#abusive relationship tw

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Lamy can you pretty please write about a yandere Villain or Supervillain or Superhero or Vigilante with a Hero darling?

Don't worry about when you get to this, it's just for fun! It's what I'm hooked on right now :)

My nemesis has presented me with a challenge, and like all great villains, I have tried to be up to the test. Anyyywayyy, tysmm for this ask, Huffle!💙💙 I chose yandere!Supervillain with a hero darling. I hope it is to your liking. Love uuuu!

Poisoned Honey

TW: Abusive relationship, yandere supervillain, blood, injury, drugging, touch-starvation

Notes: This is a lil long, 1.8 k words, so the story is under the cut!

Hero wishes they could move. Run. But, they can't even get up, can't even support their own weight. Their breathing is ragged as they let painful wheezes escape their dry throat, their few fractured ribs straining with the effort. Blood seeps from a gash in their side, hot and frustratingly slow, staining the floor a deep crimson.

They shut their eyes and wince, as a few tears stream down their cheeks. But it isn't from the pain. They've powered through much worse. They're tears of desperation because they know for a fact what they have to do to survive, a cold, hard truth written into a stone that would not weather. There were no hospitals near the old, barren gas station in an abandoned, almost dilapidated part of the city in which they'd taken refuge after Villain had dealt out the worst of their damage.

They scanned the room with their weary eyes, desperate for anything they could use as a makeshift bandage, finding no more than broken glass and old dust everywhere. Their communicator had been smashed under Villain's boot, so they can't even reach out to the hero agency. Some dark part of them contemplated letting their slowly dimming light completely fade away than to resort to their last option.

Supervillain. Ironically, they have healing powers along with others that possess the ability to destroy anything if they wished. A cruelly beautiful paradox. That sounds so much like something Supervillain would say in their silky-smooth, honey-sweet venom of a voice. The necklace around the crime-fighter's neck, one of the few things their nemesis hadn't sought out to destroy, could be used to call the supervillain if they rubbed the charm on it till it changed colour.

They would've destroyed the necklace, that shackle around their neck, but Supervillain would find out. They always found out.

Still hesitant, Hero's hand went up to the pendant, clutching it, but not quite rubbing yet.

When it first started out, whatever they had with Supervillain, it had felt like sweet-smelling flowers just starting to blossom at the start of a spring dream. That had slipped into a nightmare far too painfully fast.

Hero had always been quiet and reserved. They weren't cold or standoffish, but the other heroes just assumed they didn't want anyone to try and talk to them about anything that wasn't work. So, when Supervillain had fought with them for the first time, flashing them a radiant grin, complimenting everything about the hero, from their eyes, to their intelligence and carefully drawn out plans to their soft, flustered laugh. Hero had stayed awake all night, tossing and turning with a euphoria they couldn't comprehend.

Their fights turned into excuses to see each other, Supervillain's advances getting more and more bold, bringing Hero flowers and spoiling them with extravagant gifts and kisses pressed gently to their cheekbones. And after enough pestering, the crime-stopper had finally agreed to move in with them.

Unknowingly chaining themselves up in their own shackles. . .

The dream had quickly dissolved to reveal a nightmare where they were always guessing when Supervillain would be kissing their tired shoulders and lulling them to sleep with fingers softly stroking through their hair and when they would be furious, eyes alight with raging flames, easily overpowering them with the hero's small stature and injecting a drug into their bloodstream that left them completely out of it, a blank slate. Switching between one extreme and the other constantly, enough to drive Hero insane. There were rules. Hero’s twenty-one for crying out loud. They could not go out without the supervillain unless it was for work. They had to return home maximum by midnight.

Hero could handle overprotective. It could even be endearing at times. But this gilded cage built with the bars of Supervillain’s obsession was slowly choking them, smashing all of their hopes like a glass bottle thrown on the sidewalk, shattering to a million pieces. And just like shards of glass, putting them back together was nearly impossible, only serving to make whoever tried bleed.

But still, Hero couldn’t go back to the miserable excuse they’d had for a life before Supervillain. To celebrating birthdays and holidays alone. To eating dinner at an empty table. To stitching up the worst of their wounds without help. They just couldn’t. And Supervillain had made damn sure that there was no one else they could turn to.

“It would be pretty. . .unfortunate if something happened to that lucky person, darling, don’t you think so?” they’d crooned in that silky voice of theirs, their nails digging sharply into the skin of Hero’s arm.

Going back to them was like striking a deal with the devil because he promised you heaven.

But the devil can’t give you heaven. . .

Exactly. And yet you will still go through with the deal.

Before Hero can lament their indecisiveness any further, fate intervenes to make their decision for them.

The master criminal lands next to them with a swish of their dark cape, their face marred with worry. They waste no time in scooping them against their chest in a bridal carry, pressing their hands to the bloodied gashes scattered all over the crime-stopper’s body. They feel the familiar warmth of their wounds closing under the supervillain’s touch. Once they were done, the numb sensation disappears, and the pain washes over them again, making them lurch forward in the master criminal’s grasp.

*******************************************************

“What the hell were you thinking?” Supervillain screams, but it falls on deaf ears. Hero had grown frighteningly accustomed to the master criminal’s lectures, consisting purely of them being berated like some troublemaking child and then the details of the exact ‘punishment’ they would receive, how all of this was for their safety, how they shouldn’t dare to defy the supervillain ever again, yadda yadda yadda. It felt like terrible background music, like that song they always skipped whenever it came on the radio in their car. So, they stay silent through it all, gaze downcast, because they don’t have the energy, neither mental nor physical to meet the full intensity of the villain’s livid gaze. They just nod, shake their head, give the one-word answers the criminal wanted to hear.

And of course, the dreaded consequence. “This time, the dosage is twice as strong. To make sure you’ve learned. You know this is for your own good, doll?”

They nod sharply, like they actually believe it, focusing on bracing themselves for the sharp pinch of the needle breaking their skin, emptying its sinister contents into their bloodstream. It leaves them drugged out of their mind, feeling like their head had been emptied and refilled with cotton. Supervillain knew that even if they stuck around, even if they try to hide it, Hero holds whatever semblance of their freedom in high regard. Just the idea that they had virtually no control over themselves for a few hours was enough to terrify them into obedience.

When they snap out of it, there are no new injuries on them, absolutely nothing would change. Like every single time. The issue was, that the master criminal had blatantly refused to tell them whatever was being done to them when they were in that state. They stopped asking, but it never failed to keep them up at night.

*******************************************************

The next day, Supervillain had taken them to a luxurious hotel, a gesture that would have previously left them tongue-tied, squealing an ‘it’s too much!’ as they tried to hide how flattered they were. Now, they just feel numb. Empty. The way they do all the time.

At least staying in the hotel room is a change of scenery, so they don’t feel so much like they’re in a prison as they would have sleeping in their room back at Supervillain’s. “A new, temporary, gilded cage.” They snort to themselves, staring straight up at the dim lights hanging from the ceiling, as they lay flat on the bed.

Hero wakes up at an absurdly early hour, all the sleep magically disappearing from their eyes. So, they decide to shower, trying their hardest to focus on the water’s comforting heat, on the flowery smell of the hair conditioner, on anything that wasn’t the never-ending waterfall of terrible thoughts in their mind or the vice-like grip of a tightness in their chest left by guilt.

Taking a look at themselves in the bathroom mirror, Hero quickly notices the dark circles under their eyes and how much of a resemblance they bear to a stick figure in the bathrobe hanging loosely off their frame. They hadn’t been eating much lately. Lost their appetite among other things

When they finish, they find Supervillain awake and waiting for them, patiently sitting cross-legged on one of the seats in the room, smiling sweetly at them. They sit them down onto the chair next to them, and they stand up behind Hero. They place their hands delicately on the crime-fighter’s narrow shoulders, their knuckles warm as they gently applied pressure a little underneath their shoulder blades.

Oh how they hate that the master criminal is ironically incredibly good at comforting them. How they involuntarily lean into the touch, how the tension blissfully dissipates from their form.

“Just relax, dove. Focus on the touch, that’s it,” they whisper softly, and all the crime-stopper does is obey. What other option was there?

Their eyes flit over to a flock of birds flying through the sky as the earliest rays of the sun start to show themselves, the midnight blue of the sky fading to show stripes of brilliant oranges and pinks on a pale blue canvas. They envy those birds so much, to the point that it feels as though their appearance was simply to mock the hero.

*******************************************************

At dinner time, they try to distract themself with the food on their plate. Chicken curry had always been their favourite. It tastes impeccable here, shame they can’t actually enjoy it.

“I know what happened yesterday was pretty overkill, but it’s because I love you. I worry about you so much, sweetness. I figured I’d bring you over here to ease things up. Feeling better?” the supervillain questioned, so awfully concerned for them. How lovely.

And just like every time, whether it was at a restaurant, the movies, wherever, Hero gives them a small smile. “Much better, thank you,” they reply in a silky voice, with an ease born of practice

The first time, they’d actually fallen for the whole apology shtick. Right now, it’s just another part of the convoluted routine of their life.

They were both such wonderful actors in a sick, twisted, little fantasy. They knew full-well it was anything but real, an illusion born of cruel lies and gift-wrapped in skillful manipulation. Entrancingly beautiful like a bouquet of belladonna but just as damningly fatal. Sweet like honey and deadly like poison.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @catsarecool00 @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

#the little gremlin answers #hero x villain #hero x supervillain #yandere supervillain x hero darling #yandere whump #hero whumpee #supervillain whumper #whump #angst #abusive relationship tw #touch starvation tw #blood tw #villain whumper #lamy writes #a little gremlin's writing #writers on tumblr #female writers #writing #fiction #this was new #first time trying yandere whump AND h x v together #hope I did it right #I hope you enjoy this #and ty for this ask #first long fic in a while woooo!

[daisy-mooon]

carol/yon-rogg… thoughts? (i’m so sorry in advance)

The way I was literally just vagueposting about them on Discord 😭 the TIMING

I've read nearly every Captain Marvel fic on Ao3, Yonvers included, and I have a lot of thoughts

Gonna start this out by saying I hope this ship never becomes canon endgame

Complicated exes

Carol would not go back to him.

She would definitely have regrets and grief, but she would not go back to him. It would he impossible for her to feel safe around him.

She could maybe be a coworker or ally if she's feeling exceptionally generous and the universe would collapse otherwise, but a proper relationship is out of the window.

Yon-Rogg projected onto her a lot. She was an amnesiac clean slate. In the deleted scene, the person he most admired was himself - what if he started admiring himself after he rescued Carol? Viewing himself as a saviour too her?

Yon-Rogg would never see the Supreme Intelligence as Carol. He's a Kree supremacist, and he knows that Carol is human. He can't ever treat her as a full equal.

The Supreme Intelligence would demote him, but I doubt it would give Yon-Rogg any consequences that actually measured up too his actions.

They definitely hate each other after.

They would both beat the shit out of each other if given the chance.

They've definitely been in a relationship and they've definitely slept together.

Carol wouldn't tell Maria everything about Yon-Rogg at first because of the guilt of having a relationship but eventually would spill the beans during the blip. It would be very hard for her to do.

Yon-Rogg would 100% be jealous over Prince Yan. Meanwhile Prince Yan would obviously care, but he'd he incredibly cold and dismissive towards him. He knows him only as the guy that destroyed Carol's life. He's not deserving of his time.

Valkyrie definitely knows about him. Again, like Yan, she doesn't think he's deserving of her time. But she wouldn't hesitate at stabbing him if he came to it.

The Kree have a kinda poly culture so what I'm saying is that Carol was sleeping with Yon-Rogg and Dar-Benn at the same time and they hated each other a lot

Carol's relationship with Dar-Benn is awful but a lot healthier in the sense that Dar-Benn had zero idea about Carol's origins.

I can definitely see Dar-Benn learning about Carol's origins after she becomes Supremor and being shocked, but deciding not to do anything to punish Yon-Rogg. Again, Kree supremacy. Any good will she has for Carol goes out the window the moment she realises she's human.

The shared blood thing... poor Carol.

I NEED people to talk about the fact that Carol literally DIED and Yon-Rogg resurrected her like??? This is how you know the MCU has gone to shit because any good writer would milk the fuck outta this

Carol's fine with blood UNTIL it is blue. Blue blood makes her incredibly squeamish.

She has a Thing against blood needles and transfusions that she refuses to explain.

Yon-Rogg would never call her Carol. Mostly Vers, maybe Captain or Danvers, but never Carol. It would mean that he accepts her as a separate person.

Very bitter over her leaving - "why isn't she grateful for all I did for her?"

