#hear no evil whump

[writereleaserepeat]

Hear No Evil Masterlist

Rowan is an activist with the Pet Liberation Front. He has spent the better part of a decade assisting the cause as a multimedia specialist, but never spends much time with the victims he is so intent on saving. After going undercover as a buyer to capture abuse on film, he finds a broken boy that steals his heart. Before Rowan knows it, he has a rescue pet at home. Both Rowan and his new houseguest must take steps to heal and adjust to their new normal.

Chapters

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 (tbd)

Asks and Drabbles

(tbd)

Old Chapters

Six chapters were completed before I decided to rewrite and rework this story to better reflect my vision for the characters.

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 // Chapter 6

[whumpyourdamnpears]

a whumpee that’s up against an entire family of whumpers. like, it’d be bad enough if it was just one of them, but it had to be the entire family. bonus points if whumpee has a secret ally within the family

[therantingsage]

Ok. People have called out two out of three reasons Loop responds Like That in the drabble. So I don't feel bad about talking about the third on my own.

Under cut for game spoilers cuz I'm still doing that heck

First reason, pointed out by @chronologically-challenged:

This is an awful situation to put the party in. Siffrin how dare you.

Second reason, pointed out by @cakes-isat-blog:

Mira just blatantly rubbing salt in the wound with her wording. "Golly gosh I'd hate to imagine him in THAT worst case scenario" she says to said worse case scenario.

Third reason which was honestly the one I thought was the most obvious:

....if that's Mira, really, then there isn't a shred of recognition. That, despite at this point presumably being a bystander to dozens of conversations with them, they still don't look at Loop and see them for who they are.

It's too much. It's too much for them to rationalize. It makes them yearn for something sharp. So they've decided the only option that keeps them sane is the one where Siffrin has just picked the most coincidentally painful prank imaginable.

....the irony is that that isn't even true: by this point both Isabeau and Odile have strong suspicions about Loop's identity. But Siffrin themself isn't convinced yet, and Mira doesn't want to treat Loop with unearned familiarity so she doesn't see any offense in starting from scratch.

Hey. The mind sharing takes away a lot of the plot's lack of communication so I have to invent my own. I think that's fair.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Okay okay okay. But like, hear me out here okay? Here me out. But like, what if reader. What if reader is a cute cat-hybrid omega. And he gets kidnapped due to a world wide scarcity in omegas and a growing black market for them? And the alpha kidnapper falls in love with reader while "training" them. The training is very harsh and often violent. Lotsa angst. Lotsa whump. Kidnapper in denial at first. Maybe add in some homophobia for flavor. Alpha detective raids the place while kidnapper is gone and finds omega reader all bruised up. Instantly falls in love with reader. Decides to take omega reader home. "Taking him to the station for questioning would be so rough on him." Conveniently leaves reader out of any reports. Gullible and chronically traumatized reader believes the nice detective when the detective explains that he has to stay with him for safety. Reader becomes exceedingly clingy, due to the kidnapper's training they are ultra obedient with the detective. Oh no, evil alpha kidnapper sniffs out "his" omega. What happens when the alphas confront one another? Who wins? No one knows. I mean I know, but if I decide to write this I can't just give everything away.

[whump-in-the-night]

My favorite flavor of institutional pet whump is when. Hear me out. Humans domesticate and keep nonhumans as pets (I'm particularly partial to vampires being the pets).

People parading their pet nonhumans around on leashes, showing them off at parties, etc. It becomes a sort of a bragging right to have one, even more so if someone has more than one.

Humans justifying it because "they were evil, now we domesticated them." And maybe the nonhuman pets really were evil, or maybe not, but it doesn't change how they're being degraded.

Some pet owners treat their pets gently and pamper them. Others... do not.

Regardless of how they're treated, the institution/organization (the government? A private company? Something else?) that "domesticates" the pets probably doesn't treat them too well and the "taming" process is probably unpleasant.

[whumpthemusical]

Whump: The Musical Prompts!!

As stated before, this challenge will run from March 1- March 31, 2024. All fandoms are welcome to participate despite it being prompts based off of musicals. Once again, all types of media are allowed. This challenge has the standard "choose one for the day" style, but feel free to do all three prompts if that's what you want to do!! All types of whump are allowed, but please be respectful to your fellow audience members and properly tag it!! Some of these prompts are sensitive, so make sure you warn your readers correctly! There will be an ao3 collection and an FAQ post coming soon, so if you have any further questions or comments about this challenge, feel free to drop me a line. Happy writing, my beautiful ingénues, and enjoy the show :)))

The prompts will be listed under the cut for those who have difficulty reading fonts!!

Cats- Sabotage • Second Chances • "I Can Dream Of The Old Days."

Wicked- Mob Mentality • Propaganda • "No Good Deed Goes Unpunished."

Jesus Christ Superstar- Whipping • Betrayal • "Then I Was Inspired, Now I'm Sad And Tired."

Les Mis- Survivor's Guilt • Failure • "Drink With Me To Days Gone By."

Heathers- Poison • Reluctant Whumper • "Wanna fight for me?"

Newsies- Chronic Pain • Exploitation • "Let 'Em Laugh In My Face, I Don't Care."

The Last Five Years- Infidelity • Gaslighting • "I Will Not Lose Because You Can't WIn."

Hadestown- Deals • Doomed Narrative • "Doubt Comes In."

Sweeney Todd- False Imprisonment • Razors • "Have You Decided It's Safer In Cages?"

Rent- Substance Abuse • Poverty • "Feels Too Much Damn Like Home."

Bare: A Pop Opera- Outing • Religious Trauma • "Please, See Me."

Waitress- Unplanned Pregnancy • Abuse • "She Is Broken And Won't Ask For Help."

Tick Tick Boom- Atychiphobia • Working To Exhaustion • "Is This Real Life?"

Dear Evan Hansen- Deception • Broken Bone • "Words Fail."

West Side Story- Star-Crossed Lovers • Prejudices • "A Boy Who Kills Cannot Love."

Come From Away- Stranded • Aftermath • "Blankets And Bedding And Maybe Some Food."

Spring Awakening- Withheld Information • Suicide  • "I Don't Scream, Though I Know It's Wrong."

Hamilton- Hurricane  • Dueling • "I Will Kill Your Friends And Family To Remind You Of My Love."

Falsettos- Sickness • Identity Issues • "Death Is Not A Friend."

Into The Woods- Blame • Lost • "Nothing But A Vast Midnight."

The Great Comet- Abduction • Letters • "Did You Love That Bad Man?"

In The Heights- Grief • Homesickness • "I Know That I'm Letting You Down."

Be More Chill- Mind Manipulation • Panic Attack • "Everything About Me Makes Me Want To Die."

Moulin Rouge- Class Differences • Sex Work • "Come What May."

Chicago- Cold Blood • Trial • "He Had It Coming."

Six- Execution • Trauma Bonding • "Playtime's Over."

Ride The Cyclone- Unexpected Tragedy • Forgotten Whumpee • "I Hear The Anguish Of The Street."

The Rocky Horror Show- Obsession • Wrong Place, Wrong Time • "I've Seen Blue Skies Through The Tears."

Nerdy Prudes Must Die- Bullying • Ritual • "Who Will Pray For You?"

Jekyll And Hyde- Duality • Good Vs Evil • "If I Die, You'll Die."

Phantom Of The Opera- Disfiguration • Shunned • "My Power Over You Grows Stronger Yet."

[serickswrites]

Electrify II

Part 1 Part 3

Warnings: captivity, torture, forced to watch, unconsciousness, electrocution, restraints

Caretaker sat in horror for an inordinate amount of time. Whumpee hadn't stirred. Caretaker couldn't hear their breath. Whumpee couldn't be dead. This wasn't happening.

They had tried to rouse Whumpee several times, their voice louder and louder each time. But Whumpee had still remained unresponsive. "Please, Whumpee. Open your eyes. Talk to me," Caretaker said quietly, fighting back tears. This wasn't happening.

Finally, after begging Whumpee for hours, Whumpee twitched. Caretaker saw Whumpee's eyes blink open. "Whumpee! Thank God!" Caretaker sagged with relief. Whumpee was alive.

"Caretaker," Whumpee said weakly, their eyes finding Caretaker's.

"Hey, Whumpee. How are you feeling?"

Whumpee closed their eyes again as they slumped back in the chair. "Like crap."

"I know, Whumpee. I know. I'm going to find a way to stop Whumper. You just have to hold on."

"I wouldn't make such promises, Caretaker," Whumper said coldly as they returned. "You and I both know you can't make good on that promise. You took my world and so I'm going to take your world."

"Please," Caretaker begged, "you can do whatever you want to me. You can do anything as payment. Please, just stop hurting Whumpee. Hurt me. Kill me. Just leave Whumpee out of this."

Whumper glared at Caretaker. "Why do you think I want to kill you? How stupid are you?"

"Please," Caretaker didn't stop. "Please, just hurt me."

Whumper smirked as they walked over to Whumpee. They thrust the prongs of the device into Whumpee's ribs. "I am hurting you." Whumpee squealed with pain as Whumper turned the device on.

