commerceclasses123-blog

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whumpers! This is your two-week head start to the Two Weeks of Whump Challenge commencing on the 3rd of July!

[Image ID/More information under the cut]

Promptsforyourwhumpfic’s Two Weeks of Whump Challenge - July 3rd-July 16th

To celebrate six years and nine thousand followers, I have compiled a small whump challenge. 

For each day, you gave been given three items/ways to hurt your chosen character with. You can use just one, or all three for each day! This isn’t limited to writing, you can create gifsets/draw etc. There is no limit. 

For those posting to Tumblr

Please tag @promptsforyourwhumpfic and/or use the tags #TWOW or #TwoWeeksOfWhump. 

For those posting to AO3:

I have created the Two Weeks Of Whump Collection (thank you for recommending I do this @dollopheadedmerlin​!) 

You can tag me at @SurroWhump

Prompts list: 

1) Poker - Shock Collar - Ashes 2) Bio-Weapon - Isolation Chamber - Needles 3) Car Battery - Scalpel - Alcohol 4) Belt - Gas Mask - Cage 5) Broken Glass - Building Collapse - Necktie 6) Kitchen Knife - Gunshot Wound - Gag 7) Cyanide - False Imprisonment - Blindfold 8) Rope - Nails - Water Inhalation 9) Acid - Branding - Meat Hook 10) Rusted Metal - Phone Call - Hammer 11) Chains - Hanging - Muzzle 12) Baseball Bat - Coffin - Nail Gun 13) Mystery Pill - Gaslighting - Fishing Net 14) Barbed Wire - Scissors - Corkscrew

Remember: tag accordingly, especially when it comes to trigger warnings!

FAQ’S

Why just two weeks? I understand not everyone has the time/stamina to do a huge challenge, so I thought two weeks was a good compromise!

Miss a day? Don’t worry! It’s not the end of the world, you can always catch up in future. This challenge is not limited to these two weeks, if you’re finding this two months after its over, then you’re more than welcome to take part!

How much do you need to write/do for each day? As much or as little as you’d like. If a drabble turns into a full fic, brilliant! If you only have the time for a sketch that's fine too! 

Want to know more? Message me/send me an ask!

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim AU: Tiny Kane

Kane & Jim AUs Masterlist

g/t sideblog here! @smallsday

content: whump, g/t, tiny whump, fear, burns, torture, vampire whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, whumpee turned caretaker, rescue, caretaking, recovery, comfort, starvation, weight loss due to starvation

Whumpmas in July Day 6: Deprived GT July Day 6: AU Two Weeks of Whump Day 6: Cage

surprise extra cameo from TWOW as well, three events in one! i've been wanting to do a tiny Kane AU for a looong time. how did Kane become tiny, you ask? well, it's- (i describe a convenient plot device, but a loud truck blows past and you can't hear me). but yeah i'm just doing this for fun and not worrying about the context lol. you get no in-universe explanation, i just love tiny whump

-

Jim was pretty sure the only reason he wasn't completely freaking out right now was because he'd been warned in advance about the size, but he was still freaking out a little bit.

Kane sat huddled in the middle of a little silver cage, trying his best to balance himself so the only part of him that touched the floor was protected by the small bit of clothing he had. A pair of shorts that looked like they'd been haphazardly sewn together, the seams halfway to coming apart. He strained to raise his feet slightly so they wouldn't burn.

Despite his efforts, the hunter thrust the cage toward Jim carelessly, causing Kane to lose his balance and burn his feet. He shrieked, righting himself as quickly as possible. The entirety of his five-inch body was dotted with similar burns.

The hunter tossed a key, which Jim scrambled to catch. "Don't worry, it's harmless now."

Jim carefully took the cage, being sure to move steadily enough that Kane wouldn't fall over again. On a closer look, a large, circular burn on Kane's back looked suspiciously like the end of a cigarette. "Oh."

He barely paid attention as the hunter said goodbye. All he could focus on was Kane. The situation was too bizarre.

"It's been a while," he said as soon as the hunter left.

Kane burst into tears instantly. "I'm sorry!" he cried. "P-please, Jim, sir, I'm so sorry! Mercy, please have mercy, I can't take-" He was crying so hard that he struggled to pull enough air into his little lungs, gasping for breath around tears. "I'm s-so sorry, I'm so sorry, please-"

"Hey, hey," Jim interrupted him, sick to his stomach. He'd fantasized for years about wringing an apology from his tormenter, but not like this. It was abundantly clear Kane expected Jim to hurt him.

As much as he hated Kane, as much as he'd wished him dead for years, he didn't think he could ever hurt someone as defenseless as Kane was now. Like the hunter said, he was harmless. The vampire may have haunted his nightmares and waking paranoia alike for the past decade, but Jim couldn't even bring himself to be afraid of him now.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he continued. "How about we get you out of there? That looks... painful."

Kane nodded profusely, tears streaming down his face. "Please," he begged.

Jim placed the cage on the hood of his car, trying his best not to jostle it. Kane whimpered at the movement, every muscle tensed as he tried to balance himself.

The key was small and silver. To him it was a harmless trinket, but it was half as tall as Kane and would burn him on touch. When he'd heard about Kane's size now, Jim had only thought of what it meant in terms of the harm Kane could cause. Like this, Kane couldn't hurt him, kidnap him, force him into submission. He'd never thought about what the hunters might do to a vampire this vulnerable.

He unlocked the cage, reaching in since Kane wouldn't be able to climb out on his own without getting burned. Kane looked at his approaching hand with utter terror, but made no move away from it, allowing Jim to scoop him into his palm and out of the cruel cage.

Kane stared up at him, eyes wide with fear as his chest rose and fell rapidly, backed up against his fingers so Jim could feel him trembling. His heart raced, fluttering with fear.

"It's okay," Jim soothed the tiny, shaking vampire in his palm. He hated Kane, he really did. Nothing could ever erase the things Kane did to him, the years Kane stole from him. But he knew what it was like to be hurt and scared, and he wouldn't wish it on anyone. Even Kane. "Just try and relax."

