#whump potions

[redd956]

Whump Ideas: Potions

I love whump ideas that use potions

Potion activates a painful transformation that leaves whumpee still weak and vulnerable far after it wears off.

Potion effects that get the job done, but hurt more than some may argue us with it

Whumpee going through extreme dysphoria caused by a botched brewing in the past (or by whumper's experiments). Caretaker shows up with the cure.

A failed potion that whumpee has downed has poisoned them. The sick whumpee has no clue if it's fatal or not as they lay being unable to move.

Whumper needs someone to test their potions on. They even test multiple at once to make sure certain ones can coincide. Permanent effects, janky potions, and drastic changes leave whumpee unidentifiable as a human.

A potion that's only job is to cause pain. Nothing fancy that's just it.

Whumper takes a shapeshifting potion, and shapes into their captive whumpee. As they leave whumpee, they promise to take good care of Caretaker.

Whumper pouring out an important potion or antidote in front of whumpee who desperately needs it.

Whumper turns themselves into a tiny whumpee, and now the consequences of their own actions are bigger than they've ever been.

Whumper throwing potion bottles at whumpee out of rage. They don't care what's in them or what it does if it hits whumpee.

Whumpee and their very angry evil pet cat have always confused caretaker. It wasn't until caretaker discovered the potion ingredients for a cat potion that questions rise.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

In march, you wrote a snippet of a love potion thingy with villain and hero. What happens to them next

(Oops I'm very late to respond to this. I didn't forget! I'm just slow and in college)

This is a sequel to THIS. It is recommended you read for context, but it can be summed up as "Superhero drugs Villain with a love potion, then offers them Hero in exchange for Villain not causing trouble."

Content warning: mutual noncon, non consensual touching (nonsexual), noncon drugging, maybe vaguely spicy but not at all NSFW.

Hero had never felt more helpless in their life.

The cuffs on their limbs were unyielding, keeping them locked into the metal chair beneath them. They were trapped in Villain’s hideout, no chances of reaching the outside world, no hope of reasoning with their captor. If anyone noticed their absence, they’d surely be too late to save them.

Villain remained perched on Hero’s lap, legs possessively straddling their waist. Their face was flush, eyes glassy and skin unnaturally warm. Their dazed, blissful grin was uncanny on their face. They looked sick.

The love potion was still clutched in their fingers. Hero knew that once they were forced to drink it, they’d end up with the same blissful, clueless smile painted on Villain’s face.

“Baby, don’t be stubborn,” Villain’s words were clear despite the haze in their eyes. They gave Hero a pleading look. “Just open your mouth for me. I don’t want to force you…”

“P-please, you don’t want this. Superhero drugged you; you’re not in your right mind,” they knew it was pointless, that Villain was far beyond reasoning. But they couldn’t stop themselves from trying.

Their pleas fell on deaf ears. Villain only chuckled, dragging a thumb over Hero’s lips. “Of course I want this. I want you, I always have. Superhero just helped me realize that.”

Villains’s touch felt like sandpaper against their skin. It wasn’t that they disliked Villain, nor that the criminal was unattractive. They were charming at times, quick witted and cunning. They were gorgeous. But Hero didn’t want this. Not when Villain didn’t have a choice, not when it was part of some sick scheme to remove Villain by stripping them of free will. It was sick, and Hero felt dirty for their unwilling part in it.

Their eyes stung. “I don’t want this.”

For a moment, Villain’s grin faltered. That didn’t stop them from popping the vial in their hand open. “I know. I didn’t want it either, until I learned better,” without hesitation, Villain brought the potion to their own mouth, swallowing a mouthful. Hero knew what was coming the moment Villain leaned forward, but they felt paralyzed when Villain’s lips touched their own. For a brief moment, they could only think of how soft Villain’s lips were.

They could taste the potion on Villain’s tongue. It was sickly sweet, like a cake that’d begun to sour. It was viscous, slimey. They tried to pull away on instinct, but Villain’s possessive grip on the back of their head didn’t allow for it. Hero shivered as they felt Villain's tongue brush against their own.

Distantly, Hero hoped that the tainted kiss wouldn’t be enough to affect them. A sudden wave of unnatural dizziness quickly proved them wrong. They squeezed their eyes shut against the disorientation, breathing deeply to steady themselves. They tried to ignore how their senses suddenly latched onto the smell of Villain’s hair.

Villain eventually released them. “There. Now was that so bad?” Villain cooed, breath brushing against Hero’s cheek. They shifted their position, moving themselves to rest their head against Hero’s shoulder. Hero had no room to pull away.

“Villain, please,” It felt like the potion was coating every surface of their mouth, making their teeth ache. They needed to get out. “You got what you wanted, so just let me–,” They paused as a sudden pain pulsed through their body, causing them to grimace. Felt like their every muscle had gone suddenly, painfully taught. Like every heartbeat was fueling a rising pain. Like every inch of skin was being rubbed raw.

They inhaled sharply, taken aback. They’d never heard about love potions hurting.

Villain seemed to read their mind. “It’s a little precaution from your…friend,” something hard entered Villain’s voice, something nearly recognizable as their normal self. “You can’t will it away, Hero. It’s agonizing, I can promise you that. And it’ll only get worse if you insist on being stubborn. So please,” and just like that, the sharpness of their tone dissolved back into a lovesick whine. “Just open your eyes. I can’t stand seeing you suffer.”

Hero didn’t respond, too focused on taking slow, deep breaths in hopes of abating the pain. It hurt, it hurt everywhere, building with each moment. They clenched tightly at the chair beneath them, flinching with each growing pulse of pain.

Their only comfort was the warm weight on their lap. Villain’s touch chased away the growing pain, a reprieve Hero found themselves increasingly desperate for. But every cell in Hero’s body knew that it wouldn’t be enough. It was like dipping a foot into cool water while the rest of their body burned.

They didn’t need Villain to tell them how to stop it. Relief was a blink away. Hero squeezed their eyes shut.

They could feel Villain’s eyes on them. “What point is there in this stubbornness? Darling, you’re only hurting yourself.”

“I have to!” Hero spat through gritted teeth. Their breath hitched, and Hero didn’t know if it was sweat or tears running down their face. “This is wrong, Superhero’s wrong,” They leaned into Villain’s touch, desperate for relief. It wasn’t nearly enough. “And I-, I need to help you. You have to let me go.”

Villain only laughed, and Hero’s heart soared at the melodic noise. “You truly are something. So earnest, all for someone like me…” Villain leaned forward once more, and Hero’s breath caught in their throat. Villain’s voice was little more than a whisper. “I’ll compromise then, yes? Kiss me, and I’ll let you go.”

They could feel Villain’s face near theirs, mere inches away. But Villain didn’t move closer. Hero shivered.

It was a bad idea, a horrible idea. Hero knew that. They were disgusted with how tempted they were to lean in regardless. Their heart pounded at the thought, quieting the morals screaming for them to stop.

They needed to get out. They could escape Villain, wait for the potion to leave their system, and try again. If saving Villain meant a single kiss, then that was alright, wasn’t it?

They desperately wanted it to be alright. The pain rose another octave, and Hero was leaning forward before they could reconsider.

