I wanted to end the planned prompts for @whumpmasinjuly on something sweet, maybe a little sad. Just pure angsty sweetness between Emmett and Faye and baby August, I don’t know how else to describe it, and I won’t give any more than that away. Not whumpy, but I hope you enjoy!
Emmett’s Master List
Tags: @lave-whump, @highwaywhump, @pebbledriscoll @whumpinggrounds (Let me know if you’d like added or removed from the tag list)
cw: bbu general warning; referenced conditioning and training.
~*~*~
“How do I..?” Emmett struggled for words. it was as if the small bundle in Faye’s arms kept stealing them away from him. Every time he opened his mouth, the words dried upon his tongue. They jammed in his throat, his brain deciding they weren’t adequate for the moment.
Faye smiled at him, exhausted. “Hold him?”
Emmett nodded, coming to sit at the edge of the hospital bed. He let Faye quietly arrange his arms and hands, then rested the baby in them. She moved his hands, his fingers, and then sat back against the bed, satisfied.
“Thank you,” he managed in a frail voice.
Faye smiled gently, her eyelids drooping. “Of course, dear.”
He smiled at her for a moment, then all his attention was pulled back to the baby in his arms. Their baby. His baby. He was breathless, complimenting the speechlessness. He laughed under his breath, thinking about how he hadn’t been trained for this. This kind of care was not built into him. He knew in his gut that it would not come naturally, let alone easily, and the mountains of unknown still left to uncover shook him.
The weight of August’s small body in his arms made him want to try. The exhausted but elated shine in Faye’s sleepy eyes reassured him.
He wished he had brought his sketchbook. It had been left behind, resting on the kitchen table. Drawing was the quickest relief for his nerves. The swirl of emotions inside of him was cacophonous, echoing against his skull and ringing in his ears. His fingers itched for his pencils. There were too many small moments he needed to preserve on paper, right this second before they faded from memory.
“Hard to believe we were ever so little,” Faye murmured. Her eyes had finally closed, head tilted to the left. Her dark hair was spread over the sheets in a tangled fan.
“It is.”
Emmett cracked a smile -- she would be terribly upset to know how it looked right then. He wanted to take her picture. Not because he wanted her to see or because she looked especially beautiful. In fact, that wouldn’t be the word he would use to describe the woman he loved at that moment. No, he wanted her picture then because she finally seemed at peace. After months of seeing her in a thousand other states, here she was, resting.
“Faye?”
“Hmm?”
“Can I keep holding him?” He ran gentle fingers over August’s sleeping face, still pinkish and squished with newness. Emmett knew the question was childish, silly sounding. He knew the answer, but he was compelled to ask. Compelled to get all the uncertainty out of him before her sisters and father arrived in an hour or so. For now, it was just him and her and August in the blanket of very early morning.
“Em?” Faye’s eyes had opened again, were locked on his face. Emmett felt himself still and tense underneath them, but forced it down. He let out a steadying breath; she could call him that. She wouldn’t use it to hurt him. She would only ever say it with love. “You can hold him as long as you like. He’s yours.”
“I can?” The words fell from his lips before he could think better of it. He coughed and tucked his head back to August, suddenly ashamed of himself. It was disquieting sometimes how easily he could lay himself bare before her. “Sorry, forget that. I know I can.”
“Em? Could you look at me?”
He did, not wanting to avoid her.
She held out a hand for him on the blankets.
He swallowed. “I don’t. I don’t know how-. I don’t think I can hold him with one hand, Faye.”
Faye nodded and pushed herself upright. She winced, letting out a slow breath. She twisted her hair at the base of her neck and leaned forward to kiss him. Emmett met her, still holding August close to him. When she pulled away, one of her hands rested against Emmett’s neck, the other was on top of August’s head, fingers smoothing his sparse dark hair.
“I don’t have anything important to say,” Faye said finally, her eyes lingering on August’s face. “But you need to know you don’t need to ask me permission. He’s your son, just as much as he is mine.”
“I know.”
“Are you telling me what I want to hear, Em?”
