#prompt: flinching

[serickswrites]

Two for Flinching

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Warnings: captivity, restraints, gags/muzzle, knives, forced to watch, torture

Team Leader snarled and strained against the chains that kept them bound to the chair. I’m going to rip you apart, Whumper. With my bare hands. 

Whumper laughed at Team Leader’s impotence. “You can’t get me, so why fight?” Whumper circled Smallest Teammate, running their hands through Smallest Teammate’s hair. 

Smallest Teammate squeaked as they flinched back from Whumper’s touch. But Whumper fisted their hair and kept them still. 

“LEAVE THEM ALONE!” Team Leader roared. 

“Why in the ever loving fuck would I do that? They are so pretty,” Whumper said as they caressed Smallest Teammate’s hair once more. 

“STOP IT! STOP IT!” Team Leader yelled as they watched the tears roll down Smallest Teammate’s face. 

Suddenly Whumper stalked over to Team Leader, their face inches from Team Leader’s. “Stop. Ruining. My. Fun.”

Team Leader spat in Whumper’s face. “Fuck you.”

Whumper glared down at Team Leader as they wiped the spit off their face. “You’re going to regret that.” They nodded at Accomplice. 

Accomplice quickly crossed the room and pressed a blade to Smallest Teammate’s throat. Smallest Teammate stilled, their eyes wide with terror. 

“Don’t hurt them! Please! Don’t.” Team Leader begged instantly regretting their display. Please don’t hurt them. Hurt me. Not them.

“I need you to be still. And quiet.” Whumper growled. “And stop ruining my fun.”

Team Leader nodded. “I will be quiet. And still. Just hurt me. Please. Leave them alone.” 

“Oh I am going to hurt you, Team Leader. Just not yet.” Whumper lifted a muzzle from the table of instruments nearby. “But I’m going to make sure I don’t hear your fucking voice any time soon.”

Team Leader’s heart was in their throat. They would not let Whumper muzzle them. They couldn’t. They started to struggle again, but froze as Accomplice pressed the blade once more to Smallest Teammate’s throat. 

Whumper smiled. “Very good. Maybe you aren’t so stupid after all.”

Before Team Leader could respond, Whumper was wrestling the muzzle onto their head. It was tight and prevented Team Leader from making any sound. They tried not to cry as they realized they wouldn’t even be able to offer comforting words to Smallest Teammate. 

And that this was all their fault. 

“Perfect,” Whumper cooed. “This will be fun.” And they waltzed back over to Smallest Teammate, a twinkle in their eye and a pep in their step. “Don’t worry,” Whumper said as they looked over their shoulder, “it’ll be your turn soon.”

[natureless-creatures]

A Blank Slate Painted With the Facade of a Hero (Febuwhump day 2, Wild)

Ao3 Link

Summary:

How long does it take to rebuild a person? Does it take as long as a village? A kingdom?

A small moment in the mind of a hero who failed.

Maybe he’s always been jumpy, he thinks.

The faded memories from before (he was perfect then) gave him little with which to live by now (a fake hero, a lie), but he feels -somewhere in his heart- like it’s always been this way. 

Every time Sky would come in for a hug, or Wind would be too enthusiastic, it was as if his body reacted on its own. On instinct alone. Or was it merely an echo of the person he used to be? (Perfect. Unyielding. Unflinching.)

Every time an explosion was too loud, or a monster caught him off guard, he flinched. Was it his body remembering? (A blank slate painted with the facade of a hero.)

The murmur of the townspeople in Kakariko Village should be comforting. It should be, and yet it’s a reminder. The laughter of children playing games, running over rough roads and tumbling into the dirt should be music to Wild’s ears. 

Then why isn’t it? 

It should be paved roads. The village should be decorated with statues of living people, a celebration of valour, not the tombs of its fallen generations.

(The graves on which his name should have been written.) 

The faces of parents smiling, watching onward as their children play freely. 

(They’re never free, thanks to him.)

A toddler, barely two years old, presents a pebble proudly to his mother (there should be more, should be older, should be living as grandparents,) and she smiles fondly down at him. 

Wild continues his journey into the village and comes to the shop he ventured into the town to visit. The outside is decorated brightly, inviting. The owner greets him with a beaming smile (he shouldn’t) , and asks him how he’s been, before preparing the usual restock of ingredients and equipment he’s come to expect (he wouldn’t, not if he knew how he’d led their home to ruin) and sends him on his way. 