Relief flowed through their body at the contact, quieting their mind. Villain gave a low, satisfied hum, and Hero swallowed the noise greedily. They felt a blush rising to their cheeks, their heart fluttering with joy. They tugged at their restraints, wishing they could wrap their arms around Villain and pull them in.

They felt like they were losing themselves, and it was becoming harder to understand why that was a bad thing. But it was fine. As long as they didn’t let things go too far. As long as they didn’t open their–

Villain pulled away suddenly, and it felt like the floor had fallen from underneath Hero. The loss of their touch hurt more than anything they’d ever felt.

“No!” Their body lurched forward on instinct, chasing after the contact. They didn’t realize they’d been freed until they’d unwittingly launched themselves from their chair. With a startled gasp, Hero tumbled forward, sending themselves and Villain to the ground. Villain yelped in pain underneath them.

Hero didn’t realize they’d opened their eyes until they’d already started diligently searching Villain’s body for injuries. They only found a beautiful, triumphant grin, and found that they couldn’t tear their eyes away. Pain drained away, replaced so swiftly with a pleasant, warm buzz that Hero could scarcely remember it. Their reservations were smothered by all consuming, contented joy.

“You’re too easy, darling,” Villain purred, a mischievous twinkle in their eye. Their hair laid like a halo around their head, framing their flushed face in an utterly hypnotic way. Hero couldn’t remember why they’d ever want to look away.

Hero couldn’t find the words to respond. They could only smile.

[seth-whumps]

good morning!!! shoot that fictional blorbo with a bow and arrow. that is all

[whumpsoda]

Once Nauseating Smile

Soooo just love potion whump. Heroes and villains.

———————————————————————

Deep down, Hero knew it was wrong.

Pushed deep into the depths of his brain he disliked it. 

Even so, he couldn’t help but feel overcome with delight at the simple sight of Villain. A simple fleeting meet of the eyes. Hero knew he had never felt this way before, but in the moment it didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered anymore.

Only Villain did.

“Oh pumpkin, how I’ve missed you!” Villain exclaimed excitedly. 

Despite being a usual situation, everything felt so unusual. Hero and his team were called out for another of Villain’s usual schemes, and they had just shown up to the normal setting. The usual villainous machine, Villain’s usual malicious grin, the screaming civilians. 

But Hero felt unusual.

And Hero didn’t mind it.

His cheeks flushed red as his eyes gazed over Villain in his entirety. Villain was so handsome, his slicked back hair, his slender jaw, his mesmerizing smirk. 

Villain’s smooth voice.

It overwhelmed Hero’s being, every part of his self enraptured in Villain’s undeniable beauty. As much as he wanted to, Hero couldn’t help it. 

Villain strode toward Hero, no hesitation in getting so close to the man sent to capture him. To the team’s surprise, Hero didn’t so much as flinch away. Hero instead eagerly leaned toward the approaching villain. Villain’s slender arms enveloped Hero’s large frame in a tight embrace.

Hero liked it. 

He made no attempt to push away, appreciating the touch. 

“I’ve been so excited for this moment, pumpkin. I know you’re confused, that’s okay, I still love you.” Hero was confused. Very. But at the same time it meant nothing to him. As long as Villain was there, the marvelous Villain, Hero would be okay.

Hero’s throat squeezed tight, no sound escaping. He was nervous, flustered. His body was soft, comfortable in the touch of his enemy. His beautiful enemy.

“I-Villain-I don’t-”

“Shhh, Pumpkin. Call me darling. That’d make me so happy.” Villain nuzzled his face into Hero’s chest, serene and delicate. Almost as if he couldn’t control himself, Hero began petting his hands through Villain’s hair.

The hair was so soft, so silky, so cute.

The rest of Hero’s team hadn’t moved an inch, all of them frozen and slack jawed.

Hero was slipping. He forgot where he was, forgot what he had been sent to do. He was so focused on Villain, on his love. Hero’s face held a relaxed and pleased expression.

“You look so beautiful, darling.” His voice was no louder than a whisper, his words only intended for Villain. Villain’s smile, delighted and charming, was painted across his face. He looked ecstatic.

“I’ve waited so long for those words to come from you, Hero. I’m so thrilled, you have no idea.” Every word that slipped from Villain’s mouth was digested so tenderly by Hero’s brain. “You Look outstandingly handsome, as always.” Hero chuckled nervously, as if conversing with a high school crush.

Hero was beyond jubilant. Every inch of his body craved for Villain, a love so intense, so sudden, that he had never before felt. Villain swiftly pulled away from his tight grip to Hero’s body, stepping back to observe. “I can’t believe it worked. I’d been so doubtful, so worried. But I hadn’t given up on you Hero, and here we are.” Villain met Hero’s gaze, none of his usual malice displayed in the slightest. Only pure adoration.

Hero had no idea what Villain meant, but he was okay with that. Hero didn’t mind it, didn’t mind any of it. Villain, elegant and sly, had changed him. Was doing something to him, even if he had no idea what.

A feeling of pure gratitude traveled up his spine.

Hero’s mind and body was conquered now, overpowered by the mass affection and devotion he felt for the man in front of him.

“Do you love me Hero?” The five words sent Hero’s mind hurling over the edge.

“I love you, Villain. I love every inch of you, every word that comes from your lips. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.” The words did not feel like his, but they were. They stumbled from his mouth on instinct, unable to stop himself, caused from the overwhelming urge to tell Villain about his undying affection.

Villain, hands curled to his own face in excitement, hungrily snagged a thin vile from his pocket. Hero paid it no mind, his thoughts still stumbling from his mouth. 

Hero paid no mind to the familiar gleam of the shining liquid.

“Hero.” Hero’s rambling ceased immediately. 

“Would you like some more?”

[shes-some-other-where]

June of Doom 6, 13, 22

Broken Promise | Sacrifice | Poison | Bedridden

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Contains: royalty whump, lady whump, death, murder, blood, fantasy drug/potion

WC: 840

A bitter magic, a curse

Your time is running out, he said. To plead her case. To save her brother . . . if not herself.

Her last chance to ensure that one of them lived on. Even if what she was about to do would result in something that, for her brother, would be hardly a life at all.

“It stops the visions! He’s a seer!” she shrieked. “He sees things! Terrible things, future, past, present! Everything he sees, it’s true, or it comes to pass!”

A bitter magic, a curse: it tormented him, stole his slumber every night, showed him things that dulled his bright eyes, greyed his burnished skin, tattered a spirit that had once been indomitable.

The usurper prince burst into a laugh, and the princess drooped. He didn’t believe her.

“A seer, you say.”

Or—perhaps, he did.

“What a pity,” he said. “What a gift! And yet so useless if it’s being suppressed.” He lifted the bottle of the sleeping draught, reading the label with a sneer, then let it fall to the ground and shatter. Glittering knives of brown glass skittered across the floor. “Perhaps if he’d been less of a weakling, if he’d been strong enough to face his own magic, he might have seen us coming.”

But he hadn’t, and her family was dead. Soon she would be, too. But perhaps one of them didn’t have to be.

“Spare him,” she whispered. “His gift . . .”

His curse.

