#probably barely whump to be honest?

[wardenred]

Whumptember 2: "Let me do this for you"

These characters have been hanging out on the fringes of my mind for a while now, why not take them out for a walk.

Tonight, the tavern was warm and jovial. Flames crackled in the fireplace that took up most of the wall across from the doorway. A minstrel sat perched on a high stool next to it, their deft fingers teasing a soft, soothing melody out of a lute. Glass clinked against metal as a group of merchants laughed together, celebrating a deal well sealed and toasting future opportunities; some of them had discarded tankards in favor of going straight for the bottles. Two tables away, three people in noble clothes hidden under commoners' cloaks looked to be enjoying a romantic evening. At the bar, a city guard flirted relentlessly with the maid. A slightly exasperated patron clearly couldn't decide whether he wished to interfere for the sake of finally getting a drink or would rather not spoil somebody's fun. The air smelled of fresh stew and mulled wine.

Amidst all of this, even tucked away in the farthest corner, Raj found it easy to pretend like he could have some of this, too, one day. The simple joys, the simple comforts. Life. 

Just as long as he paid all his debts first and didn't die trying.

He smoothed out the map in front of him and traced the tip of his nail over the shoreline, the faded blue expanse of the Whirlpool Gulf, the smattering of small islands to the west.

"Fortune guiding me, I shouldn't be gone for longer than a month," he told Ash. "My sisters should have enough coin or that long, but if I stall, I can count on you to check up on them and see to their needs, right? I’ll pay you back, obviously."

His friend drummed their fingers over the chipped edge of the table. A deep crease settled between their pale eyebrows; a deeper one at the corner of their mouth.

"You shouldn't be doing this."

Raj swallowed a sigh. "On the contrary. It's a fantastic opportunity—"

"To get yourself killed for real this time?"

This was... needlessly dramatic. "Excuse me, are you doubting my skills?"

"No, only your sanity. Raj, you've done two jobs with the Western pirates, and frankly, it makes for two more than reasonable. And aren't you now expected to work under the same captain as the last time?" 

Raj grimaced. "Unfortunately, yes. I suppose he'll be happier to see me than I him. Still, that's a good chance to turn the tables a little bit, after all the grief the guy gave me."

"Grief." Ash's expression was unreadable.

"Well, what else would you call it?" Raj asked with a fatalistic shrug. "No, don't answer. You'll come up with all sorts of drastically tragic epithets, whereas the truth is, it was—"

Ash leaned forward so sharply Raj kind of wanted to flinch back. Of course, what he did instead was freeze and stop talking.

"If you're going to tell me it was nothing, I swear to the gods..." Ash drew a steadying breath. "I was the one who patched you up after that stint, Raj. Don't you dare tell me you were fine."

"I was, though," Raj insisted, not so much ignoring the way Ash's dark eyes narrowed as acknowledging it and saying his part anyway. "I can handle a few beatings, as long as it gets the work done and paid for. So how about you stop fretting and we keep drinking?" He reached for the jug at the center of the table and topped their glasses with gusto. "Ths is meant to be a celebration! I fought for this contract!"

"Yes, because you're a blighted fool," Ash said stiffly. Still, when Raj brought up a glass in a toast, they clinked theirs against his. Hard. So hard, in fact, that the blood-like red liquid splashed over the rims, drinks mixing together.

Raj offered an easy smile. "That's all right by me. If memory serves me right, before ascending the throne the first Astragi king, bless his spirit and all that, served as the Last Emperor's fool. Therefore, being a fool is quite the noble calling with awesome career prospects. Cheers."

Ash snatched his wrist before he could bring the glass to this lips.

"Let me do this for you. No, listen! You'll still get the money. Even the credit, should that be what you're after. Lie low here in the city, or travel to the country for a while. I've got a cover-up in the works already. Once I'm back, we'll convince the bosses you were the one who did the job."

All Raj could do was stare. There was a feverish glint in Ash's eyes, a flush to their skin that could probably be explained by all the ale they'd consumed already. This crazy idea probably boasted the same origin.

He laughed. "Now which one of us is the fool?"

Ash tightened their grip on his hand. "Please, Raj. Let me do this. The risks for me are lower, anyway. I'm not the kind of person Captain Turncoat would harbor a grudge for. I can keep my head down, lay low, pretend to be boring and unobtrusive. You know I can."

"The captain isn't the only monster aboard that ship." Raj's throat tightened when he thought about this. Ash, spending weeks in the open sea with Turncoat's crew, treated with disdain at best, because pirates hated their organization even—especially—when they agreed to work together for mutual gain? Having all possible offenses pinned on them, all possible punishments dispensed their way? No. No, and nope, and fuck this shit.

"Please, Raj."

He shook his head, wrenched his hand away, and downed half a glass in one go.

Immediately, his mind felt fuzzy. The glass cluttered out of his weakened grasp and rolled over the table surface, spilling ale everywhere. The map would be ruined if it wasn't for Ash's quick fingers, already folding it away.

Numb and with no control of his body or tongue, Raj could only slump in his chair while Ash stood, walked over, and methodically searched his pockets for the job token.

No. No, please, anything but this.

Ash bent down to plant a small kiss against his temple.

"You'll feel better in an hour, tops," they whispered. "Stay safe. See you in a month, give or take."

Their footsteps echoed away, and Raj couldn't even turn his head to watch them go. By the fireplace, the minstrel was still playing, the melody rising and falling like the tides.

You fucking idiot.

Raj didn't know if he was aiming the thought at Ash or himself.

[whumpetywhumpwhump]

The long awaited pt2 to the pneumonia/intubation Whump post (this one)...

Caretaker's glad Whumpee's so out of it from all the meds they're on. If they were more aware, they'd likely be terrified.

After all, the equipment that the doctors are pulling over on carts, laying out on the sheets, is enough to make Caretaker feel nauseous- they keep eyeing the metal device the doctor checks over, the one that muted whispers have denoted as the 'laryngoscope'.

They sit beside Whumpee's bed (they're allowed to for the time being, until Whumpee's actually asleep and the real procedure has to begin), holding the hand that hasn't been invaded by a cannula site. A nurse is positioned at Whumpee's other side already pumping them full of drugs that have Whumpee drifting, eyes open but barely there. Caretaker strokes their hair, giving them a wobbly smile as yet another dose of something or other is pushed into Whumpee's cannula.

"I'm right here, whumpee. I'm right here with you, sweetheart. Just try to relax."

The latter message is more for themselves than Whumpee, if they're honest. They're the one with a racing heartbeat- Whumpee's is slower now, as indicated by the dull beep-beep of the monitor they're hooked up to. Their breaths are slower too, so shallow that if they weren't already due to be intubated, Caretaker would be slamming on the emergency button.

"Propofol's going in now." One of the doctors says. Caretaker knows enough to understand that this means sleep, for Whumpee, is imminent.

Sure enough, within seconds of the syringe's plunger being pushed down, a glaze enters Whumpee's eyes, the lids becoming heavy. They open their mouth, tongue darting out to wet chapped lips for a moment as if they want to speak, but Caretaker, unshed tears in their eyes, shushes them gently.

"Hey, just sleep now, alright? Everyone's looking after you. Sweet dreams, Whumpee. Night night."

Whumpee's glassy gaze fixes on Caretaker's, narrowing and narrowing as their eyes drift closer to being closed until...

Out.

Caretaker leans forward, lower lip trembling slightly, and kisses Whumpee on the forehead, just as the doctor steps up behind them.

"Alright, we're gonna get started now. it's probably easier for you to wait outside and-"

"No." Caretaker interjects, tears nearly spilling over. "Sorry, no, I- I need to be here. I won't... I won't get in your way, I promise, I just- I need to be here for them."

And so they remain. They remain when the doctors place the mask over Whumpee's face, murmuring to each other about sats and correct timings. They remain when the principal anaesthesiologist brushes a fingertip below Whumpee's eyelashes, checking for movement and finding none. They remain when the same anesthesiologist stands behind Whumpee's head, removes the mask and tilts Whumpee's chin towards them, gently pulling open their mouth and sliding the laryngoscope in.

The blade slips into place too easily, Caretaker thinks. there's too little resistance. Whumpee should be gagging, thrashing about, screaming for help, but instead they lay unconscious and unmoving as it's driven deep into their throat, pushing their tongue out of the way to give the doctors a clear view of their vocal cords.

"Tube." the anesthesiologist says tersely. That long snaking tube, already lubricated, is placed atop a gloved palm.

Caretaker is tempted to look away as it's inserted, but their eyes are fixed. They watch as it's threaded past the laryngoscope, through the opening of the vocal cords that only the doctor can see. They watch as it slots fully into place and the anesthesiologist adjusts it, leaving it to rest against Whumpee's lower lip for only a moment before the cuff is inflated and the ventilator is hooked up to it instead.

And as the circuit is completed, Caretaker would think Whumpee dead- their eyes are closed, everything is so still, and whenever the tube needs a slight adjustment, they're floppy beneath the touch of the adjuster. Only when Caretaker looks closer do they see the continual, regular fogging of the tube with each assisted breath Whumpee takes- a sign that they're living, at least.

The anesthesiologist glances over at the screen, which to Caretaker looks merely like a smattering of numbers and wave forms.

"We've got N tidal CO2. Everything's connected. Secure the tube and continue to monitor."

With that, they step away, their primary task complete, and a nurse steps in instead- already equipped with an ET tube holder. Caretaker watches them gently press one of the sticky pads against Whumpee's cheek, then moving to the other cheek to apply the other pad. Between them, the tube is secured in place, and at last Whumpee is... Whumpee is...

Caretaker doesn't even realise they've moved to the bedside until they shakily lower themselves into the seat there, listening to the wooshing of the ventilator and the beeping of so many monitors.

Whumpee is... sick. really sick.

They've known it for a long time, of course, but seeing Whumpee intubated, sedated in an intensive care unit, their cheeks pale, sweat beading on their brow... it hammers reality home even further.

Home.

Whumpee isn't going to be going home for a long while yet.

[whumpshaped]

masterlist

tw vampire whumper, psychological whump, intimate whumper, forced comfort

"Whatever is the matter with you?"

Beck shrugged a little. He still barely even looked at Helle, let alone engaged in their banter. "I don't know. I'm sorry."

They gently took him by the chin, turning his head towards them so they'd be able to look him in the eye. They didn't seem concerned, just confused and annoyed. "Is it me? Am I the problem? Are my insults and mockery getting less... gutting?"

