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minerscanary · 3 months

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Has Belle ever been spanked? Should she be?

Cam/Belle: spanking

Takes place pretty much directly after this chapter (referenced just a little in this one)

CW: nsfw, explicit consensual m/f, spanking, fingering, sort of exhibitionism but not really (possibility of being overheard), implied sex, hair pulling, alcohol, bbu universe

It was Belle’s idea. She had wanted him to do it with a belt.

The night before, Cameron Byrne had agreed to work as a double agent. He would pretend like he knew nothing of Belle’s secrets when Amber asked, even though last night Belle drank a half a bottle of wine, and told him everything, and cried. She blamed the crying on the wine and Cameron was generous enough to agree with her. He took the bottle away and wouldn’t let her have the rest of it. She spent the night in his bed, waking every few hours and listening to the cicadas outside the window until she drifted back to sleep.

When Amber eventually confided in Cameron that she knew Belle was no product of WRU, which Belle was sure she would do soon, he’d try to suss out if she intended to do anything about it — like contact WRU. If so, he promised he would tip Belle off about her plans. She’d made him shake on it.

That is of course, if Cam was telling her the truth and not playing both girls for fools, or just planning to screw her over and tell Amber everything anyway. Maybe that’s why she kept finding ways to see how far she could trust him.

Belle said, teasingly, that he should punish her for something loudly enough that someone else hears and it gets back to Amber as gossip. “Amber knows just about all of the guys here,” she said. “It’ll make it seem like you still think I’m really a boxie.”

The house was spacious and old, with wood floors and high ceilings, and sound traveled. It wasn’t far fetched that someone would hear, but it was a little less likely it would actually get back to Amber. Cam understood it to be a stretch, and knew she was angling for something else.

“So you’re not a boxie,” he smiled slowly, “ just a run of the mill masochist?”

“Only when I really like somebody.”

It sounded insincere even to her own ears, but she’d said it without thinking, and meant it honestly.

“So what is it you think I should do to you? For the plausibility of our story, of course.”

She suggested a spanking, and that he do it with his belt, because it would be loud.

He seemed surprised, and not in the best way. “Yeah…I’m sorry. I don’t think I really wanna do that.”

Flustered, she’d backpedaled from the idea. No, she said, you’re right, and mumbled something else— God knows what— because she couldn’t think clearly when she was embarrassed. She couldn’t help but wonder if Cam’s rejection stung because she was afraid he didn’t like her as much after the stunt she pulled at his friend’s apartment.

But he’d countered with the offer of bare hands, and she’d been darkly excited all over again.

Now she was glad he’d refused to use a belt. His hand was enough. It was a lot, actually, though it had started so lightly. She laid over his lap with clothes on— until he pulled her pants down around her thighs, leaving her quite exposed from the waist down. The first time she cried out he’d covered her mouth with his hand— his bigass hand— she thought, spanning her whole face and gripping tight on her jaw. She could hear the smile in his voice. “Oh come on, I haven’t even started yet.”

She whimpered into his palm as the next round of blows came sharper and harder. She could feel the heat spreading over her cheeks, she was sure her skin was already cherry red from the impact. And judging by the relative stillness of his lap and his calm, even breaths, he wasn’t hitting her nearly as hard as he could.

He took his hand off her mouth and her next yelp was so loud it surprised her. “If you really wanted someone to hear you,” he said, “that probably did it.”

Her laugh sounded something like a sob.

He rubbed a few slow circles with his hand. “Any regrets?”

“No,” she said, a little breathless. “But you were right about the belt. That was a bad idea.”

Cam laughed under his breath. “I know.”

He was enjoying their game now. He squeezed her flesh before landing another hard slap to the sorest spot. Belle whined pitifully. He leaned down close to her head and murmured to her, “I need you to be a little louder than that. You’re a poor little boxgirl and you’re so sorry you fucked something up, remember? Here. I’ll help you sell it.”

