#non-binary whump

[whumpty-dumpty]

I received some notes on the previous poll where people were upset that I didn't include a non-binary whumpee/ caretaker option. I tried to make a new poll.

But then I thought including only male/ female / non-binary would also be unfair and I wanted to include non-binary, transgender, agender and omnigender. But then I would need 48 rows in that poll. And you can only have 10 rows in a post.

Then I thought I could make a poll "same sex whumpee/caretaker, different sex whumpee / caretaker" but that also wouldn't work with non-binary and agender, if I understand that correctly.

So I'm gonna leave it as it is. Sorry to everyone who doesn't feel represented in that poll.

Also, please don't take it too seriously. I didn't mean any harm by making the poll that way. I was just thinking this morning that I like male whumpee/ male caretaker soooo much more than any other constellation and was wondering if others feel the same.

[cepheusgalaxy]

I personally prefer transgender but I'm curious about y'all

[coffeeangelinabox]

Febuwhump #16: Came back wrong

Tears stream from Caretaker's eyes. "No!" he cries out, desperate, frantic negation.

Whumpee's expression doesn't change, their eyes reflect nothing of the person Caretaker had always loved.

"You can't do this! Don't you understand? I gave up everything to bring you back-" and I'd do it again goes unspoken.

Whumpee lunges. The hands they had once maintained so fastidiously with nail buffer and lotion to stave off weapon calluses are clawed, ash blackened. A line of drool dribbles from slack mouth. There's a red tinge to the eyes where the capillaries have burst. The bloody colour all the more horrifying against the grave-pallor of their skin, purple-blue bruises still on their throat like the flowers Caretaker should have left, should have mourned them with dignity and respect instead of turning them into this with ill understood magick.

"Whumpee," Caretaker tries to push them away. "Just- just listen. Come back to me."

Their lips pull back from teeth. They are not sharp and that's almost worse. It won't make any difference anyway. A human can do just as much damage with a bite as some mythical monster. The mouth is pale and dry. The air that escapes it with a wheeze stinks of rotting meat.

Caretaker manages to shove them back a few paces, buying himself a sliver of time. Just enough to look into his lover's face, worse now than when he had stared at it, lifeless and slack and dropped on the doorstep by Whumper.

"Whumpee," he whispers one more time, and raises the gun.

[syncopein3d]

Left Alone 2: Discovery

Part 1: Abandoned

Tropes/content warnings: vampire whumpee, male whumpee, non-binary caretaker, morbidity or thoughts of death. There will be a lot of play with, and discussion of, the concept of consent in this series, as it applies to many topics. Mostly we're talking about consent to be bitten, but being bitten in this universe varies from "mild discomfort" through "multiple climaxes" and I don't know where the story will end up yet, so I think it's important to be clear.

If you want to be put on or taken off my taglist for this series, feel free to tell me!

The stranger recoiled from the horror in front of them. For a moment the weak beam of light from upstairs transfixed them both, and Tolly jerked back, anticipating the pain. No pain came. It wasn’t sunlight. He cursed himself for a fool. He knew the basement door opened into a windowless hallway. And besides, he would have been brought low by exhaustion if it had been daylight up above.

He backed away until his back hit the far wall, arms reaching out to splay against the stones. Black talons gouged at the wall of his prison as he stared, milk-white eyes unblinking, teeth bared and showing the sharpness of his canines. He knew what he looked like. He could see the stranger breathing harder as they tried to make sense of a world in which this monster could exist.

He took in everything about them with the same fanatical, memorizing glance he had once turned on... who knew? A father, an uncle? Some relation, certainly. There were features in common: the big, dark eyes, the sharp little nose, the exquisite shape of the lips. His discoverer was wearing gray sweat pants and a baggy tee shirt that might have been black at one point. There was something under it that might be a brassiere or an undershirt or both. The checkered pattern on the slip-on shoes was so faded it was barely visible, another fashion rising again that had had time to get worn while Tolly was in this room. In ’04 the pants would have had open ankles. Now they were gathered to an elastic.

Blue flecks of paint dotted every garment and one cheek. The head of thin black hair was tied back in a sloppy tail from which about half had escaped. Sweat plastered their hair to their cheeks and forehead. Their face showed a faint shadow of beard where the makeup was running, and their eyeliner was running, too. Their deodorant was aggressively neutral, but it wasn’t strong enough to cover the smell of recent exertion in a male body even to Tolly’s currently weak nose. Or – at least they had probably been told it was a male body when they were born. That was a delicate matter, and it barely registered on him compared to the much more overt scent of life, life, life -

“You're not wearing the ring,” he rasped. It hurt to speak, dust scraping the inside of his throat and palate where the saliva had dried up long since.

The descendant of Nicholas turned and ran, stumbling back up the basement steps. The sound of the slamming door heralded the dying of the light. Tolly stood there without moving for a while, cursing himself again as he lurked in the dark.

They hadn’t closed the secret door panel. He could see out. He slid around the room, one hand on the wall, until he got back to the opening. He could see all of the basement now, he registered anew. He hadn’t seen anything outside the room for ten years. He knew it was mad to be excited about that, the more so with the acute torment that was the scent of living blood still stinging in his nostrils, but he was excited all the same. He pulled the chair over from the table and turned it around so he could straddle it, arms resting on the back and his withered chin resting on his arms. No need to hurry. The little mortal wouldn’t be back, sealing the upstairs door and forgetting the monster in the basement as quickly as possible, so he would have a lot of time to take in the view. He had never had hope, he told himself. He should not behave as though something had been taken away.

He started all the way to the right and began to look at all of it, bit by bit, taking in every new cobweb, every splinter on the steps. He argued with himself for a while about the definition of the word “splinter” as he looked at the steps, so that he would have it down in his mind before he started counting them. He finally settled on partially separated bits of wood longer than a sixteenth of an inch. In that case, there were three splinters within his view that had not been there the last time Nicholas opened the door to his cell. That made sense. No one had come into the basement during that time, so the stairs hadn’t had much wear. His eyes lingered over every scuffed footprint in the dust that the descendant had left. There were eight steps, and eight prints coming down, right-left, right-left, and they still partly showed where the scuffed scrambling of the return trip hadn’t wiped them out. A thumbprint in blue paint marked the wooden handrail near the top.

It wasn’t a large room, but it felt a little larger.

He spent the rest of that night in his quiet memorization of the basement. The tools on the heavy wood workbenches had not changed at all in position in ten years, but they were dustier now, and the rag pile between them showed signs of having been a mouse nest at some point. That was hopeful. It meant there might be mice again there at some point, who might eventually be lured into his cell. Tolly licked his dry lips with a tongue that felt like a strip of leather in his mouth. Animal blood would not restore his strength, his powers, but it would restore his body a little. That would be something.

If he was patient, and not greedy, he might be able to keep going a lot longer on the occasional mouse. Maybe it would be two hundred years before he fell into the long sleep. He wasn’t sure how long after that a vampire would turn into dust. Accounts varied. He was certain at least one had come back from a handful of burnt ashes, because he had seen it – five mortal lives had been sacrificed to accomplish it - but whether one could be reconstituted from ancient dust was unknown to him. No one would do that for him, of course. No one had come looking for him thus far. It wasn’t that he had a great many enemies. His circle of friendly acquaintances had been large. But the few close enough to wonder where he’d gone were also immortals, and therefore it would be a long time before it occurred to anyone to look for him. He had been alone with Nicholas for a decade before Nicholas went away, and no one had come, then or in the decade after.

His mind was wandering. He reproved himself sternly and returned to concentrating on the important matter at hand. The lighting fixture overhead was relatively recent, placed in the era after the wires had been brought in and the plaster laid down over them – no, more recent than that. Perhaps thirty years. He’d seen Nicholas replace the four bulbs and put back the half-sphere of frosted glass over them, opening the door to tease Tolly with his proximity as he worked. Now he imagined that, even if the bulbs had still worked, there was probably so much dust and so many dead insects inside that it might catch fire if it were turned on.

Chances were better with the flatscreen television mounted to the wall at right-angles to the workbenches, barely visible if he leaned as far forward as he physically could. The casing was sealed enough that it would be harder for creatures to get in. Nicholas had watched movies and television while he was doing projects, sometimes. Whatever the genre, he liked material whose attraction was subtle acting, and lots of attention to faces. He’d watched Nightcrawler a lot of times in the months before he went away. It had been a seeming end to his apparent obsession with Philip Seymour Hoffman.

Tolly had an interesting couple of hours perusing the ceiling to see if there was anything alive up there. A fast-moving wolf spider was so fascinating that he watched the cupboard it had vanished behind for another hour, just in case it came out.

