Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Jack Abbot/Michael “Robby” Robinavitch
Characters: Jack Abbot (The Pitt), Michael “Robby” Robinavitch
Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Established Relationship, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Trauma, Terminal Illnesses, Hurt Jack Abbot (The Pitt), i’m putting this man on o2 for life and no one can stop me, mini bang/art included
Summary:
This could kill Jack. Robby had read the studies, had run the full research gamut as soon as he got home the day he found out. He knew the risks, and they were extremely high. Just shy of a death sentence.
But the alternative… Robby couldn’t bear to think of it, merely sidestepped it in his mind like it was a black, gaping chasm that he didn’t have the guts to peer into. He wasn’t ready. They weren’t ready, he thought.
I watched Joseph: King of dreams when I was younger, and I have never been the same about scrubbing floors since.
Content: Child whumpee, demon caretaker, whumpee thinks he's still a slave, blisters and hand sores, lost in a delusion born out of fear, recovery whump
................................................
Souka woke in the dark. He was warm and comfortable. For a long moment he didn’t know why he had woken up, but a creeping strangeness pacing at the back of his mind kept him from going back to sleep.
Why was he so comfortable? Whatever he was laying on was so soft, nothing like the floors or hay stuffed sacks he was used to sleeping on. He wasn’t allowed on anything this nice. He was just a slave. He knew that.
He looked around the room, his chest tightening to see if he had been caught. He slowly peeled the blankets off and got off the bed as quietly as he could, his heart thumping. He wasn’t allowed to be on something so nice. He knew he wasn’t.
He laid down in the corner, shivering as his sleep warmed body was now faced with the exposed air. He hoped daylight would come soon. As he laid there on the floor he kept thinking someone would come in and see what he had done. They’d beat him for hours, surely, to remind him of his place.
He got up and quickly made the bed, pinching the blankets to try not to leave any dirt on them. He knew how dirty he usually was. Still, he was probably leaving signs of what he had done as he went. Now they would know he was trying to hide that he had been in the bed.
Tears streamed silently down his face as he went back to laying on the floor, shivering as he wrapped his arms around his stomach.
He needed to do something. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep and he couldn’t wait for morning. Sometimes he got praise for working through the night, so perhaps if he did so he would be forgiven for sleeping in the bed.
Souka got up and, in a daze, left the room he was in. The door wasn’t locked.
He saw no one as he found a floor covered in some form of tile. He didn’t quite know how, but he soon had a wet rag in hand, a bucket of water by his side, and he scrubbed the floor like his life depended on it. With his luck, it might.
He wished he could remember where Ichimaru was, but everytime he tried to remember, more tears spilled down his face and his already limited night vision would vanish. He pushed all thoughts out of his mind and scrubbed. He ignored his aching knuckles, the sores already forming from the cold water and the mindless scrubbing, and just put all his energy into this one mind numbing task, desperately hoping the pain in his chest and behind his eyes would go away.
………………………………
Rowan paused to take a note of something to look up later when he heard something. He froze, ears ringing as he listened carefully. Someone was moving upstairs, something with small lungs and hiccuping breaths.
Rowan didn’t sleep much since he became a demon. He sat and read through some papers for an upcoming mission. He liked spending his sleepless nights reading the reports and then sharing all of the information he gathered with the others through the bond when it came time. It was a good use of time and the others had a tendency to do things for him as thank you.
He got up quickly, heading upstairs to see what was wrong. He didn’t spot the newest addition to the household at first, but he found that the floor was wet under his bare feet in the kitchen and dining room and finally found the small boy working by the kitchen island, scrubbing hard as hiccupping sobs bubbled out of a permanently damaged throat.
Souka flinched back, his lips moving and sounds escaping his throat, but there were panicked whispers and rasps soon muffled as he threw his arms over his face to protect himself.
“Souka?” Rowan asked softly, approaching slowly so as to not scare the boy.