The next one genuinely made her yelp. The stinging slaps grew crueler still, and didn’t let up. Her little cries of pain and surprise felt like were coming from someone else. Like she was only hearing them as an echo.

“Tell me to stop.”

She shook her head. In the theme park of pain, a spanking was a carousel ride. Slow and controlled. Whimsical, even. He started another round. She laid her cheek on his cool bedsheets and rode the waves of heat he was creating on her skin, radiating out further each time until her ribs prickled in painful goosebumps.

He stopped. The hand lowered to her tender, abused flesh and settled her before it drifted down between her legs. He pressed against her, working her wetness onto his fingertips. He paused.

“Yeah?” he asked slyly.

She squirmed on his lap and spread her legs an inch wider in answer. He pushed a finger inside her, putting steadying pressure between her shoulder blades with his free hand. They could both feel how wet she already was. He wasted no time in adding a second finger.

She flinched when someone knocked on the door.

“Yeah?” Cam called, but didn’t stop. Instead, he gathered her loose hair in his free hand and made it into a ponytail with his fist, carefully pulling her head up and back from the bedsheets. Once her neck was stable in an arc he tightened his grip, pulling her a little higher. Somehow, her exposed throat and sense of immobility added to the sensation of his fingers inside her.

From the other side of the door, a housemate asked, “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

Cam’s reply was casual and unconcerned. “From right there, yeah. What’s up, Alex?”

The door was unlocked, but he seemed confident it wouldn’t be opened without explicit permission.

She couldn’t focus on the details of what they said. It was nothing that important, and it seemed like Alex had really just wanted to see what the commotion was— his room was just down the hall. The thought thrilled her. He asked about some meeting they were supposed to go to and if Cam had the paperwork for it they’d talked about.

Cam answered like he wasn’t roughly but precisely finger-fucking her over his lap. His disinterested voice talking to some other guy through the door did something to her. With his fist still tight in her hair she endured a hopeless, pinned climax in silence, failing only for a moment with a bitten-back whimper.

The moment his roommate was gone from the hallway, Cam flipped her onto her back on his bed. He nudged her legs apart with a knee and began unfastening his belt.

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minerscanary · 3 months

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minerscanary · 3 months

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okay but do you ever think about the inherit twisted intimacy of torture?

two people spending hours together, lost in the same process. fingers on your skin. the only voice you hear for days on end. the only presence you know. the closeness of having your skin be torn apart under their fingers. having another understand perfectly just how much pain you're in. having to rely on them to treat your wounds, being you water and food so you survive and heal. cry before them, break and have your every emotion on display. having them turn into your whole world.

do you get it?

and then -- the way the torturer can use it as another tool.

torture that leans into intimacy. hands stroking your hair as your warm blood pours out of you. soft whispers urging you to stay awake when the pain is overwhelming. strong arms holding you as you cry, those same arms holding you down as you thrush from agony. suddenly gentle fingers pulling your skin back together because you need to heal before you can take more. having your begging be answered with words of comfort that don't stop the torture. waking up to their gentle smile before the pain begins anew. hearing your name on their lips. taking all the comfort from someone who hurts you, because that's the only comfort you'd ever get.

or -- torture that is clinically, intentionally devoid of intimacy. no questions, no words spoken. the only touch you feel is that of the blade and the thick gloves. not being allowed to see their face. knowing no matter how much you beg not a single word of yours will be acknowledged. never being addressed until you forget that you're still a person. being trapped in a hell with not an ounce of comfort. isolation while still seeing someone daily.

or -- a torturer that combines the two. that goes from all the intimacy to none if you do something wrong or if their mood changes. they come in in gloves and you cry and beg to be acknowledged. constant anxiety from not knowing what kind of day it'd be. getting used to their hands closing your wounds before they're gone. breaking down and trying to do your best to fix whatever mistake you've made to have it back. getting used to no skin contact until they take off the gloves. flinching away from touch as if it burns only to immediately lean in. twisted gratitude when they hug you. always fearing losing what little comfort they give you.

you get it, right?