“No,” Emmett answers. He fumbled to thread together his tumbling thoughts into words, then a sentence, something comprehensible and meaningful. He doesn’t believe he gets the hang of it, all of the pieces feeling like near misses that he hopes she’ll grasp. She had always done it before. “I know I don’t need to ask. And I know he’s mine. Your family would hardly let me forget it.”
“Oh, Em-.”
“I’m not sure what to do or what to think right now.” Emmett sighed and shifted a hand so his fingers would touch her’s. “He’s a funny thing isn’t he? Small, totally new. He’ll be so much, it’s dizzying. He’ll never know what I used to be. All of that, he won’t ever know. He won’t know why I don’t have a family like yours, where all the little marks on my arms came from, what I was to... Well, that I ever belonged to someone.”
Faye didn’t reply, but he could feel her “patient eyes” on him. The expression she would wear when she worked, urging them and now him to say all of what was in his head and then more. So he did.
“Part of me wants him to know. I mean, he might ask some day. There are things we can’t shield entirely. And I don’t want to worry about that day, but I know I can’t and I won’t.” Emmett exhaled. “I want it to stay just like this for a while. Just us. I like that there are three of us now.”
“You do?”
“I do. It feels right, complete. Holding him now.”
Faye laughed softly. “I was just thinking. It’s odd seeing him when I could only feel him until a few hours ago.”
“I can only imagine,” Emmett smiled.
“Strange. But good.” Faye kissed his cheek, then his nose. “I like seeing you hold him.”
“You do?”
“Mhmm. I’ve never seen you look so hopeful before.”
What had they done? Villain never meant to go this far - they just wanted to stop hero. But this - this was never supposed to happen. Villain sobbed while starring down on the lifeless body crushed after a fall way too high to survive it. They just wanted to stop them so Supervillain could carry out their plan.
Slowly Villain sank on their knees next to Hero and let their hands hang over Hero´s broken body still afraid to touch them. The first tear dropped down on Hero´s face.
They never wanted this, they never wanted this, they never wanted this. They were dead and they won´t come back - never. Villain´s head spun and finally they touched Hero´s face. It was still warm under their hands and ignoring all the blood Hero could just be sleeping.
Villain thought about their smile and how passionate they were about defending and saving people. Villain remembered how gentle Hero had been and how everybody had loved them. And Villain - Villain just ended the life that meant the most to them.
They felt sick and they crawled away to empty their stomach in the corner. Then they screamed and screamed and screamed, until their throat felt horse and they had no energy left to be angry at themselves or Supervillain or the whole god damn world.
Villain dragged themself back and pulled Hero into their lap not caring about the blood that stained their skin and their clothes. Villain just sat there the dead body that once had been Hero in their arms and cried silently.
"Hero?" Villain heard a voice. They didn´t know how much time had passed but Hero´s body was cold and Villain couldn´t feel their fingers anymore. They had stopped crying hours ago. All the feelings Villain have had were long gone and what was left was a empty shell.
"Hero?" The same voice - louder this time. A moment later Sidekick appeared in the dim light of a street lamp. Villain didn´t react.
Sidekick gasped when they were near enough to recognize the two figures sitting there in the cold. They stepped closer on shaky legs and kneeled down next to Hero not even paying attention to Villain.
"No. No. Hero." Tears streamed down Sidekick´s face as they reached out to touch Hero´s face. "What have you done?", they breathed.
"I´m sorry, Sidekick. I´m so sorry." Villain didn´t know if Sidekick had heard them but Sidekick collapsed completely next to them.
Silently Villain explained what had happened. There was no emotion in their voice and in their face. Villain wasn´t really there but relived every detail they described to Sidekick. In the end they just sat next to each other on the cold asphalt of the street crying over Hero´s body and mourning them.
"Do you know their real name?", Sidekick asked after a while. Villain didn´t answer.
“I’m fine. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.” Whumpee whispered to themself and rocked back and forth in the corner. The thin hospital gown did nothing to keep them from shivering, although that was the least of their problems.
A quick rap at the door was the only warning before it swung open to reveal Whumper, now dressed in scrubs and followed closely by Assistant in the same attire. Whumpee pushed themself harder into the corner, cowering in fear as their eyes zeroed in on the metal tray Assistant was rolling ahead of them.
