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comfy-whumpee · 6 months

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Jane: Interlude

Whumptober 21 - found family. CN: BBU, missing person search.

It took far, far too long for her to realise. She needed to do a head count every morning. She needed to keep better track of who was in the house. She should have known immediately if someone had gone. She should have their trust enough that they wouldn’t disappear in the night. She should know them well enough to know where and why they had disappeared.

She should never have given up on Boo.

The thoughts crowded in a vicious cycle in her head as she drove into town with Tenten in the passenger seat. He’d insisted on coming even though she’d rather face her abject failure alone. He was probably the only one she’d bring. He could go out alone, and talk to strangers on an even footing. He could ask around while she scouted further afield and made calls. Mrs Kaur was coming up to help, as was Neeta, who thankfully had a day off. Nobody else was able to come. Nobody else could help her, and she couldn’t know whether Boo had left on purpose, so filing a police report was useless.

It was all her fault. She had brought Jane back. She had disrupted the house. She had thrown something new into the mix. She hadn’t asked. She hadn’t checked with them. She had assumed everything was fine and gone to bed happy that she’d helped someone.

It’s all my fault, she imagines telling Dr Cerasale when she sees him next, for her fucking counselling that she got for her fucking broken family. Well, look at her now. She’s broken another one.

You were responsible for them, Dr Cerasale says back, in her head. He wouldn’t say it in real life but she’d fucking deserve it if he did. Just like you were responsible for your son.

Tenten is silent. He probably understands what happened. She’s let him down, as well. He’ll feel less safe at the shelter now, because of her.

“Let me know if you want to go back,” she tells him as they park. “Call me if you want to, for any reason.”

She’s given him a phone. He’s tucked it into his jacket, and merely nods at her. She doesn’t know how he isn’t terrified, but she’s glad he’s not. Maybe he’ll break down later. She’ll probably miss that, too.

She’s been in Boo’s room and confirmed all their things were left behind. It’s proof that they were driven to leave. This wasn’t planned.

Maybe they know Jane. Maybe she reminds them of someone. Maybe they thought she would take their place. She doesn’t know. She knows so little about them, and she’s been so complacent.

The sun stings her eyes. As soon as she went up to get them for breakfast and found their room empty, she’s been on the move. She searched the house. She searched the garden. She ran through the lanes near the house, imagining them passed out, injured, dead in the hedges. She covered miles through sheer panic. She told Roman, who went white as a sheet and locked himself in his room. She told Kamala, who burst into tears for less than a minute and then forced herself to be calm. She didn’t have time to deal with either of them.

She told Tenten, and it took Tenten telling her for her to think about asking in town.

So now she’s striding through the streets with their one picture of Boo, taken for their passport and never since used. Their passport, that’s still in her bureau in the front room, where they could have taken it but didn’t. She shoves their bland little photo in front of everyone she goes past. She sees the distaste in their eyes at her unkempt desperation. “Have you seen them? Have you seen them, please? Please look out for them. Please, have you seen them?”

Tenten is on the other side of the road. He is the picture of calm. He shows the photo in front of him as he walks. “Has anyone seen my friend? Can anyone help me?” he asks. People shake their head at him, apologise, and wish him luck. From Avis, they turn away with averted eyes.

She can’t do this again. She can’t think straight. Her heart won’t slow down. She can’t lose another. She can’t take this. She can’t.

“Please, they’re vulnerable,” she begs parents and children alike, the former shielding the latter from her raw despair. “I just want to make sure they’re safe. Please.”

She’s not speaking to the people in front of her. She’s pleading with the world. Just let them be safe. Let them be okay. God, she has a brand new Romantic rescue back at the shelter with nobody better than Kamala to keep an eye on her. She’s so fucking reckless for thinking she could do this alone.

She needs Mrs Kaur to get to the house and look after them. She needs Neeta on the streets with the flyers she said she’d make. She needs help. She needs her family back.

“Have you seen them? Please look, please, they’re vulnerable…”

Everybody shakes their head.

#or...lost family?#whump #emotional whump #bbu #whumptober2023 #no.21 #found family #angst #grief whump #missing whumpee #my fic #the birdhouse #avis #tenten #guilt

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whump-me · 6 months

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Whumptober Day 20: Found Family

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

This story contains: queerplatonic relationship, emotional whump, sad/bittersweet ending

Words: 2800

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Not many people wandered into Sleepy Owl Books these days. And of the ones who did, hardly any stayed long enough in the used bookstore to find the door that led to the narrow basement stairs. Those who did, however, were rewarded by discovering one of the best-kept secrets in the city.

The ambience was somewhere between a casual basement den and an old-fashioned scholar’s study, with mismatched furniture strewn everywhere and ornately carved bookshelves of dark wood lining the walls. On winter afternoons, a fire burned in the fireplace. Sneetch, the bookstore cat, slept in front of the fire whenever it was burning. No one who had visited Sleepy Owl Books had ever seen Sneetch awake.

A small table in the corner of the room held carafes of coffee, hot chocolate, and some kind of spiced herbal tea. Jonathan had never figured out what the tea was, or how to find it anywhere but Sleepy Owl Books. Maybe it was made especially for this place. Maybe it was a hallucination brought on by the sleepy aura of the cat and the smell of old books.

He poured tea into an old chipped mug and settled in on the nearest couch, waiting for Xander.

The basement was built for relaxation, but Jonathan wasn’t here to relax. This was a business meeting—at least in theory.

In theory. But Jonathan and Xander were long past childhood training, when PERI had driven false wedges between members of their cohort by setting them against each other. Now that they were full operatives—living in the outside world full-time, with fake names they used more often than their old PERI designations—no one worried anymore about members of their cohort developing social bonds with one another. Their respective handlers had even noticed that the two of them worked well together, and started assigning them to missions together on a regular basis. It certainly wasn’t because they had complementary powers—they were both just ordinary telepaths.

Even so, old habits died hard. For most of their time growing up in PERI headquarters, friendship had been forbidden, a harshly punished luxury like candy or solitude. So even on days like today, when they were ostensibly meeting to discuss their next mission, they maintained the old habits of secrecy. Xander, who had discovered a love for books since moving out into the outside world, had discovered the basement of Sleepy Owl Books three years ago. Now they had most of their meetings here, and each watched for surveillance on their way in and out.

Footsteps on the creaky stairs made Jonathan jerk to attention. He turned his head, shoulders tense. Almost no one knew about this place, but there was always the chance someone else had happened to find their way down here. And if they had, it would no longer be suitable for a clandestine meeting today, and Jonathan and Xander would have to leave—separately, their conversation postponed for another day.

