#VOICELESS

[alitteraladhdmess]

I’m still here

Vent art with Voiceless Donnie

He’s mute and sometimes that makes him feel like he goes unnoticed

Even if that’s not true

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1377

Whumptober #27: Voiceless | Laboratory

Your whumpee is kept in a laboratory to be tested on. They undergo many surgeries for the scientists to take samples, make modifications and conduct tests. If your whumpee has powers, maybe they’re trying to find the source/to what extent the powers affect the whumpee. If they’re a creature-of-sorts, maybe they’re trying to study their body/see how they can genetically recreate their traits. Maybe your whumpee is just human, but due to their advanced skill set, the scientists go looking for some super-human aspects that just aren't there. 

Due to the nature of the surgeries, the whumpee is almost always intubated. However, the scientists are far from careful when doing so/removing the tube. This results in the whumpee’s vocal cords being damaged. As a result, they feel even more helpless as they can’t even articulate curses at their torturers, nor can they comfortably talk/sing to themselves when they’re alone.

Your whumpee remains voiceless and powerless during the ordeal, to the point that they just give up.

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 27 - Voiceless, “I have no mouth and I must scream”

I feel like I’ve been mean to Wind a lot heh, I feel bad for the little guy. It’s better than the three arrows I put in his chest in that other fic! ...Maybe, anyway.

Warnings: redeads

Ao3 link

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Wind was not happy.

He struggled and kicked, tried to squirm out of the bruising hold on his arms, went limp and tried to just give the two soldiers dragging him along some underground passageway as worse of a time as possible. They’d already taken his weapons and only held him tighter as he struggled, but Wind kept it up anyway.

One of the Yiga grumbled in annoyance as Wind kicked at his legs, and he felt a glint of satisfaction.

“Rotten kid, that attitude will die plenty quick where you’re going,” the other Yiga snapped, ignoring Wind’s attempts to bite him. “This cell was for the hero, but what better way to lure him there than to dump his little brother in it first?”

“You built a cell underneath the outskirts of a village? Wow, that’s normal well-adjusted behavior,” Wind huffed, and one Yiga sneered.

“We merely adapted it for our purposes. And you’re the perfect person to test it out.”

Wind finally managed to clamp his jaws down on one of the soldier’s hands, and he yelled, gloves not thick enough to really protect him. The other one snatched at Wind and put a dagger to his throat before he could press his attack, and Wind reluctantly released the hand, getting the message.

“Link’ll never fall for your stupid trap anyway,” Wind said with a glare, and the Yiga both chuckled.

“Oh yes he will. Have fun, kid.”

A door was opened, and Wind was tossed through without any sort of fanfare, stumbling as he landed. He whirled back around to the door, but it was already closed and firmly locked.

Wind scowled at it, then turned to look around his prison, mind already turning towards thoughts of escape. Who did these Yiga guys think they were, kidnapping him off the street? He was the Hero of Winds! How had they even gotten the drop on him?

Wind scowled again and kicked at the floor of the cell. At least he’d been walking around with Four and Wild. Surely one of them would notice he was missing soon. And if not, well, Wind was pretty good at getting out of tight spots if he did say so himself.

No problem.

Wind put his hands on his hips, looking around the dark cell. There was a single tiny torch hung up on the wall, too high for Wind to reach that lit up the skinny space. A stone wall stood at the far end of the cell, but the two sides were open bars, darkness yawning beyond them.

It... kinda made his skin crawl.

Wind crossed his arms, feeling cold all of a sudden, but he shrugged it off with a huff. He needed to figure out how to get out of here, creepy darkness or not. The deep shadows beyond the bars suggested a bigger area, so if he could just find a loose one, he’d be set. Maybe he could even climb up and grab the torch.

Wind walked over to a side, starting at one end and giving each bar a solid shake. They seemed pretty firmly in the ground, but Wind worked his way across anyway, hoping for a loose one. He got all the way through without a single loose bar, and sighed, crossing to the other side to try there instead.

He’d gotten about halfway when he heard something, creaky and quiet.

Wind froze, listening, and the hair on the back of his neck went up as he heard it again. That noise was familiar. He couldn’t place it, but he knew it was familiar.

And that it was bad news.

A low moan came from somewhere in the darkness, and Wind slowly began to back away, nerves all alight. If he could just see he wouldn’t be nearly as nervous. Maybe the darkness was just freaking him out, and he was imagining noises because of that?

A bloodcurdling scream rang out, and Wind’s eyes went huge as a familiar sensation wracked through him, deathly cold and terrifying.

Oh no, he thought in a panic, his feet frozen to the floor, body unable to turn away from the shambling footsteps he could hear. Oh no oh no oh—

A face appeared in the flickering light of the torch, decaying and horrible, eyes glowing. A rotten hand stretched forward and wrapped around the bars, and Wind stared at the Redead, trapped in its unnatural terror.

It didn’t look like his version of them, taller, with a few ragged clothes on its lanky body, but the feeling it left him with was the same, sheer, unnatural terror.

I’ve got to get away, maybe by the door I’ll be far enough it won’t be able to—

A different scream rang out, sending another jolt through Wind’s chest, and he watched in horror as another redead grasped at the bars, reaching out to him, trying to pull him close. Beady eyes stared at him, glowing and malicious with hunger, and Wind might have whimpered if he could move his mouth.

He fought the paralysis as much as he could, but the moment it started to wear off, one of them screamed again, leaving Wind with no escape. More screams joined the first two, and Wind choked on his breath as a whole group of redeads shambled out of the darkness. Screams came near constantly from their lips as they grabbed at the bars and reached through, trying to get at him.

They can’t get through, they can’t get through they can’t hurt you, it’s just to scare you, Wind thought frantically, heart drumming in his chest. They don’t want you to escape that’s why they put them there you’re okay you’re okay you’re okay.

The screams just kept coming, endless and piercing and shooting Wind’s heart through with inescapable terror. He couldn’t even move to cover his ears, and he felt a terrified scream build in his own throat.

But it wouldn’t come out. Wind could only keep standing there, immobilized, tears trailing silently down his cheeks.

It felt like his heart was being encased in ice, frost shooting through his veins with every scream and grazing touch. More screams joined the agonizing chorus from behind him, and the terror felt like it would crush him, repeatedly crashing over him like a freezing wave.

Hands grabbed at him, nails grazing his skin. Wind couldn’t move, the torrential screams hammering at him, cracking him, filling him up with so much terror his mind couldn’t focus on anything else.

His world narrowed down to screams and beady eyes, Wind drowning in terror, eyes darting around wildly, mind screaming every time a hand grazed him.

If he could move he’d be curled up on the ground, but all he could do was stand here and sob in his mind as a deathly cold hand finally closed around his wrist.

Then a different noise rang out over the screams.

It was garbled in Wind’s ears, some sort of talking he couldn’t make out over the redeads’ shrieks. But suddenly music poured into the cell, cheery and bright, and the screaming stopped.

All of it.

Wind’s ears still rang with them, and the terror still pressed over him like a wet blanket, but there was finally silence, and the hand trying to drag Wind closer to the bars had stopped in its efforts, the redead’s mouth stuck open with its teeth bared.

Wind would’ve sobbed if he could move, and he heard footsteps and talking, his ears still ringing too much to make out. Strong arms pulled the hand off his wrist and cradled him to a chest, shouted something at the other sets of footsteps. The song trilled again, bright and warm, and though Wind still couldn’t do much as twitch his pinky, some of his panic eased as he felt a steady heartbeat against where his ear rested.

The others were here.

There must have been a trip out, but Wind missed most of it, still trapped in the lingering screams he could hear in his mind. Tears trickled steadily down his cheeks, and past the unnaturally sharp fear was a flicker of annoyance at crying so much.

But the terror mostly blotted it out.

Sunshine finally fell onto his face, warm and soft, and whoever was holding Wind lowered themselves to a knee. A face looked down at him, and Wind saw Twilight, eyes fearful.

“Hey Wind, you alright?” he asked, and Wind could only stare at him, heart pounding, terror still clenching like a talon around him. “Wind?”

“Is he okay?” someone else asked, and Twilight leaned back, Time and Wild’s faces both coming into view next.

“He’s not responding,” Twilight replied, and Time leaned in, studying Wind’s face with a worried look.

“Wind, can you hear me?” Time asked, setting a hand on his chest.

I can hear you fine, I just can’t move! Wind wanted to scream, but his mouth was still frozen shut. The only thing that he was still able to do was cry, apparently.

Time gently wiped his tears away, and if Wind wasn’t still so terrified, he was sure he’d be embarrassed. “Do we know how long he was down there?”

“An hour, hour and a half? No more than two based on when we started looking,” a voice Wind placed as Wild added anxiously. Oh good, he avoided the trap. “Is that bad?”

“It’s a long time to be around an attacking redead, no less dozens of them like he was,” Time replied, gently tilting Wind’s head around as he looked at it. “Usually the song fixes things, I have no idea why he’s still frozen like this.”

“Prolonged exposure I’d guess,” Four’s voice added, and Twilight’s hand combed gently through his hair. “It might just take him longer to break out of it. He’s so cold...”

