adopt the clones 2026

she/her | Moodboards, art, writing and other creations here | Main: moobrvoobl-moobmoob-oobmpoobroom

[swift-creates]

Avi moodboard! 💙

[swift-creates]

glory moodboard!! 💚

[andypantsx3]

Fanfic Ask Game (the movie, the sequel)

In celebration of me actually working on a fic, I made y’all an ask game instead of continuing to work on that fic. Pls enjoy.

💖 What do you like most about your own writing?

😐 What embarrasses you most about your own writing?

👻 What is one WIP you think you may never pick back up?

👀 Do you have any WIPs that you would never let see the light of day? If yes, what are they about?

📥 What is your fave fic to receive comments/messages on?

✏️ Do you write every day?

🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP.

🏅 What is something you recently felt proud of in regard to your writing (finished a fic, actually planned for once, etc).

😈 Is there anything you enjoy doing that you think your readers hate?

🌙  What time of day do you prefer to write? Why?

👖 Are you a planner, plantser, or pantser? Is it consistent?

📊 Current number of WIPs

👨‍👧‍👧 Do you tell people in real life that you write fic? 

🌝 Who is one character you haven’t yet written for that you would like to?

📝 What is one growth area you have for your writing?

📚 Do you read your own fic?

🌈 What inspired you to write [insert fic here]?

🤔 What is the hardest part of writing fic?

🧠 What’s an idea you have that you can’t quite call a WIP yet?

💻 Do you do research for your fics? What’s the deepest dive you’ve done?

✨ Choose three adjectives to complement your own writing.

💭 What is a headcanon you have about your own work?

🍰 Name one of your fave comfort fics (doesn’t have to be your all time fave).

👩‍🏭 If one of your fics was going to get you arrested, which one and why?

⏰ Do you spend more time reading fic, writing fic, or do you do both equally?

💋 [Freeform - what is something you want to know about one of poster’s fics?]

[christian-oc-tournament]

Please vote based on the picture AND the description!

which character is more interesting?

Ahleri

Jonathan

Voting ended onNov 4, 2025

Ahleri [Strahliana @egglygreg]

19 years old, a lover of animals, textile work, and good natured ribbing (in fine Strahnian fashion). Ahleri spent her entire life on her family’s woollaby farm in Bakkaberk, aka the middle of nowhere. Her happy but slightly monotonous life ends up changing drastically after she stumbles on the lost magical artifact, the Hero’s Bonds, while looking for a lost jumbuck. Much to her horror the Bonds permanently “bond” to her, and with that she gets stuck with the job of being the official Hero of Strahna. And also stuck with Bertie, the annoying little guardian made of light that lives in the Bonds.

This job involves helping the people of Strahna with random tasks, fighting monstrous blighters (once normal animals and plants before the curse, but turned into nightmares with strange abilities) and, worst of all, dealing with snobby nobles and politicians.

Jonathan Abrán (aka Farstep) [The Adventures of Elastomer and Farstep @ablatheringblatherskite]

Jonathan, aka Farstep, is the first superhero to exist in his universe. He and his future enemy were once brothers. Not by blood, but they were raised together in a lab as babies, brutally experimented on (giving Jonathan the power to teleport through vortexes) and later trained to become weapons. When an accident gave them the opportunity to escape and take their revenge, Jonathan fought to protect the people who had tormented them against Crane, and in Crane's eyes, betray and abandon him. After the battle Jonathan does indeed leave Crane alone. A decision he regrets for the rest of his life. He spends the rest of his life doing his best to make it right by protecting the people in their city, evading Crane's attempts at taking revenge on him, and raising Landon, the boy who goes from his sidekick to his son. Gentle, tormented, and with a strong moral code, he constantly fights his guilt while fighting to make the world good, for Landon, and for Crane, too.

[ablatheringblatherskite]

PROPAGANDA TIME!

Here's a reference sheet for his accessories!!

He is a cool man!

[ablatheringblatherskite]

MORE PROPAGANDA!

Here's the moodboard I made for him!!!

[moobrvoobl-moobmoob-oobmpoobroom]

VOTE JONATHAN he’s a tired single dad with superpowers and a living weapon past and a tragic brother turned enemy what more could you want

[swift-creates]

category: Gen

fandom: Batfamily

characters and relationships: Damian Wayne al Ghul & Goliath the Dragon Bat

warnings/additional tags: Blood and violence, child assassin, Damian's year of blood, animal death, Damian needs hugs, Damian gets hugs, hurt/comfort

word count: 1020

Summary:

@ailesswhumptober Day 29: Childhood trauma | Guilt | "I didn't mean to."

notes: Based on the dragon bat massacre flashback from Robin: Son of Batman #6. i don't write damian often, so i hope this is okay.

————

Visions plague him tonight. Visions of blades and blood and past atrocities, too many to count.

Red blinds his vision as he slashes his way down the tunnel, past the deadly swarm of venomous bugs, through the labyrinth of predators. It drips from his sword as he storms into the final chamber. He can taste it in his mouth, the tang of salty metal between his teeth.

The dragon bats descend, and he does the only thing he knows how to. He kills.

The colours of their fur blend on the ground as they fall, one by one, in a grotesque rainbow of death. Blurs of green and yellow and blue and purple flash past him, and he stamps them out fiercely and without remorse. Until there is only one colour left. Red. The last survivor of the species. A runt, too small to even fly, but large enough, even as a juvenile, to be considered a threat. For is not everything in this underground fortress built to be, bred to be, born to be?

“Fight me!” he screams, holding his sword that drips with the blood of the runt’s family, slicing the air with it a breath away from its snout. All the runt does is squeak and tilt its head at him. Why won’t it fight back?! It has to fight back! He just murdered its whole pack, and it is the only thing that stands between him and the Sceptre of Kings. Adrenaline still pulses through his veins, and he stands battle-ready and undefeated. It has to fight! It has to want him dead, to preserve its family’s honour. The world is not kind, and neither should it be. He anticipates the pounce, for the flashing claws seeking his destruction, but they never come. Why?!

Hot tears well up in his eyes. “No excuses, runt,” he hisses. “Do not dishonor your family’s cause! All of their hope now falls to you!”

Still nothing. It mrows softly, takes a step closer to him. Trying to catch him off his guard. He is never off his guard. But it stays on the ground, staring up at him with large yellow eyes. It is a shame to its family’s legacy, something he will never be. The others have given their lives, all for the youngest of them to not even try to kill him.

He snarls in rage and slams his torch on the ground next to it. It scorns the sacrifice of its clan, rubs their blood into the dust of the ancient cave with its pathetic helplessness. Part of him hopes to provoke a hasty, uncalculated attack from the creature so he may plunge his sword into its heart and finish his mission.

“FIGHT FOR THEM!!!”

He pants as he stumbles to his knees, exhausted from battle and lack of sleep, and points his blade toward the runt’s tiny neck, ready to dispatch the useless guardian. It whines softly, shuffling even closer like a lamb to its slaughter. He can see himself reflected in its eyes, a boy clothed in crimson and shadows, and feel the soft puffs of its moist breath.

Then the tiniest pink tongue flicks out and licks the tip of his nose.

He stares at the runt.

He is covered in blood and dirt and fur, having fought his way through an impenetrable ancient labyrinth, evaded countless deadly traps, and slaughtered this thing’s whole family in search of an ancient artifact for his Year of Blood. His hands and legs sting with the slight burns of the scattered coals from his torch. He screamed at it to attack him, to fight for its life, to react as an animal should, with the same thirst for ruthlessness and vengeance he has. He wanted it to.

But it only puts a small red paw on his arm.

He can no longer contain the tears blurring his vision. They stream down his bloodstained cheeks, force their way up through his aching chest. He sobs like an infant in its first year and smears gore on his face as he covers his eyes with his hands. The runt climbs into his lap, and he buries his face in its fur, until all he can see is red. He is painfully vulnerable, and for once, he doesn’t care. Red dries on his armour, soaks into the ground around him, chokes his nose and mouth with the guilt of his sins.

The runt doesn’t leave as the coals burn out and they are left in darkness. Its warmth is the only certainty it has that he has not fallen unconscious and is now prey to a sinister trick. They are alone in the dark, the only two living among the corpses that he made.

He can still taste the blood.

Damian wakes with a start but does not shoot up in bed. But his heart races in his chest, and he struggles not to gasp for breath, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

Yellow eyes glow in the dark as Goliath, no longer a runt, makes an inquisitive sound and raises his head. He tries to say, “I’m all right,” but a sob hitches in his throat, and Goliath’s ears flick. Then he crosses the room, hardwood floors creaking concerningly, and growls softly as he places his large head in Damian’s lap. The boy wraps his arms around his companion’s neck and buries his face in red fur again, chest aching at the memories still fresh in his mind. 

“I’m sorry, Goliath. I’m sorry for everything.”

Goliath nudges him gently in the chest, a deep rumble vibrating through both of them, and Damian tries to rub his tears away before a huge sandpaper tongue licks across his face, leaving sticky slobber in place of saltwater.

Choking out a soft laugh, he wipes it off on Goliath’s fur. “You’re not a pup anymore. That’s disgusting.” None of them have been able to figure out exactly how much intelligence or sentience the dragon bat possesses, but as his giant friend wraps comfort and warmth around him, Damian could swear he is laughing.

[swift-creates]

category: Gen

fandom: Batfamily

characters and relationships: Jason Todd, the Joker, Sheila Haywood

warnings/additional tags: The Crowbar Times, one swear, joker being joker, tearing out feathers, wingfic, blood and violence, Sheila neutral, hurt no comfort, foreboding

word count: 472

Summary:

@ailesswhumptober Day 26: Defanging/Declawing | pulled feathers | “This should teach you to behave next time.”

notes: WINGFIC!

————

Jason spat blood and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the steel crowbar to slam into his ribs and knock the air out of him again, but no blow came. Instead, there was a soft scuff against the concrete floor, and then… humming. The sadistic bastard was humming.