The big oval-shaped industrial rug was gray with accumulated dinge. He had not been here when Nicholas laid down the shiny dark red finish over the concrete floor. It had been much glossier the last time he’d seen it. His patience was again rewarded, however. Just as he was beginning to feel the heaviness in his limbs that mean dawn was breaking, a house centipede crept furtively from under one edge of the rug and ran for the workbenches, its many legs rippling around it with the urgency of its errand. Tolly struggled to stay awake as he followed its progress instead of moving to his rug. His head drooped over his arms. At last, his eyes grew too heavy to resist the pall of sleep, but not before the little beast had found cover.

His dreams were full of blood. He had thought time had freed him of that torment, resigned him to his fate, but Nicholas and his descendant died in his arms a hundred times before night fell. It was not entirely a relief when the giddy intensity of dreaming abruptly gave way to consciousness. Waking was not like waking had been when he was mortal. There was almost no space in between, and there was no confusion at all.

Tolly opened his eyes, looking around quickly. The door was still open. He could still see into the basement. He rose from the chair to go and scratch his day into the stone wall with his right thumb talon. How long until his nails would weaken? That thought sent him back to watch the old mouse nest with narrow-eyed intentness, but there was nothing living there now.

It was not a large room. Still, that night and the next passed more congenially. It would be a long time before the view of the basement lost its charms by comparison to the sealed chamber. Tolly could even read the labels on many of the spray bottles and tools and compare their fonts. He planned to save that for the winter, however, when the creatures would be less active. There was no need to be greedy.

Part 3: Bereft

@fleur-a-whump

[workingdownthewordmine]

Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter 5 Every Man Is Guilty

Bucky struggles with the attitudes of his so-called friends and Hive makes themself scarce.

Read this chapter on AO3 here.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 4

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Nonbinary OC, Steve Rogers Rating: T CW: Guilt, bullying (mention), violent child abuse (mention), homophobia (mention), mild dissociation Prompts filled: @lgbtqbingo : Hickeys @fluffbruary : Day 6 - Embarrassment @multifandom-flash (Compliments) : You are better than you think you are

@fandom-free-bingo (World Book Night Edition card 1) : "I don't need you." @fandom-free-bingo (Flight Edition) : Can't make it to dinner, Teasing @anyfandomangstbingo : Best friend's boyfriend @febuwhump : Day 24 - "I'm doing this because I care about you." @seasonaldelightsbingo (Winter Wonderland) : Situationship

Dividers by @unfortunate-beetle-and-friends

Chapter 5 – Every Man is Guilty

“But I have my life, I’m living it. It’s twisted, exhausting, uncertain, and full of guilt, but nonetheless, there’s something there.”

Banana Yoshimoto

“You’re not selling me on this, Steve.” Bucky leant back on the kitchen wall, chin lowered and arms crossed.

“I can’t give you specifics right now. Security’s too tight. If you’ll just come and talk to Fury-”

This was the guy who’d lied to every draft office in the tri-state area? When had Steve become so damn hidebound? “I’m not interested. I told you before, I’m not going to work for SHIELD. And you can save Barton and Romanov’s very touching Different Call story. I’m grateful for what you did for me, really, but I never agreed to get away from Hydra just to sell my soul to someone else.”

Steve’s hands dug deeper into his pockets. “SHIELD isn’t Hydra, Buck. It’s not the same at all. Just let me set up a chat with the director and you’ll see that.”

“Why won’t you let this drop? You’ve got your whole Captain America deal with your team. I’ve got an actual life of my own now. You don’t need me.”

“Fine. You’re right. I don’t need you.”

Never had someone agreeing with him felt so much like a fist in the gut. Bucky didn’t get the chance to tell him to go fuck himself. Steve kept going. “This isn’t about me needing your help, Buck. I’m here because I want your help. I need people around me that I can trust and I trust you. You’re my oldest friend. And I gotta say, Bucky, this whole ‘new life’ you say you’ve got going on looks a lot like walling yourself up in a different cell. I’m doing this because I care about you. What good was getting them to let you go free if you’re just going to lock yourself back up? You look like shit, Buck. When did you last eat? Or drink anything that wasn’t coffee or at least eighty proof? You aren’t one of the bad guys anymore. You can do something worthwhile with your life. You don’t have to be all alone. Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Fuck you, Steve. I’m not gonna be your goddamn bad guy outreach program poster boy. And I had a cheese sandwich just last night, as though it’s any of your fucking business.” And I’m not alone…

They both looked up at the same moment, both heads turned towards the hall closet. “Shit’s always falling down somewhere round here. Place has gone to hell.” But even Steve wasn’t dumb enough not to recognise a sneeze when he heard it.

“For a guy with his windows rigged to blow, you’re weirdly calm about someone climbing around inside your walls.” The tinge of suspicion he heard in Steve’s voice hurt more than Bucky had expected. Who the hell did he think he’d be hiding in a wall cavity? Then he cringed inwardly as Steve began looking around with more intent than he had before. Bucky practically felt his eyes rest for a moment on the extra sleeping bag. His eyebrows visibly rose when he spotted the mug with its weird cute cartoon dragon thing. “Buck?” The suspicion had gone from Steve’s voice and Bucky missed it already.

“Hey, kid, it’s okay. Just a social call.” He listened for a beat of silence, then he and Steve both hear the departing scraping of Hive heading up to the roof. Knowing what he did, Bucky could pick up the unevenness in their movement and made a note to ask to check their injuries later. If he ever saw them again, of course. They might be too spooked to come back at all. He looked down at their mug. They’d be back. He hoped.

“I guess it’s cool that some things don’t change. But I don’t remember you being this coy about your girlfriends even in the forties.”

“‘Girlfriend’ is a real strong word for anyone I passed the time with back then. And that’s not… what this is. They’re just a friend.” Or something. This was definitely not the time to start seriously questioning the weird-ass situation he’d found himself in the last twelve hours or so.

“A friend who hides in the wall when your other friends drop by?”

Other friends? Did Steve think Bucky was having poker nights with the guys every week? What other friends?

“They’re shy, okay?”

“Buck, you don’t have to be embarrassed. I’m glad you’ve found someone you don’t mind having around. I hated thinking of you cooped up here with nothing but a bunch of old memories.” Steve, buddy, you have no idea… “Think I’ll ever get to meet them? What? I can’t be curious about the first person apart from me to ever know the notorious Bucky Barnes well enough to leave a mug at his place?” He couldn’t help but be mildly impressed at Steve’s rapid and unquestioning switch to the neutral pronoun.

“I doubt it. They’re shy, like I said. And it’s not really an ‘introductions to old friends’ kind of thing.” Of at least that much he was sure. Hell, it wasn’t even a thing. Just a really weird couple of days… that had left an extra sleeping bag on his floor.

Steve was frowning again. “You, uh, you’re not in trouble, right? I’ll believe you, whatever you say. I just can’t help noticing you’re a bit more banged up than I’ve seen you in a while. And you smell like that stuff your mom used to cover my hives in when we were kids.” He tried a weak grin.

Well, believe it or not a Hive was responsible… Buck almost returned the smile before he shook himself.  “I’m good. Just had a run in with some kind of funky old insulation while I was doing some repairs. Nothing to worry your pretty head about. The scratches are all healed up anyway.” He turned his shoulder to indicate the one Hive had uncovered. “Only covered them up so I wouldn’t get blood on anything, just didn’t get round to taking off the rest of the bandages before you stopped in for the little recruitment drive. Speaking of which –”

Steve held up a hand to stop him. “Speaking of which, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said… a lot of what I did. It wasn’t my place to judge what you’ve got going on here. I’m sorry.” The renewed anger Bucky had been preparing to unleash petered out more quickly than he had expected. “I meant it though, about wanting to work with you again.”

Buck grunted. “Howling Commandoes reunion tour? This time with one hundred percent less falling out of trains, right?” He hadn’t expected Steve to take the weak joke so hard. Steve hadn’t looked this green since a kid landed a kick in his stomach that left him puking his guts into a trash can. He’d been waiting on the ground by the can when Buck came back with split knuckles and a grin of triumph. They’d gone back to Buck’s place to clean up before Steve’s dad could see the mess on his shirt and add a bloody nose to Steve’s problems. Buck’s place. This place. The sink where they’d rinsed out that faded threadbare shirt had been torn out long ago or it would have been right about where Steve was standing now.

“I should have looked harder.”

“Huh?” Maybe Hive’s attention span was catching, somehow. It took him a second to reconnect the dots.

“I went back. To the pass. I went back about a dozen times, looking for – well – for a body, I guess. Maybe if I’d been smarter about it, I would’ve… would’ve found you. Maybe we wouldn’t be where we are now.” Steve’s words sounded like he was trying to swallow them rather than speak them aloud. “But we are. And I can’t fix what I abandoned you to, but I can’t walk away again. Please, Buck, stop by the compound sometime – nothing to do with SHIELD, just come say hi. Or answer your phone once in a while. I miss my best friend, Buck. The guy I knew back in forty-five, back when our lives made some sort of sense.”

