#minor whumpee

[defire]

Emotional conflict with defiant whumpees

Content: slapping, minor whumpee, punishment, beating, whipping

Those short little glares at whumper that dart all over the room afterward, measuring their chances and not liking the odds

Defiant kid not sure what would be most insulting so they're a little tentative about it, watching whumper's reaction closely

Making a biting remark and getting slapped for it. Feeling the ache and sting in their cheek, they hold back the second half of that comment.

A whumpee that was pretty stoic until whumpee 2 came along. All of a sudden whumpee 1 is very effectively insulting whumper every time they walk into the room, drawing all the abuse onto themselves.

Whumpee that cares about whumper, so instead of yelling or making biting remarks, they try to tell whumper to stop and stand their ground, only to get beaten down again.

When whumpee is only defiant around other people, no matter how much punishment they get, but when whumper drags them off somewhere private, they struggle to keep up their bravado.

Whumpee may be routinely beaten, but they are whipped for mouthing off. They save it for when they're royally pissed off.

Whumpee is encouraged to be defiant, but still punished for taking it too far. They're also punished even more harshly for being boring. They're constantly agonizing over how far to take it.

[chaotic-orphan]

Whumptober No. 4

Hallucinations

Hypnosis // sensory deprivation // “in my head you’re still alive”

Very loose interpretation of hypnosis, which means VAMPIRES BABY FOR SPOOKY SEASON!!!

*~*~*~*~*

Whumper cornered Whumpee in the alleyway, the poor dear trembling like a deer in shock, violently and so enticing. Whumpee kept backing up, turning their head left and right frantically but Whumper knew this alley was a dead end. He grinned as he stalked closer and Whumpee yelped, backing up all the way into a wall.

They flinched when they felt it. A sudden jolt of fear and panic as all blood drained from Whumpee’s darling face to their heart to be pumped around the muscles in their body.

Flee, flee, flee.

There was no fight impulse when a human faced a vampire, their body flooded with adrenaline to run, run as fast as they can.

“P-p-please! Please, no! Please!” Whumpee cried, holding their hands out in vain to create an illusion of control. Whumper stopped a metre away, tilting his head to the side, his grin exposing his fangs.

“You’re too pretty to be a chimney sweep,” Whumper said to the young boy covered in soot. He wore a peak cap and clothes that looked to be scraps of other clothes sewn together.

“Stay— stay back! I know what you are,” Whumpee announced, trying to be firm but their trembling lip gave them away.

“I know what you are too. Isn’t it illegal for girls to earn a wage?”

Whumpee stiffened. Their trembling ceased and they lowered their arms to their side, tightening their hands into fists. Her eyes sharpened dangerously.

“I’m a boy,” Whumpee said, her voice suddenly pitched down.

Whumper laughed and stepped forwards and Whumpee remembered to be afraid again and threw herself flat against the wall.

“I don’t like when my food lies to me,” Whumper sang, closing the distance between them.

Whumpee sucked in a fretful breath with an effort. “Th-thankfully chickens can’t speak.”

It was Whumper’s turn to freeze.

A surprised, melodic laughter bubbled up and out of his throat, stunning the girl into silence. She searched the area behind him, trying to see if there was any way she would be able to get by him, to skirt around him and make a run for it. Maybe if she kept making him laugh he would let her go?

“Child,” Whumper said fondly, fingers settling heavy on the brim of Whumpee’s hat. Whumpee’s hands shot up in panic, not thinking, as she held the hat over her hair.

“Please, please sir, don’t, please.”

A cold hand cupped under her chin and tilted her head up to meet the Vampire’s enthralling eyes. She was transfixed, locked into his gaze that seemed to be pulling her further in the more she looked, like the smell of chocolate from the corner shop that opened its doors after school. She forgot her fear, completely unafraid, all her worry leaving her as if it was just a suggestion, a silly notion that she was afraid at all.

“Good,” Whumper hummed and Whumpee almost melted at the praise. “Drop your hands.”

Whumpee obeyed, lost in the labyrinth of his gaze unaware of the minotaur that lurked, following her through every new corner.

Whumper removed Whumpee’s hat. Whumpee didn’t even blink, too afraid to miss the allure of his gaze. Her blond hair like silver thread fell over her shoulders, tarnished by the soot and the remnants of ash, but still magnificent. Whumper didn’t expect to be pleasantly surprised at how pleasing the human was to his eyes.

“There we are. Much better. Tell me, child, how old are you?”

“Sixteen sir,” Whumpee answered automatically. Her voice less boyish now, more dreamlike and light.

Whumper smiled. “Not even fully grown,” he hummed. “Why are you dressed as a boy?”

“To earn money, sir.”

“Why?” Whumper pressed, running a knuckle down the side of Whumpee’s face, tracing the prominent outline of her skull all the way down to her throat.

“For my family, sir.”

Hmph, extraordinary polite for a human. Whumper locked the information in the back of his mind, he hadn’t compelled the girl to call him sir, she just seemed to. A reflex.

“What about your schooling?”

“I—” Whumpee began, but hesitated, her eyes blinking back the fog. Whumper saw the beginnings of recognition flashing in her blue eyes, so he tilted her head up again to lock eyes with his and she was under his thrall once more. “I need to provide for my family, sir. So I dropped out.”

Whumper’s smile grew. What a strange creature.

“Where are your parents? Do they not—”

“They’re dead, sir,” Whumpee said, cutting over Whumper. Whumper raised a brow at her interruption, but he knew she couldn’t really control what she was saying so he let the slight go. “I’m all we have.”

“You provide for your siblings?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you the oldest?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And how old are they?”

“They’re—” the fog dropped immediately as Whumpee was suddenly back in their body, eyes widening initially at how close Whumper was before they shut them tight and shoved Whumper’s chest away. “No! NO! Get away from me!”

Whumper’s hand didn’t leave Whumpee’s chin. “Open your eyes child, I just want to—”

“No!” Whumpee cried, shaking her head. Her hair brushed her face and oh, yes, she forgot he removed her hat but she knew he did. “Whatever you’re doing to me stop it! Stop it! Let me go!”

Whumper stared as the child squirmed, throwing thin fists at Whumper’s chest and arms and trying to rip his hand away. How fascinating a child she was, determined and loyal, protecting her family more than herself.

It took a lot to break a vampire’s thrall, but it was near impossible to break Whumper’s and this slight of a thing, this small scrappy girl, masquerading as a boy, covered in soot and ash and coal, she was able to break it?

Whumpee’s eyes shot open when Whumper put her hat back on her head, surprise winding every muscle tight. Anticipation of something awful flooded her and she wanted to cry and scream for help, but if she did, only men would come running — men who would see her hair, dressed as a boy and lock her up in an asylum or something, and she’d never be able to see her family again. They’d be sent to workhouses or worse…

Whumper stepped away. Whumpee didn’t move an inch as he back up another step, then another, and turned his body to the side, allowing her to pass.

Her mouth was dry. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m letting you go,” said the vampire.

Whumpee didn’t move. “You’re trying to trick me,” she accused, licking her cracked lips. “When I walk past you’re going to —”

The world rushed suddenly around her and she gasped as a hand was on her throat, a thumb on her cheek, forcing the side of her face into the brickwork and she gasped, kicking her legs weakly as her air bled from her body.

Her hat vanished in the flurry of movement and Whumpee found herself locking eyes with the vampire again, her heart racing in her chest but she didn’t feel the floating absence of sensation she felt before, it was more like seeing a wolf in the woods on its own, the two of you hunting for game and seeing which would look away first, which of them would back out of the fight.

“If I wanted to kill you, dear, trust me, you’d be dead.” His voice carrying through air like the choir in church, soothing and pleasant. He dropped her and she fell to ground, landing on both feet and tipping backwards, leaning on the wall for support. Whumper was impressed. He pressed her hat back into her hands which Whumpee took with trepidation. He leaned down and grinned, exposing his fangs again and Whumpee flinched. “Run along now, little one. I’m getting hungry, and you don’t want to be here when I fancy a snack, hmm?”

Whumpee didn’t need to be told twice. She didn’t even put her hat on immediately and fix all the strands perfect, she did it as she half ran out of the alley, haphazardly throwing her hair up and smashing the brim of her hat low over her brows. Her heart pounded in her chest but she didn’t stop running until she made it home.