Jason opened his eyes to give Joker a disbelieving look where he was seated next to Jason’s bloodied wing. “Oh, don’t look so glum, birdie. We can still have so much more fun together. Don’t you think?” He grinned down at Jason, who would have punched him in the teeth for it if he could. He’d give up everything that could even remotely been considered fun if Bruce would just storm through those doors, pull him out of Joker’s clutches, and take him home.

Jason coughed, abandoning the notion of sitting up when his side complained in agony, and didn’t bother to reply, closing his eyes again. Then he felt cold fingers stroke through his feathers and jerked away on reflex. “Don’t- Don’t touch me.”

“Ah ah ah. Hold still now, my little fledgling, or this is going to feel so much worse than it already is!” He grabbed the edge of Jason’s wing and yanked it back into his lap, then started going through his feathers again. “Very pretty. Just like Mama’s, aren’t they?”

Sheila said nothing from next to her stack of crates, only blew another cloud of cigarette smoke. She didn’t even look at him. In that moment, Jason hated the colour of his wings, the vivid crimson just a step away from her orange. He hated the fact that he’d had to take after his biological mother instead of his father, that he’d found his birth certificate at all, that it had led him here. But he couldn’t bring himself to hate her.

“Very pretty indeed. But it looks like you could use a little mani-pedi!”  Joker suddenly seized a handful of feathers tight, then yanked them out by the roots, and Jason screamed.

The madman laughed at his cry, scattering the loose feathers over his bloodied Robin suit. “Aw, don’t throw a tantrum, sonny. Don’t you appreciate my help?” He ripped out another handful, and Jason writhed on the ground, tears dripping into his blood-and-sweat-soaked hair. Pleasepleasepleaseican’tpleasehelpmeBRUCEhelphelphelpplease-

He went limp, too injured and exhausted to do anything but gasp for air. Surely Bruce had to be on the way back by now, had to be coming for him, would make it in time to kick Joker back into an Arkham cell and take Jason home safe. All he had to do was stick it out until he got here. But with every clump of feathers ripped off his bloodstained wings, Jason felt his resolve crumble and float away on the wind, disappearing like the smoke from his mother’s cigarette.

[christian-oc-tournament]

Please vote based on the picture AND the description!

which character is more interesting?

Elysia

Jonathan

Voting ended onOct 27, 2025

Elysia Autumnbrook [Moonshiners @provider-of-guardians]

A sister, an outcast, an archer, and holder of her team's braincell. Years after a tragic incident, which resulted in her being scarred and banished from her home, a god chose her to retrieve the stolen sun with her new teammates. She didn't sign up to save the world, but she would do anything to protect her friends and family.

Jonathan Abrán (aka Farstep) [The Adventures of Elastomer and Farstep @ablatheringblatherskite]

Jonathan, aka Farstep, is the first superhero to exist in his universe. He and his future enemy were once brothers. Not by blood, but they were raised together in a lab as babies, brutally experimented on (giving Jonathan the power to teleport through vortexes) and later trained to become weapons. When an accident gave them the opportunity to escape and take their revenge, Jonathan fought to protect the people who had tormented them against Crane, and in Crane's eyes, betray and abandon him. After the battle Jonathan does indeed leave Crane alone. A decision he regrets for the rest of his life. He spends the rest of his life doing his best to make it right by protecting the people in their city, evading Crane's attempts at taking revenge on him, and raising Landon, the boy who goes from his sidekick to his son. Gentle, tormented, and with a strong moral code, he constantly fights his guilt while fighting to make the world good, for Landon, and for Crane, too.

[swift-creates]

category: Gen

fandom: Batfamily

characters and relationships: Tim Drake, Doc (Whumper OC)

warnings/additional tags: graphic descriptions, restraints, non-consensual body modification surgery, partial animal transformation, experimentation, body horror, gore, non-con drugging, paralytic drug, surgery while awake, most certainly medical malpractice, mild dehumanisation, intubation, one swear, forced to watch (self get whumped), amputation, implicit brain alteration, blood thirst/kill drive, my penchant for naming whumpers after their occupation

word count: 1330

Summary:

@ailesswhumptober Day 20: Irredeemable | Before it starts/After it's over | "I didn't react the way I should have, I'm sorry." Day 28 Alt 5: No-win scenario Day 31: Body horror | Enucleation | "I am the monster you made me!"

notes: good golly that's a lot of CWs- if you were wondering how Tim got his claws, this is how >) this got really graphic, so if you're bothered by blood and gore at all this is probably not the best fic for you 😅

————

Tim gasped for air as his heart jumpstarted and his eyes flew open, only to squeeze shut against the harsh lights above. He groaned in pain as blood rushed back to all the previously lacking areas of his body, bringing with it the world’s worst case of pins and needles, and tried to shake out his arms, but came to realize they were both strapped firmly down to a cold metal surface, as were his legs and neck.

“Subject is awake.” Not good. He forced one eye open, then the other, and realised the metal beneath him was a steel table and the blinding lights were– yep, an operating theatre. Dread started to seep into his chest like the cold into his bones, and he pulled against the leather straps around his wrists to no avail.

“Hello, Red Robin.” Tim froze briefly, then looked around to the sides, then tilted his head up to see a man in a white lab coat standing behind a glass window above. “I’m glad you’re awake before we start. Here at Patchwork Labs, I take the most elite of individuals and transform them into even more. I harness their full potential. My name isn’t necessary for you to know, the work I’m doing is so much more important. But I noticed it tends to lower my subjects’ heart rate, so you can call me Doc.” He smiled down at Tim as he put one hand in his pocket, but it didn’t seem to reach his eyes.

 “Nh- What do you want? I don’t have time for this.” Tim blinked against the blinding lights, breathing starting to even out.

“Oh, I think you’ll find that all your time now belongs to me, Red Robin. You should take one last look at yourself before the transformation.” Doc took a remote out of his pocket, then pressed a button, and a large mirror on a robotic arm descended from the ceiling, stopping about two meters above Tim. He gave his reflection an unamused look, catching his mussed-up hair, broken mask, and hospital gown – how had they managed to get his suit off and how long ago – at a glance.

Tim’s neck was starting to hurt from twisting to look at the guy, so he flopped back onto the table, testing the leather restraints. “You’re going to regret this. Any minute now, someone’s going to get here and break me out, and-”

“Save the superhero dramatics. Nobody’s coming for you, subject 1289. Now hold still. All units, begin the procedure.”

There was the sound of more buttons being pressed and switches flipped, then more arms appeared, wielding scalpels and tubes and a myriad of other tools- Was that a SAW??! Tim held back his noise of dread and strained against the straps again, trying desperately to wriggle out of them and get away before any of the arms could sink their metal blades into him. But they pulled tight to the operating table, holding him down as the scalpels reached his skin and started to split it. “Ngh- Stop- Stop!” He tried not to jar the blades, but they sliced deep into his flesh, and he cried out, pulling at the restraints. One hovered up by his face, pressing up to the thin skin over his jaw, and he wanted to freeze, but he couldn’t stop from spasming and crying out again as the others pushed deeper.

Doc sighed. “I expected as much. E9, the syringe.” One of the arms swapped its tube for a large syringe, then swung itself down toward him.

“No- Shit- Don’t. Don’t-” But the needle sank into his neck below the strap pinning it down, and he felt every part of his body slowly go limp and pliant.

The pain didn’t numb.

He felt every bit of it as the scalpels sliced into his leg and side and jaw, separating skin and muscle and tendon and bone, tracing lines of sinew and cutting through at just the right places. He felt it as another needle was inserted into his hip, and as one of the arms pushed a thick plastic tube down his throat. He was wide awake, simply helpless and immobilized on the metal table. He couldn’t even breathe on his own.

Vecuronium bromide, his brain supplied helpfully.

His mouth hung open in a silent scream of agony, vocal cords immobilised by the paralytic, and his eyes were fixed on the mirror above him. He could see every movement of the robotic arms as they sliced and poked and inserted metal fixtures into his flesh. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t have looked away. Even as the saw started to whir to life and head toward his face.

He wanted to fight, to pull the straps off and tumble to the ground, to scream in helplessness and pain. He did none of that. He simply lay there like the limp corpse he’d been moments earlier as the saw sliced through his skin and into muscle.

He blacked out when it hit bone.

————

He was vaguely aware of voices – or rather a voice – echoing around him as he regained consciousness. His eyes fluttered open to see Doc standing over him in a surgical mask and scrubs, picking up a white object and looking it over. It was only when his eyes began to focus that he could see that the lumpy white thing was half of his jaw bone, most of the teeth still attached and stained with blood. Then he realised he could feel cold air against the side of his tongue. He let out a strangled sound of panic, feebly twitching against the restraints.

“Ah, he’s awake. That’s enough recalibration, C2, continue the procedure.” Doc set the jaw down and closed a panel on one of the arms, then leaned against the wall to watch as the machines descended back on Tim. A scalpel headed down toward his leg, and he looked up at the mirror almost against his will to see mangled flesh and the edge of a bloody bone sticking into thin air where his calf should be. Another moved up to his jaw with a silver object in its grip, placing it against his face as one holding a drill tested its tool dangerously close.

“Nh- No- No no no NO, NO-” He screamed as the drill found purchase and started to push a screw through the metal into his face, kicking at the restraints as another claw floated down and started to slice his fingers open, and another began to solder something into his leg, and another peeled back the skin over his ribs, and another started to drill into the back of his skull-

He blacked out again.

————

When Subject 1289 woke up, it was only aware of a few things. The sterile smell of the room it had been moved to. The near-silent whirring of the ventilation system. The aching of its large conch-shaped ears as they swivelled under the bandages. The fresh scabs around its claws. The soreness of its whole body like a heavy weight pressing it to the ground.

It groaned softly, blinking once or twice in the darkness, then squeaked and scanned the room with echolocation. It sensed a drain in the floor, a vent in the top corner, and nothing else but itself.

