’m sorry,” he cried out, unsure what he was even apologizing for. “Please, s-sir-”
“None of that,” Sage said quickly, running their nails across his scalp. “Nothing to apologize for, sunshine. Just take it easy.”
Thank you for reading! Asks are always welcome about anything, and I appreciate your support! If you’d like to be added or removed from the taglist, please submit an ask or leave a reply.
365 writing challenge taglist: @stabby-nunchucks @whumpdreamz
Fall From Grace + adjacent taglist: @thekittyburger
#child whumpee#servant whumpee#parental caretaker#royal caretaker#parental whumper#whump#writing#whump prompt#whump scenario#whump writing#whump drabble#whumpee#caretaker#365 writing challenge#ocs#oote!rob#oote!sage
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Dismantled Chapter 6
AO3
my therapist says this is a good coping mechanism soo guess whos winning at therapy?
Trigger Warnings: mentions of neglect, self deprecation, stalking, infantilization, concussions, drugging, shutdown, overall creepy whumper
2569 words
Donnie’s. Head. Hurt.
His face had stopped bleeding hours ago, but in the absence of one problem, another had risen up. He was stuck with a headache that just wouldn’t quit.
He was no stranger to headaches. It wasn’t like he was the king of self care, so they were a more than frequent occurrence. But this… something felt wrong. If he could think without making it worse, he would’ve figured it out by now.
He groaned softly in distress, dragging his palms over his tightly closed eyes. As a scientist, he could confidently say that if he tried to stand up right now, he’d probably just die.
He wished he could just fall asleep. He was certainly tired enough, but the throbbing in his skull made it thoroughly impossible.
It crossed his mind that, given the unpredictability of the universe, spirits, and the Hamato Clan specifically, it was a possibility that this particular pounding in his head was something trying to tell him to stop being stupid and to go back to his brothers.
On the other hand, he wasn’t exactly down to trust the advice of anyone that enthusiastically offered him and his brothers up as martyrs when they’d been captured by Baron Draxum.
He cracked his eyes open, looking over to the bedroom door in the darkness. Had he any desire to, it would have been so easy to just walk out. Of course he had the desire to. But if he couldn’t keep himself upright without this pain…
Besides. He could go back to the sewers anytime he wanted. It was just that… for the first time, he wasn’t entirely sure what he did want. And that terrified him.
He wasn’t blind enough not to see the problems with this situation (there were many). But, to his frequent dismay, nothing in the world was black and white. Sure, maybe he’d been taken against his will, but… there were good things about it, too. He wanted real validation from something more than a parent-aged adult. He wanted validation, attention, even, from a father. And… those were things that this guy was willing to give. Willing to be.
Sure, there were stupid rules and strings attached, but, as far as he could tell, the man in question wasn’t even really asking for anything in return. Maybe he was just lonely.
Additionally, Donnie was a man of — oh, who was he kidding. He wasn’t anywhere near grown. He was a person of science. And… if he already knew how Scenario Sewer would play out, wasn’t it in his best interest, really, to stick around? To see the full extent of Scenario B? That’s what a proper scientist would do.
Maybe it made him a little bit selfish. Maybe, in the logic-ridden part of his brain (that is to say, the majority of it), he knew full well that it was unfair to his brothers to up and disappear so that he could be happy. But by god, he had always been the black sheep of the family, and he wanted so desperately to be selfish.
Even in the dark, his eyes continued to linger on the door. It wasn’t like it would vanish if he looked away. It would always be there, always allow him exit if he so wished. That is, if he could make it more than three measly steps without nearly killing himself.
…had he always been this clumsy? Or this weak? Sure, he’d never been the most muscular of the team (who needed brawn when he had brains?), but he felt he should have at least been able to kick in a regular old door.
But it wasn’t even necessary to do that. It was unlocked. But it hadn’t been, before, right? Before dinner? Why had he even willingly come back into this glorified prison cell?
All at once, he rolled out of bed, landing unsteadily on his feet as nausea pushed itself up. He groaned, but went for the door anyway, swinging it open in the otherwise silence of the night.
He stumbled a few feet forward, his head spinning.
So… now what? What was he even doing? Proving that the door wasn’t locked? Leaving outright? Wandering this weirdly domestic house purposelessly?
It was so… different. The lair was scrapped together junk, but a home nontheless. This place was… commercialized. No personality to it. Like the after of most home makeover shows.
He collapsed into the couch, landing somewhat roughly. His head hurt. Why…? Right. He’d smashed his face hard enough to catch a glimpse of god.
Hadn't his head hurt before that, too? Ever since he’d first woken up here…
Something creaked, and he nearly jumped out of his shell, searching the room cautiously. There was nothing there. Houses tended to settle. Sewers… not so much. Not in the same way, at least.
His gaze drifted to the front door, glaring at it.
The door, as hypothesized, didn’t move, or react, or do anything a door shouldn’t be expected to do.