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minerscanary · 4 months

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Dare you

CW: Belle/Cam, **Belle/multiple other male characters at the same time**, explicit nsfw including nudity, fingering, and explicit touching, shady but remains consensual, cautionary dubcon warning for bbu aspect (but belles a fake boxie so not really?), referee!Cam does a good job, passing around but no actual sex, dangerous sketchy vibes, alcohol and drug very brief mentions

Amber made her call Cameron and ask him herself if she could stay with him for a day or two, on account of the fight they’d just had. Amber was going home and didn’t want her around, didn’t trust her to stay there alone either. Maybe she thought she’d finally call it quits and run off, and take all Amber’s shit in the process. It wasn’t like she’d never thought of it.

Cameron said he was at a friend’s apartment across town, that Amber could drop her off in the parking lot and he’d come out and bring her up. He took her bag from her and led her up two flights of carpeted stairs to a door that needed repainting.

Inside, three other guys in their twenties were watching a football game on a mounted flatscreen. One glanced her way and briefly raised his hand in greeting, the others didn’t even turn their heads. An open window brought a spring breeze that smelled sweetly of jasmine, partially masking the smell of weed inside the shaded apartment. Cam set her bag down by the door and gestured for her to sit on a leather sofa. He brought her a Corona, which she sipped for something to do.

“What’s up with you two?” he asked. “I thought you were getting along. Not that I’m not happy to see you.”

Belle shrugged. It was nice to get out of the house. Nice to be with someone else, nice to be sipping a beer in a stranger’s apartment. She didn’t want to get into the details with Cameron. She turned to him flirtatiously.

“I don’t know. Whenever Amber’s pissed at me she drops me off with you. Does that make you my daddy? Is this a split custody situation?”

Cameron made a face. “Don’t say shit like that, I might just keep you.”

She scooted closer on the sofa and put herself half in his lap, hoping he’d respond as warmly to her as the last time she’d seen him.

“Oh, so I’m allowed to touch you without her around now? Did you two change your rules?”

“Her rules are sounding more like annoying suggestions to me lately.”

“You don’t actually have a drop of WRU in you,” he asked rather flatly, “do you?”

Her heart skipped with that old fear, worn deep in her mind. Cameron probably wouldn’t do anything with that information. What would he do, call it in? To what end? Still, the idea was dangerous. Nauseating.

She had not hidden her fear well. She could see in his eyes that he saw it. She forced playfulness back into her voice, low so the others wouldn’t hear. “Are you gonna call my keeper? Tell her I’m already misbehaving?”

Cameron raised his eyebrows at her. She hoped he would take the redirection for what it was, a plea to drop the subject of her fake boxgirl credentials. “You’d really rather be in a one bedroom apartment watching college football with these guys than with her?”

“As far as I’m concerned, I’m in a room with you.”

He tucked a piece of her hair behind her and leaned forward to whisper. “They all keep looking at you, though.”

“Are they good friends of yours? You know them?”

He shrugged. “Sort of.”

“…You’re the plug, aren’t you?”

He laughed and didn’t bother to deny it. He had an easy manner that was attractive to her. She recognized it as a way of posturing, a learned indifference and ironic, amused smile that let boys like Cameron feel a sense of careless superiority. But he paid attention to her every word, glanced at her often enough for her to notice even when she was across a room. He always had. He was the only man she’d slept with since she’d given her old life the slip, the only person except Amber who had touched her. He was Amber-approved. These other boys were not. Which gave her a reckless, delightful idea.

She turned her head towards him so they were sharing breath, noses nearly touching. “Should I ignore them?” she asked.

“Probably. But it kind of feels like you’ve got other ideas.”

“What would happen if I sat on your friend's lap?”

“He’ll probably try to feel you up.” Cameron let his own hand drift up her leg as he said this, stopping so high on her upper thigh that his fingers almost dipped between her legs.

“Would you be mad?”