Yeah the Supreme Intelligence treated him wrong... but that does not mean Carol should forgive him in anyway

I know some Yonvers fans will kill me but it's an emotionally/psychologically abusive relationship.

She literally does not have access too basic medical information about her species???

Are we gonna talk about the fact that all of this time hes wittering about fair fights Carol physically can't beat him in a fair fight because Kree are stronger than humans? And that she isn't allowed to know that she's human? So she's being gaslit into thinking her failures are her fault when they're not?

I honestly also think its important that not everything should be romantic. They aren't romantic in canon and he still abused her. It's not always a partner or family member that can abuse you - it can be anyone.

I would write more but it's 1am so im wrapping it up. Anyways, final thoughts: a very interesting and deeply unhealthy dynamic that adds a lot to Carol's character but as an endgame ship would detract from her character arc. Anyways im tired af gn squad

#b4 anyone complains no i dont think this ship is healthy and yes im aware of how messed up it is read the last paragraph again #i know ppl can read but i know tumblr can NOT read so just in case #captain marvel #carol danvers #yon-rogg #yonvers #mcu #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #captain marvel (2019) #shipping #problematic ships #carol danvers x yon-rogg #headcanons #ig? #problematic ship tw #abusive relationship tw #abuse discussion #abuse mention #abuse tw

[positivelybeastly]

Mancation: maiming; mutilation / Sinister

"Make the incision, McCoy."

There was a pregnant shine of a scalpel, the movement of an oversized hand, the twitch of fingers . . . and then . . . moments passed.

A sigh.

"I said, make the incision, McCoy."

There was a momentary wobble of a finger, a halting breath - before the scalpel moved, the gleaming stainless steel tip pressing to warm, unmoving flesh, unzipping the thin layer of - in front of the - that covered the, sternum, that . . .

Blood.

A clatter, a turn of a stomach. And then warm, pale fingers on the back of his neck, and Henry went stiff, feeling the familiar touch of his - mentor's hand on the so very human looking flesh of his neck.

"You don't want to disappoint me, do you, Henry?"

The shake of a head.

"So why do you persist in doing so, boy?"

The bob of an Adam's apple, and the garish homunculus that once was, still called itself, Nathaniel Essex, let out another sigh.

"You're fifteen years old, Henry. You're more than old enough to do this now. It isn't even a mutant you're working on yet, this is just a flatscan. They aren't people. You know that. You've seen the research we've done on them, we know that they don't feel pain the same way that we do."

Did they? Did they know that?

"There are thousands of mutants who would kill to be in the position you're in now, boy. Thousands of people with lesser intellects but greater wills to do what must be done, and they're all just sitting, waiting, for the chance that you keep squandering. How long do you think I shall wait? How many chances do you think I'll give you?"

He was quiet. The boy couldn't normally shut up when he was cloistered with his books and his research journals, but the instant it came time to do some actual damned work, he was quiet? The human spine of him was so very disgusting.

". . . I had high hopes for you. I selected you personally."

There was - a vague memory. Henry wasn't sure if it was blanketed out by some kind of mental alteration, by what he knew to be a young mind's inability to form long term memories the same way a fully formed one did, or if it was just . . . fear.

A fear of half-remembered warmth that had turned so very cold so very quickly. He remembered . . . sitting on the floor, it had been a wood floor, next to a fireplace, he couldn't have been more than - four, maybe five. Very young. Very very young. He could remember hushed, frightened voices, a man and a woman, talking about getting out of America, about leaving the farm behind and just going.

He could remember not liking that idea. Of wanting to stay on the farm, with its strings of golden corn and rich, brown earth, with its never-ending horizon and all the things he could swing from - it was a playground to him.

Everything gleamed, sparkled, it had such lustre, it begged to be looked at, turned over, investigated, prodded, poked. He'd had a field day when he discovered worms liked mud, he'd just sat there watching them for hours until his . . . someone, had found him, told him off, cleaned him up. Held his jaw and smiled, telling him that she wasn't upset, that she just wanted to make sure he was all right, that he could tell her all about what the worms had done over dinner.

Dinner had been burbling away when the knock at the door had come. The low tones and the panicked, assertive whisper-shouts of two people who knew their time was running out had ceased, replaced with silence. Just the burbling of a pot.

The swing of a door. A shadow in the doorway. A voice.

His voice.

Every time he tried to remember past that point, it got hazy. Complicated. Like a knot of hair that had been left to scraggle around itself for months, tangled so tight it was impossible to unwind, fit only to be cut out and regrown healthy. Untangled. Uncomplicated.

"I have raised you, taken a special interest in your education, in your growth, in your being. You would be lesser without me, you know that, don't you?"

In his mind, Henry pulled at that tangle, and it bled. He could remember - smoke, coagulating in his lungs, choking him. He could remember a sweet smell even through the salt of tears, blood soaked wood, and then pale. White. Pale white with a little red diamond.

"You insult me with your silence, Henry, but that's fine. It's the burden of a father to be disappointed by his son. You have one week. If I return to this lab and you do not have results for me, you'll be released from your service and you can make do out there."

There was an instinctive chill at the mention of out there. A tensing, a revulsion, a creeping horror at the knowledge that the world was not as it should be and there was nothing anyone could do to make it the way it should be.

Footsteps. The door. And then, as if like magic, the air returned to the room.

Henry breathed and pulled back, his hands shaking as he looked down at the tiny incision he'd made, barely a cut, really, but even just that speck of blood had made him want to retch. An invisible hand reached over the back of his and squeezed, directed him to grab a surgical cloth and clean, apply pressure, stop the bleeding.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

He pulled away the instant he could, moved to the sink, refused to look in the mirror for as long as he could. Why hadn't he been able to do it? He'd been taught the correct method, he had studied all the surgical manuals, it should have been easy, he had hands that could, that could disassemble and reassemble a pulse particle rifle in twenty seconds, that could detect the vibrations from the music three floors down if he pressed his palm to the walls, his hands never shook, but the instant he'd . . .

He looked up, in the mirror, and winced. He was pale. Sweaty, weak, white as a sheet, god, he was disgusting. Why was this the hand that his X-gene had dealt him? Why did he have to look so basely human? Why did he have to look so degenerate, so much lesser? Why couldn't he have been one of the lucky ones?

His mutant gift was concentrated in hands that couldn't do the work he had been given. What cruel irony was this?

*

"Have you read the Lord Apocalypse's latest treatise, McCoy?"

Henry's eyes flicked up from the food he'd been pushing around on his plate with a blunted knife, regarding Kavita with a cool, cautious eye. She was a human, but - she was all right, by most standards. Allowed to work with the other mutant scientists by virtue of her intelligence and her willingness to work in the ways that Henry found so hard, she was probably a front runner for his replacement if he continued to falter.

For a moment, he considered plunging the knife into her throat, just on the off chance that happened.

"What? No. No, I have not, I've been - busy."

Busy being not busy. Busy staring at the drugged subject on his lab table, trying to work up the nerve to carve them open and nourish himself with the information that was hidden inside. Busy trying to be someone he wasn't.

"Too busy to read the Lord's latest treatise . . ? That doesn't sound like you."

He scowled.

"If you wish to continue to be enigmatic, Rao, you can leave. I'm in no mood to entertain you today."

Kavita rolled her eyes, knowing better than almost anyone that Henry was just in one of his moods, and though she elected to leave, as he'd suggested, she did, nonetheless, slide over a pamphlet - a slim one, by Apocalypse's standards, but that usually boded well. That usually meant less philosophy, more science.

'The Awakening of Mutancy - Secondary Mutation.'

"I think you'll find it an interesting read. It's still just theory, for the most part, but Apocalypse truly believes that there's potential in it."

*

Henry devoured it. From the first word to the last, it was seared into his brain, because in amongst the quasi-religious, gallingly obvious propaganda about the purity of the mutant form, there was science here - there was theory, there was data, there was hypothesis, there was . . . promise. Unfulfilled, as of yet, but it was there.

X-gene manifestation at puberty as a result of a cocktail of hormones, adrenaline, acetylcholine, forming a brand new hormone that had yet to be isolated, but that was theorised to be the root cause of mutant gifts. A hormone. Fascinating. Chemical instructions, chemical blueprints for a new form that catalysed the unique genetic markers, pulled something new out of the code, a form of alchemy, really.

Fascinating.

Fascinating.

*

"Rao, I assure you, Essex knows the specifics of this project, and it's to him, and him alone, that I'm responsible. Now, if you'll excuse me, this cell diagram has to be programmed immediately. And to do that, I'll need absolute concentration. Which means, I'm afraid, you'll have to leave."

There was a moment of pregnant silence as Kavita took Henry McCoy in, took in the frantic, manic little man as he all but raced from table to table, from station to station, before she spoke.

"Henry, this is . . . you only have three more days before Essex returns, and you haven't even begun to do the work that he's asked you to do. Are you sure you should be wasting time on this?"

"It's not a waste of time. You don't understand."

The short, clipped tone made Kavita feel as though she were staring at Henry through a funhouse mirror - he was still unmistakably himself, still that same too intense fifteen year old with a mop of brown hair, but there was a look in his eyes that was . . . impulsive. Propulsive. Determined. Worrying.

"I almost wish I hadn't given you that pamphlet now, it's clear that I set you down a path for fai - "

In an instant, he was upon her, grabbing her by the shoulders and slamming her against the nearest wall. Her head bounced and she groaned in pain, but even though she could see a flicker of remorse in those searing blue eyes, it didn't stop him for even a second.

"I. Will not. Fail. I can't fail. It's impossible. I'm too smart to fail. I just need time, to focus, and I don't need wittering little humans with their fragile little four chambered hearts and their shrunken brains to talk to me as if they know me."

Kavita swallowed.

"Henry, your heart is - "

"Six chambered. Just because I look like you, just because I look like a genetic mistake, doesn't mean I am. What matters, is what is in here - " He tapped fervently at his temple and his heart. " - and that is mutant." He released her, stepping back, breathing deeply, and she rubbed at the back of her head.

". . . You've done me a service, Kavita. That pamphlet was the key. But you are, in the end, only human. Don't forget that. No-one will ever let you."

He turned, and she watched him stalk over to the cell diagram once more.

"I hope - I hope that this brings you what you want, Henry. I hope, more than anything, that what you want, is what will make you happy."

*

Perhaps you should have listened to her, Henry. Instead of focusing on the genetic extractor you were developing, perhaps it might have saved you.

"There - it's done. I've finally diluted the precipitate. This . . . this is the hormonal extract, the chemical cause of mutation. With this solution, we'll be able to extend the natural chromosonal imbalances - in effect, to turn any man into a mutant."

You swallowed, Henry. You could feel, on some level, that this was a moment that would define you. What might other Henry McCoys have done? Put the extract down, throw it in the trash? Accept failure? Accept defeat? Accept the human face that stares at you from the mirror?

Not you, though.

The fear. The sheer, unbridled terror that's sat in your gut since that day so many years ago. The low, dull throb of anxiety that pulses like a second heart inside of you. The crippling, choking shadow of a hand around your throat, and something wet coagulating on your face.

The fear is what makes the decision. Not you. But then, what is a man but the sum of his fears? What is a man but the totality of the roads not taken? What is a man, if not what he'll do to avoid failure?

"Don't know what will happen if you mutate a mutant . . . but I've got to take the chance. I've got to."

That wasn't precisely the truth, was it, Henry McCoy? You didn't have to. But the fear that's driven you since you were five years old and newly adopted by a thing not of this earth told you differently, and you took the hormonal extract, and . . .

You changed.

Blinding, searing pain - for a moment, you thought you might have swallowed acid. You bent over, clutched at your stomach, and for that long moment, you thought, this is what it means to die. But that was when you understood.

It's all right to die. Resurrection, reformation, rebirth, re-emergence, resurgence, is what separates the man from the mutant, after all.

And resurrected you were. Your skin burst, the flesh separating from the muscle as the soft cells of a human burned away, to be replaced. Your nails surged forward, blood bubbling up around the cuticle as the digits swelled and everything about you grew. You screamed as that hole inside of you was suddenly filled to overflowing, as newfound strength thrummed through you, new life, new power, new you.

It's all right to die, isn't it, Henry? Nothing of value inside of you was lost. Not truly. Some other Henry McCoy might see this as a curse, but you . . . ahhh.

You were blessed.

*

"Well now, Henry, young Doctor Rao here tells me that you've been quite the busy bee - I do so hope that you've applied yourself to - "

Essex stopped.

The broad back that worked and flowed and tensed and relaxed before him was covered in a thick layer of harsh black fur. Heavy strands of hair were braided, hung low with beads. There was a glimpse of a hand, twisted into cruel, shimmering claws and grabbing, eager fingers, and Kavita brought her palm up to her mouth. She spoke through her fingers, taking it all in.

