#tw death threats

[3-2-whump]

The Scent of Jasmine

<prev

Who's in the mood for some carewhumping after the emotional rollercoaster of almost dying? I know I am!

Thank you @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz for being awesome beta readers

TW/CW: aftermath of mock execution, trauma aftermath, extremely dubious consent, nonverbal whumpee, whumper turned carewhumper, dubiously consensual nudity, death threats, chastity devices (yes, it’s back), forced domesticity, food whump (sort of) (tagging it anyway to cover my bases), intimate whumper

The boss noticed Khaled’s grateful enthusiasm slowly fade into a catatonic silence on the drive home. He didn’t think much of it, though. Poor boy is just shocked is all, he told himself, we can work on that. He parked, got out of the car and led Khaled out of the garage and to the elevator.

His first order of business was to strip Khaled when they got home. The poor thing was soaked in melted snow and cooled piss. He was barely responsive as Thomas pulled him into the laundry room and slowly peeled each layer of clothing off his shivering body. “You need a bath, Khaled.”

Khaled didn’t reply, instead opting to stare at his bare feet with empty, starless eyes. I can’t blame him for being quiet. Anyone would be a little messed up after a mock execution, he figured. He sighed, gently taking the slave’s hand in his and leading him to the master bathroom.

Once inside, Thomas deposited him at the entrance and turned on the lights and the fan. Khaled stood silently watching him by the door as he knelt by the large, deep bath tub. “Come on in,” he beckoned. Khaled inched closer to the bath tub as Thomas poured a generous glug of bubble bath solution into the marble expanse and cranked the water full-blast, making micro-adjustments to make sure the temperature wasn’t too hot. As a finishing touch, he uncapped a tiny bottle of jasmine oil and dripped a few drops into the tub. The floral scent rose on the plumes of steam coming from the frothing tub.

Once the tub was full enough, Thomas turned off the tap and pulled Khaled closer to the tub. He effortlessly scooped the young man’s cold body into his arms, settling him on the edge of the bath tub before gently lowering him in. “I’m going to help you wash your hair and body. Nod if you understand me.”

Khaled faintly nodded, eyes fully closing as he slumped into the soapy water. “Good boy.” Nothing but a small, contented sounding whimper answered him. At least he’s becoming verbal again.

Thomas methodically washed the young man’s body and hair, being mindful of not getting any soap in his eyes as he massaged his scalp with the shampoo. He noticed the newly forming chafe marks on Khaled’s wrists as he scrubbed his body. All the while he whispered sweet nothings into his ear, like “good boy, you’re being so good right now, we’re almost done, I gotta rinse you off and drain the tub next.”

The awareness in Khaled’s eyes was flickering back on once Thomas helped him out of the bath tub and began towel-drying him. “Back with me, beautiful?” he teased.

“Mmm.” Inky dark eyes glittered up at him from dark lashes and damp strands of black hair as Thomas wrapped a soft fluffy towel around his shoulders.

“Yeah, good. Very good.” He procured something small and metallic from behind his back.

Khaled instinctively backed away as soon as he saw what it was. “Khaled,” he warned. It was all he needed to say for the boy to stay rooted on the spot. “I haven’t forgotten about you running around and getting an STD,” he explained as he wrapped the cock cage around Khaled’s privates. “And I’m still mad about it. But maybe I will let you out once we’re both all better.” He padlocked it in place and held the small caged appendage in his hand. “Or once I put that dumpster lover of yours under, like the horndog he is. Whichever comes sooner.” He marveled at how it was but a microcosm of Khaled’s greater captivity. As he craned his gaze upwards, he saw Khaled pout. “Oh, don’t give me that look –I’m doing this for your own good!” The boy smoothed his frown back into a neutral expression of apathy as he hid his eyes behind his lashes.

“That’s more like it. Now, can you change into your pajamas and wait in the living room until Master is done in here?” He measured out his words slowly and carefully, explaining it as if Khaled was a child again. Another quiet hum answered him. “Good boy. When I’m done, we can eat, and then we’ll watch whatever you’d like.” He gestured him out with a small wave of the hand, then hopped into the shower for a quick rinse off himself.

When he got out of the shower, towel-dried himself, and changed into a fresh pair of flannel pants and a wife-beater tank top, Thomas made his way to the living room, where Khaled sat on the floor, at the foot of the couch, gazing down at the carpet with desolate eyes. He was still wrapped in the bath towel. Seeing him there brought back memories of when Khaled was younger, when he would lean against his shins and let him brush his thick black hair. The memory brought back fond feelings in Thomas’ chest. He turned around and went back to the bathroom for a hairbrush.

Once he was done brushing his slave’s hair, they ended up sitting opposite each other at the dining room table, each with a plate of reheated takeout from a new Indian restaurant Tom had wanted to try. While the boss himself ravenously devoured the bhuna ghost, Khaled kept tearing the same corner of buttered naan between his fingers while staring apathetically at the murgh cholay.

“Are you sure you don’t want any more food?” he asked again. “You hardly touched your portion.”

The boy merely shook his head.

“Come on, at least two more bites, Khaled,” he coaxed. “Give me at least two more bites before I put it away.”

Khaled cast him an empty, weary stare, not breaking eye contact as he tore off the weathered chunk of bread, dipped it into the curry, and ate exactly two more bites.

They ended up cuddling onto the couch together after dinner, a rarity in their household. Thomas man-spread on the couch and rested his arms outstretched along the back. Khaled, still wearing nothing but a damp bath towel around his shoulders, leaned against his side with his head resting on his chest. His hands curled around a steaming mug of chai, which he occasionally sipped as they watched a rerun of the AFC World Cup. Khaled didn’t cheer, or groan, or offer any commentary of any kind throughout the whole match. It was unusual for Khaled to remain this quiet and glum during a game. Thomas gently took the mug from his hands and set it on the table. “What’s wrong? Why are you so quiet this evening? Is it –oh, is it because of that little scare off the side of the road?” he guessed. Khaled pushed his weight up against him, just short of burrowing into the man’s side.

“I guess I scared you pretty badly, didn’t I? Look, I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I know now it wasn’t you, but I had to be sure. I promise I will never fake you out like that again.”

The young man remained silent as he leaned against his chest.

“If anything, you should be blaming that boyfriend of yours,” he continued. “I bet he never would’ve attempted that hit if he knew what I was about to do to you tonight. But, what’s done is done, and now you’ll never see him again.”

Khaled did not respond.

It took about an hour more of mind-numbing soccer footage for him to realize the boy had fallen asleep on him.

Oh. He softly smiled as he turned off the TV. He carefully got up and lowered Khaled onto the couch, disentangling the towel from his unconscious, nude form. He propped a throw pillow behind his head, then unfurled a fleece blanket and draped it over him, making sure his feet were covered and he was properly tucked in for the night. “Goodnight, Khaled,” he whispered, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on the side of the boy’s parted lips. “I… love you...”

