#unfair fight

[defire]

Brawling

Content: beating, unfair fight, gang whump

Whumpee getting shoved and slapped and slaps back and suddenly it's them vs whumper

Or whumpee saying something too hilarious at whumper's expense and whumper decided to beat the fuck out of them

Inside of a gang so the honor system says it's 1 on 1 but whumpee has no real chance because if they start winning, the gang will pull them off and hold them down so whumper can beat the shit out of them

Whumpee losing and whumper getting up, panting, and grabbing a whip, "you wanted to see what I'd do? Here's what I'll do"

Gang holding whumpee back, snarling and spitting insults and, maybe even just spit, as whumper hastily, angrily gets on their brass knuckles

Whumpee on the ground getting kicked by everyone's boots

"wait wait," boss pushes the gang back. "Let me." ->one harder kick that makes whumpee cry out

Whumper to whumpee who has given up, aiming a kick: "hold still." *Yelp of pain* "I'm not stopping until I get one good one in! Now hold still!"

[side-shuffling-hyperfixations]

Whumpuary #7: Unfair Fight

On a morning training exercise, Leo is ambushed and overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of the Foot clan.

[chaotic-orphan]

Whumpuary No.7

Unfair fight // Insomnia // “no one is coming”

This was a long one, hoi boi🫡 but she’s done…

“Hero…” Second in command said softly. Hero didn’t reply. She just kept walking after their team across the rocky terrain to the shelter that Navigator spotted a few kilometres back. “Hero.”

“What?” Hero asked. There was nothing sharp about the question. She didn’t snap. She didn’t sigh or demand an answer. It was empty. A sound that carried no meaning behind it. She was tired. She was beyond tired. She just wanted… she just…

“We’ll get them back.” Second told her. Hero didn’t reply. She just kept going. That’s all she could do. Keep walking. Keep breathing. Keep going until they somehow managed to rescue Vigilante from Supervillain.

Nobody that Supervillain took had ever been seen again, nevermind… nevermind— she buried that thought under a hatch in her mind and padlocked it down. Getting emotional wouldn’t get Vigilante back after all… no… she just put one foot in front of the other. It was easy. It was quiet. It was…

She was…

Leader, Navigator and Medic had dropped their packs and started setting up a camp, rolling out their bedding on the smooth rock. Rogue and Youngest were already gone, to fetch some wood for a fire no doubt when Hero and Second arrived.

Hero disengaged from the group and went to the cliff edge outside the shelter and settled her back against the rock of the cave. She heard the usual routine happening behind her, without her.

Then he appeared like an apparition in front of her. Translucent but full formed, a shadow of Villain with his self-satisfied smirk and gleaming eyes. Hero didn’t say anything as he approached her.

“Hello darling. You’re looking worn, drained.” Hero looked through him, literally, as he crouched down and pressed a phantom hand to Hero’s cheek. She wished she couldn’t feel it. She knew he was able to not let her feel it, but he was a sadistic fucker. “My my, have you been sleeping, pet? Your bags have bags,” he noted, pulling down her eyelid.

Hero batted his hand away, but her hand went straight through his projection and she huffed out a breath and looked away as Villain laughed.

“You know damn well why I’m not sleeping.”

Villain released her and sat in front of her instead. He tilted his handsome head to the side. “Is it Vigilante, hmm? The guilt of knowing you could have saved them but didn’t.”

“Fuck off.”

“Oh shush. You know how much I enjoy our little chats, Hero,” he said, waving her insult away. “Besides,” his eyes sharpened. “We both know what else I could spend my time doing if you don’t feel like talk—“”

Hero lurched forward a hand out that went through Villain’s visage. “No! No! I— I wanna talk.”

Villain grabbed Hero’s hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. His eyes danced with a gleeful satisfaction. “So desperate, Hero. So needy. But don’t worry. I’ll stay with you. We can talk all night long.”

Hero wanted to punch him. She wanted to cry and scream and wrap her hands around his throat because she didn’t know how much longer she could take this. The taunting, the teasing, every night, once the sun set, Villain would appear to her and force her to chat with him through the night so she couldn’t sleep. The first few days it was fine. She could catch an hour before and after Villain appeared, and she was fine. But they were travelling for two weeks now, and Hero had had to start sleeping by day to the annoyance of their teammates.

The worst part was she couldn’t even tell them about Villain, or Villain promised he’d make Vigilante pay and let Hero see all of the torture for herself.

How many times had she debated telling her team? How many times has she wanted to scream about it to somebody, anybody, but Villain somehow sensed that too after the fourth day.

He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back after she challenged him. “Maybe Vigilante’s life isn’t enough of a threat, hmm? You know… Youngest in your team seems quite—”

“No!” Hero screamed, struggling against a ghost.

Villain leaned down, craning Hero’s neck all the way back but she didn’t drop eye contact with him as he hissed: “then behave.”

Dinner came and went. Hero denied any food. She felt too sick to eat. Almost woozy from the insomnia, and when she did eat it was like she was pumped of adrenaline that only led her to crashing later.

“Hero… you should really eat. You’ll turn into skin and bones if you don’t,” Villain chided with a smile.

When it came time to sleep, Hero said she’d take first watch. Leader came out and stood above her. “Hero, no.”

“Oooh,” Villain cooed from behind Hero, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. “Your boss is so forceful Hero. But tell him you insist.”

Hero shivered as the phantom hand settled on the nape of her neck. “I- I insist,” she said quietly.

Medic came out after Leader.

“Hero, get inside. We need to cover a lot of ground tomorrow and we can’t have you dozing off when the sun comes up again! We’re losing time to save Vigilante.”

“Don’t you think I know that?!” Hero cried, hands flying to her hair and pulling. “I— I want to save Vigilante more than anything.”

“She’s right you know,” Villain purred, standing behind Medic. He started whispering in Medic’s ear, loud enough for Hero to hear. “She wants to save poor Vigilante more than her circadian rhythms demand.”

“Please!” Hero cried. “I— I- I need to stay awake.”

Villain’s violet eyes flashed at Hero over Medic’s shoulder. “That’s right. Good girl. You tell them.”

Hero swallowed hard. Leader frowned and looked over his shoulder to where Hero stared, almost as if in a trance. Medic found his gaze, erudite eyes coloured with concern.

Leader looked back at Hero.

“Alright.” Leader said. Hero relaxed, breathing out a sigh of relief that seemed to be the only thing holding her up. She swayed as the world spun around her and would have fallen if not for Leader catching her halfway to the ground.

“Please,” Hero said with a breath, not entirely sure she didn’t blackout for a second. “Please, trust me,” she pleaded.

Leader nodded and sat her back against the rock. “I trust you, Hero. I know losing Vigilante has been hard on you, but there’s some leftover food and you will eat some of it if you won’t sleep, do you understand?”

“I—” Hero protested. Leader spoke over her.

“Or I’ll have Rogue take watch and ask Medic to force—”

“Okay! Okay!” Hero rushed out, panic seizing her heart. Leader smiled and tucked her hair out of her face.

“Good. I’ll grab you a plate. And you will eat it all, Hero.”

Hero nodded stiffly. “Okay.”

The two disappeared back into the cave. Hero could hear Medic berating Leader as they retreated but she didn’t really care about what they said anyways. Villain walked back in front of her and plopped himself down in front of her. His eyes alight with a dangerous amusement.

“You’re so good at taking orders, Hero.” Villain purred. “So pliant and malleable like this,” he said. He propped his elbow on his knee and his head in his hand. “Oh, if only I thought of taking Vigilante sooner. Maybe the heroes wouldn’t have given us as much trouble when you’re distraught and sleep deprived.”

Hero didn’t answer. A hot tear dripped from her eye onto her cheek. Maybe that was answer enough. She was going mad, she knew. Villain was driving her mad, making her seem crazy, torturing her for his own cruel enjoyment.

“Oh Darling,” Villain cooed as Hero started to cry silently, her shoulders shaking up and down and letting out silent sobs that sounded only like gasps of breath. He moved towards her and pulled Hero into his arms, his legs on the outside of hers as he pushed her head into his shoulder. She didn’t move. “Darling, shush. Crying will waste so much of your energy.”

Hero continued to cry. “Oh you poor sweet angel. There, there. I know it’s hard,” he said, patting Hero’s back. “I know, pet. But you’re just so stubborn, hmm? This can all be over if you like.”

Hero stiffened in Villain’s arms. “W-what?” She asked wetly, mucus clogging her words.

Villain pulled Hero back and smiled down a kind smile at her, but his horrible eyes betrayed him. “Darling, have you had enough?”

Hero nodded. Villain softened. “Words, doll.”

“Y-yes,” Hero sniffed. Then she jumped a little and shook her head. “But— but I don’t! I don’t want you to hurt Vigilante, please!”

Villain crushed her into his chest again. “Oh I know you don’t. I know you’d do anything for them, wouldn’t you?”

Hero nodded against Villain’s chest. “Words,” he said.

“Yes.”

“I know, darling. So how about we make a deal?”

Hero pulled back a little and stared into the monsters violet eyes. “A- a deal?”

It was a bad idea. Even in her state she knew it was a bad idea, but what else could she do?

“Yes,” Villain said, phantom fingers wiping away Hero’s tears. “A deal. A trade. You for Vigilante.”

All warmth drained from Hero’s body. She didn’t recoil or so much as flinch, she just stared at Villain who sat drinking in every minuscule muscle twitch across her face.

“What?”

“I asked Supervillain already. He said he was fine with the trade, and would put you under my care just like Vigilante is. But I wouldn’t torture you, sweet thing. We would chat, and be like this,” he said, as he tucked a piece of Hero’s hair behind her ear. “Together. In person. You won’t have to worry about a thing. I’ll release Vigilante and you won’t have that guilt plaguing your mind either.”

Hero’s mouth went incredibly dry, like she was inhaling glass. “Will— will you l-let me… will—” Hero fretted, “I- I need to sleep.”

“As soon as you’re in my arms, darling, my real arms I’ll let you sleep, hmm? Would you like that?”

Hero nodded. Her cries turned into a sudden sob she couldn’t catch. “Pl-please… please. I- I would. Ple—”

“Shush, shush, shush. Just tell me where you are, and I’ll do the rest.”

This time, Hero recoiled. “N.. no. You can’t— my team is… my team is here and—”

“Okay,” Villain mused. “Then pick a spot you know, where you can slip away and I’ll come pick you up.”

“And let Vigilante go?” Hero asked, hope colouring every word. Villain shook his head. Hero deflated.