“I still can’t believe we lost sight of him like that,” Wild said quietly, and a different hand touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Wind.”

Oh Wild, it’s not your fault, Wind thought, trying to look the champion in the eye and convey the sentiment. I’d tell you so if I could.

Some more footsteps pounded against the grass suddenly, and the amount of voices around Wind doubled, more faces leaning over to look at him, worried questions floating over his head. The other Links had obviously joined the group, and Wind struggled even harder against the paralysis making him nothing but deadweight. But he remained as frozen as ever, a scream still stuck in his throat, ice around his heart.

“Give him space, I’m pretty sure he’s aware of what’s going on and you all are crowding him,” Warriors’ voice chided, and the majority of heads pulled back from his view. The captain’s face appeared in his line of sight, full of worry. “Wind? Can you move anything? Even just something small?”

Wind started at his feet and worked his way upward this time, trying to move anything he could. Fear still thrummed through him, his body on high alert, tears tracking down his cheeks, but he finally managed to twitch his eyelids a little.

“Hey, there we go,” Warriors said with relief in his eyes. “Can you do it again?”

Wind focused, managing another twitch, and almost did a full blink when he tried again. Warriors’ face was still worried, but he looked encouraged by even the tiny movement.

“Here, let me see if this helps some more,” Time said then, and Twilight shifted Wind around in his arms so his head was a little more upright.

Time pulled out his ocarina, purplish blue in the sunshine, and he played the trilling song again, the one Wind finally recognized as the song of passing. Time played it through a couple times, magic falling over Wind like a beam of sunlight. He was surprised the time of day itself didn’t change, but maybe Time was stopping it from doing that somehow.

Suddenly the magic loosened something inside him, the icy terror cracking, thawing a little. Some feeling swept back into his body, and the scream that had been stuck in Wind’s throat this whole time suddenly burst out, loud and terrified.

Time immediately stopped playing, and Wind began to tremble as feeling slowly spread to the rest of him, his scream ending in a hiccup. It felt amazing to finally give voice to the horrible coldness in him, and Wind barely noticed when a thumb brushed along his cheek.

“Wind?” Time asked quietly, and Wind breathed in a shaking breath, firmly blinking tears out of his eyes.

“Th-thank, tha-ank y-you,” he managed get out in a miserable-sounding whimper.

Sighs of relief went up around him, and Time gave Wind a smile, even with the way Wind was shaking and still unable to stop the tears from escaping his eyes.

“You’re welcome Sailor,” Time replied, and brushed a few more of his tears away.

Wind managed a shaky smile back, then relaxed into Twilight’s arms, more and more of the ice in his chest melting away into bright sunshine.

[layraket]

Day 27 - Voiceless

Character(s): Wind and Legend (LU)

Words: 1126

Summary: Wind is usually one of the loudest of the chain. Him staying silent means that something is wrong

Whump scale: 3 (see the full scale here)

Warnings: Injury, future Character Death referenced (he's just being a ghost here)

Kinda related to day 19

Also thanks to @majorproblems77 @ordonianhero and @gryphonlover for giving ideas! tried to combine them and get something new out of it, sorry if this isn't what you all though at first, but hope that this fills your expectatives!

-

Arriving to an era between heroes wasn’t that pleasant, just meaning that they will need to do extra work to go around an know more of their surroundings.

Sometimes they could recognize if an era was after or before them, these times made even easier their mission. This time it seemed like they arrived to a time after Legend, maybe a hundred years passed since his adventures.

Traveling was easier this way, he could easily recognize the paths and where did they lead to. This was going to be quick.

They arrived to the first monster camp, killing any monsters and leaving it clean. There was no portal yet, so there must be one or two black blooded monsters camp left.

Although, there was something that didn’t let Legend sleep well that night.

Wind was usually one of the loudest in their group, always in fights indicating or calling for something that he noticed, like an attack that came by surprise or monsters trying to escape.

Nothing of this happened their whole fight, no sound came from their sailor. Now that he was thinking about it, no word has been heard from him since they arrived.

The veteran went for the third shift, occasionally looking at the sailor’s direction. Seeing him so still was also worrying, like if any movement would make someone mad, normally he would be rolling around and snoring like a walrus.

The next morning the rest of them went like they normally do; Sky being grumpy until having his cup of coffee, Twilight already up and packing his things, Wild making breakfast, the usual. But there was something that they were lacking.

The usual jokes and stories that the sailor always tells to fill the silence weren’t present, he just sitting there eating his breakfast without a word.

This continued for other two days of traveling, and Legend was getting tired.

He decided to ask, he knew that the others knew but nobody dared to do the question, maybe thinking that the kid needed his space. Unfortunately for them, he hated to just wait and do nothing.

The vet went to walk next to the sailor, calling his attention by just walking a little louder “Hoi Wind, Can I ask you a Question?”

If this was a joke from the goddesses, then he can tell that they don’t have a good sense of humor. The captain called for them, already localized the camp of monsters.

He will have to postpone this talk, but this will not end here.

As they expected, these were black-blooded monsters, being a little more intelligent than their usual normal selves. Still, they had managed to coordinate and know how to take them down more easily.

Anyone who gets hurt Hyrule goes to aid them, and if he was busy or out of magic Warriors took that job. This was going well.

Until, from a corner of his eyes, he found Wind already surrounded by monsters and with injuries all around his body, is that a cut on his neck?

Why the fuck did he not call for anyone. This was definitely not okay.

“GUYS! WIND’S IN TROUBLE!” He called for the rest, already going by his own to aid the sailor. He saw something in his eyes, maybe a plead to not come closer, to ask him to stay away. He will not do such a thing, first dead than that.

He killed the biggest of the monsters, a moblin ready to swing its sword towards Wind, making it fall to the ground and disappear in a cloud of black smoke, just leaving a dark-colored blood on the grass.

“Din’s damn it kid! Next time call for someone, you would almost get killed!” The lack of response or an insult for calling him a kid was feeding his fears. There was something wrong with him.

The rest took care of the monsters, now the camp was completely clean of any monster. It was confirmed by the feeling of the portal opening in the center of the battlefield.

They all prepared to go through, as always going in duos if the portal separated them.

He will talk with Wind after this.

-

The first thing that his eyes saw was a spectral figure. He knew what it was, he sees them in a daily basis, almost everywhere he went.

When he was about to do a comment, the spirit puts a hand on his mouth, shutting him and a voice, too similar to his, answered.

You will share with me, no voice to cry out what you get to witness. No voice to refuse to my request.

Even if he wanted, nothing could come out of him.

Every request he wanted to do, the spirit answered, nobody being able to hear it but Wind. He heard his own voice say his fears out loud, comments that he would never dare to tell on the other’s faces, things that he would never share.

If the others ask what was wrong, how could he tell them that a ghost was haunting him with his own voice and saying that he felt weak and not worthy next to them?

How could he tell the vet that…

During fights, even if he wanted help, even if he decided to put his own doubts aside, to call for help, no voice could come to him. The spirit kept using the stolen cords, now saying things that he could never say.

When Legend came to his aid, his own voice was there to haunt him.

Look at you, here being a bother that they need to protect just out of pity, if only you even got there in time, if only you were able to do something… But no, you are not able to do even that. You are not even able to protect one of you brothers.

He didn’t know what was it referring to. He didn’t want to know, an idea forming in his head. He didn’t like his mind sometimes.

When they finally leaved the era, he felt like chains finally let go of his throat, breathing becoming even easier and the cold feeling always in his back gone.

If he ignored the veteran, nobody commented on that. Legend doesn’t need to know; he doesn’t deserve to know what will happen.

The image of his ghost, a clean cut in his throat almost separating his head from his body, was something that he will take to the tomb with him. If he can, he will try to be faster. To be useful.

If he never went back to telling stories, jokes, or anything else, nobody dared to ask. And if they do, a proper answer will not be what they get.

[katyawriteswhump]

omega found, omega lost #4

Chapter 1 on tumblr Chapter 2 on tumblr Chapter 3 on tumblr On AO3

Title: Omega found, Omega lost; Chapter: 4/5; WC: 2356; Rating: E; Tags: Steddie, Omega Steve, Alpha Eddie, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, nightmares.

for whumptober prompts day 19: blood trail, abandoned cabin, one way out. day 20: emotional angst, and day 22: bleeding through bandages, day 26: nightmares, and day 27: voiceless (yes, whoops, that's a lot of whump!)

Chapter 4: "I have no mouth and I must scream"

Then came the shout: “Alpha—get away from the Omega. Come out now, and if he’s unharmed, we’ll spare you.”

Eddie jumped up, insides wrenching at the small distance between he and Steve, while Steve was so sick. He glanced around, loathing even to rip his eyes from the Omega.

Was there any other way out of the cabin? Could he somehow haul Steve over one shoulder and flee? He’d never wanted to be a clod-headed beefcake kind of Alpha. Right now, it could be helpful. If they could get out. He assessed only the one door and two windows, the closest of which was now shattered and letting in a sleety gale.

An impotent growl escaped him. He grabbed for his damp pants, hoiking them on. He might make it out alone, but he couldn’t leave Steve at the mercy of a baying pack. Even Steve’s own pack. Eddie trusted them less than ever. Was this it… was he gonna die?

