#implied past conditioning

[flowersarefreetherapy]

Hold On: There Is No Morning Glory

CW: Emotional whump, negative internal dialogue, implied past conditioning, dubcon kissing, complicated relationship dynamics

Previously, Star had been dreading this shift. Just him and Cindy, and her boyfriend who comes in halfway through her shift and doesn't leave. Ezra is at class and normally Star would feel his absence throughout his whole body.

Today is different. He moves through orders with robotic precision. Mixing and blending and handing out scones that usually melt in his mouth but the one he has on break tastes like ashes. Cindy glances at him but doesn’t speak. He doesn’t trust himself to speak either. Just make it through the shift, clock out, and–

No. Because Ezra can’t pick him up. Over the weeks they had formed a habit of him picking Star up, going to the Castillos with him, and staying late as they play games and talk for hours. Not now, not today, because he has his bonded waiting for him.

“It isn’t really my business to pry,” Cindy says during a lull in the customers. “But is everything alright?”

Star nods. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“Okay.” She draws out the word, one perfect eyebrow raised, somehow looking skeptical and understanding at the same time. Her eyeshadow is red today. 

Like blood.

Star shakes the thought away. He has to make it through this shift without crying in the freezer. His manager is already concerned enough as it is, he cannot be called into the office again. Instead, he takes a deep breath, plasters on a welcoming smile, and goes to greet the next customer. 

At the end of the shift, Cindy’s boyfriend walks over, keys in hand. They kiss and laugh about something. Star ignores them, slowly pulling on his jacket. He grabs his phone and checks it. No messages from Thad. Who is picking him up? He swallows back the lump in his throat. It’s a small change. He can handle it. Why is he getting worse at being able to handle things? Before he would barely blink. Why has it changed now?

“Star!”

Star’s head snaps up. Ezra stands in the doorway, a slight smile on his face. He’s wearing the dark leather jacket that matches his eyes and highlights the broadness of his shoulders. Beyond all that, it’s the joy in his eyes that draws Star forwards, moving before he realizes. 

“Hey there,” Ezra says. He sounds genuinely happy. “How’s your day been?”

“Good,” Star whispers, resting his forehead on Ezra’s shoulder. “Long. I, I, I’m tired.”

Ezra’s fingers comb through his hair. “Come on, let’s get you home. I have some leftover study candy I saved for you.”

Can I share with Daniel? “That sounds, um, that sounds–thank you.”

“It’s no problem at all.”

Star follows Ezra to the car, afraid of each step he takes. Closer to the car means closer to going home, closer to seeing Daniel, closer to being reminded so vividly of his stupid, selfish choices. This is all his fault. All. His. Fault. 

You don’t deserve candy. You don’t deserve his kindness. You don’t deserve any of this. Stupid whore. 

“How was, was, um, how was your day?” Star whispers as Ezra pulls into traffic. 

“It was good. Long. Paying attention to lectures was hard today.”

Star glances at Ezra, whose white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel tells him everything he needs to know. He’s angry, very angry. At him? No. Yes. Maybe? Does he hate him now, for going back to Daniel? Is he allowed to go back to Daniel? Star twists his hands in his lap, letting out a slow breath as he stares into oncoming traffic. 

“Have much home, homework?”

“Nope.”

“Oh. Good.”

Silence again. Star blinks rapidly, trying to ignore the burning in his eyes. He can’t cry. His cheeks get red when he cries and then he looks ugly. Ezra doesn’t want him to look ugly. He’s supposed to be pretty and poised and perfect, desirable. Attractive. Daniel thinks he’s pretty. Daniel loves him, even when his cheeks and nose are splotchy from tears. Ezra won’t love him when he sees how ugly Star actually is. 

“Cindy made cookies today,” Star whispers. “She, she, she showed me how.”

“That’s fun.”

“I was, was hoping you could, um, maybe you could show me? Next time?”

“I don’t usually make the cookies. I make the sandwiches.”

Star swallows back a sob. It catches in his throat and he hurries to cough, to cover up the sound, make sure that Ezra doesn’t get suspicious. Five more minutes, then they’ll be home. He can hide upstairs and cry then. 

Ezra clears his throat. “Um, but I would love to teach you if that’s what you want.”

Oh. Star sucks in a deep breath, then another, then another. A tear rolls down his cheek. No, no, no, no, he can’t cry! Not here! Not right now! He wipes his sleeve across his face, pretending more tears aren’t spilling free.

“Hey.” Ezra’s voice is soft, low. He holds out his hand and Star grips it, hating how his body shakes. “Hey, stjerne, what’s wrong?”

“Are, are, are you mad?” Star hiccups. He swipes again at his face, wincing as snot catches on his sleeve. Such an ugly crier. Stop that right now, starlight, no one is going to want you looking like that. “Are you mad at, at, at me?”

“No! No, no, no, I’m not mad at you, stjerne. I’m just . . .” Ezra sighs. “There’s a lot going on right now, Star. That’s all. A lot I have to think through.”

Star grips his hand so tightly he feels the bones shift. But he cannot make himself let go. Some small part of his brain whispers that if he lets go of Ezra’s hand, then he will never get him back again. He will be gone and leave and he cannot imagine his world without Ezra. Without Daniel.

“I, I understand.”

The car falls silent. Star scrubs at his face, hoping the splotching goes away. He can’t look ugly when he sees Daniel. He has to always look his best. Does he? Does Daniel still care? The Castillos don’t care, but they aren’t his bonded and they have other ideas about what he should be doing and saying and acting. They say he’s free and can do what he wants, but Star knows that isn’t true. 

The car stops and Ezra puts the car in park. The silence overwhelms Star’s senses and he focuses on the ticking of the engine as it cools down. After a moment, he unbuckles and reaches for the door handle.

“Are you, you coming to dinner?”

Ezra pushes locs back from his face. “I don’t know. I have a lot of homework to do.”

You just said you don’t have much. Why are you lying? Oh. Daniel. Daniel is here and he’s who Star should be focusing on, not the man who taught him to dip fries into a milkshake and which hair dye is the best for different types of hair and how to make the latte art he loves. But Daniel. Who taught him to cook and begged the handlers to leave him alone and was so soft and kind, no matter how Star acted. 

“Oh. That, that’s fine.” He pulls the sleeves of his work jacket over his fingers. “Thank you for, for, for driving me home.”

“No problem.” Ezra glances at the door, then says, “I’ll walk you to the door.”

Star nods and slips out of the car. His shoe lands in a puddle and he flinches. Now his sock is going to be wet and cold and he’s going to have to change them before dinner when he doesn't want to and he takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He digs his nails into his palms and counts to five.

“Stjerne?”

“I, I’m coming.”

Star hurries up to the door, Ezra right at his side. His hands shake as he reaches for his keys. Ezra beats him, sliding them into the lock with precision. Star keeps his gaze lowered as the door unlocks and Ezra steps back. Silence again. He hates the silence. From inside the house he hears the faint strains of upbeat music. Thad is home, hopefully cooking. 

“Ezra?” Star whispers. Please go, please don’t leave me, please stay here, I don’t want you to fight him, I want you to be happy, please kiss me, please please please please! What do I want? Help me!

Ezra smiles. The easygoing smile Star loves so much, the one he remembers so clearly from their first meeting when he gave him that cup and a scribbled number he couldn’t read. With a flourish, he takes Star’s hand and kisses it. 

“I love you so, so much, Star.”

“I, I, I love you, Ezra.”

Before he can question the choice, Star has his arms around Ezra and kisses him, hard and long, not pausing to breathe because if he moves away, he fears he will lose Ezra forever. His back knocks against the door and Ezra’s hands wrap around his hips and Star melts into him. The kiss deepens and his hands slide down, brushing against Ezra’s waistband. 

“Star,” Ezra breathes. “We-”

“Please,” Star whispers. He doesn’t care that they’re outside. It doesn’t matter. What matters is keeping Ezra here and with him. “Please, don’t–stay for, for dinner? Please?”

“I can’t.” Ezra leans back. Star shivers in the sudden absence of body heat. “I have to get home. I have a lot of homework.”

“Oh.”

Ezra steps back, shoving his hands in his pockets. He smiles again and blows him a kiss before heading to the car. Star watches him go, leaning against the door, biting the inside of his lip until the taste of copper fills his mouth. Through tears, he watches Ezra pull out of the driveway and stays there until he can no longer see the car. 

Then he takes a deep breath and steps into the house. 

Tagging: @blood-is-compulsory @darkthingshappen @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @whumpinggrounds @pigeonwhumps @cepheusgalaxy (let me know if you want to be added/removed!)

[whereallthewhumpgoes]

Pet Recovery Counter-Conditioning Phrases

"I am my own person. I am allowed to prioritize my own needs and assert my own boundaries."

"I belong to myself and only myself."

"I deserve to be loved by others, touched gently, and treated with compassion."

(Romantic specific) "My body is mine. No one is allowed to do anything to my body against my will."

"I am a human being, and I am entitled to human rights, such as food, water, and sleep. My needs are not a privilege that I have to earn, they are human rights, and I will fulfill them when necessary."

"I can think for myself and take care of myself."

"I am a human being, not a slave. I am under no obligation to obey anyone's command."

"What happened to me was unjust. I did not deserve to be abused by my former master, and I will not tolerate abuse from them or anyone else."

"I am a good person."

"I have a right to be treated with dignity."

"I am not worthless. I have value apart from my master's attention."

(Romantic specific) "I am allowed to say no."

(Guard dog specific) "I am not a monster. In the past, I acted to protect myself, and I will continue to protect myself with or without my master."

"My rescuers are not a threat. My rescuers do not want to hurt me. My rescuers are safe people."

"If I am ever mistreated, I will report it to my rescuers as soon as possible."

"I do not need to lie to protect myself."

"I am allowed to love myself."

"I am encouraged to form relationships with the other recovered pets, and they will not be hurt if I interact with them."

(Bonded pair specific) "I do not need to protect my bond. I do not need to depend on my bond. My bond and I are our own people, and I am allowed to develop my own interests and take care of myself before my bond."

"I am a person, not a pet."

[echoingalaxies]

Content: self-punishment/injury, conditioned whumpee, trauma

Whumpee got up before dawn to prepare breakfast. For so long now, it had been their routine, something they'd gotten used to doing no matter their condition, no matter the amount of pain or exhaustion weighing them down. Coffee with two sugars, and three fried eggs, would have to be ready to be served precisely at 6, and Whumpee would carry them to Whumper's room where he would still be sleeping, wake him up, and stand there, head bowed, wait until he finished his meal and then take the dirty dishes to the sink.

