#childbirth whump

[whump-witch]

I feel like the whumpy potential of pregnancy and childbirth is really overlooked, so I decided to make a list of pregnancy-related whump scenarios!

Note: this list is about things that naturally happen during pregnancy/birth, including medical complications, but does not contain anything relating to violence against a pregnant person (I...am making another post for that because I got inspired).

The whumpee's vision starts to blur as their blood pressure drops. Something feels off in their breathing. They can breathe, it's just not quite right. Their head starts to spin and suddenly they're falling until they wake up on the ground.

The very thought of a food the whumpee normally loves makes them feel sick to their stomach. So sick they feel like they might never eat again.

The whumpee sighing in relief as they finally sit down, lifting the extra weight and pressure off their knees and hips and back.

The whumpee tossing and turning all night because they just can't find a comfortable position. Their eyes aching with tiredness the following day, a dull headache forming as they get more and more desperate to crawl into bed and sleep.

The whumpee, in labor, delirious from blood loss and frantically asking what's wrong as they're rushed into an OR.

Emergency! field medicine! C-section!

[whumpitlikeyoumeanit]

June of Doom 5

@juneofdoom Day 5: "Please don't leave me."

I used an alternate prompt for this, not because I don't like day 5's prompts, but because June 5th is Draco's birthday. =]

(( difficult childbirth / blood / parental guilt ))

fandom: Harry Potter whumpee: Lucius Malfoy emotional, Narcissa Malfoy physical whumper: biology words: 1000

The birthing room was no place for a man, but he couldn't have stayed away. Lucius waited in the room next door, sitting perfectly still to counter his body's need to pace uselessly, inappropriately eavesdropping on her private moments, and everything he heard was somehow too much.

First there were the screams. He had been told to expect it, but nothing could have prepared him for that. Of the many screams he had heard in his life, none had stabbed him like these. The sound of his reserved wife screaming through the pain potions ripped through all of his defences to take up residence in his core and demand he do something to save her, but there was nothing he could do. He hadn't even known he could feel that. He hadn't known he could feel anything that strongly. It was the most helpless feeling of his life.

Then there were the cries. Through the wall, he heard his son's first cry, and it felt like time stopped. It felt unreal. There was a bright spot, something like hope, and where had that come from? He moved to the hall outside her door, so he would be there to join her, to meet their son with her. 

But no one came to get him. 

And then there were the raised voices. It was difficult to make out the words but he heard the midwife speaking sharply. Moving quickly. The healer's voice. He heard the midwife saying "Narcissa, stay with me" and he was moving before he could make any conscious decisions. He threw open the door to go to her.

There was so much blood. Everything he could see was red, except for her, a shocking gash of white in the bed, not moving—

The midwife looked back sharply. "Not now, Lucius!" She pointed her wand that shoved him back, and the door slammed in his face. His body moved in fear and offence to push his way back in, and the moment of discovering it was locked was enough to curb his impulses. He wasn't a healer, he should not be there to interrupt them as they helped her. There was nothing he could do for her. 

And then there was the quiet. 

It was almost, but not quite, silent. He could hear movement occasionally. The hint of a lowered voice.

Don't leave. The thought was loud inside his head. And once he heard it, he could not fail to hear it. 

Don't go. Don't leave me.

He paced the hall without thinking to stop himself, ears straining over his footsteps for any sound of her, his thoughts echoing up from a deep well within his mind. 

Don't take her. As though he could command Death itself, and force the uncaring universe to bend to his will. You can't have her.

His feet paced unrelentingly. His heart was racing against his chest for no reason and it was hard to breathe. Don't leave me. I need you. 

His hand hurt from clenching itself. Now it was not a command but a plea. Don't take her. Don't leave me.

The baby was still crying, and no one was stopping him. 

If you must have someone… if it means she can stay… take him instead. 

Then the baby fell silent, and an unfamiliar cold wave of guilt washed over him. That desperate, secret thought had been sent out and accepted…

The door eventually unlocked, and opened as he was looking at it. The healer stood before him, without the grave mein of tragedy, and he felt like he could collapse.

"It's all right," she said, and stepped back from the doorway. "You can see her now."

She was still in the bed, limp and with her eyes closed, but he could see that she was breathing and seemed relaxed, without a hint of pain on her face. 

They had cleaned; the room was pristine, with no sign of the blood his memory insisted had been on every surface, but his reason now argued could not have been. There was a window open, letting in a flower-scented spring breeze from the gardens, and the scene was so peaceful he did not feel it could be real. 

He immediately sat beside her on the bed and picked up her hand in both of his, eyes glued to her face. She was still terrifyingly pale, with unnatural bright pink spots of blood replenishing potion high on her cheeks. Her loose hair was falling over her shoulders; she looked softened, delicate. Vulnerable. 

She squeezed his hand weakly and opened her eyes, looking to his face. He could tell she was exhausted, but even her eyes were gentled.

The midwife came back to the bed before they could exchange a word, holding a small bundle of blanket. "Mum," she said kindly with a smile. 

Narcissa's attention was immediately stolen. She took her hand back and reached for the bundle, and the midwife helped her settle it against her chest. Brushing back a bit of blanket exposed the sleeping pink face of the baby. He stirred just a little. One of his hands was by his face, and it was so unrealistically tiny. He even had miniscule fingernails. Lucius reached in to hold his hand in wonder he hadn't expected, unfolding the tiny fingers to admire them. The guilt rose up again all of a sudden. 

"He's perfect," the midwife assured them.

"Of course he is." Narcissa ran her fingers over his cheek. "Draco."

Lucius didn't make even a token effort for 'Hyperion' this time. It no longer seemed important. After what she had been through to bring him here, she could call him whatever she wanted. 

"There is something," the midwife said, her tone serious now, and adjusted Narcissa's pillow. "It's about you, not him." Narcissa didn't redirect her attention from the baby, but Lucius did, watching her attentively as he held the baby's hand, and she ended up almost more talking to him. "After a birth like that, I'm not sure that carrying more children will be possible for you…"

"I don't need any more," Narcissa said. She looked up from Draco to Lucius with a smile, and he realised then that he had never seen her purely happy before.

[sarahsmi13s]

Don't Take The Girl

whumptober day 29: bargainning

pairing: tom 'iceman' kazansky x wife!reader

characters: tom kazansky, y/n kazansky, tommy kazansky, ron kerner, carole and bradley bradshaw

warnings: 18+ MDNI, language, pregnancy, childbirth, blood, bargainning with God, praying, traumatic birth, crying, medical inaccuracies, please let me know if I missed any

word count: ~2.3k

a/n: this is for whumptober! please please please proceed with caution and use discretion, protect your peace

also if you are on the whump taglist but are not familiar with a character, you can skip it will not hurt my feelings!

this is inspired by the song Don't Take the Girl by Tim McGraw

whumptober 2023 masterlist

summary: tom was so excited to welcome his daughter into the world... but he had no idea that he might have to say goodbye on the same day

Beep beep beep

Ice chuckled as the student flying behind him tried to get a missile lock on him. 

Silver, the student on his tail, was rushing the hop because he was trying to beat Cobalt and prove to everyone that his call sign was not indicative of how he performs.

It reminded him of how Maverick flew when they were students in Top Gun. “Come on Silver, don’t be reckless. That’s not how you win,” Ice said, his voice cool and even as he rolled out of the way.

“You wanna win, you do it right. It’s how I-”

“Range control to Iceman.”

“Iceman to range control, everything alright?”

“Yo,” Slider’s voice broke through then. “Ice, hospital just called. Y/N’s gone into labor.” 

Tom nearly stopped at his friend’s words, slowing down as he processed it. “What?”

“Yeah, your baby girl is coming now, we gotta go. Tommy’s at a friend's house. We gotta go pick him up,” Ron said quickly, trying to convey his urgency.

Ice could only nod before ringing filled his cabin. Missile lock. 

“Alright, I’m down. Lesson over. I’ll lead the way back to base,” Ice said, not caring that he lost because he was distracted. You were in labor, and he needed to be there.

After landing and rushing out of his plane, Tom didn’t even bother changing out of his flight suit before leaving to go get your son from his friend’s house and going to the base hospital with Ron at his side.

“Why are we going to the hospital, Daddy?” Tommy, your six year old son, asked from his carseat.

Tom looked over his shoulder at him before looking back at the road, “You know how we’ve been waiting on your baby sister to get here?” Tommy nodded. “Well, she’s on her way and we’re meeting Mama at the hospital to get her.” 

Tommy smiled and he bounced a little in his seat, “I’m gonna be a big brother!” Ron chuckled, “Yeah little man, you’re gonna be a big brother. The best big brother I bet.” He nodded, “I’m gonna try!”

Ice smiled as he finally pulled into the hospital parking lot.

Your son was so excited that he unbuckled himself and nearly bolted out of the car. “Thomas Jordan, do not just run off like that. I get that you’re excited, trust me I am too. But Aunt Carole and I can’t chase you around, okay?” Tom said, being firm but not mean.

Tommy stopped and ran back to him, grabbing his hand, “Yes sir.” Ice gave him a soft smile before picking him up, “Alright let’s go.” 

They walked in and went straight to labor and delivery, knowing the way after the last few moments of Braxton Hicks contractions. 

He spotted Carole in the waiting room first, Bradley was next to her playing on his Gameboy next to her. “Carole!” Her head jerked up to see him, “Tom, thank goodness you’re here. Y/N would have my head if you missed this.”

Tom nodded and chuckled, “Oh I know, but it’s mine she’ll want. Will you watch Slider and Tommy for me? I’ll come get you when we can have visitors.” Carole smiled as he sat Tommy down and she gave him a snack, “Yes, now go or you’re gonna miss it.” 

“Hey wait, why do I need a babysitter?” Ron asked as Ice went over to the desk. “Ronnie, don’t make me answer that. You want some snacks?” Carole asked, pulling out another zip-lock bag. “Oooh yes!” 

Tom rolled his eyes fondly as he walked up the nurse’s station.

“I’m Captain Thomas Kazansky, my wife is here. She would have come in a little bit ago?” The nurse looked at her sheet, “Y/N?” “Yes, yes that’s her.” She smiled at him, “Room 304, I can lead you to it.” He patted the counter top, “Thank you.” He followed the nurse down the hall and to the room.

When they got there the nurse knocked before stepping in, “The father is here.”

“Tom?” He heard your tired voice come from the bed before another contraction ripped through you and you had to push again. He smiled, “Yeah yeah I’m here, Sweet-” 

“I’m sorry Captain, you have to leave. You can’t be here,” the doctor said out of nowhere.

“What?” You and Tom said at the same time as you both looked at the doctor.

You whimpered a little, “W-Why?” The doctor shook his head, “Just get him out of here, we’ll come get him.” 

The nurse only nodded and tried to guide Tom back out. 

“No, no, please, I need him in here. Please why-” You got cut off by the next contraction and the nurse managed to get him out.

Tom looked at the nurse, “What is going on? Why can’t I be in there with her?” The nurse sighed a little and just shook her head, “I’m not sure, but we have to listen to the doctor. Let's go to the waiting room, he’ll be out to get you when it’s time.”

All he can do is nod as tears hit his eyes. Something wasn’t right, he had a gut feeling. But he just had to follow orders.

It felt like a damn near eternity as Tom paced the floor. 

He had slid his aviators back on to hide the redness caused by his tears. He didn’t need Tommy seeing his normally calm father freaking out and crying. He didn’t want to worry him either, because he could be wrong. Everything could be just fine and it’s just his adrenaline from being in the air transferring to this moment. 

“Captain Kazansky?” 

Tom’s head whipped over and he looked at the doctor. “Yes?” He nodded down the hall, “May I speak with you? Privately?” Ice didn’t hesitate and followed him down back to the room they had you in.

“Are-are they okay? Why couldn’t I be in there?” Tom asked the doctor immediately as he took his sunglasses off.

“Your baby is fine, Captain. It was scary for a moment, but your baby girl is healthy,” he said, his hands in his coat pockets. 

If that was supposed to dampen Ice’s anxiety, it didn’t. It actually made it worse.

