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a-reader-and-a-writer · 2 months ago

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For What You've Done

AI-Less Whumptober 2024: Day 4. non-consensual body modifications Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Past Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader, witch!reader, f!reader Summary: Five months ago, the love of your life was killed in a car accident. In the aftermath of Jake's death, you and Rooster lean on each other to deal with your grief and soon become a couple. So when you suggest a camping trip together, Rooster agrees. After all, what’s the worst that could happen? Word Count: 5773 TW: Main Character Death, Whump, Non-Consensual Body Modifications, Witchcraft, Car Crash, Drugged, Resurrection, Betrayal, Possession, Vomiting, Language Notes: A huge thanks to @sunlightmurdock for beta reading this! 💗 Part of @ailesswhumptober's event!

Whumptober 2024 Masterlist

“Now can you tell me why it was so important we came to this spot on this night? Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for spending a few days camping under the stars with you, but the middle of the week when it’s supposed to be fucking freezing isn’t maybe the ideal time.”

Bradley glances over at the passenger seat of his Bronco where you are currently gazing out the window at the trees flashing by.

You turn your head towards him with a smile and take his hand from where it is leaning on the armrest between your two seats. Giving it a tight squeeze, you say, “I told you, it’s a surprise. But I promise, it’ll be worth it, you just have to trust me.”

“You know I do.” Bradley’s eyes have returned to the almost non-existent road in front of him, but he raises your hand to his lips and places a quick kiss on the back of it. You giggle softly as his mustache brushes against your skin and he wiggles it to make you giggle again.

Bradley’s heart soars seeing you this happy again, even if these moments are fleeting. Before the accident, you seemed to carry the sunshine with you everywhere you went. Your light filled up every room you entered and no one seemed able to be in a bad mood when you were around. However, these last five months…

As if reading his mind, you slip your hand from his and slide it up his cheek until you run your fingers through his hair. “Hey, I know this between us is still new and I’m still struggling with everything that happened to…” You close your eyes and swallow hard as if his name is caught in your throat, still unable to pass your lips. But then you open your eyes and continue, “But I wouldn’t have made it through it without you. Your patience, your support, your love…you’ve been amazing, Bradley. And I just hope you know that what happens tonight, it’s all because of you.”

He gives you a small smile. “I know I’m not him and I’m never going to try to replace what you had, but I’m really happy we found our way to each other. I don’t know how I would’ve made it through without you either, sweetheart. But we did it…together. And as long as we’re together, I know it’ll be okay.”

“Together,” you hum, your fingers continuing to run through his curls. “I love hearing you say that because I plan on you being by my side for the rest of our lives.”

There is something about that statement that scratches at the back of Bradley’s brain. Maybe it’s your choice of words or the slightly serious tone your voice suddenly dropped into.

But before he can consider it further, you perk up in your seat and point out the window. “There! Pull over there! This is the spot.”

Bradley doesn’t see anything special about the place other than a slight clearing in the trees on the right side of the road—just big enough for him to park the Bronco. But, he promised to trust you on this excursion, so he did as you asked.

Once he is parked, the two of you grab your backpacks, sleeping bags, cooler of food, and the tent from the back. You promise it’s not a long walk so you take everything in one trip. After about five minutes of trudging through dense underbrush, unruly trees, and hidden roots, the two of you stumble into a clearing.

The space is maybe twenty feet across in a roughly circular shape. All of the foliage is suspiciously missing from this space even though it doesn’t seem like it was cleared necessarily. More like it just grew this way. As Bradley glances up, he sees another sort of circular opening in the treetops above, giving him a clear view of the sky as the sun begins to set.

The place has a strange energy and a chill goes up Bradley’s spine as a sudden wind blows through the clearing. But before he can say anything, you whisper an awed, “We’re here.”

There are tears in your eyes and you begin to bounce slightly as you gaze around. You let out a soft squeal, then compose yourself. Turning to Bradley, you say, “It’s going to get dark soon and we have a lot to do before then. Can you go gather up some firewood? We’ll need a lot to keep it going throughout the night.”

Bradley nods slowly, still not completely sure what he has gotten himself into. “Yeah. I’ll see what I can do. Do you think you can put the tent together by yourself?”

“Oh, I have something else to get ready before that. It’s your surprise,” you say with a wink. “But we can put the tent together when you finish with the wood.”

Deciding to just go along for now, Bradley sighs. “Whatever you say, sweetheart. This is your trip. I’m just along for the ride.” He kisses the top of your head then heads off into the woods.

Thirty minutes later, there is a towering pile of sticks in the center of the clearing. Bradley isn’t sure why you wanted him to put them there considering you wanted to keep most of them for later in the night, but once again, he didn’t question it. However, it did strike him as odd that you seem to have not really done much while he’s been gone. You’ve taken a few smaller bags out of your backpack and laid out some clothes, but that’s it. Meanwhile, he’s been working up a sweat trudging all over collecting wood.

At least when he brought back his final bundle you gave him a cold water bottle and a kiss on the lips. He downs the bottle as you return to whatever it is you are up to.

As he watches, everything begins to blur around the edges of his vision.

He blinks a few times and rubs his eyes, but the blurring only begins getting worse. And what’s more, he’s feeling light-headed. It feels just like that moment in his plane where the Gs get too intense and he begins to blackout. But why would that be happening now?

Stumbling slightly, Bradley mutters, “Sw-sweetheart…I think…I think I need to sit down for a minute. I might’ve overdone it with the w-wood.”

The next thing he knows, his world spins ninety degrees as he crashes to his side on the clearing floor. He tries to sit up, but every part of him is made of lead and he doesn’t have the strength to even lift his hand. His vision is no longer just blurry, it's starting to tunnel into darkness. He can just make out your feet as they step into his line of sight.

With the toe of your sneaker, you kick his shoulder so he rolls over onto his back. He’s now staring up at the pinkish-purple sky framed by a circle of treetops.

Then, your face peers over, blocking everything else from view. A cruel grin—one unlike any he had ever seen on your face—stretches across your lips. “No, Bradley, that’s just the drugs I slipped in your water kicking in. I have work to do and I need you to stay out of my way while I do it. So enjoy your little nappy-nap. I’ll see you when you wake up…or maybe not.”

Before Bradley can process what is happening, he is swallowed by the darkness.

Bradley was eyeing the couple in the corner, trying to decide if it was his job to step in or if he should leave them be. After all, this was far from the first time you and Hangman had one—or three—too many drinks on your night off and gotten too handsy for a public establishment. At the moment, things were still fairly tame, but Bradley knew from experience that could change in an instant. Last month, he and Coyote had to drag the two of you out of the bar after Penny complained about the near-pornographic sounds coming from her back booth.

It had been the last straw. After putting up with your drunken hanky-panky since the two of you started dating ten months ago, Penny finally put her foot down and swore if it happened again, you would both be banned. And as much as it would please Bradley to see Hangman’s face when he sobered up and found out he was no longer allowed at The Hard Deck, Bradley knew the whole squad would be bummed if they lost one of its members for their weekly hangouts. Plus, he had come to really enjoy your presence among the group (that was when you weren’t plastered and attached to Hangman’s lap). So, somewhat reluctantly, Bradley stood and walked over to your table.

Neither one of you seemed to notice him as he approached. You were too busy jamming your tongues down the other’s throat. But Bradley sighed and clapped his hands, startling you apart. “Come on, you lovebirds. Time to go home.”

Hangman’s eyes were slightly out of focus as he shifted you slightly on his lap so he could glare up at Bradley. “Aw, come on, Bradshaw. Just because you aren’t gettin’ any doesn’t mean you have to spoil our fun.”

You giggled into Hangman’s neck and Bradley swore he saw you lick his skin before mumbling, “Don’t be mean, Jakey. Maybe Bradley just wants to watch.”

“No. Bradley definitely doesn’t want to watch,” he groaned. Crossing his arms over his chest, Bradley said, “Look, I have an early morning meeting with Cyclone tomorrow so I’ve got to get some sleep. But Penny’s already threatened to kick you out and I’m not going to let one of you drunk idiots drive home.”

“Jake’s drunk, I’m fine,” you grinned. You slid off Jake and straightened up to prove your point, but the slight sway in your stance only served to further Bradley’s assessment.

He sighed again, pressing his fingers to his eyes. “Sweetheart, I can smell the booze on your breath from over here and something tells me you wouldn’t make it to the bar without falling over. I’m driving you. End of discussion.”

You pouted, your bottom lip jutting off your face in a way Bradley had to admit was adorable, but it didn’t sway him. He held out his hand and, after a moment, you rolled your eyes and dug your keys out of your pocket. Slamming them into Bradley’s open palm, you stuck out your tongue at him. But then you gave him a clumsy wink and he knew even if you did remember tonight, you wouldn’t hold it against him.

Walking ahead, Bradley patiently held open the door as Jake and you stumbled across the room, each leaning heavily against the other in a mess of limbs and slobbery kisses. When you made it to your truck, Jake helped you climb into the back, his hands roaming across your ass far longer than necessary as he pushed you up the tall step. Then he dragged himself into the front seat and closed the door.

“Seat belts.” Bradley waited for a second but neither of you made a move to follow his instructions. Sighing, he said, “I’m not going anywhere until both of you put on your seat belts.”

“Yes, Mom,” both of you mocked in unison before collapsing into a fit of drunken laughter, but at least he heard both belts click into place.

As he drove towards Hangman’s house (where you had moved in a few months ago), the two of you continued your slurred dirty talk, occasionally throwing nonsensical jabs in Bradley’s direction for making you leave early. Normally, he might have tried to fire a few back, but it was too much fun listening to Hangman smugly say something he thought was so clever only for it to be nearly incomprehensible in actuality. Bradley couldn’t help but laugh at a few particularly bad ones.