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

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

@pepeniascat @justwhumpythings @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @whump-queen @whump-or-whatever

@lurkingwhump @zephyeur @withdrawingramen @slowlyburninggalaxy @trashcarrots

@perfectwolfphantom @mefattortoise @j-is-evil-28 @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @whumpy-bi

@sowhumpful

[a-lonely-dunedain]

Hey, do you like putting Rangers in Situations? Boy have a got a fun new toy for you!

SO! my discord gave me a great idea for a fic game of sorts! Basically, I have this wheel of Ranger names, and a wheel of bad things to happen to them <3

Spin the first wheel to get a Ranger, and the second wheel once (or twice if you're feeling adventurous) to get a whump prompt to put them in! Write a whole fic or just reblog and ramble with any ideas it inspires, whatever it is I wanna hear about it :D

⬇⬇⬇Put your Rangers here!⬇⬇⬇

Situations vary in severity and survivability, I take no legal responsibility for any character deaths or emotional damage that may or may not transpire as a result.

also BIG thanks to @hallothere @dunadaan @rohirric-hunter and @skip-the-clumsy-dragon for helping me put this together and lending their evil ideas!

[writereleaserepeat]

Hear No Evil - Chapter 4

Masterlist

Previous (Chapter 3) // Next (Chapter 5) (tbd)

CW: bbu, bbu-typical institutional slavery, panic attacks, implied prior noncon, it/its pronouns used to dehumanize

Rowan was relieved to see that the boy was capable of cleaning himself up. The shower had only run for a matter of minutes, but as Rowan lingered outside the bathroom to eavesdrop – just in case he was needed - he heard the tell-tale clicks of the shampoo bottle opening and closing. Water splashed rhythmically against freshly cleaned tiles in a hum that was barely muffled by the door. Rowan waited a few painstaking minutes after the water had turned off, seizing the opportunity to practice his patience, before he knocked and reentered.

Although it was a deeply unsettling sight to see the young man kneeling naked in his bathroom, Rowan could already see that the boy’s skin was cleaner, and his wet curls still seemed lighter than when they had been coated with grease, sweat, and blood.

The shower also made clear that some of the yellow patches on the boy’s skin were not dirt, as Rowan had foolishly hoped, but near-healed bruises. Some wounds that had been scabbed over before the shower were open now, glistening red with nascent blood as the skin tried to stitch itself back together. Bright white scars danced with blue bruising, and a single drop of crimson trailed down from a recently reopened leg wound. It seemed that the boy had interpreted the instruction to clean himself up as an instruction to rub his scabs away, scrubbing at his skin until his injuries were raw.

Rowan made a note to himself to speak more clearly in the future. The next thing Rowan noticed was that the mirror was bone-dry, no signs of steam or beading water at the top of the glass. No hints of humidity hung in the air either. He felt his lip turn down in spite of himself.

“You can use hot water next time, yeah?” He offered as hopefully as he could, though his gaze was not returned. “Seriously, you can use the hot water, as hot as you can stand it. This place is great, because I only pay a flat fee for utilities. No extra charge for those long, hot showers. Feel free to sit in the hot water as long as you want. I mean, I certainly do. Anyway, you’re looking a bit cleaner now, so maybe you want to try on some of those clothes? You’ve got to be freezing after that shower. Come on, follow me back to your room.”

And the boy followed, damp hands and knees finding purchase on vinyl tiles, an unfamiliar rhythm across the condo’s floors. Rowan winced again, making sure to hide his disappointment by looking towards the ceiling. They’d have to do something about the crawling, get him back on his feet and walking with confidence. They’d also have to get him eating and drinking on his own, comfortable enough to take showers in hot water, wearing clothes by default, acting of his own will and guided by his own desires…

Rowan bit back a sigh. There was a lot to work on.

They made it back across the hall, and Rowan walked over to the file cabinet that was currently doubling as the boy’s dresser. He slid the bottom drawer open as the steady shuffle-crawl followed in behind him. Rowan’s fingers thumbed through the sweaters that he’d hastily folded just hours earlier, one after the other, a stack of cotton and polyester and sherpa promising warmth. There was a sweatshirt he remembered specifically from his clothing haul, something lined with fleece, certainly thick enough to restore a bit of warmth after a cold shower. Hands still digging through the drawer, Rowan defaulted to his rambling once again.  

“I know I set out sweatpants and a sweatshirt earlier, but there might be a warmer sweater in here. I’m going to guess you’re cold, so let’s see if-“ and as Rowan turned to look back at his guest, just to see if he was listening, his heart dropped through his stomach.

There, on the bed, the young man was presenting himself with raised hips and a carefully arched back, eyes looking up through thick eyelashes to meet Rowan’s own-

“Fuck.” Rowan gasped, and he took a step back so fast that his shoulder slammed into the filing cabinet. His hand snapped up to shield his eyes while his voice bubbled up from his chest, words coming out as an inadvertent shout. “No! Jesus Christ, no! No. Stop doing- stop doing that. Fuck, get down from there, just get down. No, we’re not doing that. I’m not going to- we’re not- just- fuck-“

Before Rowan could speak another word, the young man bolted off the bed and down to the floor, throwing himself flat against the ground so hard that the nearby furniture trembled. The sound of his bony knees hitting the ground resounded like two gunshots. In the blink of an eye, Rowan’s outburst had caused the emaciated victim to expose his scar-riddled back to the sky.

It was clear that he was waiting for Rowan to rain blows down on his skin, whether with fists or with whips, another line written in the book of abuse written for all to see. He trembled, but he was silent, utterly silent. This was routine, a punishment he’d been subjected to before. It was something the boy expected, that he waited for, that was the natural consequence to someone raising their voice.

All because Rowan had been a bit uncomfortable, and all because he couldn’t keep that discomfort to himself. He’d been given a sliver of power, a shred of influence, and he’d already resorted to screaming.

Guilt washed over Rowan just as coldly as shock had moments earlier. The sight of the boy offering himself up for punishment, moments after he’d offered himself up for use, jolted Rowan’s consciousness back into his body. He’d yelled, one of the very few thingshe wasn’t supposed to do, and had undoubtedly terrified his guest in the process. The boy’s hands were trembling where they rested, palms up, in front of him. Short gasps came from his mouth, just soft enough that they weren’t quite whimpers, but Rowan could hear the tears he was swallowing back nonetheless.

Rowan pulled in a deep breath, surprised to find that his own eyes were stinging with emotion and moisture. This was all too much. He knew what the victims endured in their abuse, he knew that he had brought a Romantic into his home, he knew all of this from when he signed the papers and looked through the PLF rehabilitation materials. But it was one thing to read the words on a page, and it was another thing to have a battered young man on his bed offering himself up for abuse.

It was the closest Rowan had come, now by himself and in his very own home, to seeing just what he’d been fighting to have dismantled all these years. It was the closest he’d been to direct complicity, to participating in the cruelty of man. It was the closest he’d been to hell on earth.

I can fix this, Rowan thought to himself, forcing another deep breath into his lungs. I have to fix this. I can smooth this over, make it better. This is what I signed up for, this is what I’m here to fix, this is what I have to deal with. I fucked up, so I have to fix it.

What better way to start than with an apology?

“I’m sorry,” Rowan hissed through his teeth as he fought to control his volume. He wasn’t going to yell again, no matter how hot the adrenaline felt in his veins. “I shouldn’t have yelled, and you’re not in trouble. You’re not in trouble, I promise, it’s all okay. You’re okay. You’re alright. Everything’s alright.” Rowan’s heart was pounding so heavily in his chest that it was hard to swallow his volume back. His head felt heavy and his hands tingled with the panic seizing his nervous system.

Yet Rowan knew that he was not the most terrified person in the room. No matter how scared he was at the seemingly impossible challenges ahead, and no matter how worried he was that he’d already ruined everything, the boy was infinitely more afraid. If his first instinct after a shower was to offer his body up for sexual abuse, and if his first instinct after a shout was to offer that body for physical abuse, there was little question as to what horrors he’d endured before this point. He hadn’t even been in Rowan’s home for more than an hour, and he had resigned himself to the service of a stranger who owned his body, who held a title to his very life. There was no sign of the defiance, or disobedience, or even displeasure. It was fluid, seamless, undeniable recognition of ownership.

The boy hadn’t moved despite Rowan’s attempted placations. A perfect pet, entirely obedient, unmoved by gentleness. This was everything WRU wanted in its output, in its products. Simultaneously, it was everything that made Rowan sick to his stomach.

After a painstaking deep breath, Rowan grabbed the clothes he wanted from the file cabinet, and took a step towards the body trembling on the floor. He kept his steps slow, movements as glacial as he could muster, hoping that the boy wouldn’t expect a blow.

“Hey, I’m coming over now, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not even going to touch you. Just-“

The boy flinched nonetheless as Rowan lowered the clothes to the floor beside his outstretched palms.

“Here,” Rowan offered, voice as soft and level as he could manage, “these are for you. To get dressed. Please, get dressed. I’m going to leave you alone now, okay? Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be back later to check in. I think we both need… a minute, yeah? A minute to take a breather. Both of us. You’re not in trouble. Just, get dressed please.”

Rowan left as quickly as he could manage, shutting the door with a soft click behind him.

---

The pet could hardly choke back its tears. What had it done wrong? Had it erred by not offering to please Master first, settled square on its knees, eyes pointed upwards and an eager, open mouth? Had it not cleaned itself well enough, hair still damp from the shower, some wounds still raw and dripping blood? Had it not seen something obvious in this room that it should have found for Master’s use instead?

