#“They don't care about you.”

[one-piece-aus]

I can't wait for your whumptober <33 can i request Sanji for day 2? :・'°☆

Of course, Sanji is one of my favourites to write angst for~ and I'm happy you enjoy my Whumptober ^-^

Whumptober Day 2

Prince Sanji x Reader

Warning: Sad drinking

"Sanji, we- we can't be together, you're a prince."

"I don't care about that life, all I want is you." Sanji held your hands and pulled you closer. "I can't imagine my life without you, [Y/n]."

You smiled and rested your forehead against his. You stared into those blue eyes, they were so full of love and adoration for you. Moving your hand out of his grasp, you delicately laid your fingers over his cheek.

"You are the only man I can ever love," you said as your other hand moved to hold his cheek.

Sanji placed his hand over top of yours, caressing them. "What if we ran away together?"

You laughed, thinking his suggestion was a joke. "Are you mad? We'd be caught within a day."

"Not with the route I planned out, they'll never find us."

You giggled and had to take a step back to calm yourself down yet as you glanced back at him when your laughs stopped, you saw his eyes with the look of when they were determined to do something. Could he- no?

"You're serious?"

"I wanted to ask you for a long time." Sanji stepped toward you. "But I needed to find a way to make it possible, I didn't want it to be some distant dream, I wanted- needed it to be real."

His hands cupped your cheeks, brushing your hair to the side so he could see your beautiful soft eyes.

"You mean... you really do want to run away... with me?" You could hardly grasp the idea to be any more than a dream.

"I already planned out the path we'll take, I packed everything I need, we can leave tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night?"

Sanji nodded.

"That quickly?"

He nodded again.

"I... I don't what to pack... I-"

Sanji took notice of your worry and held your hands to bring your attention back to him. Your doe eyes peer at his soft expressions giving to a reassuring smile.

"Just bring what is important to you, I can buy the rest if we need to."

"Are... are you sure about this?" you asked, still wondering if he thought this through.

Sanji brought your hands to his lips and kissed them. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You travelled through the forest boarding the North side of the kingdom's walls, stopping in front of the massive oak tree he told you to meet him by. With the sun only setting, you sat down by its roots and rested your eyes.

When you woke up, the full moon hung high over your head and you rubbed your eyes, a little confused about where you were until you remembered why you were here. You glanced around wondering where Sanji was. He should've been here by now.

"Sanji?"

Crickets chirped in response. You rose to your feet and began walking around the tree, calling his name.

"Sanji? Saaaaaaaaanji!"

Minutes passed, minutes turned into hours. Your mind started to whisper that he set you up, that he didn't mean anything he said. You didn't want to believe these doubts but as dawn approached, you frowned and picked up your things.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"And I left," you told the ravenette beside you, finishing the last of your drink.

"A sad ending to a beautiful love story," the lady commented, tapping the side of her cup.

She had found you at the bar alone and decided to take the seat next to you, inquiring why you were moping in the tavern all alone. Now here you are, your life's story spilled and an empty mug in front of you.

"You know..." You started while staring into the mug. "I really thought he meant it... he seemed so genuine..."

"You wouldn't be the first to be fooled," the ravenette said, taking a sip from her drink.

"Yeah, I guess..." You pushed the mug away from you.

"I know from experience too," the lady set her drink down and set a bag of coins on the table. "Men like them, they don't care about you. They'll say all the things you want and once they have your heart... they leave..."

You lay your head on the bar, zoning out. You felt numb, empty. You didn't have a clue what you were going to do next. You only knew one thing.

You'll never love again.

Tags: @bookandyarndragon @roseoftrafalgar

Part 2 here

#whumptober2023 #no. 2 #“I'll call out your name but you won't call back.” #“They don't care about you.” #one piece #whump fanfiction #whump fic #whump writing #drinking #Tw #one piece au #one piece x reader #one piece scenario #medieval au #Prince sanji #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #black foot sanji #one piece sanji #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #sanji #requested #no 2

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Fire Down Below

Sigh Not So | Secrets Hid Away | Shed Tears Aplenty | Fire Down Below |

CW: Dehumanizing language, prolonged repeated choking, nonhuman whumpee, angry whumper, restrained, hanged (no death), captivity

-

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Gilly leaned forward, the wooden chair he sat on creaking alarmingly under the shift in weight, rocking slightly forward onto the one leg that was shorter than the other three for no discernable or understandable reason.

It’d been a free chair, though, so… there was that. 

He held up one hand, thumb curled over a bent forefinger, middle, ring, and pinkie fingers straight up in the air. 

The siren stared back at him, only its eyes, nose, and wet curls above the washtub’s water line. He could just barely see the strap of the gag curving around the back of its head, the barest hint of the wood visible through the increasingly dirtied water. It made no movement, no sound. 

Honestly, if he hadn’t known what it was, he might have felt some sense of guilt or a prickling at his conscience. It looked so human. As if he’d found a beautiful youth and abducted him for nefarious purposes, like in the scandalous penny awfuls he sometimes bought during times in port and read on lonely nights on the ship. He might imagine himself the villain of such a tale, if the creature had been a person.

“How many?” He repeated.

The thing did not respond. It only blinked, once. 

Gilly sighed. “Must you make this as difficult as possible, thing?”

No answer. But he could see the curve of its plush top lip over the bit between its teeth, the way it wanted to sneer and snarl at him, and he would not bear that disrespect.

“Fine. Have it your way.” Gilly wrapped the rope around his hand again and again that led up to the ceiling where his rough-hewn pulley-system had been rigged, leading back down to the rough, coarse rope knotted tight around the stupid creature’s throat. 

This it understood, and only this. It did not learn without violence. Not that Gilly had tried too many other options.

As soon as he pulled hard enough to tighten the loop a fraction around its neck, the creature shot further up to give itself slack, but Gilly only followed its movements with his own, pulling with one hand and then another to ensure that once it stood it could not hide itself again.

It was dripping, well-formed body naked as a newborn babe, and Gilly once again mourned that he had had the piss-poor luck to catch a male one and not a female. The monster croaked around its gag, in a cracking voice, “Th-eeee.”

“Good,” Gilly said, voice short and sharp. 

He let the rope go slack again.

The creature dropped right back down as far as he would let it go, until it was only bared to him from the ribcage up. It hid itself, always, whenever it could. As if it felt his eyes, as if it cared a single bit about modesty. Sirens were simply animals mimicking a human shape, everyone knew that. The intelligence he saw in those dark eyes was a false one, a trick. Only madmen thought sirens were thinking beings, madmen who sailed off to the islands the sirens were known to stay on, wanting to communicate or connect with their so-called ‘communities’.

Those madmen never returned, or the ones who did claimed to have found nothing at all, simply bare rock and empty bushes.

“Again,” Gilly said, and held up all the fingers on one hand this time. He kept his other hand tight around the rope, in a subtle, wordless threat.

The creature swallowed - with difficulty, the noose was still too tight for comfort even as the rope slackened - and managed, “F-eye-fff.”

“Close enough,” Gilly muttered, but he was secretly pleased. The longer it was trapped in the washtub, a mere speck of water compared to the vast oceans it had known before, the more it cooperated, the more it gave in to Gilly’s demands. 

Eventually, it would need to understand him well enough to do his bidding, but until then… until then, they had to move slowly. He couldn’t do anything anyway until the magic had been laid to make the creature more fully his to command.

Outside, there was a creaky, high-pitched voice, the old woman calling in baby-speak to her infernal little dog with its yapping ankle-bites and ridiculous smushed-in face. The siren’s eyes flickered to the window, its head turning with a simple, open curiosity and wonder.

It was a deeply human expression, and Gilly felt a thrill of fury and something he refused to feel as guilt for what he’d done in bringing it here. So he yanked so hard on the rope the siren choked.

He couldn’t stop himself from smiling at its aborted, hoarse cry of pain. Its attention certainly left the window and the sounds outside, didn’t it? And the cries of pain it made were nearly as beautiful as its wicked, tempting songs at sea.

His smile widened as he pulled, stalwart and resolute, with one hand and then another. First its navel was bared to the air, then the mimickry of a man between its legs, those long muscled thighs, water running in rivers down shapely calves and finally to its feet. Gilly’s arms shook despite the years of work on ships he’d done to build his strength, but he kept pulling, and the creature kept rising.

Its cries became shorter, whistling and airless, and then turned to nothing more than gasps. The rope was tight just under its jaw, one strong jerk from broken, like a convict hung on the gallows before a crowd. 

But Gilly was the only audience to the show.

The siren’s arms jerked, hands twisting its wrists still bound behind its back. They were already rubbed raw to bleeding and yet still it kept struggling, legs moving uselessly, fighting to breathe when its throat was nearly closed entirely.  

“Don’t worry about her,” Gilly said, in a tone of utmost genial friendliness. “She can’t hear you, and she doesn’t care about you anyway. None of them do, they just don’t care. Even if she did know what I’ve got here, what could she really do, hm? Make me leave my home here, to be sure, but what else? What would happen to you?”

The siren’s face was going dark, blood rushing into its cheeks as Gilly stood and braced his feet shoulder width apart for a better, stronger grip. He didn’t need to do this - he should stop, he would never have treated any dog, cat, or horse with such cruelty - but somehow he couldn’t.

He couldn’t stop watching its eyes go wide and frightened, then hazy as the world began to darken for it. As it stared into the death that he could give it, so easily, just by staying put like this, just by letting it dangle until there was nothing left in it but its pretty, pointless skin.

Gilly felt nearly as breathless himself, although with excitement, not with fear. He had never had power of any creature, not this sort of power. Not the power to simply take a life with no rhyme or reason, only his own desires. 

He let go, abruptly, and the rope slid hot through his hands as the creature crashed back into the washing-tub, dirty water splashing up over the sides from the violence of its landing. 

Its legs crumpled and it disappeared entirely at first, before it pushed itself back up, sucking in gulps of air and coughing, over and over in a vicious cycle. His ribcage swelled and pulled so tight the bones were visible, again and again. Its face was still red, its neck was dark as sin itself with blood running down where the rope had rubbed right through its skin. 

When Gilly moved closer, the creature flinched backwards until it smacked into the other side of the washing-tub, hunched over itself protectively, looking up at him with its dark curls over its eyes. 