Beck thought he might be able to sense some semblance of care behind the joking tone, but he was too exhausted to pay too much attention. "No, that's definitely not it," he said honestly. "They're... they're definitely pretty gutting. I mean, if, if we're being honest here– they make me wanna cry half the time."

The vampire let go of him and leaned back, still fixing him with a suspicious look. "Okay. So... whatever is it, then? You barely react. Our of the two of us, you seem more dead."

"I'm tired, Helle," he admitted, and averted his eyes again. "I'm sorry. That's– I think that's just it. I'm so tired of being... afraid, and hurt, and angry. I just can't do it tonight. I bet that's very frustrating, since that seems like the only reason you even keep me around in this way instead of enthralling me and whisking me away to your mansion or whatever, but I just... I can't. I can't do it every night. I'm tired."

The silence that stretched between them wasn't a necessarily uncomfortable one. It was almost peaceful, contemplative. Beck used it to simply zone out and stare at the TV in front of him — despite the fact that it wasn't even turned on, and he was just looking at his reflection. Only his. And Helle? Helle used it to think about whatever the hell vampires thought about, when they weren't thinking about blood and torture. Maybe they were thinking about blood and torture. There was no way to know.

"I do keep you around for those tasty little emotions," they said eventually. "It is quite fun to see you react to whatever I am doing. But I think..." They grabbed him by the arm and pulled him closer, positioning him so that he was laid across the sofa with his head in their lap. "I do not have to pull from the negative ones all the time. Especially if they are a limited resource."

Beck would've lied if he said the situation didn't scare him. He felt numb, yes, but he wasn't dead. Or emotionless. His muscles still tensed up at having to navigate unfamiliar territory, and his breathing and pulse quickened. But he couldn't react in the way Helle wanted. He didn't have the energy to protest and beg.

They began gently petting his hair, like one might do with a cat. It felt... nice. It wasn't comforting, but it was objectively pleasant, and... Helle was right. It was different, and different made him feel.

"I could make the distinction differently," they murmured. "I could simply make your days bad and worse, have your brain switching between dread and more dread."

Oh, it was a foolish question, the one on the tip of his tongue; but it was a justified one. Should he risk it? Or should he keep quiet and enjoy the break?

He was never going to learn to keep his mouth shut.

"Why don't you?" he asked quietly.

The vampire scratched his scalp with sharp nails, and Beck once again felt like he was nothing but a pet. But it was so good. It felt so nice. He couldn't help but turn his head a little, lean into the touch, and even though he managed to stifle the pleased hum that threatened to breach his aura of indifference, the way he arched his back to be able to push against Helle's hand probably told them everything they wanted to know.

They smiled sweetly. "It is an odd thing, really. Sometimes I look at your adorable little face and I want nothing more than to ruin it with tears and bruises. And sometimes... sometimes I come here with that exact intent, and yet you manage to say or do something... and I just change my mind out of nowhere. Sometimes I want to see you like this."

"Like a dog."

"Like a happy dog. Relaxed, content, lazily wagging his little tail — wagging it specifically because I scratched him behind the ears." Beck felt his face heating up at the comparison, even though it was the same one he'd made a moment ago. It was different, coming from Helle. "But it does make me wonder... How would you react if I were to take it all away?"

Beck tensed again, waiting for them to do just that. For their fingers to tighten in his hair, for the claws to draw blood. For Helle's gentle expression to turn cold and cruel. He found himself desperately hoping it was merely a hypothetical.

"There it is," they whispered. "That fear. That uncertainty. That pleading look I treasure oh so much." They continued petting him, satisfied with how he was unable to relax at all now. "A little hope and kindness goes a long way, I suppose."

~

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @florissimps @nicolepascaline @oliversrarebooks @the-cyrulik @pirefyrelight @there-will-always-be-blood @pigeonwhumps @echo-goes-mmm @whumpycries @morning-star-whump

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Vampire Captures Vampire Hunter to Use as Bloodbag part 8

Warnings: blood drinking, kidnapped human, intimate vampire whump, violence, dominance power move, captive human bloodbag

The next day he came to feed he discovered that Mallory had barely moved at all, groaning the instant he heard the basement door open. He didn't even snap at Alex when he approached, sprawled on the concrete and staring up at the vampire with pained eyes. He looked rather pale, his breathing still a little uneven. How long did it take humans to heal?!

"You know what time it is," Alex said gruffly, crouching down next to his human.

"Can't you just... leave me alone for a little longer?" Mallory whined pitifully with a choked sob. "Everything... h-hurts..." There was a tone of desperation in his voice Alex couldn't understand, different than when he'd been afraid before. He'd only been here for three days, and he was already broken? How boring.

But for some reason, Alex was uneasy, watching the hunter's eyes roll sluggishly in his skull before they slid closed. He grabbed one of the human's hands, using a fang to prick his finger and sample the blood. It was thick like syrup, and a bit more sour than before, unappetizing. Was his human already sick?!

"What's wrong with you?" Alex snapped angrily.

Mallory's eyes cracked open to peer fearfully at him. "You haven't given me anything to eat or drink in three days," he mumbled. "What did you expect, idiot? I'm dying. You can't drain me of blood and then not feed me and expect me to be able to survive without any energy to recover!"

It came to Alex like a slap in the face. Humans had a lot more needs and requirements than vampires. How could he have forgotten? He racked his mind trying to remember what his human life had been like before he was Turned. The memories were all distant and fuzzy.

Scowling, Alex stormed out of the room, pulling out his phone. Surely he could Google 'how to care for a pet human', right? Seemed easy enough. He spent a good few hours searching the internet and educating himself on how to care for a human -- he'd been a vampire so long he'd forgotten that humans were more sensitive to everything including their environment. But there were so many mixed answers, all these things called 'diets' that had different types of food involved. How was he supposed to know what to feed his human and what might kill it faster?! Google sucks.

Frustrated, he eventually realized he knew a friend who had a human lover. (Which, let's be honest, is DISGUSTING. Why would you get in bed with FOOD?)

He hadn't talked with her in over half a century, but she'd always been there when he needed a friend. She'd probably chew his ear off when she discovered he was keeping a human as a pet, but Alex didn't want his new toy to die so soon. So he called her number, bracing himself for the harsh berating he knew was coming.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

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

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

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @whump-queen

@floral-comet-whump

[kinardsevan]

im just curious, what are your thoughts about finishing your fics? i know right now it probably seems impossible as it does reading them, but just wondering. your writing is so good & i love it so much 💙 do whatever works for you, just was wondering 🫶🏻

i was actually planning to address this ❤️💙

So. Here's my current mindset:

I did start a fix-it fic last night. I have another idea swirling around in my head atm for another version of one. My brain is at this point quite literally wired to create. (Even if I'm only doing ceramics and painting this semester 😛). Those will get finished.

-Empty Bones will continue to see updates. Especially with my need to put the icky feelings somewhere. I'd be lying to you if I said I haven't considered writing another whump fic solely based off of Tommy really fucking shit up for us all last night. But that idea may live in my head (or on my hard drive for a while). I don't know how often they'll come, but they'll still come.

-the devil doesn't bargain has always had plans to get wrapped. i just need to find the time (and creative outlet) to do so. I know where it goes and how it ends, it's just getting there.

-never til now... right now I don't have an answer for that.

But I'm not stupid. I know why you're asking.

ANEURYSM FIC:

so I'm not going to lie. I haven't written much on it in weeks, solely because of the amount of work that goes into it. I know where the next scene that's been in my head for a few weeks goes, I just haven't actually gotten to putting it down. I went through a stretch in the past few weeks where I worked or was at school for 24 days straight and barely wrote during that time. As it sits at this moment, chapter six is just under 11.5k. I view it as reaching roughly 20, possibly 25.

the problem lies in the fact that the end of this story is so FUCKING happy. when I tell you I already have part of the wedding night written and all the emotion that goes into it... there's so much work and thought put into it, but right now, if I'm being honest with you... finishing aneurysm fic might not happen. this week was already gutting me before the show aired last night, and that really felt like being kicked while so many of us were already down. so to that end, I really struggle to be able to find a way to want to touch it when it really requires me to tap into a certain part of my creativity that feels really broken right now.

I know some of my friends have said that they're done, and that they're not going to finish their stories, or have even posted what they had written so far. that's fair and valid. i won't be doing that, at least not right away. i will work to finish them as long as there's an audience who wants to see them come to fruition. I really want to believe in the part of fandom that says that it's more than just when a couple is together on screen, and that there will be people who continue to write bucktommy because I truly do enjoy doing so, and I enjoy reading it. This couple brought me back to fandom and fanfiction in a big way, and right now I can at least tell you that I'm not done with it. I don't know how long it will take to roll out updates, or what happens with my relationship to the show, but I know that much.

[gremlinwithapen]

Augusnippets Day #9: Hypothermia

tw: hypothermia, lab whump, nonhuman child whumpee

 All Nobody had to do was sit in a room and wait to be let out. It seemed simple enough, really. But xhey new that it was never that easy.

Xheir suspicions were confirmed while xhey were reading the book xhey'd been allowed to bring in with xhem. A sudden shiver coursed through xhem without warning, making xheir tail thump against the metal floor. Xhey glanced up, realizing that the air definitely felt colder than it had been when xhey'd entered the room.

So that was the game this time around, xhey guessed. The people in white coats wanted to see how xhey dealt with the cold.

Well, xhey could work with that. Xhey shook xhemself slightly, letting xheir fur coat form a little thicker and warmer. Xhey went back to reading, hoping that it would be over soon.

It was a few more minutes before xhey noticed another dip in temperature. Xhey huffed quietly, watching as xheir breath appeared in the air in front of xhem. These people were never satisfied.

Determining that it would probably be easier if xhey shifted all at once instead of wasting xheir energy on a bunch of little changes, xhey gathered xheir focus. Xhey searched xheir mind for something good, recalling the images of a large, fluffy creature xhey'd seen in one of the picture books about animals xhey'd been given. Some sort of big bear that lived out in the ice and snow, if xhey were remembering right.

Xhey closed xheir eyes and let xheir body begin to flow into the right shape. Xheir inky fur lost its color and grew in even thicker, xheir limbs grew shorter and rounder, and xheir face lengthened into a stubby snout. Xhey settled back in, now comfortably warm, even if it was a little hard to turn the pages of xheir book with xheir now ginormous paws.

Everything was fine for a good while, so much so that xhey forgot about the steadily lowering temperature in favor of the current chapter xhey were on.

