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#“learning everything ain't what it seems that's the thing about these days”

serickswrites · 7 months

Text

These Days

Warnings: kidnapping, restraints, blindfold

Caretaker had collapsed at their desk, exhausted from the countless hours spent looking for Whumpee. They would not rest until Whumpee was found. Could not rest.

Because Whumper kidnapping Whumpee had been all their fault. And they couldn't live with themself if something happened to Whumpee.

Caretaker was almost too exhausted to move. Their eyes burned with each blink. Their body ached with each movement. They needed to sleep, but couldn't stomach the idea of laying still and doing nothing in the hunt for Whumpee.

But they could sit for a few moments at their desk and go through their mail. That they could do.

Caretaker put a couple of bills aside as a "later" problem. They shredded the junk mail. All that left was a small envelope. Nothing remarkable about it other than their was no return address.

Caretaker's mouth went dry as they opened the letter and several polaroid pictures tumbled out. "Whumpee," they whispered as they stared down at the pictures in their hands.

Whumpee was blindfolded and tied to a chair in each photo, their face pinched with fear. A knife flashed closer and closer to Whumpee's throat as the photos progressed. The last one, a photo with a knife pressed flush against Whumpee's throat though no blood had been drawn, had writing on the back.

"Tick tock, Caretaker. How long do you think it will take for them to bleed out? How long will you mourn them? Come find us and we can find out together."

Caretaker jumped up at Whumper's words. They didn't have time to sit here. They had to find Whumpee. Had to stop Whumper. There was no time to lose.

#serickswrites #whump #whump writing #whumpblr #whump community #tw restraints #tw kidnapping #tw blindfold #tw knife #whumptober #whumptober 2023 #whumptober day 9 #“learning everything ain't what it seems that's the thing about these days”#prompt: polaroid #queue

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one-piece-aus · 7 months

Note

Hi~~

Is it ok if i request Shanks for day 9 of your whumptober? hope u have a good day~~

Yes, of course! Enjoy your evening with this angsty read ^-^

Whumptober Day 9

Shanks x Reader

You sat in your office drinking black coffee, ignoring the taste in favour of keeping your body running, sleep can wait till you're done here. You just got photographic evidence of who your mystery mastermind is, you were just waiting for the pictures from the polaroid to develop.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you heard a phone ring. Your brows knitted in confusion, the office phone stay still, you checked your pocket for your work phone but it remained silent. Wait- you pulled out your personal phone and sure enough there it was, ringing in your hand. Your sore eyes soften once you see who it is and you answered.

"Shanks, you know not to call me while I'm at work."

"Ah come on sweetheart, it's 2 in the morning, I'm sure no one's going to complain about a little call from the outside." As always, Shanks' easygoing nature pulls a smile on your lips. "Why are you in so late anyways? Isn't the latest you stay midnight?"

"I just needed to oversee something before I call it a day," you tell him as you swish your drink around.

"Don't stay there all night, I wanna see you later." There's that charming tone you could hardly resist.

"What? Got bored drinking with your buddies?" You teased, spinning around in your chair.

"I can only stand looking at their faces for so long," he laughed at his own joke. "But seriously I'd like to see you, you've been busy all week."

"It's called working Shanks, something you wouldn't know."

"It's called being a workaholic, normal people get off at 5."

"Hmm, maybe but mysteries won't slove themselves," you said glancing at the spiderweb board behind you.

"I'll buy you something from the bakery~" Shanks bribed.

"Deal," you agreed and ceased your spin when you face your desk again. "I'll see you soon."

"See you soon, sweetheart."

You ended the call and pocketed your phone, already missing his voice. How did you go a week without seeing him? You frowned, staring at the black coffee in your mug. Did you really bury yourself in your work that much?

"Out of coffee already, boss?" Tashigi asked as she walked in and noticed you were staring inside your mug.

"No, but I'll need a refill soon."

"Well, if you're staying up because you're waiting for the photos to develop, worry no more!" Tashigi held up a box and placed it down your desk.

"You only collected the ones taken from 11pm to 2 am, right?" You checked reaching your hand in the box and pulling out a few pictures.

"Yes," Tashigi nodded.

You hummed in thought as you shuffled through the pictures. Most were low quality and blurry, the figures in them were covered in shadows. Halfway done looking through the photos and you felt this technique is proving to be a lost cause when you saw the next photograph.

You dropped it, letting it land on you desk as chills crawled up your back. Disbelief painted over your features as you stared down at the picture smiling at you.

Of all people- no, surely you're just sleep deprived. You hardly had any sleep this week, you're just halluctionating, right? Yeah, there's no way it's-

"Tashigi-" You picked up the photo and handed it to the woman. "Can you describe the features of the person in the photo to me."

"Uh- well..." Tashigi adjusted her glasses as she began examing the picture. "It looks like a red-haired man in his late 30s."

It's as you feared.

The man in the photo is Shanks.

Tag: @roseoftrafalgar @bookandyarndragon

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firapolemos05 · 7 months

Text

No devil hides beneath my bed

Part 1, Part 2

@whumptober | Ao3

No. 3 "Like crying out in an empty room, and no one's there except the moon."

No. 9 "Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days."

CW: NSFW (minors dni), noncon, captivity, pet whump, mind control, forced kiss, forced arousal, past whipping, licking wounds, mentioned death of a minor, multiple whumpers, creepy whumper, intimate whumper, object insertion (used to hurt and punish), spanking, bath scene, nudity, forced stripping, disassociation, restraints, future forced prostitution, whumpee injures whumper, begging, non-human whumpee, 'master' as a title, thoughts of self-harm, muzzles

(This fic is a direct sequel to my other story Still your heart, so much to prove so I recommend reading that before this. And of course Please Mind the Content Warnings.)

Tonight was not a fight night, so the Champion was rather alarmed when the silence of the dark cell was broken by the approaching footsteps of several people. Perhaps there was an event he'd forgotten? Did Master have company tonight, someone she wanted to show him off to? Was she angry?

The notion made him shiver as his blood ran cold. He thought he'd been good since the last time he was punished. Memories flooded back from that horrible night at the fighting pit. A too-young body lying cold. The bite of shackles and Master's whip. The wounds on his back were still sore.

It's why he was here, in a cold, dark stone box rather than his more comfortable quarters. His disobedience had cost him that privilege. He scrambles off the pallet serving as his makeshift bed, pushing himself to his knees as the door begins to open. But it was only a couple servants and one of the manor guards.

"You are being summoned to meet the master’s guest. She has ordered that you be presentable."

Most of the tension and anxiety drains out of the Champion’s shoulders. Ah, so it was just some company for the night. Nothing too out of the ordinary. He wasn't in trouble. Master wasn't angry.

He rises to his feet, following them down the familiar corridor to the baths. If he was being displayed to a guest, then he needed to look his best. He may be a fighter who got himself covered with blood and bruises for other's entertainment, but outside the caged arena, all he was was Master Scarlet's pretty little trophy. And pretty little trophies shouldn't be soiled with dirt, or unkempt hair, or the smell of old stone that enclosed his cell.

None of them speak a word, not during the walk, and not when they enter the bright, cold marble room. The servants because it was unnecessary; they knew the procedure. The Champion because he was not permitted to speak to them. Or at all, and he learned long ago what doing so without permission would get him. The guard takes post at the door while the other two strip the tiefling of the sparse fabric adorning his body. The enchanted gilded gold shackles chaining his wrists, along with his golden collar, are left untouched.

The hot water is a rare comfort. It chases away the chill of the stone tiles where he kneels, glittering black streaked with bold white. The servants pour the water and lather various scented oils and lotions into his skin and hair.

There was once chains dangling from the ceiling, forcing him upright as they hosed him down.

He lets his mind drift off. The air smells of roses and apricots.

He'd snap at any hands that drew close, until they forced a muzzle over his head and sedatives into his bloodstream.

Indifferent hands scrub a bit too rough at his still healing back. It hurts, he doesn't dare move.

' "He's forgotten that he is first and foremost a slave." '

It's far from the worst bath the Champion has ever had. He at least now has the privilege of being allowed to clean his lower half on his own.

He buries the memories back down.

One moment the warm steam curls up his skin, and he lets himself get lost in the feeling of being somewhere else. Someplace with no chains, cages, or whips to assault him. Someplace he can finally see the sun as much as he wants.

Then the next moment, he blinks and there's the touch of smooth, cool fabric. The water is gone, and he's standing as the servants dress him. By now he's already accustomed to the disappointment. Pants of sheer black chiffon embroidered with tiny red gemstones secured with laces up his thighs. Opaque black cloth with golden thread hangs from his waist, front and back. And finally a sash of red silk, set across his lower back before looping around to criss-cross his chest. The gold hooks fastened to either end clipping onto his collar.

It's certainly on the more revealing side of outfits Master has made him wear. But if the tiefling's opinions had mattered at all to her, he wouldn't be here.

Then came the jewelry. Dainty gold chains and more red gems. Draped elegantly around his arms, hips, horns, and tail. Tonight's guest must be expensive clientele if Master is decorating him this much. But they're finished with preparing him, so perhaps the Champion can finally get this meeting over with.

A lift brings them up to the main part of the manor, the churning of the mechanisms a pleasant break to the absent voices. Its doors open, and their master is waiting for them. All three kneel upon stepping off the platform.

With the Champion’s head bowed low, he feels his master’s eyes rove over his form, before she gives a pleased hum. "Good work with him, you two," she praises the servants. "You are dismissed. Follow me, my pet."

She leads him down one of many hallways, lined with various artworks and shining sconces. It's unfamiliar, and while he's supposed to keep his eyes cast downward, he can't help but take in the decor. Usually when Master presents him, he's brought to the dining room or the parlor, or some other gathering area for guests.

She stops at a pair of wooden doors, and once opened, gestures for him to enter.

It's one of the guest bedrooms.

A crackling fireplace bathes the space in a warm glow, colluding with the darkness leaking in from the night outside the windows and balcony doors. The glow lights up the rich browns of the wooden furniture, carved with ornate motifs that must be the bane of whomever was tasked with keeping them polished and free of dust. His eyes are immediately drawn to the large four-poster bed. The columns at its corners taper to spire-like points above the canopy frame, from which hang silk drapes of burgundy. A cushioned bench sits at its foot, and a plush rug of intricate patterns ('looks like Muthamian make,' says a far-off point of his mind) spans the area of dark hardwood surrounding the bed.