He never saw the other truck run the red light.

It slammed into the passenger’s door, sending your truck spinning out of control as broken glass filled the air. Bradley tried to control the steering wheel as it jerked in his hands, but his head smashed into his door and he blacked out.

He came to a few moments later—his vision blurred and his head pounding—to the sound of you screaming from the back seat. “No! Jake! Nooo!”

Apparently, nothing sobers a person up quicker than seeing their greatest fear come to life in front of their eyes.

Bradley slowly raised his eyes to the rearview mirror, a fresh stab of pain driving through his head, and looked back at you. With blood pouring down your face from where your head slammed into the seat in front of you, you thrashed around for a moment until you managed to unbuckle your seatbelt. Ignoring the glass covering the interior of the truck, you pulled yourself forward between the two front seats and crawled into Jake’s lap.

It was only then that Bradley got his first look at his other passenger and he immediately wished he hadn’t.

All it took was one glance to see that Jake Seresin was dead.

Between the unnatural bend of his neck where the seatbelt still dug into his skin and the glassy, blank stare in his once-spirited green eyes, Rooster knew his wingman was gone. There was nothing anyone could do to save him.

However, you apparently refused to accept that.

Laying your head on his shoulder, you begged, “Baby, please, wake up. Don’t do this. Come back to me. Please, Jake.”

You placed your hand on his cheek and gently tried to turn his face to look at you. His head flopped unnaturally far backward and Bradley felt bile bubble in his throat that he struggled to keep down.

Your eyes grew wide as your bottom lip began to tremble. “No, no, no, Jake, no. Please, baby, I love you. You can’t—you can’t—no!” You sobbed and buried your face in his chest.

Bradley heard you muttering something under your breath, but he couldn’t make out what it was. It almost sounded like something in another language but not one he recognized. He began to worry that your head injury might be worse than he initially thought.

He softly called out your name and began to reach out to touch your shoulder, to try and move you off the corpse of the man you loved. Yet before he could, your head shot up. Your eyes darted across Jake’s face once more, almost as if you expected something had changed in the last few seconds. But when you saw that it hadn’t, your mouth opened wide and you let out an ear-splitting, heart-wrenching wail.

That wail has haunted Bradley ever since that night, and it is that wail that is echoing in his ears as he slowly opens his eyes. He can’t be sure how long he was out, but it has gotten significantly darker since his eyes were last open. Stars dot the midnight blue sky above and a full moon rests perfectly in the center of the clearing opening. Dark shadows stretch and dance against the trees surrounding the clearing, cast by the blazing fire that had materialized while he was unconscious.

You are standing in front of the fire, muttering something under your breath. As Bradley watches, you toss a handful of powder into the flames which flare deep red for a second before returning to its usual yellow-orange glow. Your flannel shirt and jeans from earlier have been replaced by a flowing black dress that brushes the ground just high enough to reveal your bare feet poking out underneath.

The clearing floor is littered with broken sticks, burrs, and rocks, and, as you move around the fire, he notices you are leaving a faint bloody trail in your wake. Yet you don’t seem to notice or care as you continue whatever you are doing undeterred by any discomfort.

Suddenly, Bradley’s stomach lurches and he rolls to his side just in time to vomit, the contents of his stomach spilling across the clearing floor. He heaves a few more times before things settle, and he collapses onto his back once more.

“Ah, good. You’re awake. I was afraid I gave you too much and would have to start without you.”

Bradley turns his head to see you still standing by the fire, but your attention is now fixed on him. Slowly, on trembling arms, he pushes himself to his feet. “What is this? What the fuck are you doing? If this is some kind of game or kinky shit I didn’t know you were into, I don’t like it.”

“Are you really that stupid that you still don’t get it?” you sneer, the cruelty in your voice cutting into his heart like a knife. “Five months ago, the man I loved more than life itself was ripped from my arms because of you. You insisted on driving that night even though I told you I was fine and because of that, Jake is dead. If you had just stayed out of our fucking business, he would still be here with me.”

No. That’s not what happened. Bradley takes a step toward you. “Sweetheart, tha—”

“I’m not your fucking sweetheart!” you snarl, your eyes burning with a hatred that takes his breath away. “Do you know how repulsive it's been pretending to love you? Letting you touch me, kiss me, all the while despising every atom in your body for what you took from me. The only thing that kept me from strangling you in your sleep was the knowledge I still needed you for my plan to work.”

Bradley’s mind is still groggy from the drugs, but things are finally starting to click together. “So all of it was just a lie? Leaning on each other after Jake’s death? You were just using me? For what? You still haven’t explained what the fuck you’re doing to me!”

You continue on as if he hadn’t spoken, your voice filled with cold fury. “I knew how to get everything I needed. All I was missing was a host. A body for him to return to. But as much as I ached to have my Jake back, I knew I couldn’t take an innocent person’s body. It wouldn’t be fair and he wouldn’t want that. But that’s when it hit me. Why not take the body of the man responsible for Jake losing his? The one who should have died in that crash instead of him? Why was it fair you got to be here when he didn’t? So…I’m going to change that.”

“You’re fucking insane,” Bradley laughs in disbelief, the absurdity of the situation not fully processing in his brain.

Your face softens just a fraction and you scoff lightly. “Jake never told you, did he? Though, honestly, I’m not surprised. I don’t think he ever really believed me when I told him. He thought it was all a joke, a bit of ancient fun family trivia that was all nonsense. But it’s all true.” Taking a step closer to him, you pull out a small, leather-bound book from a pocket in your dress. “You see, Rooster, I am part of one of the oldest magical bloodlines in the known world. In other words, I’m what you might call, a witch.”

Bradley looks from you to the book to you again. Then he mutters, “You’re more insane than I thought you were.”

“We’ll see about that shortly enough,” you say with a thin-lipped smile. Then you begin strolling slowly around the fire. “Up until I lost Jake, I was more than happy to only dabble in the light side of my magic: A calming spell attached to my aura to soothe those around me. A positivity potion mixed into the cookies I made for the squad when you all weren’t getting along. A good luck charm tucked into Jake’s flight suit when he was leaving on a mission. Just tiny things to make all of your lives a little better. And I was more than happy to do it. But now?”

You stop walking and turn to face him. “Now, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to bring my Jake back to me. Even if that means tapping into the kind of magic I’ve sworn never to use. That’s why we had to come to this spot on this night. It’s a place of unlimited power for those strong enough to tap into it. And tonight, that’s just what I plan to do.”

Bradley still doesn’t believe a word you are saying. Maybe it was the trauma of seeing Jake die. Maybe it was something from your past before you met any of the Daggers. But whatever it was, something had knocked a few screws loose in your head and Bradley had to find a way out of here before you turned violent.

He had spotted a knife attached to a belt around your waist, but he is fairly certain he can disarm you if it comes down to it. Yet, even though you are talking about hurting him and that everything you had been through together had been a lie, he still cared about you and didn’t want you to get hurt—get help was a different story, but first he had to get out of here.

However, almost as if reading his mind, you give him a small smile. “It’s too late, Rooster. There is no escape. I already started the ritual while you were asleep. All I need now is blood.” And you draw the knife from your belt.

Bradley takes a few stumbling steps backward, but you shake your head. “Not yours. I’ll be taking enough from you already. No, this sacrifice is mine to make.”

Before he can stop you, you slash the knife across your palm. You drop the knife to the ground with a soft cry as you clutch your hand to your chest. But then, you hold out your shaking hand to the fire, letting blood drip into the flames.

Suddenly, the entire clearing is engulfed in a blinding red light. Bradley squeezes his eyes shut but he can hear you chanting something across the clearing. He doesn’t understand the words but he recognizes some of them as what you muttered in your truck the night Jake died.

Figuring you will be distracted, Bradley opens his eyes and tries to sneak off into the woods. However, he only takes a few steps before a vice-like grip latches onto his throat. His eyes bulge as his fingers claw at whatever is choking him, but his hands only scratch against his own skin. He looks at you but it only increases his panic as he sees your eyes are now two pitch-black orbs as you continue your chanting, a strong wind beginning to sweep through the clearing.

Then, Bradley begins to feel a strange pulling sensation deep within him. His body remains exactly as it was, but something—his consciousness, his soul, whatever it is that makes Rooster the man that he is—is being dragged down and out of himself. He tries to fight it, to hold on, but how do you fight something that is happening within you?

As he feels himself being pulled deeper, slipping from his body, another consciousness brushes against his. A person he immediately recognizes and never thought he’d meet again. “Jake?” he gasps. Tears begin streaming down his face as the presence grows stronger and he just manages to whisper, “I’m so sorry.”

Then Bradley Bradshaw is gone.

Jake Seresin opens his eyes to find himself in an unfamiliar clearing at night. Towering trees surround the space, illuminated by the full moon high above and the towering, flickering flames in the nearby fire. As he glances around, he rolls his shoulders and stretches his back. His entire body feels…off. He doesn’t have any words to explain it but something is not right.

But just then, he notices a woman standing across from him in a billowing black dress. It takes him a moment to recognize you, and when he does, he inhales sharply.

Gone is the bright, smiley, vibrant woman he had come to love with his entire heart and soul. Instead, you are a ghost of yourself: Your hair has been dyed pitch black and it looks like it’s been a while since you washed it. Your cheeks once full are now sunken. And you have huge bags under your eyes as if you hadn’t slept for weeks. Yet, your eyes themselves are the most startling change. Once sparkling and full of sunshine, they are now dull and carry a pain in them Jake has never seen before.