Then there was the quiet rolling of a door sliding open, and every single one of its senses homed in on the scent of blood. It instantly pushed itself off the ground and bounded through the low door, claws digging into the metal floor as it charged toward the smell, every thought of pain gone in the flood of BLOODBLOODBLOODPREYHUNTKILL.

Subject 1289 was a surgery-made, bat-shaped killing machine, and it left red streaks on the walls as it careened toward its prey.

[swift-creates]

category: Gen

fandom: Superman

characters and relationships: Conner Kon-El Kent & Clark Kent (platonic), unnamed villain

warnings/additional tags: Stab wound, blood, powerless, Clark and Kon are brothers, Kon has no self-preservation, Kryptonite weapon and poisoning

word count: 1014

Summary:

@ailesswhumptober Day 18: Captivity | Loss of powers | "Do you even know how to use that?"

Day 19: Broken bone | blood loss | "When I finish patching you up I swear to god I'm gonna kick your ass for making me worry about you."

notes: apologies if this is OOC i haven't read their recent comics sjhbgshkjdfg

————

Kon watched the Kryptonite blade flash toward Clark and instantly moved, bodily shoving his brother out of the way of the weapon. There was no time to double-think the ramifications of his maneuver before it thudded solidly into his torso, and he gave a shuddering gasp as it cut through muscle and bone and through to the other side. The pain started dull, radiating slowly across his chest to his back, then the villain yanked out the blade, and he screamed as a trail of fire erupted all through him.

Every other sense was completely drowned out in the face of it, and he collapsed, partly expecting to feel himself hit the ground, but instead he felt Clark’s arms wrapping around him, softening the impact as they landed.

“Oh, no. Oh- Kon-” Clark stared down at him in horror, and he could only gasp for air past the burning in his chest.

Laughter echoed off the barren plains around them. “Well, well. I expected to kill Superman today, but this is almost as good. Good work, boys. We’ll pick up here next time.” The villain promptly vanished, and Kon let out a strangled sound of alarm.

“Shh, it’s okay. Don’t listen to them.” Clark reached to put pressure on the wound, but gasped in pain and recoiled, a sickly familiar green glowing on his hand. “Wh-”

Kon realised with increasing panic that he wasn’t healing, even though the sun was shining on both of them unobstructed. “K-Kal. 'M not- Ngh- Kal-”

“I know, I know. You’re okay. We’ll get you to the Watchtower and get you all fixed up, all right?” He stroked Kon’s hair away from his face and smiled, but his eyes still held the same troubled look Ma got when a storm was heading toward the farm and Pa was still out in the fields. “There must be kryptonite still stuck in the wound.”

Clark moved to lift Kon as gently as he could, and pain exploded through him. “NGH-” He reached blindly for Clark, fingers closing around a fold of his cape and squeezing as Clark adjusted his grip.

“I know, hon, I’m sorry. Everything’s going to be okay, I promise.” Clark pressed his cheek to the top of Kon’s head, then lifted off. The flight didn’t last long before they were hurtling back to Earth again, and Kon let out a strangled cry as Clark landed, only a few miles closer to the distant mountains they should have zipped past in a heartbeat.

Clark groaned and stumbled a step or two, wincing, and Kon whined in alarm. “Kal? I’m- hurting you.”

“I’m fine. Just- need to get my balance. I’m okay.” Clark shook his head to clear it, but Kon could see green crawling up his neck from his suit’s collar.

“Kal…”

“I’ll be okay. Really.” He steadied himself, then held Kon tighter. “Just hold on, okay? We’ll get there.” Kon squeezed his eyes shut as he leapt again and again, soon traversing the mountains, then the fields beyond. Everything started to get darker and darker, and his fingers loosened on the part of the cape he was holding as he let himself sink into-

“Kon. Kon, look at me. Come on, kid.” He blinked, trying to get his bearings. Clark was looking down at him in abject concern, hands holding his face. He could feel blood soaking into his suit, and the sky above was starting to dim, clouds a shade of rosy pink that would have been pretty if he wasn’t currently dying.

He groaned, wishing Clark would just let him pass out and escape the reality of the gaping wound in his torso. “'M… 'm okay.”

“You have to stay awake for me, okay? Stay with me.”

“Pulling out all the… movie one-liners today, huh…” he mumbled, letting his head thump against Clark’s chest. “You’ll… outdo Pa at this rate… Sap…”

Clark let out something that might have been a laugh but was probably more of a strained huff. “You can’t tell me ‘I told you so’ if you’re unconscious.”

“That’s… very motivating, Kal… Thanks…” He found his eyes trying to close and forced them open again, clenching his hand around the fold of cape that had become the anchor point for his existence.

“Anytime, kid.”

Their journey wore on and on, the sharp jarring of Clark’s landings jerking him awake every time he started to slip into unconsciousness. It was a painful and endless cycle, and in the brief moments he could keep his eyes open, he watched the sweat beading more and more on Clark’s face. They would never make it to civilisation if Clark insisted on staying with him; if he left Kon to get help, they might make it back before he bled out. Or the sun setting might make it impossible for Clark to reach the League in the first place, especially since the Kryptonite inside Kon’s wound was already affecting him this much.

Kon’s eyelids were falling closed again when Clark landed roughly, and he let out a weak yelp as stumbled into a niche in two rock walls, leaning on one of them before easing them both to the ground. “Sorry- We’ll just… take a break. Just gotta catch my breath.” He pulled Kon to his chest, heavy panting dangerously close to a wheeze.

“Mh… hurting you…” Kon said faintly, barely able to get words out in any correct order.

“Don’t worry about me, kid. I’ll- I’ll be fine.” He gave that smile again, stroking Kon’s curls out of his eyes, and Kon couldn’t bring himself to argue, leaning into the contact with an exhausted murmur.

Clark started to hum one of Pa’s favourite country songs as Kon closed his eyes. He could almost pretend they were back at the farmhouse, helping Ma make dinner as Jon wrestled Krypto and Lois and Pa watched them from the front porch. It was a soothing image, and the best thing that he could possibly wanted to think of before he finally gave into unconsciousness, the darkness stronger than his brother’s warnings.

[swift-creates]

category: Gen

fandom: Batfamily

characters and relationships: Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, and Cassandra Cain (mentioned Jason Todd)

warnings/additional tags: non-consensual body modification, partial animal transformation, experimentation, good dad Bruce, violence against Jason's books

word count: 906

Summary:

@ailesswhumptober Day 15: Came back wrong | Cannibalism | "You weren't supposed to die first."

Day 22: Estranged | Changed dynamic | “Who did this to you?!”

After being seemingly killed, Tim returns home to the Manor. Bruce is desperate to see his son, but the rest of his children need him to understand that things are not as they were.

notes: the Came Back Wrong is really subtle in this mostly bc this was originally combined with another fic (day 20) where it's shown ksdjbgsk. and Cass's role is kinda awkward because my initial draft forgot she was in the scene 😭

————

Bruce headed toward Jason’s room, Cass falling into step behind him somewhere along the way. He didn’t hear her, which was normal – her steps were always as silent as an owl’s wings – or see her; he was too distracted by his thoughts and fears about Tim, longing to see his son alive and safe and unhurt.

“B, hang on.” Dick stepped in front of him as they reached the doorway.

“Why won’t you let me see him?” Bruce tried to push past him, but Dick put his hand on Bruce’s shoulders and gently but firmly resisted, and Bruce gave him a helpless look. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

“We will, I promise, but you need to slow down.” His son lightly pushed back, and Bruce reluctantly took a few steps back so they both stood in the middle of the hallway. Cass hovered, put a hand on his shoulder, and he took a deep breath, dragging his hands down his face and forcing his racing pulse to calm. “Tell me. Please,” he said softly.

Dick glanced at Cass, then back at the door. “Okay, but you have to promise not to freak out. It’s-” There was a loud thump, and they all stared at it, then at each other. Then Dick reached for the knob, hesitated, opened it the smallest crack. “Tim?”

Bruce couldn’t help it and peeked in. He couldn’t see Tim, just Jason’s room in its regular neat condition, a sweatshirt or two draped over the chair and a few knives scattered around his dresser. And a lump on the bed, under the blanket that hid Tim from view.

A hardcover book lay on the floor, where it had presumably fallen after Tim had thrown it at the door. For his sake, Bruce hoped it wasn’t *Anna Karenina*.

“Tim?” he asked cautiously. The blanket shifted and seemed to shrink away from him. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

Cass exchanged silent looks with Dick, then squeezed Bruce’s shoulder one last time and stepped away. “I’ll go get Jason.” Bruce gave her a grateful look as Dick opened the door to let Bruce in.

“Tim, I’m letting him in. Thump once for no, two for yes.”

*Thump. Thump.* The sound of Tim knocking on the headboard.

Dick looked at Bruce, silently asking him to understand, and Bruce gently squeezed his hand. Whatever it was, Tim was his son. And he was determined not to make any of his hundreds of mistakes again.

Bruce slowly approached, making sure his footsteps could be heard. “I’m coming over, kiddo.”

Tim made no response, just huddled under the blanket.

Bruce stepped closer cautiously until he was right beside the bed. “Tim?” The blanket shifted again, then a tiny section of it lifted.

“It’s okay, baby bird,” Dick said soothingly. “It’s just me and Dad.”

The blanket hesitated, then lifted away so Tim could peek out from under it, and Bruce felt his breath hitch.

Metal claws were built into the hand holding it up, tapering from the once-delicate bones to razor points. Through his hair poked two huge, batlike ears that twitched uncertainly as terrified blue eyes stared out of a familiar face, more than half of his jaw plated with the same silver steel.

Bruce forced his breathing steady, reaching for Tim’s hand, but he whimpered and withdrew until Bruce could barely see him, as if afraid to touch him. “It’s alright. I’m here, baby bird.”

“He doesn’t want to hurt you,” Dick said quietly. “Last night he wouldn’t let anyone near except Jay.”

