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paingoes · 16 days

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Destroyer - Bottle Episode

(Masterlist)

multiple whumpers. hot day. everyone’s mad.

this is like. vintage destroyer. gang's all here. i got nostalgic writing this.

not a lot happens in this one i kinda just wanted to play around some w the original cast because i thought it'd be fun. and it was.

(Content: living weapon whumpee, royal whumper, multiple whumpers, carewhumper, casual whump, dehumanization, drug mention, manhandling, slapping, guns, joke about animal death, minor temperature whump)

==========

Delta squinted into the morning sun. He already felt like he was baking. The length and color of his hair did not help, trapping the heat all down his back. He wasn’t built for this kind of weather; it dried his skin out. They’d been waiting since well before sunrise.

“Quit glaring.” Martino tugged roughly at the fin of his ear.

He hadn’t even said anything.

“Why? He’s right. This is bullshit,” Paris interjected, seizing any opportunity to complain. He readjusted the water bottle against his temple, his other hand still messing with the radio’s dials. “They had three months to fix the warning system — it only would’ve taken a day. I don’t know why the fuck I’m rewarding their bad behavior by coming out here. Should’ve just let them hang. Not my problem.”

He wasn’t faring much better in the heat. The uniform he wore was too regal, too thick for the climate. The sweat against his pale skin made him look sickly.

“Who still fights cavalry?” Simon mused.

“I know.” Paris gave an exasperated sigh. “I don’t even know why we have the units. I’m going to disband them soon, it’s just…I mean, I don’t think they can be trained to do anything else.”

“What are you going to do with the horses?” Delta asked quietly.

“Glue,” Paris said.

Delta couldn’t tell if he was serious.

He made the C’mere gesture with his hand. Delta stood up from where he’d been sitting cross-legged by Simon’s lawn chair. He knelt down on the grass beside the prince.

Paris wound the cable around his palm.

It’d been an accident discovery. Something in his body’s chemistry made the signal grow louder and clearer. All he needed to do was get close to it, but it worked better if he was directly connected to the circuit. It didn’t require any conscious effort on his part. It mostly just made him feel tingly.

“That is not the intended use case,” Martino said with bitter disapproval.

“Ask me if I give a fuck.”

Dr.Martino tapped the side of his nose in warning. Paris reflexively wiped at his own. He always fell for it.

“Oh, like you’re any better.” Paris snapped when no powder came off onto his sleeve. “Good luck with the opioid settlement, prick.”

Delta smirked at that. Paris noticed — and seemed mildly gratified by it.

From up on the hill, there should have been no better line-of-sight for the signal. But only static came through, audible even when the headset was off. Paris kept playing with the settings, getting visibly frustrated when they only produced different shades of meaningless noise.

“Did you fix the SWR?” Simon said.

“No, the ratio’s fine. It’s the RFI. Nothing’s getting through with all the aerial traffic.” Paris shook his head.

“I bet it’s the SWR. You probably connected the meter wrong. Let me see it.” Simon stood up from the chair.

“No.” He pulled the wires closer to himself.

“Just let me see.” Simon adjusted the antenna.

“I know what I’m doing,” Paris insisted.

“Then why isn’t it working, Your Highness?”

They were both wrong. Annoyed, Delta quickly readjusted the dials before they could stop him.

“Get off.” Paris shoved him back with a totally unnecessary amount of force, especially considering he was already off. He just caught himself on his free hand.

“Oh, did that work?” Simon asked curiously, releasing the antenna.

Paris put the headset back on. He didn’t answer, which meant yes. He glared at Delta, who was already gazing at the ground as if nothing had happened, careful not to look too smug about it.

========

An hour had passed. The enemy had yet to reveal itself. There was nothing else to do but rehearse. Delta glanced in between the map and terrain it represented, paying careful attention to the grid he was to superimpose onto it. He targeted each position as they instructed.

“B9.”

Delta put out the warning light to B9.

“A4.”

Delta put out the warning light to A4.

“E6.”

Delta put out the warning light to C6.

“I said E6.” Martin yanked Delta’s hair sharply, forcing him to look further east. He hissed softly.

“You know you can talk to him without hurting him, right? He can hear. You’re not even giving him a chance to obey.” Simon’s voice had a rare edge to it as he leaned forward in his seat.

“It’s correctional.” Martino pulled his hair tighter, just to prove a point. “He’s used to it. I don’t think I need you telling me how to do my job. We were doing just fine without you.”

His hand was still in his hair. Delta adjusted himself in its grasp, trying to take the pressure off. It was not successful.

“He’s actually shown a lot of improvement under me, so I don’t know what point you’re trying to make.” Simon crossed his arms.

The hand was still in his hair.

“No. No. That’s just because you changed the metric. Don’t think I didn’t catch that. You don’t get to manipulate the data and say you fixed it. I’m onto you.”

“All date is manipulated,” Simon insisted, “It just depends on how. I wouldn’t have even needed to fix the metrics if your colleague could keep her records straight. Those were inconsistent across the board.”

“Let’s not speak ill of the dead, shall we?”

“I’m not speaking ill of the dead, I’m speaking ill of you.”

The hand was still in his hair.

========

The enemy still had yet to appear by midday, though the murmurs said they were close. Delta could almost feel the soldiers’ restlessness mounting on the ground below. But up on the hill, he was far removed from it. He still saw nothing over the horizon. He paged through the yellowed fantasy novel he’d nabbed from the base camp. He heard Paris well before he saw him, cursing incoherently to nobody but himself. He put the book down.

“Delta.” The string of expletives concluded abruptly with his name. Delta looked up.

The prince knelt down onto the grass beside him. He watched intently as Paris leaned over the map, studying it. With a thin black marker, he drew a small “X” onto a spot just along the river.

“Can you reach here?”

The target was about a mile outside of the agreed upon radius. The scale of the map made the distance seem trivial. It wasn’t. Delta hesitated.

“Paris-“ Dr.Martino began to object.

“Shut the fuck up. I didn’t ask you. I asked him.”

Delta considered it. He turned his head and started to whisper something to Simon. Paris snapped his fingers in front of his face impatiently.

“Answer me.”

“I’m thinking.” Delta’s voice got sharp.

Paris slapped him in the face. Delta winced. He took a deep breath before he looked back up.

“No. I can’t do it.” Delta glared.

Paris slapped him again, harder this time. It actually stung a lot.

“Your Highness, he can only work within a certain range. It’s not reasonable for-“

“I don’t care about the range, you don’t fucking talk to me like that.”

Delta was breathing heavily. They both were.

“Let’s take a break, huh?” Simon suggested.

“Mm. Yeah. Perfect.” Paris stormed off.

=======

Delta looked over the remains of the battlefield, studying the patchwork of scorch marks he had left upon it. It had been relatively mild, as far as the operations went. He hadn’t passed out even once. The planet had a very traditional style of fighting — there’d been no need for any excessive shows of power. The enemy numbers were shorter than the signs had indicated; the sensors were more broken than they thought. It was all too easily won. The morning’s events seemed even more trivial because of that.

Delta was tired. The breeze felt nice after burning in the sun for hours. He could feel the tension draining out of him. His head always cleared up as it got closer to nighttime.

Paris had disappeared just as soon as the actual fighting had begun, slipping back into command. Dr.Martino had disappeared just as soon as the fighting was over, very happy to retire after a whole day of it. He was too old for that kind of heat to begin with. It verged on elder abuse.

Only Simon remained with him up on the hill. The sun was setting. It cast long shadows over the hills and bathed all the rest in golden light.

“Can I stay up here for a little?” Delta asked shyly as he noticed Simon packing up to leave.

Simon glanced back at base camp, clearly a bit concerned by the request. Delta really wasn’t meant to be unaccompanied.

“…You promise not to wander off?” He asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright. Come find me when you’re ready.” Simon squeezed his shoulder.

Delta nodded gratefully. He listened as the footsteps faded. He leaned back against the tree, watching the sky darken.

=========

“So you actually glow in the dark?”

Paris appeared up on the hill. The fight seemed to have left him by nightfall as well. Delta figured he was more tempered by the victory than the weather, though.

Delta was surrounded by a soft blue aura. He took a minute to examine it, as if noticing it for the first time. Only his eyes glowed, really. And he couldn’t see those.

He didn’t know what kind of response that comment would warrant. His instinct said zero.

Paris shifted his arm. He was carrying a stupid amount of equipment on him. Several bags worth of weapons and machinery. They made a metallic sound from within. He seemed distracted by it.

“You knocked the numbers station offline, by the way."

“Sorry,” Delta said numbly.

“Forgiven. Anyway, ship’s leaving. Come on.”

Delta stood up. Paris slid one of the rifles off his shoulder and passed it over to him. The gun was awkward, but not heavy. Delta toted it, pulling his long hair off to the side so it wouldn’t get caught in the mechanism. He took the other bag Paris handed him. He heard something clicking around inside of it.

It had been about thirty hours since he had last slept. For a second, he swore he heard the bag nicker.

…………

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

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forwhump · 22 days

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a/n; sorry I’m posting again :’) I’m losing track of what I’ve posted because I’m not posting in any sort of chronological order so if I’ve posted anything about the auction (technically it’s a fundraiser but I’ve always called it the auction) then this is a prequel !!! if I haven’t then >:) enjoy this totally innocuous thing, nothing horrible happens after this at all

also I’ve been losing track of the names I use for the background soldiers since the very beginning so if I ever use a name more than once it’s up to you whether it’s the same guy or two guys w the same name <3 LOL

tw/cw: dehumanization, captivity, mentions of dismemberment, implied rape/noncon, misgendering, transphobia, grievous bodily harm, stabbing

living weapon whumpee, military whump, creepy whumper

Any night that Silas spends with Wren is a good night.

It doesn’t matter how much he’s bleeding, or how much he hurts, if Wren is nearby and Silas is sure that he’s okay, that he’s safe, then it’s a good night. He’s died happy knowing that Wren is safe.

There’s something to be said about the nights, however, that Wren is safe and he’s okay and Silas isn’t bleeding. He isn’t in pain.

Silas is sitting on the floor, back against the side of Wren’s bed, head tipped back against the mattress. Wren is curled up nearby, his hand in Silas’ hair, and he’s reading quietly, something Silas isn’t really following, fixated as he is on the soft sound of his voice, on his strange, Wren accent. Silas has his face turned, cheek against grey sheets, watching Wren as he reads to him, holy, even more inhuman than Silas in his beauty. In the yellow glow of the lamplight, cast from Wren’s desk, his hair glows something golden and his eyelashes cast long shadows on his cheeks.

It’s a good night.

It starts that way, anyway.

“You’re beautiful,” Silas says, because he’s beautiful and Silas is nothing if an honest, maybe blunt person.

Wren looks up at him and he wishes, for a moment, that he could draw like Wren can, because it’s a picture he’d like to remember and he doesn’t think he will. He doesn’t get to remember very much. But Wren smiles at him, soft and sweet, and Silas forgets about anything that doesn’t make him so pleasantly warm it makes him a little uneasy. “You’re not listening to me at all,” he says, “are you?”

“I’m kinda listening to you,” Silas says, “mostly I’m looking at you,” and Wren laughs, pushing his face away with the hand in his hair.

Silas turns his face back to try and bite his fingers and Wren laughs again, a sound that makes Silas feel so warm all over he might flush with it. Wren is beautiful, arguably, all the time — some really ugly things have happened to him, have been done to him, but Wren, at his core, interwoven into his DNA, is so beautiful that Silas sometimes has a hard time looking at him. It’s like staring too hard into surgical lights, too bright, it makes him see the same sort of spots. Wren’s always most beautiful when he laughs.

He doesn’t laugh often — not often enough, anyway. But Silas has gotten good at bringing it out in him, and he’s best at it when he doesn’t try. At the end of his life, when his brain is removed from this thing they’d turned him into and what little is left of him is destroyed, if they bother to ask him what his proudest accomplishment was, this is what he would say. That he got to make Wren laugh.

“Sorry,” Silas says against his knuckles, and he tries to bite him again and Wren bats him away with a smile that makes him dizzy.

“I don’t believe you are,” he says, and Silas can’t help the smile that pulls at his own mouth on one side.

“I’m not,” he agrees, and the way Wren laughs reverberates through his chest.

“I picked this for you because I thought it would hold your attention,” he says, and the way he smiles at Silas would probably give Silas a headache if he let it.

“I want you to read the one that Hal wanted you to read,” he suggests, just because Wren keeps telling him no.

“No,” Wren says, predictable, and Silas smiles against his knuckles. “Hal wasn’t being nice. You won’t like it.”

“I’ll like anything if you read it to me,” Silas says.

Wren has a very peculiar way of looking at him sometimes, soft and sweet, eyebrows pulled together in the middle. He looks at him like that now, and it warms Silas in almost the same way his laughter does, even if he doesn’t quite know what it means. “Not Frankenstein,” he says, but he laughs again when Silas ducks his head and obligingly presses a kiss to his hairline. “You’re cute,” he says with a smile, “but still no. I’d read you anything else.”

“Just not what I want,” he says, and Wren laughs.

“You don’t even know what it is!” He protests, which makes Silas grin, despite his best, most valiant attempts not to. “You just like to argue with me.”

“I like to do everything with you,” Silas says, kissing his knuckles.

Wren snorts out a laugh as he pushes his face away again. “Shut up,” he says, and he says it with a sort of fondness that makes Silas’ chest constrict. He reaches towards him because he can’t help himself, grabbing Wren around the waist and hauling him off the edge of the mattress. Wren laughs again and Silas smiles properly. “What are you doing?”

Silas pulls him into his lap. “You’re not close enough.”

“No?” Wren says, and he puts on the voice he uses when Silas is in trouble but his smile is blinding and he leans his weight into Silas’ chest, arms around his shoulders. Silas’ hands span the entirety of Wren’s back and Wren is looking at him really closely, a little pink across the bridge of his nose. His hand on Silas’ cheek is almost painfully gentle.

He’s so close. “You’re beautiful,” Silas says again, because he is, and it bears repeating. “Even more beautiful up close.”

He’s so close Silas can see perfectly well the way he flushes, pink, beneath a splattering of freckles Silas only ever sees when they’re this close. It makes him grin, which makes Wren laugh again, pinching his cheek. “Shut up.”

But he’s so close. He’s so close that Silas can see freckles splattered across his face, clustered closest across the bridge of his nose and along his hairline. He’s so pale, and his hair is so light, but his eyes are so dark, and they’re huge, and he’s so beautiful but Silas has thought it’s given him a surreal sort of quality, that sometimes he looks even less human than Silas. “More than beautiful,” he says softly, because he doesn’t quite know how to put it into words. “Extraordinary.”

Wren angles his head and his smile takes on an odd sort of softness that never fails to make Silas’ face feel hot. “You’re too sweet to me,” he murmurs.

It’s kind of a dumb thing to say. “I’m in love with you,” he says softly, because he thought as much was obvious.

He can feel the way Wren’s breath hitches against his chest, and that’s all the time he gets before it all goes to hell.

The door is kicked open with a force that makes it sound like it’s been blown to pieces. Wren flinches with his entire body and Silas holds him protectively to his chest without even really thinking about it. A man called London, with an accent Silas doesn’t like, stands in the doorway and his lip curls back from his teeth as he looks down at them, his gun at the ready against his chest.

To Wren, he says, “I thought we told you no dogs in your room.”

“No dogs on the bed,” Silas says, and if his eyebrows lift, challenging, he can’t help it. “I’m not on the bed.”

London’s lip curls back a little further. “Common room,” he barks, accent grating. “Both of you. Let’s go.”

“Why?” Silas says.

“A talking dog,” London remarks, sharp. “One that talks back. How peculiar.”

Silas starts to lift both his middle fingers and Wren quickly pushes his hands back down. “We’re coming,” he says, and he says it in the weird, kind of saccharine voice he only ever uses with the soldiers.

Except London’s gun is still drawn. Except London isn’t wearing the usual black tactile uniform of the soldiers on patrol. He’s wearing a black uniform only Silas has ever seen, because it’s the black uniform the soldiers only ever wear in active combat. Whatever’s waiting for them out there, it isn’t good.