The few times Whumpee had missed the 6 am mark, even by a couple of minutes, hadn't ended well. Whumpee ran their fingers over the scars they'd received for those mistakes, wide and raised under their shirt, as they waited for the food to cook. They kept glancing at the clock, anxiously, shivering at the thought of being late, but they also couldn't hurry too much because the punishment for undercooked eggs would be just as cruel.

At 5:58, Whumpee had everything set up, and taking the plate and the large mug of coffee in their hands, they started to head toward the stairs, moving slowly for their aching body. Whumpee had become really good at counting in their head, so they knew they were right on time, as they balanced the mug on the plate for a second to knock on Whumper's door.

They pushed the door open, flicked on the lights - so much brighter than Whumpee remembered... He hadn't changed the lightbulb, so had Whumper had to do it himself? How come hadn't he told Whumpee to do it? - and went next to his bed.

"Your breakfast, sir," they said, trying to sound chipper but gentle, humble and happy to be there. "Good morning, sir," they added quickly after, almost having forgotten the proper way of greeting. What has wrong with them today?

Whumper, usually waking up to their voice and demanding to have the food immediately, just pulled the duvet to his chin, face deep buried into pillows. He grunted something inaudible, and Whumpee was left standing there, unsure what to do.

"S-sir? It's morning, sir, time to rise. Are you feeling ill?"

"Shut up," Whumper growled, and his voice was odd, but Whumpee pressed their lips together tightly, afraid to make a sound. "What the fuck are you doing, it's so damn early..."

The plate and the mug were shaking in Whumpee's hands as they began to breathe heavily, panicking. They'd been on time, but they'd made a mistake. They'd made some kind of mistake. Whumper was upset, and oh, when he'd wake up, hell was awaiting for them...

"Please," Whumpee whispered. "I- I'm so sorry. So sorry, sir..."

After a few mess-ups, Whumper had introduced Whumpee to an alternative option when it came to punishments of slipping off schedule or not completing their tasks just as Whumper had told them to. Quicker, easier, and for Whumper, even more fun than getting to carve marks on Whumpee's skin.

He'd love to watch Whumpee be humiliated.

"I don't want to waste my time on you when I have better things to do," Whumper had once said. "Make it simpler for the both of us. You know when you mess up. Why not get the consequenses out of the way? Use whatever's available, as long as you clean up the blood."

Whumper was still under the covers, perhaps falling back to sleep. Whumpee was still confused by the situation, but it seemed like he should've somehow known to not bother him this morning, oh no, they'd done gravely wrong, and there was only two ways out...

And they'd made their choice which route to take.

Whumpee set the plate on the nightstand, and closed their eyes, when with trembling hands, they took the mug of still steaming coffee above their head and spilled it all over themselves. Even as cried out in agony, they kept reminding themselves whatever Whumper would have done to them would've been worse, and with any luck, this would be enough.

Whumper was once again woken up by Whumpee's cries, and bolted up from the bed like he'd been electrocuted. Whumpee felt a sting in their heart. Of course they'd want to watch. Why would they miss the show? Maybe they'd be unsatisfied with their pain and make Whumpee throw themselves down the stairs for good measure.

Whumper cursed loudly and grabbed Whumpee's arm, pulling them out of the room and to the nearest bathroom. He shoved Whumpee under the shower and turned it on, turning the temperature cold. He squeezed Whumpee's arms, shaking them lightly.

"Oh god, Whumpee, why would you do that? What were you thinking?"

Whumpee coughed, the water getting into their mouth. They shivered, from cold and from fear.

Another mistake.

Nothing made sense.

Why was whumper helping him? What was all of this?

Whumpee tried to pry themselves away from Whumper's grip and out of the shower, but Whumper held them still.

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm sorry -"

"Wait," he said, sounding concerned rather than angry now. "Oh shit, Whumpee, no, stop that. Look at me. I'm not him."

Whumpee did as they were told and raised their gaze to meet the eyes they expected to be gray and cruel, and was shocked to see hazel, and nothing but kindness.

"I'm not him," he repeated, and Whumpee blinked a few times, letting their eyes take in the rest of the person's face. "Everything is okay. You're home, remember? Safe."

The person had dark circles under their eyes. They had a friendly face, although right now, they wore a worried expression. Whumpee wiped water from their face to see better... their eyes must've been lying to them...

"I..." Whumpee begun, stammering. "S-sorry... I should've let you sleep... I didn't know... I'm sorry..."

"Whumpee, shh." The person reached to turn off the shower and then let go of them to grab a large, thick towel they spread on Whumpee's shoulders. "Don't, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't realise it was you. You shouldn't even be walking! I thought it was Teammate just annoying me, I was barely awake, I didn't mean to be harsh towards you."

Whumpee pulled the towel around them, turning their head to look around. They knew this bathroom. They'd been patched up here many times before, years earlier. It was Caretaker's.

They looked at the person in front of them. They knew them. It was coming to them slowly, but they knew them better than anyone.

"Caretaker?"

They smiled. "Yeah. It's me. It's okay. You've been home for a few days now, remember?"

"I... guess."

Caretaker helped Whumpee out of their wet clothes and let them shower privately, washing the coffee off their hair and ease the pain in the burns on their scalp, their face, their shoulders.

When whumpee was ready, they opened the door to let Caretaker in once again. Caretaker sat them down on a little stool and started to treat their injuries, talking in a calming matter throughout the process. Whumpee was still feeling lost, his brain struggling to understand what was real and what was not.

"I'm still so sorry, Whumpee," Caretaker said, spreading something soothing over his burns. "I never should've allowed things to go so far that you'd do this to yourself."

"I didn't want you to hurt me," Whumpee said quietly. Caretaker stilled for a second, then continued rubbing the lotion on Whumpee's skin. Whumpee bit their cheeks. Caretaker, and everybody else, didn't know much about what he'd been through with Whumper. They hadn't had many opportunities to talk that much yet.

"I would never do that." Caretaker leaned in and pressed an unexpected kiss on Whumpee's forehead. Whumpee blushed, though they were grateful it probably was hidden by their already reddened face. No one had done that for... Whumpee didn't even know how long. "No one will ever hurt you here. And you never have to hurt yourself, okay?"

Whumpee wished they could keep that promise. But who was to say what happened this morning wouldn't happen again?

"Yeah," they said. Caretaker's touch was gentle and comforting, and Whumpee remembered them as a trustworthy person.

Only it all wasn't up to Caretaker.

And it wasn't up to Whumpee. They didn't decide to forget they were not living in that nightmare anymore.

But if things were to be like this, would they ever truly get out?

[whumpshaped]

Something specific I‘d love to see from the perspective of your writing is a ex-heavily conditioned whumpee‘s pov of being caretaked when their are too delirious to realize their it’s not their master it’s their friend (caretaker)

tw sickfic, past trauma, past implied noncon, delirium, whumpee offering themself up, conditioned whumpee

"N-no, no, please, not tonight... n-not tonight... I won't be able to..." Whumpee trailed off, flinching when Master's hand brushed against their forehead.

"Won't be able to do what, sweetheart?" they asked softly, the pet name soothing their nerves a little.

"Please you," they muttered. "I don't think... I don't think I c-can–"

"Whumpee, what are you saying?"

Oh. Master was angry. Even in their half-conscious state, they scrambled to backtrack and correct themself. "N-nothing, nothing, you're right! You're right, I can take it, I can do– do whatever you want, and... and I'm nice and warm, at least–"

"Whumpee." Master cupped their cheeks, and Whumpee's eyes fluttered closed as they waited for either a hit of a forceful kiss. "Whumpee, darling, are you with me? Do you know who I am?"

Do you know who I am?

"Master, my master, my owner, my saviour, my god," they recited the words obediently without any thought, as they had done so many times before. "And as your lowly p-pet, I take anything you give me with endless... endless gratitude..."

"Oh, dear. You're so much sicker than I realised..."

"I'm sorry, Master. I'll do my best for you. I'm sorry I tried to get out of it."

Instead of more scolding, Master pulled back and away from them. They opened their eyes just in time to see them wipe away a tear, and their heart sank. What had they done? Had they done something wrong? Had they upset Master?

They tried to get up so they could grovel properly, but Master pushed them back down onto the bed. It didn't take much effort, really; they had already been weaker than them before the sickness, and doubly so now. Not to mention the way they'd been trained to go limp whenever Master wanted to manhandle them.

"You need to rest, sweetheart. Okay? That's all I ask of you."

Whumpee blinked, then nodded. How gracious. How merciful. Even though they'd been a horrible pet, already resisting and arguing before Master had even told them their intentions, they still found it in themself to forgive and let them sleep. "Thank you," they murmured. "Thank you, Master."

~

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @whumpkinpie @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @whump-em @cyborg0109 @morning-star-whump @justanotherlokifan @2in1whump @lthrboy @justletmereadmywhump @florissimps @anonymous-tiangou @whump-kitty

[s0fter-sin]

punk!soap metalhead!ghost brain blast!!!

ghost trying so hard to get soap out of the bad parts of the scene bc he's starting to get pulled in by the shadows, a group of wannabe anarchists that stand for nothing except themselves, but soap loses his shit; laying into ghost for daring to try and "save" him

no one's ever been there for him when he needed them; no one ever offered him support or a soft place to land, why the hell would he want ghost's help when he's perfectly fine on his own? (when he’s always had to be?)