Tom huffed a little and gestured to the door, “My wife, how’s my wife? Why couldn’t I go in there?” 

The doctor sighed, “Captain, your wife… she lost a lot of blood. It was touch and go after the birth. We managed to get the bleeding stopped but we can’t be certain she’ll pull through.” Tom was silent as his heartbeat pounded in his ears. “I think it’s best if you go home, Captain…” 

“Go home? Go home?! How can I go home with my son while his mother lies in a hospital bed fighting for her life? What am I supposed to tell him? What do you say to a six year old that gained and lost someone on the same day?!”

The doctor took a deep breath, remaining calm as the normally collected blond shouted at him, “I understand that you’re angry and that you’re upset. But the only thing we can do now is wait.”

“Then let me wait with her. I won’t let her be alone. She shouldn’t be alone. Please… please let me be with her.” 

He thought about it, looking between the pilot and the room where you lay unconscious on the bed. He nodded, “Alright, you can stay.” “Thank you doc.” 

The doctor moved out of the way and opened the door. “Do you want them back here now or?” Tom shook his head, “No, not yet… I just.. I need a minute.” 

Tom walked in and the doctor shut the door to give him some privacy.

He looked at you on the bed, swallowing as his throat dried up. He knew what he walked in on wasn’t going to be pretty but the fact that it was you hooked up to wires and machines, it was heartbreaking. 

He’d seen colleagues and friends in this position, but to see you, his wife and mother of his children, in this position… it was earth shattering.

“Oh Sweetheart…” Tom whispered hoarsely as he walked over and held your hand. 

Your hand was clammy, nothing like the soft warmth he was used to and it’s what finally sent him to the floor.

Tom hit his knees, his forehead resting on your hand as he prayed.

“God… please, I can’t.. I can’t lose her. Please just... take the breath you gave me. Take the heart from my chest. Put me in her place. That’s how it’s supposed to be. That’s how it’s always supposed to happen. Me first. I’m the one with the dangerous job. Don’t take her, please… don’t take her from me…” 

He sobbed, letting out all of his emotions right there. His tears were wetting your hand and soaking into the blanket. 

Tom was terrified, he usually was good in stressful situations. But right now? This was a whole new kind of stress. 

He was sitting here begging to trade his life for yours. To die so you could live. And he meant every word.

Tom had never said anything without meaning it. Even in arguments he tried his damnedest to be honest and strategic with his words. He thought carefully about his words because he knew the impact of them. 

So his prayer was genuine. He would gladly die so you could live, so his kids could have a mother. He would trade places in a heartbeat.

Because you deserved to live.

Tom gave himself enough time to calm down before leaving to go get Tommy. He wanted your son to get a chance to see you in case anything happened. Was letting him see you like this the best idea? Probably not. But he would regret it if he never let Tommy talk to you.

So, after he collected himself he let a nurse know that it was okay to bring them to the room.

Carole walked in first, Ron and Tommy behind her and Bradley behind them.

“H-How is she?” Carole asked, a little fear in her voice. “She’s um… She’s resting.” “What about the little one?” Ron asked as he put Tommy down. Ice wiped his mouth, “They’re doing check ups and everything, making sure she’s alright.” 

“Daddy?” Tommy whispered as he hugged his father’s leg. “Is Mama okay?” 

Ice sniffled a little, “She’s just resting right now Tommy. I’m sure she can hear you though, do you want to say something to her?” Tommy nodded, “Yes please.”

Tommy walked over and held your hand, “Hi Mama. Daddy said you were sleeping but that you could hear me. I wanted to tell you I love you. I hope you’re having good dreams.”

Ice smiled at his son as he came back over and clung to his leg again. “Are we going home?” Tom sighed and squatted down, “I’m gonna stay with Mama and baby Whitney, you’re gonna stay with Uncle Sli for a little bit okay?” Tommy nodded before hugging his dad, “Okay Daddy, I love you. Can we come in tomorrow?” 

He nodded, “Maybe, we’ll have to see okay? I love you too.” He kissed his forehead and Ron gave him a quick hug before they left. 

Carole sniffled as she looked at you and walked over to hold your hand. 

“Is she gonna pull through?” 

Tom sighed and walked over, “They don’t know…” Carole nodded, “I think she will. She’s a fighter. Always has been. And she wouldn’t leave you and those babies behind, not if she has a choice.” 

She wiped her eyes a little before leaning over to kiss your forehead, “We’ll come by tomorrow okay?”

Carole turned back to Tom, “Any updates, this is where we’re staying. Don’t hesitate to call.” He took the piece of paper, “Thank you Carole.” “Of course,” she said with a gentle smile before hugging him. “Bradley, c’mon, let’s get out of Tom’s hair.” 

Bradley nodded and gave Tom a quick hug, “Bye Uncle Ice.” “Bye kiddo.”

They left and Tom turned back to you. “It’s just us sweetheart.” 

He walks over and sits down, threading his fingers through yours. “I don’t really know if you can hear me right now… but I’m gonna talk to you like you can…”

Tom sat there for hours talking to you. Whatever it was, whether it be what happened at work to reminiscing about the past, he talked about it.

He just kept talking. He knew that if he stopped he wouldn’t stop thinking about what might happen. He had to keep his mind busy.

At some point, they brought Whitney in. Everything was okay and she was in good health so she could be in the room.

Tom smiled and walked around with her as he talked to her, rambling on about her older brother, her aunts and uncles. He talked about you and how much you loved her even though you couldn’t tell her right now.

He eventually put her back in the bassinet before sitting by your bed again and holding your hand.

“I’ve been listening to that damn heart monitor for hours, Sweetheart. If I wake up and I don’t hear it…” His own words choked him up. He cleared his throat. “I know, I know… don’t think about it ‘if’s. But Sweetheart, I need you to wake up… please I can’t do this without you.”

Sniffling, he clasped his hands together one last time, your hand gently trapped in the middle. “Please… don’t take her from me… please.” 

He wiped his eyes before laying his head on your thigh gently, letting the rhythmic beat of your monitor lure him to sleep. 

Beep… Beep… Beep…

taglist: @bradleybeachbabe @mamachasesmayhem @kmc1989 @lovinglyeternal @horseshoegirl @hangmansgbaby @fanboyswhore9 @nightowlalltheway @86laura11 @els-marvelvsp @valmare @startrekfangirl2233 @malindacath @nyx2021 @chaosofmanyfandoms

hi, if you're seeing this and are currently not on the taglist and would like to be please fill out the taglist form -> whumptober taglist

i can not stress this enough, but whumptober can have some very serious and heavy topics and i want to make sure i am doing my part as an author to prepare my readers for what they are about to experience and that includes not only warnings above but my taglists as well

so if you want to be added check out the masterlist and read that carefully and fill out the form -> whumptober 2023

[roxygen22]

I need you

From this list https://www.tumblr.com/roxygen22/753666363139162112

With Timothee plz

Slight twist: I realized I hadn't yet written anything for Hal. I hope a Timmy character will suffice. Prompt from this list.

I Need You

C/W: Death in childbirth, mention of blood

Hal winced every time he heard screaming and groaning through the large wooden door. He paced the long hall outside of the queen's chambers. His queen. The love of his life and guiding north star. She had been laboring for hours now to bring their firstborn into the world. Hal's heir. He prayed she would soon have some relief from her pain. Pain that he brought upon her.

Her maids and ladies-in-waiting frequently entered and exited the room. They looked worried and refused to make eye contact with Hal as they carried out their mission to exchange bloodied water with fresh.

He crowded the door when the moaning and bustling ceased. He nervously played with the rings on his fingers and stared out the stained glass window as time seemed to stand still, until he finally heard the beautiful sound of a baby's first cry. The large door cracked open. Hal turned quickly on his heel to see the doctor step through, swiping the evidence of tears from his face.

"How is she? And the babe?" he asked hurriedly.

"Your son is healthy. But I'm sorry, your majesty. The queen...the queen is gone." The doctor cast his eyes to the floor and stepped aside to allow Hal to enter.

The maid held the swaddled pink baby in her arms to present him to his father, but Hal simply stepped around her after a fleeting glance at the bundle. Gravity seemed to grab at his feet as he shuffled to the queen's bedside until his knees buckled. All the color had been drained from her face. His fingers traced her once luscious cherry colored lips that were now a pale gray.

"No, no, no!" Hal begged with increasing volume. "Don't leave me. I- I need you. Please. I can't do this without you." He dropped his head to her cold hand and released a heart-wrenching, guttural open-mouth wail into the sheets. The sobs racked his body so hard they shook the bed and canopy.

The baby startled and screamed in like fashion. The sound pulled Hal from wallowing in his misery. He slowly pushed himself up from the bed and looked over his shoulder to the source. The maid looked nervous, unsure of what Hal's next move may be, especially if he blamed the child for the mother's death. She unconsciously pulled the babe tighter to her chest, in part to protect and in part to soothe.

Hal slowly walked to where the maid stood. He gently caressed the crying babe's cheek with his knuckle, then opened his arms to request the child. The maid briefly hesitated, then gently shifted him into his father's arms. The baby quieted and opened his eyes. The stoic Hal melted inside at the sight of his queen's eyes and nose on this tiny face.

Hal turned and walked toward the window, gently bouncing with each step. "I miss her already, too, dear one. We'll have to figure out this life without her together."

<><><><><>

Masterlist

Tag List:

@croatianprincess

@bluizh

@jindongdongie

@groovy-lady

@pmak2002

[i-eat-worlds]

Things That Shouldn’t Happen In A Closet

so uh….this exists now. It’s long. I didn’t think it’d be this long. I might’ve made a mistake. Anyway hope you enjoy

Content: Explicit, graphic birth scene, probably inaccurate onset of labor, emotional whump, angst, medic caretaker, hostage situations, pregnancy whump, whump of a minor (does being born count as whump?), anxiety and panic attacks, feces mention

Joseph scanned HAL’s always busy medbay, looking around for the charge nurse that was on duty today. It was odd that they weren’t out and about, and so he turned down the left hallway, past the breakroom and towards the bank of offices and closets that were further away.

He found her coming out of a bathroom, putting his hand up to wave her over. “Hey Tori.” He handed her the clipboard, probably an all too familiar action. “Are you on today? I thought you were on maternity leave.”

Tori quickly signed the papers. “I was supposed to be, but half the day shift called out today, and they couldn’t cover it.” She started to walk back towards the heart of the medbay. “Are you saying I’m incapable of doing my job because I’m pregnant, Joseph?”

“No, no nothing like that.” He trailed several steps behind her.

“Good.” She handed the clipboard back to him, face cringing in pain. “Word of warning: do not eat the cafeteria meatloaf. You will not be rewarded for your bravery.”

“Noted.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she got there first.

“And no, Dr. Thomas is not working today.”

His face felt hot for some reason, but he was quickly distracted by the sound of a voice over the PA. “Code Purple on 4.”

“Fuck.” Tori’s steps immediately picked up, breaking into a light jog. Code Purple meant that a villain had escaped from the specialized ward up on the fourth floor. They were to evacuate who they could, and lock down everything else.

Joseph followed her down the hallway, running back towards the medbay’s central hub. Far in front of them, they saw several figures. Before Joseph could yell at them to run or hide, a bright green bolt of energy flew down the hallway.

His instincts kicked in, and he quickly shoved Tori into a side hallway, body placed protectively in front of hers. The blast blew past them, metal clattering as it hit something out of sight. Tori looked up at him, eyes wide and panicked, as he dragged her into an open room. As quietly as he could, he pulled the door shut behind them, and locked it.

“Get down,” he mouthed, retreating into the darkness of the shelves. They were stocked with office supplies, a giant box of paper blocking his view of the door. Tori squatted carefully, holding her breath.

Heavy footsteps stomped down the hallway, coming to a stop outside the door. The handle jiggled a little, starting to twist. Did it not lock?

There was a dramatic sigh from the other side, and then a harsh “it’s locked, idiot.” The figures moved away, charging after something or someone else.

Tori let out a breath as she sat down. “Okay, what the fuck?” Her voice shook a little.