"What is all this?"

The voice that answered was deep, sonorous. There was a rumble to it that wasn't quite human. An edge to it that wasn't quite all there, or, maybe it was. It sounded so very sure.

"It's science."

Essex's voice was dubious.

"Science. How delightfully vague, Henry. What have you been doing? I hope for your sake it's been what I told you to do."

Henry - or, whatever it was that had assumed Henry's shape - turned around, and Kavita wanted to scream. Essex, even, started.

A mouth twisted with glee at their reactions.

"Why, Kavita, Nathaniel, you look as though you've seen a ghost. But then, perhaps that's accurate."

He stepped aside, revealing the body flayed open, pinioned with steel rods, the flesh taut like canvas, organs conspicuous by their absence. There had been no mercy, no invisible hands, no memory here. Just efficiency. Just good, honest science.

"After all, a ghost is nothing more than a memory, a memory of who we once were, before we become what we must."

The thing laughed, and Sinister laughed with it - delighted. Proud.

"And what am I to call my young protege, now that he's become what he was always meant to be?"

It was almost affectionate, the way Sinister's tongue curled around the words, and Kavita could see the creature revel in them. He didn't have to think twice.

"Beast. Call me Beast."

#defyxoblivion #lost words drabble meme #blood tw #surgery tw #violence tw #supremacist language tw #abusive relationship tw #toxic family tw #verbal abuse tw #self-hatred tw #body horror tw

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 10 - In Irons

Look! Proof that I haven't forgotten about this series, either!

This is a prequel piece, taking place before Adelaide runs away in the first chapter.

Taglist: @darthsutrich , @a-series-of-whumpy-events , @ladydani101 , @thingsthatgowhumpinthenight , @annablogsposts

Masterlist

No. 10: “Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”

Contains: abusive relationship, historical sexism, insulting a woman’s appearance/body, vaguely referenced marital activities, talk of cleavage, talk of pregnancy

.

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Charles comes up behind her as her maid is helping her dress. She always wishes he wouldn’t. He’s seen her in much more of a state of undress than her shift and stays - he’s her husband, after all - but that doesn’t keep Adelaide from feeling exposed. 

He doesn’t touch, and doesn’t get in the way as her petticoat is slipped over her head. He just watches, looking her up and down with a critical eye.

“I highly doubt any other man ever took a second glance at you, you know.” 

She makes eye contact with him in the mirror for an instant, surprised by the statement, then quickly looks away again. He’s in another of his moods, clearly, and as usual, she’s the one he’ll take it out on. She just needs to remain quiet until he’s done. 

“Other than the unusual color of your hair, you’ve hardly anything to offer. Your features are too boyish, your breasts are embarrassingly small -” Adelaide’s face heats rapidly, shocked that he’d bring up such a thing -“and the freckles…” He sighs heavily, as if the marks on her skin have personally offended him. 

“Be sure she’s wearing plenty of powder tonight, down to her neckline, as well,” he instructs the maid, who nods silently, focused on preparing the next petticoat and pretending she’s not listening to the rest of the conversation. “Just try to make sure she’s as presentable as possible. Everyone is already talking about why you’re not with child yet, I don’t need them talking about your looks, as well.”

Why would they? I’m already taken. By you. Clearly my looks weren’t that horrible when you asked my father to court me.

“You come from an admirable family, and your dowry was acceptable, but I hope you know that if I hadn’t taken you, you’d have ended up a spinster. You owe me for the pampered life of a married woman you’re now living.”

Ah, there ‘tis. This is about me owing him an heir, as usual.

He continues to stare at her for a long moment, displeasure creasing his features. Adelaide stands with her hands folded in front of her and prays he’ll leave. 

“Well, hurry up and finish getting ready, then.” Turning on his heel, he marches toward the door. Just before he exits, she hears him mutter, “If our son ends up with freckles…”

I hope you never have a son. I’d have rather ended up a spinster than to share a bed with you.

“Madame? Forgive me if this is too forward, but I’ve heard that some of the ladies will add, um…padding to their bodices. Would you like me to…?”

“No, thank you,” Adelaide answers coolly, then gives the maid a slight, forced smile in the mirror. “Powder me enough to appease him, but let’s not go too far in catering to his whims.”

The maid smiles back, ducking her head, though not before Adelaide sees the approval in her eyes. “Yes, madame.”

#whumptober2023 #no.10 #lyric #can't you see that you're lost without me? #original content #fic #sexism tw #pregnancy tw #abusive relationship tw #emotional abuse tw #in irons #adelaide the pirate #lady whumpee #arranged marriage #historical fiction #colonial era #whump series

[ashintheairlikesnow]

💌 for Kauri please? (hmm possibly with Owen hmmm)

(Also, from Anon: (I'm not sorry for who ever gets involved with this) 💌 & Owen - apology sex

CW: Owen is an abuser and uses abuser logic, emotional abuse, emotional manipulation, domestic abuse, pet whump, box boy, bbu, dubcon

-

Sometimes, there are moments like this.

"I'm sorry," Owen says, and lays a hand on his back. Kauri doesn't look at him, keeping his chin resting on his knees, arms around his legs. Tears still blur his vision, hot and demanding, even as his eyes ache and his head throbs from the ones he's already cried. His lip throbs, one his wrists is already bruising visibly, only a few hours after Owen's hand had been closed around it. "Hey. Kaur-Bore... you hear me?"

"I hear you," Kauri whispers, but he doesn't look. If he looks into Owen's green eyes, he'll fall all over again, and he knows it. The warm hand at his back rubs gently, up and down, and Owen shifts closer, leans in to press a kiss to his hair. Kauri has to lock his jaw to keep from tilting his head into it.

"I wasn't thinking," Owen says, lips barely moving against a black curl. It makes Kauri shiver, liquid warmth pooling inside of him. "I wasn't. It was stupid of me, Kauri, so stupid of me. I was the rocks for brains this time, yeah? Not you, this time it was me."

Kauri takes a breath and tells himself Owen doesn't mean it. He never means his apologies. His eyes closed, he pretends he's somewhere else, with someone else, that it isn't going to end the way it always, always ends.

Apologize. Hurt again. Apologize once more. Round and round.

"You nearly broke my arm," Kauri says. His voice stays steady. "Right in front of the neighbor down the hall, you nearly did."

"You're my pet, it's none of his fucking business what we do." Owen sighs, moves around in front of him. Kauri senses the shift in the weight on the bed. When Owen's hands are on his, he lets them be pushed down to balance himself, lets owen slot between his legs. The sapphire and white-gold necklace he wears for a collar shifts, too, a jewel in the hollow of his throat. Owen pushes him onto his back, and Kauri doesn't stop him, but he doesn't go eagerly either.

He keeps in mind his swollen bottom lip, bitten to bleeding. The ache in his arm, wrenched nearly out of its socket. The terror as he'd been shoved back into a wall.

"I was just saying good morning," Kauri says. He can feel Owen looming over him. "I don't even know his name."

"Kaur-Bore." Owen shakes his head, and there's a patronizing little smile in his voice that Kauri can see without ever having to open his eyes. "You and I both know that you don't have to know anybody's name to be a little slut around anyone hot. I know what they train Romantics for."

Kauri's chest twists in a new kind of pain. "Mr. Owen... I'm made for you."

"Yeah, because I'm the one who keeps you here. If I let you walk away, you'd be sucking off some guy on a park bench in a week or less. It's not your fault, Kaur-Bore, it's just how you're made."

Kauri swallows, again and again, until all the words that clump together in his throat are forced down. He forces down the tears. He forces down, beneath that, a white-hot anger that he cannot afford to show. "You hurt me," He says instead, and there are so many layers to those three words he knows Owen can't begin to hear.

He just wants to be loved.

He wants to stop having to force down his thoughts and pretend they don't exist.

He wants-

He wants to say good morning to a neighbor without feeling eyes on his back and a hand closing tight around his arm.

"I know." Owen is quiet, and then takes his hand and pulls the bruising wrist to his own mouth, kissing along the place where you can damn near see fingerprints. "I know I did. I'm so sorry, Kaur-Bore. I'm so sorry. You were just saying hello, right? You didn't mean anything by it."

"I didn't-... I didn't. I just... wanted to pretend, for a second, that-... that-"

"That we're a real couple?"

Kauri opens his eyes, and catches the lopsided smile Owen wears, bittersweet and with some anger Kauri can't quite fathom underneath it.

"I wanted to pretend that, too. I wanted to be a real couple," Owen says, voice low. "But I have to settle for pretending, like this. Pretending is hard, Kauri. It makes me... makes me angry, sometimes, having to pretend. That you're not the real thing."

If being called a slut had hurt before, then being reminded that they aren't even really a couple hurts far, far more. "I'm not him," Kauri whispers, and his own anger rises, too.

"No. You're not Vince. But... but we can pretend. I can be better at pretending." He rubs a thumb over Kauri's swollen lower lip. "I bit you. I'm sorry for that, too."

Kauri might like hearing it if he thought it meant he wouldn't just be bitten again, and apologized to again, over and over until nothing means anything unless it's touching him.

"Mr. Owen..." He's going to crack apart. Shake down into powder, disappear entirely. He throws his arms up around Owen's shoulders, and feels the way Owen briefly tenses and then relaxes down on top of him. Covering him with his weight, and warmth. He can feel Owen from forehead to knees. He isn't alone. Not here. Not right now. "Please. Please just... let's stop talking about it, okay?"

"Okay, okay. But you believe me, right? That I'm sorry for losing my temper?"

Kauri swallows.

No.

"Yes," He says out loud, with all the sincerity he can fake. He's an amazing liar.

All the sluts like him are.

Owen grins. "Good. Good, good... now... let me show you just how sorry I really am..." He kisses Kauri's jaw, over his neck, sucking on the skin there until Kauri starts to move against him, rolling his hips in short little lifts. They both start to harden, and when Owen pulls back to take Kauri's shirt off he raises his arms. He drops his hands down to undo Owen's zipper. Their mouths meet and his lip burns where it burst but it doesn't hurt as badly as the bright hot pain in Kauri's chest.

He buries himself in it, in his hand moving against slick hot skin, in Owen's hands pushing his legs up, bent at the knees until he's nearly in half. He loses the pain to cold slick liquid on fingers inside of him, to the pleasure of Owen using one hand to open him up while the other strokes him off with steady certainty.

Owen kisses him, and he moves his tongue just right. Arches his back in a perfect show of lust, lust he even makes himself feel, after a while, because being wanted, and wanting, is better than facing what his life really looks like.

"I'm so sorry I hurt you, Kaur-Bore," Owen whispers against his hair, deep inside of him, hitting just right over and over until Kauri scratches fingernails down his back and cries out for more. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry, I won't hurt you again."

Yes, you will.

"I know-... I know-... Mr. Owen, please, h-harder-"

At some point, he forgets the pain entirely, and all he feels is Owen's skin hot and sweaty, his own electric and charged like lightning at every lingering touch, and the way he is so full of Owen there isn't any room for anything else.

"I-I love you, Mr. Owen-"

"I know," Owen answers. The headboard rocks against the wall in time. "I know, I-... know, fuck, good boy, Kauri, good boy-"

The loneliness in him is buried by the overwhelming crest of pleasure and the way he calls out Owen's name.

In the middle of that single moment, he... almost does believe that Owen really is sorry.

Maybe Owen believes, just for a moment, that he's Vince.

Maybe they're both pretending this is real.

-

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @thefancydoughnut @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @burtlederp @nonsensical-whump @whump-tr0pes @autophagay @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things

#whump #erase to control #owen grant is a nice guy #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #obsessive whumper #noncon tw #dubcon tw #box boy #box boy universe #bbu #captivity #pet whump #pet whump bbu #noncon kissing #dubcon kissing #abusive relationship tw #emotional abuse #emotional manipulation #domestic violence tw #possessive whumper

[showmethesneer]

The thing that i hate about My Dark Vanessa-- and it's not even a thing that i hate about the book so much as resent-- is that the story only works if she tells us how she fell for him in the first place. We can't understand the effect of the abuse if we don't see the initial allure. So she has to tell us all the sexy and tender parts that appealed to her. And even though i'm an adult and i know better and i can see his manipulation at work, part of me is falling in love with him too.