She looked over her shoulder, glancing around to make sure the vampire or anyone else hadn’t followed her before she snuck into the abandoned manor at the end of the high street, a condemned building, Whumper realised as he watched her throw open the doors to the cellar and with one last glance around, she disappeared beneath the ground.

Whumper smiled.

Clever girl. Observant, unlike so many other humans. Whumper would have to watch her over the week, see if he could see any of her siblings or the hint of a parent or guardian figure.

For now though, he was famished. The girl had been his meal before she was so intriguing. He wanted something fatty, he hummed, turning away from the manor and walking to the manor houses of the rich. A grin on his face.

A feast for his stomach and a feast for his brain.

What a night.

[ghost-whump]

hello!! I saw requests are open and would be willing to write something with this prompt?

a character goes back in time and finds their enemy being tortured. now everything they knew that happens in the future makes sense and the situation provides some much needed context to fill in the gaps…the only thing is, after rescuing their future enemy from the torture, their enemy has now devoted their loyalty to their rescuer.

(@whumpwillow)

hi!! this ask was apparently sent last year, but it had not appeared in my ask box until now…

but i’ll try my best almost a year later! buckle up, it’s a long one.

Monster

Villain was a tough person. Angry at the world and at Hero, specifically. They’d been hell bent on destroying the planet (a bit clichéd, if you asked Hero, but fair) for so long and with such passion, that Hero had gotten curious.

As a government employee, they had access to the top secret time machine. One thing leads to another and then,

“Please! I’m begging you, please…”

Villain, albeit a much younger version, kneeled on the floor. They couldn’t have been much older than a teenager, lanky and pale. Dressed in dirtied and torn clothes that were clearly much too small, Villain clutched onto the legs of a woman that stood over them.

“I’m sorry, r-really, I am. I’ll be good and quiet and I won’t hurt anything ever again, I promise! Let me out, for just a minute, please, I-!”

They were cut off with a sharp slap. Hero held back a gasp. Though they stood in a dark corner, obscured from both of their views, they couldn’t help but feel too close to the scene. Like they were watching something they shouldn’t.

The woman kicked her foot, sending Villain onto the cement floor with cry.

“Don’t touch me, rat!” She held aloft a tin can, labeled as a vague mystery meat. The kind one would keep in apocalypse rations or a weird, evil boot camp. It didn’t look appetizing. As if she just stepped in a sticky puddle, the woman soured, “I’ve told you not to talk me like that. You know you don’t deserve my mercy. Not until you get better.”

Villain whimpered and held their cheek. “Sorry… I…” They scooted backwards into the wall.

The woman, stepping forward into the dim light of the room, placed the can on its side and lightly kicked it in Villain’s direction. It rolled until hit their shin, but they didn’t pick it up. Watery eyes stared at it, fingers twitching, but made no move to pick it up.

At first, Hero thought they might be afraid of it.

Villain looked up at the woman, then back at the can.

With a small grin, the woman said, “Good boy… Good restraint.” Then, silence. It dragged on for a minute, maybe more. “You can have it now.”

Villain lunged for the can, which had rolled away a little. They clutched it with shaking hands, pulling it close to their chest. Barely above a whisper, they mumbled, “Thank you, Mom.”

Spinning on her heel, the woman stormed off. “Don’t call me that. I’m not your mother,” She spat, “Not anymore.”

Her steps retreated as she ascended a flight of stairs, confirmed Hero’s theory that they were in a basement. Their attention was turned back to Villain at the sound of growling. Expecting a wild animal or beast, they were shocked to discover that it actually came from the teenager in the room. They had the can in their hands and teeth, trying to gnaw it open.

While Villain did… that… Hero’s eyes wandered the room. In the opposite corner was a worn and stained twin mattress, a thin blanket, and a pile of identical empty mystery meat cans. None have been opened the proper way, all are smashed, chewed, or other variously destroyed states.

Hero couldn’t help but think, as would anyone, “Poor Villain.”

They couldn’t just stand around and watch them struggle.

Cautiously, remembering that this Villain we’re talking about, Hero stepped out of the shadows. When the kid didn’t look up, they softly cleared their throat.

Villain’s eyes jumped up, scrambling back. They held the can, now slightly dented, like a weapon. “Who— Who are y-you? Get out of h-here!”

“It’s okay. My name is Hero, I’m here to help you.” They held their hands up, palms open. They’re no threat.

“N-no. You have to get away… You- You… I’ll hurt you! You can’t be here, i-it’s not allowed!” With a cry, they hurled the can at Hero, who reflexively caught it mid-flight.

Considering the can, rolling it over in their hand a few times, Hero appraised the damage. “Here, I’ll open this for you.”

Under Villain’s watchful glare, Hero reached into their pockets and pulled out a knife. They didn’t miss the whimper that came across the room at the sight. Stabbing the lid of the can, they jimmied it off with relative ease. Not a perfect cut, like they’d get with a can opener, but not bad.

Hero lowered to the floor, placing the can down. There was still a good ten-feet of distance between them, so they slid it across the floor. Villain snatched it and used their hands to shovel the mushy brown slop into their mouth. Between bites, they briefly looked back up at Hero. “Thanks,” They grunted.

“Yeah. It’s the least I could do.”

A minute passed in silence, occasionally broken by the horrible sounds of Villain devouring the meat like a wild animal.

“Do you want to talk to me now?” Hero asked, taking the smallest step closer.

Taking a pause from licking the inside of the can, “What?”

“Why are you here, I mean. Forgive me for saying this, but a dirty basement isn’t exactly the place to keep a teenager.”

Villain curled their knees to their chest, placing the can woefully beside them. “Why do you care? I don’t even — I don’t even know who you are.”

“I’m Hero. And you’re Villain. I know more about you than you think.”

“‘Hero’ is a stupid name.”

They grimaced. Charming as ever. “You’ll come around to it.”

Villain crawled over to their bed. They deposited the can with the others and flopped onto the mattress. It seemed to hurt them. “If you’re going to do something, would you just get it over with? I’m tired.”

“…”

“Well? Does a kid with an attitude not get your rocks off? Need something less mouthy?” They commented with a sneer.

“Why would I-” Hero cut themselves off, feeling even grosser than they did before. They steeled their face and pressed on. “Look, I’m just going to get you out of here. I don’t care about an attitude or why you’re down here, this isn’t right.”

Villain chuckled, “Good luck. I can’t leave here. It’s not allowed.”

“Why isn’t it allowed?” They questioned, taking another step closer. They were nearly at the foot of the bed.

“‘Cus I’m a monster,” Villain spat, grimacing at the word. “I hurt things, I just can’t stop myself. Animals, people, whatever. I’m not allowed outside because I’ll kill something, like I killed my sister.” Their voice got quieter as they spoke, less and less snarky with each passing moment. “Besides,” they sniffed, “I don’t even want to leave. I have everything I need here.”

Hero nodded along, contemplating. “Then why did you beg your mother to leave?”

Villain blanched. “That’s… That’s not…”

Without further prompting, Hero bent down and plucked Villain off the ground with surprising ease. The kid was light as a feather. The kid yelped but didn’t struggle. “Nope. You’re coming with me. No arguments.”

This was probably not the smartest decision Hero had ever made. Damned the consequences, the timeline, whatever. Hero took an oath to protect those in need and, well, Villain seemed pretty in need.

They pressed a few buttons on the time-machine on their wrist and in a flash of light, they were thrust forward in time.

The weight of Villain was gone from their arms, causing them to panic. They were supposed to be coming with them, but they just disappeared!? What happened, what —

“Welcome back, Hero!”

They stumbled, losing their balance from the jump. A hard grabbed their arm, keeping them steady. Hero looked up at this stranger. They didn’t have any assistants, there shouldn’t be anyone here, there can’t be…

It’s them, with shorter hair and rectangular glasses, they wore a lab coat and held a clipboard. But this was…

“Are you alright, Hero? It’s me, Villain.”

woof, that’s a long one. i wasn’t sure if i was going to finish it. once again, sorry it’s been like a year (unless it’s new and tumblr is wigging out on me) but i hope this is done to a good degree.

thanks for reading :]

General Tag: @morning-star-whump

[3-2-whump]

Khaled’s First Halloween

Well, okay, more like ‘Khaled’s First Pumpkin Carving’

Inspired by my parents’ exchange students they hosted over the years, and their exact reactions to sticking their bare hands into cold, clammy pumpkin guts for the first time 🫠

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz

@bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@defire

[hyperfixation-goes-brrr]

MasterList

[the-baby-storyteller]

Cw for minor whump

Adoption Whump

Think a teenaged character in an orphanage or foster care. They’d always had a relatively good life; despite being orphaned their home was always filled with lots of other kids like them and they were happy. But, they’d heard horror stories of the horrible lives kids lived after adoption. Lives of abuse, of fear, of pain. They’d be put through endless torment, used, thrown around and beaten up, degraded simply because they were helpless, without a family, without a way to call for help. They shuddered at the thought, but surely, those stories were just that right? Stories. They were satisfied with their comfortable life, and if they ever got adopted, well, they were sure it couldn’t be that bad.