Joseph was quiet, unsure what to say, adrenaline pumping through his veins. “They’re probably trying to escape,” he rationalized. “We’ll wait here until the clear announcement.”

“Yeah.” She leaned back against the wall, hand wrapped around her belly. “God, this is not what I needed today.”

Suddenly, her face twisted with pain, a quiet grunt forcing its way out from her lips. He leaned forward, eyes ickering over her. “You alright?”

“Yeah, it’s just-” she scrubbed the back of her neck. “-a Braxton-Hicks. It’s fine.”

Before he could open his mouth to respond, the PA cracked. They both looked up expectantly, listening for the news.

“Hello, ladies, gentlemen, and everyone-elses of HAL.” The voice was sinister, deep like the one in the hallway. But, Joseph thought grimly, at least it was inclusive? “I’m going to not prolong this more than I have too. Me and several compatriots have seized control of your medbay, and everyone inside. The doors are locked and barricaded. No one will get in or out without us knowing. Our demands are simple. Ten grand for each of us, a helicopter, and a pardon, one for each of us.” There was a pause. “Failure to capitulate will result in harm rendered to the hostages. You have three hours to get it sorted.”

The PA faded away, leaving the closet in an oppressive silence. Tori’s eyes met his, shimmering with fear. “What do we do?” She whispered.

“We stay put,” he kept the nervousness from edging into his tone. “They haven’t found us yet, and they’re surrounded by almost every single superhero in the city. I don’t think it's going to be a long term affair.”

“Yeah. It’s a stupid plan.” Her voice wobbled, and Joseph could see her breathing starting to quicken. “It’ll be alright.”

“We’ll figure it out.” He pressed his hands into the cold floor tile. An awkward silence passed between them, the stale atmosphere of the janitorial closet not doing the conversation any favors. The seconds on his watch ticked up, counting up as the minutes passed. Tori doubled over again, and another curse dropped from her lips.

“Oooh, ahhh that’s great,” she said through gritted teeth. “That is just bloody wonderful.”

“Another Braxton-Hicks?”

She nodded. “Yep.”

A beat of silence passed, and then there was the loud crash of something being knocked over. Both Tori and Joseph clammed up, listening as a cacophony of steps thundered down the hallway. The door handle started to rattle, but neither of them moved to open up.

There was a scream, and then the sound of a body hitting the oor. Tori’s mouth popped open, and Joseph stiened. Several minutes passed, slow like molasses. A sickening feeling somersaulted in his gut as the PA clicked on.

“Dear HAL,” It was the same voice as before, though now the tone was tinted with rage. “Don't think we wouldn’t nd the brat of a sidekick you sent in to spy on us. It will be harder than that to displace us. You now have an hour and a half to meet our demands. Do try to be timely.”

The system clicked off, and Tori's panicked eyes met his. “We should turn ourselves in.”

He shook his head. “No-”

“That person is probably hurt, Joseph.” Her face tightened as another contraction rolled through her. “There could be others-they’re going to find us anyway.”

“No, Tori, no.” He scooted closer to her. “I know it's stressful, but we need to keep ourselves safe first, right?”

“Yeah,” a half-faked laugh fell from her lips. “Never did I think a day would come when I would let a frontliner lecture me about safety.”

“We’re not that bad.” He slouched again, glad that Tori seemed more relaxed.

“You’re that bad….” She suddenly trailed off, head looking down. The crotch of her scrub pants was soaked, and uid was pooling on the tile underneath her. “Joseph…” He saw it as she spoke it. “My water just broke.”

Oh fuck. He took a calming breath before responding, and an understanding passed between them. “What pregnancy is this?”

“Third. Third child, too.” Another contraction hit, but she kept talking. Joseph glanced at his watch. “My last two came pretty quick, too.”

“How quickly?”

“They said if I ever wanted to have a third child I should live as close to the hospital as I could for the last three weeks.” She sighed. “I don’t think this was what they meant.”

“Probably not, no.” Joseph, internally, also sighed. This was going to be a thing, and there was no avoiding it. “When are you due?”

“In a week or so.”

“Any complications?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Both were cephalic, no previa or anything, and both were vaginal. No diabetes, no preeclampsia either” Her hand was back on her neck again. “And I did the prenatal care, too.”

“Alright,” He slowly stood up. “Any allergies?”

“Sulfa.” Her eyes followed him as he moved around the closet. “What’re you looking for?”

“Towels, or anything in that genre. Among other things.” So far though, he’d only found lots of paper, pens, and clipboards. “Do you take any medications?”

“Nope,” she tilted her head. “This is really the wrong closet for that.”

He should’ve picked a better closet for them to hide in.“When did you-”

“Five hours ago. It was the stupid meatloaf.” He tried to talk again, and she cut him off. “I’d check the EMS storage down the hall and to the left.”

They were both quiet for a moment. “Tori, I don’t think…”

“This baby is happening, Joseph. And it’s going to be sooner rather than later.” A high pitched hiss escaped her lips, and he checked his watch again. Five minutes, roughly. “It’s going to be what…a ten minute trip at most. I’ll be fine on my own. Just follow the signs to the ambulance bay. I know you’ve stolen from it before.”

Joseph breathed, eyes flickering towards the door. “Alright. Keep the lights off and stay low. If, heaven forbid, something happens and you are caught, you do not sacrifice yourself for me.” There was something dangerous and deadly serious in his eyes. “Do you understand?

“Yes.” She swallowed, but held his gaze, watching as he turned towards the door and pressed his ear to it.

His hand reached down and worked the lock. “See you in a bit.”

After cracking it to double check that no one was coming, he pushed it open and slid out into the hallway. Tori watched him exit, the door closing softly behind him with a little click.

It was eerily quiet as he snuck down the hallway, keeping his body close to the wall. He was hyperaware, listening for the thud of a boot or the whisper of a voice. The emptiness bothered him, all of the staff and patients having either been evacuated or captured.

He carefully stepped over an overturned cart, avoiding the sterile packaged equipment that was spilled over the floor. Blood flecked the wall, and he did his best to rein in his thoughts as he walked past. It was smeared on the floor as well, painting a grim picture of what had happened.

While it was awful, he forced himself to move on. He had someone else to take care of. After, if he had a chance, he’d make sure they were alright.

Before he turned the corner, his eyes foickered up to the mirror to make sure the coast was clear. This hallway was just as empty and unsettling as the last one had been, the side entrance to the ambulance garage all the way down at the far end.

Suddenly, the hair on the back of his neck raised. On blind instinct, he dove into the closet, hoping it was the right one. A blast of energy hurled down the hall behind him, and crossed his fingers as footsteps followed.

“Did you even see anything?” Someone said, their voice frustrated.

There was a beat of silence. “I thought I saw someone walking! I mean it this time.” Another pause. “I promise.”

“Fine,” they grumbled. “I’ll wait here. Go check it out.”

As the steps drew closer, it became harder to breathe. When he’d hidden, he hadn’t locked the door. The closet was tiny, and he didn’t really have a place to go. There was nothing to protect him.

He clamped a hand over his mouth, trying to push down the acid that rose up his throat. Silence was his only option, because luck wouldn’t save him. It had intervened twice today, and he doubted it would happen again.

The door creaked, and Joseph’s heart uttered as he realized they were leaning against it. There wasn’t anything he could do but wait.

Until they left, he was stuck.

*** Tori flinched at the sound of another energy blast being sent hurling down the hallway. She crossed her fingers, hoping that Joseph hadn’t been found yet. The deep pit in her gut made her doubt that, and the dread that thought caused was almost unbearable.

Joseph had told her, in no uncertain terms, to sell him out. Despite the instruction, she knew he wouldn't be doing the same to her. Did they know she was missing? Would they hurt him because of her? Would they hurt him anyway?

Another cramp rolled through her, reminding her of the other issue. She was in labor. In a fucking closet, in a hospital crawling with escaped villain, and the one person who could’ve helped her had probably been captured.

Or worse.

The confines of the closet seemed to be closing in on her, and it was difficult to breathe. Every neuron in her body was screaming, and it was just too much. She lowered herself down to the oor, letting the cold tile press into her back.

It was grounding, though her heart was still thundering in her chest. If she had to do this on her own, could she? What if something went wrong? There was no way she’d be able to deal with that, with any of it.

The tears welled up, and she let them come, as quietly as she could. They rolled off the sides of her face, dropping onto the floor. She laid there, for who knew how long, grieving the future.

Her ears twitched when she heard a voice coming down the hallway. Well, it was a pair of voices, walking down the hallway.

She gasped, trying to keep quiet even as she continued to cry. The steps moved impossibly slow, taking forever to pass. They stood still, and if they were talking, she couldn't tell. The only noise she would hear was the ringing in her ears.

Eventually they left, but she couldn't get herself to calm down. No matter what she tried, the panic would go away. It was like she’d been torn asunder and tossed out to sea. She couldn’t nd a way this would turn out well, a way this wasn’t horrible and awful. The thoughts rose in her like a crescendo, like a river overflowing its banks.

And then they stopped.

The closet was too dark for her to notice the black spots that had been slowly clouding her vision, and all she was left with was a dizzy lurch and the burning feeling that she should’ve been laying on her side.

Her eyes slid closed, and she dropped into unconsciousness.

*** Every second Joseph spent inside the closet was torture.

It was like watching sand slowly drop from an hourglass, one painful grain at a time. The painted over brick was grating on his back, and an ancient backboard was propped up on the wall next to him. Someone had done a piss-poor job cleaning blood off the handle.

He spent a lot of time studying that stain, looking at the crusty, rusty brown marks. Henle would’ve crucified him for that, and Jenn too.

It was funny, and then it wasn’t funny at all.

He had been stuck in this stupid closet for far too long. He needed to get back Tori, make sure she was still doing alright. Not be stuck trying to not breathe too loud because the villains were still outside.

The person leaning against the door had started whistling. It was incessant, the same seven notes over and over again.

“Could you stop that?” The other person snapped.

“Then hurry up. Boss is gonna want us back soon.” They pushed off the door.

There was a long tired sigh. “Ugh. Fine. I did actually see someone, though.”

“Sure.”

The both of them started to walk away, and Joseph could finally breathe again. He waited for another very long minute to make sure that they’d actually left, and then he shifted forward.

It’d been ages since he’d last been in here, but the obstetrics kit was easy enough to find. They were shoved in the far corner, on the bottom shelf, but they were there. Maybe HAL couldn’t clean a backboard, but they could organize a closet. He swiped up a few extra pairs of gloves, since five bucks said the pair inside the pack were mediums and wouldn’t t anyway, and an infant BMV, heaven forbid, then steeled himself for the journey back.

Holding the supplies close to his chest, he peeked his head out the door. Once he was sure the coast was clear, he stepped out into the hallway. It had kept its odd, unnatural quiet, and he moved through it as quickly as he could.

Finally, he arrived back at their original hiding spot, quickly creaking the door open and sliding back inside. His gaze was attached to the oor as he set the supplies down. “Tori, I’m back….”

She was laying on her back, head lolled to the side, body slack.

“Tori?” He dropped to his knees beside her, watching her face for any sign of movement. “Tori, are you with me?”

Nothing.

His eyes moved over her, watching her chest rise and fall, a little slower than he would’ve liked. He slid his fingers under her jaw, then set about getting her on her left side.

It took a few minutes for her to stir again, and it appeared that it was a contraction that finally woke her. She grunted in pain as she pulled her eyes open, naked fear ashing across her face. “Joseph?”

He nodded, quickly starting to reassess her. “Yeah?”

There was a pause while she waited for the contraction to lessen enough for her to speak. “I was-I thought-” she stopped herself, but not the sob that fell out instead of words. “I’m sorry, I-” Her hand scrubbed at her face. “-should’ve been on my side.”

“It’s alright,” he scooted back to give her some space. “I’m sorry I took so long.”

She groaned as she sat properly again, folding her legs up. “It’s alright.”

It was obvious that she was stressed. Her eyes were still red and puffy, and her shoulders were tense. Whenever she spoke, her voice was shaky, and Joseph could tell she was straining to hold it together.