#my dark vanessa #abusive relationship tw #grooming tw #child abuse tw #kate elizabeth russell #liveblog of me reading #jacob strane

[cantdanceflynn]

OK SRY THIS TOOK SO LONG WAS MOVING HAY. ALSO IK THIS IS ANOTHER MORE METAPHORICAL ONE BUT BC OF NPMD IVE BEEN HAVING THOUGHTS BOUT EM™ PLUS SOME SCHOOL SKETCHES OF THAT ONE SCENE BUT LIKE. U CAN TELL IM STILL N V V EEPY LOL SO TAKE PNF TOXIC YURI EDITION

#SOMETHING BOUT POOFENPLOTZ BEING INTERPRETED AS THE MORE AGGRESSIVE AND INTIMATE ONE IN THE RELATIONSHIP BC ALICE TRIES SO HARD TO AVOID HER #OWN THOUGHTS WHEN ITS SO CLEARLY THE OTHER WAY AROUND IF ANYONE ELSE KNEW THEM #THEY SUCK SO BAD I HATE THEM/POS #ALSO LISTEN ITS NOT MY FAULT GRACE IS SO ALICE AND DIRTY GIRL IS RIGHT FUCKING THERE OK #PHINEAS AND FERB #PNF #PNF DEITY AU #ALICE LUOJA #ESMERALDA POOFENPLOTZ #ESMERALICE #ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP TW #TORTURE #GORETOBER #CANDY-ART

[honeykngdom]

𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚢 | 𝚎. 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 | 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗

Pairing: Embry Call x Original Character Summary: Join Ainsley and Embry as they embark on a journey where they are forced to question everything they thought they knew, and embrace the pain that is inevitable to avoid in love. An imprint story. Self-discovery. Angst and romance. Word Count: 4.3k Warnings: mentions of abusive relationship, alcoholism, drinking Taglist: @leilaniers - message / comment if you’d like to be tagged in new chapters (or for Embry content in general)!

It had been about two weeks since the last time Embry and I spoke. We saw each other on two separate occasions: once when Jennie and I visited Billy for lunch and a few of the guys had been outside trying to clear his driveway from the snow that had barricaded him inside for the last few days, and again at Jared’s when Kim and I stopped by to pick up some of her things from his apartment. 

Both times Embry tried to talk to me, and both times I tried to avoid having to speak with him in the nicest way possible. I wasn’t particularly proud of what happened, and definitely hadn’t heard the last of it. Maddox suggested that perhaps I had taken it too far, and had even gone as far as trying to encourage me to go see Embry and work things out. 

“Mistakes happen,” he mumbled, picking a stray strand of hair from his pant leg, “we both know he would never do anything to hurt you on purpose.” 

Maddox had had a point, but I still wasn’t ready to talk to him. Not yet. 

Currently, we were occupying the Cullen’s downstairs quarters, lounging on opposite sides of the couch, trying to make it through whatever movie Emmett left on before he left with Rose and Esme for their hunt. I spent less time at home, after being at odds with Trent. He had the audacity to thank me for keeping his name out of the mix, sparing his relationship with Leah. For the first few days, I bit my lip and pushed through it, but after a week I was over watching how happy he was privileged to be. 

I hadn’t wanted to help him in the first place, hadn’t wanted to talk to Maddox. Trent had been the one to drag me to Ink Obsession that night – what unravelled from thereafter was completely on me, sure. But it wouldn’t have happened if Trenton hadn’t pushed it and put me in a corner. 

Damn that fucking obligation and family loyalty and all that other shit. 

I comfortably settled into the Cullen household — while I slept in my own bed each night, I spent most of my days catching up with Maddox and Renesmee, and learning about what it meant to be a vampire in today's day and age. I learned how each family member turned, and even become quite chummy with Emmett and Rosalie. 

The further into the new year we went, the less Maddox needed me to help with learning control. Not wanting that to stop me from visiting, he invited me over for an afternoon of video games and movies — he accidentally broke the controls for the gaming station, so we resorted to stealing the basement to separate ourselves from the rest of the vampires. 

“Have you called him back yet?” 

I rolled my eyes for the umpteenth time, shaking my head a little bit. He was as bad as Trenton. “No, I haven’t.” I drawled lazily. 

“You should.” He pressed, kicking my foot with his, “Jacob mentioned something about Embry losing his mind, sounds like he’s not doing too well.”

I raised my brows, unsurprised. “First of all, that’s not exactly out of the norm for Embry.” I folded my arms and rested my head against the arm of the sofa. “Second of all, him not doing too well is precisely why we broke up in the first place.”

“I feel bad.” Maddox muttered angrily, looking down at his fists. “I know how important he was to you. I feel like my being here ruined what happiness you had.” 

I paused for a moment, trying not to let myself agree with anything he just said. “No, Maddox. You didn’t ruin my happiness, because my happiness didn’t just come from him.” I felt the need to spare him the part where Embry had been a large part of my happiness, and that without him I couldn’t help but feel as though he were right. I knew there was more that made me incredibly happy. Working with such amazing people that had these big, warm hearts gave me much of my happiness. Being at home with my mother, talking to my best friend about what upcoming projects I would be working on for the school semester was part of my happiness. 

But much of my happiness had also come from laying in bed Sunday mornings with Embry, listening to his heartbeat, feeling his warm fingertips run along my spine. Waking up at three in the morning and feeling him pull me closer, and bury his face into my neck. Walking hand in hand through the forest from my place to Emily and Sam’s – the overwhelming sensation that I was always safe, always well protected and cared for made my heart swell and sing. 

And here I was, weeks later, trying to convince myself that it was okay to walk away from things. That despite it all, the relationship couldn’t be healthy if we continuously hid things from each other. I understood why Embry decided to keep what he was from me for so long – a part of me wishes I didn’t know at all. It would be easier that way. But I was here now, and I was fully stuck in the middle of the supernatural world, despite being totally human. 

So, I decided I needed a break from everything supernatural. While I might have been unable to work, I was still able to hangout with Angie. In an effort to keep Jennie from knowing about Embry and I (truthfully I wasn’t ready to tell her), I had been staying at Angie's house on and off for the last two weeks to keep her in the dark. 

Provided Travis hadn’t already said something. 

Maddox sighed, pulling me from my trance. “You know you should talk to him.” He said finally. “You’re being stubborn and it’s ridiculous. He’s your soulmate.”

I kicked his leg, eyes cutting sideways to glare at him. I really didn’t want to hear it. Not now.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

I shivered against the cold wind, pulling the hood on my jacket up as I waited for the gas pump to register my card. I had been running on fumes since I left Forks, and desperately needed to refill before heading back into town to Angie’s for the night. My fingers gripped the frozen pump reluctantly, and I squeezed. 

It was nearly nightfall – the sun was setting behind the mountain tops in the distance. Despite being less than thirty degrees, the Peninsula was absolutely gorgeous during this time of year. I admired the way the reds in the sky mixed with the frosty mountain and tree tops, setting them ablaze with warm hues. In my peripheral vision, a red Rabbit pulled up on the other side of the pump; Jacob exited his vehicle and pursed his lips together. 

“Ainsley.” He said curtly, zipping his sweater a little higher to keep his neck warm. 

I rolled my eyes; Jacob had been another individual in my life I decided to cut out for the time being. I hadn’t appreciated his involvement in the situation, nor had I appreciated him giving Embry any reason to rush the Cullen household. He evidently caused a mess of things – but to Jacob, I was the one being completely unreasonable. 

“Still not speaking to me, huh?”

“I don’t have anything to say, Jacob.” I sighed, shaking the nozzle of the pump in my tank. “I’ve said everything I needed to.” 

He leaned against the back of the Rabbit and folded his arms. “And you still haven’t talked to Embry?” 

“Is my shoulder still sprained?”

Jacob then rolled his eyes, pulling his lips back into a sneer. “He didn’t mean to hurt you. He’s quite literally beating himself up over it.” 

“You know,” I started, placing the pump back in its original place, “a lot of people have been saying that. You, your dad, Maddox, Trent – and I’m really sick of listening to it.” 

“Ainsley, if you would just talk to him.”

“I don’t want to,” I shouted, holding my hands out at my sides, “that’s the thing. He’s not any better with me than he is without me. I can’t deal with the whole inner animal thing, Jake, and I definitely can’t do it if I’m going to keep getting hurt like this.” 

“I still don’t get how you ended up pissed with me.” 

I gawked at him for a moment before I turned to place the cap back on my tank angrily. “Because you have a big fucking mouth.” I growled, slamming the lid on my tank shut. “You could’ve not said a single word to him, you could’ve just left it alone –”

“No, Ainsley, I really couldn’t.” He growled, sticking his head between the stations to get closer to me. “You don’t think I didn’t weigh both sides before I made my decision? If I hadn’t said anything, if I had protected you and lied to everyone –” he shook his head, “and they found out? They’d question my character as an alpha.” 

“So, you did it because it was more beneficial to you?”

“It was just the right thing to do. He deserved to know.”

Damn Jacob. Damn that stupid fucking loyalty they had. 

“No, he really didn’t, Jake, but you keep telling yourself that.” I sighed, moving around the hood of the Jeep to open the passenger door. “Look at everything now. Was telling him worth it? Because he and I are done, and my relationship with Trenton is essentially destroyed because he lucked out – because Maddox failed to mention to you that he was also part of why he ended up at the Cullen’s.”

Jacob blinked and closed his mouth. 

“He and Leah are fucking perfect, which is wonderful for him – but I can’t keep hearing how happy he is that I kept him out of it. I didn’t even have a choice in the matter. Instead, I was dragged down. I’m so happy that everyone else has benefited from this.”

“Not everybody did, Ains.”

“Embry’s actions ended with consequences. He showed me that he isn’t capable of doing anything except reacting with emotion instead of logic right now. If he had just talked to me instead of deciding he needed to do something right then, right there, this would be an entirely different story and conversation.” I slammed the Jeep’s door, and walked around the hood to where Jacob stood. “I get that you all have some genetic thing that makes you hate who they are, fine. I don’t agree with it, but I get it.” 

“Then what is the issue?” He asked exasperated. 

“Embry saw Maddox as a threat, and for a while I thought it was just because of what Maddox was. If that were the case, he would’ve come to me and asked me if I was safe, and comfortable. And if I had answered yes, he would’ve accepted it and moved on.” I stuck my hands in my pockets. “This wasn’t about what he was, moreso of who he was – he reacted out of jealousy and anger, and was trying to use the whole vampire-wolf hate thing as an excuse for his actions.”

“That’s not it at all.” Jacob dismissed, moving to pick up his own gas pump. 

“It is.” I sneered, turning around to head back towards the driver's seat. “And the fact you don’t see it means you’re willing to make excuses for him – also why I don’t really have an interest in talking to you.” 

“Did you forget I can read his mind? You’re being ridiculous!” He shouted over the sound of my engine.

I have good reason, I thought to myself, pulling the Jeep into drive to pull out of the gas station. 

𝙴𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚢

Embry’s back settled into Emily’s couch for the fourth time that week; after spending a solid seven days in isolation, he had decided that it was about time he got off his ass and tried to attempt to be a normal human being. He didn’t typically make an effort to really associate, mainly sat in his corner with a beer in hand, watching whatever was on the television. He hadn’t gotten the chance to really clean up after his fiasco a two weeks ago. 

Embry thought back to that night, grimacing. 

He had narrowly missed Jared’s head when he hurled the door down the stairs, and put several holes in the drywall of his room. Jared – with great effort – managed to wrap his arms around Embry’s body, constricting his arms tightly. In between his fits of rage and anger, the reality of the situation had dawned on him, causing Embry’s knees to give out on him. The pair had fallen to the floor, Embry’s cry echoed throughout the empty home. Broken sobs had ripped through his chest, a sound he had never in his life managed to make before. 

Seth and Jared tried to clear some of the mess Embry had created in his tantrum, but it seemed futile. Shards of glass were embedded into the carpet that he wouldn’t be able to remove until he purchased a vacuum, and seeing as he rarely spent any time out of his bedroom, he hadn’t considered it a priority. 

Most of the house remained in ruins. Jacob was rightfully pissed.

“You look like you could use another one.” Sam tapped Embry’s shoulder with the cold bottle, offering it to him with an empathetic look. 

“Don’t do that.” He grumbled harshly, taking the bottle from Sam’s hand. 

The former alpha shook his head, settling into the recliner across from the sofa. Sam watched Embry for a moment, taking a large swing from his beer before he sighed and leaned forward on his elbows, “You should really consider showering.” 

“Fuck you, I’ve showered.” 

“Have you eaten?”

Embry almost rolled his eyes, moving his neck just enough so he could look at Sam with narrowed eyes. “No, Samuel, just let me wither away.” 

“Embry, look, I know things have been flipped upside down and you’re not really sure what to do at this point but I think it would be really good for you if you just –”

“Just what?” He snapped angrily, setting the bottle down on the coffee table. “Just call her? Just talk to her? Just get over it? Just move on? Just live my damn life? I don’t know if you realize how fucking shitty this is, Sam – not everything works so perfectly like it did for you and Em.”