“Wren,” he says softly.

“Silas,” Wren pleads, even quieter. “Please.”

Silas grunts, but Wren had said please so Silas would’ve been obedient if he’d asked him to amputate his other leg. He heaves himself up, into his chair, and follows close at Wren’s back. London falls into step at Wren’s side, and tells him, “beastiality doesn’t suit you.”

Silas says, in his best imitation of London’s accent, “cunt.”

London pivots and hammers the barrel end of his assault rifle into Silas’ hollow eye socket in one, fluid motion. Something in his face, something that feels like his cheekbone cracks under his skin and he grunts in pain.

Wren starts to gasp, “Silas,” but London silences him with a snap of his gloved fingers and a crude point.

“Move,” he snaps.

Wren turns towards him anyway. “Silas —“

From the end of the corridor, from the common room, Hal’s voice says, “Silas?”

Silas stops trying to dry his bleeding eye socket with his sleeve. The throbbing headache of his broken cheekbone dulls to a beat drowned out by the roar of his heartbeat. Being summoned from his room in the middle of the night is one thing. Wren being summoned, too, by a soldier in full combat uniform is another. Hal also being called on —

Wren feels it, too, because his hand finds Silas’ arm and his fingers are shaking. “Hal?”

“Wren? What the fuck is going on?” Hal calls.

London growls, “move.”

Wren looks down at Silas, who turns his head to kiss his sleeve, as soothing as he can manage.

He should’ve grabbed his fuckin’ leg. He’s still new to needing it — to feeling this fuckin’ helpless without it. What’s going to happen to them? How is he going to get Wren out of it with one fuckin’ leg?

Hal isn’t alone in the common room. He’s standing with Robin and June, huddled close in a space crowded with soldiers. Every one of them is dressed in full combat uniform.

Point stands proudest among them, and he looks up with a grin.

Silas groans. He can’t help it.

Wren pinches him through his sleeve. “What is this?” He asks softly, not quite looking at Point, who looks at him intently and like a predator.

With another lecherous grin, he says, “field trip.”

Wren makes a sound that would probably be amused in any other situation. “What?”

“Field trip?” June repeats.

Point holds up a hand, quieting her without looking at her. “We’ve got a long ride ahead of us,” he says. “Let’s move, soldiers.”

And the whole thing is kind of surreal, clouded by Silas’ worsening concussion and broken orbital socket, pooling with blood. Hal, June, and Robin are led down a different corridor than Wren and Silas; Wren and Silas, flanked on all sides by soldiers and Point, are led to a service elevator.

Silas, in all his years in the district, has never been outside. This isn’t really any different.

The service elevator lifts them to a section of the district like any other — dimly lit, chipped grey concrete. Down a corridor, a huge metal grate had been lifted out of the way, opened to the back of an armoured van, doors closed and secured.

It’s Point, of course, that unlatches and opens these doors to the back of the van. It’s crowded with soldiers, with Point’s favourite men, crammed on the benches lined along the inside, standing along the back. Point jumps up into the van and whirls back around with a bizarre sort of flourish. “The girl will ride with me,” he announces. “Animal transport will be up next for the dog.”

Wren’s voice has gone flat, but his accent is probably the thickest Silas has ever heard it when he says, “you’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

Point grins with all his teeth and he looks even less human than Silas. “You know I don’t kid ‘bout you, cowgirl,” he says, mocking, and Wren takes a quick step back, knocking into Silas. “I ain’t playin’ with you, neither. Get on up here.” He pats his thighs, beckoning.

“Fuck you,” Wren says, but his voice sounds brittle and his accent sounds even thicker. Silas curls a protective hand around his hip.

“C’mere, girl,” Point says, and whistles, patting his thighs again. “C’mere.”

“Fuck you, I’m not getting in the rape van,” Wren snaps, and Point’s jovial mocking drops off his face. It’s like he’s been wiped clean, replaced by something totally and uncomfortably blank.

“You’ll do whatever I fucking tell you to do,” he deadpans, “or I’ll make your dog bite the bumper and you’ll be forced to watch as I crack his ugly head in half. And then I’ll fuck you anyway, mm?”

He takes a step back down from the van and Wren’s whole body tenses. Silas pulls him close, into his lap, away from Point, who pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t start with me, freak,” he says. “I don’t want to kill you while I’m hard. Give me the girl.”

“You’re a fuckin’ weirdo,” Silas tells him, and something twitches in Point’s jaw.

“You’re a failed fucking science experiment,” he snaps. “An crippled fucking dog. A waste of fucking skin, and I fuck your girl better than you do. Give her here.”

Silas raises his eyebrows. “I’ll tell you what, Darren,” he says, and Point’s eye twitches, this time. “Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”

“Silas,” Wren breathes.

Point’s lip curls back from his teeth. He angles his head at a soldier standing close, Haunt, who quickly lifts his gun and shoves the barrel hard against the nape of Silas’ neck.

Whatever, what’s another gun to the head? But Wren gasps, reacts, human, and he’s distracted just long enough that London’s able to grab him by the arms and haul him out of Silas’ lap.

Time warps. Slows down.

Wren screams.

Point grabs him around the waist, lifting him off his feet as he struggles.

Silas reaches for him and he’s stabbed quickly in the throat.

It happens so quickly that his crewneck is already sticking to his chest before it even starts to hurt. Then the pain starts to gurgle at the back of his mouth, sucked into his chest as he takes a wet, choking breath in. Point doesn’t look at him as he opens his jugular, but he looks up with a grin as Silas bleeds, wrenching the buck knife out of Adam’s apple. A rush of blood follows the blade, and Silas’ prison greys are already black, soaked with blood.

He thinks his ears are ringing, but when the blood stops rushing he realizes Wren is screaming and Point is laughing at a garbled, cackling pitch.

“I was waiting for you to try something,” he cackles. “You’re getting predictable, Silas.”

Silas raises a hand to the wound and his shaky fingers dip into the opened meat of his throat, gagging him.

With an ease that makes him gag in much the same way, Point pulls Wren’s hands behind his back and lifts him as he struggles. He throws him into the back of the van, onto the floor between the benches, and as soon as Wren hits the ground, face down, a soldier steps down hard on the back of his head, pinning him. Wren screams bloody murder and it sounds nothing like blood rushing in his ears.

A different soldier peels down Wren’s waistband with the toe of his boot and the way Wren screams echoes between Silas’ ears, bouncing off the inside of his skull. It makes him vomit, but he doesn’t know blood or bile, but most of it seeps from his opened throat and only a mouthful makes it to his tongue, long numb and useless.

Point pats his cheek twice, hard, and Silas vomits into his lap. His chin finds his chest and he doesn’t have the strength to lift it off again. “You’ll follow in the med van,” he says, and Silas hears him in odd bits and pieces. Somebody close is making horrible, wet gasping sounds and he has a really sick feeling it’s him. “And you’ll be good as new by the time we get where we’re going. We got a long ride ahead of us.” Silas can’t see anything except blurry red spots, but he doesn’t need to see Point to know he’s grinning when he says, “your girl’s gonna be in good hands the whole time. Don’t you worry.” He knocks Silas over the back of his head and his laugh is a cackle.

Silas doesn’t see it, but he can hear Point jump into the back of the van. There’s some kind of sound that follows it, skin on skin. Wren sobs loudly and Silas vomits down his chest. “Alright, girl,” he says, loud and theatrical, probably more for Silas than Wren, in a sour, mocking version of Wren’s accent. There’s a creak of the hinges as he grabs at the doors. “Time to get fuckin’.”

The doors close loudly and something in the sound feels like a bullet to the brain, a sudden, sharp explosion of pain that ricochets behind Silas’ eyes.

He doesn’t remember anything else for the next three days.

#i was lying btw MANY horrible things actually happen after this #whump #whump community #whump scenario #whump scenes #whump story #whump stuff #whump writing #whumpblr #whumpee #wren & silas #whump blog #whump series #whump tag #emotional whump #whump things #whump snippet

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whumpalicious08 · 9 months

Text

More Public Humiliation Whump (READ WARNINGS ⚠️)

---

Aka my magnum opus, in my humble opinion.

⚠️Cw⚠️ / Smoking, Drinking, Gun violence, graphic gore, minor character death, non consensual touching (over clothes), manipulation/manipulative language, religious (catholic) imagery & references, internalised shame, public humiliation, possessive behaviour

2nd person Whumpee has they/them pronouns. Brief, vague mention of area between legs, no explicit reference to any biological organs.

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Living Weapon Whumpee / Mafia Whumper.

---

You find it difficult to breathe inside the pub. Smoke congeals with the air and stains the insides of your lungs.

The stench of blood is so strong it makes your mouth taste metallic.

Whumper is speaking and everything else feels quiet.

"...Kid comes waltzin' into your house, starts touchin' on your property. Can't hardly blame nobody for gettin' a little unkind."

There's a man on the floor in front of him. He's a couple years younger than you- twenty. He's studying geology, a topic that lit up his eyes endearingly. He's on his gap year.

You'd tried to warn him off you, gentle but insistent. Whumper likes you seen and not heard.

But the charming bastard had leaned in, eyes painfully kind, and he'd told you how pretty he thought your smile was. It'd been so long since anybody'd told you that.

The kid had brushed his knuckles over your wrist, coyly hiding his concern at your reaction. His compassion had distracted you.

You hadn't seen Whumper approach.

He'd dragged the kid away from the bar, away from you, and into a more open area. God, you'd forgotten to even ask his name.

You hadn't seen Whumper approach.

You don't see him now, either. You turn your face away and stare down at your drink. But the tourist's throat keeps flapping wet gurgling noises and you can't turn away your ears.

Another shot cracks through the air. Another terrible banshee cry. You count up from one silently to distract yourself.

It doesn't work, but you pretend that it does, and that's enough sometimes.

It was enough before, when Whumper had jovially condescended to the tourist and amicably levelled his shotgun at his knee.

(You'd missed the money shot. You always strive to when you can, innate coward that you are.)

Whumper loves that gun. He's always telling you that it's;

"a gorgeous weapon second only to one".

He'd won it from the Sheriff, during a poker game he'd hosted last month. The policemen in attendance tonight eye it with just as much desire as they do Whumper; the perfect power fantasy.

"Please."

The kid's warped voice rings too loudly in your head. You falter at 37 and can't start over.

Whumper does something to him that makes him hack up air like a cat, unable to scream any longer.

"Shut up and listen real fuckin' close. Whumpee is mine. Mine to touch, mine to use."

You feel the tips of your ears burn in violent shame. Your teeth feel wobbly with how hard you're clenching them.

Whumper's silent for a beat. You don't need to be facing him to know he's looking at you. "Sometimes, they're so damn good at bein' owned I get to thinkin' they like it." His tone turns jeeringly wistful, and indignation curls your hands into fists.

People's eyes and unspoken words become embedded in your skin like shrapnel. Pieces of you, of them, sting when you think you've found reprieve.

"All I'm doin' to you is some kindly teachin'. Got to set an example, you understand."

"Did- I didn't-"

You think he may be trying to say he didn't know, but it'd be futile anyway. Whumper wants an execution. The tourist begins to catch up and abandons his words for sobs.

Whumper hums in sympathy, the sound vulgar in its sincerity. "Whumpee. C'mere."

There's white hot needle points dancing over your body as you stand. The shrapnel sinks deeper as more attention shifts to you.

You find it harder and harder to avoid looking at Whumper's barbarity. The tourist's humanity entices your own; you grow unable to pretend either don't exist.

You reach Whumper's side and look down.

The bullet had shattered the kid's kneecap fully. There's a gorge where it should be; exposing jelly-like tissue the colour of pus and flesh and viscera. Dark shades of dried blood makes it look like somebody'd rubbed dirt into the gore - you can imagine Whumper doing that, tearing at the edges of the exit wound with gritty black fingernails.

His elbow is gone too, chips of shattered bone and viscous chunks of torn muscle the only remnants of it left.

You notice that the tourist's lips are moving once more, and gratefully take the opportunity to look away from the depravity. You can't hear what he's saying. Just the feverish, incoherent ramblings of a man from whom Death will have to beg for mercy.

Whumper's voice pounds against the inside of your skull like tinnitus, trying desperately to drown out the injustice he's caused.

"Kill him. Bastard's all used up." Whumper's cigarette wobbles as he snaps the order. His perverted sense of mercy makes you squeamish.

You've met people who mark their kills. Some do it to boast. Some do it to self-flagellate.

You've never had to carve anything into your bedpost. Every one of your victims live on, feeding, parasitic within you.

But this ... this boy, convulsing and begging in a pool of his own fluid; his death will be a tumour, destruction for destruction's sake.

You're suddenly not sure that you can handle another ghost.

"No."

Whumper's eyes cut into you. You used to believe he had the Devil in them. Now you don't believe there are any Gods or Demons here at all.

"Say that again?"

He's offering you an out he knows you won't take.

You lower your head, but peer up at him through your lashes, a veiled mockery of the submission he expects. He's pushed you just far enough tonight. The several shots of sickening, unidentifiable liquids coalescing in your stomach makes you too brave.

"No, Sir."

Whumper likes you brave. He'll fill your glass and enjoy the consequences.

His hand closes around your arm, fingernails ripping skin, and he roughly handles you into position. You try to jerk away, but the weight of his shotgun reminds you of his conviction.

The tourist is crying again. You can't remember if he'd ever stopped.

Whumper's chest is firm against your back. His leg parts yours sightly and he angles your body with intent, displaying you to the rest of the pub. He rests the long barrel of his gun on your hip, slowly guiding it lower. "I ain't askin', angel."

The pub's only sparsely populated today, and some people are only watching out the corners of their eyes.

But it may as well be packed to you.

Whumper lingers behind your knee purposefully; making you think he might actually do it, before he moves on again.

You feel your heartbeat everywhere; in your throat, under your fingertips, at your temples.

You feel terror everywhere, too. You think it's circulating the room, a plague of quiet fear. Endemic to the bar and your body.

The gun stops at your inner thigh.

Whumper brushes his lips against your ear. Radiant heat from his cigarette warms your clammy neck. "You'll do as you're fucking told."

He gyrates the barrel ever so slightly, a brutish imitation of a caress. Your breath hitches. I own you.

The muzzle's pointing down, safety on. He doesn't need a lethal weapon to remind you how to behave. I own you.

If you hesitate any further, it's only for a second.

Your defiance is brittle and impulsive. Your deference is always enduring.

The bitter pill Whumper feeds you settles on your tongue and makes you think maybe you do like being owned.

"I'm sorry."

The gun's driven sharply upwards, stabbing too hard even through clothing. Your ignoble cry seems to carry. He holds you in place and it hurts.

"Louder."

"I'm sorry-"

He slips his fingers down your back pocket and pulls out your revolver. He presses it into your hand and steps behind, painful pressure lifting off your back and from between your legs.

"Show me, then."

Eyes are boring into you. Whumper's, the patrons'. You hear somebody sniffling across the pub. You have the feeling there are more.

Under different circumstances you'd sneer at the pity, but the room's just seen Whumper what, assault you? Debauch you?

You're pretty damn pitiable right about now.

The tourist's lips are still fluttering. You lower yourself down on one knee to hear him better.

"...forgive thy... holy father ... mercy on me."

You glance at his neck in case you've missed anything. No cross.

You place your hand over his darting eyes, and your gun over his forehead. His mouth stops moving, and then he does too.

For one bleak moment you hope, much for the tourist's benefit and quite contrarily to your own, that there is a next life. You hope that Whumper will burn in infernal fire; searing with a fury rivalled only by the flames awaiting you.

There's more friction generated by the bullet than you'd like. Smoke from the barrel rises up, up.

Whumper's derisive words feel distant, but his fingertips gently carding through your hair seem to scald. "Wasn't so hard, was it?"

You breathe in and choke.

---

#whump #emotional whump #whump writing #whumpee #pet whump #whump community #whump prompt #whump fic #whump scenario #verbal humiliation #defiant whumpee #whum

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necrotic-nephilim · 14 days

Note

TimCass - "What is this 'mercy' you speak of?"