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire

[feyinvestigations]

Red Hood's one man war against his Twitter verification continues

(heads up: drugs+graphic threats of violence)

First //// prev //// next

Masterpost

++Plus a bonus I forgot from Jason's previous escapades

[notverycolonthreeofyou]

Happy I hate fireworks day 🥳

[notaplaceofhonour]

it’s october 7th. you hear about the attack by seeing people you followed glorifying the terrorist attack—a massacre, a pogrom—as victory & justified resistance, glorifying a terrorist group that was founded with the explicit intent to kill your entire people

you make a post in which you make it clear you support palestinians and oppose the ways israel has wronged them, explaining that the terrorist group is still not good. you know you will probably get some flacc from the pro-Hamas side, but naively underestimate how much.

you get thousands of notifications on that one post, the majority of them hateful comments.

some of the response is positive. multiple messages thank you for the post, expressing bafflement that it’s controversial.

a few Israelis are upset at the loaded language in your post, but explain their problems with it civilly. you called Israel “apartheid”. they ask you what apartheid laws Israel has. you admit you honestly don’t know.

your inbox is flooded with anonymous hate from anti-Israel leftists.

over the course of a few weeks you have received hundreds of death threats, a dozen rape threats. people accuse you of being pro-genocide. you’re a literal Nazi. you’re racist, you thirst for the blood of Palestinians. you’re brainwashed by propaganda, a shill for The Zionist Entity. a few of the hate messages are from literal Neo-Nazis; the overwhelming majority are from leftists, many of them queer.

you are considering suicide.

you see footage of the october 7th attacks. you see footage of the bombings in gaza. you see footage of a Jewish man being murdered at an anti-Israel rally.

a popular creator you follow posts in support of an antisemitic hate group that masquerades as a Jewish organization. this organization regularly posts blood libel and other antisemitic rhetoric, works with groups that are even more explicitly antisemitic, including celebrating October 7th, holocaust inversion, blood libel, “Khazar theory” and others. more than one of the orgs they work with is pro-Putin.

your former roommate liked the post.

graffiti appears on a street you frequent that says “#freepalestine” and “end settler colonialism”

the boyfriend of the friend you spent most of the summer with makes his first post about the war. it’s a reposted comic that mocks and downplays the october 7th attack.

you doubt he’ll be receptive to criticism. he’s shared leftist memes about “monied elites” pulling all the strings and evangelicals being modern day “pharisees” in the past, and getting him to understand why that was antisemitic was like herding cats. you try anyway.

another of his Jewish friends also pushes back. he smugly dismisses her, tells her she’s falling for Zionist propaganda and uses several antisemitic tropes. you go off on him. he just deletes your comment.

you give up. you’re done. you block him.

you see anti-Israel posters and billboards around town

you mention what happened with the guy you went off on to his girlfriend—the friend you’ve grown very close to, who you’ve been listening to as she unburdens her fears for the future and complains about her bf’s BS over the last year. she doesn’t respond to you.

a friend of a friend shares posts tokenizing fringe groups that spread blood libel and have collaborated with holocaust deniers. you know they don’t know what you know, so you explain what those groups are. they seem somewhat receptive, apologize, and take it down

the next day they share several more posts that dip into antisemitic tropes. you mention this to your mutual friend, that you’re worried about them being radicalized. you’re not sure how receptive they’ll be to continued criticism

you have a confrontation with the foaf. in the meantime they’ve shared even more antisemitic posts. they say they didn’t mean to cause you distress but instead of stopping they effectively block you.

the “end settler colonialism” vandalism has been counter-vandalized with the words “commie propaganda” in place of “settler colonialism”. you don’t know if this is an improvement.

a month passes. the friend whose bf you went off on still hasn’t spoken to you. you see she shared a post defending an SJP chapter that posted Nazi cartoon caricatures of Jews repurposed in “Anti-Zionist” memes. you unfriend her on all social media platforms but you can’t bring yourself to block her number.

you see a friend of someone whose couch you surfed when you were homeless harassing Jewish celebrities with “Free Palestine” comments. you block them.

you’ve lost count of how many people you’ve unfollowed or blocked, or who’ve blocked you. friends, content creators.

when a friend takes an unusually long time to respond you worry if it’s because of your posts about antisemitism.

most of the podcasts, youtube channels, and other content creators you regularly engaged with no longer feel safe. you wonder who will be next

a couple friends wish you a happy hanukkah. you don’t celebrate much aside from lighting the hanukkiah and making some latkes.

you see posts about a destroyed chabad menorah, antisemitic comments on Jewish celebrities’ Hanukkah posts.

your neighborhood is covered in pro-Palestine & anti-Israel posters. some are seemingly innocuous, some are JVP “not in our name” posters. some call for intifada. “globalize the intifada” “Zionists fuck off!” “solidarity means attack!”

a man kills himself shouting “free palestine”. you learn about his suicide by seeing posts from several popular accounts you followed glorifying it.

you follow a bunch of jewish accounts on social media and commiserate with them about everything happening

your jewish friends post screenshots of the dead man’s antisemitic, pro-Hamas views. you look at his reddit and find even more horrific shit: anti-Ukraine posts. mocking Zelensky. “elites” are “lizard people”; the only named individual he calls a lizard person is Jewish. you start to notice a pattern: a lot of the people he dislikes just so happen to be jews.

several people you know share a post glorifying this man’s suicide. most are acquaintances, one is someone incredibly important to you.

you wonder how they would respond to your suicide.

you tell the close friend that shared this post how it scares you. you show them the receipts of the man’s antisemitism. their response is a single sentence. they didn’t know about the antisemitism.

they don’t apologize.

you notice none of your irl friends, even your closest ones, interact with your posts about antisemitism. you are able to vent to a couple friends, but no one has reach out to you

you try not to read into it. you try not to take it personally.

you haven’t slept well in months. you’ve always been an insomniac but not like this. you’re not sleeping until 4am, 6am, even 9am. even when you get to bed at a decent hour and get a full night’s rest it takes you hours to get out of bed.

a few weeks go by. the friend with the single sentence response shares a post saying they’re excited and proud to join a group to help palestinians. you’re excited and proud for them.

a couple days later, they share a post about a fundraiser to help a palestinian family get out of gaza. you note to yourself this is a much more effective & less concerning form of activism than the pro-suicidal antisemite post.

your friend shares another post about the fundraiser. it’s a joint post between their group and another group.

you open the other group’s page

the page is just a wall of signs from rallies. you swipe through one after another: “from the river to the sea”, “by any means necessary”, justifying/denying the atrocities of october 7th, calling for violent revolution. anything done in the name of resistance can’t be terrorism, all Israelis are terrorists. Jews aren’t indigenous; they’re white colonizers. holocaust inversion. other vile, thinly veiled violent rhetoric

you feel sick to your stomach imagining talking to your friend about it.

you already feel like you’re burdening the few friends you can talk to about this. you already feel like you think about it too much, talk about it too much. but you can’t not think about it; it affects every aspect of your life.

you’ve filtered out relevant keywords on more than one social media site to avoid the worst of it. some still manages to leak through.

there isn’t a single friend you regularly interact with that you don’t fear the moment when they will switch from listening to your concerns to seeing you as the evil zionist or indoctrinated hasbaranik they’ve been warned about.

it’s not an irrational fear. it keeps happening. you knew it would then, and you were powerless to do anything about it before, and you continue to be as it happens again and again.

you don’t know what to do about any of it.