It was finally truly terrified of him, after days of this.

Exactly how it should be.

He pointed to the washing-tub, the dirtied water inside it. “The water is dirty,” He said, over-emphasizing each word as if he spoke to an idiot child or a very dumb puppy. “It needs to be cleaned.” 

It swallowed, wincing at the pain even such a simple involuntary motion caused. There was no sign it understood, beyond the way its eyes flickered to one side, where he had forced it to stand in the past in the corner while he emptied the tub out and refilled it clean. 

“Yes,” Gilly said, pointing now into the same corner. “Go there.” When it didn’t immediately move, he snapped, “Now!”

The siren hurriedly half-fell over the side of the tub, landing without dignity with a thump on its side, making Gilly laugh at the sight of it wiggling to get back on its feet with its hands still tied behind its back. It skittered away from him, more bug than humanoid thing, until it was in the shadowy corner where he had pointed it to. 

“Good. Now stay there.”

He took the rope, changing it so it hung from a different hook, pulling it tight enough that the siren was forced to dance on its tiptoes to keep breathing, and tied it off. Now it couldn’t move. Stupid monster couldn’t even think well enough around its fight for air to try anything.

Which was good, because changing the water was a chore he did not enjoy, and his mood was already dark today. He didn’t need it to get any worse. He’d put way too much time and effort into training the creature to accidentally kill it or something if it upset him too much.

“I know you don’t like that,” He said, almost conversationally, as he moved to open the window. “And if you want to make it stop…”

Its voice was barely a hiss as it echoed, “May-... t-ah-p,” unable to pronounce the sss or k sound around the bit gag.

“Right. Well, you’ll have to start learning faster and start listening to me, won’t you? I wouldn’t have to do any of this if you would just understand me and obey the first time, instead of making it a fight.”

It blinked again.

Gilly had to fight the resurgence of his fury at its simple refusal to listen and learn, reminding himself that he had work to do, and he couldn’t have a nap until he had finished cleaning out its water.

There was a slight downhill slope outside, and so he simply took a bucket and began to bail the washing-tub out, tossing each bucket of dirty water outside to let it run down into the widow’s garden below. The bits of fish parts would help the plants to grow, he supposed. Although in this hot climate, it didn’t help the place smell any better. Not that you couldn’t smell the manure from the animals that lived in the barn, anyway…

He lost himself in the work, as always, simply drifted into a place of contentment even as sweat beaded up on his skin and trickled down his neck and his back. Sometimes, he paused just to watch the siren where it stood, making hoarse little guttural noises, moving from one set of toes to the other, tears trickling from the corners of its eyes down over its beautifully wrought cheekbones, its jawline, and to the floor below. 

“I suppose you need a name,” He said, thoughtfully, once he had emptied the tub, scrubbed it out, and then worked to dry it with a towel. In a moment he’d have to head down to the water pump to start the refilling process, but he allowed himself a break to wipe away his sweat and push up his glasses, watching the suffering siren. It watched him back, even though the rope kept its chin tipped up trying to escape the constriction. It whined, like a whipped dog, and Gilly shook his head. 

It was even trying to mimic other animals, now, to get him to be kinder.

“I was thinking… the people here before the colony was founded, they had a dance called areyto. I think that’s what I’ll call you… Areyto, because once you’re strung up like this, you dance.”

He laughed.

“We’ll work on teaching you your name tomorrow, I think.”

He headed out to start working on bringing in fresh water. It took nearly as long as cleaning the damn thing out had taken, and each time he left and came back the siren’s movements were slower, more exhausted, the fight to breathe taking more and more out of it. Blood began to dry where the ropes had rubbed, and so did its tears. 

By the time the water was clean, it had to move on its knees, hunched over, inch by tired inch until it made it to the metal sides of the tub. Gilly kept the rope in hand, ready to punish, but it had no fight left, not now. He watched those powerful leg muscles shake as it pushed itself clumsily to its feet, and then simply allowed itself to fall over the side and into the water.

It did not resurface.

Gilly tied the rope back off in its usual place, cleaned the splashed-out water with the still-damp towel, and walked out whistling cheerfully, closing the door and locking it behind him.

They were definitely making progress.

Once Atabei came from the northern colonies, her magic would make sure he didn’t have to worry about the monster trying to hurt him, and he could finally start laying his plans out for a gilded, influential future.

-

Taglist: @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam

-

Note: Although I am not planning any specific @whumptober this year, this piece ended up covering the first three prompts!

#whump #fantasy whump #siren whump #fantasy writing #nonhuman whumpee #sadistic whumper #captivity #torture tw #choking tw #hanging tw #restrained #bound #dehumanizing language #dehumanization #whumptober2023 #no. 1 #“How many fingers am I holding up?” #no. 2 #“They don't care about you.” #no. 3 #“Make it stop.” #whump writing #OC #original content #original writing #magical whumpee #gilly is a weird little motherfucker isn't he #atabei is weirder though

[whumpshots]

Whumptober #2

Trope of the day: “They don't care about you.”

_

Whumper takes a good look at caretaker, who still spits at every question they ask them. They didn't expect the other to be so persistent, to be so ... strong. But whumper always gets what they want, no matter how much they have to cheat for that.

With a grin, whumper comes closer and crouches down before caretaker, whose face is bloodied and swollen. They still have this fascinating look of defiance on their face, a look whumper wants to wipe away even more with every passing second.

"Fascinating, really. You are stronger than I anticipated," they mutter and shake their head a little. "But do you know what is also fascinating? They never took this long to rescue one of you. Never. It's been days and there's still no sign of your little group."

Caretaker has been unconscious for quite some time, so whumper hopes they don't realise they are trying to mess with their perception of time. A grin spreads across their face as they see a reaction. The movement of their eyes is enough for them to continue.

"That's true. They don't care about you, darling," they coo and look at caretaker's face with even more fascination. "They probably have already found another idiot to take care of any inflicted wounds." Whumper feels triumphant when caretaker averts their gaze, their breath shaky all of the sudden.

“They don't care about you," they repeat and grab their chin to make them look at them. "But you will care about what I have to offer you."

#whumptober 2023 #whumptober2023 #whumptober #trope of the day #“They don't care about you.” #no.2 #whumper #intimate whumper #caretaker turned whumpee #stoic whumpee #emotional whump #manipulation tw #whumpshots

[whump-me]

Whumptober Day 2: "They don't care about you."

This is a standalone story in the Mind Games universe, a modern-day sci-fi/fantasy thriller setting about ordinary humans with superhuman abilities and the people who want to use or destroy them. Full description in my Whumptober masterpost, which is linked in my pinned post.

This story contains: interrogation, male whumpee, female whumper, defiant whumpee, fearful whumpee, cold whumper, rejection, emotional whump

---

When Sean thought of an interrogation room—which he did, often, whenever he imagined what would happen if he was caught—he imagined it smelling like blood and bleach and fear. He imagined the faint outlines of bloodstains on the floor and on the walls, where even the strongest cleaners couldn’t scrub away the evidence of what had happened there. He imagined a bright white light shining down from above, so strong it seared his retinas even when his eyes were closed.

The light was just how he had imagined it—except that it was a fluorescent light built into the ceiling, like in an office building, instead of a bare bulb dangling in his face. But the rest wasn’t like he had thought it would be. The room smelled new. Freshly built, like plaster and sawdust. The paint was so bright white he thought it might come off on his hands if he touched it. There had been no time for it to accumulate stains yet. For all he knew, he was the first prisoner to be interrogated in this room.

Maybe it would be his blood marring the white walls for the first time. Maybe anyone else brought here would look at the evidence of what had been done to him, and shiver.

The room was empty except for the single metal chair he had awoken in. His wrists were bound to its arms, his ankles to its legs. In front of him, a slim woman in gray paced back and forth, back and forth. She eyed him like he was the stain in her brand-new interrogation room, and she was trying to figure out the best way to clean him up without messing up the paint.

She paused in front of him. The bright light shone down directly above her, turning her eyes to pits of shadow. “Your friends sold you out.”

Her voice was as clean and crisp as the room. The sound echoed strangely—the edges were softened, rounded off where they shouldn’t have been. Soundproofing. So no one would hear what she did to him.

He already wanted to beg, and she hadn’t even touched him. He wanted to throw himself at her feet—if not for the restraints holding him in place—and ask what he had to do for her to let him go, please just let him go…

Instead, he lifted his chin and managed a derisive—albeit shaky—laugh. “That’s an amateur tactic. Make me think they betrayed me, so I’ll betray them. Try harder.”

“The room surprised you,” she said, her voice cool and perfectly even. “You were expecting us to bring you to PERI headquarters, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So your friends knew about the new facility already. We caught one of them sniffing around the site last week. We followed them back to their meeting. That’s how we found them—and that is how, ultimately, they gave us you.”

He shook his head. “There was no meeting last week.”

“Are you sure about that?” she asked, leaning down to peer into his face. “Your thoughts say you’re not.”

He bent down to spit at her feet. “You’re a telepath,” he said. “That makes you one of us. And you’re working for the people who want to control our powers. The only traitor here is you.”

She took a small step back from the small, gleaming glob of spittle at her feet. Her face showed no reaction. “Which is the worse betrayal?” She asked. “To accept a job offer—which pays very well, I might add—to help root out rebellious elements in order to make sure those with powerful abilities serve our national interests rather than becoming a menace to society? Or to offer up someone you fought alongside, for money and to save your own skin? That’s what your friends did.” Her lips curved into a small smile. “Yes, they asked for cash. And it was their idea. I didn’t even need to offer. They named a price—they already knew how much you were worth to them. I was surprised at the amount. I would have expected them to ask for more.”

“I knew about the new facility.” Or at least, he had known there was one being built. A secure purpose-built interrogation facility, plus a prison for Enhanced who refused to work for the government and weren’t suitable for genetic research. He and the others had been hunting for it for months. But they hadn’t found the location yet.

“You didn’t find the location yet,” she said, reading his mind. “But your friends did. They didn’t tell you before they sent your friend Mathias to scope it out, did they? And they certainly didn’t tell you that when Mathias was careless enough to let us follow him back to their meeting—the meeting they didn’t tell you about—they offered you up. They thought your power could be useful to us.” She gave a small, artful pause before continuing. “And they thought it wouldn’t take much for us to convince you to work for us. Apparently they don’t think much of your courage.”