“Perhaps it will be of use to you.” The words were slimy and sour on her tongue, like a broken promise, like poison.

Coward, traitor, backstabber, snake.

“Indeed,” said the invader. “And yet while he lives, so too does a threat to my future throne.”

“Please,” she said. “I’ll do anything. Anything. Don’t kill him.”

The prince was silent. He studied her coolly, as one might observe a beast in a cage, with curiosity and some measure of disgust. Perhaps, she thought desperately, even pity. “You’ll grovel for the life of this lily-livered brother of yours, whose abilities could have saved you all?”

She nodded.

“And not for yourself?”

Herself? She had no magic, no gift to offer. She was a middle heir, a princess, lovely and demure and with no skills to speak of.

No words, pretty or not, would prevent the usurper’s steel from piercing her throat.

She dared a glance at her sleeping brother. He had not stirred.

“On your knees,” the invader prince commanded suddenly.

The soldier let go and shoved her down, sending pain keeling through her legs as her kneecaps cracked against the bloodstained floorboards. The pale silk of her nightgown, paper-thin and gossamer-sheer, offered no cushioning. She cried out at the lightning bolts of pain that bit into her skin, shredded and pierced by bits of broken glass. New blood mingled with the sanguine footprints on the floor: hers.

“Beg for him,” said the invader. “And beg for yourself. He offers me magic and knowledge which I would otherwise lack. But what of you?”

When she closed her mouth, listening to her own quiet, whimpering breaths, he ordered, “Do it, or I shall end your life and his.”

“Please,” she whispered. Tears slid down her cheeks. “Please let him live. He can use his gift to—to help you. To give you an advantage . . .”

An advantage. In what? In conquering other kingdoms, usurping other thrones? Orchestrating other massacres, and spilling the blood of countless more innocents?

She was despicable.

“Use his gift as you see fit,” she said, digging her fingernails into her knees. The pinpricks of pain stung, but did she deserve any less for selling out her own brother while he lay unwitting mere steps away? “But you must spare his life.”

The usurper prince lifted his sword, wielding it slowly and deftly until it grazed the bottom of her chin. She could not prevent herself from shaking wildly, nor stop her muscles from tilting her face up of their own accord to avoid the blade’s sharp edge.

His eyes bored into hers.

“And you, little princess?”

“And I will do whatever it takes to save him,” she said. “If you promise not to kill him, I’ll do anything you want.”

Her brother wouldn’t want this, she knew—he would never ask such a thing of her, nor would he want the life she was hurling him into. He would be furious. Hurt. Betrayed.

Yet the words were out, and they could not be taken back, and the invader prince was looking at her with that calculating gaze once more, and she knew no matter what happened next, she had lost either way.

“Bind her,” he said, “but keep her alive.” He paused, passing a shrewd glare to the body on the bed, while the soldiers wrenched her arms behind her and tied her wrists together. “And the brother, too. We’ll see if these pretty words mean anything at all.” He turned back to the princess, now a prisoner, whose quiet sobs echoed through the room. “Let’s see how much use the two of you can be.”

June of Doom Masterlist

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@juneofdoom

All my writing is original. Feel welcome to interact/comment/reblog. Pls don’t steal or repost.

[loonybun]

ok screw it oc introduction be upon ye

hi guys this is Rosé!!! I do have an in depth thing regarding his relationship with Adonis (another character of mine) and his whole transformation on my other blog so if you’d like to read that in more detail it’s right here.

CONTAINS: Cults/religion/sacrilege (evangelical nature), religious trauma and guilt, shunning, old timey homophobia and religion-based intersexphobia, historic stuff and some fun facts about the 1920’s, verbal abuse, manipulation, coercion, power dynamic (god and mortal), a really shitty partner and a shitter relationship, body horror, chronic illness, attempted suicide (multiple times multiple methods including overdose), rot and decay of the body, and love potions but for all the wrong reasons.

Rosé, formerly known as Roe Labat, was born in 1898 and raised in an evangelical cult. Ironically enough this has actually nothing to do with the wings and whatnot. That’ll come later. Being both intersex and albino, he was never truly accepted by the people around him. Some were kinder than others, sure, but it was all out of pity. In their eyes, he was already damned to an eternity in hell for the simple sin of existing.

He was a very docile and quiet child, rarely ever stepping out of line regardless of circumstances. He lived inside of the church, as his parents didn’t want responsibility of him. From an early age Roe understood that he was not something worthy of love, as even God had forsaken him. He was cared for out of obligation rather than actual genuine love, having religion almost constantly drilled into him.

When he was 18 (1916), he ran away from the cult’s village. He figured that he’d never make anything out of himself within it, and never be able to prove himself. Roe was also sick of being a burden. He had never been able to make friends due to the constant ostracism, and even though the people he was around changed to be a lot more open-minded, this remained a constant throughout his life. He started living in New Orleans and often frequented various parades and bars. Also he learned that he was queer and that messed him up for a bit. Despite being forsaken, he still tried his best to be a good follower given his circumstances, but the more he learned about the world around him, the looser his faith became.

Roe took an eventual interest in the “pansy performers” (drag queens in the 1920’s), though felt a lot of guilt and shame regarding considering the concept as a career. The more he thought about it though, he realized he didn’t have much else to lose.

He was a natural performer, able to say and do just the right things in just the right ways to provoke a positive reaction from the audience. Considering the more niche community at the time, he never really drew in big crowds, but what he had was enough for him to live off of in a nice 3 room apartment. He was able to afford relatively nice clothes for his performances when they weren’t provided, and quickly became skilled at makeup and wig styling. He also began dying his hair (yes hair dye was a thing in the 1920’s) and using mascara and heavier makeup in order to conceal his albinism, just because it drew some unwanted attention here and there. While he rarely encountered any trouble with the law, he had a few close calls given what he was doing was pretty illegal at the time. homophobia am i right…

Around when he was 24-25, he met “Don”, who claimed to be a cab driver, yet was almost always dressed to the nines in stylish and at times anachronistic clothing. They hit it off very quickly, relating over the strange feeling of being isolated from their peers. They started going out together soon after. It was Roe’s first real relationship, especially with another man, so to say he was a bit nervous would be putting it lightly. Regardless, Don was always very kind to him and patient with him. He was a bit suspicious of Don though since he was always very dodgy about his home life and really any personal details, however he just assumed they came from similar situations. Roe did theorize where his money was coming from and thought him to either be a bootlegger or a member of the mafia, though he never brought it up because in full honesty he didn’t care too much. He was already head over heels and a little illegal activity wouldn’t stop that.

The last thing he was expecting was Don— or rather, Adonis, to claim he was actually a god. And really really wasn’t supposed to be talking with Roe but just couldn’t help himself. Roe was shocked to say the least, and a little incredulous, but Adonis was very quickly able to prove he was telling the truth. Roe, despite having his entire worldview and years of his life shattered by this one man, decided to try and make things work between them. And it did, for a while. The gaps in Adonis’s visits made more sense now, since he couldn’t be away for too long without the other gods getting suspicious. And it was nice to not have secrets. Roe was able to open up to him about his childhood as well, and Adonis provided sympathy for him.