Not only because they would be discussing PERI business. But because even now, friendship felt forbidden. And anyone could be a PERI spy.

Jonathan needn’t have worried. The footsteps on the stairs belonged to Xander, who stepped into the room with a grin and opened his arms for a hug.

His grin looked… wrong. Tense. Waxy, almost, like he had to force it. But when Jonathan looked again, the wrongness was gone.

He set aside his misgivings and stood for a hug. He wrapped his arms around his best friend, careful not to spill his tea. The warmth of Xander’s hugs always filled a spot in him he had forgotten was empty. Each time, he could almost understand why PERI had forbidden friendship.

Sex was an enjoyable experience, as far as it went. It, too, had been forbidden during training. But once they had become full operatives and left headquarters, their handlers had pushed them toward the prospect of finding regular partners, extolling the mental health benefits of sexual release. But friendship was a deeper warmth, and more enduring. Friendship was a thing of the heart and the soul, not the body and its random electrical impulses.

It made sense, then, that friendship was something their handlers still danced around warily. It wasn’t forbidden, exactly, not anymore. It was even halfheartedly encouraged if it was useful for PERI’s purposes, as in their case with all their missions together. But they were certainly not told to seek it out. Underneath every conversation with Jonathan’s handler, when the topic of Xander came up, was a thread of silent judgment.

Jonathan tried to give himself over to that warmth now. But like Xander’s smile, the hug was different. Jonathan wasn’t imagining it. Xander felt stiff in his arms, and gave him an awkward pat on the back instead of his customary breath-stealing squeeze.

Jonathan pulled back, almost sending tea sloshing over the edges of his mug. “What’s wrong?” From this close, the sheen of fear in Xander’s eyes was unmistakable.

“I need to talk to you.” Xander placed his hands on Jonathan’s shoulders. He ran his fingers down the arms of Jonathan’s jacket with a slow, deliberate motion.

“I know,” said Jonathan. “You need to tell me about the next mission. You said your handler had something for us.” Jonathan took a step back, away from Xander’s hands. “What are you doing?”

“Checking for bugs.” Xander closed the distance between them again. He patted the underside of Jonathan’s arms, and unzipped his jacket to check the insides. He ran light fingers down the outside of Jonathan’s legs, all the way down to the ankle, where he squeezed before sliding a finger into each of the heels of Jonathan’s shoes.

He stood. “You’re clean.”

The fire burned merrily in the hearth, and the mug radiated warmth into Jonathan’s hand. Even so, Jonathan felt as cold as if he were standing outside on the sidewalk with his jacket still unzipped. “Xander… what is this about?”

“I’m leaving,” Xander said, his voice hushed.

“Leaving… the city? You’ve been reassigned?” The chill intensified. Jonathan wrapped his arms around himself. PERI wouldn’t reassign one of them without reassigning both of them. Would they?

Xander shook his head. “Nothing that simple.”

But he didn’t clarify. Jonathan quested for other meanings. “Leaving… me?” he ventured. His voice was small.

He had heard about breakups, of course. He watched enough TV to understand the concept. But he had always assumed it didn’t apply to him. He didn’t date—he wasn’t interested in the intricate dance of social negotiations it entailed. Besides, dating meant sex, and whatever the mental health benefits, he had always found it a lackluster experience.

Breakups were for romances. Not friendships. Certainly not friendships strong enough to be family, or more than family. And breakups were for ordinary people, not people raised in the crucible that had formed them. Not friends who had taken their first breaths in the same underground laboratory, who had spent their first years in the same nursery, who had begun operative training on the same day at five years old.

But then, who ever thought the concept of breaking up applied to their own relationship? No one. He had learned enough of the outside world for that. Everyone thought their own romance—their own friendship, their own family—was special. The reasons always differed, but the sentiment was the same.

But Xander shook his head. “No, never,” he said fervently. He bit his lip. “Or… I hope not.”

The chill reached Jonathan’s heart. “What do you mean, you hope not? Isn’t it your choice?”

“It is.” Xander gave him a slow, strangely grave nod. “I’m making a choice, Jonathan. A real choice. Maybe for the first time in my life.” He drew a shaky breath that made Jonathan’s heart clench. “I’m leaving PERI.”

“I don’t understand.” Jonathan searched Xander’s eyes for illumination. Xander’s anguished gaze shed no light on his words. “We don’t… we can’t leave PERI.”

“I can. I’ve thought it through.”

When? He had never spoken a word of this to Jonathan. “But… what do you mean, leave? We are government program. They made us. They created us to work for them. Without them… what would we even be?”

“I’m not sure.” Xander flashed him a brief, sickly smile. “But I’d like to find out.”

“They’ll catch you. You know they’re always watching.”

“I have a plan,” said Xander. “I’ve been working on it for a long time.”

“How long?” How many missions had they been on together while Xander had been thinking about this, never breathing a word? Had he been plotting this during the assassination in Munich? Or when they had plucked the secrets of the planned coup from the government minister’s mind in Belgium?

“It doesn’t matter,” Xander said, his eyes darting away. That was answer enough. “What matters is I have a plan—a good one. I can disappear.” His eyes found Jonathan’s again. “I can help us both disappear.”

“How?” But then Jonathan shook his head, because that wasn’t really what he wanted to know. “Why? Why would you want to leave?”

It was as unthinkable as a fish leaving water. PERI had chosen their DNA, strand by careful strand. PERI had cut them from their genetic mothers’ bellies. PERI had trained them, honed them, forged them into the weapons they were. Did a weapon choose to leave its wielder’s hand?

“I’ve been thinking about it on some level ever since we left finished training,” said Xander. “Maybe even before. Haven’t you?”

Jonathan stared at him in blank incomprehension. For the first time, he wondered if maybe he didn’t know his best friend at all.

“Back in headquarters, I didn’t really know what freedom meant,” said Xander. “I just thought it might be nice not to spend all our time training. But after we got out…” He spread his arms wide, as if to indicate the whole messy and terrifying outside world. “Haven’t you wondered what it would be like to live like everyone else? Being able to choose what we do with our lives? Not having to lie, and hide, and kill?”

Jonathan could honestly say he had never wondered that. Not for a single second. Why would he have? He wasn’t like everyone else. “We’re not them. We’re PERI operatives.”

“They told us this is our purpose,” he said. “They told us what they made us to be is the only thing we’re good for. They told us we don’t have a choice. They told us.”

