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#whump the baby
the-baby-storyteller · 10 months
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A character with the mentality, if I’m not dead I’m fine. They hold out under torture, go through extreme conditions like starvation and dehydration, and don’t shrink back from danger. Every time they feel themself getting scared they rebuke themself, sneering contemptuously at the fact that they would even think to act frail when they know better. Getting hurt is never a problem for them. It can’t ever be a problem for them because they have to.
Even if they do start to sniffle a little when they’re alone out in the cold, rocking while cradling a broken bone, knowing no one is coming to help them.
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sp0o0kylights · 1 year
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Adopt a Jock Part 1 
Part 2 
Part 4
Shoutout to @bloomingconflagration for the title!!! And a HUGE thank you to everyone who left comments or gave suggestions!! I love you all you amazing, silly humans <3 <3 
There comes a time during a long work shift were your average overworked and underpaid employee starts to think they’re hallucinating. 
In Gareth’s case, it was when Steve Harrington walked through the doors of Palace Arcade, making a beeline right for him. 
“Gareth?” Steve asked, like he was the one out of place. “What are you doing here?” 
As if people just randomly stood behind the counter of retail and entertainment spaces with a nametag on. 
You know, for fun.
With a great deal of restraint, Gareth managed to hold the sass back, instead opting for a far more polite; ‘I work here, Harrington. What are you doing here?” 
Because no matter how much Hellfire had adopted Steve into its fold, Gareth could just not see the guy choosing to spend his free time at the local arcade. 
Not of his own free will, anyway. 
“Pick up duty.” Steve said, proving him right not even a second later. 
“Of what?” Gareth asked, puzzled, right before Steve’s name was shouted in stereo.
A miniature stampede took place as several children proceeded to swarm him like oversized puppies, most of them trying to talk at once. 
“One at a time, we talked about this!” Steve barked, loud enough to be heard over the commotion. “You’re giving me and Gareth here a headache!” 
He waved his hands in a “calm down” gesture, shaking his head and looking at Gareth in exasperation. “Probably giving the people in the video store next door one too, lord.”  
“Wait.” A curly-haired kid said, looking between the two older teens like he was watching the laws of the universe rewrite themselves in front of him. “You know Gary? How?”
“We are not close enough for you to call me Gary.” Gareth said dryly, for what felt like the fifteenth time that day. 
This was a regular battle between him and the kids who haunted the arcade.
(One had overheard Grant call him Gary the last time he was in, and ever since, every single child that graced this fine establishment with Cheeto-dusted fingers and candy-induced sugar rushes had decided to replace his actual name with his nickname.
The fact it clearly frustrated him only egged them on. )
“We go to school together Dustin,” Steve said, as if he were talking to someone particularly dense. 
“Yeah? You go to school with lots of people. You bitch about most of them.” Dustin fired back.”Plus Gary’s a total nerd. I bet you call him names.” 
"Hey, language!" 
Gareth’s eyes narrowed as he glared down at the little fucker. He was definitely going to remember Dustin (and equally going to watch and see what arcade games the younger teen played-- and top the score chart of every single fucking one.
He might be a nerd but he wasn’t gonna take that shit from a middle schooler.) 
“Hate to break it to you brats, but your babysitter here just joined our D&D club.” Gareth replied, if only to finally one-up the little bastards. “Our DM is building him a character as we speak.” 
(Which wasn't even a lie. Eddie was building a character for Steve. The guy just refused to give any input on grounds that he "wasn't going to play anyways." )
Abrupt and sudden silence, as several stunned faces stared at him. 
“Oh goddammit.” Harrington cursed, as the entire herd of children turned on him in unison like some kind of hivemind horror monster. 
“You joined the D&D club,” Dustin said slowly, outraged. “And you let them make you a character sheet, but you won’t play with us!?” 
“What the hell Steve!” The sporty-looking one whined, clearly hurt. “You won’t sit in on our games! You said they were lame!” 
“They are lame.” Steve defended immediately, pushing at sporty-kids head. It was fond though, the kind of gentle shove an elder brother gave to a younger one. It caused the kid's camo banana to fall into his eyes, which he adjusted quickly with a grumble. “Turns out the high school version’s cooler.” 
“He’s lying.” That from the bitchy one, whose arms were crossed over his chest, a glare on his face. “Steve probably paid Gary to say that” 
Gareth had seen that exact same stance on Steve at lunch that day, and wondered if the little asshole knew who he was copying when he did it. 