But good things can’t last forever. As time passed, their relationship grew progressively worse. Adonis got upset over increasingly small things, and while Roe understood his perspective and tried to accommodate him, it didn’t mean he was exactly pleased about it. Adonis began to grow concerned over the prospect of something happening to Roe. After all, he was mortal. Frail. Weak.

His solution to this? Well, get rid of the mortality. Roe wasn’t exactly on board with the idea, considering he quite enjoyed being able to perform and live in the city, and accepting Adonis’s offer would make that nearly impossible. Adonis was persistent though, bringing up the idea at any time despite how many times Roe tried to gently shoot it down. Roe eventually grew tired of this cycle and hesitantly accepted. Adonis claimed that this would make things easier— They could see each other more often, they wouldn’t have to hide, the chances of his whole relationship with a mortal being found out by the one person who could end his existence from breaking the rules moved close to 0, no real drawbacks! for him.

this is where the stuff in the post i mentioned earlier comes in. if you’ve already read it, yeah it gets bad. if you haven’t, here’s the brief explanation.

given the fact that mortal bodies aren’t exactly capable of handling literal godly essence, Roe’s body began to decay and break down. At first, it mimicked some sort of disease. His skin became dry and flaky, and his body felt oddly hot and uncomfortable. Painful sensations overtook his body and became almost constant. By the time things started melting and his organs began to fail, he already knew it was too late to reverse any of this. Any hope of continuing his career or life normally vanished completely. Adonis, however, was very happy about this new development! It had worked! yippee! so so much fun. Of course, he obviously remained as sympathetic towards Roe as possible, regardless of any underlying excitement.

Roe became agitated and frustrated because of the amount of pain he was in and how much he had lost. He wasn’t able to leave the house anymore. He began to snap and lash out at Adonis, picking a fight or making a snide remark whenever possible. Adonis hadn’t exactly seen this coming, but he still kept trying to de-escalate things, often in the form of telling Roe that he was acting unreasonable or hysterical (smart move!). Despite all of this, they stayed in their relationship. Roe was too terrified to be alone, knowing that whatever was happening to him would completely destroy any semblance of respect people had for him, and Don because he wanted to see it through.

Their fights got worse until Adonis finally snapped back, calling Roe an “ungrateful cunt” for not appreciating the love and support he’d oh so generously provided. He made it clear to Roe that nobody would recognize him as human anymore. Nobody would love or care about him. He’d be a freak to anyone other than him, so he’d better stop complaining or he’d lose him too.

This got through to Roe, and he stopped shouting. In fact, even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. It hurt too much to speak, to move, to breathe. Every step was agony. His body had contorted beyond recognition. Was it even worth it to continue like this? Would this be what the rest of his existence was like? Did he really want to live if it meant being in constant, unbearable agony?

Even if the answer was no, he hardly had much of a choice. He tried more humane methods at first. Overdose, drowning in the bathtub, smashing his head against the wall— Nothing worked. He was still alive. He was still alive. Why was he still alive? Was he alive? Was this what it meant to live?

He got more desperate. Stabbing at his stomach, burning his flesh, only it would only leave little splotchy marks that quickly faded. Or so he thought.

The area around the wound he’d made on his stomach began to rot, eating away at any organs or skin or muscle in its path. Eventually, his entire torso from the bottom of his spine to the top of his pelvis was gone save for his spine and a few bits of spare viscera.

When Adonis returned, he wasn’t happy to see what Roe had tried to do. He became incredibly upset with him for trying to leave the relationship in the only way he possibly could. Still, as long as Roe promised to stop, he’d forgive him. Roe obliged.

The fact that Roe wouldn’t talk to him became a source of frustration for Adonis. It felt intentional, spiteful. And it hurt. Every single question was met with a dulled response, as if he barely heard him. As if he hardly cared. It became a bit like spending time with a rock when he stopped responding all together. No matter what Adonis tried, he couldn’t seem to get Roe to react. It was at that point he realized that both physically and mentally, the person he’d fallen for was gone. Far, far deep down, he knew it was his fault. But still, there was hardly any point in staying. Roe would probably rot there forever, and what good would it do to watch over that?

And so he left. Roe realized that it was permanent maybe only a week or so later. Initially, he blamed himself. If he had put in a little more effort, he could have tried to respond, but the pain was too much to bear… The pain— The pain that had begun to fade now. Maybe a month after Adonis left, Roe began to regain his mobility, his strength, and while he was still in pain, it was no longer unbearable. It seemed more like a dull nagging now. The fog that the loneliness and agony had inflicted upon him began to lift as well, and all of that guilt quickly shifted and simmered into pure hatred.

Hatred that the new immortal would begin to inflict upon the world and the ones surrounding it. That would continue to build for years with only the set goal of revenge against the man that had wronged him. And while it cooled over time into a tepid resentment, it never truly faded. He was able to continue with life, though hardly on the same plane, confining himself to a dimension that only certain desperate souls could access. Souls desperate to save their relationships, souls desperate to have their so-called beloveds fall for them, wretched, vile souls. And he’d help them regardless. After all, what’s a worse offense to a love god than bastardizing the craft? Who cares if a few… Hundred lives get ruined? It’s fun to watch. It’s not his turn to suffer anymore. And he won’t be made a victim again.

ANYWAYS more extra info i DONT think i put on the other post but dont rlly wanna check:

Adonis is the god of Lust, Beauty, and Vanity

Roe took on his stage name Rosé after his transformation to distance himself from his past

Rosé has been collecting magic. For what purpose? Let’s not worry about that.

Rosé has the abilities to siphon magic and the life force from people. He doesn’t do this often unless something catches his eye that he wants to harness. It does mean he’s incredibly powerful though.

Rosé’s main abilities he gained directly from Adonis’s essence or whatever include being able to alter the emotions of others (he can force people to think certain ways and even do certain things), pocket dimension stuff, and object conjuring.

Rosé has a lot of side hobbies but his favorite is cooking. He really likes savory dishes, but he also likes sweet things.

Rosé is able to travel between different dimensions and such, and only exists as a “god” in (this) one.

Rosé has built up a reputation among a lot of magical creatures. None of them are quite sure what he is or how he seems to defy certain laws of existence but most see him as a relatively trustworthy supplier for love potions.

Every so often Rosé gets bored and chooses to single people out to mess with. Maybe he should stop doing that.

Rosé is VERY prone to breakdowns, and while he’s mostly able to stay professional, if someone’s around him for a prolonged period of time and something causes him to spiral he regresses into an incredibly different and much more desperate person.

Rosé (name aside) considers himself a liquor connoisseur (RED FLA) and does collect rare alcohols. he does have a tendency to drink heavily but considering his body can’t really process food or drinks it sort of just magically disappears. he is a talkative and very mopey drunk though. like will start full on venting about his life story.

He’s friends with Aisling!!! Friends is a very strong word!!!! Maybe the wrong word!!! But they they hang out sometimes and Aisling seems to enjoy his company a lot even if he can’t really understand why he keeps coming back if not out of fear or trying to use him so he keeps his distance. Aisling is honestly just worried about him and has sort of been able to slowly break down that Rosé maybe isn’t as absolutely terrifying as he first thought and is indeed just very. very lonely and maybe even a bit pathetic

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

Ooh Shrink Ray hours!!

