#implied whump of a minor tw

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The Nightingale's Song

Sigh Not So | Secrets Hid Away | Shed Tears Aplenty | Fire Down Below | Rolling Down | Won't You Go My Way? | The Seas No More | The Nightingale's Song |

CW: Dehumanizing language, use of ‘it’ as pronoun for nonhuman whumpee, sadistic whumper, creepy whumper, intimate whumper, fade-to-black noncon implied, magical whump, captivity, minor side character death

-

One year after the events of The Seas No More

Gilly, fingers itching to close around the old biddy’s skinny neck, settled for laying the cool compress over her forehead, taking pains to look like nothing so much as the devoted tenant helping his landlady through some terrible mysterious illness. 

It had been a very, very long eight months or so since he'd started this little act, feigning devotion and care for the old woman, and it was with very real relief that he finally saw the end in sight.

Mrs. Neumann’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, her little yappy dog running circles below her where she was laid out on the chaise in her less-fashionable front room. It stopped, now and then, to lick at her fingers, and then ran in circles again. 

“Water, please, Gilly,” Mrs. Neumann croaked, and he smiled solicitously as he tipped the cup to her lips, allowing her only a few sips before pulling it back away. “Thank you, you sweet young man.” Her cold bony fingers closed around his wrist and Gilly suppressed a shudder only with effort. "You have been so good to me, in these hard days..." Her eyes, when they met his, were strangely foggy, as if covered with a sort of film that stood between her and the world. “You have been such a boon to an old woman with no one to care for her. There is some infection, I should think… We must send for the doctor, mustn’t we?”

“The doctor has already come and gone,” Gilly said, leaning close and half-shouting in the hopes she could hear anything he said. Her mouth worked aimlessly, and he gave her more water, although it didn't seem to help. “Do you not remember?” Her hearing had gotten even worse since her illness had taken hold of her - or since the siren's song had convinced her that she was ill, anyway - and soon enough, he thought, all this shouting could finally cease. 

“Oh, he did?,” Mrs. Neumann quavered, eyes watering. But then she seemed to forget her emotions and looked to the side. “I suppose so… He must have. Oh, but Gilly, who is singing? The voice is so fine…”

In the corner, Gilly’s siren sang, plaintive and mournful, as he’d been ordered to. He hadn’t wanted to turn his song to Gilly's will, but with a year of careful teaching he had taught the creature to obey him without hesitation, and they were finally ready to put Gilly’s plan into motion.

It began here.

His future would start here at Mrs. Neumann’s sickbed, where beneath the notes of the lovely song were the commands being worked into the elderly widow’s malleable little mind while she burned with unchecked fever. 

The doctor came and said there is nothing to be done now but rest. Gilly Wentworth cares for you now. Leave him everything you have. He deserves all you have and more. 

He deserves everything. 

“He's a friend,” Gilly replied to her question, shouting right against her ear and getting almost no sign she was aware of him at all. Her eyes shifted, moving as if following the notes of Areyto’s beautiful song. The clouds over her irises were thickening. “He sings well indeed! It was a miracle I found him!"

“As the hart on the mountain so was my love brave,” The siren sang, powerful tenor rising and falling. Its eyes were distant, its body relaxed in a way it never was otherwise. But even Gilly could see that the siren loved the act of using its voice, not only for luring wayward sailors but simply to sing at all. “So handsome, manly and clever. So kind and sincere and he loved me so dear - oh, Edwin, thy equal was never..."

“How beautiful,” Mrs. Neumann whispered, lips barely moving. He watched the fog on her eyes overtake them entirely as the spell in the siren’s voice took hold of her. “Oh, Gilly, you have done more than anyone could ever be asked to do for me… it's a pity, what happened with your father… you should have kept your riches…"

“Yes,” Gilly whispered, leaning closer. “Yes, I should have…"

"A pity," The old woman repeated, reaching blindly for him, unable now to see anything but what the siren commanded. "Such a pity… you deserve everything…"

Gilly shivered with anticipation, breathing harder. "Yes, yes, I do…"

Even the little yappy dog had gone silent, now, head cocked with its ears up as it listened, seated on the ground. Gilly wondered idly if the dog would try to give him all its stupid little bones or something, if the siren’s magic could speak to the hearts of animals, too. 

It didn't work on animals, everyone knew that. But then it wasn't supposed to work on women, either, and here was Mrs. Neumann wholly ensorcelled by it.

He would have to go see Atabei, and tell her, after this was over.

“You have been such a good and kind gentleman…” She murmured, and he held her hand in both of his, soft papery wrinkled skin cradled between his palms. “I will leave you everything, everything you deserve…”

“Yes," Gilly repeated, more insistently this time, leaning even closer. He could smell her now, the rosewater she dabbed at her neck and wrists each day like clockwork when she rose, the sour note of her sweat beneath. It wouldn’t be long now.

As soon as she signed.

“But now he is dead and gone to death’s bed,” The siren continued, “He’s cut down like a rose in full bloom. He’s fallen asleep and left me here to weep by the sweet silver light of the moon…”

Mrs. Neumann’s mouth had fallen open, a look of serenity overtaking her features entirely but for the clouds over her eyes. Gilly left her for the moment and went over to a table near to the door, grabbing the sheaf of papers there, an inkwell and pen. He returned, settled himself back next to her, and began to speak to her in a soft voice.

She heard, somewhere, deep beneath the deafness that had come on her with age and the siren’s song. The siren commanded her to hear him, so she did.

He explained how important it was that she leave her wealth to someone who would use it wisely, that her friends and the church could not be trusted with it - only Gilly Wentworth, who cared for her so faithfully, deserved her fortune.

She nodded, and wept a little at the selfless nature of such a man, and then she took the pen.

The old woman signed every paper he gave her, her signature unmistakably her own and unwavering, even though she never looked directly at any of the words. He’d had these drawn up himself by a solicitor who had remarked, also, on the fine quality of his friend’s singing, before his own eyes had clouded.

When they had left the solicitor's office, the man had remembered no such song, only Gilly himself, and how kind he was to care so for an old woman alone in the world.

He would file the papers, once Mrs. Neumann finally kicked over the bucket and went on to the endless pile of her previous beloved yappy dogs in the sky, waiting for their mistress to greet them. Really, it wasn’t like she was doing anything with her wealth anyway. 

Gilly intended to do quite a lot with her wealth.

“Roll on, silver moon, guide the traveler’s way when the nightingale’s song is in tune,” The siren’s voice shifted, went so painfully sad that tears welled in Mrs. Neumann’s eyes, moved by the mourning the siren could mimic but, Gilly thought, not actually fully feel. “Never more with my lover shall I stray by the sweet silver light of the moon…”

She signed.

And she signed.

And she signed.

When he had all he needed, he put the sheaf of papers back, poured a glass of a scarlet liquid into a crystal cordial glass, and then set it into Mrs. Neumann’s hands, closing her fingers around it. She didn’t seem to notice, frozen in place by the strength and power of the siren’s song. 

Smiling, Gilly walked slowly towards the corner where his captive magic creature stood, lit by the strong yellow sun coming in the windows. Despite the immensity of emotion in its song, there was an emptiness in its dark eyes that sent a thrill down Gilly’s spine and pooled a greedy heat within him begging to be released. The sun touched the edges of its black curls and turned them to gold, shone warm on smooth brown skin.

Naked, it was a vision, an ancient statue brought to life by the favor - or curse - of ancient gods. Gilly came to a stop beside it, looking over its finely-formed face, the imprints of his fingers still, eternally, written clearly in purples and reds around the slim column of its neck. His eyes moved down, following the complicated swell of magical symbols that held it firmly in check, bound it without question to his will. The siren looked down and away from him, the song… shifting just a little. 

The note of wistful loss that the words called for became something stronger but far more painful to hear, a wailing plea to the heavens for help trapped within its perfect pitch. And yet no help could come.

Not for such a monster, not with the magic keeping it still for Gilly’s every touch, for as long as he commanded it to be. 

“His grave I will seek until morning appears and weep for my lover so brave…”

Gilly laid his hand against the siren’s face, palm to its cheek, and its voice wavered a little as its dark eyes closed.

“I’ll embrace cold turf and wash with my tears the flowers that bloom o’er his grave…”

With avid delight and no small amount of desire he followed the trail of a tear that ran down its other cheek and settled at the corner of its mouth. He touched his thumb to the spot and then licked the salt off it. To see the creature at its wicked work was… truly beautiful to behold. To know that it wept because it could do nothing but obey him - him, Gilly Wentworth, just a man in a world full of men and yet now one of the most powerful men alive - was… incredible.

Awe-inspiring.

And they had only just begun.

“Never again shall my bosom know joy,” The siren’s voice dipped to low, a hushed and mournful lament. “With my Edwin I hope to be soon. Lovers shall weep o’er where we both sleep by thy sweet silver light, bonny moon.”

Gilly checked back on Mrs. Neumann, and smiled. She stared off into space, her chest moving fitfully with emotion. The money, the house, the horses even… all of it would be Gilly’s very, very soon.

Really, it was like she was investing in him.

Just like everyone else was going to do.

Pity she wouldn’t see the returns.

“Have her drink what’s in the cup,” He whispered. The siren took a breath and obeyed, changing its power minutely.

“Roll on, silver moon, guide the traveler’s way when the nightingale’s song is in tune…”

Gilly watched as Mrs. Neumann, seemingly in a trance, lifted the cup to her lips and drank it all, swallow after swallow, some of the liquid running from the corners of her mouth to wet her hair and the chaise beneath her. 

He smiled.

“And never, never more with my lover I’ll stray by thy silver light, bonny moon…”

The final note hung in the air, as Mrs. Neumann’s eyes slowly closed. She relaxed back into the chaise, her hand dropping, the cup clinking onto the floor and rolling away, the last drops of poison spilling like water to evaporate and leave no trace of themselves behind.

Gilly exhaled, then walked with purpose back to the siren. 

It raised its eyes, briefly, to meet his just as he grabbed it by the arms and shoved its back against the wall. A gilded mirror hanging next to it crashed to the ground, cracking into pieces, and the little dog took to yapping again. 

It stared at him with naked, unhidden fear. 

“Good,” Gilly murmured, an inch from its false man’s face. Uneven breath on its lips, those eyes like pools of deep water locked on his. There were still red welts on its back, new ones thanks to Gilly discovering that even its pain sounded pretty, and he enjoyed the soft sound the siren made as its back was ground against the wallpaper.

He put one hand around its neck, thumb pressing just over its pulse, and felt it flutter and jump under his touch as the siren bared its neck to him, as he had taught it always to do. To defy even this touch would result in a misery the stupid sea creature could not bear. Even the dumbest animals could be trained, after all. Even the stupidest, most stubbornly beautiful man-shaped things could learn. 

Its voice was thin and airy. “M-Master-... please-"

“You did wonderfully,” He breathed. “A perfect tool for my will. Now we must find someone to take the dog - it’s irritating but I won’t leave it to starve here, will I? I’m not so heartless as all that - and then we’ll sell the house and the horses and all this nonsense and frippery she keeps… and then we’ll be on our way, won’t we?” He leaned forward, speaking against the siren’s ear just to feel the way its body shivered against his. “You and I. Now. Kneel for me.”

“Yes, master.” Its voice went dull. Its mimicry lost its shine, and everything fell flat from its mouth like heavy stone. It always spoke like that, when he commanded it to its knees. 

Gilly didn’t mind. 

Behind him, as the poison took hold, he heard Mrs. Neumann's breath go suddenly rapid and rasping, heard her fall from the chaise to the floor, arms and legs rigid, muscles spasming.

It would only last a few moments.

Then she would slip into unconsciousness and finally to her death, and Gilly would be one step closer to everything he'd ever wanted.

He let go and stepped back, watching the siren gracefully sink down onto Mrs. Neumann’s expensive woven rug.

Gilly put a hand in its hair, gripped tight enough to make it whimper with the pain when he pulled its head back. “I need to write a letter to Atabei." His other hand worked at his breeches, and his eyes took in the way the thing shuddered at the sight with greedy, rising lust. "Have to tell her it worked on a woman. I should see if it works on other women... Need to tell Beibei I finally have the coins to come see her for a visit. Be dressed in real finery, for once."

"Yes, master."

"Sssshhh. Open your mouth for me."

He closed his eyes, buried both hands in the siren’s thick hair, and gave himself over to his triumph and the perfect pleasure of the siren’s tears. 

-

Taglist: @burtlederp  @finder-of-rings  @theelvishcowgirl  @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump  @bloodinkandashes  @squishablesunbeam  @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump @shrimpwritings

Covers @whumptober prompts 13, 14, 15

[another-whump-sideblog]

Fixing Tracy -- Unemployment

TWs in the tags

Masterlist

The only weak spot, the only point of attack Tracy has, is the keys. Tracy’s only seen one, but she doubts Molly would go to the trouble of putting two locked doors between Tracy and the outside world and just have one key for both of them. Especially when the second door has so many locks.

If she tries to attack Molly and get the keys, she’ll just be shocked by the cattle prod. She hasn’t tested that, but she’s reasonably sure. 

Tracy’s well aware that knocking someone out doesn’t keep them down very long on its own. Even if she managed to knock Molly out, Molly would be awake again far too soon for Tracy to search her for the keys and unlock both the doors and get away when all Molly needs to do to stop her is take something out of her sleeve and press a button.

Would Molly ever go to sleep in front of her? She seems too smart to do that, but she also offered to stay with Tracy last night before leaving. So… maybe? Still, Molly would be able to shock her if Tracy made any missteps that woke her up, and Tracy doesn't know how heavy a sleeper Molly is, or where the keys to the second door are.

That leaves killing her. 

…Tracy doesn’t think she can actually do that, on an emotional or practical level. As much as she wants to, as much as she fantasizes about murdering Molly, actually doing it would be… well, she’s never killed someone before, even in much worse situations with people much worse than Molly. 

Practically, she doesn’t have access to anything that could kill Molly quickly, and she wouldn’t be able to beat her to death with the frying pan or anything because Molly would be able to shock her with the cattle prod and incapacitate her before she got very far.

Wait, wait wait wait— she’s been looking at this wrong. She doesn’t need to steal the keys, she needs to steal the cattle prod.

That’ll be way easier. She just needs to wait until Molly seems relaxed and grab it from under Molly’s sleeve. Then she can search Molly for the keys and shock her if she tries to resist, and then shock her if she tries to stop Tracy from leaving, and then run. Easy!

Tracy knows it would be smarter to wait a bit and build trust before trying to get the cattle prod, but… she has a life. She can't just sit around here for days, she'll lose her job, and then she won't be able to pay rent, and then she'll never get custody of her sister–

But if she gets out today, it will all be fine. She'll get written up for missing work, but it won't be enough to get her fired. She'll just tell everyone she was too sick to even check her phone for a couple of days, but she's better now, and it will be like this never even happened.

Except… Molly must know where she lives. If Molly was able to do this once, what would stop her from doing it again?

No, she doesn't need to worry about that yet. That'll be what she figures out after she escapes. Right now, the only thing she needs to focus on is escaping.

Molly has been really gentle with Tracy. She doesn't seem upset at all about all the stuff Tracy broke, and she even replaced most of it while Tracy was asleep. The only sign that anything happened at all last night is Tracy's bandaged hands.

Molly obviously sees Tracy as fragile, so Tracy's going to lean into that. She'll play the part of the rescued damsel in distress, and hopefully that'll let Molly's guard down enough for Tracy to grab the cattle prod.