He hugged a throw pillow to his chest — pleased to find it didn’t have a Bad texture — as he continued his impromptu staring contest.
Nardo always cheated during staring contests.
…half the time, when neither of them could sleep, Nardo would haul himself into the lab, two mugs of cocoa in hand, and they would just… exist together. Sometimes, they would talk for several hours, derailing for anything and everything. Other times, Donnie would continue to work on his latest project whilst his twin scrolled mindlessly through his phone.
…this was wrong. What was he thinking? He needed to go home. He needed to apologize for being a selfish dumb-dumb who just cared about… himself.
He was making the wrong choice, here.
Except, of course, he wasn’t even making a choice, yet. He was choosing to continue collecting data. He would make a choice, a real one, after he’d inspected every angle. And if that so happened to mean that he’d get a few days of no responsibilities, nothing to stress over, just exist as a real kid?
Well. He wouldn’t complain about that.
He stayed planted firmly on the couch, slowly finding himself slimping further into the cushions. He didn’t even remember falling asleep.
…He did remember waking up, though. Exhausted and groggy, he slowly came into consciousness, cringing at the crusted drool on his cheek. His whole body was sore from whatever position he’d found himself sleeping in.
With a groan, he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Light peaked in through the blinds. The Hidden City had… some kind of light source other than the sun, considering the whole underground aspect of it. Probably just another weird mystic thing… he’d never understand that shit, would he?
He cringed at the realization of the word he’d used. He couldn’t slip up out loud. He didn’t know what he would do if he had to touch that thing again, so restrictive and textured and god, the smell…
He shuddered in memory. He wasn’t keen to get a repeat of that particular lesson.
Why was he even here? This was all — it was all wrong. When had he become so stupid? Why was he just playing along in this man’s game? It was obvious he was being manipulated!
…But wouldn’t it be nice to be normal?
No, it wasn’t normal to be held captive.
You’re not captive, you dumb-dumb. Door’s open, remember?
Right. Of course it was. Was it? What if he tried to open the door to leave, and he just ended up tied to a bed with a muzzle over his face again? He couldn’t do that again. He couldn’t.
This isn’t normal.
But it was — it was something, certainly. Not normal. A freak of nature didn’t really get the option for normal, did it?
Why was he even thinking about this?
There was too much to consider. Too many variables. Indecision and raw panic clawed at him, too many different ideas of what exactly he was supposed to do. It was like the very atoms making up his being were caught in a fight on which way to move, leaving him entirely stagnant.
If he even tried to move, he feared he’d be torn apart.
What was going on with his brain? He was a genius, his mind should have been helping him, not hindering. Every move by his captor so far had clearly been calculated, edging him into, what? Trusting him? Accepting this? Allowing himself to stop needing to be so grown up all the time?
He missed being a kid. He missed playing with his brothers, even when it was sportsball and he was always the one who got hurt at the end. He missed wearing broken glasses, before he’d finally just manned up and given himself laser eye surgery because it wasn’t like he was normal. It wasn’t like they could go to a doctor and get it done there. He was smart enough to do it, anyway.
He loved being smart. He loved being young almost as much.
Maybe they could’ve all been real kids if their father had raised them in the Hidden City. They could’ve gone to school, they could have had friends, they could have been normal. But of course Splinter hadn’t considered that. Of course he’d never even mentioned it to them. He’d never even mentioned any of his past, never made much of an attempt at all to bond with them. All he’d ever been concerned with was his stupid television and shutting himself in his room.
When Donnie really let himself stop to think about it, it just made him so. Angry. All he’d ever wanted was to spend time with him. He’d just wanted to exist in the faraway world his father lived in. Even now that Splinter actually talked to them more often… it never really managed to make up for the other fourteen years. It would never make up for that 278 days of nothing.
A spiteful part of him hated his father. He hated him. He hated him for ignoring him for his entire fucking life (who care if he swore, maybe at this point he fucking desered to). He hated his dumb-dumb brothers for always stealing away all the attention, he hated them for not getting him out of this hellhole already. Were they even looking? Why would they be? They’d never taken him seriously and they’d never loved him as much as they loved each other, and they were probably thrilled he was gone, thrilled he couldn’t bore them to death anymore with every ounce of his mind.
It hit him that he’d stopped remembering to breathe for the last minute or so. He inhaled and exhaled manually, closing his eyes as he processed the anger slowly leaving him. Stupid. Stupid. Of course he didn’t hate them. Of course they cared about him. They were a family. He knew they loved him.
They cared. He knew they cared. It just… wasn’t as obvious when they forgot him in the clutches of a cannibalistic mutant-pig. Or when they called dibs on all his stuff. Or when they always made him the butt of the joke, or when they only needed him to make things for them.
Was he being too sensitive? Perhaps he was just being too sensitive.
He could hear words being spoken, asking what was wrong, if he was alright, and he could hear them, but he also couldn’t, and he didn’t have the brain power to even acknowledge it. How sad. He was like a computer having it motherboard ripped out. Heh, or fatherboard, more accurately.
