Hi again :3 as mentioned I'm just gonna write these down as to not forget and you'll get here eventually
Platonic Boothill, Aventurine, Ratio and Jing Yuan meeting reader's biological father who is responsible for their mother's death and is generally just an awful person but wants to get his child back for reasons unknown.
Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold
Tags: Boothill x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Platonic Relationships, Found Family, Protective, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy (or Bittersweet) Ending, Justice & Retribution, Revenge Themes, Confrontation, Subtle Whump, Power Displays, Strong Bonds, Reader Has a Dark Past, Mentorship Elements.
Warnings: Mentions of Parental Abuse & Neglect (emotional, possibly physical), Mentions of Murder (reader’s father killed their mother), Emotional Manipulation & Gaslighting (father trying to reclaim the reader), Mild to Moderate Violence, Themes of Found Family vs. Toxic Biological Family, Confrontation Scenes, Reader Processing Trauma.
Tagslist: @themiddletenmasibling
Boothill sat on a barrel, one leg crossed over the other, fingers toying with a bullet between his fingers. His eyes gleamed under the dim light of the saloon, narrowing as he regarded the man across from him—your father.
"You got some nerve, showin’ up here after all these years," Boothill drawled, twirling the bullet before snapping it between his fingers. "What’s the play, huh? You waltz in, say a few pretty words, and think you can take ‘em back like nothin’ happened?"
Your father sneered. "I don’t need to justify myself to some gunslinger freak."
Boothill’s grin widened, sharp teeth flashing like a predator scenting weakness. "See, that’s where you’re wrong. ‘Cause you ain't talkin’ to just me. You’re talkin’ to the one who made sure they never had to go back to you. You’re talkin’ to the man who sees right through your lies."
You stood behind Boothill, fists clenched, emotions tangled. He had always been the first to step up when you couldn’t, shielding you from the past you’d tried to escape.
"You killed their mother," Boothill continued, voice devoid of its usual humor. "And now you think you can come back, like you got some kinda right?" He chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "You lost that right the moment you pulled the trigger."
Your father scowled but didn’t move. Boothill stood up, slow and deliberate. "Now, I ain’t the law. I don’t got a badge. But I got my own way of dealin’ with muddle-fudger like you."
The mechanical plates in his fingers shifted as his hand hovered over his revolver.
"You best turn ‘round and leave, partner. Before I put you in the ground like the outlaw you are."
Your father took one last look at you. You felt the weight of his stare, the years of pain he’d inflicted. But with Boothill standing beside you, unwavering, you knew—you were never going back.
And your father knew it too.
Aventurine leaned back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head as he regarded the man before him—your father. His signature smirk was in place, but his eyes were cold, calculating.
"Ah, family reunions. Always so dramatic," he mused, adjusting the golden rings on his fingers. "But you see, I have a rule against bad investments. And you, my dear sir, are the worst kind."
Your father scoffed. "This is none of your concern. I came for my child."
Aventurine exhaled, feigning disappointment. "So predictable. You don’t actually care about them, do you? No, no, you just don’t like losing something you think belongs to you."
You stiffened beside Aventurine, but his presence was like a wall between you and the man who had haunted your nightmares.
Your father’s lips curled into a sneer. "What do you even know about it?"
"Oh, plenty," Aventurine replied smoothly, swirling the wine glass in his hand before setting it down with a clink. "See, I know the type. Men who think they own what they destroy. Men who kill and expect forgiveness. Men who show up after years of absence and think they still hold the cards."
He leaned forward, eyes glinting. "But here’s the thing—I rigged the deck before you even sat down."
A tense silence filled the air.
Aventurine smiled. "They’re not going with you. And I suggest you leave before the stakes get... lethal."
Your father hesitated, but there was something in Aventurine’s gaze, something dangerous beneath the charm. He knew when he was outmatched.
He turned sharply and walked away.
Aventurine leaned back, sighing theatrically. "Honestly, predictable men bore me."
You exhaled, tension leaving your shoulders. "Thank you."
He winked. "What are friends for, if not for running conmen like him out of town?"
Ratio stood between you and your father, arms crossed, his piercing gaze unwavering. His alabaster mask rested on the table, revealing his sharp eyes—the kind that saw through deception with ease.
"I fail to understand the logic in your request," Ratio said coolly, tilting his head. "You claim to want them back, yet you were the one who ensured they had no home to return to."
Your father clenched his jaw. "They’re my blood."
Ratio’s lips curled slightly in amusement. "Blood is merely biological happenstance. It has no bearing on worth or responsibility." He took a step forward, and though he did not raise his voice, there was an undeniable weight to his words. "You ended their mother’s life. And now, you dare demand theirs?"
Your father’s expression twisted in frustration, but Ratio’s calm, intellectual disdain was an impenetrable wall.
"Pathetic," Ratio remarked. "Your mind is so small, so desperately clinging to control you do not have. Tell me, have you truly convinced yourself that you deserve their forgiveness?"
Your father flinched.
Ratio smiled, but it held no warmth. "You are nothing but a relic of a past they’ve outgrown. Be grateful for that mercy and leave before I decide to educate you in a more... permanent manner."
Your father hesitated for only a moment before turning and vanishing into the night.
Ratio glanced at you. "Are you all right?"
You nodded, exhaling shakily. "I think so."
Ratio adjusted his cuffs, his sharp gaze softening just slightly. "Good. Then let us never speak of that fool again."
Jing Yuan sat, eyes calm but unreadable as he regarded your father. The General’s fingers drummed softly against the wooden desk, the only sound in the otherwise suffocating silence.