“They created us for this! Our genetics don’t lie.”

“Who says we have to be what we were created to be?” Xander challenged. “Children rebel against what their parents want for them all the time. Haven’t you watched any TV?”

Jonathan had, of course he had, but apparently not the way Xander watched. Jonathan watched to learn about the outside world, and about how its people thought. Not to pretend he was one of the people on the screen, that he could step out of his skin and into theirs as easily as changing clothes.

“I was assigned to work in the library for a year back at headquarters,” Xander said. “Back when PERI thought they might assign me as an instructor instead of making a full operative.”

Jonathan remembered. He hadn’t known Xander well back then. And Xander hadn’t been called Xander then, of course. He’d only had a designation, like the rest of them. Back then, he had only been the one the other spoke of in hushed tones, as if to talk too loudly would be to draw his fate down on the rest of them.

Xander’s combat scores were too low—his reflexes too slow, his choices too timid. His telepathy was too weak. The threat of recycling had hung heavily over him—not as a punishment, but as a simple consequence of not being good enough.

The instructors, too, had spoken about him in whispers. They had talked about his brains, about what a waste it would be. They had tried to find some possible alternate use for him—but what other use could there be for someone bred to be an operative?

And then Xander’s telepathy had matured, and his scores had gone up, and it all became a moot point anyway.

“While I was working in the library, I did some research,” Xander continued. “Our powers are just a genetic mutation—one PERI figured out how to successfully breed for. But PERI didn’t create it. People in the outside world have it, too.”

Jonathan shook his head.

“It’s true,” Xander insisted. “Even some operatives know it—the ones whose missions involve going up against other Enhanced. That’s what we’re called—did you know that?”

“We’re called PERI operatives.” Jonathan didn’t see why they had to be anything else.

“They told us our abilities mean we have to work for them,” said Xander. “But it’s not true.”

“Even if you’re right,” said Jonathan, “why does it matter? Why would you want to leave?”

Now Xander was the one looking at him like he was an alien, like they had never understood each other at all. “Doesn’t everyone want to leave? Don’t we all think about it sometimes?”

“I’m doing what I was born for,” said Jonathan. “I’m using my gift for the greater good. I have the chance to make the world a better place with what I can do—we all do. Because of PERI.”

Xander shook his head slowly. His eyes were equal parts uncomprehending and pitying. “You actually believe all that, don’t you?”

“If you don’t want to be what you were made to be,” Jonathan said, “then what do you want?”

“I want to live,” Xander said. “And… I’d rather not do it alone.” He held out a hesitant hand to Jonathan. “Come with me.”

“We are living. We’re living the lives we were born for—how many people can say that?” Jonathan stared into Xander’s eyes, pleading. “I don’t know what you think you’ll find, but there’s nothing out there for you. You already know your purpose. Stay.”

Slowly, Xander lowered his hand.

“When are you leaving?” Jonathan’s words came out in a whisper.

“Tomorrow,” said Xander. “I couldn’t risk talking about it before now. Too much risk of being caught.”

It made perfect sense to Jonathan. Even so, Xander’s silence felt like a betrayal.

Xander opened his arms to him again. Jonathan carefully set his cup down. Then he wrapped his arms around his friend for what he knew was the last time.

This time, Xander’s hug was exactly as it should have been. There was no hesitation; there were no awkward back pats. Xander squeezed so hard Jonathan almost couldn’t breathe.

Jonathan squeezed back.

He knew what he had to do now. He knew it as surely as he knew what he had been born for. He had to report Xander to PERI. Otherwise, a fully trained PERI operative would be loose in the world, a weapon with no one to aim him but himself.

Either that, or Jonathan should end Xander’s life himself. It would probably be kinder than what PERI would do.

Slowly, reluctantly, he let his arms fall back to his sides. Xander squeezed for a few seconds longer, then let go.

“Goodbye.” Jonathan couldn’t speak above a whisper. “I hope I’ll see you again.”

Xander shook his head. “I won’t be able to come back. It would be too dangerous—I’d be caught.” Again, he held out a hand. “But it’s not too late. You can come with me.”

“Goodbye,” Jonathan said again, and waited until Xander lowered his hand and turned away.

As Xander started back up the stairs, Jonathan understood what he had to do. He also knew he wouldn’t do it.

He knew, from the look he had seen in Xander’s eyes just before he had turned away, that that wasn’t enough for him. Xander thought Jonathan had chosen PERI over their friendship. Xander thought Jonathan had never cared about him as much as he had thought.

But Jonathan knew the truth. He knew he was doing all he could to protect his friend. What more could he do? He was a PERI operative. Even this much made him feel squirmy inside, like his skin didn’t fit right.

And he would do it for Xander. Even though Xander was leaving him. Even though he had never really known Xander at all.

That truth would have to keep him warm now.

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Tagged: @cakeinthevoid @gala1981

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

#whumptober 2023 #no.20 #found family #oc #fic #emotional whump #sad ending #my writing #my writing: Mind Games #my writing: whumptober 2023

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whatwhump · 2 years

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Ex-Villain Whumpee Pt 2

Part 1 is available here: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/whatwhump/689094256572416000?source=share

Thank you to everyone who has read and supported this! I have a lot of fun writing it. And thank you to @whumpwillow for inspiring me to write with their awkward villain post and amazing series Hazeshift (which if you haven’t read you must–it’s so good)!

TW: S*icidal ideation and planning; medical setting; allusions to past abuse; very wonky, toxic head space; starvation; fear of abandonment wounds; choking/strangulation

“This will be our most difficult and dangerous mission yet. Now is the time, more than ever before, to work as a team–united on all fronts.”

Villain sat amongst the heroes around a long conference table, taking notes quietly. Faces revealed an array of emotions–worry, fear. No matter how brave the hero, there was no escaping from the fact that they had to come to terms with the possibility of not returning from this mission.

“Villain,” Team Lead said. “We need you to be with us on this one. As in, on the front line.” Villain’s jaw nearly dropped. They usually helped by working from headquarters during missions from the communication center since technology was their expertise. But Team Lead trusted them enough to work up close and personal with the heroes? This could be my chance to prove myself! Villain thought.

“I…I’d be honored,” Villain said, their face blushing.

“But…there is one caveat. Villain, our mission is at your old base: Supervillain’s lair. Your new foes are your old friends.”

“No,” Villain said without hesitation. “I want to do this.” Team Lead smiled at them.