They were right on one front.

It wasn’t bad.

It was worse than they could have ever imagined.

The home seemed nice from the outside, a beautiful exterior, lush greenery, fountains sprawled over the grounds. Everything appeared to be perfect. To the average onlooker it would seem like a luxurious place for anyone to reside. It only made the reality of the situation ten times worse. Once inside, though still littered with decoration, the atmosphere was different. A threatening and frightening energy lingered in the air and the teen turned slowly toward their new owner. And that’s when it began.

The pain.

If asked, the teen couldn’t tell you what their daily life there was like. It was all jumbled together and fuzzy, their thoughts incoherent, clouded by suffering. There was only one thing that remained stable the whole time.

Hurt. Beatings. Pain. Anger. Hands. Kicks. Punches. Pain.

Each day was filled with impossible loads of tasks to accomplish.

Clean every inch of the house and do the laundry. Cook dinner and take care of my kids. Go out to buy groceries and entertain the guests. And I want this done before I get back.

They didn't talk to anyone except to be reprimanded for things out of their control. Every word said to them was meant to beat down, to crush. And when, not if, they didn't complete the overwhelming amount of work...well, they didn't like to talk about what happened then.

They went through life with eyes glazed over and a mind that constantly wished to be away, away from life, away from reality. The only thing they wanted was to leave.

Then, they were adopted by a rich person.

When they heard the news, they grew even more draw in and frighteningly quiet. Their old foster parent was overjoyed to get rid of them which only made them more fearful for what was to come, terrified of what their new parent owner would do to them.

They arrived at the new house and were in awe of how grand it was. Every crevice of the exterior was fully decorated to display their wealth. But, the only thing it could make the teen think of was how much worse they would be hurt here.

They heard footsteps approaching and immediately directed their head downward, trying to radiate submission and not wanting to anger their new owner.

The footsteps got closer and they hunched in further as their heart rate sped up, until finally two feet stopped in front of them. They held their breath for a moment, waiting for something to happen, a word, and order, a sigh, a kick or a slap even. A hand suddenly came into their view and they held back a flinch, but it just slowly rose until it gently met their cheek.

"Hi." A soft voice said.

Their heart jumped and they widened their eyes. That voice was smoother than anything they'd heard before.

"Can I see your face?"

The teen blinked dumbly for a moment, then registered they were being spoken to, not spoken at and had to hold back a jump at the unfamiliarity of the question. Why would they ask me-

"What's your name, love?"

The teen realized too late that they'd taken too long to respond, lost in their own worries and thoughts. They quivered slightly at the consequences of ignoring their owner and being reproached already, but..

'Love...'

"W-Whumpee..." The teen whispered quietly, lowering their eyes and wishing they could curl in on themself and become smaller. They couldn't ignore a direct question, but were terrified knowing talking was a sure way to get into trouble. But the hand that was still on their face wasn't letting them escape.

Against their expectations, they weren't scorned or spit at for saying their name. Instead they heard a light response.

"Hello, Whumpee," They could almost hear the smile (smile?) in the voice, "My name is Caretaker."

"Would you look at me, dear?"

Their breath caught and their eyes darted around as their brain hastened to find the right thing to say. They couldn't in good conscience look their owner in the eye but the certainly couldn't disobey an order. Amidst their wrestling, they must have absently nodded their head because, to their terror, the hand on their cheek started raising their face.

Their breathing picked up but there was nothing they could do except let it happen until they were finally face to face with the person who would control their fate for the foreseeable future. They expected to see a harsh, stony face to match their status, but instead were met with overwhelming calm, a warm aura, and a tender charm that made them want to melt. Caretaker oozed control and confidence, and the teen could tell they held a lot of power; they held themself high, were dressed in sophisticated clothing, and Whumpee had to crane their neck to meet their gaze. And yet, there was a soft feeling about them and their face was filled with kindness.

"Thank you." Caretaker smiled with squinty eyes that reminded them of the little kids at the orphan home.

The teen had never been more confused, afraid, and in the presence of such serenity all at once.

[whumble-beeee]

Whumptober 2024 | Day 10 | The Bee's Whumptober Masterlist

What Happens When You Give a Tween The Power to Wreck Some Shit

AI-less Whumptober: Self worth issues, pushing away a loved one, “You don't need to earn this.”

Whumptober: BLOW TO THE HEAD | Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight."

CW: minor whumpee (13yo, dw things work out tho), female whumpee, male whumper, knives

* * * * * * * *

“Hey there, little lady.”

Chloe flinched violently and spun around to face the voice, chin held high, eyes blazing. Anyone who dared approach a girl– WOMAN, she reminded herself– as young as her and talk to them like this late at night in a place like… well, here, a half-abandoned side street– couldn’t be up to any good.

Unfortunately, her fears turned out to be founded as soon as she took in the profile of the voice. An adult man. Quite a bit taller than her, not exactly stacked but not a lanky little man either, with the sharp of a nasty looking knife pointed directly at her face.

His eyes glinted as she clenched her fists at him and tried to calm the stuttering in her chest, tried to come out of the shaking spiral and the tunnel vision and deep breathing she'd been doing right before he announced himself. 

…Okay, so she may not have been paying attention to her surroundings. At all. In a bad part of town. At night. But Marcus was pissing her off saying it wasn't her fault that she couldn't have saved Stan earlier, so… she ran. And he called after her, but she slammed him back with her power, and she kept running.

And he didn't catch her.

So this was all his fault, really…

Nevertheless, she glared at her assailant. And his knife. “I wouldn't, if I were you,” she hissed, lowering her voice as intimidating as she possibly could, ignoring the way her heart skipped a beat and the pang of fear weaving it's way through her stomach. She tried to discreetly wipe away the wetness running down her cheeks. 

The man just laughed.

“Oh, don't worry your pretty little head about it, I don't want to do any of uh…” he glanced up and down the entirety of Chloe's body. “That. Lucky you. Just hand over your wallet. Or any other valuables, really, pretty girl like you looks like she’s got loads of daddy’s money. Sure you could spare a couple hundred.”

She could lay this clown out on the pavement right here and now, if she wanted to. But never ever use your powers on someone unless it is life or death. Never let anyone know you have a power, never put yourself in a situation where you'd need to even use your powers, unless you want to end up like Mom and Dad. And me. 

Yeah, Stan. She knew. And he didn't listen to his own advice, and now he was captured again too…

Chloe pursed her lips with a huff at the thought, and tried to shove past the robber, but he moved in front of her, blocking her way. She tried again, blocked again, pushed back, attempted sidestep turned stumble back as she tried to keep away from the man and the glinting knife in a horrid dance of rising adrenaline and growing nerves. Before she knew it, he had flanked her, cornering her with her back to a dark alley. 

She bared her teeth at him. “Fuck you! Get out of my way!”

“Woah, now,” his easy smile disappeared, head tilting at her with narrowed eyes. “Didn’t they teach you that sharing is caring when you were at kindergarten today?”

“I'm not– Get away from me or you’ll regret it,” Chloe spat back. Her muscles shook with the tension, and for a moment she could swear she saw red. You could crush this idiot without thought. 

But don't.

“Just give me the money and I will. I know your brain’s not fully developed, but it really is that simple. Plus I really don’t want to hurt a preschooler if I don’t have to.” 

“I’M NOT A PRESCHOOLER!” she shouted, throwing clenched fists out behind her, throwing her full body into yelling at the man, making herself look bigger, trying to make him leave her alone.

The man clenched his jaw at the ferocity of her words, amusement giving way to slight anger before his gaze settled on her angry fists and transformed his demeanor entirely into one of shock and disbelief.

“You–...” he panted, eyes flicking up and down her form again. “You're glowing.”

NO.

Chloe's face went white as she tore her gaze downward and only now noticed the powerful blue glow. It extinguished immediately and she stumbled backward, back hitting the wall of the alleyway with a slight oomph and nearly making her scream.