Wild continues his journey, onwards to his brothers. He knows they’ll greet him with the same warmth, the same affection they always have. He doesn’t think they should. 

When they do, it instils a sense of emptiness within him.

Was it always so empty?

He goes through the motions of cooking, of chatting, acts in the ways they expect him to. How his current (dead, not real) vessel is expected to. 

Dusk falls, and Wild cannot sleep. 

The air is crisp as he makes the trek to the quiet place upon the crest of the hill overlooking the village. The townsfolk slumber, and the sounds of life are put to rest. 

Wild wonders how many more sounds there would be, in the before.  

A pair of fireflies flit friskily through the twilight air, circling one another and winding in ever tighter circles. A thin trail of smoke rises from the home below, the only indication of life in the silent village. It’s not silent, not truly. The chirping of crickets echoes throughout the hills, and the rustling of small creatures spreads throughout the forest behind him. Somewhere else, a fox calls its harsh mating cry. All around him, there can be heard yet more various creatures of the night. And yet, the night brings out a unique emptiness in Wild’s heart. It should feel serene.

(It should be louder, more alive.) 

The older, larger firefly finishes its flurry of movements as the younger, smaller firefly reigns triumphant in their dusklight duel. The younger firefly zips away, leaving the older firefly dazed and in the dust. The microcosm of nature over, the night forgets about it. And thus, does it continue. 

The soft thud of footsteps on grass. The muted shuffle of movement. 

Twilight does not speak as he takes his place by Wild’s side. 

(Would he resent him too, if he knew?)

Wild says nothing as he registers the older hero by his side. He cannot, will not. 

(Would he have, one hundred years ago?) 

The ghosts of the fireflies remain in Wild’s vision as the afterimage burns into the night. The lights flicker and dance, and the sounds meld into one. 

But the night continues on, for it does not know the concept of caring for such trivial things. 

Would the land continue on, after he was gone? Would the people of his world continue to live in the aftermath of his failure death?  

Twilight shuffles beside him, and he instinctively flinches. 

How long does it take to rebuild a person? Does it take as long as a village? A kingdom? 

Twilight shrugs off the heavy pelt from his shoulders, and then there is warmth around Wild’s nape. He doesn’t flinch again. Something strange, he thinks vaguely. 

Is it possible? 

Somewhere from behind the brush, new fireflies take the place of their predecessors. A pair of wolves howl, their distant cries echoing through the valleys.

(A stalwart companion. A warm body. Thudding paws by his side. A shepherd to his journey of ruin. The wolf with the strange markings, by his side always.)

Maybe, it is. 

[captainstressed]

i wrote a fic for day two of @febuwhump prompt: flinching. feel free to give it a read below the cut or on ao3.

fandom: Doctor who characters: Thirteenth Doctor & Reader genre: Hurt/comfort, angst word count: 2,607 additional notes: gender neutral reader, no use of y/n

Peace.

You kept telling yourself that you wouldn’t fall for their tricks next time, but somehow it happened again and again. You were weak, that’s what she, what they told you over and over until you started to believe them.

They knew things, things that only she would know. It didn’t occur to you that during their initial experiments they might have invaded your mind in order to manipulate you further.

How could you be so stupid? So naive? Each time their version of The Doctor appeared in your cell, a flutter of hope stirred inside you, that maybe this time it really was her.

It never was.

You were scared to fall asleep even though it was the only time you could find real peace. Sometimes they woke you with a sound so loud that your ears rang for hours afterwards. Other times they let you sleep, you weren’t sure which was worse.

On the days where the latter happened, you would often wake up somewhere familiar, or so you thought. Sometimes it was your childhood bedroom, your mind hazy as to how you’d gotten there. Other times it was your room on the TARDIS. Fear and confusion enveloped you like the remnants of a nightmare you couldn’t quite remember. It wasn’t until you tried to get up that reality fell back into place. Your surroundings shifted, objects that you recognised from these places were slightly off. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it but the moment you let your guard down, everything changed. You hadn’t woken from a nightmare, you were still in it.

You had learned to trust nothing, not even your own mind.