"Ah there he is." The voice pulls the Champion’s attention back to the opposite end of the room. A figure rises from an armchair in front of the fireplace, and years of training make the tiefling drop to his knees, eyes down. "My my. You have my compliments, Scarlet. This is quite the ravishing introduction."

Something about the man's tone doesn't sit well. It twists a knot in his stomach. He can't pinpoint exactly why, it's not like this was the first time someone made condescending remarks towards him.

"I figured this would be to your liking," Master replies. One of her fingers strokes the spikes on his horns, flicking a dangling gemstone. "You did mention wanting to see him in red."

Footfalls approach, and black leather shoes with gold buckles enter the Champion’s vision. A snap of fingers tells him he should look up. Pale stockings, slate blue pants rising high on the waist, a white dress shirt frilled at the collar and cuffs, and a smiling face framed in brown hair. In his hand was a wooden cane with a curved ivory handle.

"A pleasure to formally meet you, Champion," the man greets, words rolling with a thick Mężnydzik accent. Short, rounded ears speak human and high-quality clothes plus a well-trimmed beard speak high class. "Ivan Mitreski, I am an associate of your master."

"It's nice to meet you, sir." The Champion’s reply is automatic.

"Ivan here is rather new to the business with the fighting ring. He was witness to some of your most recent matches."

"Indeed, I was quite impressed. Though it's a shame you weren't able to handle killing that last dark elf fighter."

The comment feels like a slap to the face. Why did he have to remind him of such a failure, a horrible act he was forced to commit?

"His disobedience did come as a surprise," Master states, the coldness of her words further chilling his nerves. "But he won't be foolish enough to repeat such an offense, isn't that right, pet?"

"Yes, Master."

"Why don't you show Ivan what happens when you disobey." She snaps her fingers again and points down.

The tiefling bites his lip and quiets the part of his mind that bristles with humiliation. He hated this command. Lowering his chest to the floor, he crosses his shackled wrists to rest his head on, then raises his hips with an arch of his back. With nothing but a single sash of silk over his torso, there was barely anything to hide the tender stripes now on full display.

He awaits Ivan to make some sort of remark, relieved that he at least didn't have to see the man's face. But instead he was nearly jolted out of his skin as Ivan touched one of the wounds.

"So sensitive."

He wishes he could bite him. Touch still stings.

"If there’s anything else you find yourself desiring, feel free to ring one of the servants. Though come straight to me if he gives you trouble."

'Wait, what?'

"Of course, Scarlet. Again you have my sincerest gratitude for this."

And without a single regard for her pet's confusion, Master turns and departs the room. The Champion was left breaking position to stare at the closed door in bewilderment.

Master never left him alone with a guest.

'What's going on?'

"Your master has allowed me to spend time with you for a little while." Ivan sits on the bench in front of the bed, cane to the side, and gestures for him to come closer. "Don't be shy now, I'd like to talk with you."

The expression was soft, inviting. A warmth washes over him, easing his nervousness and tension, and he crawls over to kneel in front of the man. Ivan just wants to talk with him, almost no one ever wanted to make conversation with a slave. This would be a nice break from the norm.

"What would you like to talk about, sir?"

"I'd love to hear more about you. Tell me, how did you come to be Scarlet's fighter?"

He usually didn't like to think about this, the memories were often unclear, but with clarity began tragedy. But Ivan wanted to hear what he had to say, so it'd be rude to not answer his questions. "I don't remember everything, sir, but I did something unlawful and got caught. Master says she brought me here as punishment."

"I see, I see," the man nods, no judgment in his tone. "And how long have you been here?"

Another one he didn't know for sure. Prior to the fighting ring, Master had him held under some sort of spell that left him nothing more than a feral animal. Time and language meant nothing. He had no idea how long she kept him like that. "A few years. Sorry I don't know the exact number. But I do know I've been brought to the fights for about four years."

"And from what your master tells me, you became the Champion not too long after joining. That's quite impressive."

"Thank you, sir."

Simple questions like that Ivan asks him. Back and forth they went. The man asked him his age (Master says he's in his early 20s), if he had any family (not anymore), where he grew up (the outskirts of Altruek Atea). The question if he'd ever been in a relationship before seemed a bit off, but when he answered in the negative, Ivan didn't press further, so it was probably harmless.

"Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?"

That catches him off guard. Without thinking, he looks up and Ivan is leaning forward, arms resting on his knees, leveling the tiefling with a strange smile. He doesn't scold the Champion for making eye contact.

It was a compliment, right?

"N-not really. Master sometimes calls me that, but not in a serious way."

"Well that's a shame." His hand reaches over and brushes a lock of black hair behind a pointed ear. "I'm positive you'd be quite popular, little devil."

The touch was gentle, affectionate even. He should’ve detested it. He always did when Master touched him like that, a controlling caress meant to remind him of his place. But somehow this felt different. This stranger . . .no, Ivan's hand and words didn't frighten him. This was the first normal conversation he's had with another person in years.

"Thank you," he replies, as that was the polite thing to say.

Ivan smiles some more, then pats his thigh. "Why don't you come sit with me here?"

He . . .he wanted him to sit on his lap?

"Master says I'm not allowed to sit on the furniture."

"Oh I'm sure she won't mind as long as I'm allowing it, right? Plus she's not here right now, isn't she?"

That did make sense. If Ivan is requesting him to sit with him, it must be okay in this case. And yes, Master had left them alone, with the order to call her only if her pet was being disobedient.

He doesn't want to disobey Ivan.

Rising to his feet, he walks closer. He'd been expecting to simply sit on the man's leg, so he jolts in surprise when Ivan takes hold of his arm and waist and pulls the tiefling onto himself.

"Relax, Champion."

That was a little hard to do now when he was straddling the man. This seemed too close, too . . . intimate. "Is. . .is this what you wanted?"

"Yes, you're being very good, Champion."

Good, Ivan had said. That was reassuring. He wants to be good. So he continues to be good and not move when an arm wraps around his waist. When a hand cups his chin.

When Ivan purses his lips and angles his face towards his. The pressure of the hands holding him told the Champion he should allow himself to-

'What are you DOING?!'

A bubble bursts. A sudden brick shatters the veil that was the charm spell from his mind. Just in time for his wits to scream at him to get away and his body to respond.

It was a trick. A cruel lie.

He shoves at Ivan's chest, pushing the two of them apart. His shoulder takes the brunt of the impact as he fell, but that hardly mattered now. Putting distance between them, the tiefling scrambles back, then faces the man with a snarl.

"Get the fuck away from me!"

The moment those words leave his mouth, he realizes he'll be made to regret it.

Ivan's face holds no trace of that once kind smile. Only cold disappointment.

"Well then," he begins, standing up and dusting off his shirt, as if the Champion pushing him somehow dirtied it, "I had thought you would've liked to have this the easy way but it appears that isn't the case."

His hand traces a sigil in the air, one all too familiar, and for the second time that week, the Champion feels his mind shut off.

The average charm spell is valued for its subtlety. It falls over the mind like a friendly embrace, the warmth of an inn, a pair of rose tinted glasses. Most people won't even recognize the change until the spell lifts, and certain mages could make it so that their victims won't find out at all.

But a dominate spell holds no such features. It does not need to be subtle. It forces itself onto the mind like a muzzle and cage, locking down the conscious so that the body is a pliant little puppet.

So the Champion can't question it, can't fight back, when Ivan orders him to crawl forward. A hand grasps his jaw and the tiefling is incapable of resisting when Ivan leans in and presses into him with a possessive kiss, devoid of the faux affection. A tongue worms into his mouth, and even through the spell he tenses with revulsion, a small whimper escaping.

Ivan purrs into his ear when he withdraws. "Oh I'm definitely going to enjoy you tonight.” He turns away to drag the bench away from the bed before facing him again. “Be a good boy and kneel right here for me, facing the wall. Arms raised."

His body moves on its own, against his will. He takes his place on the mattress as commanded, lifting his arms over his head without a word. He can only wait in terrible silence as Ivan fixes his shackles to the canopy frame. The man then retrieves several cords of silken rope, tying his ankles to the bed posts. Even his tail was restrained to his leg to keep it out of the way.

The spell goes as easily as it came, allowing the Champion’s awareness of his predicament to set in.

Trapped. Vulnerable. Exposed.

Too similar to the position he found himself in mere days ago. The ache in his back grew into a throb until he could practically feel the stone pillar against him and smell his own blood.

"Wait." At this point, Master Scarlet usually wouldn't allow him to beg. The damage had been done and he needed to be taught a lesson. But Master wasn't here and maybe Ivan would show mercy. "Sir please, I'm sorry I re-. . . I disobeyed you. Not the whip again, please, anything but that. I can't-"

A hand on his horn pulls his head back, and he cuts himself off to bite back a pathetic sounding mewl as Ivan licks a wet stripe up the shell of his ear. "You beg quite nicely, little devil. Rest assured, I don't intend on lashing you."

The Champion’s thoughts are caught between distrust and relief. He wants to believe him. He can't begin to imagine how painful it would be for his wounds to be assaulted so soon after. That punishment had been agony, he can't handle it again. Is Ivan telling the truth or only trying to lure him into a false sense of secur-?

Something touches his thigh.

His gaze shoots downward and Ivan is undoing the laces in the silk.

"What are you-?" he begins to say, fear tainting his voice, but the man presses a finger to the tiefling's lips and orders him to be quiet. The undone threads bare more skin from thigh to hip, and soon the pants are tossed aside.

It's when the black cloth is removed, with the red in quick succession before he can protest, that the pieces fall together into a vile puzzle.

No.

The revealing outfit, Master leaving them alone, the charm spell, the lurid stares and honeyed words on his looks, the kiss, the fact that he is now naked as the day he was born with his legs spread.

No. NO!

"Oh did you figure it out?" The damning chuckle accompanying that question took a sinister tone. A harsh squeeze of his ass shocks the denial right out of him.

The Champion jerks away, body trembling in revulsion and terror. "Don't touch me!" But he can't go far, and the bindings hold tight.

Hands latch onto his hips, and Ivan pressed up against him. To the tiefling's dismay, he can feel the man's hardened member against his thigh. "Let's make something clear, little devil. Your master has given me full permission to use you to my desire. So I have full allowance to touch any part of you I want. Understood? So I have a question for you."

He's prepared to ignore it, or say some lie or refusal depending on what the question is. But then Ivan runs his finger up the length of his tail.

"Is it true tiefling tails are quite sensitive?"

An unfamiliar sensation rushes up his spine. His breath hitches in his chest. A strange heat begins to build up within him.