Across the table sat Hero #1 with their bestie, Hero #5, sat beside them. Hero #5 glared. Hero #1 slammed their hands on the table.

“You have got to be kidding me. This is a prank, yes?” Hero #1 breathed.

Team Lead didn’t miss a beat, remaining calm and collected.

“I am absolutely serious. This case is technologically advanced and their skills are required.”

“Yeah but, boss, they’re not safe. They could turn on us!” argued Hero #3.

“Since Villain came to us I have been well aware of the potential consequences. Hero #2 and I have spoken and we feel this would be best. I will no longer entertain this topic. Now, onto the plan…”

Team Lead started up a projection and began outlining the basics, but Villain could barely focus. Their heart beat hard in their chest as they fantasized about saving the day, saving everyone, and finding the love they so longed for! Finally shedding the horrid human they knew they were. And maybe, just maybe, they might hate themselves a little less.

Villain felt Hero #1’s eyes boring into them and a familiar wave of guilt washed over them. They wanted so badly to make up but what they had done was…unforgivable.

Three Months Earlier…

The infirmary was small but well-stocked. Medic was very well trained; only rarely did a hero have to visit an actual hospital. The stark white room was empty except for a single body lying on a cot near the two-way mirror. It was Villain.

Their hair was mussed up and tangled. Bandages covered their arms and chest. Bruises decorated their face and neck. They were out like a light, breathing in and out slowly, eyes darting back and forth under their eyelids.

Outside the mirror, Team Lead stood with their hands in their pockets–eyebrows knitted together in thought.

“They banged my left hand up with a metal pipe so badly I still have trouble using my hand. ”

Team Lead knew that voice behind them before even turning. They knew this conversation would come.

“Hello, Hero #1.”

“They lashed my back 18 times. I still have phantom pains.”

Team Lead sighed

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“And of course, I’ve got this bad boy forever reminding me of the horrors that monster put me through every single time I look in the mirror,” they said gesturing to the scar on their face.

Team Lead just stared straight ahead.

“Hero #1,” Team Lead sighed. “I don’t expect you to understand. I know this must feel like a betrayal. But I’m in a tight spot here, and they’re in need of help.”

“It doesn’t feel like betrayal–it is betrayal.”

Hero #1 approached the glass and stared daggers into the prone Villain. Team Lead turned and looked at Hero #1 empathetically.

“At first I thought we should just leave them in the cold, too. But something just…something feels off. They’ve been abused, Hero #1. I get the feeling they weren’t doing their job because they wanted to–they were doing it to survive. Now I know that doesn’t excuse it, nor do I think it should. But context is important, and if what Villain says is to be believed, they have nobody else.”

Frustrated tears welled up in Hero #1’s eyes. A tear escaped down their cheek and they quickly wiped it away. Team Lead watched them patiently.

“How could you do this to me? You’re–you were like a parent to me. I thought you would put me before a low-life like them. How am I not supposed to take this personally?”

The tears began to stream down their face uncontrollably now.

Team Lead faced Hero #1 and put their hands on their shoulders.

“I once looked at the world as you do. I saw good versus evil. Right versus wrong. It wasn’t until I was in my 30s that I began to realize that every villain sees themselves as the hero of their own story. If I had lived in a similar environment or been dealt a hand of cards like my archenemy, who knows…maybe I would have turned out like them, too. You don’t have to condone to understand. All I ask is that you trust me on this one. Please.”

Hero #2 tried to stay angry, but they couldn’t. They burst into sobs and Team Lead embraced them.

“Please promise me one thing…” Hero #1’s muffled voice murmured into Team Lead’s chest.

“Anything.”

“Promise me you won’t ever replace me.”

“Never.”

After the meeting, everyone goes to eat dinner, but Villain decides they aren’t hungry. Well, that’s a lie–they’re starving. But they decided it’d be better to have only two meals a day so they aren’t taking up so much food. They use the restroom and then enter their cubby-like room.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Villain’s face goes white at the sight of Hero #1 on their bed. Utterly gobsmacked, Villain just stands and stares.

“Close the door,” snarls Hero #1. Villain obeys immediately.

“You know, it’s just not fair. You come to us, weak and afraid. And Team Lead–being the bleeding heart that they are–lets you sulk around here without any consequences.”

Villain swallowed nervously. They’d been thinking for a long time about what they’d say to Hero #1 if they were alone together, but never did they think they’d get that chance. Finally, this was it. But before they even had the chance to speak Hero #1 had them pinned against the wall, a vice-like grip around their throat and their feet dangling off the ground.

“You don’t get to replace me! And you don’t deserve to get off scot-free! So if the universe won’t punish you, then I will!”

“P--please, wait! I need to tell you something” Villain croaked.

A twisted smile crossed Hero #1’s lips. They maintained their grip but returned Villain’s feet to the ground.

“Well this oughta be good! Spit it out. Quickly.”

“You--you have to understand, Hero, I’m so, so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you! I didn’t get any satisfaction out of it! Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”

“You will never make this up to me,” Hero #1 growled.

“I know! But there must be something I can do–anything. I just–I just want to make things better! I just want to be a part of this family!”

Villain’s eyes went wide. They didn’t mean to blurt out that last part.

“First you break me, and then you want to take my family from me?”

“No, no, I swear it’s not like that, I swear!”

That twisted smile returned to Hero #1’s face but this time…this time it was colder.

“Okay. Fine. If you want to make it up to me, then you will leave this facility by the end of the week. No goodbyes. No notes. You will leave and never return again.”

“...Please no. Please, anything but that”.

A smack whacked Villain upside the head.

I deserve that, they thought to themselves. I deserve that for not obeying. I don’t deserve to ask for anything else. I deserve to be alone. I deserve to be hated. I deserve to be…dead.

“End of the week, pal,” Hero #1 sneered. “And don’t you DARE tell anyone I told you this or we’ll see how you do in the interrogation room when everyone else is asleep…”

Hero #1 forced their way past Villain, slamming into them with their shoulder. Villain fell to the ground.

They sat there on the floor, panting and rubbing at their now tender throat, everything sinking in slowly. They could just barely hear laughter emanating from downstairs.

The mission was at the end of the week. Suddenly, they were overtaken by a sense of hopelessness so intense that they immediately knew what they had to do.

They would serve their country alongside the people they so admired. and then they would turn themselves in to Supervillain to be tortured and ultimately: executed.

Their time to die had come.