“Once I have you we can talk about Vigilante’s release. I don’t want any nasty surprises in case you try to ambush me with your team.”

God, Hero didn’t even think of that… she was drained. Wholly and completely, her body on autopilot and her mind switched off.

“Okay…” Hero murmured. “Okay… I can meet you by the ruins to the old church in the black valley.”

Villain nodded. “I think I know that area. Okay. I’ll be waiting.”

Hero stiffened. “I- I won’t be able to go until they’re asleep.”

Villain chuckled. A warm, hearty sound. “I know, sweet thing. It will just take me some time to get there so I’ll trust you and leave you to find your way.”

Hero sat out of Villain’s embrace, pulling her sleeve over her hand and wiping her cheeks. “O-okay.”

When Hero arrived at the old church a car was waiting for her. A silhouette of a figure she knew too well was waiting, perched against the passenger side door. Hero froze in place.

Oh god.

Oh god.

What was she doing?

This man had… he had tortured her psychologically over the last two weeks, playing dirty, fighting unfairly, depriving her of sleep just so he could pull something as horrid as this… something she would never have agreed to if she was of sound mind.

And… oh god. She hadn’t gotten used to the cold feel of his fingers and hands on her, everytime he touched her it was like a zap of electricity, or an icy shock to her system that made her gasp but seeing Villain in person now…

He looked very much real.

Strong too. Stronger than he appeared when he projected himself to her mind and even then he could overpower her.

“You know,” his velvet voice called over the short distance between them. It sounded smoother in person, like melted chocolate in her ears. Warm and soothing. Not the voice of a villain. “In your state, I could always catch you if you tried to run.”

Hero couldn’t move. Her body wouldn’t let her step closer. A cold hand settled on the small of her back and pushed her forward. “There you go, that’s a good girl. Do you still have your bow?”

Hero swallowed. Nodded. “Words, darling,” he purred. Hero trembled.

“Y-yes.”

She was so close now. She could make out some of the features on his face, his long hooked nose, his deep set eyes and his dark hair that fell a little over his eyes she could feel more than see were focused only on her.

“Good. I will need to take that off you for now, but if you behave I will give it back so you can train. Keep your skills up. Would you like that?”

Hero didn’t answer.

Five steps.

Four steps.

Three steps.

Two.

Her heart screamed at her to run, to flee, pumping adrenaline through her body to get her to escape.

But it was too late. Villain put his hand on her cheek. It was warm. Hero couldn’t suppress the flinch.

“Oh you are just an angel, aren’t you?” He whispered. Hero didn’t answer. His eyes went to the road Hero came from. She had the good sense to go around the church so he wouldn’t know which direction her team was. That wasn’t part of the deal. “And any teammates follow you?”

Hero began to shake her head, but stopped, looked at him. Words. “N-no… it’s just me… no— no one else is coming.”

Villain’s smile cut into his face, exposing his white teeth. “Excellent, Hero.”

He took her quiver and bow from her shoulders and opened the door for her to the passenger seat. Hero climbed in. Villain shut the door and walked to the boot, throwing her weapons into the trunk before he climbed into the driver’s seat and shut the door.

He pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Hero bristled. “I… I won’t be any trouble, I swear,” she pleaded. “Please, I just… I just want to sleep.”

Villain smiled sympathetically at her. “I know, Hero. I just need to make sure you don’t get any ideas of escape while we drive back to base. Surely you understand?”

Hero’s bottom lip trembled. She bit it to stop from crying and nodded. Her eyelids threatened to drown her if she didn’t close her eyes soon. “Good girl. I’ll just cuff one hand, okay?”

Hero nodded again. Once she was secured and he was sure she couldn’t go anywhere, he nodded and started the engine. When they pulled off, out of the ruins and onto the main road he said: “okay, little Hero. You’ve been so good for me. And good behaviour gets rewarded.”

Hero’s eyes widened. “I can sleep now?”

“Yes darling,” Villain said with a smile in his voice. Hero settled back into her seat, resting her head against the soft, leather headrest.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Villain smiled into the darkness. “My pleasure.”

Hero was asleep before she heard the words, for the first time in two weeks, her mind, blissfully, switched off.

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

Whumpuary 2024 Day 12

12. (Jan 23-24) "You're awake" / Rescue / Unfair Fight 

cw physical whump/injury, captive whumpee, intimate whumper, suggestive, mention of starvation, emeto, beating, choking 

“You want me to do what?” 

“Hit me,” Whumper said with a smirk. “Go on, I know you want to.” 

Whumpee shivered, remembering the last time they had tried to fight back against Whumper. Their stomach turned at the memory of how easily Whumper had gotten them under control—beaten them senseless until Whumpee was a crying, shaking mess. And that had been back when Whumper had first taken them. When Whumpee still had their strength, mentally and physically. They couldn’t imagine how much worse they’d fair now in a fight against their captor. 

“What are you waiting for?” Whumper asked, closing the space between them. They looked down at Whumpee with amusement. “Ah...are you scared of what I’ll do to you, honey?” 

“Please, I don’t...” Whumpee tried to step away, but their back hit the wall behind them. “I can’t. I don’t want to.” 

Whumper nodded in mock sympathy. “I know you don’t.” They grabbed one of Whumpee’s wrists and held it up roughly. “Look how frail you’ve gotten, darling. I doubt you could even hit me very hard...” 

When they blinked, the tears began to spill from Whumpee’s eyes. “P-Please, don’t make me do this, you know I—” 

Whumper silenced them with a kiss, their other hand grabbing onto Whumpee’s hair and holding them in place as they squirmed. Pulling back, Whumper said, “I know. You’re scared of trying to take me in a fight. But don’t forget what happens when you disobey me. I promise, it will be much worse than a beating.” 

Whumpee’s breath caught on a sob, and Whumper took a step back. They towered over Whumpee, tall and muscular, with strong arms that could easily break them. Whumpee felt dizzy, hands trembling where they clenched into fists at their sides. 

“Come on,” Whumper said with a laugh. “Let’s see what you’ve got. If you impress me, maybe I'll try not to make you bleed.” 

Whumpee had to stand on their tiptoes in order to reach Whumper. They hissed in pain when their fist landed wrong, barely drawing a reaction from Whumper but leaving their knuckles sore. They didn’t know how to fight, they didn’t know how to throw a punch, but that didn’t matter. Whumper didn’t want a fair fight—they wanted to humiliate Whumpee, and they wanted an excuse to hurt them back. 

“Is that all you’ve got?” Whumper taunted as their captive cradled their hand against their chest. “Aw, now don’t give me those pathetic eyes, honey. You look absolutely miserable.” 

“Please...” Whumpee tried again. But that word was as far as they got before Whumper’s fist connected with their face hard enough to knock them back into the wall. Whumpee groaned in pain, trying to stay on their feet. 

Whumper grabbed their wrists and pinned them above Whumpee’s head, able to hold both in one hand. “Have I not been feeding you enough? Seems like you’ve gotten thinner since the last time we did this. Weaker.” Their other hand curled around Whumpee’s throat, strong fingers cutting off their air with ease. “Yeah, look at that. You used to be able to struggle more.” 

They were right. Whumpee thrashed against their hold, but it didn’t do any good at all. Whumper had broken them down so much they didn’t have the strength to fight back. The hand on their neck pulled Whumpee forward before slamming them back into the wall. Whumpee’s vision blacked out when their head hit the concrete, and their lungs burned with each gasping breath as they crumpled to the ground. 

“Fucking pathetic.” Whumper said it almost fondly, kicking Whumpee in the stomach. “I won’t lie, I’ve missed this. You’ve been so good for me lately, I haven’t had much reason to hurt you. I forgot how fun it is.” 

Whumpee made a soft noise of pain, struggling to push themself up onto their hands and knees. They were aided by the hand tangling in their hair and yanking them up the rest of the way. “N-no more,” they begged, voice barely audible. “I can’t...” 

Whumper chuckled. “But I’m enjoying this so much, honey. Unless you can think of another way to entertain me?” 

Whumpee nodded desperately, which made their head spin. Fingers grasped at Whumper’s thighs because they couldn’t get the words out, chest tight and voice choked with sobs. 

“Hm,” Whumper hummed thoughtfully. “You don’t usually give it up that easy. Must really be feeling it, huh?” 

Another boot to the stomach made Whumpee double over, shoulders heaving as they puked. 

Whumper took a step back and watched them with amusement. “Poor little thing,” they cooed. Whumpee was shaking, arms curled around themself protectively. “I don’t think I'll ever get tired of you.” 

taglist: @morning-star-whump ((if you want to be added lmk!))

[librathefangirl]

Whumpuary 2025 Day 7: unfair fight

[evilwriter37]

Whumpuary 2025 Day 7

Wings Will Only Get You So Far

Prompt: unfair fight

Rated: teen

Warnings: blood, broken bones

Relationships: N/A

Word Count: 1,267

Summary: Whumpuary Day 7. Hiccup has been captured by Krogan and Johann, who are suspecting that the Dragon Riders have been given special powers by the gods. Hiccup tries to escape.

[sorinethemastermind]

Whumpuary 2025 | Prompt: Unfair Fight | Pt. 1 of 3

 When Soren was sixteen, he’d sworn an oath.

 An oath to his kingdom. 

 An oath to his king.

 An oath to himself.

 That oath had gotten himself through some of the darkest times in his life. It had been strong enough for him to stand before King Ezran and plunge the blade of his sword through his father’s chest and out the other side. Even if it had only been an illusion in the end. Because he had sworn to do the right thing.

 To protect.

 To serve. 

 To die.

 Rayla had told him, one time, that when Moonshadow Elves set out on a mission, they swore a part of themselves. Their eyes for truth, their blood for justice, some other icky body part for some value they held dear. Rayla had told him she’d pledged her heart for Xadia. Since then, Soren had sort of thought he’d done the same.

 His heart for Katolis.

 His life for his kingdom.

 For his king.

 So when insurgents take the castle, Soren knows what he has to do. It’s not even really a choice. Not one he has to make in the moment, anyway. But one he made a long time ago.

 He doesn’t understand how so many of them got into the castle until he sees some of the guards helping them. The guards who had sworn loyalty to King Ezran. Clearly they don’t understand what an oath means. He plans to teach them a lesson.

 If they survive this.

 He burst into the king’s chambers to find him already awake and thankfully unharmed; sitting up in bed and glancing around worriedly. Bait is glowing a bright anxious purple and pacing back and forth before Ezran on the bed. He lets out a worried growl as Soren orders the guards inside the room out, telling them to hold the door. He doesn’t trust anyone, anymore. 