Time moved differently too, if at all. They kept your cell either bright with artificial lights or pitch black, it would change randomly so you had no idea what time of the day it was. Did this planet even have days? You weren’t sure how you had come to end up imprisoned, let alone where you even were.

It felt like a lifetime, several lifetimes. You had been thrown into so many waking nightmares you no longer knew what was real.

Trays of food were posted beneath the door to your cell infrequently, sometimes they were already there when you woke up. You assumed it was food, or was supposed to pass as food, it looked like nothing you had ever eaten before and you questioned the edibility. At first it was easy to ignore their meagre offering, determined to wait it out because you knew The Doctor would find you.

You couldn’t pinpoint the moment your hope had begun to waver, doubt seeping in like a poison.

Overtime the fear morphed into anger, at your captors, at this place, at her.

Sometimes you hated her, sometimes you blamed her. This is what they wanted and you knew that, every time these thoughts crossed your mind your hope wavered further. How could you think this of her? The woman who had given you so much, taken you to places you couldn’t even dream of. You began to think that maybe you weren’t even worth saving, why should The Doctor risk her life finding you when such venomous thoughts ran through your mind.

You still had no idea why you were being held captive, what plans they had for you. Aside from the mind games you were otherwise left alone in your cell. There were no obvious cameras on the bare walls but you knew they would be watching somehow.

Some days were worse than others, on the particularly bad ones you screamed your throat raw, demanding to know what they wanted, not that you ever got a response. Others, you cried from the moment you woke up until sleep finally took you away from that place. There were days where you felt nothing at all, staring ahead at the rotten food that plastered the walls from when you had thrown your tray in anger.

The latter days were becoming more frequent, you were so tired of fighting. You found yourself simply going through the motions, picking at the food substitute in order to give yourself an ounce of energy. You had all but accepted that The Doctor wasn’t coming for you, it eased the toll on your mind when they tried to trick you. To make you think she had come to save you. A presence that had once upon a time been a source of hope, and love was now tarnished. It made you angry to see her face, to hear her voice, her faux reassuring tone trying to pull you in, to persuade you to lower your guard, only to double down the moment you did.

Over time you fell into a routine of sorts, you had no sense of time but it seemed as though your captors has shown all of their cards. You had already experienced all of their tricks and torments ten times over so you learned to faze them out.

Acceptance was a bitter pill that you never believed you would swallow, but you were different now. The person you had been wasn’t someone you recognised anymore.

—

You were awoken by what sounded like an explosion nearby, the ground beneath you trembled and for the first time in a while you felt fear pool in the pit of your stomach. This had never happened before. Your captors didn’t exactly have a scheduled timetable of torment but they had thrown everything they had at you already, or so you had thought.

More explosions followed, sounding as though they were getting closer and closer to where you were being held. You sat up and watched the door, scooting across the hard floor until your back hit the wall.

Your heart pounded against your chest and you could do nothing but await whatever they had planned for you. Suddenly it was your turn, a blast shook the door to your cell and you felt frozen, eyes wide when after a few moments it swung open.

The Doctor stood just outside.

Anger joined your rollercoaster of emotion, you couldn’t begin to recount the number of times they had used her face, but they weren’t usually so theatric.

You stared right at her, it, through it, refusing to give them any satisfaction. Your heart still thumped painfully and you willed your hands to stop shaking, they must have come to realise that you had all but given up and were finally switching up their tricks.

The Doctor appeared frozen as you were for a moment before rushing through the door and towards you. You’d been through this so many times, were well versed with their games but you couldn’t help the flinch when a hand reached out towards you.

The hand instantly pulled back, a shaky apology fell from the lips of the phantom and for just a moment your eyes met. They looked familiar and something stirred within you.

No.

You looked away and focussed on pushing away those feelings. It was another trick, you knew this, they were trying to trip you up by changing their tactics and you couldn’t let it happen. Refused to let it happen.

It kept speaking in hushed tones and you tried so hard to drown out, hands hovering as though itching to reach out and touch you.

You brought your own hands to cover your ears, eyes closing in hopes of blocking the apparition out completely.

“It’s not real, it’s not real.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper but the figure in front of you heard and it shattered her hearts.

You repeated the mantra over and over, unwilling to open your eyes lest it strengthen their presence. The hands that had reached for you before suddenly did so again, this time covering your own. You nearly jumped out of your skin, taking a shaky breath you raised your voice just a touch and continued to repeat the same three words.