“Nope. Amber would be, though.”

She chose to ignore that.

“Would he try to take it too far?” she whispered, so no one would hear. Would he hurt me?

“I can’t promise he wouldn’t try.”

“Would you say something if he did?”

“Of course.”

She glanced up carefully. The one she was talking about met her eyes and smiled in a friendly, flirtatious way that wasn’t rapacious enough to frighten her off, make her change her mind.

“Dare you,” Cam whispered into her hair.

“I’m going to.”

He took his hands off her to let her up. Heart pounding in her throat, she made her way to Cameron’s friend and stood in front of him. She smiled to show her intentions. “Hi.”

“Hi there.” He spread his legs a little wider and held out his hands for her to come down into his lap. For some reason, she did. Cam pretended to care about the game on the TV, but it wasn’t long until he glanced back her way, eyes low, a particular smile playing on his mouth.

This new friend of hers was shorter and more muscular than Cam, dark haired and dark eyed, his forearms and face deeply tanned like he worked outside. Her skin tingled at the newness of him, the insanity of her own actions. He kissed her and she tasted the light beer he’d been drinking. Coarse facial hair brushed her mouth, her chin. She felt his hand, broader and thicker than Cam's long and deft fingers, reach up to graze her ribs and squeeze her chest. She broke from the kiss, stomach fluttering nervously, hoping to slow things down. He removed the hand and casually massaged her forearm instead, her bracelet tinkling like a windchime on her wrist.

“Damn,” called one of the others from the sofa in front of the television. They’d been largely ignoring her when she was in Cam's lap. But now they were paying attention. “Blink twice if you need help.”

The boys laughed, including the one whose lap she was in. Face growing warm, she tucked her head into his shoulder. He indulged her, wrapping his arm around her. After a moment she thanked him with another slow kiss.

“Can I get some?” asked one of the the boys. She didn’t know if he was asking her or the guy holding her.

“If you act right,” Cam answered dryly.

This one was more eager. He got up from the couch palming casually at himself as he came over. He had a head of curly, ashy hair and light jacket on, which he shucked off and discarded thoughtlessly. He pushed up the sleeves of the black thermal he had on underneath and sat next to them. What had she started? If she was so forward with one of Cam's friends— she’d have to match it with the rest or they might grow annoyed with her and the mood would turn. And where it would stop was unknowable. In the back of her mind she’d imagined being fucked by each of them, but in her hazy vision she had been vaguely in control of the situation, thrilled at the thought of such a debauched act. She was acutely aware now that it was nothing but a fantasy on her end, and none of this was under any negotiations whatsoever.

She glanced at Cam— still watching, still unfazed. She didn’t know if his confidence in the situation was real or not, but it was deeply reassuring. She hoped her trust in him was not misplaced.

The curly-haired boy reached over to her, lifting her chin with two fingers. He leaned forward and kissed her, her lips still slick from the other kiss. His mouth was pink and soft, not unpleasant, but his kiss was harder, more controlling and less curious. A hand slipped up her bare thigh and she realized it was the boy whose lap she was still in. He went higher than Cameron had, pressing lightly between her legs over the thin cotton shorts she’d put on so thoughtlessly before Amber dropped her off.

“Syrus,” said a fourth boy, holding a beer bottle by the neck and wandering over from the couch, the game forgotten. “Share the love, bro.”

They nudged her up and handed her off to their friend, who set his beer bottle down to receive her. Blue eyes stared unabashedly into hers with an intensity that both transfixed and unnerved her. He was vaguely familiar. She had likely seen him around campus before, if not in Cameron’s fraternity. He pulled her by the wrists over to the couch against the wall where Cameron was sitting, and she found herself relieved to be back closer to the only one of these men she knew. Down she went beside the blue-eyed boy, and he wasted no time in pulling her shirt down to expose the modest swell of her breasts to all of them and squeeze one shamelessly. The slight pain of it cut through her fear, and she knew she was not quite afraid enough to be numbed to anything they did to her.