"You are asking for something that is no longer yours," Jing Yuan finally said, voice smooth yet firm. "And after what you have done, I wonder… do you truly believe you deserve it?"
Your father sneered. "This is none of your concern."
Jing Yuan chuckled softly, though there was no amusement in it. "You are mistaken. Everything concerning their safety is my concern."
Your father’s confidence wavered.
Jing Yuan leaned forward, resting his chin against his hand. "I have led armies, quelled rebellions, and negotiated peace among the stars. I have seen men like you, men who believe power grants them ownership over others." His gaze sharpened. "You are mistaken yet again."
Your father opened his mouth, but Jing Yuan’s next words left no room for argument.
"They are under my protection. I do not take that duty lightly."
The weight of authority in his tone was absolute. A silent warning.
Your father stiffened, realizing he had lost. Without another word, he turned and left.
Jing Yuan sighed, looking at you with a faint, knowing smile. "A shame, really. I had half a mind to throw him in a cell."
You chuckled weakly. "I wouldn’t have stopped you."
Jing Yuan placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "You are safe now. That is all that matters."
a formal tie as a collar. strangers might not recognize it for what it represents, but the whumpee and whumper are both well aware of what it means to cinch that thing tight and go to a formal event together. the fact that it's out in the open just hammers the point home: there's no escape.
I find the whump that always stands out to me is the one that has the finest details. I think the kinda dramatic whump like torture or exaggeration really just ruins the beauty of it.
I'm not talking about the amount necessarily, because i do love when they're hurt badly, it just depends on how they convey what happens to the whumpee in the fine details and natural acting.
Subtle whump. Where even Whumpee doesn't realize they're being whumped, but Caretaker does. Maybe Whumper is a toxic partner, or a friend taking advantage of Whumpee.
They try to warn Whumpee, telling them that whatever Whumper is doing is no bueno, but does Whumpee believe them? Or are they too far strung into Whumper's net?
Grand whump is wonderful, of course, but what takes my breath are those subtle moments that show the whumped character is really not ok:
- taking a moment to close his eyes because he’s light headed/exhausted/has such a bad headache
- pressing the heel of his hand against his temple, because his head hurts or he can feel his temperature rising
- spacing out a bit during a conversation - especially when he’s the one speaking, so that he kind of trails off and has to shake himself and apologise and get back on track
- pressing a cold bottle of beer/coke against his forehead and just taking a moment to savour the relief
- especially a normally diligent/stoic character - falling asleep on the job or somewhere he shouldn’t, even if it’s just for a moment, and he’s startled awake by someone/something and there’s just that moment of being lost in his eyes as he tries to figure out where he is and what’s happened
- his hands are shaking and he accidentally meets someone’s eyes who’s seen it happen so he shoves his hands into his pockets or armpits and stalks off
- a little stagger as he walks, or kind of drunkenly reeling off-course a tiny bit before he self-corrects
- that helpless expression just before he collapses
- moving wrong in a way that aggravates the pain, and the sudden seizing of his body
- breathing through the pain
- leaning against objects so he can stay upright, especially if he’s doing it as nonchalantly as possible
- a pause as he first notices that something isn’t right
- that white knuckled grip
- a hitch in his voice as he talks
- half-lidded eyes that are becoming unfocussed
- the way his head lolls
- where he can’t even spare the energy/strength to turn his head and he kind of just accepts things/carries on looking straight ahead
- trying to carry on speaking a command or direction or explanation even though he can only voice a few words at a time, either because of pain, or weakness, or confusion/disorientation
- someone passes him something but his hands are clumsy and he fumbles with it rather than just taking it normally
- reaching under a jacket and coming out with a blood-stained hand (always this <3)
- apologising for being about to pass out just before he does (afhflksdkkjfgg)
- that shaky hands/pill bottle fumble/swallowing the pills dry thing
- when there's only two pills left in the bottle and he knows he's going to need more
- a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead
- an accent that's usually mild/hidden getting stronger when he's hurt/sick/exhausted
- pain/delirium resulting in regression to his native language, which those present may or may not understand
- that unseeing gaze, where his body is present but he can't focus on external things anymore
- a quiet, involuntary sound of distress
- a quick grimace that he forces into a smile because someone saw
- ruthlessly suppressing a cough or sneeze into a handkerchief/napkin/tissue and carrying on as though nothing happened
- needing to use a hand to steady himself as he gets up
- a hoarse/raspy voice
- cracked/bleeding lips
- just blinking too much. Or too slowly.
- flinching away when someone goes to touch him, either because being touched would hurt too much or because if he was touched, the person reaching out would feel the blood/fever
- slowly listing to one side as he sits/stands
- pinching the bridge of his nose
- dark shadows under the eyes. Especially when paired with stubble.
- fidgeting and moving restlessly, unable to remain still as the pain increases
I'm from a relatively cold place and one time my friend and I were standing around at a bus stop on our way home from class just chatting. It was winter so it got dark out early but the warm street lights reflecting of the snow on the ground and blowing powder made it seem a lot brighter than it would otherwise have been. At some point my friend playfully flicked my nose and subsequently realised that it was cold (not surprisingly since the temperature was probably somewhere in the -30s centigrade) and immediately blurted out 'Oh my god your nose is cold! I need to warm it up' and proceeded to hold their hand over my nose with a smile.
This is the sort of simple love we need more of.
[ID: A light orange and light blue hand holding each other. The blue hand is patterned with various shades of blue feathers and the orange one with various shades of red and pink feathers. The background is a warm dark colour.]