Eventually, the cold began to catch up to xhem again. It started as slowly as it had before, just a slight chill that barely reached xheir bones. Xhey couldn't think of any other way to stay warm beyond short of out how to breath fire, so xhey just decided to try and wait it out. Surely whoever was in charge of this particular test would have enough data or whatever else they wanted soon.

Xhey ignored the rapidly worsening feelings for as long as xhey could, but soon enough xhey were shivering so much that xhey couldn't focus on the words in front of xhem. Xhey grumbled in frustration, getting up and starting to pace. Lumbered back and forth across the room, xhey tried to work the feeling back into xheir aching limbs.

And still it got colder. Xheir fur barely felt like it was helping at all by this point, and the tips of xheir paws had gone all pins-and-needles numb. Xhey whined softly as xhey curled up in the corner, hoping that making xhemself smaller would help more than moving.

Time kept on passing and the temperature kept dropping, but xhey hadn't really been paying attention for the past while. It was getting harder to think and, more concerningly, harder to hold xheir form together. Xhey knew that the cold would get a hundred times worse without this bulky body, but it was getting harder to justify that to xheir tired mind.

Xhey were feeling warmer now, anyways. Surely xhey could just let xhemself rest for a moment and shift back again when it got worse again, right? Yes, that sounded like a nice idea. Any rest at all sounded incredible

Xheir body grew smaller and more familiar as xheir eyelids fluttered shut. Xhey thought xhey might have heard the sound of the door opening, but xhey couldn't really bring xhemself to care as xhey waited for xheir time to be up.

Maybe now the people in white coats would finally be satisfied with xhem. Probably not, if xhey were being honest. They never were.

@augusnippets

[i-eat-worlds]

A Late Night Discovery

This is a crossover with @pigeonwhumps ��s story Immortal Cannon Fodder, who Phoenix and Aaron belong to. Set during Joseph’s time working in Hero Alliance London’s medbay.

cw: medical whump, depictions of wounds, discussions of abuse; primarily denial of medical care and fear of punishment, hospital setting, author’s questionable knowledge of British English

Joseph sighs as he finishes organizing the last shelf of supplies. His shift has been pretty slow, and he’d spent most of the time doing housekeeping. They’d gotten a shipment of supplies, and since he had nothing better to do, he ended up restocking the supply rooms. That was how he’d ended up in the fifteen hundred hallway supply room with twenty minutes left in his shift.

If Joseph is being honest, he doesn’t know why the fifteen hundred hallway even has a supply closet. The old patient rooms had been converted into office space, but the supply closet still needed to be stocked, for some reason. When he’d done inventory, most of the stuff had only ever been touched to move it somewhere else. So, he is very surprised when another person walks in.

They’re wearing a battered HAL uniform, minus a mask, arm wrapped protectively around their waist and panting heavily. It’s obvious that they’re injured and in pain. His medic mode kicks in as he steps out from behind the shelf and moves closer. “Hey, are you okay?”

The hero jolts when they see him, scampering away into a corner of the room. Joseph would’ve sworn he’d seen them before, but he couldn’t quite place where. He squats down in front of them, keeping his expression neutral. “Are you injured? I’m a medic, I can help.”

The words seem to make them more nervous. “I’m sorry,” they blabber, “I didn’t mean to intrude, please.”

Joseph sighs. This is going to be complicated. “I’m not going to hurt you. You look like you need some help, that’s all. Do you want to go to the medbay?”

This helps even less. “No, no, I wouldn’t do that.” They shake their head vigorously. “I don’t-I don’t wanna waste.”

So no medbay. At least not yet, though it’s an odd response to the question. He can see the long, bloody gash on their side from the other side of the closet, though. They need help, sooner rather than later. “Can I take a look?” He offers instead.

The hero hesitates before nodding yes. They seem to be in a state of petrified silence, eyes following Joseph as he opens up one of the brand-new boxes of gloves he’d just placed on the shelves and pulls a pair on, then kneels down next to them. “I’m Joseph, by the way. Do you have a name?”

“Phoenix,” they say quietly.

So that’s where he knows them from. The name is all it takes for him to finally recognize them. They’re the poor kid who came in a couple of weeks ago with their mouth stitched shut, the one who apologized continuously for just existing. He’s pretty sure they’re on one of the teams that Aaron does medical for. “I’m gonna pull your hand away so I can look, yeah?”

Phoenix nods, letting Joseph carefully move their hand away from the wound. “Sorry if this hurts,” he says as he inspects it, trying not to poke or prod too much.

It’s not as bad as he’d thought it would be, especially considering Phoenix's healing abilities. It’s about six inches long, but he can’t see any lobules of fat sticking out, so it probably won’t need stitches. The bleeding isn’t horrible, and he doubts Phoenix will notice by the morning. Still, he’d like to clean it out, get something on it, and maybe get them some antibiotics.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” He asks as he tears open a package of gauze and presses it into the wound.

Phoenix barely inches at the pain. “No, sir. I’m not.”

“Alright,” he says, keeping pressure as he speaks. “I’m going to need to clean this out and bandage it up, and I’d like to do that somewhere a little nicer than a storage room floor.” Phoenix is looking up at him with the same fear filled eyes he’d seen a few weeks before. “Can you walk to the medbay, or do I need to get some help?”

Their eyes go wide at that. “I don’t need the medbay.” He’s never seen somebody shake their head so much. “I’m immortal, I’ll be okay. We can do it here.” There's a couple seconds of silence, then Phoenix speaks again. “I’ve been to the medbay too many times recently. Abbie says I can’t go anymore, or else-or else I’ll get punished.” They speak very quietly.

So that’s what’s going on. Aaron had warned him about Abbie when he first arrived, and now he knows why. She’s an abusive asshole. “We don’t have to tell anyone,” Joseph says. “I can’t tell anybody anything without your permission, and the medbay is pretty empty right now.”

Phoenix hesitates before answering. “I’ll go. I’m sorry for disagreeing.”

“It’s okay,” He says, using one hand to keep pressure while he unpackages a roll of bandages. “I’m going to wrap these around you, okay?” Phoenix nods, repositioning themself so that it’s easier. “Does anyone else know that Abbie would punish you for going down to the medbay?”

“Aaron, and Kai,” They say, voice shaky as they speak. “Please don’t report it. I’m getting a transfer. It’s just for a little bit longer.”

“I won’t,” he says, and he means it. He will talk to Aaron about maybe expediting that process though. “Let’s get you up.”

He helps them to stand, then wraps their arm around his waist-Phoenix is too short for his shoulders-and guides them out the door.

The halls are all pretty much empty, and most of the staff is used to seeing bleeding, injured heroes around, and they probably wouldn’t have batted an eye at Joseph helping Phoenix down the hallway anyway. As they get closer to the medbay, things get busier. He can feel Phoenix leaning into him, and he can hear the way their breath hitches with every step. “We’re nearly there,” he comforts, “Just a little bit longer.”

Finally, they arrive in the heart of the medbay. The room is pretty calm, some nurses bustling about, a couple gathered in the break room. Tori, the charge nurse, is sitting at her desk, busily typing away. She looks up when she hears him walk in “I thought you’d left…”Her voice trails o when she sees Phoenix leaning against him, bandages wrapped around their abdomen. “Treatment six is open.”

“Thank you, Tori,” he says as he walks through the nurses station to get to the room. “Can you page Dr. Thomas?”

“No problem,” she says, already reaching for the phone.

Joseph thanks her before pulling the curtain around treatment six closed and getting to work. “Can you hop up on the table while I get some things ready?”

Phoenix listens, paper crinkling as they pull themself up onto the exam table and carefully lay down. “I’m sorry for making you work late.” They swallow nervously, watching as Joseph replaces his soiled gloves with fresh ones.

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t mind,” he says, grabbing the blood pressure cuff from the basket on the wall. As if he, or really any decent human being, would’ve left them bleeding in a storage room because their shift was over. “I’m gonna take some vitals, and then I’ll treat your wound. Aaron might pop in soon, is that okay?”

They nod, but their eyebrows furrow like they’re confused. It’s quick and painless; first temperature, then blood oxygen, heart rate and respirations, and finally blood pressure. He’s typing it in their chart when Aaron walks in.

“Good evening, Joseph,” he says as he rubs some sanitizing gel on his hands. “How are you doing, Phoenix?”

“I got hit, I’m sorry, sir,” they say with a hint of shame in their voice.

“It’s not deep. It’ll be okay.”

“We’ll get it taken care of,” Aaron says, then turns to Joseph. “Obs?”

“Pretty much normal,” he reports, “Pulse and bp are elevated but that’s not surprising.”

Aaron nods, and he’s about to ask another question but Phoenix starts first. “I tried to deal with it myself, sir. Mr. Joseph caught me. It’s my fault, I know, but please, please, please don’t tell Abbie.” The words fall out of their mouth in a panicked string. They sound like they’re pleading for their life. Joseph worries that it’s not far off from the truth.

“I won’t do that, Phoenix, I promise.” Aaron is seething right now, and Joseph can tell, even though he’s got his doctor face on. “I’m going to take a look at your wound now. It might hurt a little bit, but I’m not going to cause more pain than I need to, alright.”

Joseph hands him the scissors, and he quickly cuts the bandage away. “Oh yeah, that’s not too bad at all.” Arron sounds pleasantly surprised. “You feel okay with Joseph closing it? I need to go get you some antibiotics.”

“Yes,” Phoenix says, though Joseph can see them shift towards Aaron. They look less nervous when he’s in the room.

“It’s okay if you aren’t. Nobody will be angry.” Aaron assures them.

Their bottom lip starts to tremble a little bit. “Please stay,” they whisper, desperate. “I-I’m sorry. I know it’s stupid because it's not that bad and I’m gonna be fine, but please stay.” They sniffle, trying to keep the tears in. “It’s okay, I can stay,” Aaron says, squeezing their shoulder. “How about I hold your hand while Joseph takes care of your wound. Would that be good?”

They nod tearfully. “Thank you. ’m sorry for causing trouble.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not your fault.” Aaron moves over to Phoenix’s uninjured so Joseph can get to work. He takes their hand, smiling comfortingly.

Joseph steps up to their side. “I’m going to have to clean it out first, and after that, I’ll use some strips of silk tape to keep it closed,” he explains.