“No, I’m not!”

 But it was too late. 

You need to learn to control your powers. Yes, Stan, she knew! So why did he get captured before he could teach her everything?!

Tears pricked at her eyes.

Why did he have to get captured? She wouldn't be here if he weren't captured, she just wanted her big brother–

“You have powers." The man's extraordinary observation skills ripped her back to the present. "Holy shit, man, that’s…”

Then his gaze settled to her elbow. Where a hero brand would be, if she had one. Oh no. She grabbed at clutched at the exposed skin of her elbow and held it behind her, taking a defensive position, teeth bared. “Yeah, I have powers. Now let me go before I decide to use them on you.”

“Use them on me?” He scoffed. “How old are you again?”

“None of your beeswax!”

“Because if you're too young to have the brand…” a hunger glinted in his eyes. “Oh, this changes things.”

“What–?”

“Do you know how much money a little super without a marking could be worth?! We could wait a bit, turn you in for evading, or– God, I know some people who would go crazy–”

Life or death.

Run.

She sprinted, screaming as loud as she could, straight past him, ran, she needed help, she needed Marcus, she needed Stan she needed help someone to help her anyone she didn't want to be kidnapped–

The back of her shirt caught and yanked her fully back–

“NO STAN HELP–!”

– choking her briefly before slamming her right back into the alleyway wall. The air knocked out of her lungs, and yet she still struggled against the fist curled and pinning the fabric of her shirt against the wall. That is, until she felt the sharp tip of the knife pressing into her stomach. And she froze, staring up into her assailant's eyes.

Life or death.

Life or death??

“LET ME GO!!” she screeched in a blind panic, squirming and kicking and screaming until the man let go of her shirt to slap his hand over her mouth instead, and even then she didn't stop.

“Quiet down, now, unless you want a new hole in your goddamn stomach,” he hissed, pressing the knife even harder against her, the deadly edge painfully close to breaking fabric and flesh. The world around her blurred, a sort of blue lightning crackling up inside of her, overtaking her entire body. “I’m not gonna be outsmarted by some kid. I know if your power were actually useful, you’d’ve used it by now. Which means It’s all the better for a show. So you’re not getting away because you're a tiny as shit preteen who will do whatever I say because I can and will do whatever the fuck I want to you–”

LIFE OR DEATH!!

A flash of bright blue light filled the dingy alley. As Chloe's powers concentrated in her hands, then threw out and created a force strong enough to slam the head of the man attacking her to the side.

THUNK!!

The man shuddered and lurched backward. The knife dropped away from her stomach, leaving a small hole in the shirt where it had almost bore into her. And the hand finally fell away, but suddenly she didn't feel the need to scream.

On the contrary. She stared frozen at his zombie-esque form as he staggered and fell to his knees, muttering incoherently, looking at her with angry, unseeing eyes and shaking body.

Then pause.

Then he collapsed the the ground in a shuddering heap, muttering nonsense.

She stared.

She did that.

Her power did that.

She did that.

Oh crap, she did that…

Adrenaline dumped into her system, and she sprinted off into the night.

* * * * * * * *

This drabble is apart of the (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping universe!

Whumptober Taglist: @whumperofworlds | @whumptober-archive | @regular-whump-sfx

[tictac-murder-spaghetti]

Mother Stands for Comfort - Lifetime Achievement Award Oneshot #1

As part of my effort to uh, actually post here again, there’s that Strychnine backstory piece I said I was writing forever ago! Finally finished it :D

Go little lab boy go

Content Warnings: Minor whump, lab whump, verbal and mental abuse child abuse, dehumanization gore, implied character death

Story under the cut!

She hadn’t run a test all day. #07 kept expecting it, for her to ask him to climb back onto the exam table, to ask him to stretch out his arms for more shots or lay down so she could cut back open his still healing vivisection scars, take another look at the black goo that filled him where organs should have been- but she didn’t. The closest thing she’d done was ask him to pull off his thin hospital shirt for a moment so she could change the bandages wrapped around his torso. Beyond that she’d… left him alone. He wasn’t used to it, but it was nice.

She’d stayed elsewhere in the lab all day, back turned to him as she cleaned tools and mixed chemicals, only stopping once to get him lunch without speaking to him at all.

It was almost peaceful.

#07 didn’t have the best track of time, but it was late by the time Belladonna finally came back to him, playing house with a couple random glass vials he’d found.

"Now #07, sweetie, I need to talk to you. You're merely a rough draft, you've served your purpose and it's time for us to move forward in my innovation. You've got a brilliant mind and an even better heart, and those parts would serve the project well, so I'm going to... repurpose you."

#07 gave his mother a confused look, his yellow eyes wide, "What does that mean Belladonna?"

"Now, don't be scared #07, you're merely a step on the road to perfection. While you're not the one, you will help me towards him. It will only hurt a little bit. Now go get ready, please, sweetie, go get yourself up on the exam table now."

"Okay Belladonna."

#07 turned and made his way towards the metal exam table, the straps on it used to hold him down countless times while he'd laid patiently as a scalpel drove through his chest or she poked him with syringes full of glowing substances that he'd have no way of knowing what they contained. He was always good. He was always perfect, why wasn't he perfect now? He stopped in front of the table, back still turned to her as he looked down at his gloves. He was a child, yes, but he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t unaware. He’d put up with Belladonna’s procedures for years- his entire life, and it was finally starting to click. This wasn’t how a parent was supposed to treat their child. She’d talk about him sometimes, the one he was created to make up for, and she’d never treated him like this. He got to go to the park, see the sun and get ice cream, he got to read the books that Belladonna had only read to him once or twice whenever he wanted, he got a name.

“I- I don’t want to do that.”

“What did you say, #07? Get on the table.”

There was a threatening tone to her voice, one he was all too familiar with.

“You’re going to hurt me.”

“Not more than is needed. This is all just procedure-”

He cut her off, turning around to face her. His gloves were unbuckled.

“You’re gonna hurt me and I’m going to disappear.”

“Don’t be silly #07, it’s not like I can continue with you. You’re not my son. You’re broken. You are not human. So yes, you’ll go away, dear #07, but the next one may be the one to make it.”

“You hurt me-”

“#07, stop this! I don’t need your guilt trip, gods, maybe it was better that the previous ones couldn’t talk. Get on the table or I will force you onto it!”

#07 just gave her one more pleading look before he peeled the gloves off of his hands, black goo already running from his palms and sizzling as it hit the tiled floor. He ran at her, grabbing her left hand tightly in his own, feeling flesh peel away under his grasp. Dr. Belladonna screamed, trying to shake his grip as her own red blood mingled with the black acid running across her hands.

“YOU LITTLE MONSTER! I SHOULD HAVE SCRAPPED YOU THE FIRST DAY- WHEN YOU CAME OUT LIKE THIS!”

She attempted to toss him off again, but he kept his grip, feeling bone as his grip just tightened. She grabbed him at the hips, lifting him up quite aggressively and slamming the small boy down onto the metal table, making a desperate grab for the leather restraints that perfectly fit #07’s small size. He didn’t stop struggling from underneath her, crying as he desperately grabbed at the front of her labcoat.

She screamed again as a hand went straight through the fabric of her coat, searing directly into the flesh right near her collarbones. He kicked out wildly with both legs, causing Dr. Belladonna to recoil, #07 scrabbling to sit up and stare at Dr. Belladonna with wild eyes. He barely knew what he was doing, driven purely by panic and desperation and rage.

He launched himself at her, both mother and son hitting the hard marble floor as she tumbled backwards from his bodyweight. The noise when her head hit the floor was a horrible, dull thunk, but he could barely hear it over his own scream. He straddled her waist as he kept clawing at her, Dr Belladonna raising her arms to try and protect her face. Her struggles grew weaker as he continued, tears streaming down his face and breathing ragged until the rage subsided and the horror flooded back in.

He tried to stand, to back away from her, but he couldn’t, collapsing to the ground not far from her body and attempting to reign in his breathing.

He couldn't tell the difference between what was her blood and what was the acid dripping from his own hands. She just lay prone in a growing puddle of black, #07 himself kneeling on the slick ground, hands pressed to the cold tile floor. His hands, up to the wrist, were covered in a thin dark sheen, the same that coated his mother’s arm and saturated her lab coat as she lay there, unmoving. He couldn't tell if she was breathing.