 Except maybe Corvus. Where the fuck is Corvus?

 He asks Ezran, “Where’s Corvus?”

 He's out of breath, glancing wildly around the room for something to slide in front of the doors. In the end Soren just piles a bunch of stuff there; a suit of armor, a cabinet, the empty birdcage still sitting before the fire.

 Ezran throws the blankets off, dropping to the ground in his pajamas and socks. “Soren, what’s going on?”

 “I need to know whe-” Soren cuts himself off. This is the king he's talking to, not just some kid. “Sorry. Insurgents have taken the castle. I don’t know who we can trust. Do you know where Corvus is?”

 “I asked him to go and find Callum.”

 “Find?” Soren’s eyes widen in alarm.

 “He wandered off again. I think to look for Rayla.”

 Soren let out a heavy sigh, all the frustration he has time for. Of all the nights. Of all the fucking nights.

 “Okay,” he pauses for a moment, glancing around the room before gesturing for Ezran to follow him. “Come here.”

 “Soren, what are you doing?” Ezran asks, following him around the room as Soren begins going along the wall, yanking on every picture hanging there and at every book on the shelves. “I need to be out there. I need to talk to them.”

 “Oh, no.” Soren shakes his head, “You can’t talk to these people. And I’m not letting you get yourself hurt.”

 “I’m king now. Aren’t these my people? Don’t I need to talk to them?”

 “Like I said,” Soren glanced back over his shoulder at Ezran behind him. “You can’t. They’re angry. Real angry. About all this elf stuff.”

 “Elf stuff?”

 Soren waves a hand absently, using the other to knock all the books off the shelves. He knows it's around here somewhere. “Elf stuff,” he confirms. “And dragon stuff. Just… Xadia stuff.”

 “But why?” Ezran exclaims, “Aren’t they happy we have peace?”

 “You’d think, wouldn’t you?” Soren pauses before the fireplace, staring at the bricks and rubbing his chin. There's a small layer of stubble on it, now. He was trying to see what would happen if he grew it out a bit. His hair, too. 

 Funny how yesterday what Corvus thought of his beard was the biggest concern he had. His eyes widen. 

 “Aha!” Soren reaches out, pressing one of the bricks. It recedes into the wall a bit and there's a grinding sound as the back of the fireplace begins to lever up, dust and soot flying everywhere. 

 He and Ezran cough, waving hands in front of their faces in an attempt to ward off the worst of the airborne detritus. When the opening has gotten as big as it's going to get, Soren gestures to it, nudging Ezran along.

 “Alright, in you go. And don’t come out until I say so. Not that you even can, it opens from this side.”

 “No, Soren, I can’t.” Ezran digs his feet into the carpet as Soren tries to push him towards it. “These are my people.”

 “Yeah. And they’re here trying to kill you.” Soren says, “Look, it’s really sweet that you want to reason with them. But they’re just not reasonable. Let me handle this.”

 “But-”

 “You’re not going to help anyone by getting yourself killed.” Soren reasons, placing a hand on Ez’s shoulder. “You trust me, right?”

 The kid stares up at him with those big eyes of his. They have bags under them, like he hasn't been sleeping well. Soren can't blame him. “Yes.”

 “Then get in the hole.”

 Ezran sighs, scooping Bait up in his arms and ducking into the fireplace. He stares out at Soren from the little nook, soot smeared on his face and clothes.

 “You’ll let me out as soon as it’s safe, right?”

 “Of course. It’ll be no time at all.” Soren assures him, “Trust me. I’m a Crownguard, this is my whole job.”

 “Okay. I do trust you, Soren.”

 He gives his king a smile, "Thanks, King Ezran."

 Then Soren shoves the brick into the wall again, watching as it springs back out and into place. There's another grinding sound, and Ezran presses back against the wall as the fake back of the fireplace slides back into place, sending another plume of dust and ash into the room. Soren coughs, covering his mouth. 

 He can hear them now, fighting outside the door, and unsheaths his sword, settling into the familiar defensive stance and holding his blade out before him. 

 It starts with the sound of metal on metal, the occasional cry or grunt from the other side of the door. Then the pounding begins, and he knows the guards must have either fallen or not put up much of a fight (he didn’t know which one is the right one to hope for, loyalty or life). Eventually the wood begins to splinter and he can see the stuff he’d stacked before the door beginning to shake as the hinges start to give way.

 The insurgents spill into the room all at once, in a wave, stumbling forward as their accumulated weight makes the door give way. Soren takes advantage of it as best he can, using their lack of balance to knock a few to the ground, his blade making short work of another. But there are more behind them who are ready, rushing forward with their weapons already raised. 

 Most of them are makeshift; civilians armed with homemade cudgels and farming equipment. But the guards had handed out as many real weapons as they could, and every guard they’d felled on their way here had meant another sword entering their hands. Anyway, cudgels and pitchforks hurt, too. 

 Soren tries to stand against them as best he can. He's the youngest Crownguard in the history of Katolis, after all. And the first Head Crownguard of King Ezran’s reign. He has a lot to prove. A lot to live up to. 

 And he had sworn an oath.

 So it happens gradually, in little victories and smaller losses. A traitorous soldier felled, but a cudgel to the back of the leg, making him stumble. A civilian disarmed, but a slash across the shoulder, making it sting with every swing of his sword. 

 Soren starts to lose ground, backing towards the balcony. (The same one he’d ended up on the last time people came for the king, though under very different circumstances). He kicks the doors open, spinning back around just in time to block a blow from a face he recognizes.

 They’d trained together when they were younger, joined the guard together, fought side by side against the assassins when they came to take King Harrow’s life. 

 Soren plants his feet on the ground, digging in and putting all his weight behind the blade as he holds them off. He can see his foe beginning to slide back and leans into it more.

 “Traitor!” he hisses, knocking Caspian to the ground. He rolls out of the way as Soren plunges his sword down at where he'd been, the metal sparking against the stone floor.

 Caspian leaps to his feet, sword at the ready again, “At least I’m not a fool.” 

 He swings at Soren again, more people coming to join him, still spilling through the doors. Soren is forced backwards, stumbling out onto the balcony under the onslaught, blade moving in a blur to parry every blow. Still some of them slip through; a shallow slash across his right cheek, a cut on his thigh, a blow to his ribs.

 He staggers, catching himself on the railing and pushing off to roll out of the way of an incoming cudgel. The blow sends little chunks of masonry falling into the courtyard below and Soren pushes himself to his feet quickly, ducking under another swiping blade.

 “Just tell us where the king is!” Caspian shouts, standing a few steps behind the others. 

 “Over my dead body!” Soren replies, knocking one of his assailants over the railing. They disappear over the side with a sharp cry.

 Caspian shakes his head. “A very poor choice of words.” 

 “Or-” Soren kicks another traitorous guard in the chest, sending them staggering backwards before bringing up his blade to block another sword, “-a very pointed one.” He twirls his blade through the air, leaving a slash across one of his attacker’s chests and another’s arm. “I would die for this kingdom. That’s an oath we both swore. I just intend-” he ducks out of the way of an incoming blow, “-on keeping mine!”

 Caspian snarls, stepping forward to meet Soren’s blade with his own. “I swore an oath to this kingdom. To protect it from monsters like the ones your king now welcomes freely into our lands. You are the traitor, not I.”

 Soren knees him in the stomach.

 Caspian doubles over, coughing, but before Soren can finish him off a cudgel comes flying out of the darkness to smash across the side of his face. He stumbles, steadying himself on the railing, vision spinning. Another blow hits him in the back of the shin and his leg buckles, sending him crashing to the cold stone.

 Still he fights, ears ringing, as they begin to close in around him, stabbing at whatever he can reach. A thigh, a shin, a foot (that person is very unhappy with him). But there are too many, and they're too close, not giving him enough space to get back on his feet. A blade swings towards Soren’s face and he blocks it too last minute, his grip on his sword wrong. He watches as the blade flies from his hands and away, clattering to the ground somewhere far below in the courtyard.

 Caspian steps forward, blood smeared across his face, a gash on his arm (Soren smiles at that, a little smirk at the traitorous guard’s expense).

 “It didn’t have to go this way,” he says, staring down at Soren.

 “Yeah. You’re right. You didn’t have to be such a traitorous sack of shit.”

 Caspian scowls, “Bring him inside.”

 Soren struggles as hands grab him, heaving him to his feet and pinning his hands behind his back. He throws his head backwards, feeling the impact reverberate through his skull as it collides with someone’s face. They cursed loudly, grip loosening on him just enough for-

 An elbow, hard and swift, to the face. And then blackness.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Whumpuary Day 7

Whumpuary Masterpost

Prompts List

Prompts: unfair fight | insomnia | "no one is coming"

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 1000

Tag List: (message me to be added or removed) @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west

CW: captivity whump, dragged, headache, swearing, manhandling, thrown, blunt force injury, shoulder injury, lady whump

<- previous | next ->

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Twenty-four hours earlier….

The first thing that went through Jas’s head when she was dragged into the lower levels of her captors’ headquarters was how cliche everything looked. Dark stone bricks, metal doors, iron chains… the only things not straight out of a medieval castle dungeon were the lights, and even they were dim and flickering. Her guards were very out of place in their modern—at least by her standards—uniforms.

Four guards escorted her. The group included Jas herself, who refused to walk no matter how many times the guards tried to force her, two guards, one for each hand, a guard leading the way, and a guard behind her. Her shoes dragged on the floor, making a constant scraping noise.

Her head throbbed, the result of a scathing remark regarding the guards’ mothers. And she was guaranteed bruises all over her arms and legs during the initial scuffle ending in her current predicament. Of course, she could be worse off. At least two of her captors had newly broken noses, and with any luck, another three were still on the floor.

For how similar this planet was to her own, this dungeon was certainly low-tech.

“Did you steal this dungeon from a castle or something?” Jas asked, peering into an open cell door as they passed. It contained a wooden bench and iron manacles chained to the floor.

Everyone ignored her.

“Your uniforms suck, by the way. Sure, some of you have fire powers, but scarves? Really? They only kinda cover your face. Also the impressionist fire dye job is tacky.”

The two holding her were getting visibly annoyed now. The only reason they weren’t yelling at her again was likely because their squad leader, the one at the front of the group, had ordered them not to engage unless she tried to escape.