Taking a shaky step towards you, he calls out, “Baby?”

As if you have been holding your breath in anticipation, you gasp at the sound of his voice. “Jake? Is it…is it really you?”

Who else was it supposed to be? “Ye-yeah, it’s me. What’s going on? Where are we?”

“Oh my god. I did it,” you breathe as you stare at him in awe, your eyes dancing across his face, drinking in every inch of it. “I didn’t know if I’d be strong enough, but it worked. You’re back.”

Before he can ask what you mean, your eyes roll back in your head and your knees give out beneath you. Normally, Jake would have been able to cross the distance and catch you instantly, but for some reason, his movements are strangely clumsy and uncoordinated to the point he just barely manages to grab your arms and pull you close before you hit the ground.

You moan softly as he lowers you both to the damp ground and he settles you into his lap. As he tries to reposition you, he notices your feet are bare, coated in mud and steaks of blood. There is also blood oozing from a deep gash on your hand. Your skin feels icy to the touch despite the heat of the fire and he can feel your heart fluttering wildly in your chest. He's still not sure where you both are, how you got here, or what happened to get you in this state, but none of that matters until he can make sure you are alright.

Gently running his fingers across your cheek, Jake mutters, “Come on, baby, you've gotta wake up for me.” He clears his throat and pounds once on his chest. Something about his voice sounds off—he doesn't sound like himself yet there is something familiar about it that he can't quite put his finger on.

But that's forgotten as he watches your eyes start to slowly open, the act seemingly arduous as you struggle to lift your lids. However, as you gaze up at him, the bright, tender smile he had come to love so much stretches across your face. Slowly, you raise a trembling hand to cup his cheek. “Jake. You’re really back.”

“Why do you keep saying that? I didn’t go anywhere.”

“It’s a long story.” You wet your lips and mutter, “Can you help me up?”

Jake scrambles up (still strangely tripping over his own body) and gently helps lift you to your feet. You take a few unsteady steps forward but then seem to find your footing. Turning to face him, you say, “This is going to be hard to hear but I promise, it’s the truth.” You stare at him and when he nods for you to continue, you take a deep breath. “Jake, you died five months ago.”

“What?” Jake’s brow furrows. “What are you talking about? I’m not dead.”

“No, but you were.” you take his hand, your blood smearing across his skin. “What’s the last thing you remember before waking up here?”

“I-I don’t know. I guess…We were at The Hard Deck having some drinks an-and Rooster, he told us he was taking us home. Then I remember a bright flash of light and—” He gasps, clutching his neck as he remembers hearing a sharp snap followed by a single second of the most intense pain he’s ever felt then—he woke up here. Yet his neck feels fine now, if somehow thicker, more muscular than he remembers but that wouldn’t explain the pain.

You nod. “That’s when it happened. Rooster was t-boned by a drunk driver and you broke your neck. He should never have been driving us. I was fine! I was more than sober enough to drive, especially with my protection spells. If he would’ve just kept his fucking nose out of our business…” You close your eyes and slowly take another long, deep breath. When you reopen your eyes, you continue, calmer than before. “I tried to get to your body in time but your family had you cremated before I could try to bring you back. I thought it was over and you were gone for good. But then I found another way. I needed a body. It didn’t have to specifically be your body. And since it was Rooster’s fault you were taken from me, it was the perfect solution.”

“Wha—”

Suddenly, Jake realizes why his voice doesn’t sound like his own yet is still so familiar. Why his limbs don’t feel the same and his neck is thicker. And as he lifts his trembling hand to his face and his fingers brush against a coarse strip of hair covering his upper lip, any lingering hopes that he might be wrong are shattered.

It’s not possible but he is trapped inside Rooster’s body.

With his eyes wide and voice shaking, Jake screams, “What did you do? What the fuck did you do?”

You stumble back, surprised by his furious outburst. “I-I gave you back the life he stole from you. I gave us another chance.”

“And Rooster? If I'm here, then where…” His voice trails off as the last piece of this nightmarish puzzle slips into place and he finally realizes the full extent of what you had done.

“It’s simple, Jake. A life for a life. One soul traded places with another. You’re here now, so Rooster is…” You shrug with a slight wave of your hand, clearly unbothered by the unknown fate you had sent the other man too.

That complete callousness towards a man you had both cared for is all Jake needed to know he hadn’t only lost his wingman, but the woman he loved. He drops to his knees—Rooster's knees—and violently heaves onto the ground. Over and over, his whole body—Rooster's body—convulsing as it tries desperately to rid itself of everything in it, including the intruder. Yet try as he might, nothing comes up. Not even bile. Rooster must have already gotten sick before…

Another full-body tremor sweeps through him.

When he is finally able to pull himself together even the slightest bit, Jake crawls to his feet. Backing away from you, he stutters, “I'm…I'm going to go to the police.”

“And tell them what?” you snap, your eyes turning black as a wind picks up from nowhere and blows through the clearing. “Tell them you're a dead guy in your friend’s body while his soul is currently rotting in hell or wherever the fuck you were? What good do you think that's going to do you besides landing you in the looney bin? No. You're either stuck in Rooster's body or you're going back to where you were to join him. And I'm not losing you again.”

Raising your hand in front of you, fingers reaching out towards him, they suddenly twitch and Jake feels this body stiffen outside of his control. As you begin to slowly twitch one finger then another, Jake's foot lifts and steps closer to you. Then another step. And another. As much as he tries to struggle, Jake can’t resist as you force him to walk across the clearing and stop before you.

Cupping his face with your non-controlling hand—your eyes still black—you whisper, “This is not how this was supposed to go. Jake, you love me. You were supposed to be happy I brought you back.”

“Maybe…” Jake squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to hide the disgust crawling down his spine at your touch. “Maybe I would have been if things were different. But I can’t live my life knowing it’s at the cost of Rooster’s. I don’t care what he might have done. No one deserves this.”

You thrust your hand downward and he drops heavily to his knees at your feet. Running your fingers tenderly through his curls, you coo, “I know you need time to adjust, baby. I’m sure this is a lot to take in. But let’s just make one thing very clear—” You suddenly grab a fistful of hair and yank his head back so he is forced to stare up at you “—I brought you back and you belong to me now. One way or another, I will have the life I was always supposed to have with you before any of this started. You can either be a good boy and accept that so we both can be happy, or you can make this difficult and I will make you behave.”

You ball your hand into a fist and Jake feels like his brain is about to explode. An intense pressure unlike anything he has ever felt squeezes his mind and he sees sparks explode behind his eyes. You release your hand and the pressure disappears, leaving Jake mewling and quivering on the ground.

You place your filthy, bloody big toe under his chin and raise his head so he is looking at you. “Do we understand each other?” Jake has no choice but to nod. Your eyes return to normal as your bright smile from before returns to your face. “Good! Then you better start practicing your best rooster crow. From now on as far as anyone else is concerned, you are Lt. Bradley Bradshaw.”

Jake feels like he is going to get sick again, but you just turn around and gather up your belongings. In no time, you are ready to go. Jake takes one last look up at the full moon, tears streaming down his face.

And, as he is forced to follow you out of the clearing towards the waiting Bronco, he wonders if Rooster’s fate is really so bad after all.

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@cycbaby, @footprintsinthesxnd, @fantasticcopeaglepasta, @writercole, @onebigfangirlworld,

@wkndwlff, @ravenmoore14, @clancycucumber230, @slightly-psycho-multifan, @kmc1989,

@deppresseddyslexic, @horneybeach1, @mandylove1000, @aczhang777

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whumpy-daydreams · 1 year ago

Text

"You're not going to kill me. You're having too much fun for that."

Whumper pulled out a gun and pointed it straight at whumpee's forehead. "Are you sure about that?"

But whumpee didn't flinch. Instead they leaned forward, pressing their forehead into the barrel. "Go on then. Do it."

Whumper paused. And cocked the gun. But still whumpee didn't express fear. Their eyes were full of determination and challenge, lips twitching into a small smile despite their set jaw.

The seconds ticked past in slow motion, each staring at the other playing a dangerous game of chicken. Whumper caved first, dropping the gun to their side.

"Coward." Whumpee hissed

#whump #whumpee #whumper #tw gun #defiant whumpee #death mention tw

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aceofwhump · 11 months ago

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Fright Night (2011)

#fright night #peter vincent #david tennant #whumpedit #whump #my gifs #mod post #flashing gif tw #flashing gif #thrown #fear #attacked #vampire #on the run #guns tw #stumbling

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friendlylocalwhumper · 8 months ago

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Six guys in a row, on their knees, blindfolded and gagged. Major seethes, shifting his weight on throbbing knees. How much goddamn longer does he have to wait for something to happen? He caught a glimpse of the other sorry fucks kneeling beside him, as he was forced down to sit on his heels. He tried to buck up, and only got pistol whipped for it, so. He’ll just fucking wait.

“Are you going to behave?” Says someone vaguely in front of him, off to the left. Talking down at one of the kneeling guys. Major cocks his head to listen as a gag is pulled out of someone’s mouth.

“Fuck you.”

A small, mechanical click. Then something like thunder cracks. Major jerks, trying to throw himself to the floor, heart lodged in his throat. There was a flash of light, he thinks, as a fist cinches in his hair and forces him back upright. A gunshot. It was a gunshot. He doesn’t hear any groaning or screaming, just… that’s a body slumping to the ground. Heavy, dull, lifeless.

A shoe scuffing on the floor, and that voice again. “Are you going to behave?”