“Who cares about D&D?” This from the redhead, standing with another girl giggling in her ear. “I’m just amazed Steve has friends.” 
“Really Mayfield?” Steve said, looking almost betrayed. As if he thought she was going to be the one to defend him in this weird little showdown.
The girl leaning on her giggled harder, making Mayfield grin (even if she tried to hide it.)  She whispered something, which the redhead outright laughed at before repeating; “Adult friends even!” 
“Okay.” Steve said, clearly cutting the kids off before they could embarrass him further. “Thank you, unwanted peanut gallery, for all of that lovely commentary. Now go back to playing the games you little shits robbed me of all my quarters for, or we’re leaving.” 
Henderson’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you were here to pick us up?” 
“Oh I’m sorry, did Jonathan magically appear behind me in the last five seconds?” Steve turned around pretending to search the parking lot through the windows. “No? Then I guess we’re still waiting. Unless you, Lucas and Max want to leave first.” 
“You’re such an ass.” Dustin huffed, rolling his eyes. “Why aren’t you waiting in the car anyway?” 
“It’s raining, it’s cold, and I thought I’d come in to say hi to my friend.” Steve replied, so quickly it took Gareth a moment to realize what Steve referred to him as. 
He'd gotten the friend title before Eddie. 
His best friend was going to fucking freak. 
“Are you done drilling me or are you going to let Max kick your ass at DigDug again?” 
“Shit!” Henderson cursed, spinning to intercept the redhead as she bent to put a coin in said arcade machine. “Max, you said you’d let me keep my leaderboard score today! Max!” 
“I know you said you watched kids, but this wasn’t exactly what I was imagining.” Gareth said, slumping against the counter.  
(He'd been thinking of Steve watching much younger kids for one, and two, he was starting to get the idea the babysitter thing was used as an insult. 
Gareth knew a big brother vibe when he saw it.) 
Steve gave him a tired look. “Me neither man. Me neither.”
 Then; “You fucking owe me for that D&D comment, they’re never going to shut up about it now.”
Gareth winced. “Sorry. I was trying to help.” 
Steve blew out a breath. “I know. I appreciate the attempt.” 
Which was better than Steve bitching at him for it, not that he’d really ever done that to Gareth. 
The two of them hadn’t quite worked up the nerve to be playful like that with each other, though they had occasionally jumped in on opposing sides to arguments Eddie caused. Gareth figured they’d get there in time, but even with all the progress Steve made, he still had more off days than on. 
It was a fragile line to walk with him. Especially when there wasn’t a single member of Hellfire who wanted to ruin the progress they made. 
(Even if half of them would never admit to it.) 
“Steve?” A voice interrupted, quiet in a way that contrasted directly with how loud the rest of the brat pack was. 
Steve closed his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose with his hand as if to starve off a headache. 
“Yes, Baby Byers?” He asked after a long, painful pause, turning to look at the saddest looking kid in the bunch. 
“Is there actually a D&D club at the high school?” 
The kid looked at Steve like he wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to hear the answer, but was hopeful for the outcome he wanted anyway. 
It was the kind of thing that pulled even on Gareth’s heartstrings, and he was almost immune to anything involving giant, sad eyes after a solid year of working at the arcade. 
(Never mind Eddie’s own puppy dog looks.)
Steve’s voice gentled, in a way Gareth had never quite heard him use before. “There is. You’d love it, it’s called Hellfire. I’m sure it’ll still be there next year when you come in as a freshman.” 
He nudged him with his shoulder playfully, smiling when the younger boy perked up. “If you’re nice, Garebear here might even put in a good word for you.” 
“Garebear?” Max repeated with a burst of laughter, appearing behind Steve like a fucking ghost. “Oh my god.” 
“No.” Gareth said, bolting upright from his slouch as he stared at her in horror. “Do not call me that.” 
“Sure thing, Garebear.” She outright cackled, as Steve sent him a wide-eyed, apologetic face. 
“What did you just call Gary?” The sporty one--Lucas, asked, a wide grin overtaking his face. 
“I swear to God.” Gareth threatened, as Steve took another dramatic look over his shoulder. 
“Hey look Jonathan’s here!” He yelled, jerking a thumb over his shoulder as he started quickly walking backwards. “Come on, dipshits, we're leaving!” 