(not cassie)

send a ship and a quote and i'll write a short fic!

TimCass my beloved. this is 1.5k of just. mostly emotional whump with brainwashing involved. very inspired by that time in canon where Cass was working with Slade, but. done my way bc that arc was a shitshow. enjoy <3

Two months, three weeks, and five days.

That was how long they’d been looking for Cass since she vanished with no trace.

And now that Tim had found her, he was almost starting to regret it.

Any fight with Cass was a losing one, but Tim swore she was even more brutal than before. It wasn't like fighting a human. She was a living weapon, throwing knives at Tim and dodging every blow he tried to land on her.

He wasn't fighting to win. He was fighting to just stay alive.

“Cass-” Tim tried to say, dodging a slash from one of her katanas. She was duel wielding with perfect precision. Moves Tim didn't know normal humans were capable of. “Cass, it's me!” His bo staff stopped another attack. “You know me, it's Tim!”

If she recognized him, she didn't let on. The blankness of her stare made Tim guess she didn't. It twisted knots in his stomach, trying to figure out where the hell she had been.

Who had gotten to her.

Cass didn't say a word. Nothing Tim said could get so much of a reaction out of her. It was as if she didn't hear him at all.

He should've brought backup. Tim didn't think this lead would pan out, after so many false starts. And now, he paid for it. Backed in a corner, deep in the woods that surrounded Gotham where his tracker had no signal.

Tim was pretty sure this was a trap he’d walked right into.

Cass swung with a katana again, but this time, it was just a distraction. She kicked out Tim’s feet. The moment Tim’s back hit the ground and the wind got knocked out of him, a katana plunged into his shoulder. It went straight through to nail him to the ground, like a pinned butterfly.

Tim wasn't ashamed of his scream. The pain was indescribable. Blindly distracting. He had to force himself to not panic. Cass already had a knife in her hand.

“You’re not a killer, Cass,” Tim begged, trying anything to get through to her. “I want to help you. Please don't do this.” He tried to reach up to her. Cass threw her knife and Tim’s hand got pinned to the ground too, the blade slicing through his skin and muscles like paper.

This time, he managed to not scream.

Cass stared down at him with nothing in her eyes. She lifted her other katana.

“Mercy!” Tim was desperate. “Cass, mercy, please. Just let me talk, I swear.”

She paused.

Her face remained blank, but she paused. Tim held his breath, waiting for the katana to come down on his neck.

Cass opened her mouth. “What…” She was talking. Tim prayed that was a good sign. Just the sound of her voice made him want to cry. “What is… this… mercy you speak of?” She struggled on every word. Finally, her faced changed. Eyebrows knit together and mouth formed into the smallest of frowns.

It didn't sound like a mocking question. Her confusion was so genuine Tim wished he could reach up and touch her. Hold her face and tell her it was going to be okay. Cass’ eyes searched Tim’s face for an answer.

“You,” Tim said, blinking back tears. “You’re what mercy is. You don't kill, Cass. You believe everyone deserves to live. That's mercy.”

Cass shook her head. She looked angry for a second, then confused again. Every emotion seemed to be fighting against her for control.

“Weapon.” Cass pointed to herself. “Not mercy.”

“No.” Tim’s voice broke. “You aren't- whoever told you that is lying. You're the kindest person I know. You’re not a weapon.”

Cass was gripping the hilt of her katana so tightly her hand was beginning to shake. “Kind?”

“Yes.” Tim nodded emphatically.

“I don't… know you,” she sounded regretful. There was anger to it, but she seemed angry at herself now instead of Tim.

“Take my mask off,” Tim offered. He couldn't reach up to her, no matter how badly he wanted to. Both his hands were useless with how she pinned him.

There was hesitation. For a second, Tim was convinced she was going to peel his mask off his corpse.

But then Cass slowly knelt next to Tim, knees crunching against the leaves and pine needles on bare ground. She kept her katana in one hand, but her other one reached for Tim’s face. His mask was carefully peeled off, gentle fingers brushing against his skin.

Cass stared at him for a long time. Tim was vaguely aware he was going to bleed out soon, but all he could think about was his reflection in Cass’ sad eyes.

“Don't know you,” Cass repeated softly. He fingers traced over Tim’s face though, and he held perfectly still. “But…”

“But?” Tim proded when she paused for too long.

“I…” Cass pressed her lips together. It was all too familiar, the exact face she always made when she was trying to find her words. “Think I love you.”

Tim was crying now. Tears falling down his cheeks without an ounce of shame.

“Love you too, Cass,” Tim promised. He gave her the strongest smile he could manage. “Let me help you.”

The softness vanished from her face. She violently shook her head, leaning away from Tim.

“No,” Cass’ voice was strong and firm. “You can't.” She yanked her hand off of Tim’s face, as if his skin had burned her.

“If you love me, then trust me,” Tim begged. He wanted to hold her more than he’d ever wanted something in his life.

Cass shook her head. “Weapon. Will hurt you.” Her eyes drifted to Tim's shoulder and hand that were still pouring blood. “Hurt you,” she whispered, eyes going wide.

“I’m okay,” Tim tried to insist. He was lightheaded and fighting to hold onto consciousness. There was no hiding that from her, but Tim wouldn't let Cass blame herself. “You didn't do this. But you have to tell me who you’re working with. They did this, not you, okay?”

“Can’t.” Tears were starting to fall down Cass’ face too. “Orders.”

“They won't hurt you.” Tim blinked hard. He remembered every tactic Bruce taught him for staying conscious. “I’ll keep you safe, I swear on my life.”

Cass’ fingers twitched toward Tim. Unsure and unsteady. “Safe?”

Tim smiled at her as best he could. “Yes. We’ll both be-”

“If you caught something, you better have killed it by now!” A new voice shouted from a short distance. Followed by heavy footsteps.

Cass snatched her hand away from Tim. Her eyes went wide with unmistakable fear. Then her face went completely blank.

When Tim came to, it was on a medical gurney. He snapped awake with a gasp, trying to sit up. Too many machines were hooked up to him.

That voice. Tim knew that voice. If he just stayed conscious long enough to figure out who it was, he could-

“Careful!” Strong, familiar hands gently pushed Tim back down. “You’re going to tear your stitches.” Dick’s face came into focus as Tim blinked, adjusting to the light.

Tim’s head was spinning. He tried to think, grasping for any recent memories. “What happened?”

“We’re hoping you can tell us,” Dick said softly, concern in his eyes. Behind him, Alfred was cleaning up bloody bandages. “Alfred found you bleeding out in the cave. We… christ, Tim. We thought you weren't gonna make it for a second.”

Tim reached for the bandage wrapping his shoulder. Feeling where Cass’ blade had been.

Cass.

“No one else was here?” Tim asked.

Dick’s frown deepened and he shook his head. “The cameras only picked up on you unconscious at the mouth of the cave.”

“It was Cass,” Tim realized. His heart was stuck in his throat. “I found Cass and- she must've brought me here.”

“The cameras would’ve-”

“She would know how to avoid them,” Tim insisted. “I couldn't have gotten here on my own, Dick. I was already half dead.”

Dick’s face just twisted with more concern. Tim could see the hope he was trying hide, though. “Because of Cass?”

“Someone's manipulating her.” Tim couldn’t get the look on her face out of his head.

“Do you know who?”

Tim thought for a moment. That voice. He definitely knew that voice. He nodded. Tim sat up again, slower this time, already thinking of a plan to get Cass back. He promised her.

“Deathstroke.”

He loved her.

#necrotic writings #whump #ask game #timcass #casstim #cassandra cain x tim drake #batcest #this one feels lower quality writing wise.#but i do love the idea.#the cass and deathstroke thing was wasted in canon.#the romance is implied for this one #you can read it platonically if you personally prefer #kissing you on the mouth for the timcass anon #you get it #i have to crash in a seedy motel now.

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jumpywhumpywriter · 1 day

Text

Drugged Hero Whumpee used as Party Favor at Villain's Party part 19

Warnings: living weapon whumpee, torture, blood, forced betrayal, friend pitted against friend, forced fight, death & dying, medical whump

The ending is finally here! (I'm not completely happy with how it turned out, but oh well -- at least it's good writing experience for me!)

"I don't think I have half an hour in me," Shadow slurred. "...I'm going to die, aren't I? For real this time?"

Ava didn't know how to answer. "If we hurry and get you to a hospital, you might not. Uh... is it okay if I carry you out?"

Shadow snorted a weak laugh. "Go right ahead, it's not like I can walk out on my own."

Ava managed to chuckle, despite the situation as she delicately scooped Shadow up in her strong arms, ignoring how her blood instantly started soaking into her leather suit. Shadow was bleeding all over her. She walked at a hurried pace, navigating her way out of Archenemy's lair.

Shadow was viscerally aware of how cold it suddenly was, or maybe that was her own body shutting down from blood loss. She was shivering uncontrollably, head rolling limply in Ava's arms. It wasn't the first time she'd taken a bullet, but this time felt… different.

Cold… so cold… She never felt cold like this. And that was terrifying.

Shadow could feel herself drifting off more with each second, dangerously close to passing out. She held on for as long as she could, until Ava set her down in the passenger seat of a car, before it was too much, and the darkness claimed her mind.

-------------------------------------------------------

The crawl back to consciousness was rough, Shadow was so tired and weak. But she forced her eyes to crack open, finding herself in a hospital room, hooked up to several IVs and machines monitoring her vitals.

"...I survived," she whispered dully, half wondering if it was real.

"Like a cockroach, as Archenemy put it."

Shadow turned her head to find Ava in a chair next to her bed, offering her a bright smile, full of so much more life than before.

"Do you... remember everything?" Shadow asked hopefully.

Ava's smile wobbled and fell away. "No, not yet. I only have bits and pieces of memories, but... it's coming back. Slowly." She rubbed her face with her palms, grimacing. "I can't believe I almost killed you."

"But you didn't. That's what matters in the end," Shadow said reassuringly. "You are already forgiven. Archenemy is to blame, not you. Okay?"

Ava nodded sadly. "Still, I wish I could have broken free sooner."

Shadow nodded. "Indeed, but at least it happened eventually. So here's to a hopefully brighter and less-devastating future." She raised an invisible wine glass in her hand and mimed clinking it with another invisible glass.

Ava chuckled. "The doctors say I'll have a long road to recovery, but I'm confident you can help me get my memories back. Friend.”

⏪️ Back

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @i-don't-know-sal @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove

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writinggremlin · 1 month

Note

Hi!

What's your favorite weapon to use against your Whumpees?

-- @whumporama ❤️🔪

Ooo good question! Though, I usually find it difficult to decide which weapon I should use on my Whumpees whenever it's their turn to be whumped, so I am already predicting that settling even on a top 3 will be difficult.

Let's see though... I don't think you can really go wrong with a blade or knife. They're quite versatile when you think about it. They can slice, cut and stab, yes, but they can also threaten, and even protect. Not to mention that they come in many different forms.

A pocket knife that folds neatly away, being flicked out at the climax right before the violence begins. Or being revealed and pressed against a Whumpee's neck in an alleyway.

A dagger, long and sharp. Whumper lightly trails the point along Whumpee's body, sending shivers down their spine. Maybe even using it to tilt their chin up.

A scalpel, even. A tool of precision, usually used to help save lives, but now it's use is being twisted and bastardized, slowly and methodically slicing through layers of flesh to do god knows what. Or maybe it's not for a surgery. Maybe Whumper sees themself as an "artist" of sorts, and Whumpee is their canvas. A scalpel is like a pencil to them.

Hmm... But I also like drugging too. It's definitely my go-to for lab settings. Maybe I'm a little too reliant on drugs for lab whump lmao. But c'mon-- it's right there!! And it's so versatile-- you don't even have to make it a pre-existing drug, you can make the side effects literally whatever you want!!

Yes you have the typical dizziness, confusion, tiredness, and euphoria of normal drugs, but that's not all injections are capable of. Some drugs burn (propofol does iirc, and I know potassium does too. Potassium is *super* uncomfortable when administered through IV. Best used on a Whumpee who was starved and has a potassium deficiency-- I could write a tip post on that one day), other drugs can cause odd feeling headaches that feel like pressure building up in your head (morphine does that to some people for a second before it kicks in. I am one of those people. It freaked me out the first time around ngl lol), but even that is just the surface of things drugs can do, especially in fiction.

One of my favorite fics I've read on here, Drowning by @equestrianwritingsstuff, features lab whump and a drug that makes the MC experience agonizing pain and panic. Those scenes were so fucking good imo!!! Like-- OUGH!!! Nearly yoinked it for myself, but I've already yoinked a lot from that story, and I don't want to just-- make the same thing again lol. (That's called plagiarism! :D!)

You can incorporate magic to induce a whole slew of fascinating new side effects. Add a hint of fire magic to set every single one of Whumpee's nerves alight with agony. Earth magics could temporarily petrify certain parts, if not all of Whumpee (petrify could just mean paralyze, or it could mean literal petrifaction; turning solid like stone. So solid that parts could snap off), water magics could liquify (imagine that in the lungs. As if pneumonia wasn't bad enough. The damage that literally liquifying a brain could cause too), and as for air magics... just injecting plain air straight into the veins can cause a whole slew of problems-- you don't need magic for that (you could suddenly adjust the atmospheric pressure with magic and make Whumpee suffer more as the air inside them rapidly expands though).

Speaking of magic, that's another fantastic weapon! In a fantasy setting, I feel like magic could be so common and come so naturally that it's almost on par with just-- using your bare hands. But magic is more useful and so versatile and there is so, so much you can do with it!!

Elemental magics are an obvious choice. Just look at Avatar over there. But ofc there's other elements that are fun, like ice, and electricity, and blood... Me and a friend once came up with an idea of someone who could manipulate someone's skeleton. They couldn't manipulate the muscles or their mind, literally just their bones. It'd make resistance painful, pulling and tearing at delicate tendons. The best thing Whumpee could do in that situation is just relax as much as possible, while their body gets helplessly puppeted around (technically they could overpower it too, depending on how much force the power could use ofc).

But there's so many other magic powers too that could easily be weaponized. Mind control abilities, a mind reader that knows all of Whumpee's weak points-- there's a fic I recently binged through, The Gift Of Perfect Knowledge by @internallyscreamingfrootloop, where a kid gets the ability to know the answer of any question he asks, and he's definitely used that to at least utilize the tools at his disposal.

There's even brutal powers that you can use, like super strength, and shape shifting, and blast summoning, which can give a Whumper the ability to just toss Whumpee around like a ragdoll.

But the fun part about magic is that you can make your powers be whatever the fuck you want. Take a look at my OC, Kage, for example. He might be a Whumpee, but he's also done his fair share of brutal, murderous whumping in his past. One of the powers that helps him with that, is a power that I literally just call "Ravens". He can summon ravens, crows, just any corvid really, and he can control them to make them do what he wants. Imagine a massive flock of black, cawing birds descending upon you. Imagine the last thing you see is a beak in your eye. Imagine the dreadful pain of being pecked apart and eaten alive, bit by agonizing bit. You can get brutal with magic, and it doesn't even have to be anything complicated.

Maybe magic will have to win my favorite then lol.

Honorable mentions:

Bludgeoning tools. Bats, canes, even a wall. If I'm feeling especially brutal, I might even think about just filling a bag with heavy weight, swinging it around and WHAM!!! Right into Whumpee. Sometimes a whack isn't enough, y'know?

Unconventional weapons, my beloved. A hefty flashlight, a purse, bottle of perfume or cologne (Whumper discovers that Whumpee has it while kidnapping them, proceeds to use it as an irritant, spraying it in Whumpee's mouth, eyes, and even up their nose. Whumpee can't wear it anymore because the scent reminds them of what happened now), clothes used for strangulation, or even a lack of clothes, a plastic bag for suffocation-- ugh, there's just so much you can do with the random objects you have laying around in your house. Books as bludgeoning weapons. Cards thrown so fast and hard that they cut. God I can keep going all day.

But ye, to answer your question, I think my favorite weapon would have to be magic, just in general. Second favorite would have to be anything unconventional, I like seeing the creativity of it. Mix those two together, and you have my full undivided attention.