“That guy died in the fall, Steve.”

Steve shook his head. “No, I think he’s very much alive. I see him in there. Don’t bury my best friend in this place, Buck, please. You might feel like you deserve that but you don’t. I’m not talking about showing off how ‘rehabilitated’ you are or anything like that. I mean that guy still deserves the life he should have got the first time around.”

Was that part of you given a choice?

Yes.

There’s always a choice.

No. I would never have chosen that…

Bucky managed to look up at Steve’s eyes. Still fucking insane that he was taller than Buck now. “He’s getting a life. And, I guess, if you’re going to be clingy dork about it, that life can involve spending more time with you than it has done so far. Happy?”

“Yeah, happy. Jerk.”

“We’re in the twenty-first century now, for fuck’s sake, Steve. Learn to curse, I’m begging you.” For just a second they shared a grin. The moment was broken by a beep from Steve’s phone. The sudden awkward energy that radiated from him came as a surprise. “I don’t care if you check your phone, you know? World might be hours from destruction or something.”

“That’s unlikely.” Steve blushed. “It’s probably personal.”

“Stark sending out mass dick pics or something? You’re practically glowing there, Rogers.” The blond head ducked, Steve pushing a hand through his hair. He successfully blocked the blush from view but the new angle… “Steve, that’s a fucking hickey! That’s… at least three hickeys!” Captain America’s complexion was a riot of crimson, the blush spreading down to the livid bruise just below his jaw. “You bruise like I do – those are new and vicious. Christ, Steve, you been hooking up with a moray eel?”

“I, ah, I’m seeing someone.”

“No shit.” Probably he should have expected it. Steve must be one of the most eligible bachelors in the country now. Superpowers, a name like “Captain America”, and serum-enhanced looks on tops of his natural Steve-ness… The girls were probably all over him. Weird thought. “Well? Who is she? Do I need to check she’s good enough for my best friend?”

The tips of Steve’s ears became practically scarlet. “It, uh, look, Buck, I–” Bucky frowned. “The person I’m dating is… he’s a guy.”

Well, Bucky couldn’t say he’d never wondered. The immediate mental maelstrom was much the same as it would have been in the forties. How much trouble was this going to cause him? How many more beatings because hiding himself was absolutely alien to Steve’s nature? It took a few seconds for the twenty-first century to impose itself on his thinking. No, probably no beating for Captain America, but public opinion could be a hell of a thing to reckon with – especially for the nation’s golden boy. And Steve was standing there right now closer to cringing than Buck had seen him since his dad was alive. God, there was a man – if he even deserved the word – who would have exploded at the news that his son was a fairy. He probably would have tried to thrash it out of him, Avenger or no.

“He’s not off the hook for best friend judgement just because he’s male, you know. Do I get to meet him?” He felt the pressure in the room change as Steve relaxed. Had he really expected hostility over his confession? From Bucky?

He doesn’t trust you…

“Uh, I guess, sometime. No one else has yet but it’s not… not really a secret. The team knows.”

Bucky nodded. “Well? You gonna see what he wants?” On cue, Steve’s phone chimed again. Reluctantly, ears still hot, he pulled it out of his pocket.

“Just asking where I want to get dinner tonight.” He tapped out a reply, making Buck smile at the geriatric concentration he had to put into the exercise, betraying the boyish face.

“Cute.”

He knows, deep down, what a monster he unleashed by letting you go.

Stop.

That’s why he’s scared of you, even now. Guilt for leaving you behind? More likely guilt for not finishing what he started when he let you fall.

He didn’t “let me fall”.

We’ve been over this, asset. You used to be less naïve. You know the resources he has at his disposal. Do you really believe he didn’t just decide you weren’t worth the trouble?

Steve pushed his phone back into his pocket and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”

Bucky waved the apology away.

“I should probably get going. I’ll see you? Soon?”

Bucky nodded, but…

Empty offer. You really think he and his new friends want someone around who tried to kill them – however poorly you executed your assignment? Stark didn’t even trust you unsupervised in this dump, let alone in his precious Tower.

“Steve, you sure the others won’t mind me just stopping by? Doubt I‘m popular over there. Not real eager to get teargassed soon as I set foot over the perimeter.”

Steve smiled, his confidence returning. He’d swung his leg over the sill already. “Sure, I’m sure. It’s not like everyone trusted Natasha when she first showed up either. They’re the good guys, Buck. They believe in second chances.” His smile was warm as ever as he ducked out of the window, not seeing the way the temperature of Bucky’s blood had plummeted. “And charge your phone,” Bucky heard him say as his feet landed on the tarmac.

Second chances… isn’t that sweet? So much for his assurances of your deep and abiding innocent soul, it seems. You could have almost believed that choir boy act, couldn’t you?

It was three hours before Hive returned the way they had left. The hum of the generator wasn’t quite enough to drown out their scuffling descent. The faceless apparition was unnerving until they loosened their hood strings and pulled their hoodie down to uncover their lower face. “Protection,” they explained, though Bucky had already guessed as much. From the looks of the stretched fabric round their wrists, they’d had the sleeves pulled down over their hands too.

“Good call. Skin still itches like shit.” He’d had another go with the cream – Steve was right about the smell barely having changed in almost a century – but ran into the same problem as before. He’d had to spend a good twenty minutes scrubbing the stuff out of the joints in his arm with a toothbrush.

He was turning to offer Hive some of the beans he’d been heating on the camping stove, when he realised what else had bothered him about their appearance. They were huddled in the hallway, dressed as they’d been when they made their exit earlier – hoodie, cargoes, black and purple striped socks…

“You’ve been hanging around Brooklyn with no fucking shoes on?”

“You’d be amazed. Saw one guy with no shoes, no socks, and only half a pair of trousers. Guess I should be grateful for what I’ve got. Anyway, I wasn’t stopping for pre-flight checks while I was busy fleeing for my life, was I?”

“You need to check that you’re wearing shoes?”

“Told ya,” They seemed almost proud. “My brain is wrong.”

“Won’t be the only thing that’s wrong if you do shit like that. You’re lucky you haven’t got tetanus or something.”

“Probably too soon to be sure if I have or not,” they pointed out as they dropped down by the fire and stuck their feet out to warm near the flames.

“Not real comforting, kid.”

Hive watched him for a moment, maybe wondering the same thing he was: at what point had their continued well-being become a matter of comfort to him. Then again, maybe not.

“You call me that a lot. Kid. ‘M not a kid, you know.”

He grunted in reply. “I’m an old man, kid. Don’t take it personally.” That was apparently acceptable. They huffed but smirked. They wiggled their toes. Unsurprisingly, the soles of their socks were filthy, damp, and holes in more than one place. One big toe poked free. They saw him looking and wagged it pointedly at him.

“Rude to stare.” They were grinning.

“Sure your feet are okay? There are landfills cleaner than the streets round here. No cuts or anything?”

“Will you feel better if I check?”

“I’ll have less concern about my apartment stinking of gangrene tomorrow, yeah.”

They rolled their eyes but folded their legs and peeled off their socks.

He doled out beans, giving Hive the bowl and keeping his own in the pan, while they performed their inspection.

“All good,” they pronounced, hopping up with only a bit of a wobble to rinse their hands under the lonely sinkless faucet. Bucky wasn’t sure if it had been seeing Steve standing in the old place, looking not so much like he’d grown as like the room had shrunk around him, or if it was just having someone else inhabiting the space with him for a while, but the apartment’s wasted, skeletal feel was more noticeable to him now. He was making food over a camping stove. His bed was a sleeping bag. For someone who’d finally come back home, he looked pretty homeless right now, didn’t he? Was that what Steve had seen? Did Bucky have that same look? An abandoned shell, like the building?

What makes you think you deserve any better? You could have been so much more…

“Cheers.” Hands clean, Hive had grabbed their bowl and clunked it lightly against the pan. Seeing his confusion, they repeated, “A toast to toes not turning grey and dropping off! Which… now that I hear it again, may not have been the most genteel toast ever raised at a meal. Oops. Hope I didn’t put you off.” They tucked into their own food with no sign of discomfort.

“A toast to not losing body parts gets my vote,” he conceded. They shared a grin. “Where did you go earlier anyway? Guessing you didn’t find a café that didn’t care about the lack of shoes.”

“Rooftops, mostly. Nearby ones. Figured if it was a social call I probably didn’t need to flee the state. Thought about a library but figured I’d attract a bit too much attention.”

“Library?”

“They have books there! The wild kind, not the kind you have to pay for. Like a book zoo – except members can foster the animals. The analogy got a bit lost, sorry.”

“I followed, most of it anyway. I do know what a library is. We had ‘em when I was a kid too, you know.”