“Bye Garebear!” Lucas and Max sang together, following after him. 
“Harrington!” Gareth howled, as Steve mouthed ‘Sorry’ over his shoulder, all but bolting out the door. 
“I like Garebear a lot better than Gary.” Another, random child informed him with a grin as he sauntered past, arcade tickets in hand. 
Steve Harrington, Gareth decided, was a dead man. 
Not even Eddie’s fucking crush on the guy could save him now. 
xXx
“Did you know Harrington has a literal pack of kids he watches?” Gareth asked a few hours later, messing with his drum kit as he set up for band practice. "He even drives them around." 
More than that though--he’d seemed almost normal around them. That was the most Gareth had seen the guy banter or act relaxed since Eddie had dragged him over. 
“He’s mentioned it multiple times.” Grant replied, tuning his bass. “You have ears Gareth, use them.” 
“Gareth? Listen?” Jeff teased as he dragged an amp into the garage. “I don’t think I’ll live to see the day.” 
"Oh screw you guys.” Gareth growled, winging a drumstick toward his friends for the insult.
Grant, long used to Gareth's tantrums (and Eddie's dramatics)  didn't look up from his bass.
Not even when the drumstick hit the wall with a bang!-- allll the way near the opposite end of the couch, entirely opposite of either him or Jeff. 
"As usual, your aim is dead on." Jeff appraised sarcastically. 
"Like I'd ever actually hit you." Gareth grumbled with a pout. "I was gonna say the kids are older than I expected."
He reached down, blindly fishing for another drumstick from the bucket of them next to his kit. 
He came up empty. 
"Hey Grantman." Gareth asked, tone changing to something mildly embarrassed. "Could I uh, could I get the drumstick back?" 
He got a flat stare back. "No." 
"What did I do to get stuck with such dramatic friends?" Jeff joked as he began moving all the amps he’d pulled in back into their usual places. 
They hadn't had time to unload anything other than the drums after their last show and the regret was real. 
"Eddie’s been standing on tables since seventh grade, you knew what you were getting into." Gareth fired back, making grabby hands for his drumstick. 
"And you never grew out of being that dorky middle schooler who snuck into Hellfire games and screamed we were all going to die every time anyone made a bad play." Jeff shot back. "Yet here I am, once again wondering if I should just permanently confiscate Eddie's snacks, your drumsticks, and now Harrington's fricken spatula." 
"One year. I am one year younger than you and you act like it's an entire century!" Gareth muttered, as Grant relented and leaned over to fetch said drumstick. 
"We all know Eddie chucks food at people, but what'd Steve do with a spatula?"  Grant asked as he tossed it back to Gareth.
He missed and nearly took out a cymbal in the process. 
"He had a snit while we were making chocolate roulade cause it wouldn’t roll right. Flung the spatula around so much it splattered whip cream on his ceiling." Jeff shook his head as he finished hooking an amp up to his guitar. "I had to rescue it from him." 
"His ceiling?" Gareth said in disbelief. "Wait, you were in Harrington’s kitchen?" 
"Yeah?" Jeff looked up to find his friends staring at him. 
Grant blinked. "The fuck?" 
“Can we just play?” Jeff complained, just as embarrassed as Gareth had been.
“No.” Gareth said, retrieved drumstick nearly falling from his hands in shock. “You don’t get to casually drop that you went to Harrington’s house to help him bake and then try to get us to play right after!” 
Jeff, who had done exactly that, blushed, skin darkening as he fiddled with his guitar.
“It wasn’t a big deal.” He said finally with a shrug, as if this was something he did all the time and not the groundbreaking revelation that it was.
“Did you meet his parents?” Grant said, sitting up from the couch. “What did his house look like?”
Jeff finally gave up the pretense of playing his instrument.
“I didn't, and it was kinda sad, actually.” He said, as if he didn’t live for this kind of shit. 
Gareth knew better than anyone how much of a fricken gossip Jeff could be. 
“His house was enormous. I only saw the first floor, and his kitchen is huge.” He set his hands apart at a good distance, showcasing just how large “huge” was, before continuing. 
“But it was weird. It was like a model home. No pictures on the walls, no art, no personality to the place at all.” 
“What are we talking about?” Eddie asked, finally returning to Gareth’s garage from where he’d been gathering up all the wires they’d thrown haphazardly into his van. 
“Jeff went to Harrington’s house.” Grant and Gareth tattled as one. 