Rowan hesitated before grabbing another rag and getting onto the floor, dipping his rag in the bucket and scrubbing.
Souka moved his arms, watching him with a far away gaze before he went back to cleaning the floor like nothing happened.
It wasn’t until they finished the floor that Souka seemed to shake out of it. Rowan stood up to dump the buckets in the sink, turning around to see Souka staring at him, eyes wide. He looked around, as though waking from a dream. Perhaps he was.
Rowan sighed softly. Souka was really gone, then, if he thought Rowan was a fellow slave. Still, Rowan would rather pretend to be a slave than have Souka think he was a master. The boy had been through enough as it was.
He looked down at his reddened hands, blisters already popped and even bleeding in places.
Rowan set the bucket aside and knelt beside him, taking his hands to look. Souka trembled under his touch and Rowan hushed him, running a hand through the boy’s long hair. “You’re safe now, remember?” Rowan asked gently.
Souka nodded, tears welling up in his eyes and Rowan helped him up, setting him on a stool at the island before getting him a cup of water.
Souka grabbed Rowan’s shirt and Rowan leaned in, putting his ear near Souka’s mouth. His voice was too damaged to speak, but he could still somewhat whisper. “Sorry. You have been ge-generous. I know… I’m safe. I didn’t mean to-”
“It’s okay, Souka,” Rowan said, putting the cup in the boy’s hands. “It’s okay to still be scared. It was all you knew. Drink that water and we’ll bandage your hands.”
“I don’ want her to know,'' Souka managed in a hoarse whisper. “It would m-make her sa-sad.”
Rowan sighed, running a hand through his hair. It would make Isha sad to know that Souka had been desperately cleaning the floors at who knows what hour. “I won’t tell her. Nobody needs to know. Now, drink the water, and we’ll clean up your hands and I’ll make sure you get to sleep in.”
The Need of Malfoy Men to Please Their Fathers Was Not Only Pathological, It Was Magical
((Content warning: Child abuse, mind control / conditioning, chid whumpee, domination ))
((Promptspiration:
@week-of-whump 2023: October 13:
Child Whump
the idea of this Au backstory is @thebestieyoureinlovewith's (here) With apologies; I think I made the parents a little darker than intended...))
Whumpee: Draco
Whumper: Lucius
Caretaker: --
Whump type: Mental / Domination
Fic type: Weird AU (Malfoy Blood Magic)
((words: ~1000))
------------------------------------
Narcissa dragged the crying, uncooperative boy into the study by the arm, tugging firmly when he squirmed yet again and redoubled his sobbing, digging in his feet on the carpet.
"Lucius, if you're going to punish him," she gritted out between her teeth, "you deal with it."
Lucius glanced up mildly from his papers. "Just leave him in his room."
"If that worked, I would have done it," she snapped. "It has been three hours. Either let him go or keep him yourself." She pushed Draco up beside the desk. He squirmed in her hands to try to turn away, but she held him firmly.
The look he gave her was indulgent; he didn't think this was necessary, but if she was demanding it... He turned toward the end of the desk and crossed his legs. "Draco."
Draco faced him with his head hanging, refusing to look, clumsy hands clutching and yanking at the front of his shirt, still sobbing. There were no actual tears, of course; he'd been 'crying' so long that he'd used them all up, and left just the emotion and the noise.
"Draco," he repeated severely, and the boy squirmed his face away into his shoulder. "Why are you crying?"
He yanked hard on his clothes. "It hurts!" he yelled.
"No, it doesn't," he corrected patiently. The boy didn't really have the words; he wasn't quite four, so it was reasonable, he supposed. A little disappointing, though. "It feels bad. That isn't pain."
"No! It hurts!"
"Are you talking back to me?"
Draco flinched and sobbed harder.
Lucius tapped his foot lightly. Draco squirmed to resist and when he figured out he couldn't, that his mother was still blocking him from running away, he flung himself down on the floor at his father's feet with a petulant sob.