Shrink Matteo and break his tail? Like in wolf form? Feel like it would be really fragile if it were tiny.....

Shrink Ray

Author's Notes: I haven't 100% decided what Matteo's werewolf form looks like, but he isn't just a regular wolf, they just call that form 'the wolf' as shorthand, and to separate it from Matteo, because he isn't aware of anything that happens during the full moon to the point where it feels like something else has taken over his body for the night.

Lol this got longer than I planned, thank you for this prompt, it was so fun!

Content warnings: tiny whump, werewolf whump, tail whump, broken bones, 'it' as a pronoun (referring to the werewolf form), painful transformation, back injury, biting

----

Dante and Matteo try everything to make Matteo's transformations easier on them both. Locked rooms and cages, shock collars and tranquilizers, you name it. Each one only provides a new way for Matteo to wake up hurt, sick, or traumatized.

Desperate, they turn to magic.

They find the shrinking spell in an old book at a used bookstore owned by a woman who they would believe survived the Salem witch trials. As they exit the store she gives the pair a knowing look that leaves them uneasy.

-

Matteo takes the concoction just before the transformation begins. As promised, he shrinks down to the size of a figurine. The modest room becomes massive around him; he barely takes up space on the queen-sized bed.

Dante reaches out to him hesitantly. Matteo closes the gap and leans against his hand. He gives Dante a little thumbs up.

And then the transformation begins.

-

The wolf is no less wild or reckless. It might be cute if it wasn't such a danger to itself and everything around it.

Being small keeps it from destroying the house in favor of destroying the room. Luckily it's a spare room, neither Dante's nor Matteo's. But all of the belongings in it that they hoped would act as distractions prove to be obstacles.

Dante watches in horror as a box of Philip's old trophies and plaques suddenly comes crashing down on the werewolf.

He runs over and hurriedly unburies it. The wolf is unconscious, whimpering softly. Its fur hides the damage but Dante knows there must be terrible bruising underneath.

The final object to remove is a heavy glass award that landed right on the wolf's small tail. When Dante lifts it the poor creature's whines increase in pitch and its breathing quickens. The tail is bent at an odd angle and some of the fur is damp with blood.

"Shh...it's okay..." Dante pets it like a dog, but that only seems to agitate it further. It snarls but doesn't wake.

Unsure how long it will stay like this, Dante takes a moment to examine the broken tail.

Broken is an understatement. Crushed is more like it. The tail is limp in his hands. A shard of bone protrudes through skin on one side, the source of the blood. Dante is relieved that the creature is unconscious; he hates to imagine any version of Matteo suffering this.

-

The wolf remains out all night. Occasionally it twitches, whimpers, or growls, but its injuries keep it subdued. Dante stays close until the elixir begins to wear off and the wolf grows back to full size. At that point he puts some distance between them.

Just before dawn the wolf wakes. It tries to stand, but then yowls in pain and drops back to the ground and whimpers some more. Dante watches the mangled tail twitch pitifully.

At least that will be gone when he turns back.

-

Dante is only half wrong.

As the wolf begins its painful return transformation, the tail does start to retract. But rather than disappear entirely, it becomes the lower spine of the gradually forming human torso.

This is the closest Dante has ever been for the turn back. The closest he has come to understanding what Matteo's body goes through. No part of him is lost or gained - only violently altered and reshaped.

Howls turn to cries and Matteo's face is his own again, twisted with agony as he writhes on the ground. Dante forces himself to wait for those sharp claws to return to hands before reaching for him. Matteo recoils at first. His eyes open and dart around the room, panicked. But when he sees Dante recognition dawns and he allows himself to be touched.

Dante eases Matteo into a sitting position and holds him. Matteo leans heavily into him, trembling and panting. His bare skin is bruised and hot. He tucks his burning face against the cool skin of Dante's neck and sighs.

While Matteo recovers Dante strokes slowly up and down his back with one hand. When his fingers reach the base of his spine, Matteo shudders in his arms and groans. The skin there is tender and bears the worst of the bruising. The tail is gone, but it left its pain.

"My back," Matteo groans. He grips Dante's shirt tightly. "O-oh god, it hurts so bad Dante, what did I do?"

"I'll tell you later. It's past our bedtime."

"I don't...don't think I can make it to the bed..."

"You don't have to worry about that," Dante whispers as he lowers his head. He brushes his lips over Matteo's shoulder, telling himself he's finding a spot, not leaving a kiss. "Let me handle everything."

"Okay," Matteo replies softly.

As fangs puncture Matteo's skin he relaxes. He gives himself over completely to Dante's care as if even now he is a small thing in Dante's hands, trusting he won't break him.

[sweet-lost-husbands]

Seek Forgiveness

Prompt from @marchtothefuckingsea: you all like the trope of character being so delirious from their injuries that they don't realize someone on their team trying to help them, so they fight back, but I offer you: Character, delirious, weakly fighting someone trying to help them, but they finally recognize who it is and they fight even harder.

Hurt/Comfort

I absolutely loved writing this! Hopefully you enjoy reading this, please feel free to give any advice as well.

Word count: 3k on the dot 🫠🫠

Summary: Reader gets hurt on a hunt and she is forced to rely on someone who has hurt her in the past, to save her life.

Warnings: Serious injury, blood, broken bones, extreme gore, restraints, potions, accidental torture?? but only to save her. Reader is scared of Castiel.

No usage of y/n.

Italics are the character's thoughts

It was a simple mistake- and yet an unforgivable one. That was the irony to it. 

I limp forward, slowly catching my breath as I walk. I hold my cold hand against my abdomen, Warm blood leaking through the gaps in my fingers and the fabric of my clothes, coating my body like a blanket as gravity beckons it down. I know I needed to put more pressure, but I can’t bring myself to do it. 

I take another sharp painful step, when something crashes into my side, and I'm thrown to the unforgiving floor. I hear the snaps before I feel the hot pain that explodes in my ribs. My lungs gasp for a single breath of air but it seems to fall short.  

I have been in this situation once before; it gives me back memories I try deeply to forget.  

Then something is on me, clawing at my flesh. I recognise that smell anywhere, the blood thirst- the unholiness. A vamp. 

I fumble with the machete, begging my numb fingers to work. My heart pounds in my chest and ricochets of skull, so loud that I plead for moment of silence. 

My fingers grip around the handle and gain just enough leverage to sever its head with one flick of the wrist.  

I collapse backwards, coughing and spluttering as the world spins and blurs. An all too familiar metallic taste erodes my mouth. All my limbs ache with exhaustion. My eyelids feel heavy, and my mind begins to drift into unknown places. 

I almost reach the blissful darkness when an agonising burst of pain brings me back. I scream, thrashing against the sudden pressure on my abdomen. My muscles tense and I arch upward, whimpering as the force increases.  

Take it away take it away takeitaway 

Water brims in my eyes; I twist my hands up and latch around the unknown arm, in a weak attempt to pry it off. My vision smudges and I can't see their face. They take the moment to increase the pressure even more, so that now I'm sure they are pushing their whole weight against it. I let out a strangled cry and can’t stop from writhing beneath them. 