“To help bake stuff for this Friday!” Jeff defended, the blush creeping back onto his face. “I was curious about his chocolate roulade recipe and he invited me over!” 
“When was this?” Eddie asked, staring at Jeff like he’d grown a second head. 
Or more likely, Gareth knew, in jealousy. But he wasn’t going to call Eddie out on that just yet. 
“Yesterday. We got to talking about it in the parking lot after school.” Jeff said with an embarrassed shrug. “He said he wasn’t the best at explaining how to do things and that he’d rather show me instead.” 
“Kinky.” Grant deadpanned, making Jeff sputter. 
“You sure you didn’t see his bedroom, Jeff? It’s okay if you fell for the ‘wanna see my music collection’ line. We won’t judge you.” Gareth waggled his eyebrows, ducking with a laugh when Jeff went to whack him. 
“Shut up, we just made the chocolate roulade!” Jeff’s ears were red now, and huh, maybe Eddie wasn’t the only person with a crush.  
“Guys.” Eddie reprimanded, tone warning. 
“Sorry Eds, you know we don’t mean it.” Gareth soothed. Of course, his best friend's anger was less about the gay comments or Steve’s reputation as Hawkin’s man whore than it was about Steve fucking Jeff (and not Eddie) but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be appreciated if he pointed that out either. 
Eddie didn’t respond, eyes already back on Jeff. "Details, Jeffery, give us the details!"  
He dropped onto the couch, flapping his hands at Jeff in his version of a "sit down" gesture. 
Jeff sighed, but repeated what he'd just said for Eddie as he took a seat on the edge of an amp, placing his guitar down gently. 
 "I think Wayne was right. I don't think anyone else lives there but Steve. Not full-time anyway." He finished. 
Which sounded like the best fucking thing ever until Gareth thought about it for more than two seconds. 
Tried to imagine what his life would be like if his parents and siblings were gone. Not for a day, or even a weekend, but always. 
How silent his normally loud house would be. 
Thought instantly that he'd be inviting Eddie, his friends, and hell, l even Wayne, over as often as they could handle. 
"The way he looked when I showed up, and how quiet he got when I left I just…" Jeff fiddled with his guitar’s strap. "I think he's lonely." 
The four of them sat in silence for a long moment as they digested that. 
“Hargrove kicked his ass right? And Byers?” Grant said finally, breaking the silence ad he stared up at the ceiling. 
“Old news.” Eddie replied absently, jiggling his leg.
“You think his parents were around for that?” Grant continued, slowly.
No one answered outside of Eddie's leg loudly jiggling faster. 
 "Did you see the kids hug him or anything?"
"They're like thirteen. I seriously doubt they're pestering Steve for hugs." Gareth answered flatly.  
 "So he got his ass kicked, his parents are gone, he was supposed involved in that whole has leak thing…" Grant trailed off with an air of someone who expected the end of his sentence to be obvious. 
“You’re doing that thing again where you think what you’re saying is obvious and its fucking not.” Eddie grumped. "Just spit it out." 
His friend's head finally tipped back down from the ceiling, to face the rest of them. “Maybe the flinching is because no one ever touches him anymore unless it’s to kick his ass.” 
“Oh.” Eddie blinked, body going rigid. “Oh shit.” 
“That…would make sense. A lot of sense.” Jeff said slowly. 
Grant put on a face that read “Duh” loud and clear. 
“So what do we do about it?" Gareth asked after a moment. 
"Touch him, obviously." Grant replied, like he couldn't believe the drummer was even asking.
Gareth and Eddie shared a look while Eddie rolled his eyes.  
"The guy almost fell down the stairs last time I tried that." Gareth pointed out. 
Never mind any other time Steve got weird over the lightest of touches. Eddie couldn't even clap the guy on the shoulder without getting major side-eye. 
"No."  Eddie cut in, sitting up suddenly. His eyes had gone bright, "We're going to trick him into it." 
"We're going to trick Harrington into being okay with, what? Shoulder pats?"  Gareth echoed, like Eddie might hear himself if his words were repeated back to him. “You realize how stupid that sounds right?" 
"Shut up, listen. It's like getting a stray to trust you. You just gotta be calm and so obvious about it that they get confused and let it happen." Eddie had begun practically vibrating, causing his friends to trade uneasy glances. 
They knew that look. Eddie only got it when he thought up a plan that was going to cause problems. 