Fingers slowly curled around your own, trying to gently pry your hands away from your ears. This had never happened before, the torment had been mostly psychological and mental but never physical and you were terrified.

Finally opening your eyes you faced them once more, mustering fight you weren’t even aware you possessed any longer.

“Get away from me.”

You had barely spoken in so long, aside from your whispered mantra when you needed to reassure yourself. Your voice cracked as you spoke and you almost didn’t recognise it as your own.

The figure didn’t move, but stared into your eyes and the feeling from before stirred again.

You blinked and shook it away once more, lowering your hands you knocked away the ones covering yours too. It almost passed your notice that the door to your cell was still open, you looked past your tormentor and at the slither of potential freedom.

Was it a trap? Probably.

You couldn’t remember a time when your door was ever left open, the visions they forced upon you appeared out of thin air and disappeared as such when they were done tormenting you.

It could be all part of the illusion, making you think the door was open so you would try to escape. Maybe they were testing you to see if you would actually make a break for it. What would the punishment be if you did try and didn’t succeed?

You didn’t even know where you were, whether this prison was on a planet or potentially an entire planet itself. The odds were stacked against you, but whether this was simply another trick or not, this was an opportunity you weren’t sure you would ever get again. You had to at least try, right?

It was now or never.

The figure was kneeled in front of you, watching you not unlike someone trying not to spook a wild animal. Your eyes never left the open door as you pushed against them, catching them off guard and knocking them back.

You felt a rush of adrenaline, more alive than you had ever thought possible since being captured. Pushing to your feet, you stumbled towards the door and allowed for the smallest moment, an ounce of relief. Until a hand grasped your wrist, tugging painfully as you tried to make it the last few feet.

“No!”

The scream was primal and desperate, you were pulling away from the grip with such force that when it suddenly ceased moments after your cry you stumbled back and fell. You had no idea how close you had come to hitting your head on the solid door, the sharp gasp coming from ahead barely even registering in your mind.

Before you even had time to react, you were shadowed by the figure once more. Hands ghosted across your hair, arms and back before arms closed around your body. You were pulled close and held tightly, no matter how much you pushed and struggled this time the pressure didn’t cease.

“Ive got you.”

The voice was calm, too calm for how you were feeling and it only made you struggle against their hold more.

“Please.”

You were broken. There was nothing more you could give your captors, not that you had ever known from the start what it was they wanted from you. The walls you had built up to protect yourself from their torments were shattering, you had nothing left, you were so tired. So you begged, for mercy, for an end to this nightmare once and for all.

“Please.”

Whispers tickled your ear, the words not registering as your exhausted body lay limp in the arms of who you still believed to be one of your captors. You didn’t react as the hold on you shifted, hands cupping your stained cheeks and tilting your head to face ahead.

“Look at me.”

You didn’t want to, they had taken every ounce of everything from you, there was simply nothing left and you wished they would get whatever end they had planned for you over with.

“Please, look at me.”

Their plea went ignored once more, you took a deep shaky breath and tried to drown out the voice by focussing on the unsteady beat of your heart pounding in your ears.

It was a single word that broke through everything, a name.

Your name.

You subconsciously stiffened when you heard it, not entirely convinced it wasn’t simply your mind playing tricks on you. And then you heard it again.

She said it again.

She.

The Doctor.

It wasn’t. It couldn’t.

It was another trick, they had tricked you so many times, so many times they had made you think it was finally over only to pull the rug out from under you at the last second.

Your name was repeated over and over, amidst other softly spoken reassurances you had tuned out until this moment.

You were so scared of being tricked again, your bottom lip trembled as you slowly raised your gaze to meet hers. There had been so many scenarios that played out similarly to this, you had been gifted permanent doubt and fear by whomever had held you prisoner all this time, severing your trust in anybody and everybody, even yourself.

“Doctor?”

It was below a whisper but she heard you, had every ounce of attention on you as she tried everything in her power to finally bring you back to her.

“It’s me.”

Silence passed between the two of you after that, there was so much for you to process and The Doctor fought her inner battle to give you this time when all she wanted to do was carry you back to the ship and take you as far away from this place as possible.

