#sugar cookie whump

[slippedtheknot]

Whumpmas: Day "Six"

Sugar cookie + burns+ denied food as punishment

Whumpee shrugged his shoulders and hid the bottom half of his face in his hoodie; trying to hide the tears.

However, to Whumpee's dismay, Caretaker is good at her job and was able to pick up on his watery eyes right away.

"What's wrong?"

Whumpee sniffled and turned his face from her hands. "Nothin'"

"Are you sure? I want to be able to help you."

"I-it's just that...well Whumper. He...he'd keep food from me as a punishment."

Caretaker nodded, before the words finally sunk in. "Oh, oh okay. Well...hun, you know that you've been good today, right?"

"Um...yes ma'am, I understand. It's just that, I'm not too hungry right now."

"Sweetheart, you have to have something." Caretaker brushed the stray hairs out of Whumpee's face. "I can't send you to bed on an empty stomach!"

"Would you feel better if you helped to make it? We can make some sugar cookies. Maybe by the time we make, bake, and decorate them, you'll be hungry."

Whumpee bounced the idea around in his mind for a while.

"Okay."

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

"Hey, Whumpee, would you mind grabbing the cookies out of the oven? Set them down on the stove top." Caretaker looked back at Whumpee while she worked at stirring the frosting. Whumpee's head shot up and his body moved to the oven door. His movements almost seemed robotic to Caretaker, but she shrugged her suspensions away.

The door popped open, and the next thing Caretaker heard was Whumpee screaming.

She dropped her stirring spoon and bowl. On it's way down, the spoon knocked over the milk; spilling it all over.

Between the pain, Caretaker grabbing his wrist, the cool water, the sounds, and the smell of cookies, Whumpee was having a breakdown.

"Hey, sweetheart." Caretaker grabbed his face and turned his face to her. "Are you okay?"

"No."

#merry whumpmas #whump #whumpee #caretaker #whump community #whump writing #whump blog #whump stuff #whump prompt #whump things #whump recovery #recovery whump #sugar cookie whump #burn whump #denied food as punishment whump #Whumpmas day six

[lilacthebooklover]

Rating: Teen Fandom: Cookie Run Word Count: 1990 BTHB Prompt: Isolation @badthingshappenbingo

He looks at this cookie, at this amalgamation of everything he’s ever loved and all that he despises, and he wants. He wants so desperately that it starts a fire in his soul, destructive and potent and far too large to be contained. Because it’s Eternal Sugar he sees in that soft smile, it’s Burning Spice he sees in that defiant glare, it’s Silent Salt he sees in that minute furrow of his brow, it’s Mystic Flour he sees in his unwavering morals, it’s himself reflected back at him as he looks into the face of a scholar. That damning mix of intelligence and naivety, the contrast of haunted eyes and innocent ideals, the idea that even after everything, purity remains embedded at this cookie’s very core- it strikes a chord somewhere deep within the corrupted confines of his heart. Looking at Pure Vanilla is like gazing into the shards of a mirror he shattered long ago, albeit twisted into something designed to be less troublemaking, less problematic, less strong-willed. Pure Vanilla Cookie is everything Shadow Milk was supposed to be, everything his Light of Truth wishes for him to embody. And oh, does Shadow Milk want.

OR: A study of Shadow Milk Cookie's corruption, imprisonment and thoughts upon release.

#oops i did it again #blame eternal sugar #she got me thinking about the beasts #and lo and behond #a shadow milk analysis #even though he has said like 6 lines #and the others don't even have faces yet #oh well #this was a blast #just u wait for it all to be turned on its head tomorrow <3 #bad things happen bingo #crk spoilers #shadow milk cookie #pure vanilla cookie #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #beast yeast #whump writing #cookie run fanfic #cookie run angst #i love that that's a tag #fanfiction writer #whumblr #character study #fallen heroes #eternal sugar cookie #burning spice cookie #silent salt cookie #mystic flour cookie #they mean so much to me

[maracujatangerine]

The Gift Exchange, part 1

CW: institutionalised slavery, pet whump, dehumanisation

“Miss Lydia, Miss Lydia, what do you think about this?.”

Coriander jogged into the kitchen, brandishing a roll of wrapping paper patterned with abstract swirls in silver and dark green. The silver accents glittered in the pale winter morning sunlight falling in through the windows.

“It is really pretty!” Miss Lydia smiled, brown eyes warm. “Good choice, Cory!”

The blonde pet ducked his head, but smiled back from underneath his bangs. He wore a soft, green sweater with leather patches on the elbows that matched his chestnut trousers.

Lydia was dressed in a dark grey, knitted dress with red leggings. She leaned over the table to move the pot with the red and white amaryllis out of the way.

“Should we wrap everything into one present, or should we wrap each gift separately, do you think?”

“T-this pet thinks we should w-wrap one gift for Colton and one for Linden, b-but that all their gifts can be wrapped together.”

“That’s a good idea, let’s do that.”

Coriander spread out several seed packages on the table and studied them thoughtfully. Closest to Lydia was a packet with a picture of lush, green sugar snap peas labelled: ‘Mangetout, pea seeds 'Norli' ORGANIC’. Then, there were two packets both marked ‘Thunbergia alata, Black-eyed Susan’, the first one called ‘African Sunset’ in shades of red and apricot, the second one ‘Alba Oculata’ in brilliant white. The final was a handwritten envelope simply marked in Cory’s neat handwriting: ‘Chili, mix’.

“Are you happy with those seeds?”

“Y-yes, Miss Lydia. C-Colton will be able to grow them on the balcony, and i-it will be fun that we both can try to grow the same seeds. P-perhaps we can compare notes.”

Cory gathered the seed packets and tied them together with a neat red bow. Meanwhile, Lydia grabbed a hardback book. The blue dust jacket had brightly coloured leaves scattered all over the cover. The title stood out in bright white: When we were birds, by Ayanna Lloyd Banwo.

Opening the book, she wrote on the inside of the cover. ‘To Linden. Merry Christmas and best wishes for the new year.’ Signing it, she handed it over to Coriander to add his name too.

“‘It is a bit of a risky gift,” she admitted to Cory, “since I haven’t read the book yet, but it seems so good. I got a copy for myself too, and I hope I will get the chance to read it over the holidays.”

They added two bags of homemade butterscotch candy in green paper cups, and two reused milk cartoons filled with gingerbread cookies, the result of last night’s baking spree.

Lydia and Cory put their joint efforts into wrapping the gifts into two neat packages. The dark, red ribbon a nice contrast to the green and silver wrapping paper.

“Let’s go for a walk and send it off this afternoon.” Coriander nodded.

“Y-yes, Miss Lydia.”

*

Linden wiggled the pen between his thumb and index finger, deep in thought. Leaning back in his kitchen chair, he looked over at Colton, who was working diligently at the end of the table. With wholly unbroken concentration, he was pulling strips of sellotape from the dispenser and sticking them in a neat row along the table’s wooden edge. When Linden had done the altogether far more fiddly task of wrapping a gift up, Col could pluck a pre-cut piece of tape and stick it in place. It was, as Linden had said about fifty times, excellent teamwork.

“Hey, Col, have you ever seen this before?” Linden asked, lifting his hand for Col to see. With the pen held right in its middle, Linden wiggled it gently, until it looked as if the pen was bending at the edges.

Col’s eyebrows twitched, and for a beautiful second Linden thought he was going to burst out laughing. Instead, his mouth curved upwards into a tiny smile. “Yes, Sir. I have.”

“Ah, not too impressive then. Haha, no matter.”

“Do you need any tape for the envelope, Sir?” Col asked, eyeing the Christmas card laid out in front of Linden.

“In a second… I’m just trying to figure something out.”

“Ah, okay, Sir.”

Col took another breath, as if to speak, then stopped himself. Linden prided himself on reading Col well enough by now to know that it was because he wanted to ask a question. Probably what are you trying to figure out?

“I’ve written my part of Lydia and Cory’s card, but I’m not sure how to do yours. I’m not going to make you try and hold a pen. I was thinking - do you want to just dictate it? It doesn’t have to be much, just a little festive greeting sort of thing. I can be your text-to-speech robot.”

Linden was always cheery around Christmas time. Something about winter setting in, dark and long and rainy, and then being cut through by glittering lights, gifts and music. Today, he felt like he was on a veritable warpath to make Col smile.

“That sounds good, Sir… I can do that.”

“Great!” Linden said, overjoyed that Colton hadn’t taken issue with the idea of ‘dictating’ something to his owner, hadn’t overthought any possible rule-breaking that could come with speaking and forcing his Master to write it all down. “And instead of you signing the card the normal way, I thought you could do a fingerprint?”

“That’s a good idea, Sir, thank you for c-”

“Wait, no!” Linden said, making Col flinch. “Sorry, I’m sorry love. I just realised. We’ll both do our fingerprints. That’ll be nice. Then we’re the same.”

There it was again, the coveted half-smile. Col’s cheeks glowed. “Thank you, Sir, that’s really kind. I think- I, uh…”

“Go on,” Linden said warmly. “I want to hear what you think.”