Thank you so much for the ask!! This one was fun to talk about!!

My ask box is open and I would love to answer more!! I have plenty of ask games you can find on my ask game masterlist here! (I wanna update that completion tracking format into a tag system for better ease of use tbh. Maybe next year.)

Thank you to all who have read this far, and thank you to whumporama for both their post, and for the ask!! Hope you enjoyed my ramblings lol. Have a nice day/night/life!!! :D

#ask the soup #whump #whumpblr #whump community #whump asks #tw drugs #tw knives

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pigeonwhumps · 8 months

Text

The Talk

Bug and Company masterlist

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @flowersarefreetherapy @whumplr-reader @whumpinggrounds @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump

Alix and Sarita talk.

1.6k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, derogatory language about sex workers, discrimination against Romantics, past betrayal, fear of abandonment, use of Christianity for discrimination, victim-blaming, brief mention of death, mentions of rape/non-con

"You can sit down while we talk, if you like," offers Alix.

"No."

"Okay. The first thing you should know is that you're free to choose your own name here, if Sarita is the name your owner gave you. Or even if it's not. It's a perfectly good name, though, if you don't want to."

Sarita stiffens. Her back hurts from the tension. How dare she.

"How fucking– I am not changing my name, fuck off. It's my name, I chose it, and I've already had one safehouse try and change it because I'd be forgiven quicker if I had a nice Christian name and not one a dumb slut would have. Fuck off. This name means something to me and I am not changing it. Don't make me."

The last part almost comes out as a plea and she hates that. Hates that she feels like she has to beg to use a name she chose for herself in memory of her dead friend. Because she's not begging ever again.

"I wouldn't make you." She looks at Sarita closely, too closely. "We're not all like Christians Against Pets."

"The fuck d'you know that's where I was?" Are they in contact? Is this a trap? What the fuck is going on?

"They were clearly Christian, and that group is very discriminatory towards Romantics. Also, they have a safehouse branch nearby. That's where O's from. It makes sense."

"Okay. Fine. I'll believe you for now."

Alix's mouth quirks. "Thank you."

"What are the conditions for living here then? Do I gotta– stay away from the other pets or pray or whatever?" Because she's not doing that again. Fuck that.

"No. I certainly don't think you're a bad person or anything else that other people have called you."

Sarita folds her arms. "That I'm a dumb pampered whore who joined up so I could get fucked all the time?"

"Please don't use that kind of language, Sarita."

She quirks an eyebrow. "Would you prefer me to say that I'm a lucky pet because I get to have sex all the time and not be hurt? Because I've heard that too. People only ever care about the sex."

"No," says Alix mildly, "I'd prefer you not to talk about yourself like that at all. Being raped multiple times doesn't make it okay, and it doesn't make you any of those things. Just like it doesn't define my other rescues. Maria wasn't lucky because she was 'only' a Romantic. And it's not just you you're affecting with that language."

Sarita stays quiet. She... hadn't thought of that. What did Maria think she meant? She's shit at meeting other pets, she always hurts them.

At least that means they won't try and get close and the inevitable betrayal won't hurt so much.

She doesn't fucking care though.

"Do you understand, Sarita?" She nods. "Good. Now that part's over with, can we talk about why you were so desperate to run that you stabbed me on the way?"

Sarita shrugs. "My last safehouse betrayed me. I won't let it happen again."

That's her warning. If anyone tries anything she's going, and she doesn't care how many people she has to hurt to do it.

"Well, I certainly won't do that. Which doesn't help, I know. But I do have something for you."

Alix reaches behind her and Sarita prepares to run, but she just holds out a folded pocket knife.

"Here. If it'll make you feel safer."

Sarita takes the weapon cautiously, expecting it to be taken back any second. It's got to be a taunt, a trick, a way of getting her taken on a deadly weapons charge maybe. But Alix just lets her take it.

It's dark blue and feels solid in her hand. She feels a little safer, now. Although that isn't hard.

She swallows. She's not sure what she's feeling, but she knows what the response must be. "Thank you." She hesitates. "Do I gotta pay you back for it? I can... I can fuck well. If you want."

She wouldn't offer. She hates it. But she really does want to keep this knife. And she can always run afterwards, it'll be easier then anyway when Alix is all worn out and sated. Maybe it's the price she has to pay. Better to find out now than be raped later.

"After all that I said, do you think I would?"

Sarita shrugs. "People are hypocrites."

"Maybe I am sometimes. But not when it comes to this. I'm not going to make you pay, in money or blood or sex or anything. This is a gift."

Sarita turns the knife over in her hands, folding out the attachments. This is a Swiss army knife, not just any pocket knife. That knife attachment is definitely longer than normal. And sharp. She's never gotten a gift that's just a gift before. She's not convinced it's not a trap. She'll have to be wary.

She looks up at Alix cautiously, studying her seemingly-open face.

"Oscar and I figured that if you run, you'll need more to survive than just a knife."

Sarita flicks the knife attachment out and holds it in front of her, just in case it's still a trick.

"What are the rules here then? If you want to convince me to stay I need to know what the fuck I need to do if I was to."

She runs the words back through her head. Okay, maybe not the *best* sentence she's ever constructed.

"Well the most important ones are not to use derogatory language, and to respect boundaries and personal space. You don't go into other people's bedrooms unless they specifically allow you to, you stay out of the bathroom if there's others in there, ask before you touch people, that kind of thing. There's a rota for chores, let me know if there's anything on it you can't do for any reason, physically or emotionally. I'll add you in a month if you decide to stay. And to be clear, since you seem to be exceptionally worried about this, you do not have to stay away from people, or common spaces. You can use the common areas whenever you like, including the middle of the night if you want to. Getting yourself a midnight snack is perfectly fine. There's a few times you'll need to stay away from certain rooms, like if it's group therapy time and you don't want to join (Sarita makes a face. Why the fuck would she want that?). I think that's about it."

Alix's speech seems a bit perfect, like it's rehearsed. But anyway.

"What happens if I break the rules? You gonna send me back to WRU or stop food privileges or something?"

"Food isn't a privilege, and I'd never send anyone back or kick them out. We'd have to talk, figure out the reason for it. If you were clashing severely with another resident we'd have to work on a solution. If you decide to stay, I do expect you to work on following the rules, especially the first one. But I don't expect anyone to be perfect."

Sarita nods. "Why the fuck are you so good at speeches anyway? Have you been practicing?"

"Yes. I spent a long messing up before we all brainstormed this together. So, do you want to try staying here? You don't have to stick around if you don't like it."

"Fine. I'll try." She doesn't trust Alix, but there is a miniscule chance she's telling the truth. Maria and Adalia looked fed. And she was raped and assaulted enough on the streets, at least she can have it happen someplace warm.

Alix looks... relieved? What? "Thank you. I'll get you set up with a bedroom near the exit and find you some clothes."

"I should apologise to Maria," says Sarita guiltily, not acknowledging Alix because she doesn't know what to do with that offer. "You gonna stop me going in?"

"No, go right ahead." She steps aside and Sarita walks into the house. She can hear murmuring and that's probably where Maria is, right? She heads towards the sounds.

She peers around the doorway to see a group of people talking, Maria and Adalia included. Well. Okay then. She'd hoped to get Maria on her own but might as well get the nobody wanting her part over in one go.

She steps in front of the doorway and the talking stops abruptly. Yeah, they were definitely talking about her. She pulls herself up taller against the stares, which despite there only being three of them seem to contain every emotion.

"What do you want?" asks Adalia, glaring.

"I came to apologise to Maria," Sarita replies in the same tone. "Then I'll fuck off. Maria, I'm sorry. For threatening you and insulting you or whatever. And I actually mean it, Alix didn't tell me to say it."

"Thank you. I'm not... I understand, that it's hard to trust. It's okay."

Sarita nods curtly and leaves the room. If they want her to fuck off, she'll fuck off. She won't get to stay long if Adalia feels like that about her anyway, because Alix actually likes Adalia.

She doesn't know where her bedroom is. She doesn't know where anything is. But she can sure as fuck find out easily enough, she's not stupid. Alix will be in her room, and if not, she can find her and ask. If she's as welcoming as she pretends to be she'll show Sarita.

It's fine.

#whump #whump writing #bbu #box boy universe #box babe #lady whump #pet whump #sarita oc #alix oc #whumpee and caretaker #bug and company

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wangxianficfinder · 2 years

Text

In the mood for a Fic...

~*~

1. itmf weird crossover fics, like you would not see mdzs and think about that crossover. An example is Of Ghosts and Heroes by The Silverfish (ZephyrAndTheSilverfish) (which, wow!) preferably Wangxian (bottom wwx), but others are fine too if you think it's worth reading :D

Wizards of Yunmeng Place Series by chatonnerie (G, 38k, WangXian, SangCheng, Modern AU, Wizards of Waverly place Fusion, Halloween Wei Wuxian's Birthday, Getting Together, Magic, Urban Fantasy, Fluff and Crack, Vampire Lans, Wizards Jiang family, Wizard WWX)

live from new york by varnes (E, 87k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, This is a SNL AU, however the juniors are featured and there are lots of shenanigans!, slow burn, friends to lovers, pining, getting together, happy ending)

the rivers start to sing by fruitys (M, 27k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Tangled (2010) Fusion, Fairy Tale Elements, Strangers to Lovers, True Love's Kiss, or something like that, Sharing a Bed, Wound Tending, Hurt/Comfort, Attempt at Humor, Implied/Referenced Torture)

🧡 don't threaten me with a good time by livinginaworldofnoise (G, 60k, WangXian, Modern AU, Great British bake off AU, Script format, Fluff and Crack, Reality TV, Social media)

❤️ More Questions than Answers by tiniestawoo (T, 2k, Sterek, WangXian, Teen Wolf Crossover, Curses, Curse Breaking, Modern with Magic, (alternate for CQL I GUESS?), Full Shift Werewolves, Beta DH, Demonic Cultivation, Crack Treated Seriously, Crack Crossover)

and having a marvelous time by varnes (E, 108k, WangXian, Yúnmèng Siblings, Sound of Music AU, (i know!!! i know. stay with me on this.), Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Family Feels, spies to lovers???, Protective Siblings, Sometimes You Just Want Your Dads To Admit They're Your Dads, Angst with a Happy Ending)

Come by it Honestly by ladyshadowdrake (M, 25k, Geraskier, WangXian, The Witcher Crossover, Crossover, Adventure)

~*~

2. I'm desperately craving for some sub!lwj, or overall just some lwj being taken care of and spoiled, also maybe some protective wwx? Preferably no modern aus.

I think if they check out the dom!wwx compilation they would find some good stuff!

~*~

3. In The Mood For scary WWX fics! Not limited to BAMF WWX but anything that really just plays with how creepy WWX and his cultivation can be. Thank you!

green flame, black flute, red ribbon by Fleetling (T, 3k, WangXian, LJY & LSZ, LJY POV, wwx kills people violently and with extreme prejudice, Hurt/Comfort, i think, yeah warnings for kidnapping, intimidation using weapons)

on my wei by thelastdboy (M, 23k, WangXian, SongXiao, Modern AU, Canon Divergence, YL WWX, Natural Disasters, Earthquakes, Aftermath of a Natural Disaster, Cultivation World Politics, Slow Burn, Miscommunication, Taxi Driver WWX, POV LWJ, Neurodiversity, Getting Together, Sentient Burial Mounds, Mistaken Identity, No Major Character Death, Names are Magic, References to Depression, Situational Mutism, Horror Elements, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Anxiety, Autism Spectrum, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, Soft WangXian, WWX Has ADHD, And also a flock of ravens, Case Fic, Also 24/7 Horny Hours) this one has that spooky green fire and ravens donghua!yllz vibe

the field meets the wood by astronicht (T, 7k, WangXian, BAMF WWX, slight whump, Ritualistic Self Harm, Canon Era, Tang Dynasty style, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, salt economics, Post-Canon, [Podfic] the field meets the wood by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona), [podfic] the field meets the wood by jellyfishfire)

Breathing Firestorm by ladyshadowdrake (M; 110k, wangxian, angst w/ happy ending, fluff, captivity, creepy WRH, no non-con, dreamsharing, politics, mythical creature WWX, dark)

honey, don't feed it (it will come back) by neoncoin (M, 14k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Eldritch WWX, final girl lwj vibes, Body Horror, Graphic Description of Corpses, Sunshot Campaign, Hurt WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Horror, Angst with a Happy Ending, YL WWX)

~*~

4. So for a future itmf: can I please, please, PLEASE get something where people are actually on wei wuxian's side? Please? I have read so many fics where wwx is blamed for EVERYTHING. Oh lwj had to mourn you. Oh you and lwj are getting married? Sorry but we're gonna be on lwj's side of the wedding party.

Read a fic recently where lsz told wwx "you're the one with the words aren't you?" And could only think to myself how unfair that is. Yes, wwx is the one who can talk more, and easier, but that shouldn't mean all communication in their relationship is on him.

Read another where wwx and lwj were getting married and literally every single junior was on lwj's side of the wedding party? And more or less said wwx wasn't good enough and had to prove that he might be one day?

Idk, sorry for the request turned rant 😂 I just keep finding fic like this and I'm TIRED and I just really need to read something that doesn't put all the weight of everything onto wwx alone and actually gives him people who genuinely care and are in his corner. Please I'm literally begging 😭🙏

try stiltonbasket's fics. as a whole, their works have wwx working through his trauma at his own pace and then living a happy life with unconditional love and support from lwj and his other loved ones through the entire process. very comforting.

most of apathyinreverie's fics very much carry this vibe

absolutely all the fics from Vrishchika. She is the best WWX writer hands down. She has the characterization perfect, and she knows WWX's value. - I would probably have others, but this is the first name I can think of.

Hauntcats also likes to surround wifi with loving support, as well as giving him his due as the genius and all round amazing human being he is

~*~

5. Hiii, lovely people! I hope y'all enjoying autumn in all its splendor if you're on the northern hemisphere (or lovely spring if you're not). Anyway, for the next ITMF, any time-travel where the three yunmeng sibs travel back? It would be nice to see them all being on the same page and working together. Thanks!

~*~

6. Hi! Are there any Wen Qing lives fics in which she reunites with Lan Sizhui? Thank you!

❤️ kick at the darkness 'til it bleeds daylight by AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf, tardigradeschool (T, 75k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Eventual Happy Ending, Getting Together, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Inspired by The Parent Trap (1998), Kid Fic, teen shenanigans, two a-yuans, Fluff and Angst)

the dead horse Series by curiositykilled (T, 63k, WIP, WangXian, Yunmeng Siblings & Wen Siblings, WQ & LWJ, Canon Divergence, JYL Lives, WQ Lives, basically everyone lives except wei wuxian, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Family Feels, Platonic Relationships, Families of Choice, Depression, PTSD, raising a kid with your dead best friend's would-be lover, Slow burn friendship)

SIMILAR! 🧡 do not envy the roots that hold you down by eccentrick (T, 12k, WangXian, WQ & LSZ, WQ & LWJ, Found Family, Brother-Sister Relationships, Reincarnation, WQ wasn't given Meng Po's soup, Reunions, awkward cousins lwj and wq, wq is a creepy child, Grief/Mourning, Trauma, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Rebirth, Soul-Searching, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Guilt) a little sideways to the prompt but anon may enjoy it: in which wen qing reincarnates immediately as a lan and gains lsz as a three years older cousin

~*~

7. hello!! could you guys recommend any fics that focus on the one scene where wei wuxian drinks the wine that jin zixun is offering instead of lan wangji? preferably ones that address lan wangji's "I want this man to dominate me" expression?

