#amow tropeathon 2023;

[goronska]

March Trope-A-Thon (Day 1) - Blue Rose

[Masterlist] - there are also the OCs described in much detail

Trope: Rain/Snowstorm OCs: Shiroi, Adam (Vermillion canon) CW: slavery, enviromental whump, restraints, freezing, (partial) non-con nudity (chest)

Blue Rose

"How could you have forgotten that lady Dira hates lilies?!" she dragged him out by the color as soon as the guests moved from the dining room to the ballroom. "I've told you tens of times, you useless bum! Why have I ever given you the task of decorating the room?!"

He wanted to answer that she always tells him to do that, because of delicate hands and ability to manipulate the smallest and most delicate things precisely, but he knew the questions were rhethorical. He was able to guess so due to the bitegag in his mouth. She was just shouting to let him know the punishment is coming. The louder Lady Shiroi was, the worst day was ahead of him. And she was very loud.

Soon they were past the the corridor, right through the front door and her statue-like leg kicked him outside. He was immidiately met with a chilly evening, light of the day being slowly drowned out and muted with dark clouds pouring rain and some miniscule hail. She's not kicking him out of the house, right? That would be such a blessing!

Shiroi already have a different task for Adam in mind. Until he fell asleep each day, she always had some. For him and her other slaves. "You'll be welcoming the guests!" she said with an ugly smile. He nodded in response. "Great, give me you tie!" He quickly untied the black piece of garment and handed it to her, feeling as his butler tuxedo she made him wear today is slowly getting drenched in cold precipitation. It might have been cold sweat, too.

There was a large, brass door knocker on the floor door. She absolutely treated it as a hook, swiftly tying both his hands and his collar to it. At first he thought she might even be joking, she was first to beat him, kick him, but not tying him to a spot. But as he was standing there, his black wavy hair fashioned by the cold water flowing down his face, his arms uncomfortably crossed behind his head, she ripped his white shirt open. He looked with longing eyes as a shiny button disappears within the grass in the garden, rolling away. Then Shiroi took out her blue lipstick from her pocket and in large letter wrote across his chest 'WELCOME'.

"There, NOW we're talking! Marvellous decoration, Adam, just devine! NOW MOVE!" she pushed by him and closed the door with a bang, making him lose his balance and scrawling to straighten up for a while.

Adam didn't remember any guests missing from the invitation list. Adam also didn't remember that one of the ladies hated white lillies, but they looked so nice in arragments with his Mistress signature blue roses. He thought she will appreciate. She didn't. And now, with all the guests already dancing and drinking inside, in warmth, there was little chance anybody, including the other slaves, who were busy serving drinks, would find him soon.

If someone was there to look, they would notice that before Adam lost conciousness deep into the night, it wasn't just the 'WELCOME' written across his chest, and now smeared with rainwater, that was blue. It was his lips.

[cricket-reader]

Sick Day

Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox

Summary: Matt isn’t very happy when he comes home and discovers that his girlfriend had kept her sickness from him. He makes sure she is well taken care of before they go to bed.

Warnings: language, sickness, pet names, Matt being an overprotective simp, fluffy

Word Count: 960

Prompt: Sickfic, headache, cold/fever, blankets, hot drink (except I changed it to hot soup)

A/N: day 5 of March Trope-A-Thon by @amonthofwhump

Today had been horrible. She awoke to see that Matt had left early to go to work. On top of that, she felt like shit. Her head was pounding and she was burning up. Her nose felt stuffy, and her muscles ached.

She got up and took her temperature to see that she had a fever of 100.7 degrees Fahrenheit. She called into work and made her way over to the couch, not wanting to get the bed all disgusting from her sickness. Matt would still sleep there, after all. He didn’t need to come home to a bed that smelled like sweat and sickness. Whatever the hell “sickness” smelled like.

Matt frowned as he entered his apartment. He could hear the coughing as soon as he entered the complex. He could hear shifting on the couch, telling him his girlfriend was camped out in the living room with some blankets.

“Sweetheart?” Matt questioned, setting down his cane. He heard a groan as he walked over to the couch. “Why didn’t you call me to tell you that you were sick?”

“Didn’t wanna bother you,” she mumbled, sniffling a bit. “I know you’ve been busy lately.”

“I’m never too busy for you, love. I would have come home earlier if you called.”

She sighed. “I know, and that’s why I didn’t.”

“Well you should have,” he admonished her. She always did this. Her needs were never one of her priorities. She put everyone before her, and it bothered the ever-loving shit out of him. Because Matt knew she deserved the world. No, she deserved more than that. The universe, maybe.

She just huffed in irritation, knowing that there was absolutely no way she was going to win this argument.

“Have you eaten today?” Matt questioned as he leaned against the armrest of the couch. She cursed how well he knew her.

“No, I didn’t wanna get up.”

Matt just shook his head as he got up to make some soup. He glared in her direction when he heard her shift, knowing that she was trying to get up to help him. “Don’t you even try, young lady.” He put a pot on the stove.

“I just wanna help. You’ve been at work all day while I’ve just been sitting on my ass!”

Matt turned his head in her direction and gave her an incredulous look. “You’ve been sick!”

“That’s no excuse!”

“What if I was the one that was sick?”

“That’s different,” she pouted, crossing her arms as she watched him pour a pre-made homemade soup into the warm pot. She blew her nose with a tissue, her nose already red and raw from blowing it so much.

“And how, pray tell, is that different?”

She rolled her eyes. “Because it’s you!”

“Your logic is lacking, hun.”

She just groaned and flopped back onto the couch dramatically. A cold spell made her shiver. She grabbed one of the blankets and furrowed into it. She had been having hot and cold flashes off and on all day. She couldn’t wait for it to be over.

Turning off the stove when the soup was finished, he put it in a bowl before moving over to the couch. Setting it on the coffee table, he noted that her breathing had slowed; she must have been asleep.

“Sweetheart?” Matt gently shook her awake. He felt horrible for disrupting her, but she needed to get food in her system if she wanted to get better. She groaned, turning to bury herself further into the couch. “Baby, you need to get some food in your body. Then we can cuddle and get some sleep, okay?”

She blinked awake, groggily lifting her hands to rub at her eyes. “Cuddles?”

Matt’s heart melted hearing her soft little voice. It’s moments like that when he falls impossibly deeper in love with his precious girlfriend. He never thinks it’s possible to love her even more, but somehow he does manage. “Anything you want, baby.”

She smiled and took the soup from him. Matt scooted closer to her body and she snuggled against him as she began to blow on the soup.

The soup was hot in her mouth, but it felt good, warming her insides. “Thanks, Matty. You’re the best boyfriend.”

“It helps to have such a great girlfriend,” he flirted with her, loving the skip of her heart whenever he would. She blushed as she lifted another spoonful of soup to her mouth.

When she finished the soup, Matt made her drink some more water. She just huffed in exasperation. “I thought you said after soup I’d get cuddles.”

“Sorry, hun, can’t I just take care of you?”

She shrugged, taking a sip from the glass. “I’m just not really used to it.”

“Which is exactly why I’m making sure you get the best treatment now,” he stated.

“You’re too good for me, Matthew,” she sighed, leaning her head against his torso.

He just chuckled, “I’m pretty sure you got that sentence twisted.”

“Let me win for once, please,” she pouted. Matt sighed and agreed to let her have that one. It was the least he could do after she had asked him so sweetly, after all.

When she finished the tall glass, she set it on the table, making sure to exaggerate the sound of it being empty. “Snuggle time!”

He laughed as he was ambushed by her. Wrapping his arms around her, he picked her up to bring her to bed. She protested, hating being picked up, but Matt just shushed her as he lied her down. He undressed and crawls in next to her. She burrowed closer to her boyfriend, and he could hear her sigh contentedly, smiling against his warm skin.

She really couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend.

[amonthofwhump]

Welcome to AMonthOfWhump's March Trope-A-Thon!