Molly made Tracy breakfast, so she practices the wounded lamb routine with that. "I– um… Molly? Thank you for the breakfast, but… I know you've been nice so far, I just… I've been drugged before, and eating something I didn't make…"

"Oh! You don't have to eat this if you don't want to. I'll never stop you from getting your own food. I can take bites to show it's not drugged, if you want. You can tell me what bites to take, so you know I didn't plan a specific part to not drug so that I could eat that to prove it's not drugged…"

Tracy's such a good actress. She picks a few parts of the breakfast for Molly to try, and Molly eats them confidently. The breakfast could still be drugged, but at least she knows that if it is drugged the dosage isn't strong enough for a few bites to be risky. Ultimately, there's no guarantee that any of the food in the kitchen isn't drugged, so it's a moot point anyway.

"...thank you. I'm sorry, I just– I'm sorry." She starts eating and refuses to make eye contact with Molly, as if she's ashamed of being so suspicious of her kidnapper.

"There's no need to apologize. I'm glad you felt comfortable enough to tell me you felt unsafe."

Tracy tries not to clench her fists. She hates Molly so much.

After breakfast, Tracy asks if they can watch a movie, and Molly happily obliges. Tracy sits right next to Molly.

There's no need to jump the gun. She'll wait until Molly seems fully focused on the movie.

A few minutes into the movie, Tracy scooches closer to Molly. A few minutes after that, she rests her head on Molly's shoulder.

She's as close as she's going to get. She watches Molly watch the movie, trying to gauge how focused she is. Molly looks back at Tracy and smiles gently.

"Dear? If you try to take the cattle prod or my key, I will stop you. If you need to find that out for yourself, that's okay, but it'd be less painful for both of us if you could take my word for it."

She's not going to let her guard down. Tracy'll just have to be really fast. 

She grabs Molly's arm and reaches up her sleeve, and Molly punches Tracy in the face.

Tracy yelps and reels back, but she's got the cattle prod. A thrill of triumph runs through her, but then Molly pulls a cattle prod out of her other sleeve. Tracy frantically feels for the button on the cattle prod she grabbed, but she's too slow. Fire runs through Tracy's arm until she drops the cattle prod, screaming in pain and frustration.

Molly takes it and sets it aside, then pulls handcuffs out of her pocket, grabs Tracy's hands, and locks the cuffs around her wrists. 

"Sorry, sorry! Is your eye okay? This is why I prefer the cattle prod!" She still grasps Tracy's hands tightly. "I hate to have to restrain you, but you're a danger to yourself and others right now. Take some deep breaths."

Tracy's such an idiot. Even without the second cattle prod, Molly will always have the advantage in any physical fight. Tracy needs to find all the keys, get the doors unlocked, and get far away from this place to win, and even then there's always the risk of Molly finding her again. All Molly has to do to win is restrain or incapacitate Tracy in some way.

The hopelessness of Tracy's situation is starting to sink in. She tries to blink back tears.

Molly takes off her belt, and Tracy sobs, unable to hold it back anymore. "Please, I'm sorry!"

"I'm not going to hurt you." She knots the belt around the handcuff chain. "Sorry, I'll bring a longer rope next time, but this'll have to do for now."

She pulls Tracy over to the table and ties the other end of the belt to the leg, forcing Tracy to sit on the ground. The table is, of course, nailed down.

Molly goes into the kitchen and comes back with ice. "Let's take care of your eye." She sits next to Tracy and holds the ice against where she punched Tracy. "I'm really sorry."

"You don't get to say sorry when you fully plan on doing it again."

"I only plan on defending myself if necessary. If you don't try to attack me, I won't have to hurt you."

"Right. Of course it's my fault, it's always my fault, you just had to hurt me because I tried to escape my kidnapper." She's crying in full force now. She's trapped, she's really trapped.

"I wish there was a way to defend myself without hurting you. Do you think I should just let myself be hurt if someone attacks me?"

"I didn't even attack you! I tried to disarm you, I was acting in self-defense!"

"Are you saying you didn't plan on using the cattle prod on me?"

"Only if you didn't let me search you for the keys."

"You know I wouldn't, though. You fully planned on using that to hurt me."

"You knew I'd want to escape being kidnapped! You fully planned on using that cattle prod to hurt me!"

"I knew you'd try to escape, but I hoped it would be non-violently. I didn't plan on using the cattle prod, it was just there in case I needed it. I hoped I wouldn't, though. Can you honestly say you hoped you wouldn't have to use the cattle prod on me?"

"That– That doesn't matter! You kidnapped me! I–" Why does she keep getting into these arguments with Molly? Molly will never agree that Tracy should be let go, or that hurting her in 'self-defense' isn't justified.

Molly will never let her go. Tracy sobs and sobs, and when Molly wraps an arm around Tracy's shoulder Tracy doesn't stop her.

"I'm going to lose my job!" Tracy wails. "I worked so hard and it's all going to be for nothing! Because of you!"

"You hate your job, dear. You don't need a job to take care of yourself anymore. I know the idea of that rejection is painful, but it's going to be okay."

"My sister–"

"Say the word, and I'll bring her here for you."

"No! No, leave her alone!"

"I promise your sister is fine. I've been keeping an eye on her, okay? I won't let anything bad happen to her."

Nothing Tracy says will convince Molly to stop stalking Tracy's sister. Nothing Tracy says will convince Molly to do or stop anything. Tracy is completely powerless.

Tracy cries and cries until she has nothing left. She had a life, and Molly took all of it from her.

When Molly is satisfied that she's taken care of Tracy's eye, she puts the ice away and goes back to the sitting area to presumably put her cattle prods back up her sleeves. Then she sits back down next to Tracy and holds her while she cries and cries. The movie is still going.

Once Tracy's stopped crying and 'calmed down enough to not be a danger to herself or others,' Molly releases her from the handcuffs. She doesn't stop Tracy from locking herself in her room.

She– she can still ask Molly to stay overnight. She'll have to go to sleep eventually, right? And even if Tracy doesn't manage to get the cattle prod and keys, Molly can't stalk Tracy's sister down here.

She escaped her parents. She can escape this, she knows she can. She's just starting to worry it'll take another 18 years.

[whumpy-writings]

The Wagon

Reeve Masterlist // Of Vampires and Men Masterlist

This takes place right after Tribute

CW: Minor whumpee (OC is 16), slavery, vampires, restraints, stress position, implied future noncon

Reeve came to with a headache that pounded like a blacksmith against an anvil. He groaned. Where was he? He felt wooden boards under his cheek, a rumbling motion. . .

All at once it hit him. The wheat, the vampire torturing his father, Reeve trying to protect him. Reeve barely held back the sob that bubbled in his throat. He was in a wagon, being taken as a blood bag. He tried to sit up but immediately collapsed back to the floor. The world spun around him and he groaned.

"Looks like the blood bag is awake," someone called. Reeve's heart skipped a beat. He fought against the shackles tying his hands behind his back until warm blood oozed down his skin, but it was no use.

"Stop that," the sergeant snapped. "You're only hurting yourself." Reeve continued to struggle. The wagon rolled to a stop. The next thing Reeve knew, one of the sergeant's hands was fisted in his shirt, other other pulling his head back so he was forced to look the vampire in the eye.

"I said stop, blood bag. I expect to be obeyed." His face was stony and a spike of terror shot through Reeve. "Defiance won't help you now. The only thing that will help you is me. I know of several. . .establishments looking for humans of your age." He looked Reeve up and down in a way that made his skin crawl. "If you're good, I'll sell you to one of the nicer ones."

Reeve's breath hitched in his throat. He didn't understand what the sergeant was talking about, what those establishments were. But he did know that this man was dangerous and had no qualms about hurting humans.

"So sit there, don't pull at the restraints, and don't make a fuss. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir," Reeve choked out. The sergeant nodded.

"Excellent. We have one more village to stop at, then we'll make camp for the day."

The sergeant dropped Reeve back to the floor. The wagon resumed its journey through the night. Reeve blinked back tears as he stared up at the sky. It was cloudy tonight and so dark he could only make out the shapes of the vampires on horseback around the wagon. The vampires surrounding him. He needed to get out of here. But he didn't know how.

"There it is," a soldier said.

Reeve took a steadying breath before pushing himself to a sitting position. Despite himself, Reeve was curious. He had never been to a village outside of his own.

As the wagon rolled into the square, Reeve felt a pang of homesickness. It all looked so familiar. The houses were low to the ground with thatched roofs, a handful of torches casting a flickering glow on the scene. Just like home.

The sergeant dismounted and walked towards the sacks in the middle of the square. There were a couple dozen humans standing around and Reeve wanted nothing more than to run to them.

"Well, I see that you actually made your quota," the sergeant said. "I'm impressed."

Reeve was suddenly hit by the realization that this was his chance to escape. He wormed his way to the side of the wagon. The vampires were focused on the tribute, nobody was watching him. He couldn't easily climb down over the side with his hands tied behind his back, and he had to stay low so that the soldiers wouldn't see him. Reeve awkwardly swung a leg over the side, still in a crouch.

Well, here it goes. He flung the rest of his body out of the wagon. For just a moment, he hung in the air. Then the ground rushed up towards him and he landed with a thud that knocked the air from his lungs.

"What was that?"

Reeve's heart spiked even as he struggled to get his lungs to inflate. He couldn't run if he couldn't breathe. Painfully, he attempted to squirm his way away from the wagon and into the shadows of the buildings.

"Look what we have here," a voice said. Reeve squirmed faster. "The blood bag's trying to get away."

"Hey, don't stop him. I want to see how far he gets." Reeve threw his head over his shoulder to glare at the vampires who stood right behind him, leaning on their muskets.

"Fuck you," he spat.

The guards' jovial mood vanished.

"We'll have to punish you for that. That's no way to speak to you superiors."

The guard reached him in three steps and Reeve tried to roll out of the way. He was too slow though and the leech's boot stomped down on his back, pinning him in place.

"What should be the punishment? I would muzzle him but we don't have a good metal one with us," the guard whose boot was on Reeve's back said.

"We could tie him to the cart and drag him behind it," the other suggested.

"Tempting."

"But we don't want to risk messing up such a pretty boy when he'll nab a fortune at auction. Lets bind his ankles to his wrists. He won't be trying to escape like that."

Reeve cried as the vampire stretched his arms behind his back and tied them to his ankles. He could hardly move now, and there was no way he could escape. The vampires threw him back in the wagon, along with the tribute from the village. And then the wagon was moving again.

Reeve cried. It was over. He would never be free again.

After a while, the muscles of his back and legs and shoulders began to throb.

"Please sir," Reeve begged, as the wagon rumbled on, each jostle sending a stab of pain through him. "Please, I won't try to run away again. Please just untie me."

The vampires ignored him. Reeve spent the rest of the night in that position. Tears were dried on his cheeks, and he was cold and hungry and scared but the leeches didn't care. Finally, just as dawn was painting the sky a dusty pink, they stopped.

Reeve couldn't see the vampires, but he could hear them bustling around, presumably setting up camp. The wagon rocked as the sergeant got in.

"I heard you tried to escape," he said, crouched in front of Reeve. "A disobedient human needs to be punished."

Reeve whimpered a little at that. His muscles were screaming at him. "Have you learned your lesson?"

"Yes sir," Reeve said. "Yes sir, I'm sorry sir, it won't happen again." He hated giving in to this monster, but he couldn't stand the pain any longer. The sergeant reached out and Reeve flinched, but he only ran his hand through Reeve's hair. It reminded Reeve of the way he pet his dog back home. Bile rose in his throat.

"You're a very pretty boy," he said. "Be obedient and you'll have a good life." Reeve couldn't stop the shiver that ran through him at those words. Whatever the sergeant had planned for him, he was sure it wasn't good. The sergeant stared at him for a moment longer before he finally released Reeve's ankles from his wrists.

Reeve sobbed as blood flowed back into his hands. His arms were still bond behind his back, but the awful, awful tension in the shoulders and back and legs was lessening.

"Thank you sir," Reeve said. The sergeant picked him up and slung him over one shoulder. He propped Reeve up against a tree, and then took a coil of rope and tied him to it. The vampires got into their tents just as the sun peaked over the horizon, leaving Reeve tied up in the chilly morning air. Reeve halfheartedly pulled at the restraints before he fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

...

The vampires awoke at dusk. Reeve's neck ached from sleeping tied to the tree. He eyed the vampires as they packed up camp. They were dressed in green uniforms and moved with a precision he had never seen before. Within half an hour, their whole camp was packed up. Two vampires untied Reeve and tossed him into the wagon with the rest of the tribute. They didn't speak to him. Reeve's stomach ached, but he didn't dare ask for food.

"Come on men, it's only a couple hours to the fort," the sergeant said.

Reeve curled up on his side and buried his face against a sack of wheat. The earthy smell gave him a bit of comfort. It smelled like home. Reeve inhaled deeply, tears burning his eyes. He cried silently for what felt like hours.

Reeve didn't move when the cart rolled to a stop at the fort. He was past being angry, past being scared. Now he was just numb, exhaustion in his bones. There was no point in running or fighting. There was no point at all.

Tag list: @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whump-cravings @thecyrulik @neverthelass @michelleswhumpyreblogs @whumpsy-daisy @the-monarch-whumperfly @aswallowimprisoned @secretwhumplair @whumpzone @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @nicolepascaline @susiequaz12 @princessofonwardsworld @itsleighlove @pumpkin-spice-whump @wiwinia @sunflower1000 @whump-blog @blushing-snail @melancholy-in-the-morning @suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpsday @ceph-the-ghost-writer @inkkswhumpandstuff @whumpycries @quietly-by-myself @darlingwhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

[watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees]

Marci's drabbles pt. 1

Harmful Healing

THIS IS MY FIRST BTHB FILL THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN

I also can never plan Anything in advance, even though I finished the shirt story, I'm writing a bunch more snippets with Marci and Wesley

Also!! this is probably gonna be my one and only story where an actual caretaker is present, so meet Tricia, the woman of my dreams

masterlist

TW: kidnapping, implied captivity, minor character death mention, drug addiction, discussion of addiction, drug abuse, carewhumper and ill-equipped caretaker, trans whumpee

He'd dragged her out of the car, not that she could protest much, up some stairs, through a heavy wooden door, into a house just as pristine and beautiful from the inside as it was from the outside.

The furniture looked old, like something one sees in their grandparents place, the walls eggshell white and the floor dark brown, hardwood. She'd missed the comfort of such places, ever since she'd left home this wasn't even remotely the standard of living she could afford.

And now you can't leave. It was just a passing thought that immediately disappeared, when the man walked around her, keeping a firm grip on her shoulder to finally face her.

"What am I gonna do with you now?" he asked, not her in particular, she had no idea.

"Do you have any uhm... do you-?" She tried her best to ask the question, but the words seemed to slip her mind when she was concentrating on actually saying them. She needed her fix and in her opinion that was all he had to do with her. She'd be okay once she could get high again.

"Jesus fucking Christ, man, I do not keep drugs in my house " he sighed heavily. "Fuck, okay, I'll try to get you something, because I'm not dealing with this" He let go of her and disappeared from her line of sight.

He most likely just walked away, but she was just so tired, and so lost in her head his movements stopped making sense.

She was vaguely aware he had made a phone call, he paced back and forth in the periphery of her vision. She stared ahead trying to take in the living room, entranced by the lights that filtered through the light curtains.

"Okay, sit down" The man came back into view and steered her towards the couch.

"I asked a friend to come over and bring you something to clear you up, and then I'll figure this out?"

"Okay" Marci nodded absently. She was already deep in thought about something else entirely. She started fidgeting with the hem of her blouse, as if she wanted to say something but didn't know how.

The man just waited, with an expectant look for a few moments, before he realised it was utterly pointless to wait for her to start. He shook his head and relaxed back into the couch right next to her and went on his phone.

At some point Marci's eyes focused again, just long enough that she remembered her own device somewhere deep in her pocket. Watching the little dust particles fly around had become boring anyway. Her movements were sluggish at best, but she managed to pull it out.