But the punishment it expected for its insolence and incorrect assumptions never came. Even though it had exposed its hands and its back, opening its skin for lashes or stomping boots, no such corrections came. It hadn’t been able to make out the precise words that Master had shouted, his precise displeasure lost to the ringing in the pet’s ears, but it knew anger from the tone alone. It always knew when its master was angry.

Anger, yet no correction. Shouting, but no punishment. Nothing but a bundle of clothes dropped on the ground beside it, a clear indication that it was supposed to get dressed.

And with that, Master left, closing the door behind him. The pet was left alone to cover its shameful body and await its uncertain future.

---

Rowan wasted no time in grabbing the now-wrinkled PLF Rehabilitation Manual from where he’d placed it on top of the fridge. He knew that if he didn’t separate it from the rest of the paperwork strewn across the kitchen counters, he’d certainly lose it amidst the chaos. On top of the fridge, placed alongside the boxes of now-stale cereal, was as safe a place as any.

He leaned the small of his back against the countertop and busied himself with thumbing through the pages. His eyes flicked quickly over the table of contents, then through the section headers in the body of the document. When he read the manual earlier, he swore he’d seen a few pages dedicated to fixing a fuck-up. That’s what this was, wasn’t it? It was a fuck up of fantastic proportions. Rowan hadn’t even made it two hours before he’d yelled at the abuse victim in his second bedroom, all but screamed at him, just for doing what he’d been so thoroughly trained to do.

He was the picture of a perfect pet, and Rowan had managed to get mad at that. In the boy’s mind, he’d done exactly as he was trained, and it still hadn’t been enough for Rowan. That was going to forever be his first impression of Rowan.

Some people are just more suited for fieldwork, the voice of his past mentor echoed in his ears. Rehabilitation and recovery isn’t for everyone. Just like Greyson has found his stride working on the administrative side of the PLF, you’re doing your best work out in the field. Rehabilitation is an entirely different skillset, a skillset that some people don’t excel in, and that’s fine. Everyone’s job is important here. Your job is important even if you don’t work directly with the victims, I promise.

And yet, despite years of being aware that he was most certainly not suited for rehabilitation work, he’d taken up this cross on little more than impulse. The only one who would pay for Rowan’s ignorance and impatience was the very person who needed him the most.

For the second time since he’d purchased the boy he felt his eyes sting. The weight of this new responsibility weighed on his shoulders now more than ever. There was so much that could go wrong, so much pain and misery he could unknowingly inflict. This time it was his own uncontrollable shock, something he should have been able to swallow back. What would it be next time? His impatience? His ignorance?

Rowan swallowed back the lump in his throat as he finally found the dog-eared page he’d been looking for. He’d dog-eared it, of course, because he’d been afraid he’d have to use it.

You Lost Your Temper – Now What?

In a perfect world, we’d never lose our temper when assisting the wards in our care. Much like we might lose our temper with friends, family, or colleagues, we might likewise lose our temper with our wards.

These moments, while less than ideal, present a learning opportunity for all parties involved. For you, the guardian, it is an opportunity to model sincere apologies and create a safe space for your ward to talk about how they feel. For your ward, it is an opportunity to learn that they deserve politeness and equal treatment from others. For both guardian and ward, it is the chance to discuss communication, expectations, and mutual respect.

Should you lose your temper with a ward in your care, take the time to collect yourself and your emotions. You might be feeling upset, disappointed, or even angry with yourself. You might even be upset with your ward for the actions that triggered the incident, even if you know those actions aren’t their fault. You might be upset with a ward who tested your boundaries, or exercised their freedom and autonomy, in a way that you aren’t comfortable with. These are normal and expected feelings. While it is healthy to process these emotions and acknowledge their impact on you, it is best to do them away from your ward early in the relationship, and in front of your ward later in the relationship. Both are opportunities to model behavioral processing in a healthy and focused way.

Once you have gathered yourself and recognized your own emotions, take some time to think about what caused that first negative feeling. Recognize the moment you lost your temper, recognize what triggered that initial negative emotion, and consider creating a plan to prevent a similar reaction in the future. Take as much time as needed for this process, and ideally, try to give your ward an adequate amount of time to process the event as well.

Finally, talk to your ward directly. Make an appropriate apology for your reaction. For example, if you yelled, apologize for raising your voice. Take the opportunity to remind your ward that they should be treated with kindness and respect at all times, and acknowledge that you did not fulfill that basic expectation. You do not need to share the reason for your reaction – in fact, doing so can cause unnecessary fear and guilt in your ward, particularly early in the recovery process, and even more so if the triggering behavior was due to their trauma or conditioning. Instead, offer them comfort and an opportunity to discuss how the event made them feel.

The rest of the page was filled with sample conversations, language for new rehabilitators to use in such situations. Rowan studied them carefully, feeling himself grow calmer as he did so. He wasn’t the first rehabilitator to fuck up, and from the looks of the manual, he certainly wouldn’t be the last. While this did little to alleviate the guilt, it allowed for a small sliver of relief. There wasn’t anything uniquely wrong with him. Instead, his response was one rooted in human emotion, another byproduct of the system and its cruelty. His disgust was with systemic oppression, not with the boy himself.

I have to do better, Rowan reminded himself, and he took yet another deep breath. His hands were still shaking from the adrenaline that had dumped into his system.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine how the boy was affected if he himself was feeling the effects of his own temper so severely.

That was the next thought in his mind. He couldn’t simply refer to his guest as the boy forever. Part of developing autonomy, including the autonomy necessary to process scenarios such as the one that Rowan had just created, came from a sense of independent identity. Right now, the boy was just that: the boy in Rowan’s spare room, an object, a legal possession. To recover, he would have to become so much more than that. The manual had said as much: giving the ward a name as soon as possible was critical to developing a relationship of equals.

That would all have to come later, and it would hopefully come from the help of a rehabilitator that Rowan prayed was on the way his condo. Hope was doing a lot of heavy lifting as Rowan sat and stewed at his kitchen counter. He took a moment to check his phone, then he checked a second time to confirm there were no new messages, before placing it back on the granite.

His heart was still racing, so he looked back to the manual with a glance, then over to the closed door of the den, then back to the manual. If either of them were going to make it out of this intact, the least Rowan could do was take the manual’s word as gospel.

What emotion am I feeling? It burned hot, Rowan knew that much, and it had spurred him to yell when he rarely ever did so. Is it anger?

But instead of a tightness in his throat and a burning in his head that he would expect from anger, Rowan felt a tingling in his fingertips, a tugging in his chest, a queasiness in his stomach. It was like he was in grade school all over again, waiting for a teacher to pass out a test he hasn’t studied for. It was that heavy, burdensome dread that clung to him every time he walked onto the liquidation event sales floor.

Rowan knew he could name the feelings as soon as he took note of their home in his body. It was one that he was loathe to admit, even as old as he was, because of the stigma of weakness that clung to those words. No matter how many times he had conquered these feelings in the past, he struggled to confront them now.

But he had to. He had to, for the sake of the person in his care, the very soul that was counting on him to move past the discomfort. Rowan would have to now, and he would have to again, for the both of them.

What am I feeling? He asked himself again, biting down on his lip in spite of himself. Coppery blood washed over his tongue from the open wound. What am I really feeling?

Anxiety. Fear, dread, distress.

Those feelings were so much more than mere anger, and they were budding like a nascent ulcer in his stomach. Those were the feelings that had governed his actions since he’d signed the contract just over 24 hours prior. Adrenaline had made him run like prey, a panicked creature hunted by an unseen predator. Rowan was a gazelle on an endless savannah, running for his life, uncaring of his destination so long as it put distance between himself and the lion on his tail.

In Rowan’s case, the lion was the system itself, the weight of an industry that would crush him if it knew what he was doing. It was ruthless, it was nefarious, and it would readily kill him if it knew of his efforts to liberate people from its clutches. If so, he wouldn’t be the first liberationist to go missing under similar circumstances.

Of course Rowan was frightened, and of course he had every reason to be. There was legislation, there was law, there was unspeakable amounts of money and power that he was up against. The PLF had always been at a systemic disadvantage in this fight, as had all of its victims, all of its wards. They were fighting on the side of the underdogs, and they would be underdogs until a significant change in the public consciousness occurred.

I’m smarter than a gazelle, Rowan thought to himself, fist tight in his lap. And the lion’s only teeth are rich politicians with a vested interest in oppression. I’m not their fuckinggazelle. I’m braver, I’m smarter, and I’m stronger. I have to be. I refuse to be their prey.  

A few more moments of steady breathing were necessary for Rowan to compose himself. And just as the manual had mandated, he’d named his emotions, processed them, and acknowledged their trigger: a victim, a ward who could not consent, offering their body for sexual and physical abuse.

Another minute passed, and much to Rowan’s pleasant surprise, his breathing had levelled. The buzzing in his extremities had relaxed, and his heart no longer felt like it was being squeezed in an unforgiving fist.

The next step was to confront his ward, the boy still waiting and terrified in the spare bedroom.

“I can do this,” Rowan muttered under his breath, the soft escape of his internal dialogue. “I can apologize, I can name my feelings, and I can offer reassurance.”  