"Belladonna?” No no, doctor, she’d be mad, she’d want him calling her doctor.

#07 crawled on his hands and knees, ignoring the wet squelching of the goo underneath him as he went to kneel beside her. Tears streamed down his face, dark as the acid that dripped from his hands as he raised a hand to gently brush a strand of her hair out of her face and touch her cheek in the foolish hope that it'd wake her up. Instead, the young boy recoiled as his hand went straight through flesh, more blood pooling around his fingers as her skin peeled away under his touch, skittering backwards in the puddle, smearing blood and gore across the floor as he did so.

"Doctor-" his sobs took away the rest of that sentence before he could even get it out. He pulled his knees towards his chest, curling into as small of a ball as possible as his hands still dripped, staining the knees of his shorts black. His hair fell across his face as his chest heaved with panicked breaths, he'd- he'd... his creator was lying there- he'd done it- she'd tried to. He was eight. He was eight years old and he could barely process what had happened. What he'd done. What she'd tried to do. #07 fell to his side, not caring about the slick floor under him or the way the gore splashed across his face and hair as he did so. He closed his eyes. He cried himself to sleep.

When #07 awoke, it was still dark. She still lay in the puddle. His hands still dripped an inky black as he spotted his discarded gloves a couple feet away, pushed aside by the scuffle. The boy got to his feet, slowly, as he grabbed the gloves and put them back on, securing every buckle, every latch and strap, just like Belladonna had done the day she put them on, telling him it was for his own safety. He was still covered in gore. He didn't need to look at himself to know that. He could feel the way it clung to his clothes, to his bare skin, the smell of bleach and burnt flesh overpowering all else. He didn’t know what to do. Where to go. He was a construct built to obey his creator and he had killed her.

There wasn’t anything for him to grab, anything to remember the place he’d spent the first 8 years of his life before he trudged towards the heavy metal door of the lab.

He had no clue how the door mechanisms worked, and while he was probably smart enough to figure them out, he was tired. He just- he wanted to be done.

#07 peeled one of his gloves off again, pressing his still bloody palm to the metal until it started to bubble away- the door creaking open once he’d demolished the lock.

The boy trudged through the door, nearly tripping and winding back up on his knees as soon as he stepped foot onto cold dirt. Real dirt, not cold marble tile, and there was a real sky, dark and cloudy but not shining through layers of reinforced skylight glass. Part of it made his heart- the only real part of him, ache. But it was beautiful.

And now, he could be a part of it.

[clickerflight]

Voltober 18. Come Sweet Death - Sonder story

Author's Note: Another bit from Sonder Story with @writing-whump Is a very good time! This actually takes place before our writing starts. This is a part of Cody's backstory.

Masterlist - Voltober 17

Content: wolf whumpee, wolf whumper, minor whumpee, fear, 3/4ths of a death wish, execution, eviscerated, kind of sort or hospital whump if you squint at it

@voltober

Bleeding Out | Near Death Experience | Death Wish/Self Sacrifice

Cody sat shivering in a holding cell at the precinct. He rubbed at the terrible bruise forming on his arm where the chemicals in the dart used to subdue him interacted badly with his blood vessels. It reacted badly in all of him, actually. He was exhausted, he couldn’t stop tearing up, and he had thrown up everything he’d tried to eat in the last four hours.

He sat against the cold wall, pulling his knees to his chest and ignoring the chatter coming from the other cell. There were more people in there, all human. Wolves got their own cell, so they didn’t kill anyone if they decided to act up.

The silver bars radiated cold that Cody tried to get as far away from as possible. It was making him feel even sicker on top of the dart that had forcibly crushed his shadow.

He wished he could go back to this morning and warn himself of what he would be going through. To tell him to have a bit more restraint, to just never leave his room in the first place. All he wanted was a bit of sun and fresh air. He slipped out, but the twins noticed and they followed him to the local park, laughing and jeering as they followed him, never catching up to him but never far enough away to ignore.

When he had sighed and turned to face them, they got in his personal space, mocking him and his weak control over his shadow, pushing him around.

Cody wrapped his arms around his knees tighter when the words they said rang in his head. “Awww, are you gonna cry to your family pack? Oh, that’s right! You don’t have one! You’re lucky we agreed to have you here. You know wolves like you get killed just because they can’t control their shadows, right? Bet you’ll be gone within the year. What do you want us to bring to the funeral?”

Cody trembled. It was true. He’d only survived this long because of leaders who rolled his shadow down so the assessors wouldn’t realize how little control he had as a wolf. He had cheated the system to keep living, and it had come back to bite him. He had lost control there in the park, in public. He’d fought the twins and hadn’t been able to calm down until the police got there, called by the terrified humans.

And now he was here, waiting quietly after getting his mugshot and fingerprints taken, hoping the leader of the pack his social worker had placed him in would come to get him. At the same time, he almost hoped Kai would just leave him here forever. He was terrified of what the punishment would be for this. Wolves were only allowed to live with humans in cities based on how well they could control their own people in the packs. Cody losing it in public like that was a strike against wolves as a whole.

What if Kai killed him for it? Cody didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to think that the culmination of his life was just to be lonely, to suffer, and then to die because no wolf spent enough time or energy on him to teach him how to be a wolf himself.

No one would even care if he died. Or, if they did, they would be glad it finally happened.

Cody whimpered, burying his face in his knees, tears welling up in his eyes. He couldn’t take this anymore. Maybe he would be happier if he was dead. Somehow, he couldn’t really believe that.

He looked up as he heard footsteps in the hall, recognizing one of the pairs of steps at Kai’s.

He stood up, staring at the floor as the leader of the pack appeared, two police officers just ahead of him.

One of them unlocked the door and said, “We usually leave this sort of decision up to the packs, but you might want to make some serious decisions about this one. I haven’t seen a pup go so crazy in public like that before. You might want to get him checked for madness.”

“Oh, I will make certain he is handled,” Kai said, his shadow spilling into the cell and hanging threatening around Cody’s feet.

Cody silently stepped forward, trembling. The cops spoke with Kai for a moment before Kai left, his shadow hanging around Cody like an escort.

Cody swallowed hard, trying to keep his breathing soft and careful as tears spilled down his cheeks. He was so scared. He was so scared and he had no idea how to get out of this situation. He just wanted this all to be over, however it ended.

It was dark outside, and rainy.

Kai flipped up his collar against the rain while Cody could only fold his arms as the freezing rain soaked into his t-shirt.

Kai didn’t speak as he walked through the quiet city, the unaffiliated street wolves shying away from his commanding shadow.

Cody could only follow, the rain replacing his tears as a strange sort of numbness descending over him. Emotional exhaustion was familiar to him at this point, and he welcomed it to protect him from whatever came next.

Kai stopped by an alley and gestured for Cody to go down it.

Cody hesitated for a moment too long and Kai grabbed his arm and shoved him down the alley, following him in.

“Do you take me for a fool, pup? We take you in after every other pack in the area kicked you out, and you do this!? Do you know how bad this makes us look!?”

Cody was barely listening, but he nodded anyway.

“It is a wonder that you haven’t been executed before now,” Kai snarled, taking a step forward and backing Cody against the brick wall. “I think it’s about time I do everyone a favor.”

He grabbed Cody by the throat, lifting up against the bricks.

The numbness was gone as quickly as a startled hummingbird. Cody gagged for air, grabbing onto Kai’s wrist and kicking his legs. He was going to die! Kai was going to kill him! Cody tried to beg, but didn’t have enough air to do so.

“What a waste of time an energy on all of our parts,” Kai growled. “Goodbye, pup.”

Kai’s shadow seemed to fill the entirety of the world and pain exploded from Cody’s stomach.

Kai dropped him to the ground, staring down at Cody as the huge gaping wound in his stomach spilled out blood to mix with the rain.

Cody reached his hand out after Kai as the pack leader turned and left him to bleed out.

Cody keened, reaching down to the wound, only to touch things that were never meant to be touched by his own fingers.

He gasped and tried not to gag, afraid that more of his organs would try and come out if he did so.

He realized too late that he wasn’t breathing as stars started around his vision, the edges darkening, and when he tried to get air in, the pain that lanced through his body forced him to shut down.

………………………..

He never expected to wake up, but he did. He woke in a hospital, his stomach sewed up, his organs where they rightly belonged, and wrapped in blankets that only seemed to emphasize how cold he was.

A nurse smiled kindly at him. “Good morning. How are you feeling.”