A gag is pulled free, and a breathless, nervous voice answers. “Uh - yeah. Yeah, sure.” It’s right beside Major, this voice. He can all but feel the guy shivering beside him, inches away. He smells like sweat and stale clothes. Major chews on the cloth in his mouth, listening hard. A click, metal on metal.

Another deafening crack, and the flash of light is brighter this time. Major’s whole body tries to flee from the noise against his will. It’s only when he’s yanked back again, his scalp burning, that he registers the hot, sticky spray that hit his face a second ago. He doesn’t have to hear the body falling to know that there is now a dead body crumpled beside him.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Someone is pulling the gag out of his mouth. Normally he would be cursing up a storm, demanding answers, calling these creeps every twisted insult he could string together. But for once, Major holds still, and holds his tongue. Hot metal presses to his forehead, the point of pressure small and haunting.

“Are you going to behave?”

All thoughts leave his head. There is no decision to submit. He cannot see, isn’t allowed to move, and the gun to his head makes his response come out as instinctively as a breath. “Yes,” He answers, firm in the knowledge that it is the right answer, and hushed in mortal terror. He’ll behave, whatever that means. There’s no other choice.

The cooling metal disappears. Another footstep, off to his right now. The kneeling guy on that side is barely breathing, taking in tiny gasps that probably starve him of oxygen.

Major feels dizzy himself. He wasn’t planning on caving this fucking early. Planned to be a stubborn asshole, maybe get tortured for a few weeks, or make some daring escape and kill a few fuckers on his way out. But he can tell already, from the tension in the air. From how fast those guys’ mistakes got them wiped out. He’s gotta learn fast, here, or his last thought will be that he should’ve behaved better.

#whump #drabble #whipped this one up super fast and it was so fun #have been thinking about it for days #major #afraid #death tw #gun #creepy whumper #implied pet whump #dehumanization #or at least that's probably what's in store for major #mine #the cycle

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hurtmyfavsthanks · 10 months ago

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Febuwhump day 3: "Bite down on this,"

Content warning: gunshot wound, rough caretaking

“Damnit, why the hell would you do that?!”

“I didn’t–I–,” Hero only stuttered in response, barely understandable. They were practically limp at Villain’s side, arm draped over Villain’s shoulder as they were dragged through the wilderness surrounding Supervillain’s forest.

Hero’s breath was coming out in panicked, choked wheezes, eyes wide and distant. Each frantic beat sent another gush of blood down their body, dripping from Hero’s side to fill the space between Hero’s and Villain’s bodies. Villain could feel the blood beginning to drip down their leg.

“I don’t need you to take a damn bullet for me! Not when we have no idea what Supervillain is capable of!” Villain hissed, voice tight.

“I don’t know why this is happening–!” Hero squeaked, a half scream. Their usual confidence was shattered, replaced with a genuine, raw fear that put Villain’s teeth on edge.

Villain didn’t know why it was happening either. Hero had taken far, far worse than a bullet without so much as bruising. A bullet should’ve been nothing to them. That fact was the only reason Villain had agreed to their teamup to defeat Supervillain. Hero was there to act like their shield, a big, dumb wall of muscle between Supervillain’s men and Villain.

So when Hero, that ever smug grin plastered onto their face, had swooped in between Villain and the barrel of Supvervillain’s gun, Villain’s only concern was the self-satisfied comments they would have to endure for allowing Hero to save their life.

They hadn’t expected shock to replace Hero’s grin. They hadn’t expected Hero to drop to the ground like a rock at their feet, eyes wide as red spread across their torso. They hadn’t expected a gleeful cackle from Supervillain, nor that the next sound to come out of Hero would be a scream.

And now they were running, dragging Hero’s half-limp body through the forest, Supervillain’s henchmen on their tails. They would die out here, hunted like simple prey animals, if something didn’t change soon.

“We’re stopping here,” Villain abruptly spoke, stopping when they found a small clearing. They moved over towards a fallen tree and, ignoring Hero’s cries of protest, rearranged their body to rest in a sitting position.

Hero’s body shook with effort as they tried to sit down. Their strength failed them halfway through, knees buckling and nearly sending them crumbling roughly to the ground. When they were finally positioned against the tree, Hero’s hands instantly moved to cover their injury.

Villain kneeled down and batted the hands away. Hero’s bloodied fingers still hovered anxiously near their torso.

It looked like a normal bullet wound, a fact that itself put Villain’s nerves on edge. Blood poured insistently from it, the red stain spreading with each second. Hero wouldn’t survive losing blood at that rate for long.

Villain leaned closer, until their eyes caught a flash of light. In the darkness of the forest, Villain could see something flashing a dull, unnatural green inside the wound. Whatever Supervillain had created to attack Hero with, it was still inside.

“I’m going to take the bullet out. Hold still.”

“W-what?! No-nononono I don’t–,” Panic instantly gripped Hero, their already paleing face nearly turning sheet white. They attempted to stumble to their feet, only to crumple back down with a choked gasp. “I’ve taken worse than this! Just–don’t touch it!”

“You have taken worse. I’ve personally thrown worse at you, and I’ve never once seen you bleed,” Villain pulled away for a moment, digging through their toolbelt to find anything they could use. “Something is wrong. Whatever bullet Supervillain made, it’s nullifying your powers. We have to remove it; you’ll either bleed out or be killed by Supervillain’s forces otherwise.”

“No!” Desperation laced the shout, so raw that Villain couldn’t help but stare at Hero in shock. Hero’s eyes were wild with terror as they squeezed their body against the tree, as if they could sink into the wood and hide away.

“I–I’ve never had to do anything like this! Nothing–,” tears were flowing unbidden now, leaving Hero to gasp pitifully. “Nothing’s ever hurt me! It’s gonna hurt, oh god it’s gonna hurt…I can’t do it!”

For a moment, Villain only stared, taken aback at hearing Hero, brave and obnoxious Hero, blubbering like a civilian.

The cruel part of their nature wanted to laugh. Here was their brave nemesis, someone who flew into danger without a second thought, who had faced countless enemies without fear, sniveling like a child at the doctor’s office. It was laughable, that Hero would be so terrified by something as simple as pain.

But the true terror, so foreign on Hero’s features, killed any humor Villain could feel at the situation.

It was very possible that Hero was right, that they’d truly never experienced something so natural as pain. When would they have, when even deadly force did nothing but inconvenience them? If a building falling on them couldn’t cause a bruise, what chance did everyday life have of harming them?

Hero had spent years, perhaps their entire lives, flying above the woes of mankind, immune to the pain they fought to protect others from. They’d simply never been hurt. And now their first taste of that so natural of hardships came in the form of a bullet lodged in their side.

For a brief moment Villain envied their usual immunity. For a much longer moment, they pitied Hero for their ignorance.

But they didn’t have time for pity.

“Please!” Hero sobbed, “Please, just leave it! It hurts, it’ll hurt–,”

“Look at me,” With rough hands, Villain grabbed Hero’s chin, silencing their pleas. They forced Hero’s tearful gaze forward. Terrified, shining eyes meeting Villain’s own determined glare.

“Yes, it will hurt. It’s going to hurt like hell, and you’re going to act like the damn hero you claim to be and take it. Do you understand me?” Villain didn’t break their stare for a moment. “I am not letting you die here. Supervillain doesn’t deserve the privilege of ending you. It is going to hurt, and you are going to endure it and save both our asses. Alright?”

For a long moment, Villain thought Hero would continue to fight them. They were still trembling, jaw shaking with muffled sobs, tears dripping onto Villain’s hand. Their whimpers were the only sound in the clearing.

But then something shifted in their eyes. It was not their usual strength or determination, it wasn’t bravery. It was something tearful and weak, but so trusting that it nearly knocked Villain off their feet.

So faintly that Villain almost mistook it for a tremor, Hero nodded. Villain nodded back.

They made quick work of preparing themselves. They turned to grab a handful of their cape, quickly tearing several strips to act as bandages. They scanned the forest floor and, after a moment of searching, found what they were looking for.

They brushed the dirt from a nearby stick, and presented it to Hero.

“Here, bite down on this. You’ll need it.”

Hero didn’t reach to grab the offered gag. Arms still pinned to their torso, Hero opened their mouth, leaning forward only slightly. Not unkindly, Villain placed the wood between their teeth. Hero bit down.

Gently, Villain moved Hero's body to the forest floor, laying them flat to expose their wound. Hero whined, low and pained, but their eyes never left Villain.

Villain returned to their toolbelt. After a moment of digging in their toolbelt, they found what they were looking for. A pair of long, thin tweezers, usually used for handling delicate wires, was held in their fingers. It would have to do.

Villain pulled themselves closer, trapping Hero’s legs with their own so they could sit over them, giving themselves full access to the injury. “Now, I need you to let me see your hands.”

Hesitantly, Hero’s hands moved instead to rest against Villain’s knees. They squeezed, grip tight.

Villain reached out and brushed a strand of hair from Hero’s face.

And then they got to work.

#hero whumpee #villain caretaker #hero x villain #supervillain whumper #febuwhump #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump day 3 #tw: gun #rough caretaking #whump #whumblr #my stuff

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serickswrites · 1 month ago

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Not Qualified

Warnings: blood, wounds, gunshot wound, bleeding, hospital reference

The pounding on the door had Villain jumping. They had been fully prepared to settle in for a quiet night alone. They needed it. It had been a rough week at work and they wanted time to process and blow off steam. The door pounded again. Who could possibly be beating on their door?

Villain opened the door and frowned. Hero leaned on their door frame, one hand draped across a bleeding gunshot wound in their gut, the other braced against the door for support. "H-Hey, V-Villain."