This March, we wanted to celebrate the beloved tropes that bring this community together. Each day of the event will be devoted to a different trope, with optional prompts below to jumpstart your creative engines. Bring us your favorite takes on environmental, fantasy, and team dynamics! Chill us with spy or military whump or a captivity story! Make us weep for the angst or crave a comforting mug of soup with a sickfic! And most importantly, have fun! 😊

Event Dates: March 12-18

Event Tags: #amow tropeathon 2023; #environmental (or #sickfic etc)

Transcript of the prompt list below the cut:

Environmental

Rockslide, Building Collapse Rain, Snowstorm Exposure, Lost Comf: Come in From the Cold

Captivity

Creepy Captor Conditioning Pet Whump Comf: Sunny Days

Spy/Military

Interrogation Undercover Mission Barracks, Training Comf: Patching up a Wound

Fantasy

Magical Exhaustion Wing Whump Wish Gone Wrong Comf: Magical Healing

Sickfic

Fevers Cold, Flu Headache Comf: Blankets & a Hot Drink

Team Dynamics

Hostage Situation Recorded Message Take Me Instead Comf: Rescue

Angst

Misunderstandings Betrayal, Perceived Betrayal Catharsis Comf: Reassurances

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim #49: Sunny Days

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: vampire whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, whumpee turned caretaker, recovery, comfort, captivity, starvation

takes place early in the present arc, in-between For the Wash and Papercut. i usually just go forwards in the present arc as opposed to jumping around, but i figure let’s take a look back at the early days for this one!

@amonthofwhump​​ March Trope-A-Thon Day 2: Captivity / Creepy Captor / Conditioning / Pet Whump / Sunny Days

Somehow, everything was okay.

Kane had been Jim’s prisoner for two weeks, and Jim still hadn’t taken any kind of revenge yet, not once. He’d just been allowed to... exist, in peace. It was like a breath of fresh air after so long with every day full of pain and terror.

He wore the bomber jacket every day, usually with the hood up. The blanket found itself wrapped around him half the time- more if he included his sleeping hours, but his waking ones as well. He seemed to have found himself in ample possession of soft things to cover himself with.

Which was good, because he was terrified of the windows.

Jim was a lenient jailer, allowing most things. Kane was allowed to wear the blanket upstairs, he was allowed to sleep as much as he wanted, he was allowed to sit on the couch and watch TV and play cards. He was allowed possessions, multiple changes of clothes and a toothbrush among his favorites. He was allowed to heal, his injuries from the hunters fading a little more day by day, the hunger becoming more prominent than the pain of his wrists.

One thing Kane wasn’t allowed was to be upstairs during the nighttime. It was a practical rule, one that might have made sense if he stood any chance of escape- which he didn’t, given his starved state.

But that meant that if he chose to go upstairs, he would be in the presence of windows. Those with blinds were shuttered and those with curtains were pulled, because Jim was nice like that, but they were still terrifying. All it would take would be for those curtains to be brushed aside or those blinds to be lifted, and the sun would shine brightly through, burning him all over again.

It took a lot to recover from a burning, in his state. Were he fed and healthy, it would be perhaps two days of agony, but his body needed a lot longer to heal, the way it was now. It would be a week before the worst of it healed, and a month before he was entirely healed. He was loathe to return to that state, now that he’d finally been allowed a much less painful existence. He wrapped his blanket tighter around himself at the thought, laying comfortably in his bed.

Kane knew all too well that Jim had every reason to burn him, far more reasons than even the hunters. He knew he deserved it. But, perhaps selfishly, he just wanted it to be over.

The basement door opened once again, Jim having awoken. “Hey, man. How you feeling? You wanna come upstairs today?”

And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from accepting Jim’s invitations. Kane was terrified of him, but against all logic, Jim had been kind so far. And he was desperate for any scrap of kindness. He’d been denied any for so, so long.

Just like how he’d denied Jim kindness. His heart sank at the thought.

“Better, thank you. My wrists don’t need the bandages anymore.” He sat up, blanket still wrapped around him, and peeked a hand out from under to show Jim. His wrist was still ringed with the healing injury, but it was far less severe than that night when Jim had first bandaged him. “I’d like to, yes.”

“That’s great! Alrighty, c’mon up.” Jim held the door open for him and led him to the bathroom. Kane had a bathroom downstairs, but his was just a sink and toilet, no bath.

He still couldn’t believe he got to take a bath every single day here. When Kane came out fresh and clean, Jim shackled the kind restraints onto his ankles. The padded ones with the silver on the insides instead of the outside.

“My wrists don’t hurt too badly anymore,” Kane pointed out. “You could put the wrist cuffs on too, if you’d like.”

“You planning on needing ‘em?” Jim asked, standing back up.

Kane practically choked, panic slamming into him like a truck. If Jim thought he needed them, then Jim thought he was going to be bad. And if Jim thought that too much, he might decide to send him back. “No, sir! I- I would never, I mean, I would never now, please believe me! I’ll be good, I just thought-”

“Hey hey hey, shh. You’re alright. Shit,” Jim said, voice gentle. “I wasn’t being serious. That was, uh, a bad call on my part. I know you’re trying. I’m trying too. This is just gonna take us both some getting used to, yeah?”

Kane put his face in his hands, starting to cry. “I’m s-sorry.”

“You’re okay,” Jim repeated. “Not gonna hurt you. No one’s gonna hurt you. No hurting in this house.”

“Thank you,” Kane whimpered, starting to calm down a little.

Jim reached forward and pulled Kane’s hood up. “There. You’re safe. And I don’t think you need the wrist cuffs either.”

Safe. He did feel safer like this. He nodded gratefully, wiping his eyes.

“I get it,” Jim told him as they walked back to the living room. “Sometimes something just sets you off. I get that too. Used to a lot more, but still get it sometimes. You’ve only been out for two weeks. Your brain’s still in nightmare mode. You’ll get there. You wanna go grab your blanket?”

“Yes, please.” Kane shuffled back down to the basement, minding his ankle chains and making sure not to trip. He wrapped it around himself again, all nice and covered like he hadn’t been since the hunters took away the last of his clothes. By the time he got back upstairs, he was out of breath, legs shaking a bit from the exertion. He didn’t usually have to go up and down the stairs this much back-to-back, even if Jim’s staircases weren’t that long.

Jim patted the couch. “Hey, come sit down, you look like you’re about to keel over. Fuck, I should’ve gotten it for you. You okay?”

“I’m okay,” Kane confirmed, obediently sitting where Jim indicated.

His eyes drifted to the nearest window, curtain pulled closed. Kane could see the glow of the sun just on the other side of it, waiting with malice, ready to burn him. He shivered under his blanket.

It would be preferable to going back, at least. He would rather be punished with the sun than go back to the hunters, if Jim were to finally decide to take his well-deserved revenge.

Jim noticed his obvious staring. “It’s staying closed. No sun while you’re up here. Hey, if you’re not feeling up to it right now, you can go back down. It’s up to you. Maybe take a breather first before you tackle the stairs again.”

The earlier panic combined with the sunny window was too much for him. “I think, um, I think that’s a good idea. Thank you for letting me.”

“Yeah, ‘course. Whatever you need.” Jim patted him on the shoulder, the rare kind touch from another person muffled by the blanket shielding his shoulders.

-

taglist to be added in reblog!

[rizzoto-whump]

@amonthofwhump - Captivity, creepy captor

@whumpers-monthly - Ambushed

CW: Kidnapped, captivity, failed escape attempt, creepy whumper

--

He crept quietly along the dark alleyways, trying to stay out of sight. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he made his way towards the street. Finally, he emerged from the shadows and straightened up, ready to make his dash for freedom.

But just as he took his first steps into the street, something cold and hard pressed against the back of his head. "Not so fast," a voice growled.

James froze in terror. He knew he'd been caught, knew that his captor had somehow discovered his plan. He slowly raised his hands, knowing that any sudden movement could mean the end for him.

A hand grabbed the back of his shirt and jerked him backward. James stumbled, but managed to keep his feet. He turned to face his captor, expecting to see a face filled with rage and hatred.

Instead, he was met by the cold, unfeeling eyes of a man he barely recognized. It was Ronald, but somehow, he looked different. Harder. More dangerous.