Kane gave a stiff nod, but did not relax. "Yes, sir," he said anyway, timid and afraid.

It felt so wrong, and brought up some of the worst memories Jim had. Memories of being that vulnerable person, unable to stand even the slightest chance of protecting himself against someone so strong, calling Kane sir just like he wanted in a desperate attempt to placate him before he-

"Jim," he corrected, unnerved. "You know my name."

"Y-yes, Jim!" Kane squeaked, only looking more terrified, like calling him sir had been worthy of execution. "I'm sorry!"

"Don't worry about it." Jim threw the silver shit on the floor of the backseat before getting in the car, briefly scanning for a decent place to put Kane. "I'm gonna put you in the cupholder."

"Thank you," Kane breathed. He sounded so relieved to just be out of that cage. Jim couldn't imagine what a car ride in that thing would be like.

He went to put Kane in the cupholder, but hesitated.

Kane weighed almost nothing, even less than he should at this size. Given his lack of a shirt, Jim could easily see his ribs poking against the skin of his chest, the way his stomach dipped in, concave like his cheeks.

He was starving. He was starving so badly that if he weren't a vampire, he would surely be dead.

The fact that the hunters had deprived Kane of food when it would take so little to keep him fed was horrifying. He was five inches tall, and yet they'd stripped him of everything from food to clothes to accommodations that wouldn't burn him. It was cruel. it was sadistic.

It would take so very little for Jim to rectify it.

He didn't want to do this. It was ridiculous, considering the circumstances, but he was scared to. The scars on his neck, hidden snug under the fabric of his turtleneck, seemed to ache the more he thought about it.

Jim set Kane down gently in the cupholder. He could psych himself up on the drive home. For good measure, he grabbed a couple stray napkins and put them in there with him. "Here, you can use these to make yourself a little more comfortable."

Kane wrapped them both around himself instantly, bundling himself up in the cheap paper like they were blankets. "Thank you," he said, choked up with genuine gratitude. "Thank you so much for letting me use them. I'll be good."

The display about broke Jim's heart. "No problem, man."

-

Kane sat dutifully in the cupholder the whole drive, beyond grateful that he didn't have to do it in the silver cage. The cage which laid ominously in the backseat, ready to be pulled out again whenever Jim decided he deserved it. And Kane knew he deserved it.

Jim could do anything he wanted to him, and he'd be powerless to resist. He'd probably be powerless to resist even at his old size, given how weak the starvation had made him, but especially now. Just like Jim had been when their situations were reversed. Jim could return every slap, every kick, every iron-clad grasp around his neck that Kane had dished out, and return it tenfold until he was nothing but red paste.

But he would heal. He always did, slowly but surely, and would continue to unless he was staked. Jim may have shown him mercy this time, but he couldn't expect that every time after what he'd done.

Jim parked the car when they got there, extending his hand toward the cupholder. "We're here," he announced.

Kane waited a moment to be grabbed, something he'd become very accustomed to after years of being handled like an unbreakable toy, before he realized Jim was waiting for him to climb on.

"Yes, s- Jim," he corrected himself just in time, hauling himself onto the human's warm hand. He brought the lovely napkins with him, hoping Jim would allow him to keep them.

The decadent smell of human blood enveloped Kane once again as Jim cupped his hand around him, his mouth watering at the scent. He would do anything for just a drop, but he knew better by now. Bad vampires got punished. He could be good, prove he was worthy of being allowed outside his horrible, burning cage. Even being used as an ashtray would be better.

Jim carried him inside. It was surreal: he hadn't been anywhere besides the hunters' compound and its backyard since shrinking. To be in a regular house, with everything massive and blown up around him, just emphasized how he could never go back to his old life. He would be at the mercy of others forever, no matter what.

"I don't have any clothes for you," Jim said apologetically. "I wasn't expecting you to... not have any. I'll look for something in town for you tomorrow. I'll get you some cloth you can use in the meantime."

That was even better than napkins! Jim was going to give him clothes! Clothes his size, that fit!

"Thank you so much!" he enthused, craning his neck to look up at his new keeper. "That would be amazing. You're- you're very generous." He knew he would have to earn this kindness, but he was too excited to care.

Jim shrugged, Kane's world tilting with the motion. "It's kind of just the bare minimum. It's not like you ever deprived me of clothes, right?"

"I would never," Kane assured him quickly.

It was hardly the only kindness Jim would gift him that night. Jim allowed him to bathe in the sink, and choose what room he would be kept in. He chose the basement, enticed by the lack of windows bearing the dangers of the sun. Jim set up a small cardboard box for him layered with blanketing. It was the softest thing he'd felt in years.

"There's one more thing." Jim seemed... upset about this one, which set Kane on edge.

He pulled the cloth he'd been given tighter around himself. Was Jim finally about to take his revenge? Kane could deal with that, as long as he got to sleep on something soft after. "Yes?"

Jim reached toward him. Despite his own train of thought, Kane couldn't help but flinch back. Waiting to be grabbed, squeezed, his limbs snapped, his skin burnt-

But Jim didn't touch him. His hand stopped in front of him, a giant thumb in front of his face. "You can feed."

Kane couldn't believe what he was hearing. After years of complete deprivation, he would finally be allowed food?

He didn't ask Really?. He didn't ask if there were restrictions. He couldn't bear it. He was being given permission, and every instinct in his body screamed at him to feed before the precious blood was taken away forever again.

"Thank you!" Kane exclaimed. He took Jim's thumb in his hands, and with a final glance up at Jim, he bit.

The taste was like nothing he could have ever imagined, more phenomenal than any blood he'd tasted before in his life, despite how many times he'd tasted Jim's blood in particular. It flowed into his mouth with abundance, rich and savory. He couldn't possibly get enough, even when Jim's thumb trembled in his hold.