"What do you want?" Villain felt like this could be a trap. It had to be a trap. Why else would Hero be here if not to hurt them?

"I.....I need some help."

"And I'm the person you come to? That's rich," Villain said coldly. This was definitely a trap.

Hero's face fell. They blinked heavily. "I.....I h-h-had n-n-no onnnnnnee el-el-else."

"That's not good." Villain still didn't move to admit Hero into their home. This could still be a trap. But as Hero leaned more and more on the threshold without lashing out, Villain began to suspect that Hero was telling the truth.

"Y-Yeah," Hero said weakly.

Villain could see Hero's legs wobble as they tried to support themself. "Well, fuck. I am absolutely not qualified for this shit," they gestured at Hero's bloody wound. "But I know a place where they are very discreet and can help."

"TH-Th-Thanks," Hero mumbled.

Villain pulled Hero's arm over their shoulder. "Come on. Let's go get you patched up and you can tell me all about how you ended up on my doorstep bleeding from a gunshot wound in your guts."

"Th-Th-Thanks," Hero repeated as they stumbled along with Villain.

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@artisticdemon

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kabie-whump · 9 months ago

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♡ Febuwhump Day 27: Left for Dead ♡

@febuwhump

< Prev

Content: Guns, death threats, kidnapping, low-key suicidal whumpee

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

As dawn lights up the abandoned warehouse they’ve been sitting in all night, a newly stitched-up Whumpee tilts their head at Whumper with a smug little smile. “Told ya they wouldn’t show.”

“Why do you look so pleased? Your friends abandoned you. Left you for dead.”

“Cause I win.”

“You’re chained up. Completely at my mercy. I’m the only reason you haven’t bled out yet. You haven’t won shit.”

Whumpee sighs. “Can you just let me have this?”

“No.”

Whumper packs up their things, not missing the way Whumpee tenses expectantly when they pick up their gun to put it away.

“You’re not gonna shoot me?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Nope.”

“Then shut up.”

Whumpee continues to run their mouth for the entire drive to Whumper’s place. Whumper turns up the radio to drown them out. Whumpee sings along.

They really would do the responsible thing and gag their captive, but it’s a long drive and they just don’t want to make any stops.

At Whumper’s hideout Whumpee is deposited in a cell while Whumper goes to their room to pass out. Whumper doesn’t visit them again until the next morning.

“You’re healing quickly,” Whumper says as they reapply bandages to Whumpee’s wounds. “I’d like for you to fill your end of our deal today.”

Whumpee puts their shirt back on, wincing as they lift their arms above their head. “What deal?”

“You know. I don’t shoot you. You give me some info on your friends.”

“I didn’t shake on that.”

“I’ll get my gun, then.”

Whumpee flops back on their bed. “Okay.”

Whumper pauses, incredulous. “‘Okay?’” they mimic. “What is wrong with you?”

“I accepted my fate the second you grabbed me. Just make it quick, please.”

No wonder Whumpee’s team didn’t come for them. They’re a walking disaster. “You’re not in a position to make demands.”

“Then shoot me?”

“Wouldn’t you rather just answer my questions?”

“Not really. I don’t know what gives you the idea that I’d tell you anything.”

“Aren’t you mad at them?”

“Sure, yeah. But not enough to let you hurt them.”

“God. You are just…” Whumper shakes their head, at a loss for words for once. Something about Whumpee drives them crazy, but the thought of putting a gun to their head makes Whumper cringe internally. There’s potential here. They can’t waste it.

“The worst? Yeah, I’ve heard that one.”

“Pathetic.” That’s the word.

Whumpee shrugs, drawing blankets around their body and curling up as well as they can without disturbing their stitches.

“I’ll give you three days to think about it. After that… Let’s just say you’re going to tell me what I want to know whether you want to or not.”

“Can’t bring yourself to kill me, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

@the-art-of-trepetnoi @unicornbeck

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhumpday27 #febuwhump day 27 #whump #whump tropes #whump writing #whump community #whumpblr #whump scenario #whumpee #whump ideas #gun tw #tw kidnapping #whump prompt

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promptsforyourwhumpfic · 1 year ago

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The Grand A-Z List of Whump 1/3

This list contains ~290 items listed A to H

As always, I heavily encourage people to research topics thoroughly when writing as it is important to avoid stereotypes/misinformation. This list's intention is not to glorify/romanticise sensitive topics in any way.

This part one-of-three comprehensive lists of injuries, Illnesses and tropes - including those from the Whumptober 2023 trope vote!

All submissions are listed in italics, and those who wanted to be tagged will be included at the end. If you have any more submissions: please send them via DM/my ask box.

[I-Q] [R-Z] [NSFW List]

List below the cut:

"I don't need your help."

"I'm doing this to make you better"

"I'm fine, take care of them!"

“I’m Fine”

"Kill me instead"

"Let me in."

"Look at me."

"Should I know you?"

"Take me instead."

(No) Anaesthetic

A Good Ol' Sickfic

Abandoned

Abdominal Pain

Aching Wounds

Acne

Adrenaline Crash

Adrift (in space/at sea)

Agoraphobia

Airsickness

Alien abduction

Allergies

Alopecia

Ambulance Ride

Ambush

Amnesia/memory loss

Amputations

Anaemia

Anesthesia

Angina (Heart condition that causes pain)

Animal Attack/Bite

Ankle Sprain

Anthrax

Anxiety/Anxiety attack(s)

Aphasia

Appendicitis

Arrested

Arthritis

Asking for help

Asphyxiation

Assumed Dead

Asthma/Asthma Attack

Auctions

Autoimmune disease

Avalanches

Backache

Bad Caretakers

Bandaged Head

Banished

Barbed Wire

Bear trap

Beaten up by ex-friends

Beaten with blunt object (i.e, bat or pipe)

Beatings

Bedrest

Bedside Vigil/Hospital Vigil

Begging

Betrayed by close friend/team/family

Bites (Animal, Bug, Human….)

Biting

Black Eye

Blackmail

Bleeding Out

Bleeding Through

Bandages

Blindfolded

Blindness (this could be temporary or permanent)

Blisters

Blood Loss

Blood Poisoning

Bloodied Knuckles

Bloodstains/blood trail

Bloody handprints

Bloody nose

Blunt force trauma

Blurred vision

Body modification

Body Sharing

Body Switching

Bounty on their head

Brain Damage

Brainwashing

Breakdowns

Breathless

Bridal Carry

Broken Bones (Ribs, Arm, Leg)

Broken Nose

Broken Promises

Bronchitis

Bruises

Building Collapse

Bullet Removal

Bumpy roads jarring injuries

Buried Alive

Burning Building

Burns/Scalding

Busted kneecap

Cancer

Caning

Capgras syndrome/delusion (belief that someone close to/important to the person has been replaced by an imposter)

Capsulitis

Captivity

Captured

Car chases (and maybe a car crash)

Carbon monoxide poisoning

Cardiac Arrest

Caretaker has to “play nice” with whumper.

Caretaker has to hurt whumpee while undercover.

Caretaker sacrificing something dear to them to get something the whumpee needs.

Caretaker turned Whumpee

Caretaker-whumper who's a parental whumper. But their "love" is not real love. Or even right treatment.

Carsickness

Cataracts

Catatonia

Caught in a fire

Caught in an explosion

Cauterization

Cave In

Cavity

Celebrity whump (exploitation in the music/movie industries…)

Chaffing from ropes/handcuffs/shackles

Chained/Shackled

Checking for injuries

CHF - congestive heart failure

Chicken Pox

Chills

Chloroform

Choking

Chronic pain

Claustrophobia

Cleaning wounds alone

Cold/Flu,

Collapsed Lung

Collapsing (into someone’s arms is usually nice, bonus points for cradling their head as they lower the whumpee to the floor)

Collapsing after they win

Collapsing/Fainting/Passing Out

Collars

Coma

Comfort after a nightmare

Common cold

Completely betrayed by their own team

Complications

Concussion

Confusion

Constipation

Constricted Airways

COPD - Chronic obstructive pulmonary disease makes breathing increasingly more difficult.

Corporal Punishment

Corset too tight and won’t unbutton

Coughing

Coughing Up Blood

CPR

Cramps

Crikes (intubation through neck)

Crush injury

Crying

Cuddle pile

Curses

Cuts/Grazes

Cutting off hair (more of an emotional hurt)

Cyanide poisoning

Damaged Larynx/Vocal Cords

De-aging

Deathbed Confessions (don’t have to actually die and stay dead, just the threat of dying)

Defeat

Defenestration (throwing out a window)

Dehydration

Deja Vu

Delirium (bonus points for this being drug/ fever induced)

Deluded whumper/thinking they’re helping the whumpee

Dengue Fever

Denial

Depression

Dermatitis

Diabetes (type 1 and 2)

Diarrhea

Diseases ('mystery' diseases are the best kind)

Dislocations

Disorientation

Disowned by Family

Displaced hip

Dissociation

Distress call

Dizziness

Dragged Away

Dream sequence

Driving to the hospital with a whumpee slumped barely-conscious in the seat of the car

Drowning

Drunkenness

Ear Infection

Edema (swelling from build up of fluid)

EKG

Electrical Burns

Electrical shock

Electrocution

Emergency field surgery

Emergency Surgery

Emotional angst

Emotional manipulation

Endometriosis

Enemy to Caretaker

Energy Drain

Environmental whump

Execution

Exes reunited with one wanting a relationship and the other just wanting friendship.