He felt a stab of anguish at that, laying his hand on the bed near Tim, but not touching. “You won’t hurt me, kid.” Tim hesitantly moved his head back out from under the blankets, avoiding eye contact. “It’s alright.” This time, he didn’t flinch away when Bruce reached for his hand, taking it gently. It weighed heavy in his, and now he could see all the finger and wrist mechanisms were made of the same metal as his claws. He gently turned it over in his hand, Tim staring up at him with that constant fear in his eyes. He stayed still, studying the cybernetics, until Tim’s breathing eased and his eyes went from wide and scared to almost normal.

“There we go. Can I sit with you?” Tim took a breath, then slowly nodded, and Bruce carefully moved to sit on the bed next to him, smoothing his hair out of the way and cradling his face. “There we go. It’s okay, kid.” Tim let out a strangled whimper, then crawled out from under the blanket and into Bruce’s lap, head nestled below his chin. Bruce wrapped his arms around his son, all too aware of the cold metal he could feel beneath the oversized sweatshirt and see replacing one whole foot poking out from the just as loose pajama pants. His mind was a whirlwind of pained questions, needing to know how extensive the modifications were, but unable to ask while Tim was huddled in his arms. Taking a deep breath, he forced the frantic thoughts to still. Not now. There would be time to find out and run tests later, but for now, he needed to be less the Batman and more the boy’s father. He closed his eyes, pulled Tim closer and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Who did this to you?”

[swift-creates]

category: Gen

fandom: Batfamily

characters and relationships: Tim Drake, the Professor (whumper oc)

warnings/additional tags: unethical experimentation, animal cruelty, mentions of human trafficking, wingfic, implied needle jab of mysterious substance, non-consensual sedation, anaesthesia mask

word count: 855

Summary:

@ailesswhumptober Day 14: Self-surgery | Unconsciousness | "Look who's awake."

Day 21: Stranded | Search and rescue | "You really think they're gonna look for you?"

Day 25: Magical bind | Pinned down | "And what do we have here?"

Ever since he was kidnapped by traders and bought by an austere mad scientist, Tim has learned that being summoned to the Professor's lab is something you never return from. Unfortunately, that's exactly where he is today.

notes: I don't know what to call this AU but Tim has wings lol (he's probably about 14 here). vibes somewhat inspired by that one scene from Arcane where Singed and Silco are doing dubiously ethical testing on a rat.

----------

He barely dared to breathe as the Professor went on.

“Beautiful, aren’t they? At the peak of what they can be.” He let the mouse scurry over his hand, leaving dents where its metal claws dug in for purchase on his skin. “Anything’s capable of killing, really. If you have the right equipment.”

He looked up at Tim, who was still silent. “Well, speak up, feathers. I didn’t bring you here to stare.”

Tim swallowed. “Wh- Why did you? Bring me here.”

The Professor set the mouse down and walked over to him. “To show you the beauty of the underworld. Those of you up there, you think that beauty is golden rings, jewels that shine in the right light. We know – I know – that you are all madly deluded, softened by your easy lives Uptown. Tsk. It’s a true shame, that your kind have evolved into what you are.” He trailed his fingers through Tim’s feathers, then sharply plucked one out, ignoring his yelp. “Pretty, yes, but almost useless.”

“I’m not useless,” Tim said almost automatically, not knowing whether to be more disgusted or flattered. 

“For now, for me, you are. Remember what I told you when I bought you.” You will speak only when spoken to. You will move when I tell you to move. You will be what I tell you to be. 

“That was illegal. Really illegal. My- my parents will find me, and they won’t be happy you’ve kept me down here. But if you- maybe if you give them a call and tell them where to find me… Maybe they’ll even reward you.” Tim edged away from him as much as he dared.

The Professor only laughed, head tipping back. “My, you are naïve, aren’t you?”

Tim gave a tiny shrug. “I’ve been told.”

He laughed again. “You really think they’ll look for you? Oh, birdie, you are amusing. It’s almost worth keeping you here as a companion.” That was a horrible thought, being forced to stay in this lab to amuse a madman. “But not quite.” At first, that was a relief. Before he realised there must be something worse to do to him.

Tim wrapped his wings tighter around himself, the chill of the lab and cold dread sending shivers over his skin as the Professor pressed a button and the window shades started to rise. Outside they could see the Downtown skyline, slightly blurred with smoke that swirled around the wings of a flock of giant condors. Each one had a metal collar built into its neck instead of attached around it, chaining them to the Professor’s building, and occasionally they let out loud shrieks into the night.

“Magnificent. This, little one, is true beauty.” He turned to Tim and smiled – smiled, as another piercing cry rang out.

“They’re in pain.” Tim winced, taking a step back from the window. “That’s not beautiful. That’s not how nature made them.”

The Professor pressed a button, and the shades came down again. “No, it’s not natural, but this is the apex of their species. Nature birthed them, and I simply brought them to completion.”

“You’re sick,” Tim breathed in horror, feeling like he could still hear the mutilated birds screaming in agony at their empty, uncaring inventor. 

“I am a visionary, feathers. I chase an idea and bend reality to my will. How many others can say that?” He came up to Tim and put a hand on his shoulder, and Tim shuddered at the cold touch. The Professor leaned in until Tim could see him out of the corner of his eye. “My work is very important to me. I hope you understand the significance of something like that.” He put a hand to the back of Tim’s neck, and there was the cold press of metal, then a sharp stab of pain. 

Heart pounding, Tim jerked away, instinctively batting at the Professor with a wing. “What- What was-” He whirled around to look at the Professor and restrained a gasp as he saw him on the floor. “I’m- Sorry. I didn’t-” 

He got to his feet slowly, fixing Tim with that disdainful, almost disgusted look. “Don’t worry, birdie. You’ll learn soon enough.” He nodded, and Tim was starting to back away before the guards lunged at him, knocking him to the ground where the Professor had been moments ago. 

He struggled as hard as he could, but he was small and weak, and they were clearly well-trained, pinning him down as he thrashed. 

“Stop- Let- Let me go- Please-” One of them shoved something at his face, and he gasped on reflex before realising it was an anaesthetic mask. Fear spiked in his chest, but no matter how hard he shook his head, the things were stronger and held it firmly against his face. The world started to dim, and his struggles grew weaker as the Professor stepped into his view. 

“Goodnight, birdie. I’ll see you on the other side.”

The last thing he saw before everything went dark was the mournful eyes of the lizard in its pod, and a tear running down its scales.

[swift-creates]

category: Gen

fandom: Batfamily

characters and relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson (platonic), [mentions of] Ma'ri Grayson, Nia Rosewood (OC), and Ricky Wayne (OC)

warnings/additional tags: hands shaking, sleep deprivation, mention of past infant death, lashing out at loved one (verbal), grief

word count: 648

Summary:

@ailesswhumptober Day 11: Sleep deprivation | Whiplash | “Be careful, they’re watching us.”

Day 24: Denial | Working through the pain | “What have you done to yourself?”

notes: Another dream au fic (more context here). Tim's overworking himself to avoid confronting his emotions about losing his son, just like his father before him.

————

It should probably be a bad sign that Tim couldn’t remember the last time he’d blinked. However, he was ignoring that. He rubbed his eyes and took a sip of his energy drink and kept digging into the highly obscure unsolved case from 2012.

It was probably also a bad sign that he didn’t hear when Dick came in and got some supplies from the Batcave’s medical bay. He didn’t even know his brother was there until Dick put both hands on his shoulders and leaned close to the screen to see what he was working on. “Hey, Timbo. Whatcha up to?”

“J- iminy cricket, Dick. When did you…”

“Five minutes ago. Ma’ri got into some nettles, and I was finding the cream. Is this the Horburn case? I thought that was colder than Greenland.”

Tim rubbed his eyes again, blinked until they were no longer blurry, and opened another file. “It is. When I’m done it’ll be… thawed out. What time is it?”

“Five. How long have you been down here?”

Tim shot him a confused frown without looking away from the screen. “Only? I barely started at three. Besides, it’s the weekend.”

“Five PM on Monday, Tim.”

“Oh.”

Dick sighed, leaning against the table. “At risk of sounding like a broken record, when’s the last time you slept?”

Tim shrugged, scrolling through Bruce’s evidence logs. “I plead the Fifth.”

“Okay, new question. When’s the last time you had something other than Red Bull and coffee?”

Three weeks ago. Before landing the Batplane outside the League base and fighting his way through to save his wife and son. Not that it’d worked out like he’d wanted. Not that it’d made him any less alone.

His hands were shaking.

“Baby bird,” Dick said in that soft, concerned voice, and Tim knew he’d seen it, “you need to rest.”

Tim dug his nails into his palm to stop the shaking. “I’m fine.” It may have been the biggest lie he’d ever told, and he’d told a lot.

“You’re not getting any rest, barely eating anything substantial, and you’re constantly staring at a computer like it’s going to divulge a whole eyewitness testimony.” Dick shuffled through some of the papers on the table, and Tim made a displeased sound, batting him away and putting them back. “Go home. Go to sleep. Go be with Nia and Ricky.”

They don’t want to see me. Why would they, after he’d failed at the one thing he’d promised them he would do? When every day, all he could do was think about what he’d done and how he could have done better, how he could have saved his baby boy? Burying it in constant analysis of a tragedy removed from his was the only way it would stop.

But obviously, he said none of that, just shook his head and kept clicking. He didn’t think he could have if he tried. He would probably start crying and never stop.

“Ricky needs you. He doesn’t know what’s going on, and-”

Tim felt a sudden surge of anger. His eyes hurt, and his chest hurt, and he couldn’t stop himself from snapping back at his brother. “That’s just low, Dick. I didn’t think even you were capable of guilt-tripping me with my own son.”