“I think Lydia and Cory will like that, Sir.”

“I agree. Now, here’s what I’ve written.”

Linden pushed the card over. He’d written a short message making light of the strange way they first crossed paths, saying how glad he now was to know the both of them, wishing them a peaceful and happy holiday. He waited patiently as Colton gave his message some thought, then wrote it down exactly as dictated on the left hand side of the card.

Linden found some stamp ink in the back of a drawer, and the two of them rolled their index fingers in it until they could leave two bold prints, one below each message.

Once the card was sealed, it was time for the gifts. Lydia’s gift was a specially-made book embosser, which had EX LIBRIS - LYDIA WINTERTHORPE printed onto it. The embosser itself was a satisfying, weighty thing, and Linden hoped she’d get great pleasure out of stamping all of her most beloved books.

Cory’s gift was also a bespoke item: a brass door sign with his name, Coriander, printed on it. It had ornate rounded corners which gave the thing a rustic, rather stately look, and although Linden had never seen Lydia’s house he guessed it would fit right in. He had run the gift idea past Col first - would a pet such as Cory be okay with claiming the bedroom as his in this way? Col had given it a fair share of thought, ultimately telling Linden, in a way that sounded more like a sinful confession, that Cory would like it very much.

The two men performed their well-honed wrapping ritual, with Col sticking down the final piece of tape with a flourish.

*

This is a collaboration between @whumpzone and @maracujatangerine.

We would like to wish you all a Merry Christmas!

*

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards-blog @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

#lydia and linden #lydia and coriander #linden and colton #whump fic #pet whump #pet whumpee #bbu #box boy universe #box boy multiverse #box boy whump #writers on tumblr #original writing #christmas whump #chirstmas

[sgtmickeyslaughter]

weekly tag wednesday!

happy wednesday everyone! its raining hard today so this tag game is coming at you very soggy

thanks for tagging me @energievie @jrooc @mybrainismelted @mickittotheman and @lingy910y

Another this or that! The rules are simple: here's two things, you must choose one from between them!! aaand go! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

iced coffee or hot coffee?- this sunday was warm and so stunning so i got my first iced coffee of the season and life felt like it was worth living again - so ill go with that

iced tea or hot tea?- iced tea with so much sugar and milk its basically a desert

lemonade or sweet tea?- mix them together!

minty gum or fruity gum?- mint

pasta or potatoes?- potatos

olives or pickles?- nooo i simply cannot choose, i love them both too much

rice or bread?- rice, my rice maker sings me songs and feeds me well

cookies or brownies?- cookies

hand written reminders or phone reminders?- handwritten

pull-over hoodie or zippy hoodie?- pull over, big and cozy

jeans or sweatpants?- jeans only outside, and sweats only inside

flip-flops/thongs or slides?- the footwear i call, and should be called slippers, but that people insist on calling flip flops just to watch my eye twitch

paperback book or ebook?- paperback

enemies to lovers or fwb to lovers?- hmmm enemies to lovers

only one bed or fake dating?- only one bed

hurt/comfort or whump?- hurt/comfort

mutual pining or amnesia?- mutual pining, i really dont care for amnesia for some reason

cannon compliant or alternate universe?- i love au, but canon deserves the top spot

soulmate au or sports au?- soulmate

celebrity au or coffeeshop au?- coffee shop but i dont feel strongly abotu either

one-shot or longfic?- looooong, idk if you can tell but i have a lot to say 😁 probably too much

AND FINALLY....😈

milkovich or gallagher?- milkovich 💀🖤

aaand I got tagged to play the movie game, so ill kill two birds with one stone and listen, there are a lot of movies i like better than most of these, but thats not the game i guess

tagging @stocious @krysmiss @vintagelacerosette @heymrspatel @creepkinginc @mickeysgaymom @gallawitchxx @juliakayyy @iansw0rld @mmmichyyy

#sgt says #tag game

[petitmimosa]

This or That Ask Game

Tagged by @alittlefrenchtree for an obscure reason. Should've made you guess what I was going to answer and you'd get one sugar per cup of tea for each one you got right.

Iced or hot coffee ☕

Why would you make me drink coffee in the first place? Why was coffee even discovered and who decided it was an acceptable beverage? If I have to make a choice, then iced and with a shit ton of sugar/chocolate/white chocolat syrup. You know Starbucks' white chocolate frappuccino? Very little coffee, lots of everything else.

Iced or hot tea 🍵

Why would you ice TEA? This is why the human race is doomed I'm telling you. Tea is to be served hot but never burnt so get that kettle off before it boils.

Lemonade or sweet tea 🍋

Sweet tea is an abomination. Why would you give me BAKING SODA TO DRINK? Ugh. Lemonade is alright if homemade by someone who's not addicted to sugar though.

Fruity or minty gum

Not allowed to chew gum anymore but I was more of a mint person. Fruity flavors were too chemical for my taste.

Pasta or potatoes

Niak. This is a hard one. Potatoes are fun and you can fry them and they're creatures of God but pastaaaaaa... Parmesan goes on pasta and for that reason only it gets my vote.

Olives or pickles

There are two things you need to know about me if we're gonna share food together: I will never, ever willingly consume olives and will have pickles with absolutely everything. The small ones though, cornichons. Not the gigantic ones people in America like to grow.

Rice or bread

Bread. Bread. BREAD.

Cookies or brownies

Brownies take too long to bake and you have more fun with cookies. Also, that's my cat's name and if I don't say cookies he will know tonight when I get home and he will bite me to punish me.

Handwritten or phone reminders-

That notes app is somewhere on my phone because I can't uninstall it. But I hate my handwriting with a passion so I just remember everything since I have an excellent memory.

Zip-up or pullover hoodie

I hate zip-ups, I look like a whale in them. And hoodies are COZYYYY.

Jeans or sweatpants

I look even more like a whale in sweatpants so I'll have to say jeans. But when I'm home I'm just wearing pjs.

Flip flops/thongs or slides

Both are evil so they can crawl back to where they belong. I'll sleep with socks (even thin) all year long. I'll take them off when we reach 40°.

Paperback or ebook

I use my kindle before bed but paperback all the way when you want to spend hours reading.

Enemies to lovers or FWB to lovers

Enemies to lovers all the way. The hatred, the tension, the angst, the oh, oh maybe I was wrong? the messy feelings, GIVE IT TO ME I'M READY.

One bed or fake dating

That one bed trope has been alive way too long and needs to be put to rest, pun very much intended.

Hurt/comfort or whump

Hurt/comfort. I'm all for angst but the heavy hurt usually deals with atrocities and, nope.

Mutual pining or amnesia

Amnesia! That's the kind of angst I like.

Canon compliant or AU

It depends on the ship. I usually prefer canon but there are some excellent AUs out there.

Soulmate or Sports AU

My issue with sports AU is that it's almost always about the characters in the sports world rather than the chosen sport itself. I end up frustrated with how poorly depicted the sport is or how irrelevant it is to have them in this world in the first place all.the.time. Like okay they're figure skaters but why would you have them do 3 triple lutzes in one program when it's not a thing and yolo spins without telling me if it's a flying sit spin or a back camel?

Celebrity AU or Coffeeshop AU

I may have outgrown the coffeeshop AU, so, celebrity.

One shot or long fic

Quality over quantity. Which isn't an answer but :D

Anyone who wants to answer this, have at it!

#petitmimosask #i'm exhausted now

[squirrel-fund]

Tag Game Wedthursday 🧡🥱

Tagged by @deedala and @sickness-health-all-that-shit

--------------------

Another this or that! The rules are simple: here's two things, you must choose one from between them!! aaand go! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

iced coffee or hot coffee?- iced. With heaps of sugar. Basically, a coffee milkshake 🤣

iced tea or hot tea?- iced tea

lemonade or sweet tea?- sweet tea, no lemon

minty gum or fruity gum?- minty.

pasta or potatoes?- potatoes

olives or pickles?- olives

rice or bread?- rice

cookies or brownies?- cookies

hand written reminders or phone reminders?- handwritten

pull-over hoodie or zippy hoodie?- either

jeans or sweatpants?- sweatpants

flip-flops/thongs or slides?- slides

paperback book or ebook?- either

enemies to lovers or fwb to lovers?- enemies to lovers

only one bed or fake dating?- fake dating

hurt/comfort or whump?- whump

mutual pining or amnesia?- mutual pining

canon compliant or alternate universe?- au

soulmate au or sports au?- sports au

celebrity au or coffeeshop au?- celebrity walks into a coffee shop for the first time au

one-shot or longfic?- longfic

AND FINALLY....😈

milkovich or gallagher?- yes

#tag thingy #better late than never lol

[whumpberry-cookie]

Sugar rush prompts!

For Candy anon!

(Cw: slight mention of bodily waste, starvation whump)

A group of characters are having a fun side-episode of enjoying themselves in the theme park. The leader/oldest in the group tells them to take everything they want. It's on the leader today. Ice cream. Then hot dogs. Then cotton candies. Than mini melts. Jellies. Lollipops. Sweet potato fries. At the end of the day one character burfed twice on roller coasters. The second has tummy ache and promises themselves to never eat anything sweet again. The third one used all their sugar rush energy and is almost asleep, complaining that their legs hurt from walking. The fourth is in their sugar rush and jumps all over the place like a spring. The fifth is holding down the fourth, so they don't run away and get lost. The sixth still keeps eating leftover caramell fudge. And the leader has no money left.