“They wouldn’t do that.” But then how did she know about Mathias? Was he in one of these rooms, too?

“Your friend is perfectly fine,” the interrogator assured him. “They all are. We kept our end of the bargain.”

But that meant nothing, nothing at all, because there had been no bargain. They wouldn’t have sold him out, they wouldn’t…

“I hear you thinking at me,” she said. “You don’t have to be so loud about it. I can hear your thoughts regardless. In fact, I can hear what’s going on underneath that cacophony of denial.” She started up her pacing again. “Right now, you’re going over all the times they’ve excluded you. All the inside jokes they never bothered to explain to you. All the meetings they conducted without you, the ones you only found out about after the fact. Last week was far from the first time.” She held up her hand as if to hold off his objections before he could speak them. “Don’t bother denying it. I told you, I can hear you.”

His weak protest died on his lips before he could voice it.

When the others had rescued him as a teenager from a near-abduction by PERI forces, and offered him a place on their team saving others the way they had saved him, he had thought things would be different with them. He had seen an end to his lifetime of being the awkward misfit, the odd one out. Helping people had only been half the reason he had joined them. The chance to belong had been the other half.

Maybe more than half.

Every time he had come home crying from school when he was a kid, his parents had assured him he would find his people someday. He had thought he finally had. After all, they had powers too. They were like him. They were Enhanced, a word he had never even heard before meeting them.

But it hadn’t worked the way he thought. He might have been Enhanced like them, but he was still his same old awkward self. He still didn’t get the jokes. He still talked at the wrong times, and stayed silent at the wrong times, and said the wrong things that led to awkward silences.

“They didn’t leave me out of that many meetings,” he said. “Not the really important ones.” Only the ones that had been less about planning their next mission and more about hanging out together. They always seemed to have more fun when he wasn’t around.

“If they had found the new facility,” he continued, “they would have told me.”

“Are you sure about that?” she asked. And she smiled, because no, he wasn’t, and she could obviously hear it in his mind.

He was mostly sure. Almost entirely sure. But almost sure wasn’t the same as sure.

“They would have wanted my help,” he said. “And they would have known I wanted to help. They knew how committed I was.”

“We are you committed to the cause,” she asked, pinning him in place with her eyes, “or were you committed to them?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Humor me.”

And because it was better than her needling at all his weakest points, he answered. “I was committed to the cause,” he said. “Because PERI came after me for no reason. I wasn’t hurting anyone with my power. I just wanted to live a normal life. But they wouldn’t let me do that. They don’t let any of the Enhanced do that. We have to work for you, and if we won’t, we get cut apart in your labs or shot on the spot. We’re not allowed to exist unless you control us.”

“A pretty speech,” she said, her eyes turning into amused half-moons. “Which of your friends are you parroting it from?”

“You think I don’t believe in what we’re doing? I gave up everything to join them. I left my school, my home…”

“For the cause?” she asked. “Or for the chance to belong?”

Too late, he understood that she hadn’t ever stopped needling at his weak points after all.

“Your friends expected us to threaten you to convince you to work for us,” the interrogator said. “Maybe even hurt you. They said it wouldn’t take much. But I’m not going to do that.”

“Why not?” he asked, thinking back to the stories the others had told of PERI interrogators in bloodstained rooms. He knew there had to be a catch, a sting he didn’t see coming. Still, he couldn’t help but hope she meant it, and that it really was that simple.

“Because I don’t think I have to,” she said. “We can give you what you want. There is no in-crowd here. We don’t play those games. PERI is an army of Enhanced and non-Enhanced working for a common cause. Here, everyone belongs.”

He laughed—or he tried. “Another amateur tactic,” he said. “But the others told me I would belong with them, too. And people play those games everywhere.”

“So you agree you didn’t belong with your friends.”

He didn’t answer.

“I work for PERI as an interrogator,” she said. “You’ve heard about PERI interrogators, I assume. All the stories are true. Everyone in PERI who knows me knows what I do in these rooms. Do you really think that makes me a likable person?”

Every answer felt like a trap, so he offered her only silence.

“Nevertheless, I’ve found a place here,” she said, as if he had answered her. Maybe he had, inside his mind. “I belong with PERI far more than you ever did with those friends of yours.”

“Of course they make you feel that way,” he said. “Because they can use you.”

“If that’s what you call working with others to use your strengths for a common purpose,” she said. “How different is that from what you did with your friends? Were they using you?”

Then she frowned slightly. “But you’re not really afraid of being used, are you? You’re afraid we would have no use for you.”

He shook his head. “I’ll never let you use me.”

“It’s better when it’s your choice, isn’t it?” she asked softly. “When you decide you don’t want us to have a place for you. But you’ve been afraid for a long time. Every time they met without you. Every time they stopped talking when you entered the room. You knew they kept you around because you were useful. Didn’t you wonder, deep down, what would happen when you stopped being useful?”

He hadn’t been thinking that. He hadn’t. His fingers curled around the sharp metal arms of the chair.

“Did they judge you for the strength of your power?” she asked, leaning in close like they were having an intimate conversation. “You don’t need to worry about that with us. Your friends described what you can do. Based on what they told us, I can guarantee you a place with us. If you commit to our cause. If you let us be your people.”

“I don’t want it,” he spat. But the little smile on her face didn’t budge.

He knew why. It was because the first part of what she had said was true, and they both knew it. He had wondered if they had judged him for the strength of his abilities, if that was just one more thing that stood between them.

As if that was something he could help.

“Not everyone has to be the strongest on the team,” she said. “What’s important is having a team. A team that knows how to work together, that doesn’t leave any of its members out. With PERI, I promise, no one will ever call your power weak again.”

He blinked, utterly thrown off for the first time since she had claimed his friends had sold him out.

They had said his power was weak?

But he had always been the strongest of them. Strong enough that they kept him around even when he wasn’t even sure they liked him that much. Strong enough to scare them.

She frowned, leaning closer, as if that would help hear his thoughts more clearly. Her eyes widened. A look of alarm grew on her face in slow motion as his thoughts whirled ahead at lightspeed.

He understood now.

The interrogator had told the truth. It hadn’t been a ploy to get him to cooperate. His friends had offered him up to PERI.

They had done it because they had known PERI would take him to the new facility. And they wouldn’t take special precautions, because they thought he was weak.

Of course they had stumbled on Mathias outside the new facility. There wasn’t a telepath on Earth who could get inside his lockbox of a mind. All PERI’s telepaths would have gotten from him was what he wanted them to hear.

Matthias had let them see him. He had led him back to the others on purpose.

And they hadn’t told Sean about the plan, because he couldn’t give away to a mind reader what he didn’t know.

The world jolted back to normal speed. Alarm blossomed into full-fledged fear on the interrogator’s face.

“This doesn’t change the fact that they sold you out.” Her voice wobbled. “They used you.”

“Then it’s a good thing you were wrong about me, and I’m more committed to the cause than I am to them,” he said.

She fumbled at her belt—reaching for a phone to call someone, or maybe a button that would trigger an alarm—

And the walls crumbled with an earsplitting groan.

The room rained down on him. Beyond the interrogation room, the facility fell to pieces. The smell of plaster and sawdust grew overwhelming. And finally, the smell of fear. The interrogator’s fear.

She screamed, once.

Then she disappeared under the rubble, and was silent.

He didn’t know how long he spent unconscious before his friends’ voices woke him. He ached all over. When he tried to move, sharp pains screamed at him from half a dozen places in his body. He didn’t know how badly he was hurt. He thought he probably didn’t want to know.

He usually fared better in the aftermath of his power than the people around him did. It was part of how his power worked. But that didn’t mean he emerged unscathed when he took a small piece of the world apart around him. And when it was a building as big as that one must have been…

He had thought he would survive. He had hoped. But hoping wasn’t the same as knowing.

If he had known he would survive it—or if he had been a little braver—he would have brought the place down as soon as he had woken up in that interrogation room. Maybe that was what his friends had expected him to do. If he had, the interrogator would never have had the chance to tell him what his friends had done.

But they had been right about his courage.

“Don’t try to move.” The voice belonged to Mathias. “We’ll get you out of here.”

He blinked until his eyes focused. Was that guilt he saw on Mathias’s face, or was that just his own wishful thinking?

Matthias must have seen in his eyes that he knew, because he flinched and looked away. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We argued about it. For hours. But in the end, it was too important. We had to destroy the facility. You were our best chance. And you would never have gotten in any other way.”

Sean noticed he didn’t say which side of the argument he had been on.

“We’ll take good care of you,” he said. “And… and you can leave if you want. When you’re better. We won’t stop you.”

He shook his head. The movement sent a sharp spike of pain through the center of his forehead. “I want to stay.”

He had told the interrogator the truth. It was about the cause for him. They had done what was necessary for the cause, and so had he.

Maybe that was true. Or maybe he could accept their decision because he had been useful today, and he didn’t want to know what would happen if he wasn’t useful anymore. Not to his friends. Not to anyone.

He wasn’t brave enough to figure out the truth. Instead, he closed his eyes and let himself sink back into unconsciousness.

He was glad the interrogator was buried under the rubble. Otherwise, he was sure she would be giving him that knowing little smile.

---

Tagged: @cakeinthevoid @gala1981

Ask to be added or removed from my Whumptober 2023 taglist.

#whumptober2023 #no.2 #“They don't care about you.” #oc #fic #interrogation whump #my writing #my writing: whumptober 2023 #my writing: Mind Games

[crimsonlyinglilly]

No. 2: “I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.”

Thermometer | Delirium | “They don’t care about you"

The Originals AU - Esther attempts to break the deal to save the future first borns from Dahlia, who keeps her word and returns for Finn and Elijah. The oldest three grow up together under Dahlia, it isn’t pleasant.

Ages

Freya-13

Finn- 12

Elijah-8

Dahlia leaves them sometimes, seals up the hut with them inside and enough food and water. Freya has the feeling that it’s because sometimes she needs space from the three of them, she would feel sympathy but she was the one to take them. Even sweet, kind hearted Elijah laughs when she shares this thought with him. 

It’s less funny when Finn grows sick and his fever just goes up, when he struggles to stand and his shivering doesn't stop, and for the first time she pleads with the gods she doesn’t believe in anymore, to send her back to them.