Tori opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, then opened it again. “I thought you-” Another contraction ripped through her, yanking the words out of her mouth before she could say them. Her eyes opened wide as she tried to stay quiet, hissing through her teeth. “Joseph, the baby is coming. I need to push!”

He shifted forward, reaching across the cramped room for his gloves. “So, we’ve reached the point where I would like to take a look. Is that alright?”

“Yes.” She nodded, reaching for her waistband, hands still shaking. Slowly, she wiggled them off, casting them off to the side in a pile, then leaned her back against the wall and opened her legs.

“I’m not going to touch, I’m just going to look, yeah?” He scooted closer so he could see better. The closet’s lighting was dim, but he could still make out the pinkish, stringy bloody show.

Her face twisted as another contraction started, hung and pung as she tried not to scream. A portion of the baby’s scalp appeared, then vanished as it faded away. Soon’s time was over. This baby was coming now.

“I’m going to get set up, alright?” He reached back for the obstetrics pack, starting to unfold it between her legs.

A beat of silence based, and then she spoke up again. “You should give me your belt.” She swallowed. “I don’t want to scream…and have them find us because of that.”

He nodded, the inherent misery of the idea picking at him. “Yeah.”

The buckle clicked as he removed it, then handed it to her. She folded the woven fabric over itself several times, hands still shaking. Joseph pushed away the pressure weighing on his chest, focusing on the task at hand. He pulled on the flimsy plastic apron and changed to the sterile gloves, then placed two towels on her belly and another under her hips.

Another contraction began, and she shoved the wadded-up belt in her mouth to keep herself from screaming. The top of the baby’s head emerged again, Tori’s face twisting into a grimace. The head didn’t disappear this time. “You’re crowning now.” She nodded in understanding. “I’m going to touch, alright?”

He placed one hand on the baby’s head and one underneath, pressing a sponge over her anus. “Keep breathing, and push when you need to.”

Her breathing was quick, hands grasping at the tile. She beared down again, eyes starting to water as more of the head emerged. A thick, brown substance soaked the sponge, and Joseph saw her roll her eyes. She murmured an apology through the belt.

“You’re alright, it happens all the time.” He quickly covered it with another towel, then went back to supporting the head.

Tears started to well in her eyes as she continued to push the head out. Slowly, she made progress, ears and then the forehead, followed by the eyes. Joseph kept the head supported, doing his best to keep Tori calm.

A long, pained grunt fell from her lips, and finally, the head fully emerged. He quickly wiped the blood and fluid away, then suctioned, mouth first to prevent aspiration. Tori was sniing, eyes red as she heaved air in. “You’re doing great.”

His fingers circled the baby’s neck, checking for entanglement. He kept his face carefully neutral when he felt it, but was relieved to nd that it wasn’t tight enough to be of current concern. “That’s the head, we’re nearly there.”

Tori’s face hardened, and she pushed again, the baby rotating so their shoulders could follow. The upper shoulder slipped out without much trouble, and then he guided them upward so that the bottom one could come out after.

They were covered in blood and cheese-like vernix, and Joseph kept a careful grip on their slippery body. Compared to the head and the shoulders, the rest of them delivered quickly.

She spit the belt out of her mouth. “How is she?” Sweat was dripping down her forehead, exhaustion evident in her face.

There was a painfully long few seconds, and then the baby started to breathe. They started to cry, wailing like a siren, and Joseph’s heart dropped. Any advantage they’d had from silence had just vanished. “Do they have a name?”

“Patricia.” She smiled, watching as Joseph quickly cleaned and dried them.

He looked up at her, quiet for a moment, hands still busy. “That’s a good name.”

Patricia kept crying as he checked her over, running a hand along the cord and feeling that it was still pulsating. They’d pinked up considerably in the small amount of time after delivery, only there hands and feet still tinged blue. He pressed his fingers into the inside of their arm, pleased to find a rabbit-fast heartbeat.

Her eyes moved to meet his, expression grim. “They’re going to find us.”

The cord stopped pulsing, and he reached for the clamps. “Tori-”

“Take her. Run. I’ll only slow you down.” She looked down at Patricia, listening to the shrieks of her baby.

“I’m not going to abandon you, Tori.” He cut the cord, leaving the proximal clamp on before swadling them in a blanket.

“Joseph, please.” She took the baby from him, holding them against her chest. “I just need her to be okay.”

Something struck at his heart. “I know. I know.” His eyes watered, but he fought it back. “But it's my job to make sure you both are okay, alright? Your placenta still needs to deliver and I’m not going to leave you alone for that.”

“No, no, no,” She pushed up her scrub top so that the baby could feed, hoping it would make them quiet down. “You have to go.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut o by a loud crackle of power outside in the hallway. They both flinched, Tori’s arms curling around Patricia tighter.

There was a cacophony of shouts and pounding feet. “Joseph, you need to. You have to.” She pushed Patricia towards him, expression grieving. “Please. Please.”

“No, Tori.” He shook his head. “Right now, it’s safest for us to stay here and hide, alright?”

Before she could beg again, the door blew open, flying backwards and slamming into the wall. Tori screamed, pressing the baby to her chest and encircling them with her arms. With little regard for his own safety, Joseph threw himself in front of the two, blood-soaked glove-covered fits raised, ready for a fight.

He did a double take when he realized who it was.

HAL heroes flooded into the room, medics stepping up and the rest of the room slowly emptying. Everything felt both too slow and too fast, like some sort of weird fever dream. The report fell numbly from his lips, and he too was guided away to be checked out.

His hands were sweaty and disgusting from the gloves, and they were still shaking. He felt unsteady on his legs, the exhaustion of the day nally setting in as the adrenaline ebbed. Everything felt distant and unreal, and he just wanted to go home.

They wouldn’t let him leave until after everyone had been processed and questioned, and so we had to awkwardly wait in the waiting room, holding his emotions steady. It was hard. He was so, so tired.

He fished for his phone, pulling it out and dialing one of the three numbers he had memorized. They picked up immediately.

“Hey Aaron…”

Taglist: @pigeonwhumps @snail-lamp @rainydaywhump @painful-pooch @rainbowsandwhumperflies

[musewrangler]

“Here, duck in here!” he told her, guiding her as carefully as he could while they ran.

Padme panted and groaned, holding her large stomach with the other hand as they ducked under the heavy stone into a small cave.

The best that could be said about it was that it was dry. There was no other comfort but stone and dirt here.

But that was apparently all she would have to welcome her babies with.

“Firmus—-” she began, just as another contraction hit and she doubled in agony. “Hguhhhn!”

“What can I do?” he asked urgently. “I’m so sorry, Padme. Tell me what I can do to help you best.”

She scanned the small interior and pointed to the flattest place she could see.

“There. Help me sit. And…” she paused to breathe, “...I need something other than dirt beneath me for the babies.”

[ssjandtechno]

Two little addendums from a conversation between two young women in my family, one of whom is a chronic pain patient, one of whom had recently given birth:

The chronic pain patient says that neuropathic pain doesn't just turn ON like a light switch, it often turns OFF like a light switch too. It can go from a 6-7/10 to 0/10 in a second, certainly for her.

The young woman who'd recently given birth said that most of labour is like that too. She'd undertaken training to give birth with minmal chemical pain relief (her choice, not necessarily for everyone), and said that for most of labour, she had no pain at all BETWEEN contractions and was holding normal conversations. Just she paused every few minutes to concentrate on being calm and relaxed DURING contractions.

She did also say that the last bit hurt like hell, but not for very long

HOW TO WRITE A CHARACTER WHO IS IN PAIN

first thing you might want to consider: is the pain mental or physical?

if it’s physical, what type of pain is it causing? — sharp pain, white-hot pain, acute pain, dull ache, throbbing pain, chronic pain, neuropathic pain (typically caused by nerve damage), etc

if it’s mental, what is the reason your character is in pain? — grief, heartbreak, betrayal, anger, hopelessness, fear and anxiety, etc

because your character will react differently to different types of pain

PHYSICAL PAIN

sharp and white-hot pain may cause a character to grit their teeth, scream, moan, twist their body. their skin may appear pale, eyes red-rimmed and sunken with layers of sweat covering their forehead. they may have tears in their eyes (and the tears may feel hot), but they don’t necessarily have to always be crying.

acute pain may be similar to sharp and white-hot pain; acute pain is sudden and urgent and often comes without a warning, so your character may experience a hitched breathing where they suddenly stop what they’re doing and clench their hand at the spot where it hurts with widened eyes and open mouth (like they’re gasping for air).

dull ache and throbbing pain can result in your character wanting to lay down and close their eyes. if it’s a headache, they may ask for the lights to be turned off and they may be less responsive, in the sense that they’d rather not engage in any activity or conversation and they’d rather be left alone. they may make a soft whimper from their throat from time to time, depends on their personality (if they don’t mind others seeing their discomfort, they may whimper. but if your character doesn’t like anyone seeing them in a not-so-strong state, chances are they won’t make any sound, they might even pretend like they’re fine by continuing with their normal routine, and they may or may not end up throwing up or fainting).

if your character experience chronic pain, their pain will not go away (unlike any other illnesses or injuries where the pain stops after the person is healed) so they can feel all these types of sharp pain shooting through their body. there can also be soreness and stiffness around some specific spots, and it will affect their life. so your character will be lucky if they have caretakers in their life. but are they stubborn? do they accept help from others or do they like to pretend like they’re fine in front of everybody until their body can’t take it anymore and so they can no longer pretend?

neuropathic pain or nerve pain will have your character feeling these senses of burning, shooting and stabbing sensation, and the pain can come very suddenly and without any warning — think of it as an electric shock that causes through your character’s body all of a sudden. your character may yelp or gasp in shock, how they react may vary depends on the severity of the pain and how long it lasts.

EMOTIONAL PAIN

grief can make your character shut themself off from their friends and the world in general. or they can also lash out at anyone who tries to comfort them. (five states of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and eventual acceptance.)

heartbreak — your character might want to lock themself in a room, anywhere where they are unseen. or they may want to pretend that everything’s fine, that they’re not hurt. until they break down.

betrayal can leave a character with confusion, the feelings of ‘what went wrong?’, so it’s understandable if your character blames themself at first, that maybe it’s their fault because they’ve somehow done something wrong somewhere that caused the other character to betray them. what comes after confusion may be anger. your character can be angry at the person who betrayed them and at themself, after they think they’ve done something wrong that resulted in them being betrayed, they may also be angry at themself next for ‘falling’ for the lies and for ‘being fooled’. so yes, betrayal can leave your character with the hatred that’s directed towards the character who betrayed them and themself. whether or not your character can ‘move on and forgive’ is up to you.

there are several ways a character can react to anger; they can simply lash out, break things, scream and yell, or they can also go complete silent. no shouting, no thrashing the place. they can sit alone in silence and they may cry. anger does make people cry. it mostly won’t be anything like ‘ugly sobbing’ but your character’s eyes can be bloodshot, red-rimmed and there will be tears, only that there won’t be any sobbing in most cases.

hopelessness can be a very valid reason for it, if you want your character to do something reckless or stupid. most people will do anything if they’re desperate enough. so if you want your character to run into a burning building, jump in front of a bullet, or confess their love to their archenemy in front of all their friends, hopelessness is always a valid reason. there’s no ‘out of character’ if they are hopeless and are desperate enough.

fear and anxiety. your character may be trembling, their hands may be shaky. they may lose their appetite. they may be sweaty and/or bouncing their feet. they may have a panic attack if it’s severe enough.

and I think that’s it for now! feel free to add anything I may have forgotten to mention here!

[mari-beau]

Author's Note: I don't write Mike as often as I do Kristin and Daniel, but I hope I've gotten a good handle on him and how he might feel in such a stressful situation. I do like Mike and should try to write him more often.

Chapter Four: (Mike POV) Mike's doing everything he can to hold it together and support Kristin. She's not making it easy, but he can't really blame her...