All this streaked through his head in a few seconds. He’d not even started to properly lose his shit, before another shout boomed from outside:

“What the heck are you morons doing throwing rocks? What you gonna do next—burn the cabin down?”

Eddie recognised that rumbling voice. Jim Hopper, chief Alpha of the Hawkins pack. Yeah, Wayne always claimed he was a reasonable guy. The idea of handing over Steve to anyone, however trustworthy, gouged like a jackknife in Eddie’s gut. He dashed to the unbroken window, squatted down, and glanced out.

 A couple of Alphas—oh, yeah, and Steve’s Beta dad—prowled the thawing snow, carrying rifles and sticks.

Nope. No sneaking out that way.

“You gonna open this door, Alpha, or do I kick it down?” Hopper hammered on the flimsy wood.

“I’m coming.” No choice. No damn choice.

Eddie dragged his shirt on, slunk to the door, pulled the bolt aside. Hopper barged in, and Eddie stood his ground between the larger Alpha and Steve—shoulders squared, fists clenched, his lips peeling back from his gums and his incisor-fangs quickening. He expected the larger Alpha to grab him or go straight for Steve. He wasn’t sure how he was gonna defend the Omega, only that he must.

Should he really make a dash for that shard of glass and slash it at Hopper’s throat?

Hopper’s attention latched straight onto Steve, and he made no sudden move. He closed the door behind, before the rest of the pack could swarm in, which was unexpected: “Christ, tell me he’s alive, Munson.”

Eddie was stunned enough to let Hopper pass.

“Yeah, he’s… he’s alive, okay?” Eddie hurried back to Steve’s side. “I found him caught in a hunter’s trap, and he was bleeding and scared and really, really cold.” Christ, in the minute since he’d unwound his body from Steve’s, the Omega’s lips had turned a worrying shade of blue. “Look, you gotta get him to a hospital. The rest of your pack can…”

Eddie trailed off, mouth hanging open. Stop thinking like a knot-head Alpha and think like Eddie Munson.

He wasn’t gonna beg to be torn to pieces, especially for so little ends. That said, Hopper appeared to have no intention of chewing his head off, at least not literally. Eddie shoulders and spine sagged, and his head drooped: “How many of your goons are out there?”

“There’s a dozen Betas and three more Alphas, all howling for your blood.” Hopper huddled Steve in the blanket and scooped him up into his arms. Eddie bristled at his own helplessness and a tinge of jealousy. “We didn’t even need the blood trail to follow! He’s letting off scent like he’s gone into heat, and we scented you too. Did you knot him?”

“No! I swear on my life.” His sudden fear for Steve proved the most painful stab yet. “You can’t let them punish him, man.”

Hopper effortlessly jostled Steve up a little, so Steve's lolling head rested against his shoulder. “The Omega is the least of your problems, Alpha. If it wasn’t for your uncle, I’d rip your throat out myself, apart from… this is as much my damn fault as yours.” Huh? Eddie hadn’t been expecting that. Nor Hopper’s guilty glance down at Steve. “I should have kept him glued to my side last night. Look, you better get outta here pronto.”

“How?” Eddie flapped his arms around wildly, reverting to the feckless teen he’d been only a couple of years before. “There’s only one way out.”

Hopper chuckled dryly. “Your old man knew different when he hid out here. There’s a panel behind the stove.  Took me ages to figure how the crafty old dog gave me the slip. Go. Hide. I’ll draw them away. Make sure nobody torches the place.”

Eddie obeyed, hating it. What choice did he have? While he sensed Hopper had Steve’s best interests at heart, he churned with anger at the whole damn world, and at himself.

Fuck, he was such a terrible Alpha. This proved how unready he was for a soulmate, let alone fatherhood and shit.

He had to let Steve go. Others could take better care of him.

As he hauled aside the stove, he dared not glance over his shoulder, in case he shed an incriminatingly un-Alpha tear.

…

Steve had been sick and hurt. Of that part, he was sure. But he’d been okay.

Eddie’s warm scent and body had enveloped him. The brush of Eddie’s soft lips had comforted him. Then he’d been ripped from that safe cocoon and hurled straight into Hell.

Barbed fangs glinted in an inky blackness, and the beast pounced, fangs piercing deep into Steve’s leg. It lifted him in its jaws and shook him violently, before smashing him into the icy ground, a hunk of dying meat.

He couldn’t hear his own scream after scream after scream. The exposed nerves and tendons in his ankle screamed louder, mocking his silence. The stench of his blood clotted in his nose and clogged up his throat, already shredded by his useless cries and thickened by terror.

Can’t breathe… can’t… can’t…dying… dying… dead? Eddie… Alpha... Please help me… It hurts… Eddieeeeee!

A wall of darkness slammed down. He floated, lost, mercifully senseless. When the dreams kicked off again, they weren’t all so bad. He was in a dingy cellar, chained to a damp brick wall, and… Okay, this was exactly how Tommy H claimed he’d wind up, some rogue Alpha’s plaything.

Steve was fiiiine with it.

Eddie was there, his body slamming Steve’s flush to the bricks. He nuzzled Steve’s throat tenderly, dragging his tongue over Steve’s mating gland. Steve’s every sinew strained toward him, trying to purr and rub into him. He couldn’t glean Eddie’s delicious scent. Violent shudders dragged him back from the cusp of getting slick.

“Eddie?” he whimpered. “Eddie, please? Where are you?”

When Steve finally opened his eyes for real, he squeezed them tight again before daring to peep.

He was in a hospital room. He’d gotten an IV drip attached to his arm, and other scary wires had been attached to his chest, poking out of his hospital gown. His heart lurched, and a green line spiked on a bedside monitor.

How did he get here? Last thing he recalled was Eddie… the cabin… Oh, Christ, what was real and what wasn’t? His head throbbed so hard he feared his skull would crack, and his stomach felt like somebody had punched it.

“Eddie,” he croaked, though nobody was around to hear. “Eddie.”

The next time he stirred, daylight stung his eyes. His mom stood at the door, talking to a doctor, “Mom?” he whispered. She didn’t turn her head. “Mommy?” Okay, that was shameful. “Please… mom? Where’s Eddie?”

His voice couldn’t compete with the penetrating hum of the strip-light.

I’m an Omega, not a pushover.

Yeah. Right.

Holy crap, he couldn’t leave the house alone without screwing up, bigtime, and his voice was little better than that of a ghost’s. Tuning into the doctor’s conversation didn’t exactly help:

“Mrs Harrington, you must understand—your son bled through bundles of fresh bandages after we brought him in, which made little sense. When he was found, he was sick, but his injuries had started to heal. He was never hyperthermic, yet he GOT WORSE. The bleeding has finally stopped, but his vitals have never stabilised.”

“Could he be pregnant, Doctor? Should I book him into an Omega Clinic?”

“It’s hard to tell with Omegas. I wouldn’t want to subject him to any invasive examination, let alone have him moved while he’s so sick.”

“But…”

With pup?

Steve’s blood simmered beneath his clammy cheeks.

And now his mother talked of the Omega clinic. Would she really dump him in that horrible place again, though they’d had to drug him to the eyeballs to survive it? And why, oh why, must he picture Tommy H, cackling in his face?

Did my soulmate fuck me and ditch me? Or was the whole soulmates BS all in my ‘air-brain little head’? Did Eddie knot me and skip town?

Okay, he’d literally been asking for it. He’d begged Eddie for dick and opened his legs to him like a ‘wanton little hussy.’

Was Tommy right about him? Tommy was right! His mom, too?

“I’m no Omega specialist,” the doctor was saying. “However, at this stage, the best remedy may be to find this rogue Alpha your son has been crying out for.”

“Yes. Hunt down that lowlife dog and destroy him for ruining my son.”

Steve’s panic ripped through him like a floodtide. His shallow breaths refused to sooth his clenching lungs, and his skin broke out into a cold sweat. By the time the doctor’s attention slid his way, he was full-on flipping out.

The next few moments passed in a terrifying blur. He fought the suffocating blankets and yanked the wires from his arm and torso, before more than one set of strong hands pinned him down. A sharp prick on his arm was echoed by the cool glide of a needle into his skin. Cool air flowed from the mask placed over his face. He drifted into dreams and that murky basement, wandering it like a spirit.

“Eddie,” he murmured, “Where are you?”

…

Three days.

Three fucking days.

That was how long Eddie had skulked in this dingy brick basement—pacing to keep warm, punching the bricks, wringing his battered hands, and all but ripping his hair out. He’d passed hours squatting in a corner, holding his drooping head.

Christ, he should get the fuck out of Dodge.

Perhaps distance could kill this agony. This crushing misery at knowing Steve was dangerously ill and being unable to see him, let alone do anything about it.

Yet Eddie wasn’t going anywhere, which was lunacy. None of his designs for life included mating a high-class Omega who’d grown up, basically, in a palace. Oh, and Steve’s mom had put a price on his head.

Ten thousand dollars. Dead or Alive. Seriously, where was he living—the Old West? Medieval Europe?

“Why me?” Eddie was muttering, over and over. The soft tap on the basement door set him snarling.