While he did the sparse dishes, Bucky could see Hive moving around out of the corner of his eye. A glance found them rolling up their sleeping bag and gathering the small quantity of trash they’d been accumulating into a sack. He dried his hands and grabbed his phone; it had turned up beside the plant pot. The generator fell quiet. Bucky turned the phone on and almost immediately wished he hadn’t. It lit up with message after message, the device rattling in his metal grip.

Steve: Been a while. How are you getting on?

Steve: Hope you are doing okay. There is a briefing later today that you might be interested in. Let me know.

Banner: Shuri sent me over your updated records. I think we should discuss a pain management regimen. Contact me.

Steve: Clint and Natasha are planning a movie night. How about joining us?

Steve: You really need to answer a text (or a call) once in a while.

Fen: You’re 30m late

Fen: Where are you??

Fen: Call me, James

Steve: I tried to call twice and didn’t get an answer. I’m going to drop by this morning. There’s some SHIELD business I want to discuss and it’s been a long time since you checked in. Miss you, man.

Fen: This is real shitty of you. You’re decent at the job and I like you but you can’t just ditch for the day without a word. The garage was busy today. We need to talk.

Steve: ETA 10 minutes.

“Fuck.” Hive looked up. “Everything going on since yesterday… Seems I forgot to go to work today.” He started moving automatically, grabbing his jacket off a picture nail, and toeing his boots upright. Hive must have taken them off for him while he was unconscious. He’d have expected to feel more latent objection to the idea but he definitely did not have time to stop and consider the unfamiliar close, warm sensation he experienced instead.

“I should have thought… sorry.”

“Huh?” He stopped, half inside his jacket.

“I mean, I knew, didn’t I? Where you work. That’s how I found you in the first place. Should have occurred to me that you ought to be there.”

He was already four hours late. What difference was five more minutes likely to make to his boss’s bad mood. “Wasn’t your problem if I went to work or not. I’m a big enough boy to handle my own routine.” He was a bit unsettled to see Hive huddling into a corner again, much as they’d done last night. They were still on their feet but they’d shrunken down into their hoodie and were not looking at him. “Hey, kid, it’ll be okay. My huge personal charm will smooth things over with my boss and anyway it is not up to you to have shit to do with my schedule.” They nodded but still wouldn’t meet his eyes. Their gaze was unfocused, drifting around the floor. Trying not to wonder why he cared, he cast around for something to ground them.

“Know what? I’m gonna try to make a dinner tonight that doesn’t come straight out of a can. What do ya think? Sound good?”

“I mean… it’s pretty vague.” He was relieved to see some… presence come back into their face. “Are we talking closer to a dead pigeon you found on the roof or delicately braised sustainably-farmed salmon?” Bucky’s expression apparently satisfied. They grinned a little.

“I guess somewhere in the middle but a little closer to the dead pigeon. I’ll do my best.”

The grin brightened. “Sounds good. I don’t like salmon much anyway.”

He nodded. “No salmon. Got it. See you later – gotta go save my job.”

The garage hadn’t been too bad. Fen had been obliged to rake him over the coals a little – sure it was real useful having a guy on staff who could jack up a car on one hand, in addition to being able to handle basically any bike issue she could remember being brought, but only if he was gonna decide to turn up when expected and not just when it was convenient to him. He knew she took no pleasure in playing the hard-ass, except with assholes who didn’t believe she was more than capable of dismantling their tricked out dick substitutes down to the nuts and then reassembling it faster than they could jerk off over a climate change denial manifesto; she just wanted her garage running smooth. He’d worked out the rest of the day and hung out past close to put away some late deliveries by way of apology and all ruffled feathers had settled. His extended shift had meant it was already past dark when he got to his supply run, though. He hoped Hive wasn’t getting too hungry waiting.

If they were, it wasn’t causing any notable chaos. The building was quiet and dark. Maybe they were taking the opportunity for some much needed sleep. A smile crept over his lips at the thought. He tried to keep quiet and not disturb them when he manoeuvred his awkward haul through the window, catching the new wok as it made a dash for the floor. But he’d no sooner set things down than he knew the apartment was deserted. It felt empty in a way he couldn’t recall it feeling before they’d arrived. He stuck his head out into the hallway but the whole building had the same mournful, abandoned echo. A shiver gripped him – all the more dramatic in a body that always ran so hot. He searched the apartment. Their sleeping bag was folded neatly in a corner of the hall. His own he found moved to his bedroom, spread out with pillow, blanket and a sheet of paper laid on top. He recognised their handwriting.

Hey Bucky,

Wasn’t sure when to expect you back. I’m so sorry – looks like I might have to miss dinner after all. I need to go do something. Should be back by 9 at the latest so… maybe save me some if I didn’t piss you off too much by ditching? Sorry, again. Sorry sorry sorry. See you later.

Hive x

Bucky stood in his bedroom doorway with the note in his hand and shot a look at the things he’d left in the kitchen – the wok and utensils he’d been managing without, the extra bowl, plate, cutlery, and the bag spilling spring onions and packets of noodles beside them. Gotta do what they gotta do, he supposed. The note creased in his fingers. No problem. Might take him a while to get this right anyway. He’d cook, and they’d probably be back by the time he was done, sure.

With how many people who’d love to know where to find Bucky Barnes in tow?

They don’t want to be found themselves. They wouldn’t bring anyone back here…

The nightmare act really sucked you in, didn’t it? Who knows who they really are? Even if they are in hiding from someone, aren’t there plenty of people who’d trade the whereabouts of the Winter Soldier for better protection than hiding out with a monster who already nearly killed them? Not a high bar, is it?

So what’s your suggestion?

What time is it?

What?

They said they’d be back by nine.

Probably so we’d stay put and off guard.

What time is it?

He’d never bothered to get a clock. He pulled out his phone.

22:27

His eyes shot to the window.

Note: Thanks for reading, y'all! And thank you to all the wonderful providers of prompt events without which I probably wouldn't have started writing again. Special thank you to my boys for inspiring me and keeping me motivated.

[auroragehenna]

AI-less Whumptober

Day 18 - Fright/Freaky Friday (Mind control, possession, “Everybody will end up despising you.”)

OC Sam

TW/CW: Magic whump, day prompts, creepy whumper, emotional whump, brief physical whump (broken bones), past traumas mentioned and abused, brief begging, friendship dynamics, non-binary whumpee, placeholder names mostly, Word count: 1'151

Sam shifted their headset, leaving one ear now uncovered. They thought they heard something. Or felt something. But the room behind them was dark, everything was the way it had always been. With a suspicious expression they scanned the room once more before redirecting their entire focus back to making tea. And even thought they didn't see or sense anything the cold feeling stayed.

It stayed even after Sam had brewed their tea and made their way back upstairs to their room. As if someone mixed dread into a serum, filled it into a syringe and injected it into their back. Yet they couldn't sniff out any real evidence of something being wrong, nothing concrete. I'm much more vulnerable when I‘m asleep. Maybe I shouldn't sleep yet, they concluded.

After a couple minutes of sitting in bed Sam noticed that they had been running their nails down their arms repeatedly, an anxious habit and not healthy, some of the streaks had already thickened on their skin.

An hour in, it was now half past two in the morning Sam was lying in their bed unable to keep their eyes open longer. Last thing they managed to do was fortify their psychic mind with magic to the best of their abilities. And as they drifted into sleep blue roses seemed to climb their way up inside them…Shining, bright blue roses.

---Time passes---

The next morning Sam walked into the bathroom, their drowsy gaze drifting over the mirror. And with a shock, so cold it physically hurt their heart, they realized it wasn't their own face looking back. It was Whumper's! Sam tore their gaze away and took a deep breath before daring to look back at the mirror...Whumper's face was gone. Instead they were now looking at their own again. But as they attempted a shaky smile mirror-Sam didn't mimic the expression. What's going on!? Oh no, no, no. Sam's hand shot up to cover part of their face, eyes peeking between fingers. What happened to my mind?

Awww, come on, you knew something was off yesterday. I could easily tell how unnerved you were. You really are an open book, especially once one really get's inside the pages...

Sam shook their head-this couldn‘t be happening! This isn‘t real, they thought desperately. Even thought they already knew the answer.

Whumper only chuckled in their head as a response.

And then Sam had to watch their own body move without them controlling it. Without their consent. Puppeteered by Whumper they made their way downstairs towards the familiar voices of their friends.

My friends, they're gonna help me! They have to be able to tell that something is off! Sam could feel their mouth widen into a malicious grin before they were made to speak: "Oh yes. I'm sure they're gonna be able to tell that something is different. But us people have such a funny nature, where emotions like anger or hurt often overshadow reason."

Sam's breath would have caught if it could. "What are you going to do to them, Whumper?"

Whumper answered with Sam's voice: "I'm not going to do anything. But they're all going to end up despising you!"

"Sam! Hey, how you doing, pal.", Friend1 greeted them from the living room where the four of them were sitting.