Fandom: The Brokenwood Mysteries

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Pregnancy & Chilbirth. Contains blood and gore, angst and character whump

Relationships: Simmers (Daniel Chalmers/Kristin Sims)

Characters: Kristin Sims, Daniel Chalmers, Mike Shepherd

Additional Tags: Simmers, Established Relationship, sequel to When the Bough Breaks, but also not really necessary to have read it, Pregnancy, Childbirth, Angst and Feels, Mike & Kristin friendship, Blood and Injury, Blood and Gore, act of violence not depicted

Summary:

Kristin Sims is two weeks overdue and is being induced, but as her labor progresses, she grows more and more worried when her partner Daniel Chalmers still hasn't shown up.

DSS Mike Shepherd cares a great deal for his detectives, even though he has a hard time showing it, and will do whatever it takes to make sure their family (his family) is healthy and happy.

[mothmxwhump]

Whump Community for Palestine 🇵🇸

I don’t have means to donate myself, so i’d like to take a page out of @befuddled-calico-whump’s book and extend the same option as them. If you provide proof of donation to Palestinian charities such as:

-PCRF

-UNRWA

-CareForGaza

-Doctors Without Borders

Or donate E-sims for Gaza, I’ll take a whump art request, sort of a different form of commissions I suppose. Art examples, rules, and boundaries under the cut.

Please RB to boost, and if you can donate, email reps, and anything else to help Palestine.

Edit to add: you can either send an ask or DM to share your donation ♥️🖤🤍💚

Rules:

Emailing/calling/etc reps/senators/etc: Quick doodle chibi <3

Under $5 (USD) or equivalent: sketch of bust or b/w chibi

$5+ (usd) or equivalent: Bust in flats or b/w OR full color chibi

$10+ (usd) or equivalent: Full size in flats/b/w OR bust in full color

$15+ (usd) or equivalent: Full size in full color or anything else (within reason, I’m not painting the Mona Lisa)

You must provide a screenshot of the proof of donation from within recent days. For simplicity I can only accept proofs in English, same with requests. If you’d like to use a different charity please feel free, but I will only accept from ones that are verified to be donating to Palestine.

Boundaries:

I can draw some levels of gore, suggestive, nonsexual nudity, and most forms of whump.

I will not draw anything involving pregnancy/childbirth, emetophobia, or explicit NSFW.

Nudity will be censored or posed to avoid showing any genitalia, since I have no other socials and like my Tumblr account.

I also will not show anything involving misgendering, transphobia/homophobia, misogyny, or racism.

I can draw anthro to an extent. Actual animals (as in non-anthro/shapeshifters) are fine but I will not show them being hurt.

I will draw my characters, your characters, or characters from other sources (preferably not others ocs). If I am uncomfortable drawing a character from specific content or in a certain context (ie shipping art of an aroace character or suggestive with a minor, or characters from Harry Potter) I will gladly try to offer alternatives.

I can draw some complex posing/props/etc but reserve the right to ask for a slightly different concept if I feel I cannot accurately draw something for any reason.

Examples

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Touch: The Following Autumn (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Rated/warning: 18+, whump, depiction of difficult childbirth Word Count: 2.4k

Masterpost Previous part Next part

Summary: Benedict holds you through the birth of your first child.

Benedict’s grasp is the only thing keeping you hanging on. The only thing you are trying to focus on as the rest of your body feels like it is being ripped apart. You have never known so much pain, such bone-deep, gnawing pain, and that it has gone on for eighteen hours is incomprehensible. But you are still conscious, and you are still fighting, because he needs you to. Because they both need you to.

He sits at your bedside, your hands clasped together so tightly for so long, they have both gone white and you can’t feel your fingers anymore. That is the least of your concerns as another contraction surges through you and you groan, worn too tired to scream anymore. You lean into your husband, your free hand clinging to him wherever you can grasp - his hair, his neck, the sleeve of his shirt. You claw at him as you fight for a shuddering inhale, the wave of pain feeling as if it can drown you.

He presses his lips to your forehead, his face desperately tired and pale too. “My darling,” he whispers. “Oh my love.” He has run out of the energy or creativity to say anything more. Not that he needs to. You just need to feel him close by.

“Mrs. Bridgerton,” the surgeon looks up from the sheet spread across your knees. “You must continue to push.” His voice is stern, but there is an undercurrent of sympathy. No one in this room thinks you are weak. They have all been with you, watching you suffer for nearly an entire day. 

You nod limply, trying to find your breath as Benedict smooths your hair back from your sweaty face with his free hand. On the opposite side of the bed, Violet leans in with a cool cloth and presses it to your neck. They are the only family members with you. Your parents were waylaid by bad weather on their return from the Continent, and will miss the birth of their first grandchild.

You just want to fall apart. You want to sink back into the pillows and grant yourself some rest. You felt your strength give out hours ago, but somehow you are still here, trembling, pushing with whatever mild response your muscles will give you, to help your child into the world. The fear is growing that they may be stillborn. Your water broke so long ago and they have been stuck in your body. But you refuse to give into despair, and you swear you can still feel them, straining within you, doing their part to break free. 

Now the surgeon is telling you to push. You don’t know what energy you are supposed to push with. There is none left in your body, none at all. The only place you can feel it is in Benedict’s hands, numb though your fingers are. There is strength in him, strength in your love, strength in your desire to meet your child. You will have to draw on that. It is all you have. 

Gritting your teeth and leaning into Benedict’s shoulder, you grate out a scream and try to channel everything you feel from him, down to your baby. It’s piercing, the ache you feel along your legs, down your spine, and all through your hips. You feel as if your bones are made of blades. You push with your body and your soul, anything you can offer, and collapse back against the pillows, breathing hard.

“Another,” The dreadful command from the foot of the bed makes you whimper. 

Dear god, you can’t. Your shoulders start to shake with tiny sobs that produce no tears. Benedict leans over you, never releasing your hand, caressing your forehead.

“I can’t,” you gasp, “Ben…I’m sorry…I can’t.” 

The fear in his eyes is palpable. His face is haggard, shadowed with stubble. He swallows hard, searching your face, desperately questing for what to say. 

Violet squeezes your arm beside you and you turn to look at her, now more grateful than ever that she is here. She is the only one who can truly understand what you are feeling. Her eyes are glistening with tears but burning with resolve simultaneously. 

“Y/n, dearest, you must let your mind go.” You stare back at her, confused. She presses on, her voice tight. “The pain exists only in your mind. Your body is always strong enough to do what it must. It is only your mind that is struggling.” Her words sink in, somehow making sense. She nods at you in encouragement. “Wait for the next contraction, and let your body push, but your mind must go.”

You give her the barest nod, your breath growing shallow, then turn back to look at Benedict above you. If there is anywhere that you can lose yourself, it’s into his silvery eyes, even though they are now filled with panic. 

He heard his mother. Intuitively, he knows what you are trying to do. He holds the side of your face, slender fingers framing your ear, and lowers to rest his forehead against yours. 

“Y/n,” he breathes. “Do you remember the snowstorm two years ago?” 

You lock into his eyes, trying to transport yourself back into memories, to leave your body behind you to work without your mind’s interference. You nod slightly against him, breathing hard and shallow through your nose.

“You were the reason I didn’t finish that damn landscape.” A small grin tugs at his lips. “I was going outside to paint but then I saw you with my family, having as much fun as the children. You were so beautiful, so carefree and strong. I had to get to know you. So I abandoned the painting and joined in.”

Your mind is beginning to float back. Entranced with the kaleidoscope of his irises, you remembered that cold day, the sting of the snow against your exposed wrists, the squeals of laughter from everyone involved.

“It turned out to be the right decision because the next day you walked straight into my arms in front of my easel.” 

You would grin at his cheekiness, but even your face has grown sore at this point.

“And from then on, you made me fall deeper and deeper. The whole season in London, I could barely breathe around you.” 

Light dances in his eyes, the same way it had when he would laugh with you on a promenade, or slip you a flute of champagne with a wink. 

“All I wanted was to be close to you. To hold you in my arms. I wanted it badly enough that I forced myself to dance with you. It was the only way I could feel you without causing a scandal.”

You remember the night of the Cowper ball, the heat and insistence of his grasp. You never allowed yourself to hope that it was desire, or that it was love. But it had been. He had loved you as long as you had loved him. A warm buoyancy starts to grow in your exhausted chest. You are always moved by the depth of your husband’s affection, but to hear him narrate your love story as he experienced it, is overwhelmingly beautiful.

He continues, his words whispering across your face. “Then once I had held you, I knew I needed to hold you for the rest of my life. I knew I had to marry you.”

You feel the familiar, horrible clench of pain start to notch up your spine; another contraction heaving its way through your body. A strangled noise rises from the back of your throat and Benedict releases your hand at last, bringing both of his to grip your shoulders. You cling back to him, scrabbling to clutch his arms, breathing faster.

Violet is beside you both, offering soothing words of encouragement, but they are lost to your ears. You try to do as she said, to separate your mind from your body, and stay lost in Benedict’s eyes. He keeps his face above yours, never pulling away, as you feel your body start to bear down and arc against the pillows.

“Y/n,” He raises his voice, commanding your attention. “I will always be here to hold you. Darling, you are not alone in this.”

You can feel the pain, gripping and searing, but fight to concentrate on Benedict and nothing else. The warm light in your chest continues to grow, becoming a gauzy barrier between your thoughts and the agony of your muscles. Staring into his eyes, their grey fractals envelop you, and you feel yourself start to push.

You must do this. You want to do this. Whatever it takes to bring your child into the world, to make Benedict a father and see his face light with a smile once more. Everything in your body rushes downward and you dig your fingers into his arms but he never wavers. You can’t help from shouting behind your gnashing teeth, keening against him. Then there is a shift, and pressure. Immense, weighted pressure builds at your center, knocking you breathless.

“The head is out!” The surgeon calls excitedly from below. 

Benedict breaks your gaze to look back at him, then turns to you with eyes full of hope. Now the end is in sight.

“One more, Mrs. Bridgerton.” The surgeon instructs. “Last one.”

You’re not sure if your lungs work anymore. Your body feels completely beyond your control. The pressure is so intense, dark spots threaten the edges of your vision and you blink to keep from swooning. Benedict must sense this, because he takes your face in both of his hands and calls to you, gently but insistently.

“My love, she is nearly here. Our baby. Just one more and we will finally hold her.” There is an urgency in his voice, a blend of concern and excitement. “You must push, my love. Not because I am asking you to, but because she is ready to join the world.”

You look up at him, your eyes glazed as you pant desperately. His own eyes are brimming with tears. He is longing for a daughter, convinced that your baby would be a girl from the very day you told him you were with child. You had insisted it would be a boy, more to toy with him than anything else, and in a moment, one of you will be proven victorious. But only if you can muster yourself for one last attempt.

The energy in the room has changed. There is a buzz of joy threatening to erupt from under the agony of your extended labor. The warmth in your chest surges. Benedict says not to push for his sake, but you are going to. It is your love for him that is the source of all your strength. You wrap your arms around his neck and lock your eyes on his once more. There, you see your past, your future, your very soul reflected back at you. You remember every glance, every kiss, every display of passion that has filled your life with such bliss over the past two years. His large hands, steady on either side of your face, burn into your skin with memories of every touch, every time your fingers brushed, or clasped, or entwined, every time you held or were held.

The warmth in your chest has grown as intense as the pressure in your hips, and you go rigid, straining your whole body to will it downward, eyes clenching shut and mouth open in a silent scream as you pour every last ounce of yourself into the effort. All you can hear is the blood in your ears, and all you can feel is the press of your husband’s hands as the rest of your body becomes nothing but pressure. You worry you may burst, or slip into the darkness at the edge of your mind.

But then there is release. The pressure gives way and everything moves and the air comes rushing back into your lungs. Everyone is talking, exclaiming, but your mind is too fuzzy to make out what they are saying. Then you hear it - a cry. Strong and loud, your baby’s cry calls you back to your senses and you open your eyes.

Above you, Benedict is weeping and he falls into you, clutching you against him as he laughs into your neck, then peppers your face with kisses. A wave of euphoria casts over you, despite the weariness of your body, and you smile, raking your fingers through his hair. Everything is moving quickly. You hear Violet praising you nearby. The baby’s cry continues somewhere in the room. 

Then a nursemaid approaches and lays a small bundle into your arms with a smile. “It is a girl.”