"Judging by that reaction, I'd say my presumption is correct." And Ivan continues his caresses with a heightened vigor.

What is this?

His tail is sensitive, and each stroke is sending jolts of . . .some feeling throughout his body. It makes him shiver and bite down on his bottom lip, the heat in his face darkening his cheeks and ears. It pools in the region between his legs and he tries to close them to no avail. His toes curl. He can't even thrash his tail to dislodge the offending hand, whose fondling is clouding his mind into fuzz. His brain keeps saying this is wrong, invasive; he doesn't like what this sensation is doing to him.

So why does it feel good?

Each time he tries to pull away, some semblance of his body resists him, tries to lean in for more of this pleasurable touch ('No, this is not pleasurable. You're not enjoying this.') He tries to ignore it. Ignore the touch, ignore the hands and chains. Instead he bites his lips until blood drips down his chin, digs his claws into his palms until they bleed, and focuses on the pain.

And it almost works, if the fingers hadn't been replaced by a tongue.

The Champion's vision floods with blurry stars and the sound he makes is some cross between a gasp and a moan. He would feel ashamed and disgusted with himself if his senses weren't being overwhelmed by his tail being licked and nibbled and dear gods one of you please burn that fucking thing out of Ivan's fucking mouth.

"Oh, you like this don't you? That won't do."

He wishes he could tell the bastard to go fuck himself. This was nothing likable. This was wrong and violating. But unfortunately, he was having a hard time convincing his body of that. He refuses to look down and see how else his body is responding to it. He doesn't even hear the second statement over trying to stop himself from whining and panting like a dog in heat.

When the mouth leaves his tail, it's a breath of relief. Until he lets out a pained yowl as it introduces itself to the wounds on his back.

Saliva stings abused flesh and the Champion writhes in agony. Ivan begins with a stripe across the small of his back and works upward, aiming for all twenty-five. Meanwhile his hands resume their torment of the tiefling's tail, assaulting the poor creature's body and mind with a simultaneous barrage of pleasure and pain.

"S-stop, pl-please!"

"But you taste so good, little devil."

He doesn't want to. He doesn't want any of this. But the touch won't stop.

The whip would be preferable to this, and that terrifies him.

Each stinging lick sends him squirming, arching his back desperate to escape. With every movement, the dangling jewels mock him with their chimes. They only entice his assailant on further. Further. A painful stripe running between his shoulder blades. Strokes at the base of his tail that almost make him break. It's maddening.

And then a single digit slips under to edge the rim of his entrance.

NO!

The Champion tosses his head back under a surge of panic, and the tip of his horn catches Ivan right in the face.

The hands release his body with a grunt of pain as the man stumbles back. Looking back over his shoulder, he sees Ivan hold a hand to his bloodied cheek and lets himself bask in the satisfaction. Serves the bastard right, he wishes he gouged out an eye.

But that vindication soon melts away as reality comes to slap him in the face with the enormity of his actions.

He hurt one of Master's guests.

Oh gods, he hurt one of Master's guests.

The dread returns in full, and only grew when Ivan composes himself and levels the tiefling with a knowing look.

“I- I didn’t mean-.”

“Save your breath. We both know that’s a lie.” He pulls a white handkerchief from his pocket to dab at the wound. “Now I am going to go fix this little mess you made, and when I return, it will be with your master."

"Wait!"

Ivan exits the room, ignoring the Champion’s protests.

His gut twists into a knot. If he wasn't chained up like this, he would've crawled into the smallest space he could to hide.

It's been years since the last time he lashed out. The last time he'd bitten a woman's hand for yanking on one of his horns. The punishment he received for that kept him from ever repeating that mistake again. Until now.

Master's going to be furious.

Whatever's going to happen next will be horrible.

It's futile to try and break free, but he tries anyway. He yanks at the chains holding up his arms, tries to wriggle his legs free of the ropes. Hopes that something will give.

Nothing.

The dread takes hold, squeezing at his insides like a snake constricting prey. The fireplace continues to crackle, yet soon there's more sounds filling the Champion’s ears. It takes a moment before he realizes what he's hearing is his own hyperventilating breath and the rattling of chains from how violently he's shaking. Terror takes root and his fear and anger feed it.

He doesn't know how long they keep him waiting. It simultaneously feels like both eternity and a brief moment.

Footsteps echo from the hallway.

The Champion’s never been the religious type.

'Dear gods.'

The door opens.

Maybe now's the time to try.

'Please don't let this happen.'

"Did you think that just because I'm absent from the room means you can ignore the rules, pet?"

Ever since Master Scarlet first captured him, her voice always felt like icicles stabbing into him. Sharp and cold. Even her words of praise held an icy undertone he could sense under the mask she placed over her apathy.

Scoldings felt like getting trapped in a blizzard.

"It was an accident-" A force he cannot see slaps him across the face.

"I don't recall giving you permission to speak."

He snaps his mouth closed, burying the hopeless frustration far down so it wouldn’t show. It was always a gamble with her. Sometimes she would ask the tiefling questions expecting an answer, others were only rhetorical. It was up to him to guess the difference.

"Besides, it doesn't matter if it was an accident or not. You're in no place to strike my guests at all. So you are going to apologize to Ivan, now."

His training egged him to submit. He messed up big time and punishment would be worse if he didn't say he was sorry. But anger clawed up his body like a cornered cat. Why should he have to apologize to the bastard? Ivan stood besides Master, puncture wound nowhere to be found, not even a blemish. That only further boiled his rage. Years have gone by without him managing to lash out, and now that he did, there's nothing to show for it? Ivan's wound is gone without a trace, yet the Champion has scars (from far more painful wounds) that will last the rest of his life.

It's not fair.

Does Master know what Ivan's planning to do? Maybe he should tell her. Perhaps she'll stop Ivan to prevent her pet from getting damaged like-

' "Kill the girl." '

No. She wouldn't care.

She definitely knows already. Ivan no doubt has informed her. She doesn't care. She forced her Champion to kill a little girl, of course she wouldn't have anything against this. She doesn't care.

He forces down the rage. The injustice. Forces it down into the deepest pits of his gut. He can't show it. Getting angry is showing disrespect. Hissing his words is showing disrespect. Giving an apology that doesn't sound genuine is showing disrespect.

He growls with venomous sarcasm, "I'm sorry for hurting your fragile pride, sir."

He's not sure how his grip slipped.

By the way her eyes narrow and fill with disappointment, Master doesn't find it funny. "So easily you forget your lessons. Did we not just have this discussion the night of your recent fight?"

' "He's forgotten that he is first and foremost a slave." '

It doesn't even target him, but the Champion senses her magic take. The shackles above him unhook from the canopy frame and suddenly he's being pulled forward by an unseen force. He falls onto the mattress, arms outstretched, and is helpless as the chains magically meld into the headboard. The position leaves no doubt as to what is meant to transpire.

He won't let himself feel regret. The bastard doesn't deserve it. But the little voice in his head still yells at him. Calls him an idiot for not obeying.

The bed is soft. Far more comfortable than anything he remembers sleeping on in his life. It feels nice against his face. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could lose himself in the rare luxury enough to drown out everything else around him. Like with the bath.

A hand grasps onto his horn and his head is pulled back so he can face his Master standing beside him.

"Let me make this clear, since you're having trouble remembering." Her finger presses into his side and traces a shape. The Champion can't see, but he knows exactly what she's touching. The branded initials of his master’s name seared into his flesh. "What does this mark mean?"

That definitely isn't a rhetorical question. There's an answer that his training won't allow him to forget. "It means I belong to you, Master."

"Good. And given that fact, it should be obvious by now what you are. I own you, pet. You are my slave. You have the title of Champion in the ring because I trained you. You fight for the entertainment of your betters since that's your purpose. To obey your master and entertain however your betters wish you to, whether it be fighting, being a pretty little server, or more private favors. Do you understand?"

His blood runs cold. 'Private favors.' A sugar-coated term for sexual favors.

Did-

Did that mean this would be a regular thing now? Would there be more people than Ivan who would use and violate him? More pain and more punishments if he refused or didn't satisfy? More-

He feels sick.

In his panic, he forgets to answer Master's question. She snaps her fingers. He senses Ivan behind him again but he can't see what-.

A sharp yelp rips from his throat.

Something is pushed inside of him. It's cold and hard and covered in some viscous substance. His body instinctively tenses around the foreign object, that strange heat already beginning to sink in.

"If you continue to defy your purpose, expect to receive this punishment more in the future."

This-.

This heat isn't the same as before with his tail. It lingers in the area it started and intensifies. It festers first into a sting, then a burn.

"Take this, Ivan," Master says as she hands over a flexible metal rod, the correction device she often uses on her pet. Said pet barely notices through the tears filling his eyes. He clutches onto the sheets with a desperate but futile wish for escape.

His insides are on fire.

What the fuck did they put in him?

"Strike him."

The rod cracks across the top of his right thigh, an acute twinge that gets drowned out by the burning spike as he tenses against the fiery intrusion.

It hurts in such an intimate way. He should’ve known; the rod by itself was too easy a punishment.

"First question: what are you?"

The moment he requires to register the question is taken as hesitation, and upon the next strike, the pain only grows worse and worse until it’s an effort to keep his words coherent. “S-stop!"

Smack!

"What are you?"

"Please, I'm sorry!"

Smack!

"Make it stop! Master, please!"

So this must be what the Infernal Hells are like. How ironic that a being of fiendish blood faces his own hell on the mortal plane. Devils did always like to scope out evil, and Master Scarlet had enough of it to last an immortal life. Hellfire would be a measly candle compared to the sear that tears through him.

"What are you?"

He can't even try to turn onto his side, the way his legs are bound won't allow it. The rod strikes an already tender welt and he howls.

"A sl- a slave," he finally chokes out, because this is too much. He'll do whatever Master commands to get this to end.

But the rod falls down on him again and Master repeats her question. So the Champion cries out the horrible word again because that is the right answer, isn't it? It has to be, there's nothing else it could-

Oh.

"I-I'm your sl-slave!"

There's a pause as Master acknowledges the correction, and her frown lifts into a pleased grin. "Again, louder."

Tears streaming down his face, he screams as the agony flares once more. "I'M YOUR SLAVE!" He wants this to end, he can't take it anymore.

Pathetic. Weak.

"Good boy. Second question."

He hates her. There is not a single fiber of his being that doesn't roar with contempt for this woman. He mentally prays to every god he knows to curse her with an excruciating death.

"What is your purpose?"

A far off point of the tiefling's mind hears this and thinks, 'To rid this world of you someday.' It's a wishful thought, wrapped in a fantasy. It barely registers to him through the fire.

