But loud babies are strong babies, Omega reminds herself. So she doesn’t mind when they scream and cry, even when it hurts her ears. At least they are able to communicate, unlike the other babies that have come into Nala Se’s lab. Those babies only stayed for a few days before they stopped moving and were taken away.
But 9901, 9902, 9903, and 9904 – they are loud babies, strong babies…alive babies.
And Omega is their sister, their big sister, and she helps take care of them when they cry and fuss. Even when they pull her hair or spit up formula on her uniform. Only alive babies pull hair and spit up, so Omega doesn’t mind.
She wishes her brothers had real names, but Nala Se said that they do not require any other form of identification. It would clutter their charts, she said, and would be confusing.
Omega doesn’t think so, but Omega is still little herself, and Nala Se knows far more than her little mind knows yet. Maybe, someday, Omega will know and understand as much as Nala Se; however, for now, she will listen.
Omega does shorten their numbers when she speaks to her brothers. Oh-one, Oh-two, Oh-three, and Oh-four. And, besides, if she says the numbers fast enough, they almost sound like real names.
“Do not get attached, Omega,” Nala Se tells her almost everyday. “They will not be staying in the lab once their enhancements have stabilized.”
Omega tries to follow instructions, but whenever she holds one of the babies in her lap while Nala Se checks their vitals, or when they wrap tiny fingers around her own…the feeling grows and grows and grows. She can’t stop it, that feeling that glows warmly in her chest. Right in the place where Nala Se said her heart is. The heart is a muscle, Nala Se said, and it pumps blood through her whole body. And just like her blood, her heart pumps that wonderful feeling. She doesn’t know the word for it. Nala Se says that feelings are irrelevant to facts.
Facts are important, feelings are obstacles.
So Omega will keep this feeling to herself. She will let it grow when the babies cry loudly and she comforts them. She will let it grow when they smile at her when she makes silly faces at them. She will let it grow when she worries about what will happen when they leave the lab.
She will let it grow when they leave.
And when the feeling is all she has left, because the babies are gone, she will keep it hidden and safe until she finds them again.
Because this feeling, like babies, is loud.
But she thinks it is what it means to feel alive.
And holding onto it even when it hurts is what it means to be strong.
Up Next...
Prompt: Holding Back Tears
Let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list!
Chapters: 1/2
Fandom: White Collar (TV 2009)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Characters: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey
Additional Tags: febuwhump2025, Vocal Cords, Whump, Neal Caffrey Whump, Blood and Injury, like a lot of blood, Slit Throat, can't speak
Series: Part 1 of febuwhump 2025
Summary:
“You don’t want to do this,” Peter said, his voice somehow steady despite the circumstance.
“Don’t tell me what I want,” Vischer snapped, tightening his grip on the knife he had pressed to Neal’s throat.
Neal gets hurt on a job, and the injury interferes with a very important part of his identity.
When Whumpee woke up, lying down on a hard surface, his breath hitched in his throat as he tried to look around. In the dark, feeling like the walls were closing on him, a scream bubbled up in his throat, but only a hoarse whimper escaped his parted lips. He raised his hand, bumping into another wall above him. His breathing quickened, getting more and more hysterical as he realised where he was; some kind of wooden box. A coffin.
Whumpee wheezed, desperately trying to scream, to make some noise, but the only sounds escaping his throat were soft, strangled gasps. He raised a shaky hand to his neck, and immediately withdrew it, a flash of pain coming from his throat.
Whumpee tried to keep his cool. Surely his team was already searching for him, they would be here soon, he just had to be patient. Most importantly, he had to save his air. How long would it take in such a cramped space before he started to suffocate ? Long enough, he hoped. So he focused on taking slow, deep breaths, feeling his pulse slow down.
Hours went by, slowly. He faded in and out of consciousness, each time struggling more and more to breathe. It felt like the air was heavy, and it was as if he had to fight for each inhalation. Whumpee had never been one to give up easily, but he couldn't help but think that this was the end. He was gonna suffocate in this hellhole, alone and silent.
Suddenly, a noise reached him. Sound, finally. Footsteps, far away, as if several feet above him; but echoing like detonations in the silence. Voices too, even if they were too muffled for him to make out words, whumpee could've sworn they were his friends'. They had found him, they were coming, and the man allowed hope to wash over him again.
He waited. Each breath more shuddering than the previous. Why were they taking so long ? He didn't know where exactly whumper had locked him up, but surely a coffin was noticeable enough? Maybe he was in a basement, and the door was locked. It had to be that; and his team must be looking for a key, or something.