Stop it, pleaseee 

“Shhhh, I know it hurts.”  

I barely make out the words because they are clouded by a layer of fog. Briefly, a feeling of warmth floats over my forehead, then disappears again, followed by some faint muttering.  

“Leave. Me. The. Hell. Alone.” I pant, continuing to push at his arms, anything to get away. When all fails, I start to turn in on myself, but he manages to keep me in place.  

Please 

“Hey, easy, easy, don’t move!” 

I can’t.  

One hand continues to put too much pressure on the wound while the other starts skimming over my skin, looking for injuries before coming to rest on my shoulder. 

“Oh god, your cold. We have to get you out of here.”  

Before I can protest, he pulls me into sitting and drapes my arm over his shoulder to support my weight. I let out a weak sob at the movement, doing what little I can to resist. A moment later, I am hoisted up. 

It starts with a few steps, but my side screams at me, and I try to double over and lay back on the ground.  

“Crap.” I hear him say, as he repositions my arm to keep me standing.  

He reaches under my knees and across my back and pulls me into his chest. I weakly shove at it, squirming from the shift in my ribs. 

No no no no 

“I know, I know.” He says something more, but I don’t mange to make it out. 

The next few minutes go by slowly. Each step moves me, and I can't do anything to stop it. At some point my eyes flutter shut. Yes, darkness. But a sharp pain blossoms as he purposely jolts me awake.  

I gasp, once again trying to free myself but he only tightens his grip.  

“Stay with me. Don’t you dare close your eyes.” 

“No....” 

“Yes.” His voice is firm like an order. “Yes, and if you don’t, then I'm going to have to force you back again. And you don’t want that do you?” 

“No.” 

“Good.” 

Eventually I feel him ease his arms that secure me and delicately place me down on something soft. Hopefully a bed but I'm too tired to care. Where am I? 

Hands glide over my face and cup it. I try to wave them away, but they don’t budge. A blurry figure is pulled into my eyesight and just for a second, I am able to focus enough to recognise the face. Cas. 

Damn it, I should have realised earlier. Not him. Anyone but him. He’s going to hurt me again. 

Suddenly I pull every tendril of remaining energy from my body to fight his grasp and propel myself away. The cool floor meets my face and I scramble weakly along it. Whimpering and curling up in a ball, tears adding to the already blood-soaked floor as my limbs finally give out. I’m aware that I'm shivering but its only when I look ahead and see a mirror, do I realise how pale I actually am. 

A finger taps my shoulder, and I can sense his presence next to me. 

Please don’t hurt me 

“Go away!” My voice strains. 

“You know I can’t do that.” He brushes a stray strand of hair from my face and forces our eyes to meet. It almost catches me off guard; I see something there that I have never seen before. Pleading. 

Why? 

“Don’t you dare.” I whisper but he ignores me and tries to slide his fingers to the hem of my shirt. I bat his hands away once more. 

“Stop fighting me!” His head is tilted in pure concern. 

Why does he care, why is he different? 

I start to mumble a response, but a coughing fit quickly wracks my torso. Cas acts quickly, bringing my head up to rest on his lap until it subsides. From there, he lifts me onto the bed and lays me out flat, which I instinctively start to curl.  

“I can’t heal you but let me help.” 

“No, g’t aw’y fr’m me. Anyth’ng b’t your help.” I slur. 

“Okay.” His voice is laced with remorse and heartbreak. “Then you leave me no choice.” 

First, he grasps my arm and gently tugs it away from me, securing it with rope; the next is my other hand and then both my legs, until I am fully outstretched. I almost can’t stand it; the pain intensifies. I feebly yank on the restraints, trying to get free myself, but they are unyielding.  

I only notice that Cas had left the room when he returns, holding a med kit. He sets it down on the bed-side table and starts taking things out and positioning them in a certain way. “I’m sorry but I’ve already caused you enough pain and if you die and I had a chance to save you......” He trails off. “I won't be able to forgive myself.”  

He pauses, taking out a wad of gauze and a bottle of alcohol.  

In the haze, I almost miss the stray tear making its way down his cheek. “I’m not going to hurt you.” 

“You d’d.” I rasp, narrowing my vision on what he is doing, with an expression of horror on my face. Don’t put me through more pain, just let me go, why can't he let me go? Surely, he can see that I don’t want this. Surely.  

I pull at the restraints again. 

“I know.” He purposely hides his face so I can’t see the sadness in his eyes, “And yes, while it may have been true that I was under a spell and couldn’t help it; I am sorry. I will do anything to make up to you, but first let me help.” 

Nothing manages to leave my throat as he turns back to me. Was that true? Was it not his fault? I feel the blood drain from my face. Last time he had tortured me and left me for dead, I was lucky that Dean made it to me in time. After that I became a hunter to stop things like what happened to me. But maybe Cas wasn’t a monster- not anymore. 

“Stay still.” He says and gives me a sad smile; like he hates what he is about to do. I feel his gentle fingers at the hem of my crimson-soaked shirt, and he carefully lifts it up. 

He grabs a few things. “This will hurt...... I am truly sorry.” 

There is a slap of elastic gloves being put on and then he nears. I feel as he places one hand a couple of inches above the wound, which I realise is to keep me in place.  

The moment the alcohol-soaked gauze skims over my tender skin, I screech, lashing out, fighting the rope bound around me. It burns like my whole abdomen is lit aflame. 

Can’t get free can’t get free cantgetfree 

My body trembles as Castiel begins to push it in further to clean it. I struggle against him, pushing back into the bed as much as I can, but it doesn’t help. Nothing stops him from taking his time to thoroughly sterilise it. I jerk at every movement of the gauze- back and forth, pushing in the skin, not failing to get right into the corner. Each inch forcing it way through my tender flesh. I cry from the pain, still tugging at the restraints and recoiling against Cas’s hands, completely helpless to free myself. 

“Easy, easy, almost done.” He says as he wipes the wound one last time and pulls away. 

Sweat trickles down my forehead and I visually relax, panting. 

“I’m sorry but that had to be done.” He says over his shoulder as he fiddles with something else in the med kit. “Dean and Sam will be here by tomorrow evening, but you’ll bleed out long before they get here; I'm going to have to stitch it.” 

“Nooooo pleaseeee.” I whine. 

He lays a comforting hand on my shoulder and starts rubbing soothing circles. “Trust me, I don’t want to do this either. I would give anything not to have to hurt you again.” The way his words quiver like there is a lump in his throat, sells the line. 

He waits a little longer and then lets my shoulder go and brings the needle and thread to the bed-side table. 

“C-cold.” I stutter. 

“I’ll get you a blanket once this is done.” 

Castiel places the same hand on my chest again but this time, he applies a little more pressure. “Don’t move if you can help it, it could cause me to stitch all wonky. I know this isn’t ideal, but we can’t waste any more time. Please forgive me.” 

I flinch the first time the needle pricks my pale skin, then still. I stifle my groan which soon turns into a quiet sob as he continues relentlessly. I am barely aware of him muttering hush apologies to me at every groan, cry and beg. 

The pain expands though my side with each new stitch, constantly lingering. I try to focus on the ceiling, but it doesn’t distract much, since there is no way to not feel the movement of the needle. God I hate needles. 