Okay, it was his and Wayne’s secret knock, based on an old Def Leppard guitar riff. Damn, Eddie was skittish as a goddamn Omega. Wayne descended the rickety wooden stairs, and Eddie leaped up, sweeping his heavy unwashed hair from his eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Had a visit from Hop and Steve’s dad.”

“Shit!” Eddie buried all eight fingers in his uncombed tresses. “Did they follow you here?”

“What sorta fool do you take me for, son?” Wayne chuckled, squeezing Eddie’s super-taut bicep. Eddie teetered suddenly on the brink of throwing his arms around his uncle and bawling his eyes out. Anything to release the tension thrumming through his every vein. “Wouldn’t have mattered if they did. Hop talks the talk about ripping your throat out, nothing more. I swear to God, he begged for your help.”

Eddie met Hopper around the back of the hospital, near a delivery entrance for the kitchens. On sighting him, Eddie stopped dead, smacked his boot heel loudly onto the ice-hardened asphalt.  

The older Alpha’s lips peeled back, hostile vibes billowing from him. Then Hopper pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned:

“Okay, Munson, stand down.” He hurled some scrubs at Eddie. “Gonna smuggle you in. Apparently, your Omega pepped up no end on learning we were trying to contact you on the sly. Even the docs are bleating on about the soulmate bond—it’s the worst case of rejection sickness in living memory. So, yeah, let’s move. We’ll deal with the nuclear fallout in the morning.”

Eddie pulled on the scrubs and tied back his hair, using a scrunchie he was pretty sure Hop had swiped off his daughter. He followed the Chief through the quiet corridors, struggling to get his head together.

Soulmate bond. Rejection sickness. Some doctor had more or less prescribed Eddie as a cure? He snatched a swift, fortifying breath.

You got this, Munson. Make your Omega well again, and everything else is gonna be child’s play…

…hahaha, seriously? You gonna rob a bank or something?

Screw it. Perhaps he would.

After they’d passed through the dark kitchens, Eddie sensed something off. He’d smelled Steve over a mile off in a snowy forest, and yet… Okay, maybe that was Steve’s musk he detected, heavily interwoven with others,’ and faint beneath the tang of chemicals.

It was way too faint and soured with a bitter tang that set Eddie’s guts flipping.

He shoved past Hopper and sprinted up the corridor. He followed his nose up several flights of stairs. Along a dark corridor, he almost collided with an angry nurse, then he rounded a corner and slammed into Steve’s dad. Eddie braced the Beta and shook him, taken aback by huge, scared hazel-brown eyes, startlingly like Steve’s: “What is it? Is Steve okay?”

“I-I don’t know. He’d been on the mend since I promised to find you. I came over to break the news you were on your way… and he’s gone and discharged himself.”

...

Chapter 5.1 (it's gonna be fine, okay!?!)

Please like and reblog if you’re feeling kind 🥰 it’s so very much appreciated ❤️

tags: @wheneverfeasible @mugloversonly @ellietheasexylibrarian

@strawberryyyenthusiast @stripey82

If anybody else fancies reading more, I would be happy to tag :) Or follow #katya's omega whump

My endless outpourings of Steve whump can be found on AO3 here :)

[whumpshots]

Whumptober #27

Trope of the day: voiceless

_

They couldn’t even scream if they wanted to.

Whumpee feels their head spin when they open their heavy lids, which feel like they are glued to their eyeballs. Their mouth is dry, throat as well—a croak is everything that leaves them as they breathe in the cold air.

How long they have been here, they don’t know, but Whumper made sure that they won’t forget that they won’t be able to leave anytime soon. If at all.

The days of pleading have ended quickly, screams have subsided. It still hurts. Everything Whumper does to them hurts them, but Whumpee cannot muster the strength to scream, their body won’t even let them.

A croak is everything that leaves them when they hear footsteps.

Every day they imagine that it’s finally Caretaker. Caretaker whom they couldn’t even greet.

[bucknerdycore]

No Words

Rating: Teen and Up Archive Warnings: Not Archive Warnings Apply Relationship: Tommy/Buck

Tommy sighed, his shoulders loosening just a bit, his gaze softening even more. “Come on, Evan. I can see you’re trying to tough it out...” His hand on Buck’s shoulder tightened in reassurance. “Are you hurt?” Embarrassed by how easily Tommy read him, Buck gave a reluctant, honest nod. With a half-smile, Tommy gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I get it.  But the last thing I need is you getting worse. I’m taking you home.I think Bobby will understand it." Buck opened his mouth to protest, but he quickly realized his voice was only a painful rasp. Tommy just chuckled softly, holding up a finger. “No arguments. I’m driving you.” Buck has a sore throat and can't talk for some days.

Whumptober 2024 Day 28: Voiceless

Link

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 27 - Voiceless

Warnings: red room violence, mission like violence

Word Count: 2k (gif not mine - if you know who’s it is pls let me know)

Summary: missions in the red room are a little different - sometimes they lead to other things.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

Fingers thread through braids, Natasha’s hands catching on a knot as the smaller girl turns to protest.

A nudge makes her turn around and they continue until the final braid is tight and pinned in place.

“Are you ready?” she whispers, like she’s not sending the girl into the woods.

Determination seems to fuel the child, hands touching the folds in her hair.

“It’ll be okay,” she says, more for herself than for the girl in front of her.

The forest of looming trees stands tall in front of the group of girls.

One of them adjusts her makeup, the deep browns and greens on her face like war paint.

The guards to the right and left of them stand still, eyes focused ahead, making Natasha feel more nervous.

With the last bits of preparation done, Natasha feels the weight of her own backpack.

She forces herself to take a calming breath and adjusts her gun.

This mission was important.

They had been promised a reward at the end.

Waiting for the starting gun, she glances to her right, and then her left.

Her team of five ranged from eight to ten years old. She knew the strengths and weaknesses of each girl, and as the team leader, she felt confident in their ability.

Capture the flag.

The other team was somewhere in the woods, armed and dangerous, protecting their flag against them.

It was Natasha’s idea to braid their hair, make sure they’d be completely camouflaged when needed and hold them back on purpose.

There was no time limit on the exercise, and she knew better than anyone the sense of foreboding that suspense brought.

The other team were likely to become more on edge the longer this went, the longer they didn’t hear sounds of movement through the woods.

Natasha nods to Iva. The girl moves forward, her sniper rifle armed with a rubber bullet cradled carefully in her arms.

Each of their guns only had a single bullet, so they were cautioned to use it wisely.

Natasha looks around.

She had set a perch the night before.

Sneaking out, and perhaps going against the rules, she knew it was necessary. The tree was the tallest and gave the best view.

She didn’t feel bad; she knew the other team had placed surprises for them too, not authorised, but everyone knew the generals didn’t care.

Three other girls hold their position, waiting for Natasha’s cue.

The two younger girls were small, but Natasha knew they could fight well enough.

Natasha steps forward first. Their formation the shape of a diamond.

Two girls behind her, and Vika behind them.

She motions for the girls behind her to scout left and right, respectively.

Vika winks, catching Natasha’s eye.

Natasha grins back.

This was fun.

She moves slowly forward and hears Iva shoot.

A cry of pain sounds in the woods and Natasha motions for them all to stop.

If one has been tagged, it means there were four left.

She doesn’t hear any noise.

Natasha leads her team forward again.

She knows approximately where the flag is, if they haven’t moved it.

“Two, six clicks left,” Iva shouts down.

Natasha whistles in acknowledgement.

She orders Vika to the right, telling her to sweep the area and circle round, to pick up Iva once she’s done.

She nods, and Natasha leads the other two left.

The youngest girl, Hannah, shoots, their position highlighted as the shot rings out.

She must have hit one of them, as a single bullet whizzes back, narrowly missing the girl to Natasha’s right. She motions for them run in opposite directions, as she looks around, finding the nearest climbing tree.

With two bounds, and a jump, she scales it, climbing up for a better view.

A twig catches her in the thigh, and she winces. Watching from above with her own gun ready, she knows that as soon as she shoots she’s a sitting duck.

She notices them straight away.

They had advanced in pairs.

She watches as Iva neatly disposes of the second girl in the pair, an elbow to the head knocking her down and out.

Two more left.

She whistles sharply, directing Iva and Vika right.

The two young girls hear and follow the direction changing their movement

The girls must see the pair and one shoots, hitting an opponent in the chest and then the other bursts through the brush to surprise the remaining girl.

Natasha takes her shot and hits the enemy square in the chest.

And… only one was left guarding the flag.

Natasha’s own team was working solo now. Five against one.

Hannah shouts as she falls into a trench pit, clearly dug out.

Natasha swears under her breath.

She should have thought of that.

She can’t do anything for her now

The last girl appears in view.

Natasha squats, waiting.

It can’t be this easy.

She whistles low.

Three whistles come back.

With that she judges that the girl is surrounded.

They have one bullet between them, and Natasha gives the order to shoot her.

But the girl doesn’t.

Iva moves to her, annoyed.

She takes the gun off the small girl with wide eyes and apologetic look.

Iva takes the shot.

It hits the girl left, and Iva is the first to move forward.

Natasha shouts for her to stop, but it's too late. She hears the click and then the mine goes off.