“Which room is mine? I hope it has a good view. Last prison cell I was in didn’t have a window. Which, where I’m from, violates a bunch of building codes and shit.” Jas was rambling, but she didn’t really care. Anything to piss off the people who decided it was a good idea to kidnap her.

The leader suddenly held up a hand, forcing the group to a stop in the middle of the hallway. He turned around to face her, and Jas grinned at the look on his face, even if half of it was obscured.

“On your feet,” he ordered.

“I’d rather be dragged, thanks.”

He exhaled sharply, and before she could blink he rushed forward, grabbing her by the collar of her flannel. The guards holding her arms let go, but they stayed on either side of her. The leader hissed through his teeth and lifted her until her feet dangled, barely touching the ground. She wasn’t particularly tall, but she had to respect the strength to accomplish such a feat with only one arm.

“You have no power here, foreigner,” he snarled.

Jas raised her eyebrows. “That’s racist.”

“I don’t give a damn. You will obey, or you will be punished.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t give a damn either.” The seams of the flannel dug into her underarms, and the cloth was making that squeaking sound it made when the fabric was being stretched too far. She looked him in the eye, and her smile vanished. “Whatever it is you want, you won’t get it from me. You can’t hurt me in any way that matters.”

For a moment, everything was still.

And he hurled her against the wall.

Her left shoulder hit the hard stone first, wrenching it painfully. She cried out, sliding to the floor, her right hand clutching at the injured arm. It didn’t feel broken or dislocated, but each movement sent waves of fire across her nerves.

“Such arrogance,” the leader hissed, standing over her. “Do you think you can escape from here? That you can be rescued? This place is impenetrable. No one is coming for you.”

Jas inhaled deeply, trying to regulate her heartbeat. Then she let out a harsh laugh, which jostled her shoulder painfully and turned it into more of a groan. “You,” she stated, “have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

He scoffed and waved his hand. The guards snapped into motion, grabbing both arms and hauling her upright. The one who took her injured arm treated her no more gently than before, and stars danced before her eyes.

“...fuck…” she mumbled, trying to focus on her breathing as they resumed dragging her down the hall. 

They didn’t go much further, as the group soon stopped again, this time in front of one of the open cell doors. The leader motioned silently, and the guards deposited her inside the cell, dropping her unceremoniously on the floor. Pain shooting through her injured arm, Jas pushed herself to a sitting position and flashed her middle finger at the group right before the door slammed shut.

“...asshole,” she muttered, taking in her new surroundings.

The cell was almost identical to the one she’d seen earlier, this one didn’t have the manacles chained to the wall. It did have iron rings cemented into one of the bricks, as if chains were intended to be there but had been removed.

Jas probed her shoulder, thinking. These people had found her and Killian rather quickly, only a few hours after exiting the portal. Could just be luck, and they were already looking for someone to catch and punish and she was nearby. Or perhaps they had been standing out too much and here that was a punishable offense or something. Not too far-fetched.

She didn’t want to think about the last possibility, that they were somehow monitoring interplanetary travel and arresting Jumpers.

Which meant that they knew she was from a different planet.

Which meant they at least suspected she had some sort of ability unique to her home planet.

Which they might try to exploit.

Jas exhaled slowly and stretched out on the cold stone floor. The pain in her shoulder was beginning to subside; that was going to be a bad bruise. From what she had seen of the fortress where her captors had taken her, they had no defenses against dreamshapers. No black glass to speak of, unless it was somehow mixed into the concrete or set into the doors. So if they knew about Jumpers, they hadn’t had contact with Somnia yet.

This didn't necessarily mean that nothing existed in the dream here. Jas had met quite a few people and creatures who dwelt in the dream on other planets, though they used different words to describe it. But if they did exist, they didn't exist in this part of the world, or they didn't interfere with the physical planet. Which, if anything, made her job easier.

She stared at the ceiling blankly. She’d been in worse situations.

But as the constant throbbing in her shoulder continued to break her focus and keep her from slipping into the dream, her frustration rose.

Killian, you better be finding a hole in their ‘impenetrable’ defenses.

[apricitywinterswrites]

Am I Half The Man I Used to be? (I Doubt It) - Whumpuary D07

Am I Half The Man I Used to be? (I Doubt It)

Chapters: 2/2

Word Count: 3,359

Summary

"Are you even listening?" Two-Bit felt a swift kick to his ribs land, and he groaned slightly. They were already sore from the first round of kicks the group had landed on him. He almost wanted to know what shoes they wore, but they were probably too expensive for Two-Bit to be wondering about. "You… are a fucking prick." Two-Bit uttered, wincing as a hand grabbed his hair and shoved his face against the concrete below him. He had no doubt that it was going to scrape, there was enough force behind the action to do so. "You might have to repeat what you said," one of the other Socs uttered quietly, and Two-Bit could have sworn that this voice was way too young sounding to be jumping someone like Two-Bit. Though maybe there was enough of the other guys that it didn't matter. It certainly felt like it.

Or, or, the one where Two-Bit gets jumped and is left in really bad shape. Luckily, Marcia happened to be looking for him and Two-Bit gets taken care of by Marcia and Randy during the aftermath. Title from | Dial Drunk | by | Noah Kahan |

Day 07 of Whumpuary2025 (@whumpuary) || Unfair Fight | Insomnia | "No one is coming."

You can also read | Am I Half The Man I Used to be? (I Doubt It) | on Ao3!

Warnings Include: Fights, Blood, Mention of Death, Small bit of Suicidal Ideation, Mentioned Deaths of Minors, Mentions of Near Drownings, Small Bits of Suffocation

……… ……… ……… ……… ……… ……… ……… ……… ………

(Pt.1)

Two-Bit had to wonder how he'd pissed off a whole gang of Socs, or what he'd done to even catch their attention to piss them off. As far as he'd been concerned, there had been no reason for them to jump him; they were on the east side, Two-Bit was for once minding his own business, and there was six of them and only one of him.

This was going to be one unfair fight, Two-Bit just knew it.

"Well, lookie here," Two-Bit rolled his eyes, wondering how cliche they could be. He's pretty sure he heard several characters, the bad guys, say that in the movies that Ponyboy watched. "We have ourselves a sleazy greaser wandering around like he owns the place."

"Well we are on the east side, you know, Greaser Territory." Two-Bit smarted, watching the group of six wearily. One of the Socs, a real mean looking one that had a scar on his cheek that Two-Bit found himself actually curious about how he got it.

He hated that he thought the scar looked tuff, most scars were, but this one also made this particularly Soc looking mean. Mean wasn't always a good thing, especially when two groups were so unbalanced.

"Well… Greaser's won't be around forever…" The Soc smirked, Two-Bit raised an eyebrow as he tiled his head to the side. He was itching to grab his blade, scare them off maybe. Two-Bit was watching the one Soc too much, he forgot to put his back to a wall…

Two-Bit forgot to keep his eyes on three of the Socs, who managed to flank around him.

He only realized his mistake when they must have been in position, because the Soc with the scar smirked.

"Grab him." Two-Bit's eyes widened as he turned to at least attempt to defend himself. He was just a few seconds too slow, and he was knocked to the ground. He had the breath knocked out of him as two of the Socs jumped on him, pinning his arms to the ground with surprising strength.

Two-Bit winced when he tried to jerk his arms out, testing his ability to escape their hold. He groaned when a punch landed on his jaw. His vision was swimming and he was struggling hard. Two of the other Socs were quick to pin his legs down when he'd nearly managed to throw the one sitting on top of him off.

Two-Bit went to say something, anything at all really, but a hand wrapped in a bandana covered his mouth faster than Two-Bit could think of. The main Soc laughed cruelly, an expression of glee on his face, which was still twisted into a cruel smile. Two-Bit glared, feeling a small bubble of panic when he realized that his nose was also partially covered.

Two-Bit tried to jerk his head to the side, though the Soc sitting on top of him had a pretty tight hold on his jaw. Two-Bit couldn't move much. He was panicking, and it was making his movements jerky at best, every movement a desperate attempt to get a little more air…

A chilling thought struck Two-Bit at that moment, was this how Ponyboy felt? Trapped underwater and jerking, struggling to get above so that he could breathe? Glory, Two-Bit could only imagine Ponyboy's fear, could almost feel Johnny's anger at just the thought of it now.

He'd been pissed before, but now knowing a small bit of what Ponyboy could have been feeling, Two-Bit was pissed.

Two-Bit managed to twist one of his legs and got it free, which he immediately used to kick wildly. It must have worked, because there was a shout of surprise before his other leg was released too.

Two-Bit wasn't wasting this opportunity. He twisted, still kicking wildly, jerking and actually managing to knock the Soc sitting on top of him off. That was about as far as his luck was going to go, though, as when he twisted to get his arms free, a Soc kicked him pretty hard in the back, knocking the breath that he'd finally managed to get back right back out.

And then there was another Soc sitting on his back with their hands around his throat and the gag was back in place, and he was being kicked. Two-Bit was, for the first time since he was ten years old, terrified out of his mind.

Two-Bit's vision was blacking out a little, and he could hear laughter all around him. The pain he was feeling was only getting worse.

"I found a blade! Oh boys we're in for a fun time."

Two-Bit's heart stopped.

He'd nearly forgotten about the blade he kept in his back pocket. A sleek switchblade with a shiny black handle that took Two-Bit nearly over two hours to swipe and get away with. His most prized possession that he took the absolute best care of, despite never using.

"Let him breathe, I want to hear his cries." Two-Bit wanted to roll his eyes, but an influx of oxygen felt more important when the hands around his throat disappeared, the bandana disappearing alongside them. He gasped, coughing as he got the chance to breathe.

Part of his mind was still stuck on the fact that they had his beloved switchblade, the other on the situation. And in the back of his mind, all he could think about was what Ponyboy managed to tell the gang about the night he and Johnny were jumped.

Two-Bit had always had a nasty habit of comparing two situations that were only barely similar.

"Are you even listening?" Two-Bit felt a swift kick to his ribs land, and he groaned slightly. They were already sore from the first round of kicks the group had landed on him. He almost wanted to know what shoes they wore, but they were probably too expensive for Two-Bit to be wondering about.

"You… are a fucking prick." Two-Bit uttered, wincing as a hand grabbed his hair and shoved his face against the concrete below him. He had no doubt that it was going to scrape, there was enough force behind the action to do so.

"You might have to repeat what you said," one of the other Socs uttered quietly, and Two-Bit could have sworn that this voice was way too young sounding to be jumping someone like Two-Bit. Though maybe there was enough of the other guys that it didn't matter.

It certainly felt like it.