"You thought you could just run away from me?" the man sneered. "You thought you could escape so easily?"

James tried to speak, to plead for mercy, but his throat was tight with fear. He couldn't form the words, couldn't make his mouth work. The man grabbed him by the arm and began to drag him away. James stumbled again, but this time he couldn't keep his feet. He fell to the ground, scrabbling desperately to get away.

But it was no use. His captor was too strong, too determined. He pulled James up roughly and pushed him towards the door of a nearby house. "You're going to learn not to defy me," he hissed. "You'll stay here until you've learned your lesson."

James felt a wave of despair wash over him. He knew that he was trapped, that there was no way out this time. He'd failed, and now he was going to pay the price. He could only pray that someday, somehow, he'd be able to escape for good. But for now, he was trapped, and he knew it.

[alpaca-clouds]

Whump-A-Thon: Reassurances

Alright, here is my last entry for @amonthofwhump Whump-A-Thon. and I though to myself after Whumping Trevor that hard the entire time, I end the story with a hurt/comfort story, that focuses heavily on the COMFORT part of it all.

So, I went with Reassurances as a prompt and made it a nice story about him and his two partners and cuddles.

[evilwriter37]

@amonthofwhump

March Trope-A-Thon Day 5

Trope: Sickfic

Prompts: Fevers, Headache, Comfort: Blankets & a Hot Drink

Rated: general

Warnings: none

Pairings: none

Word Count: 805

Summary: Hiccup wakes up feeling sick, but refuses to rest until he is practically manhandled back into bed.

[alidravana]

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley/John "Soap" MacTavish

Length/Rating: 1K, Teen

Tags: Developing Relationship, Touch-Starved, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Lack of Communication, Angst, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Drunken Confessions

Summary:

Gentle touches, soft kisses, warm hugs...Soap longed for them all, desperately. But when Ghost doesn't seem keen on these intimate gestures, it had Soap wondering more about their relationship that he really wanted to.

Written for @amonthofwhump's March Trope-a-thon: Day 7 - Angst!

Thanks to the wonderful @samithemunchkin for the last minute edit!

Check it out here on A03!

[pigeonwhumps]

New toy

Finding Safety masterlist

AMOW March Trope-a-Thon day 2: creepy captor + conditioning + pet whump

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @whumpymirages @flowersarefreetherapy @painful-pooch

Tyrone has a new toy he wants to try out on Aaliyah.

1.2k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, intimate whumper, dehumanisation, self-dehumanisation, non-con, hand-feeding, sensory deprivation, conditioned whumpee, muzzled, treated like an animal

"Open up, pet."

Aaliyah, knelt at her place by Master's feet, opens her mouth obediently. Master picks up a fry and holds it out, letting her eat it from his fingers. She licks the grease off them afterwards, the way he likes, and flutters her eyelashes at him.

"Good girl, Aaliyah," Master purrs, "Very good girl." Aaliyah flushes at the praise, and he chuckles lightly. "Would you like some dessert too?"

Aaliyah bows her head, placing her hands together as if in prayer, supplicating herself for the chance for a little more food (at least, she hopes dessert is food today). Master seems to be in an exceptionally good mood, because he simply smiles, holding out a fork towards her.

"Go on then. Eat it."

Aaliyah leans up and licks the crumbs of chocolate cake and cream off the fork, bowing daintily after she's finished. It's sweet and cloying, and full of flavour. Well. He did say he put a lot of chocolate in.

"That's it for today, pretty thing. We don't want to spoil your figure." He pats her on the head, before getting up and pouring some dry pellets into a metal bowl, water going in another. "Now, I don't fancy going out in this weather, so I want you to feed the mutt. I have some things to do, but when I'm finished I want you ready and waiting in the bedroom. I have a new toy I want to try out."

So that's why he's in such a good mood. She pushes herself to her feet and takes the bowls, heading outside. It's not raining anymore, but the ground is covered in cold, muddy puddles as she splashes towards the kennel. It doesn't have a door and she sees Cass look up miserably as she approaches. He's stretched out fully on his front, his back covered with shiny pink scars, and the new wire muzzle covers the lower half of his face. Aaliyah doesn't think Master ever intends to take the mitts off.

She places the bowls of food and water in front of Cass and unclips the muzzle, stroking his cheek apologetically. He flushes with what she thinks is humiliation, before bending over and taking a slurp of water.

She thinks it's humiliation, anyway. She ponders it as he crunches on the food. If this is the life he's meant for, why does he get humiliated? Why are there things that make her throat catch, and not in a good way?

She shakes her head. She's a pet, it's not her place to wonder. That won't do. She's just here to do Master's bidding.

Once Cass has finished his food, he laps up some more water, then sticks out his chin, allowing Aaliyah to buckle the muzzle back on. She slides a straw through, helping him insert it into his mouth, allowing him to drink while she's not here.

Then she lets him lean his cheek against her hand for a moment. She has to go, but she still has a moment of comfort for Cass.

Back in Master's house she washes her feet carefully, knowing he'll be angry if they're dirty, and heads upstairs to his bedroom, kneeling by the foot of the bed, in her usual sleeping spot. It's only a few minutes before she hears Master's footsteps, and she keeps her head bowed and body steady as he strokes her hair. His hand quickly turns into a strong grip, pulling her head back and up, bending over to give her a bruising kiss. She parts her mouth slightly, allowing his tongue access. When he pulls away he sighs happily.

"You really are perfect, pet. Now get onto the bed and into position two. I want to see you."

Aaliyah obeys, climbing on the bed and onto her knees, butt resting on her ankles. Master smiles.

"Good girl. Now, I have a new toy for you." He reaches behind him into a large bag and pulls out– no.

No.

Her eyes widen at the sight of the leather deprivation hood and it's all she can do not to panic.

"Hey, it's okay, pet. Your handlers aren't here. I know you had it used on you before, but I just want to see how you react, that's all. Nothing like then. And besides, you're my pet. You can handle this, can't you?"

Aaliyah nods at the stern question-stroke-threat at the end. Master really is in a good mood today, to reassure her so much, but he won't stay like this if she doesn't get it together. She sticks her head out, allowing him to attach the leather over her head. Once he's done up the last strap all she has is a small hole to breathe, the smell of leather filling her nose. She leans into Master's touch, desperate for it, as he removes her clothes carefully, then lays her down.

She's grateful that it's only her head, that she can still feel (feel so much more than normal, in fact, without the useless distractions), that Master's being so affectionate with her. She responds eagerly to his touches, feeling a rush of pleasure at each one. Master's so good to her, to let her feel this even without her doing anything for him.

The hood's terrifying. She has no idea where she is when Master's not touching her, and no idea what he's doing at all. She's a pet, she doesn't need to know, but it's still scary. At least Master's being good to her.

After he's prepared her, a luxury she isn't always permitted, he inserts his penis. She hasn't been ordered to stay still like a statue so she doesn't, doing just as Master likes until he comes inside her. He keeps fucking her well past the point of her own pleasure, well past overstimulation, until he's come several more times.

But her own pleasure doesn't matter. She's a pet, for Master's use and pleasure only. Just another hole to fuck, Cass said.

But that's not quite true. No, Master wouldn't be so affectionate if it was. He wouldn't have punished Cass so harshly for saying it. He cares about her, and she's a bad pet for even entertaining another possibility.

Once Master's finished, he removes the hood carefully, brushing her sweaty hair out of her eyes and kissing each eyelid.

"You're so pretty like this. I should make you cry more often. And that was beautiful, pet. You're so responsive like that. Let me clean you up and you can have a few hours sleep before it's time to serve me again."

Aaliyah goes limp in Master's arms as he brings her into the bathroom and starts washing her down with cold water. She's a bit overwhelmed by all the sights and sounds and smells, but she'll be good anyway.

She always tries to be good. She doesn't always manage it, sometimes she has to be punished, but she always, always tries.