They could feel their own body language and expression relaxed, like they would be if they were with their friends and everything was normal. Their exterior giving away nothing, while on the inside they were clawing, trapped in malicousness. Drowned out. "Oh I'm doing good, how are you guys doing?"

Friend2 answered with a smile on their face: "Good, I was just to come check on you."

"Oh don't exhaust your bleeding heart, Friend2, everyone here knows that you care.", "Sam" said, without ever diverting from the casual and playful tone of voice that had come so natural to the body."

Friend2's eyes widened, they looked so hurt. And it broke actual-Sam's heart. Yet their body just continued leaning against the couch as if nothing happened.

Friend 3 and Friend4 shifted away from them where they were sitting on the couch, not saying a word. Yet they didn't seem shy-simply disgusted.

Sam could hear Whumper chuckle in their mind.

Friend1 hit them into the arm lightly. "Sam what the fuck was that? If you got up on the wrong side of the bed don't make it our fault! Apologize."

Sam's body was now puppetered to face Friend1 fully again. Grinning at him with a sneer. "Oh please Friend1, don't try to play the hero for our dear friend here simply because your parents didn't give a damn about you and you were left all alone."

Friend1's face turned to stone as they were rendered speechless.

Of course Whumper hadn't forgotten about Sam's other two little friends and while they could feel their dear little prisoners horror growing they moved their body until they were right behind Friend3 and Friend4 against the couch. Sneaking their hands into Friend4's hair gently and then pulling harshly, enjoying the terrified yelp it caused.

"-Wait what are you doing? No, please stop, don't do that, Aah! NononoPlease, don't.", Friend4 started begging, they seemed completely out of it and the other 3 friends had all jumped forward, Friend3 even going so far as to grab "Sam"'s wrist.

Whumper was enjoying themselves royally, all underlined by Sam's internal sobbing. They decided that it was time for the showdown and so Sam's hand grabbed onto Friend3's wrist and started twisting it further and further until something audibly snapped. Friend3 didn't cry out, they simply kept their eyes glued to their now broken wrist that "Sam" now freed with a simple flick of the hand. "Oh come on, you two should be used to this anyways, right? What's the big deal?" They made the body laugh scornfully. "You really are a pathetic lot. Can't believe I stood it here for as long as I did. See ya, losers." And with those words Whumper moved Sam's body out of the house door, pulling out their phone casually, as if it was just any other day.

Sam was sobbing on the inside. The words Whumper said...The things Whumper did. But it wasn't Whumper that did them, not in the eyes of their beloved friends. Sam knew those people and they knew how wretched those words has been. They hated themselves, their own mind for letting Whumper know all those words.

"Aww come on, don't beat yourself up over it. You simply weren't good enough to resist me. Maybe if you had practiced more or if you weren't so weak you could have stopped me, or even attempt to for that matter but that's not the case. We shall now let your little friends marinate in there for a while as we take a walk. And then I shall deliver my final present..."

Taglist: @ailesswhumptober, @yourlocalgaefae33, @princessofhe11, @greatkittencloud, @bisexuawolfsalt

@shattermind-8

[c0ntr0lledchaos]

Febuwhump day 1: Helpless

 The scenery would have been pretty if the circumstances were different. Snow drifted down before softly settling onto the ground. It hadn’t been snowing very long, many areas of the forest floor still being bare. Snowflakes blended into Elio’s white hair as they landed on it, dusting the top of their head as they walked. The forest was quiet, only being broken by the sound of the snow and twigs crunching as Elio was escorted through the trees.

 The four of them came to a stop and Elio was pushed to the ground under a tree. Their back hit the tree roughly, bark scraping against the back of their head. One of the guards grabbed their hand and pinned it to the tree above their head as the other secured them to the tree. Cold metal fingers held their arm tightly, not allowing any wiggle room as they worked. Elio glared at the guard, but got no reaction from her. Black eyes barely even glanced at Elio’s face before returning to watching the other guard work. A pair of horns sprouted from somewhere under her dark hair above her pointed ears and bent forward slightly. Elio noticed there was a metal band around the base of the horns with an eye hook attached to it. The guard’s ear twitched slightly as the other finished, testing the strength of the binds before letting go of their arm.

 Heavy chains felt like overkill as they tightened onto their wrist and chest. They had already been stripped of everything on their person that they could possibly use to escape, including their own metal prosthetic. It wasn’t nearly as advanced as the guards were, being made mostly for everyday use instead of being weapons. Both guards had different prosthetics that disappeared under their uniform and who’s joints glowed with a pale blue light. Elio would have admired the technology if it was not currently being used against them.

 “You know, you can still spend the night inside. All you have to do is agree to work with me,” Their captor, Dr. Somsny said, watching as the two guards finished securing Elio to the tree.

 The guards returned to his sides, standing at attention as they waited for the next instruction. They looked similar now that Elio was able to get a good look at them; both having the same shaped horns and standing at the same height, almost a foot taller than Dr. Somsny. The main difference being that one had prosthetic arms while the other had prosthetic legs. They all looked pristine and formal when Elio had first met them, Dr. Somsny dressed in a suit with a freshly groomed beard and the guards standing perfectly at attention in their uniforms. Now they seemed to be more disheveled. Dr. Somsny still wore a perfectly pressed suit but his hair and beard were more unkempt and there was a madness in his eyes that Elio didn’t notice before. The guards looked worse, dark circles under their eyes stood out on their pale skin and they slouched ever so slightly when the doctor wasn’t looking.

 “I used to dream about you asking me to work with you,” Elio said, putting as much venom into their voice as possible. “Now I would rather die.”

 “Oh don’t be silly. You are no use to me dead.”

 Elio spit at his feet, feeling a bit of pride swell up inside them when his smile faltered, turning into a look of disgust. He pulled his leg back before swinging it forward, dress shoe kicking them in their stomach. Their mouth opened in a wordless cry as the air was knocked from their lungs. Elio’s back scrapped against the tree and their arm strained under the chains as they fought to regain their breath. Their vision blurred with unshed tears and they barely noticed the doctor and his guards turning and walking away. By the time Elio was able to focus again, they were already starting to disappear through the trees.

 “Someone will come collect you in the morning,” Dr. Somsny called back, smirk in his voice as they fully disappeared between the trees.

 The snow was still falling, slowly building on the ground. The grass was nearly covered now, only the tallest patches still poking out from under the snow. The dry patch of ground Elio was sitting on was also steadily growing smaller. Snow creeped towards them steadily, like a slowly rising tide. It wouldn’t be long before the snow reached their boots.

 The guards had luckily given Elio their coat back, despite the fact that they were pretty sure Dr. Somsny had not instructed them too. Even with the extra layer of fabric, Elio could feel the cold starting to seep into their bones. They believed the doctor when he said he didn’t want them to die, but even so, Elio knew that the possibility of frostbite or getting sick was still there. Their hand being held above their head and the metal connector for their prosthetic in their residual limb were areas of concern especially. Their toes, ears, nose, and lips were next on the list. They brought their knees up closer to them in an effort to conserve body heat in the mean time.

 Taking a deep breath, Elio started mentally going over all their options. They had nothing but the clothes on their back and their bindings were to tight to try to wiggle out of. They looked around, trying to see if there was anything they could use but it looked like the area had been cleared of debris before they were brought out here. They squinted to see through the trees, attempting to get some sense of their surroundings. It was hard to see but with the sun setting, Elio caught a glimpse of the light reflecting off a metal fence that most likely surrounded the area. The woods seemed to be absent of even animals as Elio noticed just how quiet it was. Besides the footsteps that lead back the way they came, there was no sign of life.

 The sun would be setting fully below the horizon soon, taking the last of the warmth with it. Elio’s heart-rate started to pick up as they realized that they didn’t have any way to escape. The only thing they could hope for was that Celta would find them, but they had tasked her with protecting the house and Rye. How long had Elio even been gone now? At least a couple hours now, seeing as it was still morning when they had left. Even if she did leave and come looking, it was nearly impossible that she would find them out here. There was also the chance that Rye would sneak away and go looking for them but Elio would rather freeze to death than for Rye to possibly end up in danger himself. They were sure Dr. Somsny would love to use the kid against Elio given the chance.

 They leaned their head back against the tree, trying to control their breathing as they squeezed their eyes shut. If they just kept thinking they could work this out and figure out a way to escape. As much as they tried to think of escape plans, they were starting to find it hard to think straight. Panic was starting to cloud their mind. Their heart was racing and instead of thinking of all the ways they could escape, their mind started thinking of all the ways this could get even worse. What if Dr. Somsny changed his mind and decided he actually didn’t need Elio alive? What if they let Elio freeze to death? What if they survived and the torture just got worse? What if Dr. Somsny found the house, or Celta and Rye were caught while looking for them? What if Elio agreed to work for Dr. Somsny?