"you think i can't make my own decisions? well fuck you, ghost, who needs a washed up piece o’ shite like you!"

he doesn’t talk to ghost for days, doesn’t let himself acknowledge the hole he’s left behind until he's getting pissed with the shadows one night in an abandoned house and graves starts waving around the gun he snuck through customs and it accidentally goes off, grazing soap's temple

he's never heard anything so loud, even at all the shows he’s attended and there’s so much blood; it's getting in his eyes, running down his neck and soaking into his clothes and he’s frozen. graves and all his shadows bolt after hearing the gunshot, worried about cops finding them and they leave him there; staring at the growing puddle at his feet

soap's panicking; half-blind, blistering pain lighting up his head and he can't think about anything beyond how much he wants ghost

ghost's been sulking at his flat since soap blew him off; pissed at soap for going off on him when he just wants to help but still worried about the punk. he doesn’t want him going down the same road as him; doesn’t want him to repeat his mistakes when he could save himself so much suffering and he almost doesn't answer his phone when it buzzes on the couch

he lets out a ragged sigh as he picks it up; raking a hand over his shaved head when he sees the bubble emoji and contemplates letting it ring out. contemplates answering with a growl; something a younger, crueler version of him would spit. in the end, he decides on silence and puts the phone to his ear just before it can stop ringing

he almost breaks it when he hears soap choke out, "i've been shot."

he's out the door in a heartbeat, running down the stairs because the lift is too slow; trying to get more information out of him but he can't get anything out beyond a repeated, "i've been shot."

he breaks every law there is as he speeds to soap's location; visions of his cold, bloodless corpse staining his mind's eye. the only thing keeping him calm are the strangled breaths from the other end of the line; he's not dead, he can work with not dead, this isn't tommy, soap won't end up like tommy-

ghost screeches to a halt outside a random alley and throws himself from the car when he sees soap collapsed against a garbage bin. he's covered in blood, soaked, just like that night, it's everywhere and he's not moving, he's not moving-

“johnny!”

he skids to his knees and fits his hand under his chin to check his pulse… but his heart beats strong under his fingertips and soap's eyes flutter open; flooded with blood but conscious and alive

the second he registers ghost in front of him, he’s reaching out for him; babbling apologies over and over, "you were right, i'm sorry ghost, i should've listened; i'm sorry, i'm so sorry."

ghost just gently hushes him, cupping his face heedless of the blood. "that doesn't matter now, johnny. we're gonna get you all fixed up, yeah?"

soap’s hands fist in his shirt, clinging to him. "i got shot, ghost," he says again; lost and smaller than he's ever heard from his punk and it's been years since he's felt this kind of rage but he doesn't let a drop of it touch his voice

“i know, lad. i know. gonna let me take a look at it? make it right?"

soap finally nods, his stuttering apologies coming to a halt and ghost runs back to his car to get a towel. he presses it to soap's skin, trying to soak up as much as he can so he can get a proper look; cooing assurances as soap absently hisses in pain the closer he gets to it

it's only a graze and something in his chest unravels; old fears and grief settling as the shallow wound continues to gush into the towel

ghost slumps, pressing his forehead into the top of soap's head and takes a second to just breathe. “‘s’alright, johnny; it’s not even that bad, not even that bad,” he promises, low; spoken more to himself than soap

his hand starts to grow damp and he forces himself to his feet, gathering up soap and getting him into his car. he puts the towel in his hand and presses it against the wound, trying to coax him through his shock to put pressure on it so he can drive

soap curls up in the passenger seat; eyes distant, seeing nothing and ghost has to tighten his grip on the steering wheel so he doesn't turn around

soap is the priority

he has to get him home; has to get him cleaned up and safe

then he can go hunting for the gutless shadow that hurt his punk

[paingoes]

Rubies

Ungrateful

(Content: living weapon whumpee, illness, self loathing, conditioning, past abuse, implied child abuse, caretaker new master?)

He was starting to even out. Delta no longer felt the need to sleep all day, nor did he feel like he might lapse back into sickness. Apollo and Kitty gave him the space he needed, but he still saw them often enough. Their conversations were very limited. Delta still had trouble forcing himself to speak, so scared of triggering the wrong reaction. But so far they had been nothing but patient. This too felt strange and new.

When all their exchanges had been through a screen, it had been much easier to manage. They existed to him mostly in concept alone. Even when they’d sent videos, they still felt fictitious. He had understood them more as characters from a book than he did as real people. 

That same attitude was not sustainable in a three dimensional space. Those two were flesh and blood. Even with the new collar, Delta’s idle mode powers were higher than they had been in years. As ever, it was concerned with forms. It felt out the shape of the space around him with small pulses throughout the day. He could feel their hearts beating in their chest, the minutiae of their movements. 

Real people presented complications that fictional ones did not. A very, very old voice in his head already dictated how he was meant to feel about them.

They risked everything for you and you didn’t even say thank you. All you’ve done is hide out in your room and ignore them when they speak to you. You are ungrateful. You are disrespectful. It is an unacceptable way to act around your superiors. You should be on your knees. You should be begging for forgiveness for what you’ve done.

He did not know whose voice it was, but it sounded ancient. It sounded like it had come all the way from genesis. He wondered whether it had been there all along. Maybe he just hadn’t been able to make it out clearly before. Right now, without work to distract him, it had grown impossibly loud.

Ungrateful, venomous thing. Did you forget what you are? Did you forget who you belong to? Don’t you dare try to speak. You are an object. I don’t ever want to see you acting like that again. You are not a person. Get down. You do not exist for any reason but to serve your superiors’ needs. You will speak when you are spoken to and nothing more. You will obey their orders and do nothing else. If you forget your place, I will happily remind you of it.

Delta pulled the pillow over his head. The barrage was more or less continuous. Something about being in a new environment must have triggered it. He had already internalized most of what the voice said a long time ago. He knew that. But the constant reminders of his own ingratitude still made him feel awful. He knew it wasn’t right for him to be hiding out like this. He was scared and he was exhausted, but it wasn’t an excuse. He’d been trained better than that. He exhaled, rising up from the bed. He’d put it off long enough.

He found Apollo first. He’d been standing in the side room right by the kitchen. It had been his mother’s studio at one point, now it was just a space with good lighting and a usable surface. He’d been trying to clean it out when Delta walked in.

“Oh! Hi!” Apollo was pleasantly surprised to see him emerge from his room. The soft fabric of his poncho swayed around him when he moved. Little glimpses of golden jewelry were just visible in between the curls of his red hair. He gazed warmly at Delta, his eyes betraying nothing.

This was so fucking difficult. The easygoing way they acted around him only made him feel worse about his own indiscretions. It would have been better if they were angry; he’d have known what to do with that. The procedure was mostly the same, though.

Delta knelt down on the floor in front of him, ignoring the protest from his ribs. He bowed his head, stealing only a small glance upwards. Apollo’s expression was marked with concern. That was fine. It didn’t deter him.

“Thank you.” Delta’s voice was soft, but it was still the clearest Apollo had ever heard him speak aloud. “I didn’t say it yet. I’m sorry. Thank you.”

Less was more. He wasn’t going to start rambling, even if he thought he was capable of it. He’d only say more if Apollo wanted him to, if he gave him permission to. Otherwise, he hoped his body language would speak for itself. 

Apollo looked really, really upset. He crossed the distance between them. Delta cringed back at the rapid movement, sure he was about to be hurt. But Apollo knelt down, pretty abruptly interrupting what Delta had been trying to convey. He reflexively flinched as Apollo took his shoulders, shaking him gently, “It’s okay. Of course. You don’t have to do that. I’m glad you’re okay, alright? But you don’t have to. It’s not like that.”

Delta stared back at him unblinkingly. Apollo seemed to gather himself, releasing his grip. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have touched you. You can stand up though. Don’t mention it.”

He offered a hand for Delta to rise. Though confused and self-conscious, he accepted. 

===========

He tried again with Kitty. She didn’t return to the house until later in the night. Delta waited until Apollo had gone to bed, not wanting to upset him any further. Kitty was collapsed against the couch as if she’d been running around all day. Her ears perked up as Delta approached.

“Hey! You’re awake!” She smiled cheerfully, kind of goofily. 

Delta wrung his hands, more nervous on this attempt than he had been for the previous. He knelt. The carpet of the living room was much softer than the hardwood of the study. Kitty tilted her head in confusion.

“Thank you for saving me.” His voice sank a little as the shame seeped into his words, “I’ve been acting ungrateful. I’m so sorry. Thank you.”

“Aw. It’s no problem, bud.” Kitty frowned a little as she leaned forward. “Do you wanna sit on the couch?”

Delta hesitated. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been allowed furniture in general; he’d had his own room. It was specifically that he was not allowed on furniture with other people. It gave the wrong idea; he was never supposed to be at their level.

“No, miss,” he responded. It was too much for one night.

“Okay.” Kitty shrugged. “Floor time, then.”

She slid down onto the carpet with him. He blinked in surprise. Very casually, she switched on the screen on the far wall, untangling her controller from beneath it.

“You wanna play?” She asked.

“Um. No, miss.” He shook his head.

“K.” She said. 

He watched as the screen came to life. Kitty’s tail swished from side to side as she focused in. It was a hypnotic movement. Hesitant and careful, in anticipation of being reprimanded for it, Delta unfolded himself into a more comfortable position. Kitty did not object.

He pulled his knees up to his chest. After a few minutes had passed, he’d gotten absorbed in the bright colors and motion of the game, almost forgetting where he was. He was kind of susceptible to things like that. He blinked back to reality, stealing a sidelong glance at Kitty. She was just as engrossed, not half as tense.

“Do you want me to stay here?” He asked. Like she might’ve forgotten he was there, like it wouldn’t go well once she noticed. 

“Do you want to?” Her voice was a bit hopeful, in ways he did not pick up on and was not yet capable of understanding.

He nodded mutely as he leaned back against the couch. He watched her play in silence, slowly adjusting to the presence of another body beside him. 

…….

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper

[feverdreamsanddelusions]

3

inspo

[tw past trauma, past implied murders, conditioned whumpee]

"Fuck! We gotta go, right now."

Whumpee's muscles tensed at the sudden noise, but they forced themself to take a deep breath. They had been in the middle of collecting mushrooms, but they slowly turned around, mindful of their size and trying to look as harmless as possible.

The two strangers who were standing at the other end of the clearing stared at them, petrified and... confused.

Ah. They weren't strangers at all. They were two of the people Whumpee had been tasked with killing before their rescue.

Whumpee lowered their basket of mushrooms and tilted their head to the side, considering them. They wondered whether these two still saw them as the merciless killing machine they used to be, even while dressed in a soft pink sweater and jeans embroidered with flowers.

"Is this the guy?" one of them whispered without taking their eyes off of Whumpee.

"I... I'm not sure," they replied.

"I'm sorry, do we know each other?" Whumpee asked calmly. The question seemed to ease their worries just a little. Good. Whumpee really had no desire to be connected to their past in any way.

"No," they said hastily. "No, I thought we did, but I mistook you for someone."

Whumpee nodded. Smiled, even. "It happens. Have a good day, then."

"Y-yeah– you too!"

The two of them quickly walked away, almost tripping over a branch in their rush to get out of Whumpee's sight. Whumpee sighed and turned back towards the mushrooms.

What a relief.

[pigeonwhumps]

"That's gonna scar"

MD-264N masterlist

Febuwhump day 5: "that's gonna scar"

Asha sews up Morgan's gunshot wound when it refuses to close.

1.3k

CWs: self-dehumanisation, stitches, implied past non-con drugging, mentioned brainwashing, mentioned expectations of death, conditioned whumpee, living weapon

"Are you sure you don't want any stronger painkillers?" asks Asha, concerned. All Morgan's consented to taking are a couple of paracetamols, and while Asha can understand why after seeing the track marks on their arms, she's spoken to Rhian and she's not sure it's going to be enough today. She's not sure it's enough normally, honestly, but Morgan's gunshot wound isn't healing properly after the packing and now it needs stitches. Which means far more intense pain.

"No, thank you, sir. Asha."

Asha exchanges a glance with Rhian. A bit of a setback, but that's to be expected after yesterday. At least they're using her name as well.

"If you're sure. This is going to be painful, so let me know if you change your mind and need me to stop at any point, alright?"

"Yes, Asha."