Exhaustion

Experimentation

Exposure

Extreme Weather

Eye injury

Facing Phobias

Failed Escape

Failure to thrive

Fainting

Fainting (but also fainting aftermath) / Fainting due to lack of sleep, food, or overworking fainting from exhaustion

Falling

Falling for Caretaker/Whumpee/Whumper

Falling Through Ice

Fatigue/Exhaustion

Fever

Fibromyalgia (Chronic Pain)

Field medicine

Fighting (while injured)

Financial difficulty faced + how whumper might take advantage of that + how caretaker handles everything (well/badly)

Finding your loved one dead without explanation but thinking they’re still alive.

Fireman's carry

Flare ups

Flashbacks

Flinching away

Flu

Food Poisoning

Forced to... (Break out, Choose, Hurt, Kneel, Scream, Watch)

Forehead kisses

Forgotten by team

Foul-tasting medicine

Found family

Found unconscious

Fracture (Arm, Hyoid bone etc)

Freezing / cold whump

Friendly Fire

Frostbite

Gagged/Muzzled

Gangrene infection

Gaslighting

Gas (noxious, poisonous etc)

Gastritis

Glass (shards, debris etc)

Grief

Gunshot Wound

Hair Pulling/Cutting/Matting/Stroking

Hallucinations

Hanahaki

Handcuffs

Handgag

Hard ground

Haunted

Hay Fever

Head injuries/concussion

Head trauma

Headache/Migraine

Heart Palpitations

Heartburn

Heat Exhaustion

Heatstroke

Heavy metal poisoning

Held at gunpoint/knifepoint/weapon point

Hematohidrosis (Sweating blood)

Hemophilia/Hematophilia (Blood unable to clot)

Haemothorax

Hernia

Hidden Illness/Injury/Scar/Medical Issues

Hiding

High Blood Pressure

High Fever (like dangerously high)

High Pain Tolerence

Hit by a car

Home Sickness

Hospital Codes

Hostage Situation

House burnt down

Huddling for Warmth

Human Shield

Human Weapon

Hunger

Hungover

Hunted for Sport

Hurt no comfort

Hyperalgesia,

Hypermobility

Hyperventilating

Hypo/Hyperthermia

Hypo/Hyperthyroidism

Hypoglycemia

Hypotension/ Hypertension

Hypoxia

TAG LIST: Thank you very much to the following people for submitting ideas! (I apologise if some tags did not work, I'm not sure why tumblrs not letting me tag you!)

#whump #a-z trope list #prompts #a to h #long post #extra long post #depression tw #anxiety tw #chronic illness mention #gun tw #angst #hurt #injury #illness #cancer tw #illness tw #alcohol tw #violence tw #medical tw

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ghost-whump · 9 months ago

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Roulette

CW: guns, russian roulette-type game, kidnapping (implied), (let me know if I missed anything!)

Shink.

Into the chamber.

Whirrr.

Spinning around.

…Click.

Into place.

“How many rounds do you think it’ll take?” Whumper smiles, “Till you die, that is. You’ll become concussed rather quickly.”

Whumpee kept their head down. They watched Whumper load each blank in one by one, torturously gentle with each cartridge. “I don’t— I don’t know.”

“Maybe just the first one, if I fire too close. Depending on the distance, it could be a few shots before you even pass out.” Whumper spun the chamber again, absentmindedly fiddling with the revolvers hammer. They spoke casually, as if discussing the weather.

Perched on the table with their legs crossed, Whumper picked up another box of bullets, flipping it over to read the back. “Blanks are really interesting bullets, you know? A lot of people think they’re harmless because they’re not real bullets, but no one knows how dangerous they actually are!”

Whumpee trembled, their handcuffs making a horrible rattling sound from behind their back.

“Sorry, I totally got off track! Anyway, you’ll go deaf nearly immediately,” Whumper continued, putting the box back down, “I wouldn’t expect your hearing to heal. For argument’s sake, obviously. You won’t have the chance, after all.”

They stood, casually stretching their arms above their head. The gun was tossed carelessly from hand to hand, then positioned steadily — point blank at Whumpee’s temple.

Pulling the hammer back, “So, I’m guessing three shots — how about you?”

General Tag: @morning-star-whump

#my stuff #whump #whump tropes #whump community #whump scenario #whumpblr #casual whumper #is that a tag??#gun whump #gun tw #russian roulette #roulette

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nade2308 · 3 months ago

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@whumpgifathon | Day 22: A Knock to the Head

Headache | Knocked Out | Bloody face

"CSI: Miami", season 4, episode 8 "Nailed", Ryan Wolfe

@thethistlegirl

#whumpedit #whumpgifathon #whump gifs #tw: nailed #tw: blood #shot with a nail gun #bloody face #ryan wolfe #eric delko #csi miami #4x08 #nailed #jonathan togo #adam rodriguez #my gifs #csi miami gifs #my edit

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a-reader-and-a-writer · 1 month ago

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The Middle of Nowhere: First Steal (A One-Shot)

AI-Less Whumptober 2024: Day 15. "Don’t break down on me yet."

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, dark!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, dark!Jake "Hangman" Seresin, OC referred to as "Fawn"(no relationships)

Summary: There were many other girls before Little Fox. Jake has a reputation for getting carried away and letting his prey escape. This is the first time Bradley stole the win out from under his nose.

Word Count: 1718

TW: Angst, Whump, Blood, Cutting Patch of Skin Off Victim, Implied Impending Sexual Assault (doesn’t happen within story), Light Choking, Kidnapping, Plans to Murder Victim, Hunting Victim, Knives, Stabbing, Violence Voyeurism, Victim Begging for Her Life, Getting Off on Thoughts of Violence/Death, Licking, Language, Bradley's POV

Notes: PLEASE READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE READING!!! Thank you to @green-socks for beta reading and encouraging my continued depravity with this series. Part of @ailesswhumptober's whumptober event.

Whumptober 2024 Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Bradley knows the moment Jake finds his target. Despite the fact he’s the one who earned his nickname for “crowing” and showing off when he catches his prey, Jake isn’t exactly subtle when he nabs a win. The loud shout of “Suck it, Rooster!” rings out through the lush, dense woods, causing Bradley’s head to snap around towards the sound.

Immediately, his blood freezes in his veins at the realization he is too late and that he has lost. But that can’t be. He was so sure this would be his win—he needed it to be his win. From the moment he saw today’s target, the one they dubbed “Fawn” due to her wide, innocent eyes and tawny-colored hair, he knew he had to have her. To do unspeakable things to her only to finally allow her an endless sleep once he was done with his fun.

His body is already reacting to the kill that hasn’t happened yet. He’s been hard since he carried Fawn’s limp body out the back of the library and dumped her into their rental truck. His fingers have been aching to be wrapped around her throat ever since the drugs wore off and she let out her first titillating scream. His blood has been burning to feel her take her last breath since the second he saw her flee into the woods.

Yet it seems as if Jake will get to have all the fun, not Bradley. But that doesn’t mean he can’t watch. If being the one who gets the kill is like having sex, watching the other man claim victory is like watching porn. Not as satisfying, but it still gets you off.

Heading in the direction of Jake’s shout, Bradley hears Fawn’s screams echoing all around him, the terror now deliciously tinged with pain. Jake must have already started to work on her. As he approaches the clearing where the sounds are coming from, Bradley slows and lowers himself into a crouch. Easing forward as silently as possible on the twig-covered ground, he peers through a small opening in the underbrush to spy on Jake’s handiwork.

Jake has Fawn pinned to the ground as she lies on her back—a small knife driven into each palm as he sits on her hips. Tears leave fresh trails down her face through the dirt that had collected there and blood begins to pool in the leaves beneath her hands. Even from his hiding spot, Bradley can smell the metallic tang of it in the air and he has to stifle the needy moan that builds in his throat. But he can’t let Jake know he is watching. It would give away his only advantage and dash his last, lingering hopes that he may get his hands on Fawn yet.

Bradley knows the rules—after all, he made them. As long as Jake has her in his clutches, there is nothing he can do but stand here and watch. He’s not allowed to interfere or take her from him…at least for now.

He settles back on his haunches, just sitting on his perch, still poised to strike given the smallest window of opportunity. Jake is a skilled hunter and one of the most masterful knifesmen Bradley has ever seen. But he also often lets his baser desires and flair for the dramatics get the better of him. So far, he hasn’t allowed one of his prey to slip from his fingers completely, but there have been a few close calls. If Bradley is lucky, today might be the day he can finally snatch victory right out from under his best friend’s nose and claim this prize for his own. He just can’t lose focus for a second or alert Jake to the fact he’s close enough to pounce.

As Fawn lets out another tear-filled scream, Jake throws his head back and inhales deeply. Pulling out another knife from inside his jacket, he croons, “Oh, darlin’, keep screaming for me. It’s so much more fun when they scream.” He rolls his hips a few times, rutting into her stomach. “And you have no idea how much it turns me on.”

“P-Please,” Fawn cries. “Don’t do this. I-I can pay you. It’s not much b-but you can have everything. My entire bank account. A-and if you let me go right now, I p-promise I won’t tell a soul what happened. No p-police, I swear.”

“You think this is about money?” Jake chuckles as he shakes his head. “No. You could have more money than God and I’d still pick this every time. There’s nothing like it in the world.”

And he plunges his knife into Fawn’s side.

Her wide eyes grow somehow larger as she lets out a strangled gurgle. Yet even from here, Bradley can see it’s a superficial wound. While the pain and blood loss may slow her down and lessen her ability to fight back, she won’t die from it. But Jake’s still just getting started.