"Maybe you're right…" The only Soc who has truly been talking sighed. "Very well." He sounded so annoyed as he said it. Two-Bit caught a glimpse, and it almost looked like the guy was going to reenact everything, just like how he did it before, even if it came across as forced. "No one is coming." The leader, Two-Bit had finally decided to call him, declared with a laugh. "No one is coming to save you. You're at our mercy now."

Unfortunately, that was a thought that quickly left Two-Bit's mind. There was no force behind the words, or the laughter from anyone. They found this to be a game that they didn't care how many times they had to repeat, it would always amuse them.

Two-Bit snorted, rolling his eyes even if he knew the other's words rang true. He'd managed to upset his mother's boyfriend and got kicked out of the house, and Darry was still picking up his brothers from the events of not even two months ago.

Dally would have been 18 now, and yet he was still 17. Buried in the ground in the cemetery in town, forever stuck on the East Side. Johnny… Johnny was buried with him, forever unable to leave like Two-Bit knew that Johnny and Ponyboy had planned.

"What's so funny?" Two-Bit hadn't even realized that he'd started laughing. Two-Bit snorted again, smirking as he tilted his head and raised his eyebrow.

"You think I care if anyone comes to my rescue? Me? No, no, I'd rather fight my way out." Two-Bit responded, he would have shrugged if his arms weren't held so fiercely behind his back, tight enough that had he even tried it would have hurt him. "I'm a greaser, it's what we do, you know."

Two-Bit groaned as a swift kick was delivered to his ribs, feeling a little uneasy as a knife was pressed against the back of his neck. It wasn't the worst situation Two-Bit had ever been in. No, he'd been in worse situations, even if he wasn't the one that all the pain and suffering had happened to.

"We could kill him and no one would even care…" The Socs might as well have stabbed him already, Two-Bit didn't believe that no one would care. He had the remnants of the gang that would care. "We could finally avenge Bob…" The Leader of the group almost sounded starstruck at the idea. Two-Bit felt sick.

"Isn't that a little far?" One of the younger Socs, Two-Bit had pegged him to be around 15, but even that was stretching it, interjected.

"Lukas, if you weren't going to participate, why did'ya even come with us?" Another one of the Socs huffed in annoyance. The knife at his neck pressed a little further against his skin, like it was warning him from trying to escape or fight back while they were distracted.

Two-Bit thought about doing so anyways.

The sound of a car revving in the distance distracted the Socs even more. Several curses flying as the knife sliced down from whatever shock the Soc holding it had felt. Two-Bit cried out, gasping from the blossom of pain. He squeezed his eyes shut.

He didn't get the chance to open them back up before a swift kick was delivered to his head.

(Pt.2)

Marcia stared in horror at the boy that was laying helpless and unconscious on the ground. She'd recognize Two-Bit any day of the week, even when he looked beaten into a bloody mess. She carefully moved forward, kneeling down next to Two-Bit's limp body, resting a hand carefully on his shoulder.

"Oh, Two-Bit…" Marcia's breath left her in relief when she saw a small rise of his chest. She knew she wasn't strong enough to lift or carry him back to her car. Marcia looked around, spotting a phone nearby. "I'll be right back," Marcia murmured, gently brushing Two-Bit's hair out of his eyes before getting up and running back to her car.

She kept some money in her car for instances where she was stranded. She could only hope, really hope, that Randy would at least hear her out.

She fiddled with the quarter, moving quickly without running, and hurriedly inserting the coin and dialing Randy's house number. She bit her lip as she listened to the ringing, hoping that Randy would answer her.

She was about to give up hope when the phone stopped ringing before a hesitant voice spoke.

"Hello?"

"Randy!" Marcia felt relief rush through her.

"Marcia?" Randy sounded confused. Marcia turned so that she could still see Two-Bit. Worry was the only thing that kept her on the phone, and what prompted her to speak.

"I need your help…" Marcia felt tears welling up in her eyes.

"What happened? Where are you?"

"The help isn't for me," Marcia took a small breath. Idley, she wondered if Randy had heard her. She had spoken pretty quietly.

"Who needs the help?" Randy asked. Marcia closed her eyes as a single tear fell. This could make or break the remaining bits of friendship that she still had with the other. She wasn't sure if she could handle that, losing him as her friend. She already had a strained relationship with Cherry, and that was tearing her apart. "'cia?"

"It's Two-Bit. He's hurt real bad Randy, please." There was silence for a few moments. After a minute, Marcia felt a small sob escape her. He wasn't going to help. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called, I-"

"Where are you. Where is he? How bad?" Randy's voice sounded shaky, and Marcia felt relief rush through her once more. She relayed where they were, eyes opening and landing on Two-Bit once more, swallowing tightly. "I'm on my way."

"Thank you," Marcia breathed. Randy had hung up before she had said her thanks, but that was okay. She would just tell him again when he was here. Marcia hung up the phone, rushing back to Two-Bit's side to wait.

When Randy arrived, Marcia could only feel even more relief that he was alone. She wasn't sure where he fell in the group after Bob died, or if he ever hung out with their friends, but she knew that their old friends would have only wanted to hurt Two-Bit more.

"Randy," Marcia was shaking as she felt another sob building in her chest. Randy rushed from his car, having parked behind her car, eyes widening in shock when he took in the situation.

"Woah, okay," Randy's eyes were wide as he took in how bad Two-Bit looked. Marcia could only wonder why he hadn't fought back, a deep seated fear of him having not been able to taking effect in Marcia.

"Where are we taking him, he… Marcia, he needs a lot more help than I think we can give him." Marcia shook her head. If there was one thing she had learned about Two-Bit Mathews, was that he hated hospitals with a burning passion.

And she didn't think he'd let her pay the bills that would come from the trip.

"My house, please, we can't, he won't like being brought to a hospital." Marcia uttered, "I can't move him myself." Her breath hitched as Randy analyzed her. He was looking for something, and Marcia could only hope that he found his answer soon.

"Okay." Marcia sighed, looking towards Two-Bit and moving her hand from his side. There was some blood on her hands, and she swallowed thickly. She was shaking harder than she thought was possible for a person, yet she was very clearly proven wrong. "Move, I'll bring him to my car," Marcia tensed up, a fear rushing through her at having Two-Bit out of her sight. She'd have to deal with it, but it scared her.

Randy rested a hand on her shoulder, she turned her head and found Randy was crouched down next to her. There was an expression of understanding on his face as he squeezed her shoulder.

"I can explain away blood in my car, and I know how to get rid of it. I'll be right behind you, okay? The entire time." Marcia shuddered, nodding once at Randy's assurance. She moved so that Randy could pick Two-Bit up, and she ignored the flutter at the easy lift Randy did once Two-Bit had been lifted enough to get Randy's arms around him.

"Open the back door for me?" Randy asked her, and Marcia nodded as she pushed herself up from the ground. She ran ahead of Randy, opening the door. She was a little surprised to see a tear drop land on the back of her hand. She swallowed nervously as she looked away.

Randy was careful as he put Two-Bit in the backseat; there was a carefulness there that Marcia doubted she would have seen months, if not just some weeks ago. Marcia let Randy shut the door, though her eyes were still on Two-Bit. She could see that there was a cut on his neck, so precariously placed. It was seemingly the main source of the blood covering him.

"Marcia," She looked over at Randy, whose face held a look that told Marcia that she was being too obvious. "Let's go to yours, okay?" Marcia nodded, turning towards her car.

Her thoughts were twisting and turning, mind racing as she got into her car. She purposefully ignored the blood on her hands that was now on her steering wheel and on the gearshift. The blood that was on her keys that belonged to Two-Bit.

She hated fights. She hated when those she loved were hurt or injured.

Marcia was driving, she needed her thoughts on them getting to her house safely.

Marcia couldn't sleep. Her mind was stuck on the image of Two-Bit, laying in the guest room in some of Randy's spare pajamas that didn't quite fit right. They were a tad bit big on Two-Bit, and it made him look smaller than he was.

They'd gotten Two-Bit to her house, and Randy had her go take a shower as he took care of the obvious injuries on Two-Bit, namely the one on his neck that had Marcia's heart racing every time she saw it.

Randy had taken care of Two-Bit, and from the moments she was able to see and watch, Randy was more gentle than he ever had been with Bob. At least, to Marcia's memory.

But once it became night, and Randy had instructed her to go to sleep, her thoughts from earlier had come back to haunt her.

What kind of fight had he been in that he was left in such rough shape? Where were his friends that she had seen have his back more times than he had probably realized. What had he done to piss off whoever he had?

She had made a cup of tea late into the night, when her room had become too stifling for her to pace. She was too nervous, too worried about Two-Bit, to pick up a book to read either.

Which is why she was now in the kitchen, a mug of peppermint tea cupped carefully in her hands as she let herself think. She was hoping that Two-Bit woke up in the morning, or at least sometime during the day. She wasn't sure what she would do if he was unconscious for longer.

The longer he wasn't awake, the more likely something much more serious had happened… Which meant that they would have to take him to the hospital.

"You should be asleep, 'cia." Randy uttered quietly. Marcia turned towards him, surprise rushing through her as she set her cup down quickly. She took a deep breath, a shuddering breath escaping her audible in the silence. His face softened, and Marcia could only feel herself starting to cry in earnest once more.

"Randy-"

"He's going to be okay, you know." Randy moved forward, pulling her into a hug after she set down her mug of tea. She buried her face against his shoulder, wrapping her arms around him and letting herself fall into the comfort that Randy was providing.

"I know, but-" Marcia cut herself off. "He looked so bad, who would want to hurt him so badly? What did he do to them?" Marcia asked, voice shaking as she cried. Randy gently rubbed her back as he tightened his hold on her.

"I will find out." Randy uttered, Marcia shuddered. There were a few times that Randy had ever sounded so angry about something, vowing to do something in return. Most times it involved someone hurting or slighting Marcia. "But you need sleep, Marcia. I'll keep an eye on him for the night, alright?"

"Okay," Marcia sighed, letting Randy lead her back to her room, after she grabbed her mug of tea. She spent too long making sure it would be something that would help her, she was not wasting it.

"Finish your tea, get some sleep. I'll wake you up if anything changes about him, okay?" Marcia nodded, moving into her room and waving goodnight to Randy. The door shut and Marcia sighed, moving towards her bed and setting her mug on the bedside before climbing in.

She thought about grabbing her book and reading for a while, but she knew that Randy would probably check on her in an hour. He always did have such a protective streak. She wrapped her blankets around her carefully, grabbing her mug and slowly sipping.