[letthewhumpbegin]

Heal Me - The Mandalorian

Fandom: The Mandalorian Characters: Din Djarin, Grogu Prompt: This was written for the prompt 'Magical Healing' for @amonthofwhump's March Trope-a-Thon. Requested by: anonymous Notes with request: i know it's not really magical healing but maybe Grogu using his force healing to safe Mando? possible set in season 1 where Mando didnt know about all of grogu's abilities yet? Word count: 828 Warnings: contains mentions of blood, stabbing and near-death experience

The moment the blade pierced his skin, Din knew he was in trouble. It dug deep into his side, right in between two parts of his armor, and wounded him badly. The mission he was on was fairly simple: retrieving a stolen item and returning it to its rightful owner, but this seemingly serious injury complicated things hugely.

Din stumbled back on board the Crest. Even though seriously wounded, he had managed to kill his attacker, but it had cost him plenty of strength. He already couldn't walk a straight line anymore without stumbling or losing his balance and having the sensation of nearly passing out.

Before he had set out on his mission, Din had taken good care to hide the Crest from view of passersby. It was unlikely for unwanted guests to accidentally stumble upon it, so for at least a little while Din should be safe here aboard his ship.

The entrance hatch fell audibly shut behind him, and that was cue for Din's strength to give out on him completely. He sank to the floor with a whimper in pain. The hand he had pressed against the wound to his side as he had struggled back to the Crest, came back worryingly bloody.

Din knew he was in a lot of trouble, because this was a big amount of blood. Too big.... And he was still losing more...

Where he first was still able to sit somewhat upright, he now slowly sagged sideways until he lay on his side. Din felt his strength quickly drain from him as more and more blood spilled from his wound. He made a feeble attempt to keep pressure on it, but his shaking hands wouldn't oblige much anymore.

Din suddenly felt so cold, like he had stepped into an ice bath. With every erratic beat of his heart, more blood was pumped through his trembling fingers pressed into the wound. He had trouble keeping his mind focused, and each breath he took seemed to provide less oxygen.

Through his blurry and darkening vision, Din just registered Grogu waddling in his direction. Oh, how he had failed the child! Because Din was sure now he was going to bleed out right here on the floor of his ship, and what would then become of Grogu?

"I'm sorry, kid..." His words were a breath leaving his lips, and with it his consciousness. Din was just aware of his hands falling involuntarily away from his wound, before his eyes fell shut and he expected never to wake up again.

---

Was this the paradise you were promised after death? Because, if it was, it was nothing as expected. You weren't supposed to feel bad there, and right now Din felt like had been trampled by a Mudhorn. His entire body hurt, but there also was a strange warmth coursing through him. He wasn't sure whether it was pleasant or not, but somehow it put him at ease and calmed a fear he wasn't consciously aware of.

Din slowly opened his eyes. He recognized the interior of his trusted Crest, and slowly came to the realization that he wasn't dead after all. But how was that possible? With the injury he had sustained, he should have bled out by now.

A soft coo caught his attention, and Din only now realized Grogu was sitting by his side. The little creature had his hands held gently against Din's side and looked fully concentrated on something. It took Din a few seconds to realize the source of the warmth spreading through his body, was Grogu's hands.

"What..." Din slowly moved his aching body to be able to see what Grogu was doing. To his astonishment, where just shortly before a gaping wound to his side had been, now was unbroken skin again. The blood stains on his clothes and the pool of Din's blood Grogu now sat in, were the only evidence there had ever even been an injury.

"Did you... did you heal me?" Din stammered. Grogu replied with another coo and a small flap of his ears, which Din took as confirmation. "How?" Din was dumbstruck and still struggled to fully comprehend what had just happened.

But an answer to that he didn't get. A sound like a deep sigh escaped Grogu as he slumped forward into Din's side, all energy spent from the effort of healing Din's wound. "Whoa, easy, kid." Din took Grogu in his arms and held him close to his chest, letting the little creature rest against the breastplate of his armor.

Din didn't understand a thing of this. He had always known there was something special about Grogu, but healing people? That was something else entirely.

Din remained where he lay, with Grogu in his arms, on the floor of the Crest. He slowly felt the strength return to him, but he wasn't sure whether his legs would already carry him again.

He didn't understand a thing of all this yet, but he knew damn sure that Grogu's inexplicable ability had healed him and that it had saved his life. And for that, Din was utterly grateful.

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Writing masterlist

[cricket-reader]

You Matter to Me

Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox

Summary: as a healer for the Avengers, she get to heal a lot. What happens when she doesn’t tell them that each time she heals someone, their injuries transfer to her? Eventually someone is going to find out.

Warnings: language, injuries, self-sacrificing behaviour, brief mentions of past abuse/child abuse

Word Count: 2,209

Prompt: Fantasy, magical exhaustion

A/N: day 4 of March Trope-A-Thon by @amonthofwhump

Lying in her bed, she curls up on herself. The past few missions have been horrible. She wouldn’t tell anyone, but the amount of injuries she had to heal was really taking a toll on her.

Pain. Everywhere on her body there’s pain. She feels like a walking bruise.

She cringes when the door to her room bursts open. “Help! I’m sorry to wake you, but I need your help!” Tony cries out.

Tears well up in her eyes. She just wants to rest. She can’t take it anymore.

“It’s the kid, he got beat up real bad. We think he fractured his ribs.”

She slowly raises from her spot on the bed, leaving the comfort of snuggling into her warm blankets. “Where is he?” She weakly mutters, not having the energy to put her usual sunny disposition into her words.

“He passed out on the couch,” he informs her, already striding back to the common room. She limps her way to the common room. Normally she tries to hide her pain, but after this week’s missions, she can’t find it in her.

Luckily, no one else is in the common room. It’s just a barely cognisant kid, and a person that’s too preoccupied with the kid’s health to care about anything else. She falls ungracefully to her knees, cringing as her knees meet the floor. Her hands hover over Peter’s body before she takes a breath and makes contact with him. Immediately a sharp pain grows in her ribs. Tears gather in her eyes as she continues to take away his pain.

Her head is pounding and her ribs ache. It hurts so bad. This is even worse than when her father and his friends would use her after getting into bar fights. She knew what she was signing up for, but this… this is a little too much.

When Peter gasps awake, she plops down and rests her head against the couch cushion. Tears roll down her face before she turns to cover her face with the couch. Breaths becoming laboured, she can’t hold in the whimper that escapes her mouth.

How is she going to get back to her room? How’s she going to get out of this without getting caught? The Avengers aren’t stupid. They’re going to notice that something is off. Then they’re going to make her stop healing them because they are all too good to take advantage of her. And since she’ll be of no use to them, they’ll kick her out. She doesn’t want to leave. She can’t leave her family. The only family that has genuinely seemed to care for her.

“Hey, you alright?” Peter’s soft voice breaks her out of her racing thoughts. She nearly cries at the kindness in his voice. No one else cared to ask her that question when they noticed she was in pain. In fact, her father and her friends seemed to enjoy watching her in pain. It wasn’t fair, but she knew how life worked.

“I’m fine,” she mutters, straining against the stabbing pain in her ribs with every breath. Peter takes her head in his hands and gently lifts it from the couch so his kind eyes meet hers. Her head pounds and she wishes that he couldn’t see her like this. So weak. A superhero like him would probably laugh at her for being so weak. It’s not like she’s the one taking those punches. She wasn’t the one taking the beatings and saving the world. She just took the pain away.

“No you’re not. What’s wrong? Did someone hurt you?” Peter sounds so concerned, his eyes raking over her body looking for any signs of abuse.

“No, everything is fine, Peter.”

He squints his eyes at her, his sensitive hearing picking up her laborious breaths and small whimpers. “Who hurt you?” He jumps off of the couch ready to beat anyone that dared touch his precious …friend. Nothing else. Just a really good friend.

“No one, Pete, just… just forget about it okay? I’m fine.”

“Stop saying that! You’re in pain!” Peter frowns, visibly upset at the fact that she keeps lying to him. He thought they were close. He thought she trusted him. It hurts to know that she doesn’t.

“I’m used to it, it’s fine,” she mumbles, head plopping back into the couch. Peter’s brow furrows, an uneasy feeling settling in his gut.

“What do you mean you’re used to it?”