Dick winced. “Timmy, I-”

“Oh, I know. You didn’t mean it like that, you just want to make sure I’m okay. Well, news flash, I’m not, so nice job.” Perfect little Dick Grayson, with his perfect reputation, his perfect family in his perfect city. Who was he to say what Tim should and shouldn’t do? “Go help your family and stop worrying about mine,” Tim snapped, pressing control+W probably harder than he needed to.

“Okay,” was all Dick said in reply. He hesitated, then slipped silently away as Tim dug his nails harder into his palms.

Why wouldn’t they stop shaking?

[swift-creates]

category: Gen

fandom: Batfamily

characters and relationships: Juni Drake (OC)

warnings/additional tags: Some violence, blood, swearing, mentions of past Joker Junior torture times, DID/Disassociative Identity Disorder, alters, blink-and-you-miss-it mention of self-harm scars, claustrophobia, cloth gag, restraints, mild self-inflicted injuries in panic, Joker Junior (sorta)

word count: 1206

Summary:

@ailesswhumptober Day 8: Hit and run | Adrenaline | “I can’t stop!”

Day 17: Drug side effects | Desperation | "It's fine, I can walk it off."

Day 23: Restraints | Obsession | “Aren’t you feisty?”

Day 30: Cleaning injuries | Labored breathing | “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

Juni Drake is settling into his new life as one of the Wayne Family, but it comes with new perils and threats to navigate.

notes: in this AU, the Batfam rescued Tim after the Joker Junior era and managed to remove a mind control chip that let Joker control him, but slowly come to realise that Joker Junior never really went away, but remains as an alter. Free from Joker’s control, Junior’s job is to protect Tim from anyone who would seek to hurt him again, so he appears whenever Tim is in dire straits, and will resort to any means to get them out of it. He’s later revealed to the Batfam after almost dying, and eventually Bruce adopts him as well and he takes the name Juni to separate himself from Joker in every way.

i do not have DID so apologies and please do let me know if anything is inaccurate/offensive so i can work on changing it!

-------

He didn’t remember what Tim had been thinking before the intruders burst in, or what papers he’d opened the briefcase to take out. All Juni did know was that the knife the leading man had been holding was very sharp as it sliced across his arm when he blocked, and that the gun the man at the back had been holding was very loaded as it sent a bullet thudding into the wall of Tim’s WE office as a warning. (Rude. They’d just gotten it replaced.)

Juni fought to get away from the knife man, throwing his dignity to the wind and biting and scratching and trying to get the knife. But then the gun was pressed to the side of his head, and in that one crucial moment he froze, they grabbed him and pinned both his arms and legs, and now he was being dragged across the floor by three of them.

They opened the connecting door to Bruce’s office, and for a moment Juni felt confused relief, but it turned into stabbing dread when he realised the office was empty. “Wait- Wha- OW!” Someone yanked back hard on his hair, and he kicked out, to his satisfaction, hearing a muffled grunt of pain. “Let me go- Uuf-” Whoever had made it slammed a fist into his stomach, and he gasped for air.

There was the faraway rustling of paper, and he caught a glimpse of one of the men grabbing some of the paperwork from Tim’s briefcase. “Hey- Those aren’t yours!” He was ignored as they dragged him across the floor.

He wanted to shout for help, but Tam would be the first one to run in, and if she witnessed the crime, he would have no way to stop them from disposing of her. No one within earshot would be armed to combat the invaders; Bruce kept a plethora of Bat gadgets in his desk, but nobody would be able to reach them before them or Juni, or both, were promptly shot by the gun man. So he simply struggled frantically like armed mercs would expect a terrified Tim Drake to struggle, pushing uselessly against the grips on his arms and legs.

“Please- We can talk about this. If it’s money you want-”

“We’ve already got what we want, Drake. Thanks for opening that briefcase for us.”

Juni hid his internal frown at that. They must have been following Tim, then. If only he’d gotten a good look at those papers he’d been holding-

He was shoved to the ground roughly, and they pulled his feet together and tied them with a length of rough rope. “Quick, put him inside before someone comes in.” Then they pushed and pulled him into the side room just off Bruce’s office. He’d been in here a few times, the first time when Tim had let him explore the building and he’d taken stock of the rooms so he knew where he was if he needed to fight their way out.

The difference between then and now was that, in the middle of the room, there now stood a large metal box. It looked like a tiny closet, unpolished and lightly rusted near the bottom, but with a gigantic padlock on the door. Dread sank cold claws into his gut, and Juni fought harder to get out of the holds on his limbs. “Wait- Stop, please-” The desperation in his voice was becoming shamefully real as he thrashed in a blind panic.

“Hurry.” They lifted him off the ground, and he tried to scream, all thoughts of strategy and caution flying out of his mind, but one of the men grabbed him by the jaw and shoved a rag into his mouth. “There we go. Hush now.”

Juni let out a muffled cry as they opened the box and shoved him in, then wrapped two leather straps around his torso, fastening them like a belt and pinning him to the back of the box. He reached out to grab something, anything, but they slashed at his hands with the knife until he withdrew them, and finally slammed the door closed. He felt around frantically, searching for a seam or hinges that he could pick. But there was nothing, just a cushy seal around the opening – shitshitshittrappedagainI’mgoingtosuffocateI’mgoingtodieinheretrappedandeveryone’sgoingtomournTimtrappedanditwillbemyfault – and he pushed as hard as he could, but the huge padlock snapped shut, and he heard faint laughter as the thugs left.

Nononononono- He shook his head wildly and managed to spit out the rag. “WAIT!!! Come back- LET ME OUT!” he screamed, hammering on the iron door with his quickly bruising fists. “WAIT!!” His breathing was heavy and frantic as he searched his pockets for anything he could use to get out, but there were only a few Batarangs, one hair tie, and a half-empty bottle of meds that he promptly dropped on the floor and swore when he realised he couldn’t bend to pick it up.

“Come on, Tim. It’s- everything’s safe. No one’s- No one’s trying to kill us. Now. Just… come on.” He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and tried desperately to steady his breathing. If he calmed enough, maybe Tim would wake up and take control and find a way to get them out of here. And he wouldn’t have a panic attack from simply being locked in a box.

Juni squeezed his eyes shut with barely any visible difference in the pitch black, and opened his eyes, hoping to find they were back at the Manor. But only darkness greeted him, and he let out a strangled whine. “No, no, no no no-”

He blinked, and he was there again, lightning arcing through his body and that mad cackle echoing off the stone walls as he screamed and writhed in the metal restraints holding him to the table- His breathing stuttered, and he struggled (and mostly failed) to even it. “Can’t go back- I won’t go back- Please-” He didn’t even know who he was talking to anymore, himself or Tim or him or-

He slammed himself against the door as hard and as many times as he could, until his hands and head and knees were scraped and stinging. He screamed until his throat ached and his chest hurt from alternately calling for help and crying. He tried every single thing his panic-addled brain could think of until the adrenaline faded and even his frantic energy gave out, leaving him drained and weak. If he could, he would have crumpled to the floor of the box, but he found that even if he went completely limp, the straps around his body would dig painfully into his skin and keep him standing more or less upright. Eventually they did, when his legs finally gave up and refused to support him any longer. The blood from the knife cuts on his arms partly soaked into his long sleeves, trickled past the scars on his wrists, then dripped slowly off his fingers to his feet and the bottom of the box.

“Please,” he whispered hoarsely, letting his head thump limply onto the door. “Please…”

But there was no reply, and silence sat heavy on his shoulders for a very long time.

[swift-creates]

category: Gen

fandom: Batfamily

characters and relationships: Jason Todd, mentioned Bruce Wayne, poachers

warnings/additional tags: violence, captivity, starvation, one swear, dehumanisation, blood, leashed, cruelty to a sentient animal who is also a human minor, shifters au, implied human/animal trafficking, mild body horror?, forced shapeshifting

word count: 1562

Summary:

@ailesswhumptober Day 7: Starvation | Foodborne illness | "They put something in my system, I can't think straight."

Day 9: Emotional manipulation | Cassandra truth | “You asked for this.”

Day 16: Leashed | Painful shapeshifting | "Hold them down."

notes: in my head the shifters au would have at least some species tension between normal people and shifters, even leading to some hunting or trafficking them like regular animals. Now we can let Jaybin get captured by those >)

----

Jason huddled at the back of his tiny cage and tried to sleep through the aching bruises and hunger that currently plagued his existence. When the poachers had taken him, they’d beaten him until he stopped struggling, then shoved him into the cage and locked the door. They’d mostly left him alone since then except for sliding him the tiniest dishes of food twice a day.

Ever since he’d snarled and slashed at the hand that tried to poke him with a needle, it had turned into never a day.

Just then, his stomach gave a complaining rumble at the mere thought of food, and he let out an irritated huff, trying to distract himself by licking his pelt clean. Alfred would no doubt be disappointed if he could see Jason’s usually glossy russet-and-black fur so unkempt. What he wouldn’t give to be wrestled into a chair by the old butler and given a sound brush and admonition both.

He gagged at the taste of petroleum on his paw pads and gave up, wedging himself more firmly into the back of the cage and letting his head drop to the floor. Every day, he imagined Bruce marching in the door and coming to rescue him, until every night, he was dreaming it too. Bruce had to be looking for him. He wouldn’t just leave Jason to whatever fate the poachers wanted for him. Right? Right. He tugged halfheartedly at the too-tight collar around his neck, then flopped down again, wishing the world’s greatest detective would detect him faster.

A faint clank sounded, and then the huge garage door that separated the cage area from the rest of the illegal operation started to rise. Jason groaned and squeezed his eyes shut as the room grew brighter, burying his face in his paws. He picked up the sound of footsteps crossing the cage area, and his heart sank when they stopped right in front of him.

“Hello, kitty. Wakey wakey.” There was a loud clanging that hurt his ears, and he growled, refusing to lift his head and look at the man. “Looks like two days of no food haven’t done you much good, have they?”