He drank and drank until he physically couldn't anymore. Jim didn't stop him. He just let him keep going, and as Kane came out of his bloodlust-induced frenzy and back to rational thought, he realized that maybe his new size had a good aspect to it after all.

Kane swiped his tongue over the two pinpricks his fangs had made, then released the thumb, scooting back into the cardboard. "Thank you so much. That's- that's the kindest thing anyone's ever done for me. I forgot what it was like to not be hungry." Tears dripped onto his chest, and he realized he must have started crying while he fed. "Thank you, thank you so much. Especially after I- thank you."

"I'm not gonna be cruel." Jim took his hand back, examining the wound. "I won't keep your basic needs away. I won't hurt you. I won't grab you without permission. I know what it's like to be powerless and vulnerable, okay? You know."

"I'm sorry." Kane had never meant it as much as he did right now. "I'm sorry for everything."

"Nothin' you can do about it now." Jim stepped away. "Get some rest. You need it."

Kane nestled into his blankets, full for the first time in years, warm in a way that didn't hurt.

Finally, finally safe.

-

tune in on sunday for a canon Kane & Jim chapter! taglist in reblog!

event: @whumpmasinjuly @gianttol @promptsforyourwhumpfic

[how-much-for-a-whump]

TWO WEEKS OF WHUMP day 12:

Prompt: "Coffin"

Freistatt (2014)

@promptsforyourwhumpfic

[ktkat99]

While ao3 is down, I'm going to see if I can figure out how to post directly here.

Two Weeks Of Whump Challenge Day 9. Branding

Tim reached over and behind his head, grabbing his shirt by the back of his collar and pulling it off. He tossed it towards the laundry basket and flopped face down on the bed, ready to drift off to sleep.

Until something poked him.

"Your pants, too." Conner reminded.

"Mm. Nng. Leave me 'lone." Tim grunted in response.

"Tim, baby, this isn't up for debate. You've got mud, blood and… what I hope is rainwater, caked everywhere."

"Vigilante aesthetic."

"No."

Tim huffed, but pushed himself up anyway. "Fine." He stumbled to his dresser and grabbed out a pair of sweatpants to change into.

"I'm so sorry for insisting you at least change out of your uniform before getting into… bed."

Conner finished his sentence softly, and Tim turned to see what had caught his boyfriend's attention.

"What."

"Who's 'JJ'?"

Tim froze, and he could swear he felt his heart stop.

'My dear son, JJ! Now doesn't that just have a nice ring to it?'

'Sure does, Puddin'!'

Their voices echoed in his mind, accompanied by phantom pains.

The feeling of the electrical shocks.

The prick of needles.

The far-too-tight cuffs keeping him from fighting back or defending himself.

He was back there.

No!

He was here!

He'd gotten out.

He'd survived.

He'd beaten them.

They were gone.

… Right?

"... What?" He finally managed.

"Your leg. You've got a tattoo that says 'JJ'. I was just wondering, cause I've never heard you mention them. Were they an ex?" Conner got up and came over, face concerned. He must have seen Tim's reaction to his question.

Tim didn't know what to say.

How long..?

He had been rid of them.

"W-what..?" He couldn't breathe.

They were…

They were gone.

"Tim? Are you okay?"

Tim closed his eyes.

Everything was… way too much right now.

He felt sick.

Dizzy.

Sounds were too loud.

He was too close.

Tim stumbled back, falling against the dresser.

'There's a good lad. Now why don't you help your daddy with a little something?'

Hands pulled at his hair.

His own?

He didn't care.

"Tim!"

'Ah, ah, ah! That's not your name anymore, is it? Naaah. You look more like a Junior.'

"Get away from me."

He felt himself slide down to his knees, heard… someone screaming.

Who was screaming?

Him?

"I'm here. Baby, I'm right here. I've got you."

'Now that I've got you, my boy,' His voice echoed in Tim's head, 'Killing Batsy will be a piece of cake!'

He wanted to go home.

He wanted his family.

But he couldn't move.

He couldn't move!

Something was restraining him!

"Stop! Tim, baby, please! You're going to hurt yourself!"

He had to get free.

He had to.

They were going to kill him.

They were going to use him to kill Batman.

He felt a prick in his neck and redoubled his efforts to free himself.

He couldn't do this again.

He didn't want to lose himself again.

"Shh. Shh. You're going to be okay. You're going to be okay. Just give it a minute."

He felt himself relax against his will.

He…

He had to fight.

He… had to get free.

He couldn't give in…

But whatever he'd been injected with didn't give him a choice.

His mind started to clear and he found himself lying on his back, head and shoulders resting in Conner's lap.

"You're okay. You're okay, baby. I'm so sorry. Bruce is on his way. Just relax."

Conner…

He looked scared.

The room began to grow dark, but Tim reached up, shakily.

Conner looked scared, but Tim's brain was in too much of a fog to figure out why.

His fingers brushed a tear away from his boyfriend's cheek before falling limply back down, resting across his own chest.

Conner grabbed it and held it. "You're okay, sweetheart." He whispered.

Tim thought he might have said something else as well, but he couldn't make it out, already drifting off.

[sowhumpful]

Prompt: chains

@promptsforyourwhumpfic

[keeper-of-all-the-random-things]

The Chain

Day 11 for @promptsforyourwhumpfic Two Weeks of Whump

CW: lady whump, male whumper, possessive whumper, chains. Please let me know if I missed anything.

#####

She was held by a single chain.  It was silver so thin it looked like a breath could shatter it.  But it sat heavy around her neck, resting against her collarbone.

She should be happy, he said.  She was lucky.  She got to dress up and go out and had the world at her feet … when he was with her.

She should be happy, he said.  There were some, he knew, who kept what was theirs hidden away, chained in the dark, only to emerge at their pleasure.  Wasn’t it kind of him to give her a chain so pretty, a leash so long?

She could pretend to be happy.  In public, when strangers said what a lovely couple they made.  In private, when he told her how well she did that day.

Alone, she cried.

At work, she raged.  He gave her staff (wasn’t that generous?), and she made what she could with this small power.  All the fear she felt, she cast off on her inferiors until one by one, they left.