"Good."

"You can squeeze my hand as much as you like," says Rhian softly, resting her hand in Morgan's. They wrap their fingers gently around it.

"Morgan, can you lift your leg so your ankle's on the pillow here? It's covered in a towel, even if we make a mess it'll be fine. I need your ankle slightly elevated and for me to be able to get to it easily." Morgan swings their leg up on the bed and turns slightly, leaning against Rhian, back to her chest. "That's it. I'm going to start now, you don't have to watch."

"Concentrate on your breathing," says Rhian, as Asha unwraps the bandage around the wound and winces. "Nice and deep and even, copy me."

Morgan does their best as Asha cleans the area around the wound before picking up her needle and thread. This is going to be the painful part. Her patient squeezes their eyes shut at the sight of the needle touching skin.

Asha pushes through the skin with only a little resistance and Morgan whimpers. They bite their lip, clutching Rhian's hand tight, letting out pained cries as Asha pulls the thread through.

Rhian starts humming.

It's a low tune, a soft lullaby that Asha recognises as one of Rhian's self-soothing techniques from when they first joined. It seems to be working wonders on Morgan too, their eyes drifting shut. After a couple of verses they join in hesitantly, the humming replacing their sounds of pain. Their breaths are still hitching, their face is white, but they're a little better.

Asha smiles slightly to herself as she stitches up the wound. They're perfect for each other. Rhian's doing much better with someone to care for, and Morgan's recovery is going better than Asha could ever have predicted.

"Alright, I'm all done with the stitching. This'll probably scar but at least it has a better chance of healing now." Morgan snaps their eyes open and watches intently as Asha wraps a bandage over the top of the stitches. "That should keep it clean and stop you catching the stitches on stuff."

"Thank you, sir. Asha."

"No problem. You were very brave. Would you like a fruit pastille?"

Morgan's eyes light up and they nod. Asha grins. Rhian was right, they really do have a sweet tooth. She holds out the jar. "Here. Take a couple."

"Thank you."

Once Morgan's chewing on a sweet, Asha says carefully, "How are you both? You look exhausted."

Morgan glances back at Rhian, who nods, squeezing their hand. "This weapon malfunctioned last night. It, I, I had a nightmare. And it disturbed Rhian and it is so sorry."

"I told you, it's fine, sweetheart," murmurs Rhian, before turning to Asha. "It was worse than they've had in over a week. We barely slept at all."

"Hey. You'll get better, Morgan. Maybe not all the way, but recovery's never linear. Rhian can tell you that."

Rhian nods. "Definitely."

"If you're okay on your own for a moment, I need to speak to Rhian quickly."

Morgan nods, and Rhian slides out from under them, following Asha across the room. Her voice is hushed.

"What is it?"

"It wasn't just Morgan's nightmare last night, was it? You look too distressed for that."

Rhian sighs and shakes their head, raking their hand through their hair. "I had a nightmare too, but that's normal. Nothing unusual about it. Been having them for years. But Morgan… they said that they didn't understand why we wanted a malfunctioning weapon. They asked why we hadn't decommissioned them yet. I mean, what do I say to that?"

Asha feels queasy. Morgan's barely grown and already they're expecting to die for being emotional and hurt.

"Reassure them we care, for as long as they need. And hopefully they'll understand our intentions eventually."

"Right. Hopefully. And maybe they'll consider themself a person eventually, too. Is that all you wanted to ask about?"

"Yeah. We can go back over now. I have their present with me too."

Rhian grins. "You finished it!"

"Of course I did."

They head back over, Rhian pulling Morgan gently against her under the window as Asha packs away her equipment. She can just hear Rhian whispering soothingly to Morgan, very obviously trying to contain her excitement. Asha pulls a lumpy package wrapped in scrap paper and string out of her bag, and hands it to Morgan. They frown down at it.

"It's a present for you. I meant to finish it a while ago but I got ill and then I was busy, but here you are."

Morgan blinks. "For me?"

"Yeah. Nothing bad, I promise. Go ahead and open it."

Morgan examines it for a full minute, Rhian almost bouncing behind them, before pulling at one end of the string, undoing the bow. The paper falls with the string, revealing a toy owl made out of scraps of fabric. It's not amazing, the wings are uneven and so are the button eyes, and the fabric's a bit of a mish-mash of anything she and Rhian could find regardless of the colour or texture, but Morgan picks it up delicately, like it's a treasure. They look a little bewildered.

"Morgan? What's wrong?"

They swallow, looking up at her. "What's the purpose of this gift? If it should be obvious this weapon apologises, but it does not understand."

"It's just a present, sweetheart," says Rhian. "It doesn't have a purpose. Though I guess if you need one, we can say it's to help you recover. You can cuddle it and it'll hopefully make you feel better. And the different textures are a great sensory thing. I have a similar one, you've seen it."

"It is only a weapon, it is not worthy of such a present. But it is very grateful."

Asha smiles, noticing that Morgan's already clutching the owl close to their chest. "Do you want to name it?"

"Archimedes," they say after a pause. "If that's acceptable."

"Archimedes," repeats Rhian thoughtfully. "Good name."

As Morgan sinks further into Rhian, eyes full of badly-hidden relief, Asha wonders if they ever watched The Sword in the Stone before they were brainwashed by the government. Maybe it was their favourite film. Maybe it was a sibling's favourite. Did they watch it over and over again? Did they learn the songs, did they annoy their family with them? Did they get annoyed by them?

Asha doesn't know. None of them do.

Until now, it hadn't occurred to her just how much they don't know about the newest member of their family. They don't know how old Morgan was when they were taken, where they lived, who they loved and were loved by in return (because surely, surely someone cared). They don't even know what their name was. Blue's working on hacking the retrieved memory card that may well have helped Morgan escape, but until then…

Just who do they have in their care?

[whump-card]

This Death That I Chose: Chapter 7

1350 words

CW: discussion of self harm, injury care, manipulation, conditioning, derogatory language, discussion of past noncon, fade to black dubcon, pet whump, character referred to as “kid” is an adult

First, Previous, Masterlist, Next

~~~

“Got it!” Tao burst back into Karlo’s room with the first aid kit, ready to patch up the young man’s thumb. He would have brought Faye to take care of it, but when he said he was going to Karlo had looked at him with big eyes and asked hesitantly, “Can you do it?” and how could Tao say no to that?

He sat on the bed and popped the first aid kit open, digging out antiseptic wipes. He ripped open one of the little packages and made a come here motion at Karlo. Karlo leaned forward and offered his hand, which Tao pulled onto his lap. Karlo inhaled sharply when the wipe made contact with the bite mark.

“So,” Tao said, as he gently cleaned the wound and the smeared blood on Karlo’s palm, “You did this to yourself?”

When he looked over, Karlo had his head slightly bowed and was gazing at Tao through his eyelashes.

“I didn’t mean to,” Karlo murmured, “I just got overwhelmed.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” Tao tossed aside the used wipe and uncapped a tube of antibiotic ointment. “Is that something you do often? Hurt yourself?”

Karlo shook his head. “No, sir. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Tao smeared the ointment on Karlo’s thumb and then started hunting through the kit for an appropriately sized band-aid.

“I’m not worthy of your kindness,” Karlo said softly.

“Oh, don’t even start,” Tao chided, “We’re not trading you back for anything.” He found a finger band-aid and applied it to Karlo’s thumb, carefully peeling away the paper from the sticky sections and wrapping it firmly. “All done,” he announced, setting Karlo’s hand down palm-up on his knee.

Karlo leaned forward a bit further, nearly touching his forehead to Tao's shoulder. He rolled his hand over to rest his palm on the older man’s thigh.

“Is there any way I could… pay you back?” he breathed.

“Aww,” Tao patted his hand, “Don’t worry about it, kid.” He stood and gathered the trash he’d generated, and closed up the first aid kit.

“Are you – are you leaving?” Karlo sounded confused.

“Yeah, so,” Tao rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, “The community decided, not only are we keeping you, we’re going to make our final run for Canada. Since you said the Commander knows we’re here. I need to help organize people and pack up supplies.”

“Can you please stay?” Karlo pulled his knees up, chewing his lip.

“I really can’t,” Tao said regretfully, “But Hannah will look after you today, alright?”

Karlo shook his head. “But I don’t know her.”

“Uhh…” Tao scoured his options, then snapped his fingers. “How about Vic? He’s my friend, I trust him.” But didn’t quite trust him to be organized enough to be effectively helpful at packing supplies – Vic was a genius in a fight, that’s why he was a Watch leader, but his personal space always looked like a bomb had just gone off. Becca and Tao wouldn’t miss him today.

“Your friend,” Karlo echoed.

“Yeah, would that be okay?”

Karlo didn’t look satisfied, but he nodded.

Tao left, somewhat pleased that Karlo seemed to be taking a liking to him. He still couldn’t get a clear read on the boy’s real personality, though. Karlo had been, in turn, defiant, terrified, unflappable, and now, a bit lonely. Tao couldn't help but wonder what Karlo would be like once he accepted he was safe. He remembered the bright smiles in Marina’s photo collection, and his heart twinged. Would Karlo ever get that smile back?

~~~

“You must be Vic,” the young man sitting up in the bed smiled shyly. His eyes darted up and down Vic’s figure where he stood in the door; tall, muscular, with a shaved head and dark blond eyebrows. Like Tao and the other Watchmen, he carried a gun.

“And I hear you’re Karlo,” Vic replied, politely returning the smile.

“Actually, I – I really prefer Lark.”

Vic had been on the receiving end of more than one conversation with Becca about respecting people’s preferred names and pronouns, so he shrugged.

“Lark it is.”

He closed the door and moved over to sit in the chair next to Lark’s bed.

“Tao told me you’re feeling a little lonely?”

“Yes, sir.” Lark’s voice was soft and pleasant, very unlike the feverish shrieks that had come out of him the last time Vic had seen him. Vic chuckled.

“You know, I’m always trying to get the Watchmen to call me sir. It never sticks.”

Lark tilted his head, curious.

“I thought Mr Tao was in charge of the Watch.”

Vic cleared his throat.

“Well, it – it’s shared. We’re both in charge.”

“Hmm,” was Lark’s only response. It sent a twitch of annoyance through Vic – not at Lark, but at Tao. They were supposed to be joint leaders of the watch, but with how impulsive Tao was he usually ended up giving orders first. Tao’s older age also commanded another level of respect, while Vic was only in his thirties. He changed the subject.

“You must be glad to hear we’re heading for Canada. The Commander won’t be able to get to you there.”

“Actually, I…” Lark bit his lip and shook his head. “Nevermind.”

“What is it?” Vic frowned.

“I…” Lark glanced nervously at Vic, then away. “I miss him. My master. Is that bad?”