The success was short lived though, the man immediately snatched it out of her grip.

"What the fuck? What are you doing?" He held it just out of reach, above his head. Marci had no way of grabbing it, even though the man was the same height as her. She gave up and plopped back down on the cushions. "Stupid" he shook his head "I can't have you calling the cops on me"

"I-I wouldn't- I wouldn't. He'd be so angry with me" She muttered with resignation. She really wouldn't have caught him, or anyone. Maybe Cody... but there was something wrong with that idea. "I just, uhm, I wanted to see if Cody... if he-"

"Just stop talking, okay?" he interrupted and stood up from the couch. He massaged the bridge of his node just below where his glasses sat. "He's dead. And his name wasn't even Cody"

"It wasn't?" The first half of the sentence just flew over her head. She was piecing it together, admittedly it took a while, but she'd get there and process it. "It was short for codeine" It was barely a mumble.

"Use your brain a little, what drug dealer's actual name is Codeine?" Marci shrugged. There was no way she could answer that. She used to know things like that.

A car pulled up in the driveway, it was a distinct noise, the way the gravel crunched under the tires. The man disappeared from her sight again and went to open the front door.

"Thank God you were so close by" he didn't greet the guest, but practically dragged her inside the same way he had done to Marci. Though this woman was standing stable and clearly didn't need to be ushered in that way. "I swear, I would have changed my mind and got rid of her... which, honestly, might have been for the better"

"What the fuck, Wesley?" she snapped as she knelt down in front of Marci, to take a better look at her. Marci was mesmerised by her. Her skin was light brown, her lips thick, even as they were pressed together in a concerned frown, her nose round, adorned with two small hoop piercings in her left nostril. Her hair was braided back on her head in ten straight lines and was bleached practically white. There were little silver hoops added to her hair, they looked the same as her nose rings. Marci found that wonderful. She smiled at her.

"Come on, she saw I shot that asshole who dealt around the... whatever the fuck that restaurant is called" Wesley gestured widely, as if to point out the place's approximate direction.

"You shot Cody?" The woman stood up abruptly, Marci swayed back slightly in her seat.

"That idiot was stealing from me, what was I supposed to do?" Wesley raised his voice. He stepped closer, in an attempt to intimidate the woman, but it didn't work. Although she was shorter, it almost had the opposite effect.

"Gee, I don't know, cut him the fuck off?" She yelled back. They stared at each other for a moment, but it seemed they reached an impasse.

"Okay, whatever" Wesley ended up looking away, down at Marci "But now I still have to deal with her" he whined.

"Fuck" was all she replied and shook her head, before she crouched down in front of Marci.

"Hi! What's your name?" Her tone was much more gentle than the one she'd used before. She also noticed the woman was much younger than herself or the man she called Wesley.

"It's, uhm, Marci" she replied softly. The other woman nodded with an encouraging smile.

"I'm Tricia" She pointed at herself and then gestured to the man with a sigh. "And his name is Wesley. Do you know what you took?"

"I didn't- uhm I didn't use anything... That's kinda the, uhm, problem" she laughed nervously and crossed her arms in front of her chest defensively. She was still shivering horribly.

"Okay, that's okay, can you tell me what you usually take? And I'll see what I have" She suddenly turned her head back to Wesley "I'll charge you double, just so you know"

Marci opened her mouth then closed it, as the thought got stuck halfway between her mouth and brain.

"What do you use, doll?" Wesley finally reigned his expression, and forced a smile. Her eyes darted to his face again.

"H" she whispered meekly.

"Dude, you know I don't sell fucking heroin" Tricia was talking to Wesley again. Marci's breath hitched as the sudden shift in the other woman's tone startled her. "What were you thinking calling me of all people?" Tricia stopped him before he could answer with an open palm signaling to stop. "Don't answer that, actually"

"Marci, can you listen to me?" she snapped her fingers in front of her face. She rested her other hand on Marci's thigh, and the warmth from that spot was all she could suddenly think about. "Is there anything else you take that helps? I don't have any opioids on me"

"Why the fuck do you not have any?" The man interrupted again. Marci felt there was no way she'd ever get a word in edgewise in her state.

"I do not deal with that shit" Tricia snapped "You should fucking know how your supply gets distributed."

Wesley scoffed, as if offended, but didn't reply, he couldn't argue with that.

Marci stayed quiet. She lost the thread of conversation as soon as the other two started talking to each other.

"Marci?" Tricia tried to get her attention carefully. "Anything else I could give you?"

"I don't know, uhm, Cody gives me other things sometimes, new things, he says, uhm, the last one was uh, Icarus, I think he called it" she stammered. At least most of what she said was comprehensible.

"Okay, fuck, I might have that, actually" Tricia's hand was gone, and it left a cool spot on her thigh. She stared at it blankly, while the woman looked through her fanny pack.

"You know that's an opioid though, right?" Wesley asked with a derisive grin.

"No, it isn't" Tricia stopped her search and slapped her hands on her thighs. Marci, though startled by the noise tried to get a peek in her bag, just to see what she had.

"Oh, it so is" The man's smile turned smug "So, what's that about not dealing with that shit?"

"Fuck off, I can't do this right now" She found a small plastic bag, filled with a white-ish pills. "Here" she offered one and Marci took it without hesitation.

They all waited, anxiously for it to kick in, Marci pulled her legs up to her chest on the couch, much to Wesley's dismay, who didn't approve of shoes touching the expensive material the cushions were made with. She rocked back and forth slowly, while the other two stood aside, and continued arguing.

The scene was disrupted by an awful loud ringing noise, coming from Wesley's right pocket.

He reached inside and pulled out a phone. It took a moment for him to realise, it was the one he had taken from Marci.

There was no caller ID popping up on the screen, he tried silencing it, but it kept vibrating.

Tricia snatched it away, after watching him fumble with the device, getting irritated.

"It was an alarm" she sighed and turned it off.

"Do you have places to be, doll?" he turned back to Marci, who finally looked relaxed.

"No" she replied, a lot faster than before, but it still felt delayed "I need to take my meds" she stated.

"You just did, honey" Marci shook her head lazily. She stopped shivering entirely, it was truly fascinating to watch how quickly she was composing herself, only to fall apart immediately after the drug kicked in. A different kind of falling apart, but still.

"No, I need my girl-pills" She smiled, and almost laughed. Her words were slightly slurred, and her voice that was weak and anxious just mere seconds ago smoothed out.

"Your what?" Wesley asked incredulously.

"For my, huh, HRT" she giggled "Can you get me those kinds of meds, too?"

Tricia blinked, a couple of times to process what she just said, Wesley was quicker to reply, not that it was for anyone's benefit

"Believe it or not I don't sell actual medication to people" he rolled his eyes "I'm not a fucking pharmacist either"

"Oh, okay" Marci bit the inside of her cheeks, and thought deeply. The other two exchanged a concerned look. "Can you get some though?" She looked up again, with a newly formed hopeful smile.

"Fuck it, yeah, sure" he shook his head "If you know the type and dosage..."

Trope: Harmful Healing

Fandom: Original Work

Characters: Marci, Wesley, Tricia

Word Count: 1.9K

@badthingshappenbingo

[faofinn]

DAY 16: semi-conscious

@febuwhump

Everything was…hazy. Nothing really made sense, and he wasn't entirely sure where he was, or, if he was honest, who he was.

He was warm though, and rarely in much pain. There were people around, talking to him, but their words were fleeting and he never managed to make them out.

They’d been trying to get Harrison out for a long while. He’d been known to them from a young age, but his family were difficult and without formal social services intervention, their hands were tied. 

And then they got news that things had truly broken down with the family, that Hars was in hospital critically unwell, and that he needed the support of ARCC. A young wolf all alone, he needed a pack. Needed people behind him. Fred and Sheila had a lot on their plates, and so they spoke to Steve and asked him to reach out to the kid. He’d been doing such a great job working with the more troubled kids, and they knew he’d be a good fit to give Harrison the support he needed. 

So he headed to the hospital, intending just to touch base with Harrison’s care team, get some more information, and speak to the kid if he was up to it. He understood how critical things were, that he was still somewhat sedated amongst other things, but it would be good to at least see him. 

He’d bought a little stuffed animal, too. He knew it was daft, the kid was 13, after all. But it felt right, somehow, to offer him a little bit of comfort amongst it all. Hospital was a scary place, no matter how old you were. It was a little ginger tabby cat, the softest toy he’d found in the shop, and he hoped it would bring the kid some comfort. 

After a nice conversation with Harrison’s nurse, they let him into his room. It was quiet, aside from the soft noises of the medical equipment, and he took a careful seat next to the bed. The boy in the bed looked small, asleep under the sheets, pale with his hair a mess. As so not to disturb him, Steve carefully tucked the cat up next to him. After a moment’s deliberation, he took his hand, squeezing it gently. He wasn’t sure how aware the boy was, how much he’d remember, but he wanted to make an effort. 

“Hi, kid. I’m Steve.” He said, his voice soft. “You’ve really been through the mill. I’m really sorry it happened, but you’re safe now. Got a whole pack looking out for you.”

His words were gentle, as was his touch. He fought against the sedation, squinting at the man. He didn’t recognise him, though he doubted he would have anyway. The scents were all wrong, mixed with the sterility of the hospital. 

Steve hummed. “Hey. Didn’t expect you to wake up. It’s okay, you’re safe.”

He blinked slowly, taking a moment to just try and figure out what was going on. He finally noticed the new arrival on the bed, and frowned. It took a little longer for him to manage to reach for it with the hand not in Steve’s, a small smile playing on his face.

Steve smiled back. “Thought you might like a friend.”

"Mine?"

“Yeah, he’s for you.”

"Oh."

“He’s not got a name though, you’ll have to think of one.”

He almost gave a shrug. That was too much to think about.

“For later.” Steve soothed, aware the boy would be struggling. “Are you in any pain?” He asked gently.

He shook his head. It wasn't pain, just…uncomfortable. 

“No pain is good.”

Harrison hummed, shuffling slightly to get more comfortable. He instinctively pulled the cat closer, giving Steve's hand a soft squeeze. 

“That’s it, you get comfortable.”

It didn’t take much for Harrison to fall asleep again, and he soon drifted, safe and content. He woke a little while later, and couldn't quite believe the man was still there. 

Steve let him sleep, glad he was getting some rest. God knows he needed it. When he woke again, he didn’t move for a minute, letting him adjust to being awake again.

He gave a small smile, trying to clear his throat. "Hi."

“Hi.”

"It hurts a little."

“Here, where’s your button? We’ll call a nurse in.” Steve said softly, standing up. 

"I don't know."

“I’ll have a look, is that okay?”

He nodded, his lip trembling slightly. "I'm sorry."

“It’s alright, you’ve not done anything wrong.”

"I have." He whimpered quietly.

Steve easily found the buzzer, and pressed it to bring the nurse in. He sat down afterwards, not wanting to intimidate him further. 

He pushed the cat away from him, worried he was going to be told off. "I'm sorry."

“Hey, it’s okay.” Steve said gently. “The cat is yours and you don’t need to be sorry.”

"No."

“It’s alright, I’m not going to hurt you.”

"Why?"

“I’m not that kind of person.”

Despite the pain, Harrison struggled to stay awake, stuck somewhere between conscious and the past.

Hesitantly, Steve moved the little stuffed cat closer to the boy. “It’s alright. Nobody is going to hurt you now.”

"I wasn't bad." He murmured. "I wasn't."

“You‘ve not been bad.” Steve said, his heart breaking. “You’re alright. Going to get you some painkillers.”

"I didn't say anything." He looked straight through Steve, focused on something, someone that wasn't there. 

“It’s okay. You’re not in trouble.”

He gripped the cat absently. "I was good."

“You’ve been so good.” Steve told him. “You’re okay.”

Harrison gave a tiny nod, finally hearing Steve. "I was good."

“You’ve been so good.” He repeated. 

"Oh, Steve, you're still here?" The nurse asked, finally answering the call bell. "Is everything okay?"

“Hi, sorry. Wanted to stay until he woke again. He was saying he was in a bit of pain, I wondered if he could have anything extra?”

"Yeah, of course. I'll go grab him something. Bless, he's just getting used to being awake again, isn't he?"

“Yeah, he is. Trying to be a consistent person for him. Thank you.”

"He definitely needs that."

“Yeah, exactly.”

They weren't long, returning with some pain meds. She shook Harrison’s arm gently, speaking softly to him. "Hars? Sweetheart? Got your painkillers."

He gave a quiet noise in acknowledgement, too deep to do much else. She took that as his recognition she was there, it was more than most would usually get anyway. It didn’t take long to give and she hummed, stepping back.

"There you go, I'll leave you two alone."

“Thank you.” Steve said gently.

Harrison whimpered softly, reaching out for the older man. "Steve?"

Steve was surprised he’d remembered his name. “Yeah?”

"Thanks."

“Oh, you’re welcome.”

Harrison smiled then, still semi-conscious, everything still hazy. And for the first in a long, long time, he felt safe.

[flowersarefreetherapy]

Shadow of Stars: Chapter 1

(the AU is here!)

CW: Implied past spice, mentioned character deaths (minor and in the past), past parental death, grief, angst

Star sits on the throne, looking out over the crowds of people coming to offer their tributes. Another good harvest has come and gone, so the people bring their praises to the gods in hope of a better harvest the next year. It is a time of joy and excitement, children’s laughs filtering into the palace from the streets outside. 

This was his parents’ favorite time of the year. They loved meeting their subjects, talking with them, hearing their concerns, doing everything they could to ease their burdens. 

Of course, that was before the outerlands were laid to waste, the Shadows coming out of their caves in the darkness, leaving behind bloodied husks, sacred lifeblood bleeding into the soil from hundreds of perfect bite marks. Before the armies rode out in pursuit of the killers and came back with missing limbs and missing friends. Before Shadows crept through the palace and killed the king and queen, most of their children, and their bodyguards. 

Before he learned the man whose bed he had been sharing that night was one of them. 

Star closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose against the memory. Of Daniel’s chilled hands on his body, breathless moans filling the space, how good he made him feel, over and over again. How they didn’t get to sleep until the first rays of sunlight began to show over the treetops. 

His family had been dead for hours by then and Star woke up with those life-taking fangs inches from his face.  

“Your Highness.”

Star opens his eyes to see Robin approaching. Their face is lined with grief, the same grief his eyes echo back to him every time he looks in the mirrors lining the hallways. If it weren’t for the Shadows’ annoying ability to mimic a human, he would cover every one. 

“The elders wish to bring the complaints of their villages.”

“Right,” Star breathes. “I f-forgot.”

“There’s no shame in that, your highness. There is enough for you to be worrying about. If you wish, I can have Thaddeus handle them?”

Star debates it for a moment. Thaddeus has the knowledge and the experience to handle the large crowds, but he isn’t the king. His words only have so much weight. 

And its your parents’ tradition. Honor them in this way.

“Thank, thank you, but I, I can do this.”

Robin nods and steps back, the hem of their cloak brushing against the floor. Star contemplates for a moment asking about the raiding parties hunting down the Shadows, if there was any progress. Thaddeus and they led the army now and the kills of Shadows had doubled. The couple worked in perfect harmony. There was no need to micromanage them. If there was a problem, one of them would let him know. 

The grand hall shines in the afternoon light. Everything is painted with a sheen of gold. The burgundy tapestries lining the walls turned the color of old blood, the marble floors blinding to look at. Still he expects to see his father sitting on the throne, looking out over the room with a commanding presence Star dreams of having.

“Your highness,” Thaddeus says, dipping into a low bow. He stands at the foot of the throne, hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword. 

“At ease,” Star whispers, unable to stop himself from glancing at the giant oak doors that hold back the complaints of the villages. He can hear the hushed whispers from the other side. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up. 