Phoenix watches in what looks concerningly like awe as treats their wound. Joseph apologizes in advance before he flushes it out, and he can see on Aaron's face how tight their grip is during that part. The flushing doesn’t knock too many clots loose, and it doesn’t take him very long to get the bleeding back under control so he can close it. It’s not deep enough to need stitches, which makes Phoenix very happy, and the process of taping it closed is almost painless. The look on their face when Joseph says that he’s done makes it seem like they were expecting something a lot worse. After he’s done with his notes, Aaron reminds him that it’s about an hour or so past his shift change and that he should probably go home. After he leaves, he presumes that Phoenix gets the “please seek help from medical staff when you are injured” speech. He’s given that one a few times, but never in a situation like theirs.

When he showers that night, he scrubs himself extra hard, eager to remove the icky feeling that hearing them beg caused. Because they weren’t allowed to get medical treatment. They were afraid that she’d do who knows what to them, because they got medical treatment, and it makes his blood boil. Abbie is a pathetic excuse for a team leader, heck, she’s a pathetic excuse for a human being. He promises himself that if he ever gets the chance, he’ll make her regret every single thing she’s done to them. Every. Single. Thing.

[pencilofawesomeness]

20 Questions for Writers

Tagged by @kiliinstinct so let's go

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Okay so the number on my account is a slight lie because I have two anthology-type fics with many fics inside of them like an egg sac, and in htryds’ case I took all of them out and separated them and I pulled one out of the other so.... 130 unique works. And if I count the oneshots shoved inside my 2021 Whumptober anthology, then 159.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

This also requires some math for the above reason so.... 948,078. (Holy cow I am so close to one million, wait—)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mainly Fairy Tail, Genshin Impact, and Twisted Wonderland, in that order, buttttt I have a few other fandoms under my belt and I am known to branch out on a whim. (Others include Voltron, RWBY, Fullmetal Alchemist, Seven Deadly Sins, Arrowverse, Transformers, Owl House, and literally so many others that I haven't actually published...)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Alright, we got:

—5. Demon Tales [Fairy Tail] - 762 —4. The Eighth Tower [Fairy Tail] - 914 —3. Sparks in the Night [Genshin Impact] - 1,066 —2. Pain Comes in Many Forms (and so does Comfort): Whumptober 2021 [Genshin Impact] - 1,121 —1. Of Dragons and Fairies [Fairy Tail] - 1,405

(So I guess, to no one's surprise, it's mainly HTRYDS but I will say I continue to be baffled by Sparks in the Knight, that random twoshot I wrote in two days XD)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! I love responding to comments, both because it's fun and I love to let people know that I totally did read and enjoy their comment. (And I've even been able to just chat with people this way, beyond the scope of the fic itself, which is a fun little community feature I do enjoy as well.) If there's a comment I haven't replied to, it's probably because somehow it was marked as read and therefore I forgot to go back and respond.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hmmm that is a tough one. I do tend to want to end things on a lighter note, despite the amount of whump I write... Maybe Mortal Instinct, actually, since I pull a bit of a (self-perceived) fate-worse-than-death bit. Though solely by audience reaction I guess it's Coming Home since I left it on a purposeful note of suspense, eheh.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Oh geez, um... I think a lot of them?? Have very happy endings?? Uhhh maybe I'll just say Of Dragons and Fairies, then, because it's meant to be very hopeful and family-shaped, with that bright future ahead.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No not really, actually. I have had a very good experience, especially on AO3.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Ha. No. (Guys I'm so aroace I barely write romance I will probably never write smut XD)

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Yes actually! Not many that are finished/posted, but boy I actually love them a lot. (Many live in my head in amorphous form to be honest.) Most are AUs, so like the world of X with the characters of Y, but for straight-up crossovers, I think the craziest is The A.I.D. Files which is a co-project with @therosefrontier where we have a longstanding universe where we combine literally everything into a multi-sectioned multiverse, and the story focuses on an agency that is comprised of people from all manner of universes, leading to a team that includes Tech E. Coyote, Dani Phantom, Iggy (from Maximum Ride), Jim Hawkins, Numbah 5, and more. That said, there's not any present plans to continue it even though it lives on in our heads XD

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of...

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

There is one! (That I know of, lol.) Sparks in the Night was translated (into a paraphrased version, at least) into German, which can be found here.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yup. With my sister, over the years. Not really a direct one on AO3 though. (Just a shared storyverse or series there.)

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Uhhhh I am not really a shipper at all, so I don't really have a hill I will die on, even though I do have ships I enjoy.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I hold onto the delusional hope that I will go back and finish all of my wips one day because I haven't abandoned them in my heart, but, I doubt I will finish United because it was a largely original world and I have been scheming for a way to make it an original work altogether, so when I revisit it, it will probably be for that.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Um. I like to think I do good character voice/inner monologue. Strength of tone and syntax and all that.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Fight scenes pain me and I also am not great at scenic/setting descriptions, mostly because I forget.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

In most cases I think there are better ways to go about it, but it has its place. Especially if the POV character doesn't know it and is trying to learn or pick up words. (Essentially it boils down to making sure the experience is understandable and authentic to the reader's promised language, otherwise it is just a surprise obstacle/gate, like expecting a reader to understand excessive medical jargon in order to know what is happening. If the language is meant to be understood by the pov character, and therefore the audience, then I feel it's best to offer a direct translation in some way.)

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Sonic the Hedgehog. In a place. That I will not name because I was very young. But it was Sonic the Hedgehog...

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Oh geez um picking favorites is hard. The How to Raise Your Dragon Slayers series as a whole is obviously my baby and I am very biased towards it, but one of my favorite pieces might actually be a FMA/MHA au oneshot that I lost in a harddrive crash and I am haunted by it because I wrote it in a frenzy of inspiration and honestly I think it slapped. XD

-

Okay so let's see which victims to tag... (Though obviously there's no pressure to do this lol): @therosefrontier, @forwantofacalling, @breezy-cheezy, @ljf613, @xxthe-hidden-spyxx, and whoever else wants to do it

[whump-captain]

- Day 21 -

Prompt: “Please”

---

@crash-bump-bring-the-whump​ i believe u said u wanted to see Ethan begging? here he is begging (◡‿◡)

this is probably longer than it needs to be but i had lots of fun writing the dialogue for once lol

---

CN: restraints, broken bone (pre-established), interrogation, strangling, torture, cutting, scalpels, hair grabbing, tape gag, bag over head

---

Ethan gasped when the bag was ripped off of his head. The light, though dim, was enough to make him wince after what felt like hours in the dark. He blinked quickly, trying to force the world back into focus.

The first thing he felt clearly was a grip of rope around his arms. His stomach sank. He lurched forward and the chair scraped on the bare floor. Pain shot through his arm, dispelling the haze completely. On instinct, he raised his right hand to shield himself and froze in surprise when he succeeded.

He was only tied to the back of the chair, not the armrests. The rope went around one of his biceps, then behind his back, and then around the other. It wrenched his shoulders back uncomfortably but still, a wave of nauseating relief washed over him. They didn’t tie down his broken arm.

A shadow fell on him and drew his gaze up. Ethan shuddered when Linde gave him a tight-lipped, professional smile.

“Good morning, Ethan,” Linde said. His voice was smooth and amiable but in his eyes was a glint of something cold and dangerous, like frostbite creeping through dying tissue. Circling the chair, he nodded his head towards Ethan’s arm. “I’ve done you a favour, as you can see. I’m hoping we can have a constructive conversation.”

Anger lit up in Ethan’s chest and made his face flush. How dare this man say that to him? After barely letting him speak the last time, after causing him so much pain?

“Me, too,” he hissed.

“Constructive and honest,” Linde added. “Lying only wastes both of our time.”

“Yeah.” Ethan’s voice shook like the rest of him. But behind the cracked lenses of his glasses, his gaze was hard. “But you’re the one who’s lying.”

Linde stopped his pacing. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t really believe I’m a spy. If you did, you’d turn me over to someone, or you’d- you’d kill me.” Ethan barely managed to get those words out. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Linde regarded him, his face unreadable. Ethan fought to keep his breathing even, hating how clear it was that he was afraid. He set his jaw tight and met the other man’s eye defiantly.

Finally, Linde turned. He tapped his fingers together behind his back, falling back into his slow prowl. 

“You’re perceptive,” he said. His small smile almost looked satisfied. “No, I don’t believe you’re a threat. If I did, you’re right, I would eliminate you.” He took a step forward and Ethan flinched. “But I see through you. You think that you’re above the consequences of what you do. You’re arrogant.”

“What?”

“You really thought you could infiltrate one of the most secure places in North America. You thought you could just… Walk in. And lie your way out of it.” Linde sounded almost offended. He lifted his chin slightly. “It’s about the principle of things. If I allowed something this brazen to go unaddressed, what kind of officer would that make me? Hm? If I didn’t find out the truth before turning you in?”

He leaned in close and all air seemed to leave the room. His shadow on Ethan’s face blacked out reality and pulled Ethan back through time, into the memory of agony.

“You’re wrong,” he managed through gritted teeth. “I didn’t infiltrate anything, you brought me here!” His voice rose and then cracked as his throat constricted. “You’re the one who’s arrogant because you refuse to listen to anything I say! I told you the truth, you’re just too stubborn to realise it.”

“Brazen,” Linde repeated. He seemed to savour the word. “I told you, I can see right through you. No matter how well you lie.”

He drifted to the other side of the room, where shadows outlined the shape of a table. Even though the distance between them grew, Ethan’s heart beat even faster now.

“Why do you need me to say anything, then?” he asked. He dug his fingers into the armrest to hide their trembling. “You made up your mind, you’re happy with your story, just turn me in, then. Let me talk to someone above you.”

“Like I said.” Linde ran his hand along the table’s surface and something clinked. “Principle. I don’t just want the truth. I want it from you.” 

The sudden force of his stare made Ethan recoil. Something cold crystallised in the air between them. He recognized the cold in Linde’s eyes and it made a hollow pit open in his stomach.

“Let’s start simple,” the captain said, taking a leisurely step forward. His hands were behind his back again. “How did you get to this island, Ethan?”

“On a boat.” Even the short sentence made Ethan’s breath come heavy. “It’s on the eastern shore, you can check.”

“Good. Now, how did you know where to find this island?”

“I- I followed a radar.” No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep his breathing even. “There was an anomaly registered by a weather station on the mainland and- I followed that. It didn’t lead to the island but the- the area around it. I- I didn’t know it was here. I almost crashed.”

Linde lowered his head and gave a quiet sigh. ”Weather station,” he repeated, almost amused.