He paused and searched his thoughts for something to bridge the gap. What had the boy responded to the best in these last few hours?

After a moment of mulling, Rowan realized that it had been the water. The boy had grasped the glass as if it offered his only salvation. He’d swallowed it in the blink of an eye, disappearing before Rowan could have even come up with the words to stop him.

Of course, as Rowan knew from more than a decade of field work, the victims that were prepared for transit were both starved and dehydrated to reduce any potential resistance during transit or during their first few hours with their purchasers.

Such practices resulted in a non-zero number of transit deaths each year, some of which Rowan had documented firsthand.

Rowan went over to the pantry and took out another glass, paced over to the fridge, and poured another glass of cool water from the filter. He filled it just below the brim, tall enough that the boy would be able to drink his fill, but not so full that shaking hands would be unable to raise it to equally unsteady lips.

Glass in hand, Rowan walked back over to the second bedroom’s door.

He paused. A moment, a deep breath, a hand raised towards the faux-wood painted in landlord-eggshell. And he knocked, once, twice, knuckles on the paint making a hollow thunk with each hit.

No response was expected. None came. After another two long seconds, Rowan grasped the doorknob and pushed into the room.

---

The pet had gotten dressed. It had dressed itself in the clothes that Master had tossed beside it after he had yelled, the command obvious enough even without it understanding the precise language.

It knew it had messed up. It knew that something it had done – perhaps it was the position? Perhaps it was the assumption that it would be taken on the bed? – had made its master furious. It had made its master so furious that he had thrown clothes at it, commanded it to cover itself, and left it alone.

So the pet had obeyed as best as it could. It clothed itself in the linens – softer than it had ever been granted with its old master, and so much warmer too – and resumed its position kneeling in the center of the room. Master had placed it here for a reason, certainly, alone with nothing but its thoughts and the ringing in its ears.

Fully clad, from its ankles to its wrist, in pillow-like clothing, the pet felt the pull of sleep. Even the fear from its Master yelling was not enough to overcome the exhaustion of its travels and of its last moments with its handlers. It was so tired that it was nodding off where it knelt, knowing full well that such an action would earn it a lashing like no other.

But its body would only be pushed so far before it broke.

Adrenaline returned when the walls and floor trembled with slight vibrations. Ever since the ringing in its ears had begun in earnest, the pet had learned to pay attention to the way the surfaces around it sang. Now, the floorboards rumbled with the sound of its Master approaching. Light steps – none so heavy as its old master – but an insistent knocking that carried through the wood and laminate.

The pet wished it could shrink in on itself, become smaller, offer an adequate with just its body. But it was already as small as it could make itself, swallowed by the billowing fabric of the sweatshirt, sleeves coming down past its wrists and covering its bony knuckles.

There was almost a certain chance that it would be asked to remove the sweatshirt in short order, anyway.

As it expected, Master’s feet appeared before it moments later. It took deep breaths, listening to the steady hum of Master’s voice. He wasn’t shouting, not this time, back to that level-set rhythm that the pet already found so soothing. If there was supposed to be anger or frustration, the pet couldn’t hear it.

That wasn’t saying much, given that it couldn’t hear much at all.

Much to the pet’s surprise, Master leaned down and placed another glass in front of it. This glass was crystal-clear, filled nearly to the brim with water, its surface rippling from the movement. Although it had happily drank the earlier glass of water at its Master’s command, the pet was still parched. And although its stomach was still in knots from how Master had yelled at it, how it had been waiting for a punishment yet to come, the thirst once again prevailed.

It knew better than to grab the glass with its greedy hands. Waiting, patience, showed the very skills that it had been trained time and again to embody. So it waited, waited, until Master’s voice raised with a sharp uptick in volume.

Drink.

The pet did so without hesitation. It reached forward and it drank eagerly, trying to still the trembling of its hands as it did so. Although it had to raise its head to drink, it made sure to keep its eyes pointed downwards in as much respect and deference as it could display.

The water disappeared in a matter of moments, the pet ensuring that it showed its gratitude for the generosity by finishing it with haste. Carefully as it could manage it placed the glass back on the floor where Master had set it.

Its stomach was still tight with worry, filled with the sandwich and the first glass of water, but it was confident that it would keep the meal down. It had to – if it got sick now, there was no telling when it would get food again. This nutrition was more valuable than anything else at the moment, it was the only way it could hope to have the strength to carry on.

---

“That’s great,” Rowan praised, trying to keep his voice steady as he had been. It had already been stressful enough to raise it to give the command to drink, but the boy seemed unfazed. In fact, he finished the full glass in a matter of seconds, drinking eagerly and without hesitation.

Figuring out how to get the boy to drink on his own would be a challenge for another day. For now, even if Rowan had to command as much, drinking something was better than not at all.

Now, for the reason he’d come back into the room in the first place, when all he wanted to do was leave the boy alone long enough to decompress.

“Hey, uhm, I’m sorry for yelling,” Rowan said. The apology came easily and naturally enough, so he pushed on. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you. That was wrong of me, and you didn’t deserve it. You did nothing wrong. Really, you did nothing wrong. The fact that I yelled was my fault. I’m not angry at you. I’m not mad, and I’m not going to hurt you. Everything is okay.”

The boy didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t acknowledge a word beyond the command to drink. Just as all the other times Rowan had spoken, he seemed attentive, but didn’t react.

“I mean it,” Rowan pushed on. “I’m sorry. Everything is alright. You’re okay. You’re safe here, with me. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to ask you to do those things you had to do before. It caught me off guard, and my reaction was wrong. I shouldn’t have raised my voice”

Nothing. At this rate, it would be impossible to have the back-and-forth dialogue that the manual had encouraged, but Rowan knew that it was possibly asking too much for a first day, even a first week, or a first month. His one-sided apology was a start, at least.

“If you want to tell me how you feel, you can,” Rowan offered the floor up. “It’s okay. You can say how you feel – actually, you can talk, if you’d like, about anything. I haven’t heard you say anything yet, but you’re allowed. You’re allowed to talk as much as you want here. And- and you can get your own water, and your own food- ah. I’m getting ahead of myself, I think. The point I’m trying to make is that it’s okay, and you can talk to me. If I scared you, or upset you, you can tell me that. And if you tell me what’s wrong, I’ll do my best to make it better.”

As Rowan rambled on, self-conscious of the words spilling out of his mouth, he forced himself to look down at the boy kneeling before him. This was no way to talk to a victim like this, was it? Rowan was still towering above him, voice booming downwards, the power imbalance as visual as it was ingrained in the boy’s blood.

So, after another moment, Rowan sat.

He lowered himself to the floor in front of the boy and sat down, crossing his legs like he was a child again. A laugh almost escaped his mouth as he realized how much flexibility he’d lost, knees straining and thighs tugging, as he finally got his ankles close to one another.

The boy perked up immediately, looking through his hanging curls in Rowan’s direction with those bright doe-eyes that Rowan had only seen a glimpse of once so far. Rowan smiled in spite of himself.

“Hey, is this better for you? I think it’s better, at least for right now, if you don’t want to stand up yet. This will let us talk to each other like equals, yeah? We are, you know. Even if you don’t believe it yet. So, I’ll say it again, and maybe you can think about it some more. I’m sorry for yelling at you, and yelling was wrong of me. I never should have raised my voice. I wasn’t mad at you, I was just surprised, because I don’t want to do those sorts of things to you. I’m here to help you, not hurt you, especially not like that. I promise that you’re safe, and no harm is going to come to you here.”

It wasn’t much, but it was something. As Rowan spoke the boy’s weight shifted slightly forward, so slight that Rowan almost missed it entirely, and his eyes flitted from his knees towards Rowan’s face. He never quite made eye contact, still hidden behind the curtain of hair, but it was closer than Rowan had been able to achieve from a standing position.

This was what had stood out to Rowan on the sales floor of the liquidation event. The boy seemed distant, but he was far from catatonic like some of the victims that were more difficult to rescue. There was a spark, an attentiveness, a willingness to listen and to obey. It was a flame that yearned for the chance to survive.

Rowan just had to figure out how to nurture that flame and reach through the glass between himself and the boy. They would have to break that barrier down if they were going to move towards healing.

“Yeah, we’re just having a conversation right now, that’s all.” He wasn’t sure how effective his soothing would be so soon after his yelling, but Rowan knew he had to try. “If you want to talk about how you’re feeling, you can do that, talk to me all you want. You can also just tell me to leave if you’d rather be alone right now.”

Nothing, still nothing.

“Can you nod for me if you want to be alone?” He asked, hoping to see some movement. Nothing. “Can you shake your head if you want me to stay?” Nothing again. 

A thought struck Rowan as he saw the boy’s eyes peek up again, still hunting, almost fixated on his lips. He tried again once he saw the boy look upwards.

“Can you nod your head for me?”

And just like that, the boy’s head moved slightly, once up, once down. It was short, but unmistakably the very nod that Rowan’s question had evoked. And once the nod had finished, the boy looked back down at the floor.

“Can you nod again?” He asked once more as soon as he was certain the boy was no longer looking.

No movement.