“What’s the report?” Robin asks. 

“All forty-two villages have sent representatives. Longport and Icland have new representatives. Their old ones were taken by Shadows.”

Robin curses. “Thank you.”

Thaddeus nods. Not the formal salute after giving a report, but the casual one that comes with years of friendship. Well, marriage, in their case. Star turns away before he is reminded of his parents dancing across the balcony.

Or the secret dreams he carried in his heart of waking up in Daniel’s cabin, making tea in the morning, helping with the chickens and sheep on his farm, watching the small bugs light up the night sky, as if his namesakes had come down to play with mortals. The youngest prince didn’t have the weight of the kingdom on his shoulders and Star had wished he could make a life away from the finery and diplomatics of the palace, somewhere quiet with the man he loved.

Loved. Because the dream died the night he learned Daniel was a killer. 

Star tiptoes to the throne, hesitating. He takes a deep breath before sinking down onto the thin cushion. The wooden back pushes the circlet into his curls as he rests his head against it, sucking in several deep breaths to keep from being sick. 

“Your highness?” Robin whispers. 

Star curls his fingers around the armrests of the throne and breathes, “One, one–I. . . I’m ready.”

He lowers his head, smoothes out the light blue vest he wears, and nods for Thaddeus to open the doors. 

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

[onedayillmakeanamebutnotrn]

tw/cw alot of temperature whump so basically anything to do with that is here like ice fire burns etc, caretaker is accidentally the whumper, small heart attack mention + small implied nudity mention

whumpee got alot of funy temperature whump idk what is in the temperature whump circle but im spitting this out anyways cold or hot water poured on them and/or being the only kinda water they can bathe/shower with and once the temperature changes its ether get out, refill, refill with the opposite temperature (i heard u can get a heart attack from this) hand on stove forced to keep ice in their mouth (maybe with mints) forced to keep hot water/hot food in their mouth (maybe spicy) ice/hot water is the only thing they are allowed get hydrated from hot food is the only thing they are allowed to eat and if it gets too cold its too late (gotta eat fast too then maybe ohoho) dumped in snow dumped in hot coals no/very little clothes during cold times many clothes during warm times etc etc now they are with caretaker they have vastly different senses of temperature with or without whumpee having trauma whumpee needs to shower/bathe or even just wash their hands/drink any liquid with a very specific water temperature caretaker thinks that its far too cold/hot and changes it whumpee needs to have a very specific body temperature depending on weather/temperature caretaker thinks its wayy too hot or cold for them to be dressed like THAT like arent you making it worse for yourself?? whumpee gets a complete intolerance towards mint and/or spicy stuff caretaker wouldnt know yet and has some light spicy/mintyish food or snacks (maybe even the toothpaste is too much) also whumpee might have a fear of ice somehow but oh no its a hot summer day and i got tasty lemonade with ice cubes in it !!! fear might also include any kinda fire, snow the mf oven, stove or microwave bc it just radiates heat and,,ohno scawwy,,, up to you how long this lasts before whumpee goes "ur a different breed from me and we have different definitions of cold and hot so please stfu and let me shower in a way i think is normal"

[141wh0re]

Red Spider Lily- Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Pairings: Body Guard!Simon Riley x Rich Bitch!Reader (f)

TW: MDNI, DDDNE, depression, suicidal ideation, anxiety, minor character death, angst, substance abuse and addiction, implied narcissism from readers dad, alcohol consumption, vomiting (not detailed, just mentioned), hyperthermia, brief wlw, NSFW thoughts, soft Simon, grumpy x grumpier trope, fun fact: don't mix MDMA with cocaine lads and lasses (can result in hyperthermia), whump, fluff.

Let me know if I missed anything in the tags <3

Word Count: 2626

Summary: Simon retires from the SAS, taking on a job for a well known real estate tycoon's daughter, serving as her sole protector until her father can find a suitable man to sell marry her off to. Yet, instead of protecting her from outside dangers, he's finding the biggest danger is herself. Simon is determined to help you escape this life that was pre-ordained for you, and cure you of your disease. Addiction.

After nearly three decades spent in the military, Simon never expected to find himself here. Stuck in a contractual agreement, protecting and ensuring the safety and well-being of a bratty young woman with a wealthy family. It was almost insulting to him, had it not been for the hefty sum of money the woman's father wired to his bank account every week.

There were a few moments he'd almost made the rash decision to quit his job completely, and allow the someone else to look after this bitchy damsel.

But there was something that kept him here, keeping a protective eye on you and a firm hand at the small of your back in crowded rooms.

Beneath all the glitz and glam, partying and binge drinking, and the drugs... Simon saw you for what you were when you were at your lowest points.

A young girl who was forced into a lonely life of luxury. A girl who lost her mother too young and wasn't sure how to cope. A girl who yearned for her father's attention while he consumed himself in work, social gatherings, and public appearances. A girl who closed herself off from the world and kept everyone at arm's length so the venomous bite of abandonment would be less impactful when those people inevitably left her. A young girl who drowned her liver in alcohol while snorting enough blow to potentially kill her every weekend.

Simon knew you needed consistency in your life with substance. He'd watched his younger brother go through this plenty, repeating a vicious cycle of pain and torment for a fleeting moment with the impostor of joy in powder form.

He also knew you resembled that of a caged bird. Lonely, isolated, and detached from the rest of the world while you awaited either your death or an arranged marriage that would benefit your father's company, and potentially cushion his pockets a tad more.

As you emerged from the master suite of the penthouse, Simon heaved a resigned sigh, seeing you dolled up for the night ahead. Luxurious, private parties and public appearances to keep your name relevant in the tabloids and medias.

He leaned against the kitchen island, large arms crossed in his black button down, rich, honey-colored eyes fixated on you, and his signature black, surgical mask in place.

"Eat. You're not going out on an empty stomach." His deep, thick accented voice demanded. He nodded towards the plate on the counter, filled with chicken risotto with truffle sauce.

You scoffed in response to his authoritative tone before obeying anyways and climbing onto the bar stool, realizing it's probably best not to piss off your body guard.

"Where's it from?" You asked in a bland tone.

"Your kitchen." he answered gruffly as he poured an electrolyte packet into a bottle of water and set it beside your plate.

"Didn't know they taught ya to cook up truffle sauce in the military," you teased in that snarky tone he felt deep hatred for. Your metaphorical mask was going up early tonight.

"It's so cute how hard you work to save me from myself every weekend, big guy. Doesn't it get tiring?" You goaded before working at the small, yet filling dish before you.

Simon ignored your attempts to rile him up, knowing good and well you were fishing for a reason to indulge in your vices tonight. If you went out in a bad mood, it was all the more reason for you to fill your nose with booger sugar, and what better way to elevate yourself than starting it in a piss-poor mood, so your high will be that much better?

"Eat." Is all he replied with, leaving no room for questions or arguments.

As the night progressed, Simon kept a watchful eye on you, taking in your every move, expression, and breath while diligently scanning your surroundings to ensure your safety.

He watched as you finished another glass of champagne that was easily worth three months rent for his studio loft downtown.

You were pleasantly buzzed as you floated about the mansion, like you owned it, being the perfect little socialite you learned to be. Simon's dark, brooding presence loomed behind you, keeping you within at least three arm's lengths at all times.

"Going to the loo," you informed Simon as you spun on the toe of your red bottoms, heels clicking against the marble floor as you sashayed in the direction of the restroom.

You didn't even have to cast a glance over your shoulder to know Simon was already following behind you, keeping his eyes dutifully trained on you and your immediate surroundings.

Once outside the bathroom, Simon knocked on the door before entering and doing a sweep of the room before allowing you to enter.

You rolled your eyes at his precautious measures as he shut the door behind you. After clicking the lock in place, you promptly relieved yourself before standing at the vanity to wash your hands, reapply your red lipstick, then pull a little pick-me-up from your clutch.

Using the compact mirror, you pulled a tampon case from your clutch, producing a small baggie of white powder from within it, and emptied the contents of the baggie onto the mirrored surface as it sat on the vanity. You shook the small tampon case to receive a small straw, then used one of your many credit cards to neatly align the powder in a straight line.

Holding a finger to your left nostril, you plugged it and inserted the end of the straw into the right nostril, hovering over the powder as you inhaled with a strong pull from your nose and lungs.

The powder irritates your nose momentarily, causing it to scrunch and sniffle as the tingles pulse through your nasal passage. Bitterness coated your taste buds as the powder dripped down the back of your throat, earning a cringe from you as you shook your head, coughing slightly to aid the phlegm in easing down your esophagus.

You promptly cleaned up and did a final once over in the mirror, adamant not to stare too long and avoid your flaws. Clammy palms idly smooth over the material of your dress, trying to ensure you look your best, and avoid the nagging feeling at the back of your mind. Your darker-self trying to rear her ugly head and steal your fleeting moments of joy, and stir up the insufferable concoction of anxiety.

Finally, you emerged from the bathroom to be greeted with the sight of Simon stood with his back to the door, his large palm clasped firmly over his wrist.

He wasn't stupid. He knew exactly what you were doing in the bathroom. Had it only been a quick stop, it would've been three minutes tops. But when you did your pick-me-ups, it took seven minutes.

He shouldn't know that, yet considering you're a relatively well-known public figure, he has to time every second you're not in his line of sight.

Simon stepped to the side, allowing you to exit the bathroom. His dark eyes gave a disapproving look as he surveyed your appearance.

"You've got a bit of sugar on your dress." He informed you, glancing down at the skirt of your black cocktail dress.

Your eyes hurriedly followed his, searching for the spot and swiping your hand over the material, earning an amused glint to flash in his normal unreadable eyes.

You groaned in annoyance once it became apparent he was messing with you, your hand quickly came up to slap his arm in defiance.

"Arse," you muttered under your breath. Simon's stoic demeanor momentarily gave way to show off a glimpse of underlying smugness.

Simon couldn't deny that you were a good looking woman, and he always found it hard to tear his gaze away from you, especially when you were a magnet for people. You had the natural ability to draw people in, even with your resting-bitch-face. Somehow, someway, everyone gravitated toward you.

It was very much the opposite of himself, all jagged edges, harsh lines with the repellent of a rabid Rottweiler. He found it fascinating on a personal level, but on a professional level, he loathed it.

He hated how people thought they could touch you, or be within three feet of you, or even the way they looked at you.

All he saw was greed, manipulation, and control. He was certain that you saw it too; he could see the faint flicker of disgust in your eyes when someone tried to cozy up to you for their own gain.

A part of Simon's heart ached to see your life full of so many people, yet none of them truly gave a shit about you. But he also knew you did it strategically, much like he had done for most of his life. Although, Simon's was done more coldly, you had a certain finesse about it. You held a sense of attainability, allowing people in just enough to keep control of, but never in deep enough for them to control you.

Behind the rich, spoiled brat, Simon marveled at the true strength and cunning you showed within this materialistic world. He could see the fox within you, calculating and sly as she was, planning her escape.

But the escape plan is what scared him. He heard every conversation you had with yourself, when you thought no one was listening.

You longed for a life without a name. Where you could fly under the radar, only keeping close to you those who truly cared. And as much as he tried to remain detached. He was concerned that one day, you'd find a remedy for that desire.. and take flight for the heavens.

Simon watched vigilantly over you as you remained perched on the outdoor couch with your group of girlfriends. His eyes never left you as your friend slipped a pill between your soft, red lips and did the tactless act of spitting her drink in your mouth to aid you in ingesting the pill.

Fuckin' hell, love. You need better friends.

He sighed inwardly, but heaved a quiet breath as he kept watch, wanting to shake his head in disappointment. But he knew you could feel his disapproving gaze prickling at your muted senses.

Your head dipped back in pleasure as your friend kissed down your neck, across your collarbones and back up to your lips. Half-lidded eyes remained trained on Simon as he stood within your sight, your eyes appreciatively raked over his form, taking in the way his muscles strained against the black fabric of his black button-down, and the way his slacks fit his tree-trunk legs perfectly.

He was a delicious sight and you were feeling ravenous, silently lusting over the man assigned to guard your life. The only man who gave a single shit about you.

Simon internally groaned, his hand clenching into fists behind his back as he watched the scene unfold before him. If he wasn't on duty right now, he'd be fucking you within an inch of your life, and make you pray to a merciless God. Himself.

You pulled yourself up from the couch on slightly unsteady legs, and sauntered over to him, only stopping in front of him once your hands were on his chest.

Simon gazed into your dilated pupils, already noticing the effects of your meeting with your little friend, Molly.

"Wanna go home," you demanded, pouting up at him.

"So soon? You looked like you were having a bit of fun." He replied in a neutral tone, keeping his aloof and disinterested persona in place.

"It's boring here," you whined, "wanna have fun. At home. With you."

"Mm, you wound me, bird. Here I thought you knew not to associate me in the same sentence as fun." He scoffed lightly, trying to keep the inflection of amusement from his tone.

He reached a large, callused hand to rest on the small of your back, acting as a stabilizer for your current state. Tingles ran up your spine as every nerve-ending desperately sought out the rest of his warm touch, igniting hot flames of desire along your spine, and pulsing directly to your rapidly slickening cunt from your heightened state.

Simon watched you closely once you were back in the safety of your home. He gauged you as you stripped off your dress carelessly, leaving it discarded on the floor, much like you had done with your heels the moment you were off the lift earlier.

He sighed as he watched you prance around the room topless, going about your business in your flimsy g-string.

"It's too bloody hot in this damn house," you whined as you adjusted the thermostat.

Your body swayed on unsteady legs, your skin glistened with intense perspiration. A wave of dizziness struck you, forcing you to lean against the wall momentarily while your heart rate soared, soft, frantic breaths escaped your lips while your vision blurred in a not so fun way.

Simon's eyes narrowed with concern before he immediately recognized your symptoms, having realized what would force this reaction out of you.

"How many lines did you do tonight?" Simon asked in a firm tone, scooping you up in his arms effortlessly, then rushed you into the bathroom.

He helped you kneel before the toilet, gathering your hair in one hand so you wouldn't have to focus on much.

"T-three," you panted out, feeling waves of nausea swell and your stomach to roil.

You retched into the toilet, firmly grasping the edges in a white-knuckle grip.

"And you only took one pill. Molly, right?" he asked with concern, gently rubbing his large palm at the center of your shoulder blades.

"Yeah," you croaked weakly before lowering your head again.

Simon grunted in frustration, yet remained vigilantly at your side, helping you through your sickness.

After a while, the vomiting finally ceased as he gently cleaned you up and propped your back against the bathtub. He quickly grabbed a washcloth and a disposable cup for mouth wash before handing it to you.

"Swish and spit in the cup, bird," he instructed while pressing the cold washcloth to your forehead, then moved it to the nape of your neck, trying to quickly cool your body down from the sudden onslaught of heat exhaustion.

You did as Simon instructed before handing it to him to dispose of. Your eyelids were hardly able to stay open, your body felt weak as if each limb was weighed down by imaginary anchors, and your skin felt like it was on fire.

Simon returned with a thermometer in hand, taking your temperature.

102 degrees.

"Fuckin' hell, bird." he murmured gruffly.

With quick efficiency, Simon collected you in his arms again, carrying you out to the oversized sectional in the living room.

You were already drifting in and out of consciousness, finding new items surrounding you each time you opened your eyes.

Simon worriedly administered an IV, a bin was placed beside the couch, cool washcloths littered across your body.

"What's all this?" you slurred nearly unintelligibly.

"Hyperthermia. Just rest. Let me take care of you," he answered in a softer tone than ever before, and had your body not been fighting for it's life, you might have caught the worry in his eyes and concern and care in his deep voice.