"T-to obey a-and entertain!"

Smack!

All he can focus on right now is the pain and doing what his master wants.

"Say it the right way, pet."

"I'M TO OBEY AND ENTERTAIN!"

His face hits the mattress, and it takes several seconds of heavy, uninterrupted breathing and no more strikes of the rod for him to realize Master finally released him. It's over. His breath is short and ragged, throat full of cotton. He tastes salt and iron from his tears and ruined lip. His wrists probably don't look very good either from how much he tugged on the chains. He doesn't want to know what his ass and thighs look like right now. The rod doesn’t usually draw blood, but there’ll definitely be some nasty marks that’ll swell.

Another sudden touch startles him, and he doesn’t have the energy to stifle the whimpers as that awful whatever-it-was is pulled out of him. He nearly cries again in sheer relief as that burning presence fades.

"You have thirty more minutes, Ivan."

That picture of relief is shattered. Ivan is still here. Ivan still hasn’t finished with him. This isn’t over yet, they aren’t done hurting him yet. This man is still going to rape him.

"Oh that should be plenty of time," the man replies, unfazed by the tiefling's broken wail.

"I would hope you have some form of covering, or else that cream will give you a bad night as well."

"Worry not, I've come prepared."

"Good. Have him repeat his rule until he no longer hesitates. Let me know how he performs."

With that final damning note, Master Scarlet made her departure. And Ivan turned to the battered and crying slave before him, cruely brushing his thumb over a welt before unbuttoning his pants. "Well, little devil, it's just you and me. I'm still waiting for that apology."

The Champion buries his sobs into the bedsheets.

----

They chained him up and muzzled him for his second bath.

He didn't want any more hands on him. No more touch.

But since when did the Champion’s desires matter?

The water could wash away tears, blood, and other bodily fluids. It could not wash away bruises and bite marks that were definitely going to scar. Soreness and pain where it shouldn’t be. Nor could it stop making him feel sick, wrong, filthy, disgusting, weak.

He's back in his cell, lying on his palette curled up in a tight ball. Not a scrap of clothing adorns him, only the dainty little jewels that, with his hands bound behind his back, he isn't able to rip off.

He isn't able to rip at his skin either. To tear away soiled flesh and let blood chase away the phantoms that wouldn't cease their tormenting caress.

Master had stopped by minutes ago to tell him the news. She would be hosting a dinner party in a couple nights, and he would be present.

She informed him of its purpose.

The events of tonight weren't going to be a one-time occurrence.��

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whumpookies · 7 months

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Day Nine: Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days.

Prompt: Mistaken identity

Erol was swapped at birth, kadir believes he is his brother right up to Erol being poisoned by his stepfather and falling off the balcony and dying, series: waiting for you.

#whumptober 2023 #no 9 #Learning everything ain't what it seems that's the thing about these days.#prompt: mistaken identity #whump #hurt #poisoned #shot #injured #recovery

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actress4him · 7 months

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Whumptober 2023 - Day 9 - Obsession

Hey look, another piece for this series! Amazing!

This one doesn't really have any plot, but it takes place sometime after she gets back home from the hotel and before Oliver starts texting her all the time. Thank you to Nox for helping me brainstorm this idea!

Taglist: @justplainwhump , @whump-ventures

Masterlist

No. 9: “Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days.” | Polaroid

Contains: referenced parental death, referenced broken ribs, grief

There’s an album full of old photos buried in the recesses of her closet. It’s one of the only things she has left from her old life. She never had much in the way of mementos or sentimental items, anyway, and she got rid of almost everything that could tie Cady Graham to Cadence West when she moved. She’s never even shown the photos to Janaysia and Devin, some irrational fear that it might somehow put them in danger holding her back.

But sometimes, on days like today when she needs comfort or catharsis or something else that she can’t quite name, she pulls out the album, locks the bedroom door, and sits cross-legged on the bed to look through it.

Her dad was obsessed with this Polaroid camera he found in his parents’ attic when she was a kid. Film was expensive, so there aren’t the copious amounts of pictures that most people take today, but there’s at least one from every birthday, Christmas, and other special occasions, and a few everyday moments scattered in between. On the bottom, white portion of every photo, he’d scribbled the date and a short description in his near-illegible handwriting.

‘Cadence’s 5th birthday at the park’

‘Cadydid’s first day of school’

‘A new bike for my big girl’

The photos continue into her teen years, the years when she thought she knew everything and that her goofy dad and his stupid Polaroids were so annoying. Everyone else was starting to move to digital, but no, he just had to keep up with his obsession of instant-print, horrible quality photos. Her moods swung back and forth at random, so in some pictures she’s actually smiling, and having a good time, while in others it’s obvious that the smile is forced, merely appeasing her dad.

There’s one picture in particular that’s always been her favorite. It’s one of very few in the album that her dad is actually in. Their faces are smooshed together, nearly identical eyes and noses side by side, and the framing is all off. Her dad’s ear and half his cheek are cut off by the edge of the photo. It was his attempt at a ‘selfie’, a much more difficult feat without a front-facing camera, and he was being so ridiculous while trying to make it happen that she was laughing aloud when he finally took it.

That girl in that photo was so innocent, so naïve. She wanted to grow up so badly. Having to do what an adult said instead of going off and living her own life was such a horrible tragedy, or so she thought back then.

If only she knew. If only she realized how short the time she had left with that precious man was. If only she understood how absolutely horrible life could actually be. Cady presses a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob. She would give anything to go back to those days, back to that moment. Back to when she didn’t know pain, when the worst thing that happened to her was not being allowed to date or go to a co-ed party.

Back to when her dad was her protector and hero.

Her finger traces the edges of the photo, carefully swiping across his label - ‘Me and my girl’. She sucks in a shaky breath, hand pressed into her still-healing ribs, and rubs tears away with her sweater sleeve.

“I miss you, dad.”

#whumptober2023 #no.9 #lyric #learning everything ain't what it seems that's the thing about these days #polaroid #original content #fic #parental death tw #broken ribs tw #grief tw #obsession fic #cadence the whumpee #lady whump #lady whumpee #angst #whump series

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evillittlebirdie · 7 months

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The Lies We Want To Believe

Inspired by Daggers of the Mirror by ArtsyBecca.

Daggers of the Mirror is such a fantastic work of fiction. Please go read it. Also, we hold these truths to be self-evident. Gale is a chubby, indulgent bunny Gale is insecure about the aforementioned indulgence Gale uses a glamor spell.

There were few pleasantries in the world more pure than being in love.

At first, Gale was happy to find an educated, kindred spirit in Elisabeth. As slender and graceful as a willow, her body betrayed the amount of force Elisabeth could deliver with a single spell. He couldn't help but find Elisabeth cute when she engrossed herself in a book. Even if the book was found off a corpse or had a molded cover, Elisabeth struggled to let it go. She hoarded magical ingredients and flowers. Lavender was her favorite flower. When Gale offered to show Elisabeth his connection to the Weave, he knew he was planting a seed that could only be nurtured by Elisabeth's hand. He did not dare to think she would reciprocate. It was foolish to hope that guided him. But Elisabeth did return his interest. And even more.

Gale felt like a young man when he walked hand in hand with Elisabeth. Chaste kisses brought a blush to his cheeks every time. They made love in the Weave and physically. Elisabeth not only defended him against Mystra but empowered him. And not least of all, Tara absolutely adored Elisabeth.

It was not all one-sided adoration. Elisabeth utilized Gale as her confidant. Gale could feel his heart skip a beat whenever Elisabeth asked for his input.

Gale remembered entering the Gauntlet of Shar and Elisabeth suddenly freezing. She could not even talk or speak. Once Gale eliminated the possibility of enchantment or poison, Elisbath finally lifted her hand and pointed. It was the rats surrounding one of the alters to Shar.

Later that night, Elisabeth shared with him her humble beginnings as a street urchin. She shared the days of hunger and sleeping in alleyways. She remembered waking up to vermin running through her hair and nibbling at her toes. Once Elisabeth revealed her fear of rats, she told him everything about her life. Gale held her as she shared finding a true family once she attended a school of magic; as she confessed falling in love with an older female sorcerer who let her feelings down easily; and as she revealed her hidden doubts about her leadership.

After that long night, Gale and Elisabeth were closer than ever before.

Despite all of his misgivings and doubts, Gale admitted one last secret to Elisabeth. Gale brought her into his tent (or more aptly, their tent. It had been weeks since he slept alone). He twisted a plain silver ring on his right hand. He prefaced the action with an apology. Avoiding Elisabeth's confused expression, Gale pulled off his ring. Gale had utilized the glamor ring for years, especially since his age began to show. Without the glamor, his true body stood in front of Elisabeth. His hair was naturally grayer, his beard more rugged, and more noticeably, his true frame was nearly forty pounds heavier. He always had a weakness for rich food and decadent pastries. He had a penchant for snacking when he was studying. And the year he spent isolated in his tower did very little to help with keeping slim.

"I'll never take the ring off again. I just wanted you to know who you were truly with," Gale confessed, keeping his eyes away from her face. He couldn't bear to see her disgust.

Instead of disdain or even polite rejection, Elisabeth just reached in and embraced Gale tightly. She buried her face in his chest and pleaded, "Wear it outside if it makes you feel comfortable, but please do not hide yourself from me."

Gale could have wept with joy. He had a beautiful, powerful woman who accepted him. She didn't need him to be a god. She didn't want him to hide his body. They shared the same interests, desires, and emotions. They were in love and nothing could tear them apart.

Gale had to find a way to stabilize the Netherese orb and defeat the Absolute. Once the world breathed easy, he could begin the proper happily ever after. Wedding bells, cake, and flowers inclusive.

***

"Fantastic work today, soldier," Karlach praised, clapping her hand on Elisabeth's shoulder.

Astarion rolled his eyes, "Yes, yes, praise the woman that hid back safely on a high ledge. Not the man who saved you from some brute bashing you in the skull," he feigned dismay, shaking his head in response.

"Oh, don't worry, I have full intentions on properly recognizing your efforts, pretty boy," Karlach grinned, winking her eye at Astarion. The pale elf returned her smile with a smug smirk before the two wandered off on their own. No doubt, Astarion would be thoroughly 'appreciated' by the end of the night.

Lae'zel silently rolled her eyes at the pair before waving Elisabeth off. "Go mount your mate as well. You deserve to revel in your victory today."