They fail her again and Dahlia doesn’t return, he heart stops when Elijah's shouts as Finn's crashes ontop of him and even after they manage to drag thier brother to bed, Finn sinks further into delirium.

She and Elijah take turns staying with him, keeping him cool, exchanging the cloth for a fresh one. Freya makes soup and tries her best to get it into him.

Elijah holds his hair back when he throws it back up later.

It’s when Finn starts calling for their parents that she starts to snap, she knows Finn doesn’t hate Esther for giving her-them away, no her sweet little brother blames himself but it’s Finn’s cries for ‘Mama’ and Elijah’s lies that ‘she’s coming’ that causes it. 

Finn who should be free training with father, Elijah who doesn't even remember either of their parents because their mother threw them away.

“She doesn’t care about us.” She snaps, guilt flooding her when her tone causes Finn to whine in his sleep and Elijah glares at her, jaw fixed, the expression is so familiar on Finn’s face that it throws her.

“It doesn’t matter, it's what he wants to hear.” he tells her, an odd coldness to his voice, “it's too much you should get some sleep.” She knows a dismissal when she hears it and she’s been too well trained to argue as much as she wants to.

It later lying in her bed alone listing to Elijah lie to Finn that she acknowledge the fact they failed, that no matter what they had tried Elijah was being forced to grow up too soon like them and-

Elijah had always taken after Dahlia in looks, the darker colouring and the chances were he’d grow to be leaner than Finn and their father, but that coldness, the sharp dismissal that was all Dahlia, that was learnt.

She tried hard not to think of the ways Dahlia had left her mark on her.

In some way they were all more Dahlia’s than their parents.

#whumptober2023 #no.2 #Delirium #“they don't care about you.” #the originals #fic #sickness #elijah mikaelson #finn mikaelson #freya mikaelson #Dahlia #the suits hide the mess beneath #AU- Stolen Three #mikaelson family #mikaelson siblings #fanfiction

[jianghushenanigans]

Whumptober Day 2: “They don’t care about you.”

Zhang Ping lies on the street outside Lan-daren’s house. He doesn’t have the energy to hold himself up. The gravel is rough beneath his cheek. It’s raining. The stab wound in his back is in agony.

The wound hurts less than everything else that has happened.

He had run through the underground corridors with a knife wound in his back, and it had not hurt as much as the horror in Lan-daren’s eyes as he was told Zhang Ping’s origins. The disgust. The way he kept staring, begging for an answer with his eyes, an answer that Zhang Ping didn’t know, that he couldn’t give.

He had carried the unconscious Lan-daren, bearing the wait across his shoulders and his wounded upper back, and it had had not hurt as much as seeing the corpse of their only lead. Of seeing the corpse of a man who was probably the only person who could have told him anything about his past. Of knowing that Lan-daren would never forgive him.

He had waited, waited for Lan-daren to wake up, without getting any medical attention himself, and it had not hurt as much as Lan-daren pointing a sword at his throat, declaring them to be enemies. As Lan-daren drawing a line in the wood between them. As Lan-daren telling him to leave, and to never come back.

He had thought, he had thought that Lan-daren…

“They don’t care about you.”

There’s a voice, and he recognises it like whispers in the wind, but he can’t place it.

“None of them, they don’t want you.”

He doesn’t know who it is. He hadn’t heard footsteps approaching. He should be alone.

“You should leave.”

“Zhang-xiong?” Chen Chou calls, somewhere in the distance, but Zhang Ping cannot call back. He’s stuck, frozen by the pain, frozen by the voice that he remembers somewhere in the depths of lost time.

“Leave the city Zhang Ping. Don’t come back.” The voice fades to silence, and Zhang Ping fades to black.

Crossposted here on ao3

#whumptober 2023 #no.2 #“They don't care about you.” #a league of nobleman #fic #stab wound #zhang ping

[evillittlebirdie]

Warmth: Gale/Tav Sickfic

In the Underdark, Gale faced Minotaurs, mad dwarves, and electrical turrets. Yet it was a misidentified mushroom that beget his current downfall.

It was his own fault for wanting a snack. He was a glutton for not waiting until the group returned to camp. And his own arrogance prevented him from double checking his notes on foliage. So Gale didn’t complain. He couldn’t let Tav know. He closed his tent and tried to sleep it off.

The queasy feeling came first followed by the headache. Then Gale was grabbing the closest pot to throw up in. The vile odor of stomach acid and poisonous mushroom made him wretch again. Through it all, Gale tried to be as quiet as possible. It was a foolhardy effort. It was nearly impossible to quiet the spasms in his stomach.

The fatigue soon followed. Gale knew logistically that he needed water to stay hydrated or risk further complications. He used the remainder of his strength to collect his canteen from his backpack. He sipped sparingly. Then promptly threw up again. This time his long hair was in the crossfire,

It was going to be a long night. Gale’s stomach would twist into knots before releasing. The sensation would force Gale to vomit. He would then lie, warm and weak, on his bedroll.

By the fourth cycle, Gale started to see stars whenever he rolled over. His magic needed rest. His healing powers were vastly limited. His own pride caused that calamity. Flaunting like a peacock, he used the extent of his magic against the duegars that day. Tav, who was not magically inclined, was mesmerized and thoroughly impressed. And Gale beamed and preened under the praise. He liked it when Tav’s attention was on him.

But Gale would rather roll into a hole than have Tav’s gaze on him. Tav, who had their pick of their companions, would quickly move Gale to the bottom of the list. Tav indulged Gale’s conversations. And their experience with the Weave was carnal curiosity, not true desire. Tav didn’t want him, not all of him. Especially now that they knew Gale was cursed with death.

How was one supposed to have a cheerful tryst with such gloom?

After the sixth cycle, which mainly consisted of dry heaving into a thimble of bile dropped down his lips, Gale heard his tent flap open. Alarmed, Gale turned to see Tav looking at him with concern. Gale struggled to speak, to find a way to apologize for his weakness. But only a hoarse cough left his throat.

Tav hummed out a concern whimper. (Gale wondered if he was losing his mind. That couldn’t have been what Tav had done.) Then, they left, closing the flap behind him.

Gale cursed himself. Tears appeared at the edges of his eyes. It didn’t matter what he did now. Tav would only remember the sweaty, disheveled mess next to a pot full of vomit. Lovely.

Wallowing in self pity, Gale almost jumped when Tav opened the tent again. This time with their arms full of unidentifiable items. Moving quietly and fluidly, Tav set the items on the end table near his bedroll. Before Gale could even protest, they set a cool, wet cloth on his forehead. Shocked, Gale watched as Tav picked up the pot of Gale’s sickness and left the tent. Tav returned quickly and set a clean bowl next to Gale’s head. Tav moved back and forth between Gale and the end table.

This had to be a fever dream. Tav couldn’t really be doing this. Tav needed to rest and lead. Gale should be left to suffer, to learn a lesson.

Tav sat down next to Gale on the bedroll and guided Gale’s head into their lap. Gale knew then that this had to be his own delusion. Weakly, he figured that if this was a delusion, he could not feel guilty about enjoying it.

Tav brought a bottle to Gale’s lips. It smelled like ginger. The liquid flowed smoothly down Gale’s gullet. Tav used a second cool cloth to wipe the traces of sweat, tears, and bile from Gale’s face and hair. As gentle as a mother’s touch, Tav used their own fingers to comb through Gale’s hair. The tangles straightened under Tav’s attention.

A lovely dream.

Wasn’t it?

#no.2 #“I’ll call out your name but you won’t call back.” #thermometer #delirium #“They don't care about you.” #sick tw #baldurs gate fanfiction #gale/tav #bg3 #whumptober 2023

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

note: might rewrite this at some point. one night/day isn't really a lot of time for writing, y'know? (at least in terms of multichapter fics)

warnings for: injury, blood, self-harm, suicide attempt, and some rather unpleasant to read dialogue

no character death, though!

also, yes, there will be a second chapter for this later in the month (and probably also more after that, not entirely sure yet. i would like to write his recovery if possible)

#whumptober2023 #lyric #no. 2 #“I'll call out your name but you won't call back.” #“They don't care about you.” #gravity falls #fanfiction #injury #blood #self-harm #suicide attempt tw #oh wow these tags are a lot. glad i get to smother the stan twins with fluff after the second chapter #ford pines #...can i really tag stan for this #he can get tagged in the second chapter

[slytherinlesbians]

Whumptober 2023, Day 2: "They don't care about you."

fandom: succession | characters: roman roy (centric), shiv roy, kendall roy | ship: none | trigger warnings: mentions of child abuse, neglect, drug use | content: childhood fic, sibling relationships | word count: 1k.

Roman is bored. 

He’s been wandering around the grounds of this year’s summer house for a half hour like he’s his mother, trying to get 10,000 steps in each day. He wonders, briefly, if he should call her, but shakes his head at himself for thinking that she’d want to hear from him. If Mom had wanted them - him, Shiv and Ken - she would have tried for custody. 

The divorce was finalized when he was still away at school and no one had even bothered to fucking mention it to him. Not a shred of communication from anyone. He’d arrived back from his first year at St Andrews Military School in the early stages of age fourteen with a buzzcut, a habit of jumping at loud noises, and a 70% increase of the word ‘fuck’ in his vocabulary. 

At first he’d been thrilled to get away from home, but within hours of his first day at military school, he’d locked himself in a bathroom, stifling sobs against a hand towel so no one would hear him, desperate to come back. The new routine had stressed him out, made his chest feel tight. He was terrified to sleep for fear of yelling out in the night or pissing himself like he was a little kid again, so he became a walking zombie, functioning off of as little sleep as possible. He never flinched when he was screamed at or whacked around the head, but as soon as it happened for the first time, some masochistic sickness rose up in him where he decided the only person he wanted to hit him was his father. Which is fucking insane, because when Dad hits him he feels like he’s going to die for hours after - his chest and throat close up and he can barely breathe - but at least it’s familiar. At least it’s home. 

He’d jumped out of the car expecting to be greeted by someone at least, but no one had been at the gates. Affronted, he’d gone searching for his mother, only to meet Kendall, who was back from his first semester at college and gave him an awkward hug before explaining that Mom had finally packed up and fucked off. It stung that no one had told him, and it stung even worse that Mom hadn’t said goodbye. He resolved to find Shiv, who loved to bitch about Mom and would know all of the details due to her habit of listening at doors, and was valiantly disappointed when his twin sister shut her bedroom door in his face. 