"Why does it feel bad?"
"Because you're mad at me!" he wailed. Above him, Narcissa pressed her eyes closed and took a deep, sharp breath, rubbing her temple.
"No, I am not," he corrected calmly. "If I were angry with you, it would be pain." Not intentionally, of course; it wasn't as though he would be, say, Crucioing him. But the magic that bound them together responded to emotion. "I am disappointed."
"I'm sorry!"
"Don't beg," he said coolly. "You are a Malfoy." His disapproval naturally heightened the unpleasant feeling playing through Draco's nerves, and the boy shrieked and kicked at the floor.
"Lucius," Narcissa said tightly. "This is unbearable. You should have either activated this curse years ago, or waited until he was old enough to be reasonable."
"It isn't a curse," he said mildly.
"It is a curse to me," she snapped. "This is not 'handling it'."
"You have to be patient. It is a process. Draco." The boy flinched at the sound of his name, and he didn't care for that. "Look at me."
Draco shook his head wildly. Lucius patiently put his foot out to stop the motion of his head, then when he got him still, laid his toe under his chin and turned his face up to make him look. "Good," he said, the mildest of praise. "That feels better, doesn't it?"
"No," he sniffled petulantly.
"Yes, it does," he corrected. He knew it did; Draco was hardly the first Malfoy boy to be bound by this spell. It had existed in their family so long it wasn't even really a spell, per se, but some of that 'old magic' that seemed built into the fabric of the world. He knew exactly how Draco felt. But Draco was such a stubborn and wildly emotional child who seemed to revel in his sulking, he wouldn't even admit to relief. "Do you know why it feels better?"
"No..."
"Because you did as I said. Do you understand?"
Draco sniffled without responding.
"Do something I don't like..." he prompted.
He squirmed and tried to take his head back, but Lucius kept his foot under his jaw so he couldn't. "It feels bad," Draco finally said in a small voice.
"Good. And to feel better..."
"Do as you say..."
"Correct." He took his foot back. "If you ever manage to please me, it will feel good." It wasn't easy to obtain, but the feel of your father's pride was intoxicating. They'd see if Draco ever managed it.
Draco sat down firmly on his butt and sniffled again.
Lucius tapped the floor with his foot again for his attention. "What do I want you to do?"
"I don't know," he sniffled petulantly.
"I told you."
"I don't know!"
Well, he was young. He supposed he couldn't hold too many things in his mind for that long. "I want you to thank me properly."
It was a classic test. Moreover, it was a highly effective trial, for them. Malfoy boys were so proud -- as they should be, of course -- that they had to really commit to do any such thing. It helped them understand their place, and effectively demonstrated the possible rewards for doing what their father wanted instead of what their instincts were telling them.
Draco yanked at his shirt again, looking up at him with big, wet eyes.
"Say 'thank you'."
"Thank you..." Draco echoed.
"'Sir'."
"Sir." He tapped his foot on the carpet, and Draco looked at it, then back up at him. "Thank you, sir?" he repeated tenatively.
He didn't need to smile at that; the way Draco gasped when the unpleasant feeling abruptly transmuted to a good, warming tingle that couldn't properly be described said it all. The sobbing and sniffling stopped as suddenly as if they were an act he forgot he was putting on.
He was actually surprised, himself, at how satisfying it felt to be on the receiving end of that submission. He wondered for the first time if perhaps the ancient magic went both ways.
"Finally," Narcissa sighed. "I am going to have a nap. Don't make him cry again if you can help it."
"I doubt you have to worry." He turned back to his desk, and glanced down at Draco. He was looking up at him now with a sort of wonder. "You can stay," he said magnanimously.
Thanks a lot @week-of-whump for organising this fun event. Here is a list of all my works for the prompts. If you are interested in reading some of it, you can find the stories in my Ao3 collection:
My contribution to @tarlosweeklyprompts whump week for the prompt Adoption Falling Through. I’m also using this as a fill for @badthingshappenbingo Crying Themselves to Sleep.