From behind her, Cameron gathered her hair in his hands. He drew it away from her neck and off to one side with a care and gentleness that was likely meant to reassure her, possibly even to set an example to the others how they ought to handle her. He kissed her bare neck, reaching around to cup her other breast in his lithe grip. She let her head fall back onto his shoulder, whimpering probably a little too encouragingly when a hand slipped between her legs again— it must be the fourth boys, because Cameron’s hands were on her left ribs and right breast.

Even through simmering nerves, she reveled in the sensation of a stranger’s fingers there— petting his way along until he reached the spot he was looking for and drew lazy circles with his fingers.

“Are we fucking this girl right now, Byrne?” he asked.

“Nah,” Cameron said with blasé indifference. “Just lap candy.”

“Says her or says you?”

Belle thought she heard playfulness in the boy’s voice rather than an outright challenge. The touch between her legs was steady and light. Her nerves took a backseat to the feeling his fingers were bringing to the surface, her eyes closing and lips parting. Two sets of hands on her, four sets of eyes. She felt them all acutely.

“Says her owner. He’s a good friend of mine.”

Clever of Cameron to say he, she thought through her present distraction. They might not have listened if they knew some girl named Amber was her keeper.

“He doesn’t mind this though?” doubted the dark-eyed boy whose friends had called him Syrus.

“She won’t tell,” Cam assured them. His mouth grazed along the sensitive shell of her ear so goosebumps raced up her arms. “So long as you’re nice, and don’t leave any marks, she won’t tell.”

In that moment, she wanted to tell him she loved him.

“Oh, I’ll be nice,” crooned the boy whose hand was between her legs.

“Take her shorts off,” the curly-haired one suggested thickly. “Let us see, at least.”

She lifted her hips to help as the familiar boy with blue eyes pulled her shorts off her hips, down her legs, over her bare feet. She was naked from the waist down, and her shirt was pulled away from her chest so it wasn’t covering much from view, either. The boy who had made the request gave a drawn out, approving “yeahhh,” similar to the ones he’d made when his team scored on the game they’d been watching. “There we fucking go.”

That inescapable blue gaze pinned her again. “What’s your name, boxgirl?”

“Belle.”

“Do you like to put on a little show for strangers, Belle? You like all this attention?”

“Y-Yeah,” she ventured. “I think so.”

“She thinks so.” He gathered saliva on the tip of his tongue and spit delicately onto the tips of his fingers, brining them back between her legs. The touch was still feather-light, making her body chase the sensation, but now without the fabric of her shorts separating him from her softest, most intimate parts.

Syrus took a swig of beer, knees spread wide and content to watch. The other one started to get up, but Cam raised a hand to stop him. “Wait your turn, Jack.”

They watched as she whimpered more desperately, inching closer and closer, arching her back against Cameron behind her.

“Please…,” she breathed, remembering what behavior they would likely expect from a boxie. “Can I…?”

“Yes,” grinned the blue eyed boy, never taking his eyes off her face. “Go ahead.”

She whined and hitched her breath and came under his two fingers. The others drowned out her breathy sighs of pleasure with half-mocking, half-earnest sounds of approval. Only when she was over sensitive and trying to buck away from the touch did the blue eyed boy finally remove his hand. As if in a dream, she saw him suck his fingertips.

Still dazed, Belle felt him pulling her to her feet. She was brought like an offering to the other two. They received her readily, laying her across their laps in her mostly nude state. The boy with the dark eyes held her in his arms upright enough to kiss her, with tongue this time, and the other boy wasted no time in spreading her legs enough so he could touch her, finding her slick and taking that as an invitation to press his middle finger inside her. She moaned into the mouth kissing her and remembered with a flush of heat over her body that Cameron and the other one were six feet away, watching.

“He said no fucking,” the boy who’d just made her come criticised.

“And I’m not,” his friend responded as he pressed another finger inside her. Had Cameron called him Jack? “Just a couple fingers. What her master doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right, boxgirl?”