"Eddie, that makes zero sense." Jeff told him.
Gareth just shook his head, because only Eddie Munson could compare Hawkins golden boy with a fucking stray animal. 
Even if the guy kinda acted like one sometimes. 
"I just need an opening." Eddie continued, the little hamster wheel spinning in his head so fast the rest of the band could almost hear it. 
If Gareth had been told two months ago he was going to be sitting in his garage, discussing the best way to acclimate Steve Harrington to casual touch, he’d have actually smacked whatever idiot dared spew such nonsense with his drumsticks. 
"I did tell tell the kids today you were making him a D&D character." He said, before his best friend could truly go off on some half cocked plot. 
Eddie lit up like a kid on Christmas. "Gary, I could kiss you."
Gareth made a face. "Please don't."
He clapped hard before springing to his feet. "Huddle up boys, I've got a plan." 
"God help us all." Jeff muttered. 
(He huddled up anyway, any thoughts of playing guitar that night fully forgotten.) 
Bonus: 
"Why don't you just get high and watch a movie with Steve? You're a fucking cling-on when you're high." Gareth complained the next morning, when Eddie swung by to pick him up for school. 
Mostly because the plan Eddie had come up with was ridiculous.
 Eddie took both hands off the wheel, pressing them against his chest in mock offense while he stared at Gareth and not at the street. “That would be taking advantage of him and I, as a gentleman, would never." He gasped, dramatically. 
In his normal voice, he added: "Plus it doesn't count." 
“Eyes on the road!” Gareth yelped, swatting an arm. “And you know I didn’t mean it like that. People relax more when they're high and maybe Steve needs something like that as an excuse to allow it. Hell he doesn’t even need to be high, just you.”
Which Gareth personally thought was a very insightful thing to say, so of course he had to ruin it with; “or whatever.” 
"Do you recall how you kissed Jeff on the cheek when you were high and then spent the entire next month swearing up and down that you weren't attracted to men last summer?" 
"That was different. I was discovering myself." 
Eddie outright cackled. "Discovering yourself? What self help book did you pick that gem out of?"
"I was quoting you, you moron!" Gareth sputtered. 
"If I said anything like that then I was definitely high and it just proves my point. Steve would just be uncomfortable."Eddie stuck his tongue out. "So there." 
"Fine." Gareth sighed. "If we ever get high with Harrington, I'll sit in his lap."
Eddie's eye twitched. "No you will not."
Thrilled to have something to tease the elder metalhead about, a smile graced Gareth's face. "In fact, I'm calling dibs." 
"You can't call dibs on a lap! And besides, you don't even like him like that!" 
"So?" Gareth retorted. "It's a nice lap, looks comfortable. You don't want it, so I'll take it."
Eddie grit his teeth, grasping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles went white. 
"I know what you're doing Gary. This is some bullshit reverse psychology shit and I will not be falling for it." 
"Oh contraire, this is sibling bullshit, Munson. You want it, so I want it." Gareth crossed his arms and looked at Eddie smugly. "And unless you do something about it, I'm getting it." 
"I hate you." 
Gareth grinned, delighted. "I know." 
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whumpershq · 2 years
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hotluncheddie · 7 months
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having autistic high masking steve thoughts..
steve harrington who’s black and white is these are the rules and you follow them. you turn up at school, you show your face at dinner, you do your hair and brush your teeth and speak when your spoken to. steve harrington who doesn’t want to be alone at lunch, knows that making friends in important because it’s the only thing his mother asked him after his first day, and he wants to be able to say ‘yes’ if she ever asks again. steve who loves to swim but hates how the shower water beats on his skin after, how the shampoo always get all over his face and he’s never given time to wipe it off in the right way, can’t seem to say how it makes him want to scream. all he knows he can’t scream because that’s ‘bad behaviour steven’ and then he won’t be able to swim. so he swallows it, he detaches, he only half exists in the shower and he feels a mass of dark smoke churn in his chest.
steve harrington who heard what the other kids said, how they spoke about the older kids, how people spoke on the tv. learned that when he grew up that he’d need to talk to girls like he wanted to date them, kiss them. talk to guys like he enjoyed hearing about their weekends, even if they were mean and annoying. even is he didn’t care and noticed how they never asked about him. but you’re not allowed to say that; your annoying, i don’t care, you make me feel bad. you have to listen and smile and fit in and be liked. not matter what.