He watches her huff out a big breath before winching and clutching her ribs. The puzzle pieces finally click into place. It’s as if everything suddenly became clear with just one miniscule movement. Eyes widening, he strides over to her. Peter squats down to be level with her, his face dead serious.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone? It hurts you to use your powers, doesn’t it?”

Tears fall down her flushed cheeks, and she curses under her breath. They were bound to find out sooner than later, she had just hoped for the latter. “I was helping,” she whines, trying to prove her worthiness. She was doing something good, he can’t possibly get mad at her for that, can he?

“At the expense of yourself!” Peter yells, frustrated that he allowed her to take his pain and make it her own.

“Well, the pain has to go somewhere!” She fires back, angry that he isn’t grateful. After all she’s done she didn’t think he’d be yelling at her. She hasn’t done anything wrong. She helped them so much.

“You shouldn’t have to be in pain because of us,” he argues, standing to pace. All of this information changes things. How many times has she saved someone this week alone? How much pain must she be in? What has she had to silently suffer through?

“Give me my pain back,” Peter orders, not wanting her to have his pain anymore. Guilt weighs on his consciousness now that he knows she is feeling his fractured rib and concussion.

“That’s not how that works Peter.”

“God dammit! Why didn’t you tell us!”

Her eyes pop out of her head. She’s never heard him this upset before. He’s never been this angry. The fact that she caused it only makes her feel worse.

“Because I knew this would happen!” She cries. “I knew you guys would be mad and kick me out! I deserve a place here after everything I’ve done. I don’t want to leave!”

“You can’t keep taking other people’s pain,” he frowns, dead set on conveying this to her.

“Yes I can. I’m helping! I’m doing something good! Why don’t you understand that? Why can’t you appreciate the fact that I am willing to help you guys?”

“Because, you’re not supposed to get hurt doing it!”

“What is going on out here?” Steve, Bucky, Sam, Clint, and Natasha walk in having just finished training. She sends Peter a death glare, daring him to say anything.

Although he sees her intimidating stare, Peter doesn’t care. This has to end now.

“The pain doesn’t just go away,” he explains, “every time she heals us, the pain is transferred to her. She takes all the pain for us.”

Steve furrows his brows, his serious concerned mama bear face on. Crossing his arms and stepping forward, he asks, “is this true?”

“N-no! Of course not!” She lies. Her eyes flit around the people in the room, heart beating faster.

“She’s lying, she probably can’t even stand up right now because she is in so much pain,” Peter confidently states.

Narrowing her eyes at Peter, she swears to kill him in his sleep. How dare he tattle on her? “That’s not true! He’s making this all up,” she protests, trying to make her voice sound strong.

“Then stand up,” Natasha challenges, one of her perfect brows raising.

Cursing under her breath, she places a hand on the couch to try and push off the ground. Grimacing, she grits her teeth and tries to lift her body off the ground. Breathing heavily, she uses her other hand to try and get into a standing position. Whimpers, so quiet that only the enhanced are able to hear, escape from her as she struggles to stand.

Peter is by her side in an instant, not willing to watch her put herself through more pain. “That’s enough,” he mutters, fed up with her disregard for her own well-being. Why is she being so careless?

Steve frowns as he quietly talks to the people around him. She can feel his disappointed countenance chipping at her soul. He has that effect on people. She never wanted to disappoint her heroes. She can take it, she just needs some rest, and she’ll be fine.

“We can’t continue to let you heal us.” Is the verdict that Steve murmurs, upset by how long this has been going on. How could no one have noticed? How could they have been so careless as to think that the pain just magically went away?

He’s disappointed. Disappointed in himself for not noticing sooner, disappointed in himself for letting a mere kid take all of his pain and suffering that he should have just endured. Why did she never say anything?

“You’re released from duty,” Steve concludes, standing up to leave the room. He can’t stand looking at her, now knowing all of the pain he has caused her.

“Captain, please. Don’t do this! I was helping!” She protests with everything left in her. She doesn’t want to leave her family. She doesn’t want them to get hurt or die. Not when she has the ability to save them.

“Enough!” Steve bellows, stopping in his tracks. “You’re out of here, got it?”

Tears well up in her eyes and her lip starts to wobble. Steve had never used a tone like that with her before. It hurts. “So what? You’re just letting me go now that you have no use for me?”

Steve falters. That’s most certainly not what he meant.

“You’re just like my dad!”

A sentence that cuts deeper than any stab wounds he’s ever received. She’s told him about her home life, about her piece of shit father. And to be compared to him makes his soul break.

Calling out her name as she pushes past him, he desperately tries to right this wrong. She doesn’t stop, though. She keeps running, tears cascading down her face.

Running a hand through his hair, he curses. This is not how it should have panned out. All he wanted was to make sure that she’s safe and out of harm's way. He didn’t want to be the one to harm her. In fact, that’s the last thing he wanted to do. What, after all she’s been through, she deserves better.

“Let me,” Peter says, stopping Steve from running after her. Steve aquieses, figuring it would be better if he could calm down before talking to her. He’s just so upset that he’s been passing off his pain to a literal child. Okay, maybe she’s not a child, but she might as well be one for fucks sake.

“What do you want?” Peter cringes at her angered tone, a twinge of hurt underlying it. She still has tears in her eyes as she rushes to pack her clothes in a duffle she had sitting unused in her closet.

“Steve didn’t mean what he said. He’s upset that you lied to him—to all of us.”

She scoffs, harshly shoving the clothes in the bag. She whimpers, realising that probably wasn’t the best decision with all of the injuries she is dealing with right now. Peter rushes to have her in his arms. He sits down on the ground, gently pulling her with him. “You gotta stop hurting yourself, sweetheart.”

She grumbles in his arms, trying to get out of his grasp. Peter just shakes his head at how stubborn she is. She’ll be the death of him, he’s sure about that.

“Why do you care?” She mutters out, anger and resentment lacing her tone. She doesn’t want to believe that anyone can care about her. Whenever she thinks that, she always gets hurt. No one cares about her. The only reason people act nice to her is because they want to use her powers to heal themselves.

“Because… you’ve been hurting yourself for far too long,” he murmurs, relaxing his hold now that she isn’t trying to squirm away.

“I just want to be wanted,” her voice is muffled with the sound of her small cries. Tears stream down her face, and she curls up into Peter’s warm embrace. He sighs and runs his hand gently through her hair, careful not to make her headache worse.

“You are,” he speaks under his breath. “Everyone here genuinely cares for you in their own way. You are so important to me… to all of us.”

She muffles a sob against his shirt. “You… you don’t mean that…”

“I do. I mean every word of it. You matter to me. You matter so much.”

Peter keeps on mumbling little words of praise and encouragement as she falls asleep in his arms. He will let her know what she is worth. No matter how long it takes. She deserves the world.

[jedi-lothwolf]

A Month of Whump Day 5: Sickfic

Fandom: Star Wars The Clone Wars

Summary: Cody falls in love and catches a certain flowery disease.

  Love is such a strange thing. Cody didn't realize it could be so deadly. At first he was unsure of what was going on. He had just coughed up a few sunflower petals. Holding them in his hand he decided to go see Kix. It felt like something he shouldn't go to his medic for, why he wasn't sure.

    Cody walked around until he found him. "Kix, I need to talk to you."

    "What's going on Commander?" Kix asked.

    The commander pulled Kix into a nearby empty hallway and showed him the flower petals.

    "Sunflower petals?" The medic felt uneasy. Cody wouldn't get him for something that wasn't serious. "I don't understand."

    "I...coughed them up." Cody looked down. "I'm not sure why."

    The medic just stared at him for a moment, "you.. coughed them up?"

    "Yes."

    "Let me look into this. I'll come find you when I know. For now just drink water and let me know if anything changes." With that he left.

    Cody walked back to his room. On the way he started coughing again. He felt the flower petals coming up and after a few seconds they were in his hand. This time the petals from a pink Dahlia.

    Not quite an hour later Kix hunted Cody down. After checking just about everywhere he finally looked in the general barracks. There Cody was sitting with Waxer. The clone had a hand on his commander's back while Cody sat with his forearms on his thighs.