Elisabeth chuckled at her companions' antics. As much as she enjoyed her company, there was someone else she would rather spend time with. "Good night, Lae'zel," She ended. She walked over to Gale's tent, seeing the flaps closed. She smiled endearingly. Maybe Gale had taken her advice and was resting.

Typically, Elisabeth didn't like leaving camp without Gale by her side. But Gale deserved the break. Elisabeth was going after Guild thugs. Her magic was enough to ensure solid victory. Sometimes, having more than one magic user was a hindrance rather than an advantage.

Elisabeth approached the tent and pulled the tent flap up, "Gale, sweetheart, I'm here-" Elisabeth stopped herself. Horror paled her face at the sight of... herself .

'Elisabeth' was straddling a shirtless Gale on his bedroll. He was unglamored. His silver ring was cast aside on the ground rather than safely put up. His eyes were closed tight and he was facing away from 'Elisabeth'. The double had Gale's wrists pinned above his head with one hand. With her other hand, she had a blade to Gale's cheek.

"What in the hells?" Elisabeth shouted before taking her staff off her back. At the sudden yell, Gale opened his eyes and turned to face the tent's entrance. In doing so, his cheek cut against the doppelganger's blade.

"Oh, here she is. Brave, brave adventurer back to save the damsel in distress," The replica responded with a mad laugh. Elisabeth's skin crawled at hearing her voice mimicked. The doppelganger's head twisted violently. Familiar ruby-red tones and pale skin appeared. And a devious laugh left the mouth of none other than Orin the Red. She pulled the knife from Gale's skin and ran her tongue along the bloodied blade. "Such as shame...If you only gave me a few more minutes, I could have made a proper damsel of him..." She cackled, disappearing in a shimmer before Elisabeth could brutally hit her with her staff.

"Fucking bitch! I'll kill her," Elisabeth shouted angrily. She tossed her staff to the ground in frustration before rushing to Gale's side.

Gale, who had shown every vulnerability to her, was unable to meet her gaze. Elisabeth placed her finger on the cut along his cheek. "Gods, look at that nasty wound. I need to get Shadowheart." She wanted nothing more than to pull Gale to her chest and never let go. But instead, she forced herself to move away.

But Gale reached up to grab Elisabeth's wrist. "Wait...I need my ring..."

Frustrated, not with Gale but with the situation, Elisabeth tried to pull her wrist away, "I'm very sure Shadowheart isn't going to mind-"

"Not without my ring," Gale insisted, his eyes darting around the floor of the tent.

Elisabeth's eyes fell to the ground where the ring had fallen by the table. She picked it up and handed it over to Gale. The wizard let go of Elisabeth's wrist and quickly placed his ring back on. Elisabeth didn't wait to see the transformation; she just rushed to Shadowheart's tent.

"What's all the commotion? I thought I heard battle," Lae'zel stated her greatsword at the ready despite being out of her armor. She rushed to Elisabeth's side before her gaze moved to Gale's tent.

Even Astarion and Karlach had taken notice. Their weapons were at the ready. And if the situation was less serious, Elisabeth would have pointed out Astarion's backward shirt.

"It's Orin, it was Orin..."

It was all a blur. Finding Shadowheart and taking her to Gale's tent. It was only a flesh wound. And with Shadowheart's immediate intervention, there would be no scarring. Gale responded negatively to Shadowheart's question about additional physical wounds.

Gale was present, but he didn't seem quite aware. He would answer yes or no questions, but otherwise, he was silent. He sat on the bedroll and kept his eyes on his lap. Once Elisabeth discussed with the group about Orin and increased defenses, she was able to speak to Gale alone.

"Gale, what happened?" Elisabeth asked before sitting down on the bedroll next to him. Gale was propped up by several pillows, encased in blankets. By this time of night, Elisabeth would have expected him to remove his glamor ring. It stayed on.

Gale turned to look at Elisabeth, to truly look at her. He grimaced before Elisabeth felt the gentle probing of his tadpole. He wanted to show her something. Elisabeth nodded before she allowed the connection to form.

***

Gale wasn't necessarily 'clingy'. He just felt out of place when Elisabeth left him back at camp. But he didn't complain. He gave Elisabeth a goodbye kiss and sent her off with Astarion, Lae'zel, and Karlach at her side.

After preparing dinner for the members at camp, Gale retired to his tent with a cup of tea, two cinnamon buns, and a book on arcane cultivation. It would be enough to keep his mind busy until Elisabeth returned.

It was after sunset when the tent flap wavered. Gale looked up from his chair in the tent and smiled at the sight of Elisabeth ducking in. "Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," Gale beamed, setting the book on his desk. He got out of the chair and moved in to greet his lover.

"I could say the same thing about you. My darling little pet wizard with his treats," Elisabeth cooed, gesturing over to the plate next to his glass of wine. Only a quarter of a cinnamon roll remained.

Gale chuckled good-naturedly before taking her hands in his own. He pressed his lips against her knuckles before kissing her lips. "Idling the hours away until I could see you again, my sweet."

"You like this, don't you?" Elisabeth hummed sweetly. She took her hands from his. She turned around and loosened the flap of the tent, giving them privacy.

"I love seeing you come back alive," Gale agreed with a nod before sitting down.

"It's more than that. You like relaxing here, studying in safety, indulging in luxury, while I fight for us..." Elisabeth temped with a sly smile on her face, moving closer to him.

Gale flushed as Elisabeth swayed with each step. Of course, she was instigating the prerequisite to a sensual game. "Well, I cannot deny the allure."

"No, you cannot resist can you?" Elisabeth whispered. She moved to him, setting her hands on his knees. She began to spread them and Gale felt his heart jump. "My sweet little Gale, my sweet little lapdog, ready for me after a long day of...violence..." Gale couldn't help but notice the desire in her tone regarding 'violence'. It should have caused confusion or at least hesitation. But then Elisabeth suddenly cupped Gale's manhood through his trousers. The sudden sensation provoked a jerking motion and a thorough distraction from Elisabeth's manner.

"Ah...not quite ready yet," Elisabeth huffed, referring to Gale's softness. "No matter."

"You're eager," Gale pointed out with a chuckle. It wasn't uncommon. They had planned lovemaking ventures. But due to their lifestyle, they often engaged in frenzied trysts. "Just give me a moment, love."

"Well, of course...After today's bloodshed, I wanted nothing more than to find release with my Gale," Elisabeth murmured before she hooked her leg around Gale's waist. She pulled herself into his lap and kissed him warmly on his lips. Gale returned the kiss, sighing as his hands traveled along her back.

"The things I want to do to you," Elisabeth purred against his lips. She ended the kiss before she removed herself from Gale's lap. She gestured over to the bedroll. "Take off your shirt. Lie down."

Gale nodded, his cheeks flushed with anticipation. He was not sure what his love had up her sleeve, but he was eager to partake in it. He walked over to the bedroll and took off his shirt. He folded the article of clothing neatly and placed it on top of the table near the bedroll. He lay down on his back, watching with a smile on his face as Elisabeth sauntered over to him.

Elisabeth lowered herself to his body, straddling him. What a vision. "Ah, one more thing to remove..." She hummed quietly before she took Gale's hand. Gale's heart skipped a beat but he took a deep breath. Elisabeth knew what he looked like and she loved him and accepted him for it. Elisabeth removed the silver ring from his finger before promptly tossing it to the side.

Gale winced as the ring disappeared somewhere on the floor of the tent. "Darling-"

"Oh, oh, oh, my. To see it in this light..." Elisabeth cackled demeaningly. The sound made Gale's blood run cold. The sound was so wrong to his ears.

"Look at you, all plump and lazy. The picture of a spoiled scholar," Elisabeth mocked, a grin forming on her face.

"Ah...love, I don't know what type of game this is, but I'm not...I'm not a fan of it," Gale mustered out, his cheeks red from embarrassment and not arousal.

"Game? Oh, he thinks we're playing a game? Oh if it were only a game," Elisabeth giggled out, her hand moving along his soft stomach. "I'm not playing a game." She pinched the side of his stomach, making him wince and turn.

"Eldritch," Gale stated firmly, pulling from her hand. He utilized their safe word. They came up with the safe word when Elisabeth utilized her strap. They never needed to use it outside of that context. But it had to apply in this situation too. She would stop this and he could shake off the crawling anxiety.

But instead of ending this odd game, Elisabeth only laughed again. "As though you truly have any choice, any right to say no to my observations." Her hands and fingers traveled along his body, squeezing his skin. "Weak, useless, wizard...hiding off in his tent with his nose in a book, stuffing his face with pastries."

Gale attempted to sit up, but suddenly Elisabeth grabbed his wrists. She positioned them above his head and pressed down harshly. Surprised at her strength, Gale could only try to wiggle his way out. "El...Eldritch," He repeated desperately. Even though he knew she heard him, there was a small part that knew that Elisabeth would never purposely hurt him.

"I heard you the first time, Gale. Do hush unless you have something important to say. Maybe someone else would like to speak for once, instead of hearing your inane, self-absorbed rambling. You're almost as bad as the elf. But at least he's a sight for sore eyes," Elisabeth criticized. She sighed, using her free hand to tap her lip, "Now...where was I..."

"You were exactly the type of person I hated growing up..." Elisabeth hissed at him, her nails digging into his wrists, "Privileged, spoiled, egotistical, power-hungry. Sitting fat and happy in their warm houses while people starved and froze in the streets. Craving power with no regard for the little people trampled in their midst."

Gale searched Elisabeth's face desperately. Something had to be wrong. But this was her voice, her words. Everything he feared was coming true. She finally saw him for what he was. The visions of Elisabeth smiling at him, holding him remained out of reach. He sought to hear the sound of her crying his name in passion, the sweet 'I love yous'.

"But...because of my own benevolence...I saw past your shortcomings. I ignored the fact that behind the glamor I was laying with a wretch. To sleep with a goddess's ex-plaything; that is quite a trophy," Elisabeth continued to degrade him, her fingers resting now in his long hair. She pulled at his gray-brown locks. She laughed as she looked him over, "Yes, you're a novelty to me, Gale. A toy for me to use until I properly grow bored of you. Do you truly think I loved you? How stupid, how gullible."

"I keep you alive and comfortable. I shield you against Mystra's wrath. I risk my life again and again and again and again..." She gripped his hair tighter. She forced his head off the pillow and hit it against the ground with each 'again'. The shock overwhelmed any physical pain from the action.

"And I come to the tent I procured, to find my arrogant, gluttonous sloth of a lover unable to get it up on command. Like any other man. I have been too soft on you, little wizard."