steve harrington who’s smart and sensible and is good at recognising patterns. who knows how to survive, no matter how uncomfortable he is. no matter how tired he is by the evening, mind blasting static, no room do anything other than lay there. he doesn’t really know what he likes because he has no energy to do anything, anything other than going to school and go on dates. he got good at hiding how reading takes so long and writing never comes out in the right order first time. how so often he feels like his skin needs to just come off. how that scream is still sitting at the base of his throat.
he dreams of running away, to hide and just, be quiet. everything just need to be quiet and dark, for a little bit. for a while. but it can’t be, because he has to show his face, has to do his hair.
and then monsters exist. and steve survives, because he has to, because he can. he knows his role in the story, so he fights and he cares and he protects and he keeps talking to girls and he keeps brushing his teeth and when he gets beaten up it hurts, it’s uncomfortable, but what’s more discomfort when every day is uncomfortable. he’s always been uncomfortable but how can he ever not be, he has to follow the rules.
hurt/comfort pt2 & snippet pt3
ao3
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The whumpee hadn’t even registered the fact that he’d been rescued, they were too dazed and confused because of the cocktail of sedatives the whumper gave them on a regular basis. It takes a very long time for the whumpee to realize what’s going on, and even then, they think it might just all be a dream.
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lumpsbumpsandwhumps · 4 months
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i feel like some people are out here fighting tooth and nail to justify any interest they have in whump and that it's NOT for sexual reasons and that they DON'T condone this irl and they would NEVER want this actions to be used on others and like baby you realize there's people out here who jerk off to the idea of sentient boeing 747s that vore all the passengers. like. you're fine.
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pixelatedraindrops · 5 months
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One thing to keep in mind about me...
If I ever have a favorite character:
They WILL end up like this
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in my head
CONSTANTLY
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mellaithwen · 1 year
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a going-feral starter pack :) helppp (x)
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the-ellia-west · 2 months
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A mentor character past their prime so powerful that you wonder how powerful they used to be
A mentor character so powerful they win every encounter they're in, but they end up harming themselves in the process
A mentor character who holds back their tears as they're celebrated as a hero as not to make their apprentices worried
A mentor character who collapses later alone in their room clutching a bleeding wound inflicted by their own powers
A mentor character who is in too deep and knows they're going to die
A mentor character who fights against their own body and powers to help their apprentice even when they're slowly killing themselves to defend their friends.
A mentor who stopped loving themselves a long time ago but found a child to live for, but now they're too far gone in their effort to die to survive.
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whump-queen · 4 months
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I need a whumpee who’s straight up pathetic. a whumpee who hates themselves. give me a man with negative self esteem. a man with so much guilt, so much constant anxiety— someone who feels like they’ve messed everything up so horribly and they’re still currently messing everything up. give me a whumpee who has no time to correct for their past mistakes because life just keeps throwing more shit at them. give me sad, pathetic, irredeemable whumpees.
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anguishmacgyver · 5 months
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koraesrambles · 6 months
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Gotham War: Red Hood Issue #2? More like Everyone in Gotham is Horny for Jason Todd.
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Get it girl.
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Everyone is asking, "Where is Red Hood?" but does anyone ask "HOW is Red Hood?"
spoiler alert: He is Not Good.
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Everyone: Well Gotham War is problematic because --
Me: Yeah yeah yeah, but have you considered that I'm having a great time watching everyone fight over Jason Todd?
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Rose is the only person in the world who understands Jason like I do.
Some Scholar: Well I read comics because of their commentary on --
Me: Well, I read comics because I want to see a bunch of silly people dressed up in silly costumes fighting over my favorite character while he goes insane, okay? Good.
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whumpty-dumpty · 8 months
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Our choirmaster found this hedgehog mama with two little ones in his garden. This is the cutest thing I have seen in a while!😍
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the-baby-storyteller · 8 months
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Chin lifts.
From Whumper to make Whumpee feel vulnerable. Weak. Like property. To remind them of their place and just how servile and pliant they are under Whumper’s control. Forcing them to lift their head, stretching their neck to the point of pain, in a show of cruel sadism as a wicked smile spreads across their lips.
From Caretaker to soothe Whumpee. To make them meet their eyes when they refuse. To check for illness or harm. Or tears. Maybe they smile when Whumpee’s gaze reaches their own. Perhaps they frown at what they see. Regardless, an intimate moment is created as Whumpee stares up at them, seeing the intemt strong within their eyes and feeling the firm unyielding grip of their hand, both whispering: “I’ve got you.”
