I should be doing my calculus HW, buuuuutttt,,,
Derivatives. Of. Dog. Commands.
Enemy of Whumper to Whumper, about whumpee:
"We have an agreement, so you can call off your dog now."
"You and your kept mutt can go straight to hell."
Whumper to defiant whumpee:
"You've got quite the mouth on you. I was always taught to muzzle loud dogs."
And now, for the pièce de résistance:
Whumper throws a ring dagger at a weakened Caretaker, sticking it in their stomach. They crumple to their knees with a horribly twisted sound of agony. Whumpee is mortified, tears pricking at red rimmed eyes, teeth grinding down on each other hard enough to crack a tooth. Whumper grins, and leans forward to whisper in Whumpee's ear. "Fetch."
❤️ That's not a memory that you need, right now. ❤️
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The boy screamed. It was guttural, animalistic. He sobbed, kicking out, clawing, scratching at the invasive hands, the violating hands, holding him down. His handlers were relentless, and the electricity hit him again. He wailed and jerked to the side, trying to escape. The cattle prod was jammed into his back instead.
“Stop!” Suta covered his head, howling incoherent pleas. His ears were ringing. The scene was a blur. He could feel himself slipping. Everything hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. He shook his head. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It-
Someone was picking him up. It’s over? Holding him. Cradling his head. He was warm. The electricity was gone. The only hands on him now were those of his caretaker.
Jin. He sobbed in the arms of the man, burying his face in his coat, a doctor’s coat, but still his caretaker’s.
“Shh.” Jin’s voice was far away. “Quiet now.” He was being rocked. His chest rose irregularly, body convulsing from sharp inhales. “Shh. You’re okay. You’re okay. Deep breaths, Suta.” His caretaker traced a finger up his arm. Suta took a shaking breath. He rubbed the boy’s arm and squeezed it gently. Then let his fingers trail back down. Suta exhaled, and it repeated. Until Suta was breathing normally, curled up in his caretaker’s arms. His back and shoulder stung from the cattle prod. He tried to speak but it came out a blubbering mess.
“Hey.” Jin’s voice was soft, like his touch. “None of that, now.” Suta shook his head. It hurt. He needed to tell Jin that it HURT. That it wasn’t HIS FAULT. “Whatever it is, I believe you.” Suta pawed at the man’s collar, burying his head into the coat. “I know. I know it’s hard.” Suta sniffled. “I know it hurts.” Suta nodded. “Aw.” His head was being patted. Hair stroked, shoulders rubbed. “Get some rest, little one.” He could feel himself being lowered onto a mattress. It was soft. It was his. His pillow was slid up under his head. Then, the familiar clicking of restraints opening. He shook his head.
“N-no- no.. no... no no no no no...”
“No! No! No!” Suta curled up in a ball, hiding his wrists. “No! No!”
“Suta.” Suta wailed and covered his ears. It was too much. He wanted to go home. He wanted his cabin. He wanted Xiaoyu. “Hey.” His wrist was grabbed lightly. Gently. Suta looked up, tearful. “Do you see this?” Jin held up the leather shackle with his other hand, metal buckles clanking together. Suta nodded. “They aren’t here to hurt you. Down you go, now.” It was a gentle command, but a command nonetheless. But it was oh, so gentle.
Suta lay back on the pillow, head sinking into the plush. “I’m going to keep them loose, okay? They’re just here to make sure you don’t get hurt waking up, okay?” The boy nodded. He did have trouble controlling his limbs while asleep. He flailed sometimes. Nightmares... and all. “Can you keep still for me, Suta?” Suta nodded and his head fell to the side. He tried not to watch as the leather was pulled shut and buckled around his wrist.
The padding only lightly brushed his skin. It tickled. “You’re halfway there, Suta. Oh, you’re doing so well.” His hair was ruffled and Jin walked around to his other side of his bed. Suta let him pick up his wrist and place it in the cuff, closing and securing it in place. “Hey.” Suta turned to his caretaker, cheeks dry. Jin gasped in genuine surprise. “You stopped crying all by yourself! I’m so proud of you!” Suta closed his eyes and leaned into his caretaker’s touch.