Whumpee knows too much sweets is bad for their health. (Maybe they're recovering after some stomach surgery). Or they just have to avoid sugar rushes. But they have a hard time refusing themselves anything sweet, even adding sugar to their tea, what was a long time habit. Caretaker prepares them meals that taste sweet but don't irritate their stomach (soda substitute with zero sugar, safe sweeteners, sugar free fruit kissels, homemade puddings on milk and potato starch only)

Whumpee is in their recovery after escaping from Whumper who used to give them only the necessary amount of tasteless food. When Caretaker tells them to eat as much of homemade cookies as they want, Whumpee keeps eating, crying. They ignore the feeling of satiety and stomachache. They are so soo happy. But sadly the sugar makes them energized. They get anxious and can't sleep because of vivid nightmares. Caretaker keeps them company and watches a movie with them, preparing salty snacks this time.

------------------

Thank you for waiting, Candy Anon! If you're still there? It took me a while to think of some new ideas, but I hope you enjoyed those!

#sugar rush #whump #whumpee #whump prompt #caretaker #writing #recovery whump #candy anon #🍭🍬 anon #whump tropes #whump prompts #writing prompts #whump ideas #whumper #whump comfort #team whump

[painsandconfusion]

Whump Prompts - Coffee

@wild-selenite-caffine for you <3 Just some fresh-brewed whump prompts to start your morning off right. Enjoy~

Whumper bringing a hot cup of coffee to a shivering Whumpee’s lips. It scalds them instantly, but Whumpee knows they’ll die if they don’t get warm fast.

“What? Did you expect sugar and cream? Get used to disappointment.”

Whumpee is starving, twitching and curled up on the floor. They immediately brighten when Whumper sets a cup of coffee down in front of them. Then their face falls as they realize it’s stale, over-brewed, and cold. They can barely choke it down and all it does is add to the churning acid. 

Whumper throwing scalding coffee on Whumpee. Whumpee writhes and screams, trying to swat it off of them while Whumper calmly pours another cup.

“You don’t need sleep. Here, have another cup.”

Whumper offering Whumpee a sip of coffee. When Whumpee accepts, Whumper takes a sip themself, then presses their lips to Whumpee’s, directing the morsel into their mouth.

Whumpee forced to make coffee for Whumper. Whumper dumps it on them if they aren’t 100% satisfied with the quality.

"More. I want it boiling."

Forcing Whumpee’s hand over the brewing coffee as it drips down - blood eventually mingling with the brew as Whumpee screams.

Grounds ground into open wounds.

Caretaker brining Whumpee a cup of coffee in the morning without really thinking about it, and Whumpee just….staring at it. Someone just offered them something. Not because they had to or because Whumpee earned it. They just…gave them something. To share in a moment with them. Whumpee can’t comprehend it.

“How much of this would you have to drink before your heart gives out? Nevermind - let’s just see.”

Forcing Whumpee to eat coffee grounds. 

Whumper’s hands shaking with the excessive caffeine - it makes the cuts jagged and tearing.

Whumper wrenching Whumpee’s head over their cup of coffee, letting the cascading tears drip into it before throwing Whumpee aside again. Drinking it silently while they watch Whumpee sob on the floor.

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @jadeocean46910 @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @tropes-for-my-md-daydreams @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @wormwriting @meowsikbox @villainsvictim @throwawaywhumper @wild-selenite-caffine @whumpasaurus101 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @cryptidhongo @rose-pinkie @whumpberry-cookie @rainbows-and-whumperflies @astralrunic @cursedscribbles)

(lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!)

#whump #whump prompt #prompt list #coffee whump #ordinary objects #torture #burning #sadistic whumper #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #sleep deprivation #heart attack mention #threat #forced feeding

[whumpookies]

Hello there, cookie related whump mutual! Highfive!

There's so much sweets/pankakes/cupcakes/pies/sugar related whump blogs, I'm coming to conclusion our community really likes sweets!

Hey @whumpberry-cookie

In my logical conclusion, whump is like a sweet treat we all crave it at times.

When we're low we need that sweet embrace. when we're sad we need that sweet release.

Life can at times be hard, yet there is always chocolate, cookies, sweets and biscuits to comfort us in food there is hurt, comfort, angst and so much more.

So I would say they go hand in hand together in a lot of different ways 🤷‍♀️

Yet it seems only right that they do 🤔🍪

#Ask #Answer #Sweets and whump #Whump

[quietly-by-myself]

Day 2 & 3 - Stressed and Warm Food (Fearless)

Masterlist

@comfortember

CW: war setting, nonhuman character (dhampir), parental death, neglectful/abusive parent reference

===

Kaloyan paced back and forth, almost wearing a hole into the floor of their cabin. 

Nikolay wasn’t sure what was on Kaloyan’s mind, but whatever it was, it was certainly stressing him out. The tension in Kaloyan’s muscles, and therefore Nikolay’s, was painful. It had been at least an hour since Kaloyan had started pacing, but Nikolay, even after years with his bonded, didn’t have the courage to ask him what was wrong right away.

In a way, it made Nikolay feel a bit pathetic. He wished that he had such courage to be able to discuss emotions as openly as Kaloyan found himself able to. 

No, Nikolay didn’t have much courage at all, not when it mattered. 

What makes him feel better?

The answer came rather quickly to Nikolay - food. Though Kaloyan was a dhampir and didn’t need to eat, Nikolay saw his fae blood in his love for sweets. 

We have flour, right?

Nikolay got up, but Kaloyan didn’t even seem to notice that he’d moved at all. Whatever was on his mind was absorbing him entirely. Nikolay hoped it wasn’t too serious. 

Quietly, Nikolay got out the flour, eggs, and sugar. What could he make quickly? Cookies? Did they have cinnamon? Allspice?

They had allspice, cinnamon, cloves, and molasses. Nikolay decided on allspice cookies. 

He worked with quick and surgical precision to measure everything out. Once the batter was formed and the cookies were ready to bake, Nikolay focused his magic on them. Baking was always easier with his magic - much easier than when he used to bake using an oven and flame. 

A burst of magic lit up the kitchen, then a burst of smell filled in the room. The smell was warm and spicy, yet sweet and comforting. The sound of boots against the floor stopped. Then, they came towards Nikolay and his place in the kitchen. 

“You made cookies?”

Kaloyan was standing in the doorway, his normally pale skin more pale than ever. 

“Yes and I promise that there isn’t any blood in them,” Nikolay teased.

“Good, because those cookies were inedible.” Kaloyan laughed a little, a noise that told Nikolay that despite the stress, his friend, his bonded was going to be okay. 

“Yeah, I um, should have asked you first.” Nikolay smiled, trying to seem reassuring.

Kaloyan grabbed them both plates off of the top shelf and served out the cookies - fresh and hot, but not too hot. Nikolay had cooled them down to the perfect temperature. 

Together, the two of them sat down at their handmade dinner table. Kaloyan hummed happily when he put the sweet, warm, spicy cookies in his mouth. It was always funny to Nikolay how his bonded preferred a sweet, warm, savory cookie to blood. He would’ve always expected a dhampir to prefer that high.

Finally, Nikolay found his courage. “Something’s on your mind.”

Kaloyan put his cookie down on his plate and looked at Nikolay. “Yeah, um…” He paused. “I was thinking about the war. You know, there’s so many people out there dying right now because my father got killed. Sometimes, I feel like it’s my fault for not taking his seat.”

Nikolay looked at Kaloyan with surprise. He didn’t know why he felt surprised at all. It was a conversation they’d had before.

“I don’t think the Dragon King would have accepted you as a replacement. He’s a vengeful dictator looking for any excuse he can get to have a war. Your father’s death was just that - an excuse. Neither of us could have stopped it.”

Kaloyan nodded a little. Nikolay reached out and held his hand. 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Nikolay whispered, looking Kaloyan in the eyes.

“I know.”

Nikolay smirked and chuckled. “I don’t think you do.”

Kaloyan chuckled a little. “You’re right. I don’t know.”

===

Tags: @i-can-even-burn-salad, @whumpsday, @pigeonwhumps, @darkthingshappen, @whumpworld, @rabass, @whither-wander-whump

#comfortember #war setting #nonhuman whumpee #dhampir #tw parental death #tw neglectful parent #tw abusive parent #fearless story #nikolay #kaloyan #whump #whumpblr #whump writing

[prodigal-explorer]

evening star - sanders sides fanfiction - iii

(let me know if you want to be on the tag list!)

previous part | next part

word count: 2.5k

(cw -> whump, unsympathetic!patton, unsympathetic!virgil, cages, physical abuse, stress position, broken bones, manipulation, pet whump, muzzles, starvation, dehumanization, violence, collars, blood)

summary: roman's punishment is finally over, but it doesn't take long for him to get in trouble again. but the last thing roman expects as he sits trapped in this cycle of pain is for janus to discover him mid-punishment, and to have mercy on the creative side.