“…eathe, kiddo, just breathe for me…”
Right. Breathing. That was important, wasn’t it?
Time to snap out of it, Donnie. You don’t even have a shell to retreat into.
“That’s it… just some nice deep breaths…”
His vision swam momentarily and he pitched forward, dropping his head between his knees. The most movement he’d allowed himself in… how long had he been sitting here?
Slowly, it passed, and he carefully brought himself back up.
“Sorry…” he breathed, “‘m sorry…”
“You don’t need to apologize, sunshine. I’m here to help you,” he said, offering a glass of water that he eagerly accepted, downing it in a few gulps. His head spun.
His papa back home had never even considered comforting him in a moment like this. And why would he have? Donnie wasn’t worth the emotional energy for that.
But… here was someone who seemed to believe he was. Someone who was proud of him for existing. Someone who didn’t make him feel like a burden for being alive.
“…feels like my bodily functions have been scrambled for days,” he admitted, exhausted and defeated. It wasn’t like he was giving up. Just… seeking comfort where he knew he could find it.
“A concussion will do that to you, kiddo.”
He nodded absentmindedly. But then… wait, what? A concussion? He didn’t remember — okay, that was a symptom, but so not the point — but when had he gotten a concussion? “Huh?”
The yokai’s brow furrowed in what seemed almost like worry. “We talked about this before… you don’t remember?”
Clearly not. Although, this did explain the headaches, the nausea, the general confusion…
“That’s why we kept you tucked in bed for a few days,” he continued, like it was supposed to make perfect sense, “so you wouldn’t aggravate your poor head. Lord knows that nosebleed didn’t help…”
“I thought you said that was to… keep me from running?”
He laughed, but Donnie was fairly certain he hadn’t told any jokes, so…? “Running to where?”
Good point… he wouldn’t keep him here against his will. He’d said himself that he was free to go whenever he pleased. But he could have sworn he’d said yesterday…
“No,” he said, shaking his head and wincing at the ache behind his eyes that it brought him. “You said…” His tongue felt oddly heavy in his mouth.
“Poor thing, you’re all turned around.”
No he wasn’t, he was sure that he’d said…? What had he said?
“How’d I get a concussion?” he asked, the room seeming to tilt around him. It wasn’t supposed to do that.
“I’ll tell you another day, kiddo. I don’t want to freak you out.”
No, not okay. He needed to know, he always had a deep-seated need to know…
“You look exhausted.”
That couldn’t be right… hadn’t he just woken up?
A cup that he’d apparently been holding slipped out of his grasp, clattering empty on the floor.
He flexed his fingers, confused as to where it had come from.
When he finally looked up, he discovered that at some point, he’d been picked up, being carried back towards the bedroom he’d escaped from at some point in the night.
“Noo,” he managed with great difficulty, struggling to remember exactly what it was he was disagreeing with. He struggled in his restraints — or… fuzzy…? Arms! They were arms.
“No more thinking for right now, kiddo, let’s get you to sleep.”
But he’d already slept, he didn’t need any more, what about that was so hard to understand—?
He was being tucked in, and the bed was welcoming him with open arms that threatened never to let him go. But he really was exhausted, all of a sudden…
A few more hours of sleep wouldn’t hurt.
#rottmnt#rise of the tmnt#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#kat writes#fanfiction#fic#rottmnt fanfiction#rottmnt fic#rottmnt angst#rottmnt whump#whump#angst#hurt/comfort#rise fanfic#parental whumper#infantilization#concussion#drugging#shutdown#self deprecation#neglect#stalking
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Freelancer Saga - Changing Tides
Freelancer Saga Masterpost
Everything has a beginning, a moment before the balance shifts. Despite his jaded heart, Ghost cannot avoid the call to protect and prepare that which is not his to keep. RJ and Casey have far from gentle introductions to the world, but with Ghost’s help, they learn to survive, and unexpectedly, thrive. David - young, dumb, and loved - put his parent’s patience to the test as he struggled to find his footing in a world all to eager to throw him down the stairs.
[Follows Freelancers: Swansong]
Uncollaring:
Routine / Cat / Mouse / Bad Dog / New Tricks / In for a Penny / In for a Pound / The North / The South
Halfway Home:
Halfway / Facade / Nap / Hush / Session #1 / The Mademoiselle / Butchering / Unlocked Cage / Out? / Vigil / Session #7 / The Agent / Night Out / Barfight / Bared / Session #15 / Tea / The Target
The Backslide:
Smoke Break / Not-Not Panicking / Pop Goes the Weasel / Tongue-Tied / Bad Trip / Confirmation / Echo / Chain Gang / Curiosity Killed the Rat / Best Served Cold / The Runt / fucked. / In the Dog House / Girls' Night! / Professionals / Relapse / Birds of a Feather / Happy Hunting / Housepainting
The Return:
Normalcy / Two Mourners / Wake Up Call / No Half Measures / Lender / Legacy
Parenting 101 for Assassins:
Ghost finds a kid / Haircut / Parenting advice / Lesson #1 / RJ learns to lockpick / Hurting to help / An Ask Too Great / Casey can’t. / Cain Instinct / Not Betrayal / RJ can’t stay awake / RJ’s pick up
Parent's can accept their transgender son, but draw the line at drug dealing:
David gets a scar / Kicked out
[Before Freelancers: Boy Meets World]
#whump#oc whump#parental caretaker#parental whumper#whump of a minor#minor whump#neglect#panic attacks#toxic family#freelancers
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Parental Whumper Prompt #8
The whumper makes the whumpee ask "mom" or "dad's" permission for every little thing they do, to remind them of who's in control here.