For the next several minutes, he makes small cuts and stabs all along her body in places that will cause maximum pain with minimum damage. As antsy as Bradley is to get his hands on her himself, he has to admit that watching Jake work is a sight to behold. Fawn has a tattoo of a ladybug on her arm, and Jake carefully traces it with a very small, very sharp knife. When he finishes, he peels the top layer of her skin off, leaving a perfect ladybug-shaped bloody wound in its place. He shows the flesh to Fawn who just sobs harder and gags as she squeezes her eyes shut.

And with that reaction, Jake moves on to stage two of his playtime.

He swings his leg over her and climbs to his feet. As he walks around the clearing, Jake pulls a rope out of his jacket, one end already tied off in a noose. Spotting a suitable tree for what he has planned next, he winds up and tosses the end of the noose over one of the branches. He fiddles with the rope, making sure it and the branch will support Fawn’s weight, but Bradley’s attention is drawn back to the girl on the ground.

As soon as Jake turned his back on her, Fawn began twisting her head until she was able to snag part of her shirt between her teeth. Then she gathered as much of it as she could into her mouth, which caused her shirt to ride up revealing a sliver of the smooth skin of her stomach. This was when Bradley noticed her.

Bradley watches in rapt fascination as she bites down on the cloth as hard as she can and, taking a deep breath, rips her hands from the knives pinning them in place. As the blades slice open from the center of her palms out through the space between two fingers, her back arches in pain and a muffled shriek can be heard past the shirt in her mouth.

Jake whirls around and sees what happened. “Oh, shit!”

He tries to rush to Fawn and recapture her, but his feet slide out from under him on the damp leaves of the tree he’s standing under and he crashes to the ground. Fawn uses this momentary flub to make her escape. She rolls over, managing to get to her feet without the aid of her ruined hands, and takes off into the woods.

Bradley sees his chance.

Fawn doesn’t get more than a hundred feet into the trees before Bradley tackles her to the ground. As she realizes what happened and that her valiant, agonizing escape had been in vain, Bradley watches the relief drain from her face and she thrashes against him, sobbing, “No! It’s not fair! I got away.”

“Yeah, you did, baby girl. You did so well,” Bradley nuzzles his face against her cheek, feeling her tears collecting in his mustache. “And I can’t thank you enough for it because now we get to have some fun. So don't break down on me yet. We're just getting started.”

Slowly, he runs his tongue across her skin starting at her collarbone and dragging it up her neck until he flicks it against her chin. Fawn shudders beneath him with a fresh sob, as Bradley’s eyes roll back in his head and his cock throbs painfully hard in his jeans. “Mmm. I can taste the fear oozing out of your pores. I bet you didn’t know it gives your sweat a richer taste, did you? I didn’t either until we started these hunts, but now I crave that flavor almost as much as I crave the kill. It’s the best fucking thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Just then, Jake scrambles through the trees only to come to a skidding halt when he sees Bradley pinning Fawn down, very similarly to how he had her moments before. Bradley looks up at him, shooting his friend the biggest shit-eating grin he can.

Pointing his finger at Bradley, Jake stalks forward. “Uh-uh, not fair, Rooster. She’s mine. I got her first.”

“And you let her go. Which means, according to our rules, she went back up for grabs. And I grabbed her.” Bradley revels in the way Jake's face drops as he realizes just how badly he fucked himself. “But don’t worry, Hangman. You can stay and watch if you want. I plan on making this quite the show.”

Accepting there’s nothing else he can do and that he’s lost, Jake shuffles over to a fallen tree and plops down with a huff, his arms folded across his chest as his eyes stare daggers into Bradley. Unfortunately for him, from now on those are the only daggers he’ll be allowed to use on this hunt.

Bradley had tasted victory many times before, but none had ever felt like this. Not only did he manage to snatch his prey from Jake’s grasp, but he got to steal that last reignited spark of hope from her at the same time.

Turning back to Fawn, he draws his hand up her side until it rests around her throat. Slowly squeezing it until he feels her breath catch beneath his hand, Bradley purrs, “Now, sweetheart, let a real man show you how it’s done.”

Taglist: @nerdysuperchick, @mayhem24-7forever , @the-untamed-soul ,

@inglourious-imagines , @straightforwardly , @srry-itshockeyszn , @flyinlove, @fandomhopped ,

@wanderdreamer , @callsign-phoenix , @forever-sleepy-sloth , @notroosterbradshaw , @dezthegeek ,

@cherrycola27 , @phoenix1389, @smells-like-perfect-senses , @boringusername3,

@petlaufeyson , @cycbaby, @fantasticcopeaglepasta , @writercole , @onebigfangirlworld ,

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@shanimallina87 , @mak-32, @blue-aconite , @deppresseddyslexic, @horneybeach1,

@desert-fern , @withahappyrefrain , @roosterforme , @dingochef , @littlestatesman

@boringusername3 , @sorchathered

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 months ago

Text

The Only One Alive

Bleeding in Moonlight: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three |

CW: Buried alive, digging out of grave, referenced mass murder, werewolves, nonhuman whumpee, captivity, escape, dehumanizing language, my boy is a survivor

Earlier

Misae hadn't known what was happening, at first.

He’d been locked up alone in a cage in the barn for a week straight after accidentally nipping at Ada’s hand the last time the humans had cut him to take blood. He’d been able to hear the noise of the packs in the kennels, at least, and had sometimes howled just to hear their answering howls in return - until Bill or somebody else came out and yelled and they all went silent again.

All day, there had been the grumbling roar of machinery somewhere off in the big clearing behind Bill’s house, where the humans lived. All day, things had driven close and then far, close and then far. When Bill’s younger son Aaron had brought Misae his midday meal, he’d dropped the bowl through the bars in a hurry so he could rush back outside, to help or to watch. He’d ignored Misae’s hesitant questions - until the moon rose, he’d been human in shape, curled up in the cage with a blanket over his lap.

The real humans always ignored them, or hurt them, when they tried to speak. Misae mostly didn’t talk anymore. He had been whipped too many times to keep trying.

It was only after the moon rose, and the shift had taken hold and the voices of Misae’s family had switched from soft human speech to rumbling growls and howling, that the machinery stopped its cacophony.

Shortly after that, the dying began.

At first, the sounds he could hear didn't make any sense. Misae had flattened his own ears against his head to muffle the shouting of the real humans, but it still hurt. Even here, forgotten inside the barn, all the yelling and ordering and threats had been deafeningly loud to his canine ears.

He’d ended up trying to press his paws up and over them, but even that wasn’t enough.

The sounds the packs made were even more confusing. He could hear the cries of them all, young and old. One of those howls might be his mother, or a deeper pleading for mercy could have been from his father, but the children born in the kennels were never told who had borne them.

The humans didn’t think werewolves should remember their children, who Bill called ‘puppies’, so they took them after 12 weeks and washed their parents’ smells off them and then handed them off to be raised in the kennels by all the shifters together.

Misae had never know which voice singing a lullaby might have been the first. Everyone was his mother or father, and no one was.

For a while, lying in that cage in the barn, he’d heard the pleading and the shouting, fear and rage, uncertainty and maybe even occasional hope that this might be freedom.

Then the first shots rang out.

The loud, horrible sounds of the special gun with its huge silver bullets had gone on and on and on. There had been high-pitched squeals and canine screams. Maybe they were being moved, and needed to be herded onto trailers. They’d moved once, a long time ago when Misae was still carried on someone’s hip. They’d been pushed into trailers in sweltering summer heat and driven from Bill’s last house to this new one, built far away from everyone and everything.

A few from the packs had protested and tried to fight back. The guns had come out, then - the first time Misae had ever heard them. A couple of the wolves had been shot to show all the others how serious Bill was, and they’d all been good then.

So, for a while, Misae thought they were just herding the wolves, and shooting stragglers or fighters.

But… the shots didn’t stop.

They went on and on and on, with the humans only pausing long enough to reload before firing again.

The howls of pain built, voices layering over each other. Something was happening that had never happened before, in Misae’s memory. They weren’t culling, killing the rebels and fighters to leave behind the softer, sadder, obedient wolves to be studied.

Misae was listening to them die.

All of them.

It was Austin who eventually remembered Misae, alone in the barn. Austin came in with a white face and white-rimmed walleyes to unlock Misae’s cage. He tossed a loop of heavy rope over his head, jerking it tight enough to choke him as he slowly dragged him out. Misae [pressed himself against the back of the cage and dug his paws into the dirt, but he wasn’t strong enough. His nails left marks in the dirt.

Tail tucked under his body, he was forced inch by inch towards the barn door and the squeals and whines and whimpers. They were begging not to die, asking why. The packs had been so good when studied. They had been obedient animals and they cried in confusion and terror when it wasn’t enough, asking the humans over and over why this was happening, what they had done wrong.

The humans couldn’t hear any of it. They didn’t have the right kind of ears.

But Misae did.

Later, he would see that Bill’s family shot the werewolves with silver under the light of the full moon because it was easier to kill them as wolves rather than face murdering them as men. At the time, though, he understood nothing but his own fear. His only awareness was of the pounding beat of his heart being maybe the last thing he would ever feel other than pain, the darkness that would follow it, and finally the promised, inevitable fires of Hell.

Monsters only had one afterlife, after all. Bill always said so.

“Come on, Rusty, you stupid fucker,” Austin snarled, but his heart wasn’t in the anger he put into his voice. Misae dimly realized Austin was scared, too. “Dad will blow a gasket if he realizes I forgot you were in here-... come on!”

Misae whined. Austin jerked the noose tight again to cut the sounds off, but he wouldn’t look right at Misae as he pulled him along. Austin looked like he’d seen a ghost. No, he looked like what he was - someone not much older than Misae was, forced to make ghosts. He’d probably made three dozen of them by now as Misae listened-

Misae tossed his head back and howled.