Word Count: 1376
Warnings: The prompt says it all; but in this fic TK and Carlos deal with a failed adoption attempt.
This fic has been in the works for a while, but whump week finally gave me the motivation to finish it. T- thank you for the beta! I appreciate you taking the time to make this fic as angsty as possible! hahaha.
***
Carlos lets out a heavy sigh, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white. The car seat sits empty in the back, a reminder of everything that should have been and everything they had lost, again. Every time Carlos catches a glimpse of it in the mirror, he thinks he’s going to be sick. TK has been oddly silent on the drive home from the hospital which has been both a blessing and a curse.
He knows that TK is restless. He can see it in the anxious way he moves, tapping his foot against the floorboard and gnawing on the strings of his hoodie, hands twisting in his lap instead of one sitting comfortably in Carlos’ like normal
Carlos desperately wishes he knew what to say that could fix this. Something that could make him feel okay about this awful situation they are in, but with Carlos feeling the same, heavy sadness, how could he when he still felt so empty himself?
Carlos pulls the car into the driveway and kills the ignition. “Look, TK-”
He fights back tears as TK opens the door and climbs out of the car. TK slams the door a little harder than necessary and Carlos sighs and worries that TK’s going to make them wallow in their pain without the other to lean on - before he realizes TK is waiting for him.
He slides out of the car and makes his way to his husband. TK reaches for his hand, grabbing it tightly like it’s a lifeline, and together they make their way up the walkway. He squeezes Carlos’ hand as they walk, a silent I love you. I need you.
Carlos is prepared for TK to head straight to bed when they get inside. He is not prepared, however, to be greeted at his front door by his parents and Owen, presenting gifts and looking every part of the Proud Grandparents.
TK takes one look around the impromptu party, face falling even more, and freezes for just a second before making a beeline for the stairs. Carlos watches helplessly as TK takes the stairs two at a time and then disappears, slamming the door behind him. He winces as the sound echoes in the now silent space, itching to join TK and hide from the world.
He starts to follow and then stops, turning to face all three of their parents. “I’m sorry,” he says automatically.
“Carlitos… what happened?” Andrea asks and pulls him in close, wrapping him in a hug.
“I don’t want to talk about it right now. I- we just- I’m sorry, I need to go.”
“Of course. Go be with TK,” Andrea says. “We’ll clean up here and let ourselves out,” she offers as she presses a gentle kiss to her son’s cheek.
“Thank you.” Carlos hurries up the stairs without looking back.
“TK, baby?” Carlos pushes open the door and finds TK curled up under their blankets, holding a stuffed bumble bee that should have belonged to their daughter.
“I…can’t do this again.” TK’s words feel like a punch to the gut and Carlos tries to fight against the nausea as the reality of what TK said sinks in. He doesn’t blame TK for feeling this way, but he also wishes he didn’t. They still have a chance to have the family they want.
Carlos swallows hard, “TK, we don’t have to make any decisions right now. Everything is still so fresh and-”
TK shakes his head. “Carlos, I’m sorry. But I can’t.” He looks down, unable to meet Carlos’ gaze.
“TK, sweetheart, I…” Carlos pulls TK close and nods. He rubs TK’s back and presses a kiss to his crown. He can feel TK’s tears soak into his shirt. He wants to cry too, to mourn the family he’ll never have but TK needs him right now, so he stays silent.
“Yeah, okay, I understand,” Carlos says finally. He doesn’t understand, but he’s already watched TK’s heart shatter and he’ll do anything to make sure it doesn’t happen again. He wouldn’t put TK through this pain again if TK didn’t want to try. His husband’s mental health and happiness meant more to him right now than any could be family they would have.
Eventually TK’s sobs quiet to hiccups and soon he drifts off into, what Carlos assumes will be, a fitful sleep.