“No, no!” Vic rushed to reassure him, “You’ve just… been through a lot, that’s all.”

Lark nodded.

“I just – I haven’t been touched, by anyone except doctors for the past two weeks, and… I feel like I might wither away, or something. I miss him so much.”

Vic wasn’t sure how to respond to this admission, so he just bobbed his head. “Right.”

“Well, what about you?” Lark turned to look at him with wide, shimmering eyes, “You’re so handsome, sir, you must have someone.”

Vic couldn’t help but flush.

“I don’t, but. Thanks.”

“Oh… How long has it been?” Lark asked innocently.

“It’s been…” Longer than Vic cared to admit. “A while.”

“I can’t imagine,” said Lark sympathetically, “I mean, my master fucks me every day and without it I -” he broke off, pressing a hand to his mouth, “I’m sorry, sir, I’m so sorry, that was gross.”

“I – it’s alright,” Van reassured him again.

“You don’t think I’m disgusting, sir?” Lark watched Vic fearfully, and Vic’s stomach did a flip.

“No,” he said firmly, “You’re not disgusting.”

“It’s just that… it feels like everyone else thinks so,” Lark looked away, brow furrowed with sorrow, “No will look at me or touch me… Not in the way that I want.”

Vic was captivated, staring at Lark’s sharp, mournful profile.

“What do you want?”

Lark bowed his head, picking at the corner of the band-aid around his thumb.

“It’s terrible. Nobody here understands.”

“You can tell me,” Vic found himself saying.

Lark shot him the briefest of glances before looking away again.

“I…” he took a breath, “I’m the Commander’s pet. I was made to have sex. It’s what I’m good at, and I enjoy it, and I – I miss it. But no one here would ever…”

“I could -” Vic started, before he caught himself. “I mean – I’m really sorry, I wish I could help you.” How could he even consider having sex with this traumatized young man? It didn’t matter how badly Lark wanted it, or how pretty his long silky hair was, or how beautifully his eyes shone when he was on the brink of tears; Tao and Becca would have Vic’s hide if they ever found out.

As if he could read Vic’s thoughts, Lark murmured, “No one would have to know, sir.”

“What about Faye, what if she…?”

“She just checked on me before you got here. She won’t be back until lunchtime.”

“I just – I don’t know, Lark…”

“Please?” Lark looked at Vic, catching his gaze and holding it this time. “Sir, please.”

Vic stared at Lark, at his pitiful, needy face, and all the blood rushed out of his head.