 A snowflake landed on their nose and the slight sting from the cold along with that last thought snapped them back to reality. Were they really considering working for that monster? Did they have much of a choice? Elio had a pretty good pain tolerance but how far would he go to bend them to his will?

 Elio hung their head, sighing as they made up their mind. They couldn’t escape, but they could at least hold out for as long as they could. It was the only thing they could do.

Characters from my WIP: Dimension Traveling and Other Mistakes

[shattermind-8]

Mutually assured destruction

Containment

CW: Kidnapping, Drugging, Unexplained cause of pain, Firearms, Defiant Whumpee, Cold/distant Whumper, Superpower Whump, Medical Whump (there is an Ambulance)

Burst: "Did we do it? Did we win?"

Burst stood in the rubble of what used to be a building, the now prior headquarters of a local gang.

Firefly:" Yeah, we totally did it. They are completely done for. I can't believe it, you completely leveled that entire building back there."

Firefly, who was observing the action from a safe distance, was now taking to Burst on the phone.

Burst:" That'll show them not to mess with us! I'm getting more powerful by the day!"

Burst raises an arm to inspect the blue glowing energy of force pulsing through the veins.

Suddenly a vehicle that appeares to be a completely white ambulance stops in front of Burst.

A group of three masked individuals in some kind of white uniform exit the back of the ambulance and quickly have Burst surrounded, two of them were armed with modified Fn P90s, aimed straight at their target.

The third unarmed member of the group, who was wearing more of a coat, still in the same style of the uniform as the others, clearly higher ranking in whatever organization they belong to than the other two.

???: "Funtime's over, kiddo. You are hereby under arrest."

Burst:"Firefly, I'll have to dip. Here are some punks that seem to want to get some. We'll catch up later at our spot tonight."

Burst ends the call before Firefly has the opportunity to reply and puts away his phone. Now focusing on the leader of the attackers.

Burst:"You want to arrest me? Good luck with that!"

Burst raises both arms, ready to fight, the blue energy flaring up. After that short display, Burst rushes towards the leader of the group.

???:"Luck won't be needed"

With a quick unassuming gesture the mysterious person removes his mask to reveal his rather pretty face. The Irises of his eyes glowing with a snow white shimmer as he intensively focuses his sight on Burst.

???:"Indivials like you are my specialty"

To the surprise of the now unmasked individual, Burst suddenly begins to scream in horrible pain, feeling like every single bodypart was being ripped apart from the inside. The blue glow was almost completely gone as Burst collapses to the ground, barely able to maintain consciousness through the pain.

Burst:"Who.. the fuck... are.. you..?"

The mysterious person kneels down next to Burst, not breaking eye contact for even a second.

???:"You can call me ZERO. I'm sure we'll have a lot of time to get to know each other."

As ZERO got up he gives a signal to his companions and they pick up the struggling Burst before carrying and restraining Burst on the stretcher in the back of the ambulance.

Burst tries to fight them off but remains unsuccessful as the pain was just too debilitating and Bursts powers just didn't want to work for some reason.

ZERO:"I want to clarify that the agony you're in currently isn't my intention. I honestly don't know what is causing it. It is certainly not caused by me directly. This should help for now."

ZERO grabbs an oxygen mask and places it firmly on Bursts face.

Burst didn't really react to ZERO, it wasn't really clear if Burst was paying any attention to anything other than the pain.

ZERO proceeds to open a valve on a small gas cannister that was connected to the oxygen mask with a tube.

ZERO:"Try to relax, deep breaths!"

Burst follows the commands given without thinking about it much at this point, breathing in the sedative gas and slowly drifting away into unconsciousness.

ZERO:"Just like that! Good kid!"

[whump-or-whatever]

For Whumptober 2022 I posted some snippets from a Sanctuary (2008) AU fic with an OC. Well, I’ve now posted the entirety of the story. For anyone who is interested.

WC ~18k

Summary: AU in which there was a sixth member back in Oxford that injected the source blood. This explores their first visit to the Sanctuary in over 20 years.

A break-in at the Sanctuary and subsequent visit from Tesla leads to a man-hunt for Druitt. Will they be able to rid him of the bloodthirsty abnormal he carries once and for all?

[whump-polls]

(what gender do you prefer for a whumpee, not just generally in whump)

i know that this is simplified and doesn't include all possible combinations of preference and attraction, you can't explore a lot of nuance in this format but this is probably the most complex i can get within the poll options, feel free to pick other/nuance and elaborate in the tags or discuss in comments/reblogs!

e.g if you prefer female characters in whump and arent attracted to anyone (not women or anyone else) or multiple genders excluding women, pick the 4th option if you prefer female characters and are attracted to multiple genders including women, pick the 3rd

(of course male/female characters also include trans characters)

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

DAY 14: Toys/gifts

“No !” yelped Grandchild, their head buried into their pillow. “I don’t want to hear a word from you.”

Retired Superhero closed the door, sat on a chair, and asked:

“Why?”

“Because! I know what you’re going to say!”

Grandchild sat up and exclaimed, throwing their arms around:

“In my time, I was the greatest hero with the greatest power! In my time, young people had to grit their teeth and carry on! In my time, kids with superpowers knew how to control themselves and-”

Their breath hitched, and they hiccuped:

“A-and- didn't throw their teacher around and sent her to the hospital-”

Their lip wobbled a bit, and they began to cry. Retired Superhero hummed, and opened his arms, but Grandchild recoiled. Their grandfather was always looking so solemn and intimidating in their dark suit. The only touch of color was the non-binary pin that he’d put on since the day they had made their coming out. The old man coughed a little, then searched his pockets to retrieve a small package.

“It’s for you.”

Grandchild hesitated, but curiosity got the better of them. They opened their gift, revealing a wooden box, with a carved rabbit on the top.

“You give me...a toy?”

“It’s an old toy,” said Retired Superhero. “My grandpa gave it to me when I was about your age. You see, he hadn't telekinesis like us. He could take powers away.”

He pursed his lips:

“I had trouble to master my abilities, too, so he gave me that little rabbit. I could store my energy away in the box, until the time I was sure I could control it for good. You’re the only person who can give it away and give it back, at any time you want. It can’t be stolen.”

Grandchild looked at the box, at their grandpa, then asked:

“B-But- isn’t that cheating? Ain’t I supposed to control my power on my own? Aren’t you the one who said that willpower is the greatest power of all?”

“I still think so,” smiled Retired Superhero. “But even the greatest power can’t do everything on its own, just like a powerful person can’t do everything by oneself. Sometimes, things need a little... help.”

Grandchild didn’t answer anything, but this time, they initiated the hug.

*

Back to the Hero x Villain Masterlist

Whump/Horror Masterlist

[syncopein3d]

Left Alone 1: Abandoned

Author's note: This originally came as a reply to this prompt, but I thought I'd give it its own beginning for easier linking on my masterpost page. I did a poll here to decide who finds Tolly, and it just wrapped up, so here we go!

Tropes/content warnings: vampire whumpee, male whumpee, non-binary caretaker, morbidity or thoughts of death. There will be a lot of play with, and discussion of, the concept of consent in this series, as it applies to many topics. Mostly we're talking about consent to be bitten, but being bitten in this universe varies from "mild discomfort" through "multiple climaxes" and I don't know where the story will end up yet, so I think it's important to be clear going in. If there's more specific gore etc., I'll try to also do content notes as it comes up. “Stay in this room.”

It wasn't a large room. It was the width of the basement, but shallower, so that he could lie full length on the floor in one direction but not the other. He was six feet and a handspan tall. Six feet and a handspan long, if he didn't lift his arms. He would have needed a special coffin, or he must needs lie curled up inside it, not stretched regally in state. He would never have a coffin at all. That would have meant an end.

It wasn't a large room. It wasn't particularly well decorated. There was no silk paper on the walls down here, just bare stone encrusted with mold and damp. There was a rug. It was old when he was shut up inside, the dark green and gray colors faded, pipe dottle burns scorching several spots. He knew each one by heart, and had often speculated as to their respective age and how far apart they had happened back when this rug stood in front of the fireplace in the upstairs study. He had counted every single thread and every single strand of every single dull golden tassel. It only took him a couple of minutes, so he did it often. He had never been thwarted by throwing down a handful of seeds, not Bartholomaeus Bardulf. The debate as to whether he should stop counting the thread he had pulled from one side to play cat's cradle with raged on for some time. Eventually he had painstakingly weaved it back in, a tiny bit at a time, with his long nails, just to end the torment of uncertainty.

It wasn't a large room. There was no window, because that might have ended his suffering. Black Tolly only knew day from night by the dragging of his limbs, the need to lie down and cease for a while. He never fought it. It was time away from this place. Sometimes while he lay dead, he dreamed, and sometimes in his dreams he was outside. Every time he arose from lying on his back on the rug, hands neatly folded across his once-white shirt, he scratched a marking into the wall.