She nodded. His probing, greedy fingers were surprisingly good in her current state, already sensitive and wet.

“Good girrrrl,” he praised, fucking his fingers into her to the knuckle and pressing lightly on her lower belly with his other hand as he gave them a curl and a vulgar little shake. “Good little slut.”

Syrus tapped her cheek in a gentle approximation of a slap. “If you were mine, I’d fuck your mouth twice a day,” he told her in a low voice. He slipped his thumb over her lower lip, hooked it in her cheek and pinched. “Bet you’re pretty when you cry.”

These barely veiled threats were so different than his kisses, than the way he’d reassured her earlier by massaging her arm. Was it just his way of dirty talking, or had she been fooled by the way he kissed? Used to fawning, she gave him her best starry eyes. He groaned in resigned frustration and patted her cheek in something closer to a slap this time.

“Alright. Wrap it up,” Cam told them. Even she could not tell if he was actually bored or just acting like it. “I gotta get her back.”

“I think Belle wants to stay and get finger blasted some more,” teased Syrus, whose thumb was still pressing down posessively on her tongue. She reddened at his puerile choice of words. “She can suck some cock and not have any marks, can’t she?“

“Sorry, man. Go jerk off in the bathroom like usual,” Cam answered, a friendly jab mingled with an air of finality.

“Fuck. What a tease. Not you, princess, I can tell you’d do it.”

Cam stood up and she flinched as they stopped touching her all at once. She pressed her knees together, feeling their eyes on her as Cam brought her her shorts and held them out for her to slip her feet through. She stood close to him so he could pull them over her hips and cover her nakedness.

The boys traded fistbumps and words of farewell with Cam, and he pressed his hand to the small of her back to guide her to the apartment door. They called goodbye to her, punctuated with a wolf whistle and laughter. She pressed her palms to her cheeks. They were hot and clammy. She swiped her fingers under her eyes, assuming her mascara was smudged.

“You’re wild,” Cam told her when they got halfway down the hall.

“Bad wild or good wild?”

He laughed. “I don’t know. But fucking wild.”

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minerscanary · 4 months

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I MADE A WHUMP EVENT: get ready for July folks

welcome to the Whumperless Whump Event of July! for your sickfic, situational, and completely apersonal whump needs--comfort included, of course.

Image transcripts, tagging rules, and guidelines under the cut!

RULES

Any and all art types allowed (GIFs, drawings, music, writing, etc.)

No AI generated content allowed

OCs and Fandom works alike are welcome :)

Trigger and content tags required, even if the prompt explicitly requires the content (eg. Vomiting still needs the emetophobia tag)

NSFT and NSFW are allowed, if tagged appropriately. This blog will not reblog them, as minors do follow it. However, you're still free to write as you please :)

If enough interest is shown, I will make an Ao3 collection

Side note: please let me know if there's anything I can do to make this post or event more accessible. Should I put the image transcripts on the ID too? Is the formatting causing issues? What can I do?

This is not a contest, just an event. The only awards will be announcements for people who completed the whole darn thing. My entries will not receive any announcements or awards, because I'm hosting

TAGGING

Tag with, per example: #whumperless whump event day 1; #whumperless whump event; and (optional) #whumperless whump event day 1: alcohol as a sanitizer

Tag me (@whump-kia) please! If not, I may not see it or be able to reblog it!

If desired, tag the medium you used

Trigger tag and content warn (including nsfw/nsft)

IMPORTANT:

There are NO OTHER RULES. Do one prompt! Do seven! Do 'em all! Repeat the same prompt six days in a row! Switch them around and do them all out of order! Post them eight months after the event is over! Finish the prompt list early! Write one long-ass story that deals with every prompt or do a one-sentence drabble for each one! Recommend your favorite scenes regarding the prompt! Write, draw, sing, play music, make playlists, do fic recs or show recs or episode recs or book recs, fucking crochet or something! FOLLOW THE VIBE. DO WHAT'S FUN.