~*~

8. Hi! Can you recommend some fics where Wei wuxian doesn’t have a golden core but also doesn’t starting demonic cultivation? I think itd be cool to see what his plan was if he wasn’t thrown into the burial mounds. Also I’d like to see him depend on other people more since he has no way of cultivating

Instead by apathyinreverie (T, 6k, wangxian, fix-it, darker gusu lan, manipulative elders, but in a good way?, golden core transfer fix-it of sorts, not Jiang friendly, or anyone friendly, except wangxian, cultivation world critical, fluff, sunshot, politics, courting rituals, genius WWX, no demonic cultivation, talismans, possessive LWJ, protective LWJ, WIP) according to the tags this should fit the prompt very well, but the alt plan of action still hasn't been written for now.

i really want to know (who are you) by Stratisphyre (M, 19k, WangXian, LQR & WWX, Modern AU, Modern with Magic, Golden Core Reveal, Single Dad WWX, Reasonable Authority Figure LQR, Allusions to violence and murder, Hospitalization) wei ying doesnt have a golden core and does not turn to demonic cultivation, hwoever its modern

~*~

9. Hii! For the next ITMF post can you recommend any fics where LWJ or WWX get turned into their kid selves and the other takes care of them?Just a really cute fic pls

grow by cafecliche (T, 14k, WangXian, Age Regression/De-Aging, Character Study, Post-Canon, [Podfic] Grow by jellyfishfire)

how do i forgive myself (for losing so much time) by thunderwear (M, 26k, wangxian, post-canon, de-aging, angst w/ happy ending, fluff, pining, first kiss) LXC de-ages but its such a cute fic!! wangxian take care of the baby

Silver & Gold by beeswaxing (E, 162k, wangxian, post-canon, de-aging, fluff & angst, happy ending, fix-it of sorts, family bonding, established relationship, non-sexual intimacy, BAMF WWX, pining, protective WWX, Mojo’s post)

always and forever by wqngji (Not rated, 3k, wangxian, post-canon, de-aging, child WWX, fluff, humor, protective LWJ)

Before the Morning Sun by Vamillepudding (G, 12k, wangxian, JC & LWJ, post-canon, de-aging, protective JC, light angst, implied/referenced child abuse, kid LWJ)

found your writing on my wall by howodd5ever (T, 25k, wangxian, JC & LWJ, JC & WWX, post-canon, de-aged WWX, accidental baby acquisation, getting together, referenced child neglect, case fic, nightmares, discussion of parent loss, child food insecurity)

shelter by hauntedotamatone (T, 5k, wangxian, post-canon, homelessness, food insecurity, childhood trauma, past child abuse, hurt/comfort, established relationship, loss of parents)

~*~

10. Hi mods! You do awesome work! I’ve recently read “The Price of a Home” (and associated series) and “Hold You Like a Victory” and I was hoping you would know of any more fics that play with the concept of WWX being a whipping boy. This seems like something that easily fits into the canon Jiang family dynamic and there’s just so much potential for fleshing out this AU. I’m dying for more content with this premise. Thank you! @philomathmac

The Earth Rings In Your Ears by bluerainmist (M, 60k, wangxian, whipping boy au, angst w/ happy ending, getting together, drama, rape/non-con elements, fuck or die, bad guys made them do it, corporal punishment, check all the tags!, smut, hurt/comfort, secret relationship, relationship negotiation, enemies to lovers, fuckbuddies to lovers, canonical character death, trauma)

~*~

11.vHii~ Does anyone know of any fics with a concept like or similar to this post for the next itmf? Thank you✨✨✨

JustAWanderingBabbit’s consistent take is that the sword master *was* sexually harassing MY, and sometimes NMJ learns of this in time.

~*~

12. Hello!! Just read through Build Your Home (on a landslide) from one of the comps and now I’m craving more fics that explore A-Yuan’s trauma (whether post canon or fix-t). Thank you so much for the hard work you do!!! 🤎

history by tongzhi (T, 15k, Post-Canon, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, lsz gets angry, LSZ and JL refuse to take their family's trauma forward, jiujiu is the best, Character Study, lqy abolitionist queen)

it took and left no name by Itabane (G, 1k, Canon Divergence, LSZ-centric, LSZ Remembers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family Feels)

Gathered Herbs & Sweet Grasses by hansbekhart (Not Rated, 19k, WangXian, dad wangji, LWJ's Questionable Parenting Skills, Grief/Mourning, Recovery, Injury Recovery, Hopeful Ending)

~*~

13. Hi mods! There are no enough words for me to thank you for your hard work, as you make my days with each of your posts <3 Now, I'm not sure if this has been asked, if so, sorry for asking again, I might not look thoroughly: Do you know of fics from someone/something weird's point of view? I mean someone like Lil' Apple or Fairy (I read one of each before), or maybe places like Cloud Recesses or Lotus Pier? Thanks so much!!

There's a Baby Loose in the Burial Mounds! by ScarlettStorm (G, 3k, lsz is the best boy, even the ghosts think so, Original Male Characters, Original Female Characters, But they're all dead, sentient burial mounds)

our own kind of magic. by scarletwanlian (T, 18k, WangXian, Modern AU, 5+1 Things, Fluff, Humor, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Magic, Magical Realism, College/University, Slice of Life, Witch!WWX, Banter) we get the pov of pieces of furniture 😁

then sigh not so by BlackWiresOnHerHead (T, 6k, WangXian, XuanLi, MianQing, Modern AU, sentient house, slow burn as told by an impatient narrator, Meddling, smart home but with magic instead of invasive technology, POV Outsider, the gang simply Has A Good Time, Getting Together, Sexual Tension, Recreational Drug Use)

My Next Life as a Bunny by shorimochi (T, 10k, WangXian, Reincarnation, Canon Divergence, Vore, but not really?, Food) ok this might be stretching it bc its technically wwx pov but wwx is reincarnated into food. so its also food pov.

The Donkey Books of How to Be Good and Punish Mean People Series by Admiranda (G, 6k, Crack, background wangxian, shameless indulgent fic, sometimes you just gotta write about a donkey, Not JC Friendly, bullying lqr, slight allusions to depression as seen through a donkey's eyes, shameless fluff, donkey ficlet, allusions to animal birth, The Cloud Recesses Rabbits, Little Apple is a mother now, WWX's excellent naming skills)

Дзінші by krinjina (T, 606, WangXian, China, Hurt/Comfort, Real Life, Кімнати персонажів теж важливі) in Ukrainian; the Jingshi’s POV of LWJ’s life. (The tag “Real Life” and the coda—which Google Translate renders as, “And they would write, give them free will and hands”—suggests some Reality Subtext.)

Песенка льда и пламени by kasmunaut & WTF Modao Zushi 2022 (fandom_Wei_Wuxian_and_Co) the title translates as “Song of Ice and Fire”. (G, <1k, wangxian, canon divergence, drama, animal death, crack, fairy tale, fluff, rabbits) Here’s a Russian-language fic (confession: I read it via Google Translate) that deals with a CQL-specific point: the POV character is one of Lan Yi’s spiritual white rabbits—who suddenly has to adjust to a very different way of life. (And yes, the story addresses how they subsisted in the ice cave.)

~*~

14. I’m in the Mood For: Any fics where WWX submits to the Lans for cleansing in exchange for safety for the Wens. I read Decay by ante bunny and loved the premise, but wanted more focus on the consequences of the cleansing.

I love the theory that resentful energy can’t heal but can hold things in stasis, and thus WWX is literally being held together with resentful energy. Because otherwise how did he survive getting stabbed and dropped at great height and starving all without a golden core.

It seems like something WWX would do - allow his execution is exchange for the Wen safety. In fact, I guess I’m in the mood for any fics where cleansing WWX reveals injuries or WWX giving himself up in exchange for Wen safety?Thank you, mods! You are awesome! @philomathmac

❤️ three surgeries and a mercy kill by MarbleGlove (T, 11k, medical procedures, fix-it, Demonic Cultivation, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Self-Indulgent, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies) the resentment is very similar to your thoughts, but it does not have the 'giving himself up' element

Cradle by Dragonesque (T, 195k, WIP, Canon Divergenc, Adopted children, Yiling Wei Sect, BAMF WWX) He doesn't turn himself in (its yilingwei sect) but in later chapters I remember them discussing healing applications of resentful energy that worked in this way?

Boys With a Broken Soul, Hearts With a Gaping Hole. by JaenysBloodcourt (Not rated, 7k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, LSZ & WWX, fluff & angst, happy ending, boys in love, arranged marriage)

❤️ the kite string and the anchor rope by fleurdeliser (M, 39k, wangxian, canon divergence, sick child, after the yiling date)

~*~

15. For your next itmf, would you rec any stories where wwx is undercover as mxy, in any way, shape or form? Can be Outside POV, modern, canon, whatever. I just like wwx pulling one over everyone (except lwj of course)

Torch Song at Nightless City by ArcadianMaggie (M, 11k, WangXian, Film Noir, Detective LWJ, Singer WWX, 1940s, Chinatown, San Francisco, Murder Mystery, Noir, Modern with Magic)

These Things Stay the Same by notevenyou (E, 29k, WangXian, Modern AU, Kid Fic, Minor Character Death, Injury, Natural Disasters, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hospitalization, Accidents) wwx is in an accident/coma and misidentified as mxy… great story and similar to the ask!

🧡 Rule Number One: Never get attached. by KizuKatana (E, 130k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O, Criminal underworld AU, Fluff and angst, Crime boss LWJ, Rouge criminal genius WWX, Explicit Sex)

~*~

16. hi ❤️❤️ for itmf, I'm pretty sure i read something like this before, but are there any fics where jc at mount dafan says to wwx something like 'if you want me to think you're not wwx, stop gushing about how handsome hgj is' ?? many thanks!!!

~*~

17. Hello! Hope everyone's feeling good and healthy! <3 For the ITMF may I request idol/famous person AUs? Doesn't matter if it's singer/actor/youtuber/other or if it's both lwj and wwx who are famous or only one of them. Prefferably if it's wangxian fic. Thank you and have a nice day! @marudny-robot

Fandom Wiki Doesn't Know Everything by notoneforreality (G, 2k, Background WangXian, Modern AU, Junior Quartet Dynamics, Hinted ZiLing, Celebrity, Relationship Reveal, both in the romantic sense (barely), but mainly in the familial sense, kinda identity reveal?, Jingyi and Zizhen are massive fanboys)

how to fall in love with a catfish: a guide by wei wuxian (disaster rat) by bwyn, Yuisaki (T, 54k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Actors, Multimedia, Online Friendship, Drunken Shenanigans, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Underage Drinking, Drinking Games, Families of Choice, Ensemble Cast, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, Catfish AU)

relics of love by cl410 (T, 2k, WangXian, Modern AU, Celebrity, Slice of Life, Child LSZ, Parenthood, Fluff and Humor, Soft WangXian)

on your marks, get set, bake! by BlackWiresOnHerHead (G, 41k, Modern AU, College/University, The Great British Bake Off, Humor, no GBBO knowledge required for entry)

🧡(we've got) time for one more by impossibletruths (E, 71k, WangXian, Modern AU, Rock Band, Siblings, What It Means To Be Lonely, Late Night Conversations, Mentions Of WWX's Subpar Mental Health, The Terror Of Admitting What You Want, Weddings, Fatherhood, Music)

🧡don't threaten me with a good time by livinginaworldofnoise (G, 60k, WangXian, Modern AU, Reality TV, The Great British Bake Off Fusion, wwx is a chaos demon determined to make gbbo more exciting, lwj cares about the Integrity of Bake-Off, Fluff and Crack, gbbo au, content warning for absolute unhinged nonsense, Enemies to Lovers, by enemies i mean BAKING RIVALS of course, the last two chapters are the twitter reactions to the show so, Social Media AU) (link in #1)

🧡【那夏天的我們】a stroke of fate by puddingcatbeans (G, 59k, WangXian, Modern AU, Fluff, Slice of Life, Falling In Love, Summer, Barakamon AU, renowned musician lwj escapes to tiny village and falls in love with local farmer boy wwx, good times only, YouTuber WWX, Food)

based on true events by paradisetrain (T, 3k, WangXian, Modern AU, Characters Writing Fanfiction, Idols, Celebrity, Actors, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Online Personas, Social Media, Humor, Crack Treated Seriously, POV Outsider)

[restoration exercise - no talking] by spookykingdomstarlight (M, 18k, WangXian, Model WWX, ASMR YoutTuber LWJ, Strangers to Lovers, Meet-Cute, Long-Distance Relationship, Identity Porn, Fluff, Light Angst, Loneliness, Yearning)

like, comment, share & subscribe by detectorist (T, 22k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, YouTube, Social Media, Flirting, Humour, Banter, Getting Together, First Kiss, Texting, so much texting, Youtubers For Social Justice, The Gang Gets Political, Competitive Flirting Via The Medium Of Youtube, it's about the yearning, YouTube Rivals To Lovers)

Falling to the Rhythm by Selenay (E, 128k, WangXian, Modern: No Powers, Dance, Strictly Come Dancing Fusion, Ballroom Dancing, Dancer!WWX, Violinist LWJ, Pining While Dancing, Oblivious WWX, Gratuitous Costume Descriptions, Gratuitous dancing descriptions, Slow Burn, [Podfic] Falling to the Rhythm by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona) )

Some of You by tangerinechar (M, 60k, WangXian, XiCheng, XuanLi, Modern AU, Social Media, Actor AU, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Love) ConfessionsMatchmakingLight Angst

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

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syncopein3d · 7 months

Text

The Warm One Part 5: Would You Say No

Part 4: Silk

CW/relevant tropes: living weapon, lady whump, magic whump, traumatic restraints, implied past injury, off-screen whumper, off-screen emesis, servant caretaker, other species caretaker (Orc), pedestrian nudity.

The Wrath of the King awakens from a nightmare of pain, shivering with cold. This is not new. Her skin hurts all over, but that isn’t new either, and it’s not so bad now. What’s new is that she is on a soft mattress, loosely wrapped in a silk sheet, instead of in a pile of shoes on the closet floor. She definitely didn’t crawl this far. A sleepy fumble at the back of her own head reminds her that her hair hasn’t been brushed out. Now she remembers her Orc, her manservant for perhaps two months now. Aldo has put her here, patient with her fidgeting and complaints.

The room smells like hot oats. The weapon squints crusty eyes open. There’s a little table with a tray on it next to the huge bed. It looks like porridge and tea, with little pitchers of milk and honey and a sugar bowl. The oatmeal is still steaming.

“I thought it might be easy on your stomach,” says a now-familiar deep voice. Also enters her view belly-first. He always keeps his velvet tunics very clean and neat. She wonders if it’s because he’s self-conscious of how much fabric it takes to clothe him. One of his garments would make a tent for her.

“Shall I help you, Milady?”

The weapon scoots upright, reaching back to drag pillows behind herself. “I can manage,” she croaks hoarsely, arranging herself cross legged. “Thank you. Can you find my robe?”

He sets the tray carefully across her knees.

“Of course, Milady.”

She starts with the tea. It’s lavender and pineapple weed today. She wonders if Aldo is deliberately avoiding giving her the black tea the Master of Sorceries makes her drink on social occasions. Perhaps surprisingly, for someone yanked from the lowly vocation of carrying wood, he does seem to be getting on fine with the other servants. There’s no saying what he does or doesn’t know at this point.

She pauses to shrug out of the silk sheet and into the soft, worn gray robe. Aldo smooths her ratty hair out of the way and prevents the tea from spilling. The weapon shuts her eyes for a moment. Now that the worst lingering pain from sorcerous punishment has faded, the warmth of his hands feels very good, smoothing aches away.

“Mrem,” she says, or some articulate half-purr like that, and sips her tea.

“Shall I work on your hair after breakfast, Milady?”

The weapon nods, turning with the fragile teacup in her trembling hands to look at the big windows. The curtains are drawn back, admitting a weak light. Something about the paleness of it on the rugs suggests snow to her. It’s still early morning.

“Has it snowed?” she asks. They’re on the second story, and from the bed she can’t see the ground. The fire crackles quietly in the comfortable space between her question and his answer.

“Yes. No walk today, probably,” Aldo says.

“Even when I’ve been bad, he gives me the day after a Ceremony to myself,” she says. She snorts. “For practical reasons. He can punish me if I fall, but I might still tear something expensive. A lot of the clothes are two Wraths old.”

“Is that why they’re too big?” Aldo asks. She’s never told him to speak only when spoken to. He does it automatically when the Master can hear, she’s noticed, but otherwise he doesn’t seem bothered.