    "I found out what's going on." Kix started.

    Cody sat up and nodded his head.  Waxer looked over at Kix, "good. So what is it?" The lieutenant had found Cody in the hall with the pink petals in hand. He didn't seem like he felt very well so he took him to the barracks.

    Kix kneeled down in front of the bed and started to explain. "It's called Hanahaki disease. It comes from unrequited or perceived unrequited love. Flowers grow in the victim's lungs. There are two ways to get rid of it, surgery; which will remove your feelings for the person, and for the person to be in love with you."

    "Love?" Waxer looked at Cody, "who are you in love with?"

    Cody just looked at the two. What would they think? The man was in love with his superior. It was inappropriate.

    "Someone I could never have." Cody sighed.

    "What does that mean?" Kix asked.

    "You love the general don't you?" Waxer stated. "I see the way you interact with him, the way you look at him."

    Cody was quiet. Silently he nodded. "Your best opinion then is the surgery." Kix spoke.

    "No, not yet."

    "Sir, this can and will kill you if you don't act on it." The medic stood up.

    "Have you told him?" Waxer stood as well.

    "No."

    "Well then you have to."

    Cody didn't say anything. Instead he stood up and walked away. He couldn't tell him. He could tell his general that he fell for him. He would just have to deal with the flowers for now.

    As time went on the disease got worse. Cody's lungs were being overtaken by Sunflowers and Dahlias. He was tired and in agonizing pain all the time. Breathing felt like he was being stabbed by a million tiny needles. The worst part was this cursed illness affected his leadership. The clone couldn't do as much as he used to. Some of his brothers caught on and tried to help where they could. No one knew what was going on and he wouldn't tell. When Obi-wan caught on he too did whatever he could.

    Something about the feeling of dying calmed Cody. It proved he was alive in the first place; that he wasn't some droid. He was in love.

    Waxer and Kix continued to press, trying to convince him to get the surgery or to talk to the general. He refused to do both. The clone commander was scared of the answer if he confessed. He was unsure of what would be worse, if Obi-wan didn't feel the same or if he did. The two would be stuck knowing that they loved each other but could never act on any of their feelings because of the Jedi code. Of course Obi-wan could always hate him afterwards. But if he got the surgery he wouldn't love Obi-wan and the thought of that was something he couldn't bear.

    Now the battalion was preparing for battle. It was the night before and time to sleep. Cody couldn't really sleep anymore. His inability to breathe well kept him awake. When he finally did fall asleep he woke up to a stabbing pain in his neck. Rubbing his hand over it he paused. A flower had grown through his neck. It felt like a sunflower. Unsure of what to do he went to find Waxer.

    When Waxer was woken up in the middle of the night he thought something had happened with the enemy. It wasn't until he was the flower that he understood what was going on. "What the fuck?" He sat up. "I didn't know it could do that."

    "I didn't either. What do I do now?"

    "How am I supposed to know? I'll call Kix."

    After a moment Kix answered, "what's going on?" In the background the two could hear the sounds of war.

    "There's a flower sticking out of Cody's neck." Waxer spoke quietly.

    "Good Kriff."

    "Can we cut it out?" Cody asked panicked.

    "Yes but be extremely careful!"

    "Got it. Be careful!" Waxer replied.

    "Thanks Kix." Cody turned off the comm. Then Waxer went to find scissors or a small knife. Cody started coughing again. This time blood came out with a full Dahlia. The clone struggled to breathe, both from panic and the injury. His throat was raw and it showed in his voice.

    When Waxer returned Cody was struggling to breathe. Not that he hadn't been but it was worse than normal. When he saw the Dahlia covered in blood and the sunflower in the commander's hand he commed the medic and the general quickly.

    Boil had heard the noise and ran over to the two. He kneeled beside Cody and tried to help him breathe. After another flower escaped his mouth he started to breathe a little better.

    Obi-wan was the next to arrive. "Waxer what's going on?" Then he saw Cody. Without thought he immediately rushed over to the man. Boil moved and Obi-wan took his place. "Cody what's wrong.?" The flowers took him by surprise. "Who?"

    "Who?" Cody whispered.

    "Who are you in love with?"

    It clicked with the others before Cody. Obi-wan was a Jedi of course he knew what Hanahaki was. The disease would give away any Jedi that broke the code.

    Cody finally gave in, "you, sir."

    There was silence for a moment. "Dear, you should have told me sooner."

    "That's a good sign" Waxer whispered over to Boil. He looked over to his brother confused, "Waxer what's going on?" Waxer would quietly explain the situation while the others talked.

    Obi-wan moved closer to the commander and placed his forehead on the others, "I love you too."

    Relief hit everyone. Relief turned into dread as Cody relieved something. The two were in love. Obi-wan was a Jedi and he was a clone. There was the code, their ranking, and a war stopping them.

    "Are you okay?" Obi-wan asked. Cody broke out of his thoughts and opened his eyes. Looking into the Jedis bright blue eyes he felt safe. Kenobi had that effect on people.

    "Yeah." The next day Cody stayed back by order of Obi-wan and the medic.

    Time would pass and Cody would heal. It took about a week for all the flowers to get out of his system. It took a little longer for him to feel strong again. The lovers talked and decided they would act on their feelings, no matter how dangerous it could be. They loved each other and nothing could stop that. Sunflowers and Dahlias could grew around them until one day their love would kill each other. Hopefully it would never come to that. Hopefully.

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim AU: Angels & Demons

Kane & Jim AUs Masterlist

content: failed escape attempt, demon whumper, angel whumpee, wing whump, magical exhaustion, magical whump, captivity

oh hey, remember that angel & demon au i talked about back in july? finally writing something for that! might do more pieces in this au at some point, but not anytime soon.

@amonthofwhump​ March Trope-A-Thon Day 4: Fantasy / Magical Exhaustion / Wing Whump / Wish Gone Wrong / Magical Healing

It had been more than a year since the demon took him prisoner, and Jim was frantic in his search for a way out. Unfortunately, Kane’s lair proved near-ironclad from the start, and had only become more so in the time since.

Ever since the magicless demon began siphoning his magic, Jim had become weaker day by day, exhausted by even moving around. Meanwhile, the demon grew more powerful by the day with his stolen magic, flaunting it about to his peers as if it were his own while Jim stayed huddled up back home, the secret Kane would never reveal.

But there was a catch: the demon had been getting sloppy. As Jim became too tired to do more than lay in bed all day, halo dim and soft wings curled around himself, Kane assumed him weaker than he truly was. He wasn’t leaving Jim so restrained anymore.

So, on a day when the demon didn’t siphon as much magic as usual, Jim waited until Kane left for the day and made a break for it. He was still woozy and exhausted, but he knew he had to take this chance while it presented itself.

He stood up and beat his wings, taking off into the air, relishing in the feeling of having enough energy to fly.

But he’d miscalculated.

He was only about fifty feet into the air when he realized he didn’t have as much energy as he’d thought he might, the demon’s siphoning having done a number on him. It was too much, the effort required to keep himself in the air too great, especially when he needed to go straight up in order to get back to Earth, let alone Heaven.

Jim faltered, plummeting down, only able to do as much as a single flap to slow his descent. He fainted from exhaustion before he even hit the ground.

-

Jim woke back in his bed. Not his home-bed back in Heaven, not his guest-bed at Liz’s house on Earth, but his prison-bed: this time with a shackle, giving off the cruel warmth of hellfire. Not enough to burn, but more than enough to keep him from breaking the restraint. He ached, but not too horribly. Maybe he’d been able to slow his descent enough to prevent serious injury, or maybe the demon had used some of his stolen magic to heal him. He couldn’t say.

He’d failed. There would be no escape for him, now. Jim wept, wrapping his wings around himself, the feathers encompassing him.

He flinched as the demon suddenly appeared in the room, glowing with Jim’s own magic.

“Nice little stunt you pulled here today, angel,” Kane growled, not an ounce of sympathy in his angry features.