Carlos slips out of bed and makes his way toward the staircase. The door to the nursery is cracked and he pauses in the doorway, leaning heavily against the door frame.
The room is stuffed full of everything they would have needed for the new baby. Some stuff was new, some things were hand-me-downs. Carlos wasn’t even sure what was in all the boxes. He knew one thing, however, every item in that room was gifted with so much love.
He sighs, defeated. Numb. He wants to be angry; he wants to be able to blame someone. But instead, there’s the empty hollowness of his dreams slipping through his fingertips. His stomach flips and he feels nauseous again; his heart pounds as he thinks about all they need to do to turn the nursery back into a functional guest room.
Carlos turns and, against his better judgment, sends his fist flying into the door jamb. He regrets it almost immediately; pain explodes in his hand and radiates into his wrist and arm, but it doesn’t compare to the pain in his heart.
“Damn it,” he mutters. There’s a red smear from where the skin on his knuckles split upon impact and it’s already starting to swell.
Carlos slams the door behind him and hurries to the staircase, putting as much distance as he can between himself and the room.
He grabs an ice pack from the freezer and drops into a chair gingerly placing the ice pack over his throbbing knuckles. He stares at the wound, wishing that it could be the thing that helps him forget the sorrow that’s taken root in his heart. He would give anything to feel something other than the heartache that he knows will stick with him for weeks, if not months.
He nearly jumps out of the chair when he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Let me see,” TK urges.
“It’s fine. I promise there’s no hole in the wall.”
“I’m more worried about your hand,” TK tells him, holding out his hand. “Come on.”
Carlos takes TK’s hand in his and lets TK lead him to the bathroom. He closes the toilet lid and sits. TK takes a peek at his hand and then rummages around in the cabinet for their first aid kit.
He’s silent as he digs through the overly-stuffed plastic box and starts setting supplies aside.
“I’m sorry, TK, you shouldn’t have to take care of me right now.”
“That’s what we do. Take care of each other,” TK says simply.
Carlos watches silently as TK cleans and bandages his wounds, then pokes at his hand a bit. Carlos winces when he hits a tender spot.
“Sorry, babe. You’re lucky, I don’t think anything’s broken. You’ll just be sore for a bit. But definitely keep some ice on it to keep the swelling down.”
“Okay,” Carlos says meekly. TK hands back the partially melted ice pack and Carlos holds it against his hand.
“You know, I-”
“TK, I know you’re hurting right now. And I’m sorry. I’d do anything to make this better. But please don’t give up on us.”
“Baby, I’m not giving up on us. Look, Carlos, we’ve only been married a couple of years. Let’s just enjoy this, enjoy us. And then, in a few years, maybe we can try again?”
Carlos nods, slowly, “So you’re not saying no?”
“I’m not saying no,” TK promises. “And if an opportunity arises in the meantime, we’ll revisit this, okay?”
Carlos lets out a tiny snort. “What, you think a kid is just going to drop into our lap?”
“You never know,” TK says. “Now, come on. You probably need some fresh ice. And I think I need some junk food.”
Carlos shakes his head and reaches for TK, pulling his husband down onto his lap. “All I need is you.”