Benedict nearly cackles with joy. Suddenly, you are alert and aware, arms filled with all the strength they need to hold your child and never let go. Benedict nestles in beside you on the bed, lifting you to sit up in his arms. The fussy cries sound from the little blanket as you both peer in and see a round-cheeked, red little face under a shock of matted dark hair, squirming with clenched fists and scrunched eyes. Benedict reaches out and runs a slender finger through the wispy hair, and she falls quiet. Then her grey eyes open, focusing on you both and assessing you curiously. 

She is her father’s daughter, a Bridgerton through and through. Violet perches beside the bed, blinking away happy tears. You smile at her, appreciating how she was able to do this so many times, including bringing Benedict into the world. You want to repay her for such a gift, and you know that you will take Benedict’s suggestion and name your daughter after her.

You turn back to your baby, watching Benedict caress her tiny pink fingers with two of his own. You can already see that he is desperately in love, and you know that you are in for the best kind of trouble. You have never felt such happiness, such contentment, as you do in this moment. You lean into him, beaming smiles on both of your faces.

You are encapsulated in warmth, marveling at how his arms encircle and bind you all together; you, your husband, and the life you have created out of pure love. Your family, your entire world, kept safe within his hold.

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @mysticwitchcraftco

[eldritchcreatureofwords]

Tumblr, please you are all a bunch of sadistic lunatics. I am deeply concerned for you. Seek help.

I'm really just curious is all. 😶‍🌫️ (Tis up for a week since it's either 1 day or 1 week.)

[cherrycola27]

(blood)lust

Warnings: Blood, language, whump. 18+Minors DNI. Banner Credit @thedroneranger

A/N: Hey, y'all. I'm dipping my toes back into writing and trying my hands at some whump for Whumptober. This is the first of 3 TGM Whumptober fics I'll be releasing!

...........................................

When most people thought about immortality, they idolized it. They coveted the idea that they could cheat death, make a fortune, or travel, or be a part of the future that everyone dreamed of but would never be around long enough to see.

Yes, the idea of immortality had a certain air to it that drew you in like a moth to a flame, and no ever really thinks about the consequences. Just like the moth going toward the light, unaware of the fate that was waiting for it, he too was enticed by the idea.

Moreover, he was more drawn to the idea of not dying in a medical tent in the Carolina wilderness, miles away from his home, fighting for a nation that didn't even exist yet.

He was young, barely twenty-five, able-bodied, and brawny from years of working on his family's farm when the revolution broke out. He had so much to live for, so many things he wanted to do. So when the field doctor with the mysterious eyes came to him offering a cure to all of his pain and suffering from the gunshot wound to his shoulder that would surely end his life, he agreed without hesitation.

Looking back now, he realizes that maybe he should have turned the doctor down and died with the rest of his friends. The pain that came after he agreed was far worse than any gunshot. The sound of the blood rushing through his ears was louder than any cannon fire, and the burning sensation in his veins was hotter than any camp fire or summer day back on the farm.

But peace came after that. For a while—at least. Then came the thirst. The one that no matter how much water or wine or ale he drank—it couldn't be quenched. Then there was the hunger. The deep, insatiable hunger that no meal could touch. The hunger that hurt so deep in his stomach that he thought he would surely parrish as he stumbled through town that night.

Until he stumbled upon the man in the alleyway, too drunk to walk, that had cut himself on his whiskey bottle. And that's when he smelled it. The blood. Fresh and warm and oozing like red gold down the man's fingertips and onto the cobblestones. And it that moment, he knew exactly what he needed to satisfy the craving that nothing else would touch. In that moment, he realized what the doctor he'd never seen again had turned him into, a creature he'd only heard about in tales that parents told to scare their children.

That night, as he feasted, he had an epiphany, he'd been granted a gift, and he wasn't going to waste it.

.......................

Two hundred and some odd years later, he didn't feel the same about his "gift" as he did back then. In fact, it was more like a curse. He was damned to wander the earth forever, which meant he was damned to be alone. He'd watched everyone he ever loved die. First, starting with his mother in the winter of 1781, then, his wife and son ten years later during childbirth. He'd tried saving them the way the doctor had done for him, both times, when he'd sunk his teeth into the soft, supple flesh of their necks and tasted their blood, he couldn't stop. It was like a demon possessed him, inhibiting him from hearing their cries and blinding his vision until he'd drained them dry, leaving their bodies limp and lifeless in his arms.

For a while, he vowed never to try again and never to love again until he knew he could find a way to keep her forever.

So, for the next two centuries after the death of his wife, child, and mother, he practiced. Starting on small animals at first, working his way up to larger ones, the eventually people.

He'd successfully master the art of turning, and now, he needed to find the perfect mate. Someone to spend eternity with.

He suspected that it would take him a while to find the right one. He certainly wasn't expecting it the night he walked into the bar and was hit with the most enticing scent he'd ever experienced.

He followed it until he found you.

You were exactly what he was looking for. You were probably around the same age that he told people he was. You were beautiful. A stunning natural beauty that drew him to you.

An aura that called him. A beacon of light in his darkness.

So, he walked right up to you, and asked "can I buy you another drink?"

You turned to the handsome stranger who'd offered to buy you a drink and gave him the once over. He oozed charisma and charm. His eyes, that could only be described as golden, sparkled as he flashed you a stunning smile.

"Sure, thing. I'll take another tequila on the rocks." You told him. He laughed before ordering one for each of you.

Once that glasses appeared before the two of you, you cheersed before extending your hand and introducing yourself.

He took your out stretched arm and brought the back of your hand to his lips, and placed a kiss there. "Charmed to meet you, darling. I'm Bradley, Bradley Bradshaw."

Bradley didn't miss the way your pulse quickened as he held your hand. Nor did he miss the blush that crept to your cheeks. He continued to sit there at the bar and talk to you for hours. And the longer he did, the more it affirmed for him that you were definitely the girl he had been looking for you. You'd been the perfect girl to have around forever. Now, he just had to convince you of the same.

..............

If Bradley has learned anything in his 273 years of life, it's patience. If he was going to convince you to be his eternal bride, he knew he'd have to play the long game. He wasn't deterred by the fact that it may take months, maybe even a few years, to convince you. He had been waiting to find someone like you for over two centuries. A little longer wouldn't hurt. Which is why he was perfectly fine in agreeing to take the relationship that was budding between the two of you as slowly as you wanted.

Bradley had also learned to be discreet about who—what he was. As the world moved on, and his age stayed the same, Bradley made sure never to stay in one place for too long. He also learned that taking jobs that kept him away for long stretches of time helped provide the perfect cover for when he needed to sneak away and feed.

Right after he was first turned—the fledgling stage, he would later learn what it was called— Bradley wasn't as careful when it came to choosing his meals. Anyone who had the misfortune of crossing his path when his thirst arose would become one of his victims. He couldn't bear to be around people because the tangy metallic scent of their blood drove him mad with need.

Later, he learned to control it. He could function in society and keep up the act. And for a while, it worked. Until he took the wrong person as a meal.

She was the daughter of the local pastor, who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. After she disappeared, the police began looking, asking questions. Bradley became paranoid that someone saw him, that he wasn't careful enough.

So he fled town and vowed to himself that he'd only feed on people he knew wouldn't be missed. Criminals, the homeless, vagrants, and vagabonds with no one to come looking for them, no one to ask questions.

He'd come to San Diego about ten years ago, claiming that he was twenty-two. Shaving his mustache and letting his hair grow helped make it believable. The one thing all the stories get wrong about being immortal is that your hair and nails stop growing. They don't. And for that, Bradley was thankful.

Because of this, he learned he could spend about fifteen to twenty years in one place before speculation arose. A shaggy haircut and a beard can do wonders for a person.

............

Maybe that's why it was so easy for you to believe that Bradley was thirty-three. Despite the fact that he seemed like an old soul, wise beyond his years.

He also told you he was in the Navy and that he was an aviator, which meant he had frequent deployments and trips for work that he couldn't tell you about. Which is why you never questioned him when he told you he was leaving for a few days or weeks or months the longer the two of you were together.

You never suspect that half of those "trips" and "deployments" were, in fact, times when Bradley traveled somewhere to feed.

He was smart. Making sure to go to a different state, so if what was left of the body was ever found, it could never be traced back to him.

He had a system, a routine, a schedule that worked and kept him under the radar and undetected for decades. It worked for him, and eventually, he would share his secrets with you, and the two of you would stay in the shadows together forever.

...............

You were busy in the kitchen of the house you and Bradley shared. He was due back from his latest deployment today, and you wanted to make sure he had a hot meal waiting for him. You wanted to make sure he had plenty of fuel for the plans you had later for the two of you.

Not that he ever seemed to need it. Your boyfriend had the most amazing stamina. More so than any partner you've had before. He told you it because he was an elite fighter pilot, the top one percent, and being the best at everything was in his blood. You had to agree with him. Bradley could go for hours, drawing orgasm after orgasm from you, and never asking for more than one of his own in return.

You shivered as you flipped the steaks that were in the grill pan you had on the stove. You pulled the one for Bradley off the heat while leaving yours to cook a bit longer. He always preferred his more on the rare side, while you favored a more medium cooked steak.

You'd just finished setting the table when you heard Bradley's keys in the door. "Honey!" You squealed as you launched yourself at him. He easily caught you and held your frame against him.

"Hello, My Darling Girl." Bradley smiled as he kissed you passionately. His lips glided across yours before he trailed them across the column of your throat, stopping when they reached the juncture of your neck and shoulders. He grazed his canines over the pulse point that was thrumming just below your delicate skin.

"Bradley—" you groaned into his neck, gentle pushing on his chest. "Yes, Darling?" He asked you, pulling you closer to him. "I made dinner." You chuckled. "We can eat later. I missed you, My Darling Girl." He whispered against your ear.

"No, I want to make sure you have plenty of fuel in you for the plans I have for you later." You laugh again before dragging him to the dining room for a hot meal, blissfully unaware that the food you made would have no effect on your boyfriend.

That night, you let Bradley carry to your shared bedroom and strip you down the crimson lingerie you'd chosen specifically for the occasion. You let him tear the delicate lace from your body with his teeth, and then, you let him make love to you for hours until both of you were sated and his cum was dripping down your thighs and sweat covered your skin.

In the early hours of the morning, Bradley lay quietly beside you, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you slept. It had been two years since that faithful day he met you and knew you were destined to be his mate. As he watched you, he knew in his heart that it was time to tell you about his plan. Hopefully, you wouldn't take much convincing, and under the next new moon, he'd take you up to one of his—hunting— cabins and change you. He'd find a perfect first feed for you, and teach you everything you needed to know. Then, once your fledgling phase was over, the two of you would have a bonding ceremony to seal your love forever.

Bradley could feel that the time was coming soon. All the work he'd put in. Moulding you—grooming you— shaping you into his perfect mate would soon come to fruition.

.....................

Bradley had been acting—different— the past few weeks. Not different in a bad way, but doting on you much more than normal. He'd taken you out to a few fancy dinners, bought you some new clothes, and he came home every day with a new flower arrangement. He'd also given you the most beautiful necklace you'd seen. Honestly, you weren't sure how he afforded all of this, and when you asked him about it, he told you not to worry. He'd been so calm lately. You hoped he would be that way when you gave him the news you'd just received.

You waited patiently in the living room for Bradley to come home. When you heard his keys in the door, you jumped up to greet him. "Hello, My Darling Girl." Bradley smiled before kissing you passionately.

"Bradley, come sit. I have some news to share with you." You told him as you led him by the hand to the couch. His mind raced with what it could be.

Could you be pregnant? It wasn't unheard of for his kind and mortals to have a child together. That was how he lost his first wife, Elizabeth, and his son, Nicholas.

Her body couldn't handle the labor. Thankfully, Bradley knew what to do this time. If you were pregnant, he'd start the changing right before you gave birth. The strength the change offered you would see you through the labor.

His heart raced at the idea. Maybe this was the second chance he'd been waiting for.

"Bradley." You let out a long exhale as he sat there waiting patiently.