Cody stared at her before trying to sit up more against the pillows, stopping when his wrists caught on something. He looked down numbly at the straps around his wrists and the nurse tutted. “Sorry dear. Sometimes when wolves wake up it can get kind of scary so we have to be careful. Let me take those off for you.”

She reached over him, careful not to touch him, and undid one cuff, then they other. “I was just checking on you, but I can go get you something if you need. Are you thirsty?”

Cody stared up at her and nodded faintly, folding his hands together.

“Alright. I’ll be right back.”

The nurse left him alone in the hospital bed, after nearly dying. He turned his head and closed his eyes, lifting a hand to cover his face as he started to cry.

VTB Part 19

@percy-frayer because I know you are curious about Sonder story

[unforgivenn]

CALEB AND DOMINIC MASTERLIST

^Caleb is the dark haired one and Dominic is the ginger haired one^

Taglist: @miireux134 @someoneoninternettt @nuriiz134 @anutz123434 @ash-reh

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @animesfortoday @noeul-whumpppssssss1234 (let me know if you want to be added or removed ^^)

~Under the weather

~ Carried

~Threat

~At weapon's point

~Caught

~Plead

~Heat

~Took a tumble

~The endless nightmare

~The endless nightmare - 2

~All in vain

~Asks~

Caleb, When was the last time you laughed?

Dominic, Do you have any pet peeves?

Dominic's favorite tool/ instrument?

Be honest: did you deserve it?

do you have any rules?

does something hurt right now? what is it?

do you have any triggers?

have you ever killed? would you?

Masterlist is constantly updated

Reblogs are always appreciated <3

[defire]

Chapter 34: The Worst Day of my Life

Content: execution? Manhandling, shackles, slavery, fantasy racism, beating, public humiliation, whipping, rebels

The whole morning felt like it was going to kill Nife before she even got to the execution.

Nife  was dragged out of her cell and at every hobbled step the guard's club came down on her shoulder. She held her mouth shut and took the blows silently. No doubt it was all part of Striker's plan to publicly humiliate her.

After they'd gotten three levels down in the tower, she looked back into the guard's eyes. He appeared to be irritated at the whole thing, and when he saw her looking at him, he raised his stick, then paused, as if her expression was a painful reminder that she was just another human.

He grimaced and lowered the stick, choosing to jab her forward with it instead, which was much less painful.

Now that he had desisted, Nife managed to find a rhythm in the trip down the stairs to the outside, but as soon as they were in the public view, the shoving started, which made her feet yank at the short chain between her ankles until she fell, over and over on the way to the square.

A cold wind blew down from the tops of the buildings and sent curling twists of leaves and garbage flying off the patios, sweeping the square harshly and lifting Nife's sweaty curls off her forehead for a moment.

The heat from how hard she was trying to keep up with the guards soon whisked off in the cool fall breeze.

Nife soaked it in one more time, trying not to think about whether she'd ever see another fall.

No matter how much she tried to believe in Kit, all Nife could feel was a rising sense of hopelessness, now giving way to panic as she reached the cobbled square which had been built on a set of sunken condos. 

The square was full of hundreds of people packed into corners, patios and filling the street so much that the guards had to create a tunnel through the people.

The crowd was unusually quiet, and unusually docile. And except for a few Banes close by, the majority of them were Druids, low-class ones at that.

A shove with the butt of a spear hit her in the spine and she tripped on her shackles and fell to her knees on the stones, cursing.

"Get a move on, blue-face." The guard growled.

Nife's ankles throbbed around the shackles. It felt like the bone was bruising horribly. 

"Get up!" Another guard kicked her in the rear.

"If you want me up, don't push me fucking down!" She snarled, getting to her feet.

The guard's response to that was to take her by the hair and shove her forward the next couple steps, forcing her to bruise her ankles several more times, nearly losing her balance before he yanked her back upright.

"Horizons..." She hissed, swallowing as he let go of her.

If she was going to die anyway, she'd die using whatever the hell curses she liked.

"What kind of person parades around in something like that?" Some noble Bane whispered.

"And then she dares to look you in the eye–" The person responding shut their mouth as Nife sent them a sarcastic glare.

"What are you looking at?" The first Bane shouted.

Nife's glaring was interrupted by a cuff to the back of her head.

"Eyes down, slave."

"Fuck you." Nife whispered, casting her eyes down.

They must have heard her, because another blow to her back sent her to the ground again, and several more strikes landed on her back.

When she finally staggered back to her feet, grimacing in pain, she looked out into the crowd.

She did a double-take when she realized that one of the nearest faces was Caboodle's, under a mask. She recognized his gentle eyes.

Her chest tightened and she flushed. Then she realized that he wasn't making a judgment, just looking at her with... compassion.

It was surprising to find that compassion was a thing. If she were to take her parents’ treatment as a rule, people should tell her to stop complaining and try not to look injured. But apparently not everyone was like that.

Glancing around, she saw someone that matched Kit's build wearing armor and a helmet with a visor. He was close enough that she was pretty sure she recognized him.

Biting her lip, she looked away.

She didn't want them seeing her like this. It could ruin everything. But maybe everything was already ruined.

[here's Kit's theme song! :D ]

Kit watched as the prisoner stumbled before the last step and leaned over her bruised right ankle, muttering that they'd forced her to break it.

"That's close enough," Striker made a disgusted sneer at Nife on her knees before him. He beckoned for a man with a whip to approach. He drew up behind Nife.

Kit looked around furtively for the DJ that was supposed to signal them to fight. The Souls were going to take advantage of the confusion to rescue Nife, thanks to Warren's work. He could make out the man, who was leaning out over a roof parapet with his hair in a bun right up between his horns; that was how he was to be identified, Warren had said.

"Now, Nife Raizden," Striker said, referring to a kind of crumpled piece of paper as he spoke. "You can confess to these charges and get off with a lighter sentence,–"

"Don't pretend you're not gonna kill me." Nife's voice scraped out.

The whip snapped across her back, forcing out a choked cry, followed by a small groan. Kit's vision flashed white-hot with rage. He stuffed the anger back down into his chest, telling himself Nife had it handled, grateful for the helm he was wearing because it covered his outraged face. 

Of course she didn’t have it handled! Who had this shit handled? 

He knew how it cut in like a knife when one was struck with a piece of leather that was much shorter, and this one was long and braided.

It wasn't fair. She couldn't fight back.

"You're just degrading yourself further at this point," Striker said loudly. "Now you can make more pain for yourself, or you can confess to these citizens what you've done."

Striker looked over the crowd as he spoke, and when his eyes landed on Caboodle he hesitated, eyes opening a little wider. 

Kit felt a sudden comprehension through the bracelet as he connected with how Striker felt about Caboodle–he was his third favorite nephew, but still family, and Striker didn't want the kid to be here right before shit went down.

Kit cursed under his breath, raising his visor slightly as he turned to Warren, who was just on his left, masked and hooded.

"He knows something." He whispered.

Striker turned and looked right at Kit, eyes narrowing as the boy dropped the visor and Warren, who was wearing a mask and hood, nonchalantly fixed his gaze somewhere in the group of soldiers behind Striker.

Kit suppressed a huff of annoyance at his own inability to whisper.

Well, if he couldn't tell anyone, he could still plan.

As Striker began his demoralizing speech again, Kit reached into his pocket for the last page of the newspaper, which he usually kept for later reading.

He beckoned at Caboodle with his finger, who came a little closer. He reached into Caboodle's pocket and pulled out the pencil next to the comb he always carried, then wrote on the paper--

"Maybe trap. Striker knows. Check streets for reinforcements. Signal from the roof."

He handed it to Caboodle, who read it with widening eyes, then nodded and gave Kit his precious paper back. Kit gave him his precious pencil back.

Caboodle eased away from the main crowd and toward the streets to the east where the DJ sentry was.

"...Nife Raizden, you are accused of inciting violence against state officials. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Pf–you don't want to know." She said with a slight chuckle.

The whip snapped down again. And again. Kit flinched at every blow.

Striker was watching everyone in the crowd. 

The man whipped her until the scream finally escaped her. Then he lowered it and stepped back, and Kit saw with horror that a small chunk of skin had ripped back and was dripping blood. They were going to outright flog her, he realized. He couldn't let them do that. He had to do something. But fuck up the chance they had to save her? Not that.

Nife’s breaths were fast, panicking, and she was closing her eyes tight, like she was trying to shut out the world. She had to hold out until the rebels got the signal.