"Stop tensing the area I'm trying to stitch." Cas orders and clamps his hand down a little more. 

“Yeah, well if you, AAGH.” He hits the spot which is the deepest and it causes me to jump. 

“I told you to stop moving!” 

I nod and clench my hands until the knuckles are white, to stop myself from wriggling. 

“You know,” He starts his next stitch and pinches the skin together, ignoring my wince. “You are quite remarkable; a thousand others would’ve passed out long before this step.” He threads it through and ties it.  

My skin is so tight around the wound, and it feels like a white-hot sting that won’t go away.  

“Holy Shit!” I swear, as a sudden burning rushes through the wound. He puts the alcohol on the table and gives be an apologetic smile. "You could have warned for that." 

He shrugs. "Sam says it’s better without a warning."  

I whimper as he places a large bandage over the top and starts clearing everything away. 

“It’s done for the time being.” He comforts, and lightly kisses me on the forehead. “You can sleep now.” 

I feel my head finally lull to the side and I allow myself to drift off. 

~ 

When I open my eyes, my head throbs and the world spins. I see Cas and for an instant my mind takes me right back to when he was a monster, and I bolt up. 

He rushes to my side and to pushes me down with his angel strength. 

“Hey, hey, it’s just me. Slow down.” 

I relax in his arms once I realise.  

“There.” He soothes, shifting so that I am lying flat, but his voice soon turns serious. “Stunts like that could tear your stitches.” He peels the bandage back and takes a look. “But thankfully it hasn’t.” 

He pulls the blanket back over me and carefully holds a glass of water to my lips. “Slow.” He says and tilts it a little. 

I hadn’t realised how thirsty I was and start to lap it up. He pulls away and I chase after it, but he continues to hold my clamp down on my shoulder with one hand. 

“Slow.” He repeats and brings the cup back. I do what as he says until it's gone. 

I wiggle my feet enough to find that he must have taken the restraints off while I was out. 

He takes a seat next to the bed and squeezes my hand. It's so warm. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Like I've been stabbed.” 

Cas smiles. “How do you really feel?” 

I sigh. “Tired, everything hurts.” 

“I’d assume that’s normal considering what you’ve been through.” He tilts his head towards my ribs. “When you're ready, I need to take a look, okay?” 

I swallow thickly. “Okay.” I chastise myself at how the words break in my throat, I know he's only trying to help. 

A shudder escapes my lips as Cas’s warm fingers skim over my ribs. I hold back a choked cry as he presses into them, testing the bones. By the time he finishes, I am as far away from him as the bed allows. 

“A couple are broken; I'll go get you an icepack.” 

When he re-enters and positions the icepack over my sides, his face has saddened like he isn’t telling me something. 

“What is it?” I ask. 

He doesn’t hold back. “There’s been a slight delay with Sam and Dean, they won’t be here for a few more days. We are in a small cabin out in the woods, it's not safe here. The vampire's that did this to you could be back with the rest of the nest.” 

“Oh.” I manage to say. 

He wipes a finger over my face to stop the tears. “We need to leave but we can’t do that with the condition you're in now. And I can’t heal you because they used a blade warded against angels.” 

“So, what do we do?” I take his hand and intertwine our fingers. 

“You know I don’t want to put you in more pain than I have to.” I can feel him shaking now; he's scared. 

“Cas.” My tone is slightly louder than I wanted. 

There's a pause. He readjusts his trench coat like its uncomfortable. “There may be a healing spell that could help but I'm told that the procedure will be...... unpleasant, to say the least.”  

His whole face screams regret but I surprise him with my answer. “Do it.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah..... I trust you.” 

~ 

“Okay.” Cas says, more to himself than me. He places the neon purple potion on the table and undoes his belt. “Open,” he commands, “It should help with the pain.” 

I reluctantly take in the leather and bite down. 

“I have to restrain you now. If you mess with the potion even a little, it could prove faulty and there is no way in hell, I'm putting you through this twice.” 

I give a slight nod and he starts tying my limbs with rope. I get more scared by the second, I can already hear the rhythmic beat of my heart. This time he also adds some rope over my thighs and chest so I can move even less than before. 

Once he’s finished, he fetches the potion and hovers over me. 

“If you have somewhere you find soothing, go there in your mind.” 

Then he begins, first removing the bandage to expose the wound then pours it in. 

A blazing burst of pain explodes through my body, everything feels like it's on fire. Then his hands are on me, rubbing it as deep into the wound as possible while I strain and fight to get away from the hands that are hurting me. He manages to shove it through the gaps in the stitches so it can travel deeper. I scream and cry around the belt, every muscle tensed so much that it cramps. I can feel as every rib welds itself together and every cell in the wound presses until it's all combined.  

When all the pain finally simmers, relief washes over me. Cas whispers comforting words and praise as he undoes the restraints and pulls me into a hug. I am too weak to resist the movement, but I don’t want to, its sweet and warm. He saved me. 

“You did so well,” He soothes. “I am so proud of you. Are you okay?” 

“Yes,” I answer simply, “I am now, and I forgive you.” 

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1130

Submitted by @dollopheadedmerlin - thanks!

Whumpee is put under some sort of obedience spell (potion, curse, drug, etc.) And is used against their team to do horrible things. When rescued, they are unable to undo the effects, having them remain obedient to every command. After undoing commands that hinder the whumpee ("you are to sleep when you please" to counter "you shall only sleep when I tell you to" for example) the whumpee still drones around like they have tasks to keep track of. 

When asked why they don't feel more free, whumpee admits that even neutral commands meant to fee them of obedience plague their mind, as they are just as obligated to follow them as they are harmless ones, leaving them in a dazed state most of the time, unable to think normally. 

[comfort-questing]

"headache/migraine"

All through class that day, Dimitri had been looking forward to getting outdoors and away from books, and from the dense smells that suddenly seemed so much stronger as the pressure behind his right eye built to its usual aching crescendo. At first he squinted, and then leaned his head on his hand, directing his good eye towards the page and trying his best to answer his share of the logistical discussion problems they were supposed to be studying.

"...oh, no, wait, I forgot about the feed the horses would need. What's the rate of feed per horse per day..." Sylvain shredded his bright hair with distracted fingers. "Dimitri?"

For someone who spoke so particularly of training to be a mounted knight, that question should not be such a puzzle, Dimitri thought dimly through the throbbing in his head. The migraines weren't new, and always seemed to follow his more sleepless nights, when the ghosts teased him in and out of any remnants of rest he could grasp. Sylvain was wearing cologne again and the heavy tinge of floral scent almost sickened him, faint as he knew it was.

He made some vague answer, as he'd done all morning, and tried to blink his eyes clear unsuccessfully.

"Are you all right, Dimitri?"

"Yes. Yes, of course." They had enough to worry about, these classmates and future subjects of his, without knowing about yet another of his endless skein of weaknesses.

Somehow he did make it through class, the moments blurring together, the rest of the Blue Lions' voices blending into a universal too loud, too much beneath the high wooden ceiling. He scrounged up some words to allay Dedue's concern as they passed each other in the hallway, although the other boy's steps seemed to lag at parting. Still, it was undeniable that the stables and the training grounds were in opposite directions.