And so it had been, for the last three days in which he’d been home: Ken doesn’t mind Roman hanging around him these days, but he listens to shitty rap and checks his computer constantly with too-bright eyes and complains about how the weed in Boston is way better than here. Shiv stays in her room or lies on the grass, sipping lemonade and reading books about politics that she barely understands. He hasn’t even seen his Dad since he got back. He’s at a conference somewhere. 

“Why’s Shiv no fun anymore?” Roman says, spinning on Kendall’s desk chair. 

“I dunno man,” Kendall says, lying on the ground and rolling a careful joint. “Once you left, she got real quiet. It was probably pretty lonely for her, being the only one around.” 

Roman shrugs. “It’s not my fault I had to go to St Fuckyou’s.” 

Kendall snorts, not looking up. “It kinda is. Maybe if you weren’t such a weirdo you’d have gotten to stay home.” 

“It’s not fair,” Roman whines. “You didn’t have to go to boarding school, Con didn’t, Shiv didn’t. It’s messed up. Dad hates me.” 

“He doesn’t hate you,” Kendall says, but his voice sounds far away. “He probably just wants the best for you, or something.” 

“Yeah,” Roman says. “Or something.” He watches Kendall lick the paper and give the joint a final roll. “Hey, can I have some?” 

“Fuck no,” Kendall says, sitting up and running a hand through his hair, which is longer than Roman remembers it being. “Get your own. Actually, don’t. You’re too young.” 

“Fuck you,” Roman says, but he didn’t really want it anyway. He wonders, vaguely, how old his brother had been the first time he’d done drugs. Speaking of brothers, he’s surprised Connor isn’t here. He’s always mixed up one strange new scheme or the other, but generally makes a point of spending summers with his younger siblings. It’s not that Roman’s desperate to see him or anything - his eldest brother is a bit of a freak - but it’d be nice to have something to do this summer. 

“Have you heard from Con?” he asks his sister later that afternoon. He hangs upside down on a sun lounger. She’s sitting by the pool in a new swimsuit, sipping a virgin daiquiri and reading To Kill a Mockingbird, mostly ignoring him. 

“He sent us an email,” she says, sounding bored, not looking up from her book. “Something about spending the summer building habitats for endangered snails or - some bullshit like that. Said he’s sorry he can’t see us, blah blah. No big loss. Didn’t you see it?” 

“No,” says Roman, who never gets emails, therefore hasn’t bothered to sign into his account at all in the last few months. “Do you know when dad’s coming back?”

Shiv shrugs and finally looks up at him, dark sunglasses hiding her eyes. “No.”

“Neither.” 

“So? Since when has Dad told you where he’s going and when? He doesn’t care about you.” 

“Bitch,” Roman says, pulling himself upright and sticks his tongue out at her, pretending the words don’t sting. “He doesn’t give a shit about you either.” 

“Oh, boo hoo. Mom doesn’t care, dad doesn’t care, big brothers are too busy doing drugs and saving the planet,” she says sardonically. “No one pays attention to us anymore, so we can do whatever we want. Life is so terrible.”

“You used to be more fun,” he snaps, not sure why her words are getting to him so much. 

“I’ve grown up,” is all she says, then looks back down. 

“Fuck you too,” he mutters, standing up to resume wandering around the grounds. 

He spends the summer wandering, pretending not to care that no one cares. 

Roman is bored. 

#whumptober2023 #no.2 #“they don't care about you.” #succession #fanfiction #mention of child abuse tw #child neglect tw #mention of drugs tw #roman roy #shiv roy #kendall roy #connor roy

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

WT #2: "They don’t care about you."

The Sentry and the Strays - science fiction universe. Set in the distant future on a planet called Hephaestus Ten.

Content warnings: implied transphobia | depression

Summary: A barman gets a visit from his brother and learns he has to attend a wedding. The barman is far from pleased given his family's past.

WC: 1873

Nobody cared about him, it was a fact he'd long accepted. Even his manager's occasional remarks seemed like mere formalities. 

His role was as straightforward as it got – plaster on a smile and pour pints, no more, no less, and just the way he hates it, the routine was predictable. His manager's voice crackled through the radio headset, a relic from a time when the pub had reluctantly embraced modernization, abandoning its old-world charm for the sake of being a venue for spitting sawdust born of alcohol. The bartender was amazed that his ears hadn't succumbed to an infection, given the way he forced the earpiece into place. 

"You look rough," Ryan said from elsewhere in the building; thumbing through receipts that held more than enough numbers to hire more staff instead of more cameras and the new vehicle he passed in the parking lot out back. 

Nonetheless, the bartender casually tossed his backpack next to a sturdy shelving unit of beer crates, before making his way to the bar area. He absentmindedly brushed off stray animal hairs from his clothes – a simple ensemble consisting of rugged jeans, sturdy shoes, and a white t-shirt topped with a grey shirt. His recent side gig as a dog walker provided him with a bit of extra cash; just enough to break even at the end of the month, assuming he had no unexpected expenses such as a cup of coffee.

“Wanna start paying me more?” He replied into the microphone protruding from the earpiece. It was evident in his voice that he was exhausted, but rent wasn’t going to pay itself, so he strapped a well-loved apron across his waist and slapped on a smile that couldn’t reach his eyes. 

“Overheads!” Ryan sing-songed across the radio, before the line went dead save for the occasional background interference from the patrols nearby. The bartender rolled his eyes; executing the perfect swerve to avoid bumping into his colleagues during changeover. Two new-hire openers, and one experienced closer on a measly Thursday night. No cash tips were to be expected, but a few drinks may be bought for him across the evening - it’s the least the patrons could do for not roping him into their personal lives or ratting their habits to the authorities. It was a simple agreement: he minded his own business, and they minded theirs.  

He took a rag from the sink and began his duties, grimacing when his preferred cleaner stung the blisters and scratches on his hands from his second job. Earlier in the day, a small pup took great pleasure in using his hand as a teething toy, and he had mere minutes to spread some salve across the wounds before leaving for his shift. Broken skin, and light abrasions however were nothing special; nothing worth speaking about to the patrons who stared soullessly into their drinks. His gaunt appearance and sunken eyes drew little attention also, as did his hunched shoulders. 

There couldn't have been more than a dozen drinkers at the time; either fresh from an early shift at the docks, or recently despaired by personal loss. Perhaps later, when the middle shifts began to trickle from their posts, then the bartender may experience a rush; in which he’d have to be a little faster pulling pints and mixing spirits-

“Please.” An old man rasped for his attention, nudging his glass across the bar mat before him. The young man nodded and wordlessly poured him another in a fresh glass, yet spied on the man in his periphery as he shakily pulled coins from his pocket. His trembling hands, cracked, scarred and dry from days at the reclamation point, yielded a sum a few coppers short. Deciding he didn’t see it, the young man placed the drink before him, and left the pile of coins to gather dust on the bartop. Silently, he turned to continue his cleaning, moving spirit bottles to one side to wipe the wood-effect counter beneath. 

As predicted, the earpiece crackled to life. 

“I saw that!” 

And the bartender took everything he had to not stare into the closest security camera. Notably, there never was one pointing to the corridor where the toilets were, neuter was there one in the corner patrons liked to meet. 

It was worth a shot. 

The young man hung his head and turned, though the patron was nowhere to be seen. Just a pile of coins and a half-drunk pint. He caught the silhouette of the man stumbling through the entrance and out to the smog-filled city. He shook his head, and moved to the till to ring up the man for the half he had drunk when he was interrupted by the television in the corner. It was hard to ignore the fanfare that bypassed the low volume the screen had been set at, and it even startled the elder patrons who had slipped through the doors thirty years ago for a cheeky half. The bartender himself was only six years into his tenure following a sudden move across the country. He slept on couches for weeks before he had enough for a room in a shared house where his possessions were limited to an old footlocker salvaged from the reclamation point, a mattress in the corner and a side table that doubled as a desk.

“Here we go…” Old Ben, a man of his fifties grunted as he turned to face the news. The bartender was yet to decide if it was the man's back or the stool that creaked. 

Like clockwork, the five o’clock advert for the H.U.S.C came to life, prompting eye rolls from those whose applications wouldn’t even get looked at, let alone given a courtesy call.  

“Do you dream of being more? Of living life on the edge? Of traveling out of this system and to planets of indescribable beauty? If so, your security is written in the stars, amongst the ever-increasing crew of the Humanities United Space Cooperation, where all employees are granted permanent employment, and a pension just filled with benefits!”

The bartender took one glance across the pub, swallowed, then turned back to the screen with a sour expression on his face. The pile of change remained in front of him, as for some reason his attention was stolen by the television.  

“Experience a lifetime of once-in-a-life opportunities while climbing through our ranks. With an agreed vacation schedule, you’ll have ample time to explore and create new relationships. You'll have access to all your current amenities, and more! Work away your medical debt within months, and receive reasonable coverage for any work-related accidents.”

The bartender moved to return to his role, but found himself entranced as the advert continued beyond it’s scheduled end.  

“But there is more to life than working in our administrative offices, or our advanced reclamation points. Are you hungry for adventure - do you want to pilot your very own vessel? Apply for a position as a Sentry, and you too can join the parades and earn recognition as a protector of our precious cargo. Regardless of your background, the H.U.S.C has a place for you. We welcome all with warm beds, permanent employment and freedom of food. Join today, and experience your full potential!” 

The front door creaked and slammed, though the bartender kept his eyes on the patrons. 

“Bunch of bollocks, isn’t it, boys?” Began a hearty conversation in the corner, whereas a group of dismayed older drinkers turned back to their interrupted game of cards. 

Warm beds. Food security. 

Adventure. Another life-

“And what good have they done for us?” A drinker chortled above the rest. 

He was right. 

With a sigh, the bartender reached for the pile of change, but a large, plastic package was slapped on top, trapping his arm to the bar. The bartender sighed and made eye contact with the perpetrator, his heart stuttering when recognition flashed across his mind. 