“Yeah,” he breathed, “Okay.”

~~~

First, Previous, Masterlist, Next

Taglist: @angst-after-dark, @sunshiline-writes, @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps, @whump-em, @morning-star-whump, @thecyrulik

[whumpshaped]

feel absolutely free to ignore this if you don’t have the motivation or ideas for this anymore. but can i ask for more of the guard dog whumpee? their are one of my favorite pet whump tropes and i am starving for guard dog rescue / recovery content 🥺

not rly a continuation.. i have one vivid image in my head and im just gonna throw it at u

tw pet whump, conditioned whumpee, implied past trauma

Whumpee was acting absolutely rabid. Caretaker had no idea what had upset them so much, aside from the unsuspecting passerby whom Whumpee was now entirely fixated on.

"Whumpee," they called quietly, but the tension didn't seem to leave the pet's body, nor did they stop growling. "Whumpee."

Nothing. Whumpee didn't even look at them, they just kept staring at the person walking away from them, unaware of any of this fuss. Caretaker was beginning to worry that Whumpee was going to run after them.

"Whumpee!" they snapped, finally getting their attention.

Whumpee looked back at them and immediately quieted down, bowing their head to make themself smaller. Harmless. Good. They looked like a kicked puppy, as opposed to the bloodhound from a second ago.

"What's going on, buddy?" Caretaker gently scratched behind their ear, relieved to see them still nuzzling against their hand. They were a bit worried that raising their voice like that would make the poor pet afraid. "You're not usually like this around other people..."

Whumpee shook their head a little, likely agreeing with what Caretaker was saying. They cast a worried look in the direction of the stranger, and Caretaker frowned.

"Do you know that person?" After a small pause, the pet slowly nodded. "Bad memories, hm?" Another nod, and Caretaker sighed. "That's okay. There's a bunch of people I don't like either, but, well... I can't just be going around growling at everyone I dislike."

There was a flash of something in Whumpee's eyes, something almost confused, as though they didn't understand why Caretaker wouldn't do that. But then they settled down, ready to resume their walk around the apartment blocks.

Hopefully, they wouldn't bump into the stranger again. For their sake.

~

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @whumpkinpie @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @whump-em @cyborg0109 @morning-star-whump @justanotherlokifan @2in1whump @lthrboy @justletmereadmywhump @florissimps @anonymous-tiangou @whump-kitty

[whumping-seven-days-a-week]

Highway to Hell

(this is my new series and I’d love it if anyone could provide feedback)

@whumpcereal @darkthingshappen @oddsconvert @painsandconfusion @lonewhumper @shywhumpauthor @some-messed-up-writing-for-you (if you’re on this list then congrats, you’re my fave writers! Also I will not tag you again after this)

I will not lie this was a bit rushed but I felt so desperate to post something.

Part One

Tears cascaded down Kelsey’s cheeks as she let the door shut behind her. One more year she was constantly reminded. One more year. When other people tell her that, they seem to neglect the fact that a year is a long time.

She brushed the tears from her face and ran to the bathroom to examine her mascara streaks. Staring in the mirror has a funny effect on time. You feel like you were there for a couple of seconds when in reality you’ve been there for hours, thinking about your face. Your body. How bad it looks. How Jennifer from school has a flatter stomach than you. How Lana has a smaller nose. Endlessly wondering how you could be better.

Glancing at her watch she noticed it was only 11:45 and yet she was already home from school. Luckily her parents were at work until late today.

Choosing PE as an a-level was a bad idea. And not just because of the shitty nature of the subject itself. At her previous school, there had been separate changing rooms for each person, but here, they all got changed in one room. This wouldn’t have been a problem… except for her scars.

Thousands of marks littered across her back, and chest. Different methods for each one, some newer than the rest. If she was in a joking mood she might have called herself mixed media paper. Normally it’s only her that laughs.

Laughing is like a coping mechanism. Inside she might feel like shit but no worries, let’s make the conversation more awkward by joking about her trauma. It’s one of the reasons her therapist isn’t done with her.

She isn’t normally so sensitive when people notice her scars. But this time was different. They stared. They pointed. They whispered. Some of them even giggled. I mean what sort of person does that? Almost immediately she threw her shirt back on and dashed out of the room.

There were a bunch of burns too. The letter ‘c’ recurring almost everywhere. Cassian liked to do that. Mark her as his.

She scrubbed the mascara from her cheeks and made sure she was looking presentable. She didn’t know why, there was no way she was going back to school now. Not after the scene she just caused.

After unlocking the bathroom door and stepping out into the hallway, she headed to the kitchen to make herself some lunch. Most days she skipped lunch, but she didn’t have much else to do.

She pulled a knife from the block and started chopping the tomatoes. They looked a little old but she didn’t care. Just for a second, she could have felt certain she heard the upstairs floorboard creak. But who would be home? Not her dad- he’s in Spain for work and her mum was at some big work meeting.

‘Hey, Alexa! Play Kelsey’s mix’ she yelled to the device across the room. It was stress-relieving to yell. To shout. To scream. That one she worked out herself- no therapists required.

She hummed along to the tune and headed over to the trash can to peel the carrots. The only way she could ever cease the voices in her head was with music. She always managed to lose herself in it.

But then she heard a creak again. And this time it was louder. Closer.

Her head whipped around trying to find the source but there was no one there.

‘Mom!?’ she yelled apprehensively. Her anxiety was starting the build and her heart rate quickened, ‘are you there?’ Her voice was quieter that time. So quiet it was almost a whisper.

She placed the carrot on the counter and grabbed her knife from earlier. Whoever was there was not meant to be there.

‘I said, is anybody there.’ Kelsey tried to sound threatening but the fear in her voice was evident.

The police. She needed to call the police. Her eyes flicked to the counter but her phone wasn’t there. Shit. She left it in the bathroom.

Slowly, she made her way to the bathroom, almost tripping over a shoe. She locked the door behind her and grabbed her phone from the sink.

She began to dial the numbers. 9. 1. Then she looked up. Biggest mistake of her life.

‘Hey there baby doll, missed me?’ Cassian. Fuck. Fuck! His voice was cruel, laced with fake sweetness. In the mirror she could see him lurking in the far corner, pointing his gun at her.

She dropped her phone from fear, and as he walked towards her, stayed frozen. His eyes were a piercing blue, so bright you could see them from a mile away. They just made him more intimidating.

Kelsey stared. She stared for a while as he brought his hand to hold her face and as she shuddered under his grasp. Her mind desperately grasped for a way out. ‘I-I’ she stuttered, ‘I, Cassian, p-please, just-just leave me alone.’ Fear was choking her.

‘Listen here,’ he said, ‘you be a good girl and come with me and it won’t be as bad when we get home. How does that sound?’ Home. But not her home.

It took all of her strength to not follow him, lean into his gentle touches. Instead, she ran. Only a couple of steps to the door where she grabbed the doorknob. It didn’t open. It was locked.

Those couple of seconds trying to unlock the door cost her. Cassian was onto her in an instant, grabbing her and wrestling her to the floor. Sure, Kelsey threw some punches, but she was only small. 5,3 to be exact whilst Cassian was definitely at least 6 feet.

She was surprised her heart didn’t come crashing out of her chest at the ferocity of its pounding. Her eyes were streaming again.

He straddled her waist a began to look through his bag whilst Kelsey threw some weak punches. It was pathetic. But she’d rather be pathetic than give up.

When she tried to scream, it was as if her voice didn’t work. It was trapped in her throat as Cassian pulled a syringe.

‘I’d stay still if I were you.’ he laughed so casually. It was fucking demonic.

He held her head with one hand and injected the yellow liquid with the other.

It took effect almost immediately. The world began to spin and all of her remaining strength felt drained. She just about managed to slur a few words before rolling over onto her front, when the drug took control. The last thing she heard was her music.

Highway to Hell by AC/DC. Ironic.

[paingoes]

Rubies

Habits

i really struggled w this one for some reason LOL. hope the language isnt too messy.  this part is really heavy on the conditioning aspect 

(Content: living weapon whumpee, conditioning, past emotional abuse, past captivity, implied child abuse, brief suicide mention)

=========

Lun left shortly after that. They’d said it was because of work — Lun had been inexplicably spared any penalty for the Centurion disaster and was not kept on leave the way the others had been — but Delta could not help but feel that it was because of him. 

Apollo still flitted around the house, being a bit kinder than he needed to be. He apologized again and again for having yelled in the first place; it was clear they had different definitions of what yelling meant. Delta would not have resented him for it even if he had. He’d been the one to overstep; Apollo’s reaction seemed subdued, if anything. He felt like something worse should have happened. Was that why he’d done it? 

He was starting to push his bounds, a little, trying to see what would break. It was slow-going, though. He was still afraid, still respectful, still incredibly grateful. It was just unsettling to not see anything delimited. There was nothing to ground him.

“Can I come out?” Delta asked softly from his doorway. He knew the answer, but it made him feel better to ask.

“Can I use the laptop here?” That one was more important to him. He liked being in proximity to Apollo and he was slowly warming to the internet again, but never both at the same time. He still reflexively hid the device whenever anyone came close enough that they might see he had it. He could only use it comfortably in his room — and the room got too quiet sometimes.

“Mm. You can sit on the couch, if you want,” Apollo answered, patiently reminding him. Delta shook his head. One thing at a time. He lowered himself to the ground by the coffee table. The screen was mostly concealed the way he held it so close to his chest, but it was a start.

==========

They still hadn’t caught Paris. The latest CCTV footage showed him light up a spliff as he pumped the ship with gasoline. There was no audio, but the way Paris jumped back indicated exactly what moment the gunshot had sounded off. The bullet had just missed his shoulder. He scrambled back into the ship. The gas pump clanked heavily against the ground as the ship sped away from it.

“Fucking idiot,” Delta muttered beneath his breath.

“What was that?” Apollo called from the kitchen.

“Not you. I’m sorry,” Delta said quickly. He flinched in anticipation of being hit. But Apollo went back to baking without paying him further mind. When he saw that he was making no movement towards him, Delta returned his attention to the laptop.

He’d been following the manhunt with some morbid curiosity ever since he’d learned Paris had survived that night on the airship. He’d never known anyone half so hard to kill. Like a cockroach. 

He remembered how cold Nezu had been. That day had been forever burned into his memory. How satisfied the guards had looked when they had caught him. How he been locked alone in that dark closet, left to dread his own fate. The casual way in which he’d suggested Delta’s limbs be cut off so that he could never escape. Paris had protected him from it. It was the kindest thing he had ever done for him — and Delta had been in the palm of his hand afterwards. A fragment of that sickly loyalty remained. Nezu had not made public what he intended to do with Paris, but he wanted him alive. Despite everything, Delta felt a touch of concern for him. He hoped Paris had the sense to kill himself before he was taken. 

==========

“Concern” did not even begin to cover the atmosphere at Galatea. Even as far removed from it as Delta was, where they were supposed to be off-duty, it trickled down. 

“What’s going on at Uracy?” She had asked just before she left, leaning over the counter. She’d said it low so that Delta couldn’t hear, but he was very finely attuned to that hushed tone of voice. If anything, it drew his attention more.

“Don’t worry, Kitten.” Apollo had just shook his head. He didn’t like to talk about it while they were home. 

Still, Delta could see the way his eyes got distant and contemplative just looking through the mail. He heard the phone calls even as Apollo stepped out onto the porch to take them. Delta could tell there were too many fires to put out.

Apollo didn’t offer and Delta wouldn’t have dared ask what was happening out there. But his curiosity was unkillable. He got glimpses of it through the laptop — crackdowns by the capitol, martial law declared among the harder fought territories, mass executions and exodus among the nobility who had fallen out of lockstep. He knew from experience that the pinhole view that the internet offered was often so far removed from the reality of the situation as to be essentially useless. The dissonance had even been funny once, in the worst kind of way. Now that pinhole was all he had. 

========

It was late into the night when Kitty finally came home. 

She dragged herself in through the door, stumbling a little, a small bell around her neck jingling. She’d been giggling. One of her hands was wrapped around the arm of the woman she’d brought in with her. Iza moved a bit steadier, a bit heavier, but she’d been grinning too. The both of them were piss drunk.

Delta sank down a bit in his seat. He’d worked himself up to using the chair, gradually, as long as Apollo was in the other room and not looking at him too hard. His hand stilled on the notepad just as the door opened. From the angle he sat at, he couldn’t see them enter, but he still knew immediately that they were wasted. They couldn’t see him from that angle either, though. He held still.

Apollo came out from the back of the house, rushing to meet them in the foyer.

There came a little squeee~ when Kitty saw him again. She tackled him, knocking him back into Delta’s line of sight. He watched as the new person entered the frame along with them. Short cropped hair. A tight and muscular figure that stood out against the black of her dress. Apollo’s face fell a bit when he saw her. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, swaying a little. 

“Oh, Ize. You two didn’t drive, did you?” He said into her shoulder.

“We got a ride.” Kitty bounced back on her heels. She had moved into the house enough that Delta would have been visible where he’d tucked himself in towards the corner, but it was dark enough that she did not seem to.

Iza returned the hug, then slowly unbound herself. Apollo led her over by the kitchen. It was the brightest room in the house; Delta had been sitting in near darkness when they’d come in. He watched the way they moved cautiously. Iza still had the bottle in her arms, though by now it was mostly empty. 