See, he told her.  She should be happy.  He wanted her when no one else did.

So she pretended to be happy for him.

Alone, she cried.

The silver chain grew heavier.

[jedi-lothwolf]

Two Weeks of Whump Day 6: Gunshot Wound

Fandom: Spider-verse

Summary: After a late night villain attack, Jefferson and Miles meets unexpectedly in the building.

  Miles looked at the time, 1am. "Why can't villains attack the city at more convenient times?" he muttered to himself. Grabbing his suit he slipped his PJs off. Ganke stirred as Miles opened the window.

    "Off to save the city? We have a test tomorrow." He mumbled

    "You know it. I'm sure it'll be fine."

    "Good luck."

    "Thanks." Miles crawled out the window and attached a web to a nearby building. He pushed his feet against the wall and was off.

    The fight against the villain wasn't long. Miles webber her up and got ready to go back to the dorms.

    Though it might not have been a long fight it wasn't without property damage. No fight was really a fight without a form of property damage. It was one of the reasons Spider-Man was a controversial person. That and the baby powder.

    As he walked towards a window so he could get out of there he heard a familiar voice behind him, "freeze, Spider-Man."

    Oh great. "Mr. Morales" Miles replied turning around. He was pointing a gun at him. "Woah" Miles jumped back startled, "isn't that reserved for the bad guys?"

    "You killed an innocent."

    "Where did you hear that?" Miles's heart raced. He most certainly did not kill anyone.

    "My brother, Aaron Davis. For the past year and a half I can't stop thinking about it. You were there."

    "No you must be mistaken. I've never killed anyone. Mr. Davis was a good man-" Miles's fake accent began to slip. It had been so long now and they had been working together for just about the whole time he had been Spider-Man.

    "Put your hands up."

    Miles complied. "There's no need for the gun."

    "I'm bringing you in for the murder of my brother."

    Spider sense. Miles turned his head to see that the villain from earlier had escaped. He turned quickly to take care of her. The quick movement gave Jefferson a reason to shoot.

    Miles hadn't thought about it when he moved. When he heard the gun go off he assumed that his dad had shot at the villain. No. He didn't know until he watched the villain leave.

    Warm liquid ran down his leg. "What?" He whispered to himself. Looking down he realized what had happened. His father had shot him. The pain hit like the bullet that had just ripped through his side. 

    Spider-Man collapsed to the ground. He pressed his right hand against the wound while the other pulled his mask off. He used it as a form of cloth to help with the blood. "Did you really think I killed uncle Aaron?! I was there! It was Kingpin!"

    Jefferson started at his son, now on the ground. He'd shot him. "oh God." He ran over to him and fell to his knees to help.

    "Don't fucking touch me!" Miles screamed.

Jefferson jumped back before speaking, "don't talk to me like that." He realized how stupid it sounded as the words left his mouth.

    "You shot me!" The teen tried to move back but couldn't.

    "I'm sorry! Miles, just let me help you!"

    Miles thought back to everything that had happened in the last month. Everything Miguel had put him though just because he wanted to save his father. For a brief second he wished he hadn't. That thought was quickly replaced by a wave of hatred for his own mind.

    "Stay away." Miles voice was weaker this time. He didn't yell. The betrayal that laced every word, every movement made Jefferson feel as if he had been shot himself.

    "10-52 Spider-Man has been shot " Jefferson radioed in.

    "Stay with me Miles." He reached to hold pressure on the wound and this time Miles accepted the help.

    "My identity." Miles tried to move out from where he was.

    "It'll be okay."

    "What's that location Sir?"

    Miles listens as Mr. Morales states the information to the operater. He reached for his gizmo. Miguel had given him one once he realized his mistake. Miles took it because he might not like Miguel but he wanted to help and he wanted to see his friends. He and Miguel were getting to a point where they both understood what had happened and why and realized it was better to forgive rather then to hold it against each other.

    "Hobie?" He turned the watch on, "i've been shot, where's Spidey Doc?"

    Hobie responded quickly. "Let me get in contact with him, where are you?" He asked frantically.

    "Who's that?" Jefferson asked.

    "A friend" Miles whispered. He sent his coordinates to Hobie and before he could say anything else Hobie was there.

    "I'm here" he walked over quickly, "Spidey Doc should be on the way."

    Jefferson looked up at Hobie before he was shoved by him. Hobie took his place and put pressure on Miles's side. Stunned he didn't do anything

    Everything moved too quickly for Jefferson to keep up. Another portal opened and now there was another spider person in the room?

    The hero was dressed in a similar fashion to his son but in light blue and light green. Hobie stood quickly and the hero took his place. Jefferson tried to get to Miles but was stopped by Hobie. "you're his dad right?" He asked.

    "Yes and who are you punk!?" Mr. Morales yelled.

    "I'm Miles's friend Hobie" he spoke calmly, "that's Spidey Doc, he'll take care of Miles."

    "I need to take him back to HQ."

    "Okay."

    "Is that okay with you Miles?" The doctor asked.

    Miles nodded.

    Before Jefferson could say anything the doctor had picked up his son and started to walk towards a portal. "Wait where are you taking him?!"

    Hobie grabbed Jefferson and stopped him from moving forward. "He'll take good care of him."

    "Wait! Miles!" Jefferson tried to get away from Hobie.

    As the portal closed Hobie released the chef. "What happened?"

    "You don't need to know!"

    "Miles is my friend! What happened to him."

    When Jefferson didn't answer Hobie knew. "Good job. He'll be fine, just hope you don't lose him after this."

    Jefferson just stared at Hobie. "What now?" He asked.

    "You hope he forgives you. He probably will, he's very forgiving. After that you hope that you didn't just mess up one of the sweetest kids I know. But above all else you admit what you did was wrong and give him time."

    "Okay." And that's what he did. He waited and talked to Miles, apologizing over and over again. Miles could never hate his father. The two's relationship grew stronger, no longer being built on lies.