“Yes! You can call them, they’ll tell you what time I left, which boat I took out, it’s all on the record.”

“You’re very thorough.”

“And you’re not!” The chair scraped forward with the force of Ethan’s shout. “Because you refuse to do the bare minimum to verify your claims and find-”

Linde seized his throat. The impact strangled Ethan’s words and pushed his head backwards.

“I was honest with you,” Linde said quietly. “Civil. And in return, you don’t just lie to me, you start insulting me.” His grip tightened. “I thought you were a smart man, Ethan, don’t make me change my mind.” 

Ethan couldn’t struggle. The rope held him fast, Linde’s fingers dug into his skin. With every torturous second, his lungs compressed, fighting, until it felt like they were on fire. His mouth moved soundlessly around smothered cries. Burning white danced in his vision, blurring everything into a cacophony of melting colours. A horrible buzz filled his ears - his own rushing blood. He barely heard Linde’s words:

“Let’s move on.”

Ethan strained pointlessly, he couldn’t reach the hand choking him. His fingers clawed at the air. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t run, he couldn’t breathe. 

Linde spoke loud and his voice ripped through the static in Ethan’s head: “You think I’m wasting time, let’s cut straight to the chase. Who sent you here? And choose your answer very carefully because, believe me.” He leaned in closer and squeezed Ethan’s throat, fingers like iron bars. “My patience is running thin.”

Then he released him. Ethan choked on a gasp and immediately convulsed in a coughing fit. Air forced itself back into his body and every breath made his chest feel like it would burst. He couldn’t stop his voice escaping, he wheezed and groaned with every involuntary, fitful exhale. Linde stood motionless, watching him. Waiting. 

“I wasn’t- sent here,” Ethan choked out finally. His throat burned, the pain of the forming bruises enclosed his windpipe and made every word hurt. “I’m not here for- whatever this place is. It’s the truth.” It wasn’t a shout anymore, but a plea. He fought for breath, fought to stay afloat in his own battered body. 

Footsteps made him look up. Linde’s silhouette doubled and swayed before him, turning back towards the table. When he came into focus, he was holding a scalpel.

 “Wait.” Ethan’s voice cracked. “You- you don’t have to-” he stammered. “Please, I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Linde grabbed a fistful of his hair and wrenched his head sideways. “I thought it was simple.” He brought the scalpel close to Ethan’s neck. “I want you to tell me who sent you.”

“I was- I’m- I-” The metal reflected in Ethan’s wide eyes. He was shaking so much his glasses slipped down his nose. “The- Th- The CIA! Fine? The CIA sent me, you don’t have to- Please, don’t do this, I’m-”

“Now you’re just making things up,” Linde said.

He sliced down, across Ethan’s clavicle. The blade parted fabric, skin, and muscle like paper. Ethan screamed, his body twisting with tension. Linde pulled his head back by the hair and cut open his shirt, exposing the deep wound. 

“That’s the first,” he said. He sank the scalpel into Ethan’s shoulder and dragged it slowly down. Metal scraped against bone. Pain burned through Ethan’s mind, forced a ragged, stuttering howl out of him. His breathless groans almost drowned out Linde’s ice cold voice when he finished:

“And that’s the second lie you’ve told me.” He tilted the scalpel and more blood poured out of the widened cut. “Are you still with me?” He brought his face close to Ethan’s. “Is this a waste of time?”

“Stop,” Ethan gasped. “Please. This is all- a mistake.” His breath hitched, words fragmented into high-pitched, desperate noises of pain. Linde’s eyes shone like a snowstorm.

“I’m losing my patience.”

The next cut was diagonal, crossing over the already damaged skin. Ethan’s scream rose and then faltered, he convulsed in the restraints. The blade tilted again and ran slowly just under the skin, slicing it away from muscle - one side, then the next. Lines of living fire spilled through Ethan’s body, one after the other, emerging with each new stream of thick blood pouring out. He could only sob now, his throat raw and lungs empty. He had no time to breathe between the cuts.

“Tell me.” Linde’s voice was no more than a hiss. “Anything.”

Ethan could barely see. The pain blurred everything into a red haze.

“Please,” he whispered.

The grip on his hair tightened. The added tension made him groan as the scored skin shifted. Then it disappeared and his head lolled forward. The room spun. Footsteps mixed with the pounding of Ethan’s heart in his ears.

Something made a loud scraping noise and then Linde said: “I’ll let you think about it.”

He pressed a strip of tape over Ethan’s mouth. Ethan wheezed desperately, his breath hitching against the barrier. Another cry died in his throat and only made it out as a muffled whimper. 

Then Linde put the bag over his head again. He said: “This can come off when you’re ready for a constructive conversation.”

When the next incision came, Ethan couldn’t even brace for it.

[redd956]

Prompt 22

Content: Whump Prompt, Nonhuman Caretaker, Environmental Whump, Cold Whump,

CW: Whump, Hypothermia, Touch Starvation

Caretaker despised the snow. Most assumed to a fire elemental the threat of water was highest during recent rains. However it was snow, because their high body temperatures melted the snow around them, creating dangerous puddles of slush and mud.

So every winter Caretaker bundled up in as many layers as possible to prevent water from soaking through. They dragged their heavy boots through the snow. No matter how much they hated it, they couldn’t help but admire the beauty of undisturbed blankets of it. It was even easier for Caretaker to do, since they lived far away from bustling society. Humans aren’t too keen of them after all.

To be honest Caretaker had been growing increasingly jealous of humans. They wanted to able to uphold all sorts of natural beauties without their fiery touch, or excessive needs getting in their way. Winter brought this home the most. Caretaker wondered what snow felt like. They fantasized picking up clumps of it, and moving it around with their fingers.

Staring at their surroundings their eyes located something that didn’t match. Shivering and coiled upon itself, a human had collapsed within a snowy ditch. They clumsily rubbed their numb hands together. The human’s face was so cold that half of it changed into a rosier shade. Their eyes flickered open and closed. They could barely keep them open. They were not shivering.

Caretaker’s boots came into their view. But their eyes didn’t widen, and they barely reacted. They only shifted their glanced upwards for a moment, before letting it fall back down to the ground.

Caretaker at glared at the shivering human. They knew that the “thing” would have nothing good to say to them. However the glare quickly faded when they thought about the situation at hand more. Humans aren’t meant for the cold. They wondered how if they left them behind probably no one would come by to save them. Why was a human even out this far?

“Hey?”, Caretaker prodded

The human let out a weak groan as a response. It only worried Caretaker further. They continued, “Are you alone?”

“Dor....”, Caretaker leaned in to hear the human speak, “Di...Dirty Ele...ment....al...”

Caretaker shook their head. They made to leave, but their inner empath couldn’t help it. Before they knew it they were slipping their arms underneath the human. 

The human shuddered and hissed at the elemental’s touch. Thrown straight into a bridal carry though, they couldn’t help but latch onto Caretaker for warmth. They turned their face away from the cold, burying their nose, nuzzling it into Caretaker’s layers of clothing. The warmth felt golden. It’s inhuman nature was more than noticeable, but it was bringing their freezing skin back to life.

The human skirted their own arm over Caretaker’s shoulder, and clung onto the clothing of their back.  They wanted to melt into Caretaker, because they failed to realize it wasn’t just warmth they were dying for, but touch. The human had just escaped from captivity, and ran into the wilderness before anyone else came after them. They rathered the threat of death far over returning.

Caretaker didn’t care for the human’s dramatic response. They did allow them to inch as close as possible, feeling the human’s head rub against their chest. They then headed back towards their home, hoping that the human will be thankful when they snap out of it.

[miserablelittleguythrowdown]

listen. your blorbo is a pathetic wet mop man. rincewind is *the* pathetic wet mop man. the one from which all others originate. and since he was created in 1983 he might actually have a somewhat legitimate chronological claim to that title. (probably not but it’s worth mentioning that’s he’s been around for Awhile.)

he’s a wizard with less magical potential than even non-wizards to the point that it’s explicitly stated that when he dies the total average magical potential of humanity will go *up*. if you poked him a bit hard he would dissolve into dust. he has some blood in his stresshormonestream. he’s dyslexic. he can’t spell. he’s a college dropout. screaming and running are his only skills. he is *literally* a cosmically load-bearing luck sink who’s purpose is to experience all the bad luck that doesn’t happen to everyone else. he’s built like a dessicated pixie stick. that’s to start with. he only gets *more* absurdly haggard as the series goes on until other characters can *barely recognize him as human*. he is explicitly described as looking like a scarecrow. he collects trauma-induced neuroses like stamps commemmorating all the places he’s run for his life in until he becomes a barely-functional puddle of jibbering loose straw who’s highest aspiration is to die alone and unemployed bored out of his mind in a basement because that’s the only place no one can possibly try to kill him. he is quite possibly the one person in existence who would willingly enter, and actively prefer to be locked for eternity in, porky earthbound’s absolutely safe capsule, because it’s the only place in existence no one could get to him and once again he would rather be bored out of his mind than ever experience anything interesting ever again because being bored is the only time that things generally aren’t trying to forcibly recruit and/or kill him.

he knows some amount of more than 40 languages just in case he has to scream for mercy in them. he looks and acts like the physical embodiment of every single scene in hlvrai in which gordon is having some kind of breakdown over his companions (who he was saddled with unwillingly and can only attempt in vain to reign in, also much like rincewind is saddled with twoflower and his touristy obliviously suicidal idiocy) hypocritical murderhobo behavior. he’s-seemingly unknowingly-the chosen champion of the goddess of luck, which is NOT a good thing to be, because the goddess of luck is the kind of fanfic writer to express affection for her preferred blorbos by spamposting 400,000k whump fics with “i just like to make him suffer a little <3 haha it’s for character development i swear xoxox” in the tags and in every single chapter her beloved favorite almost-but never quite-dies in horrendous creative ways.