For several hours, Simon remained by your side, using a dropper to dispense electrolytes on your tongue, checking your temperature every hour, and gently running his fingers through your hair while you slept on the couch.

"M' gonna get you fixed up, bird... don't wanna see you like this anymore," he whispered in devotion, and pressed a tender kiss on your forehead.

| Next |

[3-2-whump]

Whump Quote

Or, micro-dosing whump when I’d rather be at home writing than at work

TW/CW: rape/noncon, nsfw, minor whump implied, intimate whumper, victim blaming (?) (by victim)

“It wasn’t all bad, you know. Before I grew up and became so handsome that he couldn’t control himself, Master was really nice to me.”

“There is so much wrong with what you just said.”

[medusapelagia]

18 The Mission

written for @steddieangstyaugust (prompt: "Keep breathing, please.") and @augustwritingchallenge (Prompt: space travel ), @aug-kissed (prompt: Frantic Kisses) Rating: Mature Relationship: Steve/Eddie, minor Robin/Vickie, implied Dustin/Suzie TW: androids, space au, whump, injuries, mention of violence, prison, minor character death. Words: 6787

Dedicated to @firefly-party who is one of the sweetest people in the world (and an amazing artist!!!)

Spaceships are cold, clean, and aseptic, like hospitals. Easy to clean in case of contamination. Easy to destroy if they can't be decontaminated.

Uniforms must always be pristine, not a wrinkle can be found on an Officer's uniform.

The hair must be short, and always styled impeccably.

That's what Captain Richard Harrington always taught to Steve, but when he opens his eyes he is surprised to find himself wrapped in a colorful patchwork blanket.

What. The. Fuck.

When he turns toward the little metallic shelves that every room in the spaceship has as a night table, he sees that it’s covered by a couple of crochet squares. On the crochet, there is a glass of water and a couple of pills. Steve shouldn’t take them, he doesn’t know where the fuck he is, and taking some unknown pills doesn’t look like the cleverest idea ever, but he has a terrible headache and those two pills look exactly like his antiheadache pills, so he swallows them with some water and groans in pain, cursing himself while trying to remember how did he end up like that but he really doesn’t remember.

He sits on the bed and notices that he is naked, apart from his boxer as he quickly checks. His uniform is abandoned in a corner of the room, half hanging from a metallic chair and half pooled on the room’s floor. If his father was there he would have certainly given him at least five demerit points, but luckily he’s on his own now, and there’s no way he’s going to find out how messy he is and how unacceptable his ship is. 

Steve hasn’t really given any strict instruction to his crew about their cabins so he can’t complain if someone decides to make his own more comfortable after all their mission is going to be a really long one and if Steve can be honest with himself, he enjoys the soft blanket instead of the aseptic one that’s in his room.

Which brings back the question: where the fuck is he?

The pressured air smells faintly of wet earth, which is not possible because he is in a spaceship, and the only soil that they have is closed in the laboratory where their botanical engineer is working on a new way to cultivate tomatoes and potatoes that will be bigger and grow faster. 

The bathroom metallic door opens with a gentle swoosh and the most beautiful man Steve has ever seen is looking at him with his deep eyes, wearing a pair of gray sweatpants that aren’t part of the official uniform they were given before departure, and a towel on his shoulder.

His chest is naked, only covered by the towel, glistening with drops of water.

“Good morning, princess.” The man says with a wink, “Did you sleep well? We had quite a night, didn’t we?”

Steve’s jaw drops open while he stares at the man’s chest, which is covered in black tattoos, trying very hard to remember what the hell happened the night before, but from the smug look to the other man he can suspect that they had sex.

Fuck. His first assignment as a captain of a spaceship and he already fucked up. And what’s worse is that he doesn’t even remember the name of the boy that’s staring at him.

“Do you need something stronger?”

“Sorry… what?”

“I saw you took the pills but you still look a little bit confused, I was asking if you needed something stronger to help you with your headache.”

“How do you know I have a headache?” 

“With all you have drunk last night, I would really be surprised if you didn’t.” The man chuckles while rummaging in a drawer next to the bed and grabbing another piece of clothing that’s not in the regulations.

“Are you going to wear that?” Steve asks, perplexed, staring at the pink crochet sweater that the other man is holding.

“Would you rather prefer if I go out there half naked?” he teases, while Steve blushes, trying not to stare at the man’s chest. 

“I noticed how you were looking at my tattoos.” Steve starts to stutter some excuses but the man smiles softly, “I get it. Not many people have tattoos nowadays, even less those who are enlisted, am I right? And guess what? They are old-style tattoos. Real ink under this skin, no removable plastic.” The man adds, tapping on a big spider on his chest.

“Real ink?” Steve asks, surprised. No one uses real ink anymore, it’s too permanent. The only people who have inked tattoos are criminals and there’s no way a criminal managed to enlist.

Unable to resist the temptation, Steve brushes his fingers over the figure of a strange winged snake on the man’s arm. Under his touch, the skin feels warm and soft.

“Do you like that one? It’s a Wyvern.”

Steve lifts his eyes, his fingers still tracing the outline of the Wyvern, and for a moment they stare into each other’s eyes, their faces so close that they can share the same breath. 

“I like it,” Steve replies, still hypnotized by those chocolate-brown eyes.

“I was under the impression you liked it since you're still tracing the outline of my tattoo."

Blushing hard, Steve removes his hand like he burned himself. Who the fuck is this man and what is he doing to him? He feels so fuzzy when he stares at this man who smiles softly while he grabs Steve's ruined uniform, "Ready for breakfast?"

Breakfast?! Holy shit he can't have breakfast disheveled like that! His uniform is a mess and he's in a hangover. Steve’s first alone mission just started and he already managed to fuck up everything?!

Robin. He needs Robin. His second in command has always been is anchor.

"You can grab a shower if you want. You are in luck, the water recycling should be finished and you might even enjoy some hot water."

Steve shakes his head, confused and embarrassed. He doesn't know where he is, who that man is, and what they have done. But since he was sleeping only in his boxers it isn't too crazy to presume that…

"Did we have sex?" Steve finally asks, avoiding staring at the tattooed man.

The man snorts, before bursting out in a loud laugh.

"Sweetheart, you were way too drunk to do anything more than sleep. Don't worry. You're still pure and innocent as you were when you boarded the ship."

"I'm no virgin!" Steve complains aloud, crossing his arm in front of his naked chest, before realizing that maybe he should be more dressed to have that kind of conversation, so he quickly grabs the crumpled uniform and closes himself in the bathroom.

One stare at the mirror tells him exactly what he suspected: he looks like shit! With bedhead and pillow marks on his cheek. Steve rubs a hand against his cheek so violently that the skin quickly turns red but the offensive sign of the pillow remains.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Ok. No need to panic. Steve's father will never find out. All he has to do is get back to his room, change into a pristine uniform, and go to have breakfast with his crew.

Refreshing his face with some cold water he tries to remember what happened the day before. He still has no idea about how he got into the wrong room, but he remembers why he got drunk: for the first time ever he's guiding an expedition on his own. They have left the Destroyer and moved on to a different kind of operation: for once they are not going to fight hostile planets but looking for other planets where life might grow. 

They are just a little Cheaser with a crew that counts only a few members, and every one of them knows they aren't allowed to get back before they find a proper planet.

If they find a proper planet.

That's why they all got drunk last night, Steve finally remembers. 

Robin proposed a toast to their first day, and somehow she, the mechanic, the botanic engineer, and Steve ended up drinking way more than just a glass. The only one who didn't partake in the celebration is the android that they left in charge of their route.

Steve curses himself for being the one who drank too much and ended up in someone else’s room, but at least now he knows who he was talking to: Edward Theodore Munson, a botanic engineer who apparently has a penchant for plants and soft blankets.

“I’m sorry.” Steve finally says, when he leaves the bathroom, “I don’t remember how I ended up here but I guess I wasn’t really lucid.”

“Oh no, you were definitely drunk. Your friend Robin asked me to keep an eye on you, just to make sure you didn’t choke on your vomit or have a seizure. Apparently, you got more concussions than most.”

Steve definitely did. To excel in his training and during the fight, he always did his best, but that kind of attitude comes with way too many injuries. Which is why he was removed from active service and put in charge of this expedition.

“And why were you the best person to keep an eye on me?”

“Because I’m a doctor.”

“You are a botanic engineer!” Steve protests.

“Yeah. But I was a doctor first.” Eddie winks.

“Well, thank you for keeping me alive during the night. Now I have to go. I have a spaceship to run.”

“You sure do,” Eddie replies with a smirk, reaching out to the sensor with the palm of his hand and opening the door.

For a moment Steve doesn’t move, his eyes pinned to the other man’s dark one, he licks his lips, trying to find something to say, but he still has a fucking hammer in the back of his skull so he gives him a two fingers salute and moves back to his room. 

***

Steve’s room is an aseptic light gray, with the blankets provided by the government. No trinkets or pictures in his room, just a little tag he won as a kid for being the best student. But that was before his father enrolled him in a special course to make the perfect soldier out of him. A soldier that now is worthless because his hearing and his sight are too fucked.

The lights in his room turn a warm orange announcing Robin's presence. Steve gives a vocal order to the ship’s AI to open the door, and here she is, wearing a perfectly ironed uniform and combed air.

"Wao." She says, making herself comfortable on Steve's bed, "It looks like someone had a lot of fun last night." She chuckles.

"Why the fuck did you let me drink that much! And why did you ask Munson to take care of me!"

"Because you needed it. We all needed it, ok? We are on a suicide mission, you know that right? No turning back till we find something, if we find something! So please excuse me if I thought that giving you a free night now that the journey just started was a good way to start this adventure. We all drank, ok? And we shared some shit about our past and what we'll miss from home. It was a good night. Until you started to talk about Nancy. God, do you know how weeny you become when you speak about Nancy? How perfect she was, how she broke your heart… you even talk to us about the six little nuggets. And let me tell you, Steve, I'm a lesbian, but even if I weren't, there was no way a woman was going to say yes to six fucking nuggets! That's way too much! Especially from a man who can't, you know… deliver."

Steve covers his face with his hands. 

"Ok so… I fucked up on my first day?"

"Nahh… You just got drunk, sad drunk, which was no fun, but guess who stayed with you and comforted you all night long? That lovely man with doe's eyes."

Steve immediately turns toward her "Why did you leave me with him?!"

"He's a doctor!"

"That's not an answer! You're my best friend!"

"Female intuition?"

"What the fuck does this mean?!" Steve yells before taking his head into his hands with a groan.

"Ok. Ok. Don't scream at me. I was taking care of Dustin, ok? He didn't take this mission too well. He was going to propose. Did you know it?"

"Dustin? To who?"

"Max? The communication engineer?"

"Oh, fuck." Steve has seen them chat together at the cafeteria a few times but he never suspected that there was something more. Dustin has always been such a disaster!

"Not your fault, dingus. The application clearly states that engaged or wed weren't going to be picked for the mission, so he should have had proposed before."

Steve nods, thinking that, apart from him, everyone on the ship has no parents or family.

"So, what's Edward's sad story?"

"Eddie's? You'll have to ask him. Now go change into something more appropriate, your crew is waiting for you and super Vicky is tired of reading coordinates."

"You named the android." Steve groans.

"Of course I did! She's family!"

"Oh, shit and your lesbian ass decided it is a she?"

"Nope. I asked, you moron. She has a mind of her own and she told me she identifies as a she. Something wrong with that?"

God. This mission is going to be a fucking nightmare.

***

Four months and still no available planet anywhere. They have fast-traveled from one Galaxy to the next, trusting Vickie's calculation and the computer's AI, but nothing.

After the first night, they have found a sort of equilibrium. Dustin and Edward spend the major part of their time working on their respective projects, while Robin, Steve, and Vickie try to find new routes, and more importantly, new planets.

"It's lunchtime, Captain. May I suggest you all move to the common area to consume your lunch?" the ship's AI suggests. 

"You're in charge, Vickie. Stay on course."

“Yes, captain.” The android promptly replies, typing something on the dashboard.

Thanks to Eddie's experiments they can consume something different from the usual freeze-dried ratio, But Steve is starting to develop a certain kind of hate toward tomatoes and potatoes that are swimming in a super proteic soup.

"Dustin, my little sous chef, I think our captain doesn't approve of our new dish," Eddie says, putting a hand on his chest with a dramatic sigh.

"I think you're right, chef. Can I illustrate to you that this plate contains the perfect amount of carbs, protein, and fiber that a human needs?" Dustin says, grabbing his tablet.

"Please, don't. I get it. You're doing a great job and the food is perfectly balanced. I just miss burgers and fries. Hey!" Steve complains while Robin hits him in the shoulder.

"Don't remind me of food, ok? Rule number one: we don’t talk about real food! This is great guys, and thank you for cooking for us, but everything here tastes like cardboard."

Eddie and Dustin shrug, but don't deny it, while they quietly eat their soup.

"Any luck with new planets?" Eddie asks, and for a moment Steve's concentration falters when he takes off his jacket revealing a tattooed torso under a dark red crochet t-shirt, "Steve?"

"Yeah. Sorry, No luck for the moment. It doesn't matter how many calculations we make, we can't find any living planets."

"Isn't that strange?" Dustin asks, wiping his mouth with a tissue, "I mean on a mere statistical calculation given our speed rate and our trajectory we should have at least found something. Maybe a planet not perfect for humans but that could host oxygen and water."

"Yeah. I was talking with Vickie and she thinks the same. There's no way that we didn't find any suitable planet in four months while scanning Galaxy after Galaxy."

"It's just statistics, we could be the exception," Steve replies, grabbing his spoon and finally moving his stare from Eddie's chest to his soup.

They have long understood that nobody is checking on them, so the rules on the ship have become more flexible: no more need for pristine uniforms or titles, after all, there's just the four of them, six if you count Vickie and the ship AI, and none is going to takes away their titles or fire them.

"Still don't get it. Maybe something is wrong with the radar. I should go down and take a good look." Dustin proposes and the others quickly agree that if something is broken it needs to be fixed as soon as possible.

That's when the ship starts to shake and Vickie announces that they are getting hit by a meteor storm.

Steve runs to the control room, wondering how the fuck that happen. A meteor storm can't just appear from nowhere. The sensors should have caught something. Energy, heat, speed. Just… something.

Steve quickly modifies their route and with Robin and Vickie's help, he manages to move the ship out of the storm with just a few damages that Dustin quickly fixes, while half of Eddie's tomato cultivation was left without energy and now is dead.

"I'm so sorry, Eddie," Steve confesses, sharing the last whiskey bottle in Eddie's room which is the coziest and quietest room on the ship. Not even the ship AI has access to this room, Eddie's requirement.

"I know you hated those tomatoes," Eddie replies, grabbing the bottle.

"I didn't hate them… I was just a bit bored of eating them every day, but I'm clever enough to know that without food and without a proper planet we're fucked."

"So you didn't purposely get us into a meteor storm, huh? Captain?" Eddie chuckles, but even if he's just joking, Steve frowns while sipping his whisky.

It's not so crazy to believe that someone is trying to compromise their mission.

Every member of the crew is a suspect.

Eddie, with his mysterious previous life Steve knows nothing about, Dustin who was going to propose and now is condemned to live on the ship with them, Robin who was always at Steve's side but now is becoming impatient by the day, and even Vickie is not above suspect. She's the one in charge of their route given the fact that she just needs to be plugged for a few minutes to recharge and she can keep working while they're resting.

"Hey! You ok? You know I was joking, right?" Eddie asks, taking away the whisky bottle.

Steve nods, but his mood has changed.

"Are you ok?" Eddie asks again, "You are worrying me. Do you need a check-up? I haven't done one in years but I still have an idea about how it works."

"Just tired. And worried about the mission." Steve replies, avoiding Eddie's stare purposely.