#whumpblr#whump prompt#parental whumper#whump community#dehumanization#child abuse cw#been a while since i posted one of these
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amnesia trope
I know it’s so cliche, but I love the amnesia trope so much.
Maybe Whumpee wakes up, swaddled in blankets, in a house they don’t recognize. They’re confused, injured, and a little scared.
Either Caretaker could come in, all concerned and worried, but my favorite trope is if Whumper comes in.
Especially if Whumper claims to be someone to them that they’re not, whether that means a close friend or a family member. They could trick Whumpee into believing that they love them, and that they only hurt them for their own good. Since Whumpee doesn’t know much better, they accept it, which is exactly what Whumper wants.
#whump#whump writing#whump trope#amnesia whump#whump prompt#whump prompts#whump scenario#whump concept#intimate whumper#parental whumper#manipulative whumper
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FEBUWHUMP DAY 7 - Suffering in silence
CW: emotional manipulation, parental Whumper, hypnosis, conditioning, mind control, interrogation, forced betrayal
Previous | [Masterlist] | Next
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Shepard cradled his son protectively, hoping to increase this state of suggestibility to a usable scale, despite or especially because the walls Reuben had built up were nothing more than gravel on the road.
"Listen carefully now. I'm not trying to fool you again, I'm just worried about my children. That's why I need to know if Lukas is alright, you understand this better than anyone. You remember what always happens when the stress gets to him: he doesn't eat, just lays in bed until sunset and doesn't go outside for fresh air. We don't want that, do we?"
His youngest nodded his assent. Luke, in one of his moods, couldn't cope on his own and he was all alone now too, but Ben was here and ready to support him from afar.
"You always help me out, that's your special talent. And I wouldn't dare to ask you bluntly, I bet Lukas told you that awful things would happen if you reveal details about his new...current home to me."
Ben agreed again, he was thoroughly briefed to hold his peace. Luke's horror stories about how they both would be dragged back and forcefully introduced again made goosebumps blossom at the back of his neck, which Shepard carefully stroked away: "But I'm not asking directly, so it's okay, we can play by Lukas' silly little rules and help him at the same time. Isn't that great?"
Shepard watched a lightened smile spread across his son's face, always eager to assist his dad.
"So, to achieve this, I need you to stay down, stay calm, stay open to my words. When you're ready to talk to me, I will listen."
After swallowing a few times, his jaw loosened with a click. Ben was thoroughly poised. Perfect.
"You lived together with Luke?" Shepard tried to suppress any judging tone that possibly snuck its way into his questions.
"Yes," Ben whispered, his voice sounding like it detached to flow freely throughout the tent.
Just as suspected: same city, same vicinity. Shepard would siphon Luke out of the masses until he was sure he was close enough.
"And others too?"
"Yeah."
Shared flat. Close to campus, more than likely. Luke had surrounded himself with many people, many friends, which certainly acted as an extra barrier. Nothing his dad couldn't get out of the way.
"That's so nice, it's important to stay close to the people you love."
Ben nuzzled into the crook of his neck, a compliment Shepard gladly accepted.
"Imagine something for me. Imagine you're back in the house you lived in. You wake up like every morning, the warm sunbeams on your skin welcome the new day, and get dressed in your favorite outfit. You already prepared it the evening before, that's how exited you are to take a stroll through the city."
Ben could see Lukas' room so clearly: the spare sleeping mat he and his roommates had dug up and cramped under the desk. Everything had been cramped ever since he followed his brother out into the real, wild world, but that never stopped them from finding a way for themselves.
"Ready for the day, you step outside. What is the first building you can see?"
The question took a while to settle in, the cogs in Ben's mind worked at a snail's pace: "A restaurant."
"Is it a nice one, an expensive one?"
"Yeah." Luke had invited him there once or twice, only when his paychecks arrived.
"Can you see the name?"
Despite their makeshift living conditions, Shepard wondered if his boys, lacking papers and any kind of formal education, managed to settle in a high-end neighborhood. Meanwhile, Ben smiled weakly, remembering the intense aroma of cinnamon and sprinkles on his tongue.
"What does it say?"
"IHOP."