“You’re not seriously thinking of signing up, are you Freddie?” His brother, Anthony, questioned, his eyes critical above a smog mask. Judging by the suit, he had traveled directly from his job in the Centre - the hub of all intergalactic freighting as per the planet's designation. Freights and distribution, a stop off for many but otherwise a pleasant location to rear a family if you’re in the right neighborhood. The suit meant he was serious; here for a demand instead of a brotherly chat. 

“Don’t call me that.” Frederick grunted, finding the well of spirit bottles intriguing as his arm was still uncomfortably contorted across the bar. His back began to ache. 

“You chose the name, brother.” The elder straightened. “Still on for tomorrow?”

The wedding. 

“My wedding.” 

Right, how could he forget?

“The family will be there.” Frederick stated, less than a question and more of an expression of distaste. “Last time we were together, we didn’t exactly get along.” 

“It’s the piercings.” Anthony deadpanned, eyeing his brother's most recent eyebrow piercing. 

“Sure.” He said. “Even you don’t like them.” 

“Why do you care so much about what I think?” Shrugged Anthony. “I accepted you.” 

Frederick’s expression went dark. Acception didn’t necessarily equal humility.

“What do you want?” Frederick said, taking his arm free and leaning against the shelves behind him. 

“I’m dropping off your suit.” 

Frederick eyed the package hesitantly. 

“I still haven’t said I was going.”

“It’ll look better on you if you do show up.” His brother tried to reason. “If you don't, people will think less of you.”

The barman picked up a rag and began to clean when his manager Ryan entered the floor, seemingly looking for something. 

“And you’re people?” Frederick spat. “I’d be happier here.”

“Here?” Sneered his brother, “In the beautiful sub-suburbs of Hephaestus Ten?”

“Anywhere. Anywhere but near them.” 

“Fred, they don’t care enough about you - not enough to start shit at my wedding. This isn’t about you. Look, you’re my brother, and It’s just a few hours. Hell, I’ll even send you some cash for taking the time off and transport expenses. I want you there.”

“To play happy families?” Frederick huffed, crossing his arms. “To pretend everything is alright when previously our own mother told me she wished I was never born? I know things would be easier without me there, so why are you trying?” 

“Fine, maybe that is what I want. Just for one day, one day out of hundreds every year. Will you give me that?” Anthony snapped, then sighed as Ryan took to the nearby till to count the change. 

“Leena has been asking about you - my brother. Says that since I’d met her family, she should meet all of mine. We’re not gonna be here forever, you know.” He picked the suit up, and handed the package over. Frederick didn’t meet his eyes as he took it. 

“I’ll send you the cash. See you tomorrow.”

And with that, he left, smog mask back in place long before he exited the building. Frederick could feel Ryans eyes on him; he’s obviously seen the exchange over the cameras and came down to investigate. 

“I need tomorrow off.” Frederick said in the direction of his manager. “Family emergency.” 

“Funeral?”

“Might aswell be.”

#whumptober2023 #“They don't care about you.” #whump #anst #surro writes #surro writes: The Sentry and the Strays #original work #transphobia tw #depression tw

[the-graves-family]

2. Thermometer | Delirium | "They don't care about you."

Ace is sure it's been a few days since he's begun feeling off. With the curtains drawn, he can only measure the passage of time by the number of times Aaron leaves the house and comes back. It's an imperfect system, since his brother doesn't work seven days a week, but it's the best he can do.

Aaron has been… lenient. Disturbingly so. Ace hasn't been able to get up and do his chores for a couple of days now, and his twin hasn't come in to yell at him.

He hasn't come in to make sure he's alright, either.

The colder he gets, the harder it is to think. There's a headache behind his eyes that makes any sleep he can manage restless, and the exhaustion is really doing a number on him. Sometimes, he forgets it's just him and Aaron. He forgets why Father or Uncle aren't here, helping him.

Why no one is helping him.

A hand against his forehead startles him, and he blinks, barely making out Aaron's silhouette framed by the light spilling in from the hallway. It's warm, feels nice against his skin. He feels like he's slowly freezing to death, muscles trembling and teeth chattering.

He can't make out Aaron's expression, which is probably for the best.

"Aaron?"

The hand withdraws and his brother makes a noise, a small hum, which Ace takes as permission to keep speaking.

"'M cold."

No reply. Which isn't unusual. He thinks. He's not… sure, anymore.

"D'you think 'Ian can come an'— an' hug me? He's warm." There is a slight whine to his voice, soft as it is. He wants his older brother. He's warm and he gives good hugs. Ace thinks Aaron’s staring at him, but he can’t tell. It’s hard to keep his eyes open, and the light hurts.

“Fever’s really fucking you up, isn’t it?” Aaron’s voice feels cold. It’s not nice. Ace already feels too cold. He just wants to be warm again. “Ace, why would Adrian ever hug you? He doesn’t care about you, remember?”

And he does.

Through the haze of the fever, he remembers being cast aside. Remembers all the times he desperately needed help and nobody came. It makes his chest hurt like it hasn’t in a long time.

“None of them do. That’s why you’re here. With me.”

Ace remembers he hates Adrian.

“So you’re going to get better. And then you’re going to regret making me take care of you.”

#whumptober2023 #no.2 #thermometer #delirium #“they don't care about you.” #oc #fic #abuse tw #(aaron) #(ace) #(writing)

[artfulacrostic]

WHUMPTOBER DAY 2 BAYBEEE

crowds and puppets, dying in a fire

Jon wakes up again, and realizes that he must have drifted off to sleep. There's a voice somewhere in the background, but it's too faint to make out.

It isn't Nikola. Her voice, Jon would recognize anywhere. Not that it's even hers. Whose voicebox is sewn into her throat? Did they die quickly, or did the pain stretch out interminably, and leave the poor victim wishing for death? The voice gets louder. He feels like he recognizes it, but that doesn't mean anything. Nothing means anything in the Circus. Jon squeezes his eyes shut even tighter.

"—see? He's fine," the voice whispers audibly as its owner opens a door. It sounds annoyed. That is not ideal.

+

Post-Circus-kidnapping, Jon is not having a Good Time.

+

Whumptober 2023 Day No. 2: “I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.” Delirium | “They don't care about you.”

#whumptober2023 #no.2 #delirium #“They don't care about you.” #the magnus archives #fic #skin tw #skinning tw #the stranger tma tw #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #bad things happen bingo #my bad things happen bingo card #square: sneezing #tma #artfulacrostic #r speaks #r tags

[jedi-lothwolf]

Whumptober Day 2: "They Don't Care About You."

Fandom: Nimona

Summary: A story from when Ballister was younger. Todd never was nice to him, even when they were young.

Waring: Some violence

Ballister didn't want to be here. He didn't want Todd to be looking over him. He felt small even if he was only a bit shorter than him. He held him to the wall, not letting him do so much as move.

    Boldheart looked past Todd to his fellow knights in training. They had never helped him before so he didn't really know why he tried.

    Sureblade grabbed Ballister's face and forced him to look at him, "they won't help you."

    Hands wrapped around the man's throat, "They don't care about you."

   Pulling his arms up, Bal clawed at Todd's hands. He scratched himself but the marks on Todd's hands were worse.

    The world started to feel strange. He eyed the other who had all gone back to what they had been doing but faster.

    That's when he realized, they truly didn't care about him. Here he was being choked out and they would rather finish what they're doing then help. They would rather let him suffer then do anything at all.

    They other trainees sure but what about Ambrosius? What about him? And the Director? Did she care? The queen? The one who believed in him from the beginning, the one who gave him a chance?

    Did they pity him? Did they care? What would he do if they didn't? What if he was alone after all? What if Todd was right?

    The world started to fade. Ballister tried kicking at Todd but nothing worked. As his vision blurred he stopped fighting so hard.

    After a moment Todd tossed him to the ground. Leaving him unconscious on the dirty floor.

    When Ballister awoke on the floor, alone, he didn't bother getting up yet. He lied on the floor knowing he needed to get up anyway. He stood and looked at the wall then to the rest of the room.

    Meeting his eyes in the mirror felt cold and lonely. But he was lonely. Ballister walked over to the mirror and punched the glass. Then, with a bloody hand he walked towards the door.

    No one had come to look for him. Maybe Todd was right he thought, maybe no one cared about him.

#whumptober 2023 #nimona #no 2 #“They don't care about you.” #whump fic #fic #whump #Nimona whump #ballister boldheart #boldheart #ballister #Todd #thoddeus sureblade #todd sureblade #thoddeus #violence

[its-my-whump]

Whumptober 02

“I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.” | Delirium | “They don't care about you.”

You don't need to read the whole story. Everyday can stand for its own. And that poor soul has to suffer through every single one of them, I promise!

Hummingbird 02

(Story starts here)

There was the hart partition wall, than the cool tilts and now it felt... soft. Everything around was more soft, than it had been. Cotton touching his cheek. It was warm like him, too warm. Fingertips brushed over tightly nitted texture.

That were the first things that came to his hazy mind. A quiet humming somewhere above, but it sounded like being muffed by something, or far away.

His shoulder sank into that soft surface. He was laying on his side. His body was rocked gently, a static sound lolling him in. Something was moving. But it was so hot in here.

The humming was cheerish, sounded friendly, but far away.

Sam tried an attempt to open his eyes. They were so heavy. It was dim, little artificial lights, big sources of light passing above., everything blurry. Than the pain came, a pulsing in his head rushed in. At the same time a shiver overtook him. He felt freezingly cold all of a sudden. With a moan he tried to move away from the moving sources of light and the pain, closing his eyes again. Suddenly he felt sick to his guts. Or he just registered, because his body finally arrived in reality? It felt like he was coming down from the flu. His stomach was empty, this kind of sick-empty without appetit. His clothes stuck to his body, he felt soaked. But he must have cooled down again and now was shivering slightly under the blanket, he just realised its existence.

Every muscle in his body seemed to be made out of lead. Rearranging his position was near to impossible. Another moan escaped him by the attempt. His head was hot and definitively going to explode soon. Everything was so blurry. He thought he was laying on a rocking boat.

The humming had shifted, was a bit louder now. A big, warm thing... a hand brushed over his forehead. It was grounding, it felt good, it was comforting in his state. Sam tried to open his eyes again. With every blink he registered more of his surroundings, but details still vanished in his blurry vision. He was looking through a fog. His body was rocked by another cold wave.