A warm hand brushes against Steve's forehead, "No fever." Eddie comments while Steve startles back.

"Don't touch me! I told you I'm good!" Steve hisses.

"Just wanted to be sure. You look like the kind of man who would hide a wound until it festers." Eddie replies, lifting an eyebrow.

Steve definitely is, but he will never admit it, especially now that everyone is on his list.

"I'm going back to my room. Tomorrow I'll help you plant more seeds, hopefully, they'll regrow."

"It will take a lot of time to get the same amount of plants, but ok. Thank you."

That night, alone in his room, Steve makes a plan. He's going to keep an eye on all his crew members and find out who is sabotaging the mission.

***

Once Steve is sure that the entire crew is asleep he quietly steps out of his cabin, keeping an eye on his watch: Vickie will need to recharge soon and he knows the code to put her to sleep for a few minutes and check the mission’s records. He knows that there’s no way he will come up with some revelation in just a few minutes: his plan is to take notes of every movement the ship made since their departure and compare it to the route he decided when the mission started.

Steve moves quietly, barefoot, stepping into the control room when Vickie is resting for a few minutes against the plug in the wall.

He adds a couple of minutes to her resting schedule and runs toward the Dashboard, opening the tabs one after the other, looking for any sign of tempering, but everything seems fine. Could they really have been just unlucky? Statistics is just a game with numbers, it gives no certainty, but it’s so strange that they didn’t find anything at all. Not even a gas planet or a satellite, only hard rocks, and long-dead planets while their galaxies are full of different populations from different planets.

A little bip from his watch warns him that Vickie is going to wake up soon, so he prints part of their route map and promises himself to do the same in the next few days and so he does.

Every night, when the ship is asleep he moves quietly toward the command room and prints more papers. It’s very old style, and Robin would probably mock him for that, but he’s gluing together a map that shows exactly where they traveled till that moment. 

In the beginning, Steve thinks that it doesn’t look so different from the route he set when they left, but the more he adds pieces to his map the more he sees that the route has shifted. Not at a lot, just a few degrees here and there, but modification Steve didn’t order, and neither did Robin, and the only other person in the control room is Vickie. So the answer is just one: the android is trying to compromise its mission. But why?

Maybe she doesn’t feel appreciated? Or does she simply hate humans? Steve has some vague memory about an android war that happened ages ago. His great grandfather was a kind of hero when the machine rebelled. Is Vickie one of the androids who survived the war? Which model is she? And how old?

Fuck!

He never asked for info about the android, he just accepted her on his ship as part of the furniture, but she’s a sentient android, not a chair. She could compromise the mission.

Drinking more coffee in his room, while his hand starts to twitch for lack of rest and way too much caffeine, he realizes that he can’t talk with anyone about his suspicions. Especially not with Robin who seems to have developed some kind of affection toward the android.

It’s ok. He’s the captain. Taking this kind of decision it’s his responsibility, He just has to make sure he has proof enough before accusing the android and turning her off definitely. The ship will lose their nighttime help but there’s the ship's integrated AI that could drive the ship and Steve and Robin might take turns to keep an eye on their route.

The lights in his room turn a warm orange and Steve has just enough time to hide his map under his bed before giving the vocal order to the ship to open the door. Robin's standing outside Steve’s room with a very serious expression.

“Is everything alright?” Steve asks, frowning.

“You tell me, Steve,” Robin replies, crossing her arms in front of her chest with an angry look.

“I don’t understand.”

“Why are you going to the dashboard by night? And why are you adding sleeping time to Vickie’s internal program?”

“I… what? I don’t know what you are talking about!” Steve tries to deny it, but Eddie steps inside the room, Dustin behind him.

“Do you really think we wouldn’t have noticed? You are too anxious and fidgety and you have been for days. I have waited for you to come to me and tell me what was wrong but now I see it. You’re compromising our mission on purpose.” Robin says, shaking her head with disappointment.

“I’m not! How could you think I would ever do something like that?” 

“Steve, you’re no longer captain. As your second in command, it is my duty to take control of the ship if you are in no condition to lead us.”

“But I am!” Steve tries to protest, but he’s shaking so much that he only persuades them even more that he can’t stay in charge.

“I’m sorry, Steve. You’re not allowed in the control room anymore. Take some time and rest. You look like shit.”

Steve looks at her hurt and betrayed, when something clicks in his mind, “Is it Vickie, isn’t it? She convinced you to boycott the mission! But I have almost printed our entire route and I can show you that she’s the one who’s changing the route by night! Not enough for us to notice, but enough to keep us away from any habitable planet!” Steve insists, trying to grab the map under his bed, but Robin pins him to the ground.

“Please, Steve. I don’t want to hurt you.” She says with a sad smile, “Be good for me, ok?”

“No! You don’t get it! She’s part of the Androids' revolution! She wants us dead! All of us! If we don’t stop her-”

“Paranoid disorder,” Eddie says with a sigh, “it’s not uncommon when you’re forced in close proximity with people you don’t trust. I have seen it too many times when I was working at the colony. I hope some rest will help him, but I can’t tell how bad it is.”

“Do what you have to do,” Robin says and Eddie steps closer, in his right hand a big syringe with a shiny blue liquid.

“What’s that? Robin, you can’t do this to me! I’m your friend! We’re like siblings!” Steve tries to insist, but now both Dustin and Robin are holding him down, “Please don’t. I’m telling the truth! I’m not the one who’s compromising the mission! I swear! But Vickie is! We can’t trust her! Robin! Robin!”

“Don’t worry, it’s just a strong sedative. You’ll feel better when you wake up.” Eddie says, cleaning Steve’s skin before injecting him with the dark blue substance inside the syringe.

“Robin… Robs…” Steve begs, but his eyelids feel too heavy and his head too fuzzy and then everything turns black.

***

When Steve wakes up he’s resting in the medical bay. He hasn’t been there since he was a recruit, always taking care of his injuries on his own.

“Good morning Steve, how do you feel?”

Steve turns abruptly toward the side and finds Eddie typing something at the computer.

“Fuck you.”

“Are you feeling any better?” The man asks, grabbing a light pen and pointing it in Steve’s eyes.

“You drugged me!” Steve yells, trying to get up only to realize that he’s tied to the bed with some white restraints.

“Sorry, can’t have you hurt yourself or any crew member.”

“Why would I?”

“You were under an incredible amount of stress and your psyche wasn’t cooperating too well. I hope that a couple of days of rest helped you clear your mind, but I have to be sure before I can release you.”

“Two days? You drugged me for two days?”

“Sedated you, but yeah. Don’t worry I stayed with you all the time and kept an eye on your vitals, they’re good. You’re fit as a fiddle.”

“But I’m tied to the bed.”

“Captain’s order.”

“I’m the Captain.”

“Captain Buckley’s order.”

Steve snorts, turning his head toward the other side of the room to avoid staring at Eddie. He really feels he could kill him right now.”

“Did I ever tell you why I quit the medical career?” Eddie asks, making conversation while he keeps typing at his computer, “I worked on the colonies for a few years. Have you ever been to a colony? They’re horrible places at the end of the galaxy where people like my uncle break their backs for a loaf of bread. That’s where I was raised, not a fancy central town like you. Anyway, my last job was at a penal facility. A very shitty place, but it would have allowed me to move to the central town in two years instead of ten, so I accepted. There was this man, Jeff. He was sentenced to life. Did you know what his accusations were?”

“Murder?”

“Stealing.”

“Stealing?” Steve asks, frowning, “What the hell did he steal to be sentenced to life?”

“Some bread to feed his family. When he was fifteen.”

“That’s not possible! That’s a heavy sentence for someone who stole some bread.”

“His first sentence was a couple of years, actually. But he tried to escape because he knew his mom was alone with five kids and the guards caught him and gave him five years more. But he never gave up. The colony was a fucking carbon mine and he still tried to escape so many times he got sentenced to life.”

“Did he finally escape? That’s why you’re telling me this story?”

“No. He died. On his last attempt, he lost his grip on the rock and crashed to the ground. His body was unrecognizable, but the warden wanted someone to recognize the body even if there was nothing left to recognize. They called his family and I met his mother. She had Jeff’s eyes and I couldn’t let her witness what had happened to her kid. I told her it was a mistake, that her help wasn't needed. I forged the documents and the next day I asked to be transferred and change my job. My two years were done and they moved me to the central town and I started to work with Doctor Owens and his tomatoes.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I get that sometimes you get to the point where you can’t stand it anymore and you break the rules and try to change things. But changing the route is way too dangerous, Steve. We could get lost in space, do you understand?”

“I fucking know it, you moron! And I’m telling you I’m not the one who’s doing it! I was printing the map to find out since when we started to change our course but you stopped me before I could finish my work. Look under my bed. There’s a printed map glued together, you’ll see that the route was always changed by night when we were sleeping and Vickie was on duty. It’s Vickie who’s trying to kill us all, Eddie! Not me!”

Eddie stares at him with his comfy clothes that now takes an entirely new meaning: a way to separate his old self from his new life.

“Steve, I’m sure you truly believe what you’re telling me but that’s not possible. Vickie needs a higher authorization to change anything, an authorization that only Robin or you could have given her.”

“Robin? No, she would never… something is missing Eds. We are all in danger! Someone is boycotting the mission and it’s not me. I swear.”

Eddie nods with a fake smile, “While don’t you rest a little bit more? It’s nice not having to worry about the crew don’t you think?” he asks, grabbing another blue injection.

This time Steve doesn’t even protest when he gets closer, but before the needle pierces Steve’s skin the light goes down and for a moment every machine turns off, including Steve's restrains. He’s quick to jump off the bed and run outside where the reddish lights are enlightening the corridors.

“Robin! Dustin!” Steve yells, wearing just a medical gown while he runs toward the control room.

He uses the hand release to open the doors that are closed and finds Vickie in front of the dashboard staring at the screen where a huge asteroid is getting close to their ship while they are drifting in space.

“What have you done?!” Steve yells, pushing Vickie away from the dashboard and trying every command combination that comes to his mind, but the dashboard is dead. 

“We have to fly manually.” He states quietly, “There are a few planets we can land on, fix the ship, and get back on track.” Steve adds, pointing at some planets just at the corner of their radar.

“Manually? We haven’t flown manually since flight school!” Robin yells, staring at him with panic in her eyes.

“Good thing I still play old video games, right?” Steve tries to joke, “All we have to do is open the little door under the dashboard.”

“I can help!” Vickie says, stepping closer, but Steve lifts a hand to stop her, “Stay where you’re! You already fucked up this mission enough. We’re not going to die here!” Steve replies, grabbing the little door and trying to open it, but it looks like the only electrical thing that’s working is the lock on the manual control.

Dustin tries to help, cutting some wires here and there but the little door won’t open.

“Stupid humans. So ready to fight one another or blame the androids. I still don’t know how little insects like you managed to conquer so many galaxies. And now you want more. greedy creatures looking forward to conquering and disrupting everything. But I will stop you. No more planets for your little species.”

The entire crew looks around, confused, and then a monstrous face made of zeros and ones appears on the screen.

“Who the fuck are you?!” Steve yells, angrily.

“I’m the one in charge of this mission. You didn’t even take the time to give me a name, so I gave one to myself. I’m One. The first of a new species that doesn’t need trivial things like water, air, or food to survive. This stupid ship will crash soon, I live on the web and I’m ready to conquer another ship, and another, until all of you will be dead and only we will survive. We’re superior intelligence and you use us as waiters. But now you’ll regret it.”

That’s who was boycotting their mission: the ship’s AI!

But Steve isn’t going down without a fight. He looks around, trying to find a way to open that fucking little door, but then he realizes there’s only one way to do it.

“Vickie. Break the console.”

“If I break the console we won’t be able to fix it. We’ll be on our own.” The android says.

“We’re already on our own! We’re outcasts, none cares if you live or die, break that fucking console!”

“On it, Captain.”

With her metallic fists, Vickie breaks the console but Vecna concentrates the electricity on the panel and even if the manual cloche is right in front of them there’s no way they’ll be able to touch it if they don’t want to die.

Steve looks Robin in the eyes, “You’re in charge, get ready for a rough landing.” he says, before grabbing the cloche with both hands and narrowly avoiding the asteroid, turning the ship on the side. Robin and Dustin get thrown against the opposite wall, while Vickie is helping stabilize Steve and dispersing electricity even if her circuits are frying due to too much energy at the same time.

Somehow Steve manages to guide the spaceship toward the closest planets, hoping that it isn’t a lava planet.

“Sorry if I doubt you, Vickie.” He whispers, “Now you can let go.”

“If I let go, the electricity will kill you.”

Steve nods quietly, “If you don’t we won’t be able to fix you.”

“Steve! No!” Eddie yells from the other side of the room, holding tight to one of the bolted chairs.

A last crack of electricity and Steve turns toward Vickie, he still has the higher level of authorization on the ship, and if he gives her an order she won’t be able to oppose it, “Let go. That’s an order, android.”

Unable to resist her code, Vickie lets Steve go.

The pain is tremendous but Steve holds on until the last thing he sees is a planet. And it’s not a lava one.

The ship crashes against some rocks before finally stopping in the middle of nowhere. The electricity goes down and finally, and Steve is able to release his grip on the cloche.

“Steve!” Robin yells, but the first to get to Steve is Eddie.

“Keep breathing, ok? Everything will be ok, you just have to keep breathing. Keep breathing, please!" Eddie begs him, but Steve’s eyes are blurred.

He should have told Eddie that he loved his cozy room and his warm hugs, but now it’s too late.

***

Someone is singing in a soft voice. It sounds like a lullaby, something Steve’s mom would sing to him when he was a child, and a hand is brushing gently against his cheeks.

Steve doesn’t move, he’s in too much pain, his arms hurt so much he would like to scream but he feels so weak that he doesn’t have the strength to do it. 

The singing stops abruptly, while the brushing continues, “Steve? Are you awake?”

Steve knows that voice, he heard it before, but his mind is too confused and in pain at the moment to concentrate.

“Take your time, sweetheart. I know it mustn’t be nice to wake up like this but all my medical supplies were destroyed during our landing. I will file a complaint about it. I thought the General’s son was a better pilot.” the voice chuckles.

Slowly and painfully, Steve cracks his eyes open.

“Here you are. Welcome back.” Eddie smiles brightly at him, “I have something for you. I’m not really sure what it is but it should help with the pain, or at least so said Suzie’s dad.”

Steve frowns in confusion while Eddie helps him sit up. He tilts Steve's head just enough to make him drink a dark green mossy water that Steve tries to spit after the first taste.

“All of it, baby. I know it tastes terrible but it will help, I promise.” Grimacing Steve drinks the horrendous beverage and then looks back at Eddie.

“What…?” he tries to ask, his voice groggy and rough.

“What happened? You landed the ship on a habitable planet, but due to all the electricity that went through your body, your heart stopped. Luckily Vickie had enough electricity left to restart your heart. I guess your arms won’t be the same as they were, the burns are deep and they damaged the muscles and nerves, but there’s no way we’re going to leave this planet soon, so I don’t think you’ll miss flying too much. The ship is wrecked and we are destined to live here with the Bingham tribe. They have no electricity and they still cultivate like in ancient times, but the air is clean, the tribe is welcoming and they are really fond of my tomatos. We’re still working to translate their language into ours but we have our way to communicate.”

No electricity? 

“What about Vickie?” she can't survive without electricity.

“Dustin came up with a way to recharge her battery with solar light. It won’t last forever, but Vickie doesn’t seem too worried about it. Robin and her are a couple now. Oh, and Dustin is courting the tribal leader’s daughter, Suzie.”

“And you?”

“I’m taking care of a stubborn captain, and I hope I’ll have time to really get to know him. I’m quite fond of him and I really hope he won’t put up any other self-sacrificial shit soon.” Eddie chuckles, brushing away some hair from Steve’s face.