"Thank you, sweetheart," Shepard coughed and bit his lip hard to hold in his laughter. This narrowed the area down. His Reuben was incredibly helpful indeed, even if he was unable to grasp why.
"Taking in the morning air, you stride along the sidewalk to the nearest street sign. They are fixed on a post, a little plate with letters on it."
"I know, Dad!" he could practically hear Ben roll his eyes if he were in a different state of mind, "I'm not as stupid as you think."
But sweet Ben never paid attention to bland signs that couldn't spark his curiosity, and currently his brain wasn't active enough to produce a dream image.
"What street are you on?"
Ben shrugged innocently: "I dunno."
Prodding further would just risk him getting defensive, a possibility not worth sacrificing his results for. Lukas was practically gifted to Shepard on a silver platter, rushing it was not the way.
"That's alright, Ben. You're doing great, just go back to the house for me and tell me what color it is."
"Bricks," he muttered.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, the tired man tried another strategy: "You walk up to the front door now, please. Slowly, dear, we aren't in a hurry."
A foul lie to calm his all too eager son down; complex assignments usually made Ben confuse himself into a stupor.
"Arriving at the entrance, you look at the facade and somewhere above the doorbells you will see a number. If you tell me which one it is, I'll stop bothering you."
Bother wasn't a word Ben would ever use to describe the breathwork they did together, he may not understand every word that was said or left his own mouth, but nevertheless appreciated this embrace for his soul.
Before his inner eye, the path he walked up countless times before showed itself in great detail: the clear view made of old beer cans and crumbling plaster he never quite got used to. It had to be there somewhere, a few stairs further inside a big circle. Slow, calculating head pats were exchanged for treacherous information.
"The number, sweet thing." If listened closely, maybe one could hear a trace of impatience.
"Four-two-seven," Ben murmured under great exertion.
"There you are. Thank you very much, Ben." A gentle kiss on the crown of his head sealed the deal.
Dad was so proud of him, he did a good job! All was forgiven.
The hard part was over, now Shepard had to ensure that his nestling didn't fledge again. He was truly fortunate that he had such a big heart and dutiful mind.
"How about one more favor for your old man?"
"Okay," Ben's warm breath against his father's chest let them tighten the hug.
"Are you sure? You already did so much for us."
In response, Reuben nodded avidly. He could always assist Dad, he could always prove his worth.
"Well, then. I want you to forget this conversation, Ben. Let it drift out of your head into the world, mix with the wind and get carried far, far away. It would hurt me too much to have you burdened with my worries."
Followed by a deep exhale and final sign of agreement, Ben was placed back on the sea of cushions and blankets beneath him and kindly tucked in. All that was prepared beforehand had found its use, as father and son laid beside each other, hand in hand.
"I'm going to talk to your subconscious now, but you can just simply float along. You don't have to listen to my drivel anymore, starshine, a deeper part will do all the work required. Let go and follow me."
At this final command, the last string that tethered Ben to the waking world slipped from his grasp.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Thanks for reading 🤍 [Febuwhump 2024 Masterlist]
@febuwhump
#whump#whumpblr#creative writing#whump community#whump drabble#febuwhump#febuwhump2024#febuwhumpday7#emotional manipulation#parental Whumper#hypnosis whump#conditioning#mind control#interrogation#forced betrayal#not Ben's fault :(#recapture#Carewhumper#touchstarved Whumpee#cult setting#conditioned Whumpee#regretful Whumper
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Aftermath
Tw: child whumpee, starvation mention, parental whumper, (ask me to add more)
“Mother,” It wailed at the closed door, “Mother please, it’s sorry!”
The door remained stubbornly shut, as it had since it was thrown in this bright, little room. At first, it sat there, still and silent and perfect, just like Mother would want it to. But as hours turned into what felt like days, it began to cry.
It clawed at the door uselessly, only rubbing its fingers raw and bloody against the metal. It tried to kick it, to no avail. Now, though, it just sat there, head pressed pitifully against its own bloody marks on the door.
Days passed, and Thyme was still trying to calm everything down.
After her--that stupid experiment ruined things, her project was threatened with being shut down, all funding cut off. Unless she could find a way to fix it. She had managed to convince her investors to give her that much. Just more time, just enough to fix things.
She’d already begun on the next batch of Skinwalkers, growing in their test tubes. She altered their makeup so, in theory, they would be less aggressive and more obedient. That was the hope, at least.
There was only one way to see if that was the case, though, and that would have to wait for them to be done developing. Another month or so, if she really pushed it.
Thyme let out a long-suffering sigh, sinking into her chair. She still needed to teach Zero a lesson in obedience, but there had just been no time as of late.
Maybe this could be its lesson. I’ll go get it when things calm down.
Zero stopped feeling hungry.
At first, it felt like its insides were trying to eat each other, but that died away after some time. It just laid there, curled in front of the door, the bright white light chasing away any concept of time it may have had.