Silence fell. No more footsteps. Whumpee tried to stay calm, but his breathing was turning frantic again, as he struggled to draw in enough air. They were leaving. They were leaving. He opened his mouth in a muted scream, as he was left in the silence again.
idk who needs to hear this but I keep seeing people comment that someone is trans/looks trans 💀 because they have an Adam's apple. So in the spirit of education, this is a PSA:
The Adam’s apple, technically called the laryngeal prominence, is a protrusion of cartilage in the throat that surrounds and protects the larynx (or voice box). Its primary function is to protect the vocal cords, which are essential for speaking and breathing. The prominence of the Adam's apple also affects voice depth and pitch to some extent.
Both men and women have an Adam’s apple, but it is typically more prominent in men due to the effects of testosterone during puberty. This hormone stimulates the growth and thickening of the larynx, resulting in a deeper voice and a larger, more visible Adam's apple in men. In women, the growth is generally less pronounced, making the laryngeal prominence smaller or less noticeable.
Other conditions or anatomical features in the neck area can resemble an Adam’s apple. For example:
Swollen Thyroid Gland (Goiter): The thyroid gland, located just below the Adam's apple, can enlarge and resemble or even obscure the laryngeal prominence if it becomes swollen or develops nodules.
Lymph Node Swelling: Enlarged lymph nodes due to infections or other conditions can also cause noticeable lumps in the neck that may appear near the Adam’s apple area.
Cysts or Growths: Thyroglossal duct cysts, benign growths, or other anatomical anomalies can present as lumps near the laryngeal prominence.
TLDR; Comments like the above reflect a common misconception that the Adam's apple is exclusive to men or that it's a definitive marker of someone's sex/gender. The truth is that everyone has an Adam’s apple; it’s just often more prominent in men due to how testosterone affects the larynx during puberty. For some women, especially those with a naturally larger or thicker larynx, it can also be visible, and some men have less prominent Adam’s apples as well.
Unfortunately, this idea that a visible Adam’s apple signals something about gender identity is rooted in oversimplified, outdated stereotypes. It’s best to remember that bodies naturally vary, and visible anatomical features don't define someone's gender identity or journey.
CW: Lady whumpee, kidnapping, obsessive fan, cautivery, bound and gagged.
A/N: These characters are from this and this posts.
"Please, let me go."
Witch noticed how her voice broke, even as she made her best effort to sound brave, despite knowing deep down that she was terrified.
"There are still three songs left before the concert is over," the fan replied, pointing at the screen where the karaoke video was paused.
"Please... I'm tired, my throat can't take it anymore."
Witch brought her hands to her neck, almost visualizing her exhausted vocal cords after hours and hours of singing the same song. Her wrists were tied together in front of her with zip ties, and a chain around her ankle kept her secured to the basement wall.
Just a day ago, she had finished her second official concert with her band, Queendom. It had been so wonderful to see the seats filling up more and more, to watch people attending their events with enthusiasm, taking pictures, singing along, dancing, and cheering with excitement.
After the concert, Witch had stayed behind to chat a little longer with a group of fans, even after Knight had already told her it was late and that it was best to say goodbye and return to the hotel.
"Just a little longer," Witch insisted, her large dark eyes mimicking the adorable gaze of a puppy, hoping to convince her leader.
"Fine, but only for a few more minutes," Knight had said before leaving with the other three members.
As time passed, the venue started to empty. Witch was saying goodbye to the last few fans near the stage when a young man wearing a surgical mask and a cap approached her.
"Your voice is simply captivating," he said.
"Thank you so much!" Witch replied proudly. She wasn’t one to boast, but there was a reason she was Queendom's lead vocalist.
"I want you to sing me a song," the young man said.
"Oh, I'm sorry, but it's already late, and I have to go."
Witch believed she had been polite, she always tried to be. That’s why she was caught off guard when, as she turned around, a thick cloth was pressed over her nose and mouth. She tried to run and scream, but the strong grip prevented her from escaping, and soon, the intense scent began clouding her senses. She felt herself being dragged. She heard the sound of a car door opening and closing, and then, everything went dark.
And now, here she was.
"Sing," the fan ordered in a severe tone.
Witch choked back a sob and began singing once again, following the melody of the song. Luckily, it wasn’t one of Queendom’s songs but an old track from a girl group from years ago. She felt her throat pleading for rest, finding it harder and more painful to hit the high notes. She could almost see her vocal cords stretching and trembling, overstrained.
At first, her captor had acted excited, as if he was genuinely enjoying a private concert from his favorite artist. But as the hours dragged on and Witch became more consumed by exhaustion and fear, the young man’s demeanor changed; he started watching her with something that resembled disappointment.