[soljierpg]

Asking some of ggst faves for help

[proshipconfessions]

This has been said before, but I won’t be shy about saying it again. (Tw for mention of death threats and anti bullshit)

I’m getting kinda tired of proshippers repeatedly reposting screenshots of antis’ vicious and violent threats to us and making some shallow, matter-of-fact comebacks to them that the antis will never listen to anyways.

I don’t wanna be seeing constant reminders of how much antis hate me and want me dead or “converted” when I’m just trying to go through the proship tags. Especially not from OTHER PROSHIPPERS. We should have each other’s backs…

I even see people neglect to trigger tag these posts, or choose to tag them as “proship positivity” just because they slapped an affirmation below some anti’s Pinterest caption about victim blaming a minor for writing icky fanfiction.

I know it’s easy to do, and makes you feel affirmed, and fun in some way. But we need to be mindful when we do shit like this— and we need to take breaks from constantly engaging with Anti shit.

———

[bulgingforbucky]

Tied to the Inexplicable

NSFW

Warning: Physical Hurt, Degrading, Death Threats, No Aftercare, He's Mean, He might be psychotic

Summary: You chose the Jedi over Qimir and he will make sure you stay loyal to him by punishing you.

I kinda hurted my own feelings with this one :)

Your feet are running in the forest as you pant trying to get away from the brutal murders your master is committing. As you're running you look behind you seeing no one there stopping to catch your breath. You start walking in the dark part of the woods before he appears in front of you looking at you as his dark hair dangles in his face. You let out a scream falling backward at his appearance, his face scrunched in anger as he stares you down.

You scramble to your feet hearing his saber turning on as you turn your back running in the opposite direction. He flips his lightsaber as you run further away from him making him more anger. "You can't run from me!" He yells at the top of his lungs before he raises his other hand using the force to stop you. You try to fight against his hold moving your body but mentally you know that you can't. His footsteps are heavy as he steps on leaves breaking them with every step he takes.

Your back is to him and you can feel his negative emotions as he gets closer with his heavy breathing as his lightsaber hums. Once he gets near you can't see him, you can't even turn your head as you think about what he's doing you hear a hum on your right side along with a red light on the side of your face. Tears immediately start to fill your eyes, "Qimir wait I'm sorry-" you try to say before the saber touches your arm burning you as you scream in pain.

That was a warning.

Sniffles come from you as sharp breaths are taken. It takes all the force for him to not slice you to pieces, to make you suffer in ways you wouldn't even imagine, but at the same time, you are weak, of course, if something sounds good to you you'll jump on board. That's still no excuse for the fact he took you in when no one wanted to, taught you things, made you feel things, and this is how you repay him.

He hears your cries as he huffs turning you around so you can face him as his eyes meet your teary ones as he glares at you. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now along with the Jedi you wanted to be with so badly." Your bottom lip trembles in terror as you try to speak, "Because I regret it, I really do master and I learned my lesson to not choose anyone but you." You breathlessly plead making him softly scoff.

"I don't believe you learned your lesson because if you actually listen to me when I teach you, you wouldn't be in this position. Would you?" He slightly mocks you while you try to get your point across. "No... I do listen-" Qimir shakes his head huffing, "Right, since you listen so much you should be an astonishing expecting apprentice standing by my side right, and not betraying your master praying on his downfall." His tone sounds sarcastic, but you try to go with it anyway.

'No! I never prayed on your downfall!" You say shocked but Qimir isn't having it. "What did you expect to happen when you sided with the ones who want to kill me?! I could have died and that would've been your burden to bear in that already weak mind of yours."

"Your mind is so weak and fragile that it doesn't take much for you to give up and break down. That's why I've been training you, pushing you hard to the point you've built a wall in your head, to the point not even a crack would appear. I'm starting to think you're a waste of time, just another dead end in my plan, a spot on a canvas." He talks down at you making you frown in shame.

"You doubt me."

He's right if I was loyal to and trusted him fully, I wouldn't have doubted him. Doubt led me to choose the enemies, them persuading me, planting their seed knowing I would turn against my master. I was a chess piece, on the Jedi's side and on my master's but at least I'll have free will to choose which one I'll fight for.

"Master I've realized my mistake, please forgive me. I'll work harder to earn your trust and work beside you again. My mentality will strengthen, so the rivals won't use me as a pawn against you." You plead to him, his shoulder drop slightly from them being tense and you take this as a good sign as you hear a heavy sigh from the man.

"I just wanted someone for myself, someone to train to make them the best. You are such a disappointment, I had a feeling this wouldn't work out." Qimir says lifting his lightsaber as your eyes widen.

"Master I'm sorry please forgive me. Please I know I don't deserve to be forgiven." You beg feeling humiliation and regret making Qimir nod in agreement. "You're right, you don't deserve to be forgiven, you deserve to die." Qimir says before he focuses the force on your head squeezing making you cry out.

"Qimir please have mercy! I'm so sorry! I'll do anything please Master! I'll serve you I swear I'll never betray you again please!" You beg and beg until you feel relief on your skull as you fall to the ground whimpering in pain from the pressure that was put on your head.

"Get up." Qimir demands as your body is now weak struggling to stand on your two feet, knees wobbling while you gain your balance as your slightly blurred vision and feeling out of place like your soul was separated from your body is starting to disappear. Qimir turns off the saber which makes you feel a little bit of hope.

Standing up you slightly bow your head to make yourself "smaller" than him, considering he's your master he's already above you. Hearing him grunt makes you look up at him, "Get on your knees." He demands as you give him a questioning look making him narrow his eyes. "Did I stutter?" He asks in his deep voice as you make your way onto your knees before him. You look up at him waiting for his directions before you feel his hand on your jaw. "Just do what you normally do, instead your life is on the line." He threatens in a sweet tone.

"Does that comprehend through your weak skull?" His finger taps in the middle of your forehead. You nod your head, "Yes I understand." You nod wanting to do anything that will help you redeem yourself. "Pull down my pants." He instructs before you hook your fingers in his waistband pulling his pants down to his thighs as his hard, thick, swollen cock with a bead of precum on the tip bounces in your face. You hesitate slightly as you avoid eye contact with his cock as you never pleasured him in this state.

Your hand makes contact with his cock softly before he protests, "Don't act all shy now, if you want me to accept you this is the only way, if not..." He says before he flips the lightsaber pushing it against your forehead. "I can turn this on and you'll have a hole in the middle of your head as the edges of it burn to a crisp as your body hits the ground, considering I killed everyone no one will be here meaning you will rot here like you're nothing, you wouldn't want that would you?" Qimir threatens as you shake your head and tremble feeling the heat from the saber on your skin. "Then suck my cock like you normally do."