@promptsforyourwhumpfic

[isamajor]

Two weeks of whump : day 10 to 14

The five final days of @promptsforyourwhumpfic‘s Two Weeks of Whump, with, Skyrim’s Custom Voiced Followers.

10 – Rusted Metal

The ruin was full of traps, to protect treasures and other offerings. They were guarded by Draugr who attacked with their ancient shouts that knocked them against the walls or disarmed them. His body thrown against an iron door, Lucifer fumbled to retrieve his sword. A small noise was heard when his hand touched a stone under the ground. Rusty stakes protruded from the stone and despite his reflexes, one of the spikes impaled the Argonian's arm, piercing his flesh before returning to his trap. He howled. Blood spattered his green scales, mingling with the rusty powder from the spear that had pierced him. (105)

•

11 – Chains & Hanging

Taliesin was shackled and suspended by chains in a dimly lit chamber. In other circumstances, he would have found it nice.The cold metal bit into his wrists, his own weight pressing down on the chain cuffing his hands. The chains rattled with each movement and and the arms held well above his head forced him to stand on tiptoe. They were going to let him exhaust himself, hanging on these chains, before torturing him. He knew it, because not so long ago, he was part of a group that tortured people to extract information from them. (98)

•

12 – Coffin

The stone sarcophagus had become her coffin. Locked in there by her own mother. To hide her, to protect her from her own father. The stone coffin walls seemed to approach her body, in an oppressive presence. Serana felt like she was suffocating, even though she hadn't been breathing for a long time. She had died since her meeting with Lord Molag Bal but locked in this crypt, she longed only for freedom and fresh air.  She had to sleep, that was all she had to do, for centuries and centuries, until one day someone freed her from her stone prison. (102)

•

13 – Fish net

The water was a bit muddy. That didn't stop Xelzaz from diving into Lake Geir in search of ingredients for his potions. In this temperate water he knew you could find a lot of fish you couldn't find anywhere else in Skyrim, Slaughterfish eggs and, if he was lucky, maybe even pearls. Focused on his research, he did not see the fishing net stretched in his troubled waters. His limbs got caught in it and the harder he tried to extricate himself, the more the net tangled around him. Stuck, it was impossible for him to call for help, underwater. (102)

•

14 – Corkscrew

Caryalind was often reminded that by virtue of his status, he could not do anything with his hands because he had never needed to. Wishing to prove the contrary, he wanted to open bottles of mead for his companions. He grabbed the corkscrew and stuck it in the cork. By turning then pulling, logically the bottle should open. But as the others looked on, in his haste, the cork ripped open and the corkscrew slipped from him, its metal tip scratching his hand, leaving a red streak on his golden skin. Caryalind gritted his teeth. The humiliation was more painful than his wound. (103)

You can find all the 14 drabbles for the two weeks here (the 8th chapter of a collection of 84 whump drabbles -for now- about Skyrim and its dangers (experienced mostly by the Dragonborn and their followers) !

[wrencatte]

He deserves a vacation, Jason decides. And he'll get right on that. Yep. Definitely. Right after he deals with these bastards who decided to capture him.

ft! competent!Jason (until I whump him), torture, hurt/comfort, & batfam

[side-shuffling-hyperfixations]

The Two Weeks of Whump Challenge has begun 👀 The Pines boys aren't gonna know what hit 'em (It's me, I'm hitting them, but the title implies they'll be fine in the end. Probably.)

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

was two weeks of whump a one-time event or will there be more?

I’ll run it again next year! It’ll probably be around the start of June, but don’t worry there’ll be plenty of notice for it beforehand :)

[whumpsday]

Petrichor

Writing Masterlist

content: vampire whumpee, buried alive, begging, rescue, asphyxiation, religious whump, death wish, starvation, claustrophobia, sensory deprivation, touch starvation, comfort, harming self for vampire feeding purposes, possible historical inaccuracies

Whumpmas in July Day 15: Buried Two Weeks of Whump Day 14: Coffin

this is vampire whump, but it does NOT take place in the K&J universe! i wanted to play around with some vampire mythology that i chose not to incorporate into K&J lore.

thank you to @lost-in-labradorite-halls for beta-reading and helping my clueless jewish ass with the christian bits and generally inspiring this piece via the wonderful vampire torture you regularly concoct!!

also have a song:

-

Petrichor's endless, airless torment was punctuated once again by the sound of a shovel entering the earth.

It was worth noting strictly because anything was worth noting down here. The digging wasn't out of the ordinary: it was a cemetery, of course.

This time, it sounded close. Every time it sounded near, Petrichor dared let himself hope it might reach him, though he knew such a thing was absolutely ridiculous. People dug graves to bury bodies, not exhume them.

It was utterly maddening. Someone was so close, another soul- a soul, rather, given he did not possess one any longer- and he was unable to make even the slightest peep to alert them to his distress, all oxygen having vacated his tiny box what must have been decades ago, if not centuries. At least he didn't require air anymore.

A tear rolled down his cheek at the thought, his body unable to conjure up more than that. He could not even raise an arm to tap on the wood of the coffin, the weakness having deprived him so effectively. Petrichor listened to the digging longingly, laid still and silent in his grave, the corpse he was.

I'm here. I'm still here, after all this time. Please, it can't be like this forever. I care not whether I'm rescued or slain, but please, someone put an end to it. Dear Lord, I know I'm not one of Your creatures any longer, but please help me.

As if answering his prayer, the digging slowly grew closer as the hours passed. It was odd: usually there would be a bustle of people around, and only one grave would be dug. But he could hear nothing but the digging, and it almost sounded like multiple graves. Perhaps some tragedy had befallen the family owning the plot next to his.

It was disappointing, in a way. The voices, though he could hardly make them out from under the earth, were the only human connection he had left in his horrible fate. Sometimes, he could even make out bits and pieces of the priest's sermon, which never failed to make him cry. He could not even utter a prayer aloud in his wretched state, if the Lord would even have him as he now was. And clearly, He wouldn't.