Prompts (text):

Emergency First Aid: Self-done stitches / Alcohol as sanitizer / “It's just a scratch, I've had worse.”

Does your insurance cover this?: Car accident / Bystander caretaker / “Eyes open, ambulance is almost here.”

Like a record, baby: Vertigo / Struggling to stand / “Is the room spinning, or is it just me?”

It's every day bro: Chronic pain / Massage / “I'm used to it.”

Stealing my breath (give it back): Wheezing / Light-headed / “I'll count, you just breathe.”

Summer is a curse: Heat Stroke / Panting / “Why don't we… find some shade, quick?”

Accidental Cryotherapy: Falling through a frozen lake / Hypothermia / “Hey, c'mon, you gotta stay awake.”

Put your head on my shoulder: Migraine / Light & Sound Sensitivity / “I can close the curtains…”

White and red handkerchief: Coughing up blood / Can't speak / “You just can't shake that cough, can you?”

Your work is never finished: Forced to work while ill / Workplace emergency / “...sit down, I'm calling HR.”

A minor annoyance: Stuffy nose / Hate to be sick / “I'm fine, I can work.”

It's going down (I'm yelling timber): Building collapse / Trapped under rubble / “I can't move my legs.”

It's just a pebble: Avalanche / Stuck in the mountains / “Well, this wasn't how I thought the hiking trip would go.”

Lay down your sword: Fighting back a cold / Cuddling / “Just let yourself be sick so you can get better.”

I'm going down (you're yelling timber): Passing out / Exhaustion / “I've got you, let's sit down, I've got you.”

Say goodbye to filters: Half-conscious / Delirious / “You would never say that in your right mind…”

In hot water: Dangerously high fever / Cool baths / “We have to get that number down somehow.”

I don't see it: Hallucinations / Fever dreams / “It's just a nightmare. You're safe.”

The whump morning after: Tending to injuries / Domestic hurt comfort / “Let's check the bandages, okay?”

It's not fun if you're panicking: Stuck in an elevator / Claustrophobia / “Get me out.”

Where's the exit: Lost / Stuck in the wilderness / “Surely someone will notice we're gone.”

Better out than in: Nervous Stomach / Vomiting / “I got your hair, it's fine.”

Well, that doesn't taste right: Accidentally poisoned / Allergic reaction / “My tongue feels like bees, is that normal?”

Be one with the fish: Drowning / Rescue Breaths / “Why did you think that was a good idea?!”

We didn't start the fire: Severe burns / Running into flames / “I know it hurts. Breathe.”

That's no barn spider: Venomous bite / Arachnophobia / “You'll be okay, we can help.”

What's your name again?: Concussion / Temporary Amnesia / “I don't remember what happened to me.”

Nothing behind the eyes: Fully unconscious / Force feeding / “It's just me, go back to sleep.”

Wrong place, wrong time: Robbery / One of many hostages / “Stay behind me, I can take a hit.”

I don't mean to get emotional: Fear / Breaking point / “I can't stop crying, I'm sorry--”

Only way out is through: Tunnel collapse / Accidental Journey / “We can't just sit here and wait.”

ALTERNATES:

Seizure

Choking

Withdrawal

Mugged

Wild animal attack

Hangover

Strain/sprain

Broken bone

Bloody nose

Panic attack

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minerscanary · 4 months

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Beautiful things are fragile…

CRIMSON PEAK (2015) dir. Guillermo del Toro

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minerscanary · 5 months

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stolen light - summer smoothie

no one asked, but I threw Iolanthe in a blender because of this post from @thoughtsonhurtandcomfort like a week ago because everything irl is a smoldering mess. could be part 1/2 but the hurt part is so much easier to write as stress release than the comfort part, so. probably won't finish/post the aftermath. contains: tiny whumpee (fairy), wing whump, female whumpee w/ female whumper, injury, violence via kitchen appliance, mostly psychological,

Iolanthe knows better than to try and escape while the mortal is in the room, but the dish had been so shallow. Freedom had looked so close. She hadn't been able to resist the temptation brought by the mortal's carelessness.