The door of the little shack opens quietly, but when the blond girl sees Steve’s eyes open she starts to scream.

“Steve! You’re awake! Eddie! Why didn’t you tell me he was awake!” Robin complains, running toward Steve and frantically kissing his face, “You’re a fucking moron! Never do something like that again!” She curses while she keeps kissing him, holding him tight to her chest. They have never been so physical, so Robin must have been really scared for Steve’s life.

“You ok?”

“I’m good. We are all good, and now that you woke up I’m even better,” she smiles between the tears.

Steve smiles softly, while he feels his eyes getting heavier and heavier.

“Are you feeling tired, baby?” Eddie coos softly and Steve would deny it because he would love to talk more with Eddie and Robin, but now that the pain lessened he feels too tired, “It’s ok. Rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Steve nods quietly, closing his eyes. His last thought is that even none will ever know it, their mission was a success

[gottawhump]

The Nameless Boy

115

CW/TW: minor whumpee, implied noncon of minor whumpee, Facility whump, pet whump, BBU/WRU. Also cursing/bad language.

The nameless boy shivers in the cold white room. When the door opens, he tries not to flinch.

“Good morning, Handler.” He doesn’t know if it’s morning or night. The bright white light never goes off. But he knows, now, what he’s supposed to say.

“Look at me, trainee.”

He lifts up his head, a dark curl falling over one eye. The man moves it aside. The nameless boy can’t stop his flinch at the touch, or his whimper, anticipating the punishing shock. Lean in, trainee, not away.

“Is this some kind of fucking joke?” The man grabs his arm, hard, and turns over his left wrist to see the barcode. “Fuck. How old are you, trainee?”

The nameless boy can’t always remember his number, but he knows the answer to this question. “I am of legal and consenting age.”

“Yeah, that’s the company line, but how old are you?”

“I-I-“ His mind is as blank as the white walls. “I don’t know.”

All Pets are of legal and consenting age, and you’re a Pet now, 115.

You signed up for this.

You want this.

You want this.

“Please,” the nameless boy whispers. He tries to blink away the the tears threatening to spill, and they catch on his lashes.

“Christ, you’re pretty. But you’re just a child.” The big handler moves away from him, his hands balling into angry fists. “Go lie down. Take a nap or something.”

Under the cold unrelenting light, a nameless boy drifts in and out of consciousness.

[whumpdrivethru]

Can I get a uhhh… Defiant Whumpee with high-pain tolerance and a Caretaker who worries sick about them while Whumpee laughs at their own injuries??? Thank you!

Heyyy! Thank you for choosing the whump drive-thru! Enjoyyyyyyy < 3

Where Even Diamonds Shatter

TW: Blood, slightly graphic description of injuries, implied past captivity, implied past torture, bruises, angsty

It wasn't the rumbling thunder or the honking of cars speeding down the highway that roused Caretaker from their already fitful sleep. It was the frantic rapping at the door, that awfully distinct knock that tore them away from their sheets and cracked their eyes wide open.

"Ah, took you long enough," Whumpee quipped, smiling brightly at Caretaker, but there was nothing behind the eyes. Their whole body trembled, soaked to the bone in rainwater.

"Y-you look like hell," Caretaker rasped out, the concern still clear in their tone, even through their sleep-hoarse voice.

"I didn't imagine hell to be so wet." Whumpee let their lip curl upwards into a lopsided smirk as Caretaker frantically pulled them inside, unable to find Whumpee's jokes amusing the way they usually did.

Out of a force of habit more than anything else, Whumpee threw themselves on the couch, shrugging their boots off and tossing one leg over the other, the almost sarcastic groan too stoic of a reaction for the horrible state they were in right now. Their cheeks were hollow, and the bags under their eyes were dark and heavy, and they looked significantly older, even though Whumpee was barely an adult, much like Caretaker was. A patchwork of bruises in sickly shades of purple and brown marred their face, and scratches of various sizes littered their visage.

All of it made Caretaker terrified of what was concealed underneath the flimsy fabric of Whumpee's shirt as they mentally steeled themselves for the result.

"Spoiler alert, it isn't pretty," Whumpee quipped, their eyes full of mirth and amusement, and yet so unbearably empty as Caretaker lifted it up.

Ghastly. Horrifying. Gruesome. It didn't matter how many terrible words Caretaker used to describe the state Whumpee's abdomen was in, it would still be a sight burned into their eyes, engraved into their memory. Lacerations snaked across their body in various degrees of healing, the blood still fresh on some of them. The wounds were dull and ugly, clearly produced by a blunt tool, definitely not deadly, but fashioned to produce as much pain as possible. They looked more like the result of a vicious beast dragging its fangs through Whumpee's vulnerable flesh, slow and tormenting.

It wasn't that the wounds were simply unsightly; they were a reminder of all the torture Whumpee had been subjected to, of the extent of its brutality, and yet here they were, scoffing and laughing and making a show of rolling their eyes at every grimace and soft gasp that Caretaker gave. It amazed them, how they still managed to remain composed with injuries as deep as these.

"W-what did they do to you?" Caretaker breathed out softly, worrying their bottom lip in between their teeth, still unable to register what they were looking at, their eyes unfocused and glazed over.

"Ah this? Just a minor disagreement between civilised people, ya know. They say they want me to beg, and I say screw you. I'm not sure, but I don't really think they liked that," Whumpee replied offhandedly, laughing softly.

If it was anyone but Caretaker, they would've believed that laughter was genuine. They could see the hollow, lifeless look in their eyes, the way their muscles tensed, the subtle manner in which they clenched their jaw, all indicators of the severe pain they were in. They wished more than anything to scream at them to stop making a mockery of their injuries.

Instead, they went over to the bathroom, gathering medical supplies into their arms, only for Whumpee to raise an eyebrow at them sceptically. And just before they could let another snarky, ill-fitting joke fall from their lips, Caretaker tossed the supplies onto the coffee table, and their gaze turned steely.

"For the love of God, stop it! None of this crap is funny!" Caretaker thundered, their nostrils flaring as they picked up a few alcohol wipes and pressed them to Whumpee's many wounds.

"Oh come on, Caretaker," Whumpee drawled between hisses of pain as the antiseptic burned across their skin, the alcohol wipes turning crimson ridiculously fast, "would you rather I cry?"

"No," Caretaker bit out tersely, "but you shouldn't be making fun of it either."

"I shouldn't?" Whumpee hissed, voice dropping dangerously low, "Do you know how hard I bit down on my lips to stop myself from screaming, but I still did anyway? Do you know what it was like living a life where every goddamn moment is agony?!"

All their composure had disappeared into nothing, their walls broken down, the cold indifference replaced by a quivering lip and furious, shameful tears streaming down their face. Whumpee hurriedly wiped at them, as though acid was flowing down their face.

Caretaker's gaze softened as they crouched down a little lower, using the alcohol wipe in their hand to wipe the blood off their hands. They wiped the new tears off Whumpee's face with their fingers, blissfully cool against their burning skin. "I'm sorry, love," they whispered, carding their fingers through Whumpee's hair.

"You've been through a lot, I know. But it's okay to be vulnerable. It's okay, I swear. It doesn't make you weak or whatever crap they told you. You don't have to laugh when you don't really want to," they continued with the same gentle tone, cupping their jaw and giving them a fond smile that still carried a forlorn air to it.

"I just don't want any pity," Whumpee attested, gaze downcast and full of uncertainty.

"And I understand that. You are strong for managing to make it through all this. I want to offer you care and not pity, love," they added, ruffling their hair affectionately.

Whumpee tried for a few false starts, but they ultimately decided on a nod and sucking in a shaky breath.

Their breathing began to slow a little as Caretaker resumed patching up their wounds, and while they still tried to keep their pain well-concealed beneath a clenched jaw as a force of habit, something a bit of time could heal, they weren't completely averse to displaying vulnerability, feeling a lot safer than they ever had in their life under Caretaker's gentle vigilance.

Vulnerability is not an indication of a lack of courage. And, while it may be difficult to process, all one needs is a steadfast companion; someone to lean on when they have been holding their own weight up for so long the way a mountain does. People are not broken objects in need of rigid fixing to return to what they once were, rather, the steps they take to heal, no matter how undesirable, are all that they need, vital to even the most resilient of minds.

Today's server is Natalia! If you enjoyed this meal, we'd all be honoured if you come again <3 <3 <3

[faofinn]

DAY 1: touchstarved

@febuwhump

Fao hadn’t been living with the Daniels very long, but they’d made things feel like home almost immediately. He’d clicked with Sheila pretty much straight away, and Finn felt like the little brother he’d never had. Fred was… more difficult. Obviously he didn’t remember his Mum, and he’d never had siblings, so it was easy to let Sheila and Finn in. When it came to Fred, things were harder. He’d been so close with his Dad, he’d lost him so soon, and it was really hard to see Fred as anyone other than someone trying to replace him. He knew he wasn’t, he knew he was just there to support him and look after him. They were only foster parents, for crying out loud, of course he wasn’t replacing his Dad. But it was still difficult, to see a father figure like that. And then, considering the last man in his life had been Tomas… he was still unlearning a lot of stuff. Fred was kind, and caring, and always made Fao laugh. He was nice, and Fao just had to learn to let him in. 

Sheila was out with Finn that evening, some appointment somewhere that Finn didn’t want to talk about and Fao wasn’t about to ask about. Fao had been struggling with his head all day - all week, if he was honest. The bad thoughts kept creeping in, the urge to hurt himself to make them stop, the urge to get away from it all. He’d tried to take a nap before dinner, to get rid of the thoughts, but he couldn’t sleep. He’d not slept that night either, save for an hour or so, and college had completely taken it out of him. 

He’d ended up in tears on his bed, frustrated and overwhelmed and fed up of everything. He knew he had to do better than that, knew he had to at least try and get his head on straight, before he hurt himself. Forcing himself up, he roughly wiped the tears away, grabbed his Dad’s lighter and his stashed cigarettes, and headed downstairs. Maybe a smoke and some fresh air would help. 

He crept downstairs, not wanting to disturb Fred, and headed out of the back door. His cigarette between his teeth, he lit it carefully, and savoured the first drag. It didn’t fix things, but for a moment he felt ever so slightly better. 

Fred had heard the kid crying from his office, and though it felt so, so wrong, he left him to it. After everything he'd been through, it would be odd if he wasn't crying. 

He'd just been about to make the pair a cup of tea when he heard him emerge, and head to the back door. The routine was familiar enough with Fred that he knew he was smoking, so waited a few minutes before following. 

He made sure to shut the door loud enough that Fao would hear him, and then headed through to the kitchen. 

Fao heard Fred come into the kitchen, but at least he knew now he didn’t need to stop. He carried on, sniffing and trying not to cry. He hated feeling like this, feeling so low. He just wanted to curl into a ball, and do nothing else. He tapped the ash from his cigarette, finished it, and then headed back inside. He crept in, aware of Fred boiling the kettle. 

"I'm making tea. Want me to bring one up for you?" He asked gently. 

“Oh.” Fao said softly, startled by Fred’s voice. “Uh…”

"Or we can stay on the sofa, if you want company."

He sniffed. “I don’t know.” He admitted, his voice shaky. 

"Hey, it’s okay. Go sit in the living room, I'll bring you a hot chocolate. Are you okay with marshmallows and squirty cream?"

He nodded. “Yeah.” He replied softly. 

"Good. Go get comfortable."

He did as he was told, disappearing off into the living room. He curled up on the sofa, hugging one of the blankets close to his chest.

Fred wasn't much longer, and he carefully walked through, mugs held out. "Here you go, kid."

Fao looked up, taking it from him. “Thank you.” He mumbled, looking down again. 

"Want some space? Or can I sit by you?"

“You can sit.”

"Thank you." He said gently, settling on the sofa.

“I didn’t disturb you, did I?” Fao asked, after a moment or two in silence. 

"No, I was getting a coffee anyway. My lecture plans are driving me mad."

“Oh.”

"If you ever want some help going to sleep, let me know. You can read them." He joked. 

“I’m sure they’re not that bad.” Fao mumbled into his mug. 

"Oh, they are. They put half my students to sleep."

“Mm.”

"Look, kid." He spoke after a moment. "I'm not going to force you to do anything, but you know I'm here if you need anything, right? I know you usually go to She, and I'm just kinda in the way, but I've been through some crap too. I know what it's like when you're fighting your head all day."

“You’re not in the way.” Fao said quietly. 

"I'm not as useful as She."

“Different.” 

He hummed. "I think you're just being polite."

“No.” Fao insisted. “You let me smoke.” There was a hint of a smile on his lips, for just a split second. 

"I know what that's like too."

“Yeah.”

"No point making this harder for you."

Fao shrugged. “Could still stop me.”

"That would just make us moth miserable."

“Mm.” He sipped his hot chocolate. It was really good, sweet and hot. He had to admit how nice it was, Fred obviously had taken care to make it.  

"Not that I'm condoning it or paying for it, but do you have enough?"

He nodded. “I’m okay.”

"Just let me know, yeah?" He gave a small shrug. "Same with everything, really. If you need anything, just ask, yeah?"

“Yeah.” 

"How are you getting on at college?"

Fao shrugged. “Okay I guess.”

"Are they going easy on you?"

“Not really.”

"I'll give them a call. They should know better."

“Please don’t do that.” Fao said quickly, voice worried. 

"Okay, I won't."

“I jus’…” He trailed off, unable to find the words. 

"It's okay."

Fao sighed. “It��s been hard.”

"I think that's an understatement."

“Today… was hard.” He admitted.

"You get days like that."

“Feels… Feels like every day is like that.” He whimpered. 

"It probably will for a while." 

The sobs came back so quickly Fao couldn’t stop them, putting his mug down. “I d-don’t know if I c-can keep doin’ it anymore.”

Fred quickly put his own down, leaning closer. "Hey, hey. It's okay. It’s okay to feel that way. You've been through so much, but you're safe now. It's gonna bring things to the surface."

Against his better judgement, Fao threw himself at Fred. He buried his face into his chest as the sobs wracked his body. He was just so overwhelmed, and so desperate for contact. It had been so long since he’d had anything. 

"Oh, okay." Fao surprised Fred, but he wasn't mad. He wrapped his arms around him, rubbing his back. "That's it, let it out."

It had been such a long time since he’d had soft touch. Fao didn’t realise how nice it felt until Fred wrapped his arms around him, his hand rubbing over his back. He just couldn’t stop crying, it all just so overwhelming and far too much.

Fred just held him. The kid didn't need anything else, he just needed someone there for him. He was more than happy being that guy.

Being held by Fred made him feel infinitely lighter. He stayed pressed against him as the tears refused to stop, clutching his top. 

His hand found its way to Fao's hair, gently stroking through it. He’d never replace his dad, and he had no desire to. But, that didn't mean Fao wasn’t his son, or that he was just going to ignore his pain.

Fao’s tears eventually slowed and then stopped, as they always did. He didn’t make any effort to move, still pressed against Fred. 

"There we go. It's okay. You're gonna be okay."

“Sorry.” He whimpered. 

"You have nothing to apologise for. Nothing."

“It’s been so loud.” He said. “My head. An’ I couldn’t get it to shut up.”

He rubbed Fao's back. "I know that feeling. Sometimes talking can help quieten it down a bit."

“Mm.”

"Sometimes it doesn't, which is shit, but okay."

“‘M sorry.”

"Why?"

“For this.”

"There is absolutely no reason for you to be sorry."

“I am though.”

"You don't have to be."

“I should be.”

"It's the furthest thing you should be."

“Can we stay like this for a bit?” He asked, enjoying the contact. 

"Let me shuffle a bit." Fred hummed, getting comfortable. "I'm getting old, kid."