In truth, Jason didn’t want to find out. He could tell he was already weaker and didn’t much like his chances in a fight if it came to that. It reminded him uncomfortably of his earlier street days, when the older boys would knock him down with jaws around his neck and steal the food he’d stolen from someone else. That was before he learned to bite back.

He remained still, but stopped growling as the man clanged the bars of his cage harder, ears flattening in irritation and pain.

“Ah ah ah. Bad kitty. Looks like we’ll have to shift to more substantial punishment.” He poked Jason in the side with the metal bar he’d been using to hit the cage.

Jason snarled. “You should shift yourself the hell away from me before I rip your fingers off and eat them.”

The man laughed. “Oh, yes. Because you’re in such a situation to do that, Robin. I do so love your spunk.” Jason decided to save his energy and simply glare at him instead of growling.

“Come on, then. Up you get.” He unlocked the cage, and Jason’s first instinct was to launch himself at the guy, but he was too slow, scrabbling to stand up and his legs buckling when he tried. By the time he gathered himself enough to pounce again, he was being grabbed by the collar and thrown roughly onto the floor. He gasped for air, winded, and struggled to raise his head.

“Nh- You’re- You’re going to be sorry you ever took me.”

The man laughed again. “No. No, I don’t think I am, kitty. You still think Batman’s going to find you, don’t you? Oh, you do amuse me.”

Jason tried to hide the dread and fear he felt at that, struggling to push himself to his feet. He was wobbly on his paws, weak from hunger, and now deeply regretting his attack on whoever had held the needle. He eyed the metal bar, wondering if he could shift fast enough to pounce and grab it before the man could swing and hit him.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said as if he’d read Jason’s mind. “Do you really want to make this worse for yourself?”

“Can’t be much worse than listening to you talk,” Jason grumbled.

“Oh, yes, it can. It can get very much worse. Would you like me to show you?” Before Jason could shake his head or run or attack, the man grabbed his collar again, attaching a thick chain to a loop on the back. “Come here, kitty.” Jason pulled away as hard as he can, but was yanked back by the chain, and let out a yelp as he was knocked off his feet again.

He scrambled up again as fast as he could and pulled once more, snarling and biting at the metal that refused to give.

The man sighed, as if disappointed. “I thought you were an intellectual, Robin. Why do you insist on playing these meaningless games with me?” He dragged Jason across the room and toward the other side of the criminal hideout. Jason fought as hard as he could, but the man swerved, slamming him against one of the empty cages, and he let out a cry of pain. He let himself be dragged after that, curling up as much as he could and hoping he didn’t knock against anything else.

The man finally stopped, and when Jason looked up, he was surrounded by the poachers that had captured him. Mean, grimy men with tranquilliser guns and electrified nets sneered down at the young tiger as he tried yet again to break the chain to no avail.

Panting, he finally let go of the chain, mouth and chest fur smeared with blood, and shifted. Since escaping them in animal form hadn’t worked, he may as well try it human. “What… What are you going to do to me?”

“You asked for this, kitty. You’ve been aggressive and stubborn the whole time we’ve had you, and you need to be reminded who’s really in charge here.” The man handed the chain to one of the poachers and dug into a large box of equipment, picking up a sleek black remote. He pressed a button, and Jason yelped as a sharp metal spike stabbed the side of his neck then. “Perfect.”

No, not perfect. Very not perfect. Jason tugged at the chain with arms that were quickly weakening again as the adrenaline wore off. “Stop- please. You- You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, but I so want to. Let’s have some fun.” The man smiled wide, then pressed a different button, and the world erupted into agony. Spikes jutted into his neck from all around the collar, sending a pulse through his entire body that first ached deep inside his bones, then turned sharp, as if his tissues were willingly tearing themselves apart. He screamed, collapsing to the ground, and grabbed desperately at the collar but only managed to push the spikes further into his own flesh.

He gasped for air as the pain mounted even further, letting out a thin wail as fur started to cover human skin, and sinew and tendon split apart, then knit back together again. His spine arched in an agonised convulsion, nails rapidly hardening into claws and carving lines into the concrete.

“Hold him down,” he heard the man say dimly at the edge of his awareness. “I don’t want our merchandise to damage himself before we’ve taken snapshots of the transformation.” The thugs crowded around him, hands on his head and legs and chest pinning him to the cold floor. He thrashed as hard as he could, but screamed at another surge of pain, bones seeming to melt into white-hot liquid inside him. There was no choice, no strength to do anything but go limp under the swarm of hands and try desperately to pull air into his crushed lungs.

Just as the world started to blur around him, the crowd finally receded, and he squeezed his eyes closed as the man started slowly clapping. “Beautiful. Absolutely exquisite. This’ll fetch a pretty price for a pretty kitty.” He turned off a camera Jason hadn’t seen him set up and went over to crouch beside Jason. “Good boy. I hope you’ll be more understanding from now on.”

Jason wanted to claw his face off, but all he could do was let out an exhausted whine as they dragged him back to the cages by the chain. He couldn’t even feel a sense of satisfaction when it took four of the men to heft him back into his cramped enclosure.

He lay there, eyes closed, and tried not to think about the deep sense of wrongness, of being forced into this form against his will. His entire body felt like it had been torn apart and slowly stitched back together again, and he shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut. Bruce would come for him. His dad would come to get him out. They would go home, and it would be okay.

But here and now, all that was real was the darkness and the echoing pain.

[swift-creates]

category: F/M

fandom: Batfamily

characters and relationships: Bruce Wayne x Selina Kyle (romantic, established), mentions of Batfamily and Helena "Ellie" Wayne (OC)

warnings/additional tags: Self-inflicted injury, kissing, endless sap because i'm a hopeless romantic

word count: 757

Summary:

@ailesswhumptober Day 6: Self-inflicted injury | Rocky recovery | "If I tell you what they made me do, you won't be able to look at me the same."

notes: A bit from batfam recovery that takes place after me and @ablatheringblatherskite's gladiator whump RP! sorry if this is horribly OOC, I read like 1 Batcat comic and fell in love with them (they're married to ME)

----

Ever since they had gotten back from the arena, Bruce and the others had been a little… different. Being forced to fight, sometimes to the death, had taken a heavy toll on their minds and bodies. Half the time, Jason could be found wandering the halls in the dead of night. Cass had stopped talking unless necessary, and Dick barely let Bruce out of his sight. He hadn’t gone back to Bludhaven since they were rescued. 

Bruce himself was “fine”. That was probably why Selina found him with bloodied knuckles, standing in front of a dented wall. 

“Bat?” 

He blinked, turning to look at her as if he’d just woken up. “Selina. I…” He looked back down at his hand, then back at her. 

She approached and took it in hers. She didn’t bother asking, “What happened?” She just kissed his palm and moved into his arms. “Breathe.”

“I am breathing,” he said in a strangled voice that made that doubtful. She put a hand on his chest, over his heart, and caught him in that piercing green gaze. And just kept it that way until she felt it slow to the rate of a normal human being who hadn’t just punched a wall at full strength. 

“Easy, Bats.” 

He took a shuddering breath, then pressed his cheek to the top of her head. “I’m okay.” 

She doubted that. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I… I just need some time.”

She sighed and pulled back to look at him again. “Bat. Don’t do it again.”

“Doing what?” He wouldn’t meet her eyes. 

“Hiding all that pain of yours. Away from me, from your kids. Going it alone. We want you here, now. Not buried in that head of yours.”

“I’m not going it alone,” he said, still avoiding eye contact with his wife. 

“Then talk about it. You haven’t talked to me, you haven’t talked to anyone. Even Dick and Jason have no idea what’s going on with you. Why do you think he hasn’t gone back to Bludhaven?”

He winced. “It’s- a long story.”

“Then tell me. Tell me the long story. It can’t be much longer than ours.” She tried to pull a smile from him, but it faltered and was gone as quick as it came. 

“I can’t, Selina.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I- if I tell you what they made me do- what they did to me… You won’t look at me that way anymore.”

She put a hand on his face. “Bruce. You know I won’t. Nothing can change the way I feel about you, and nothing will.”

“I don’t look at me the same way anymore. I’m not… the same man I was. Something… All the things that happened there changed me. Sometimes I think what they broke can’t be fixed.” His fingers skimmed over the bloody bruises, and he swallowed. 

Selina kissed his lips, then his cheek, then his hands. He was stiff, staring at the wall over her shoulder. “Look at me.” When his eyes met hers, she kissed him again. He made a soft sound as she pressed closer, hands automatically settling around her waist. Then he relaxed and his eyes closed, and he leaned into her, finding home in her embrace. 

He kept his forehead pressed against hers when they pulled away, his eyes closed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re home now.”

“We’re home,” he repeated, taking a deep breath. “We’re… safe.”

Selina nodded, reaching up to cradle his face. “We’re safe.” He closed his eyes again and leaned into the touch, and she felt her chest swell with love for this tired, injured, broken man. She would not fix him. She could not. But she would be there as he put himself back together, gently nudging him in the right direction when he wandered off. She would hold him and their daughter and their family in her arms and wait for the wounds to knit themselves up.

She would wait as he fixed himself, wait for him to chase her over a billion rooftops and finally catch her on one. She would purr and flirt and pull him into her arms, and he would be gruff and businesslike and give her a stern look from underneath his cowl. But he would kiss her back when she pulled him in and hold her as she held him. They would return home, hand in hand and laughter in the air. They would settle back into their unpredictable rollercoaster of a life and keep fighting.

What else would they possibly do?

[swift-creates]

category: Gen

fandom: Batfamily

characters and relationships: Nia Rosewood (OC) & Ricky Wayne (OC) - platonic, mentions of Nia Rosewood x Tim Drake (not onscreen)

warnings/additional tags: kidnapping, waterboarding, mentions and flashbacks of past infant death, mentions and flashbacks of past sexual assault, overall creepy and sadistic intent, Ricky is his mother's son and poor Nia is so stressed, so many trauma flashbacks, hair grabbing, implications of cheating and child born out of wedlock (false)

word count: 1547

Summary:

@ailesswhumptober Day 3: Secondary drowning | Compartment syndrome | "Please don't leave me!”