There was nothing she could do now, and Randy was pretty good at patching people up.

She stared down at the drink in her hands with a conflicted mind.

[ostensiblywhump]

Coming for You

Whumpuary day 7: unfair fight | insomnia | "no one is coming"

Word count: 931

Content warnings: none

———(0)———

Duck, charge left a few steps, stomp, let the ice out. Karmic only had a split-second to see frost covering soldiers up to their hips, boots frozen to the ground, before he dove out of the way. True to form, half a dozen bolts (sleep shots? Kill shots?) shot through where he’d just been, and he nearly went into a roll before he remembered himself.

Stumble, run, swipe at the air and send wind screeching outwards. It wouldn’t cut—he heard men cry out as they were blasted back, the crackle of them flying through their own perimeter, a clatter when one of them must’ve dropped their weapon. He skidded to a stop as a soldier swung a spear into his path, then angled the sharp edge at him and swung for his torso oh fuck no—

Karmic jumped, easily clearing the soldier’s head, then cleared the soldier’s head of the last few seconds by kicking him viciously in the forehead. Leap away, clasp hands and strike down, let the mini-blizzard do its job.

He landed and was at the perimeter by the time he let it die down; a casual swipe cleared away some snow so he could see the ward, utterly ignoring the soldier on the outside maintaining it. He had experience in breaking wards; if he could just find a weak point …

“You have to know this isn’t sustainable.”

Oh, fucking wonderful. A mage good enough at her job that she could talk while working.

“We have you surrounded,” the soldier continued. “There’s a lot of us, and only one of you, and we’re getting reinforcements, while no one is coming for you.” A pause, before she said, “And you seem to be protecting something.”

His boots, gloves, and scarf were already gone, exposing his claws and fangs, so Karmic let the snarl bubbling up tear out of him. Saw the soldier flinch, then he went straight up, kicking off the perimeter ward to sail over the soldier that had been crunching through knee-deep snow at him, breathed through the shock punishing him for a ‘breach’. The great thing about a ward meant to keep you in was that it gave you some extra walls to bounce off of—

The perimeter flickered. His head banged against something, hard, and his snarl turned into a yelp, trajectory interrupted. He barely kept upright as he tumbled to the ground, falling hard onto his knees. He blindly swiped out more wind, staggered up and into a dash before someone on the outside tried shooting him while he was stationary, and flicked a glance up.

They’d changed the ward parameters to lower the ceiling. Shit. No escaping over people’s heads for him anymore. Silver lining, no overhead swings for these guys—no, the perimeter didn’t affect them, fuck, fuck, fuck! Fuck them, fuck this, fuck him for getting two hours of sleep in the last 48 hours and he kept forgetting things!

Sor mewled, a quiet, terrified sound that cut through the recriminations.

Clutch an arm to the kangaroo pocket Sor's hiding in; keep running, over the snow instead of through because he’s not a loser like these assholes without polar affinity. Zigzag before running in a straight line got him shot. The soldiers had recovered from the blizzard, and had the numbers to let some slowly crack the ice on their brethren’s boots while other charged at him. Crouch under a spear strike, grip the haft and freeze the fucker’s gloves to his weapon, kick out and foul another soldier’s footing, spin and launch the aforementioned fucker at a different soldier.

Okay, space to think—not space to think. A bolt grazed Karmic’s arm, sending a heady wave of drowsiness crashing over him; he managed to turn over before he hit the ground stomach-first, pinching himself hard to stay awake. Sleep shots, then. Great, he’d hate for his decision to leave these guys alive to be wrong. What the hell did the king’s soldiers want with him, anyway? No, no time.

Alright. Shoot upright, punch a soldier in the jaw. It was looking more unlikely by the second that he was getting out of this. Make the man trying to grapple him regret it by clawing at every available soft spot. But being captured alive meant that he could escape later, or just wait to be released. Nut shot right, wind swipe left. So maybe—

Duck a bolt, sprint at the perimeter.

This ward-keeper was less composed than that one woman, startling at his approach. Whatever. Karmic plunged a hand into his kangaroo pocket, heard his hoodie tear as Sor’s claws yanked away from where they were keeping him secure. He held Sor to his face, wide orange eyes meeting Karmic’s, and he said, commanded, “Run! We’ll meet later!”

Then he threw.

Sleepyhead though Sor was, a cat was a cat; as he soared through the perimeter, Karmic saw him uncoil and move, ready to land running, saw soldiers recoil and shout at the little gray missile pitched at them. Then Karmic spun around and bodily hurled himself at a soldier.

Stomp on the woman’s solar plexus to keep her down, wrest away her spear, turn and promptly break the spear’s haft on another person’s shoulder. Toss the useless spear at someone’s face, follow it with a fist ready to punch. Feel his whole body jerk right from an impact to his side, lose all sensation in his limbs, watch his darkening vision turn sideways as he collapsed.

At least he’d get some sleep now.

He let his eyes close.

[moonlight0934]

Unfair Fight

Sam keeps walking, his nose being bitten by the cold wind. He’s been up for hours. No matter how hard he tried to sleep, it just wouldn’t happen. Dean’s snoring wasn’t really helping either though Sam knows he can’t help it. So he’s taking a walk at three in the morning, something everyone is told not to do. He’s not too worried though. The town they’re in is sleepy and small. There isn’t anyone out this late, and the brothers had finished the case that brought them into town earlier that night. So, no potential harm there.

The motel is slowly fading from view as Sam walks along the road. Despite how safe this place is, Sam still has a gun tucked into his waistband, hidden behind his jacket. He purposely keeps his hand loose enough in his pockets that he could grab it in a second’s notice. There’s a noise that catches Sam’s attention as he walks. It sounds almost like whispering, but he’s alone.

“What?” he whispers, looking around.

The road is empty, and there’s nothing nearby, not even trees that someone could be tucked away in.

“Must just be the wind.”

Sam keeps walking, letting his thoughts drift. He’s pretty far from the motel, almost all the way into town. He can see the gas station which is on the edge of town. Then a van comes speeding down the road, exiting town, and heading straight towards Sam. It brakes suddenly, stopping on the side of the road. Three people jump out of the back, and each attack Sam. He finds a cloth shoved over his mouth, even as he tries to struggle away from his attackers. His vision fades too fast, and there are too many of them holding him for him to be able to get away.

The first thing he notices when Sam wakes up is the smell of mold. He blinks, trying to force away the dark spots in his vision. The room isn’t much brighter without them though. Sam can barely make out the rotting wooden walls with boarded up windows. He’s chained to the floor, which looks a lot sturdier than the crumbling walls. Sam’s head still feels light, and his vision tilts when he tries to sit up. The chains will only let him up about half way, so he ends up having to prop himself up on his elbows to look around.

There really isn’t anything else worth noting other than two doors. Reasonably with how small this cabin looks, and where the windows are placed, the one in front of him leads outside, and the one to the left is another room. Sam can also hear at least two people quietly talking in the other room. Sam twists his wrists to try to get a better look at the shackles and chains trapping him.

“What do you think we should do with him? Those other hunters said that they shot both Winchesters point blank, and now they’re alive again. The hunters aren’t. We have to do something that’s going to stick,” one voice says, speaking louder now.

“Josh should be coming back with the package now. If we use holy oil, even the angels shouldn’t be able to bring him back,” the second voice says.

Sam doesn’t recognize either voice, but that doesn’t mean much. They already said that they’re hunters, and that they’re planning to kill him.

Would holy oil actually stop them from bringing me back?

The door swings open, and light floods into the room. Sam blinks, surprised that this place has working lights.

“He’s awake,” the first one says. From here, Sam can tell that they’re both men, but he still doesn’t recognize either one of them.

“Samuel Winchester, do you know why you’re here?” the second one growls.

Sam mentally dubs the first one Dummy and the second one Grumpy. It’s obvious that Grumpy is trying to scare him, even if it’s not going to work. He just wants Sam to be as docile as possible until Josh gets back with the holy oil. Sam looks down for a second, not bothering to answer.

“No one is coming to get you. Not even your angel friends,” Dummy adds, leaning over Sam menacingly.

“I don’t need anyone to save me from you,” Sam snaps back, his eyes narrowed.

They both take a step back.

Well, they’ve heard things about me. It’s obvious that they’re scared of me, and are trying to use intimidation to keep me in line. There have to be at least four people involved since three attacked me on the road, and one had to be driving. There are only two people here, so if I can get these chains off, this might be my best bet of getting out of here.

Dummy’s boot smashes into Sam’s face. “Don’t even try it,” he demands, his voice slightly quivering at the end. That’s the only thing giving him away.

Sam continues trying to get out of the cuffs as quietly as he can. Grumpy pulls Dummy out of building, giving Sam a glance out of the door. All he can see are trees, a lot of trees.

Damn it. We weren’t anywhere near a forest, or wooded park. It might take me a while to get back to Dean. I wonder if he’s going to believe me about where I was, or what happened.

Sam finally manages to twist his hand far enough into the cuffs so he can turn his fingers to pick the lock. He slips a bobby pin off of his waistband. Sam’s gotten the cuff off his right wrist and is working on the left when he hears a car drive up. There’s rushed talking, and Sam manages to get the second cuff off. He pushes himself to his feet, nausea swirling in his gut, probably an after affect of the drugs in his system. He kneels down, angling himself so they can’t see that he got the shackles off.

Dummy and two other people walk in, focusing on Sam. There’s one other man, who must be Josh, and a woman, who are all walking towards him now. Sam can see that the woman is holding a bottle with a spout.

That must be the holy oil. I’m going to have to be careful.

Sam waits until they get closer, and then he springs up. He wraps the chains around the woman’s neck, and slams his elbow back into Dummy’s face. The woman flails, swinging one arm into Josh, and the other one against Sam. He doesn’t budge though, and keeps an eye on Josh as he tries to get up. Grumpy runs in as the woman starts to go limp. Right at the last second, she tries to fling the oil back against Sam, succeeding in getting it down his left arm, and part of his shirt. Then she passes out, and he turns to Grumpy.

Grumpy isn’t as taken by surprise as the other two, so he lunges at Sam. Sam steps to the side, catching Grumpy’s arm. He pulls Grumpy against him, and snaps Grumpy’s neck in one fluid motion. Before Sam can do anything else, he hears a clicking noise. Josh flings the lighter at Sam, who is caught completely off guard. The fire burns up his arm immediately, spreading to catch his shirt on fire. Sam rips the shirt off, batting his arm off. Josh flies at him, holding a knife, and Sam is barely able to dodge in time. He uses the Josh’s momentum to fling him into the wall, knocking him out as well.