It wasn't a large room. Besides the rug, there was only a table in the corner and a single chair. They were plain furnishings, the sort of straight peg-and-groove stick construction you would want for something that needed to last a long time but didn't need to impress anyone. The chair was not for him. It was for his old friend Nicholas, who had left him down here for the last time three thousand, six hundred and twenty days ago. It was where Nicholas would sit when it was time for the needle and the vials.

Bartholomaeus Bardulf missed the needle and the vials. They had been an interruption of the monotony of his days. Sometimes, with new blood fresh in his mortal veins, the years crawling backward across his face, Nicholas would stay and talk to him. Tolly was polite. He had no power to be otherwise while the charm of Nicholas' voice held him in thrall, while Nicholas wore the old gold ring with the glittering ruby stone. He did not even resent this after the first six hundred days or so.

“Stay in this room,” he always said, when it was time to go. He never said “goodbye, Tolly.” Because they both knew he would be back. At least, Black Tolly had been sure of that. And then, three thousand, six hundred and twenty days ago, Nicholas had departed and never come back. And then Tolly had nothing, no meals of barely warm, half-congealed animal blood brought him in the same glass bottle, no moral debates as he paced the far wall and watched Nicholas grow younger, no pleading for his long eternity to end. Blood of cow and pig was not enough, not what Nicholas had promised him, and he gradually weakened on it, but it was better than nothing. On nothing at all he grew thin and withered and gray, his hair a few white strands clinging to his yellowed scalp, his canines permanently large and prominent with his thirst.

It wasn't a large room. There was nothing to see, nothing to do. Even for a creature like Bartholomaeus Bardulf, Black Tolly, Bardulf the Bastard, an old monster with the patience of the long dead, to keep sane you needed something. You needed anything at all. He made his marks on the wall. He counted his threads. He carved in the opposite wall with his talons, because those did not weaken as he began to dry up. Now there was an elaborate mural of curlicues and arabesques there, leering grotesques peering from the stylized vines and bushes of the forest of his mind. More than one of them had the face of Nicholas, beautiful, beloved, despised, hateful Nicholas.

And then, on the three thousand, six hundred and twenty-first day of his captivity, he heard noises from upstairs. Tolly threw himself at the secret door, screaming, pleading hoarsely, but the stone walls were too thick, and no one heard him. No one heard him scraping at the clean wall, ruining the smooth expanse of the moldering stones where he might have begun another mural in time. No one heard him pounding. His strength had waned with time, but still he paced, intent on every smallest sound.

When he heard the faintest echo of footsteps, detectable only to a creature with such exquisitely tuned hearing as the old monster, he threw himself against the secret door, milk-white eyes unblinking and intent on the smallest crack. He didn't really expect it to open. He was hoping for some scrap of scent, some sound of breath, some tantalizing agony to at least give him something to think about for the next hundred days. It utterly shocked him when it began to open. He darted backward into the far corner beyond the rug, crouched at the foot of his mural, and watched the door swing open.

“Stay in this room,” Nicholas had said. And he could not cross the threshold, could not even reach across it with his long, bony arms. But then the scent of fresh, living blood smote his nostrils, and he hurtled across his cell in a frenzy, desperate for it. And came up short just before the door, hissing in agony as every muscle in his body contorted in absolute refusal to move further.

For a second the stranger – exquisite, delicious creature, like Nicholas, savoring of life and health – was confronted with a gangly cadaver in a dusty once-white shirt and the tattered remains of a gray suit that had once been an expensive bit of tailoring, the narrow lapels immaculate, the trousers to bag at the knee just ever so. He never took the jacket off. The thirstier he was, the more he felt the cold in his dead bones. Part 2: Discovery

[featherlovesrobots]

➔ “Hey. Mind playing for me for a while…? It helps me sleep.” ➔ “Any chance to dazzle you with my skills. Got a request?”

It’s quiet here. The gentle, nighttime kind of quiet Whumpee used to love. Before his life was turned upside down. Before he was snipped and cut and probed until he was new. Before Whumper.

There are differences. He tries to focus on the differences.

The clothes hanging on his body are cotton — one of Caretaker’s big t-shirts over a pair of worn lounge shorts with looped strings. So unlike the heavy chains and suffocating gags and robes Whumper had him wear. The room is bigger, but more full. Couches and bookshelves and tables with checkered clothed draped over them. Fuzzy rugs and soft-colored paintings. And the air is warm, much warmer and clearer than his cell.

But it’s quiet. A different kind of quiet, pierced by owls purring outside and the whistle of the tea kettle and the humming of the air heater, but still quiet. Similar enough to the silence that dragged over the atmosphere there, burrowing into Whumpee’s brain and spiraling him to what felt like destruction, like his eyes bleeding out and dribbling down his chin, like his fingers ripping and tearing and splitting at his still thin, patchy hair. But now he’s here. That eyes nightmare — it never even happened. And the hair, it’s growing back, it’s even soft now. But the silence… oh, the silence.

“Caretaker?” He calls out, lifting his voice as high as he dares. He’s been feeling better about being verbal lately, even though Whumper’s no-talking rule still sticks like tar.

Caretaker’s voice filters in from the kitchen. “Yeah, hon?”

The soft pattering of liquid being poured fills the thick quiet — the tea must be done. Whumpee curls tighter into the corner of the couch. “You gonna be in there much longer?”

“No, I’m almost done. One teaspoon sugar, no milk?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

They twirl to the couch, skirt flaring and that crooked sunswept smile splashed on their face. They extend a white ceramic mug towards Whumpee, and he takes it in both hands, careful and easy. He’s gotten better at that, too. Being given things.

As he lifts the rim to his lips, Caretaker plops down next to him, sitting cross-legged and sipping their own cup. “How is it? Good?” They probe, tilting their head.

“It’s great. I don’t know how you do it,” Whumpee answers, returning that smile of theirs. It’s true. The sage-tinted, lightly-sugared water runs hot down their throat. It always feels good to drink something warm, but somehow Caretaker’s tea is always the best.

Caretaker chats with Whumpee for a while, even after tea is done. It’s sweet of them to put so much effort into making him comfortable. They’ve always been so cheerful and patient and talkative around him, even though they’re naturally a pretty quiet person. They probably know it makes him feel safer. To be away from the quiet.

It’s probably midnight by the time Caretaker starts yawning. And Whumpee dreads it, the same way he does every night. It helps that Caretaker’s there with him, but it’s when it starts feeling like he’s running. Running fast and far but the silence always catches up and twists its way into his mind again.

Caretaker stands and offers him a hand. Gingerly he takes it, lets himself be pulled to his feet and guided to his bedroom — the guest room, a cozy place with a square TV and a soft bed with star-patterned sheets matching the glow-up lights on the ceiling. The stars, they help too. But they’re quiet too.

“Okay, well, goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning, dear.” Caretaker turns around and steps towards the door, but Whumpee catches them by the wrist.

Caretaker pauses, slowly turning back to look at him. “Whumpee?”

“Hey. Would you mind playing for me for a while?” Whumpee licks his lips, eyes darting to the floor. “It helps me sleep.”

Caretaker grins. “Any chance to dazzle you with my skills. Got a request?”

That’s how they end up sitting at his bedside, playing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on their cello. The silence melts away like ice on a pond, first night of spring. Music pours out into the air, warm and soft, and fills Whumpee’s head with cotton.

It’s not a real solution. He knows that. And eventually, he’ll need to stop relying on Caretaker so much.

But for now, this is home.

"Hey. Mind playing for me for a while...? It helps me sleep." + Musician!Caretaker

"...Of course."

"It'll take me a second to get the guitar, are you okay if I leave for a second?"

"Yeah. But you'll have to let go of my hand, first."

"Any chance to dazzle you with my skills. Got a request?"

"I haven't sung in a while, but I'll do my best okay?"

[whumpyourdamnpears]

I’m bored, so I’ve decided to make a game for building your ideal whump series!

to start:

reblog for reach ❤️❤️

[drawing-dinos82]

Comment if you’re something different, I ran out of poll options. Reblog for a bigger sample size

[c0ntr0lledchaos]

Febuwhump day 6: "You Lied to Me"

 “Just admit that you love me already,” Rye mocked, making another grab at Elio’s bag that was attached to their hip.

 They swatted the preteen’s hand away without looking. On their other side, Celta unsuccessfully tried to hide her laughter as Rye winced and glared at both of them. In his distraction, he stumbled on the uneven dirt road they were walking on. Elio glanced at him as he steadied himself before returning their gaze back in front of them. A carriage road past them as they approached the town.

 The town wasn’t that small but was nowhere close to being a city. It was still early so the streets were mostly empty, only a few early risers or store owners up and about. The sun had just barely risen, casting the town in a pale blue light. There were no streetlights or any electricity that Elio could see. Having traveled to a lot of different places, Elio learned to keep and eye out for how advanced the technology in the area was. Elio adjusted their sleeve and gloves, making sure none of their robotic prosthetic was showing lest they attract unwanted attention. Celta did the same, pulling their cloak round their shoulders to hid their wings underneath. Elio could only hope this would be a short trip.