He couldn't handle looking at her anymore. Elisabeth who was so young, beautiful, confident, and powerful...She pitied him. And now she finally had enough. Gale forced his eyes closed and turned from her burning gaze.

Even if he couldn't see her, Gale could still hear her. She mockingly laughed at him before letting go of his hair. She kept his wrists together. "Hmmm, well, let's see if we can do anything to salvage this unhappy situation."

Suddenly, something cold, sharp, and metallic was grazing against his face. "Let's see...I wonder if I could do something about this cheek, make it nice and lean."

"Gale, sweetheart, I'm here-What in the hells?!"

***

Both Elisabeth and Gale physically pulled back once the memory ended. Elisabeth felt sick to her stomach. Gale's insecurity, panic, and sadness nearly drowned her. She struggled to keep her composure.

"In retrospect, I should have known something was atypical. You never come to bed without refreshing the lavender satchels," Gale commented.

"That is what led you to believe something was wrong? Not the verbal abuse? If Orin bothered to shake up the dried flowers in our tent, you wouldn't have had a second thought?" Elisabeth fired off her questions in disbelief. When Gale flinched back, Elisabeth cursed herself and her tone. "Damn it, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to...I'm sorry." She scooted closer to Gale and wrapped her arms around him. She was relieved when Gale melted in her arms.

"I am so sorry she hurt you. She's a twisted monster and I cannot wait to kill her for what she has done to you, to us," Elisabeth told him, running her fingers through his hair. "Nothing she said about you was true. I love you. You're brilliant, selfless, gorgeous."

Gale mumbled into her chest, "You're only saying that because of what she said..."

"Fuck that," Elisabeth remarked bluntly, "I'm saying that because it's true. And I'll say it every day until the day I can't speak anymore. Then I'll write it. And if I can't move my hand anymore, then I'll tell you in the Weave. Then we'll die. And I can tell you again and again in the afterlife."

Gale's shoulders began to move into half of a laugh, half of a sob. Taking it as an encouraging sign, Elisabeth made circles in his back with her finger. "I'm not letting you out of my sight for a very long time. So I hope you enjoyed your privacy while it lasted."

Gale looked up at Elisabeth. His dark eyes shined with tears but there was a weak smile on his face, "I was foolish to think for a moment that she was you. I'm sorry."

"You don't get to apologize anymore," Elisabeth tutted, continuing to rub his back. "But..." She sighed, setting her head on Gale's shoulder, "There had to be a reason you were so eager to believe her. Something lingering inside of you."

Gale opened his mouth as though to speak, only for a small whimper to leave.

"Shhh," Elisabeth comforted him, "We can discuss this tomorrow. When you get some rest. I'm here for you. No matter what. I've chosen you. Just listen..." She eased him onto his back and lay next to him. She kissed the top of his head.

"I love the wrinkles around your eyes, especially when you smile or laugh. The gray that peppers through your hair. The way your beard feels between my thighs. Your mind is so brilliant and intelligent. I know you only want to do better for everyone. You want to please. You're not selfish. Someone selfish would not do half of what you are doing. Your body makes me feel warm and safe. You enjoy the fine things in life. That is not a vice. I love putting my head in your lap. I can see why I will need to fight Tara over it. You have pleased me in a way that makes me forget the name of any other man or woman. Not because of what you do, but because of the love that is behind it. You make me feel like the most important person in the room."

"I love you, Gale of Waterdeep, Gale Dekarios." Elisabeth continued to stroke his back. With Gale's even, deep breathing, she thought that perhaps he had fallen asleep from exhaustion. But suddenly, Elisabeth felt something cold and metal in her hand. She looked down to see that Gale had passed his ring to her. His glamor was off. Gale curled into her, his face nuzzling into her chest. Elisabeth clasped the ring protectively in her hand before setting it under the pillow.

"Sweet dreams..."

#whumptober 2023 #no.9 #Learning everything ain't what it seems that's the thing about these days #polaroid #mistaken identify #“you're a liar”#abuse tw #baldurs gate 3 #gale/tav #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic

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spirit-whump · 7 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Eternals (Movie 2021) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Phastos & Sersi (Marvel) Characters: Phastos (Marvel), Sersi (Marvel) Additional Tags: discussion of Ajak's B+ parenting, Grief/Mourning, Complicated Relationships, complicated in the aftermath of knowing you've been lied to for thousands of years, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Phastos and Sersi are best friends Series: Part 6 of whumptober2023 Summary:

Phastos quietly placed his glass of water beside Sersi, then went to grab another one that would remain his. When his task was complete, he sat down across the table from her.

“Want to talk about it?”

Sersi glanced up at him, then back down at the photos. For a long time she didn’t say anything at all, but he gave her time.

Finally, she said, almost in a whisper, “Do you think she really loved us?”

whumptober2023 no.9: “Learning everything ain’t what it seems, that’s the thing about these days.” | Polaroid

#whumptober2023 #no.9 #learning everything ain't what it seems that's the thing about these days #polaroid #eternals #fic #sersi #phastos #spirit whump #canon whump #emotional whump #comfort

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honmyoseagull · 7 months

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Fandom: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Dark Avengers (Comic) (Beware the warnings on the site)

Relationships: Akihiro | Daken/Lester | Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter Whumptober 2023, Prompts 9 to 16, Slow Burn, Feelings-challenged characters, pyschopaths in love, Revenge, Patricide mention, Brothers, Bullsnikt - Freeform Series: Part 2 of OLD DARK DAYS Summary:

Fighting together (or against each other) is easy. Fucking, they learn to manage. Kinda. Since this is Daken and Bullseye we're talking about, they're rubbish at dealing with their feelings, though. And the more they run from them, the more it hurts. Literally. Also, it wasn't what they had planned with their day, this 'Meet the Family' thing.

@whumptober-archive

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faofinn · 7 months

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No.9 "Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days."

@whumptober-archive

Polaroid | Mistaken Identity | "You're a liar."

Harrison hadn't long been back in the UK, slowly settling into life with Tai and Levi. Having a baby around was great, really, but it was a lot. Finn was still recovering too, and Harrison spent most of his time in the basement looking after him. He'd had some plans to update the place too, especially since they were expanding their medical side.

Of course though, Fred always had work for him, and so he found himself in the middle of town in the small hours of the morning. He still wasn't used to the cold, his pacing doing nothing to help. Eventually, money was exchanged and he was good to go. He was grateful to crawl back into bed, immediately snuggling up to his boyfriend’s warmth.

Fred was happy with the outcome, grateful for Harrison doing the legwork for him. He'd missed him, both as a colleague and a son, and he was glad he was back in the UK. He could tell Steve was too, and the way the other man paraded his grandson around was beyond adorable.

Steve had had Levi staying over the night before, Harrison not wanting to disturb him when he'd returned from the meet up. Tai had an early start planned, as much as Harrison protested his departure from their bed. After a little lie in, he decided to get breakfast. The small caf in town was still going, and he'd missed their sandwiches.

It took a bit to drag himself out of bed, though the promise of bacon helped, but eventually he found himself on his way. It wasn't that far of a walk thankfully, his car not yet finished, and his coat was keeping him warm. He wasn't paying too much attention to his surroundings as he walked, just enjoying his time out, but a shout behind him pulled his attention. He glanced over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes. Two men, obviously carrying, and obviously looking for him.

With his own hand on his hip, he stopped. "What do you want?"

"You. You need to come with us."

He laughed. "Yeah, not happening. Nice try. See you later."

They pulled their gun. "We're not joking. You need to listen, make this easy for you."

"Oh, fuck off, will you? I want my breakfast."

“You’re coming with us. Now.”

"Try again another day, eh?" He kept walking.

“I said now.” They said, grabbing his arm.

Harrison pulled his arm back, reaching for his gun. The last thing he wanted was to draw a weapon in a populated area, but he didn't have a choice.

“Now now, let’s not have any of that. Come with us, there’s no need for this to get ugly.”

"I don't know who you're after, but you've got the wrong guy." He smirked. "You've definitely picked the wrong guy to mess with."

“We know exactly who you are, and you’re coming with us. I’m sure the boss will be very happy to see you.”

"Don't think I'm going to go easily." He warned, a split second before swinging for the closest man.

The other men reacted quickly, punches thrown as they tried to subdue him. They’d not expected so much of a fight.

He had warned them, and he had every intention of carrying it out, putting up as much of a fight as he could.

As unprepared as they’d been for quite how much he was going to fight, they outnumbered him, one quickly countering his punch with their own whilst the others came at him from both sides.

Harrison got in a few good shots before he was wrestled to the ground, a knee in his back. His cheek was grazed from the pavement, and the way they held his arms pulled at his shoulders. He swore at them, beyond pissed.

“Yeah, yeah. All talk.” They teased, holding him down.

He turned to look at the one closest to him, spitting at his captor. "You're a cunt."

“Oh, shut up.” They smacked him, hard.

Harrison breathed through the nausea it brought, closing his eyes. Tai was going to be beyond pissed at him for this, and he was genuinely upset about missing his breakfast.

They hauled him to his feet, dragging him down the street to their van and shoving him inside unceremoniously, uncaring if they hurt him as they did it.

His leg twisted as they threw him down, the plastic stabbing into skin. He let out a quiet groan, unable to stop himself.

They didn’t care, slamming the door hard before they drove off, keen to get him back as quickly as possible.

"Yous are cunts, y’know that, right?" He muttered to the one staring at him. "If you've damaged my gun, I'll fucking shoot you with it."

“Hard to shoot with a broken gun.”

"Maybe I'll shove it where the sun don't shine then."

“You’re a mouthy one, aren’t you?”

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

“Stupid cunt.”

"You should be nicer when you talk about yourself."

“Beginning to wish I’d knocked you out.”

"Me too. You're a bit boring." He looked him up and down. "And you're not my type."

“Shut up, you cunt.”

"Hey, don’t be so mean." He laughed, taunting him. "We have feelings too, y'know?"

“Not interested in your feelings. Shut up before I shut you up.” He said roughly. The driving was even rougher, uncaring if they jerked him about, speeding and cornering hard. They pulled up where they’d agreed to meet their boss, with the promise of a big collar, someone who had been working against them for some time, and then dragged Harrison out onto the concrete.

Harrison smirked. "Hope you brought your camera."

They aimed a solid kick to his ribs. “Shut up.”

"Aw, come on." He tried to hide how winded they'd made him. "It's gonna be a good show."

They didn't bother with a retort as the car pulled up, obviously who they'd been waiting for. Two very expensive shoes appeared out the driver's side, and he snorted. Whoever had picked him up was going to be in a world of trouble.