---

Roman didn’t know how long he had been in the cage. Usually, he was able to keep track of the days because Patton or Virgil would come in with food once a day, but since he had the muzzle on, there wasn’t much point if he wasn’t eating what was in front of him. 

Eventually, footsteps could be heard, and when the door opened, Roman gasped behind the muzzle and sat up, trying once again to look as good and sweet as possible. Virgil opened the door and pulled Roman out of the cage by his collar. 

“Have you learned your lesson, mutt?” Virgil asked. 

Roman nodded rapidly, and Virgil let go of his collar, instead undoing the muzzle. Roman let out a shaky breath of relief. 

“Are you hungry?” Virgil asked. 

Yes. Roman couldn’t find the words to express how hungry he was, so he simply nodded again, even more desperately. 

Virgil hummed softly in thought, and pulled out the food that had been set out for him on the first day. 

“Hmm…three days ago,” he said, “This should still be good. And if it’s not? That’s a you problem.” 

Roman remembered at one point that Logan told him not to leave meat out at room temperature, even if it was cooked. It had to be either cold, or warm for it to be safe to eat, and if it was left out for too long, it would go bad. 

But honestly, Roman was too hungry to care. He leaned down and ate the chicken, wanting to use his hands for ease of access, but that was against the rules. Puppies didn’t eat with their hands. 

When Roman finished with his chicken, he then moved on to his peas. Nothing in the bowl was seasoned, but at least it didn’t taste bad. The last thing in the bowl was the red candy. Patton had always trained him to save dessert for last, even though it was his favorite course. Roman had an undeniable sweet tooth, whether it was candy, cookies, cake, or anything else with sugar. And especially nowadays, it was a very rare treat. 

So Roman ate the candy without a second thought. 

The candy was red in color, so Roman assumed that it was strawberry or cherry flavored, maybe raspberry. But right off the bat, it tasted different. It was warm and spicy. At first, it tasted good. Cinnamon. Roman liked cinnamon. But as he sucked on it, it started to get hotter and hotter. 

Roman could tolerate spicy stuff pretty well. He enjoyed stuff with hot sauce and the like. But this was just too much. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he spit the candy back into the bowl. 

Virgil looked over as he heard that. 

“You ungrateful little thing,” he glowered as he walked towards Roman, “Patton worked hard to make you that. He even gave you a little candy because he knows that’s your favorite. I’m not going to bring this back with a single food uneaten. You’ll eat this, or it’s another five days in the cage without any food at all. Got it?” 

Roman was frozen for a moment, but he looked back down at the candy. He could do this. It was a better prospect than being in the cage for five whole days. He carefully picked up the candy between his teeth, and instead of sucking on it, he crunched on it so it would be gone faster. The searing heat only intensified, as a liquidy center that seemed to be pure spice gushed out of the candy. 

When Roman finally choked it down, he was in tears, and his face felt like it was on fire. He felt the urge to throw up, but he desperately forced himself not to. Last time he threw up, he didn’t get fed for two and a half weeks. That had been the worst he’d ever felt. He couldn’t even move by the end of the second week. 

And that made Patton and Virgil even madder. 

There were many times that Roman just felt helpless. He was in a spiral of trouble and punishments and anger, pain and injury. No matter what he did, it upset somebody, and no matter what decision he made, it ended with him suffering. It was hard to find the motivation to keep going, but what choice did he have? If he just laid down and stopped moving or reacting to anything Patton and Virgil said, he would probably get the biggest punishment of his life. 

Sometimes, when that thought crossed his mind, Roman realized that he didn’t even care. And that was what scared him the most. 

All Roman could do was hope that one day, this horrible game would be over. He could just be Roman again instead of “Puppy”, and he could be Creativity instead of being a pet. But considering how much fun Virgil and Patton seemed to be having with him, Roman didn’t see it happening anytime soon. 

“Come on,” Virgil said gruffly, “Let’s go visit Patton. He has some things he wants you to do.” 

Roman was quick to follow Virgil out of the room, glad to escape the suffocating darkness that Virgil’s room held. He immediately felt more like himself as he crawled down the hallway, but not enough so to be able to break out of the habits that Patton had trained into him. Roman wasn’t sure if he would ever get used to standing on two legs again if this ended. When he had to when delivering the cookies for Janus, he could barely hold himself upright for a few minutes. It felt strange and foreign now. 

“There’s my puppy!” Patton said excitedly, “Come here, Ro-Ro! I missed you so much!” 

Roman bounded towards Patton as quickly as he could, infinitely relieved that Patton didn’t sound mad or upset with him. 

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately as he nuzzled up to Patton’s soft and warm hand. “I’m sorry, I’ll never mess up your room again.” 

“It’s okay, cutie, I promise. As long as you never, ever do it again!” 

Patton tapped Roman’s nose gently before lifting him up onto the couch. Patton wasn’t very tall or strong, but Roman made himself as easy to pick up as possible, and Patton got the hang of it quickly. Roman was very glad to be on the couch, because it meant that Patton was happy with him, and it was also such a welcome change to the cold, hard metal of the cage that dug into his skin at all angles. 

There was a TV show on, and Patton and Virgil were both watching it. A cooking show. Roman found himself quite interested, considering that his stomach was still growling wildly. The small meal in the bowl hadn’t been enough, but it was better than nothing, so Roman refused to complain. 

As the show continued, and the three sides watched a woman make her grandmother’s tomato soup recipe, Patton blinked, as if remembering something. 

“Oh! Roman! I wanted to ask,” Patton said, “Why didn’t you clean up your room?” 

Roman’s breath caught in his throat. 

“I…I forgot,” he admitted. Honesty was the best policy. “I was so busy doing everything else, and since I’ve been sleeping in your room-” 

“I don’t like excuses, puppy,” Patton warned, “Janus came in a few days ago to your room, and got real angry when he saw what a mess it was.” 

“Angry?” Roman whispered, “Why was he angry?” 

Roman wondered if maybe it was because the blood on the floor was concerning. It wasn’t like any of the other sides were beaten, bruised, muzzled, or caged. Only Roman. Maybe Janus didn’t like that Roman was a pet now. Maybe Janus would help Roman get out of this. 

“Oh, why?” Patton repeated, “He was angry because…well, he thought you could do more with a space that’s entirely your own and all. He didn’t realize that Thomas has two faulty Creativities instead of one.” 

Roman’s heart sank. 

“He was frankly horrified when he saw how awful your room looks,” Patton continued, “You have no excuse to have a place so messy. I need you to go in and clean right this second, or else you won’t like what happens next.” 

Roman shuddered and hopped off the couch, crawling to his room with urgency. He had to fix what he had done, he knew this. When Virgil stomped on him repeatedly, when Patton carved shapes into his side with a knife. The bloodstains were all Roman’s fault for being a bad, bad pet. The mess looked practically nauseating when Roman saw it for a second time. How did he let it get this bad? 

He started to scrub the blood with cleaning supplies, despite his fatigue. His ribs ached, and he was still so hungry. But he had no choice but to continue. What else was there to do? 

When the bedroom door opened and Roman wasn’t finished, he knew he was in for it. Virgil’s black Converse circled around Roman as he continued to scrub, desperately trying to get all the blood off the carpet. 

“You think this is your little act of rebellion?” Virgil asked, his tone light and teasing, “That you can sit here and scrub so slowly that it won’t do anything? Nobody cares that little Princey got hurt. You brought that upon yourself, and nobody is going to save you.” 

Roman continued to scrub, faster and faster as tears already wetted his face. He used to be able to go a while without crying, but when Patton and Virgil spoke harshly now, Roman went into a panic immediately, knowing that physical pain was going to follow. 

And today was no different. 

Virgil grabbed Roman’s arm and twisted it, wrenching it as far as it would go. The skin twisted painfully, and Virgil kept going farther and farther until Roman screamed for help. When he did that, Virgil let him go, letting Roman drop to the ground before violently kicking his mouth a few times with his black Converse. 

The metallic taste of blood started to invade Roman’s mouth, and he spit out something solid. A tooth. The sight was dizzying. 

But Virgil wasn’t done. He wasn’t done until Roman was crumpled on the floor, his entire body overtaken by pain and fatigue. It hurt to breathe, as Roman saw flashes of Virgil picking him up and throwing him onto the ground. Over and over. He looked right into Virgil’s eyes as he felt a sickening snap in his arm. He wasn’t going to be able to do much scrubbing now. 

When Virgil was finally finished, he admired his work before strapping the muzzle back onto Roman, and tying his hands behind his back, wrenching his broken arm into an even more uncomfortable position. Roman rested on the floor, crying, as he stared at the bloodstain that had been growing darker by the day. 

When the door slammed, Roman flinched, and he let out a muffled cry as his arm screamed at the way it was tied. Roman knew that it was more than likely dislocated now, but there was nothing he could do now. He couldn’t even stand up on his own. It was even worse knowing that in this state, there was nothing he could do about his bedroom. It was still a complete mess, as Roman had only finished cleaning about half the stain. 