You couldn’t pinpoint the moment everything fell back into place, it was like a light of realisation being switched on in a room that had been pitch black for so long. Words failed you but it felt as though a wave of emotion, the height of which had been building over the course of your captor was finally about to come crashing down.

The Doctor must have sensed it because a hand slipped into your hair and pulled you to her at the same moment you fell forward against her shoulder. Her other arm went around you to hold you close and this time you didn’t fight her.

A sob ripped from your throat, the emotional build up finally coming crashing down. Your own arms wound around The Doctor’s waist and you held her back just as tightly as she had you.

“I’m so sorry.”

There were so many things you needed to apologise for, guilt tearing you apart inside over the thoughts and feelings you had let them plant in your head about her.

Neither of you wanted to let the other go, instead of pulling back so she could make sure you heard her, The Doctor just held you tighter, hoping her actions would emphasise her words.

“Don’t, ever.”

She pressed her lips into your hair and paused there for a few moments, she knew she had to remain strong for you but it was taking everything she had to keep herself together.

“You have nothing, and I mean nothing to be sorry about, ok?”

You eventually nodded your head even though you didn’t truly believe her. There would be time for all that later, you would make sure she knew how sorry you were but right now, you wanted to be selfish. You closed your eyes and for the first time in so very long, you finally felt at true peace.

[vwoop-prince]

YJ S3 Dick, still in the midst of his fever dream, hides underneath the 'souvenir' instead of behind some boxes, and accidentally opens the airlock trying to take care of the Parademons. The others get it to close... but not before Nightwing is thrown into space.

There, he stares at the ship holding his friends and mentors. There, he wishes more than anything that he can, somehow, survive. There, he tries to live, if only so his family don't have to bury him like Jason.

There, Nightwing dies, wanting to save everyone, even with the cold seeping into his bones far too quickly for a regular section of space.

Then, Dick opens his eyes to... Earth? There's a little house, and grass, and trees, but there's a bubble of green over it all. Outside of that green was an entire castle, one that looked like it should have far more support beams than it does for even a hope that it stays standing.

And the sky was swirling shades of that same green. It makes him think of Lazarus.

"Well, that's something you don't see every day." He whips his head behind him, a bit too fast for Earth's atmosphere, but it doesn't hurt him. Past the bubble of green was a blue-skinned adult in purple robes, the insides of a grandfather-clock fitted inside their torso, and a black staff with a stopwatch on its top. Beside them was a man with snow white hair, glowing green eyes, a crown of frozen fire dancing above his head, and the most galaxy-like cloak Dick's ever seen clasped to his shoulders. He's wearing... a hazmat suit? Maybe? The twinkling stars and odd lighting of wherever he is were giving him a bit of a headache.

But in front of those two, within this bubble, was...

"DICK!" Wally shouted with unrestrained glee, a blur overtaking his spot for barely a heartbeat before Dick's stuck in a crushing hug that he reciprocates once his brain stops feeling like its melting.

He doesn't know how long it took for them to calm down, but the man with the crown spoke up after a time, as Wally was still wiping their faces free of tears. "Welcome to the Infinite Realms, Nightwing." Dick barely even registered that he was still wearing his suit, but now it felt suffocating. "I suppose you're the one Clockwork was holding out for; There shouldn't've been enough Ectoplasm around you to form a Ghost, and your physical body's still in space. I can see why you like this one, though, Clockie," he states flippantly, turning to his companion. Almost like he didn't expect Dick to pay too close attention to what he was saying.

"Either way, there's two options for you." The man didn't let Dick swallow his tears and question anything. Dick's not sure if he's grateful or not. "First: Stay in the Realms permanently. You'll see Kid Flash whenever you want and learn to be a Ghost with the denizens of the Realms. Maybe find your parents."

"But..." Dick pulls away from Wally, keeping him at arms length, eyes flitting between them. The two outside the bubble were distinctly... ghost-like, so the mentions of 'Ghosts' make sense. But Wally looked... alive. A bit pale, a bit thin... but alive. Dick can't see any of his own skin to see if it was blue or tinted that way, but the Nightwing symbol on his chest kept flickering between its own blue and this 'Realms' green. "But--What about the others? What about you? Why can't you come home?" The last two, he focuses on Wally, because now he can feel a heartbeat beneath his gloves. Wally's alive. He's alive.