he has an actual honest-to-god canonical potato fetish, also developed, as you might have come to expect by now, from trauma (specifically trauma of being stranded on a desert island where potatoes couldn’t grow). he explicitly prefers potatoes *over* heterosexuality. he’s cornered by an amazon tribe that want his magic staff if you know what i mean and he completely fails to realize it because he’s too busy wondering if they’re going to give him potatoes. the last he’s mentioned in the discworld series is a notation that he’s currently accumulating meaningless titles that are being given to him by the university faculty with the explicit purpose that he not do or teach anything and is “researching the medicinal effects of certain herbs”, which can be very easily taken to mean “he’s locked up alone in his room doing ungodly amounts of weed all day so that he doesn’t die from a stress heart attack at the slightest unexpected noise like a particularly high-strung jerboa”. the only reason he doesn’t have every disease is because terry already used that one on another character, who is a talking dog. only four entities on the entire disc could even tentatively be said to like him and one of them is an orangutan who only likes him because he brings bananas, one of them was a 90 year old sword and sorcery barbarian who is now dead, one of them is a domesticated(maybe) d&d mimic with homicidal tendencies that is inherently incapable of disliking it’s owner, and the other is an astoundingly oblivious boneheaded tourist who likes literally everyone against all reason and logic and safety(and whom after a certain book he seemingly never has any contact with again), everyone else reacts to him like everyone reacts to raz in the first half of psychonauts 2, at best. every single other character hates the poor pathetic walking manifestation of the concept of stress, who just wants to go home and eat potatoes in peace and stop randomly getting thrown into places where everyone wants to point sharp things at him.

he’s saved the world multiple times and every single one has been entirely by accident while running away from something horrible and very much against his will (the him being the one to do it part, not the “world not being destroyed” part, he rather likes that bit). he’s so traumatized that it just loops back around to being sarcastic. while still also having a nervous breakdown every five minutes. ever been so stressed and so tired of having panic attacks that you’re sarcastic and dead inside while having a panic attack? rincewind is if that was a person. and all of his deadpan expectation of imminent terrible fate is completely justifiable because it does in fact keep happening. by the end of his “adventures” he’s become the unholy cross between marvin hitchhikersguide, guy from galaxy quest, and that covidpost about the kid resignedly saying “when are the tigers coming”. he’s also kinda got bruno madrigal vibes ngl but like, way more exaggeratedly utterly soppingly absurdly pathetic (and significantly younger, like college age at the start), like genuinely “he was forced to eat cement when he was 5″ pathetic. he doesn’t have a first name and his mother ran away *before* he was born. both of these things are also, not jokes, and are explicitly genuinely canon. and are never, ever explained. even other people in-universe are confused. nothing good ever happens to this man and that is a fact that is cosmically enforced by the actual quantum mechanics of the discworld universe and is seemingly on some level necessary for certain parts of the disc and history to function.

he's pathologically incapable of refraining from sarcasm. he has on at least a few occasions (badly) pretended to do magic and then kicked someone in the nuts and run while they were confused. he got banished outside of reality and chased screaming through dimensions of eldritch darkness by lovecraftian horrors for an unclear unspecified amount of time. he was accidentally summoned as a demon by a whiny kid. he’s been to the beginning and end of time. he went through a dante’s inferno parody. several key events in the universe’s history either required or involved his presence for literally no reason other than that he had the bad luck to be there coincidentally anyway. he met a god who was a talking kangaroo with the exact stereotypical accent you would expect. he was some sort of prophecized hero of and was offered to be the archmage of at least two different continents he wound up (suffering) on entirely by accident and both times rightfully took it as a sign to get the hell out of dodge because fate was about to hit him with an asteroid strike again. even when he's having a good time he's absolutely miserable he knows something horrible is about to happen because that's how his life has worked for so long because the gods are LITERALLY conspiring against him. his lifetimer hourglass is so warped from all of his repeat near-death experiences (”resembling something made by a glassblower with hiccups and a time machine, in which sand was often flowing sideways and even up”) that death himself now has literally no idea when rincewind is actually going to die, and keeps said lifetimer hourglass on his desk as a conversation piece. his weapon of choice is a half brick in a sock. he invented vegemite. he was involved in the accidental creation of real life earth, which from what i remember he keeps on a shelf somewhere because no one else wanted to deal with being responsible for it so they just made it his job to put it somewhere and gave him another meaningless title to be “in charge” of to make sure he couldn’t say no to it. he volunteered to go to space on the disc’s first rocket-specifically because he *didn’t* want to go but knew if he didn’t volunteer fate would conspire to have him accidentally forced along by coincidence anyway-and when asked for a motto he gave them “we who are about to die don’t want to”. i swear i am not making a single part of this up.

he’s not just regular pathetic, he’s *supernaturally enforced* pathetic. there are portions of the universe that rely in some small way on him being just about the most pathetic man alive. the gods will Not Let Him Die until they are done chewing on him. i can easily imagine him holed up in his room, screaming in terror and clutching a broom like a lifeline ready to beat back anyone who seems like they might have another quest for him. and jumping out the closed second floor window to escape if that’s not enough. he’s the protagonist of arguably up to 11 books and at minimum 7 of them! and briefly appears as a minor character or is mentioned in the footnotes of a further 3! that’s probably nearly a decade or more of getting ceaselessly kicked around by everyone and quite literally everything!

probably the only reason the poor fuck isn’t suicidal at this point is out of some sort of survival instinct sunk cost fallacy.

in a “pathetic little guy” competition? i fully believe that in a universe where everyone voting was familiar with every character, rincewind would win no contest. him being the most pathetic unlucky man alive is all but explicitly stated as an actual canonical part of his home universe. people are only not voting for him cause they don’t know who he is

.

[chill-mcyt-art-reblogs]

Phil: 1, 6, 9, 13, and 19

Techno: 5, 17, 20, and 32

Wilbur: 2, 5, 12, 19, and 29

Philza:

1. Canon I outright reject

I... don't think there is anything I outright reject. I mean, if the emduo betrayal had ended up happened, I'd reject that. But that didn't happen. So I guess this is a rare instance of we're all good.

6. Worst personality trait

what are we even talking about he is literally the Perfect Man. having said that him and his entire bloodline could learn to communicate. Not that I'm complaining too much. After all, most of my Phil whump projects rely on Angst and No Communication

9. Scene that first made me love (or hate) the character

Gonna be honest, it was the birb-ness that first drew me in. And after that I lingered a little while on the "he's okay, I guess" area before falling hard and fast into favorite character territory. I honestly don't know when the shift was made tho, maybe after just seeing more of him?

13. Dumbest thing they’ve ever done

probably has semi-intentionally cut off an extremity before as a result of sheer curiosity.

19. Vices/bad habits

I mean, this man has plenty. in the seen canon we know this man does not deal with Anything. Master of repression. Also the whole food thing. If we carry over from the OSMP then we get the gapple thing. If we carry over from Birbness then he probably has self-maiming issues when under enough stress. I could go on.

Technoblade:

5. Best personality trait

He's a Cat Dad but for All the Animals.

17. Quotes, songs, poems, etc. that I associate with them

Through the Valley by Shawn James. If you haven't heard it, go look it up right now. And, of course, the usual things, Voices (the song), the word "orphan." Will never forget that Technoblade Never Dies

20. Scars

I, like most of the fandom, headcanon the face scars that I *think* were popularized by WolfytheWitch. But actually I'm not the hugest fan of the "golden scars on his head from the Butcher Army thing" trope. Idk why. I also generally hc that this man barely has an inch of untouched skin left after all the years. I tend to mix and match when writing for whatever is relevant.

32. Something guaranteed to make them smile/laugh

The Baby Animals part of Spring. Camping out in a field with newborn lambs is form of self-care i don't make the rules.

Wilbur Soot:

2. A canon or headcanon hill I will die on

When Wilbur said he was a "teen parent" he was talking about Tommy and Tubbo, and not Fundy. I have a whole thing about this but basically Wilbur has been looking out for clingyduo since they were young children

5. Best personality trait

He definitely cares. A bit too much oftentimes, a somtimes a bit too far, but at least he does care.

12. Crack headcanon

Godly powers/abilities/outward appearance/etc. skips a generation. Wilbur is as Normal as it gets. EXCEPT. if you put his dna under as microscope you wouldn't be able to identify that you even were looking at anything. Man doesn't have anything humans in his genetic code.

19. Vices/bad habits

This man is the embodiment of a bad habit. He probably has all of them. He smokes. He probably has done drugs habitually. He picks his skin. He bites his fingernails. He doesn't keep track of health or hygiene. he can't communicate. He's a habitual lier. I can go on.

29. Eating habits

not healthy in anyway. He just eats whatever's around. He's had scurvy at least three times.

[itty-bitty-mess]

Hi Uhm over never asked before sorry if your request aren’t open I was wondering if you could do a laima or Pygmy bitty bones torture fic where the bitty has eggs and the owner smashes them or something sad sorry this is my first time asking it’s okay if you don’t wanna do this

Hii!! Hello, sorry for taking so long I tend to abandon this blog a lot as I usually only post when I have content ideas haha! Also yeah I’m open to suggestions and requests!! Thanks for the request, I may have gone a bit overboard and it ended up extremely long, though.

Also I apologize for any bad English. Enjoy!

TW: BITTYBONES / LAMIA AB//USE, BITTY WHUMP, BITTY T*RT//URE

Your little Pygmy “Blue” had been acting a little strange lately and you couldn’t figure out why. He had started to eat more than usual as he screeched constantly for more food and demanded double dessert, he started to pile things up in his little cage and also managed to steal a couple of your own items to add to said piles. He had also gotten a bit more snappy and aggressive with your other lamias, especially with your poor little Papython “Papy” who was only politely asking him if everything was okay.

This wasn’t like Blue’s normal behavior as he was usually sweet and friendly, albeit a little egocentric and self-centered. It wasn’t until you noticed the little and very faint hearts in his belly that your realized what was going on: he was pregnant…

Who was the father? You didn’t know and honestly with the initial panic of lamia pregnancy you didn’t really have much energy to think about that. None of your lamias seemed to be romantically interested in one another, specially not in Blue. It was probably a random lamia at the Bitty Daycare that had played with Blue a little too much and now you were the one facing the consequences of it all. You made a mental note to stop leaving your lamias there, just to make sure.

Honestly, you weren’t sure about all of this. You barely managed to support yourself and your lamias as it was, if a whole brood of baby lamias was on the way the only thing you could be able to do is sell them or give them away. That, and also the fact that they would most likely be all pygmys and, to be completely honest, you could barely stand Blue’s loud personality as it was, an entire brood of them sounded like an absolute nightmare that would probably make you snap. However, the only thing you could do at the moment was try to stand Blue’s weird personality until he laid his eggs. The quicker the eggs were laid, the quicker they would be gone and the quicker things would go back to normal.

But as time passed, things just kept escalating. Blue started to steal from the other lamias’ food, he started hoarding toys and clothes, his cage now looked like a pigpen, etc. He even started stealing important work papers and even your own clothes for his “nest”. You were starting to lose you patience but you had to keep cool, a lamia needs a relaxed environment to be able to lay its eggs, so all you could do was suck it up.