“Oh my god,” Rowan whispered out loud as realization flashed through him, and he clambered to his feet. He nearly tripped over himself as he did so, staggering to a standing position and darting behind the boy, back over to the far corner of the room, directly behind his ward. The boy was still kneeling, unmoving, his eyes were still pointed towards the door. Importantly, he was unable to see Rowan’s face even if he raised his eyes.  

Rowan snapped his fingers, a few times on his right, a few times on his left. No reaction. Then, after a pause to suppress the oncoming wave of guilt, he clapped his hands together with considerable force. The sound was sharp enough to echo throughout the small room.

This evoked a reaction. It was subtle, but he saw the boy’s shoulders twitch in some sort of anticipation. A fear response, automatic, but a response nonetheless.

“Holy shit,” Rowan muttered to himself, a hand running through his hair almost of its own accord. His epiphany was looking more and more like a plausible possibility.

“Hey, turn around,” he instructed. He made sure not to raise his voice, keeping it as neutral as possible, but still issuing the command with certainty. Again, no movement. He tried again, same tone, conversational volume. “Turn around, right now. Turn around and look at me.”

Nothing.

After a deep breath, and a final reminder that he was doing this for the boy’s own good, Rowan shouted.

“Turn around!”

And just like that the boy moved, turning on his knees in a swift, fluid motion. A blink later and he was kneeling in that same position, but this time pointed towards where Rowan stood at the back of the room.

A nervous chuckle slipped out before Rowan could swallow it. All of that pain, all of that suffering, the threat of death on the sales floor, it had all been under the guise of disobedience. Rowan was now certain it was anything but.

“Jesus Christ, kid, you’re not disobedient. You just can’t fucking hear me.”

There was a euphoria he couldn’t describe blossoming in his chest. This rescue wasn’t a hopeless mistake that he had made, this victim wasn’t beyond recovery or redemption. He simply couldn’t hear the very words that Rowan was speaking to him, commands or otherwise.

It was Rowan’s turn to drop to his knees, aging bones hitting the wood as he fell a mere foot from where the boy had stationed himself.

“It’s okay!” Rowan all but shouted, the boy’s flinch lost to the excitement. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s all okay.” His voice was as loud as he could make it without screaming.

“You’re safe. You’re safe now. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re home, you’re safe. It’s all going to be okay.”

A/N: Cheers to the rewrite for a chance to make it clear that Rowan's not an idiot, he's just out of his depth. That was one of the driving factors for the rewrite, actually. Sorry for those that hoped there'd be a few more chapters of misunderstanding and obliviousness from our well-meaning caretaker - it's important to me that Rowan is capable and aware of himself in this story, particularly given his role in other liberation efforts. But there will absolutely be other barriers to communication and understanding between the two, I can promise that much!

Taglist:

@honey-is-messi @octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @squishablesunbeam @tragedyinblue

@clairelsonao3 @den-of-evil @cepheusgalaxy @aswallowimprisoned @kira-the-whump-enthusiast

@honeycollectswhump @rekiroyalstraightprincemaru @whumpzone @peachy-panic @whumplr-reader

@dislexiher @cc1010foxy @onlybadendings @panstardalia @tempoghast

@dokidokisadness @anonfromcanada @starfields08000 @bloodredfountainpen @pumpkin-spice-whump

@maenr @whump-enthousiast @taterswhump @whump-me-harder

[liketolaugh-writes]

I’m thinking of starting to write fanfiction, and I really love the way you write. Do you have any possible tips or suggestions? Thank you 🙏🙏🙏

❤️❤️❤️

Basic suggestions:

If your fandom is something with voice actors, try to keep a hold of that voice in your head! When I was starting out, I'd play the dialogue I was writing and see if I could hear it in their voice, and I like to think that helped me get the hang of character voice.

Write the story you want to read. If you have a lot of feelings about something - for example, the relationship between two characters or another character's chronically unfulfilled needs - it's easier to write an emotionally powerful story about it.

If you're writing a romance: why do your characters love each other? What needs (emotional or otherwise) do they fulfill for each other? How do they express love? Where are and aren't they compatible?

If you have a story in mind but it doesn't seem to have any forward moment: it might need more conflict. Make problems for the characters to fix, or create problems for them to struggle with. Something needs to drive the story forward.

Advanced suggestions:

Don't show your belly. If you're holding back something in your writing out of a fear of criticism - don't. Emotions are your most powerful tool here. Rip your heart out and bleed onto the paper.

Have other hobbies. This sounds like a joke but I'm actually so serious about this. Writing really strong, emotional stories requires Opinions - a good grasp of what you think about human nature, psychology, and society. My interests in world history and true crime have informed my writing way more than you think they do.

Get a really solid grasp of grey morality. Fandom as a hivemind tends to struggle a lot with this, and it's easy to fall into false dichotomies. But listen: sometimes people aren't good or bad. Sometimes they're just sort of okay. Sometimes they're not really okay but they're not evil either. Sometimes they're sincerely well-intentioned but that's just not enough, and sometimes they're ill-intentioned but don't deserve to be punished.

Psychology is your best friend. Psychology is what makes characters real. Your natural understanding of people (whatever that may be) will only take you so far. You need to research and understand, especially in fandom, how people respond to abuse, to trauma, and to stress.

OC-specific:

I have some guidelines that I try to follow when introducing original characters! This is specific to fanfiction and is not advice intended for original work, and it is mostly about introducing your characters in such a way that your audience does not instantly hate them. (It is also advice tailored to fics centered on canon characters, not OC-centric or Reader fics.)

If a canon character is The Best at something, your OC should not be better at it.

'Whump' is a genre that heavily depends on a fandom's preexisting love for a character and sympathy for their plight. Whumping your OC is something that has to wait, preferably until after you've established a relationship between them and canon characters.

Having your OC talk down to canon characters is very rarely going to endear your audience to them.

Your OC's tragic backstory must wait. You can drop parts of it as early as you want, especially plot-relevant ones, but serious exploration requires audience investment.

I hope this helps! <3

[piracytheorist]

In Life, And in Death (2/11)

Fandom: Spy x Family Word count: 3.5k for this chapter | 7.6k so far | 32.4k in total Rating: T Warnings: Temporary character death, graphic violence, horror imagery, body horror, mild gore, whump, language Cover art by @buf309

Summary: Anya is kidnapped, and Twilight is thrown into the horrors of a mysterious, deadly village. Forced and then choosing to survive its trials - physical and mental - he's brought to figure out who he truly is. (A Resident Evil Village fusion)

AO3 Read from the beginning

~

Chapter 2: Mutation

~

Twilight turned around the hallways, realizing he was going in circles. The mansion was massive, with various doors leading him to the same rooms.

Deciding to walk back to the main entrance, his jaw tensed when he heard the tall lady’s heels approaching. He barely managed to hide behind a corner as he heard her entering one of the bedrooms.

Careful, but unable to quell his curiosity, he stepped closer.

He could hear the sound of a rotary phone’s dial turning, then a short silence.

“Mother Miranda,” the woman said. “I regret to inform you that Loid Forger has escaped from your servants.”

A pause, as whoever that Miranda was, probably replied.

“Because he is in my castle, and has already proven too much for my daughters to handle! When I find him—” Her angry voice cut off, then continued. “No, Mother Miranda.” Her voice sounded more tense now, as if she was barely holding back. “Yes, of course I understand the importance of the ceremony. I won’t let you down.”

A definitive cling was heard as she hung up. Then she let out a roar, accompanied by something heavy being thrown against a wall.

“To hell with the ceremony!” she shouted. “That man will pay for what he’s done…”

He ran and hid again when he heard her heels coming closer. She exited the room, hands curled into fists, stomping as a quiet growl emanated from her. She went down the hallway away from him, and then downstairs.

He walked carefully into the room she’d been in. The object she’d thrown was apparently another big vanity, the rotary phone lying in pieces under the upturned furniture.

He looked at the plugs on the wall. He was a little surprised this mansion had landlines, but most importantly, this room had a balcony, looking out over a small courtyard.

If he jumped around the adjoined balconies, he could reach the ones right next to that damn wall surrounding the castle, and from there he at least would have half its height to climb. It would be no easy feat—

His eyes widened when he spotted something familiar on a small table at the other corner.

Two small black cones, adorned with a golden semi-circular pattern around the base.

Anya’s hair ornaments.

His throat went dry.

Anya…

He walked to them. They seemed so wrong in this place.

Where was she?

He wasn’t given the time to further wonder about her, or who that Miranda was, or what that “ceremony” was about. His breath froze when the door behind him opened. He turned, seeing the massive form of the lady of the castle as she bent down to reach through.

“Oh shit,” he whispered.

Had she heard him, or just baited him in there?

“There you are,” she said. “All this for a child who isn’t even here!”

What?

Her face looked calm, but her eyes were burning with rage.

It had only been a few times he’d managed to talk himself out of such a dire situation. In this case, knowing that he had killed her daughter, an effort was highly unlikely to succeed.

Still, he had to try.

He spread his arms, raising his eyebrows in innocence. “If I may—”

He didn’t finish his sentence, as she reached with her hand, grabbing his throat and jaw in it.

“You ungrateful, selfish wretch!” she said, lifting him up with barely any effort.

His feet kicked in the air helplessly.

“You come into my house,” she continued, slamming his face onto the floor, “you lay your filthy man-hands on my daughters,” she slammed him down again, “and now you even deem yourself worthy of speaking to me?!” and again. “How dare you!?”