His friend just shrugs. "Something about their portals not fit for the living? I'm meant to wait for someone to figure out a permanent portal, but they won't tell me how long that'll take." Wally glares at the... 'Ghosts'? There was a heat to it, but it also seemed like this was a well-worn argument.

"The permanent portal was always an 'if', Wallace West. And that is entirely dependent on if Richard Grayson takes the second option," the clock Ghost--Clockwork?--speaks up. But instead of the adult Dick was expecting, there was an elderly Ghost in their place. Still with the time motif. Was that... more literal than Dick took it?

"Yes, the second option..." The crowned man glares daggers at Clockwork. The temperature dips below comfortable. Dick tries to blink the spaceship and stars out of his sight, withdrawing his arms from Wally to try and warm himself. Tries to remember he's not in space. "The second option is that you return to your body... changed. You'll be able to protect Earth better, stay with your alive family, save the Lost Ones... for a price."

Dick doesn't know if he should ignore the plural in 'Lost Ones'. He doesn't know if he's reading too much into how, in this Realm, apparently only his parents were able to be found. Where's Jason? He doesn't dare hope, but...

"What's the price?"

The man smiles and a ring of blue forms around his waist. It splits in two and travels up and down his body, replacing the cloak and whatever clothes he was actually wearing with a NASA shirt, worn jeans, and red sneakers actually duct taped together. The blue tint to his otherwise tan skin fades completely. His hair turns black. His eyes turn blue.

He was like a taller, slightly slimmer, way hotter version of Bruce.

The man walks through the bubble, but doesn't disturb the grass beneath his feet. "You become the Ghost King's vassal." Dick flinches away and almost hides behind Wally. "Not my idea! But, well... it is either this, or your permanent death."

"What does becoming a vassal do to him?" Wally asks, gently trying to stop Dick from breaking his ribs with how tightly he was hugging himself. Does he even have ribs?

"He gains my powers. Ice, electricity, invisibility, intangibility, flight... He becomes a Halfa. He becomes what I was, in life. Just... needing to make offerings to me, now and then. Something like that, at least. I give him powers, he gives me a chunk of, I don't know, chocolate once a week. Like a warlock."

Wally keeps talking to the man, keeps getting information that he knows he should pay attention to, but something in his chest screams to accept this deal, and he can't focus on anything else.

Nightwing can protect. He can return to life and go back to Blüdhaven, be the Vigilante they need. He can visit Gotham every now and then, help with cases and stop criminals from harming others. He can see his brother. He can see his friends. He can eat Alfred's cookies, and have little get-togethers with Babs and the Team--hell, he can argue with Bruce.

And all he has to do is... give an offering to this guy? The Ghost King? Every once in a while?

"There's no other price?" The King turns his attention to Dick. His eyes had shifted to a blue-green that almost hypnotize him. The green swirls, the blue forms and melts like snowflakes, and he can't look away.

He takes another step forward and Wally steps to the side. There was familiarity between them. Wally deferred to him. Dick can't quite tell why. Though, with how Wally hasn't once looked at Clockwork, maybe it's because he's... grounded? Are all speedsters in trouble with, what, the Ghost of Time? That... actually makes perfect sense.

"I'll be honest, Nightwing: You've impressed me." The weight behind the King's words lifts the ones that've been on his shoulders since he was nine. "You remind me of myself. Maybe, if I wasn't a Halfa... If I had a mentor... I could've been like you.

"Despite Clockwork's insistence over the years that I get back in touch with the living, I've held off. When he eventually suggested that I help create another Halfa, I locked him in his tower for twenty years. I didn't want anyone to go through what I had. But, now... I see that you won't. You can't. Even if you hide this deal--our shared powers... You'll still have people by your side. Strong people. Smart people. You can already handle yourself. And I'd love to see what you can do--who you can save--with my help."

There was maybe two inches between their faces when the King finishes speaking. Dick roves his eyes across the other's face, trying to find the common and familiar ticks that show lies and deceit and manipulation. All he finds is sincerity and genuine care.

Wally plays with his fingers from the corner of his eye, gaze hopeful as he looks between the two of them. Wally, who was alive and breathing and able to leave if he accepts. Eventually. Somehow.

Dick Grayson sends a quiet apology to his parents and hopes they will forgive him for being a little bit selfish.

"I accept."