No one answered the call.

No one was left with enough breath to do it.

There was a big hole dug in the clearing.

That’s what the machinery had been doing all day, dragging huge piles of earth up and out, depositing it into a big pile off to one side. A hole like a wound in the grass had been left, nearly filled now by blood and fur and open, unseeing eyes. The sight loomed so large in Misae’s mind that he didn’t really see it at all.

His mind instead simply let horror wash over him even as it refused to accept the images his eyes tried to share. He would never be able to clearly recall the sight. He owed it to them, his pack, his family, to remember their deaths but his eyes and his brain would never allow it. Instead, he heard the sounds.

Some of them were still whimpering, when Misae was pushed up to the edge of the hole. Some of them were still whining. Some of them were only breathing, loud, heavy gasps that held too much blood in struggling lungs. He heard them all.

He would hear them all in his sleep, when he slept, for the rest of his life.

When Misae turned his head away from the horror of the pit, his eyes met the depthless black of the barrel of Austin’s gun instead. Austin’s hands were shaking, and the barrel kept dancing too far to the right or the left, unable to settle on its aim.

Misae dropped his head slightly. He let out a soft, plaintive whine.

“Shut the fuck up,” Austin hissed. He looked like he was going to be sick any second, throw up all over the dead wolves behind Misae or all over himself. “Don’t do that. I have to-... I have to.”

Misae looked away again. He made himself take one step, and then another, hovering just at the edge of the pit, looking down into a dozen open eyes, some wide with fear, and some seeing nothing at all any longer.

“Look… I’m sorry, Rusty,” Austin said, voice low. “I really am sorry. But I have to.”

BOOM.

Misae’s heart stopped.

His body toppled forward and he fell gracelessly into the pit.

Misae landed heavily on top of warm bodies, smeared in blood. It smelled like his family, and like metal and fire, and death. He knew what silver felt like in his body, how badly the agony would overtake everything else. It confused him when he realized he didn’t feel that pain. How could he be dead without hurting first? Had it been instantaneous, a shot to the head? Was he going to drift here in a corpse-body until Hell came for him?

He stretched one paw and then another. He took the deepest breath he could. His heart was still beating. He was alive.

Austin had missed.

The relief was overwhelming. One of the others was trying to move, Nina he thought, and her huge paw pushed against Misae’s snout, forcing his head to turn painfully to one side. He nearly bit his own tongue to keep from making any noise. Her huge body settled over his, jerking reflexively as she kept trying to move. Nina whined, low in her throat, again and again.

Someone else rolled, and pressed against him on another side.

He heard Austin above him, sounding farther away than he really was. There was another shot. Nina jolted and went still. “Okay… okay, got him that time. I’m sure I did… I’m sure.” Austin didn’t sound sure. His voice trembled. He retched, and Misae listened to him and wondered why he was losing his supper over the murders he had been the one to commit.

“Oh, baby, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Someone else soothed. Sandra, Misae thought, maybe. Bill’s wife. “Remember, not ‘him’... ‘It’. Don’t act like they’re people. Doesn’t matter if you hit it, it’ll suffocate once we get the dirt back in, anyway.” Her voice softened. Misae could imagine she hugged Austin, her precious son. What was having a mother like? “You did a good job, Aussie. It was a cleansing. The versipellis is washed clean and clear, and we can begin again. Your dad will figure out a cure one day, I know he will. He’d been led… this is his calling.”

“I hope not,” Austin replied. “I hope we’re… I hope we’re done, Mom.”

Nina, on top of him, was going limp, turning to dead weight. Misae could barely breathe.

“Dad will stop trying to figure out werewolves now, right?” Austin sounded… young. And softer, maybe further away. They were leaving. “We won’t have to do this again?” There wasn’t a reply, not one that traveled to Misae at least. After a pause, Austin made a noise of despair that made Misae want to laugh, with hysterical loathing and panic. “Please, Mom, tell me he’s going to stop now. Tell me he won’t just go find another group to run his tests on. Please tell me he’s done!”

The roar of the big machinery began again, and Misae didn’t know what Sandra might have said next.

Would there be other wolves in the kennels, soon enough? Other puppies born in the shed and then taken away to be blood-tested for the sickness? Would the new wolves smell the deaths of the last ones, and know that they would probably end up here, too, once all these bodies had turned to bones?

The first heap of earth fell.

All of those still alive began a new and frantic struggle. Their howls were more like screams, now, so loud that Misae’s whole head throbbed with them. He knew he was making sounds, too, but he couldn’t really hear them over his own heartbeat and the sound of static inside his head. He couldn’t even begin to stop himself. He could feel the vibration in his throat.

Another of his pack - Den, lying beside him and who was probably a littermate, even though nobody was supposed to know who their litter-siblings were - had gone still, too. Misae tried to wriggle out from under Nina, but her weight felt impossible, and with every passing minute more and more dirt fell. Covering the wolves, cutting them off from the moonlight. Misae went blind, except for a little sliver he could see when he dared open his eyes, before he had to clench them shut against the dirt that kept trying to work its way in.

For a while, he was surrounded by the whines, the whimpers, the pain and fear. His pack still begging for mercy, even now, even as they were buried. Wriggling, hot fur and the smell of blood overran every other scent in the world. Blood and silver, burning them from the inside out.

Each of their voices went silent, one by one.

Eventually, finally, he could hear his own whimpering.

Misae was the only one left making any sound.

Still, he could see a hint of the moonlight against the back of his closed eyes. The dirt was heavier on one side of the hole than the other, it hadn’t been evenly filled in. They might come back and push it over, though, make it solid and impenetrable, rob Misae of the air he still had to breathe. Hide the grave, cover it in new grass or clover or flowers.

He couldn’t hear the machine any longer.

He couldn’t hear people, either.

How long Misae laid there, he didn’t know. The bodies around him were becoming more solid with every passing minute, weighing on him more heavily. His own heart kept pounding, but he thought he was the only one. He would die here, under the dirt, surrounded by the corpses of his family. It was the longest he had ever been allowed to be here with all of them, and it would be forever. There was something… nice about that.

Misae was so scared of being alone.

But he was more afraid to die.

He began to wriggle his smaller body, as carefully as he could. He shifted, moved inch by slow inch out from under Nina’s body until even his tail finally pulled free of her, smeared in bloody mud. Dirt was ground into his fur, stuffed up his ears, found its way into his mouth and down his throat. He had to keep his eyes closed, and sometimes snorted out air to try and clear out his snout only to breathe more in.

He could taste their deaths on his tongue.

Alone.

He shifted his paw, slowly, carefully. Dug it into the dirt and then crooked a joint, pulled himself forwards using the catch of his nails to help him balance. He could smell a little bit of fresh air, and sense a little moonlight. He knew which way to go, if he focused on the moon. The moon always led the wolves, it meant for them to shift to run, not to be locked up in kennels pacing with endless restlessness until they were whipped by the humans for misbehaving.

He moved his other paw, echoing the motions of the first.

He had to dig his slow way up through the bodies of his family, shoving them aside when he could, when there was room. He climbed on top of them, moved his ears in apologies when he had to dig nails into their bellies or press paws against their heads, when he knew he was being watched by sightless eyes. Every member of his pack he moved past, he named their smells - Nina, Den, Hanwi, Nayi, Koya, Ka, Bliss. He repeated their names to himself, because no one else would ever say them. The humans had given them all other names, dog-names that sat like insults on human tongues. The wolves had had their own names for each other, and he thought them now, every single one.

Sometimes he felt the rough press of a tongue against him and hope would rise, small and soft, only to drop back to despair when Misae realized what he felt was a dead tongue lolling out of an unmoving mouth.

His stomach clenched, and heaved, but he fought it back down.

Eventually, though, one paw found the edge of the pit, and then the other. He felt the breeze against the softer fur there and whimpered, desperate to have that air on every part of his body, desperate for the knowledge that he’d made it out.

He pushed down on both front paws as hard as he could, his wasted muscles protesting as he pulled himself up and out, back paws scrabbling in the loose dirt, shoving himself up using Tate’s shoulder for balance. He panted, tongue out, opening his eyes finally to see the bright shine of moonlight as his head popped up over the pit, his ears up and swiveling immediately, checking for sounds, for any humans nearby.

He heard nothing.

Nothing but the sound of his own breathing.

But… there was a smell other than blood, finally, a smell that wasn’t death. The wind blew cool against his face. He smelled pine trees and birds hidden behind leaves. He felt the moon on his fur the way he imagined it might feel to have a mother hold you, and finally with one last push he stood on all four legs in the grass once again.

He shook himself, dirt falling from his fur in what felt like waves. Spread his toes, let his paws really sink into the soft earth. Took in a huge breath and then let it out in something like a sigh.

He was alive.

He was the only one alive.

Then, from close to the big house, he heard Aaron’s soft high child’s voice ask, edged with exhaustion, “Hey, Austin? Is that one of the werewolves over by the, um, the hole?”

Austin cursed. Misae turned to look just as Austin, with a red face and teary eyes, aimed and fired. He was too far away to even hope to hit, but a tree close by Misae suddenly burst apart in an explosion of pine needles and bark.

Misae let himself take one last look at the sight of someone’s paw sticking up above the loose dirt.

Kola's, he thought. There was a white spot on Kola's black paw.

Austin took aim again, and Misae ran.

Tag list: @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @scoundrelwithboba @shrimpwritings @deluxewhump @yassifiedinformation @whatwhump @dont-look-me-in-the-eye @tundra-tiger

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