It wasn’t fair. Virgil hadn’t given him enough time. 

But then again, maybe it was fair. Roman didn’t know how much time had passed since he first started cleaning. Maybe it had been hours. He didn’t have a clock in his room. And ever since the punishments started and the time in the cage had started, time felt strange. And Roman had no idea how to tell whether minutes, hours, or days had passed.

It was all a mystery. 

But even so, Roman wondered why Virgil and Patton hadn’t told him when they wanted his room to be cleaned. They could have told him that he had thirty minutes, or an hour, or even two hours. But they didn’t, and Roman was being punished for a rule he didn’t even know about. 

The thought made him dreadfully angry. He knew it was bad to be angry with his owners, but Roman was so tired of being in trouble. He was tired of getting hurt and being muzzled and tied up when he was just trying to be good. 

Fueled by his rage, Roman started to struggle against the rope Virgil had used to tie his hands together, trying to loosen it enough so he could slip out. It was pretty difficult, but Roman refused to give up, and after a long time, and a sickening pop coming from one of his shoulders followed by a nauseating pain, the knot was loose. One of his arms was still rendered unusable, since his arm was broken, and his shoulder was dislocated, but he could still use the other one. 

And use it he did. Roman picked up the scrub brush and continued to clean the floor, determined to get every last drop of blood out of his previously pure white carpet. 

When the door opened again, though, Roman hoped with everything he had that it wasn’t Virgil again. If Virgil saw that he got out of the ropes, he would get even madder. Roman tried not to look behind him, but curiosity took over, and he turned around, bracing himself to be punched or kicked again. 

But what he saw instead made him freeze on the spot as his breathing stopped. 

He was short, though no shorter than Patton. He didn’t wear black Converse like Virgil, or neon New Balances like Patton. He wore classy dress shoes that were polished to perfection. His black cape with golden accents stopped right at his waist, showing off his robust figure, and he looked absolutely horrified. 

And honestly? So did Roman. 

Janus rushed over to Roman and held him upright. Roman expected Janus to be somewhat cold, since he was half-Reptilian, but his skin was warm, and so was his embrace. 

“Roman, darling…” Janus mumbled, “I…I…what’s that on your mouth?” 

Roman shook his head. This wasn’t supposed to happen. No one else was supposed to know about this. He couldn’t handle having three owners. He couldn’t handle having someone else against him, someone else ready to punish him for anything. He just sobbed, trying to get away from Janus, but he held onto Roman tightly. 

“Honey, please,” Janus said urgently, “You’re hurt. Your arm…it looks bent. And you’ve- got bruises everywhere. Who…” 

Footsteps. Again. Roman’s panic spiked and he struggled even more, but Janus had another plan. He stood up, holding Roman in his arms, and sunk out of his room, sinking into the dark mindscape. 

“Home sweet home,” Janus mumbled grimly, looking down at Roman, who was losing his mind with fear, “Let’s get you taken care of.”

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #tss #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #janus sanders #unsympathetic virgil #unsympathetic patton #ez's writing #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fandom #sanders sides whump #whump writing #whump #cages #physical abuse #violence #muzzles #collars #pet whump #stress position #broken bones #manipulation #starvation #dehumanization #blood #evening star

[nasubeenwithcat]

WIP

I beat my tests! celebration!!! I'm dancing!!!!!!💃🎶🌊

by the way, I had a writing. But it's a little bit...mental whump? okay, I am posting. It is indeed tedious to translate all, so I will just write the text as I see fit for now.

Warning:machine translate/not finish/mention of Sugar Addiction)

Welcome to the deep sea of confetti

Dead Bird Studios in these days always always smells sweet. It is clearly not the fragrance of elegant jasmine or delicious pastries, but more of a deliberate, overly strong fruit flavor made for children. Or the overly sweet flavor of 5% cocoa milk chocolate. Or the artificial flavor of snow-white royal milk tea. And it strangely came wafting from the pocket of the large conductor's uniform of the director, who was once the studio's most difficult man to handle.

-

The conductor was sinking into a bottomless sea of self-loathing. Normally, he would have run to drinking at a time like this, but he was in no mood for that now. In the meantime, the conductor had a vague sense that he needed to improve this habit. It was mixed with the queasiness peculiar to the after-drinking feeling, and swallowed the conductor as a tremendous tidal wave. He could not resist the waves and the ocean. Because he cannot swim. The conductor's drinking habits were the worst of the worst, to say the least. He had a large skittles in his pocket and there was not a night in the past year that he did not have a drink. On top of that, he loved to drink straight style, without ice or soda in his glass. On hangover days he would drink a bottle of scotch and go to work, and on mornings when he was feeling good he would get on a roll and down a whole bottle. He had been living like this for so long that naturally his body had been malfunctioning. The results of his last medical checkup told the story well. Almost all of his scores were in the red.

-

The conductor laughed bitterly when he saw the keywords that the fathers of the world seem to be searching for at night. His face reflected lightly on the screen. Then he turned the mouse wheel and dived into the sea of the Internet.

-

As it turned out, the conductor found a ridiculously simple method. It was the habituation of sugar. I need to explain a little about this voyage of adventure for him.

-

Nevertheless, all that the useless search engine suggested to him was information with no scientific basis whatsoever, targeted at birds with too much time on their hands. These websites are a waste of time to read. The purpose of these websites is not to help birds in need like the conductor, but rather to advertise their hospital to such birds. He absolutely did not want to invest his time and money in such a dirty hospital. Completely disappointed, the conductor switched web page and was reading the mail order site of a familiar confectionery store, trying to choose some sweets for his next gift to his daughter and her husband. Shortcakes, pear tarts, blueberry and custard pies, assorted boxes of langdosha cookies… In the midst of all this, one sentence caught his eye. In a wave of commonplace catch phrases, there it was.

-

-When the conductor saw the red-faced, crying child, he let out a small sigh, bent down in front of him and spoke, "Laddie." The child was startled and stopped crying for a moment. The conductor smiled a little and shook the child's hand. "Do you like cookies?" The child looked alternately at his mother and the cookies, and after some hesitation answered in a tiny voice, "Yes…I like cookies." Eyes moistened with tears, he looked dazedly at the hand shaken in the conductor's hands. "Good." The conductor took out two wrapped cookies from his pocket and waved them in front of the child. The cookies were shaped like an egg and a rabbit, each. However, they were a little different from ordinary cookies in that they had a clear candy inlaid in the middle, with a few colorful alazans sealed inside. When the conductor shook the cute stained-glass cookies, the alazans danced joyfully in the candy. "Which do you like better, egg one or rabbit one?" "Rabbit!" The child's eyes lit up and he received a rabbit-shaped cookie from the conductor. He immediately ripped open the wrapping and took an energetic bite out of the rabbit's right ear. Children are mysterious. He was enjoying the cookie, forgetting that he had just cried and why.

-

The conductor now laughs more heartily and praises the birds more than before. He was less likely to abuse the moon penguins and more appreciative of the owls' efforts. The studio became peaceful. A relaxed and comfortable atmosphere existed there. Perhaps because of this, the crews of the conductor became a little more active in the filmmaking process than before. Everyone worked a little harder at their jobs, trying to make up for the last time. In their hands, instead of black coffee, they had colorful lollipops. There was the addictive grape flavor, the refreshing apple flavor, the standard cola flavor, and so on. It was a stark contrast to the bleak environment of the past. All the owls were pleased with the change the conductor and the lollipops. Of course, there were some birds that were not happy to let go of this change. DJ Grooves was just one of them.

-

It wasn't the conductor who won the award. It was his rival, an obnoxious bird with a mischievous glint in his eye. It was the moon penguin, a bird with no good qualities who is always dreaming. It was Grooves, not the conductor, who won the award. He was receiving a gorgeous bouquet of flowers with a big smile on his face. His score was about three times that of the conductor's. The conductor did not remember many details of the incident. It was a shock, after all. Another big dark wave splashed from the bottom of his stomach and swallowed his. He cannot resist the waves, the sea. Because he cannot swim. He took a few candies out of his right pocket and chewed them vigorously as if to vent his frustration. It didn't matter what they tasted like. I couldn't make up for my last mistake. Maybe next time, and the time after that…I would lose. The conductor's ears twitched with a sense of foreboding. I am sure that I will never be able to beat him in the future. What's so good about his films? What's so good about those fake films that just use flashy lighting and direction to cover up a flimsy storyline? Lassie! You like those sparkly cheap mirror balls? The wave swallowed the conductor and his true feelings whole and forcefully sank him into the deep sea. He chewed the candy, swallowed it, and then chewed a new candy. The sugar dissolved in a sea of saliva, which became the conductor's blood, flesh, and self-control.

-

Look, He is such a bird by nature. He was just forcing it to fool around with endorphins. You knew that, right? The conductor popped five new candies into his mouth. It was too much trouble to tear the wrappings. His mouth was getting sticky. His throat was getting dry, too. Unbeknownst to him, twenty-three candies were missing from his pocket at that point.