Petrichor's melancholy thoughts were swiftly interrupted when the sound of digging grew yet closer. Much closer.

As if it were right above him.

Oh dear Lord, please. This could finally be it, couldn't it? If his grave were to be exhumed, for some odd reason?

The shovel knocked against wood. Petrichor could feel it reverberate through the coffin, the first physical sensation interrupting the suffocating stillness in longer than he could know.

He wanted to weep for joy. It was finally happening, it was over. His prayers had finally been answered!

Someone opened the coffin, trading the wooden finish he'd stared at for so long for a starry sky.

Petrichor gasped for breath, his first in what may as well have been lifetimes, smelling of freshly-turned earth. It was nearly impossible to move, his muscles stiff and dry, but he was able to breathe through his nose, and open his mouth just a small amount. It was more than enough: he had air, his lungs no longer drowning.

"Holy fucking shit!" His rescuer tried to jump back, but they were inside his grave with him, and space was sparse.

It was difficult to move his eyes, but he managed it, fixing them on the first person he'd seen since his funeral. They looked young, around his age when he'd been buried or perhaps younger, dressed in an androgynous black cloak. Their clothes and face all ranged from speckled with dirt to absolutely caked in it.

Petrichor stared at them with wild, desperate eyes, and with fresh air in his lungs, made what little sound he could manage: a strangled, pleading cry.

"Oh my god. Oh my fucking god." His rescuer continued to take the Lord's name in vain and spew profanities, but Petrichor couldn't bring himself much to care. All that mattered was getting out of his coffin, the end of his suffering. But he was unable to move.

His rescuer seemed to recognize this as well, their string of expletives tapering off as they tilted their head, staring back.

They glanced up at his gravestone. "Here lies Petrichor Adams," they read out. "1797 to 1820."

They looked back down at him, squinting. "What the hell are you?"

Petrichor whined again, a tear making its way down his face once more.

His rescuer leaned in, their initial shock having given way to a surprising lack of fear. They knelt beside him, peering at his face. "You sure got some chompers in there, huh? What, like...?" They looked out over the edge of the hole, like someone would come out and announce it was all a trick, but no one did.

Petrichor could do nothing but stare pleadingly.

His rescuer tapped him on the cheek. The first touch he'd felt in forever, it almost tingled. They tilted his head to the side, exposing the scars he supposed must still mark his neck: the fangs that had condemned him to this fate.

"You supposed to be a vampire or something?" they asked, incredulous. Having picked up that he could not reply, they continued on. "Well, fuck. What, you need blood or something, is that it? Oh, no no no. I've seen the movies, I've played the video games, alright? I am not fucking with this." They produced a small rectangular object from their pocket, angling it at him in various positions and tapping it oddly before replacing it in their cloak.

The soaring hope in Petrichor's long-dead heart crashed against the rocks. He could not understand some of what the digger said, but the sentiment was clear: he would receive no help.

He would remain locked in his prison.

Petrichor's chest quaked with dry sobs. He trained his eyes upward, thankful that his wretched body could not produce tears very quickly, as his vision remained unblurred when he took in the stars. The sight of something beautiful, one last time.

The digger sighed, glancing at his headstone once more.

"Well. It does say you were beloved," they remarked. "Beloved son. They wouldn't've put that there if you were some bloodsuckin' serial killer, huh?"

Petrichor made no further attempt to look away from the stars, but allowed himself to hope again. Perhaps he would be allowed out, if the digger would take pity on him.

His rescuer shook their head. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

They produced a small blade, rolled up their sleeve, and sliced themself across the back of the arm. They positioned the wound just above his mouth, allowing their blood to drain across his tongue.

Petrichor had never tasted blood before- not posthumously, that was. He had been buried shortly after his death, without time to fall prey to his new, monstrous nature. It was nothing like blood had been as a human: the coppery taste when he'd split his lip roughhousing as a child. This, this was everything. It was the sweetest honey, it was the finest glass of red wine, it was the flavorful broth of his mother's pot roast, it was life itself flowing into his veins.

Slowly, the muscles in his body lost their stiffness, and he could move once more. He raised his head up toward the source of the lifeblood, but his savior placed their boot firmly on his chest, keeping him pinned to the floor of his coffin.

"Think that's enough for now. Don't wanna get woozy." They tore a piece of cloth from their cloak, wrapping the wound. "Cat still got your tongue, buddy?"

"P-please," Petrichor rasped, his voice weak from disuse, "Kind... sir? I cannot go on like this. Whatever fate you'd bestow upon me, I care not, so long as I'm not forced to remain inside this box. I am a vampire, it's true, but I had never consumed even a drop of blood before tonight. I mean no harm. Please allow me to leave this coffin." His voice broke, his words coming out squeaky. "I was human once, too."

Desperate begging. He'd never thought his life would come to this, but he supposed it never had. His life had ended long ago.

The boot was removed from his chest.

"Alright, Petrichor Adams, take it easy," his rescuer said. "I'm not gonna leave you down here no matter what you are. That'd be crazy fucked up." They extended a hand. "Robin."

Petrichor took their hand, his own shaking. "Thank you so very, very much. You've saved me from an unbearable fate."

Robin pulled him up to standing, his bones creaking with the unfamiliarity of movement. "Huh. It's almost like you time traveled or something. Says you died when you were 23, that's like, practically my age. Guess the 200 years in between don't really count."

Petrichor wasn't sure what came over him, but he burst into tears instantly. His body had no trouble with it now, two centuries' worth of crying flowing forth all at once as he bawled.

"They count!" he wept. "I was down there, I- I was down there the entire time! I did not sleep!"

"Alright!" Robin agreed with haste. "Okay, grandpa, you're 226 then, whatever's good. Jeez, c'mon, you don't gotta cry. It's gonna be okay."

They rubbed their thumb over his hand, and he gasped from the sensation. After so long, every touch felt one thousand times stronger than it was.

Petrichor attempted to pull himself together. "Yes, yes of- of course."