#villain whumpee #found family #whump #emotional whump #angsty whump

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whumpsical · 1 year

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Jay

contents: flashback to a minor whumpee, homelessness, discussed homophobia, bio family blues

Some sweet comfort from one the rockiest eras of Jian's past <3 the gays stick together <33

sometime in 2014

taglist!!! @yet-another-heathen @much-ado-about-whumping @minerscanary

🌲🌲🌲🌲

“Come here, Jay.”

Jian bristled.

He was only sixteen at the time. He didn’t like nicknames. He’d never liked nicknames. It wasn’t anyone’s fault; no one had beaten or bullied him out of a taste for them, and he had no past relationships to any particular nicknames to turn him off to the concept. He just didn’t like them.

But at Casanova, one of the many gay bars in Jian’s early rotations, the owner liked to call him Jay. And Jian found that it didn’t grate on his nerves the way it usually would, not coming from Cal.

Cal first caught Jian sneaking into Casanova on a chilly, rainy night. It wasn’t the first time Jian had gotten in. He’d just had a harder time blending with the partygoers that night: waterlogged and shivering, too exhausted to even talk, sitting by himself on a leather couch near the bathrooms. His clothes were damp, leeching all the warmth from his small body, but even shedding his wet jacket didn’t feel like an option. He was convinced that the moment he slipped his scrawny, narrow shoulders free, his age would be made even more pathetically obvious than it already was. It was better to keep still and try to pretend that he wasn’t there at all.

Cal was on the floor that night, covering for a sick bartender. He’d wondered how he’d missed the obviously underaged kid’s entrance into his bar. It was a Tuesday night. Not very busy at all. Maybe it was the rain. The patio sat empty, everyone instead gathering inside and cluttering up Cal’s view of the front door.

Jian flinched when Cal approached him. He was a tall, hefty man, comfortably in his fifties. Though with age his ratio of muscle to fat had shifted, he still had an intensely intimidating power in his stature, especially from where Jian was sitting.

“Hey,” Cal said, with just a hint of the stern edge to his voice which he only fully put on for the handsy creeps and mean drunks.

Jian looked up at the man, numb in the face. He had nothing to say, and was too shocked with cold and fear to even try to squeak out a word.

Cal stood tall, unyielding. “You wanna show me some ID?”

Jian looked at his shoes, a lump growing in his throat. His head was too misty to comprehend much, but he understood enough to recognize he’d been caught, which meant that he had to find somewhere else to hide from the rain. He already couldn’t remember how many times this had happened that night. All he knew was that he didn’t want to go back to the shelter, but he was quickly running out of options. With stiff, freezing hands and a weak, trembling effort, he pushed himself off the sticky seat and started on his staggering trek to the exit.

Cal’s large hands stopped him, butting against his shoulders. Not grabbing. Jian couldn’t even muster any awareness of the act, just pushing his empty body against Cal’s hands like they were an invisible wall in a video game. Cal pushed back a little more firmly, and Jian’s feet tripped to a halt. He stood in place, blinking through confused sparks in his eyes, feeling lightheaded.

“Hold on, hold on. Hey,” Cal said, stooping down to meet Jian’s eyes, and, as twenty-something year old Jian suddenly realized with fondness, to shield him from the activity of the bar around them. “Do you need… Would you like something hot to drink? A warm meal, maybe? Someplace dry?”

Jian had no clue what his face was doing. He remembered his body as a hollow wooden vessel. Still, something must have come across in his silence, because Cal softened even more.

“Look, I don’t know your situation,” he said, squeezing Jian’s shoulder. “But I can tell enough that you need help. I have the means. Come on, honey.”

Cal started to usher Jian towards the bar, and a volatile switch flipped in Jian’s gut, instantly rubbing every inch of his skin raw and sucking the air from his lungs.

“No,” Jian managed in a desperate whisper, shrugging his way out of Cal’s hands and stumbling backwards a few feet before blinking the blind terror from his eyes and halfway remembering where he was. Cal’s hands hovered in a deliberately non-threatening airspace, allowing Jian to retreat as far as he needed.

“Okay,” Cal said quickly, in a peaceful, hushed tone. Jian’s focus still whipped around the bar, but Cal let that manic vigilance die down in its own time, keeping his own body still and distant. “Okay. You don’t have to. But I really don’t want to send you back out there, to who knows what, without at least getting you dried off. You can stay here, honey. You don’t have to go.”

The vividness of Jian’s memory drained to an uninviting mist. He knew that at some point he’d started to cry, and that Cal had led him with an open hand -- so broad it nearly spanned Jian’s entire waistline, at least in those days -- to a more secluded area behind the bar, where both Cal and the small kitchen crew could keep an eye on him while he ravenously devoured a warm plate of various bar staples and a few Casanova specialties. Jian remembered being offered an offensively sugary Shirley Temple in that same spot, but that may have been on another night.

Sometime later, a shift change freed Cal up to drag a second black painted chair over to Jian’s, where he’d been working on drying himself off with an only slightly ratty towel, having adamantly refused a change of clothes from Cal’s apartment above the bar.

“Hey there, kiddo. You feeling any better?”

Jian nodded sheepishly, embarrassed at all the drama he’d become the center of tonight, now that the terror had mostly passed. The heat from the crowd and the food had long since stilled his shivering, and an almost contented sleepiness was taking over instead, a feeling so unfamiliar that he was struggling to guard against it, finding himself nodding off every now and then. He’d been focusing his energy on staying upright in the chair, and was glad for Cal’s interruption.

“I’d like to have a little chat with you, if that’s okay,” Cal said, leaning forward in his seat to match Jian’s height. Jian visibly tensed, swallowing nervously and breaking eye contact. Cal’s voice only softened more. “Sweetheart, you’re not in any trouble with me. What’s your name, honey?”

When Jian only gulped again with considerably more effort, his eyebrows starting to knit with growing anxiety, Cal nodded thoughtfully.

“That’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.”

A rush of cool air flowed through Jian’s chest, relief unclenching his jaw before he’d even realized how tight he’d been squeezing it shut.

“I would like to know how old you are, though,” Cal continued lightly. “But don’t tell me that either. I want to guess. Flex my skills. Is that something the kids are saying today?”

One corner of Jian’s mouth lifted a bit.

“See, I’m out of the loop. This’ll be fun,” Cal said. “Hmm,” he hummed, one hand rubbing his chin as he made a show of scrutinizing Jian’s scrappy appearance. “I’ve got nieces in the eighth grade, but they’re all shorter than you. They definitely eat better, though.” Jian couldn’t help but chuckle silently under the heat of the spotlight, feeling himself becoming invested in the game, despite everything. “Fourteen, maybe? No, fifteen.” When Jian shook his head to both, Cal leaned back, worry overtaking his expression. “Oh, sweetheart, please don’t tell me I started too high. I don’t think I could handle it.”