It’s not an explosion but gas.

It fills the immediate area, making Natasha’s eyes water.

She covers her mouth with her uniform.

She doesn’t care how many mines they’ve set, the flag wil be hers.

Stepping forward, she triggers another mine, smoke hazing in front of her, but still presses on.

A low whistle sounds in warning and Natasha’s vision blurs.

Another mine goes off.

The air is thick and clotted.

She doesn’t inhale.

It’s not far, she tells herself.

The flag comes into view; its green and red markings make her smile.

The world tips and she growls. Her body is heavy.

Her arm reaches out and her fingers just manage to grasp the material.

Successful mission, she thinks to herself, just before passing out.

.

Natasha wakes, her head strapped to a table.

She tries to call out but nothing happens.

She tries again, but nothing, not even a squeak.

She hears movement above her and she closes her eyes, pretending to be asleep.

If they think she’s asleep, they might just say something, to let her know what they’re planning.

She hears more footsteps.

She desperately wants to open her eyes.

The voices start low. As they move over to her head, she hears Dreykov.

Her body seizes up, and she feels herself holding her breath.

“When will she be ready?” She hears him say, his voice edging on anger.

“We are just planting the tracker now. We’ve numbed her throat.”

“Just get it done. The other one is ready and Melina wants to leave as soon as possible. Alexei is getting antsy.”

Was this her reward?

Her fists curl.

She completed the mission.

She won.

And now they’ve drugged her and taken away her voice.

They’re sending her into the unknown.

Tears of frustration and shame squeeze out her closed eyes.

Natasha can’t even make a noise as she openly cries and they drug her again.

.

[thetomorrowshow]

Whumptober 27 - Voiceless

title: we cannot push ourselves away from this quiet

fandom: hermitcraft smp

cw: muzzles

another part in my sleep cycle series, comprising of days 8, 23, and 26 :)

~

They found Mumbo in the basement.

Grian hadn’t been allowed to come along, as much as he’d fought for it. Four Hermits had gone missing out of nowhere—throwing Grian into a mess like that would have been just asking for trouble.

They hadn’t even been looking for Mumbo. As far as anyone knew, Mumbo was just off taking a break from the season. They’d been looking for the other four, only missing for a week—Doc, Ren, Impulse, Tango. Apparently, when they found them, Doc had gone on and on about the basement and how someone needed help down there, and when Gem and False had gone down to check it out, they’d found Mumbo.

He wasn’t too badly hurt, luckily—malnourished as all get out, with a couple of scrapes and bruises, but he was in better shape than Impulse and Doc, which, considering he was there for so much longer, was pretty good.

Now he’s back, and Grian couldn’t be more excited.

He hasn’t gotten to see Mumbo, yet—he came down with a cold the day the rescue happened, so had been banned from the medical building they’d set up—but he can’t wait.

He wants to throw a party—he doesn’t, but he wants to. Xisuma had laid a strict no-overexcitement-for-the-kidnapped rule, no matter the circumstances. So Grian does not trap Mumbo’s base with a glitter bomb or prepare any special gifts. He just stops by for a visit.

Mumbo’s got his back turned toward Grian when he arrives, digging through a shulker box and tossing various pieces of junk on the ground. For a moment, Grian’s about to sneak up on him and tap him on the shoulder, but he decides that would be a pretty poor idea, as far as his ideas went.

No-overexcitement-for-the-kidnapped, and all that.

“Hey, Mumbo,” he says loudly, approaching slowly.

Mumbo’s surprised jump is not subtle, and he spins around, letting the lid of the shulker box drop with a resounding crack. He also jumps at that, shoulders shooting up practically to his ears.

“Hey,” Grian says again, and geez, Pearl was not kidding about the malnourishment.

Mumbo’s always been thin, but not like this. His cheeks are sunken, his jawline harsher and clavicle clearly sticking out. His suit coat is missing, but even his white button-up hangs loose on him, and his slacks are actually held up by his suspenders instead of simply held in place.

He hasn’t shaved, either. Clearly, he has shaved since returning (three days ago, mostly spent in Scar’s bed shop-turned-hospital), but it’s been long enough that the stubble on his cheeks and chin is visible. That, combined with the oily shadows under his eyes and the bone-thin frame and his too-long hair, clutches at Grian’s heart with an iron fist.

But he puts on a smile. “I missed you,” he says. “Settling in all right? Do you need anything?”

Mumbo’s eyes dart around. He shrugs, tongue flicking out to moisten his lips. Then, belatedly, he twitches, opens his mouth.

��Er, no. Thanks.”

It’s all he says. Those three syllables are uttered so lowly as to be near-whispered, and after a half-attempt at a smile that fails miserably, Mumbo turns back to his shulker box.

The grip on Grian’s heart squeezes tighter.

“Okay,” he says, toning his own voice down. “Is it okay if I just hang out with you? We don’t have to talk, just . . . parallel working.”

He might be mistaken, but he thinks he sees Mumbo’s shoulders relax a fraction of an inch.

Mumbo nods, back still toward Grian. So Grian plops down a shulker box of his own and starts organizing, occasionally offering little comments or detouring to tell Mumbo a story about something that happened while he was gone.

Mumbo never says anything back, but he relaxes more and more. When Grian leaves a couple of hours later, the smile on Mumbo’s face is small, cautious—but genuine.

Grian doesn’t know what happened to him, or why he doesn’t want to talk.

That’s okay. He’s here for him, no matter what.

-

“He didn’t choose you,” Milo murmurs, gently running his hands through Mumbo’s hair. “We gave him a choice. He didn’t choose you.”

As much as Mumbo wants to pull away from the touch, he doesn’t.

Mumbo used to talk to himself. He would explain various redstone concepts, design new machines, picture his builds in his mind’s eye as he detailed everything aloud.

It was mere days before his guards tired of his noise.

He’s been muzzled ever since.

At first, the muzzle had been on conditionally. If he agreed to work for them, they would take off the muzzle. They would give him something solid to eat. They would let him work unbound, with a bed and a bath and everything he might need.

Those aren’t on the table anymore, he thinks. They don’t even demand his skills anymore, they just leave him in this dark room and sometimes feed him disgusting blends of food.

There are tears in his eyes. He’s been here by himself for so long, his only visitors his tormentors. Unable to speak, unable to open his mouth.

Milo had come in hours ago, had told him that they had one of his friends. He said that the friend would be given a choice: to free Mumbo of the muzzle, or free someone else of their muzzle. Inconsequential decisions. Zero repercussions for choosing one of them, no other stipulations.

Why wouldn’t he choose him? It’s been so long, so long, he’s going to die if he has to spend another moment without being able to move his mouth, with the leather strap that seems to have melded into his skin, tight and heavy and world-ending.

He can’t talk. He can’t talk, and it’s been so long that he doesn’t know if he ever will talk again.

“I know. It’s hard. He cares more about a stranger than he does you. I am here.”

He’s being stockholm syndrome’d. Mumbo knows it.

Knowing that doesn’t make the tears fall any slower. Knowing that doesn’t mean he drags himself away from Milo’s hold.

-

Mumbo circles down, down to where Grian is polishing Grumbot, and lands on the rocky ground, stumbling a bit. He waves hesitantly, and Grian hops down from Grumbot’s shoulder.

“Hey!” Grian greets, offering a smile. Mumbo smiles back, then starts setting down shulker boxes.

“A swan, today?”

Mumbo bites his lip, then nods. “Y-yeah,” he manages, the word oddly loud. He cringes, cheeks burning red.

After waiting for a nod, Grian wraps Mumbo in a soft hug, gently squeezing. “That’s all right,” he says into Mumbo’s chest. “It’s okay to be a swan.”

Mumbo eases into the hug, squeezing Grian back.

Despite Mumbo’s swan days (days where talking is uncomfortable for him) being almost more common than his talking days, he’s always willing to accept physical affection. Grian makes sure to hug him as much as possible, remind him that it’s okay to struggle.

Mumbo’s never told him why he struggles to speak, and Grian’s never asked. It feels too personal, too demanding.

What Mumbo has told them, though, is how long he was in captivity.

Two months.

Two months, compared to the week of everyone else, so doesn’t he have ample reason to not talk sometimes? After all, Doc still refuses to be by himself, Ren spooks when anyone touches him, and Tango spent the first week avoiding everyone only to now be inseparable from Impulse, and they were only gone for a week.

Trauma is trauma, and it isn’t Grian’s place to judge how it affects his friends. He’ll be there for Mumbo whether it’s a swan day or not, and he won’t press for answers.

Interestingly, Mumbo doesn’t even send messages when it’s a swan day. They’d tried that, once, but he had only managed to message a couple of words before shaking his head.

Maybe he doesn’t really think in words on swan days. Maybe it’s just exhausting to form them.

Grian doesn’t ask, and it really doesn’t matter. Today, he hugs Mumbo, then chatters on while he cleans and Mumbo sketches out some redstone plots.

It’s only been a month since they brought him home, and already his suit fits better. He’s shaving regularly again, his eyes are brighter, the shadows under them not near so heavy.

Today, Grian smiles, and Mumbo smiles back.