"You can confess, or he'll whip you till you do." Striker said, reaching under his coat and resting his hand on his hip, where the handle of a weapon stuck out. He stroked it absently with his thumb as he waited for Nife to give a more coherent answer. Her body lurched with sobs, shoulder blades pressing together, muscles forming tight ridges on either side, as if to protect her back.

She sniffled, looking up to the DJ sentry that everyone was waiting on. She had already picked up what his role was, true to her typical cunning.

"Nife Raizden." Striker said impatiently. "Do you confess?"

"Well, I do confess..." She mumbled.

"You'll need to speak loud enough for everyone to hear."

"Sure, I confess." She said a little louder, pointing her face toward the ground so her answer was muffled.

Fearing more lashes for that, Kit glanced up at the sentry again, and his jaw dropped as he realized the sentry wasn't there.

The sentry was gone.

No one in the square knew what to do.

But this was Nife. Kit reminded himself. She wasn't the type to just mumble words for no reason. Nife had to be doing something clever.

Striker grabbed her by the beads on her chest and shoved her up to the top step of the dias for everyone to see.

"Tell them so they can hear it." He said in a gently threatening tone. His voice, even though it was calm, carried far through the square with unnerving power.

Kit was close enough to see her shiver. He was also close enough to see the welts rising on her back and the bruising around the tight shackles on her ankles.

But when she stood, she straightened up, and what had looked like a shuddering bony mass of human flesh extended into a tall, lean girl with a crooked smile. Somehow in that moment, she transformed into the magnetic Nife Raizden everyone knew, with nothing but a smirk and a little dancing motion with her fingers. The bruises and blood didn't matter, neither did her scanty outfit. They only added to the imperfect appeal of a girl who could sway a throng with a few words.

"Alright," She said, this time loud enough for everyone to hear her voice, which was gravelly from the screaming. "I confess. I'm inciting violence. I'm inciting violence right now, actually."

There was a stunned silence, in which she raised her left hand and twirled that knife he'd given her in her fingers, above her head where everyone could see her bony arm expertly flipping the steel. She turned and looked down at Striker, who was a few steps behind her, slightly frozen as if in disbelief.

"Striker, I am your equal." She said.

The words dropped into the hush like a hot sword into the quench and the voices rose like a huge hiss.

She was a female. A Druid. A child. A slave.

Fingers twirling the knife, she turned her smiling face to the populace once more.

"I confess, it appears we'll have to get violent." She shouted so they could all hear. "Let's get violent against our so-called betters!"

The roar when she released her spell and lowered her hand was white-hot.

Kit drew his father's sword and surged forward. There was no going back now.

First chapter: Last chapter:

Taglist: @tildeathiwillwrite @mimostic @fleur-a-whump @a-n-j-a-maria per Tumblr's content policy, this is the non-nsfw version, but you can find the canon Dance of Death on Amazon and ao3 (which I'm updating shabbily as fast as I can). Also if you want, it would mean so much to me if you leave a review or comment while you're there.

[pigeonwhumps]

Overdose

Sanctuary masterlist

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @mirasmirages @flowersarefreetherapy @whumpinggrounds @cepheusgalaxy

@painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump @augusnippets

Augusnippets day 30: self-harm | addiction | overdose

Anita overdoses.

469 words

CW: minor whump (Anita's 15), medication (tablets), overdose, suicide attempt, past rape (not explicitly mentioned but this takes place in the aftermath), transphobia, PTSD, Anita's pov which I think needs warning for here

Anita pops the pills out of the foil one by one, dropping them into the little cup beside her on her bed. She doesn't like taking pills. But after today, she won't have to again.

She won't have to do anything again. Or feel anything ever again.

Her heart will no longer pound every time she catches a glimpse of school uniform. Her stomach will no longer threaten to exit her body at the sound of raucous laughter. She won't have to take the long route to the park if she's ever brave enough to go because the normal route passes the alley where–

Well.

She can't take this anymore, she can barely leave the house, can barely breathe even on good days. Every time she looks at herself she hears the words of her– the others. She's not a proper girl because she can't take it, and she looks like this, but she isn't anything else either so what is she? Not human? Not worth anything?

Will she even bother to defend herself if they come back? They could, they're not in jail, maybe not ever. They could attack her any time she leaves the house. And everyone knows, they could hurt her too.

Not that it doesn't all hurt, inside her head, all the time. And her injuries haven't healed yet either.

She just needs everything to stop.

That's all the pills ready. The whole packet. That should be enough.

It has to be enough.

Anita takes a swig of grapefruit juice and holds it in her mouth, then sits a few pills on top and swallows it all down with some more juice.

And then she does it again. And again. Until all that's left are two empty cups.

That's it, then.

She leans back against the headboard and closes her eyes, drifting for a little bit. She wonders how long this'll take to work.

There's a soft, "Mrrp," and she opens her eyes, frowning.

"I thought I shut the door."

Mittens jumps on the bed and brushes up against her, headbutting her side with a more insistent, "Mrrp."

She chokes on a sob as she scratches the old cat. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry. It's–"

"Fine" is what she means to say, but she can't. She can't. It's not fine. And she's not sure she's as ready to leave as she thought she was before Mittens came in.

She's so tired.

She doesn't want to stop petting Mittens. Ever.

She reaches out her free hand for her phone and dials three numbers, strength waning.

"Emergency services, what service do you require?"

"Ambulance," she slurs, eyes slipping shut.

"What's your emergency?"

"Overdose. Address is 2B Crescent Building, SE6 5SG."

When did it go dark? She doesn't remember it going dark.

And then she doesn't remember anything at all.

[firapolemos05]

Whumptober 2024

Day 4: "You're a monster."

Figured this was the perfect prompt to show how Gajeel first got his muzzle trauma.

[witchy-shortcake]

That one Jade drabble i promised i would write.

TW⚠️: This story contains mentions of drinking and substance abuse, if you find those themes triggering i advice you to Skip this.

I really hope you all enjoy my first attempt at a semi-decent whump drabble.

Jade came stumbling into the apartment. She didn't even bother to take off her boots, which were leaving muddy footprints everywhere.

Slumping against the wall, she managed to reach the couch and crah face first into the cushioned surface, letting out a small muffled sound.

She sat Up as best as she could, wincing in pain, and started undressing, tossing her blood-stained clothes aside, leaving on only her bra and panties. There's were still a couple hours before she had to pick up Sunny from school so she could clean It all Up later.

She examined the bullet wounds on her leg and forearm, she was sure she could dig the bullets out of there herself, she wasn't a newbie anymore, but, still, she would need a little... Numbing if she wanted It to work.

She crawled towards one of the drawers she always kept locked so her sister wouldn't try to play with it's contents, leaving a bloody trail on the floor, and took out some pills, gauze and a bottle of cheap liquor. Those would probably do the trick.

She stumbled back to the couch with the little strenght she had left and downed the pills in one go, followed by a big gulp of absolutely disgusting alcohol that tasted like rusty nails. She then closed her eyes and waited for the pain to subside, taking another hit from the alcohol bottle every time she felt the burning pain of her wounds, which were seemingly already starting to get infected.

Jade finaly started feeling the effects of the drugs coursing through her system. She bit into the shirt she had casted aside before to try and avoid screaming and started digging her fingers into one of the wounds. The pain made her see black spots but the alcohol and The pills were numbing the sensations down to some degree, and she sure was thankful for that.

She managged to dig out both of the bullets and poorly wrap both the open wounds in gauze. She got Up from the couch, skinny legs trembling with the effort to walk to the bathroom to clean herself without putting too much weight in the injured leg. When she got there she turned the water on to draw herself a cold bath and disposed of her underwear. She took the rest of the pills out of their bag and swallowed them before going into the bathtub.

She slipped into the bathtub, letting out a sigh of relief as the freezing water made Contact with her sweat-soaked skin, her wounds stung like hell but It wouldn't last long, the drugs were already starting to take effect and She could feel It, she only had to wait a couple of minutes more.

Before she knew It, Jade was barely conscious, her head kept above water but not for long. She felt hot and nauseous and her head felt like It was stuffed with cotton. She could no longer tell when or where she was anymore.

If she could have looked at herself from outside of her body, Jade would have though It was ironic, She looked almost like he did, when she found him in his apartment almost three months ago, feverish, high out of his mind and injured beyond repair, marinating in a mixture of old bathwater and his own blood for god knows how long, but, somehow, still Alive and kicking. But, if she didn't manage to get Up before the bathtub overflowed and her head ended Up under water Jade would not have the same luck.