“No, that’s because they were altered from the last woman right after a campaign, when I was in better flesh,” the weapon says. “I think he chooses girls just so he won’t have to have new clothes made.”

“Are his new?”

“Of course they are. Silly Aldo,” she says. She can see him mulling over her remark about the campaigns as he carries the tray away. She ate about half the porridge with honey and drank all her tea plain. She turns her back to the side of the bed as she sees him return with the hairbrush. A careful hand stops her tipping into the indentation he makes in the mattress as he sits.

He begins untangling the knots with his fingers first, ever so gentle. She sighs, shutting her eyes. Nothing has ever felt better than this, she is certain, this feeling of big warm fingers working on her hair. Pleasure, gentle and harmless and undevouring, beguiles her for some minutes. Only when he’s done brushing and is braiding her hair loosely does the weapon rouse sufficiently to ask, her voice soft:

“Aldo, if I asked you to do something you didn’t want to do, would you say no?”

“I think I would,” he said. “But I also don’t think you would ask that, Milady.”

“If I asked you to rub my back and my neck, would you wish to say no?”

“I would not wish to say no.” There’s no particular hesitation.

“Are you afraid for your life?” she persists huskily, looking back over her shoulder and up at him. He gently pats her jaw to get her to look forward, and she obeys without thinking and afterward wonders why. His hands are steady with the brush as he answers.

“No, Milady. I don’t think you mean me harm. But if you were to be in so much pain the bracers didn’t work, if you were to strike me down by accident, I would not fear that end.”

“Why?” she asks.

“If you lie on your stomach, will that hurt?” he asks, instead of answering.

“Yes,” says the weapon.

“On your side, then.”

He helps her so that she doesn’t just flop down, easing her weight into the mattress. She slides her arm under the pillow where her cheek rests. The aching scar that covers the front of her torso is draped in soft wool. She loosens the robe’s belt a little more. “Why?” she persists, slightly muffled. She can hear him set the brush aside.

“I’ve lived well enough. Married, had a child, been to war.” His tone is thoughtful as the big hands come to rest on her shoulders, covering a lot of her shoulder blades. Warmth seems to radiate clear through her even through the robe. “I enjoy my life, but I would leave it without regrets. No one depends on me.”

“I have done only one of those,” she says. “I suppose I am glad to leave… no one alone…” The hands on her back begin gently kneading, careful. They stop at her little groan.

“Does it hurt, Milady?”

“It makes the pain less. Please don’t stop.” He resumes. The weapon is silent for a while, in thrall to the relief brought by touch and radiant heat. When a huge hand closes around her throat from behind, fingers stopping before they close around her windpipe, it doesn’t occur to her to be afraid. And she doesn’t need to be. His calloused fingers knead very gently, middle knuckle resting in the hollow at the lower back of her skull under her new braid.

She wonders, half-awake now, how long it will be before the Master threatens to take him away. She knows she’ll give in. She would go to the Ceremony again tomorrow if it meant there was a chance this could happen again.

“Aldo,” she whispers after a while.

“Yes, Milady.”

“You can go, if you like.”

“Are you cold?” he asks. He stops, but his left hand rests lightly on her shoulder.

“Yes.”

“Did I scare you?” he asks. It’s not a mocking tone. It’s almost neutral, but there’s something else there. She’s heard the Master try to do it. He just wasn’t real.

“No,” the weapon says. She laughs a little. “You’ll never scare me. But it’s wrong that I chose you. Wrong that I keep you here.”

“It’s less wrong that it’s me. I don’t mind keeping you warm,” he said. He doesn’t say ‘Milady.’ She notices that. Because now he isn’t answering as a servant.

“All right, then,” she says. “Help me get under the covers.” He does, as carefully as always. As she listens to the sound of him removing his shoes and belt, she says, “All of them think you’re swiving me.”

“You didn’t seem like you wanted that,” Aldo says, sliding in opposite her. He still has his velvet tunic and trousers on, and she still has her robe as she edges in toward him. He lays an arm around her under the covers as she burrows in closer to his belly. A bony knee curls up between them, protecting her scars. He pats her back reassuringly.

“I don’t,” the weapon says. “But I like this. I’ve never been this happy.”

“Even though it hurts?” Aldo asks.

“It always hurts. Until now I was alone.”

“Well,” Aldo says. “You’re not alone now. And neither am I. Go to sleep, Milady. Everything is all right.”

No one’s ever said that to her.

Everything is all right.

Maybe for a while, it will be.

Part 6: Spring Campaign

#whump #living weapon whumpee #living weapon #hurt comfort #hurt/comfort #whumpblr

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paingoes · 27 days

Text

Destroyer

Trigger Discipline

(Masterlist)

this is pre-series, set in the first year delta was given to the emperor. delta and paris are both around 13 here.

(Content: living weapon whumpee, child abuse, dehumanization, power imbalances, minor bullying, slavery, emotional whump, mass death implied)

==============

It was fall break, one of the few times Paris was allowed back into Castle Thales. He dragged the suitcase behind him. There was barely enough time to set it down before the attendants swept him into the dressing room. It was hard to play the handheld with his head up straight, but he’d gotten good at it — in the same way the maids had gotten good at working around him.

His leg bouncing annoyed them enough that they let him take recess. It was only then that he first saw his father, out in the empty hallway, against the backdrop of the purple banners. The Emperor grabbed at Paris’s wrist. He pulled it up to examine the bruises on his knuckles that the makeup hadn’t covered. No hello.

“The school called. Do you think this behavior is acceptable?” His voice was calm, always calm. Paris pulled his hand back protectively.

“They started it,” he insisted.

“Don’t talk back to me, Paris. This is beneath you.”

“I got all As. Four point seven with APs. Did the school call to tell you that too?” He didn’t hide the ire in his voice. That school was out to fucking get him. None of the other students ever got in trouble for fighting. It wasn’t like he could do it by himself.

The look his father gave him killed that argument before it could start. He wilted. The old man paid him no further mind, sending him straight back into the changing room. He spent the remainder of it in terse silence, not even arguing when they placed the crown on his head, the heavy one that always gave him migraines. He never wore it during the school year. He never wore it if he could avoid it. The weight of it felt all wrong.

Nobody mentioned there was going to be a showcase that night. (They might’ve, actually. He never checked his email back then.) Even if he’d known, he still would not have been prepared for the little off-worlder kneeling on the opposite side of the old man’s throne. Dark blue skin, even darker hair. Bright, bright eyes. The Emperor’s new toy.

Paris realized with a start that they were the same age.

He settled into the throne. The old man hadn’t come in yet; it was weird to share the dais. He watched the other boy try his best to stay invisible, like he wasn’t even there. They’d clearly had different media training. He slipped the handheld back out of his pocket while he waited for the event to start.

He sat through most of the ball unbelievably bored by the whole thing. They’d ceased to be impressive by the time he was seven years old. He never could fix his face; he was sure the discontent was obvious upon it. He didn’t understand how anyone else could manage to be polite about it or why they bothered to. The old man was good at many things, but true spectacle was not among them. That part desperately needed work.

Still, he was intrigued by the motion to his left-hand side, the noise as they unchained the boy from where he was kneeling and led him into the center of the room.

The lights dimmed — and his colors burned. He did not fully grasp the technical significance of the display; he doubted most people there did. The handler explained it as a kind of microscopic manipulation of the light, some supreme physical achievement. What it manifested as was the holographic appearance of the scale dragon right over their heads, its shimmering form reflected in all the small particles of air. The mirage was impressive. Paris still did not understand what it had to do with statecraft.

He saw the boy swoon like he might faint, then steady himself. He really was fresh out of the box. His eyes flitted nervously from side to side, trying to take it all in. He flinched at any loud sound — and there were many. He wasn’t used to it yet. When they led him back to the side of the throne, he seemed more grateful to be out of the spotlight than he was upset at being chained. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

It took a while before Paris could get him alone, without the old man watching. He had to wait until after the showcase was over and only the ball remained.

“How did you do that?” Paris asked. He leaned against the leftmost beam of the dais, partially obscured by the curtain. The boy was still kneeling there, still chained to the empty throne’s base.

He turned his head slowly. His glowing blue eyes studied Paris carefully; for a moment, he was afraid of the intensity behind them. Paris could not read his expression, did not appreciate the creeping silence he commanded.

“I know you heard me.” A certain defensiveness crept into Paris’s voice. The boy looked at him apologetically, raising a finger to his lips.

“Oh,” Paris’s eyes widened with the realization. “You’re not allowed to talk?”

He nodded his head so subtlety that Paris guessed he wasn’t even allowed to move.

“I won’t tell anyone,” he promised.

The boy seemed unconvinced, his eyes passing over the crown in Paris’s hair. Fuckin’ thing. He took it off.

The old man barked his name so loudly that the boy jumped, as if it was his own. Paris just rolled his eyes, replaced the crown, and stepped away from the dais.

“It isn’t your friend,” His father warned him, “Just because you can’t keep your own doesn’t mean I’m buying you new ones.”

His face burned.

Paris stayed up until the party was over, even when it ran well into the next morning. As the last of the guests trickled out, he sat down on the stairs of the dais. The boy’s handler came to untether him, pulling him roughly to his feet.

“Did it talk to you?” The man asked. It took Paris a second to realize the question was addressed to him.

“No?” He said. The boy looked at him gratefully, like he’d covered up for him, when he was just telling the truth. The doctor looked somewhat disappointed by this answer. His irritation switched targets.

“You shouldn’t speak Common in the palace. It’s unbecoming.”

Every adult swore they had a right to tell him how to act. Even this total stranger.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Paris snapped.

The fight drained out of him as his father re-entered the hall. All noise died but for his voice.

“I’ll take it,” his father said, extending one hand out in an almost chivalrous motion. The boy, now unchained at the neck, quickly jogged down the stairs to meet him. Paris watched as his father slid his hand onto the boy’s shoulder, leading him gently out of the hall. He watched as one ringed hand brushed a strand of black hair out of the boy’s face. The boy flinched — ungrateful.

========

The Emperor did the same thing over spring break, the next time Paris returned to Thales. He had to watch the same routine, watch the old man carefully soothe out the folds of Delta’s clothing, run a thumb over his cheek. He’d been given free reign at this one, apparently. Even though he kneeled by the dais again, he wasn’t chained to it. It seemed like he was allowed to take breaks.

“It’s an object,” the Emperor would insist whenever Paris tried to get close. “What use do you have for it? I won’t tell you again.”

He still paid it more attention than he ever spared him. So publicly, as if he wanted him to see. Paris bit into the flesh of his own hand, leaving teethmarks. His father smacked him on the back of the head; he withdrew his hand back to his side, wiping the blood and saliva along his pants.

He could only corner Delta when the night was closing in, when all the adults were too drunk to notice. Paris caught him just outside of the dining room. He flicked at the silver tiara placed into his — its? — hair. It fell a few inches out of place. Wordlessly, Delta readjusted it. He kept his head bowed, his hands at his side, not speaking. Totally resigned to the treatment.

“He doesn’t actually like you, you know.” Paris said. There wasn’t much certainty behind the statement.

It got a reaction, but not the one he had hoped. Delta looked up a bit, the side of his mouth quirked up into a disbelieving grin. He thought it was funny. He was fucking laughing at him.

Paris was temporarily too mad to even see. Delta seemed to recognize the danger and immediately became expressionless again.

“Sorry.” There was still a bit of humor in his voice. “Um. Yeah. I know.”

Like he didn’t even care. It didn’t mean to him what it meant to Paris.

His hands curled into fists. Delta noticed, stepping back a little.

“Your Highness,” He added the honorific on quickly, as if that was the problem.

“Forget it,” Paris waved him off.

He walked away before Delta could even respond, retreating to his room. He’d be reprimanded for it later, but there was no way he could go back to the party now. There was something hollow in him that would not let him sleep.

===========

Delta moved the pawn forward, his claws clicking delicately against the piece. The whole board shook from the turbulence of the ship.

Even in summer, it seemed like they were making a concentrated effort to keep Parks out of his own house. He saw his dad more, though. It was tour season; he was obligated to tag along. It meant that his schooling never truly ended throughout the year, but he didn’t mind so much. Everyone said he was a natural.

Delta was the only person even close to his age on the tours. As much as he’d been discouraged from interacting with him, they saw each other constantly, the only ones at each other’s eye level. He would’ve sworn the kid sought him out on purpose.

He didn’t talk much, but he was good at listening, which Paris cared more about. They broke off from the main group in the downtime, descending deeper into the ship. There was an old chess set laying around in the crew’s lounge. Paris had climbed up to the top shelf to get it, letting it clatter loudly against the coffee table. Delta knew how to play; it was weird, the things he knew and didn’t know. The things he was good at. Paris got the sense that Delta was letting him win.

They were halfway through the second game when the doors opened up, entirely too many personnel for the situation at hand. The Emperor was among them. Paris shrank back.

He startled as Delta’s handler abruptly backhanded the boy, knocking him out of his seat and onto the floor. He heard Delta take a sharp inhale of breath, but remain silent otherwise.

“Apologize.” The doctor’s hand was in a vice grip against the back of the boy’s neck, nearly pressing his head to the ground in the forced bow.

“I’m sorry,” Delta responded immediately, without hesitation, even though it hadn’t been his fault. The doctor shook him a little, prompting a stronger reaction. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness.”

Paris had asked him to. It’d been his idea. But his father was standing right there. He couldn’t bring himself to admit to it, not after he’d already been warned.

“It’s okay,” Paris said softly; the words felt sickly in his mouth.

As he caught the expression on the Emperor’s face, he could tell it hadn’t mattered. The old man hadn’t believed it for a second.

The doctor released his hold, pointing sharply back to the exit. Delta scrambled to his feet, practically running out of the door. He hadn’t been looking at Paris when he’d apologized and he didn’t look back at him when he left.

They all followed out onto the balcony for the show of force. With the handprint still across his face, Delta sat by the edge of the platform, his eyes closed in deep concentration. In the next moment, there was calamity. The large fortress walls all broke down beneath their own weight, sending the enemy castle tumbling down into the sea. All the residents had still been inside. The old man kept a tight grip on the back of Paris’s collar, making sure he saw all of it.

===========

The clipshow continued in the Emperor’s office, all the shades drawn and the lights dimmed. It was a supercut of the weapon’s military record, all the carnage, even the burnt bodies. Some of the shots were truly gratuitous. Paris wasn’t allowed to look away.

“Twelve years in the making and you’re selfish enough to endanger it. You can’t be that desperate,” his father said.

“I wasn’t trying to endanger it.” Paris’s fist clenched and unclenched against the chair. “I didn’t…think it was a big deal.”

“And I assume you know more than the experts, like always.” It was still dark in the room. The clips were still playing silently.

Paris’s lip bled a little from where he bit it. He had matching cuts along his tongue. He shook his head.

“I don’t know how to make this more explicit to you, Paris. It is a weapon. It may look like a person, but its sole purpose is to kill and destroy.” The video showed a still-living hand reaching out from beneath the rubble. “It does not need you confusing it or meddling with its programming. When I tell you not to interact with it, I am doing it for your own good. Its reactions are unpredictable. The last thing I want is for you to become one of its casualties.”

Paris flinched as his father’s hands slammed down onto the desk. His voice still came out calm.

“It only exists to be commanded — and that command is not yours. You will not meddle with my property. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” he muttered beneath his breath.

“This will not be a conversation next time,” the Emperor promised. Paris nodded. His throat was choked up.

He slinked out of the still-dark office, back down the hall to his room. He was glad summer was ending. He didn’t even want to be home anymore.

He was surprised to see Delta still pacing the halls with his handler, not yet placed back in his cell. He briefly made eye contact with Paris, then immediately cast his gaze back down to the floor, chastened.

……

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

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whump-a-la-mode · 2 years

Text

Armistice - Part One

Oops random burst of inspiration

Summary: A team of agents investigate a secret weapons lab and find something unexpected.