“Ok, Whumpee, lets get this over with.” Whumper waved Assistant over to the surgical table in the center of the room. Assistant pushed the rolling tray to the side of the table. Whumpee watched with wide eyes as the two prepared in their own way. Assistant meticulously lined up all the needed tools onto the tray while Whumper scrubbed their hands and up their arm to their elbow. Whumpee seized the opportunity for escape while the two were preoccupied. They bolted for the door, only for Assistant to wrap their arms around them from behind.
“No no no, I’m fine! I’m fine! I don’t want it, I don’t! I’m fine!” Whumpee struggled as best they could, which wasn’t much, they were already so weak. It didn’t take much effort to get Whumpee laid out on the table and restrained. Tears pooled in their eyes and ran down into their hair. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m going to be fine, everything’s fine, it’s fine, fine, fine, I’m fine...” Their breath hitched when Whumper approached the table, now gloved and masked. Their eyes crinkled in the corners as they looked down at Whumpee. “That’s right, sweetie. You’ll be fine. You’ll have a nice nap and you’ll be just fine, I promise.”
Assistant positioned the anesthesia mask over Whumpee’s mouth and nose. They squirmed in vain, quickly growing lethargic as they inhaled the gas. “I’m fine...I..want...I want...to be...fine”
“I promise, I’m fine! Really Caretaker, there’s no need to make such a big fuss.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Caretaker said sternly as they pulled out the first aid hit. Whumpee sighed and leaned forward, not seeming to mind the trail of blood running down the side of their head. They could see the worried look on Caretaker’s face, though they tried to mask it with annoyance. They wished Caretaker didn’t worry so much. It didn’t seem that that big a deal, at least if Whumpee ignored the blood and the throbbing pain in their skull.
Caretaker pulled out a few cotton swabs, dousing them in sanitizing alcohol before gently cleaning away the blood caked on Whumpee’s skin and hair. The alcohol stung as it reached the open wound and they winced.
“Sorry,” Caretaker murmured as they pulled the swab away. Whumpee smiled back, “It’s fine. Look, I’m tough!”
Caretaker chuckled and continued until the blood was cleaned away. Tossing the swabs in the trash, they pulled out a bandage, gauze, and ointment to keep the wound clean. They were no doctor, and they wrapped the gauze around Whumpee’s head somewhat haphazardly until it was in place and secure.
“How does that feel?”
“You know that guy at the end of Aliens with those bandages wrapped around his face?”
“Uh, yeah?”
“I feel like the guy from Aliens.”
Caretaker laughed a little, their tension easing away. At least Whumpee still had their sense of humor intact.
Day 27 for @whumpmasinjuly and i AM going to finish all these prompts i believe in me!!!
cw: vaguely referenced torture
---
Rosa burst into the small holding cell, the last one at the end of a long row. She has to be in here. She can’t already be gone—there. In the corner of the cell, Gia was curled into herself, a motionless shape dark against the bare walls.
“Gia!” Rosa cried out, and Gia lifted her head and unfolded herself, and oh. Every inch of visible skin was mottled and bruised, and her clothes were bloody rags, and she looked like she could barely hold her head up. It’s been two hours. What did they do to you?
Approaching slowly, as if worried she would spook, Rosa knelt next to Gia and began to gently check over her injuries. Her hands hovered over Gia’s body, unsure of where she could touch without making it hurt worse.
Gia blinked up at her with bleary concern and traced one hand along the blood staining Rosa’s shirt. “Are you ok?”
Rosa couldn’t help but bark out a nervous laugh at the absurdity of the question. “Am I ok?” She briefly glanced down at the splashes of blood covering her clothes. Not even my blood. “I’m fine, but you—oh god, I’m so sorry we couldn’t get here sooner.”
Seemingly satisfied with the answer, Gia let her hand drop. “You’re here,” she murmured, her eyes already drifting shut. “I’m fine.”
The absolute best words for a character to say when they are, in fact, not fine!
Anything I could say about this prompt has already been said better by the wonderful @iwhumpyou, so I instead direct you to her whump aesthetic post that basically inspired this prompt.
Write, draw, create—and don’t forget to tag us @whumpmasinjuly and #whumpmasinjuly when you do!