She woke Up again almost an hour later. The water had thankfully stopped running, and The one that she was bathing in was a brownish red, from her Blood and all the dirt that she had come home covered in. She crawled out of the tub, leaving behind the drenched and bloody bandages and managed to take a few steps before she fell to her knees, overcome by pain and overwhelming nausea. She held back her hair as best as she could, even though It was damp and plastered to her face, and started spewing out all the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl. She had barely eaten anything for the past few days, but still, she felt like her body was purging out all her sins, along with what seemed like an endless flow of watery vomit.

When her stomach finaly stopped convulsing she fell to the ground, too exhausted to even cry in pain when her head hit the cold floor, falling into a far from blissful sleep.

[wolfeyedwitch]

Hidden scars for No Prisoners?

Hello! I am so sorry for how long the wait has been on this. I hope you enjoy the story and art, and thank you for sticking around!

Velissa’s hands hovered over the painful-looking scars, not daring to touch them. Her heart was in her throat, choking off any words she might have said. She’d known the young mage she’d rescued from the town would need medical attention. If nothing else, the girl’s hands would need therapy after having been immobilized in their restraints for so long. But this?

There were so many. Some were mostly healed, if healed poorly. Others were fresh, little more than scabbed-over blisters. 

The thin, scarred shoulders hunched in further as Velissa watched, making the girl’s discomfort obvious. Pale skin littered with red weals pulled tight over spine and shoulder blades. 

“They thought it was funny,” the girl said, breaking the silence. Her voice was raspy, like she hadn’t used it in a while. “The guards.” 

Velissa finally managed to find her own voice and ask, “What was funny?” 

“Burning me,” the girl answered quietly. “A fire mage, getting hurt by her own element. Hilarious.”

Velissa thought she could feel her heart break at that. Elemental deprivation was a form of torture for mages, and something the town cells relied on to keep mages imprisoned. For the girl’s only contact with her element to be when someone used it against her was an extra level of cruelty.

“I’m so sorry,” she said finally, unsure of what else she could possibly offer. 

The only response she received was the girl quietly beginning to cry.

Taglist:

@kim-poce @cupcakes-and-pain @badluck990 @livingforthewhump @ghostfacepepper @fleur-alise @extemporary-whump @myhusbandsasemni @heart4brains @kixngiggles @towerlesskey @darlingwhump

[the-baby-storyteller]

Cw: minor whumpee, mentioned abuse, fear, slave whump

Whumpee was used to being sold, but it didn’t make the process any easier.

They kept their head down in the back of the car, their wild heartbeat contrasting the tight way they held themself. They thought about who their next owner would be. They wondered if they might be...kind. A wishful thought, they knew. They weren't foolish, they knew they would take anything; they didn’t have a choice. They just hoped….

They just hoped they wouldn’t be as bad as their last owner.

A shudder ran through them. Whumpee didn't...they didn't know if they could deal with someone like that again. If they did they might...might...-

Stop that, they thought with a frown, mentally slapping themself.

They didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on the past. They had to focus on the now, focus all their attentions on making sure their new owner was satisfied with them. That meant looking appealing, pleasant, and not wholly petrified from the scars of their last owner.

So many scars.

They sighed and fought to quell their quivering. They just- they couldn't. They couldn't deal with another-

And then the car jerked to a stop.

Their heart jerked to a stop as well.

Get a hold of yourself, they seethed internally. They couldn't be trembling and whimpering over memories.

Even if those memories could become their reality again.

They plastered a smile on as the seller pulled them out of the car, roughly enough to be domineering but not enough to harm the merchandise. Not before the real buyers could anyway. It doesn't matter, they thought to themself.

This is who they were, this was their life, they thought as they walked to the door of the house. They were an object, an amenity. A thing to be sold and used as others pleased. They didn't get to decide what happened to them, and if someone wanted to hurt them and use them and shatter them until them-

Whumpee choked.

Until they were so terrified they cowered and begged and cried and they still would never stop?

They would take it. It was not their choice to make.

They realized their smile had dropped. They took a deep breath. They smiled. It was shakier then last time. It was best they were going to get.

They opened the door.

-

Inside was nice. It was a regular looking house. They never got any information about who they were going to beforehand, (obviously not, who would tell a thing like them anything of importance, they only deserved taunts and threats), so they had no idea what to expect. They didn't know how many people they would be serving, if it would be one person, a whole family.

Whumpee didn't need to know or be told. They would adapt to them or be made to adapt.

The only thing they knew was that they needed to keep smiling and looking pleasing, and that's what they did. They weren't new at this.

A man walked over to them. He didn't look especially high-class; he held himself loosely and his clothes looked vaguely old. His face seemed to be stuck in a permanent tired-bored look. He also didn't look especially interested in Whumpee.

That was very okay with them.

They knew never to get their hopes up, though. They dropped their head. No speaking unless spoken to.

"I expect," they heard his strangely laid-back voice from above them, "you to not ask questions and just do as you are told. Understand?"

"Y-Yes, Master," they answered.

"Good. I'm sure you have experience in this anyway. Now follow me."

"Yes, Master." They said briskly, immediately rising and hurrying to catch up with him as he started walking further into the house.

He showed them around the house, the rooms, the closets, all the places they would need to be for their chores. He got a little close sometimes and they cringed from fear of being hit, but it didn't seem like he noticed as he just continued on with the pseudo-tour.

He took them to the dining room where they saw a man (man? He kind of looked more like a boy) sitting at the table, distracted on his phone. He looked up when they arrived. It didn't matter his age, Whumpee thought, Another Master. they instinctively looked down.

"This is my younger cousin." Master said, "He's staying here for a week."

They tried for a smile, albeit a weak one, and bowed. "H-Hello, Master," They ground out.

The man boy master looked at them a little inquisitively, and they froze, frightened, but he just went back to his phone without saying a thing.

They held back a sigh as they moved on. That would not be welcome in front of their new Master.

Master took them to the back of the house and then down a few steps towards a door. He opened it and suddenly a gush a cold air rushed out.

"This is the basement." He said, walking in as Whumpee physically resisted shivering.

"It's where you will be staying." He pointed idly to a bell that seemed to connect outside the room. "Stay here unless we call for you with this bell or if it's time for you to clean or cook something." He looked them up and down, then left the room

"Y-Yes, Master." They rasped, quickly bowing. They stayed in that position, not looking up, until the door closed, and then sighed and sagged down to the floor.

Everything threatened to come out, then. Tears pricked their eyes and they began to tremble as they couldn't hold anything in anymore Memories of writhing on the floor in pain, starved and beaten, came to mind and they paled. They were just so, so scared. They couldn't stop thinking about pain and their past master and what would be done to them and what if they were just like him-

Whumpee grasped their arms, digging their fingernails into them until they were on the brink of bleeding. They took a deep breath. They were fine. It was fine. It was good to be scared. Slaves like them were meant to be scared, they were meant to live in fear. They should be afraid of their masters, of what they could do. It should make them that much more set on serving their masters and doing what they said. What they could not do was let it affect their work.

They were fine. And yet, they trembled.

They steeled themself, stood up, and started to muse as they walked, exploring the small room of the basement. There was no bed or blankets, so Whumpee chose a small corner of the room to be their sleeping area. One lamp barely illuminated the whole room. Despite the cold, hard floors with no rug, the forbidding metal walls that trapped in the cold and didn't allow for any warmth, and the constant sound of wind blowing, they weren't upset. They never expected good conditions, and honestly the place had been pretty good so far. They were surprised none of the masters had done anything to them yet. They'd only ever been with one other person like that before, and even he got violent when drinking.

B-But what if they don't actually want to hurt me and just need me to work?

They shook their head violently, trying to expel the thoughts from it. That's ridiculous, stop dreaming. Just act as you normally do and hope they aren't anything l-like t-the last g-guy.. They grimaced painfully, looking away.

They came to a small clothing closet and pulled on a outfit suitable for cleaning. Their legs were mostly barren, offering them no protection in the frigid room, and they shivered. They had just finished fixing themselves up when the bell rang. They jumped, startled, then composed themself and entered into their servant mode, blank-faced and controlled. They quickly exited the freezing basement and climbed up the steps, trying to simultaneously hurry to get their orders, yet not look rushed or frantic like a novice slave.

They'd done this before.

They could do this.