#child whumpee#?#oc#whump#oc whump#zero#tw dehumanization#shapeshifter#shapeshifting#nonhuman whumpee#nonbinary whumpee#whump drabble#whumpee#it/its#starvation tw#tw starvation#desensitization#tw desensitation#parental whumper
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Ok, but imagine Villain/Henchman/Assassin Whumpee being found by the heroes while they raided Supervillain Whumper's lair and they take Whumpee into custody. They don't handcuff Whumpee because they aren't fighting back (either too injured or in shock) but as they lead Whumpee out of the lair, Whumpee stops.
"Did you find them?"
"Find who?"
Whumpee pulls away from them and goes deeper into the lair. Every time the heroes grab them, they get more and more distressed, saying that they can't leave. They won't leave. After a minute, they start screaming out a name that the heroes don't recognize.
Just as one of the heroes goes to knock Whumpee out, they see a child crawl out from under the stairs and run straight for Whumpee who drops to their knees and hugs the child tightly, shushing their cries and whispering soft, comforting words. "Shh, it's ok. Mommy/Daddy is here. I'm ok. We're ok. it's ok. Shh."
#bonus points if whumpee was known for being exceptionally cruel#but it was just because if they weren't then their child would be in danger#extra bonus points if they were the person who told the heroes about the lair in the first place#hoping that even if they died for it the heroes would save the child#assassin whumpee#villain whumpee#henchman whumpee#supervillain whumper#hero caretaker#emotional whump#whump community#whumpblr#whump#whump prompt#parent whumpee#child whumpee#??? not really
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Dismantled Chapter 5
AO3
i rewrote this chapter probably six different times but I can finally say I'm satisfied with it yippee
Trigger Warnings: mentions of neglect. self deprecation, stalking, implied suicidal ideation, blood and injury, infantilization, and overall creepy whimper. Y'all know the drill.
2559 words
With his newfound movement, Donnie had plenty of time to pace the confines of the room, memorizing every inch of the space.
The door, obviously, was locked. He’d given up on the concept of tunneling through the walls already, because as fun as that sounded, it wasn’t like he had his drill. Or anything that could get the job done, for that matter.
He’d attempted to kick the door in exactly once. Unsuccessfully, he might add. It had been… a good reminder that he wasn’t the strong one.
It made him so stupidly angry that he couldn’t so much as break down a door when he had no doubt that his brothers wouldn’t struggle with something like that. The only thing that had ever made Donnie strong was his mind, and he couldn’t even think up a way out of this room.
He wondered what Splinter would say to do. He wondered if Splinter would say a thing to him at all.
Rage flooded his body, overwhelming his senses. He stood up abruptly from his defeated slouch on the mattress, grumbling to himself. He hated Splinter. He really, really hated him. He’d wanted nothing more than a little attention as a kid (ha, like he wasn’t still a kid), and it had taken fourteen years to get a single shred of it. How many years would he have to wait until he got any more than scraps?
Splinter probably hadn’t even noticed he was gone. Even if he had, he likely wouldn’t care. The only worth Donnie had ever provided to him was through his admittedly brilliant mind. And even that had only been used to fix a television set. Ugh.
Desperate for an outlet, he snatched a book off of the bookcase and hurled it against the wall.
Unsatisfied, he grabbed another, and then another, throwing them as hard as he could, each thunk against the wall only making him more and more upset. He picked up another, flipping it open and grabbing a handful of pages, attempting to rip them out. Instead, he only succeeded in crumpling them, as they stayed stubbornly attached to the spine.
He pulled harder, but apparently he was just too weak to tear a couple pieces of paper. He slammed that one against the floor with every ounce of strength in his bones, glaring at it from above.
He sat down with a huff, picking up the offending book again. He opened it to page one, very deliberately tearing it out. He’d take this stupid thing apart one page at a time if he needed to.
And so he did. He sat there, ripping pages and balling them up, throwing them around his prison until he’d ripped decent chunks out of several of the books, now utterly destroyed. Good. They deserved to be ruined.
He picked a fresh one off the bottom shelf, his anger so elevated it had boiled over into a confusing sort of calm. His eyes lazily traced over the cover. It looked like — he scoffed, nearly even chuckled — of all things, a book on computer engineering. By the looks of it, it had been authored and published by yokai. He hadn’t even known yokai had computers.
He took stock of the others he’d wrecked, actually taking the time to examine them now. He hadn’t recognized it at first, but a good portion of them appeared to be focused on science and engineering. Many by yokai-kind, if he wasn’t mistaken, but some by humans, too. And they weren’t… kid books. They were high level.
He furrowed his brow, flipping through the few he hadn’t completely demolished. He felt a little stupid about that now. They were his one source of entertainment, and from the looks of it, he actually would have enjoyed them wholeheartedly.
It made him a little sick. Clearly, this guy had been stalking him for longer than Donnie had initially assumed, considering the detail that had gone into picking books specifically tailored to his interests. It was entirely unnecessary. It was almost… nice.