"Yes?" He eagerly replied.

"I've been offered a job!" You told him excitedly.

"What? You already have a job." He said dejectedly.

"I know, but this is a promotion. Head of the new office in Virginia. Isn't that wonderful? I know it might take some time to get your transfer in, but my office is willing to work with us. You could be back home! We would be so much closer to your family!" You bounced with excitement on the balls of your feet.

"Darling, it sounds like a wonderful opportunity, but I'm happy here. I don't want to move." Bradley told you. His voice was more stern than normal. Your smile fell from your face.

"Wha—what do you mean? Bradley, this is everything I've been working for. I've supported your career with your deployments and moves more times than I care to count in the past few years. I know it seems like a lot, but this is what I've always dreamed of. Why can't you see that?" You pleaded with him.

Bradley inhaled sharply. "We aren't moving to Virginia. That's final." He said with no room for argument.

Rage bubbled inside you. How dare he say that to you. After all you'd done for him.

"You're right. We aren't moving. I am." You deadpanned.

Bradley turned on his heels. Your words hit him in the chest like a dagger. No, he thought. No, no, no. After all the work he'd done, there is no way he's letting you leave him now. You were staying with him whether you liked it or not. Bradley had worked too hard to let you go. He'd spent decades learning to control his temper. The unbridled rage that could come with what he was. He'd kept it under wraps for decades. But hearing you say that you'd give him up so quickly? It caused something inside of him to snap.

................

You weren't sure what was happening. One minute, you were packing a bag to leave. The next, you felt a jolt of pain shoot through your neck. Then, your whole body felt like it was on fire, burning from the inside out. You cried out for Bradley, begging him to help you, to save you from the invisible attacker. But instead, all you heard was a voice that almost sounded like his, whispering in your ear that it would all be over soon.

...............

When consciousness came back to you. It was slow. The first thing you noticed was the smell. You weren't wrapped in the warm vanilla scent of your home. No, you were somewhere near the woods. You could smell the dirt and hear birds somewhere in the distance.

The next thing you noticed were the sheets. The soft cotton ones of your bed had been replaced by a stiff and scratchy flannel.

You slowly opened your eyes and sat up. You didn't recognize the room you were in. The walls were bare and wooden. Some kind of a cabin, maybe. You swung your legs over the side of the bed, and that's when you felt it. The thirst. The overwhelming urge to drink. But you didn't want water. You wanted something else. You just didn't know what.

"Hello?" You called out tentatively, unsure of who else was there.

"My Darling Girl. You're finally awake." You whipped around so fast you made yourself dizzy. Bradley stood before you, his large form leaning on the door frame. Only something was off about him. He wasn't the Bradley you once knew. He stepped forward and smiled, and for the first time, you noticed how prominent his canines were. Had they always been like that?

"Bradley. Where am I? How did I get here? Did you—did you kidnap me?" You shriek, eyes darting around the room. You try to breathe, but you can't get any air into your lungs.

"Darling, calm down. You're going to hurt yourself. Tell me. How are you feeling?" He says so smoothly.

"I feel like I want to know what the fuck is going on." You spit at him. "Where are we?"

"We are at one of my hunting cabins. I figured it would help with the adjustment if we weren't near people." He tells you

"H—help with what adjustment?" You say as you clear your throat. A burning sensation creeping in. "What—what did you do to me?" You say as you being to claw at your skin.

"I changed you—for the better. I made you perfect. The perfect mate for me for all eternity. I know it must be a shock, but you'll get used to it. I'll help you, My Love." Bradley tells you as he glides across the room to you and turns your towards the mirror you hadn't noticed before. You look in it and see yourself, well, almost yourself. Something is different. You just can't place it. You trace your eyes over your features, and then you see them. Two small puncture wounds on your neck. Your hand flies to to them.

"Don't worry, they'll go away. But these—" Bradley says, and he pulls your gums back to reveal your new elongated canines, "these are permanent."

You run your tongue over your teeth and wince at their sharpness. "Don't worry. You'll get used to them." Bradley assures you, taking a step back. Just then, you hear a thump in from another room. "Ah, perfect, looks like it woke up just in time." He smiles.

"What do you mean 'it'?" You ask him harshly. "Your first feed, My Darling Girl. I know you feel the thirst. Every fledgling does. I know it did. Believe me, your first feed is always the hardest, so I brought you one. I wanted to make this as easy as possible for you." He says almost kindly.

"Easy? You wanted to make this easy on me? Bradley, you kidnapped me and brought me to the middle of nowhere and turned me into a—a—a—" you can't finish your sentence.

"Vampire. It's okay, you can say it, dear. I turned you into a vampire so we can be together forever. Of course, I hadn't planned on doing it this early, but when you said you were going to leave me, I knew I had to act then. I've spent the past two years grooming you into the perfect mate for me. I knew it was you from the first time I picked up your scent at the bar. Ideally, you would have willingly let me change you, but it doesn't matter now." Bradley tells you calmly.

"You've been planning to do this to me ever since you met me? How could you! I trusted you! I loved you. I thought you loved me?!" You wailed. "I do love you. That's why I did all of this. Why I brought you to my hunting cabin. Why I found a first feed for you. Why I've practiced for years getting the art of transforming right. All for you." Bradley says.

"I'm not the first person you've done this too?" You ask in disbelief. "Well, I had to practice to get it right. After I lost my mother and my first wife because I failed at transforming them, I vowed never to do it again until I perfected it. I started on small creatures and then worked my way up to people. But don't worry. I killed them after. I couldn't have a bunch of my own creations trying to kill me." Bradley laughs.

"First wife? Creations? What the hell is wrong with you. How could you ever think I'd want to spend my life with you after what you did to me? How long have you been like this?" You fire questions at him.

"I was born in 1751, changed in 1776 by a field doctor during the Revolutionary War. I've been practicing turning since about 1900. But I never let my creations live long after I turned them, lest they take revenge and try to kill me. You see, the movies and the books have it all wrong. Garlic and wooden stakes aren't what kills a vampire. We can only be killed by a dagger through the heart by our creator or one of our creations. A creation killing their creator also reverses the effects. Turns them human again. I couldn't risk that so I made sure to take care of that before it became an issue." Bradley explains to you.

"You see, I've been alone for so long. I was married to a wonderful woman, Elizabeth, but she died during childbirth. I couldn't save her. I vowed to myself that I'd never love again until I could keep her forever. And you were the one I choose for that, My Darling Girl. You're special, perfect, my perfect mate. I picked you out of everyone." Bradley tells you as he cups your face. You look in his eyes and don't see the man you once knew. He's long gone, replaced by this—monster. But if you wanted to survive, you knew you'd have to play into his fantasy.

"I see now. It all makes so much sense. Now I know why you didn't want me to leave." You say what he wanted to hear.

"Exactly. And in one year's time, when your fledgling phase is over, we'll have a bonding ceremony, sealing our love with a blood pact, so we can never be separated." Bradley tells you with a smile.

"That sounds wonderful." You lie to him. "I knew you'd see my way. Now, let me help you with your first feed." Bradley smiled as you let him lead you by the hand to the other room.

...................

Lying to someone for a full year is much harder than anyone expects. But you knew if you wanted to survive, and for your plan to work, you had too.

You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time. Even though this wasn't what you wanted, you looked stunning. A long-sleeved, lace, stark white gown hugged your body. A crown of blood-red roses on your head. Exactly what Bradley wanted you to wear.

You stepped out of the cabin your home, no, your prison for the last year and made your way across the field. The bright light of the full moon illuminated the area, causing your dress to practically glow in the light.

Bradley was standing near the edge of the clearing, waiting for you. You could see the glint of the bonding dagger in his hand reflecting in the moonlight.

"My Darling Girl. You look breathtaking. You have no idea how long I've waited for this moment." Bradley praised you as he took your hand in his.

"Are you ready?" He asked you. "I've been ready." You smile at him.

Bradley takes the dagger in his right hand and makes a slice across his palm, then hands it to you. Your fingers wrap around the grip tightly.

"I've been dreaming of this moment all year." You tell him. "I've been counting the days."

Bradley smiles, unaware of the true meaning of your words.

You grip the dagger tightly and raise it up. Bradley waits with baited breath and watches your palm, ready for you to slice the skin. Instead, he feels something sharp pierce his chest. He looks over to see your hand wrapped around the dagger that is now in his heart.

You pull it out and watch the blood drip from the blade, staining your once pristine gown.

"My—My Darling Girl. What have you done?" Bradley asks you as he stumbles back. More blood oozes from the wound as he drops to his knees.

"I'm taking back my life. And I'm not your darling girl anymore." You sneer before he collapses dead on the ground, eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream.

You feel the exact moment he dies. You feel it in the pain, searing through your body and leeching out of every pore of your skin. You feel as though you may die, but you know it's worth it.

You black out and fall to the dirt.

When you finally wake up, it's daylight. You run your tongue over your teeth, and the once sharp canines are gone. You stand up and find that your white dress is now a deep shade of maroon, and the man you once loved has shriveled up to almost nothing. You give his remains a kick, and they turn to dust, blowing away in the breeze.

You pick up your dagger from last night and walk back to the cabin and find the bag you pack. You sling it over your shoulder and grab the keys hanging from the keyring near the door. You climb into the blue Bronco that had once belonged to Bradley and drive away from the cabin, from the woods, from him, and from the nightmare, you just woke up from.

Tagging those who might be interested: @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @desert-fern @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @na-ta-sh-aa @katieshook02 @beyondthesefourwalls @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @horseshoegirl @djs8891 @roosters-girl @rosiahills22 @dempy @callsign-magnolia @alchemxx @gretagerwigsmuse @mshistorylover @bradshawsbaby @seitmai @kmc1989 @bcarolinablr @waywardhunter95 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @whatislovevavy @inkandarsenic @jiminie-08 @dingochef @laracrofted @skipchat @princess76179 @schoollover @cheyrenee @angelbabyyy99 @bobfloydsbabe @sunlightmurdock @sebsxphia @atarmychick007 @queenlmno @sweetwhispersofchaos @mamaskillerqueen @withahappyrefrain

[secretwhumplair]

Birth

679 words | No Warrior (sequel to Swords II)

Content | Childbirth, anxiety, past degradation

Notes | A big moment is happening! Will Yves be included? Will he?!

(In case you saw my announcements, after doing some timeline math and also writing some lines I changed the order of this and the next one c:)

Taglist | @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @castielamigos-whump-side-blog​​ @whump-me-all-night-long​​​​ @whumpadump1939​​ @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight

@whumpzone​​ @angel-stars​​ @kixngiggles​​ @whumpsy-daisies @yet-another-heathen

@rosesareviolentlyread @cupcakes-and-pain @hollowtreesinhollowwoods @pleasancies @much-ado-about-whumping

@nine-tailed-whump​​ @whump-em​​​ @itsleighlove​​ @newbornwhumperfly​​​ @tears-and-lilies

@deluxewhump @whump-cravings @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning @neverthelass

@whumpsday @silent-orchid-lady @everynameistakencarrots @scoundrelwithboba

Ingunn’s child arrived in June.

Yves was cleaning up after his lonely dinner when the midwife’s pupil and assisstant barged into the hut without knocking. She barely took time to breathe a »Sorry« when Yves flinched, too busy rushing over to the shelf that held Runar’s dried herbs, and rummaging briefly before she withdrew with a bundle of them.

»You can come!« she called back at him, already on her way out.

She was acting so urgent that he followed after her before he even realized — he put the pieces together when he slammed the door shut. He didn’t even notice the bang or the force he had just used on what was Runar’s.

»Is she alright?«

She was too far ahead of him to answer, and he followed her to Ingunn’s house, where he found the family already assembled. That was the first time he hesitated; while the midwife’s pupil rushed into the single seperate room emmitting curses yelled in Ingunn’s voice, he lingered in the doorframe.

Ingunn’s husband stood before the fireplace and stared into its depths, clearly trying to distract himself, but glancing at the door to the other room every moment. Her and Runar’s mother — Yves had yet to work up the courage to ask what had become of their father — leant at the doorframe, muttering what Yves assumed to be blessings or prayers. Others, uncles and cousins and who knew who else, sat around the table, together with two of the village elders, notably not Runar’s grandmother he had pointed out to Yves at every event. Yves assumed she was with the birthing woman, sharing her wisdom and strength.