 “I told both of you to stay at the house,” Elio said, glancing at the signs in front of a couple shops. The written language in this area was different than Elio was used to but based on the couple arguing loudly on the other side of the street, Elio was reassured the spoken language was the same.

 “We have been cooped up in that house for days now, we both needed to get out and explore a little,” Celta defended, looking through the shop window’s as they walked past.

 “Its just a supply run. Routine and uninteresting.”

 “You can’t expect us to stay in the house forever,” Rye complained, dragging his feet a bit. He fell a few steps behind but with a quick glare from Elio he caught up again, rolling his eyes in the process. Elio would not repeat the mistake of allowing Rye to stray from the group again. The kid had gotten himself into trouble one to many times for Elio to let him out of their sight in public again.

 “Its not forever, just until I can take both of you back home,” Elio explained for the umpteenth time. “And if you get yourself into trouble again, I am not saving you this time. I don’t care what happens to you.”

  Rye was about to say something but Elio stopped all three of them to turn into a shop. a bell rang from above the door as they entered, followed by a greeting from someone deeper in the store. The shop was filled with a variety of different items, ranging in different styles and uses. There were many sculptures and paintings, as well as tapestries and rugs. The store owner smiled at them as she made her way to the front counter, smoothing the wrinkles out of her dress.

 Elio left Celta and Rye to look around, giving Rye a warning not to break or steal anything before walking up to the store owner as she stepped behind the counter. Elio took a moment to look at the items placed around the counter as the owner asked if she could help them with anything.

 “I’m actually looking to sell if you are interested,” Elio said, returning their gaze from a small jewelry box to the owner.

 “Well,” She starts, clasping her hands in front of her, “What are you looking to sell?”

 Elio smiled and started pulling out a few gadgets they had made specifically to sell. A few wind up toys and pretty light up music boxes usually sold very well in towns like this whose technology wasn’t that advanced yet. Although, sometimes they accused Elio of witchcraft. Elio made sure to pay close attention to how the lady reacted as they showed her the items. Elio relaxed as she smiled and excitedly started to examine the gadgets, already talking about how some of her regulars would love them.

 They looked around as the lady continued her inspection, making sure the other two hadn’t gotten into trouble yet. Rye and Celta were both examining some items that looked far to breakable for Elio’s comfort. They watched as Rye reached out to touch something but had his hand quickly grabbed by Celta, as she quietly scolded him.

 “So if you don’t mind me asking, what brings you and your family into town?” The lady asked as she reached for a magnifying glass.

 Elio’s head wiped around in shock, mind racing as they tried to decide weather to correct the woman or let the woman believe it to avoid too many questions. Just then, Celta came up behind them, locking arms with Elio before they had time to say anything.

 “Oh, we’re just passing though,” Celta said, smiling at the woman. Elio felt their face heat up as Celta leaned against them slightly. They looked over and noticed she was holding a couple of clothing options in her other arm. Celta smile and held them out a bit better for Elio to see. “I thought I could use some new clothes. Remember honey? I tore my favorite dress last week.”

 Elio’s mouth twitched downwards slightly and Celta just smiled as she placed the clothes on the counter, a glint in her eyes. Elio sighed inwardly, knowing Celta did that on purpose so Elio would buy her the clothes.

 The owner, oblivious to Elio’s embarrassment, continued to examine the gadgets, even making a comment about what a cute couple they were. Celta stepped away to go back to babysitting Rye as Elio gathered their composure again. After a few minutes of the woman examining the quality of the gadgets and Elio discussing prices with her, they finally came to an agreement.

 As the owner went to hand Elio the money, minus the price of the clothes, the door to the store swung open and banged harshly against the wall. The owner looked over, her annoyance quickly turning to fear. Elio followed her gaze and saw three men walk in wearing metal armor with some kind of insignia on their chests. Over their shoulders Elio could see some more people in the same armor making their way through and barging into the shops across the street as well. Screams started to ring out from somewhere in the distance.

 Elio glared at them as they walked in, resisting the urge to glance over to where Rye and Celta were towards the back of the store. Hopefully, they were out of sight already.

 Before Elio or the owner could even react, one of the men raised a crossbow and aimed it at them. Elio ducked and the bolt flew over their head, embedding itself into the wall somewhere behind them. The owner quickly ducked behind the counter as another soldier drew their sword and swung it in the air where the Owner had just been standing, crashing the blade into the wooden counter. Wood splintered and cracked as his sword got stuck in the wood. Elio scrambled to move back behind the counter slightly, locking eyes with the terrified owner.

 “Back door?” Elio said quickly as the soldier struggled to pull the sword from the wood. Out of the corner of their eye Elio could see the third soldier walking between the shelves as he searched through the rest of the store.

 The owner blinked as she processed the question before nodding and crawling out from behind the counter. Elio and the owner quickly ran out from behind the counter towards the back of the store. Another bolt was fired, hitting the floor where Elio’s foot had been just a second before. They ducked behind the shelves as the men shouted after them.

 They ducked behind a shelf, making sure to keep moving as they heard the metal armor clanking together only a couple steps behind them. The store was small, making it hard to get enough distance between the two of them and the soldiers. As Elio peaked out from around one of the shelves, their eyes widened as they saw Celta and Rye pressed up against another one. Before Elio could get their attention though, the third soldier rounded the corner, morning star raised.

 Celta grabbed Rye and ducked, the morning star crashing into the wooden shelf instead as the two ran. The back door was right in front of Elio, only a few steps away. The owner moved next to Elio, eyebrows furrowed together as she noticed Elio pausing.

 “Go,” Elio said before they even realized what they were saying. “We’ll be ok, just go.”

 The owner hesitated, giving Elio a worried look before nodding and running to the back door. She threw it open, already disappearing into the alley behind the building by the time the door hit the wall.  

 Elio turned before they could entertain the thought of leaving and started looking for Celta and Rye. It didn’t take long to find them again towards the front of the store. They froze as they peaked around the corner and saw Celta being thrown to the ground by one of the soldiers while another cornered Rye.

 Something tightened in Elio’s chest as they saw the one cornering Rye start to raise his Morningstar and the other aiming their crossbow at Celta. Time seemed to freeze as Elio’s mind played out the worst case scenario of both of them being killed in brutal ways, and Elio being able to do nothing but watch. A small movement under Celta’s cloak snapped Elio out of it and before they knew it, they were rushing towards Rye.

 The soldier swung the Morningstar down just as Elio slid into place in front of Rye. Their prosthetic arm raised to block the blow while their other reached for the gun on their hip. The sound of metal hitting metal filled their ears as the weapon made contact, quickly followed by the sound of their gun firing.

 A chocked gurgling sound came from the solider as he dropped his weapon, blood starting to spill from his neck down the front of his armor. As the man fell to his knees Elio pushed Rye out from behind them and towards the back door. When they looked over they saw the man with the cross boy now also on the ground, Celta pulling a dagger out of his neck. She joined them as they ran through the store to the back door. From what Elio could tell, the last soldier chose to stay behind instead of following them.

 They ran out the back door, Elio keeping their gun drawn as they kept watch for any other soldiers. The sounds of screaming came from the main street and Elio could smell something burning somewhere nearby. They stuck to the shadows and the spaced in between buildings as they made their way out of the town.

 The buildings gave way to forest eventually, and the three of them hid in-between the trees, putting as much distance between the town and them as possible. A glance over their shoulder revealed that the town was slowly being engulfed in flames.

 Eventually, came to a stop after they felt they were a safe distance away. Elio watched back the way they came as they caught their breath, still keeping an eye out for anyone following them. After a moment of nothing, Elio sighed and leaned against a tree.

 A plume of black smoke rose into the sky in the direction of the town, filling the air with the smell of burning wood. They couldn’t hear anyone screaming anymore, and could only hope that the rest of the town was able to escape.

 “You lied to me,” Rye panted, leaning on his knees and looking at the ground as he tried to catch his breath.

 “What are you talking about?”  Elio asked, exasperated. The supply run had been a complete failure, unable to get any of the things they came for.

 “You said earlier, that you didn’t care about us,” Rye said, taking a deep breathe and standing up straight again. “But you just sacrificed your whole arm for me.”

 Elio blinked before looking down at their prosthetic. Their sleeve was torn, revealing the smashed forearm of the prosthetic. They tried to flex their hand but found it unresponsive and they could hear a couple shard of metal shaking around where they were caught inside the sleeve.

 “Yeah, well… I lie a lot. It’s kinda what I do at this point,” Elio sighed as they holstered their gun and pushed themselves off of the tree. “Lets just get back to the house.”

Characters from my WIP: Dimension Traveling and Other Mistakes