“You think we had it easy?” He asked casually, honestly, as he relaxed in his chair. 

“You’re married and expecting your second child. How bad could it have been?”

“So, what happened with Leah was no big deal?” He asked, tilting his head to the side. When Embry pressed his mouth shut, Sam continued, “Leah may not have been my imprint, but she was my first love. The way everything worked out ruined me. Having to walk away from something I had seriously invested myself into made me angry and bitter. I know exactly what it feels like to lose someone you love because of something you couldn’t control.” 

Embry sat on that thought for a moment before he leaned back in his seat and shook his head. “Not the same.”

“And why not?” 

“Because Emily’s the one.” Embry stated. “Regardless of how much you loved Leah, regardless of how shitty you felt about it, she was the one. Do you really think you’d be any more put together than me if she decided she didn’t want any part of this anymore? That she wanted out?”

“I have considered that.” He nodded. “I thought she was going to leave after the accident.”

“But she didn’t.” 

“No, she didn’t.”

They sat in silence, watching each other. Embry didn’t really feel any better; Sam and Emily’s accident was just a painful reminder that far worse had happened and Emily had loved him regardless. Ainsley belly upped and walked away, and Embry was certain that so long as he lived, he would never love another woman. And it wasn’t the imprint bond talking - that was simply how it was. Relationships had never been Embry’s thing, nor had he ever found any girl really worth the effort. Until Jessica. Until Ainsley.

“You’re really lousy at trying to make people feel better, Sammy.” Seth quipped as he entered the room, collapsing onto the couch next to Embry. 

“The point I was trying to make was that mistakes happen,” he concluded, crossing his ankles together, “I think Ainsley is having just as hard a time as you are.” 

Seth tried to disguise the look on his face that might’ve revealed otherwise, instead opting to place a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder. “Ease up, Embry. We’re all here for you.” 

Embry shrugged him off, swiped his drink off the table and downed half the bottle quickly. If this was going to be another night of listening to his brothers give him a pep talk, Embry already decided he wanted to be as far from sober as possible. Well, he could try, at least; it never lasted for very long. 

It was always easier to pretend they were right when he was drinking. 

After what seemed to be hours, Embry and Sam were almost two cases deep, with Jared and Quil not too far behind them. They had overthrown Emily in her kitchen, laughing loudly from the mix-matched chairs in the dining room, the deck of cards spread between the four of them as they finished the last of what alcohol they had. This was the fourth night this week Embry had managed to drag one or more of his brother’s out of sobriety with him. Drunk was always less lonely when everyone else was drunk, too. 

He glanced at his phone, fingers aimlessly scrolling through the hordes of messages before he finally hit the phone icon in the top right corner of the screen. He held his fingers to his lips as he pressed the receiver to his ear, listening intently. 

She had never picked up before - Embry was certain today wouldn’t be any different. 

By now, he was simply doing it because he missed her voice, and her answering machine was the only thing keeping him completely sane. 

“The number you have reached is not in service.” 

Embry’s blood ran cold. His smile faded as his mind tried to push past the drunken haze and the liquor to process what that meant. 

She changed her number. 

He pulled the device back, watching the call screen exit to reveal the background image of them. He had his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her steady in his lap as he looked at her, smiling for the camera in her ridiculously oversized, horrendous Christmas sweater. 

His fingers tightened around the phone, watching the screen crack and crumble around their faces before the screen went black. In the next instant, he stood from his chair as he launched the phone across the room, the device smashing into pieces as it hit the back wall of the kitchen. 

Embry hadn’t really felt like explaining himself. Instead, he stumbled towards the door, grabbed his jacket and slammed the screen shut behind him as he pulled his keys from his pocket. 

“Walk it off, Embry.” Sam ordered from the doorway, face stern as he glanced down at the keys.

“Fuck you, Uley.” He spat, shoving them back into his pocket as he turned away from his truck and headed into the forest. 

𝙰𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚢

I watched Angie run her hands through her cropped hair, trying not to snicker when she half-screamed in frustration. “It’s absolutely insane,” she cried as she looked at her phone for the billionth time that evening. “I’ve been on my own for nearly two years now as my father still feels the need to check in on me every single day.” 

“I think it’s sweet.” I mumbled as I flipped through the channels on the small television that sat kitty-cornered in Angie’s living room. 

“He’s a Navy seal,” she grumbled, leaning over the back of the couch next to Ainsley’s head, “he literally thinks everyone is out to get me.”

“Is he wrong?” I asked, popping another Twizzler into my mouth.

Angie rolled her green eyes, and flipped over the couch to join me. “He just worries.”

“Typical dad stuff?”

Angie pursed her lips, folding her legs underneath her bottom. “Not … exactly.” 

I pulled my brows together, shaking my head slightly when I decided it wasn’t my place to press for further details. “Whatever you say, Ang.” 

We rearranged ourselves on the couch, Angie’s head resting in my lap while I scrolled through my phone. After twenty minutes of silence, she finally spoke up. “Has he called you?” 

“I changed my number, remember?” 

“Which I still think was a horrible idea – Embry seemed like a really sweet guy.”

“Stop.” I sighed, pushing Angie off my legs. “I don’t need it from you.” 

Angie tossed me a look that should’ve been paired with her hands on her hips and a condescending sigh. “If multiple people have to keep repeating the same thing, then maybe you should listen.” 

“It’s not that easy, Ang.” I grumbled, pulling my knees up to my chest. “There’s so many things that outweigh the good right now, I can’t see past it. He’s not going to change – and this isn’t ‘boys will be boys’ crap, it’s borderline terrifying.”

Angie gnawed on her bottom lip, pulling another Twizzler from the bag as she watched me fold in on myself. “You want to know what’s really borderline terrifying?” She asked, swallowing what doubts she had about disclosing her next piece of information. “Coming home to a drunk, and hoping that he doesn’t decide to pick a fight with you simply because you weren’t home in what he deemed ‘appropriate timing’.” 

I raised my brow. 

“Or locking yourself in the bathroom because he’s screaming at you from the other side of the door, angry because his friends had asked about some bruises that you should’ve spent more time trying to cover up. Thinking about running away from him every night, but never able to move because you’re absolutely paralyzed with fear that he’ll hear you and wake up. Finally being able to do it and moving seven states across the country to put as much distance between you and everyone you ever knew because there was nowhere to hide from him in such a small place.”

“Ang –” I started. 

Angie interrupted. 

“I know what an abusive relationship looks like, Ains. Embry is not abusive. Embry is a man who, yes, tends to react out of anger instead of logic right now, and yes it can end incredibly horrible under the wrong circumstances. But he is not someone who is trying to hurt you maliciously. You are not his property, you’re his equal.” She sighed, moving forward to curl into my side again. “I love you, Ains. And I know that being away from him is killing you probably as much as it’s killing him.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked quietly, linking my arm around hers. “All this time, I’ve been going on about it, trying to determine whether or not it classified and you –” I shook my head in disbelief, unable to speak the words. It was odd to think that it happened to the best people. Life had a funny way of sucking the sunshine out of every beautiful human being, giving bad hands to the people that were least deserving of them. 

“I’ve never really told anyone.” 

“Who was he?”

Angie got quiet then, almost as though she were afraid he might hear, “Avery. He was a few years older than me, graduated top of his class, super charming and a total ladies man.” She laughed disdainfully. “He took me to prom, we moved out into an apartment, he had even proposed.”

I pulled my brows together. “What happened?” 

Angie shrugged, “I don’t really know. He started gambling, started drinking a little more. I was never really sure if he was touching anything hard. He’d come home late, if he came home at all. It started out with little things - like he’d yell at me, call me names, but he’d always apologize. 

Then he stopped apologizing. And it started to feel like I was doing something wrong, like I was the reason he was so angry all the time. I found out from a mutual friend that he had been seeing another woman, and tried to confront him about it. Threatened to leave because I knew I deserved better than what he was willing to give. And that was the first night I really thought I was going to die. I had never seen something so hateful.” 

I leaned into Angie’s side, resting my head against my friend’s shoulder. 

“I was so scared to leave. He told me that even if I tried, he’d find me. That I belonged to him, that I would be good for him. My money was his money, my time was for him only - I stopped seeing my family, stopped seeing all of my friends. He always made me feel like I was nothing but a complete burden. When he started getting physical, I was terrified someone might say something, and that I’d lose what I thought was the one person that tolerated me enough to stick around.” 

“Ang –”

“Ainsley, just promise me you’ll talk to Embry.” She sighed, bringing a hand up to cover her eyes. “That you’ll take the time out of your day to talk to him. Just consider it – because as much as I understand your worry and concern, believe me when I say that Embry is not a man capable of even imagining putting you through that kind of pain.” 

I wanted to press the topic further, but the sadness in Angie’s eyes encouraged otherwise. I simply wrapped my arms around Angie’s frame, kissed her cheek and muttered. “I’ll think about it.”

#embry call #embry call x reader #embry call x oc #embry call fanfic #jacob black #kiowa gordon #abusive relationship tw #violence tw #alcoholism tw #the twilight saga #twilight fanfiction #series: SAH #* mine

[hskinhome]

Hiya! Roxy again, I am a little curious and could I have a Shipping Wall reading too please? Thanks so much!

I wanna preface this reading by saying it was giving both me and Meu trouble, as none of our draws matched up with what Meu’s previous reading for you is (and it doesn’t seem to match super well with the moodboard you just requested, either). 

This is a very negative reading, so be warned and only read if you’re in the right headspace to receive information that could possibly hurt you! We used this spread as requested, and the decks we used are the Homestuck Kickstarter deck [A & B], the Kawaii Tarot deck [C], and the Embroidered Tarot deck [D].

———————————–

Card 1 consisted of the reversed Lovers card [A], the reversed Queen of Cups [B], the reversed Magician card [C], and the reversed Justice card. The traits and vibes of the relationship seem to be a theme of power imbalances and strife. The relationship was filled with quarreling and dishonesty, which may point to a pitch relationship, but one that was still seriously unhealthy. You were unsure whether to continue the relationship, feeling insecure and manipulated.

Card 2 consisted of the reversed Three of Pentacles [A], the reversed Ace of Pentacles [B], the reversed Nine of Wands [C], and the upright Seven of Swords [D]. The traits in Calliope seem to be that she was mainly focused on herself and her own material needs. She micromanaged everything she could keep control. This led to conflict between you, especially if she had motives she was hiding from you.

———————————–

Card 3 consisted of the upright Ace of Wands [A], the upright High Priestess card [B], the upright Sun card [C], and the reversed Page of Wands [D]. Despite the strife in your relationship, Calliope may have been one to fuel you, perhaps in the realm of your God Tier powers or some other form of hidden knowledge. You had untapped potential that you were desperate to release, and, as the Muse of Space, Calliope was the one to do that, but her approach made it difficult and frustrating.

Card 4 consisted of the reversed Hermit card [A], the upright Five of Wands [B], the reversed Three of Wands [C], and the upright Seven of Wands [D]. As mentioned in the previous card, Calliope’s approach made it difficult to achieve your potential. She was too focused on herself, and when she did focus on you, she set unrealistic expectations and tended to argue that you couldn’t do it. She set up roadblocks and tried extinguishing your inner flame, but your courage kept you going.

———————————–

Card 5 consisted of the upright Devil card [A], the reversed Fool card [B], the reversed Ace of Pentacles [C], and the upright Nine of Pentacles [D]. The traits of the relationship continue to point to financial struggles, as well as your deteriorating mental state. Calliope was a force to be reckoned with, and due to her, you missed opportunities to appreciate yourself and your work and to experience the joy you craved.

Card 6 consisted of the reversed Knight of Pentacles [A], the reversed Eight of Swords [B], the upright Two of Cups [C], and the upright King of Cups [D]. This card is an interesting departure from the others we’ve seen. Calliope may have had some good in her but was unsure how to show it outwardly. She may have been struggling to escape from an abusive relationship (Caliborn, anyone?), but unfortunately perpetuated the cycle of abuse. She didn’t know how or couldn’t move forward and wanted to have serenity with you eventually.

———————————–

Card 7 consisted of the upright Knight of Wands [A], the reversed Four of Wands [B], the reversed Knight of Wands [C], and the upright Wheel of Fortune card [D]. These cards point to needing to go with the flow of the relationship, and eventually, you were able to find your way out. Calliope had a temper, as shown by the previous cards, but you were smart and figured out how to work with her tense and brighter moments. You wanted to be free of the relationship, and you needed to devote your energy to that.