Jian shook his head again, an easy smile finding its way onto his face. “Sixteen,” he said, his delicate voice all but confirming his answer.

Cal nodded, solemnity gently wafting away the air of humor that had eased them to this point. He leaned forward again, hands clasped in front of him, and looked into Jian’s eyes as he spoke. “It was a long time ago, but it was tough for me when I was that age, too. I can’t speak for your experience, honey, but I know what it’s like to feel alone in the world.”

His defenses down, Jian felt the words hit him square in his chest. Fear and apprehension prickled at the edges of the impact, but the crater was deep enough that genuine empathy was what struck Jian the most. He felt breathless and fragile as he listened, but he didn’t look away.

“I’ve seen some very good friends go down dark paths because of that feeling. And it’s hard to find your way back out. It’s hard out there, baby, I know. But no matter how lost you feel, you will never be unworthy of love, and safety, and peace. Do you understand me?”

Jian wasn’t sure that he did, but Cal spoke with such an urgency that Jian felt he should at least nod, though unease was building in his stomach again. Cal watched him with earnest conviction as he waited for Jian to answer, but Jian shied away from the intensity of it, breaking off eye contact and betraying the gnawing guilt he suddenly felt. Cal sighed, too softly to hear beneath the noise of the bar.

“I know that look, sweetheart. Your family?”

Jian hadn’t realized how obvious it could be. His stomach dropped and a flash of heat pushed tears behind his eyes as fresh wounds burst through their haphazard stitches. He could feel the metaphorical slam of the door all over again, the pain of his father’s violent and consummate rejection only compounded by the past year he’d spent trying to stitch himself back together without him. Failing miserably. He bit his cheek to keep the rest from spilling, and locked eyes with Cal to silently implore him to continue.

Cal didn’t falter. He wrapped Jian’s restlessly clenching fists between his warm hands and leaned in.

“There’s not a lot I can do to change the truly fucking awful things that happen in this world,” Cal said. “But what I can do is help lift some of the burdens that fall on us. You are welcome here, honey.” He accented this with a squeeze of Jian’s hands, then paused, blinked a few times, and made an undecided gesture with a tilt of his head. “Not in the bar, mind you.”

At the gentle chiding, Jian found himself laughing with him, vaguely relieved to be acknowledged as something other than a novelty or a criminal. Cal looked at him without hunger. Being the object of someone’s worry instead of their hatred or desire had faded to a memory from another world, and Jian didn’t know what to do with or even how to identify the bubbly feeling which sat high in his chest. The release of pressure set free a cold crop of tears that he had been clinging to. With grace, Cal let them fall without address.

“But any time it’s getting too heavy,” Cal continued, holding Jian’s hands tight, “if you’re ever hungry, tired, need someone to talk to, anything, you come to Casanova and you ask for Cal, okay? I mean it. We make our own families here.”

Jian nodded, with emphatic gratitude this time. His head felt too fuzzy and exhausted to really comprehend the mess of emotions that writhed and tangled inside him, like a rat’s nest of colorful yarn choking his heart, but the mess itself was colorful and soft, and that had to be enough for now. He took a steadying breath.

“My name’s Jian,” he said, feeling shy under the usually anonymizing glow of the blacklights. But Cal beamed.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Jian,” he said. “Now, the big questions: Do you have a place to stay tonight? Is there someone I can help you call, to let them know where you are?”

“No,” Jian said simply, and the scalding, mortified blush that would’ve normally flooded Jian’s entire face and neck just wasn’t there. Instead, Cal’s hands landed on his shoulders, blanketing him in steadiness and warmth without suffocating.

“Now you do, Jay. Now you do.’

From somewhere in the comfortable fog of Jian’s distant memory, Dickass Lee’s voice wormed back into his ears.

“Come here, Jay.”

Jian bristled.

“Ugh, yeah, no. No. I get it,” Dickass Lee said with a comically exaggerated shudder, mimicking the tension in his captive’s shoulders. “I’ll stick to ‘Jian.’”

#eric #eric write #whump #whump writing #oc whump #environmental whump #hypothermia #found family #hurt/comfort #mostly comfort #emotional whump #jian #cal #Dickass Lee #sin squad #hello everyone<3 I've had this cooking for a long time but i just got around to finishing it<33 #poor baby boy #this was before he met King #but anyway #in irl news. bc what else is a personal writing blog for #I've lost the ability to breathe😩😩 currently surviving on steroids and inhaler juice #i gave Jian asthma and he clapped right back at me😔 no mercy #im gettin an intimate lesson in experiencing & recovering from an asthma attack and I'm sure Jian reached across the ether to give it to me #so hey #if anyone wants gritty details for their own writing ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ask away #it's funny i literally came across & reblogged the post under this as i was in the urgent care patient room with 8ml of steroids in my ass

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whumpypepsigal · 1 year

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65 (2023): “I’m sorry.”

#whumpedit #whump #65 movie #65 #mills #koa #adam driver #ariana greenblatt #hugging #grief #comfort #emotional whump #found family #father and daughter #my gifs #65 spoilers #I LOVE SOFT MOMENTS LIKE THIS!#🥹#queued post

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baskervilleshound · 7 months

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You're Not Stupid - A Fionna and Cake Fanfiction

((FIONNA AND CAKE SPOILERS MY DUDES. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!

This is written to be completely platonic/familial, and if you think otherwise, I'm gonna have to take your kneecaps, okay?

Anyways. This is how I wish that one scene went in episode 8. You know. The one with Fionna crying in the most heartbreaking way ever. Please enjoy pain, tears, and Simon being very soft. I told y'all I have no self control. Let me know if you enjoyed it, and maybe I'll write more ;D

Enjoy!))

“BMO was wrong!”

“And so was Fionna! We blew it, we blew it!!”

The sound of Cake’s furious yowling as the cat smashed bits of the dilapidated lab equipment echoed in Fionna’s head. This was her own fault. Everything, as always, was her fault.

Her friends at home knew her as flighty. And now, all the people in this terrible, abandoned lab, knew her as a failure, too. She was no adventurer, no knight in shining armor, and hell, not even a good friend. On top of all of that, she was a liar, too.