He’d seen her only once before, the first time he’d woken up after the rescue. He’d still been stunned and in the aftermath of fever — and she had been brisk, one among many, not paying him any particular mind. He’d seen her once and then never again, but Apollo had spoken of her often. He said she’d taken the rap for everything. She was the only senior officer they could convince to go along with the plan; all of the blame fell on her when it was over. 

“I haven’t even heard that many bad things about Bartuga. I thought for sure it would be Iselin or Kone or something,” Apollo’s voice carried softly through the house.

“It’s the flight conditions; they’re impossible. Bad connections too. You might not hear from me for a bit,” Iza explained glumly.

“What did he say to you?” 

“That I’m getting off too easy proportional to the consequences. He thinks he was premature about it.”

“Then do you think he’ll change his mind?” Kitty’s tail flickered quickly.

“No.” Iza shook her head, “He doesn’t go back on his word. It’s not like being any harder on us is going to undo the damage.”

“I think it was inevitable,” Apollo said, “The end of the war. The bloodline loyalists were already in a death spiral.”

“We thought we’d have a few more months, though,” Iza said, “Sunny, if I’d have known…”

Delta knew what she was talking about. The civil war had been a golden age for the resistance. Nezu and Paris were both getting routed constantly by rebel groups, too busy fighting each other to meaningfully suppress opposition. A divided empire was so much easier to topple. But that was over now. Nezu was in power. 

It gave Delta some bleak satisfaction to know he actually had been holding the line in some ways, some awful guilt to know that was no longer the case. He knew the kind of man Nezu was. He had felt marginally less sickened fighting against his forces than he did anybody else. 

If Galatea asked him to do it again, he would. The thought startled him, but it held firm even as he turned it over in his mind. It was his absence that had ended the war and allowed for Nezu to secure his position. Because he had asked them too. Because he had wanted an out. That debt would not go unpaid. If they asked him, he would. It was the least he could do. Of course he would. Why else would Levon have kept him alive? 

He clicked the pen a little, a nervous habit. He realized their conversation had faded out. When he looked up, they were all looking back at him.

“Oh hey,” Kitty laughed nervously. Her eyes were huge as she looked into the darkness that surrounded him. “Were you there the whole time?”

Delta nodded slow, like any sudden movements might get him hurt.

Apollo was looking at him strangely. Delta had received it plenty of times before, but never from him. It was the look people gave him when they realized he was listening — that he’d been listening the whole time. There was less suspicion in Apollo’s face, but just as much surprise and puzzlement. There was something irrevocable in it. Delta knew that once he’d seen him like that, it couldn’t be undone. He got the killer sense that he had shown his hand too early.

“Hey. C’mere.” Iza grinned drunkenly, “Got something for you.”

Something in her voice had done it. He had already stood up just as soon as he heard C’mere. He crossed the threshold and knelt in front of her, immediately, without resistance.

“Ize,” Apollo had said in warning just as soon as he’d seen Delta lowering. He couldn’t have held any sway over it, though. Delta was tethered. He was okay, too. He could do it. It wasn’t fear he felt, really. At worst, it was numbness. At its best, it was familiarity, the kind of binding he’d been desperate for.

He couldn’t tell if her expression was of confusion or exasperation, but he recognized the hand sign. Up. He rose obediently, forcing himself to keep his hands still. He didn’t know what to expect with her. It didn’t matter. He’d do it. Or take it, if he needed to. He wished dimly that the other two weren’t there to watch.

She fumbled through the sleeves of her bag. He stared blankly as she produced a silver key from inside one of the pockets. She pinched it in between her thumb and forefinger, holding it out to him.

“Here. Yours.” She tapped her neck a few times. 

Oh. He felt at his own gingerly, the place where the collar pressed up against the skin. His finger drifted over the cleft of the keyhole. The old collar didn’t even have a key. This new one was so tame and commercial that he could’ve broken it off with his fingers if he had wanted to. He never would’ve dared. He turned the key over in his hands. The meaning of the gesture was not lost on him.

“Thank you,” he said, genuinely.

“Mhm. I mean, I wouldn’t actually…”

“No,” he agreed. The powers were strong enough to burn his body up if they weren’t hemmed in, not to mention everything else. He wouldn’t actually unlock it. But she’d given him the key. It didn’t belong to anyone else. 

He played with the key in his hands, trying to look at her without quite staring. He realized he was still waiting to be dismissed. Apollo seemed to realize it too, gently calling him back. He pulled out one of the kitchen chairs for him. It still felt incredibly wrong for him to be doing it. He wanted to sink back onto his knees and to beg their forgiveness, for all of it. For all the complications his existence had caused. It wouldn’t do any good. He had to rationalize Apollo’s gesture as an order. He sat down in the chair.

“Isn’t Bartuga the one with the surfing?” Kitty pulled herself up onto the counter, lightly kicking her legs back and forth.

“It’s the one with the ennui, too,” Iza frowned.

Delta listened to their speech carefully. Their conversation had definitely lightened since they’d realized he was there. It made him feel like he’d gotten caught. But there was nothing reproachful in how they treated him. He stayed silent, watching out of the corner of his eye. 

========

“Delta?” Apollo caught him the next afternoon. He’d been on the living room floor again, still working at the notepad. He liked writing — and he liked that none of them could read Latin, so his annotations were kept safe. He looked up from the page.

“Yes, sir?” 

Responsive. Still respectful. Apollo didn’t correct him for it this time, which he’s grateful for. It was so deeply ingrained that it was hard to stop — and even the gentle reminders made him feel like he was being scolded for it.

“Do you want to sit outside for a minute?” He’d phrased it as a question, but Delta sensed it was not. He closed the notebook.

“Yes, sir.”

He followed him out onto the back porch. The air was kind of wet and sticky, like it might rain at any second. But when the breeze came, it was pleasant. It carried the smell of the magnolias that had been planted in a ring around the house. 

He sat down on the wooden steps while Apollo hung back by the railing — not facing him head on, which would’ve been a lot more intimidating. Not getting in his face, the way everyone else had always insisted on. Delta twirled his own hair between his fingers; it was another childhood habit he’d thought he’d outgrown. His early handlers had punished him for fidgeting until he learned to suppress it altogether. He understood why; if he looked nervous, it cast doubt on the whole operation. But it made him feel better — and so far, they hadn’t said anything about it, even though he’d been doing it almost constantly since he arrived. It hurt his heart how patient they were being with him.

“Are you comfortable here?” Apollo asked, like he had read his mind. Delta blushed; he didn’t know why. It embarrassed him how soft he had gotten.

“Yes, sir.” He nodded. 

“Are you just saying that?” Apollo tested.

“No, sir. I’m…really grateful.” He’d meant it the first time. Grateful was the right word. He might’ve said happy, had he not been told over and over again that his feelings did not matter. Had be not been made to repeat it until he believed it. He worked a small braid into his hair. 

“Okay. I just wanted to check in with you. I can’t really tell what you’re thinking, most of the time. I don’t want to assume and be wrong. Remember you can talk to us — not just when you’re spoken to. If you have questions, you can ask.” 

Delta nodded, feeling guilty. He’d gotten caught — really early on, too. Apollo’s expression softened. He came off the railing a bit, standing closer to the opening where the steps led down.

“Is there a reason you haven’t?” 

Delta did not know how to express just how compulsory his silence had been. His throat often felt like it was physically cutting him off from speaking. Even when he was asked to, given permission to, he sometimes had to force himself. The thought of doing so unprompted made his chest tighten. He looked at Apollo apologetically, at that exact loss now. Apollo seemed to understand.

“We weren’t trying to keep you in the dark. You have a right to know what’s going on out there. Levon just really wanted you to take the time to recover, so we didn’t volunteer it at first.”

“…Recover from what?” Delta asked.

His nose had mostly healed from where it’d been broken. His ribs were less sore and the cast around his arm could come off soon. And he never even needed any of those healed to use his powers. He could still work.

Apollo looked very sad. It was his turn to be stuck finding his voice.

“Maybe ‘readjust’ is the better word?” He settled on. “You’ve been through a lot and you’re in a new environment. We didn’t want to put too much on you. But if you really want to know, it’s your choice. You just need to tell us.”

Delta nodded. That was much easier said than done, but the instructions were clear. He hadn’t been punished for eavesdropping — and Apollo had made it seem like he wouldn’t need to. He undid the braid from his hair.

=======

Iza departed that night, having slept over the night before. She was leaving for real now, off to the new post she’d been assigned to, returning to work. Delta leaned against the arm of the couch, watching her search through her bags. making sure she had everything. She caught him looking and winked.

“Good seeing you again,” she said from around the edge of the pen she had in her mouth.

“…Thank you,” Delta said quietly. He messed with the sleeves of his hoodie, finding it difficult to look at her head on. 

“Apollo tell you to say that?” She asked. 

“No, miss,” Delta answered honestly. He didn’t have to. “Just me.”

He was oddly calm. He took in her appearance, remembering just how quickly she’d been able to get him entranced. She didn’t look like Paris, not really. She was just more battle-ready than any of the others had looked, angular, more haughty. The alcohol had helped, obviously. She reminded him of Paris when Paris was good. Unbelievably, he found himself dropping his guard around her.

“Yeah, well.” She shrugged, “You’re welcome.”

His gratitude was clearly an inadequate consolation prize. She held up a finger gun to him, pretending to shoot him with a soft pew noise. He did not react.

“Be good,” she said. He watched her go.

…………

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

[flowersarefreetherapy]

Shadow of Stars: Chapter 9

(Dami, mentioned, belongs to @for-the-love-of-angst and is used with permission)

CW: Whumper’s POV, intimate whumper, implied past noncon, vampire whumpee, biting, vampire attack, drinking blood, degrading language

"Your highness, we must pull back," Robin says, leaning forwards in their seat. "We cannot keep chasing down Shadows."

Star stares them down, allowing the silence to draw out. The other generals and advisors glance at each other. No one dares speak. The council room is an ocean of silence and the ability to part it lies solely with their king. Of course he isn't going to speak first. Those that do lose their power.

"Your highness."

Thaddeus steps forward from his place near the wall. Star glares at him, but he stands undeterred next to his partner. The other generals and lieutenants around the room shift anxiously.

"The general has already outlined their concerns. We are spread far too thin. This council must decide where to concentrate our efforts."

"I have, have already made my, my, my position clear. We continue for-forwards." Star's hand drops to Daniel's head, tugging on the ends of his hair as he runs his fingers through the strands. The buzz of venom runs through his veins from the feeding this morning.

He knows it's dangerous, giving Daniel a steady source of blood, but the urge to have the venom is too much. That morning, he had woken Daniel with a kiss, watching his face closely, noting the fluttering of his lashes as he woke. The Shadow was absolutely stunning. Star will never dispute that. He had forced Daniel to feed again, sealing the deal with a kiss that tasted like his blood.

Now Daniel kneels next to the chair, wearing nothing but a pair of breeches. The collar is back around his throat, but Star allows him to do without the muzzle. At least for now. As payment for how good Daniel was the night before.

"Your highness," Thaddeus pushes. His voice is strained, knuckles white where he grips the back of Robin's chair. "We cannot keep pushing forwards. I lost one of my best lieutenants last week to a raid they were ill-prepared for. Another party has fallen to Shadows who outnumbered them. We do not have the means-"

"I have, have given you money. I, I, I have given troops, troops and supplies. Are you so fool, foolish as to, to, to- . . . are you throwing it away?"

Thaddeus clenches his jaw. Robin's skin flushes a dark red and they whisper, "Our child. Damiel. They held against the raid, despite the odds being against them, in order to save their partner, and we have yet to find them. So hear us when we speak to these things, your highness, for we do not raise these concerns lightly."

Star lowers his gaze. He plays with Daniel's hair, trying to distance himself. He remembers their child and talked with them a few times. To hear Damiel is missing cuts deep, but not as deep as finding his parents dead, finding his siblings dead, hearing they were gone, he was next in line for the throne, the Shadows had killed them.

Despite their grief, Robin has done nothing to stop it from happening.

"You may, may not raise it, it lightly, but you have, have, ha-the Shadows remain free."

"I do not believe that is our fault, your highness."

Star stares Robin down. Their eyes blaze and their jaw clenches, drawing sharp lines down their face. Thaddeus is the same.

"Your highness," one of the other lieutenants says.

"What, what is it?"

"We-well, we are losing soldiers far too fast for them to be replaced. All we request is enough men for protection. Hunting the Shadows down can be a discussion for later."

Star hums. As he thinks, he slides his wrist between Daniel's lips. He presses the thin skin of his inner wrist against his teeth, a silent question he knows Daniel will answer. Warm breath ghosts across his arm as Daniel sighs, but seconds later his teeth slide in and the venom flows through his veins.

"We cannot only protect," Thaddeus says. "If we only react, then nothing will change. We'll continue to fight a losing battle and the Shadows will continue to slaughter their way across the nation. We must-"

"Silence!"

Thaddeus flinches. The heavy silence returns. Star glares at him, fighting to hold to the anger and wits he needs to run the nation. It's hard with Daniel's heavy breathing next to him, his fingers digging into Star's arm as he drinks.

Always starving. Such a beast.

"You will, will will hunt down all the, the remaining Shadow. You will pub, publicly kill th-them. You will, will stop give, giving me foolish excuses."

"All the Shadows, your highness?" Robin's gaze purposefully dips to where Daniel kneels. "Or would you prefer to keep your fanged consort?"

"If, if you wish to, to, to keep your h-head, I would shut, shut your mouth. I, I am your king."

"And I have known you the longest, so hear my counsel when I say that if you order all the vermin to be killed, then I must follow orders."