Whumpee, the one having their chin lifted, feeling all too exposed with the near manhandling. For a Whumpee who’s main defense mechanism is hiding, not being able to cover their highly expressive face is a terror. A Whumpee who refuses to meet Whumper’s gaze out of spite. A Whumpee who buries their head in Caretakers chest when ill to hide the flush of their face or seek comfort.
Lift their chin.
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I have thoughts about the clip and especially about Fang and generally all of the scene so yeah, an analysis-like tangent full of spoilers below cut
Out of the entire crew, I think Fang and Frenchie (especially Fang) are literally the best people to recieve comfort from. It's double true for Izzy.
Not only do they have like. The least invasive and violent trauma out of the crew, but they're both very empathetic and want to help others in distress. Even when that person isn't a particular ray of sunshine... like Izzy.
It also makes sense for Fang to be the main comforter. He knows Izzy. He's known him for a long while. And he's known Blackbeard for a long while too.
Watching him from the beginning of the clip, he seems to be the first one to notice Izzy's not feeling great. Far before the others do!
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This is the first we directly see Fang in the clip and yeah he looks surprised that they're throwing loot overboard - as you should be but... even more than that he looks ALARMED. He knows something's up.
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After listening to Izzy for a few seconds he is completely sure something's up. He checks in with Frenchie to know if he's seeing it too. We don't know where Frenchie is looking, but I'd assume he reciprocates the look.
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Izzy stops mid-sentence. That's not like him. The others will have noticed it too now. Sure enough, here's Jim, thoroughly confused and/or taken aback at least.
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Fang protection mode ACTIVATE! His first thought is to ask how Izzy's doing (i am so soft for them oh my god-) and to touch him - reassure him. Ground him.
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we then get a "I'm fine, unhand me" which Fang does, to give Izzy some space and checks in again with a "you really don't seem fine". He waits for Izzy's response. He wants to make SURE Izzy's okay, or rather, is patiently waiting for him to admit that he's not.
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The others join in saying that they've noticed. They've noticed how destructive his relationship with Ed is. I can't even imagine what's running through Izzy's mind at this moment. Probably like a waterfall of emotion - shame and anger and sadness and everything is too much - he's soon to break. He's trying so hard to hold it back, but he can't. He can't, when the truth is being thrown directly at his face by his own crewmates.
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Frenchie comments "he's cut off at least two more of your toes hasn't he?" and Izzy almost flinches at that sentence. He quivers. That's his breaking point. And I. have to stop a bit to look at the implications of this. Form this scene at least, I understood taht when Izzy fails to make the crew follow orders, he gets physically punished. As we heard earlier: "It is your job to f-" *he stops, he shakes slightly* he's thinking about the consequences of them not following his orders - more of his toes cut off. That's horrifying. I'd start crying too, jesus...
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Fang knows it's his breaking point and goes back to comfort him - even forcing it a bit on him, because he knows Izzy will struggle, but needs it. God, does he need it. He's always pushing people away, but Fang won't let him this time. He won't let himself be pushed away, because he cares. And he wants to show Izzy that he cares. So he persists.
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And after only a few seconds of a very feeble struggle, Izzy accepts it. He's been strong for so long. He's been brave and hurting and isolated and repressed for so. So long. And he needs to let go. And he does. He whimpers. He sounds like a puppy who's been kicked. And he is. He is a puppy. A puppy that's been severely hurt and doesn't WANT to be hurt anymore. (god, i am weak at the knees, someone call the ambulace, i think i'm dying)
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Frenchie steps in as secondary comfort to show that Izzy's really not alone in this and that none of them actually hate him. Even if he thinks he deserves it. Not even Stede's former crew hate him. That's what Frenchie represents here - to me. Fang and frenchie together show him that love isn't meant to hurt so much. It's not meant to be like this. And they also ground him in that moment. Izzy looks at Frenchie several times as he whimpers, perhaps checking in - seeing if Frenchie leaves after seeing him weak. But he doesn't. He stayes and he waits for Izzy to be okay and I think that means the world to Izzy. It means the world to me too. Izzy deserves all the comfort by this point.
Also I want to throw Edward overboard.