No one knew that Fionna had the crown in her backpack. She didn’t dare tell Cake, and especially, not Simon. In the days that she had traveled with the gentleman, Fionna had quickly learned that Simon was willing to do anything in his power to keep both her, and Cake safe- even if it meant putting on some cursed object that would render his brain jelly in a matter of minutes, perhaps.

She didn’t want to see Simon deteriorate, and act as he was in those miserable tapes. Delusional. Insane. Depraved. No, she couldn’t do that to him. She couldn’t. She couldn’t tell him about the crown…!

“My office supplies!” BMO’s high little voice rang out as Cake proceeded to push every object on the desk onto the floor.

Fionna’s cheeks flushed red, and tears stung her eyes as the situation escalated. A lump formed in her throat, and before she knew it, she was running out the doorway and onto a balcony as guilt sunk its teeth into her like a viper.

She hadn’t even noticed that Simon’s head had whipped to look in her direction, and that he had immediately noticed that something was wrong.

Once she was in the open air, she let out a couple of heartbroken sobs as bubbly tears dripped down her burning cheeks. She could barely see the dead and abysmal landscape as the tears kept flowing.

However, she wasn’t alone out there for long.

“Fionna, it’s okay,” came Simon’s calm but concerned voice from behind her.

Immediately, Fionna shrank down onto the ground, turning away from him in shame as she pulled her knees up to her chest.

“Simon, I’m so stupid! I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “Why did I think I could do this?!”

Why was she so stupid? Why did she always mess everything up? And on top of that, why was she still lying to Simon and Cake about having the crown?

Her shoulders shook as she buried her face in her hands, her breath coming in short gasps and hiccups.

She felt an arm wrap around her, and then another.

“You’re not stupid,” Simon murmured.

Fionna froze for a moment. She didn’t feel like she deserved the kindness that she was being given, but truly, she couldn’t help but give in to it. Regardless of being an adult and feeling like she needed to be grown and handle everything on her own, she still needed support. She still needed someone to make her feel like everything was going to be okay. She needed Simon.

She needed him never to put that horrible crown on his head. He didn’t deserve it.

Fionna melted into him, and threw her own arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. The lingering smell of coffee on his clothing was comforting, and reminded her all too much of home. She was at a loss for words as all her worries and concerns tumbled out of her in a torrent of tears, which collected on Simon’s suit jacket.

“It’s going to be okay, Fionna. We’re going to figure something out,” the man spoke softly to her as he gently rubbed her back. “It’s okay.”

But would it be okay? Would it really?

After some time, Fionna managed to collect her emotions, and tuck them all back inside of her where they belonged. When she pulled back from Simon, the man wiped away her tears with his thumbs.

“T-thanks for that, Simon,” Fionna hiccupped. “Sorry, I probably got snot all over your jacket.”

Simon shook his head and smirked.

“Oh, I could have worse things on this jacket,” he chuckled.

Simon smiled at her and tilted his head as he cozied himself up against the wall of the balcony.

“Are you feeling any better?” he asked.

Fionna nodded and wiped her nose on her sleeve, sniffling.

“Y-yeah. You know, Simon, I get why that vampire girl turned out so bad in that one dimension. You’d…you were a really good dad. I can tell.”

The tender look in Simon’s eyes said more than words ever could convey the moment those words left the girl’s mouth.

“Thank you, Fionna,” he said, clearing his throat. “I appreciate that.”

#simon petrikov #fionna and cake spoilers #fionna and cake #ice king #fionna campbell #fionna the human #cake the cat #fionna and cake fanfiction #simon petrikov fanart #emotional whump #platonic #found family #fanfiction #adventure time #adventure time fanfiction #the ice king #fionna & cake

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lizzyverydizzyyo · 6 months

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D.E.A.N (Division of Extreme and Atypical Neutralization) - Cast Pictures

Fandom : Original Work

Whumptober 2021/2022/2023 Submission

Masterlist and overall summary of the whole novel is here.

Prompt on trope-appreciation-tuesdays that inspired this is here.

D.E.A.N, also known (or, more fittingly, unknown) as Division of Extreme and Atypical Neutralization, is not part of the police, military, Secret Service, or any other defense and tactical agencies openly acknowledged by the government, although it does include expertly trained personnel from almost all of them. Among those personnel is Marcus Hayden, a young and promising graduate of a highly specialized federal agency training, surreptitiously plucked and dropped into the division—only with the knowledge that D.E.A.N agents have full legal immunity to take down whatever national threat is assigned to them in any way they see fit. Following the demise of his mentor, Mark embraces that freedom and privilege to the fullest extent, destroying any and all rigorously-approved target of D.E.A.N. Even the ones with non-threatening appearance, like the young man left behind by D.E.A.N's current target—a criminal syndicate called Helga—when Mark's team raided one of their many hidey holes. But is he doing the right thing? Is that young man really the target he should be focusing on?

I've finally managed to curate an ensemble cast that looks the closest to what I have in mind when writing the story. Of course, there is just no way I can find people exactly like the ones I have in mind when writing the characters because these characters simply just don't exist in real life, so I can't take pictures of them. I also can't do art to save my life so I can't draw/paint them either. I was thinking about using AI like Artbreeder but I'm kind of iffy about any type of AI right now, so this is the best I've got so far.

Also, this is just my vision. If you imagine someone else when you read about any of the characters, that's okay too. It's up to you, really. These "cast" are just my interpretation of how the characters look like.

CHARACTERS TRAITS AND IMAGES

Nikolai/Nick - Whumpee

Tall (6’2”), 21 years old (as of book 1), mixed-raced (Russian-Vietnamese), short black hair, really thin, mix of blue-brown eyes (sectoral heterochromia). Traits: kidnapped victim and traumatized, kind of obedient but has trace of arrogance and defiance that show up randomly. Cast: Ian Sharp Pic 1 Source from Hermès Fall 2015 RTW Menswear Show | Pic 2 Source (but the link is defunct) | Pic 3 Source (Edited to have a mix of blue-brown eyes, closest real-life person to look like Envy from Demon's Haven—courtesy of @whumpwillow which is my original vision of Nikolai)

Marcus/Mark - Whumper turned (probably) romantic caretaker

Tall (6’4”), 23 years old (as of book 1), white, short blond hair, dark blue eyes, muscular build, masculine look. Traits: righteous and impassioned (sometimes also a bit rash). Cast: Scott Eastwood (but younger) | Pic 1 Source | Pic 2 Source