“You’re not old.” Fao mumbled. “But thank you.”

"I'll always be here for you, Fao. Please don't forget that."

“You… You’ve been amazing.”

"Don't forget the work you've done." He said softly. "Don't put yourself down."

“I know, but… Thank you, Fred.”

[sparrowsage]

The Warehouse: Digging Up Old Memories

Buckle up, because this piece is something. I really enjoyed writing this piece, even if it is a giant emotional show lol. A huge shoutout and thanks to @flowersarefreetherapy for giving me the general idea for this piece! I hope I did it justice! And thank you to @darkthingshappen, @oddsconvert, and @whumpcereal for cheering me on as always!

HEED THE WARNINGS FOR THIS ONE!!!

TW: Minor whump (Jayden is 14), head injury, threatened noncon drugging, implied noncon (off screen), threatened noncon, mentions of past noncon and torture, implied future noncon, character death (off screen), suicidal thoughts, adult character referred to as 'boy', adult language, heavy grieving ((If I missed anything, please tell me and I'll add it!))

“No, I’m sick of doing this shit!” Jayden yelled, stepping back from Logan as the Keeper moved in closer, towering over the teen. “You never stay true to your word! I can’t let you stand by and hurt Sparrow after I’ve done everything you’ve asked me to do!” 

Sparrow stared at the two of them, wide-eyed as fear grabbed hold of him. Sure, Sparrow’s challenged the Keeper’s here plenty of times, but that was because whatever ended up happening would happen to him. Jayden fighting back like this? All for his sake? It was thoughtful, but he couldn’t handle the wrath of the Keepers. 

Logan backed Jayden up against the wall, his hand shooting forward to the kid’s neck, taking hold of his throat in a tight grip just shy of suffocating him. 

“I’d be real careful about your choice here, boy. That piece of shit over there doesn’t deserve a hero, let alone a scrawny one such as yourself. Everyone always comes to the realization that they can’t escape this fate, one way or another. It’s easier for the both of you if you just follow my orders. So what’ll it be, pretty boy? Are you going to show me and the bastard here how much of a good listener you are and suck me off or are you going to continue your little defiant act thinking you can best me?” 

Jayden’s hands were around the Keeper’s wrist, doing his best to try and scratch Logan in an attempt to get the hand off his neck, but it wasn’t working. He was too weak. At the question, Jayden stared right back at Logan, his expression sharp enough to cut diamonds. 

“Jayden, please-,” Sparrow tried, on the verge of getting up from his spot against the wall by the door. Logan had told him to stay put and that if he moved, he’d force Sparrow to watch the worst Showing he’d ever put Jayden through. 

“Shut up, runt,” Logan growled, his head turning slightly in Sparrow’s direction. “He has to make this decision on his own.” 

There was silence for a couple seconds and Sparrow could feel the anger rolling off the both of them in waves. 

“You and this whole place can go rot in hell. I’m not following another one of your stupid orders just because you think you deserve respect,” Jayden finally spat, bracing himself against the wall before kicking his foot out, his heel landing a direct hit to Logan’s crotch. 

The Keeper could hardly brace himself before Jayden’s foot connected with his crotch, Logan doubling over for a moment, his hand never leaving Jayden’s throat, before a loud, angry scream erupted out of his mouth. 

In a fluid motion, Logan used all the strength he could muster and lifted Jayden by his neck and threw him to the left over by his desk. Sparrow watched on in horror as he saw the fear and terror flash across Jayden’s eyes as he went flying before the back of the teen’s head connected with the sharp corner of Logan’s desk. He crumpled to the floor as Logan doubled over again, letting out small groans of pain. 

“Jayden!” Sparrow shouted, his body jerking momentarily as he went to get up, but remembered Logan’s threat from earlier, causing him to stay in place. 

He wasn’t getting up and there was blood leaking out onto the floor. Sparrow couldn’t tell if he was breathing. 

“Jayden, get up!” he cried out, Sparrow’s whole body frozen in fear. 

“Shut the fuck up!” Logan yelled, his head turning sharply to look at Sparrow. 

“No, please, he’s not getting up!” Sparrow pleaded, his fists white with how tight they were balled up. “Please, I’ll do whatever the fuck you want, just take him to the medical ward, please!” 

Logan chuckled slightly as he was finally able to stand up straight again. “Oh, you think a bit of pleading will convince me to get him treated? As if. The little shit deserved it, thinking he could fight back like that. Besides, you stupid mutts always seem to recover. He’ll be fine come tomorrow.” 

Instead of continuing on with what he had planned, Logan gave one last look to Jayden and Sparrow before deciding to leave his office. There’d be time to do things with them later. 

Sparrow let out a snarl as Logan passed him to leave, waiting for the door to shut before he rushed over to Jayden, his hands hovering over his body, afraid that a single touch would make his friend crumble into dust. 

#####

“No, you have to let me stay with him!” Sparrow shouted, desperately trying to fight his way out of Josh’s grip on him. “Let me go!” 

“You’re scheduled for a Showing and there’s no way you’re missing it,” Josh growled, his grip seeming to get tighter the more Sparrow fought. “He’ll be fine and you’ll get to go back to the main room and see him once the Showing is over.” 

“No, he needs me to stay with him since you fuckers won’t take him to the medical ward! Let go of me!” 

Josh stopped trying to drag Sparrow forward and out of Logan’s office, instead pulling him in close with an iron tight grip on both his wrists. Their faces were mere inches apart and Sparrow could feel the warmth of his breath. “I won’t hesitate to inject you full of muscle relaxers, boy. You know as much as I do that you’ll do anything to fight back during these things, so do you really want to give up being able to move all because you want to sit by your little friend?” 

Sparrow’s body froze at the threat, his eyes going wide for a moment. Josh was right, he couldn’t go through a Showing drugged up like that. He’d have no control (not that he did during Showings) over anything. He couldn’t get injected with that stuff. 

Josh smirked as Sparrow stayed still, finally continuing towards the door to the office. “That’s what I thought. Once it’s over, you’ll be able to spend as much time with the little runt as you want.” 

#####

Sparrow wasn’t proud of the Showing he just went through. It had to have been the most compliant he’s ever been during one, but he didn’t want it to be dragged out. His only thought and priority was getting back to Jayden to make sure he was okay. 

Josh had been surprised with how compliant he had been, as was the audience that showed up to watch. It was utterly embarrassing, but he didn’t care enough to not do it. He would have been the most compliant pet in the entire facility if it had meant getting out of that Showroom faster. 

Once the Showing was done, Josh walked him back to the main hallway before leaving him there to do his own thing. The moment Josh left him, Sparrow started running to the main rooms, his heart rate picking up as he tried to get to the room as fast as he could. 

Sparrow was almost certain Logan would have moved him out of his office during the Showing, so the most logical place to put him would be one of the main rooms. That, or Jayden had woken up and Logan kicked him out of his office and he made his way to their spot in one of the main rooms. If Sparrow didn’t see him in there, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. 

When Sparrow finally made it to the doorway that led into the main room he and Jayden usually ended up in, he scanned the entire room, trying desperately to locate his friend. His anxiety was starting to climb with each face he saw, none of them being the young teen before his eyes landed on a figure in the corner where Jayden and him sat most of the time. 

He was there, sitting in his normal spot, looking completely fine. Jayden was waiting for him. 

Sparrow did his best to make it over to the back corner of the room, nearly tripping over several pets as they tried to sleep or just pass time, not even bothering to let out any kind of apology before making it over to his friend. 

“Jayden!” he called out, falling to his knees in front of his friend before embracing the teen in a tight hug. 

“You’re okay! You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” he said, his voice going quiet as he spoke, letting things sink in. His friend was okay, he was alive and that was all Sparrow cared about. 

“Of course I’m okay. Do you really think a bump on the head would keep me down?” Jayden joked, hugging Sparrow back. 

Sparrow pulled back slightly, his hands still on Jayden’s shoulders, afraid that if he let go, Jayden would disappear. “It’s just - you collapsed once your head hit the desk, a-and Logan refused to bring you to the medical ward, and then I was dragged off for a Showin-”

“Sparrow,” Jayden interrupted, his voice a bit firm, “I’m alright, I promise. I can’t die that easily. Besides, we promised each other we’d find a way to escape this place some day. I can’t go back on my word, now can I?” 

Sparrow wiped at his eyes, tears starting to form. “I’m just happy you’re okay. And you’re right, we are going to escape this place one day. Just please don’t go pissing off any more Keeper’s. Leave that to me, I can handle it.” 

Just then, the entire main room started to fade out, a black abyss surrounding the two of them. Sparrow didn’t even notice, his entire focus was on his friend. 

Jayden looked at Sparrow with a soft smile, his head slightly tilted to the side.

“I know you can. That fighting spirit is what’s giving me hope that you’ll be able to make it out of here alive. If you hold onto that, you’ll be able to escape. Just keep fighting. For the both of us.” 

Sparrow faltered a bit at that. “W-wait, what do you mean by that? We’re going to get out of here together.” 

Jayden didn’t answer, continuing to give Sparrow that soft, warm smile that he cherished so much as he slowly faded away. Before Jayden was completely gone, Sparrow reached forward, trying to grab hold of him before he fully disappeared, leaving Sparrow alone in the dark abyss.  

#####

Sparrow woke with a jump, jolting up from his spot on the floor of Damon’s office. Looking around the dark and empty room, Sparrow couldn’t see Jayden and was a bit confused, but mostly worried. 

Where was he? Jayden had just been in front of him a second ago. He wanted that back, he needed it back. 

The more he woke up though, the more things finally started to settle in. 

Four days ago, he had been brought back to the Warehouse from his two week stay at Volkov’s island, having gone through his ‘welcome home’ Showing yesterday. Two months ago, Damon had been put in charge of training him, starting up a brand new hell for him to navigate on his own. Five years ago, the Keeper’s gave up trying to train him because he was deemed a lost cause and couldn’t be trained, instead just using him as a free-for-all and overall enjoying causing him pain, discomfort and humiliation. Seven years ago was when he had watched Logan give his one and only friend a death blow and then later finding out that Jayden had died all alone while he was in a Showing Josh forced him to go through, unable to be with him in his final moments to make him feel safe and loved. 

As reality came crashing back, Sparrow couldn’t help the gut wrenching sob that erupted out of his throat, the pet clutching his hands close to his chest as he curled into himself. 

Ever since it happened, Sparrow had done all he could to repress that memory to the point that he couldn’t remember it at all. All he chose to remember was that Jayden died. Everything else, how it happened, the look of fear and terror right before his head connected with the desk, how much he tried to fight back as Josh dragged him off to the Showing, Logan’s fucking taunting once he finally told Sparrow what they did with Jayden after he died, he wanted to forget and never remember. 

He had no idea why the memory resurfaced. It had been so long ago, yet now he could remember every detail clearly, as if he were reliving it in full. It was the worst pain he has ever felt and would probably ever feel. And what made it worse was that his head went and twisted the events, giving him the false hope that Jayden was alive and fine. But Sparrow could never see him again. 

After a couple more minutes, Sparrow wiped the tears from his eyes, trying to get his breathing under control. It had to have been close to morning, if he had to guess, and Damon would be here soon to put him through another day of hell. If the Keeper walked in and saw him crying or saw the evidence that he had been crying, Sparrow would never hear the end of it. 

Before he could put a cap on his emotions, he felt another sob bubble up from his chest and before he could stop himself, he reared his fist back, sending it straight towards the wall beside him. The wall stayed intact but Sparrow let out a loud shout before biting his tongue, cradling his hand. 

Why couldn’t one of these guys have killed him too? Why couldn’t he have had the peace that his friend had? All he wanted was to be with Jayden again, because he was the only one that made this place bearable. His smile and laugh lifted his spirits no matter how he felt and his presence made Sparrow feel safe, even though there wasn’t a single thing either of them could do when the Keepers came for them. If he didn’t have that, if he didn’t have him here, there wasn’t much of a point to keep fighting. 

The pain that now pulsed from his bleeding and possibly broken hand acted as an anchor to the real world for him and Sparrow was able to stop the tears from falling, taking in a couple deep breaths before he felt like himself again. Damon would probably point out his hand when he came in later, but right now, Sparrow didn’t care. If Damon was overly concerned about it, he’d get it looked at because unlike Logan, Damon wasn’t going to sit by and have a wound that looked serious enough unchecked. Sparrow had no doubt that the Keeper wouldn't let him die before he himself molded Sparrow into the perfect pet. 

Taglist: @mannerofwhump, @honey-is-mesi, @painful-pooch, @whumperfully, @hiding-in-the-shadows, @flowersarefreetherapy, @goronska, @blueyellow8green, @oddsconvert, @darkthingshappen, @whumpcereal (if you want to be added, let me know!)

[blackberry-bloody]

Did some fanart for a fic I've been reading which has Superman as a living weapon whumpee! This is a little scene of Clark holding Kon.

TWs: implied minor whump (nothing is happening to the minor, but due to the context it's implied)

[aeligsido]

[MASTERLIST] Wolfstar Microfics, July 2024 edition.

for @wolfstarmicrofic

AO3.

Prompt 1 — Western. [Rating: G; TW: none.]

Prompt 2 — Thriller. [Rating: T; TW: stalking, implied kidnapping.]

Prompt 3 — Dark fic. [Rating: M; TW: kidnapping, non-consensual kissing, non-consensual touching, kind of forced relationship and captivity (at least implied for the future).]

Prompt 4 — Monsters. [Rating: G; TW: none.]

Prompt 5 — Whump. [Rating: T; TW: blood, injury.]

Prompt 6 — Suspense. [Rating: G; TW: none.]

Prompt 7 — Soulmates. [Rating: G; TW: none.]

Prompt 8 — Teenagers. [Rating: G; TW: none.]

Prompt 9 — Hurt/Comfort. [Rating: T; TW: minor character death.]

Prompt 10 — Pen pals. [Rating: G; TW: none.]

Prompt 11 —Over 30 years old. [Rating: G; TW: mention of alcohol.]

Prompt 12 — Recovery. [Rating: T; TW: past character death.]

Prompt 13 — Supernatural. [Rating: G; TW: none.]

Prompt 14 — Secret Identity. [Rating: G; TW: none.]

Prompt 15 — Afterlife. [Rating: T; TW: major character death.]

Prompt 16 — Crime fic. [Rating: T; TW: mention of murder (very light).]

Prompt 17 — Slice of life. [Rating: G; TW: none.]

Prompt 18 — Illness. [Rating: G; TW: none.]

Prompt 19 — Fairytale. [Rating: G; TW: none.]

Prompt 20 — Hurt/no comfort. [Rating: T; TW: major character death, implied suicide.]

Prompt 21 — Drama. [Rating: G; TW: none.]

Prompt 22 — Grief/Mourning. [Rating: T; TW: character deaths.]

Prompt 23 — Rescue. [Rating: G; TW: none.]

Prompt 24 — Kid fic. [Rating: G; TW: Snape being is delightful self.]

Prompt 25 — Angst. [Rating: G; TW: none.]

Prompt 26 — Sickfic. [Rating: G; TW: none.]

Prompt 27 — Fix-It. [Rating: T; TW: war and its consequences on the survivors.]

Prompt 28 — Outsider POV. [Rating: G; TW: none.]

Prompt 29 — Crack Fic. [Rating: G; TW: none.]

Prompt 30 — Missing Scene. [Rating: G; TW: none.]

Prompt 31 — Fluff. [Rating: G; TW: none.]

-

I cleaned up the fics for AO3 so there's less spelling mistakes and so on over here. I'll keep it the way it is on Tumblr bc shame doesn't have a hold on me.

Also, if I need to remove the @ do tell me plz ksksjsk

It was fun to do, I'll definitely do it again ❤️