Ingunn’s mother noticed him first; she finished a verse or a sentence before she called to him, »Yves! Come on in. I’m glad you came.«

Yves hesitantly stepped in, unsure where to go. He didn’t want to sit down, his skin prickling with an anxiety that, though it felt all too familiar, had nothing to do with what was buried inside him; but neither did he want to intrude on the spaces of husband or mother.

The elder woman got up, a cup in her hand, and came to him, her face deeply wrinkled from many smiles. »Come, child,« she said, holding the cup out. »Join us while we wait.«

»Thank you, mother.« The word slipped out as easily and naturally as she had called him child, and she smiled kindly. He took a sip from the cup, warm mead infused with something herbal, and followed her back to the table. A few of the relatives looked up, but no one seemed particularly put out by his presence; some vaguely familiar faces nodded at him.

Yves stood and waited. What little conversation was happening around the table was held in whispers, and easy to ignore next to Ingunn’s audible struggle. The anxiety that had clawed into him when he arrived subsided into a mere echo of himself, gentled by the mead or the knowledge that Ingunn was receiving all the care she should; but it left its shape behind to easily be filled with more familiar fears.

Should he really be here? Was it right for him, the stranger, to stand here with Ingunn’s closest? You’re not a stranger anymore. Sure, Runar had said it, but Runar was clearly biased.

What’s a pathetic little runt like you doing here?

When he recognized the voice, he knew.

Ingunn would never speak to him like that. None of the family would; clearly not even the elders would. Here, when Ingunn was fighting for the sake of her child, he owed it to her to fight back as well.

You’re not a stranger anymore.

A sudden rush of fierce protectiveness overcame him. He wasn’t a stranger; this was his family, too, and he would do anything to help Ingunn.

There wasn’t much he could do, of course. But not letting them in seemed like a fair effort.

He was still with the family when they were invited in to meet the baby boy at the break of dawn.

[dairy-farmer]

So here's a fun little scenario. Imagine if everyone in the Batfam had their own kid that looks exactly like them. People assume they're cloning them for reasons tm. These kids first started appearing after Jason died.

Then Damian shows up and despite there being no Robin and him not being allowed in the Cave he gets curious. So one day he asks about the 'clones'. After the confusion is cleared up they finally bring Damian down to the cave to show them their biggest secret.

They tell him that there's a third Robin and that he can't be Robin, then they introduce them. Turns out after Jayson died Bruce went a little mad and ended up kidnapping the neighbor kid and raped him while keeping him in the cave. Tim eventually became pregnant and it became a sort of ritual to be accepted into the family. Once you impregnated him, you were a bat.

They keep him in a secret part of the cave. locked up and bound so the only things that he can ever feel is his pussy being used and the machines sucking on his tits for all that milk.

tw/cw underage, childbirth

brutim, dicktim

i know you said fun but this is such good angst whump dark au!! the kidnapping and keeping tim captive as a breeder to make babies for the family.

bruce was on a downward spiral after jason's death- jason's death had hit everyone hard but for bruce it was personal, he'd held jason as he breathed his last breath. feeling his son as the life went out of him broke something in bruce. something tenuous and fragile and everyone always knew that bruce's mental state was debatable.

he was a high-functioning workaholic, he had acquaintances that were closer to friends, he regularly socialized (even though it was an act), was able to raise a child to adulthood that was actually quite well-adjusted given their life circumstances. bruce was, on the surface, categorically sane.

but there were things about him. things that should've raised concern- the way his entire identity is one big pathological lie, his tendency to obsess, his neurosis, the way he reacts badly to losing someone close to him.

with jason's death it all stacks and something in bruce's brain just...shifts.

alfred doesn't notice for weeks what bruce has done.

after jason died bruce had gotten into the habit of locking him out of the cave for days on end. they both know once it gets past a week that alfred will call dick to force the cave open so bruce only ever does it for 4 or 5 days at a time.

the days alfred does go down he notices bruce has added additions to the cave- but he never asks. he assumes its a new training room or a simulator. jason's torn robin suit is on display and alfred, unlike his ward, does not enjoy torturing himself with the sight so most of the time alfred won't linger.

maybe that's why bruce got away with it for so long.

looking back alfred had noticed some things. he had to go grocery shopping more often like...back when it was him, bruce, and jason. the grocery store alfred shopped at was an expensive one that catered to the wealthier families, importing specialty goods other stores didn't carry. doing the shopping was a couple of hours where he could unwind and carefully select produce at his leisure. which is why the appearance of missing posters all near the entrance caught his attention.

"oh its so sad," one of the checkout girls nearby said when she caught him looking. "the drake's boy went missing a while back, he used to come in to buy those hard shell chocolates that had little toys inside."

she looked genuinely saddened as she said it and for some reason the picture of that dark haired, blue eyed boy lingered with alfred.

he didn't know why. maybe the resemblance to his ward.

or maybe because the boy was their neighbor.

it stuck with alfred on the drive back. something in his mind was batting the facts together trying to make sense.

master bruce locked himself away for days, master bruce had added a new addition to the cave without consulting him, master bruce had been quieter lately. their neighbor's child had gone missing. a boy who looked like jason, like dick, like bruce.

alfred doesn't want to believe it. doesn't want to think bruce could be capable of something like that. why would he take a child?

grief makes people do strange things. bad things. horrible things.

timothy drake has been missing for months.

alfred is concerned, so he calls dick.

in a way it was master bruce's desire to get better that led him to do what he did. bruce had been self aware enough to know he was spiraling down, getting worse.

dick is the one who finds the stack of self help books in one corner of the cave, the books written for parents dealing with the loss of a child. one is highlighted and annotated in bruce's handwriting because of course it is but they find it bookmarked on a particular page. 'chapter 4: processing grief' and they see how bruce has underlined 'visit places you used to go to together' multiple times.

it makes sense. bruce and master jason used to go into the garden and spend a lot of time there. the gardens aren't fenced in and instead bleed into the wooded areas behind the manor where master jason used to go frog hunting because he marveled at the privacy and greenery available to the wealthy.

the drakes are neighbors with a young son. a son who maybe went out to the woods to play as well. a son who maybe stumbled across a grief stricken bruce wandering the woods and reliving every painful memory with his child only to stumble across a young boy. a dark haired blue eyed boy and...

when they find timothy he's chained up to a bed. he's so small and his eyes look glassy and...drugged. he's also naked which makes the little bump on his front all the more prominent.

they can't tell anyone. they can't.

master bruce has kidnapped a child, held them captive, raped, and impregnated them.

there is no court on earth that will show him mercy. that will take into the account all the good he's tried to do all his life and that the death of his child had turned him insane for a brief moment.

maybe if timothy wasn't with child they could fix this. have zatanna or martian manhunter wipe the child's memory and dump him at a police station. but with the baby... a dna test will be made, the police will clearly test the males in a close vicinity - drivers, gardener's, the boy's father, the neighbors...

its an impossible situation.

and it gets worse when bruce returns and finds them.

bruce viciously opposes getting rid of the baby or timothy. he gets hostile, angry even when they talk about timothy.

bruce tells them tim will stay with them, that he's family. that how dare they try to throw out family.

bruce is suffering a mental break- they can all tell. its the only thing that would have him acting like this. rationalizing raping a child and keeping them.

but if they do something...they'll lose bruce. he'll be locked away in prison or a mental facility for the rest of his life and....they've already lost jason.

so they keep quiet.

alfred prepares an extra plate of food for master timothy to be brought down.

master dick moves back into the manor because bruce's actions have made it increasingly clear how desperately he needs to be supervised.

when the baby is born the three of them are there. with their combined medical training it should help so they avoid calling leslie (they know if they tell her she won't stay quiet).

the birth is hard to watch. timothy is young, he's small. he's ill equipped to deliver a baby. it's a painful birth but the baby is small so its a small mercy.

bruce delivers the child himself and the sight of him staring down at the new life in his hands, looking so tender and full of love...

its hard to juxtapose the sight against a bloodied, sweating, panting timothy drake.

alfred hopes that maybe once the child is born they can return the boy, erase his memory so he doesn't remember what happened to him.

but months pass. the media is paying far too much attention and heroes keep visitng the manor because of the baby.

they can't risk smuggling timothy home.

the baby that touches something in alfred's heart because he looks identical to how master bruce did as a child.

another few months.

timothy is pregnant again. and alfred should put his foot down but...

"it's jason's baby." bruce says quietly, smiling tenderly down at the baby monitor where his child is sleeping and at the positive pregnancy result for timothy on the batcomputer.

all the bats have dna samples on file in the cave. skin, blood, spit, hair, and semen.

never did alfred think THIS is what bruce would have done with jason's.

and alfred...he can't ask to rid themselves of jason's child. the only thing they might have left of him.

so the child is born.

and then timothy is pregnant again. this time by dick.

he avoids alfred's eye when he finds out.

bruce wouldn't let him in. he wouldn't accept dick, not really. and living with him again had made dick go back to those feelings of inadequacy, never being good enough for bruce.

bruce spent all his time with tim down in the cave, fucking him, drugging him again. sometimes he weaned tim off the drugs because he wanted him more awake when he fucked him or let him hold one of his babies as a reward or thank you for being so good.

bruce valued tim, held him in high regard and dick though maybe the only way to get approval was by....

it works. thats the worst part. bruce opens up to dick more, doesn't question his decisions in the field, makes him feel like an equal.

so it becomes a pattern.

impregnating the child bruce kidnapped in exchange for acceptance.

alfred finds as the years pass its easier to accept and come to terms with.

all families have skelteons in their closet. this was theirs.

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

For All The Wrong Reasons

Summary: Written for July Break Bingo 2024. Set after Httyd 2. After losing his father in such a brutal manner, Hiccup's mental health is down the drain and everyone sees it but him. Now he has stepped into an entirely new chapter of his life for all the wrong reasons.

Warnings: Mental health issues, pregnancy, major character death mention, childbirth

Rating: Mature

Words: 1 739

Prompt: Separation Anxiety

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Characters: Hiccup, Toothless, Valka, Atali, Httyd ocs (Tiny)

Pairing: Hiccstrid (mentioned)

Author's Notes: Hiccup with a crumbling mental health is my roman empire.

Also, so is Trans!Hiccup.

And my son and Httyd OC, Tiny.

So here on Tumblr I have this post with all the prompts I've finished for JBB and my friends and followers could choose which one I post with only the title and the genre to go on. (only general, whump and smut so far) A friend chose this one and so this one I'm posting.

Kind of funny; this morning I finished a very short Pregcup fic that I was actually planning on posting today because I was not planning on posting this one until later in the month (got a lot of Pregcup going on on my Ao3 account as of late) but then my friend chose this one, the only Pregcup fic on the list.

No idea what to do with the fic I was originally going to post today now.

Anyway, enough rambling, enjoy!

Card is under the Keep reading.

[i-eat-worlds]

For @whumpmasinjuly day 10 and can be hopefully reblogged in @whumpmasinjuly-archive

Favourite type of medwhump? (except vivisection).

Thanks!

(This is @wounds-seen-and-unseen btw)

ooo thanks for the ask!

the fact that you have to specify “except vivisection” says so much about me lol

but on a less horror filled front, let’s see.

From a scenario perspective, I love me a good medical rescue scene. A whumpee covered in torture injuries being tended to by the first time in months, maybe years. Unsure if they can trust the medic’s touch, flinching at their words and interventions.

I’m also a sucker for a medic caretaker giving someone a dressing down for ignoring whumpee’s condition and the severity on their injures. Let them by angry!

From a procedure standpoint, there’s a couple that stand out. Intubation is always a fave, as are fracture reductions. Something that I’d love to see more of is a medic supporting Whumpee’s breathing with a BVM. It really is a moment for suck perfect tenderness. And unpopular opinion, but field childbirth can be great fun.

There’s more but I’ll stop for now. I have to many favorites lol