Ricky and Nia are taken captive yet again by a man who wants to bring the Wayne family low.

notes: timnia 5eva or whatever the kids are saying these days. Context time!! This AU comes courtesy of @choasuqeen!

there is actually a truck ton of unposted context for this haha. So if you don’t wanna read all that or you wanna experience it without context, feel free to just CRTL+F down to the TLDR or straight to the fic (search ——).

if not, happy reading! This began because Chaos had a dream in which her One Piece OC Nia (powers: shifting into a jackalope, perfect mimicking, messages like a voicemail) is in the batfam and eventually gets together with Tim (it’s a very good au you should pester us for more stuff GO YELL AT HER).

Ricky Wayne happened when Tim found his old lab equipment from the attentions to clone Kon era and ran some tests on it with his own DNA, fell asleep, and when he woke up there was Child, and he brought Ricky home like “honey bunny… don’t freak out” *hands her a baby*. (Those who recognise him I’m giving you an awkward wave like a classmate I didn’t expect to see at this function). Ricky isn’t Nia’s biological son but she loves him like her own. He’s about 14 here.

also one time she got kidnapped by these guys who hated the Waynes (it wasn’t even for bat-related reasons I’m gonna scream) and were generally Bad and gropey to Nia both conscious and unconscious on camera live-streamed to the entire city (blame Chaos), so that’s referenced a few times in both flashbacks and dialogue.

Last but not least, when Ricky was about 5, Nia got pregnant and they were all prepared for a little brother for Ricky when she gave birth but both she and the baby died. Tim flipped out, took them to the Lazarus Pit, but only Nia came back. It was a rough time for everyone, Ricky didn’t really understand what was happening until they sat him down and explained.

GOOD TIMES. TLDR: Nia <3 Tim, Ricky is clone baby (now 14), Nia has been kidnapped and assaulted on live camera, and they lost a baby before.

————

The door thunked open, and the man entered, smiling down at his captives. “Hello, Mrs. Drake.” He sneered the name like a bad word, leaning down to grab her by the chin. Ricky growled, glaring up at the man as she pushed him behind her. “Aw, is your little bastard boy growing into a feral thing just like you?”

“He’s not a bastard,” Nia said, trembling. The last time someone had kept them away from their family there’d been a camera streaming live and hands on her and- NO- “He’s mine.”

Ricky pressed close, glaring up at the man even as his breaths blew panicked-rabbit-fast on the back of her neck. “Leave- leave her alone.”

“Oh, I’m afraid I can’t do that, buddy. See, you and your mama have the displeasure of being the easiest of your family to take my frustrations out in. You would know all about that, wouldn’t you, Mrs. Drake?”

Nia shrank away, pushing Ricky further from him. “Do- Do whatever you want with me, just leave him alone.”

“Oh, I will, trust me. Not leave him alone, but I think you know.” He smiled, then gestures to his thugs. “Bring the boy.”

“NO!” Ricky screamed just as Nia did, clinging to her as the hands descended, yanking at his hair and arms and pulling them apart. “Mom!”

Nia tried to hold onto her son, clawing at the men, but they kicked out at her, and her grip was dislodged with a yelp. “It’s okay- It’ll be okay, Blackbird will come for us.” She held his gaze since she could hold nothing else as two of the thugs hauled her up, slamming her against the wall and pinning her arms as she struggled.

“MOM!” Ricky was fighting as hard as he could, but the man was stronger and dragged him across the floor to a deep concrete basin by the wall. Nia’s heart stuttered painfully as she realised it was full of water, more pouring in through a pipe embedded in the wall.

“Wait- Please- Don’t hurt him. I’ll do whatever you want.” I’ll be good I’ll be good just leave him alone please- She pulled uselessly against the iron grips on her arms, trying in vain to get back to her baby, to hold him safe away from the danger.

“Whatever I want?” the man mused, and Nia nodded frantically.

“Anything.”

He smiled. “Very well then. I want you to watch.” He grabbed Ricky by the hair, yanked him up, and shoved his head into the basin. Ricky struggled, bubbles rushing to the surface as he kicked and pulled frantically at the tight grip. If it was anything like the ones on her arms, he was completely at the sadist’s mercy.

“Ricky- Let him go- Please.” Nia fought as hard as she could, but there was only so much strength in her, and it did nothing against the two men. She could only watch, heart sinking, as Ricky’s struggles became weaker and weaker, legs kicking slower until they stopped altogether and he went limp in the water. NOnononono is he okay he has to be fight please fight don’t go- She let out a desperate sob, tugging at the thugs’ grip again. “Please-”

The man let out a satisfied hum, pulling Ricky’s head out of the water. “Interesting. I thought he’d last longer than that.” Nia could barely hear him, staring at Ricky’s limp form and willing him to move, to gasp for air holding her baby boy in her arms and watching as his thin cries trailed off and his little body slowly went still Tim trembling next to her, begging him to live-

The man was suddenly in front of her, dragging Ricky by one arm. “The poor little Drake-Waynes. All the money and power in the world, and they can’t use a single bit of it to keep their family safe. Where was all that last time you were on the air, the whole city watching someone have their fun with you? Where was your husband, hm? On his cushy seat watching them make a fool of you.”

Nia shook her head wildly. (Nonononobadbadbad Tim came for me he did he will- She can’t stop thinking about hands on her body and sneering in her ear-) “No- He- He-”

“He’s not here, Mrs. Drake. And he won’t be. Even the Waynes won’t be able to find you here.” He grabbed her by the chin, holding her still as his other hand brushed her hair out of her face, tugged on a braid almost playfully. “Maybe after I’m done with your little bastard, I’ll let my boys have their fun with you. Only this time, no live broadcast.”

Nia flinched, trying to push the memories away, to look past him to Ricky, but she was trembling. Ricky looked dead he couldn’t be dead please don't be dead.

He let go of her and let Ricky drop to the floor, then stepped on his chest a few times. Nia winced at the audible crack of Ricky’s ribs before he shot up again, gasping and coughing water, and she couldn’t help but feel a wave of relief.

“Mom-” Her heart ached to hear his voice broken, but still calling for her.

“I’m here. It’s okay, hon, you’re okay.” She relaxed slightly against the wall. At least he was breathing. At least he was okay. He slumped back onto the ground, eyes closed as he wheezed.

The man bent down beside him, patting his cheek roughly. “Welcome back, little bastard.” Ricky winced and tried to pull away, but the man grabbed him by the hair again and yanked him off the ground.

“Ow- Ow-” He struggled briefly but quickly slowed, weakened by the temporary lack of air. His eyes met hers and stayed there, wide, blue and terrified as he scrabbled at the grip on his hair. She tried to silently tell him it would be okay, smiling at her through the tears welling in her own.

They fell quickly when the man shoved him back into the water. Ricky struggled, kicking at him frantically, but she watched him slow and stop fighting for the second time as she tried to stop crying. It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay you’ll be okay hold your breath-

This time, he was conscious when the man hauled him out, hacking and coughing up water as he reached toward her with a feeble whine.

“I know, honey, it’s okay. Just breathe.” The only thing Nia wanted was to reach back towards him and take his hand, but the thugs pulled her back against the wall as she strained toward him.

“At least he managed to stay awake this time,” the man taunted. “So you can learn.” Ricky shrank away from him as much as he could (which wasn’t much), but the man was too fast, and grabbed him again before shoving him to the ground and kicking him in the ribs as he gasped.

“Please- I’m sorry-” He whimpered as he curled up as small as he could, and Nia could see, so painfully vivid, what he’d picked up from her.

The man laughed, throwing his head back. “You’re sorry? Pathetic child. You don’t even know what you’re sorry for.” Ricky flinched at the loud sound and didn’t speak again.

“Do you really want to make it up to me, boy? Do you really want to atone for the sins of your family?” The man nudged him with a shoe. “I might have a few ideas.”

Ricky uncurled slightly, gazing up at him with wide, confused, trusting eyes, and gave him a tiny nod.

Before Nia could cry out for him not to, the man grabbed him by the throat and dragged him back to the water, smacking his head against the concrete. “Then you can drown.” Nia sobbed as Ricky screamed into the basin, fighting as hard as he could but getting weaker and weaker before he passed out and she listened to his heart slow.

PleasepleasepleaseI’msorryI’llbegoodlethimgoplease- She buried the words, would not allow herself to say them, to let them bring her back to the ring where she could make no bloodless mistake. All she could do was watch as the man held her son underwater until his heartbeat stopped beating completely. She clung on to the sound of the last few thumps, begging them to sound again, to push life through his veins and wake him up. But there was nothing as the man hauled him out and threw him onto the floor. Nothing as he walked over to Nia and stroked a hand down her cheek. Nothing as the guards dropped her to the ground and left with him.

“We’ll be back for you, Mrs. Drake. Wipe away those tears and pretty that face up for my boys, or I’ll do it for you.” The doors closed behind them, and Nia crawled over to Ricky, pulling him into her arms and pressing an ear to his chest as if it would make his lack of pulse any more audible.

“Ricky, wake up. Please.” She choked on more tears, linked her fingers, and started compressing his chest. He had to wake up. She feared she would lose the will to fight if he didn’t.

[swift-creates]

category: Gen

fandom: original -- Anderson and Company

characters and relationships: Avi & Aaron Anderson - platonic

warnings/additional tags: Blood, aftermath of gunshot wound, torture, dislocation, hair grabbing, swearing, Avi is a little shit, amputee character, bionic leg, head slam, one your mom joke

word count: 1913

Summary:

@ailesswhumptober Day 2: Amputation | Gunshot | "It's not worth your life!"

Day 5: Torture | Withholding aid | "How do you want me to punish you?"

Day 12: Dislocation | Dizziness | “Don’t pass out on me.”

Day 13: Ransom | Tranquilizer | "I trusted you!"