Your hands shake before you stroke his cock, you can hear the slick on your hand as moves back and forth, he's so thick you have to use two hands. You can feel him looking down at you before you move your head closer opening your mouth as you take him in. The tolerable salty taste clouds your taste buds as you hum around his cock.

Your warm tongue swirls around his tip before you suck on it. His length twitches in your mouth before you tug on his balls pulling a moan from him. His hand is placed on the back of your head pushing you more on his cock resulting in you gagging. Oh does God know you hate your head being pushed down? You place your hands on his thighs trying to keep yourself still.

"If I find out you're trying to use teeth I'll cut your head off before it can happen." He threatens while a whimper comes from you pulling off. "I would never do that-" you say offended before he cuts you off. "At this point, I don't know what you'll do." Qimir says bluntly looking down at you glaring at him. "Don't push my head down and you won't have anything to worry about." You say expressing your problem.

"Just suck my dick." He says bluntly making your head spin in anger but you lean forward putting his length back in your mouth anyway. You start to bob your head on him gagging softly. Qimir moves his hips as soft moans come from him. "Your mouth is so warm on my cock, keep sucking you're doing good." He praises which gives you confidence sucking harder making him gasp.

He nods in encouragement as he grabs your head holding it. His thighs shake slightly under your grip as you focus on what makes him feel better. You stroke the rest of the length that's not in your mouth as your other hand tugs on his balls making his hips jerk from the action.

"I bet you're wet from sucking on my cock hm?" He observes your legs squeezing together. You just look up at him as you continue to nurse on his cock before he pulls you off. "Answer me." He demands to which you nod. "That's not an answer." He says before he grips your hair making you wince. "Yes, master." You answer in a low-toned voice but he still isn't satisfied with your answer.

"Yes master what?" He edges onto your sentence, in which you reply with his help. "Yes, master I'm wet." Qimir tugs on your hair hard as that's still not what he was looking for. "Correct it." He says with a huff as you sigh, "I'm wet from sucking your cock master." You say hoping that this is what he wanted, which it is as he approves with a nod.

Are you serious? All I did was add a few words to the sentence and now you're happy with it? He better let me go, but my chances seem small considering he still hasn't put the saber that he is gripping tightly hoping I make a mistake.

Qimir can sense your anger and frustration as he lets out a small laugh. "You're not in the right predicament to be feeling so angry, just do what you're told and you'll be fine yeah?" He guides your mouth back on his cock. "There you go, just suck it and make me cum." You almost immediately start putting your mouth to work. His tip hits the back of your throat every now and then as you gag slightly.

You pull off sucking on his sensitive tip making Qimir suck in a breath. Flatting your tongue you lick his slit that's leaking precum into your mouth as you slightly want more of it. Desperately you start to suck slightly harder tugging on his full sensitive balls. Qimir holds the back of your head supporting you through your sexual actions.

Before you know it you hear a groan before a warm liquid fills your mouth gasping in surprise around his cock. "Shh swallow it, c'mon do it." Qimir eggs on as you feel him grip your hair, listening to your master swallowing as instructed. He pulls himself from your mouth as he hums in approval before he runs his thumb on your jaw.

You look up at him hoping he can forgive you for what you've done, but he doesn't say anything about the matter. You watch him as he puts himself away turning away from you. "Follow me." Qimir instructed before he started to walk off. Immediately you get up off your aching knees following your master hoping for the best outcome as you two walk deeper into the forest in silence.

[rottmnt-residuum]

part 9

oooo donnie fed up

⇇ | ⇽ | index | ⇾

[edible-emerald]

"Ok but you know you're still *technically* a huma-" shut up.

Shut up.

Shut up.

I am *not* a human.

I am not a human. I never have been, I never will be. I am above humanity as a concept and I will never identify as or with them.

I am not a human.

I am could kill you in an instant if i wanted to. Do. Not. Say. That. I. Am. Human.

Even if I wasn't alterhuman, I would still not be human. In that scenario, I suppose I'd be nothing, at all. But I am something, at least sometimes, but I am not human. DO. NOT. CALL. ME. HUMAN.

I will never be a human. Don't lie to me.

[bodhrancomedy]

What a wonderful morning I’ve had. Just the icing on the cake.

[furiousgoldfish]

Abuse seemed normal and justifiable to me, the entire time I was living in it as a kid. I didn't question it, the justifications and defenses would appear in my head before I would even start to get upset about it. 'They didn't mean that, they did it to make me stronger, to teach me how hard life is. They only did it out of anger, they wouldn't have done it if I didn't make them angry. It happened because I did x. They're my parents, they're doing what's best for me. I just don't understand yet because I'm not old enough but eventually I'll get why they're acting this way.'

It feels like that when you've never had a life away from abuse; it is the only normal way of life you've ever known, and implication that it might not be normal are too scary to explore, but also completely unbelievable. Because you would have to believe that you yourself are in a special situation where normal rules no longer apply. Rules like 'your parents love you and do everything for your own good', 'you need to listen to your parents, they know what they're talking about', and 'Your parents are just trying their best'. And you feel like you're nothing special, nothing that happens to you is special, nothing is out of the ordinary, you're feeling even less than normal, you feel like something is deeply wrong with you, rather than the situation you're in. Of course your parents are normal, and mean well, it's you who needs to get their shit together and stop being, whatever you are, it's unclear.

It can seem from an outside perspective, that a child would recognize at least some of the abuse for what it was, even if subjected to the rules of 'parents love you, they know best, you need to obey them', if the abuse is extreme, but no, they wouldn't. Looking back at my experience I was able to justify not only the physical violence, neglect, insults and humiliation, but even the constant, very detailed death threats that would constantly come out of the abusers. I listened to them describe to me how they would kill me, often implying they should have killed me already, and all I thought was 'they are just saying that, they're not actually going to kill me, they're saying it because they're angry, I shouldn't take this personally'. When I think about that now, I am appalled, you would think anyone subjected to constant detailed death threats would know for sure that this is wrong. But I was also hearing about how they 'sacrificed everything for me' and 'nobody else would ever love me like this', and how could I have known, as a kid, which one of these are lies, and which are the truth? I was heavily pressured to believe that they loved me. How would I have known that my parents had reasons to convince me that their murderous intentions were fake, but the love they had for me was real?

Without a clear reference to how parental love looks like, there's no way to tell. And if you ever do see a depiction of a loving family, your abusive family will be very quick to tell you that they're "doing it wrong", "spoiling that child", and "created a selfish brat". And how would you know that this isn't true? You don't yet know that they have reasons to lie to you. You've been told they're your parents and they only want the best for you, like all parents do. They just don't want you to grow up a selfish brat, so that's why they don't do all of the listening, hugging, caring, paying attention, conversing, and advocating for you. To make sure you're strong and responsible as a human being. It makes sense when you're a kid. When you're an adult, you understand that it never made any sense, that shaming good parents only served the purpose of making you feel like you're having a normal experience, and that your parents were right to abuse you, even superior for it.