Card 8 consisted of the reversed Strength card [A], the reversed King of Cups [B], the upright Ten of Swords [C], and the upright Four of Pentacles [D]. The meanings of financial struggles continue to show, which seems that this was a primary motivator for Calliope. She was motivated by money and the material, resulting in her harmful behavior. It’s also possible that for a time, she appeared calm yet was fueled by the need for control and power. However, as this is the last placement in the reading, the Ten of Swords shows something interesting. It seems that Calliope stabbed you in the back, resulting in the door of this relationship closing and a new one for the future opening. You were finally free.

———————————–

Aight here’s when I put on my tinfoil hat and give my two cents. 

In your request for the moodboard, you specifically wanted themes of “finding each other in every universe.” Considering how positive said request was, how Meu’s first reading for you was positive, and how this reading had negative meaning after negative meaning, I feel you had a timeline/universe that didn’t go well. 

Specifically, the prevalence of Knight and King cards points to a masculine force in your lives. I feel like Caliborn had more control in this timeline, and it’s possible that, despite/if she predominated, his personality, traits, and/or identity fused with her, causing issues in the relationship. He (or another male force) had more influence over her and your relationship, causing problems.

Take all this with a grain of salt, per usual, and feel free to come back if you want clarification!

#homestuck #homestuck kin #tarot #abusive relationship tw #abuse tw #roxy lalonde kin #calliope kin #mod nepeta

[starlitwishes]

@primowishes continued from X

Was he really planning on leaving him there like this?

Whatever had happened before was all a blur of pain that Scaramouche couldn't even process. He had become a master at tuning it out, and the memories of his time in Dottore's care were often more than not blanked out by the end of it. Maybe it made him into a fool for coming back each and every time, but it was what he knew best.

He was a useless puppet otherwise.

His words, a plea formed in the way of a demand, were repeated by Dottore. Perfectly neutral, but hiding so many things that made Scaramouche's mind race. Was he mocking him, or was that tone gentle?

Why, why did the demon have a voice of an angel?

"You heard me," Scaramouche mumbled. His mind still disconnected with his body, yes, but even he could still feel the pain. He always could, even if he tried to block it out. It hurt, it hurt so much.

"You can't just leave me here like this," he growled. "Fix it."

Was he in any position to make those demands? Would Dottore just laugh at them? Would he insist that they continue with the torment, before he would start on repairing the damage he inflicted?

Could Scaramouche endure the pain? Of course he could.

No, no he couldn't.

"Pierro will be furious if you don't fix me after the shit you've put me through today," he threatened. Sometimes the threats of that nature would work--sometimes, he was only laughed at. "So you can't leave me here like this."

Please, please don't leave me here like this-- he silently begged.

I t h u r t s.

#Muse: Wrenn #rp #primowishes #Continued Wounds #V; You're Right; I Really Haven't Had Enough #Torture TW #Toxic Attachment TW #Abusive Relationship TW #Ask to tag

[beefmeister]

My sister is always asking me if I’ve been on dates recently, but I suspect she’s only asking because she wants me to be in a relationship so we can double date with her boyfriend. And quite frankly I rather be single for the rest of my life than go on a double date with that mean and controlling piece of shit

The reason she wants a double date so badly is because he has cut her off from all of her friends. He moved her to a dumb hick town away from her friends and family. She’s not allowed to hang out with her friend Jack anymore because Jack used to have a crush on her and the bf is convinced she’s going to cheat with him. One time my sister and I went out to lunch and he called her. She didn’t pick up because we were talking and her phone was on silent. Later he called her back accusing her of cheating on him and I had to get on the phone to assure him she was just with me.

So yeah I’m not going on a double date with that man.

#personal #abusive relationship tw

[once-was-muses]

@ask-the-ghostface | the salty af munday meme

♥ What's the WORST thing that has happened to you rp wise?

[ there are. A Handful of events I could recount for this answer. But like a solid 70% I Do Not like thinking about for another handful of reasons. The overarching themes of them tho were guilt tripping, not respecting boundaries, and bring dash side drama into private servers/chats and threatening to bring them irl. Part of why I am Extremely picky about who gets my Discord and what servers I join nowadays, I'd really rather not go through that kind of shit again. ]

#They're Listening... : asks #ask the ghostface #[ also why I avoid rp discos and any kind of like. Group Verse Closed Community type circles like the plague ] #[ fuck outta here thank you bye ] #[ I would rather not spend any more nights thinking if a person I Thought was cool and lived only 50 or so miles away ] #[ was Actually going to try and find me irl without any kind of invitation or consent for that matter ] #[ fuckin. tws just in case I guess??? ] #stalking tw #abusive relationship tw #manipulation tw #unreality tw

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 19 - College AU

This is the Brumaria College AU, more chapters of which can be found on the masterlist. It’s a little glimpse into Kamaria’s first relationship, pre-Bruno. Kane belongs to Izzy and is used with permission! I used the whole prompt song as inspiration for this one.

Taglist: @painful-pooch

The Shadow of Death Masterlist

No. 19: “I’m in love with the way you hate me.”

Contains: lady whump, abusive relationship, hitting, noncon touch, noncon kissing, emotional abuse, references to past minor whump, foster care references, referenced parental abuse

.

He’s nice, at first. Buys Kamaria coffee at the cafe on campus. Recommends the best professors, and tells her which ones to stay away from. Helps her set up her schedule for the semester. Walks her back to her dorm at night. 

He treats her like…a person. Maybe not an equal, because there’s always that underlying thread of superiority, of implications that she’s stupid and weak. But she is weak, and she is stupid, sometimes, so she never protests. Her father treats her the same way, without any of the nice parts, and all the foster parents and social workers did, too, so it’s refreshing just to have someone see her and go out of their way to help her out without it being their job. 

When he asks her to go out with him, she’s…confused. But she doesn’t see any reason to say no. She’d never imagined herself in a relationship, but this is what you’re supposed to do in college, right? Normal girls say yes when a nice, handsome guy asks them out. In fact, she’s sure there are other girls, much more normal and smart than her, who would love for Alonso Kane to ask them out. 

So she says yes. And they start dating. 

The nice, out of the way gestures don’t last. She didn’t really expect them to. He grows more impatient with her, more demanding of her time, and gets upset when she can’t fulfill his every wish. His time is his own, of course, to spend however he wants it, but she’s not allowed to make plans without his approval. 

Kamaria easily falls into the motions of doing whatever it takes to appease him. She’s been doing it since she was twelve, there’s nothing new about any of this. Every foster family comes with their own set of rules, and she went through more than she cared to keep count of in two years. Their reactions to those rules being broken varied greatly, but as an “angry child” she mostly got placed with the ones that had the more extreme reactions. 

Her father is the exact same way, only with even more impossible rules to keep. Kane’s are at least fairly easy to keep track of. 

It’s not all bad, either. He’s the only person she has to talk to, and he still takes her out sometimes to football games or to get ice cream or coffee. His advice might be delivered in a cruel, impatient manner, but it’s still good advice. And yes, he likes to dictate what she eats and wears, but he’s spending his own money on her. She doesn’t have any money to spend on extra things, her father only gives her what she needs for the necessities, so it’s all a treat to her. 

The fact that she hates the way he treats her, that this is exactly what she was happy to get away from when she moved off to college, shouldn’t be important. This is life, this is how life works.

And she deserves it, anyway. As soon as they became officially boyfriend and girlfriend, he tried to kiss her. She may have freaked out a little. He has a right to be angry about that. She lets him kiss her now, but she hates it, and she’s sure he can tell that. She won’t let him go any farther, either, is extremely adamant about kissing being as far as they will ever go, and it’s no secret that he isn’t happy. He still pushes her, tries to put his hands on her, and gets mad when she gets all tense and scared. 

Reminding her of her father is one thing. She never imagined him reminding her of Roderick, too. 

But all of that means she’s a bad girlfriend, and it’s fine for him to punish her for it.

The first time he hits her comes as no surprise. She can take a hit, she’s used to that, too. Kane seems a little miffed when she doesn’t burst into tears, but she apologizes and fixes her mistake, so he doesn’t care too much. He learns fairly quickly that the threat of hitting her is a good way to make her even more obedient, just like she learned quickly as a teen that being obedient was a good way to make sure she didn’t get hit as much. 

Their relationship is exhausting. He picks her up for a football game, compliments the clothes and jewelry that he picked out for her, holds her hand on the walk to the stadium, drinks beer and chats with his frat brothers while completely ignoring her through the whole game, gets mad at her for saying she needs to get back and study when the game is done and nearly knocks her off the bleachers, makes fun of her with his friends, walks her back to her dorm way too late, starts talking about how beautiful she is outside her door, kisses her until her skin is crawling and she’s about to panic, and punches her in the stomach and storms off when she tells him she needs to sleep.

But it’s still better than what she’s used to. There’s nothing else better out there, at least not for someone like her. Fairy tale romances are for stories, and for perfect cheerleaders with two perfect parents and no anger issues. She firmly believes that this is as good as it’s ever going to get for her, that there’s really nothing at all wrong with it.

Until she meets Bruno.

#whumptober2023 #no.19 #song #original content #abuse tw #abusive relationship tw #hitting tw #noncon touching tw #noncon kiss tw #emotional abuse tw #foster care tw #parental abuse tw #shadow of death #kamaria the assassin #lady whump #lady whumpee #college au #whump series

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The Same Bed: Antoni

CW: Burning, beating, some derogatory language, ptsd, references to murder

Part One: Jake | Part Two: Krista | Part Three: Chris | Part Four: Vincent

-

The sun is setting as Antoni pushes the shopping cart out of the store, throwing a kind of golden haze over the dozen or so cars in the parking lot. The water in the bay will be glittering, he thinks, appearing streaked with reddish gold. To the north, the sky is turning orange, the legacy of wildfires up in the canyons far from Berras, fires that won't stop burning.

If he stops, he can smell smoke in the air, just a little.

The fires aren’t coming south, they say, but it doesn’t matter. Antoni’s carefully rebuilt life is on fire without their help. The people he loves are being set aflame and he can’t do anything but offer to go buy groceries while Jake holds a shaking, sobbing Kauri and the new one, Rafael, tries to talk to a nearly-silent, perfectly-still Chris.

Heat sticks his shirt to his shoulder blades, makes his scars itch all over his arms and his torso, has the dark brown curls at the nape of his neck tickling his skin. He wears long sleeves no matter the season, but that gets its own kind of unwelcome attention in blistering dry heat like this.

One wheel on his cart sticks and he has to constantly course-correct, pulling the cart back slightly and then pushing forward again, bumping off the walkway into the pavement. The cart rattles, the plastic rustles, and Antoni is going to lose his mind with the anger he can do nothing about.

A woman with a little girl holding her hand walks past him, the little girl singing something vaguely familiar. They look at him - and whatever the woman sees in his face, she tightens her grip and hurries the girl along.

Jake’s ancient car doesn’t unlock from a key fob, and Antoni has to feed the key into the lock on the trunk physically to get it open. The trunk groans in protest, but Antoni pushes it up anyway, and feels a brief burst of something like delight when it stays up instead of trying to crash back down on his head like usual.

The trunk is huge, at least, and there’s plenty of space for everything he needs to put in there. Chris’s favorite cereals and some chocolate nutrition shakes - he stops eating when he’s like this, unless you force him to, and then what he can eat narrows to a tiny sliver of options. Antoni did his best - the cereal and the shakes, the frozen chicken nuggets and french fries, loaves of plain white bread - that’s all for Chris, to coax food into him when his body is too frightened for anything but whatever it reads as safe.

He has cat food and litter for Krista's little old man Pepperjack, too, while she stays with them for a few days. Jake's called some people to check her apartment over and change the locks, but Antoni thinks Krista will move, soon, anyway. Her lease is almost up and she won't feel safe in that space any longer.

Even if she wasn't the actual target.

His chest twists in anger and nerves, but Antoni is solid, and he is quiet, and he loads the bags without allowing his anger to take root. They'll deal with it all as it comes, like they always have. Antoni will handle it, if he can, and let the rest of them heal themselves with contact and touch and soft words.

Antoni will handle the other things, the things that would make them have to leave the safety of their home. 

Above him, the light has dimmed enough that the big streetlights in the parking lot click on, and a low soft buzzing sound settles under the calls of birds and distant human voices, the rumble of traffic down the highway.

If it weren’t for the slight scent of smoke that prickles across every visible centimeter of skin, it would be a lovely night.

He drops the last bag inside and slams the trunk door shut so it’ll catch, turning to push the shopping cart to the little cart corral on the next row, about ten spots down. He’s vaguely aware of another car door opening, clicking shut quietly, but the rattling of the wheels and metal of the cart mostly cover up the sound of footsteps behind him.