Contains: Living weapon, scientist whumpers, inhuman whumpee, lab whump, secret agents

Warnings: Dehumanization, cages, military themes, guns, pet whump, living weapon, gunshot wounds

Start Transmission

“I fail to see how this level of security is necessary.” Colonel Blaire, a tense man who had spent too much time in the sun, commented.

“I assure you, Sir, this is very necessary.” Doctor Cecil, walking right at the Colonel’s side, replied. “We would not be going through these procedures if there was any doubt.”

The two traversed a short stretch of hallway. They had just passed through a large, steel door, affixed with a mechanical lock and key. Another door was up ahead. Doctor Cecil removed an oversized brass keyring from her lab coat, taking the next key-- they were numbered, of course-- and inserting it into the proper hole. The door opened.

“Whatever this thing is, you’re certain it has military usage? Much more of this rigamarole and I’ll have you fired for wasting my time.”

“Most certainly.”

Another key. Another lock. Another key.

“And at what point do you intend on telling me what this thing is?”

“I do not intend on telling you, Colonel. I intend on showing you. I guarantee, it will be well worth the wait, and worth your trouble.”

The colonel only grunted in reply.

The last door required a physical key, a keypad code, as well as remote permission given by someone, somewhere, sitting at a computer. Beyond said door was a room that most would consider unremarkable. The walls had been reinforced first with steel, then with a covering of rubber.

At the center of it all was a cage, covered in a black tarp.

From beneath the tarp came a snarl.

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“How far out are we?”

Agent Alces leaned over the shoulder of her team’s pilot, Agent Puda, who didn’t seem all too pleased with the incursion.

“Less than 1000 klicks. Under an hour.”

“How long till we need to batten down the hatches?”

“30 minutes. The crew should be in their seats in 45.”

“Got it.”

The pilot expected that to be the end of it. However, to his surprise, his superior sat down in the empty co-pilot’s seat next to him.

Puda knew exactly what that meant.

“You’re worried.”

“Of course I’m worried.” Alces muttered.

She fidgeted with her watch. Half of her body had already been put on, excluding her helmet-- as well-engineered as those things were, they were notoriously uncomfortable for long-term wear. That left her short hair, the color of wheat, free to flow.

“There’s a hell of a lot to be worried about.” She continued. “This isn’t going to be an easy op.”

“Is there such a thing as an easy op?”

“There’s easier ops than this one.” Alces sighed. “We’re going after an unknown object at an unknown facility, guarded by unknown forces. We don’t know what kind of weapons they have. That’s not to mention the American military is rumored to be going after the same thing.”

“Yeah.” Puda grimaced. “We’ve sure had easier ops. You’re sure this is a good idea?”

“It’s our mission. They wouldn’t send us on a mission if they thought we couldn’t manage it.”

“Sure.” The pilot had always been a bit skeptical about their employer.

In a sense, their employers were the whole human race. In a more realistic sense, their employer was an internationally-funded law enforcement agency known as SABRE.

It was the job of SABRE to maintain international law, mostly in the areas of human rights. Small jobs went to local authorities. Big jobs went to Interpol. Unwieldy, dangerous, stupid jobs went to SABRE.

Who do you think keeps cleaning up after all the UFOs?

“What do we know, then?” Puda questioned.

“Didn’t you come to the briefing?”

“Well, yeah.”

“And did you… Listen?”

Puda didn’t respond to that one, focusing instead on the radars and dashboards of the cockpit.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Alces rolled her eyes, but she wasn’t unused to this particular behavior from her pilot. She was lucky that he was working at all.

“Alright.” She started. “SABRE’s intelligence sources have been indicating that a lab in Nevada has been working with an unknown weapon. Whatever this weapon is, the lab is absolutely refusing to cooperate with international weapons testing and regulation requirements.

For all we know, they could have the next Manhattan project in there, and the American brass has already caught the scent. We need to figure out what they’re doing.”

“So, we don’t even know if what they have is dangerous?”

“Not necessarily, but the half-meter thick steel walls around the facility would implicate as such. Officially, we’re only going down there to make sure that they start complying with international regulations.”

“And what are we doing unofficially?”

“Figuring out what they’re doing, figuring out if it’s illegal, and, if it is, putting a stop to it.”

“Do they know we’re coming?”

“Of course not. That’s the whole point of a surprise attack.”

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After an absurdly lavish dinner, complete with wine bottles that, for most, would cost an entire year’s salary, Colonel Blaire was being treated to a show.

Alongside Doctor Cecil and a cohort of her white-coated compatriots, the colonel now stood behind a panel of one-way glass, several inches thick.

After so much buildup, their project was overdue for a demonstration.

The room beyond the glass was large, rectangular, and outfitted with padded mats along the wall, similar to those one might see in a wrestling gym. The center of the room was occupied by a ballistics dummy, the kind made of a clear resin, meant to demonstrate how something would penetrate the human body. On one side of the room, a closed gate led to another chamber.

“You have already heard about this weapon’s hardiness.” Doctor Cecil began. “Forget about supply lines, this thing can traverse extreme climates for days on end, requiring only minimal supplies. With extraordinary navigational senses, it does not rely on radar or radio signals. This weapon could travel deep into any enemy warzone, undetected.

And, when it gets there…”

The lights in the chamber beyond the glass brightened. The gate began to rumble open.

Before it opened all the way, something scrabbled underneath, managing to escape into the chamber beyond.

It took exactly 3.78 seconds for the ballistics dummy to be turned to a pile of resin scraps.

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SABRE Team C landed in a clearing in the forest.

For all his nonsense, there was a reason that Alces put up with Puda: The man could land their plane damn near anywhere and not so much as scratch the paint.

Alces, along with the rest of her team, were seated in the cockpit in their individual seats. Once the landing gear steadied, she took off her seatbelt.

All in all, there were six of them. Puda, of course, was seated at the front, nearest to the controls. The rest were arranged in a semi-circle, with Alces in the center.

Doctor Kuhli was on the far right, a brown-skinned woman with her black hair pulled into a tight ponytail. For all her nagging, everyone on the team understood full-well that she was the main thing keeping them alive. She was their doctor. She was also the one who usually kept Doctor Munty from eating the chemicals from his lab.

Doctor Munty, of course, was the team’s science officer. One might be surprised to learn that a field team would have any need of a science officer, but he had justified his usefulness time and time again. With how many unknown compounds and chemicals they encountered, it was good to have a genius with a lab. He was seated on the far left.

The other two spaces, between Alces and the doctors, were filled by the team’s two field agents: Agent Reeves and Agent Savini. At the moment, both of them looked nearly identical, wearing black uniforms and helmets. If their visors weren’t raised, Alces would’ve had a hard time telling the difference. With their faces visible, however, the differences between the two were stark.

Agent Reeves was a short woman, chronically underestimated for her size and blonde hair (it wasn’t that color naturally, but SABRE continuously refused to allow her to dye it pink, so they compromised.) Her bangs were a mess under her helmet. It was almost odd to see her without her usual collection of barrettes and scrunchies, but, quite obviously, those didn’t work with a tight-fitting carbon fiber helmet.

Agent Savini, on the other hand, was tall, muscular, and more than a little standoffish. He was the dream of any SABRE recruiter: Strong, disciplined, smart, and unflappable. Alces didn’t know if she had ever seen him smile, but he had never failed to carry out a single of her orders. His only flaw was a small dependance on whiskey and smokes, but Alces could hardly complain.

She had a damn good team behind her. They could do this. They would do this, and they would all make it out alive.

She just had to lead them through it.

Lights on the dashboard turned off one by one as the plane settled into a resting state. Meanwhile, Alces moved to the front of the room, addressing the rest of her team with her pilot close at hand.

“Alright.” She began, clearing her throat. “This isn’t going to be an easy op. I want everyone at their best. We’re going to stay together. We don’t know what we’re going to find in there. That makes extraction hard. There’s a chance we won’t be bringing anything out of there at all. We may also be seizing the next advancement in lethal military technology.

Puda.” The pilot turned to listen. “You’re going to drive me, Reeves, and Savini in the UTV as far as you can. Meanwhile, Munty, you’re going to fly the drones out ahead of us. We’ll stay in contact while you find us an entrance. If they won’t open it for us, then we’re going to breach it.

Kuhli, I want you preparing a secure facility back here, ready to contain whatever we find, if anything. You might have some patients, if any weapons are fired.

Does everyone understand?”

Everyone nodded, muttering their acknowledgement. Damn, Alces loved her team.

“Let’s move out!”

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“I hope you liked what you saw.” Doctor Cecil folded her hands in front of herself, seated across a boardroom from Colonel Blaire.

The Colonel’s expression was as firm as ever. However, his earlier anger had melted away, leaving only stoicism behind.

“You have fulfilled your promise. You have quite the weapon.”

“Do you think it will be enough for what you desire?”

“Enough? Yes, yes, more than enough.” He drummed his fingers. “But there is only the one.”

“Only the one, for now. We believe that we can acquire more. We simply require additional funding.”

“More funding. You must understand the risk of bringing this information to my superiors. Laws will need to be changed. But… I will talk to them. I will let you know if you can have your funding.

Until then, I want more data. More tests. This thing needs to be proven six ways to Sunday.”

Doctor Cecil was clearly less than pleased with the answer. She most certainly wasn’t pleased when the door to the boardroom burst open.

Her heart jumped right to her throat at the appearance of three strangers in military garb. Their faces were concealed beneath black helmets and tinted visors. The rest of their bodies were equally concealed beneath vests and carbon fiber elbow pads.Their weapons were clearly intended to intimidate.

Dammit. Dammit! Doctor Cecil leapt to her feet, knocking over the chair she had been sitting in. The colonel across from her did the same.

“Woah, there.” The three strangers were arranged in a triangular formation, with one at the front and two slightly behind, one on either side. It was their presumed leader, at the front, who spoke. “No need to get spooked.”

“Who are you?” Doctor Cecil growled.

“You have no authorization to be here.” Colonel Blair added.

“We do, actually.” The leader of the incursion reached into a specially-placed pocket, revealing a badge.

SABRE. Of course it had to be SABRE, of course it had to be now.

“We’re here to enforce Chapter 89, Article 3, Subsection B of the international SABRE weapons treaty. All military research facilities are required to register, undergo international third-party inspection, and disclose all weapons possessed. That’s along with Subsection C-- All experiments with potential deadly weapons must be pre-approved.

This is an unauthorized, unsupervised, illegal weapons research facility. So, you’re going to give us the grand tour, then you’re going to shut down until you comply with national and international law.

Is that understood?”

Beneath that visor, Doctor Cecil just knew there was a sly smile.

She knew, of course, the illegality of her operation. She had just been hoping to change the law before that was revealed.

“I understand.” She replied, evenly.

Reaching a hand into a pocket, she pressed a button, calling for emergency security assistance. With backup on the way, she pulled out a handgun.

“But I don’t think you understand exactly how much danger you’re in.” She continued, coldly.

Given what her operation involved, she had cut no corners on security. As the intruders hesitated on their next move, footsteps pounded down the hallway.

Gunfire filled the hallway.

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When the smoke cleared, Alces checked her troops. Both Reeves and Savini were still on their feet, even as they gasped for air a bit.

It had been a harsh shootout.

Looking around, she spotted four guards on the ground. All breathing. SABRE didn’t train their agents to kill if there was another option. Still, they were wounded, and would need a hospital sooner rather than later.

Alces took a step forward. Her field agents took one in turn. She was damn lucky to have the agents that she did.

She hoped that her show of force would work to intimidate the woman in a lab coat in front of her.

“Alright. No more of that.” Alces did her best to keep her voice calm. No one had to get angry, here. “By the way, you are definitely under arrest now.

You have a weapon. You are going to show us where it is.”

The lab-coated woman’s eyes shifted back and forth. Alces knew what that meant.

She was ready for the woman to run, but didn’t have time to react. The doorway was too wide. Before she knew it, the doctor had burst out of the room, right past her and her agents.

“Dammit!” Alces exclaimed. “Reeves, you stay with him.”

She pointed at the man in the boardroom. He was definitely military.

“Don’t let him go anywhere, and take his gun. Savini, you’re with me.”

“Got it, boss!” Reeves gave a big thumbs-up, before pointing a big gun at the big military man.

With a tilt of her head, Alces indicated for Savini to follow her as she moved out in the hallway.

Time to chase down a scientist.

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Doctor Cecil whipped around a corner, her own hot breath rushing back in her face. Stupid SABRE, stupid stupid stupid! Of all days, why did this have to happen today?!

Little did they know, they had no clue what they were up against. They thought they were dealing with a gun, or a gas, or a bioweapon.

Stupid agents.

She could hear their footsteps pounding behind her. They would catch up to her, that much was inevitable. She just had to get to the containment unit before they did.

She skidded to a stop in front of one of the many doors in this highway. All at once, she regretted the security measures she herself had mandated. There was nothing to be done for it now, though. At least she had practice in getting the key from her pocket, putting it in the lock.

Once Doctor Cecil was through the door, she slammed it closed. It wouldn’t lock automatically, but it would slow her pursuers down, ever so slightly. She had a head start, and she wasn’t being weighed down by god knows how many pounds of military-issue.

One door after another. They finally arrived at the final one. She had never typed in her keycode so fast, and she had never before been more glad that she kept someone always stationed in the security chair. If she was lucky, the rest of the guards would be here soon.

Not that she would need them.

Doctor Cecil swung open the last door, revealing the same room as she had formerly to Colonel Blair. The weapon had been returned to its cage, covered again by its tarp.

She couldn’t wait to see those SABRE pencil pushers torn to shreds. Pulling out one last key, she raced to the cage, tore away the tarp, and undid the padlock.

The door swung open.

The weapon leapt free.

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Alces and Savini skidded to a stop soon after the scientist did.

This had to be it. This was the weapon. Of course, the scientist would attempt to use her own deadly creation against her attackers.

Alces held out an arm to prevent Savini from getting any closer. Whatever this thing was, it shouldn’t be able to harm them. Their helmets acted as respirators, their bodies covered from head to toe in the best gear any currency could buy. Any chemical, any bioweapon, they could handle it.

Time seemed to move in slow motion as the scientist swung open a cage of some sort.

The person that lurched from the cage was thin, but muscular, shaggy blonde hair raggedly cut. Muscly bulk rippled beneath their neck as they snarled. Their body was covered only by a cotton undershirt and a pair of shorts.

A person.

The weapon wasn’t a contagion. It wasn’t a gun. It wasn’t a chemical.

It was a person.

“Go!” The scientist snapped.

The person charged.

Agent Savini discharged his weapon.

#whump #whumpblr #whump community #lab whump #living weapon whumpee #living weapon #inhuman whumpee #whump writing #whump prompt #scientist whumper #whumpee #whumper #caretaker #secret agents

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mellowwhumps · 2 months

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Whumperless Whump Event Day 24: Drowning | Rescue Breaths | “Why did you think that was a good idea?!”

OCs: Cicadas (all)

masterlist (for them only)

CW: dubious cpr

@whumperless-whump-event

——

The planet they chanced upon was undoubtedly unnamed, possibly uninhabited by things other than flora and fauna. They were the outliers here, no doubt, something that had to either adapt or be killed.

Well, they could skip a few steps. Merely on a trip here to gather something that one of their acquired books had said was nothing short of a miracle, and then they would be gone. It was a pit stop that was more than common to people like them.

Telios had to admit the lake was a natural marvel. It was not the typical colourless-blue, no. There must have been a multitude of corals or something else entirely beneath the surface, painting the entire body of water a wonderful shade of lilac. Clustered around the edges of the lake were the items they were looking for, plant-like transparent objects that swayed even without wind.

“The shade looks kind of like your eyes, doncha’ think?” One of the Cicada’s newer additions remarked, smirking as she looked up at them. Oryizyx, if they recalled correctly.

They jolted, immediately turning away with a curt nod. They hadn’t expected her to speak. It certainly wasn’t the first time she’d attempted to garner a reaction from them, tense as they always were towards her. The young boy beside her smiled at her attempt, however, and they found themself forgiving her for the umpteenth time.

“It’s open enough to keep watch easily. Ship’s a fair distance away, sun's setting. We camp here for the night, I should think,” suggested Kyrai, playing the leader as always.