Jin’s hand glided over his forehead, brushing stray hairs away. “I have a treat for you.” The man’s hand trailed down to his chin. “Open up, little one.” Suta shook his head. Not the mouthguard. He had forgotten about the mouthguard. Please, not the mouthguard. Jin sighed and pressed gently on his chin. As if by reflex, Suta’s jaw released and his mouth fell open. “There’s a good boy.” Suta whimpered and drew his hands into his chest, metal straining as the chains reached their length. “Hey. Easy.”
Something entered his mouth. It was... it wasn’t the mouthguard? It was something else. Something chewy. His head lolled to the side as he sucked on the rubber, playing with it between his teeth. “There’s a good boy. Such a good boy.” Jin brushed his cheek with his thumb. Already, he could feel his eyes drooping. “Sleep now. Sleep.”
Two Line Prompt
“It’s too much work…for someone like me.”
“It’s never too much when it’s you, darling.”
CW: NOT VERY WHUMPY, PTSD, MENTIONS OF HOMELESSNESS
TAGLIST: @siren-of-agony @gottawhump
They sleep horribly but that's not anything new. Between the screams of the battlefield that clangs and clashes around in their nightmares and the cot that had their feet hanging off of the edge, Damiel doesn't get enough sleep. They're up early the next morning, earlier than usual, checking quickly on the guest that had stolen their bed. The fae had been intent on sleeping downstairs in the shop, curled up against one of the bookshelves and using the soaking wet towel as a pillow.
They're sure he thought it was a luxury and after living on the street, it probably was.
Dami had moved him to their bed when they'd spotted him.
They feed Mousse her usual breakfast and make themself tea, pouring another cup for the fae upstairs and mixing in herbs that would help him regain some of the strength street living sapped from him, before heading up the stairs and placing it by the nightstand.
He sleeps well into the afternoon and the stairs creak unsteadily with his waking. It catches their attention, pulling them away from dusting the shelves and back to his attempts at hobbling down the stairs.
They saunter forward, stretch out their arms and pull back with a frown when he flinches and shrinks back. His hands go up, shakily, to protect his face.
They pause. He has a right to be afraid. Last night was terrifying and Daniel knows they're not the most welcoming creature this side of the three continents. No one has ever accused them of being a teddy bear.
"Not going to hurt you," they say quietly, "Shouldn't be walking on that ankle."
"Right," he says, "Yes. S-sorry. I'm sorry."
He's slow to lower his hands and Damiel waits patiently, looking him over. He looks better than he did last night even if he was still too skinny, still too pale. The white wash of his skin only served to highlight the dark rings under his eyes, rings that seemed to swallow everyone of his freckles. His pants and shirt are ripped, his feet are still bare. They make a mental note to run to the thrift store down the road and get him some new ones.
After they put up the protection spell.
They grunt. "One, two, three."
They tuck one arm under his knees and place another around his shoulders, carefully carrying him into the kitchen.
They set him down in a chair, push a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon in front of him and pray to the ancients he's not like one of those cultist fae who refuse to eat meat.
They guess they've made up their mind to take the informant's advice. They could keep Peyton Montgomery as leverage. Judging by the powerful Collectors the Security Ministry had sent to bring him back and how far they would've gone to succeed, they're sure he's valuable.
And if not, they could always throw him back out onto the street. He's survived this long.
They don't have time or use for useless Fae.
"You won't kick him out, Damiel. Even then." Mousse purrs, licking her paws. "You'll become too attached."
She lays down and daintily crosses her paws, giving him a haughty look. "I could've sat on his face and smothered him in his sleep. You said no."
"I um….I don't have money," he says. He stares at the food and twists his hands in his lap before looking up at them with the same sort of desperation that had driven him into their shop last night, "I can pay you back by cleaning the shop."
His eyes widen, making the freckles and dark rings stand out even more, and his ears brighten to a screaming red at the tips. He winces. "Not that it doesn't look nice. It does! I promise but they made a mess last night and It was my fault so um - I'll um…"
He swallows hard and down at the table, falling silent.