"And listen, you gotta be quieter. We're reeeeally not supposed to be out here right now." Robin hopped up, pulling Petrichor up with them.

A knapsack laid at the foot of his grave, varied pieces of jewelry and a few golden teeth visible from the top.

His rescuer was a graverobber and a thief. But Petrichor knew his situation was desperate, and chose to say nothing. He was no better, given what he was now.

Robin noticed the direction of his gaze nonetheless, offering him a mischievous smirk. "Yeah, Graverobbin' Robin, that's what they call me. And by they I mean me, 'cause no one knows I do this." They began shoveling dirt back into his grave. "Good thing I do, though. Never thought I'd save a vampire on my side hustle, but life throws you curveballs, I guess. You know baseball?"

"I do not, I'm afraid," Petrichor replied, watching mesmerized as his coffin became entombed once more.

"Bro, how are you gonna die in Boston and not know baseball? I gotta take you to a game sometime. Literally first order of business, now that I've got money for tix!"

None of it felt real. He was finally out, but two hundred years had passed. Everyone he'd ever known and loved was long-dead.

He turned, looking to his family plot, but his eyes instantly caught a horrible burning sensation. A headstone in the shape of a cross.

Petrichor averted his gaze. Of course: he'd almost forgotten. He was no longer one of The Lord's creatures.

Robin finished, slung their pack over their shoulder, and motioned him to follow. "You can crash at my apartment while you figure your shit out. I'll grab you some more blood from the butcher's once the T starts running. That's like the subway. Uh, I mean- never mind, not important. Hope pig's blood's enough for you, 'cause I can't do that every day."

At the very least, he had Robin.

"That sounds lovely."

-

this was originally gonna be a one-shot but i think i might write more? oh god, am i really starting another vampire series? THIS ONE WILL BE SHORTER. A MINISERIES.

if you liked this but want something a more hurt/no-comfort flavored i recommend Our Man Flint by @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night!!

tune in on tuesday for some kane & jim!

everything taglist:

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@t0rture-me

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

@whumpshaped

@pigeonwhumps

@the-scrapegoat

one-shots taglist (this is only gonna have 3-4 chapters max so im lumping it in with the one-shots):

@icyheart-and-friends

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast

@whuarri

@whumpycries

@reborrowing

event: @whumpmasinjuly @promptsforyourwhumpfic

[how-much-for-a-whump]

TWO WEEKS OF WHUMP day 4:

Prompt: "Gas mask"

@promptsforyourwhumpfic

[ktkat99]

Two Weeks Of Whump Challenge Day 8. Water Inhalation

Bernard was a liar.

He knew that.

He knew that he was about to come clean as he sprinted, feet pounding the sidewalk as he desperately pushed himself further and faster.

He didn't care.

He didn't care that the fence said 'No Trespassing', he threw himself against the freezing chain link and climbed.

He didn't care that the GCPD was less than a hundred yards away, searching for Mr. Freeze, he sprinted down the nearest dock.

He didn't care about the chunks of ice now floating in the harbor, just the dark, nearly invisible lump draped over a small ice chunk.

Red Robin.

The cops hadn't seen him get hit.

But Bernard had.

He didn't hesitate, hopping and ripping off his shoes and jacket as he ran, before diving into the water.

It was SO much colder than he had expected, and he felt his body freeze.

His mind screamed at him to swim. Move. Anything.

But he couldn't.

The water felt like a giant, icy hand that was wrapping around him, squeezing the air out of his lungs.

The salt stung his eyes.

He needed air.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he managed to force his arms to move.

And then his legs.

They moved with no coordination what so ever for a few seconds, but he was gradually able to make his way to the surface.

He gasped and choked, shivering and trying to regain his bearings. Where was Red Robin? Where had he gone? There were still chunks of ice floating all around him, blocking his vision as he spun-

THERE!

Bernard kicked his legs, reaching back in his memories of childhood swimming lessons for anything that could help him now.

There wasn't much he could remember at the moment, but he kept going. Red Robin needed help.

Tim needed help.

He was nearly there when the motion of the water caused the hero's limp form to slip off the ice chunk. Much to Bernard's horror, he disappeared from view with no resistance.

Bernard paused for only a second, but then took a deep breath and dove underwater.

It was dark.

It was cold.

The ice was starting to cause sharp pains to shoot through his limbs.

But he couldn't stop.

He needed to find Tim.

He needed to save him.

He-

His hand hit cloth and he clutched it with all his strength.

He made sure he had a firm grip on what felt like the cape of Red Robin's suit and kicked his legs as hard as he could, hauling them both to the surface.

His lungs were burning as he gasped for air, clinging desperately to Red Robin and kicking his way back to shore, doing his best attempt at a backstroke.

He was…

So tired.

He was in school to become a chef. Nighttime swims in a frozen Gotham harbor werent things he'd prepared for, but every time he felt like he couldn't make it any further, he refocused on who he was saving.

Red Robin.

Tim.

Bernard had watched the news last week, heart pounding in terror, as Red Robin swung into a burning apartment building, making it out with three children in tow.

He hadn't hesitated for a second.

Bernard had had to fight the urge to call him as soon as the news reported that everyone was safe.

He'd needed to hear Tim's voice.

Needed to hear it from Tim that he was actually alright.

Needed to hug him and hold him and assure himself he hadn't been hurt by that stunt.

Needed to yell and scream and break down because he had just watched the man he loved throw himself into a burning building.

A building that was actively on fire.

A building that had partially collapsed barely fifteen minutes after he'd gotten out.

He'd wanted so badly to call Tim.

To tell him he'd seen him on the news, and how dare he scare Bernard like that.

But he hadn't.

He'd kept quiet.

Because Tim didn't know Bernard knew who he was.

Bernard's hand scraped mud and he gasped.

They were at the shore.

Coughing and forcing his shaking legs to hold him, he readjusted so he could grab Red Robin under the arms and drag him the rest of the way out of the water.

He got a few feet from the water line before his knees gave out and he hit the ground.