He began to clean up, collecting the various crumpled pages. One by one, he smoothed them out, matching them to their respective book and ordering them by page number.
Finally, he slid them back into place, despite having no real way of securing them. Mikey had once had a bookbinding phase, maybe he could — oh. Right. He’d nearly forgotten.
He groaned, slumping into the carpet. He wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole. It might even mimic the way his brothers could slink into their shells. That sounded nice. Comforting, even. Like a baby wrapped in a blanket.
The knock on his door came as it always did. He didn’t bother moving, face pressed deeply into the carpet. Maybe if he pressed a little harder he wouldn’t have to worry about breathing at all.
“It’s time for dinner,” came the gratingly soft voice of his captor. “Come on, up up.”
Donnie lifted his head just enough that his words would be more than gibberish. “I’m not hungry.”
There was a beat of silence, and he settled in again, assuming that the dude had actually taken the hint. But then came—
“You don’t want out of your room?”
He snapped his head up fully, incredulous. He was going to be let out of this room? Just like that? What was the catch?
With working legs this time, he could actually get out the door. He could get home, where he wouldn’t be smothered in some sick imitation of fatherly affection — not that he had much to compare it to — where — wait. Argh, he was getting in his head. Just because Splinter kind of sucked as a parent didn’t make this guy good. Correlation doth not equal causation, hello Donatello.
He hadn’t answered yet, nor had he moved. Still, he was waiting patiently above him, watching with what looked like an amused grin from Donnie’s peripheral vision.
Slowly, he pushed himself onto his elbows, then to his feet. He gestured to the doorway, indicating that Donnie would exist first. What was this guy’s game? Surely he was walking into some sort of trap…
The room was at the mouth of a short hallway that spilled into a humble living room. Beyond that, a fairly standard looking kitchen, and… egad. There was the fabled front door.
“I’m sorry for not allowing you out until now,” his captor was saying, “I wanted to give you time to settle in.”
Donnie hummed a general acknowledgement, not really listening as he eyed the front door, ever so slightly edging himself in that direction.
“How are you enjoying your books?”
He paused. Would he be in trouble for admitting he’d ruined them? Worse, would this guy think his sick plan was working if he admitted that — “They look interesting.”
He didn’t particularly want to unpack what it was that compelled him to answer. He was too afraid of what he might find if he did.
The man before him smiled wide, eyes shining with — “I hope they are! I’ve never understood science much, but I thought you would like them. You’re such a smart kid, you know. I’m really proud.”
Proud. That shouldn’t have sent a burst of dopamine rushing through his body like it did. It nearly made him dizzy. It was so incredibly rare that he heard something like that from… a parent-aged adult.
Someone was proud of him, really proud of him, just for wanting to read a book? Would he be proud of his inventions? His concepts? His theories?
It took the soft scrape of a chair against the floor to snap him out of stupor. He was just… standing there, in the middle of the room. The door was right there, why hadn’t he…?
Maybe it was the scientist in him. Maybe he kind of just wanted to see what would happen. Maybe he was really, really hungry. He couldn’t very well escape on an empty stomach, after all.
Hesitance slowly fizzled out as he sat at the table, fading away to make room for the meltingly warm feeling of proud.
Sitting in front of him was an actual, honest to god sandwich. Not just — blended mush that left him gagging on its bitterly grimy texture. It looked more than edible, it actually looked good.
Sneaking a glance at… him, he slowly peeled the top slice of bread off, taking a savoring bite of the flavor of actual food. It was heavenly. He’d take bread and water for the rest of his life if it tasted like this.
He’d just begun gnawing on the slice of cheese next in the tower of sandwich when his counterpart cleared his throat.
Caught off guard, Donnie looked up, chewing awkwardly on his slice of swiss. Each movement of his mouth felt suddenly a little too big for his liking.
“How are you liking your room?”
He took a moment to swallow, lest he choke and end up back at square baby food. “It’s fine,” he shrugged, unable to help mumbling a snarky continuation. “It’d be nicer if it wasn’t literally a cell.”
“A cell?” He repeated, like he was truly confused about it. “It’s not a prison, little one, it’s a protection.”
“Okay, so if I go out that door,” he said with a jagged gesture at it, “I’m good to go?”
“To go be a child soldier again? If that’s your choice.”
Scoff, child soldier. That was so incredibly off base it was absurd! That would be… well, that would entail… ugh, it was different. It was he and his brothers’ duty to protect the people of New York. They had tech, and training, and… magic.
Of course he would rather go home, not to be a soldier, but to be…
His bones ached in memory of the Shredder.
Not a soldier. Not a soldier. A hero.
Of course he would prefer the lair to this. Who needed a warm, cozy house when he had a dirty, chaotic… sewer?
“If you’re so content to let me ‘make my own choice,’” he said, finger quotes accompanying his sarcasm, “then why keep me locked up at all? And why just let me out after all that?”
The man regarded him for a moment, sighing and folding his hands together. “If I’d given you the option to leave immediately, you never would have considered anything else.”