CW: whumper POV, kidnapping/captivity, character who is slightly out of touch with reality, manhandling, failed escape, possessive whumper
-
Mr Moribund was tapping his fingers against his glass of whiskey. Letters and contracts were spread around his desk, covered in his close scrawl. He tucked them into a messy pile for his secretary to send out. The decisions would soon boost the pay of hundreds of his employees, enough to give them a shot to grasp at the bottom of the middle class, but what did it matter? He leaned back in his chair, looking at the gold detailing of his study glinting in the light of the dim gas light, the mahogany panelling, the huge marble fireplace. Money could not buy you life.
There was a quiet, precise knock.
“Come in!” he called.
Jenkins slipped in the door. He was every inch the proper butler, his neat suit in black and white impeccable yet clearly the mark of a servant. His training had not been traditional, dipping more into knuckledusters and dark alleys than most servants’ did. It was what Mr Moribund appreciated about him: he was a go-getter, the kind of man who got things done efficiently and quietly.
“It is him, sir,” he said. “I verified it. He is currently in the cellar.”
He touched his heart, excitement thrilling through him. “How did he fight?”
“Normally. Like a man.”
He supposed he should have expected that. Still, he was disappointed. “And the cell holds him?”
“It has been three hours, now,” Jenkins replied. “I have not checked on him in an hour, but he has just been passed out, or else shouting. I used the blindfold with the buckle on the back; it appears to be challenging him.” He paused delicately. “He is a card sharp. A very ordinary man with a big, and somewhat foul, mouth.” He pulled out a well-worn pack of cards from his breast pocket and handed them to Mr Moribund, who slowly turned them over in his hands. He then drew out a ring of skeleton keys. “It also appears he is on dubious footing with the law.”
“Aren’t we all,” Mr Moribund replied, taking those also. He ran his thumb along the wire. “Maybe he was expecting us,” he joked, and Jenkins gave a thin-lipped smile.
He sighed. That moment had played in his head, over and over, the pale young man holding up the card, his eyes locked on his, the car swerving past. “I’d like to see him, at least. Maybe...maybe if it’s me that he talks to something will give.” He wasn’t sure what he had hoped for, exactly- something he couldn’t even predict. Something which held the same magic as the Ace of Hearts in his breast pocket.
Jenkins looked skeptical. But, as he was paid to, he kept his mouth shut and did his job. The butler led him down into the bowels of his house, carpet turning into tile. This space was very rarely used, but if Mr Moribund had separate dining rooms for each meal, he wasn’t going to use the same cellar he stored his wine in to deal with more...recalcitrant clients and competitors. No, this one held three separate cells as well as some merchandise it wouldn’t do to store in his warehouse.
Jenkins unlocked the first door, holding open the heavy iron for his employer with the same grace he would one of the finely carved doors upstairs. Then, he came to unlock the cell door-
He paused. He tried the lock in the door again.
Then he turned the handle. The door swung open to reveal an empty cell.
Hope burst in Mr Moribund. It was sweet and fizzy as champagne. He had done it- he had actually done it! Surely a person couldn’t have broken out so elegantly?
But- if this space couldn’t hold him prisoner, then did it matter what he could do?
Jenkins turned to his employer, face as white as the tiles. “I assure you, sir, I took every precaution-”
He waved his hand. “Find him,” he ordered. “Find him and bring him to me, and we can strike it from your record.”
*
Si fiddled with the prong of the blindfold buckle where he was crouched behind the crates. The bastard had taken his keys, but been stupid enough to leave one of Uncle’s nephews with a lock, a little piece of metal, and a lot of time.
The main door was a different story; it was completely smooth on the inside, and didn’t give in to any of his attempts at forcing it.
What that did mean, though, was that now he could glance through to where it was propped open. There was only the two men to get past. He shifted on his toes, cardboard soles silent against the tile.
He wasn’t good in fights anyway, and he already knew at least one of them could take him...he was fast, usually, but his limbs were still sluggish from the drugs.
Still, if they decided to search the room, he was a sitting duck.
“How did he get out?” the other man said, moving into the cell. He sounded impressed. His voice was plummy and full in contrast to the other’s clipped tones.