Luke - Whumper turned caretaker

Tall (as tall as Mark, give or take), late 20s, former Marines, African-American, medium-length afro hair, muscular but lean build. Traits: firm and wise (probably should be the commanding officer). Cast : Busola Peters | Pic 1 Source | Pic 2 Source

Horace - Whumper turned caretaker

Tall (not as tall as Mark though, around 6' to 6'2"), early 40s, Army veteran, Latino, short dark hair, muscular but lean build, clean-shaven. Traits: team's commanding officer, but doesn’t have backbone and a bit of a pushover. Cast: Nicholas Gonzalez | Pic 1 Source | Pic 2 Source

Lena - (Not really) whumper turned caretaker

Tall (5'10" to 5'11"), mid-20s, white, non-binary, long brunette hair, brown eyes, muscular but lean build. Traits: very kind and patient but would fuck shit up if pushed. Cast: Ethel Cain | Pic 1 Source | Pic 2 Source

Don - Whumper turned (not really) caretaker

Mid-height (±5'9"), mid-40s, Navy veteran, white, bald, stocky muscular build. Traits: ruthless, cynical, and a bitch. P.S. I really can't find anyone who fits my vision when it comes to Don's appearance except that guy from vine on a scooter doing drift to careless whispers.

Anna - Whumper turned (not really) caretaker

Short (kinda, ±5'2"—5'4"), early-30s, Air Force veteran, white, short brown hair, muscular but lean build. Traits: cynical and a bitch too, but righteous. Cast: Claire Foy (with brown eyes) | Pic 1 Source | Pic 2 Source

Angie - (Not really) whumper turned caretaker

Mid-height (±5'6"—5'7"), mid-30s, former SWAT, white, short blond hair, a bit "Karen-like" style, muscular build. Traits: impersonal and logical centrist. Cast: Abby from The Last of Us 2 | Pic 1 Source | Pic 2 Source (Edited to look more blond and older). P.S. The mocap actress (Jocelyn Mettler) doesn't look exactly like what I have in mind when it comes to Angie's look, so I keep using the Abby character instead.

Anderson - Whumper turned (kind of) caretaker

Mid-height (±5'9"—5'10"), mid to late-20s, former FBI, Mediterranean, medium-length curly black hair, lean build. Traits: a smartass and confident (almost arrogant) asshole. Cast: Joshua Honecutt | Pic 1 Source | Pic 2 Source (Edited to have darker hair)

George - Non-whumper turned caretaker

Mid-height (±5'9"), early 20s, white, red-haired and freckled, slim build. Traits: quiet/wallflower-y. Cast: Maksymilian Barczak | Pic 1 Source | Pic 2 Source | Modeling Agency Page

Mary - Non-whumper turned caretaker

Mid-height (±5'7"—5'8"), mid-20s, former Air Force, white, feminine pale face, long strawberry-blonde hair, slim build. Traits: quiet/wallflower-y too. Cast: Chloe Grace Moretz | Pic 1 Source | Pic 2 Source

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automeris-io-moth · 2 years

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A chase back home pt. 2

Pt. 1

Hero was taught from very young the importance of community, the ought to respect and honor a misinterpreted, modified for the better some said, oligarchy settled upon his lands, and, as well, to represent proudly the flag of his town, of the empire he served, with dignity, purity and graciousness.

One part, he knew, was already lost, purity had poured out and wasted, filtering through the dirt of the Archaic Greenwall Forest -or just the Green Forest for those aiming to lessen the threat it before represented - a cold autumn night. There were, after his return, no words of comfort or tries to make him feel less at fault for having been given something he had not asked for.

It was lost, his professor told him, the purity he had to strive to preserve, and his blood, as his soul and very root of being, were tainted by the hands of a monster he had not even properly met yet.

He was dirty, and the least he could seek for, was to be servicial of the people, to have dignity and graciousness to fulfil his new role, and perhaps, then, the sins placed upon his shoulders would be forgiven.

“Very well,” an elder said, quiet till then, when the room was left silent after the young warlock left with a slam of the doors and a frown on his face “it is decided then, Hero will lead the attack back in the Green Forest.”

His face turned to the elder in a snap, almost if surprised by her words, then, he looked at Leader, noticing the same face of confusion and the want to say something hanging from his open mouth. Yet both knew better than to question a direct order as openly as they wished.

Leader cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry, Elder, did you mean lead?”

“Yes I did,” she answered, leaning forward into the white crystal table. “No one knows the Green Forest better than Hero, given his previous stay there, and I will not risk my troops going further inside the limits settled by this rather unstable warlock.”

Warlock was spat out of her mouth quickly, as a curse or an insult, something dirty which could not stain the place it was spoken in, nor the mouth that said it.

“But do you think it’s prudent to…?”

“Indeed,” the elder interrupted, “I do think it is, it is perhaps time our own Warlock demonstrates he is to trust, the consequences, I trust he knows, of disobedience will be quite rough.”

Hero swallowed, sinking back into the chair.

***

Leaves cracked underneath his boots, autumn was, as well as Heros, his preferred season.

Warlock carried with him a sack of apples, a rabbit ready for stew, potatoes, onions, and a helping of flowers from the town outside the council’s hall.

Golden coins were often left on the trail from frightened merchants trying to cut times going through the valleys that crossed the forest, and distracted children which entered to play, and they, when living within the confines, meant nothing. You could buy not what the soil and the water gave you, and any deals with the fae and the being which shared the lands were never done through gold, silver or iron, but through rock and jewels and favours.

Little use had golden coins to him, so in their few travels in the towns, they spent them unconcernedly.

***

“Welcome home,” Lover said, a worried gaze directed towards him “how did everything go?”

Warlocked sighed, leaving the sacks on the table of the cottage and melting in one of the chairs, extending his arms to the other.

“I don’t know,” he blurted at the embrace. “I hope well, our patron grows more restless each day, and I see you get so worried lately, I’m getting… a weird feeling.”

Lover laughed.

“You’re getting worried too, that’s how it’s called.”

“I don’t like it, I need to fix it.”

“You’re not alone in this, I will drag Hero back here kicking if that assures us he’s safe, and we find peace,” she answered, softly, as her hands nestled his face “but let’s give him some time to find home by himself.”

Ok and there goes part two.

It was actually planned for this past weekend but I forgot to schedule it to go and hadn't noticed my oversight.

But here it is, at last.

Hope you like it :)

bye

#fantasy #fantasy writing #short story #story #writting #my writing #heroes and villains #villain x hero #hero x villain #found family #magic #this will get a little whumpy before getting better so #whump #emotional for the moment

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