He takes the Josh’s knife, and stumbles out of the cabin. There’s a ring of trees, reminding Sam how far off he is from where he started. However, something else that catches his attention is the van that is sitting next to the cabin. He makes quick work of hot wiring it, and following the tire tracks to get back to an actual road. His arm is burning, and it’s all he can do to keep driving straight. Eventually he does get back to an actual road, and quickly finds a gas station after that. It doesn’t really occur to Sam that he’s shirtless with burns when he walks in. The cashier looks at him like he’s crazy.

“Are you alright, sir?” he asks, standing up.

“I’m fine. Do you have a phone I could use?”

“Yeah, sure. Are you going to call 911? Was there an accident?”

“Yeah, I’m going to call 911,” Sam agrees, not even really listening.

Instead, as soon as he gets the phone, he calls Dean. Dean picks up on the last ring.

“Dean.”

“Sam, where the hell are you? I’ve been looking everywhere for you, and you weren’t picking up your phone.” Dean sounds angry, and Sam reasonably can’t find it in himself to be angry too.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, but I need you to pick me up. From the road signs I saw on the way over here, I’m almost thirty miles east of town at a gas station. I’ll explain everything once you get here.”

“What the hell, Sam?”

“Please, Dean. I really need you to pick me up. We can talk then, but I don’t think I can drive back to you safely.”

“Fine, I’ll be there in like fifteen minutes.”

Sam hangs up, and offers the phone back to the cashier.

“I thought you were going to call the police.”

“Oh, I wasn’t really listening. There’s no need to call the police, my brother is coming to pick me up.”

The man grabs his phone, and slowly dials 911 anyway. Sam sighs, but doesn’t do anything.

The man speaks briefly with the operator, and then puts his phone back down. “Ok, something obviously happened to you. The police will be here soon, and they can help you.”

Sam nods. “I’m going to assume that you don’t want me to wait outside.”

“I can’t stop you.”

Sam nods again. “That’s true.”

He stays inside until Dean shows up anyway. He only walks out when he sees the Impala drive up. The police aren’t there yet, and Sam would like to get out of there before they do show up. Dean goes to climb out of the car, but Sam gets in faster.

“What happened to you?” Dean demands, reaching for the keys.

“We have to get out of here. The police are on their way, because the cashier was convinced I was a victim of a violent crime.”

“Were you?”

“Well, yes, but they came out much worse.”

“Sam, what happened?”

“Hunters came after me. I couldn’t sleep so I took a walk. They thought if they burned me alive with holy oil that the angels wouldn’t be able to bring me back.”

Dean turns to look at him, his hands still clenching the wheel.

“The road, Dean.”

He turns back. “Is that what they got you with?”

“Yeah, but it’s not that bad.”

“You look like you have third degree burns, Sam. I would say that’s pretty bad. Maybe even hospital bad.”

That’s when Sam realizes that the look on his brother’s face is concern, something he hasn’t seen in a while.

“I don’t need a hospital.”

“I’m calling Cas. If he doesn’t show up, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“Ok, fine.”

Sam leans back in his seat, closing his eyes. The adrenaline crash is hitting him hard, along with the lingering affects of the drugs. Because of that, it’s not long before he falls asleep to the sound of soft music from the radio.

[anangatabaudade]

Whumpuary #7

Unfair fight | Insomnia | "No one is coming"  CW: Referenced childhood abuse, minor gore/blood

Batman/Batfam - Damian Wayne:

"Heir to the Demon Head, rise." Ra's al ghul's voice echoes easily through the large chamber, twenty warriors clad in dark clothes and sharp weapons standing at attention before him. They have to shift very slightly to adjust for the small child marching to the front of the ornate room. 

He is small, not even reaching the waist of the closest warrior, only slight and intricate gold stitching making his small black outfit stand apart. At six years old, he doesn't get to hold the full set of swords and knives the rest of clan wear. Head bent, he lowers himself to a tense kneel before Ra's. "Grandfather."

Ra's stares at him with disdain, before he rises slowly. "Yes, as my next vessel, you must prepare yourself, and be prepared to give yourself to me completely." He motions with one hand, and Talia comes from behind one of the curtains. "Fight!"

Talia is stone, unmoved as the first line of five warriors jump into action. The closest of the five draws two sharp knives, black blades glinting with a hint of the poison that Damian's tutor has just begun slicing Damian with. 

The sharp racket of Damian's blade catching the first knife slices through the quiet room, feet padding nearly silent at a dead sprint. Damian can't help but start with running, half a moment of fear washing his brain clean. 

"The demon head does not run, boy." Ra's displeased correction echoes in the room along with a sharp whistle, and five more assassins start their approach.

The reproach is like cold water, and Damian turns back to the group immediately. He can't win, between his stature, lack of weapons, and years of training between him and the rapidly growing group of assassins, he has to focus on stalling and incapacitation. 

The first assassin within his reach leaves enough space between his legs so Damian slices his achilles tendon clean, a disgustingly bitter snap of blood spraying across his face and into his mouth. The next two assassins are more careful, but he's able to reach a femoral artery of one and the hamstrings of the next, blood making the knife slippery in his tiny hands. 

The next assassin is part of a duo, and gets a knife clean through his shoulder, slicing enough of the nerves the knife in his hand clatters to the grounded noisily as he loses the ability to grip. The knife still buried in him is somehow electrocuted, making all of his muscles seize and crumple to the ground. 

"Damian, stand up." Batman? No, it's missing the voice modulation and undercurrent of mysticism. Father?

Damian drags himself to his feet, body shaking from the voltage. The assassins are still coming for him, relentless and deadly. One of the assassins, the one that shoots him in the leg, has green eyes, just for a moment. 

Something's not right. The adrenaline pounding through his body does not still his sword, block the tang of blood from the air. Instead, his breaths come in short, pained gasps, and he can't focus his gaze, eyes darting back and forth, searching. 

A flash of red on one of felled assassin's catches his gaze. The next has a shock of blue. Seven assassins lay dead at his feet, and the rest are rapidly surrounding him, prepared to kill if he does not bring himself back to the battle. 

"Congratulation, Habibi," his mother is by his side, a gentle hand in his sweat soaked hair as she watches the closest assassin bury a knife in his side, "I always knew you could do it."

Feelings, wretched and weak feelings start to well in Damian's chest, hot in his throat, against his will and permission. He still does not fight back against the closest assassin, letting them slice at his skin with reckless abandon.

Assassins don't use guns. And they don't carry high power voltage weapons either. None of these fools beneath him would dare call him Damian. Determined, he steps away from the soothing but absent touch of his mother to kneel at the closest assassin's corpse. The hood falls away easily, as does any facade of upright royalty once branded into Damian's skeleton.

He curls around the body, broad and familiar shoulders soaked with blood. "Father." A betrayed croak slips out of him at the cold skin and empty eyes.

Damian does not flinch when he wakes. He does not jump, or shout, or have any other childish reaction the rest of the family does not possess the willpower to control. No, by four he would wake as a statue, waiting until permission was given to move and that will never change.

Instead, he absently touches his wet cheeks, letting his pounding heart rock his entire chest. Tonight, it takes forty-five raspy breaths for him to stop shaking, though his hairline stays damp with tears for much longer. His eyes feel like water balloons each time he blinks, swollen and sore, not yet dry enough to start crusting over with scratchy salt.

Once he's done as much recon as he can from bed, he determines it safe to venture to the kitchen for some of Alfred's special tea he stashes behind his best colander.

Tonight, it was Father.

He decides to walk along the counter to get to the kettle and sink, confident no prying eyes will see the impudent behavior. The running tap is warm, and washes some of the chill from the corpse off his hands.

Yesterday it was Todd. Before that, Drake. It all started with Richard. The steam from the boiling kettle is soothing on his stuffy sinuses, and he repetitively dunks the tea strainer in the water, just to give his hands something to do. It almost distracts him from the issue he's been circling around the last four months.

He's broken. Somehow, these pathetic and childish dreams have taken something from him that no villain, no injury, not even death could take from him. The world feels bleary most days, and his limbs drag behind him in reluctance to even move, exhaustion slowly boiling his brains.

He dumps the tea into the sink and throws the fine china on the floor, reactions so delayed he can't even jump when porcelain explodes around the room, shattering the silence with two moments of fragile destruction.

A thump echoes at the stairs. He grits his teeth, resisting the urge to bite off his tongue. Fatuous and childish imbecile! He silently hops down, tensing when the porcelain slices across the wood and into his feet, only soothed by the muffling qualities of his feet.

He almost makes it through cleaning, combination of dustpan and damp cloth serving him swiftly and silently. Only, as he's turning around to put away the dustpan, he is faced with the omnipresent and disappointed stare from Pennyworth, one prim eyebrow raised, poise somehow shining more clearly through his old fashioned cotton nightgown.

"Care to explain why you are bleeding all over my kitchen at 3:19 in the morning, Master Damian?" He has the good notion to stay quiet, but no grace to ignore Damian, even when he's clearly doing his best to show the foul mood he's in. 

Damian absently goes to scrub his heels with the damp cloth still in his hand, quickly stopped by a sharp 'tut', and instead sets it on the counter. "I dropped a cup, Pennyworth," he heaves as much disdain into the words as he can, "I thought you, of all people, would appreciate that I tidied up after myself." 

Pennyworth has a firm grip on his upper arm before he can sneak back up the stairs. "I have spent more years than you have been alive seeing through better performed avoidance tactics." He motions to a chair then turns to retrieve a first aid kit. He's using that tone again, some stupid combination of irritation and affection that sets Damian's teeth on edge. "Though, I assure you, a few more years of practice and you'll best even Master Bruce in the temper." 

Damian tries to grab the tweezers out of Pennyworth's hands, but the geezer predicts his movements. That or his reflexes are slowing down dramatically. "Are you going to administer first aid or lecture me to death?"

Pennyworth's grip on his ankle is gentle and warm, weathered face relaxed and focused as he begins artfully drawing shard after shard out of the callused skin. "You are beginning to sound like you are in need of a special 'family fun night' with Master Richard." His tone is light, but the sharp glance steadies Damian into a moment of subdued silence and sharp shake 'no' of his head.

With the glow of the light above the sink in the kitchen and the quiet sounds of Pennyworth breathing, a jaw-cracking yawn slips out of Damian. The heat from Pennyworth's hand has somehow spread from his foot across his entire body, blanketing him in a soft haven. He accepts the moment of respite from the nightmares burned under his eyelids quietly. 