It's possible to endure any amount of abuse and to be convinced that it's normal. I've talked to adults who've been sexually abused and trafficked by their parents and still believed the parents loved them. There's no limit to what you can convince a child is normal. Any abuse can be hidden by a guise of normalcy.

[shooting-starzz]

SUPPOSED TO BE READ RIGHT TO LEFT!!!!! Them <3333

[chaotic-orphan]

Heroic betrayal (viii)

Part one here

Continued from here

TW: Carewhump, carewhumper, broken nose, lady whump, lady whumpee

Happy 4th July to those who celebrate it!! (And those who don’t)

*~*~*~*~*

Hero lingered by the stairs, not quite meeting Flynn’s eyes as he approached her. Instead she stared at the hall Supervillain disappeared down, her heart building itself up and breaking again with every breath she took.

“Hero,” Flynn said, voice soft. Hero swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to compose herself but she was rattled… Supervillain terrified her. “Hey, Hero.”

Hero stumbled back a step, eyes flashing to Flynn’s outstretched hand, as if he was about to touch her cheek. Her eyes hardened into stone as she sharpened her gaze into a chilling glare.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she whispered, deathly quiet. Her voice trembling out of a mix of fear and fury. Flynn had the gall to look hurt by her outburst, as if it was a shock that she would react like this after he left her alone, with Supervillain of all people. She searched his face, looking for a sign of sympathy or vulnerability, any trace of the Flynn she knew. The hero who was always her shoulder to cry on when things got hard.

“Hero,” Flynn said again, her name like a prayer from his lips. “I’m sorry. This is my family. They always have been.”

“And I’m just the job, right?”

Flynn didn’t reply and maybe that said everything. She half-turned her body to the staircase and nodded to him to go first. Mostly to try and hide her unshed tears from him.

Flynn sighed, running his hand through his hair before he started up the stairs. She followed after him, dragging her lead-like feet. Hero stopped at the top of the stairs and glanced to the left while Flynn went to the right. The stairs were in the centre of the landing, two doors to the left, three to the right, but Flynn didn’t go for one of the doors. Hero followed him so he wouldn’t get suspicious of her scoping out the lay of the house, but she almost rolled her eyes when she saw the second set of stairs.

As if sensing her disbelief, Flynn glanced at her over his shoulder and shrugged, a half hearted smile on his face. “I told Supervillain how capable you were. He took it seriously.”

Hero swallowed, the words like a knife in the chest… or more accurately the back. She blinked at him, wanting to scream and charge and hurt him, but she just stared.

Flynn nodded and started up the stairs again. These stairs were cut in half in a double L shape adding more corners; slowing Hero’s escape if she were to come barrelling down them in the middle of the night. She’d waste time having to turn three times, the only benefit was that her pursuers would also have to make the turns.

That little nugget of satisfaction crumbled when Flynn opened the door to her room, because that’s all that was on this floor: one single room. All for her.

So they’d hear her coming.

She bit her lip to keep in the helpless sob that wanted to escape her throat. She had to stay cool. Stay cool, stay cool, Hero. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s—

“So this is your room,” Flynn said as she stepped in, gesturing to the big space that was all hers. He looked back at her to see her reaction and immediately was beside her. “Hero… you’re crying.”

Those two words broke her and she didn’t hold her emotions back any longer. She stepped away from him, trying to put space between them when her knees buckled, going like jelly beneath her and she fell heavy. Flynn caught her before she hit the ground and she hated the way she leaned into him, clinging to his shirt as shaky sobs wracked her body.

He held her tight, one hand on her hair, brushing it from her face so her tears wouldn’t wet it, lightly running his fingers through it. “I know. It’s okay. I know, you’re okay. It’s okay, Hero. Let it out. I’m here.”

There were no words that could fully encapsulate her distress so she didn’t try and speak. She hated how comforting Flynn’s cologne was, how soft his words were in her ears. Everything was so familiar and—

Fake, a nasty voice supplied. All his kindness and love was just a way to get close to you, to keep you close to him so he could betray you and get you here. Keep you here.

The salt from her tears washed into the cut in her lip from Villain and she winced. Usually, she was far more robust than tears making her flinch but she was just exhausted. It was a long night… or day. Or both? Whatever.

She sat up in Flynn’s arms and let him wipe the tears from her cheeks with his thumb and forefinger. He offered her a small, encouraging smile and she forced one onto her face. If she was going to be here for an indefinite long time then she needed at least one person on her side. Since Villain already hated her guts and Supervillain was happy to have her not causing any trouble, the only one who she could sway was Flynn.

It was Supervillain’s master plan after all, making Flynn become her partner, her best friend… even, in fleeting moments, more than that. It was her greatest mistake, trusting him, leaving an acrid taste in her mouth, or maybe that was just the dried blood. He looked down at her lips, then back to her eyes, a sad look crossing his features.

“Here,” Flynn said, taking her arm gently and pulling a magnetic key from his pocket. He pressed the magnet to the bar and the cuffs clicked open like a ring-binder, freeing her wrists. She retracted them to her chest, slowly getting to her feet. She stood still, rubbing her wrists as she took in the room.

To be fair to Supervillain, it wasn’t the cramped cell like the basement, it was spacious, it had two skylight windows high on the domed roof, high enough that she couldn’t climb out of them without a considerable effort on her part, or maybe she was just tired. A large, extremely comfortable-looking bed was directly in front of the door, pressed against the back wall with two cherry wooden bedside dressers. One had a lamp on it, the other a handful of books.

“There’s clothes in the wardrobe, but if you need anything I can grab it from your apartment or bring some stuff from mine.”

“Okay,” Hero replied. Flynn played with the cuffs in his hand like he so usually did. Always fidgeting when there was something on his mind. She didn’t prompt him to speak like she normally would. She didn’t have it in her.

“Um, if you need anything, my bedroom is the first door on the right from the stairs.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, uh, I’ll leave you then. To get settled in and stuff.”

Hero nodded, biting her lip to keep in her sob. Half of her wanted to jump at him and wrap her arms around him and ask him not to leave her alone, but the other half was stronger, prouder and so she just stayed still as he left and shut the door behind him.

Hero tentatively approached the bed, taking small, easy steps until she sat down into it. The sheets were nice, the duvet cover soft. The duvet was thick, heavy, and Hero could just imagine the warmth and comfort smothering her into unconsciousness.

There was a full length mirror in the small alcove beside the door and Hero almost started crying at her appearance. Her hair was a mess. It looked more like a bird’s nest made with dirt, leaves and twigs, probably from the scuffle in the woods with Flynn. Tear tracks streaked clean trails down their cheeks, cutting through some of the blood that was caked under her nose, and down her chin.

Crimson drops of blood were stained on Hero’s grey tunic that was visible below her thick, leather armour. She wanted nothing more than to just take it all off and burn it. If Supervillain got his way, Hero wouldn’t have a use for it ever again. She shivered at the thought and shoved it down deep inside her, locking it away until she was ready to deal with it.