Jim cringed back, curling up smaller. He missed being called by his name. The soft voices of his fellow angels calling him James, or Liz excitedly calling him Jim, a moniker he’d taken to using at the human girl’s influence. Not angel. So impersonal, said in the demon’s tone as if it made him inferior.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, attempting to placate him. “It was- it was a foolish idea. I didn’t have nearly enough magic to get anywhere. You know that. I won’t try it again.”

“You definitely won’t. I’ll make sure of that.” Kane stalked closer. His own wings, featherless like a bat’s, flared with irritation. “Sit up straight.”

Jim hated the way he was beholden to the demon’s orders. But what could he really do but obey? Kane was a hundred times stronger than him by now. He sat up, silently, though he held his pride in not responding with the Yes, sir the demon clearly wanted.

“I’ve been doing some research while you rested.” Kane rolled his eyes, as if Jim’s state of exhaustion wasn’t entirely the demon’s fault. “Many humans own birds, you know. So they’re practiced in this sort of thing.”

“I’m not a bird,” Jim protested indignantly. “And you do not own me.”

“You may as well be. The humans invented this process called wing clipping to keep their birds from escaping, or getting where they don’t belong.” Kane held his hand out, and a set of shears appeared in it.

“You’re going to cut my wings off?!” Jim cried, thudding back hard against the wall, his chain rattling with the sudden motion. “No, you can’t!”

“Yes, I can. I can do whatever I want,” the demon reminded him. “But no, I’m not going to cut your wings off. Just a few feathers.” He reached out for Jim’s wing, but he immediately tucked them both tightly behind himself, smushing the feathery appendages against the wall.

“The humans do that to their own pet birds?” Jim asked, tears in his eyes. He couldn’t imagine Liz doing that. But maybe as a guardian, his view of humans was tinted rosy. Besides, she was just a child. They tended to be more innocent.

“It doesn’t hurt the birds, apparently. So stop behaving like an infant and give me your wing before I do decide to cut them off,” Kane snapped, motioning for Jim to hold his wing out.

“I’m not a bird!” Jim insisted, voice pitching up with fear. Angels’ wings were sensitive, they could feel. “It’s going to hurt! I’m already shackled and don’t have the energy to fly in the first place! You don’t need to do this!”

“Using my magic to keep a shackle active at all hours of the day isn’t practical. I can either clip your wings once every few months, or cut them off entirely. Pick one.” The demon gestured once again, hand outstretched.

Jim whimpered, the tears in his eyes finally starting to fall. Reluctantly, he peeked out one trembling wing, the other still tucked protectively behind him.

Kane grabbed it roughly, spreading it to its full length by force. Jim shuddered at the feeling: he hated this. He hated hated hated it. Hatred was not a feeling he’d ever been too familiar with before Kane, but he felt it nearly every day now.

“Do not move, unless you want me to cut more than I initially intended.” Spreading Jim’s wing out with one hand, Kane readied the shears with the other.

Heeding the demon’s warning, Jim tensed himself, stilled other than his nervous trembling as he felt the cool metal against his delicate feathers.

Snip.

Jim screamed as agony as the shears chopped his outermost six feathers in half, the sharp, explosive pain almost like the demon had cut his fingers instead. He instinctively tried to fold his wing back up protectively, but that only made his wing tug against Kane’s grip, and he let out another cry.

“Stop! Stop stop stop!” he pleaded, tears streaming down his face.

Kane released his wing, and Jim winced as he folded it, the position even more painful on the fresh-cut screaming nerves.

The demon gestured toward the other wing. “Again.”

“NO!” Jim wailed. “I get it! I can’t fly with one working wing anyway!” He felt his pride crumble at the thought of both his wings experiencing this. “Please, sir.”

Kane hesitated, seeming to evaluate, then let out a sigh. “Prove it.”

“What?” Jim asked tearily.

“Prove it. Try your best to fly.” Kane pressed a hand to Jim’s chest, and he felt a little bit of his own magic flowing back into him. The shackle disappeared.

Jim hadn’t felt this much energy since before the demon took him down to Hell.

Kane stepped back. “I’ll be able to tell if you’re faking it,” he warned.

Jim nodded uneasily. He stretched both wings out carefully: the thought of trying to fly with this injury was... extremely unappealing, but it was certainly better than having it duplicated.

He beat his wings, and immediately cried out in pain, falling to the floor after gaining no more than three feet in height.

“Effective,” Kane noted. “Very well. I’ll leave the other one alone. As long as you don’t try to escape again.”

Jim scooted away from him. “...Thank you.”

The demon closed the distance easily, crouching over him and pressing his hand to Jim’s chest again. He felt the energy leave him as Kane took the magic away, letting out a groan.

“I’ll be back tomorrow.” And with that, the demon disappeared.

With great effort, Jim hauled himself back onto the bed, his feathers throbbing with pain. He wrapped his wings around himself, the cutout in his wing leaving a hole in the previously-blanketing coverage.

-

also a note since i just posted a different demon thing yesterday: this has totally distinct, separate lore, completely unrelated.

taglist to be added in reblog!

[rizzoto-whump]

@amonthofwhump - Military, barracks/training

@badthingshappenbingo - Dragged by the Ankle

CW: Hazing, power imbalance, beaten, kicked, torture, and military whump. Part of Asrar series 

--

As James stumbled back from the blow, his hand instinctively went to his stomach where he could feel the beginnings of a deep purple bruise forming. His friends weren't faring much better, some even being kicked while they were down.

"Cadet Zhang! Get over here!" barked Corporal Alizade, his voice echoing through the barracks.

James gritted his teeth and made his way over, trying to steel himself against the pain that he knew was coming. Even though he was standing tall now, he still felt small and out of place in the military. But his mother had begged him not to join, and he couldn't bear the thought of her having to sell their small garden just to keep him out of the military. He had to tough this out.

"Is it painful?" Corporal Alizade asked, his eyes boring into James'.

"It's... p-painful, C-Corporal." James stammered, trying not to show any weakness.

"You're a man, James," Alizade growled, delivering another punch to James' already tender stomach. "Speak up louder!"

The blow was harder this time, causing James to stumble backwards and fall to the ground. Alizade sneered and kicked James in the side before grabbing him by the ankle and dragging him to another room. The pain was excruciating, and James could barely move as he was separated from his friends.

"Get up, you idiot!" Alizade dumped a bucket of icy water on James' face, causing him to sputter and cough. "This isn't your mother's house!"

[the-whvmp-dvmp]

AMOW Trope-a-thon Day 2

someone is not having a good time. sorry makoa! i quite like this one actually, it was fun X3

Word count: 1560

CW: Pet whump, electrocution, shock collar blood, vomit mentions (no real descriptions), creepy whumper, conditioning, dehumanization, brainwashing, petnames (literally!), big whumpee, big whumper, defiant whumpee

Prompt: Day 2 - Captivity ; Creepy whumper, conditioning, pet whump

Since arriving at the facility, Makoa had punched, kicked, scratched, kicked, and bitten just about every worker that had gone near him. He seethed in his cage, far too small for his large stature. He had no choice but to sit on his knees. The three workers assigned to him stared at him, unsure what to do.

"How are we supposed to train someone that easily beats the crap out of us when we even get too close?" The tallest of them spoke, holding a cup of coffee near his face. "He's not just fighting. He tries to beat us into a pulp everytime."

The smallest of them sighed, rubbing their side softly. "I know, I thought my kidney was gonna burst. At least he'll be a good guard dog."

"I think the challenge is kinda fun," the woman spoke up. The tall man scoffed as he put his cup down.

"Of course you do. You're the one that gets to hold the taser." The woman opened her mouth to retort, but the door swung open and they all straightened. His presence was so intimidating, they could tell who it was without looking.

Jack Huntington, built like a linebacker at 6'3 and 230 pounds. He wore an all black suit, real gold rings on his fingers. Makoa slammed against the cage, glaring at the man. It was not their first meeting.

"Fuck you! Let me out of this fucking cage, you disgusting excuse of !" He rammed against the cage again, targeting the side with the lock.

"Poor puppy. If you want it so badly." He pulled out the keys, bending to unlock Makoa's enclosure. Predictably, the man charged out and lunged at Jack, but the woman worker pressed the taser to his back. He spasmed and fell to the floor, twitching. "You'll learn your lesson. They always do."