Their lips twitch and Mousse purrs again knowingly smug.
"Stop it," they tell her, "or I'll only give you dry food for the next year."
"I'll smother you before that happens."
They hate admitting when Mousse is right but….she was right. There's no way they'd be able to kick him out again. Maybe they could get Kabe to take him in. He could afford a seventh mouth to feed, couldn't he? And the man owed him a favor after Dami had gotten his wife and youngest to the remnants of the European continent.
"Eat." They put a fork by his plate. He picks it up and hesitates but they ignore it. A few minutes of glancing between the food, them, and back again, he takes a bite. It's not long before he's shoveling it down faster than the gates had fallen in New York. It was just as disgusting too.
"Hey." They touch his elbow, a light brush, and he almost jumps out of the chair. The fork clatters onto the plate, startling mousse who leaps up and dives under the table. She peeks out a moment later, none too pleased, eyeing Peyton and once again, they're sure, considering smothering him.
They curb their own flinch and resist the urge to cover their ears and slowly, slowly uncurl the fist they'd reflexively made. They place their palms on the table and he stays, frozen, watching them carefully.
"I'm sorry. Won't touch you again. Eat slower," they order him, "Don't make yourself sick. We'll figure out payment later."
They'd been needing help with the shop anyway. Maybe they could keep it open in the afternoons instead of closing to nap and strengthen the spell that keeps this place hidden from harm.
"Why did you leave? You're….a Montgomery. You'd have a comfortable life."
He shrugs and rubs his finger on the small notch in the wood, a notch Liam had put there a few weeks ago.
"If you want the full list, then we'll be here awhile but, uh, they wanted to draft me. Put me in their army. Make me an officer or, or something. They wouldn't take no for an answer. So," he slowly picks up the fork again, ear tips bright, "I ran. And they still won't take no for an answer. Hence the, um, the chasing."
"Too pretty to fight?" They ask. They stifle a groan. They immediately want to take it back. They don't and hold his gaze, challenging him, when he looks up at them. They do not think he's pretty. They do not like his freckles and they definitely haven't noticed how green his eyes are.
He taps the table again, following the grain of the wood, and gives them a smile full of self-deprecation and mockery. If he notices they called him pretty, he has the good sense not to say anything about it.
"Something like that. I don't want to be a part of hurting people, and the more I tried to find a way around it, the harder my family pushed."
"He's fortunate he gets to have that experience," Mousse yawns from under the table and stretches.
"Neutrality kills too," they say quietly.
How many people had they seen killed for not choosing either side? There'd been so many halflings, so many of their friends, brothers and sisters in arms, who'd been forced to fight for humans and fae alike, and been at war with -themselves.- They'd never been given the choice to run the way Peyton had. It had been either fight or die or fight -and- die.
"Someone is always killing," he says a little vehemently. He balls his napkin up in his fist, "They always say it's to stop the other side from doing something worse but… I'm not going to be one more set of bloody hands in this cycle. They can have their stupid war without me. I'll heal the mess they leave in their wake."
It's a good answer. One they don't have a response to. They're not given a chance to speak before the doorbell softly chimes, signaling another customer. It may be a bit naive but there are times Dami wishes the fighting would stop. This shop was an investment in one of those times.
"Finish eating." They push the plate towards him and stand. "Let me know when you're done."
The leader of the team isn't respected because they were originally on the other side. Whumpee (Leader) is always kind to the team. They always treat everyone fairly, despite the team being cold to them. The team just hates them even more for that.
Then the capture happens.
Whumpee automatically lets themselves be taken. They make sure they are taken instead of their team. The team barely even protests. One in particular who might hate them more than the rest might even say good riddance.
Then, two months later, whumpee is returned. They were completely broken. They crawl around and make noises instead of talking. The team feels horrible, and the teammate who hated them the most feels the worst. They become caretaker, and try to help whumpee. It completely shatters everyone's heart to see what they practically let happen to their leader.
“Children be seen not heard” makin my brain shoot sparks of recognition and I hate it.