[uuuhshiny]

Vladimir Verevochkin in Survival game (Игра на выживание)

[friendship-ditch]

Whumptober Day 27 - Voiceless

Arwen x Fem!Reader ✼

Summary: You save Arwen from the hands of orcs and have to coax her into realizing she's safe again.

Warnings/Notes: Mentions of torture and such, nothing graphic. This is a little rushed but I thought it would be interesting if Arwen was kidnapped instead of Celebrian

Word Count: 1958

  The first thing you’d heard hitched upon the wind were the cries; soft, pathetic whimpers calling hopelessly for aid. Then there was the sound of hoofbeats as Elladan and Elrohir came to join your side, weapons at the ready for the raid.

  The orcs inside were suspecting an attack, but nothing like the one you raged. The foul creatures were eradicated within minutes, one kept alive for information. While the brothers tortured the last living soul, you set off to find her.

  Arwen had been captured during her voyage to Lothlorien and had been missing for weeks. Search parties ranged the surrounding woods, though this camp was well hidden beneath fallen rocks and brush. If it weren’t for the noises you picked up, you would have continued past without realizing. The thought nearly broke your heart.

  You wandered around the sharp stones, stepping gracefully over the mess and muck. “Arwen!” You cupped your hands around your mouth and called. 

  There was a loud cry from down one of the tunnels, but it was cut off. Then there was a thump.

  You ran down the tunnel, bow aimed to fire. When you burst into the next cavern, the orc at Arwen’s side hardly had time to move before your arrow shot through its chest.

  After clearing the cave of all other evil, you ran to Arwen’s side. She’d slumped over onto the cold stone of the cave.

  Her dress was bloody and torn, hands bound and wrists raw from trying to wriggle free. The orc must’ve knocked her out to shut her up as her eyes were closed but she moaned softly when you lifted her head. There were other assorted wounds over her body, her nose bloody and lip busted.

  You’d never seen an elf in such a state, especially not one you adored so dearly… You had to fight back tears as you pulled her limp body into your arms, lifting her up.

  The return to Rivendell was a blur. Elrond took Arwen the second you arrived and you did not see her again until well into the night. She was still unconscious, skin pale from the poison that ran through her body, though Elrond had extracted it. Her wounds were mending and wrapped. She looked oddly peaceful, as pale and still as the carefully carved statues around the kingdom. It was beautiful, in a heart-sinking way.

  It took a few days for Arwen to fully wake but when she did, she was returned to her room and placed under your care. Her body healed just fine and you could hardly tell the torture she went through, but the effects on her mind were clearer than ever.

  The bright light in her eyes had dimmed. The beautiful blue was almost reduced to a dim gray, leaving her with a hollowed expression as though she was not looking at, but through you, into something further beyond. Whether that beyond was real or not, you weren’t sure. But it was painful to say the least.

  When elves experienced heavy trauma, their minds have a tendency to slip and shut down. You’d seen it before, how they simply wither before giving in and heading West. You were determined not to let that happen to Arwen. Not now.

  So you entered her chambers quietly the next day, holding a tray. You’d gathered all of her favorite sweets, fruits, and drinks, hoping to at least coax her into getting something into her weary body.

  Arwen was sitting quietly in her room when you arrived. She sat curled up on the small couch by the window, chin tucked between her knees and eyes following the dust as it floated beneath the sunrays. When you entered the room she flinched at the sound of the door. Her head whipped in your direction, dim eyes wide with fear. When she realized it was you, she settled and hugged her knees tighter, burying her face into them.

  Her whole body seemed dimmer, an odd gray still attached to her complexion although her health was restored.

  “I brought you some things..” You approached, resting the tray down on the table beside her.

  Arwen’s eyes quietly flitted to the gifts and she nodded, though she said nothing. When you rested her hand on her shoulder she flinched once again. Though she soon leaned into your touch.

  “Are you feeling any better?” You murmured. She scooted over and you sat beside her, rubbing your hand in gentle motions over her back.

  Arwen still didn’t reply.

  You think back to Elrond’s warning before you went to see her. He told you that yes, she was healing, but she hadn’t spoken a word upon her return. He figured it was some sort of trauma response and told you to just take it easy with her.

  So when silence fell in the air, you nodded quietly. “Your father says in a few days your wounds will all be gone. You’re healing nicely.” You slowed the soft motion on her back to simply drawing patterns over her with your thumb. “I’ve missed you…”

  Arwen lifted her head to look at you. That same empty look was in her eyes but her brows lifted slightly at your words. 

  “Is there anything you want to do?” You asked, hoping you could maybe get her out of the room for some time. “We could stroll through the castle, or ride horses… or we could walk the gardens.”

  The other elf hesitated. She refused to open her mouth and lowered her eyes down to her hands. There were still bandages around them, little ones wrapped around her finger from where her knuckles had been torn and raw, palms split. They were mostly healed now but she didn’t want to see the skin until it was fully clear. The silence lasted a few beats longer until she finally nodded.

  “How about the gardens?” You suggested again. “It’s quiet there… they planted some of your favorite flowers.”

  That was the most alive you’d seen her. Her gaze, still foggy, lightened ever so slightly and she nodded again.

  You smiled. “Alright. The gardens it is.” You leaned in to kiss her cheek but she shuddered away from the touch, closing her eyes as though expecting to be hurt. A frown drew across your lips and you stopped. Then you carefully grasped her hand in yours and gave it a tight squeeze.

  “You’re safe.” You whispered softly, lifting her hand and kissing the back of it.

  Arwen didn’t nod, though she didn’t disagree either.

  You got her changed into some cleaner robes and undid the braid her hair had been in for days. When you finally left her chambers she stayed glued to your side, looking around the halls of her home with fear in her eyes. It was as though around every corner she expected something to come out and attack her. She said nothing to the other elves in the home that spoke to her but they seemed to understand and let her be.

  By the time you got to the gardens her arms were wrapped around yours and she was almost trying to melt into you. You let her hold onto you as tight as she needed, guiding her through the well-trimmed plants and beautiful trees.

  You spoke quietly as you strolled; speaking of past events, the last dream you had, how beautiful the sunset was last week… anything really to keep her mind focused and in the present. Whenever you caught her mentally drifting off you gave her a gentle nudge and although she winced the first few times, it did snap her back.

  Eventually the two of you settled on the grass beneath her favorite tree. Usually you both would climb it and sit together, legs intertwined as you read or talked or laughed. Arwen was in no state or mood to climb the limbs of the tree, though she willingly laid down upon the soft grass.

  You leaned back against the tree, slowly coaxing her head into your lap. She was hesitant to be so vulnerable in an open space but once you laid your cloak over her body she settled down, a soft, docile thing.

  You started with gentle strokes to her scalp, craning your fingers through the dark locks that settled upon her head. When she grew accustomed to that you moved to running your fingers from her head all the way to the end of her hair, stroking her mane in soothing motions.

  Arwen’s fingers kneaded the fabric of your robes like she needed something to mess with. You eventually reached and handed her a stick for her to pick at which she took gratefully.

  Neither of you spoke for a long time until you finally broke the heavy silence. You knew you probably shouldn’t ask but you couldn’t help it.

  “Can you simply… not speak? Or do you not want to?” You asked in the softest voice. If Arwen felt uncomfortable with the question you could easily pass it off as she didn’t hear and drop the topic. You waited quietly.

  And for a moment you thought you were just going to pretend like you never asked, but Arwen lifted her head. She looked up at you through her weary, tortured eyes, haunted by the horrors she’d endured. Then she opened her mouth.

  She tried to speak but all that came out was sort of a croaking sound. Her throat was still raw and healing from countless hours of crying and screaming. The realization of it all broke your heart in two. Without thinking of how she’d respond, you scooped Arwen’s upper body and pulled it against yours in the tightest hug you could muster.

  Arwen let out a hoarse noise of surprise but she didn’t tense this time. If anything she melted into your arms, tucking her pale face into the crook of your neck and closing her eyes. If there was anywhere she could feel safe after everything she’d been through, it was here in your arms.

  You held her through her silent tears and through your own. The idea of letting go was horrifying. You couldn’t bear to part yourself from her… not after everything that had happened.

  Arwen eventually moved from laying in the grass to just being cradled in your lap, her head against your chest as the last of her tears ran dry. She clasped your robes once more, her breathing finally settling down. Her throat was still too raw for her sobs to be audible but the tears were clear.

  You peppered kisses to the top of her head once you had settled down as well. You wiped your face and took a deep breath. The two of you had been out there for who knows how long, and it was getting late…

  “Perhaps it’s time we return you to your chambers.” You murmured, though when she tensed, you quickly added, “or mine.”

  Arwen reluctantly agreed and let you help her to her feet. She clung to your arm once more and you rested your other hand atop hers.

  “I’ll get you some tea for your throat. Then we can relax in bed.” You clarified, hoping your plans would put her more at ease. And it seemed to work for the most part as she lowered her shoulders and nodded.

  Her lips quivered for a moment and you feared she would cry again, but the corners of them lifted in the slightest smile which you mirrored with glee.

  “Come on.” You gave her a gentle nudge to which she rolled her eyes. Then you led her back inside for tea and cuddles, doing all you could to remind her that she was safe again.