Apparently, he was in a moving car, not a boat. The little artificial lights, he had seen, were indirect lighting of a consol and the big one's were streetlights passing over. So he thought. It was more like a dream, or watching a movie with half closed eyes.

It was dark outside. Sam was on the backseat, his head on the passenger side, his feet behind the driver. Slowly his head put the pieces together.

'He had passed out in the club. Maybe, he was in a taxi on his way home?' His mind reasoned. "Home?" He whispered more to himself, then out loud. But his mind was too confused. He wasn't even sure if it was a question for directions or a wish. Sam felt miserable and really sick. Another shiver shock him, but his hands were clammy and digging into the blanket for some stability. A whisper from the front seat. He couldn't really make out the words or the meaning, but it sounded something like. "All.. these... years, I c..ll out... name, but y... won't c...ll back, till t..day." But that was making no sence. Maybe the radio was playing and he mistook it. His head was just too clouded anyway.

The hand on his clammy head was still slightly ruffeling his hair, it was heavingly cool on his hot forehead. Sam felt so miserable, he inwardly was longing for a hug. But he had no family anymore or a girlfriend right now, so his own arms wrapped themselves around his shivering torso against their own leaded heaviness. "Home?" His hazy mind formed and pushed over his tembling lips.

'Wait!... A Taxi?... But why would a randam driver touch him for comfort?'

Suddenly Sam's eyes widened in panic. The thought making its way to his muffed brain. His only natural reaction was to go completely stiff under that hand. He couldn't see for the hand was blocking his view of the driver. 'This wasn't a taxi. The interior was too fancy, the fabric too expensive. Taxiseats had another surface, easy to clean. Who's car was this?'

The hand on his head had stopped moving, as had the car. Around the passanger seat, through the windshild Sam could see a foggy red light. His heartbeat was hammering inside his chest, the slight shivering had suddenly turned into his whole body shaking from adrenaline. His breathing sped up too. He couldn't control his body going into full panic mode.

It was now or never. With his feet he pushed the blanket away to the other side of the backseat and his arms went up defensively. But his muscles were stiff, his arms and legs unnaturally heavy, his movements much too slow. He hadn't had really pushed the foreign hand away, as it only had stopped moving midair a few inches away from him. Sam's left grabbed for the doorhandle above his head, but his system was still flushed with whatever was in that drink and he was exhausted from puking his guts out.

The hand, that had been soothing, comforting, grounding him mere moments ago, was the exact opposite now. It came for him, but instead of pulling his hand from the door handle, it went straight for his left upper arm and wrapped around it like a vise. It pushed down on his already existing big painful bruise from his fall and encounter with the rumble on his work shift last night.* Instandly Sam's hold on the doorhandle losened and his complete arm went limb, when white hot pain exploded. His scream was muffeled, while he jerked his head towards his left shoulder fighting to controll that pain. Desperate puffs didn't really help to get through this cruel moment. He needed a second to brace himself, than flightmode took the upper hand again. He trashed and kicked, trying to pull away. The grip around his arm tightend, but Sam knew, this was probably his only chance. In his violent struggle, he bumped his own head against the rear passanger door.

The pounding in his skull had been overtoned by his panic reaction, but now it was back. He was dazed all of a sudden. His free arm went to his tuft reflexively. Over the concert inside his head he hadn't registered, that the hand around his already bruised arm was gone.

A sting in his left tight and the last remains of fight left him. His pounding head went into a stupor in seconds and he felt his heavy muscles getting even heavier. It was scary, but soothing at the same time. He couldn't react anymore, he couldn't fight, he couldn't move at all anymore. And he just didn't want to. His hand slipped from his head and fell down flabby. He didn't feel it hitting the floor of the vehicle. It wasn't a part of him anymore. His hammering heartbeat seemed to have been cut into half by whatever was injected in his leg.

His surroundings got blurry again. A last aspirated "Home?!" escaped his lips. Sam wasn't able to move his neck, so the only thing he really could see was a diffuse figure behind the wheel out of the corner of his eye, the head was looking at him, maybe some movement in his face. Sam really couldn't tell.

"Home? They don't care about you. Actually, there's nobody who cares about you out there. But don't worry my little hummingbird. I do."

The fuzzy traffic light changed from red to yellow. The man was humming and scarly it sounded soothing again.

The yellow blop turned green and than everything turned black.

TBC

Hummingbird previous / masterlist

*explained later (05)

#whumptober2023 #no. 2 #“I’ll call out your name #but you won’t call back.” #delirium #“They don't care about you.” #OC #drugged tw #kidnapped tw #hummingbird #whump #writing #whump writing #whumplr

[tweeksandturns]

WHUMPTOBER DAY 2

Prompt: "They don't care about you."

Word count: 2003

Warnings: Vague mention of Suicide, Last Life spoilers, slight gas lighting.

If you would not like to read anything including the above written warnings, then do not click on the "Keep Reading" option below Please.

If you are continuing though, Please enjoy :D

When Bdubs had returned to the snow fortress, he hadn’t expected a party of people to already be there. Tango was to be expected, considering he was a part of team BEST. Or well, BET now that Skizz was gone.

But he didn’t expect Grian and Joel to be there, looking at the destruction there creation had caused on Bdubs home.

And Etho’s…

Lizzie was also there, grouping with her husband turned murderer but still husband.

He squinted when Joel turned towards him, elbowing Grian and motioning towards where bdubs stood in a crater, which had once been a wall.

Grian smiled, the manic smile that was rather common on red lives. It had different connotations for different people, for Joel and Grian that smile was insane bloodlust, hidden in pure joy. For Lizzie, it was a thrill, maybe something new exploding, or chasing someone to add to the reds. Tango was hard to tell for Bdubs, but if he had to guess it had something to do with revenge.

And bdubs smile was meant to be intimidation. Covering concern and fearful waiting, for he knew he was one mistake away from his last life being taken from him. Needless to say, his intimidation didn’t work on any of them.

“Oh guys! Look what the wolves dragged in.”

Tango and Lizzie turned from their respective spots, and Tango smirked upon seeing their ‘visitor’.

“Oh, there you are, Bdubs! I was wondering when you’d get here.” The sarcasm in Tango’s voice didn’t phase Bdubs, but the expression, the underlying anger, had Bdubs fighting not to shake.

“Yeah, Yeah, I’m here now, what did ya want? I’ve got places to be-”

Grian and Joel looked at each other, and Tango took a step forward. “Bdubs I don’t think you realized, there is nowhere for you.”

Bdubs blinked.

He would have expected this from Grain or Joel, or maybe Lizzie depending on her mood, but Tango had been a part of team BEST surely he knew?

“What are you talking about Tango? You were apart of BEST I have you, and I have Etho-”

Tango’s smirk, once longing for blood, turned a new kind of sinister, and Bdubs found himself silenced.

“Bdubs, Bdubs. No one in team BEST cared for you. Not Skizz, before he died, not me, not even before you took my lives from me, and not Etho, No matter how much he may have pretended.”

Bdubs blinked, and took a step back, temporarily escaping Tango’s approaching proximity.

Etho cared for him. He had fought for Bdubs, with Bdubs, they had never broken apart, even when Bdubs was first red. Etho had bargained his freedom to give Bdubs a life-

Etho had given him a deal. Kill one of the reds in front of him, and return to reclaim his life.

Reclaim Etho and the snow fortress.

“No, no- Etho- you cared- you cared for me and your only saying that caused your red. He had to have cared-”

Tango cackled, bending backwards, and behind him Grian and Joel snickered.

He was almost breathless when he stopped laughing, still fighting some stray giggles. “You don’t- You don’t actually believe Etho cares? Do you?! You’re expendable to him. Just another thing he can use to survive.”

Bdubs stuttered, his brain almost spinning, trying to find the words to prove them wrong, that Etho cares, that-

“Etho loves me.”

The other reds blinked, as though they hadn’t expected to hear that before Grian spoke up.

“Bdubs he- he's not loyal, he doesn’t love you. He’s just gone and joined another team, the second BEST fell.”

“He’s a survivor Bdubs, BEST was just another way to keep him alive. That’s what he does.” Tango chimed in, and Tango looked like he pitied Bdubs.

Bdubs felt like he was trapped, with the four other reds staring at him, and he realized that they could kill him at any second. He wouldn't stand a chance, no matter how much bravado he showed off. They were a team and Bdubs couldn’t kill a team.

…But he could join the team. Afterall, it would be easier to get a kill when they didn’t expect it from him.

But what was the point of joining their team if Etho would take him back? Surely he could just wait until they let their guards down. And Etho, Etho would smile and they would do their usual playfight spiel.

Etho cared for him. That was a fact, it had to be.

“Of course he’s a survivor. He’s an OG! He’s practically- he- he knows how to fight. And he does care for me, he avenged me when Mumbo killed me-”

Grian snorted. “He was a boogeyman too.”

“-He bargained to get me a life from Scar!-”

This time Joel interrupted him, snickering as he went. “He only got you that life because it was easier to use you when you didn’t want him dead.”

“-He- He wants me by his side! He loves me!-”

Tango frowned a little, filled with pity, and dealt the last blow to Bdubs defense.

“And yet he didn’t give you any of his own lives, even when he had four. Just let you take from others, used you as a battering ram, to deplete them so he could deal the final blow. You were a tool to him Bdubs. That is why he didn’t give you a life.”

Bdubs didn’t speak after that and Tango took a few steps forward smiling again as he wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“But Etho doesn’t matter. You have us now! Another red on the team!”

He didn’t reply, but Grian approached him while Joel and Lizzie went to explore more of what had previously been their home.

And if he had to guess from the way Tango had shifted forward, they almost didn’t hear his next words.

“…I never wanted to kill Etho.”

Tango let go of his shoulders, and both he and Grian looked at him in surprise.

“You-? You didn’t want to kill him? But he was right next to you, you had every chance with your sword-”

Bdubs grabbed Tango's arm, almost crazed, and he basically screamed, “No! I tried to get him to kill himself, because I figured, we would be great reds together, and we could survive, but I never, never, tried to kill him! I never wanted to kill him!”

There were tears now, and Tango tried to wipe them from his eyes, but Bdubs was too frantically stuck in his head to sit still for long enough.