They had to agree, just like all the others were. They hadn’t yet been here long enough to assess the nighttime conditions accurately, and if their estimations proved right, the nights here were the freezing cold type. All of them ought to prepare. First, head count. One, two, three, four, five…

Someone’s not with them. It took them a moment to figure out who, then another to figure out where. Itaph, crouching by the shore. Itaph, taking a hold on one of the crystal-clear weeds.

The ‘plant’ moved, yanking the teenager back as a fisherman might reel in their catch and pulling them into the lake so quickly that not even a scream escaped his lips. Slowly, the rest of the growths receded from the shore back into the water, as though they were never there to begin with.

Kyrai was running without a second to spare, unsheathing their weapon and diving in. The waters were no longer still, ripples blooming as some unwitnessed battle unfolded. Telios could tell that a vast majority of the rest wanted to join in. Zyx was already leaning forward in a pose that could only mean anticipation, Lotti clearly also contemplating.

What should they do? Zyx clearly didn’t like them, and there was no reason why he wouldn’t kill them right then and there, and Lotti was smart enough to not do something dumb, and, and— and they trusted Kyrai’s ability to come back alive.

Because they knew the other’s strengths, and swimming was one of them. No matter how much they didn’t like speaking up, they had to. Trust was the foundation of everything, like how water was essential for survival.

Not that they didn’t betray that before. No amount of repentance could have undone their sins, but right now, words must have counted for something as Telios put a hand forward to stop them.

——

Kyrai surfaced with a gasp after what felt like forever, coughing wildly as they dragged Itaph’s limp body onto the ground, water soaking their scratched-up clothes. “Safe,” they choked out, “thing’s dead. Kept trying to drag the both of us deeper, I had to.”

“Hope it stays dead. It was either the medic or it, anyway. I think I care about our lives more, thank you very much.”

“Shut up and help me, Oryizyx. You too, Aelyeau.” The familiarly monotone voice of Lotti chimed in, taking off her bag and throwing anything unneeded at the general direction of the other two without a single care in the world. Aelya, as though receiving some divine revelation, snapped out of his thoughts and got to work.

Back to the main concern here.

Telios, thankfully, was more knowledgeable than them on the process that actually happened after rescuing a half-dead person. They pressed down on Itaph’s chest in continuous rhythm, muttering something that Kyrai could only assume were numbers in their native language.

Their hand on Itaph’s nose seemed to prevent air from entering or exiting it. Telios was leaning in to put their mouth on his and doing…magic? Not quite, Itaph’s chest was rising at the same time as the action, so probably giving air. It seemed to be working. Hopefully.

They should really have paid attention during that singular first-aid lesson some kind soul bothered to give to a being like them, even if they knew they’d never get close enough to anyone to even attempt that. Were all their body parts in the same place as well? It felt quite odd to have a universal technique for most species, but not all.

No point thinking about that. If it worked, then it worked, and if it didn’t, adapt. That was how any of them lived.

Even if Kyrai hadn’t known how to help, it was clear that Telios was slowing down, as miniscule as it was. They were inhaling and exhaling heavily, barely able to get a full rescue breath in between all the chest compressions. Tired, they realised.

“Can I take over? How fast do I need to go?” Kyrai asked, moving forward to stand beside Telios, admittedly a little unsure. They shifted a little to the side in response.

“Don’t worry, I can count for you. Compress… hmm, a third of the chest in. Three, two, move— One, two, three, four, one— mhm.”

They reckon they were holding their own breath themself when Itaph coughed, water trickling down their lips. Telios rolled him onto his side, still panting from their efforts.

It worked. Despite their lack of expertise, it somehow worked.

They hadn’t even noticed the others gathering around them, all with varying expressions. Aelya all but threw himself onto Itaph together with the blankets, not letting go even after. Yet another oddity to them, but at least nobody was hurt.

“Aelyeau, change of clothes first before the blanket, remember? Are you feeling alright?” Lotti inquired, a bundle of cloth in her hand.

“I’m okay, you didn’t need to—”

“—Load of shit you are. Little mousey over there tried their best and now you want to throw yourself into the lake once more, don’t you—”

“I never said that, stop putting words in my mouth—”

“And you, kitten, why did you think that was oh so good of an idea to go that close—”

“The lot of you, shut it! Especially you, Oryi, especially you!” Everyone quieted down not a second after Aelya instructed them to, leaving only breaths and the faint call of an animal somewhere beyond. “Thank you. Telios wanted to say something…?”

At the sudden attention, Telios buried their face into the bandana on their neck, voice a little muffled as they spoke.

“It’s not over yet, night’s going to arrive and he’s at high risk of hypothermia and I can’t remember what but a lot of things might happen after that, so—! We should. Still pay very close attention. Yes, um…”

They trailed off, leaving silence in their stead once again. Kyrai couldn’t recall when they had ever said that many words in one stretch. Telios didn’t look like they would do that again, already squatting on the floor and burying their head between their knees.

They should really talk about that someday, it was getting a little unreasonable. It was true, so why be so nervous about it? Though, they doubted the other would tell them that easily.

The two suns of this place, one big and one small, were already falling behind the treetops, the otherwise vibrant scenery slowly turning to darkness. Though they weren’t too affected, they noticed Zyx shivering in the corner of their eye, Itaph following suit as though it were some chain reaction.

Night was coming, and with that came danger and uncertainty. If the waters could hide such a monstrosity, the creatures on land would be similar, nature’s persistent efforts to chase them out. By themself, it had always been decently alright.

They weren’t so sure it would be the same with others, especially with some they couldn’t yet trust.

#nobody ever told me how hard it was to write six characters at once help #kinda fun though #whump #mellowwhumps #whump writing #whumpblr #writing challenge #prompt fill #whumperless whump event #scuffed intro fic no 2

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spookyboywhump · 8 months

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More Eve!!!!! This is her coming home + her first major injury :3c From here it’ll probably stop being chronological whatever I post with her and instead spaced out whenever just for funsies

Word Count: 2,240

CW: pet whump, dehumanization, burning of the whumpee

***

The girl looked around her new home curiously, her hands clasped together behind her back. From the moment they walked through the doorway she was overwhelmed by how neat and pristine everything looked, like the modeled rooms of a furniture store. She didn’t want to risk touching anything, like she would somehow break or dirty something just by putting her hands on it.

The woman, who had explained her name was Natalia Fairfax, but she could only refer to her as Miss, or Miss Fairfax, led her from room to room, a living room with a large television mounted on the wall, a well stocked kitchen and adjoining dining room, an office with bookshelves full of more books than she’d ever seen outside a store or library. Upstairs was Natalia’s bedroom, the guest bedrooms, and the guest bathroom. They were about to walk back downstairs when she finally spoke up, her voice soft and timid.

“Uh- um, Miss Fairfax…?” She asked hesitantly.

“Yes, what is it?” She paused with her hand on the staircase railing.

“Which room will be mine? I-I just want to make sure I ask before it gets too late-“

“Room? You think that pets get rooms?” There was that hint of a smile again, she was amused by what she thought was a simple question. “No, I’m sorry to say that I don’t spoil my pets. Bedrooms are for people, come with me downstairs and I’ll show you where you will sleep.” She told her.

“Yes ma’am…” She followed her back downstairs, being mindful to hide her disappointment. She knew that not all owners were as kind of generous as others, but it still hurt a little, she’d been so hopeful about sleeping in a real bed after so long on a concrete floor or uncomfortable cot.

In the kitchen there was another door aside from the one that led to the pantry, she hadn’t questioned it the first time they went through there. Natalia opened it up and turned a light on, leading her down another flight of stairs into the basement. Each step down made her more and more nervous, she’d always hated going down into the basement as a child, there were always spiders in the house she grew up in, and before she’d been bought she’d heard so many horror stories about owners with whole torture rooms in their basements, not unlike the training rooms she hated so much.

As they actually entered the main part of the basement, she saw it wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d been expecting, nothing special but clean, no weapons of torture in sight, just a nice washer and dryer, some racks containing extra household items and cleaning supplies, what looked like a closet for extra space, and some storage containers stacked up against the wall. She let out a sigh of relief, she almost felt silly for being so afraid.

“I hope you know how to do laundry, you’ll be responsible for all of it now as part of your chores.” Natalia said, and she nodded quickly.

“Yes ma’am, I can do that.” She assured her.

“Good, and you’ll be sleeping in there.” She said, gesturing to the closet door. “I’ve already left some things you’ll need in there, but I’ll have to do something about getting you more clothes and properly fitting shoes.” She said, looking her over, it felt like she was scrutinizing every aspect of her appearance. “You can take a look and take some time to rest if you need to, come find me upstairs when you’re ready.” She told her, and she nodded again. She watched her go back upstairs, waiting until she heard the door at the top shut before she finally relaxed. Natalia put her on edge, she was very cold and her eyes were intense no matter how she looked at her, she felt like one wrong move would get her in big trouble.

Now that she was alone, she went to check out what was supposed to be where she slept. It looked like a closet that had been cleaned out just for her, it was big enough to walk into, probably big enough to comfortably lay down in, but rather narrow. The shelves were almost empty, aside from some folded up blankets, a pillow, and a digital alarm clock.

She looked around the basement a little bit longer, getting herself familiar with another part of the house she’d be working in. Finally, she went back upstairs where she found Natalia in her office. She looked up from her laptop when she entered the room, giving her a disapproving look.

“You’ll want to knock before entering a room unless I’ve called you inside from now on. Go ahead and come here though.” She said, pushing her chair back from her desk. Nervously, she walked over to her, and after Natalia gestured to the floor, she dropped to her knees. “I need to get you a new collar, which means you’ll get a name tag with it. I’ve been thinking about the name Eve for you.” She told her.

“Eve…?”

“Yes. It’s short, but I think it’ll fit you nicely. I expect you to respond immediately when I call your name, do you understand?” She’d been anxious about what Natalia may choose to name her, she’d heard of all kinds of demeaning and humiliating names pets had gotten stuck with, but Eve… she thought it was pretty, she felt lucky even.

“Yes ma’am.” Eve told her, accepting her new name without complaint. She wouldn’t say she had no attachment to her actual name, but she’d happily take this over anything insulting.

“Good girl.” Natalia smiled at her. “As long as you obey me and do your job here well, then you should be fine. I intend to keep you only as long as you’re useful, but you seem like you’ll last a while.” Eve chose to take that as a compliment, she wanted to last a while, forever even. After all, she didn’t want to find out what Natalia did with pets that were no longer useful.

***

Eve settled down n and tried to adapt to the rules here quickly. She learned the hard way the first morning he woke up in the house that Natalia would allow her to learn to cook, but that she should learn quickly as she wouldn’t be allowed to eat anything she hadn’t prepared. Natalia had put instructions for making breakfast on the counter and told her to start learning or go hungry, and sadly, she was not a natural in the kitchen. For the first few weeks her diet consisted primarily of burnt toast and overcooked eggs, most of the other food she messed up wasn’t even edible.

The rest of the chores were easy, but exhausting on a nearly empty stomach. She cleaned her mistakes in the kitchen multiple times a day and tended to the upkeep of every single other room in the house. She felt like she was cleaning before the mess could even be created, but she supposed this was just what was necessary to keep a home like this looking as picture perfect as it was.

She didn’t think it would be hard, only Natalia lived there after all, but with the amount of things that needed to be done every single day, she hardly had a moment to herself until she was allowed to go to bed. That alarm clock would go off at five thirty every morning, when she would have to get up and start everything over again.

After nearly two months there, her skills with breakfast had improved immensely, she could make a variety of things now and she felt more confident in her abilities there, but dinner was causing her to struggle. She was always overwhelmed, there were always so many things to do at once and it never came out right. She’d usually end up going to bed hungry after Natalia scolded her for messing up again.

She’d been punished for some of the most ruined meals, made to kneel on dry rice for two hours after she mistakenly burnt the rice for dinner, salt rubbed into preexisting cuts and scrapes when she seriously over salted one meal, she never resisted the punishments and as she cried, Natalia would tell her she would know better next time now, she wouldn’t have to repeat this, and she’d keep those punishments in the back of her mind whenever she went to start preparing another meal.

The worst of it came late one evening. She’d fallen behind on her chores so dinner was running late, and though Eve was doing her best, she was in a hurry and things were not going well. The chicken she’d been cooking in one pan had clearly burnt and there was no going back from that and the water she was trying to boil for pasta seemed like it would never reach a boiling point. She kept stirring the sauce in the pot on a back burner, anxiously biting her lip as she knew there was no way in which this could end well for her. She froze as she heard footsteps entering the room, Natalia approaching her.

“Again, Eve?” She asked, sounded exasperated.

“I-I’m sorry ma’am, I’m sorry, I was trying but there was just-“

“I don’t want to hear your excuses!” She snapped at her. She shoved her away from the stove, looking over the damage she’d done this time. “I feel I’ve been more than patient with you and yet you continue to fuck up completely simple tasks, I’m starting to wonder if you’re even worth keeping around!” The comment felt like a punch to the gut, Eve’s heart pounded in her chest, sweat pricked at the back of her neck and suddenly the spacious kitchen felt much smaller, much hotter, she thought she was going to be sick.

“N-no!” She blurted out. “No, please, I promise I’ll do better, please punish me, give- give me more time, I’ll do better!” She insisted, tears welling up in her eyes. She didn’t know what would happen to her if Natalia decided she wasn’t worth keeping around, she didn’t know if they’d take her back and let her work again or if they’d finally just put her down and get it over with. Natalia just looked even angrier with her, her hand wrapped around the handle of the pot of hot water.

“You do not tell me no.” She said through gritted teeth. Eve took a step back, she knew she was in danger, she hadn’t seen Natalia this angry before.

“I’m sorry…” She whimpered. Apologies meant nothing to Natalia though, and she knew that, it had never helped her before, but Natalia’s punishments were always strategic and thought out. She didn’t take even a second to think about this, she lifted the pot from the stove in one quick movement and splashed the hot water onto her, eliciting a shriek from Eve as she instinctively turned away to protect herself.

She didn’t throw the whole pot of near boiling water on her, but it was certainly enough, and she’d only managed to protect her chest and stomach from getting the worst of it. The right side of her body was still soaked, searing pain from her shoulder all the way down her leg, she could feel it in her ribs, her shorts wet and sticking to her thigh, she desperately shook water off her arm as she cried, stumbling towards the sink for cold water.

“H-hot, it’s really hot, please- please help me, I’m sorry ma’am, I’m sorry, please help!” She cried, trying to run cold water from the faucet over her arm but it just wasn’t enough, too much of her body felt like it was on fire for just the kitchen sink to help her, her legs were shaking and all she could think of was how badly she needed the pain to stop.

“Why should I? You brought this on yourself.” Natalia said, glaring at her.

“Please!” She sobbed, collapsing against the counter, barely managing to hold herself up by gripping onto the edge. After a moment Natalia sighed heavily, she stormed over and opened a drawer next to the sink to get a hand towel before shutting the water off. She used the towel to dry off the remaining water on her, she was so rough in doing so it caused Eve to start screaming again.

“Quiet! I’m trying to help you but I won’t if you’re going to keep shrieking in my ear!” She hissed, and Eve bit down on her lip, whimpering pitifully as she tried to keep quiet. Natalia took her arm in her hand, looking over the damage done with a scowl on her face. “I think you’re going to need to see someone for this.”

“Like… Like a doctor…?” She asked.

“Yes, a doctor.” She said it like Eve was stupid. “Not the kind you’re used to I’m sure.” Eve didn’t know what she meant by that, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

She assumed if she was going to see a doctor, she’d be given treatment, even time to recover. She was already praying that it wouldn’t take too long, Natalia was being gracious enough to get her seen at all, she just hoped she intended to keep her afterwards.

#whump #whump writing #my writing #my oc’s #Eve #Natalia #pet whump #dehumanization #Eve my beloved…..#yeah that’s gonna leave a pretty bad scar on the poor girl #lady whumpee #Natalia has been fun to write #because she’s always been the least developed of the Fairfax siblings #but I always imagined Nicholas is most similar to her #and I get to see that more the more I write her

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