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Whumptober 2024 No. 27- Voiceless | Laboratory

This is another OC snippet- it involves more of Lucien's backstory! You can find more of his story here. Also, this is pretty long so I put it under the cut!

It was the first time in weeks Lucien had left his mansion to go into town. It wasn’t that he needed to hunt for blood or anything, he had willing servants that would provide him with what he needed. No, he just wanted to get out of his coffin for once. He wasn’t sure what sparked the sudden motivation for activity, and truthfully, he was regretting coming outside already.

There were too many people out and about for the middle of the night, shouldn’t they be in their beds? Lucien pulled his hood over his face a little tighter. He didn’t need anyone seeing his pointed ears or his wings.

Lucien passed building after building. The scent of everyone’s blood wafted through, and the fact that his mouth watered made him sick. He was just about to turn around and go home when he walked right into a woman.

“Oh!” the woman cried.

“My apologies,” Lucien said, “I didn’t see you there.”

Lucien went to walk by and let that be the end of it, but the woman followed him, sliding in front of him and blocking his path.

“Wait!” she said, “you seem troubled. Is everything alright?”

Lucien blinked, taken by surprise. Since when did people care about each other in this century?

“I, um…”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Thank you, but I feel fine. Have a good evening.”

He passed her again, catching the scent of her blood as he went by. He tried to fight off the urge to bite her right then and there.

��Haven’t fed for a while, hm?”

That stopped Lucien in his tracks. He lunged at breakneck speed, pulling the woman into an alleyway. He pinned her against the old brick wall.

“Wow, you really haven’t fed for a while.”

“That isn’t something I like to advertise,” Lucien growled, “and I’d encourage you to walk away now before I decide not to let you.”

“And miss this opportunity?” the woman’s eyes sparkled, “never.”

Lucien felt the pinch before he even noticed her move. His hand instinctively went to his side, where he felt a small pinprick.

“How did you…?”

“Oh, it isn’t easy,” the woman smiled, “takes lots of practice with deception and timing, especially when it comes to your kind.”

Lucien blinked, trying to clear his vision. The world tilted on its axis. Somehow the woman caught him despite her smaller size.

“There there my little specimen,” she said, “everything is going to be fine.”

That was the last thing Lucien heard before falling asleep.

…

Lucien’s eyes snapped open. A wooden ceiling stared back at him. Harsh lights hit him from every angle. There was a slight burning sensation on his wrists and ankles. Silver restraints. His cloak had been removed and his wings were unfolded under him. He seemed to be in some kind of decrepit old laboratory.

“You sleep as though you were dead. I don’t think you breathed once.”

Lucien’s head whipped to the side, where the woman from before stood now. She had a journal and pen in her hands and was taking notes rapidly.

“Pupils dilated, rapid breathing- the specimen seems to only breathe when it’s awake- pale skin- though that is to be expected- are you afraid, Vampire?”

Lucien glared.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“I am Eliza Morgan,” she said proudly, “and soon the world of science will know my name. And yours too, I’d imagine. What is your name, dear?”

“Like I’d tell you!”

“Hm. I suppose I don’t exactly need your name to complete my work.”

She continued taking notes.

“Tell me, how long have you been what you are? Did you come into the world this way or were you turned?”

“I am not going to answer any of your questions!”

Eliza sighed. She came up to the exam table. She examined Lucien’s wings, his hands, his eyes.

“Heterochromia,” Eliza said to herself, “fascinating.”

She produced a syringe.

“I don’t trust you to keep still for me, but I need to look at those fangs. This will only hurt for a second!”

“What!? No! Stop!”

Eliza didn’t listen. In went the drug, and Lucien slowly but surely began to go limp on the table.

“It is only a temporary paralytic,” she said, “you will be fine.”

She opened his mouth and examined his fangs.

“Good for puncturing. I wonder how many humans you’ve drained with these.” She said.

She extracted some of his saliva in a test tube, storing it.

“Well, once I get you packed up it’s off to London!” she said eagerly, “they will have to let me into university once they see what I’ve got!”

Eliza prepped another drug, she was just about to administer it when there came a knock at the door.

“Oh, who could that be now?” Eliza grumbled.

She went to the door. Lucien could hear the sounds of an argument, then two sets of footsteps.

Eliza seemed quieter than usual. Lucien noted the dazed look in her eyes, and the lopsided smile. A figure came and put a pale hand on her shoulder.

“You’ve been getting into trouble, Lucien.”

Lucien wanted to plead, grovel, beg, but all he could do was lay there and watch. Erythros turned Eliza around to face him.

“Why didn’t you use your hypnosis to protect yourself?” Erythros asked Lucien, though staring at Eliza, “this creature is very susceptible to it.”

Erythros took her face in his hands and twisted hard. Lucien’s eyes screwed shut as he heard the snap, then a thud. The scent of blood filled the air.

When he dared to open his eyes, Erythros was standing over him, removing the silver restraints, not caring about the burns it caused.

“I am disappointed,” he went on, “how can I trust you to be on your own if you can’t even defend yourself against such a pathetic human?”

Erythros lifted Lucien into a bridal carry. He closed his eyes as they passed Eliza’s body.

“Ah ah. Look, Lucien. Look.”

Lucien opened his eyes and saw how Eliza’s neck craned at an unnatural angle, how blood seeped through her nose. How she lay haphazardly on the floor.

“That is what I expect from you. Do you understand?”

Lucien blinked to show he was listening.

“I’m taking you home. Not your mansion, the castle. I’m not letting you out of my sight until I know you can fend for yourself.”

Erythros flew off into the night, his grip tightening on Lucien. He was in so much trouble.

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[yonbwekh]

Whumptober 2024 day 27

Prompt: Voiceless

>> inspired by a post I saw a while back that I now can't find. Basically about Whumpee's having their vocal cords weakened but not removed with surgery

Whumpee sobs quietly.

"Speak up." Whumper says, grinning cruelly.

"I-I'm sorry sir I ca- can't." Whumpee says, trying to ignore the way Whumper's boot rests on their already damaged throat.

"I told you to speak" - The boot presses firmer - "up."

Whumpee ties to pull the boot off of their neck, squirming and kicking their feet, but it's futile. "S-sir," Whumpee rasps, grabbing at Whumper's ankle, "Ple- Please.. I can't.. Breathe.."

Black dots cloud their vision, threatening to overtake them.

"What was that? I can't hear you."

Whumpee doesn't hear their own response as their movements slow and they pass out.

[moonlight0934]

Voiceless

“I’m going out hunting with Murphy and Miller. Do you need anything?” Bellamy asks, leaning against the wall of the dropship.

Clarke looks up.

“No, why are you asking me?”

“You’re just in charge of the most things aside from me. Are there any plants or anything that we know are useful that you want me to look for? That kind of thing.”

Clarke thinks for a second.

“You want to grab some more of that seaweed in case someone gets hurt?”

Bellamy nods.

“I can do that. I’ll be back with it later.”

“Or you can have someone else drop it off,” Clarke suggests.

Bellamy laughs. Miller and Murphy are waiting by the gate.

“You ready to go, or what?” Murphy asks.

Bellamy nods.

“Let’s get going.”

They spend the next few hours hunting as quietly as they can though there’s no sign of any Grounders anywhere. They manage to catch a deer, but it’s getting dark by then. So, Bellamy turns to Miller and Murphy.

“You guys should start hauling this thing back to camp. I’m going to take a detour to the lake. I should catch up with you guys before you get to camp. I can help with that thing at that point.”

Miller nods, and they set off. Bellamy jogs towards the lake, making sure to watch his surroundings and his footing. There’s no sign of any Grounders, but he still moves quickly in hopes of getting back to camp before the sun fully sets. The light is barely peeking over the trees when he reaches the shoreline. He looks down, contemplating whether he should take his shoes off.

On one hand, it would take less time to dry if I didn’t walk in there with them on. Eh, I need to be fast, and I can just leave them to dry out overnight.

He steps into the water, and starts looking around for the seaweed. It’s hard to see with the quickly fading light, but he manages. He walks out of the water, holding the seaweed. There’s a noise to his left near the treeline, immediately drawing his attention. He grabs the pistol tucked into his waistband, eyes scanning for anything moving. A small cylinder rolls towards Bellamy, and he’s at least half convinced that it’s about to blow up. It doesn’t though, and it just starts spewing smoke. Bellamy tries not to breathe it in, but he ends up passing out anyway. He’s in a cage when he wakes up, and immediately starts to panic in his head.

Where am I? This doesn’t look like a-

He looks around and sees just rows and rows of cages. Most of them have people in them.

“What the-” he whispers, trailing off.

His head is spinning with all of the new information he’s taking in, and the after effects of whatever he was drugged with. Two guards walk in with a sleazy looking young man.

“Take that one to get some testing done,” the sleazy young man says, pointing at Bellamy.

“Yes, sir.”

They walk over, and unlock the cell, then pull Bellamy out, keeping a tight hold of him.

“Let go of me,” Bellamy growls, trying to pull away.

They ignore him even though he doesn’t stop trying to get away. After going through two hallways, one of them elbows Bellamy in the midsection.

“Stop squirming!”