"This is the fifth nightly tea this week." Pennyworth begins, dabbing antiseptic along the left foot before starting on the right. "Perhaps, a conversation with Master Bruce would help ease rest along?" He sounds very tired, all of a sudden, staring up at the ceiling of the nearly-empty manor. "Sleep does not come easy in this house, but that does not mean it is a noble battle to fight alone."

Damian isn't sure how to explain that he no longer knows how to tell if he is awake or asleep. That reality has gotten so distant and his mind so weary, the line between sweating and crying in his sleep versus his waking hours no longer exists. Perhaps this is yet another attempt of his subconscious to take care of itself. 

He nods, in acknowledgement or thanks, and climbs off the stool slowly. "Goodnight, Pennyworth." The climb back upstairs is a swim through molasses, the fight of the dead, and settling into his bed bids no comfort. 

"Rise, Heir to the Demon Head!" 

{ More Whump }

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[jewel-shard]

White Flag

Chapter 1: Unfair Fight

Summary:

The battlefield was soaked with blood. Inuyasha snarled as he cut through the enemy lines. He didn’t care who the bodies belonged to. Today, it was the blue banners of some distant noble, tomorrow, it might be the green of another. All that mattered was the coin they paid him. And her. 

Written for Whumpuary 2025 Artwork - Storm Coming (1884) Winslow Homer 

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Relationship: InuYasha/Kikyou (InuYasha)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Whump, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Battlefield, War, Major Character Injury, Implied/Referenced Character Death

[tabbytabbytabby]

Where You'll Be Safe

Word Count: 1,770 words

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Relationship: Laura Hale/Lydia Martin

Tags: Laura Hale Lives, Hurt Laura Hale, Worried Lydia Martin, Protective Lydia Martin, Memory Loss, Flashbacks, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Love Confessions, First Kiss

Summary: Laura wakes up with a splitting headache and a no memory of the past two days.

Read on AO3

For @whumpuary No.12: “You’re awake” / Rescue / Unfair fight. And for the Memory Loss space for @badthingshappenbingo. Card under the cut.

[melanie-ohara]

Rulers Make Bad Lovers - Chapter 2

Whumpuary2024, Day 24 - Prompt: Unfair Fight

Running from her responsibilities lands Emily in more trouble than she can handle

AO3 Here

Emily set off across the rooftops at speed. She had run the route often enough she could do it with her eyes closed, and she wasn't even relying on the bright moonlight to find her way out of the estate district and down towards the Wrenhaven river, where she turned inwards towards the centre of the city. She made faster progress once the rooftops came closer together, and soon she was flying over the streets faster than a carriage could travel on the roads below. 

Fighting with Wyman hurt, because it had never happened before. Usually, they were eager to indulge all of her worst behaviours with that lopsided grin she loved so much plastered across their face. This wasn't like them, and she refused to reckon with why that might be. At least, not tonight. That night she was focused on beating her record time to the clocktower. Every night she ran it faster and faster, and soon not even Corvo would be able to match her. 

It was her confidence that brought her down. Her foot caught on a railing and instead of hopping across she fell face first into the hard slates of the roof and started to slide backwards. Her fingers scrabbled for purchase but all she managed to do was dislodge a roof tile that skittered down after her. Emily cried out as she fell to the alley below, until the air was knocked out of her by the cobblestones slamming into her back. Her head rocked back and bounced off the ground, making her vision flash and blur. She didn't feel the pain for a moment, but then it shot through her all at once like pistol shot. Her lungs were empty but she tried to scream anyway, but all she managed was a gasp. 

Someone still heard it.

"What's this then?" The voice was harsh and thick with a Dunwall accent that spoke of years of cigarettes and whiskey. It wasn't friendly. 

All Emily could see from her back was the moonlight gleaming on the bricks of the buildings on either side, but she managed to lift her head to see the people approaching her out of the shadows. Three men and two women, some of them dragging heavy metal pipes ripped out of the city plumbing behind them so the grating sound and the kicked-up sparks would intimidate their prey. 

"Looks like someone fell off the roof," one of the women commented. "You alright there, sweetheart?" 

Even if Emily could reply, the sing-song sarcasm of her voice made her think it would be a bad idea. She had to force herself to her feet before they reached her - the odds were bad enough without starting the fight on the floor - but it was hard. The bolt of pain from the impact had slowed to a throb, but it hadn't eased much, and taking her weight on her arms to push herself up felt like she was going to snap in two. Emily tried to suck air into complaining lungs as she dragged herself upright, and by the time she had staggered to her feet she was just about able to breathe in and out. It was enough that she didn't immediately pass out, and that would have to do.

"Someone doesn't know how to stay down!" one of them said as she swung for Emily's head. She was sluggish from hitting the ground so hard and only just managed to whip her head out of the way. For a moment, she wished she'd paid attention to her advisors when they told her how popular she was with the populace: as it was, she had no idea if telling them she was the Empress would make them leave or just kill her quicker.

Then one of the street toughs raised their pipe and instinct took over instead. She raised her arms, taking the brunt of the blow across her forearms as she stepped into the attack. It hurt like hell, but it was better than broken ribs and it brought her close enough to throw a jab into his eye, forcing him to take a step back with a cry of pain. Emily skipped backwards too, staying mobile the way her father had taught her. 

The one advantage she had in the fight was that they hadn't circled her before they attacked, which forced them into only coming at her two at a time instead of all at once - but they were between her and the exit, and she hadn't brought her sword. There were five of them. Even Corvo would balk at a fight like that, and Emily didn't have anything close to his skills. The next one to take a swing at her had a knife, a great curved blade that was more like a raider's cutlass than a dagger, and she wasn't fast enough to dodge the blade. She was lucky the blow was weak and only cut through her jacket and nicked her ribs: much harder and it would have buried itself in the bone. In response, she broke the woman's nose with her fist and then slammed the heel of her other hand into her chin to whip her head back and send her sprawling on the floor. It didn't do her much good, because there was another armed thug to take her place a second later and Emily couldn't block and redirect and dodge forever. Eventually, one of them would get a lucky hit in and it would be all over.

She lasted longer than she expected, but eventually she ran out of alleyway. The thug with the knife backed her up another step and she felt the back wall of the alley stop her from dodging the pipe coming for her head. It burst across her temple in a shower of sparks and she collapsed sideways onto her hands and knees. It was a strange way for an Empress' rule to end: clubbed to death in random street violence. No grand assassination or elaborate coup for her. She heard a gunshot, and then something hot and wet splattered into her eyes. The blood tasted bitter and metallic in her mouth. She wondered how long it would take to feel the pain. How long it would take to die. 

*

Alexi Mayhew's second shot wasn't as clean as the first, and the second thug standing over Emily took the bullet in the shoulder. It at least got them all to leave her alone, and instead they turned to face the alley entrance where she stood, alone, in her parade uniform. She had spent both her rifle rounds now, but she still had her sword. 

"You have one chance to surrender!" she shouted down the alley. Her voice reverberated off the walls and she hoped Emily was still conscious to hear how defiant she sounded. "This is not a fair fight!"

Someone laughed. None of them seemed to mind that she had just blown the head off one of their friends, but life on the street was cheap. "Damn right!" they shouted out to her. "There's more of us than you!" 

Alexi drew her sword, and at the signal a shadow that had haunted the city its darkest year dropped from the roof above them and landed sword first in the leader's neck. Corvo Attano wrenched his folding blade free and turned it on one of the others, severing his head from his shoulders before he could even raise his weapon.

"Not any more," Alexi said, but the last remaining gangster was already running. She dropped her knife and was too afraid to even try and dodge Alexi: she had to step out of the way herself. As soon as she passed out of her field of view she turned her attention to Emily, sprinting down the alleyway so fast she overtook Corvo before falling to her knees at Emily's side. She was dazed, but alive, and her eyes just about focused on her face when Alexi cupped her cheeks and called her name.

"I had it under control," she mumbled. 

"You're an idiot," Alexi told her. It wasn't the playful tone she usually used. "You've gone too damn far this time."

"How did you find me?" Emily asked. Her voice was slurred, and Alexi was sure she needed medical attention before they moved her. 

"There's a City Watch surgeon coming," Alexi assured her, more to reassure herself than Emily. "I woke the Royal Protector and we came looking for you."

Emily tried to push her away but Alexi refused to budge. "I don't need babysitting, Alexi."

"You almost died, you selfish brat!" She let go of her head and stood up, leaving Emily to slump awkwardly against the wall. "You have to stop this, please!" she yelled at her. If she wasn't so angry she'd be begging. 

"Alexi." It was Corvo's voice. A moment later his hand came down gently on her shoulder and she turned to face him. Tears pricked at her eyes but she ignored them. Corvo had seen worse, she was sure.

"I'm sorry," Emily whined from the ground. "Wyman, I'm sorry. I'll… stay… don't… Alexi shouldn't have to worry…"

"She's delirious," Alexi said. "Where's that damn surgeon?"

Corvo squeezed slightly so she focused. "She loves you both," he said.

"Then why in the Void won't she listen?" 

Corvo smiled. "The day you understand that, I can resign as Royal Protector."

In spite of everything, Alexi let out a short chuckle. 

"My head hurts," Emily complained thickly from the floor. "I'm sorry." 

"Go to her," Corvo said. "The surgeon will be along."

Alexi nodded, sniffed, and wiped her eyes on her uniform sleeve. When she next looked back up from Emily, Corvo had vanished.

[fanficbutnow]

Summary:

“After that no one would talk to her, and it got really bad, and her parents pulled her out of school for the rest of the year.” — Damian, about the Space-Dyke incident.

Things get really bad for Janis when bullies accuse her of staring at them while changing for P.E.

Tags, Warnings, and Rating are under the 'Keep Reading'.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Mean Girls - Richmond/Benjamin/Fey Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Janis Ian | Janis Sarkisian | Janis 'Imi'ike & Damian Leigh | Damian Hubbard Characters: Janis Ian | Janis Sarkisian | Janis 'Imi'ike, Damian Leigh | Damian Hubbard Additional Tags: Whump, Bullying, Angst, Unfair Fight, Fist Fights, Injury, Sad with a Happy Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pre-Canon, Slurs, Hurt/Comfort, Janis Ian | Janis Sarkisian | Janis 'Imi'ike Needs a Hug, Developing Friendships, Male-Female Friendship, Hate Crimes, Canon Compliant, Canon Backstory, some Canon Dialogue

@whumpuary