Si's kidnapper cleared his throat. “There’s nothing here- and I searched him.” Si could hear him pacing into the cell too. “I should have stripped him...but I didn’t find anything else.”
Slowly, Si stood up, then crossed one foot over the other, padding on cat-feet behind the pile of crates, then out into the open towards the door. He held his breath, holding his arms out for balance as he walked as lightly as possible.
Through the doorway, he could see the rich man from the crash and the neat man side by side, looking around the cell.
The rich man turned to gesture at the door. “He was bound with chain in the-” His eyes met Si’s.
They were both very still and very silent for a long moment, something Si couldn’t name passing between them.
Then he turned and sprinted out of the door.
“After him!” the man bellowed. “After him! Jenkins!”
Si pounded up the stairs, pulling himself up the banister, and turned the corner as a flash of black and white pursued him.
He hit the corridor and started running flat-out, feet slapping against the marble floor as he passed gold and white walls. There were doors all around him but he needed a clear exit-
They hit a huge entryway, with sweeping stairs and a double-wide door, and Si dashed for the exit-
Just as the butler cut him off, hands up like a prizefighter.
Si skidded back, heading up the stairs instead at full pelt, bounding up so fast he had to put his hands down for a moment to keep balance. He skidded towards a window, trying to lift it up. Locked. He turned to the door beside it, rattling the handle. He was panting heavily, trying to catch his breath.
“The windows and doors are all locked, I’m afraid,” said Jenkins in a calm voice. Si whipped round. The butler was walking up the stairs at a leisurely pace, as if he was waiting on a party, not chasing down a captive.
Si turned back to the window, jamming the prong of the buckle into it and wiggling, but the mechanism was more delicate than the cell door, and his hands were shaking. He crouched down, delicately putting just the nail of his index finger into the lock and pushing one of the pins upwards until he heard a click. Then he tried to lift up another one with the prong but he fumbled it and ended up just digging it into the lock without direction.
“Cheap,” the butler sniffed.
“WHAT THE FUCK!” Si yelled, slamming his shoulder against the window. “What the fuck do you even want? I’ve not done nothing! What kind of wanker-” Bang. “-has an underground-” Bang. “-prison!” A spider-web of cracks spread over the pane. Heart pounding in his chest, he wrapped the blindfold around his hand, buckle over the fist, and drew his arm back-
An iron hand grabbed his elbow and wrenched his arm behind him. He cried out, kicking and trying to knock his head back. It was useless. His other arm was forced behind him and his feet were kicked from under him. He hit the ground with a burst of pain in his knees.
That was his best hope of escape, gone. He didn’t even know what they wanted- and he didn’t want to.
Writhing like an eel, he tried to get his wrists out of the way as Jenkins wrapped thin rope around them, tying it tight. “HELP!” he yelled at the window. “HELP!”
The butler ignored him.
The only attention it drew was that of the rich man, who had by now appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He was gazing up at them in wonder.
“Motherfucker!” Si yelled at him. “You crazy bastard!”
“All contained, sir,” Jenkins said smugly, though there was just a hint of relief in his tone.
The rich man processed slowly up the stairs, eyes tracing the crack in the window. “That’s a thirty foot drop, you know. High ceilings. And you were confident, weren’t ya?”
“I think-” Jenkins began, but the man held up his hand and he quieted.
Si struggled again, grunting with the effort, but he couldn’t move.
“Can you fly?” the man asked, stopping on the top step. He was completely genuine.
Si was so shocked that a laugh burst out of him. Jenkins smacked the back of his head. “Watch it!” Si grumbled. “I keep my brains in there.”
“Well?” the man asked again.
“I left my wings with the bloody laundress, didn’t I?” Si spat. “Let me go, alright? We can talk about this without Bruiser here.”
That earned him a dig in the ribs and he yelped.
“You’re…” The man looked down at him, eyes tracing over his face the same way Rachel rubbed her crucifix when she was going to sleep. “You’re exactly what I hoped for. Of course you don’t come here speaking Greek or Latin- you’re a servant.”
That sounded more promising. It would make him seem more respectable. He hesitantly nodded. “And, uh, I have to get back to my master sharpish-”
“Oh no, Thanatos,” the man laughed. “I am your master now.”