***Bedside vigil***
For day 2 of the witcher whump week
software: Source Filmmaker, Valve Corporation
models source: Horsey, on sfmlab; (ShittyHorsey on deviantart)
Lance was used to being sick. Growing up with all those younger siblings made him a victim of many colds, flus, and stomach bugs. He considered himself a master at illness. Or so he thought. Lance was jerked awake by his alarm that sat on the dresser beside his bed. It sounded as if it were underwater. When Lance raised up to turn it off, he knew immediately that something was wrong. His ears were ringing, echoing in his head and wincing at the noise. He also had this deep ache throughout his entire body, even his bones ached. As Lance shook his head to try to clear the ringing, a wave of nausea hit him. Lance was familiar with vomiting. It always happened in a process. First, his palms and forehead would become clammy. Second, his stomach would cramp as if someone was tying it in a knot. Third, he would get this coppery metal taste in his mouth like he had a mouthful of pennies. And that's what he felt right now. He swallowed hard, trying to keep the saliva and bile down. He couldn't be sick. Not today! The team was supposed to be going over new strategies and then train. He promised Keith that he would fight hand-to-hand combat with him so he wouldn't have to use a droid again. And Lance wasn't the type to go back on a promise. His mama raised him better than that. ~~~~~ "Lance! Did you hear what I just said? This is the second time you've fell asleep! This is important information that you all need to know!" Lance swallows thickly and nodded at Allura. This was a bad idea. Lance was trying, really, but he was just so exhausted. His eyelids weighted a ton, and he couldn't keep them up. His hair was stuck to his pale forehead with sweat, but he was still shivering. Shiro sent him a concerned glance, but Lance waved it off. He wouldn't be seen as weak. He wanted to prove his worth to the team, that he was strong. He wasn't going to let the team down, so he made himself focus on Allura's blurring figure as she continued. ~~~~~ When the time for training to come around, Lance was worse. It hurt to move his limbs, too sudden movement made him nauseous, and the was a sharp pain behind his eyes that continuously throbbed, his head feeling like it was going to explode. "Hey, Lance! Are you ready to train?" Lance blinked at Keith, trying to process what he had just said. "Uh..Lance?" Lance blinked a few more times before coming to his senses. "O-Oh! Yeah, let's do this! Eager to get your butt kicked?" Keith stared at Lance, noticing something was off, but brushed it off. Lance was always acting weird, so he didn't think too much about it. "In your dreams, Lance." They made their way to the training room and faces each other, braced into crouched stances. Lance tried to focus, but it was like fog was inside his head, and there were suddenly three other Keiths in front of him. He vaugly hears Keith say something and before he can say 'what' Lance is on the ground. His head hit the floor and stars formed behind his eyes. "Oh my god, Lance?!" Keith reached down from him, but Lance pushed him away. He tasted pennies. Fumbling to get on his hands and knees, Lance tried to crawl away, but his stomach suddenly twisted, and Lance couldn't hold back. Retching loudly, tears streamed down his face as he violently brought up lunch and breakfast. Even after his stomach was empty, he continued to retch, tears streaming down his face. He begged for it to stop, he couldn't breathe. He could hear Keith shouting, but he couldn't focus, couldn't hear. When he felt like he was going to pass out, his stomach finally eased. Lance crumpled to the ground and could barely feel the hands that was on his face. Lance closed his eyes tightly, tears still streaming as he took in ragged, greedy breaths, and shivering uncontrollably. Then the hands were gone. Lance didn't know how long he laid there. It could've been hours for all he knew. But then he felt someone pick him up. He heard Shiro's voice. "Lance? Are you okay?" Lance just groaned and squeezed his eyes tighter. " Come on Keith, let's take him back to his bed and ask Allura what we should do." As Shiro walked, the rocking made Lance sleepy, which he gladly welcomed. "He should've said something to us. What if we were in the middle of a mission or a battle? Lance would pretty much just get in the way!" Keith whispered. Lance was ashamed that he was so weak, especially in front of Keith and Shiro. Lance just wanted to prove that he belonged as a part of Voltron, that the team can count on him. Lance's last thought before he let sleep consume him was that the only thing the team could count on him to do was let them down.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 2/7
Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Characters: Shiro (Voltron), Keith (Voltron), Pidge | Katie Holt, Hunk (Voltron), Lance (Voltron), Allura (Voltron), Coran (Voltron)
Additional Tags: Slight hint at Sheith, But easily ignorable, possibly graphic violence, I'm hurting my babies, WhumpWeek2k17
Series: Part 1 of Voltron Weeks!
Summary:
So my wonderful friends created Whump Week and I decided to contribute my bit. A bit late coming off the bus but I'm here and I'm ready to WHUMP (and cry)