-

Eventually, the conductor fled the hall and jumped onto his train, which had stopped. He then rummaged through the fridge and pulled out a lavish muscat tart. Glossy, napalmed, peridot-like, beautiful muscats. Not worthy of a loser. He ridiculed himself sadly. This was supposed to be his reward for successfully winning the award. It was supposed to be a tart that he would eat with happiness.It's all the fault of the kid and the penguins. The sea did not distinguish between the illegally dumped plastic trash and the conductor, pulling him further and further away from the land. The conductor can't swim. What should he do? There is only one answer.

Take some sugar and be happy.

-

For a brief moment, he even thought about killing his rival in front of the Hatkid. That's easy. The medical kit was full of bandages. Of course, strangling Grooves with them would easily kill him. He wouldn't have much strength left to resist. But the conductor was an adult, and he knew it was not in his best interest to do so, so instead he took a few candies from his pocket. He bit down hard and crunchy. Like a cornered man biting his fingernails. It reached the kid's ears. Hatkid finally turned to the conductor. An awkward air passed between them. The candy in his mouth disappeared in the blink of an eye. An eerie silence. The conductor decided to give her a candy to cover up the awkwardness of the situation. "What flavor of candy do you like, lassie? "

Hatkid remained silent. Finally, the conductor became impatient. "Tell me, lass…" he said. "There's that …… strawberry, chestnut, milk tea, melon soda, lemon, grapefruit…… everything! " "……" "Don't you want some ……?" Hatkid's eyes were downcast. Then she blinked a couple of times and answered in a tiny voice.

"Tell me about ………." "Tell me, what?" "Did you cheat on the ……… award?"

-

The conductor had a blank expression on his face. It was the face of an owl who had given up on everything. The conductor had never committed any wrongdoing. He had never broken the law. So why was she criticizing me? Why did I lose to the cheating, dirty moon penguin? Why didn't you believe me, lassie? The conductor no longer wanted to land. He just sank into the sweet deep sea. He was sinking deeper and deeper into the bottom of the dirty, plastic-polluted sea. The coldness of the sea is cruel and equal. There is no unequal contrast with the sun on land. How comfortable it is. How gentle. The waves had kidnapped his despair, anxiety, vitality, sanity, hope, dreams, violence, mission, grief, and cruelty. There was only an owl drowning in apathy. I'm sure all the moon penguins think I'm cheating, even though it's Grooves who cheated. Was I just going along shooting films while being suspected of cheating? Was I shooting a film that would never get the recognition it deserves? The conductor didn't even explain to the child. He just wandered off and left the place. The endorphins protected him this time, too. If he hadn't eaten some candy, he would have killed Grooves on impulse. A few individually wrapped colorful candies spilled from his pocket into the dark pool of blood.

-

The conductor returned to the train. He took out a bottle of scotch, which he hadn't had for a long time. He poured it roughly into a glass, added a lot of sugar and mixed it with a muddler. He also added honey. He also added syrup. His tears also went in. He drank it all at once. The taste of sweet happiness. A magical drink that made everything seem insignificant. Then he spilled a few tears. His beak shivered in frustration, and he continued to spit out black, bitter curses.

-

The conductor grabbed a jar of confetti from his shopping bag and tossed the contents into his mouth in one gulp. The cluster of star-shaped sugar melted into the darkness of the conductor's deep sea. He rubbed the muscles of his cheeks and approached the Hatkid. She was still sleeping peacefully. For some reason, there were dried traces of tears on her cheeks.

-

Finally, she apologized to the conductor in a voice that seemed to disappear into the air already. She was still a wreck. Her arms, face, legs, and shoulders were covered in bandages. To say the least, she was miserable. The conductor certainly wanted her to apologize, but when he saw the terrible, miserable child, his anger and hatred toward her disappeared somewhere else. He didn't think about her feelings, either. At that moment, the Hatkid had just been almost killed by her trusted director. The conductor finally realized this when the child apologized to him now. He gently hugged the child, careful not to touch the bandages. She smelled of strong blood.

-

The owls who had been watching the two make up cheered in unison when they realized it had been a success. The party was all set. They rang the crackers and opened the juice, and the band began playing lively popular tunes. It was not worthy of a pity party. One of the dancing owls suggested, "Let's call it a friendship memorial party." Of course, the conductor smiled. If we're going to go to the trouble of eating sweets, a friendship memorial party is surely better than a pity party. He went to get melon soda for the kid.

-

There is more to come, but it probably won't be completed. Thank you for reading. I am sleeping!!! Good night!!!!yeahhhhhhh

[99point9percentwhump]

I want to know what you and @queenwhumphouse put in your coffee!?

I want some, not to be an insulting person but you are both nuts!

I spent most of my day yesterday laughing at your cookie gif debate.

I completely forgot my bad morning so thank you for making my day so much better!

Just out of curiosity what flavours do the whump cookies come in?

Hahaha oh you're not it's all good 😜

Hmmmm I have a feeling it's not what we put in so much as how much we have 🤪

Awww I'm sorry your day started bad but happy we were able to make it a bit better 😁🤗

Flavors of whump cookies.... most seem like Oreos for sure dark and brooding on the outside but all goodness and fluff on the inside,

some I can see being like chocolate chip when they're warm all gooey and needing love eat a hug,

then sugar cookie ones are just pure heroes looking out for everyone even if they get hurt they're stoic,

Oatmeal cookies aren't sure why they are they're the misfits of the group their disposition might not be as sweet but their always there when ppl need them and will sacrifice themselves for the rest

FYI I've had the weirdest craving for cookies since this whole thing started but I'll never look at them the same way again 🤣

@queenwhumphouse you think of any to add?😁😜

#ask #answer #whump community #whump cookies

[masterwords]

running toward nothing (part three)

Summary: Hotch is injured in an explosion while on overseas assignment, putting Derek in a difficult position both with the team and with Spencer who has spent the last few months inadvertently falling in love with him.

Warnings: bombing, fire, surgery, pain medication, angst

Words: 2.9k

Pairings: Hotch/Morgan established

Notes: This is for @tobias-hankel' s Spencer Whump Challenge. My assigned prompts to do my evil with were Derek Morgan & Betrayal, and if you know that going in... well I'm sorry. How are we feeling here? We're getting there. Spencer's really in it now. I have never written a love triangle before so I greatly underestimated the amount of build-up we would need to get to Spencer's pain. We're on our way now though!

Read on AO3: Running Toward Nothing

**

“DADDY!”

Jack's voice rang out loud through the house, vibrating through the old hardwood. Hotch stiffened briefly, bristling at the sound that crashed through his head. He heard Jessica shush him, reminding him that daddy wasn't feeling good and we need to use our indoor voices but he knew that Jack simply couldn't help it. They hadn't seen each other in months. There was bound to be at least a little excitement he couldn't contain, afterall, there had probably been times Jack wondered whether his father would come home at all. Even before the explosion. There was a spell of silence, almost like a mockery, and then the pounding of feet, little feet, and Jessica's voice again calling behind him. Hers wasn't exactly a whisper and definitely not a yell, somewhere hoarse and sharp and it made goosebumps raise on Hotch's arms.

“Jack, remember to be gentle!” That was the last thing she tried to chirp at him, but her voice fell on deaf ears, and Jack was launching himself into Hotch's waiting arms. The explosion of pain in his hip barely registered, though he knew it was there and he knew he would pay for it. The relief of holding Jack was too great. In the doorway Jessica stood, arms folded over her chest, shaking her head in disbelief. After all the preparation, after all the lectures, the kid just couldn't keep it light.

In the dusky bedroom she felt the sting of tears when their eyes met, when he smiled through Jack's hair at her. “Hey,” she mouthed, and he blinked back at her a silent hello. “Love you.” Just the lips, just the tears. There was time for the rest later. Another second chance, she figured, but her eyes stayed trained on him. Not a ghost, not as scary and fragile as she'd expected, just Aaron. Tired, exhausted even, but still him.

“Did Derek show you the cookies?” It came out almost naturally, each syllable perfectly timed and neatly enunciated, and he figured Jack probably wouldn't be able to tell he'd been rehearsing it for hours. The look Jessica gave him, that tiny quirk of her eyebrow and twitch at the corner of her lips said she saw right through him, but then she always did. She knew better than to say anything, it wasn't for her benefit.

“COOKIES!” Jack squealed with delight. Things were always made easier with the promise of sugar.

“Go find Derek, I'll be right out.”

He didn't want Jack to watch him struggle to his feet, and as Jessica pressed Jack's shoulder and nudged him down the hall he began the arduous process of swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Her hands were on him quickly, helping slide off of the bed and holding him upright against her. He'd lost weight, an unbelievable amount of weight, since she'd last seen him. From the doorway he'd looked alright, but now she was close enough to see the way his chin sharpened to a point, his hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes. If he put on a billowing cloak he might look like a Scooby Doo villain. Another conversation to have with Derek, later always later. He wouldn't want her to prod him, not right away. Instead she stole a hug before grabbing for his walker, the metal contraption that Derek kept propped frustratingly close.

“Cane,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Don't need that thing.”

“You sure about that?”

“Cane.”