The feeling of just… laying there…

It made him really feel just how exhausted he was.

The night grew darker around him.

He gasped and panted, feeling lightheadedness wash over him like a wave.

He felt his heavy, soaked clothes cling to his shivering frame, making him colder and colder by the second, thanks in part to a cool breeze.

Grunting, teeth chattering, arms shaking, Bernard finally pushed himself up onto his hands and knees to check on Red Robin.

He was unconscious, face pale, lips blue. And way too still.

"Red..?" Bernard froze, feeling sick.

Red Robin wasn't breathing.

"Red Robin?"

No.

No, no, no.

Please, no.

"Tim!"

Bernard dropped down and pressed his ear to Tim's chest.

Nothing.

How long had there been nothing?

"Tim..?"

The cold, combined with the exhaustion and panic caused him to freeze.

What was he supposed to do?

What could he do?

Warm him up?

CPR?

Call someone?

No! His phone was dead after its dip in the harbor.

He suddenly felt even more alone and helpless.

He couldn't call anyone for help.

"Wake up..?" He heard himself whisper.

His hands moved on their own, finding their way to the center of Red Robin's chest. He pressed down hard, but nothing happened.

How..?

How was he supposed to do this??

Help.

He needed help.

"Help." He whispered brokenly.

His vision blurred with tears.

He pressed against Red Robin's chest again, harder.

"Help!" He called again.

His limbs were so cold he was feeling pins and needles, but he pushed down again.

"Conner! Help!"

A figure dropped to the ground right in front of him, scattering dirt and rocks.

"Bernard! What's going on?"

Conner's eyes landed on Red Robin's still form and he gasped, dropping to his knees and reaching out to brush his hair out of his face.

"What happened?"

"He's not breathing. I- I got him to shore, but I don't know how long he hasn't been breathing. I don't know CPR, and I don't know what to do. Please, help." The words tumbled out of Bernard in a rush.

"Calm down. Deep breath, okay baby?" Conner looked about as scared as Bernard felt, but he'd at least been trained for life and death situations. "I'm going to talk you through it, but you're going to have to do CPR."

"No, no, no, no. I can't. Conner, I can't. I don't know how. I never learned."

"Bernard. Bernard, look at me. You have to. I can't. I literally can't. If I try, I'll crush his ribcage. You have to. I'll be here. I'll walk you through it, but he needs this NOW."

Bernard nodded and cleared his throat. He was so tired.

So sore.

So cold.

So scared.

But Tim needed him.

"'Kay. What do I do?"

"Put your hands here. Like this." Conner guided him into position and directed him through everything.

But Red Robin stayed still.

"Harder. Bernard, you need to push harder. His lungs are under his ribcage."

Red Robin still wasn't breathing.

"Okay, now tilt his head back. You're going to need to pinch his nose and breathe for him, alright?"

Red Robin's lips looked like they were turning from blue to purple, though that might have just been Bernard's panicked brain playing tricks on him.

"You're doing great, Bernard. Just keep it up." Conner held Red Robin's limp hand, words of encouragement growing strained the longer Tim continued to lie there, unresponsive.

Bernard's limbs shook.

He was still coughing up seawater himself.

He was freezing and terrified.

Tim had called him the night before, just to chat. Bernard hadn't thought much of it at the time, but now? He'd give anything to hear Tim's voice again.

His laugh.

The stutter he always fell into whenever he was embarrassed.

The way he'd lose himself excitedly in an explanation, talking for hours sometimes.

The way the light would dance in his eyes and he'd get that big, goofy grin on his face when he'd dance around their apartment with Conner.

The-

Red Robin's body suddenly lurched, causing Bernard to jump back.

Conner quickly turned him on his side, rubbing his back and holding him as he coughed and hacked up water.

"You're okay. You're okay. You're okay. You're okay, baby." He just kept repeating.

He was alive.

He was moving.

He was…

He was breathing.

Even when he sank back, hanging limply from their boyfriend's arms, Bernard could still see his chest moving.

Tim was… alive.

The world seemed to shift around Bernard and he felt himself fall to the side, barely catching himself on the rocks.

The… the ocean hadn't been that loud a second ago, had it?

"Bernard..?" Conner's voice sounded so far away.

Bernard tried to shake his head, hoping to clear it, but the events of the night hit him like a Mac truck.

He felt his arms give out.

He felt himself fall.

He felt the cold, hard ground, and the warm, rough hand now on his face.

The last thing he heard was Conner's voice, telling him to keep his eyes open.

But they were just…

Too heavy.

[dalekdi]

Two Weeks Of Whump

Day 1th - Poker, Shock Collar, Ashes - @promptsforyourwhumpfic

TW mentions of burning

"We had a deal."

Ro told it to Braithe and Soren, explained to Digger and kept telling unstoppably to himself since the moment when Jene stayed with the Blue and he with books, saved by a miracle, returned to Brad.

No one blamed him out loud. Ro didn't knew if someone blamed him in their thoughts but he said these words again during a sortie with Braithe and Soren, when they saw a mark of a pole on the ground and ashes before it.

Ro sat on the ground, ran his fingers through the ashes. They, him and Jene, they knew what they were getting themselves into. Saving books was more important than saving themselves. But no matter who would have survived - Jene, him, or the books - in the end there is only ashes.

"We had a deal." Said Ro persistently.

[keeper-of-all-the-random-things]

Pincushion

Day 2 for @promptsforyourwhumpfic Two Weeks of Whump

CW: doll/whumpee used as pincusion, dehumanization (if whumpee read as person instead of actual cloth doll).

The Doll doesn’t think.  It is not meant to think.  It is not meant to move.  It isn’t even meant to be pretty.  Its sole purpose is to collect the Tailor’s pins and needles.  It lies unseeing as the Tailor works.  It has no protest when the Tailor jabs needles of varying sizes into its arms or legs or chest.  It does not cry when the pins pierce its head.

The Doll does not live.  It does not die.  It merely exists.