“I-I don’t- I don’t know how to survive without him!- It was always him and I, and- and- and he took care of me, but now I don’t know-”

Grian grabbed Bdubs, almost looking legitimately concerned, and shook him. By the time his violent shakedown had ended, he had stopped crying, instead trying to just steady himself and keep from falling over.

“Listen Bdubs, we will take care of you, you’ll be fine! And if, If, it comes down to it, then we will fight Etho instead of you, okay?”

Bdubs silently nodded, before he snorted.

Tango squinted. “What are you snorting about, mister?” He was suspicious, but trying to hide it, although Bdubs had been on a team with him long enough to know.

“It’s just,” Bdubs snickered again, before continuing. “You were talking about how no one cared for me, and you two just came to my side the second I showed I was feeling bad.”

Tanga and Grian blinked, before Tango started letting out his low cackles, and Grian pretended to look angry.

“We care about you Bdubs, but we are red lives, it doesn’t come that easy. You know that we will be bloodlusting and planning once again soon.”

Bdubs sighed, because he was right. The reds had few moments of clarity, usually whenever the game was on the verge of a pause, but these moments never truly lasted long.

And Bdubs was a red life. He could already feel the manic desperation for blood washing over the feelings he had exhibited.

“I’ll join your team.”

Grian and Tango smiled.

— — — — — — — — — — — —

They had been roaming for a little bit, had run through the spruce forest, and were in some hills, and for the life of him, Bdubs couldn’t stop thinking about the promise Etho had made him.

Lizzie was geared, but she was behind the rest of them. Except Bdubs of course. And her diamond leggings could easily be beaten with his Iron sword.

Tango, Grian, and Joel were distracted, talking up ahead.

Bdubs wouldn’t give up on Etho.

No matter what they said, Bdubs needed Etho, like oxygen to any human being, like any warrior wielded an axe with a shield.

And he had a wither flower in his inventory, gained from the wither that Grian and Joel had spawned, and wouldn’t it be poetic if Lizzie were to die to something they had given him.

When he shoved the wither rose into the ground below her, he honestly expected the wither effect to last for longer, for her to not be so on edge as to instantly respond to the pain.

When she spun around, yelling his name in surprise, Bdubs felt almost overwhelmed with the bloodlust running in his veins, lighting his body up with adrenaline like a Christmas tree.

And he raised his iron sword and sliced.

And behind him Tango squeaked in surprise.

And Joel and Grian were screaming different things, probably along the lines of “Bdubs, What are you doing?!” but Bdubs couldn’t hear them.

And Lizzie was shooting him with her fireworks, those fireworks that had taken one of BigB’s lives from him, but Bdubs couldn’t feel it, because she was right there, and the panic was starting to overtake the anger and rage that had been in her eyes.

Before he knew it, Lizzie was falling, and the sound of thunder filled the air.

Everything froze for one second, and the next Bdubs was running and Grian was yelling after him, and all three of them were shooting arrows-

One of the arrows hit him, Lodging itself in the side of his leg, and he winced, but forced himself to keep running.

And he had killed Lizzie, he had done it, and Etho would send him a life and Bdubs would be with him again-

There was a sharp pain in his stomach, and the next thing he knew, he was back at the Big Eyes shopping district.

He laid there for a few minutes, confused on how he had gotten here until the memory hit him.

Etho hadn’t given him a life. He had died trying to return to him, and now he was back on hemritcraft. Bdubs let out a broken laugh, and he sat up, planning to get back to work on his projects.

And the redstone was slower than usual, because his brain felt scrambled, and the person who would always help him wasn’t there.

And his horses were quieter than usual, as though they could feel how lonely Bdubs felt, and they tehmselves missed the man that would occasionally come to feed them.

And his builds felt off, like something was always missing.

He just didn’t know what it was, until he was working in there shopping district one day, and Etho walked up to him.

Neither of them said anything for a bit, Bdubs more focused on trying to know if this was an illusion, considering the fact that it had been a week since the last session he had died in.

…but sessions only happened once a week.

Etho broke the silence. “I couldn’t win for you.”

Bdubs blinked at him.

And then broke down crying again, hugging Etho to get as close as possible, as he sobbing into the tallers chest.

Etho pulled him close, using his usual tricks of keeping Bdubs in his own mind, and for a small, small bit of time, Bdubs finally felt okay.

#whumptober2023 #no.2 #“They don't care about you.” #last life #life series #traffic smp #ethubs #“He loves me”

[smallbeefwrites]

misinterpreted

Wild cant understand anyone and therefore thinks everyone hates him. a continuation of Stranger.

whumptober 2023 - day 2 "they don't care about you."

fandoms - legend of zelda, linked universe.

Link - or was it Wild now? - had been with this group for a week. And he hated it. The whole group seemed to default to Hylian in conversation, and it made him feel excluded.

None of them seemed to have picked up on the fact that he couldn’t understand enough of the language to join in with the conversations meaningfully, either. They probably just assumed that he didn’t like conversation, and were giving him space. The only one that was trying to communicate with him was Scarf guy, who he now knew was named Warriors. But that was only to give him a run down of the situation. Afterwards, the older man had been dragged off by the small blue child, wind, who was chattering excitedly in such rapid fire hylian that, even if the kid had said some words that Wild knew, he couldn’t tell. And after that, the most anyone said to him was to catch his attention when he lagged too far behind the group.

Nobody had made any effort to communicate with him, and that just encouraged the spiralling thoughts in Wild’s head. He needed to talk to someone, to prove his brain wrong, to get his thought to shut up as they screamed “They don’t care about you” on repeat every time he let his mind wonder.

But making that first move himself, reaching out to join in, that was terrifying.

* * *

Warriors was worried about Wild. When they had first come through the portals into the clearing, Wild was unconscious. The kid had stayed unconscious for a good few hours whilst the rest of the group got over their panic and introduced themselves. And by the time he was starting to gain consciousness, the rest of the group had already shared a meal and become acquainted with each other.

And then it turned out the kid probably didn’t even know Hylian, the only language the rest of the group had in common. It also didn’t help that the kid seemed overwhelmed by the size of the group. So Wars had opted to gove the kid some space to let him get used to the noise, hoping that he would reach back out when he was ready. But it had already been a week, and Wild just seemed even more stressed out than before. The kid hadnt even shared any of their meals with them. Which, fair, none of them could cook for shit, but the kid hadnt even sat with them whilst he nibbled on his own travel rations.

So he made up his mind. If wild hadnt approached someone by the end of the day, he was approaching wild.

* * *

It was getting too much. Warriors was watching him, and it was too much. He was being judged. This was worse than not being cared about. The group actively did not want him here.

Wild looked back across the group, and noticed the man watching him again. His breath caught in his throat as he waited for the scarf wearer to look away from him.

This was getting too much, his brain was screaming at him, he wasn’t wanted, he couldn’t stay.

Without another moments hesitation, he bolted into the trees.

* * *

There was a sudden movement at the back of the group, so warriors turned back to see what was up, only to glimpse the end of Wild’s cloak disappearing into the woods on either side of the path.

That was not good. He quickly alerted the rest of the chain before taking off after the boy. Very shortly after, he saw a wolf streak past him, the beast looking so much like Midna’s shadow construct that he was surprised to not see the imp riding on its back. He just hoped that the wolf was friendly, not being able to do much whilst on the trail of a frightened teenager.

It took about 10 minutes of dashing through the trees to find a sign of the kid - a scrap of dark fabric, embroidered pattern matching Wild’s cloak, snagged on a bush just outside a hollow in the roots of a tree. Taking a moment to calm his breathing and compose himself, Wars crawled into the tangle of roots, stopping when he found a slightly bigger space. He looked up, only to see Wild curled up around the Wolf from before, eyes rimmed rid from where he had obviously been crying. And the kid was glaring at him, warily.

It took a second for him to remember the correct word order, Sheikah was not his first language. “Hey, im not going to hurt you” he said slowly, gently. The kid just glared at him suspiciously.

“Why not? You hate me.” Wild accused, voice raw and hoarse. Where did he get that idea? Wars couldn’t think of anything he’d done to make the kid think that.

He thought over the words he was going to use carefully, he didn’t want to upset the kid too much. And this would be hard enough if the kid could understand Hylian. Wars just hoped he had enough practice in sheikah to do this right. He smiled gently at the kid, keeping his body language as open as possible in the tight space. “No i don’t. Why do you think i do?”

“You didn’t talk to me. You kept glaring at me. You didn’t invite me to eat with you.”

Now the captain was no stranger to actions and words being misinterpreted in the worst way possible, but it was still a blow to the gut whenever he found that it had happened. How was he going to explain this to the kid? Who was now hiccuping back sobs. This just kept getting worse.

He slowly reached his hand forwards. “Is it OK if i touch you?”

The kid shrank back against the wall, burning himself deeper into the wolf’s fur. That was a no then. He drew his hand back.

“Thats alright. I wont touch you if you don’t want me to.”

Not sure what to do next, they sat in silence in the hollow, the only noise being Warrior’s and the wolf’s breathing and wild’s attempt to not cry in front of someone he thought hated him. Wars isn’t sure how long they sat like this until wild finally spoke again.

“You hate me. So why did you come after me?”

“I promise you, i don’t hate you. I was waiting for you to come to me when you were ready, i didn’t want to stress you out. I promise ill talk to you more if thats what you want”

Wild looked at him, a small glimmer of hope in his eyes. “You mean it?” and damn, did his voice sound so small. It made the teenager sound more like a child. And really, wasn’t that a punch to the gut, that he’d made a child think that.

“Yes, i promise. And you can eat with us too. You didn’t need an invite for that.” he held his hand out towards the kid, and this time, Wild grabbed it, pulling himself over the wolf and into Warrior’s lap, crying. They stayed like that for a while, letting wild calm himself down. Once the kid was breathing steadily, Wars tapped his back to get his attention.

“Now do you want to come back to the group with me, im sure they’re all warried about you.”

He felt Wild nod against his chest, the movement accompanied by the slight rattle of the chainmail underneath his tunic. “Wolfie comes too,” the kid mumbled. So the wolf had a name. He wasn’t allowed to refuse that request now.

#whumptober 2023 #no.2 #“they don't care about you.” #legend of zelda #linked universe #lu wild #lu warriors #beef writes fanfics