She pushed down further, until he felt the wooden floor crack underneath him.

Then, her hand twitched, and long nails emerged from her fingers, one of them reaching right into his left eye.

He wailed in pain as the floor broke completely, and he fell down into a hole many stories down. His wail and breath cut off as he landed on his back.

He lay where he was, trembling. He could still hear her shout from above, “Rest while you can, because I will hunt you, and I will break you!”

Breathing deep, he realized his vision was completely blocked from his left side.

Oh, no. Oh, no. He didn’t have time for that!

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he brought out the healing liquid, and his mind fleeing, he poured all of it right over his eye.

Within a few seconds, his vision was full again, and he could blink both eyes.

He could have sworn his back must have broken after falling down so many floors, but he was either too lucky or the healing liquid did its magic on every hurt part of him, as he managed to get up immediately.

Get out, get out, get out.

Managing to get back up the stairs and into a library room, he was ambushed by another one of the women. The buzzing of flies announced her arrival, as she said “So, you finally came to see me! Everyone falls for me in time.”

Damn it all to hell.

He didn’t have the time to honey trap this woman.

Not that… not that she would actually be interested in him that way and also let him live.

He simply raised his gun at her and made his intentions clear. “I just want to get out of here.”

She laughed at him, and all but flew at him, reaching with her hand at him.

He prepared himself for an assault, caught completely off-guard when she simply caressed his cheek.

“Aw. You really are one of the pretty ones.”

He forced his body to not move; the woman, who looked quite like her sister, save for having red hair, reached forward and sniffed at his skin.

His hand trembled. It truly wasn’t an appropriate situation for a honey trap, but why did he feel such fear at her proximity?

Still reeling from his wavering emotions, he couldn’t move away in time before she slashed at him with her scythe.

He groaned, clenching his jaw, and he shot at her face.

She laughed again. “Poor little man-thing,” she said.

Right. They were sensitive to cold.

Staggering back, blood dripping down his chest, he looked up at the skylight on the ceiling.

Long shot, but his only shot.

He raised the gun and shot at the glass. It took three shots until it shattered, and the woman shrieked just like the previous one had.

“Ow! So mean,” she said.

Her reaction almost took him out. Considering the lady called all three of them her “daughters”, it might not be wise to inform this woman that probably killing her “sister” was even meaner than exposing her to the cold.

She ran around, trying to find a spot away from the freezing wind, as she yelled in anger more than in pain.

“Why are you doing this?!”

He bit his tongue. Hadn’t he made himself clear already?!

She was fast, hiding behind bookcases and tables, but shaken as he was he still was an excellent shot, so he drove a bullet into her head, as small of damage as it would do.

“You can’t be serious! You’ll kill me!”

How many bullets had the other one required?

“JUST LET ME GO!” he yelled.

“Oh, you’ll be a part of me forever!”

Why was he still trying to reason with them?

He kept shooting at her.

“What are you doing?!” she said, her gait staggering as she kept running around. “Don’t you love me?!”

Oh, she was still full of surprises.

She tried to hide behind a bookcase, and he took the chance to reload his gun.

“A dream. This is a dream,” she said, nearly whimpering.

More like a nightmare. For both of them, probably.

“This is your final warning,” he said, pushing the magazine back in place. “Let me go, now.”

She shrieked, getting out of her hiding place and flying at him. She was fast, but he shot repeatedly just as fast.

She wailed, nearly falling over. “I… don’t… wanna die…” Her voice was strained as she reached out with her free hand, as if looking for support. From him?

He breathed out as her body turned to stone too, then ash.

The lady of the castle was not going to like this.

He decided to try his luck going further up again.

He got rewarded by finding a small armory. While it seemed full of old-fashioned chain mail and swords, his eyes landed on a weapons case where a few old but sturdy-looking shotguns lay, along with ammunition for them, a few hand grenades, and another bottle of that healing liquid.

His luck immediately turned on its head as he heard the buzzing of flies.

“I was worrying my sisters had gotten to you first.”

His face cringed at her entertained tone. News didn’t travel fast in this castle.

“I haven’t cut open a man in a while! Let me string you up, slice your jugular, and just watch…” she said, pushing over a tall case of hand weapons so it blocked the exit.

Oh, this one wasn’t interested in games.

He looked around; there wasn’t a window he could break open. How could he—

He then spotted a long crack on the wall, light coming from the other side. This room hadn’t been used or renovated in some time, and even the bricks of that wall seemed loose enough to come apart easily.

One of the grenades was still in his hand.

Might as well try, then.

He pulled the pin and threw the grenade at the wall, running to the other side across. The woman seemed to ignore his throw as she fell on top of him, ready to bite at his neck.

The grenade went off, and the wall came apart enough for cold wind to gush right in.

The woman jerked back, screaming just like he’d expected.

Just like with the first woman, her hood fell back, revealing a similar scar on her temple, surrounded by black hair.

But this one seemed terribly furious. “You’ve ruined the hunt!” she exclaimed.

He shook his head. “I’m so over this,” he said to himself, grabbing one of the shotguns this time.

“Curse you!” she said when his first shot got her. “I’ll mount your head on my wall!”

The shotgun had a slower shooting speed, but judging by her reactions, it seemed to do more damage to her. Having fought two of her “sisters”, he could now predict her attacks better, and avoid them far more easily while shooting at her with more efficiency.

“No! It’s a lie!” she kept saying.

He couldn’t run, as he was. He would have to move the weapons case away from the exit, and there was no way this woman was going to let him do that.

So he kept shooting.

Until he heard the by now familiar sizzling sound, and she started swinging wildly with her scythe. “You will not get away!” she seethed. “You’re my prey… mine…”

He kept the shotgun up and aimed at her until she too was a pile of ash.

He looked at those remains. Survival, even at the cost of other people’s lives, had been drilled into him long time ago. On one hand, he had been the one trespassing, on the other, all four of them had made their sadistic intentions with him perfectly clear.

He wasn’t one to sit and dwell on what he’d just done, but it was fairly disheartening that his only choices had been to kill or be killed.

Was that why he was thrown into that castle’s yard? Just to be their next meal?

But they knew about Anya. And according to the lady’s words, she wasn’t even in that place.

So, why all that?

He looked at the hole he’d made on the wall. There was a small balcony on the floor underneath, right next to the top of a small building that was connected to the wall around the castle. Climbing in from that height was definitely feasible, and he could then jump over.

He hung the shotgun on his shoulder and packed up ammunition for it, before he headed out, carefully jumping onto the balcony below. Halfway through his path, however, he heard the lady wail in grief again.

He wasn’t fast enough. She saw him and marched toward him, her long legs bringing her faster to him than he had the time to reach the wall.

She grabbed him by the wrist, lifting him up again. “You’ve ruined everything!” she yelled. She reached back with her free hand, and long nails – no, claws came out her fingers.

And then she drove those claws into his stomach.

His breath left him.

She threw him away, blood splattering all the way where he landed. He coughed and gasped, covering his stomach with his left hand while his right reached for the healing liquid.

As he opened the bottle and poured a generous amount on his skin, he watched the horrific sight in front of him.

The lady’s body was shaking, spasms running through it as she screamed.

Something told him this wasn’t just physical pain for her.

Then a massive wing emerged from her back, accompanied by a cracking sound.

She screamed again when another wing appeared on the other side of her back.

He breathed fast, and hard. He tried to crawl away while right before his eyes her body transformed into what he could only describe as a beast from nightmares and horror stories.

She fell on all fours; her body grew even more in size, ripping through her clothes. Her limbs turned into serpent-like claws, her wings reminding him of fantastical dragons. Her torso and waist expanded; a mouth full of teeth formed on the front, and emerging from the back of the beast was a torso and a head of what he could only assume was the woman’s remaining body.

Even human-shaped as that was, there was nothing human about it.

Though she seemed to be in pain, she threw her head back and laughed. “Flesh, bones, I will devour all of you!” she said in a distorted voice. He didn’t know which mouth that voice had come from, her human one or the one full of teeth.

He kept crawling back as she took flight, grabbing his whole body with one of her clawed feet.

She flew up, near the top of a tower, and threw him down on its balcony. She landed in front of him, laughing again. “You’ll die a painful death!” she said.

Disoriented as he was, he took out the shotgun and shot at her. The first two shells missed her, but when he actually hit her, she growled and took flight again.

Breathing hard, he stood up and assessed his position. He was on a balcony of one of the highest floors of a tower, and there was a small turret in each corner. Just as he considered taking shelter in one of the turrets to reload his guns, the beast came back and crushed one of them with her feet.

“I will destroy you!” she yelled, walking at him.

He shot at the woman-like shape on the back of the dragon form, and while she seemed to get hurt by it, she laughed again.

“You’re a lucky man, Loid Forger!” she said. “Besides Miranda, you’re the only one to ever see me in this form. Too bad you’ll pay for it with your life!”

He shot at her again and slid under her stomach. A risky move, he realized, as she could very easily crush him by simply falling on top of him, but he managed to get behind her, and her form was too big to turn on the narrow balcony.

He shot again, as carefully as he could, while she walked to the corner of the balcony so that she’d have more space to turn around and face him.

Then his shotgun was out.