But now, she looks up at the sly expression and shining eyes looming over her and knows that her keeper had placed her into that temptation deliberately. There was some sort of game here, one that Iolanthe was destined to lose.

Silas was still near enough for his glamour to catch the mortal's language and reflect it back in words Iolanthe could understand. She wished he would do something more useful with what magic he had left.

"You are such an obstinate creature, you know that? I can't let you out of my sight for even a second. Maybe I should just be done with you."

Iolanthe grunts as the mortal pinches her fingers around Iolanthe’s legs and the world twists upside down. Her tattered wings flutter reflexively as she's lifted into the air and carried across the kitchen to where Madeleine had been preparing breakfast.

The mortal has patience enough to wait for Iolanthe to reorient herself and recognize where she's about to be dropped. She holds her steady. Madeleine wants a reaction to savor.

Iolanthe hates to give the mortal what she wants, but it's automatic. Her heart races as she sees the deadly glass tower below. She thrashes to try and get upright and clutch at the wretched mortal's finger.

Iolanthe doesn't know what this device is called, but it's one of the mortal contraptions she's seen in action enough times to understand its purpose. The silver flower at the bottom, already obscured by a pool of red juice, was built for evisceration.

"Don't you dare!" Iolanthe snarls.

Madeleine hms in delight and lets go. Iolanthe twists and flails, desperate for her wings to catch air, for her hands to catch the lip of the glass, but she finds no purchase with either. She tumbles to the bottom of the blender and lands with a splash.

The juice is bitter in her throat as she surfaces and scrambles onto one of the metal blades–steel of some sort, enough iron to make her itch, too treated to truly burn. She shakes herself dry. Red drips off her wings as she looks back up at Madeleine through the thick glass. Her precarious perch above the sharpened edges would mean nothing if Madeleine were to start the motor.

The mortal's impassive face is something to behold, a near‐perfect mask of apathy. Iolanthe knows it's a lie, she's been here long enough to understand that mortals aren't bound to reality in the same way she is. Still, the fairy finds it hard not to believe she hasn't been forgotten as Madeleine resumes her routine as if nothing were amiss. That she could scream and be remembered and saved. She knows better.

A cloud of slick, heavy yogurt crashes down over her shoulders. The weight nearly knocks her back to the bottom of the jar and the loss of traction finishes the job. She pushes through the white mud to climb back into place. Shadow falls over the jar as Madeleine unceremoniously dumps a cup full of fruit into the mix.

The berries are rock hard and the smallest is the size of Iolanthe’s head. The best she can do is hunker down and let them batter her backside. She hisses as the icy boulders surround her and suck away her warmth, then steels herself to climb through to her only hope of escape.

Whenever she passes by a clear bit of glass she steals a glance at Madeleine, who continues to ignore her. She fills the jar entirely, then turns her back to tend to Silas on the other side of the kitchen. She’s giving Iolanthe time to reach the top. Taunting her. Again, freedom is within reach and impossible to achieve.

As Iolanthe reaches the top of the jar, Madeleine turns and strikes her down with the broad side of a metal spoon. Iolanthe lands on her back. There’s a loud, mechanical click. She cries out as the island of fruit drops out from beneath her into the screaming whirlwind blades at the base.

White agony burns through her as the blades catch a tattered wing. Blue blood blossoms through the red summer fruits. Iolanthe is dragged beneath the surface and the world narrows to the motor's frantic screeching. There's no magic, no light, no air.

A second later, a second click, and everything stops but the bleeding.

Iolanthe doesn't resist as the mortal's hand fishes her out of the sweet muck and she doesn't run when she's laid back down in the shallow dish beside Silas.

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@whumpsday tbh I've never done a taglist before, idk if you want to be included in random oneshot-y rambles

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