He pushes the cart into the corral, watching it crash against the back and come to a rough stop. He exhales, sticking one hand in his pocket to pull Jake’s keys back out.

And then there’s something immensely, awfully familiar shoved against the small of his back. Antoni tenses, spine ramrod-straight, and the solid muzzle of the gun - that’s what it is, he’s had guns pushed against every part of him with Mr. Davies, knows the feel of a gun more intimately than any kiss - pushes harder, bruising through his shirt. 

“Walk,” The owner of the gun says softly.

Antoni hears the safety click off.

He walks. 

There’s an arm around his waist as the man comes up beside him, looking like two people taking a stroll towards the alley next to the grocery store, the thin strip of pavement and trash and feral cats that separates it from the restaurant and hippie boutique beside it. Antoni chances a glance to the side, but the gun jams hard against his ribs and the man says, softly, “Don’t fucking look until I tell you to look.”

Antoni tells himself he’ll take the bullet if they leave the alley. Never, ever allow yourself to be taken, it’s taught at every group safety class, again and again. Never let them remove you from where you are, or you will never come home.

Never let WRU put you in a van.

He can take a beating, but he isn't going to let himself be taken, not again.

With each step, he steels himself for what he’ll have to do next. Elbow the man in the side, knock the gun away, turn on a dime and then run without hesitation. Once they’re in the alley, he’ll do it. Once there aren’t other people who might get hurt.

But as soon as they’re shielded by the rise of brick walls and the shadows, the man shoves his back up against the wall, blocked from view by a dumpster. Antoni sees green eyes, shaggy ash-blond hair, and the man pulls the facemask he’s wearing down to reveal sneering lips, too-white, too-perfect teeth. 

“Are you the one fucking him?” The man's voice is breathless, as if he’s been holding the viciously snapped words inside too long, eating away at him. Acid corroding the inside of his lungs. Antoni stares, simply not comprehending the question, but then the gun jabs harder into his ribs and he coughs at the flash of pain, the ache.

And he knows.

“... you are Owen Grant,” Antoni says. 

The perfect calm in his voice enrages the man, he can tell - those pupils get smaller, his face flushes, and the gun jams itself right underneath his chin. Antoni tips his head back but it follows him, metal warmed by contact with his skin. If the trigger pulls this angle won't kill him, but it will leave him with the front part of his face simply obliterated, shatter his teeth to shards of glass.

The scent of smoke is stronger, more acrid, and there’s a sweetness threading in underneath.

He closes his eyes, feeling his heart shudder to a stop before it beats again. Wildfires burning don't smell like this.

“I’m asking a question.” 

“No,” Antoni answers, letting his hands drop, pressing the palms to the wall behind him. Decay and trash flood his senses, and remind him too much of-

moving the body, misha grumbling about how much harder it was to handle after a week, artyom snapping at his little brother that it wouldn’t have been so difficult if he’d only told him earlier, the smell makes him vomit along the roots of a tree before they wrap the body in a tarp to drag up the hill to his waiting car, misha goes back with a shovel to bury the remnants of artyom’s dinner so it can’t be tracked back to him, the smell won’t come out of his trunk for weeks no matter what he does

-something he doesn’t want to remember, not now. Not when he needs to be able to think.

“No,” he repeats, shivering, suddenly cold even while the air is still an oven baking the world around him. “I do not have sex with Kauri.”

“So it’s the other one, then,” Owen Grant says, thinking now, his eyes searching Antoni’s face. “The big one. He’s the one fucking him.”

Antoni doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to, it’s not really a question at all. 

Owen makes a sound of frustrated fury and then Antoni’s world cracks white. He goes down hard, falling into a puddle made from something that definitely isn’t rainwater that smells like freezer burnt food and asphalt. The throbbing in the side of his face is the way he knows he was just hit with the gun itself. 

The last person to pistol-whip me-

A boot slams into his side and he grunts, curling up protectively, the thought gone before it can finish. The butt of the gun comes down on the top of his head, and Antoni sees stars, going suddenly limp. He might… go away for a second. He might not. 

No, he does.

He does, because he smells a different smoke entirely when he comes back to himself. 

His breath hitches, heart racing, adrenaline screaming at him to run, and dares to look up. He can smell Mr. Davies, the scent of his clove cigarette heavy like a hand holding the nameless pet down, pushing the heat into his back, laughing while he burns. 

But it’s only Owen, looking down at him, lighting the clove cigarette and then dropping it.

It falls on Antoni and he scrambles backwards in clothes soaked in dirty water to get away. It sizzles out when it hits the puddle, too. Owen grins, and lights another.

There’s a mad light in his eyes that makes Antoni think-

of misha, bent over someone struggling to live, his hands wrapped around the victim’s neck, their eyes bulging while their lips move begging not to die but misha doesn’t need anyone to live he never leaves a survivor he always wants to see every last moment of love and life and light leave the eyes of whoever was unfortunate enough to be his chosen and artyom watches, dulled heavy-lidded eyes taking in the murder he will help to cover up

-of some faint faded memory hidden so far back within him, better left buried there with all the other graves Antoni’s life has created.

“Scream for help,” Owen says, watching Antoni push himself back against the wall. He pulls out another clove cigarette, lighting it slowly, idly. This one he lets burn for a while. The cloying sweet smell pushes its fingers into Antoni’s mouth, lingers on his tongue and down his throat, filling all the space he needs for breathing. “Go ahead. Scream.”

Antoni stares up at him. His phone’s in his pocket. He could grab it, he could call. He could scream, he-

He can’t.

If he screams, someone might call the police, which means they might find out too much. Kauri and Chris are safe, after going on TV, but the rest of them… the other rescues, some of them might be genuinely willing sign-ups, which means going right back into that hell. 

He can’t risk it.

His mouth closes with a snap.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Owen flicks the cigarette at him, watching him flinch violently and sweep it off of himself as fast as he can. Ash is on his shirt now, smeared like blood, marking his fingertips. 

Owen considers.

Lights another cigarette.

“I want back what’s mine,” Owen says, almost conversationally. “I do. None of you had to be a part of this, but you’re all protecting him, and that’s bullshit. He’s mine. Thanks to that little stunt he pulled, I know who you all are. I have my own ways of finding out shit, you know? Made some calls, paid some people. I know who you all are.”

“You do not kn-know me,” Antoni says, but his voice falters, and he holds on with desperate internal white knuckles to his identity, his understanding of himself. “You do not-”

“Sorry about your brother,” Owen interrupts. He lights a third cigarette, watching as Antoni goes still, prey in the sights of a larger predator. “By the way. He got what was coming to him, though, don’t you think?”

“My brothers are all alive,” Antoni says. His accent is getting thicker, heavier, as he starts to panic. “My brothers-”

“Your brother was shot dead by cops. You should be in prison, too, I bet, but instead you-... what? Ran away to WRU to escape the consequences? Fucking pathetic. All of you, that’s all you know how to do, run run run. Run away, run away from me. All you… all of you.” Owen’s gaze goes distant, and Antoni’s eyes shift. He can see the lights of the parking lot, so very very close. If he makes a break for it and goes for his car-

He doesn’t see the kick coming.

Owen’s foot slams down directly between his legs and the pain explodes through every nerve, followed on its heels by a new burst of white when he is hit in the face again, forced onto his stomach on the dirty pavement. He chokes, gags on pain that tries to force him to throw up everything he’s eaten, somehow he doesn’t. Somehow he manages.

Owen drops onto him and Antoni gasps, breathless, vaguely aware through the haze of pain that his shirt is being shoved up, baring the skin of his back. He throbs, between his legs, inside his head, along his cheekbone.

“Holy shit,” Owen whispers. Antoni can’t help his soft, whimpered whine as rough fingers press into old, old scars. 

“That’s fucking hideous,” Owen says, then gives an odd little giggle. His fingers are tracing little designs, like making constellations out of stars. “No wonder my Kor-Bore doesn’t fuck you. I wouldn't either."

Antoni’s face burns, and he gets his hands under him, trying to push himself up onto to have Owen’s fingers tangle in his messy hair and shove his face back into the pavement so hard he feels skin scrape off his cheekbone, the sting of gravel being forced into a new wound. His nose pulses in time with his heartbeat. 

“No worries, man,” Owen says, running his palm over Antoni’s lower back, around to his side, just feeling the bumps and texture of his uneven scars. “I don't care about you. I just want my slut back, you know? That’s all I want. So this is a message.”

“I won’t-... will not give the message,” Antoni manages, muffled against the ground.

“Oh, you will. It's not a message that really needs words."

Owen uses the grip on his hair to pull his head back, then slams it forward into the ground. Antoni sees white flashes and black, red against the inside of his eye lids. Another slam into the ground, a burst of something from his nose, and he can’t remember how to use his arms and legs anymore. He’s limp, and hears only distantly the sound of the lighter again.

The edge of a cigarette presses into the back of his neck, directly where a collar once covered his skin, and the pet burns. He whines like an animal, jerks against the weight on top of him, but it does nothing. He’s too weak, his head spinning and throbbing. He fights-

they fight, misha’s victims, they thrash and struggle and sometimes get a scratch in along his cheekbone or the side of his neck and in the winter he wears turtlenecks to hide any signs of those who tried to live and in the summer he blames the cat, who has never scratched anyone but who misha’s mother believes is vicious thanks to misha’s lies and artyom watches them die and buries the dead and cuts them apart and doesn’t say, that was a fingernail and not a claw, he doesn’t say this one had daughters or this one had a brother or their parents probably loved them, they had so much to fight for but misha thinks

-but he can’t fight hard enough.

“I’m going to hurt everyone around him,” Owen whispers, and presses a new burn just below the last. He starts to make a perfect straight line down the center of the pet’s spine, laughter in his smug voice as the pet jerks and whimpers and can’t make enough noise to get anyone’s attention. Time draws out, terrible impossible seconds that feel like hours. “One by one by one." Each use of 'one' is another bright new burn. "Until he comes back to me. And I’m not done yet, do you hear me? I’m not remotely done. No… but he can stop it. He can come to me, and he can stop it. If he doesn’t…”

The hand in his hair moves, fingers scratching lightly at his scalp, watching the pet shudder in disgust at the touch. 

“If he doesn’t, there’s still more I can do. Worse than I’ve done. I’ll give him a couple days to come back to me, and then I’ll show him just how much I missed him, you know? I’ll show him he still belongs to me, they both do, Vincent Shield is mine.”

“Kauri-... Kauri is not-”

“Ssssshhhh. He might as well be, right? But that’s okay. That's just fine." One last burn, and then the cigarette is dropped right next to the pet’s face, the heady smoke up his nose and over his tongue. Owen ruffles his hair, and then pushes himself up to standing. “Go home, you’re a fucking mess.”

Owen walks away, leaving the pet lying there.

Time passes. The pet doesn't know how much.

Eventually he staggers up and to his feet, the world spinning sickly around him. A headache throbs behind his temples, blood trickling down his face. His nose might be broken again. He can still smell the smoke. 

He can still smell-

misha takes a pack of cigarettes out of the body’s pocket and lights one, the trail of bitter smoke rising into the air, tobacco and chemicals stinging artyom’s own nose, making him wrinkle it as he lays out the plastic tarp and misha looks over at him, smiling and sated for the moment, his eyes sparkling, artyom’s sickly younger brother all grown up into a monster that must be sacrificed to to keep their family intact and the smoke makes artyom cough

The pet coughs as he stumbles back out of the alleyway into the evening light, moving mindlessly back to Jake’s car, the smell of decay, dirty water, and clove cigarettes clinging to his body, new burns itching and aching all the way down his spine. 

He stares at four flat tires, slashed open, the gleam of metal along the side where someone had keyed through the paint.

Owen Grant isn't working alone, he catalogues dully. Someone is helping him. Someone did this while he was hurting the pet in an alley.

He can't go home.

The pet remembers his phone only when he’s sitting in the driver’s seat, looking sightlessly through the windshield wondering if the cold things will have gone warm and started going bad in the trunk.

He looks at Jake’s number for a while, thinks about the small plain bands the three of them wear for each other, and then slowly leans his aching head against the steering wheel.

Jake picks up on the second ring. "Antoni?"

Right. That's his name.

"I need you to call Nat," Antoni says, his voice rough. He pushes down the tears that try to prick his eyes. There is no time for crying, not now. No time at all.

"Why? Ant, you're late coming back from-"

"I met Owen," Antoni says, voice heavy. He feels dizzy, still, and a little sleepy. "I need you to come get me."

There's a pause. "Fuck. And you have my car."