Star tugs lazily on his arm and Daniel's fangs slide free. He laps at the wound, allowing whatever is in his saliva to heal the muscle and skin. The pupils of his eyes are narrow, reflecting the flickering torchlight like a cat's. Drunk on his blood and the sight goes straight between Star's legs.

"Danny," he whispers. "Can you, you do something?"

Robin is still talking. It's nothing more than the snapping of flames, the blowing of wind, meaningless noise that brushes past Star without importance. He waits till Daniel looks at him, eyes wide with blood and lust and what Star wants to believe is love.

"Could you, you, you please st-stop the one with, with fire hair?"

Daniel is on his feet in an instant. He flies across the room, moving faster than a human eye can track. Thaddeus shouts and the ring of blades fills he room. Robin cries out as Daniel pins them to the chair, their cry choking off as his fingers tighten around their throat.

"Let. Them. Go," Thaddeus snarls, raising his blade to Daniel's throat.

"Lower your, your blade," Star says, tipping his head back. The venom slows his heartbeat as if he is watching all this play out from far away. Disconnected, watching a play unfold in which he pulls all the strings.

"No, your highness, I will not." Thaddeus presses the edge of the sword against Daniel's throat. He jerks, a whine slipping free as silver meets flesh. "Release my partner, you demon spawn, and I will send you back to the hell you came from."

Daniel glances back at Star. His fangs are free, pressing into his blistered lower lip. No doubt he can feel Robin's pulse and is ready to bite, driven to bloodlust from his feeding. Star knows from experience how hard it is to control a Shadow after a feeding and this will be no different.

"What, what if he wants, wants to, wants to feed?"

No one breathes. Thaddeus' knuckles whiten. Slowly, he turns to look back at Star.

"What. Did you. Just say?"

"Go, go on, Daniel. Have a, a, a drink."

Robin's eyes widen. Their nails scrape against Daniel's arm, a strangled cry slipping past their lips. Star knows he should feel guilt. After all, they are the closest thing he has to family. But the venom and his anger overwhelm every other emotion, leaving him with nothing but the disconnect of apathy.

"This demon touches my partner and I will slit his throat."

"Stand, stand down."

"That is my partner!"

"And I, I, I am your king!"

Thaddeus glares at him, chest heaving. Sweat beads on his hairline and his eyes narrow. Star watches his body, waiting for the tension that will give away his attack.

Instead, Robin's sharp cry splits the silence.

Thaddeus' gaze snaps away, back to his partner. Their eyes roll back in their head, grip falling slack as Daniel digs his fangs into their neck. A drop of blood rolls down their tan skin. Robin attempts to grab their knife, but the blade falls to the floor.

"Robin!" Thaddeus shouts.

The other soldiers pull free their weapons as well. One of them, a short female, steps to Thaddeus' side, her sword free and pointed towards Daniel's neck.

"You can't," Star whispers. "If, if you do, you'll kill, you'll kill them."

"I don't care," Thaddeus snarls. "Recall your whore, your highness."

In answer, Daniel digs his teeth in deeper. Robin whines as their head is forced back, but the sound lacks any pain. Rather discomfort. The venom taking effect.

Star waits another breath, then says, "Daniel."

Instantly the Shadow steps away. Robin collapses in the chair, their head dropping to their chest. Thaddeus runs to their side, his sword clattering to the floor. He presses his hand to the punctures on their neck and calls for assistance. The woman joins him, ripping off her sash.

"Daniel is, is exempt," Star orders. He stands, slipping his fingers around Daniel's collar. "Kill, kill the others."

Tagging: @blood-is-compulsory @pigeonwhumps @darkthingshappen @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump (let me know if you want to be added/removed!)

[boypussydilf]

they turned keroro into a dragon again

[kalims]

⊹ giving them flowers

premise. no plot we are just giving them flowers cause guys deserve some too <3

content. fluff, mini scenarios, azul turns into a silly nerd (affectionate)

featuring. jamil, sebek, riddle, azul.

note. actually accidentally posted this yesterday and got a heart attack (also an actual consistent posting schedule...?)

jamil gives you a look.

he spares a long stare at the bouquet you clutch between your hands, wearing an awfully cheeky grin that's chipping off the scold in his throat. "how many times have I told you this?" he deadpans.

but from the obvious fact that you're holding it. it's not like jamil can do anything about it.

"you don't buy flowers for yourself," he says firmly. I'm supposed to be the one getting them for you. he would like to add.

"they're a waste of madol?" you tilt your head.

he answers immediately. "no, just—" jamil's eye twitches like he's trying his hardest to keep something. "don't,"

perhaps he's being a little too blunt but it makes him upset. is he really messing up in gift giving to the extent where you have to buy something for.. yourself? and jamil is pretty sure gifts are called as such for a reason.

and that they're from, or gifted to another person.

you chuckle in your fist, but he continues to ramble; "also it's hard to care for flowers when you don't know much, i don't want you to—"

"jamil hon, my baby, the apple of my eye, the love of my life, they're for you,"

you say simply, and watch in amusement when his moments stutter before they stop to a complete freeze.

a furious wave of heat crawls up on his back but he's praying frantically. now is not the time. he seethes.

... he just tripped over his words.

jamil reluctantly accepts the flowers after you've finished laughing your ass off, and the only thing in his mind is the love.

okay maybe he should pick up a book about caring for flowers. do they even survive in the harsh conditions of scarabia?

whatever he'll make it work.

you should've expected this.

despite your arm honestly starting to tremble under the stress of holding it out for about 2 minutes straight now, you still attempt a smile—although strained. wouldn't want sebek to find it an unfriendly gesture.

even though he probably already thinks that anyways.

you don't want to color sebek in a way that shows that his only personality is being suspicious to everyone, and of course. the dearest young master he adores. (seriously though it's a little concerning, and you're kinda jealous.)

sebek stares at the bouquet in your hand with scrutinizing eyes, as if to say non-verbally: 'what is this'.

you sigh when he just stares at it like it's a bomb. "it's flowers." you deadpan.

sebek pursues his lips, looks away before looking back. "I can see that!" he says like he wasn't wearing a face that made you think you had to explain. but he just crosses his arms and falls silent with a huff. "for the young master, yes?'

he pauses. "I can atleast acknowledge your gesture, human!"

was that supposed to be good? you weren't given the chance to explain because he continues again; "though I will have to make sure that these aren't anything the young master is allergic to." he nods to himself, as though proud for being so thoughtful.

your eye twitches. you're a little surprised that he didn't even imply that it could be possibly a bomb inside to try and assassinate them.. but you notice a slight tense-ness to his demeanor.

you know cause he's huffed about 5 times in the past 1 minute, he's looked away and he's very clearly sneaking peaks at your hand.

—then he huffs to himself! then it repeats.

"I will take them to the young master at once!" he announces with his loud volume, stepping forward to grab it from you but you ultimately beat him. you're just praying he doesn't find you 10x more suspicious the moment you had wrenched it back to yourself with surprising strength you didn't know you had.

even he looked surprised!

"no, sebek.." you heave. "they're not for malleus, they're for you."

he didn't have the heart to correct the way you addressed the young master before he dutifully exploded.

he's shaking away from you with a wobbling, agape mouth. he could only open and close them dumbly, not beir capable to let a word out.

you suppose he was too speechless because he didn't even say anything when you happily pushed the bouquet to his chest like nothing happened.

for someone who's most diligent in studying, you'd think riddle would be able to catch on easily on the gist of your actions.

but he just blinks when you hold out your hand. pretty gray eyes trained on the bouquet of red roses in your grasp, then onto your face with inquisitive question apparent with the raise of his brow.

"we have plenty of roses in our gardens." he says, as though like giving him... these is the most bizarre phenomenon in his life.

it seems like he feels the need to add. "we grow them."

you smile, the sweet thing awfully tight on your face. "they're for you," you explain. a little perturbed that you need to in the first place, but it's riddle so you sorta understand?

riddle squints. "why?"

you blank. "like... like a gift, for you? you know. cause I want to."

then as if the slowness of the processing going on in his brain gradually speeds up. it's obvious he's probably realized the implications of your little gift from the jolt, then widened eyes who stare in disbelief.

riddle gulps. "for, me?" he asks stupidly.

your raised brows say yes.

it's almost hilarious when he accepts them gratefully and stares at them like you just sprouted a literal white rose from the ground, wrapped it in some fancy plastic, and then handed it to him with a smile.

silence ensues again. riddle notices, screeches in his head to do something about it except he can't, cause his mind seems to be broken right now and he can't exert any words but a stammer.

and he'd really like to relearn how to speak because you're fidgeting on the spot, clearly nervous by his silence.

"sorry," you chuckle. "um.. it's just red roses, not white, or blue, or pink—"

"no!" he blurts out far too quickly. hands stretched out in the air a little as though reaching out to stop you but then stiffly staying by his side. riddle clears his throat. "I mean... this is... very important to me."

you look like you don't really believe him cause he was going off about roses in his dorm before.

he flushes, away from your gaze. "because its from you."

you can barely see azul.

or gauge out his reaction if it's supposed to be good or bad, because you can barely even see his eyes from all the sudden sheen of white over it. did all the smoke in the room just gravitate over his glasses conveniently or something?

you can spot the joints in his fingers twitching but oddly enough he remains stiff in front of you. uncharacteristically silent, which wouldn't really lead to good things.

"hello?" with your free hand, devoid of any flowers with the power of freezing a person. you wave it in front of his face which seems to have done a pretty good job with snapping him out of whatever trance he's in.

the glasses slip down the bridge of his nose but he fixes them at record speed. admittedly with clammy fingers.

azul coughs. "thank you very much." he clutches them tighter, pursuing his lips.

"I know octavinelle is not the best place for warmer places," he starts and a flash of confusion on your face is something he misses. "but I will manage it and find an accommodation for these, around 34 or 35 degrees."

your brows furrow. what.

"hmm yes... a nice vase, I'll use the most pure water there is." he rants. "then I'll fill it up with two thirds of its container and make sure it lives healthy."

that's... concerning.

"I'll have jade clean it regularly." he says and you're honestly more scared for the flowers. "I cannot trust floyd either so I'll trim it by two centimeters at the right angle occasionally when it dries."

he says all that, with a pink face.

you awkwardly stand there taking in azuls apparent plans on how to ensure the lifespan of your 'thoughtful' gift will be extended as far as he can help in to commerce your honor.

[dunmeshistash]

Saw someone describe Mithrun as a "Disabled right wing veteran who is convinced hes just as capable as he was in his prime" and also that he would "complain about immigrants" and I'm very confused.

Where did this type of interpretation for Mithrun came from? There's nothing about him that indicates he's "right wing" or any more racist than the average elf and due to his condition he literally isn't able to care about that.

The sentiment of "Mithrun is a racist grandpa" seems to have gone from an absurdist joke based on him saying a "slur" into a real interpretation of the character??

First of all he's 37 in tallman years he is not a grandpa, I know it was a joke based on him being rough and the fact he's an elf (185 years old) but I'm starting to think some people really think he's grandpa age? He isn't, he's about as old as Senshi and Chilchuck, Senshi is actually older than him being 47 in tallman years if he's a grandpa they are too, it's going from funny way to call him into ableist territory pretty fast.

Second he doesn't have the ability to be actively racist anymore, racism implies a sense of superiority compared to someone else from another race, which all the elves have. (althought he still benefits passively from this racism as an elf even if he doesn't actively feel it) Let's go thru his anime appearance and what happens.

Kabru shows up and tries to speak to the elves and convince them to try his way. The elves think the short lived people are all ignorant and treat them condescendingly, even Tansu because they live more than any other race

Then they go from "Short lived people are too stupid to know anything" into "Oh my god this poor baby come on have some cake :)" which is ALSO condescending, nobody is taking Kabru or the governor seriously because they're short lived. These elves are RACIST they're treating Kabru like he's a confused kid "come eat some cake and let the adults talk"

Mithrun is the only authority figure that wants to listen to Kabru

He is a shell of who he used to be, right now he ONLY cares about defeating the demon, if there is a chance this kid (who has had experience with dungeons before) knows another way to get him what he wants he will listen to it, cause he *doesn't* have the capability of being like the other elves.

This doesn't mean he's anti-racist, it means he literally doesn't care, he lets the other elves mistreat Kabru in every other scene unless it has something to do with defeating the dungeon, cause he *doesn't* care. He's not gonna complain about immigrants cause he doesn't care he's not gonna treat short lived people like kids cause he doesn't care, he cannot care, he lost the ability to care.

Past Mithrun was the one that was both racist classicist and a bitch, but that part of him is basically dead.

He said the slur because they asked him not because he thinks is appropriate, the other elves aren't 'casual racists' and him the 'real racist' they are all just as bad he just doesn't have the "desire to be socially acceptable" I guess, they asked, he answered and that was it.

If it would make it easier try to think about it in terms of real life bigotry and how people keep going "you can't even say (...) because of the woke" they aren't any less racist they just worry about being socially acceptable racists.

Anyway, please don't just repeat what other people say as jokes as if they're true especially when you're saying it about a disabled character. Acting like he's worse than his peers because he doesn't have the capability of being socially aware is ableism, calling him a grandpa because he has had a rough life that made him look disheveled is ableism, saying he's past his prime is also ableist considering he learned how to fight *after* he became disabled.

Correct me if anything I said was wrong but I really got peeved after reading several people misinterpreting Mithrun as some sort of bigoted old man who must be taken to a retirement home as if he just causes trouble for people who care for him.