He flings his eyes open. Above him, domino mask too wobbly to be properly secured anymore, was Robin crying and begging him to wake up. His hands were sloppily placed over his heart. Batman was trying to drag him away, the firm set of his jaw screaming grief.

Nightwing gasps once he registers his lungs burning.

There's a large cacophony of noise, multiple bright suits and people hounding over him, and the distinct artificial taste of slightly-too-much oxygen that the ship with the Parademons had. That he flew out of and died. He was still too cold.

Someone moves their arm beneath his knees and shoulder and Dick passes out.

(Dick 'Nightwing' Grayson dies in space. Ghost King Danny Phantom likes this too-human Hero. They split their souls in half, take one piece of the others, and all they know is that Phantom is now Nightwing's Patron Deity. Danny uses ice, for electricity killed him. Dick uses electricity, for ice killed him. They are opposites, and yet so incredibly similar. Clockwork was looking forward to when Danny starts putting off his paperwork to hang out with his new 'friend'.)

[thatwhumpblogoverthere]

Flinches!

Whumpee is finally home. Things seem to be ok, almost normal. They aren’t acting cheery or anything, but they talk and seem to be mostly fine. Until something falls, someone laughs or yells too loudly. Until the door slams hard. They flinch hard, eyes wide, body suddenly tensed. Breathing heavy. They try to hide it, try to make it seem like they were fine. But everyone saw, everyone noticed. And now they are shaking. Horribly. They stand and run from the space as fast as possible. No one says anything. But everyone knows. It was that bad. It wasn’t something Whumpee would be able to heal from quickly. This was bone deep. Just as deep as the blades that cut into Whumpee.

[whumpdaydreamerx]

Caretaker going to clean the blood off Whumpee’s wounds with a warm wet towel and Whumpee flinching when it makes contact. Shutting their eyes, letting out a hiss or hitched breath.

Their Caretaker immediately stopping at their reaction with a grimace and apology. Continuing only with Whumpee’s strained “it’s okay”.

[silly-scroimblo-whump]

whumpee who is given an electric collar that only ever goes off when they try to escape. whumper, after watching whumpee become terrified of even approaching the exit, turns the collar off and never tells them.

whumper leaves the door wide open, goes in and out as they please. they even leave doors and windows outside the room open for whumpee to longingly stare at. they know whumpee will never muster the courage.

[thatsgonnaleaveamark]

The Continental 1x01

[sovonight]

surviving on drawing/writing the barest scaffolding and filling in the rest of the blanks in my mind

[facelessfractal]

Michael gameshow host where the contestants must choose a door and theres a 1/3 chance you win a fancy new car or a ton of cash and 2/3 chance you just get eaten. Listen the audience thinks its part of the thrill of the show and you signed the waiver soooooo

[bylertruther]

He Is Literally Gay. ... whoa 😦 michael of "our son with a girl? 🤨" fame... good for him 👍

[procrastinatingwriting]

New kind of torture just dropped! (An idea from a story I'm making)

MC/whumpee is a drug addict and alcoholic and will complete a whole year clean in a few days. Shenanigans ensue, he's captured and instead of your conventional torture, they drug and drunk him to the point of passing out and then allow him to go through withdrawal. Just to repeat it over and over until he is rescued, all the while planting in his head that his friends will be so disappointed and disgusted with what he "allowed" to happen when they see him.

[dutybcrne]

Forever love the idea of Khaenri'ahn eyes perpetually glowing in the dark. Esp bc of all the clownery that can ensue.

[zipitmythicalsunset]

No mers this time. Just have Cici firedancing

Kelpies count as mermay right?

Right

Cici by @holly-rose12

Prompts by @intistone

[whumpinthepot]

@febuwhump 2023

Day two: Flinching

—

Whumpee who’s very scared, very flinchy, getting punished every time they flinch. Which in turn makes them more on edge and flinching more often. They can’t help it, and soon enough they’re littered in cuts and bruises.

When they’re rescued they visibly wince every time anyone comes near, and maybe caretaker gets frustrated at one point telling whumpee that they shouldn’t be so scared. This of course just causes whumpee to spiral, thinking they’ll be hurt for flinching away just like whumper told them.

[whump-is-love-whump-is-life]

I raise you

Flinching away from caretaker because whumpee is blindfolded and doesn't realize it's them

Ooooo yes!