Witch wanted to cry. She wanted to go back to her group. The song on the screen was about to start again, continuing that infernal loop, when suddenly, noises came from upstairs. At first, they sounded like a single person’s footsteps, but then there were more. And then, she heard voices calling a name.
It was Princess and Arlecchino. Her friends. They had come for her.
"I'm here—!" Witch tried to scream, but a figure behind her suddenly covered her mouth.
"Shit," she heard the young man curse under his breath.
Witch struggled, trying to call out to her friends. Her throat burned, forced to make noise, but she still kept going.
"Shut up," a voice hissed in her ear.
Suddenly, a wad of cloth was shoved into her mouth. Before she could react, she heard the telltale sound of duct tape unrolling. Within seconds, it was pressed over her lips, wrapped around her head multiple times, flattening her fluffy hair. Even with her hands tied in front of her, Witch couldn’t remove the gag, which turned her already weak cries into nothing more than muffled sobs.
"No one will interrupt my concert," the fan said, shoving Witch into a corner and heading toward the stairs. From his pocket, he pulled out a taser, gripping it as if it were a knife.
Witch screamed and screamed, desperately trying to warn her friends of the danger. She felt her vocal cords tearing with every sound, straining and burning with each breath, while the dryness and pain became unbearable. Her voice weakened from exhaustion, becoming more and more hoarse. By now, rivers of tears were streaming down her face, soaking her skin.
Suddenly, the basement door burst open with a loud bang.
The girl trembled, curling up in the corner, terrified of seeing the masked face of her captor again. But instead, she saw a head of pink hair—and then Princess’s face.
"Witch!"
Suddenly, all four of her friends were there, freeing her from her restraints.
Witch didn’t know when it happened, but at some point, she found herself clinging tightly to Knight’s sweater, sobbing into her chest.
"Are you hurt?" Alchemist asked gently, wiping away the youngest member’s tears and scanning her face and body for any injuries.
"I'm fine..." Witch’s voice was barely a whisper. Her throat burned and ached just from taking a breath.
"Let’s go," Knight said firmly, helping Witch to her feet and letting her lean on her to walk. Witch opened her mouth to ask something, but Alchemist interrupted her upon noticing.
"The bad guy is neutralized. The police will take care of the rest. We’re leaving."
"Yes, we need to get back quickly so you can rest and recover," Arlecchino added.
"Don’t strain your vocal cords. Everything will be okay," Princess reassured her.
Suddenly, Witch felt so much better. Her band—her friends—were always there to protect her. And she felt incredibly lucky to have such wonderful girls watching her back. Girls who, without needing to say it out loud, would do anything to make sure she was okay.
The girls are back!!! This was really fun to write. If you have more ideas of how to whump these girl, I´m all ears, and if you read this, lot of thanks!
“Th-hh’nk you…” As he accepted the cup of elm tea Don offered, Leo’s whisper rasped and crackled like dead leaves, his face twisting in equal discomfort and frustration. Was a simple thank-you really such a strain?
With a Hun-sized handprint wrapped in mottled purple around his throat, it was.
“You’re welcome. Now shush. Doctor’s orders are a vow of silence until this swelling comes down,” Don murmured as he pressed towel-wrapped ice packs under his chin, briefly brushing his thumb against his brother’s puffy pulse point.
One more squeeze and they could have lost a lot more than Leo’s voice.
Lex Luthor’s face filled Lois’s field of vision, a mad light in his eyes as he plunged the hypodermic needle into her neck…
…and the unborn scream died in her throat even as she struggled to call for help.
Superman would come. If he was alive, then Superman always came, and Lois Lane knew that without a doubt. Every time she screamed his name, he was there.
But this time there was no scream.
Lex’s eyes grew triumphantly brighter. His death-grip on her jaw loosened enough that she could pull herself away, falling backwards against the lead-lined wall of his underground lair, one hand pressed to the spot where the needle had gone in. She struggled again to call for help, but the best that she could do was a ragged gasp.
“Trying to call your heroic boy in blue?” Lex mocked, casually inspecting the hypodermic in his hand. “Tsk tsk, Lois, you’re smarter than that.”
“What have you done?” she tried to ask, but her lips shaped the words with no sound behind them.
“This? Oh, just a little something I whipped up.” Lex brandished the needle carelessly, producing a gun with his other hand to keep her at bay. “I’ve paralyzed your vocal cords, my dear. Try to scream all you like, but Superman–” he spat the name with distaste “–will never hear your voice again.”
In that moment, the cold fear drenching Lois to the bone was like nothing she’d ever felt before.
Superman would be looking for her, that much she knew. But in this lead-lined lair with no voice, no way to wield the words that had always been her weapons, no way to call for the one person who she knew would never fail her—