“Too late for regrets!” she said and smacked him with her claw.

He was pushed into a wall, his breath getting knocked out of him. Desperate, he took out the handgun and shot blindly.

She yelled again, adding a “I’ll tear you limb from limb!” then jumped off, flying away.

He struggled to regain his breath as he tried to assess what her next move would be. Was she trying to slam into him from the air?

He stood up shakily and started reloading the shotgun.

Still in the air, she said, “How dare you talk about saving your daughter when you’ve murdered mine?!”

He froze, looking up at the incoming beast.

Was that all about Anya?

He leaned back against the wall, trying to put his thoughts in order.

What was he even supposed to do?

He feigned weakness as she approached, and though his blood was freezing in fear, he moved away just in time for her to slam on the wall and not on him.

“You human pest!” she shrieked.

His shotgun full, he started shooting at her.

As big as she was, she was slow. He was able to run around the balcony to reach her from behind and shoot her, while she was still struggling to turn around.

“Like hell you’ll kill me!” she said and took flight again.

This time she was careful to fly around in a confusing pattern; he was too shaken by all the damage in his body and had too little ammo to risk shooting blindly at her.

Midway through her attempted attack she gasped, saying, “Not enough blood! More, more blood!”

And she slammed into him.

Most of the force of her attack was, luckily, taken by the wall behind him, where a hole formed. He was pushed into the hole, landing on a set of stairs, as she screamed over him, “I need your flesh!”

Flies started coming out of her, surrounding him and biting at him all at once. He swung at them and turned around, running up the stairs to the top of the tower.

“You’ve got nowhere else to go!” she shouted at him as she flew around the building.

There were only open arches so far up – he had no cover. But going down the tower wasn’t ideal either, with her slamming into it and causing debris to fall everywhere.

“Come now, don’t be shy. Show me your terror!” she lunged forward, breaking the wall once again and throwing him down. “Now, time to die!”

She was too close. Her mouth full of teeth only needed a short move to the front to devour him.

He took out a grenade, activated it and threw it right in her mouth. He then took out the handgun and emptied the magazine on her human form.

She screamed and yelled.

Just as another magazine was almost emptied on her, blood exploded off her massive body, and she collapsed forward.

“Damn you, Forger!”

The floor cracked underneath her weight, but she managed to grab him in her claw.

Desperate, he drove his knife into her cracking skin, but she didn’t react at all. She only dragged him down the hole with her.

“It’s too late! You’ll never see your Anya again. Succumb to your despair!” she cried as they both fell.

She dropped first, and his fall was only broken slightly by him landing on her flank instead of the stone floor.

Gasping in pain, he turned to look at her crumbling form.

“Curse you…” she wheezed with her last breath, calcifying into stone and ash.

He found himself crawling back into a corner, his jaw trembling.

Ten seconds… just ten seconds…

He looked up at the hole she’d made. He wasn’t ready to calculate how many stories that was that he’d dropped.

His body was shaking, violent shivers running down his limbs, but he didn’t feel any part that hurt all too much.

It was more than the adrenaline of the fight, or the shock of the drop, or the pain he wasn’t crippled by, and he knew it.

What that woman had just said, that he’d never see Anya again…

Why was that worming into his brain?

Did that mean she was in danger?

He swallowed hard, closed his eyes, and held his breath.

His body needed more than ten seconds to stop trembling, and his feet were still shaking when he got up, but at least he managed to get up.

A yellow object caught his attention on the other side of the room. He walked closer, examining it.

It was a square glass flask with yellow opaque paint around it. It seemed sealed shut, and the only indication of whatever was in it was a label that wrote “SUBJECT 007 – HEAD”

He swallowed hard, suddenly thankful the flask was opaque.

[hurtspideyparker]

Heeey! Idk if someone has already asked you this but, if you could recommend three Stony fanfics which ones would you recommend? And What made you ship them? :] Also love ur writing!

IT'S MY NEW STONY MUTUAL YIPPIE ✨ HI FRIEND. Sorry for the late reply, been busy in my own way. I'm so happy to hear from you! 😸

that is a tough question...

Principles of the Thing by Annie D (scaramouche)

In Tony’s opinion, the only thing worse than having a crush on Steve is: having a crush on Steve while Steve won’t shut up about how great Tony is.

Mainly recommending this because the author's Stony fics are all amazing. They're a fantastic writer and I'm sure there's something there for everyone; I'm still making my way through them and I'm never disappointed! This fic in particular is very sweet and adorable, plus it has my favourite Stony fanfiction device—it's told from a self-deprecating Tony's perspective <3 that's how you know it's gonna be a good one 😌 I need my man to hate himself a little thankyouverymuch. I also think it's cute to have Steve be virtuous in a very sweet gentleman way, instead of the hurting-Tony way (although I like that way a lot too)

Loverboys by theappleppielifestyle

“Here’s the deal,” Tony says. “I’ll give you ten thousand dollars to pretend to date me.”

Steve stares at him, but only for a second.

“No thanks,” he says, and looks back down at his algebra worksheet.

(Or, a High School Fake Dating AU.)

I have a soft spot for high school and college AUs okay, sue me! Why I particularly like it for Stony, and what this fic does beautifully, is it uses their class disparity as a point of contention for their characters and relationship. I like young!Tony fics because we see the trauma of his family life and circumstances affecting him in real time. I love to hate Howard Stark <3 plus Stony is all about the tension of their opposing personalities, and AUs like this help highlight Tony's distant family and extreme wealth, and Steve's poverty and loving support system. This fic is also fake dating, which means ✨tension✨. Plus Tiberius Stone is a total guilty pleasure character of mine. Tony has many evil ex's in the comics, and I love to see them used for some good whump. And jealous protective Steve is absolute gold!!! Even if you don't like high school AUs this one is worth a shot because it wasn't written by a high schooler like many are, so it's mature and paced very well.

the girl with the modern face by isozyme

“Nice to meet you. I’m Steve Rogers,” Steve said, sticking his hand out and trying to wrestle the interaction back into something normal.

“I know, sweetheart,” Tony said, ignoring his hand. “Rescue told me all about you.”

“Did you make her?” Steve asked. It had been implied that Tony was a tech-man, and she said he was her boss. It would fit together.

“Yes, the armor, that was me; she’s my bodyguard,” Tony said archly. “Impressed?”

The only good thing about the future is Tony Stark's bodyguard, Rescue. She's beautiful in her red and gold armor, and Steve will never know who she is.

This story changed my brain chemistry when I read it. It's just such a fantastic culmination of so many delicate and beautiful things. Internalized homophobia and identity porn are severely underrated tropes and two of my all time favourites. I find it's hard to get them right, but boy does this story get them right. Also—genderfucked Tony Stark? Yes Yes and Yes. Steve falls for a woman, who is actually a man, who is actually Tony Stark. This hurts both of their feelings immensely. I love the tight-wound Captain and seeing him come to terms with his struggles and bigotry. And the juxtaposition to a flamboyant and open Tony, yessirrrr. Also, comic Stony fics are on a whole other level. They have so much more material to work from, so their characterization and background is really well fleshed out. You don't need to read the comics to understand it, don't worry.

—

I just love talking about this stuff, I will never be short or chill about asks 😅

What made me ship Steve and Tony? Oh GAWSH. Mainly, their opposing natures. Nothing is more compelling than seeing people so close yet so different have this intense magnetism. It's like a puzzle piece, they fit so well because they complete something in each other.

Rivals/enemies creates a lot of tension, especially when they have such a respect and trust for one another even if they don't always like it, it's undeniable. The betrayal and disagreement between them is painful because only those inside your heart can wreck it so intensely. I really like angst, whump, miscommunication, the push and pull. It's so them. They aren't rivals TO friends, they are rivals AND friends. Tony is incredibly Much, Steve is rigid. Tony is controlled by his emotions, Steve is controlled by his morals. Tony is an over-thinker, Steve is all intuition.

Also, have you SEEN the way they look at eachother?!?!? The gazing omfggg. The way they lead together, have such an intense relationship, perfectly in-sync even in disagreement. Their movies? Never without insanely strong feelings for each other, arm touches and long looks, trust broken and rebuilt. TV shows? Eye rolling yet great respect, a deep admiration that will always trump any mistake or disagreement. Bickering boyfriends. Comics? They're so intense everyone just KNOWS something freaky is going on. Divorced /pos. It's always hate or love, these two can never be neutral. Their relationship is incredibly dynamic—they're so soft for each other! They hate each other's guts! They are gonna fuck about it! All three at the same time.

ty for the compliment 🫶 yes this is yap city but I am a very passionate person mk. I could talk about them for hours 💕💔

[daydreamwhumpinc]

Magical Healing in Whump?

So, I am done with my finals for now and that means that I can write a whole essay on magical healing and what it means for whump scenarios. Plus a few additional prompts to make your whump scenarios more delicious and throw another whump poll in to the abyss ;)

Okay, now get ready for a bit of rambling. I usually enjoy whump in fantasy settings A LOT, but often the author decides to use magic as a fix it for any and all injuries which deprives us all of juicy, juicy whump scenes. On one hand, magical healing can open the door to more severe injuries that, normally, the Whumpee can't survive otherwise. On the other hand, the magic healing can be just used to heal anyone and everyone without the Caretaker (magic healer) and the Whumpee facing any consequences. The sweet spot is somewhere in the middle, but it is not that easy to hit as I found out while working on my own project.