“Obviously.”
“I wanted you to spend a few days understanding what it’s like to be a real child and not—”
“Yeah, yeah, a soldier, I get it.”
“How can you choose if you don’t know your options?”
“Oh, yeah, being stuck in a baby swaddle for a couple days, who wouldn’t wanna live like that?”
“You would have hurt yourself. It was a precaution.”
“Yeah, okay,” he scowled, pushing his chair back and ignoring the sensory hell of it screeching across the floor. “So anyway, fuck this. I’m leaving.”
Screw science, he was done. He spun on his heel, knocking the chair over in his haste (and definitely not because he’d tripped over it a little). He recovered quickly, striding away and refusing to allow the psycho seated behind him the satisfaction of any further acknowledgement.
It was eerily quiet as he went, no footsteps or anything in a last ditch effort to keep him here. Scoff, of course he wasn’t going to go after him. No adults had ever cared about him before, and he’d be an idiot to think that was changing now.
And then, suddenly, it all came crashing down. Literally. He tripped over — over nothing, over thin air, over his own two feet, over his massively inflated ego — and his face collided directly with the painfully accurately named hardwood.
At first, all he could hear was a violent ringing from somewhere above his head. Or inside his skull. Whichever was more likely to feel like his brain was melting, because it felt like he was dipping his head into fresh magma.
He could feel blood begin to dribble from his nose, warm and sticky. For some reason, the only thought he could coherently make out was if it would stain the floor, like the time Leo had knocked over an entire bottle of Mikey’s paint.
“Oh goodness, you’re hurt!” his captor exclaimed, somehow beside him already. How’d he get over here so fast? “You poor thing, oh no… can you sit up? No, no, don’t move, let me get some ice!”
“Don’t,” Donnie protested weakly, but it was for naught. He groaned, allowing his cheek to press flush to the relievingly cool surface of the floor. His eyes hazily traced over the area, searching for what he could have fallen over. There was nothing. Not a single thing where he’d been standing, just clear, empty floor. Had he always been so clumsy? How had he ever made it through a fight before? He’d known he was reliant on his tech, but…
The ice was a hugely welcome relief. It didn’t alleviate the pain, but it was nice to have someone — uh… it was nice to have.
“Thank you,” he mumbled, biting down a pained hiss as he adjusted the cold pack on his face.
“Of course.”
Carefully, slowly, he helped Donnie stumble to his feet. He didn’t immediately guide him anywhere, just… let him lean on him for a moment.
He was so close to the door. Somehow, he suspected he wouldn’t be stopped if he still lunged for it.
But he just… couldn’t.
Sure, it was nice to be hurt and have an adult actually give a — er, care, but… just accepting all this? Living without the constant anxiety of death wielding its scythe overhead? Being an actual child with a dad that actually cared… it all sounded so… it would just be so easy.
He’d never been one to opt for easy. He was a supergenius.
…maybe that was part of the problem. All he could contribute to the team was his mind, his tech. But he couldn’t do anything that couldn’t be done quicker and better by the universe's mystic forces.
Maybe — maybe he deserved easy. Maybe he really, desperately craved easy. He was only 14, that was nothing. He was nothing. Just a tiny amalgamation of atoms in a greater universe that didn’t need him to keep spinning, not really.
And wouldn’t that make him so selfish? To take the bait being dangled just in front of him, well within arms reach? To abandon his family in search of really being nurtured?
God, he was a horrible person. Who would even consider something like that? Who would accept a situation like this?
But it sounded so nice. And it would be better than nothing, wouldn’t it? Already, this guy had given him more attention than he’d gotten in his entire life from his real Papa.
He’d been wrong: it wasn’t bait. It was a silver platter.
To an oblivious fish like him, what was the real difference?
Donnie nudged towards the couch, sitting down and pulling the bunched ice away from his face to inspect the damage. It wasn’t bleeding too badly anymore, now just a trickle, but it still ached.
It would be fine. He knew it would be. He knew, if nothing else, that dad would make sure it was fine.
#rottmnt#rise of the tmnt#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#kat writes#fanfiction#fic#rottmnt fanfiction#rottmnt fic#rottmnt angst#rottmnt whump#whump#angst#whumpblr#kidnapping#hurt/comfort#rise fanfic#parental whumper#infantilization#neglect#self deprecation#suicidal ideation#stalking#blood#injury#creepy whumper
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“thanks.. dad..” says whumpee, their voice rough and low, as caretaker threads their fingers through their tangled hair
vs
“no please-! dad make it stop! it hurts- please-!” as they thrash and scream, arching away from whumper’s blade as they slice and carve into their skin, caretaker watching in chains
#whumpee’s calling caretaker dad >>#whump blog#whump community#whumpblr#whump#whump prompt#whump scenario#whump tropes#whump writing#whumpee#sick whump#whumper#caretaker#parental caretaker#whump torture#implied kidnapping#sick whumpee#fever whump#whumptober 2023
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