Things just got worse from there, Blue kept wanting all the attention for himself, his cries and demands for food became loud and irritating screeches, he started leaving his waste in the other lamias’ cages and he started to rip up your favorite clothes, “for your scent!” he said once as you confronted him. He just became brattier and brattier every day, but it would all be worth it as he seemed extremely close to laying his eggs at any moment.

It wasn’t until you came back one day after work to find your beloved Papy hurt in the ground, cut off tail bleeding dust while Blue screeched and hissed at him to “stay away from his eggs”, that you realized this had gone too far. You grabbed Papy and took him to the Lamia Clinic hoping he would be okay.

Sadly, it wasn’t the case, you didn’t even make it halfway to the clinic when Papy muttered his last words to you: “I’m sorry human, please take care of my Blue and our little ones for me, okay?…” he said with a sweet smile, tears streaming down his face and then his whole body crumbled to dust. Your whole world stopped and you felt like you couldn’t breathe as you cradled the pile of dust in your hands and painful tears slipped from your eyes. Papy had been the first lamia you had adopted when you were in a bad place in life, he was the small ray of light during the storm and now… he was gone….

When you got home, the house felt empty. Sure, Blue and the other lamias were still around but it wasn’t the same without Papy. Your grieving was quickly interrupted by your Honey Bo who was tugging at your sleeve and then informed you that Blue seemed close to laying his eggs.

“Blue…” you muttered with venom in your mouth. The little bastard was the reason Papy was gone. You had given Blue so much and he had been so grateful and caring to you and the other lamias but this pregnancy had turned him into something else, into a disgusting murderer and you had only one thing in mind as you approached Blue’s cage: you would make him pay for everything.

As you approached the cage you could see the little pygmy acting frantically, as if he didn’t know how giving birth worked or what he was supposed to do. He seemed scared and anxious, at any other moment in life that would’ve tugged at your heart and you would’ve tried to soothe him as best as you could, but now? Oh, you had so much planned for this bastard.

You fakely cooed and hushed at him as you tried to gently carry him from his cage to a cardboard box you had prepared for the occasion. You laid poor anxious Blue on the blanketed floor of the box and rubbed his belly gently. He seemed to calm down and he looked at you with genuine trust in his heart. You could see the first egg was on its way and, as it was making its way out, you started applying light pressure on the pygmy’s belly.

At first, Blue didn’t seem to mind and thought you were helping him. But then you continued to apply more and more pressure which was starting to distress the lamia, but he kept quiet trying to concentrate. After a long two hours of doing the same thing, the batch of eggs came out finally.

Blue seemed relieved and quickly made his way to his eggs, cuddling them and looking proud of himself. You fakely smiled at him, trying to hide the burning rage and hatred within you. You grabbed Blue him back by the tail. As he hissed at you, you shut him up with a loud yell. He was immediately taken aback but stood still as you pressed on his tail to keep him from moving.

You got close to the annoying little pygmy and whispered in his ear the question “where is the father, Blue?” and Blue froze in place. Its like the thing hadn’t even worried about whether Papy was okay or not, like he hadn’t thought of the fact that HE had fatally hurt his eggs’ father. He froze in place and didn’t say anything. And then he reached his arms out to you asking for his eggs with an annoying little “mweh?”, as if he was a toddler saying “up, up” and not a grown adult lamia that had killed his own mate.

You snapped. You dragged the thing even further behind and then brought out some tape form a nearby shelf. You taped his body to the cardboard floor and left him completely immobile. He was in an ironic reaching distance of his eggs but couldn’t move. Then you started the fun. You grabbed one egg and dangled it over his head as he screeched in fear, he didn’t want you accidentally dropping it.

Unfortunate for him that was exactly the plan. You dropped the egg to the floor and the little skeleton silhouette inside of it immediately disappeared as it cracked and the whole thing turned to dust. Then you yelled at him “PAPY IS DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU, YOU LITTLE SHIT”.

He froze, tears streamed down his face at everything that was happening: his owner has yelling and cursing at him, his “mate” was dead because of him, and his egg- HIS EGG??? HIS EGG HAD BEEN CRUSHED??. He screamed and cried, trying to free one of his arms as if that would do anything to fix the broken egg.

You smiled sadistically and grabbed another egg, this time however you grabbed the tied up pygmy as well and brought both to the kitchen. You laid him down as he was taped to the piece of cardboard and could only watch as you laid the egg inside the blender. He panicked again, he screamed and cried begging for mercy and forgiveness with that stupid, squeaky voice of his. You turned the blender on and the little heart inside the egg shattered as the egg turned to dust.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! PLEASE STOP IM SORRY IM SORRY I DIDN’T MEAN IT IM SORRY DON’T HURT MY BABIES PLEASE IM SORRY” he screeched and begged as you grabbed the egg dust and shoved it down his throat. You forced him to swallow, threatening that another egg would be broken if he didn’t and he did, thinking it was finally over. But it wasn’t.

You took another egg and pushed it close to Blue, he rubbed his cheek over it protectively trying to cover it with his scent. Except then you dropped your fist over it and just like that another one of Blue’s babies was gone. He screamed again. You grabbed another egg and dropped it in the pot of boiling water you had already prepared for all of this.

He screamed and frantically tried to free himself, thinking maybe he could save this one. The little skeleton silhouette inside of the translucent egg looked almost identical to Blue, the little baby looked like it started to cry as if he was asking Blue why he had done this. The baby’s heart shattered and the baby itself started to melt inside his egg in an extremely painful and gruesome manner as almost inaudible cries could be heard from within the egg.

Blue let out a blood curdling scream as he watched his eggs get murdered. But you didn’t care, you hated the stupid thing and anything associated to it, you wanted it all gone. You kept on grabbing more and more eggs as you smashed and broke them in different creative ways. You threw them against the wall, you force-fed them to Blue, crushed them in your hand and occasionally let Blue get close to his eggs, only to rip the away from him and crushing them in your hands.

Blue couldn’t take it, he begged and screamed and tried to do anything he could to save his babies but failed pathetically each time. Once you were done with the fun no more eggs were left and you smiled sadistically, satisfied with your work. Only one last thing was left: Blue.

The pygmy was destroyed emotionally beyond recognition, he started shaking once again as you approached him and grabbed him with such brute force that it was a miracle you only broke a couple of ribs. You finally removed his from the cardboard but kept him tied up in tape, couldn’t risk him attacking you when you were having so much fun. You tossed him back into his cage, which was now empty of all the “nests” he had made and the luxuries you had given him. You stripped him from his fancy clothes and took his favorite bandana and ripped it to pieces as he cried for you to stop.

You then closed the door to his cage, grabbed the whole thing and started shaking it like your life depended on it. Louds squeaks, screams, cries and begs were heard but they fell on deaf ears. You were pretty sure the pygmy’s tail, and the rest of his ribs were now broken as you heard the crunching of bones each time he hit a wall of the cage. Good.

This was it; you were almost done with this stupid, worthless thing once and for all. You dropped the cage to the floor as you heard a loud thud where Blue had a really painful landing. Then you pulled out your most recent purchase: “Lamia-B-Gone Spray” an extremely effective poison spray for lamias you had gotten in case a stray lamia made its way into your home.

You opened the cage door just a little and pressed your finger hard over the spray cap and let the poison cover every inch of Blue’s enclosure. Loud coughing echoed around the room with loud cries for mercy mixed in as well.

“This is what you fucking deserve, you worthless piece of shit” You said in a loud voice, making sure Blue knew how much you hated him now and how much you wanted him gone once and for all. You kept spraying non stop until the bottle was empty and until Blue’s cries faded out. You pressed your ear against the cage, making sure Blue wasn’t breathing anymore. You opened the cage and you saw Blue’s dying body on the left corner, his tail and left arm quickly turning into dust.

With the little force he had left he begged for mercy once again and cried for you to help him. You smiled and tilted the cage down so he would fall directly on the hard concrete floor. He looked at you with pleading eyes as his body was shutting down and his right arm turned to dust as well. You spat on his face and, without giving him the privilege of a final word, you stomped on him with full force. You stomped on him at least 12 times just to make sure he was dead, and he was. In fact the only thing left of him was his dusty remains.

You quickly broomed the dust, threw it in the trash where it belonged and finally sat down on your couch with a satisfied and fulfilled smile on your face. Sure, this was far form what Papy had wanted, but it had been the right thing to do and now you were at peace with your remaining lamias who would behave unless they wanted the same fate as Blue.

[albino-whumpee]

15 questions, 15 mutuals

thank you for the tag! @soheavyaburden

1. Are you named for anyone?: Yes and no. My aunt couldn´t have children so my mother named me after her expecting people would call me her name. But I was given my first name (because we do double names in my familiy) and nobody calls me my second, which is hers. Welp. 

2. When was the last time you cried?: Yesterday. TLoU chapter really hit into my sensitive ass. I hate one episode love stories, but I will allow it because it was cute. 

3. Do you have kids?: No. I don´t plan to and I will lie to get a doc to tie my tubes up if I need to. I once thought I wanted to adopt, but knowing my life plans, having a child is plain stupid.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?: Haha, have I ever not used sarcasm?

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people?: Size, face, smell, accent and feet position. Silly little trick, but if they´re not pointing their feet at you, they´re not interested in the conversation.   

6. What’s your eye color?: Brown. 

7. Scary movies or happy endings?: hmm, depends. It´s been a while since I watched a scary movie that actually scared me and didn´t make me laugh, but when I do find one that´s scary, I like it to end in what seems a better situation than the absolute worst. Gives me some adrenaline, yk? Happy endings are ok if done well. But alas, a happy ending to me heavily depends on the movie.  

8. Any special talents?: Blind writing. That was the only good class I had in middle school. Honestly that´s it, xD I don´t consider myself particularly talented in academic areas or physical ones. Sure I won some tournments, but man it was so long ago. 

9. Where were you born?: Mexico.

10. What are your hobbies?: Videogames and drawing. Also reading even if it´s hard this days. 

11. Have you any pets?: Valkyria and Sansa. They´re my babies. Black cats with weird personalities. They´re both adopted from the same adoption saturday ...market? ig? Anyways, I picked Valkyria when she was so thin she was barely more than bones. I thought she would die if I´m honest with you. She refused to eat if I didn´t shake her plate a bit, but she was playful, so we knew she was just starving. I was told she was wrapped in tape and dumped at the shelter and I took her because how dare call yourself a shelter and leave a cat in that state? 