"You owe me two bacon sarnies now." He said, only slightly joking.

Fred froze, turning away from his conversation as he fully focused on the figure on the floor. "Harrison?!"

"Told them they'd got it wrong." He explained. "Wouldn't listen. Think they've broken my gun and my leg."

The guard by him went pale, and Harrison felt some flare of satisfaction at it. Fred moved to his side quickly, crouching to unlock him."Are you hurt?

His eye was already starting to swell and bruise, blood trickling lazily from his nose. He'd had worse, so much worse, but he was currently more pressed that he was missing his breakfast. As if on cue, his stomach rumbled, and he looked up at Fred.

"This is bullshit."

Fred shook his head. "I'm sorry, I don't know what happened."

"Oh? Maybe the dicks over there can fill you in." He grumbled. "I just wanted my breakfast."

“You’ll get your breakfast.” He murmured, straightening up.

“What on earth is this? You better have a damn good reason for what you’ve done.”

"They're vegans." Harrison muttered from the floor. "Got something against the bacon."

"He's…he's someone else. He works for someone else, behind your back. We caught him."

“The people I’ve asked him to work for?”

"No." They took a step back. "With others."

“No, you’re not following. He’s always worked for me.”

"They're not on our roster."

Realisation dawned on Harrison. "They caught me when I was with Slug. After he, y’know, and you wanted it moved." He wasn't sure how much the others were allowed to know, especially since they'd decided that he was rogue.

“I’ll deal with this.” Fred said harshly.

"And buy me breakfast?" Harrison was still on the floor, not trusting his prosthesis to weight bare.

“Yeah, I’ll get you breakfast.” He muttered, before he turned on the guys who’d brought him in. “Do you realise the consequences of your actions?”

"We were just doing what was best. He's lying."

“No, he’s not. How many people saw you?”

"He is."

"A dog walker and two cars." Hars spoke up. "I remember their reg."

“Who else?” He demanded.

Harrison's captors were struggling. "I don't know."

“You don’t know?”

"I don't know!"

“Fucking ridiculous.” He snapped.

Harrison groaned from the floor. "Can you deal with them later? I need Steve to check this out."

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get you back.” Fred said, helping him up. He’d brought men with him, and snapped his fingers for them to deal with the men who’d grabbed Harrison.

He tried taking a step, his prosthesis immediately giving out on him. He grabbed at Fred, swearing.

Fred looped his arm around him. “Careful, I’ve got you.”

"They've fucked it. I can't believe it. I felt it when they hoyed me in the back." He grunted. "It was my new one."

“We’ll get it sorted.”

"You fucking better." He turned to glare at his attackers. "They fucking owe me breakfast, too. I want it out their paycheck."

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em-writes-stuff · 7 months

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flufftober + whumptober day 9

prompts: (...) [love] at first sight + "learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days" + "you're a liar"

858 words

warnings: near panic attack

characters: echo song, robert dedwulf

A book slams down on a table and Echo’s head snaps up from the shelf. His head swivels until its eyes land on Robert, who’s scooting a chair up to the table and opening the book to its middle.

Robert looks up at him and opens his mouth, surprised, “Sorry if I scared you, I didn’t know there was anyone here.” He lies. The first thing he noticed when he walked into the library was the scrawny, cute, curly haired assistant. “Hey, since you’re here, can you help me? I’m trying to learn about King Claude.”

Echo’s face lights up and it bends down to flip through a shelf filled with books. He stands up with a pile and walks over to the table. “These are good to start. Mostly eaten by booklice, but there’s some good information in them.”

Robert shuffles through the books and sets the pile to the side. He takes the top one off and flips through it before setting it in another pile.

Echo’s brows knit together and he tilts his head, “Why aren’t you reading that one?”

Robert shrugs and sets another book on the pile, “Learning everything isn’t all it seems, that’s the thing about today.”

Echo chuckles and shakes his head, could it be that Prince Robert, the meathead, is secretly insightful?

“Besides,” he adds, “It looks like a lot of words.”

It purses his lips together and blinks, of course not.

“Well,” Echo says, “I’ll leave you to it. Hope you get what you’re looking for. Just leave them on the table and I’ll put them back where they go later.”

Robert points a finger at him and clicks his tongue, “You got it, boss.”

Echo’s eyes widen and he looks at the ground, ignoring the heat rising in its cheeks. He clears his throat and goes back to the shelf, picking up a discarded pile from another table and drifting through the shelves to put them back in their place.

He bumps into Zoe and she nudges him playfully, she sings “Someone’s got a boyfriend.”

“Oh, shut up,” Echo retorts. He peeks past the shelf’s corner and glances at Robert. “He’s not even my type.”

“Oh,” she chides. “Your type isn’t hot and stupid? Because I’ve seen some of your exes, and I’ve gotta say? They’re all fucking idiots.”

It huffs and shelves a book before walking away, “Stop it, he’s the prince.”

She raises her hands in mock surrender and smiles, just before he turns away from her, she mouths “Boyfriend, he’s your boyyyyyfriend.”

Echo stifles a smile and glances back at Robert, who moved onto a new book and placed three more on the pile.

Someone walks into the library and rings the service bell. Not even two seconds after, they shout out, “Hello! I need some help!”

Zoe pokes her head past a shelf and holds up an entire new stack of books and shrugs. Echo mumbles and walks up to the desk.

She leans against the front desk and rolls her eyes when Echo comes into view, “Took you long enough.” she pushes off the desk and stands to her full height. “Service was never this bad before. What’s happened.”

It wasn’t a question, but Echo answers anyway. “Old boss died.” he smiles politely and holds his hands behind its back. “What can I do for you?”

She rolls her eyes, “Egg substitute.”

“Do you…need some or do you want to know what you can use?”

“I need to know what I can use,” she says. “This is a library, not the fucking market.”

Echo takes a deep breath and collects itself. “You can use buttermilk.”

She scoffs, “How do you just know that? You’re making something up to get rid of me, aren’t you?”

He shakes his head, but finds a shelf with what it's looking for, “My parents own a bakery. I help out sometimes. But since you don’t believe me,” he flips to the right page and flips it to show her. “See, buttermilk can be used.”

Her face lights up with recognition, “Oh, my god! You’re- oh my god! I’ve been trying to place you, to-to figure out where I know you from. You’re Liberty’s brother, aren’t you?”

His blood runs cold. A flicker of something crosses his face and he shakes his head, “I’m not.”

The foundation shakes, barely enough for her to notice. But she notices. “You are.” she smiles. “I knew it. Oh, my god.”

Echo shakes its head and takes a deep breath, actively suppressing every instinct telling it to run outside and never turn back.

She leans in close to him and whispers in his ear, “You’re a liar.” she pulls back and pops his nose with her finger. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

Slowly, she raises her hand and smoke rises from her palm, “You’re among friends.”

Eyes locked on the rising smoke, Echo’s breathing calms and he exhales shakily. He smiles politely and turns around, “I have to get back to work. Have fun baking.”

She whines and pouts at him, “I was hoping for a good time, but whatever. Be boring.”

#flufftober2023 #whumptober2023 #whump #fluff #em writes #em writes stuff #my writing #echo song #robert dedwulf #not to tag with ocs but #oops i did it again (oc edition)#you're a liar #learning everything ain't what it seems that's the thing about these days #(...) at first sight #love at first sight

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nade2308 · 7 months

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Where do I start with the description for this story?

It all started a year and a half ago after rewatching "Did you see the sunrise?" for the nth time and one day Thistle excitedly started yeeting her thoughts at me, about the gum and that Nuzo chewed from the gum too, not just TC. So this plot bunny was born and I ran with it.

It's funny to think that what started as a story to explain how Nuzo was also brainwashed, ended up being a deep exploration about how Thomas feels about the whole situation and him wanting to help Nuzo out, because he will never leave his friends and family behind.

It was originally supposed to be for the Merry Whump of May 2022 event, but it got shuffled around for other events until I was trying to figure out this year's Whumptober prompts and suddenly it was the right time.

I hope that this story makes sense in the grand scheme of things and that you are going to like it.

Title is from Daughtry's "It's not over".

Thank you @thethistlegirl for all the help.

@whumptober

#whumptober2023 #no.9 #Learning everything ain't what it seems that's the thing about these days #mistaken identity #og magnum pi #fic #past non con TW #thomas magnum #theodore calvin #sebastian nuzo #post episode fan fiction #post 3x01 #past trauma #friendship #make one wrong right #past brainwashing #POW camp #my edit

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lilimonarch · 7 months

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Doctor Hanahaki - The Memories that Never Return [9]

Doctor Hanahaki Prequel: Whumptober Spinoff!

Whumptober day 9: Polaroid and lyric prompt

Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days

"Who are they?"

Sugawara perked up from where he sat in his office, looking at one of the newer doctors who stared at him with beady blue eyes. He had taken a liking to the doctor in his residency, even though Sugawara was about done with his. "Friends, all that," he glanced at the polaroid pictures hung by his desk, full of what appeared to be joy. Sugawara thought Akaashi was strange, his desk had no sentimental decorations whatsoever. If anything, it appeared the younger doctor's only love was the screaming of sirens and the smell of sanitation.

"Can you tell me about some of the pictures?"

Sugawara chuckled a bit. They were both supposedly on their break (though they typically used that to fill out paperwork), he could spare the time. "I mean, I thought learning about stuff was going to be amazing, got accepted into a pre-med program, life was going swell. That stage when you want to learn everything about everything, when you feel invincible." Sugawara pointed to a polaroid with a taller male, a small grin on his face. "I guess that only applies when you're a kid."

One of Sugawara's biggest lessons was seeing his father come home with an alcohol bottle and beating his mother half to death. When he was younger, his mother would hide him in closets, or tell him it was an early night. Sugawara remembers being so excited when his mom told him he was going to have a sleepover at Daichi's house, never questioning why so soon.

Now, he's 16, standing in front of his mother and taking a bottle smash to the shoulder, but defending his mother nonetheless. A shrilling scream as he held his shoulder in agony, but pushing his disgrace of a father away with whatever strength he had left.

His next greatest lesson, seeing an overdose in person. Sugawara's horrid father, he's forever thankful he took his mother's last name. Waking up early before a match on a Saturday, seeing white powder dusting the living room coffee table and the man face down on the carpet. Sugawara has memories of playing in the snow, making cookies with his mother and making a mess with the white flour. This, he knew, was not snow or flour.