11/10 i need Izzy to have more hugs
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epiclamer · 2 days
Text
This is the post you all have voted for… (i settled for smutty hurt x comfort since you guys were so close)
@save-the-villainous-cat happy two year anniversary baby <3
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It wasn’t the end of the world, Villain had been injured in battle countless times before and it was never a problem. But, god, there was so much blood.
They weren’t a very optimistic person by nature, but things had never looked worse for them than at this precise moment. Stumbling blindly through friendly, neighbourhood complexes and past steadily blurring townhouses. Villain could practically feel their demise impending.
“Hey there, stranger~” The criminal gulped, eyes shooting around like a cornered animal looking for an escape. “You’re in pretty rough shape to be standing on two feet…”
Their eyes locked in on a figure—somewhere at the back of their mind they were flooded with a sensation of ease, though they couldn’t quite pinpoint why. They continued to stumble forwards and practically into the stranger’s arms anyways, for whatever reason it felt right.
“Easy— Easy there, Villain… just relax I’ve got you, I’ll take good care of you, huh?”
Warmth spread through the criminal’s mind at the sound of the other’s voice, then down into their muscles before seeping deep to their bones. They blinked and when they opened their eyes again they were laying in a tub, their feet resting at the tap where hot water poured down and into the bath.
For a moment they panicked, but a hand found its way to their shoulder and grounded them back to the present. They knew that hand, they knew that touch.
Hero.
“I’ve got you, baby~” They teased, grinning from ear to ear as they fiddled with the temperature to the water with their free hand.
It all came rushing back to the villain; the fight they had picked with their superior—on purpose—and whatever hope they had left dragging their feet to the hero’s house in a desperate attempt for attention survival.
Hero’s touch was warm where it laid by their collarbone, heating the skin to a feverish degree as it began stitching the villain back together. See, Hero’s powers only worked through touch (something the villain had learned a very long time ago purely on accident), but as much as their touch held only kindness, it did not extend to their healing abilities.
Because, god, did it ever hurt. Painful in some sick and horribly pleasurable way that Villain couldn’t seem to stop craving.
Their collarbone snapped back into place, the bone mending itself back together and their eyes flew open along with the sob that was wrenched from their throat. They flailed, partially to escape the hero’s torturous touch, partially to fall further into their grasp.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay… deep breaths remember?” The crime-stopper’s hand moved down their chest, giving their upper half the gift of a breath as they pained the rest of them.
The villain’s relief was only present for a fleeting moment, as they felt the hero’s fingertips trace the edges of the gash to their chest. Already the ripped skin pulled taught and their torn muscles seized up, under command of the other’s touch.
Villain knew what was coming.
They squirmed, the bath water submerging their legs in its warm embrace, Hero’s hand teasing at their wound, they couldn’t help but try and pull away. “Please—”
The hero shushed them, bringing their free hand to cup the villain’s chin. “I’ll be quick, I promise.” They pressed their hand flat against the gaping hole that should have been the villain’s abdomen, jolting them.
Villain screamed, it was dry and rugged, they recoiled from their nemesis but the only other thing there to hold them was the bath water. “Please, H-Hero, please—” Three more seconds and the criminal was sure to pass out.
Then it stopped. Before the villain could beg again, before they could lose consciousness, the pain stopped.
Cautiously, the villain’s eyes fluttered open, their enemy smiled sweetly back, fingertips now tracing the completely untouched abdomen of the villain’s. They looked normal, they looked okay, even after everything the hero had managed to restore them to their previous glory.
“You okay, gorgeous?”
Villain’s eyes met the hero’s once more, they were gentle yet somewhat mischievous. They nodded, brain completely fogged, maybe from the pain, most likely from the hero’s distracting gaze.
The area still pulsed with the ghost of a previous slash, but there was nothing, just the heat from the hero’s hands. It left a sweet aftertaste on their exhausted mind.
“Think you can handle another round tonight?” They waggled their eyebrows in emphasis, removing one hand to shut off the water to the bath as it began to cover the villain’s stomach.
Villain glared, but only for a moment, some of their usual snideness returning to their demeanour. “Can y-you be a little nicer?”
Hero hummed, eyes glued to their own hands as they made their way down to the inside of the criminal’s thighs, their hands beginning to resume their previous healing glow even under the water. “Really? I thought you liked it rough?”
The villain’s cheeks turned red, but they didn’t have time to retort before the hero placed their hands back against their skin and shut them up with a moan.
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