Sansa came from another shelter, she was a baby from a foster mama that didn´t make it. She has her tail curled like a chamaleon at the tip, probably from some stupid asshole closing the kennel´s door on it and breaking it. No, she doesn´t need to have it amputated, she doesn´t feel pain and doesn´t interfere with her daily life.  

12. What sports do you play/have played?: A lot. I won a few athletism tournments that took me to the nationals (we lost), also won a few international trophies doing karate. I practiced figure skating and ballet for a bit and due my super elasticity, I could have been a good gymnast, but heh, no money.

I was at a handball tournment, but I never knew what I was doing lol. I wanted to play volleyball in middle school/high school but I got my knee injury and it made it too hard. I switched to swimming for a long time until I couldn´t afford it jsjsjs. If I had the chance, I would try archery. 

13. How tall are you?: 1.73 m. more less 5 ft 7. Wish I was taller ;v;

14. Favorite subject in school?: English. It was so easy sjsjjs. Or psychology. My school´s system allowed people being exempted from doing finals if your notes were high enough, so I strived to just do 1 or less exams and I almost made it. I never had to do math finals in high school, but I actually exempted psychology earlier than everyone because I did double the lab exercises. 

15. Dream job?: Concept artist. By now I know Im not made for it nor I can actually be one, but well. I can dream. 

tagging: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @sideblogformindtrash @milk-carton-whump @nightfrostshadow @louptheloop @endless-whump  @turn-the-tables-on-them @eatyourdamnpears @deluxewhump

idk if i have 15 mutuals lmao also no pressure!

[herzblutballade]

Whumpuary Day 10: Hidden Injury / Blood / Recovery

Language: English Genre: an attempt at whump I guess (the last one is pretty much fluffy tho, I am obviously not good at sticking to my initial plans lmao) Character: my OC Cae (+ mentions of other OCs of mine and two of my friend Soph's OCs)

CN:

[1st drabble] blood, wounds, cuts, bite marks, abuse, manipulation, toxic family, mention of food, character struggling to eat

[2nd drabble] self-harm, cutting, blood, unhealthy relationship/dating habits, mention of food, character barely eating

[3rd drabble] flashback, kissing/hand holding/general intimate moment, mention of food, mention of blood

Author's Note: Gonna be honest, these are some purely self-indulgent snippets of my bby Cae having dinner with different people at very different points throughout his life (from abused youth, to young adult with unhealthy coping mechanisms, to somehow vaguely functioning person with a found family, I guess) and I'm not sure any of it means much to anyone except for me and @marmeltier lol. Also don't mind my weird habit of writing things in 2nd person singular even though they're not meant to address the reader, I know it's unusual, but I like it, so I will probably keep doing it. 🤙 Thought I'd share this anyway bc @whumpuary was the main inspiration. The other inspiration mentioned below is apparently a quote by Brynne Rebele-Henry, from »Autobiography of a Venus Figure« (according to a quick google search). These are 200, 300 and 400 words exactly btw. Enjoy <3

***

Blood didn’t faze me. I could slash myself open and still make it to dinner.

***

You’re sitting at a dinner table with the royal family — your family, technically. Your relatives. Most of them still don’t feel like family at all, even though you have been living with them for years at this point.

You’re trying your best to keep your act together and just eat, table manners and proper etiquette and all, but the food feels incredibly dry in your throat, you barely manage to choke any of it down, and all you can think about are the fresh wounds you’re hiding underneath your clothes: Swollen bite marks in various shades of blue and purple; deep red scab that sticks to fabric, feels like it tears and crumbles with every movement; messily sewn-up gashes that still burn every time you lean back in your chair.

Avien is smiling at you from across the table, and while it might seem innocuous to everyone else, to you, every silent smile of hers is a reminder so clear you can almost hear it in her voice, sending shivers down your spine: Smile for me, brother dearest. Smile through the pain.

You know what happens if you don’t.

So you do. You always do.

***

You’re sitting at a dinner table in your new favorite tavern with pretty girl number three in this city — a lovely girl, really, easy to get attached to, perfect to keep your heart so busy falling in love that you forget you should be falling apart.

You’re playing with your food more than eating it, completely focused on your date instead: Watching her closely, leaning towards her, listening attentively, with such interest it almost feels fake even though it isn’t. Every word from her lips is another chance to wipe your own thoughts away, every sentence a gracious break from the chaos in your head; every single thing she could ever say is better than what you silently say to yourself when it’s quiet. So, you listen. Pour all of your attention and dedication into another person, like you’re so used to doing.

She doesn’t know about the cuts that run all the way down your thigh. Completely unaware of the wounded flesh still trying to heal, she puts her hand on your leg as she throws her head back and laughs at a joke you made. You suppress a wince and smile instead, welcoming the burning sensation of her touch through the fabric of your trousers; it reminds you of the wave of peace that washed over you when you put the blade to your skin earlier that day, the moment of release you had craved so much you were willing to spill your blood for it. That memory alone is enough to make you feel a little bit less tense, a little bit more lighthearted.

Blood doesn’t faze you, and neither does pain. Not if it’s yours.

You just slashed yourself open and still made it to dinner, after all.

***

You’re sitting at a dinner table with the people you love — your dinner table, to be precise. You happily took on the task of cooking for the whole bunch, and now that everyone is full and satisfied — even those who don’t need regular food to survive, yourself included —, you get to lean back in your chair and watch your loved ones enjoy themselves. Everyone is there, except for the kids; they have been sleeping for a while already, so it’s up to the adults to fill the room with warm laughter and lively chatter now, and so far, your found family is doing an amazing job of that.

You watch Nayati and Alyssé clear the table, both so preoccupied with whatever they’re jokingly arguing about they seem to barely even notice they’re doing a chore nobody expected them to do. Cynthia, who has also been watching, throws you an amused smile across the room. You’re just about to smile back when suddenly, a flood of fractured memories takes over: Scenes, smells, sounds, sensations long gone, brought up again out of nowhere. None of the sequences last long enough for you to truly grasp; they pass you by so fast you’re left with nothing but the faint taste of blood and the feeling of a decades-old scream stuck in your throat.

You only realize you were starting to tense and stare off into nothing when Lynire’s voice right next to you brings you back to the present. »Are you okay?«, she asks as she gently squeezes your leg beneath the table.

»Yeah.« You nod and put your hand over hers while you take a moment to look around, remind yourself where you are: Home. You’re home, you’re safe, you’re surrounded by your loved ones. You’re okay. »Just realizing how lucky I am, that’s all.« You turn towards Lynire and press a kiss to her cheek. »Thanks for checking in, mi vida.«

Your eyes meet for a long moment, and when she seems satisfied with whatever she was looking for, convinced you told the truth, her lips curve into a soft smile.

Wordlessly, she interlaces her fingers with yours, hand still resting on your leg, and you can’t help but smile, too.

Honest words and honest smiles — that surely is a lot of luck for someone like you.

[spicywhumper]

That anon is lying, Emmett wouldn’t urge every follower of his no matter the age to go to discord for mature content.

Before he left tumblr for good and after he had to become more vague with his tagging etc, he had a system to try and make sure only adults could access his adult content. Knowing him, he wouldn’t just suddenly turn around and hand out nsfw to children. He’s also stated on his server regarding someone implying he’s a groomer that if he has ever talked to a minor or shown them nsfw, it has been unknowingly.

As a minor in his discord server, I had to identify myself as either a minor or an adult (which I did truthfully), and as such, I’m not allowed to access mature content or channels or engage in nsfw conversations with other members, for my own and other’s safety.

I feel like that anon is arguing in extremely bad faith. Of course Emmett wouldn’t say “find me on discord to access nsfw” to children because knowing him and his policies regarding nsfw it’s obvious he meant that he was telling adults who want to see his work this and assumed this would be easily understandable without explicitly saying, “and minors, do NOT ask me for nsfw!” Obviously he isn’t urging minors to look at and request access to nsfw because his attitude about that has already been made clear.

This got a little long, so I put it under a cut. The TL:DR is "people are supposed to curate their own experience, a content creator is not the one to blame if minors find their way into consuming mature content. Somehow the whump community is starting to become full of censorship, I'm a small, barely there blog but I guess I have to be ready in case someone decides I should be a target".

Hi. I was suspicious of that anon, even more when they didn't send another ask (I mean, really? I got the vibes of trying to convince me, someone that creates dark NSFW content, that someone is bad for creating dark NSFW content). Like, if you're going to come to my ask box to argue those kinds of things, come with context and actual proof.

Like, this? Even without showing me proof (like screencaps) is much more believable simply for being specific and giving me context. Makes more sense even if I'm fully aware there are probably people that create the kind content he does (and I do too) that are actual predators and are effectively targeting minors. We got to the point in which accusations are being thrown so freely that you start to having a hard time believing even in the ones with proof.

It's good he has policies and isn't targeting, it's also not his responsibility to make it foolproof that minors will not have access to his mature content. It's not a creator's job to curate a person's experience.

You were honest about being a minor, not all people are honest that way – I certainly wasn't, I lied without remorse about my age to access content I shouldn't. Almost every mature content I've seen in the whump community had all the warnings, if minors are choosing to consume it, Emmet nor anyone else has to stop creating content. It's not on him, it's not on me. If parents aren't teaching their kids how to be better at avoiding mature content, it's on the parents.

I wasn't told I shouldn't seek this content, I wasn't told it wasn't fine for me to consume porn, so of course I have a porn blog for years as a minor (I had it for longer as a minor than as an adult, actually). If I, as a minor, was consuming Emmet's content (that I don't even know what it actually is, but it doesn't matter) and was on discord, I wouldn't be honest about it and would be in the NSFW channels – I doubt his server asks for ID or something like that, which would be awful actually. And my exposure to mature content would be on my and not on him.

Overall, it's a fucked up situation. I'm kinda scared for me, for other people who create dead dove type of content. Who's gonna be the next target? Because I've seen people getting bullied and harassed into actual harm to themselves. I know some people are vulnerable, some people don't need more than a few vicious hate messages to spiral down and end up hurt or worse.

The whump community, when I discovered, looked like a safe space. Now will it turn into yet another online space where people survive off being terrible human being? Y'all, it's about hurting fictional characters, not real people.

(I've seen the second ask, I fully get the fear of accidentally being out of anon when you wanted to be an anon.)