"Mmmhmm." Antoni's going to fall asleep right here and now, the crash of adrenaline and the pulse of pain throughout his body working together to drag him into the dark.

He always liked the darkness best anyway.

"Well... okay, Laken's here and they have a car, we'll be there in fifteen minutes, okay?"

"Okay," Antoni manages, and then hangs up. He doesn't move his head from the steering wheel.

Inside of him, determination grows.

Owen Grant cannot have Kauri.

Not ever again.

Antoni has never allowed his family to come to harm if he could prevent it, and he will not allow this.

-

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @astrobly @thefancydoughnut @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things

#whump #the same bed arc #beating #ptsd tw #ptsd flashbacks #sort of #memory loss #exhaustion #concussion #owen grant is a nice guy #antoni sings lullabies #stalking tw #harassment tw #abusive relationship tw #abuser searching for victim #derogatory language #internalized dehumanization #brief #burning #burns tw #cigarette burns #burning with cigarette #bbu #box boy universe #box boy #box boy whump #bbu whump #creepy whumper #sadistic whumper

[mxllitiam]

a comprehensive chronological list of every heart effie trinket has broken. and the respective song lyrics that could have been written about her, because effie trinket is someone you write breakup songs about.

do me a favor and ask if you need some help / she said, "do me a favor, and stop flattering yourself" / and to tear apart the ties that bind / perhaps "fuck off" might be too kind /

she's nineteen when she leaves marlin lowrock. he tries to change the way she dresses and the way she speaks. he doesn't like how loud her laughter booms across the room. he doesn't like that she walks with a pep in her step. he doesn't like her. she throws a punch on her way out of his life and holds her face immaculately still even as pain shoots up her knuckles (she broke one, her finger is still crooked). his nose bleeds. this is the one where she learns not to settle. 

but i'm a creep / i'm a weirdo / what the hell am i doing here? / i don't belong here / she's running out the door /

she's twenty when she leaves caesar flickerman. it's not so much as a leaving, really, as it is never walking into anything. she goes on precisely two dates with him. it's only to please her parents, he's from an influential family and it'd be nice, they say, if the kids dated. she holds back her grimaces whenever he laughs over the dinner table and she only agrees to a second one because she enjoys torturing herself, it seems. she leaves after thirty minutes of the second date, excuses herself and never answers his attempts to contact her again. this is the one she's most embarrassed by. 

i won't cover my scars, i'll let them bleed / so my silence, so my silence / won't be mistaken for peace / am i wrong for wanting us to make it? / tell me your lies because i just can't face it /

she's twenty-five when she leaves cypress lockhart. he is the perfect man and she is the imperfect bride-to-not-be. her grin is wide and filled with panic any time someone makes a funny little remark about the lack of a shiny ring on her finger. he kneels to the ground on a hot summer night and dread fills up her throat until all that comes out is a choked sound. he knows the answer as soon as he asks it. she has known it from the moment they started dating. she is not a bride, she is something else, something in-between, something that aches and longs for things she has never known. this is the problem, she has dreamed of a luxurious wedding, she has yearned for the sound pattern of little feet running all over her house, she has wanted a marriage and a family, but not with him. effie trinket seems to be searching for an impossible thing. everyone says she must be mad to turn him down. his mother's ring is pocketed again and she pretends to feel guilty. he runs a quiet smear campaign on her for years. this is the one that people still whisper about.

got a girl with california eyes / and i thought that she could really be the one this time / but i never got the chance to make her mine / 

she's twenty-seven when she leaves osage blossom. a young stylist born on district four that made it to the capitol to work, not a dime to her name and a bag heavy on her shoulders. effie adores her. her parents don't approve of their daughter dating a nobody. months later, after some suspicious rebellious acitivity, osage is found dead at her apartment. this is the one where effie's heart breaks too.

god dammit amy, we're not kids anymore / you can't just keep waltzing out of my life, leaving clothes on my bedroom floor, / [...] / you should mean more to me by now than just heartbreak and a short skirt /

she's twenty-eight when she leaves glinte wellbrand. the end of her twenties have come on too fast and too slow all the same. effie finds herself a wild animal, an awful thing; she clings to her tall stone walls and shoots daggers at anyone close enough to see. for once she doesn't want to be seen, heard, understood. for once, the ground could swallow her up. glinte is a welcome distraction, a thoughtless call in the middle of every lonely night. they don't want anything more than casual, either, but they're also fed up with her antics after months of it. she's too much, they say. they exist under each other's skins like poison. their argument ends with a broken bottle and a hole on the wall. this is the one she doesn't talk about much.

you got big plans and you gotta move / and i don't feel nothing at all / and you can't feel nothing small / honey, i love you, that's all she wrote / oh, ophelia / you've been on my mind, girl, like a drug /

she's thirty-one when she leaves saffran farshire. they don't see eye to eye anymore, and she's learned to jump back in the water before it all sinks. there isn't much to write home about. he wants to keep trying, but she insists against it. the cold night mocks her emptiness when she walks out of their place, bound to let her own loneliness hold her to sleep for the next however many years. although admittedly such a crier, she doesn't shed any tears. there's a hollow in her chest that fills up eventually with her career, her friends, her team. this is just the one that happened last.

#effie : musings #abusive relationship tw #toxic relationship tw #death tw #jic #there's only one woman bc effie doesn't break women's hearts they don't belong in this list #also cypress can get champagne problems by tswift but that's effie's pov #special thanks to the thg name generator #this started as a joke bc i hc'd that effie dated caesar once #anyone is welcome to this information ic now too <33

[pretty-face-breaker]

Hold On

( @whumpmasinjuly day 6) 

CW. drinking, discussion of past torture, discussion of long term captivity, whumpee dissociating, self-blame, guilt, reference to past noncon, brief voice-raising, crying, just a whole lot of guilt and sadness

—

“And sometimes,” Hayko slurs, “he’d make me watch. Well, not force. I didn’t have a gun to my head.”

“Hm.”

“But if he brought someone in to interrogate, he made sure to lock the door of the main room so I wouldn’t leave.” 

Vladimir makes another noise of acknowledgement, neither pitying nor noncommittal. It has a ring of sympathy that leaves them both comfortable with how far this has gone. He drops back his head and takes a swig from the bottle, watching the ceiling shift. 

It’s so quiet in the back of his head. 

“He knew I would be too scared to ask him to unlock it.” A drunken laugh rolls right from Hayko’s core and echoes in the abject emptiness of the motel room. “And, I mean, the fuck was I supposed to do? Interrupt? Hey, I know you’re caving some poor snitch’s skull in but could you unlock the door?” 

They’ve been running for two weeks now.

Silent, Vladimir lets his eyes close - another recognition. He does it in a way that lets Hayko know that he’s listening, soaking it in and how, in another light, he knows about all of it because he knows more than his friend thinks. 

“Those first few months with him were…”

“Hell. I know,” Vlad fills in. Another swig, another skip in the ceiling. 

The popcorn texturing moves with each languid blink and he thinks about how quickly the bumps move back to their original positions, the quicker he blinks. It builds blocks of anxiety in him, watching the bumps bounce back again and again, never making substantial forward progress. 

The only reason they bounce is because he's shitfaced. 

“You don’t… think I ever-...” Hayko begins with uncertainty. “I never loved him. Klyanus zhiznyu. I think, after he began treating me like a person, I settled into this complacency because… because it was easier. At least I wasn’t getting beaten or cut or… It was easier.” 

The more he goes on, the more Hayko’s voice seems to retreat inside himself.

Realising this, Vlad perks up and wastes no time in moving towards him on the ground, patting his shoulder gently. “Hey, Hayk.”

He doesn’t jerk - only stares forward. “I’m-... I’m awake.” 

Vladimir sighs in veiled relief and sits back. “Podozhdi.” 

The sun had gone down an hour ago and, since then, the two had played a round of Backgammon and four rounds of speed-chess. Hayko’s face had practically lit up when he saw the familiarly embellished wood and Vladimir had chuckled to himself at the endearing sparkle in his long-dulled eyes, relieved to see that something could still be reached.

Cultural lines. Each line had brought them together, and together they had stayed. 

“Podozhdi, luchik.”

Hold on.

Hayko’s face flickers brighter but he scoffs and takes another drink, pushing the exhausted chess board away from the both of them. “Remember how we played the day before we?...”

“Quite clearly, yes.” 

The man thinks for a moment, letting the alcohol simmer in him, as if waiting for it to give him courage. “I’m sorry.”

“...For,” Vladimir cocks an eyebrow, concerned. “For what?” But he can tell the soon-to-be brittle voice. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more useful.” 

The men sit in silence, Vladimir stunned. For a second, he tries to search for the sarcasm in his voice, looking for a sliver of good old boy cynicism but finds none. “Hayk, you..cannot be serious.”

“I can be. We were-... I was there for two years, Vovchik.” 

Vlad predicted that he would have broken by now but Hayko’s voice stays acknowledging and steady, like an admonishing teacher. 

Something in him, keeping down the storm, breaks.

He can’t keep it to himself.

“I was there for ten fucking years,” Vladimir snaps up, eyes blazing as Hayko averts his gaze. “You would think I could have done something by then but no, I didn’t even try and you know why? You know that this began as a job for me? I was not forced into it, like you. I was not kidnapped. I was not beaten. I was not raped-” 

Hayko’s eyes snap to him, startled. “He never did that, Vov-”

“You wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t need to, to survive, luchik,” Vlad snaps back, and his voice has never summoned more power. The rage is nondirectional and doesn’t scare Hayko away but he can tell he needs to take a breath. 

And soon. 

“I was an engineer. An engineer!” 

Hayko replies in a miserable whisper. “I was with h-him, constantly.” 

But the man refuses to back down and sets the bottle down, unyielding. “It wasn’t just a job for you. It was life or death.”

“I could’ve..”

“You think I have been threatened like you?”

“Yes!”

“No, because the worst they did was vague implications and making me watch your vivisection!” 

The word comes out hoarse and with the same force as a punch. Hayko trembles a little and Vlad instantly feels a tremble in his chest. He lets the silence cloak the room again, backing off and cornering himself against the bed again. 

A guilty retreat.

“I... I am sorry.”

“Don’t,” Hayko mutters, voice gone flat.

Vladimir resents knowing the anger is not directed towards him. 

“Luchik, we were in different situations and, if anything, I should have acted sooner. You are a child.” 

There’s another beat of silence before Hayko chuckles quietly, still not tired of the old joke. “Maybe to you. I’m twenty-seven.”

“It is the same thing.” 

“Vladimir, I’m a goddamn professional,” Hayko sneers as if he’s combatting a patronising parent. The fleeting vindication he feels brings him a sliver of comfort. Patronized but protected. 

“Da, and I had my first job at seventeen.” 

They’re so close and so far away, the darkness outside trapping them and freeing them into the oblivious future. Two shattered men, sitting on a motel floor with bottles of vodka and board games, separated only by guilt.

Vladimir clears his throat after another drink from each of them. “If… I do not know the specifics of what happened to you and I want you to know that you can tell me-”

A scoff. “No thanks, I’d rather not humiliate myself more than I already have.”

Vlad sighs and bites back. “You are stubborn like a fucking donkey, Hayk. I do not care what he did to you or what you had to do. You can tell me. And… if you’re comfortable, you can come closer, maybe.” 

Hayko’s gaze pricks up with an anxious curiosity. The room seems emptier, smaller than before and he can’t help but feel he has to move closer, so long as the walls don’t touch him. 

It takes a moment for him to gather the courage to move but when he does, Hayko crawls over drunkenly and slinks next to the man. Vladimir does nothing but watch him, patient in acknowledging each movement. 

“Hold on.” 

Hayko sobs and it hardly makes a sound. Nodding, he chokes back what would be the onset of a breakdown. But when Vladimir’s heavy arm rests over his shoulders and he’s pulled in hardly an inch, he stops trying. 

A part of him feels that he no longer has to convince himself of his strength.

“Hold on, luchik,” Vladimir whispers. And they sit there, two men on the floor of a motel. 

Tomorrow, they’ll keep holding on and move to another. 

@doveotions @heathenville @thewhumpstuff @thatsthewhump @adamantem-rose @lonesome–hunter @whumpsorbet @whumpasaurus101 @lektricfergus @downrivergirl914 @burtlederp @redwingedwhump @nicolepascaline @ifbtnna @oh-so-skeletal @whumperfully​​ ​

—

#whump #whump writing #whump drabble #whumpmasinjuly #wij22day6 #wij22 #alcohol tw #escaped whumpee #captivity #self-hatred #crying #past torture #guilt #dissociation #abusive relationship tw #just two easterners coping with their cards #nick and hayko #trauma recovery