Jack kneeled, signalling the small worker over. They complied, grabbing the back of Makoa's head and lifting it up. Makoa groaned against the strain it put in his neck. The boss clipped a collar around his neck, brushing the skin there as he pulled away. "Handsome puppy." Makoa genuinely retched, squirming on the ground. He needed to get the fuck away from this sicko. "This is just a training collar since you can't stop misbehaving. It looks like I'll have to personally oversee your training."

He stood up and the worker hauled Makoa up as well, obviously struggling. Makoa became dead weight in their arms, causing them to stumble and almost fall face first into the floor. Jack clicked his tongue and slipped a simple remote out of his pocket, pressing the single red button.

Makoa's nerves lit up all over as the prongs from the collar electrocuted him. It was worse than the taser. He screamed in torment, withering desperately, limbs flailing uncontrollably. It didn't stop until Jack lifted his thumb off the button and he could faintly hear the laughter coming from the other man through the blooding rushing in his ears. Makoa panted heavily, drool dripping onto the floor beneath him as he struggled to regain control of his limbs.

"Get the message now?" Makoa cleared his throat, gathering saliva in his throat until he spat it out with force at Jack's feet, narrowly avoiding his designer loafers. He watched as said loafer rose until it pressed against his head and shoved him into the tiles. Something in his forehead cracked and he yelped, gritting his teeth against the pain. Still worth it.

Makoa stood next to the scummy man, dwarfing him in comparison. Standing at 6'10, with his stoic face, he was almost as intimidating as the man to his right.

The walk to this room was uneventful, as he decided it'd be better if he didn't act out *too* much. He wondered if these people had any qualms about killing him or the others he knew they kidnapped. Didn't matter what terminology they liked to use, they were kidnapping people.

"Finally, the fun part." Makoa shivered, suddenly feeling chilly. Jack had seemed flippant before, but now he sounded cruel. Like he knew how much this would hurt and he liked it that way.

What could he mean by fun part? He already had been prodded roughly by the workers, spoken down to, beaten, even whipped once. And he'd only been here a few weeks. Makoa knew of the reason he was here, the workers weren't shy in telling him. He thought they liked the look in his eyes when they told him he would be turned into a dog for others to use how they see fit. He didn't understand how that was to be achieved, but this must be it.

"In the chair." The male and female lackeys from before each grabbed one of Makoa's arms, the woman pressing the taser against his back in warning. He followed begrudgingly, sneering at them. If he was shocked one more time, he was sure his heart would stop.

He was restrained against the chair, steel cuffs cold against his skin. Directly in front of him was a TV screen. Were they really going to tape his eyes open and make him watch brainwashing videos?

"Enjoy the show, dog." Makoa thrashed against his restraints at that. Jack chuckled in response, gesturing at the screen. "You'll be watching our training videos. You'll watch them until you give in." Jack pulled up a chair and sat diagonally to the man. He shook the remote in his hand. "If I see your eyes closed, you get punished. If you're good, you'll get a reward at the end." The screen turned on as the boss got settled, smoothing out his blazer.

Dear god, these people were genuinely insane. They actually wanted to turn him into a dog. He looked at the restraints, but there was absolutely no way he was getting out. Maybe the videos would be short.

Soon enough, Makoa concluded he needed to do whatever possible to get the fuck out of this place. It must've been *hours*. He sat in front of the screen and watched the videos over and over again. His throat was dry, his stomach growling. He wanted to cry.

Makoa shook his head back and forth repeatedly, listening to the stupid voice from the TV. How to properly behave as a pet, affirmations like "You live to serve your master", "Always obey", and "You are beneath the humans". Jack grinned and watched him for a bit before speaking up.

"Tapping out, puppy?" He held the remote in his left hand, thumb smoothing over the button. Makoa felt his heart rate pick up significantly. He took a shaky breath, scooting his body around the chair.

"Let me out," he demanded, or rather, tried to. His voice was weak and it cracked on the last word. He needed water.

"What are you?" Jack suddenly asked, keeping his cold, detached eyes on Makoa's.

"A human being with a life and friends, freak. My name is Makoa Iona and I—!"

Agony. The scream tore from his throat, leaving it raw as every muscle in his body tensed so tight he feared they would snap. Or, he *would* fear that if his mind wasn't so preoccupied with the horrible fucking *pain*.

"I said what are you?" Jack stood up as the affirmations replayed in the background.

Makoa spasmed, back arching as much as the restraints allowed. The female worker watched in concern, stepping forward slightly.

"S-sir, you're gonna kill him—"

"Shut up." He let go of the button regardless. He gripped Makoa's chin tightly, shaking his head for him. "Dumb dog. What are you?"

Makoa seethed in silence, glaring at him hard. Jack pulled his hand back before punching the other square in the jaw. Makoa harshly exhaled, mouth twisting in a grimace. He spit onto the ground, a glob of blood landing on the tile. More blood rushed into his mouth, as he realized a tooth had been knocked loose. It was hanging on by a thread.

"It'll only get worse from here. I have so many ideas, pet. You seem so tough to break, but you're just like the others. A few mean words and a couple days of pain, you'll be grovelling at my feet. You fucking mutt."

Makoa breathed heavily, eyes unfocused. Jack reached his hand out and a baton was placed into it. He thrusted it forward into Makoa's stomach, where he knew a huge dark bruise had formed. He folded in on himself and dry heaved, but of course there was no food to come up. His throat burned and the bile rising up wasn't helping.

"Just say it and I'll go easy on you during the training. Be my good dog."

The huge man looked small in the chair, a mixture of drool and blood spilling down his chin and tears collecting in his eyes. A pathetic sob escaped past his lips and he heaved once more, thrashing against the restricting steel once more before his body went limp.

"...I'm a dog. A dumb dog. A... a pet." His upper lip curled, but he said it. He wanted to die.

Jack's mouth unfurled in a horrible, smug smile. He rubbed his thumb across the pet's hair, right behind his ear.

"There we go. You'll be so easy to train."

[physsting]

Hemlock

Cw: It/its as a dehumanizing pronoun, vampire/bloodbag, mentions of blood

For the prompt "Captivity" of @amonthofwhump 's March Trope-A-Thon

424 words

Hemlock lay crumpled on the floor where Master had left it, slowly summoning the energy to move. It knew it needed to at least get to its knees, but it's limbs weren't responding. It was nauseous and cold, but that was pretty normal after a feeding. They just usually didn't go on so long.

Footsteps approached - right, there had been a knock at the door, Master had gone to answer it-

...if there hadn't been a knock...

The friend let out a snort when Hemlock came into view.

"This is how you treat your food?"

Hemlock tried to move his head, to move anything really, but it was only just regaining the ability to blink on purpose. The friend nudged its shoulder with his shoe. When Hemlock didn't move he nudged it harder. It's body lolled over to the side, flipping over to stare at the ceiling. Hemlock blinked and didn't look directly at either vampire, instead fixing his gaze on the ceiling to watch them in his periphery, like he'd be taught. Their faces loomed over him.

"Look at how pale he is, probably has some kind of disease."

"Tch, he hasn't been out to get a disease."

"I don't know, man. You can't drain 'em dry every time and expect them to be healthy."

"I don't drain it dry, it's fine. Look, it's moving." Master pushed up it's shoulder with his boot and let him flop back to the floor. The friend let out a loud snort.

"Yeah, he's really moving. You should get another one."

"I don't have space for another one."

"Cram em in a room together then. You keep feeding on this guy like that he's gonna bite it."

"Fine, whatever, I'll think about it. Come check out this new model."

Master's voice faded down the hallway and Hemlock was left alone staring at the ceiling. It didn't want to think about another source being brought in. That would mean it wasn't good enough, wasn't strong enough to provide for its Master. The thought made it's heart clench when it really should be focused on circulating to it's stubborn limbs, so Hemlock put that thought away. It'd deal with it during the daylight, when Hemlock tidied and Master slept. For now it'd stare at the ceiling and focus on not dripping any blood from it's wound onto Master's carpet.