Hero’s eyes zeroed in on her shoulder harness and she shot to her feet, turning and reaching behind her. Her hands found the familiar grips of her blades and she could’ve screamed. She unsheathed them with a swift, sharp click and a shink. Hero turned again to face the mirror and she smiled when she saw the usual fire in her eyes.

How stupid could Supervillain be that he—

The fire flickered in her eyes to a stupor, a sporadic smoulder, as the light dimmed and fizzled out. Her grip turned white knuckled on her blades, her hands shaking as the realisation dawned on her.

This was just another way to humiliate her. Supervillain knew she would never use them, because if she did… if she even thought about such a thing then Sidekick would die and he’d reduce her to nothing, lock her in the cellar and throwaway the key. Leave her to Villain, or her own despair, whichever killed her first.

She sheathed her daggers and undid the strap of the belt that crisscrossed over her chest and back, deflating as she went through the familiar motions. She pressed a hand to the front and lifted her dual scabbard-pauldron-hybrid over her head, laying it out carefully on a cherry wood table against a wall. Ignoring the fact that the wood in the room was all cherry, and the pang in her chest at sharing that it was her favourite with Flynn. She slipped her armour off as well, though the belts and buckles took more time to unfasten and she let her mind wander into nothingness.

The first thing she noticed when she was relieved of her armour was the stench of her; a mix of blood, sweat and fear clung to her skin. She didn’t want to have a shower, she didn’t want to interact with anyone in the house ever again, but she didn’t really have a choice in the matter.

She walked to the wardrobe and ignored the usual style of clothes she wore as a civilian, grabbing a grey tracksuit bottoms and a sweatshirt, and fresh underwear she walked to the door and opened it. Flynn’s back greeted her, and she paused, brain too slow to process that.

“Can I use the shower?” She asked, voice empty.

Flynn shot to his feet, almost startled at her voice. She blinked at him as he turned. “Uh, yeah. Yes, of course. This way.”

She didn’t talk the entire way down the stairs. Thankfully the bathroom was on the second floor, but it was on the other end of the second floor. Hero’s heart leaped into her throat as hope — that wretched, black thing — bloomed once more. She had to cross the other set of stairs to get to the bathroom. Tantalising information that she locked away in the cunning corner of her mind and continued on as if she were still hopeless and heartbroken. It wasn’t hard to fake, a lie wrapped in truth, all numbed by exhaustion.

Flynn opened the door for her. “Do you need me to show—”

“No,” she replied. “I can figure it out. Thank you.”

She passed him, and when their chests touched a pained expression crossed Flynn’s face. Hero ignored it and closed the door on him, her heart stuttering as she clicked the lock shut. She pressed her forehead against the door, letting out a breath.

How the fuck was she going to survive this?

*~*~*~*~*

Hero’s face was obscured in the mirror, which was fine by her, she didn’t want to see her face, now washed clean of dirt and grime. It still felt like it was on her, a film of filth that coated her entire body. Maybe that was Flynn’s betrayal, she didn’t know, but she felt a little better after the shower.

Now she stared at the door with a mutinous gaze. The locked door was a false blessing of security, but one she clung to with all her heart. She knew she had to leave eventually but she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to do a lot of things, swallow her pride and stay in this fucking house filled with enemies that wanted her out of the picture.

Sidekick’s battered body flashed across her eyes and she swallowed the bile that threatened to rise and spew from her mouth.

She got to her feet and stomped over to the door before she lost the nerve. She half expected to see Flynn waiting outside like before, instead she was met with two gleaming eyes.

Hero’s nostrils flared. “Villain.”

“You clean up nicely,” Villain said stepping towards her. Hero fought the urge to step back, narrowing her eyes into a glare. “Of course, your nose is all busted. Definitely broken, I think.”

“What do you want?”

“Me?” Villain asked with a smirk. “I want you dead. As a sign to the rest of your little heroes not to fuck with us.”

Hero closed the distance between them with a step, putting her face in Villain’s, despite her thrumming heart. “Too bad your family wants me alive. I guess we’ll both have to endure this misery.”

“You more so than I. After all, I’m not on house arrest. I can always go and visit sick people in the hospital—”

Hero lunged for Villain but was stopped by her name: “Hero.”

Hero’s head snapped to Supervillain, fear flashing across her features before she could school them properly. Supervillain smiled, his eyes drifting between the pair.

“I trust my child is not causing you any trouble.”

“Not at all,” Villain replied smoothly. “Just waiting for the loo.” Villain shoulder checked Hero on their way into the bathroom, shutting the door behind.

“I see you’ve settled in. I trust your room is to your liking.” Hero swallowed, a pitiful attempt to clear the ashen dryness that came to her mouth when Supervillain spoke to her.

“Flynn made sure of that,” she said, turning and walking back towards her room. She had to pass Supervillain to do that. He caught her arm before she could pass.

“You must let me treat your nose.”

“I thought it was a warning to not act out.”

Supervillain chuckled lightly. “No, sweet Hero. I don’t intend to treat you inhumanly. Besides, I think Sidekick’s life is enough of a threat to keep you in check.”

Hero yanked their arm free. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“How adorable that you think this is an offer you can refuse.” Supervillain gestured for Hero to walk down the stairs to the ground floor. She hesitated, not wanting to spend another second with Supervillain but her heart betrayed her head and she reluctantly turned on her heel, walking downstairs.

Supervillain followed behind. “To the kitchen, Hero,” he instructed. Hero turned right at the hall, passing the dining room and walking straight into what she assumed was the kitchen.

Supervillain chuckled as he followed her in. “You’re already familiar with the layout, I see.”

Hero didn’t reply. Even if she wanted to the words would’ve died on her throat seeing Flynn sitting at the island in the middle of the giant kitchen. It looked like a kitchen from downtown abbey, or the crown or something, but modernised with all new furniture and appliances.

“Hero,” Flynn said, his eyes flicking past her to Supervillain’s, and back again, harder this time. “How was your shower?”

Hero lingered awkward by the door, grabbing her wrist and rubbing her thumb over her skin. “Yeah. It was fine, thanks.”

“Sit beside Flynn, Hero.”

Hero shot him a black look at the order, but she walked towards Flynn anyways. “Why?” Flynn asked, locking his phone and putting it on the counter in front of him.

A phone. Hero tucked that information away in the back of her mind, she hadn’t even thought about phones until now.

“I’m going to re-align her nose so it heals properly.”

Flynn didn’t say anything to the explanation as Hero climbed onto the high chair beside him. She stifled a gasp when she felt Flynn’s hand snake into hers, flooding her with warmth and comfort that she hated coming from him. She hated how her body reacted to him like he was still the one person in the world that could make her feel safe and secure.

That alone she could live with. The thing that turned her stomach, and planted a deep seed of resentment inside her, was the fact that she didn’t pull away from him. She kept her hand firmly in his, his fingers intertwining with hers; that’s what would keep her up at night.

Supervillain walked over to her with a first aid kit in hand. He placed the box on the island counter and stepped in front of Hero, looking down at her with a small smile. Hero didn’t want him to touch her, to be this close to her, but she also didn’t want her nose to fuck up her breathing while she was here.