Now, he's 17, unsure of what to do with such a disgrace of a man, dead in his living room. This was the one time future Dr. Sugawara Koushi rejected someone in need, ignoring the tears which fell from his face and leaving the house to meet up with Daichi. After all, they had a match to play, a game to win.

Another one of Sugawara's biggest lessons was coming from school after volleyball practice, seeing his mother unconscious in a bloodied bathtub, her mouth hanging out and the color drained from her face as a knife sat on the edge of the bathtub. Sugawara shook his head and screamed, reaching for his phone to call an ambulance as he lifted the woman out of the tub, holding her close. He recalls falling asleep in her arms and her sweet lullabies whenever he had nightmares.

Now, he's 18, holding his mother to his chest as she took her last breaths, her long gone when the paramedics arrived. Crying and screaming as the paramedics pulled him away, him knowing he was truly alone.

"That's Daichi, he's my fiancé," Sugawara chuckled, looking at the polaroid. "He's been with me since day one, through the good and bad. It's important to have those people you lean on, I don't think I would have survived High School without him," 100% the truth. After the death of his mother, Daichi's family took him in. It was odd to be living in his boyfriend's house, (he can't count the times his mother would burst in on their room expecting something, only to find the pair doing homework or discussing volleyball strategies), but he survived that because of Daichi. "My past is rough, wish I didn't see what I saw, but you know, we see a lot worse here than anywhere."

Akaashi looked away. "Dr. Sugawara?" He asked, twiddling his fingers. "You said it's important to have someone to lean on, someone to help you with rough memories." Sugawara acknowledged the worries, tilting his head. "I don't have memories, or anyone. From high school, I mean. Well, I don't really want to learn about who I was back then, either. I want to move on."

Sugawara nodded, laying a hand on Akaashi's shoulder. "Say, I want to start a clinic when I'm properly done with my residency. Sometime in the future, and I could use a partner." He gave the shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You don't have to learn about the past if you don't want to, but I can be that person you lean on. How does that sound?"

Akaashi nodded.

#whumptober 2023 #Learning everything ain't what it seems that's the thing about these days #no.9 #polaroid #fandom #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#fanfiction #doctor hanahaki prequel #the memories that never return #akaashi keiji #haikyuu akaashi #sugawara koushi #haikyuu sugawara #hospital #whumptober #hospital au #a little more graphic than the others oops

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ohanahoku-ao3 · 7 months

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Whumptober Day 9

@whumptober Hope everyone enjoys this short little thing. <3

General Audiences - F/M - Stranger Things

Love Like Sweet Heroin

“You’re a liar, Steve Harrington,” Cindy said, giggling as Steve grinned. “There’s no way.”

“Way.” Steve insisted, holding her hand and rubbing a thumb over the back of her fingers. “I really do think a diamond would look nice here.” He said, glancing at the dainty digits before looking back at her. “Don’t you think?”

Cindy smiled, looking away bashfully. “Am I really the one you want?” She asked, glancing up at him from beneath her eyelashes.

Steve smiled, sliding up the bed to answer her with a kiss. Warmth curled through him down to his toes, his heart racing faster as she responded enthusiastically and trailed her hands down his back. It felt good. It felt amazing like he was on the good stuff from Munson. Pulling back, he leaned his forehead against hers, sharing breaths as he interlocked their fingers. “I want you.” He said breathlessly, pressing closer. “I need you.” He brought her hand up, kissing her fingers one after another as she giggled and wrapped her legs around him.

“Do you, now?” She asked, flattered by his actions and sounding flustered.

“Like you won’t believe,” Steve answered, his eyes meeting hers and holding the gaze. He swallowed thickly around a lump in his throat, reaching up to cup her face. “Will you marry me, Cindy?”

Tears welled in her eyes, and she laughed, wiping them away. “Yes. Yes! Of course, I will! Oh, Steve!” She threw her arms around his neck to pull him closer, kissing him deeply.

Steve laughed, kissing back and closing his eyes as a tear of his own slipped down his face. That heady feeling hit him once more, and he chased it, his hands wandering down to her waist to pull her closer.

At length, they pulled apart, and Cindy got up, exclaiming that she had to call her mom. She rushed out of the room before darting back inside to slam back into his chest for one last, dizzying kiss before laughing and heading back out to the phone in the hall.

Steve laughed and leaned back as she left, listening to her excited squeals over the phone. Slowly, though, the ecstatic rush in his veins dissipated, and Steve got up to head to his bathroom. Looking in the mirror, Steve parodied Cindy’s earlier words back to himself. “You’re a liar, Steve Harrington.” He whispered, closing his eyes as the shame welled up inside him. He knew he didn’t love Cindy. Nancy had stolen his heart, and Steve never did manage to take it back. But Cindy was sweet. She was fun, and kind, and considerate. She loved the kids, and they loved her, and when they were together, the rush of affection she gave him sewed his broken parts back together. It was like medicine he desperately needed, even if its effects were only temporary. Even if those loose stitches fell apart again. Steve wasn’t what he seemed, but even if he couldn’t love Cindy, he could keep playing the part if it meant she would love him.

#whumptober2023 #no.9 #lyric #learning everything ain't what it seems that's the thing about these days #you're a liar #Stranger Things #fic #ao3 fanfiction #read on ao3 #fanfiction #ao3 link #ao3 #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #steve harrington

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highcaliberstupidity · 7 months

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Whumptober Day 9 Polaroid Rating mature CW's/Tag's Whump, Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Gaz being sad about his old team, references to mw2019 missions, references to interrogating innocents, references to shooting a child Characters Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick Summary

He’s not even sure why he has the damn thing anymore. The straps are half shredded, sev eral pouches hanging at odd angles, and the zip for the plate pocket won’t close anymore. But something had kept him from throwing it away, and now, with just a moment of downtime and a new carrier laid out next to him… Well, he might as well decommission it instead of letting his thoughts sit. But when his bare fingers brush against glossy card stock, he freezes.

He’s going through his old plate carrier when he finds it.

He’s not even sure why he has the damn thing anymore. The straps are half shredded, several pouches hanging at odd angles, and the zip for the plate pocket won’t close anymore.

But something had kept him from throwing it away, and now, with just a moment of downtime and a new carrier laid out next to him… Well, he might as well decommission it instead of letting his thoughts sit.

But when his bare fingers brush against glossy card stock, he freezes.

Slowly he pinches it, dreading what he knows he’ll see as he draws out the crumpled, wrinkled Polaroid.

It’d been a joke, Monroe had found an old Polaroid camera in an empty safe-house they’d raided. Having a laugh, he’d bunched them all up for a stupid little group picture, made some poor constable take the photo.

And then Monroe had handed it to him, grinning as he told him now he’d have something to remember them by when he went back to his big boy work upstate.

It’s been six days since the Piccadilly Circus Massacre.

Six.

Days.

Monroe, Crowley, Fowler, and Brooks, all died six days ago.

Something in his chest catches, and suddenly he feels like there's a piece of tough meat lodged in his throat. He hasn’t even realized . He hadn’t had a chance to stop and mourn, to hold that crinkled image and think of all the people who’d died that day.

He hadn’t even known them that well, what little knowledge he had was surface level at best.

But he knew Fowler had a kid and a wife back home. He knew Monroe was crushing on an old 6th-form sweetheart. He knew Crowley had been about to take time off for his little sister's wedding. He knew that Brooks was going to propose to his boyfriend.

Little things.

Personal things.

Things they wouldn’t get anymore.

Fowler's daughter would be raised without him, questioning where he was. Monroe’s sweetheart would be lucky to even find out he’d passed, thinking instead that he’d just ghosted them. Crowley’s sister would spend her wedding day grieving, staring at a seat that shouldn’t have been empty. Brooks's engagement ring would be wasted money, either returned or kept as a memento.

Silence rang heavy in his room as he clutched desperately to a piece of paper that held faces he would have barely remembered in a handful of years had he left on the terms he should have.

Now they would be forever ingrained in his mind's eye, their last minutes superimposed.

His team, friends, he’d dare say, had been gone for six days, likely not even buried yet.

But here he was, in the middle of nowhere, Russia, holding guns to innocents and watching horrible men be beaten until they screamed the music Price wanted to hear.

Gaz had been through IRT, had passed, and then some.

He knew how to draw those screams out of a man, knew how to get them writhing and pleading.

But it’d taken dragging his family onto the scene to get anything out of the Butcher. The very man who’d shot a child back in Urzikstan, had folded like wet paper when his own had been threatened. It was painfully ironic.

In the end, didn’t that make them just as bad as him? Sure they hadn’t harmed them, not like the terrorists had in Piccadilly. But they’d still dragged innocents into the path of war, fuck, he had held a gun to the mothers head.

‘We get dirty so the world stays clean.’ That was what Price had said when Gaz had questioned him, when he’d asked where they drew the line. So, in the end, what did that make them? Did it make them righteous, their cause?

Or were they just as monstrous as the men they hunted?

As he clutched the shitty, grainy little Polaroid and smoothed his thumb across it’s crinkled surface, he realized, he really didn’t know.

Careful hands fold up the image, and he turns to his new plate carrier with slow, purposeful movements. He doesn’t have photos of family or lovers to carry with him, doesn’t have someone waiting at home that pushes him to do the work he does.

So he’ll carry the photo of four men who never got the chance to see the better world he fought for.

It’s the least he can do.

#whumptober 2023 #“Learning everything ain't what it seems that's the thing about these days.”#Polaroid #call of duty #writing #implied/referenced character death #Whump #Angst #Gaz being sad about his old team #references to mw2019 missions #references to interrogating innocents #references to shooting a child #I just #really wanted to explore this part of Gaz #important to me

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kalira · 7 months

Text

Fault

Written for @whumptober Day 9! (theme: “Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days.” prompt 2: Mistaken Identity prompt 3: “You’re a liar.”)

T; 1.8k Ji Hoo/Jun Pyo, F4, Jun Hee

When Jun Pyo wakes in the hospital, there are two things he wants understood - about the strange girl who insists on being present despite their last conversation having been very clear, and his beloved friend whose fault it is absolutely not that he's here at all.

#Whumptober2023 #no.9 #“Learning everything ain't what it seems that's the thing about these days.”#Mistaken Identity #“You’re a liar.”#Boys Over Flowers #fic #Ji Hoo x Jun Pyo #Ji Hoo #Jun Pyo #Woo Bin #Yi Jung #Jun Hee #Kalira writes #Kalira writes; Boys Over Flowers #Kalira writes; Ji Hoo x Jun Pyo #Fault

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