Avi and Aaron get kidnapped by a man who has very specific and unethical demands. They can only refuse for so long.

notes: Welcome to my OCs in a world with little to no plot!!! This is Aaron (dad) and Avi (son) and they are very normal people except they have a billion dollars and a billion trauma.

----

“Dad. Dad! Hey. Just look at me, okay?” Avi shuffled as close as he could, and Aaron groaned as he pushed himself up against the wall.

“I’m okay, Avi. I’ll… Just stay calm.” He leaned against his son, letting his head rest on top of Avi’s. “Someone will come to get us out. We’ll be all right.” His voice was fainter than he’d intended, and the amount of blood that had soaked into his shirt around the gunshot wound probably didn’t make his words very believable.

Avi made a concerned sound and snuggled nearer, hands bound behind his back and preventing him from reaching out.

“I’m okay, spark. I’m okay.” He pressed a soft kiss to Avi’s hair.

“Just hang on. They’ll let us go soon,” Avi murmured, “and you owe me a new car.”

Aaron let out a weak laugh and then regretted it as pain stabbed through his torso. “Nh- I’ll get you one when we get home, promise. You can use the- Porsche until then.”

“Make it the Lambo and you’ve got a deal.”

Aaron had to hold back another chuckle as Avi let his head rest on Aaron’s shoulder. “Deal.”

The door creaked open again, and he felt Avi stiffen. The man who’d shot him walked in, grinning. “Isn’t this a heartwarming scene?”

“Piss off.” Aaron probably shouldn’t have been proud of him for cussing out the man who held their fates in his hand, but he was.

“Now, now, is that any way to talk, young man? You haven’t taught him to hold his tongue very well, dad.”

“I’m 21, you absolute f-”

“Avi.” Aaron gave him a warning look, and he snapped his mouth shut, still glaring at the man. “What do you- want from us?” Aaron asked, subtly reaching to hold Avi’s arm.

“It’s very simple, Mr. Anderson. You have money and a very large tech company. I have you. Before I return you two to society, I’d like to benefit from your extensive wealth.” The man came over to them, hands in pockets, and smiled down at Aaron.

“I’ll give you whatever you want. Just- Just let us go.”

He tsked disapprovingly. “Not just yet, sir. You haven’t given me anything. Well, your son gave my associate a rather nasty shiner earlier, but nothing I want.” The thug glared at them from the doorway.

“What- What do you want?” Aaron leaned away from him, wincing as the movement pulled at his wound.

“Soldiers, Mr. Anderson. I would like you to take each and every one of my men and give them fancy new toys just like your little boy over there.” He nodded toward Avi’s bionic leg, and Aaron stiffened.

“Great idea. Let’s drop giant industrial crates on all of them, and maybe then they’d qualify.” Avi looked up at him scornfully. “We’re not doing shit for you.”

“Avi.” Aaron squeezed his elbow as the man gave him an expectant look.

“Well? Do you both feel this way?”

“I- We- I can’t make you soldiers. That would be- inhumane, first of all, not to mention illegal, and-”

“That’s a shame. That’s a real shame.” The man’s gaze went faraway for a moment, as if deep in thought, then shifted back to them, and he grabbed Aaron by the hair and yanked his head back. “You may want to reconsider.”

Aaron struggled to breathe with his head shoved against the wall, forcing his hand to loosen around Avi’s arm. “I ca- can’t. There- has to be something else that you-” The man let go abruptly, and Aaron gasped for air.

“You know, I really thought you would be more reasonable than that. But it’s okay.”

Avi pressed himself into Aaron’s back again as his breathing started to even out. “It- It is?”

“Of course. No hard feelings. All that means is that you’ll need a little… convincing.” He grinned the humourless, dreadful grin of a shark about to bite, then faster than Aaron could blink or reach out to stop him, he grabbed Avi by the hair and dragged him across the room, ignoring his yelps and struggles of pain.

Aaron tried to reach for him, but groaned and doubled over in pain. “Avi- Wait! Don’t- Don’t hurt him. Please. He’s all I have.”

The man’s grin turned to a snarl. “No, he’s not! You haven’t been paying attention, Mr. Anderson, you have SO MUCH right at your fingertips. The man who has everything and still believes he doesn’t, the man who won’t simply give me what I want!” His voice rose to the end of his sentence, and he kicked Avi hard in the gut.

“No!” Aaron watched, wide-eyed, as Avi was knocked into the wall, coughing and gasping. The man dragged him back as quickly as he was able to recover, grabbing him by his bound hands and using them as leverage to push his face against the ground.

“Any input for papa dear, Avi?”

“Nh- I- I’ve got some input for your mother-” His head was violently slammed into the floor, and Aaron covered his mouth to stop from screaming as blood started to trickle down the side of Avi’s head and he groaned, hanging limp from the grip on his hair.

“Wait, please-”

“Now, now. We wouldn’t want you all roughed up before we get to have a real conversation, would we?” The man shook Avi lightly, completely ignoring Aaron.

“G… Go to hell,” Avi coughed, before he was roughly pushed to the ground, arms at a painful angle behind his back.

“I’ll ask you one more time, Mr. Anderson. Are you willing to give me the army I want, or do I have to persuade you a little more?” The man turned back to him with an attentive look, as if he was a business partner waiting for an answer on some deal or other.

“I… I… What you ask isn’t possible. They would have to be volunteers and aware of the risks, and- and- I don’t even know if I have the kind of equipment you’d need for a project like that-”

“You had the equipment for him, didn’t you, Daddy? Even if not, surely you can procure what you need from some factory or other. So?”

“I can’t,” he said desperately. “I don’t- You can’t just do that to someone, and what- what are you going to use them for?”

The man sighed. “Wrong answer, Mr Anderson.” Then he adjusted his grip on Avi’s arm, shoved down hard, and Aaron heard his shoulder dislocate with a pop that was barely audible under his heartrending scream.

The man tsked, shaking his head. “I tried talking, and you refused. Typical of you one percent-ers, not to listen to anyone else but your money and ego.” He jostled Avi’s dislocated arm, and Avi cried out, kicking as hard as he could to get away as his tears dripped onto the concrete floor.

“Dad- Please-”

“Awww. Dad. Please,” the man said mockingly, bracing a knee on Avi’s back, between his shoulders. “Look at the little brat crying like a baby already. I honestly thought it’d take more than that to hurt him, but I guess he’s just as soft as you are.”

Aaron staggered to his feet, falling almost instantly and catching himself on his hands. “Don’t- NGH. Don’t hurt him, I’ll- I’ll give you all the money you want. Name the amount.”

The man scoffed, shaking his head again. “Don’t you get it? I’ve been telling you to your face what I want, and you still refuse to give it to me. At this point, I’m starting to think you’re just a shitty father. What kind of dad would let his little boy suffer over a simple favour like this?” Avi sobbed and squeezed his eyes shut, and Aaron let out a sound of distress.

“It’s not right. You’re going to hurt people, and I- I can’t let you. He wouldn’t want me to.”

“Are you sure? Why don’t we ask him. Avi, dear. Do you think your dad is a hero for refusing to make me my army? Or is he just a coward?” Avi whimpered and flinched away from him, blood mixing with tears where his face pressed to the ground. “Well, how sad. He can’t even speak about you for the shame.”

Aaron closed his eyes. Avi doesn’t think that. He doesn’t. Logically, he knew better, knew that his little boy would never say something so hurtful as that. But it was his fault they got caught in the first place, his fault Avi’s arm was hurt, his fault they were both on the ground bleeding. “I’m sorry, spark. I’m so sorry.”

Avi made an indistinct sound and struggled weakly, then went limp, and Aaron shuffled across the floor a little closer. All he wanted was to pull him close, smooth away the blood and the tears, and hold him, but the man was still there, coolly watching as if he’d simply plucked out a hair or two.

“I can think of about fourteen different ways to continue our little game. Do you want me to tell you, or keep it a surprise?” Aaron glared at him, then quickly dropped his gaze, desperately hoping that it hadn’t warranted another scream from his son.

He shook Avi again, drawing another whimper. “Come on, Mr. Anderson. I tire of repeating myself. Will you do it, or won’t you?”

“I…” Aaron stared at them, torn between staying true to the right thing and saving Avi even more pain. “I don’t…”

The man shrugged. “Your loss.” In a second violent jerk, he snapped Avi’s other shoulder out of its socket, and he screamed again, thrashing on the ground as the bent knee in his back kept him pinned down.

“No, WAIT- Stop! I’ll do it. I’ll… I’ll do it. Just stop hurting him.” He closed his eyes for a long second as Avi let out a last wail, going limp on the floor.

“Excellent. That wasn’t so hard, wasn’t it, spark?” The man bent to ruffle Avi’s hair, and Aaron felt sick at the mockery of their special nickname. “I’ll let you two have a little nap, then when I get back, it’s time for you to make good. Understand?”

Aaron swallowed and nodded wordlessly.

“Don’t worry. You’ll find I’m a much nicer business partner than I am an enemy. Until later, Mr. Anderson.” He and the black-eyed thug stepped out of the room and slammed the door behind them.

Avi whimpered again, and Aaron pushed himself over to his son, grimacing. “Hey, kid. It’s okay, he’s gone.” He pulled Avi into his lap, careful not to jostle his arms and cradling his head.

“M… sorry. 'M sorry, Dad, 'm sorry-”

The thought that Avi could possibly even think that this was his fault ached horribly, and Aaron forced his voice to steady. “No, spark, shhhh. It’s okay. Not your fault, alright? I’ve got you.” Avi whined again and buried his face in Aaron’s chest.

“Mh- Hurts.”

“I know, kid. We’ll fix it later, but just rest, okay? Just rest.” He closed his eyes and held his baby boy as Avi sobbed, arms limp and useless.

He could only hope that someone got to them before he had to acquiesce to the man’s demands. But it was getting harder and harder to have hope when he and his associates held both of their lives in the same iron grip they’d both already felt.