“May I?” Supervillain asked lifting his hands to her face. Flynn squeezed her fingers reassuringly. Hero swallowed her pride and nodded.

Supervillain cupped Hero’s cheek gently, his other hand going under her chin to tilt her head up as he inspected the damage with intelligent eyes.

“This will not be pleasant,” Supervillain said after a minute of silence. “Though, Flynn can tell you the amount of times I had to reset his nose as a boy. I became a pro.”

“It’s true,” Flynn said with a laugh. “And you had to do Vil’s twice.”

“Okay, Hero. I’m going to count down from three, and I’ll break it and get it over with, okay?”

“Okay.” Hero braced themselves, squeezing Flynn’s hand as hard as she could.

“Good. Three—” Hero let out a sharp cry and a curse as Supervillain grabbed her nose in his hand and re-broke it with a crunch. It sent waves of pain rocketing through her skull as she groaned, spots forming in her vision as she pulled back instinctively. Supervillain kept a hand behind her head so she couldn’t pull away as he re-aligned her nose so it would heal properly.

“There we go, I’m sorry. It’s done, that’s the hard part,” Supervillain said as shocked tears slid down Hero’s cheeks. Supervillain tilted Hero’s head up again, twisting her face left and right, eyes focused on her nose as he moved her head. “Mmm. Marvellous. It looks good to me, but I think just to be sure, we should re-align it properly with the rods.”

Hero’s eyes hardened into a glare. “No,” she said. “It’s fine. It feels fine. It will heal itself.”

“Hero, it probably is—”

She rounded on Flynn, yanking her hand from his. “Oh please! Whose side are you on?”

“I think you need to calm down, Hero,” Supervillain told her. The condescension in his tone just rubbed her the wrong way and before Hero had even realised it a sharp knife was between her fingers, one from the knife block beside the sink. It wasn’t lined the way her blades were but it would do the trick.

“Tell me to calm down again,” she spat, jumping to her feet. “See what happens.”

Flynn got to his feet the same time as Hero, cautiously looking between the two, waiting for Supervillain to give him the word before he did anything. God, how could Hero have been so stupid to trust him?!

Supervillain was the only one of the trio that looked the same before Hero summoned the knife. Actually, if anything, he looked more relaxed as he folded his arms across his chest.

“I don’t need to see what happens, Hero,” he said, fishing something from his pocket. His phone. “I just make a call and Sidekick is smothered in their sleep.”

Hero let the knife fly, the point a line on Supervillain’s throat before settling heavy against his carotid artery. “Hard to do that if you’re dead.”

Supervillain smiled and grabbed the handle of the knife. “That’s fine by me, Hero. Give Villain the satisfaction of killing Sidekick.”

Hero’s shaky resolve crumbled, and her shoulders sagged as she dropped the knife. Its weight settled firm into Supervillain’s hand. He smiled at her and said: “good. Now, sit up and tilt your head back.”

“Dad—”

Supervillain held a hand up. “No, no. She’ll do it. Watch.”

Hero obeyed wordlessly, climbing the stool and tilting her head back, squeezing her fingers into fists on her thighs. “Look at that, Flynn. A hero that can take instruction. You could learn a thing or two from her.”

Neither Flynn nor Hero responded. Something uneasy shifted under Flynn’s skin as he watched the girl he love, the usually passionate, fiery Hero, silent and subdued, waiting to do something she didn’t want to do.

Supervillain took his time, leaving Hero sitting on the chair with her head back. He first crossed the kitchen to put the knife into the dishwasher, then some extra dishes on the sink before washing and drying his hands, Hero’s eyes following him all the while. Her head grew heavy on her shoulders like she was trying to hold back a kettle bell. Her neck strained as she struggled to keep it steady, not to move a muscle because she didn’t want to give Supervillain the satisfaction of seeing her fail.

Supervillain smiled at Flynn as he approached them, and took out two familiar metal rods that he used on Flynn to fix his broken nose last year. “Hold her head for me, Flynn. You know how uncomfortable this can be.”

Flynn hesitated. He didn’t want to touch Hero without asking her after that scene, and it didn’t feel… right to just do it.

“It’s fine, Flynn,” Hero said softly as if reading his mind. Flynn swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, more for himself than anyone else and placed his hands gently under Hero’s head while Supervillain sterilised the metal rods.

Hero closed her eyes as Flynn took the leaden weight from her shoulders, happy that she could finally let go and relax. Flynn was there, right behind her (literally) as she went through this new change in her life that was entirely Flynn’s fault. The mutinous part of herself, that she kept chained in the basement of her mind ever since his betrayal, was preening with the fact that Flynn was there, because he would always be there. The one thing he promised her when they first became partners in the Hero academy.

He would always be there, and here he was; supporting her head through this very hard time. Or maybe it was the sheer exhaustion that had turned her mind to mush, her logic left her and she was left only with this infuriating light feeling of safety in his hands.

“Okay, Hero. This will hurt.��

That was all the warning she got before Supervillain pressed the rods into her nose and she fought the instinct to jerk forward. “Fuck!”

“Try not to speak,” Flynn said softly, rubbing the coarse pads of his thumbs over her temples. Hero whined in the back of her throat as she felt the rods move against the walls of her nose, fixing the cartilage. Even the vibrations from her pained hums seemed to hurt her head.

But Flynn was there, whispering to her.

“You’re doing great.”

“It’s almost done.”

“You’re okay, Hero.”

“It’s okay.”

His encouragement mixed with his motions of her temples brought her into a weird, fugue state where her body only recognised the sensations from Flynn’s hands and voice and numbed everything else. Later on, she would realise he was probably in her head, re-arranging some of the furniture, but in that moment she just closed her eyes and sank into the feeling.

“There,” Supervillain said, pulling the rods free. Hero’s eyes opened lazily, staring up at a grinning Supervillain. “All done. You’ll be perfect in three weeks. Just in time too.”

Hero’s eyelids fluttered, the fuzzy feeling in her taking over now that the danger was passed. “Three weeks?” She heard Flynn say. “That’s too soon.”

“Not at all,” someone said, maybe Supervillain. Probably, who cares. “Three weeks and she’ll have come to see our side of things, Flynn. Just look at her in your hands, completely out of it. I could tell her my big dark secret and she wouldn’t remember, would you Hero?”

“I did that so she wouldn’t freak out—”

Hero didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. She allowed the fuzziness to consume her like a weighted blanket, and finally, mercifully, sleep took her away from the world of consciousness.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Orphanage roll-call: (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @xenlust @books-are-everything @micechomper @shywhumpauthor @aarika-merrill @xxgalgurlxx @0eggdealer @watermelonrandom @tippytappytyping @silentpotat0 @swift-perseides s @gloriousqueen101 @ladygwennn @books-are-everything @isnortkoolaidpowderteehee @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog

[notverycolonthreeofyou]

Never underestimate the power of love (and death threats)

[aroacesafeplaceforall]

Guys I’ve officially been told to off myself for “being racist” because I’m not a fan of a lot of rap music lmao

(Also someone tagged like 30 of my posts with #aro ace safe place for all (white only) which is a level of petty and stupidly that made me cackle lmao)

[heyheydidjaknow]

I haven’t played this stupid game in 6 months. This is a sequel to Prospects, this time featuring Bailey.