With a frustrated huff, the same sound she had already made plenty of times that day, she reached for his cane and pushed it into his palm, watching the way he curled his fingers around it and made it an extension of himself. Immediately relief flooded his pinched and pallid features, the weight removed from his bad leg. They moved out slowly, her clinging almost desperately to his side, holding his free hand in both of hers, and for some inexplicable reason he didn't try to brush her off. He let her stay, let her fuss, let her stick to him.

In the front room, Jack chattered at Derek while poking at the trays and trays of cookies. He couldn't get a word in edgewise. Careful to keep his eyes on Jack, he tried to watch Hotch move in his peripheral vision, tried to ensure he made it to the couch and down into his spot without incident. He had two favorite spots these days, one slightly safer than the other. The couch was a nice one, his heating pad and heated blanket stayed right there to ward off anyone who might think to sit there. Derek had hammered together a quick little table, like the kind of TV tray his mother used to have so they could have special treats sometimes and watch a show on the couch with dinner, only this one was sturdy enough that Hotch could use it for leverage to push himself upright. Any old store bought one would collapse, this one might withstand the apocalypse. (His other favorite spot was a hammock in the backyard, built on a sturdy frame from Derek's own design. One large piece of thick cloth that stayed more or less flat even when he lay on it and would swing gently in the breeze. He needed help getting in and out of it, but he said it was the most comfortable place in the house. He often napped there after physical therapy, the only place he could get comfortable.) Taking his place on the couch, he let Jessica help him get a pillow beneath his knee and the soft cushioned ottomon under his foot. He could sit here about an hour before he'd be sweating and unable to pretend he wasn't in pain. An hour would be enough.

After Jack's visit, they had some decisions to make.

“Talk to me,” Derek whispered, lying beside Hotch in bed. In the quiet moments, once the pain medication fogged his senses and the pillows and ice packs did their jobs, his head didn't scream like a siren and he could think. Even better, he could talk. “What's on your mind?”

“I dreamed about the surgery today,” Hotch replied after a moment of careful consideration. He'd been gathering his words in a heap. The plan was to sort them and fit them together in order to tell Derek something he hadn't told anyone yet. He might not want to tell anyone, but he owed it to Derek who was fumbling around in the dark trying to put his pieces back together and for what? Love? It was the least he could do. “I saw it. It's still...some parts of it don't make sense. I woke up screaming louder than I've ever screamed, loud enough that my throat hurt for days after. They said I did it four times, I would pass out...and wake up screaming.”

“I can't imagine you screaming.”

A simple statement, but one that made them both laugh. Hotch's with less amusement, but the sentiment had struck him nonetheless. He couldn't remember the last time he actually screamed. Though, he supposed, he didn't really remember this time either. “I guess they had run out of all of their pain medication, even Tylenol, after so much chaos and so many injuries. It wasn't just me," he added the last part with some solemnity that made Derek sigh and blink back tears. Hotch was, so far, emotionally unaffected by the retelling...he'd already cried so many tears over this. "So once the anesthesia wore off I was on my own for almost an entire day...the shipments were being held at a security checkpoint waiting for the area to be cleared. Every box, bag, bin had to be opened and rifled through in case there was another bomb.”

“So, you woke up from a major surgery...”

Sober. Dry as a bone. Clean as a whistle. His mind played word games, associations with phrases his brother would use, and his father would use...all of it meant the same. He woke up without anything to take the pain away, and if that wasn't just the most obvious thing in the world...

But then he deserved it, didn't he? He'd sent Emily away, hidden her deep, lied to his family and friends...so if he woke up from surgery without anything to ease that...well. So be it. “Yeah. I guess I screamed until I passed out. I don't remember it...and when I dreamed about it today, I was just watching. Helpless, like one of the nurses who would hold my hand and put cold rags on my forehead like it made any difference.”

“...fuck...”

“Yeah. They knocked me out the minute they could and kept me under.” And that, he didn't want to say, was when the real horror started. The explosion replaying over and over in his drug addled head, the screaming, blood in the sand, the flames licking up the sides of their tents. A spray of glass so loud, followed by another and who knew a Humvee had so damn many windows? One explosion lead to another until everything flammable had made its boom and then the silence and the apocalyptic pain. Post-op was nothing to that moment of realization, of fear, of wishing he hadn't survived and hoped he wouldn't...not if it felt like that. He didn't want Derek to ever think about that, ever have a clear picture of what happened. For his own peace of mind. They'd already been over it, as Derek ran his hands along the new slick pink scars on Hotch's forearms and the back of his neck, they'd already been well on their way to healing by the time he'd been transported. “What happened” was always met with the same answer. “Nothing. It didn't happen.” The long and short of it was simply that it didn't happen. None of it did. His job overseas would be scrubbed, maybe whatever information remained would be thrown into the bottom of a file no one would ever look in and he would have to come up with some interesting story to tell down the road when people asked about his limp. The limp he'd probably have to live with for the rest of his life, if his doctors were to be believed. He might run again, get back into shape to be in the field even, but the injury was severe enough to be problematic forever.

“Hey, so I go back to work Monday...”

Hotch hummed; he knew. Jessica would come over, she'd already taken care of her FMLA coverage. In truth she'd been working hard on her “vacation” to make sure she was ready to hit the ground running when she got back. Not that she should be saddled with this burden, but she'd volunteered before Derek had a chance to talk about hiring an in-home nurse and well, he figured this was the best course of action anyway. He could heal with Jessica.

“Jess and I were thinking we might get your PT appointments here instead of having to get into the car every day...make it a little easier on you, on everyone.”

He saw red. He didn't mean to, but he did. And not the red from the blood in his eye that was hanging on, no this was...worse. And judging by the serious look on Derek's face, it wasn't over. There was bound to be more. “Spencer offered to pick Jack up from school and hang out with him in the afternoons, until I'm off. He'll come in earlier so he can get out earlier, maybe start doing more lecturing again instead of office work so his schedule fits. It'll give you a few hours after PT to rest. And then we do the family thing, get back into our routines. You, me, Jack. Right? Jess if she wants...like old times.”

What he thought was a mixture of things, most bad, most downright mean. But what he said was simply “What about soccer? I volunteered to coach this season.” What a silly thing to say, he knew he wouldn't be coaching anything anyway. He should have already called or emailed, told them to find someone else...why hadn't he?

“I know. Look I don't know shit about soccer and I really don't wanna learn but Rossi said he'd give it a go, and JJ offered to help out too. She went to school...” on a soccer scholarship, he remembered but he let Derek say it anyway. Say it like he couldn't remember. Maybe Derek would want to remind him who Rossi was next, wouldn't that be fun? The red film was spreading and he closed his eyes, tried to remember to breathe.

Nothing to do but agree, he had no choice. So Spencer would be watching his kid, and Rossi and JJ would be coaching his sports, and Derek would be doing Hotch's job at the office...all it seemed to leave him was time to rot in bed. Angry really didn't begin to cover it. (That he should also feel incredibly fortunate was not at all lost on him, but he wasn't capable of reaching that yet. Later, he'd feel it later when the guilt washed over him and he cried himself back to sleep at 3am to the gentle sound of Derek snoring beside him. If he wished, once again, that he hadn't survived that bomb...he wasn't going to tell anyone except the clock that ticked his minutes away in the dead of night.)

(x)

Coffee isn't a good idea at midnight, and Spencer could tell you that, but as he frothed the foam and listened to the way it hummed through the pages of all his books he smiled. He felt light, energetic, and almost good if not for the nagging pain in his head. Psychosomatic the doctors were telling him, no medical reason for the pain. Nothing on the MRI, in fact his brain as he admired it in photographs, was perfect. He'd hung it on his fridge, like maybe if he walked by it enough times it might grow teeth, fangs...jump out at him. A tumor lurking in the folds of slick gray. But no, just slippery perfect lobes.

Psychosomatic, he said to himself, his tongue clicking over his teeth at the end. It was a delightful feeling and he said it again. He pictured Derek and smiled.

There was a book he'd been wanting to pull down, and in his half-sleepy half-caffeinated daze he wanted to thumb his way through it leisurely. This was pleasure reading, the careful soaking in of words and phrases, absorption into his bones. He devoured books but he didn't always enjoy them...this one he intended to enjoy. Or do his best to.

He was going to read Vonnegut. Not because he hadn't before, or even because he was terribly interested...Vonnegut's particular brand of satire hadn't ever struck any gold in his mines but Derek loved him and he wanted desperately to understand that. He wanted to feel Derek's heart beating in the pages; to know someone most intimately, he figured all you really needed to do was seek the things they poured themselves into or pulled themselves out of. This felt like a good way to spend his night.

His headache was a distant memory the moment his eyes scanned the first words.

All this happened, more or less.

(x)

On Monday morning, Spencer showed up a little early with a coffee for Derek. His favorite order from his favorite stand, a welcome back of sorts. Derek was running late, something about traffic and Jessica getting Jack to school, so he figured he had time to drop it off on Derek's desk as a nice little surprise.