For example, in the Webtoon I'm currently working on, one of my main characters has only defensive/healing/purifyng powers so I'm trying to set certain boundaries so that his powers are not too OP or too nerfed in the grand scheme of the story. Here are some prompts that I thought of that might help you to write your magical healer as someone capable and believable, but still not interfere with your Whump scenes.... ;)

The healer has to use their own life energy to heal the Whumpee, so the healer has to take breaks in between the healing- That way the healer can't heal a big injury all at once and will give the Whumpee some time to suffer and hurt. It will also open the door for the healer themself to be whumped if they use too much of their own life force energy when healing.

The healer has to be versed in medicine to be able to magically heal the Whumpee- Hear me out, this one is a bit weird. Imagine that even though you have healing magic, you still have to know anatomy and medicine, so you can use your magic to properly mend someones wounds. This might pose a problem in actually finding the magical healer with the necessary knowledge level of medicine and healing magic to help the Whumpee.

The healing magic is too potent to have too much in the body at once- I think it can be somewhat interesting to see the healing magic as something that can hurt in big amounts. After all, even water is harmful to the body when there is too much of it. This leads to almost the same outcome as in the first prompt, where the healer has to heal the Whumpee over time, allowing their body to filter out the healing magic.

The healer has to use some outside medium/conduit to heal the Whumpee- This one is a bit different, but I guess alchemy and potions are still considered as magical healing. Therefore, if the healer doesn't have the necessary tools for their healing ritual, then there is nothing they can do at that moment.

The Whumpee has to want to be healed/have enough energy/life force to bond with the healing magic- Another convoluted one, perhaps, but I'll try my best to explain. The healing magic will not work on the Whunoee unless they still have the drive to live and survive. It is something like having the will power to choose to get better and fight through the pain, otherwise the healing magic will just leak out and do nothing in terms of healing. Additionally, it can be linked with how much "life force" there is left in the Whumpee, so the more sever the injury is, the harder it is for the healer to connect with and heal the Whumpee.

The healing process is painful- The drawback of the healing process is the excrutiating pain as the bones and skin are knitted back together. So the Whumpee is pretty out of it by the end, or, once again, has to be treated in short bursts over a period of time.

Healing magic can only heal small or certain medium sized wounds- just have a power limit on the types of injuries the healer can heal with magic.

Happy Whumping and Feel Free to Add On :)

[holy-mother-of-whumpers]

Favorite character from Greek mythology + favorite myth from Greek mythology?

That is a really hard question😂 like what's your favorite music THERE ARE SO MANY!!!

I like to obsess over forgotten minor characters like a true nerd (like Epipole, the Greek Mulan, Thersander, Diomedes fellow Epigone) but except for that, I'm basic.

It's Odysseus ok 😂 he has a lot of whump and a happy ending! All I could ask for.

Also Perseus, the non Ovid version in which Medusa was always a monster.

My favorite myth is Pandora, the interpretation in which Hope is one of the evils, or the worst of them, because it forces you to endure all others for no rational reason. Sometimes you gotta cut your losses, not hope it'll get better.

Plus it's so rad that she got created like this super woman, with all the gods gifting her something, and her job was to open a box?? She didn't even need higher cognitive abilities for that, legend.

I can tell you my least favorite may be Herakles, or Theseus, who looked up to him. I cannot avoid interpreting the 'divine madness' as an excuse for a mean temper and being too cuddled by the gods to suffer proper consequences for his actions. He killed his family and in exchange he became The Hero™️. Rip Megara and kids I suppose, fridged for character development.

I'd love to let a Herakles stan change my mind though.

My least favorite myth(s) are the modern retellings twisting the original's meaning and agency to make a cheap fake feminism point or an over-edgy tragedy in which everybody sucks.

I know people think Miller but I mean more Jennifer Saint, super dry narration, no positive character, the pointlessly saddest endings in the canon wtf

That was a lovely question! Thank you! 🥰🥰

I'd like to hear your opinions too if you feel like coming out!

[love-me-a-lotta-whump]

My Favorite Whump Lists pt. 1

A list of all my favorite dramas/movies/animes I've made whump lists or Episode Highlights for-- (in multiple parts due to Tumblr's link limit) -- Lists that are my FAVORITE favorites are in italics.

DRAMAS

🇰🇷KOREA

Duel >> {x}

He Is Psychometric >>> {x}

Just Between Lovers >>> {x}

My Love From The Star >>> {x}

W: Two Worlds >>> {x}

I Hear Your Voice/I Can Hear Your Voice >>> {x}

Memorist >>> {x}

Sweet Home >>> {x}

Sweet Home Season 2 >>> {x}

Healer >>> {x}

The Uncanny Counter s1>>> {x}

Lawless Lawyer >>> {x}

Flower of Evil >>> {x}

Memories of the Alhambra >>> {x}

The Arthdal Chronicles >>> {x}

Where Stars Land >>> {x}

Color Rush >>> {x}

At A Distance, Spring Is Green >>> {x}

The K2 >>> {x}

One Ordinary Day >>> {x}

Semantic Error >>> {x}

Bulgasal: Immortal Souls >>> {x}

Lovers of the Red Sky >>> {x}

Descendants of the Sun >>> {x}

Come and Hug Me >>> {x}

Angel’s Last Mission: Love >>> {x}

The Smile Has Left Your Eyes >>> {x}

Uncontrollably Fond >>> {x}

Mirror of the Witch >>> {x}

Snowdrop >>> {x}

Money Heist: Korea: Joint Economic Area >>> {x}

Alice, The Final Weapon >>> {x}

Bad Guys >>> {x}

Big Mouth >>> {x}

If You Wish Upon Me >>> {x}

Blind >>> {x}

Revenge of Others >>> {x}

The Good Detective 2 >>> {x}

Island >>> {x}

Black Knight >>> {x}

Joseon Attorney: A Morality >>> {x}

Bloodhounds >>> {x}

Vigilante >>> {x}

🇨🇳CHINA

The Lost Tomb >> {x}

The Lost Tomb 2 >> {x}

Reunion: The Sound of The Providence >> {x}

Reunion: Sound of The Providence Season 2 >> {x}

Ultimate Note >>> {x}

Sand Sea >>> {x}

The Untamed >> {x}

The Golden Eyes >>> {x}

Psych Hunter >>> {x}

Miss Crow with Mr. Lizard >>> {x}

Legend of Fei >>> {x}

Hello Dear Ancestors >>> {x}

The Blue Whisper >>> {x}

Back From the Brink >>> {x}

🇯🇵JAPAN

Fuujinshi >>> {x}

Virtual Detective Tabito Higurashi >>> {x}

Hiru (Season 1)

Smoking >>> {x}

An Incurable Case of Love >>> {x}

Junkyouju Takatsuki Akira no Suisatsu>>> {x}

Algernon ni Hanataba O >>> {x}

🇹🇭THAILAND

Not Me >>> {x}

------+------

MOVIES

🇰🇷KOREA

Psychometry >>> {x}

Werewolf Boy >>> {x}

Blind >>> {x}

Fabricated City >>> {x}

Abyss >>> {x}

Youth of May >>> {x}

The Great Seducer >>> {x}

Why Her? >>> {x}

The Good Detective >>> {x}

🇨🇳CHINA

The Witness >>> {x}

🇯🇵JAPAN

Ajin: Demi Human >>> {x}

Blind Witness >>> {x}

Rurouni Kenshin: The Beginning >>> {x}

------+------

EPISODE HIGHLIGHTS

🇰🇷KOREA

The Fair >>> {x}

MORE FAVORITES >>> [link]

MORE WHUMP LISTS >>> [link]

[serickswrites]

Make Your Choice II

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, forced to watch, electrocution, unconsciousness

Whumper cut the current after what felt like an eternity to Team Leader. Smallest Teammate hadn't regained consciousness in that time. "Smallest Teammate! Smallest Teammate! Talk to me!"

"The precious one can't hear you, Team Leader," Whumper tutted. "You can see they're clearly unconsciousness.

"Smallest Teammate!" Team Leader called again. They tried to move, but the inordinate amount of chains kept them still.

"Look, you can see they're still unconscious," Whumper said as they took Smallest Teammate's chin between their thumb and forefinger. They lifted Smallest Teammate's head, showing just how unconscious Smallest Teammate was.

"Wake up! Smallest Teammate, wake up!" Teammate One's deep baritone echoed in the chamber.

"Come on, open your eyes," Teammate Two added.

"Yeah, precious one," Whumper cooed as they shook Smallest Teammate's head, "open your eyes for your team. Show them your pain."

"LEAVE THEM ALONE!" Team Leader roared as Whumper stroked Smallest Teamate's cheek.

Whumper chuckled. "Why? This was the choice you made. I'm going to keep touching them until I'm ready. Who knows what state they'll be in by then, though."

Tags: @gala1981 @basica11ywhumped @genuinelythioehat-is-whump @sadist-by-night @aarika-merrill

@lthrboy @styria-devil @j-is-evil-28 @whump-me @emrhys-post-tenebras

@bookworm3616 @annoyinghairdoranchhumanoid-blog @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @clever-kills