Bellamy coughs, but once he regains his breath, he refocuses his efforts on figuring out where he is. This place is mostly concrete, and the people are very different from anyone else that they’ve seen on the ground. They have guns strapped to their hips, they’re wearing some kind of uniform, and they don’t seem as aggressive as the Grounders have been.

They take Bellamy to a room that looks kind of like the infirmary on the Ark. They strap him to the white cot while he looks at everything else. There’s a small table that has all kinds of tools on it. There’s also a sink, and a few cabinets.

“Where are we?” Bellamy asks, more just thinking out loud than anything else.

The sleazy man rolls his eyes.

“He’s a chatty one. He’s going to be loud through this process, so one of you go get-” He doesn’t finish, but they seem to know what he’s talking about, because one of them immediately rushes to do what he said.

The thing they come back with is something that Bellamy has only seen in books, but he almost immediately recognizes it. He doesn’t say anything, but he does try to pull his head away when the man tries to fit the muzzle over his face. The man ends up hitting him over the head, and putting it on his face anyway. A woman walks in, and one of the guards walks out to stand by the door.

“Cage, is this the one?” the woman asks.

Cage? Is that his name?

“Yes, his name is Bellamy Blake. We’ve been watching them for some time, but this is going to give us a better idea of what they can do for us. He was alone, so it was easy enough. Remember though, if my father asks, he’s a Grounder with a higher tolerance for radiation. We still don’t know what he thinks about the sky people, and we can’t risk him shutting us down.”

Sky people. Shit, and they’ve been watching us? Who are these people?

The woman walks over.

“He looks to be in pretty good health. I guess I’ll get started now, and we’ll know for sure soon enough.”

Cage hums, then says, “Ok, well, I’ll be entertaining my father. Come get me when you have all of the results.”

The woman nods, then turns back to Bellamy.

“Well, my name is Dr. Tsing. I know you can’t respond, but you should know that we don’t want to hurt you. It’s for a good cause, and you’re going to help a lot of people.”

What is she going on about?

She grabs a needle, and gently puts it into Bellamy’s right arm. Bellamy tries to pull away again, but he can’t move enough.

“Shh, stop that. Don’t make me sedate you.”

Leave me alone. Who are these people, and what do they even want?

His arm is starting to burn spreading outwards from the spot that she put the needle in. It’s only a few seconds before his skin turns bright red and his whole arm feels like it’s on fire.

“Ok, well that’s not a good sign,” she mumbles.

She draws blood from his other arm, setting aside enough vials that Bellamy is starting to feel dizzy. Then she just watches his right arm for a little bit. Finally, after what feels like forever, she puts something else into his right arm, and it soothes the fire.

“Ok, well it seems like you had a bad reaction to that. I’m going to take this blood, and we’ll see what happens when I play around with it.”

She puts another needle into his arm, and his vision starts to fade almost immediately.

[mayblossomss]

Whumptober Day 27: Voiceless

Being the middle child was almost like being invisible. You weren't the oldest, who got to pick out their clothes without only being handed hand-me-downs, and were allowed to be held to no special standards. You weren't the youngest, who was the family's pride and joy, being excused from any punishment no matter the crime.

No, as the middle child, you were given the hand-me-downs and you couldn't buy new clothes unless you absolutely had nothing else to wear. You were treated as though you had no opinions of your own and were mere reflections of what your older and younger siblings wanted.

You didn't stand out from your athletic superstar brother, and you were an academic failure compared to your genius brother who skipped a grade while you were on the verge of failing yours.

You were always "Darrel Curtis' younger brother" and never "Sodapop Curtis, his own person, with a personality and hobbies and an entirely different story!" It was like he was defined by his brothers and nobody gave him a chance to introduce the real him. And it hurt, it really did.

Since Darry was so athletically talented, everybody assumed that Sodapop would be too. His parents enrolled him into sports like soccer, baseball, and cross country, all of which sports that Darry had done and excelled in. Soda was decent at them, no better than any other kid on the teams, but preferred to spend his practices chatting near the back with the other lazy kids. His parents stopped making him go after realizing it was a waste of money, and that focusing on their more gifted son would be a better use of that money.

Nobody asked him if there were any other sports he was interested in, because if they had, they would've found out that Soda loved badminton, and every time he went over to Two-Bit's, the boys would spend forever hitting the birdie back and forth.

If Ponyboy wanted to go watch a movie, or needed to head to the library to pick up a new book, Soda was the designated person to accompany him. Sodapop adored his brother, and would happily escort him to wherever he wanted to go, especially when he was younger, but sometimes it was annoying. Soda would have plans with Steve or Two-Bit, but without even asking him first, his parents would sign him up for babysitting duty. If he spoke against it, he was being a brat.

He was voiceless at the end of the day. Nobody listened to him,he may as well have been muted. Soda knew his family loved him, and he loved them too, but they didn't understand that he was his own person most of the time. They treated him like a shadow, one that followed exactly what they expected him to, and mimicked whatever they did.

Sodapop felt especially voiceless whenever an argument between his brothers would break out. It had always been like that, since Soda was thirteen, and Ponyboy discovered how easily he could get on Darry's nerves. They didn't fight too badly then, only an occasional squabble that always ended on a positive note, but ever since their parents died, their fighting became constant. Every week, Soda would sit on the couch, staring absently at the cartoons playing on the TV as Pony and Darry hollered at each other from the room across from him.

It was exhausting, and it took a lot of willpower to keep from blowing up. He was expected to see both of their sides and completely empathize with them, while disagreeing with the other.

Soda could see why they fought so much: Darry was stressed from having to go from a boy to a man within hours. He spent all day working, whether it be at work or at home doing chores, the last thing he needed was to constantly fret over Ponyboy. With Ponyboy, he was only fourteen-years-old and still trying to handle his grief. He was a teenager, of course he's both hormonal and ready to pick fights over every little thing. Neither of them were wrong to be prone to fighting.

Neither of them could stop and think about the other person's point of view, though, as they were very stubborn. If Darry paused and thought about the fact that Pony was trying his best to accommodate to Darry's authority shift, and if Pony stopped to think about all of Darry's stresses, maybe the two of them could tone down the bickering.

Soda tried explaining it to them, but it went right through one ear and out the other one, as always. His words were passionate, but they were weak to his brothers' hard heads.

On one particular morning, Soda wasn't woken up by birds singing outside his window, but by screaming coming from the kitchen. A part of him wanted to roll over and shove his pillow over his head, but ultimately, he pushed himself out of bed, threw on a shirt, and walked to the kitchen. There, Ponyboy was screaming away, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms like a kid. Darry was a few feet away from him, eyes narrowed and jaw tense as he yelled back, their voices overlapping and coming out unintelligible.

"What's going on?" Soda asked, his voice drowned out by their fighting, so he repeated himself with more force. "What's happening?"

Ponyboy noticed him, shoulders slumping and a hint of relief flashing through his eyes. "Soda! Tell Darry he's being unreasonable!"

"What's this about?" Sodapop questioned tiredly, looking from Darry to Ponyboy.

Darry turned to him, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing. "Ponyboy got a B- on his history test even though I told him to study. What did he do instead? Went to the damn movies with Dally and Johnny!"

"It's one B-, Darry! What's the big deal?"

"What's the big deal?" Darry scoffed. "Soda, tell him what the big deal is, since it doesn't seem to get through his skull any other way!"

Soda's body tensed as their fighting continued. They asked him to pick sides, assuming he'd pick their own, but it wasn't fair to him. They were both right and they were both wrong. How can they make him pick when there wasn't a correct answer? If he picked Darry, Ponyboy would be upset with him all day, but if he picked Ponyboy, Darry would be mad.

"Why don't you both stop yelling?" Soda suggested, taking a slow step toward them. "Can't we talk about this rationally?"

They ignored him, their voices only increasing in volume. It got to the point where they were practically chest-to-chest, screaming in each other's face. One of these days, one of them were going to take their fighting too far, and Soda dreaded it, knowing he'd have to stand witness to it, but ultimately be helpless. Tears of frustration began to brew behind his eyes, but he pushed them down and kept trying to speak.

It was pointless. Soda's pleas for them to quiet down fell deaf ears. After a few more minutes of it, he couldn't take it anymore. He crept away from them, heading for the front door. Neither of them noticed, after all, he may as well have been invisible, his voice silenced by their refusal to acknowledge him.

As always.

[rolandtowen]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr & Charles Xavier Characters: Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Nina Gurzsky, Magda (X-Men), Jean Grey Additional Tags: Hurt Erik Lehnsherr, caring charles xavier, Charles Xavier in a Wheelchair, Charles Xavier Loves Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier is a Sweetheart, POV Charles Xavier, Whumptober 2024, Erik Lehnsherr Needs a Hug, Erik Lehnsherr Has Feelings, Erik Lehnsherr Has PTSD, Flashbacks, Dissociation, Nonverbal Communication, Nonverbal Erik Lehnsherr, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, for a split second, Healthy Coping Mechanisms, Established Relationship, Post-Movie: X-Men: Apocalypse (2016), Whump, Erik Lehnsherr Whump, Caretaking, Implied/Referenced Character Death Summary:

Erik sees something at the mansion that triggers a dissociative episode. Charles helps ground him again.