Agreement

The envelope shook in your hand. “This should suffice.”

Bailey took it from you, not bothering to meet your eyes as she slit the top and took the slip inside. Whitney, dressed for the ride ahead— or fight; whatever came first— in his sweats and t-shirt, stood with his back to the door. Despite your assurance, he had insisted on sitting in on this final transaction as if the mountain of cash you had worked yourself ragged to obtain would not be enough to settle the score, as if your being there were not dependent solely on your value as a worker, as if Bailey— who now looked up at you over the check between her fingers and her half-rimmed glasses— would care beyond that if you were gone.

The ground swayed beneath your feet.

Bailey leaned back in her chair, gesturing to Whitney with the check. “This was your idea?”

You could not bring yourself to look back at him, but you could imagine his expression. It was the same as when you had when you had met Briar and Avery a few days before; cool, unflinching, as though you were an item at a pawn shop he was trying to get a good price on. You supposed you were, in a sense. “Yes.”

Bailey nodded slowly, taking in your figure, your stance. You squirmed under her gaze. “And the child’s yours, I take it?”

“Yes.”

She considered as much. “You know,” she mused, “your… what would the word be? Fucktoy?”

He scoffed. “For our purposes, property.”

“Oh, hardly.” She leaned her elbows on the desk, fingers lacing together under her chin. “Not officially at least, not until our terms are settled.”

“What terms are there to settle?” You picked at your cuticles, heart pounding in your throat. “Is that not how much—“

“That’s how much my best earner was worth before.” Her smile was sweet like cough syrup, sharp like whiskey. “I’m a businesswoman you understand; it would hardly make much sense for me to part with my greatest revenue stream for its raw material costs.”

You looked back at Whitney. He kept his eyes trained on the woman in front of you. “And how much would it take for you to part ways with your charge?”

She sighed in mock contemplation. “Oh, I don’t know.” She sucked her teeth. “Another fifty percent ought to do it.”

The words echoed in your ears. You swallowed back panic as you went back to staring at the floor.

“Fifty?” His sneer was audible. “The fuck you take me for?”

“Someone desperate.” She gestured to you. “Someone willing to take when they can get and leave.”

“A bitch, you mean.”

“So long as we’re being frank.”

“You—“

“Do you know how much that child is worth?” You shut your eyes as you felt her own take you in. “Do you know what sort of market you could appeal to with a matching set?”

You heard a rustling of cloth behind you. Whitney’s voice was as cheerful and bright as you had ever heard it. “So long as we’re considering the lives of people that matter,” he smiled, “I’m curious; how much is your life worth?”

There was a pause, a laugh from Bailey. “That bitch,” she sighed. “First that file—“

“This actually isn’t Laundry’s, surprisingly enough.” You heard the clinking of metal parts as he gestured to you. “Friend of a friend who lives in the country; I promised him the deed to this shithole if your position found itself empty.”

Despite yourself, you turned to face him. He held the pistol in his hand with the confidence of a man unfazed by its weight. In the back of your mind, you wondered if he would be tried if he went through with it, whether the cops would come or care or whether they would write it off as the result of one of Bailey’s “ungrateful brats”. You could not for the life of you decide which would be preferable.

“So,” he continued, finger twitching, eyes shining, “I think it best if we tried renegotiating terms.” He gestured to you. “Either you take the money and I take your cash cow off your hands—“ He steadied his aim, “— or I redecorate your office with your insides and you get to find out whether the contents of that envelope are worth shit in hell.”

You cast your gaze back towards her. Bailey looked between the two of you, lips pursed. “You’re more desperate than I thought.” She pushed her glasses up her nose and reached into her shirt pocket. “Let me give you some advice, kid.”

You shut your eyes again at the click of the safety. “Hands where I can see ‘em.”

She pulled out a carton of cigarettes, tapping one out and sticking it between her lips. “He isn’t a better person than I am, you know.” She took a lighter off her desk. “He’s not going to take better care of you than I am, isn’t going to wish you off to some fairy tale land where you’ll never know hardship; if anything, he’s going to fuck you over harder than I do.” She lit it, took a drag, smiled, exhaled.

“You fucking—“

“And you.” She pointed the cigarette at him. “Whitney, yeah? You think your life’s going to get better by being a father?” She leaned her head on her free hand. “I’ve been stuck with this job for thirty years now; the only thing that thing—“ she waved the cigarette in your belly’s general direction, “— is good for is an accessory to the walking ATM it’s stuck in.”

You could hear his voice shake; with what, you could not tell. “So help me God if you say one more thing about my fucking kid—“

“Let me say my piece.” She stood up, taking another drag and blowing it in your face. “If I were you,” she sighed, “I’d see if Harper couldn’t make an exception to get that thing out of you while it’s not breathing. Short of that, I’d ship it here.” She leaned forward, resting her hand on the surface of her desk. “But if I ever find your brat at my doorstep,” she promised, voice lowering, “if I ever see you or that thing here again, I’ll make your time here look like a stay at the Ritz-fucking-Carlton.” She stuck the cigarette back between her teeth, tilting your head up to look her in the eye. The resemblance between her and Whitney was apparent; you wondered if that was just what the eyes of monsters looked like. “I will make your child pay for however much you would have made me twofold, and I will sell their body— whole or piecemeal— to any dumb fuck who asks for what I’m sure will be a pretty young thing like them. Do you understand me?”

You could not breathe.

Her grip on your jaw tightened. “Are you deaf?” She brought you closer, and you whimpered at the sensation. “I asked you a question. Do you understand me or don’t you?”

You shut your eyes as her nails dug into your skin. You dug your own into your palm as you forced yourself to nod.

She kept you there a moment— for what, you did not know— before pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your eyes shot open, and you swallowed back tears— of relief, of sadness, of panic— as she released you, collapsing to your knees and gasping for air. “Good.” She took the check, slipping it into her pocket before sitting back down. “Leave before I change my mind.”

You pulled yourself to your feet, practically tripping over yourself to cling to Whitney. He glanced down at you, letting you bury your face into his shoulder as he took one last look at your former guardian. Wordlessly, he pulled the two of you out into the hallway, past the children gathered by the door, past the garden and Robin and the stairs and the threshold and finally, with a smile of untempered relief and satisfaction, across the street, into the truck parked there, and away from that miserable town, and as you watched the buildings you had come to know as parts of your home flew past, as you watched people you recognized from school rush into the forest and students— like you, you registered vaguely, desperate for money, for purpose, for anything— lean against street corners, you wondered if this would be any better, if this was more desirable, if this was emancipation or a different, crueler kind of ownership.

You mumbled a goodbye to the bus stop as it passed. Only then did the tears really start.