Except someone else had thought of a nice surprise first and it was a hell of a lot better than a coffee, he figured. Maybe not more useful, but better. There was a bouquet of the most exotic flowers Spencer had ever seen in person sitting on Derek's desk. It wasn't big, actually it was quite modest, but it was...exquisite. Like it had been pulled from some alien planet, spiraling spindly blood red orchids smiling at him. Phalaenopsis, he whispered. Unmistakable and mocking him. Every detail precision, a small fortune. The vase was nothing but slick crystalline glass, an elegant fishbowl filled with water, no frills, no gimmicks. He thought of Hotch's injured eye, the way blood filled the aqueous liquid and obscured the warm amber like a bloody fishbowl. Maybe Hotch was being cheeky with these flowers, but he thought not. He probably didn't see the connection. He flicked the card with his forefinger and read the neat type on the back, as if he didn't already know exactly what it was going to say. Maybe not exactly...but he'd be silly not to see it coming.

I love you & I miss you already. xoxo

He didn't even have to sign his name. It wasn't surprising and it wasn't out of character, of course Hotch wanted to wish Derek well and make sure he knew he was thinking of him. Hotch, knocked around and mixed up, was still Hotch and he was romantic and traditional, and he made gestures like this all the time. Nothing about this was surprising, except maybe that there hadn't been some cheeky sonnet attached...but it gutted him anyway. He glanced at his coffee cup, the barista's loopy scrawl of "raise my hand" on the side (a cheeky Vonnegut quote) and he dumped it into the trash on his way back to his own desk.

For the first time since the headaches began, he thought that he might need something stronger than avoidance and caffeine to get through his day. His finger twitched...he was thinking about something a lot stronger. His head was screaming.

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#aaron hotchner #derek morgan #spencer reid #hotchgan #jessica brooks #jack hotchner #criminal minds #fanfiction

[whump-galaxy]

The team making gingerbread houses together.

#not whump #comfort #fluff #team #i just finished decorating one of those storebought sugar cookie houses #it looks ‘great’ XD

[rat-father]

Had to build up some confidence but finally decided to write some scp whump <3 well d-class whump more specifically

for my whumpers who aren't in the scp community : scp 012 for more context

Tagging; @sideblogformindtrash

-- tw;; blood mention / unintentional self harm, blood loss, passing out, lab whump, multiple whumpees, panic, mild implied dissociation / derealisation, implied previous child abuse, temporary whumpee turned caretaker, miscommunication, multiple whumpers / caretakers --

„I said that I was cold, not that I wanted to cuddle.“ Vivek complained.

„Well, this is what my dad would do in the winter when it got really cold. We would sleep in the same bed and share our body heat to keep us warm,“ Sakari said. „And considering the fact that you're hugging me back, I don't think you're against it.“

He huffed, chin resting on top of their head as they hid in the crook of his neck. Their hair was still damp from the shower, smelling mildly of cheap shampoo. „I guess it does help,“ he begrudgingly grumbled.

„See!“

„Doesn't mean I like it! And don't you dare say that I do.“

Sakari's laugh got muffled by the fabric of his shirt. A mix of feelings stormed inside their brain, feeling that everything went by too fast those 3 short days. From the invitation with promise of money, to the pick up in the lone street, the pain of fresh ink burning letters into their skin, and now laying in bed with a murderer. Ultimately, their thoughts kept bringing them back to their dad, sick on the streets with nothing to help. It was stupid accepting such a sketchy thing, 30 days of work for 50k, it was too good to be true. But what other choice did they have?

A hiccuped sob escaped them, accompanied by silent tears.

„I miss him,“ they admitted, more to themselves then the prisoner next to them.

He hummed sympathetically. „Homesickness is something you'll get over.“ He was quiet for a couple seconds, quickly adding. „Maybe 'home' isn't the best word, uh.“

They gave a small smile. „I get what you mean.“

„If they take you for testing, then,“ Vivek inhaled deeply. „You don't have my permission to die.“

„Wasn't planning to, but I'll keep it in mind.“

~-~

Vivek attempted to focus on the words coming from the blabbering prisoner sitting in front of him. He was more interested in whatever he was going on about than the mushy food they expected him to eat. It was better quality then other prisons he'd been to at least, and didn't taste like salted cardboard. He couldn't ignore the other's foot constantly tapping against the ground, leg twitching in sync. He looked like he had to much sugar and caffeine for breakfast, words rolling off his tongue non stop while making wild gestures with his hands. Vivek didn't even know his name, he hadn't bothered introducing himself before starting his rant.

„Were you zoning out just then, Vi?“ 83' chuckled.

83' didn't care to give his name either, but he was distinct enough to recognize even without proper name. Significantly older then everyone else, hair whiter then his skin and surprisingly fluid in his movements. He wondered how his muscles still worked so well. His voice was gentle, albeit croaky.

Vivek glanced at the others, deep in conversation. „Yeah. Don't care for what he's saying.“ He leaned back, reading the numbers on the shirt of the guy in front him. 6499.

83' clapped him on his back. „He is a talkative young man for sure. My son had ADHD. He also used to talk for what felt like hours on end sometimes.“

He nodded along, mind drifting back to Sakari. They certainly enjoyed starting conversations as well. He remembered seeing them talk to minimum 4 different people before the introduction speech.

„You don't have my permission to die.“ His own words echoed in his head, replaying like a broken record. Those words meant nothing beyond the surface, it wouldn't stop them from getting killed in this place. Permission to die was stupid. He might as well pretend to put a spell on them to make then invincible, that would be about as useful.

~-~

Sakari's heart pounded in their chest, deafening the voice attempting to reach their ears. Worry and dread knotted together in their stomach, confusion blanking their mind of rational thought. Their stayed fixated on the paper in front of them, stepping forward without a choice. It was harder to breath. Humidity around them heating their body. They felt awfully aware of their own existence, yet distant from the world. It was one blur, except for the urge to finish the song. That one. That song. The song and dance they played. The one their dad played. Pain seared through them as he hit them, as blood trickled down. Clotted blood running down their arm. Seeping in their fingernails, burning through paper like acid. Acid he spat as he insulted them, cutting deeper inside. Pounding got louder to the beat. It was a joke he was. A small joke. A small note on the page. The face they saw, they closed their eyes. The skulls were nice. The bunnies weren't prevalent. Speedy bunnies running, hitching their breath, invading their lungs. Those unwritten notes, unwritten until end of time. Their legs felt weak under them, fountains of water rolling down them. Written welcoming warmth.

~-~

Vivek held back a sigh hearing the metal door open once more. He sat up in his bed, expecting to see another guard there to take him. He nearly jumped in relief instead seeing Sakari walk in, clutching their lower arm. They meekly smiled at him, sitting down next to him. They curled up on their side as he moved to give them more space. Their feet were inches away from his leg, digging into the hard mattress.

„Are you okay?“ He asked. A stupid question, he thought to himself, the answer was pretty clear.

„Could be better,“ they mumbled, thumb absentmindedly rubbing over their arm.

„What happened? You look like you're about to pass out.“

„Lost a bit of blood is all. Wouldn't be an issue if I had eaten beforehand. But alas.“

„Let me see,“ He didn't wait for them to react, pulling their arm away from their chest. He rolled up their sleeve, inspecting the bloodied bandage wrapped around them. They sat up, wincing at the grip.

„What did they do?“

„Would you believe me if I said I did it to myself?“

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He shook his head. „You wouldn't do that.“

„You haven't known me for that long, I very well could be someone to do that,“ Sakari paused. „But you're right, I wouldn't do it. I'm not entirely sure what happened. I do remember waking up in some infirmary, and getting a cookie.“

„A.. Cookie?“

„Yeah! And apple juice. That was good. Turns out you pass out faster from blood loss if you haven't eaten for hours.“ They laughed.

Vivek sat appalled, staring at them with wide eyes. „You nearly died and you just.. Don't care?“

„I'm not dead, am I? After all,“ they leaned forward. „I don't have your permission to. So what's the point in worrying about something that could've happened, but didn't?“

He rolled his eyes. „Alright. Fair point. I guess I'm just worried about you,“ he mumbled quietly.

„You? Worried about me?“

„Shut the fuck up.“

His words cut them deeper then the wound, flinching before they could stop it. They silently climbed out the bed to move up to their own. He called after them, grabbing them by their sleeve to hold them in place.

„What's wrong now? I wasn't being serious!“

Sakari glared at him through the corner of their eye. He groaned.

„I'm sorry, okay? I didn't know you were sensitive.“

He caught a glimpse of their teary eyes as they shook their head. They pulled themselves out his grasp, entering the small bathroom off to the side. He stood in place, baffled by what happened. Reluctantly he jumped back onto the bed, crossing his arms. The shower turned on, steaming water filling the empty silence for the rest of the night.

#whump #multiple whumpees #whumpee turned caretaker #dissociation tw #tw blood #lab whump #captivity whump #tw self harm #scp #scp whump #excuse my bad writing #I've literally never written anything scp related before #and I'm nervous :') #havent been this nervous since my first whump post #Sakari's panic is based on what goes on in my head when I'm panicking #just incoherent thoughts and rambles that mix together in an attempt to distract myself #I was slightly panicking while writing that part #yay for fear of failure and judgement #d-class antics