The sunlight struck him like a blow as Dimitri left the shadow of the classroom building, and he clenched his teeth. This was going to be a very long day.

-

Dimitri didn't know, at first, whose hand it was that gently tapped his shoulder as he curled up in the corner of the tack stall, struggling to get his throbbing head and queasy stomach to cooperate enough to let him stand up again. He startled sluggishly, the whispers echoing between his ears dimming, and blinked upwards to see scruffy hair and a small swinging braid silhouetted against the daylight outside.

"Hullo, Your Princeliness. You don't look so well."

"I'm - resting. Just a slight headache."

The side of Claude's mouth twitched, as he quirked the corresponding eyelid above in a most remarkable wordless display of dubiousness. Dimitri gritted his teeth as another spike of pain drove through the bone above his own eye.

"Do you really think this is the best place to rest, then? Wouldn't you rather go somewhere else?"

That would require standing up, and staggering somewhere back through the sunlight, and letting people see him like this. Dimitri started to shake his head, but grimaced instead, wincing at the movement. "I'll - be fine soon."

He thought - hoped - Claude would go away; the last thing he needed right now was a witness. Outside the shade of the stalls the buzz of voices and the clatter of horseshoes on cobblestones echoed dimly.

But Claude didn't. Claude came closer, cautiously but surely, the minute sounds of his breathing and the brush of his clothing loud in the stillness. He reached out, Dimitri stiffening up under his touch, and slipped an arm under Dimitri's shoulders.

"I've got medicine in my room, if you don't want to bother Marianne," he said, his voice a low murmur, the smell of sweat and wyvern breath strong on him. "Though I don't think magic does much for mine when I get them, so... C'mon. Close your eyes and let me know when you're ready to stand up."

Dimitri had never dreamed of bothering any of the Faith mages with a problem like this. He wanted to protest, but the slight motion of opening his mouth jolted the pain into fresh throbbing, and he swallowed hard. His eyes had slid shut almost without his intention, distant sunlight bright as he turned his face.

He was so, so tired all of a sudden.

Be strong, whispered someone, the choked rasp of a corpse long dead by smoke and flame. Stand up, boy.

"I'm... ready."

-

Thinking back on it, he probably should have refused any of Claude's dubious original concoctions, but by the time the other boy got him back to the officers' academy dorms he didn't have the composure to protest. Claude helped him sit back against the wall, in the shadow of the building that was delight enough, and returned some moments later.

The sickly-sweet taste of the potion guided to his lips made him gag at first, but the fuzzy tingling that followed as he breathed deep dulled the pain and nausea a few notches in a sudden mercy he could have wept for. The arm behind his shoulders didn't leave, even as he leaned his head back against the wall, waiting for the relief to spread.

No words. Just Claude's hand firm at his shoulder, a comforting pressure that reminded him obscurely of old days, and fingers now ash and dust.

And when he finally let himself go into the drowsy heaviness beneath, he woke with a scarf folded under his head, and Dedue sitting next to him with a worried scowl.

"Your Highness? Sylvain told me you had vanished from the stables..."

"It's - it's all right, Dedue." Dimitri rolled over and got up on his elbows, some lingering dizziness catching him, but the weight and pain stretched out and lightened in his temples. "I had some help to feel better."

And he thought he'd imagined the fleeting smile on Dedue's face, as they both saw the bundle of gold cloth he'd napped on; but perhaps not, at that.

[echo-goes-mmm]

Hello! I would love to drug or spell Wren so he becomes very honest.

I tell Wren his master knows the truth and if he doesn't go confess he'll be in a lot of trouble. Even sold to a new master, one that's mean.

I tell Silas Wren has a few things he wants to tell him.

Then I dip, they can have fun-

Anyways, I love these boys so much. They have been rotating in my head since the last ask I sent about them <3

Wren is terrified. He knows he hasn't seen the worst of what Masters can do, and he doesn't want to find out.

He sprints to Silas, tears already streaming down his face. He kneels at Silas's feet.

He tells him everything, every lurid detail of his imagination, trembling the whole time.

He even explains that he just wanted Silas to fuck him so he could pretend to be loved.

It's humiliating, but better that then being sold off to someone cruel.

Silas stares at him, mouth agape.

Wren braces to be punished, even though he's already said everything. Who knows if Silas will believe he isn't keeping secrets any longer?

Silas doesn't quite say 'what the fuck', but it's a close call.

Wren is usually so... polite. He didn't expect him to be so suddenly obscene. And Silas is horrified when Wren explains to him what you said.

Silas sternly tells Wren that he doesn't care what Wren gets up to in his head, but to never surprise him with his sexual fantasies again.

Wren nods, still sobbing, and Silas softens.

"Besides," adds Silas, "you don't need to offer your body to be loved."

Wren doesn't really believe him, but it makes him feel better anyway.

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

can you write something where whumpee really trusts whumper - and whumper is in love with them but they don’t love them back. so one day whumper slips a love potion into their food/drink and it works. whumper keeps whumpee with them but at one point they (whumper) start getting really possessive and start drugging whumpee regularly to keep them weak and stop them from running away.

all while caretaker is incredibly worried and just trying to find whumpee.

(no pressure though of course)

Oh anon, your request has some of my favorite tropes! I can absolutely write this for you! Thanks for your patience, and for requesting this, here you go!

It was just a small dose. That’s all that was needed, really. One minute, Whumpee was saying how they could only stay for a quick cup of tea, then one sip later and Whumpee couldn’t tear themselves away from Whumper. And that’s just how Whumper wanted it.

“I love you, Whumper,” Whumpee said.

Whumper pulled Whumpee in closer on the couch.

“I love you too, Whumpee.”

The love potion had worked perfectly, but soon, it wasn’t enough. It induced a love for Whumper, yes, but hours later, Whumpee was trying to leave again.

“I have to go, Whumper,” Whumpee said, all while Whumper peppered them with kisses, “I’ll come back tomorrow, I promise. I love you.”

Evidently, love wasn’t enough to make them stay. That was alright, Whumper had other tricks up their sleeve.

…

“Hhng…”

“I know darling, I know,” Whumper cooed softly, “but this wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t try to leave me. Come on, it’s time for your next dose.”

Whumpee laid in the bed, staring at absolutely nothing. Whumper rolled up Whumpee’s sleeve and pulled out the syringe. They injected the contents into Whumpee’s system.

“How about I make you a nice cup of tea, hm?” Whumper asked sweetly.

“H-home,” Whumpee murmured, “I wanna go h-h-”

“You are home, Whumpee,” Whumper said, “don’t you worry about a thing. I’m going to take care of you now. I love you.”

Whumper planted a kiss to Whumpee’s forehead and left to brew another love potion. As they strode into the kitchen, they were greeted by Whumpee’s phone ringing. They picked it up, reading the caller ID.

“Hm, Caretaker again,” Whumper said, “Whumpee doesn’t need anyone but me.”

Whumper turned off Whumpee’s phone and tossed it into the trashcan. That was the third time today Whumpee’s phone had rung, and all the calls had been from Caretaker. It was nice to hear the sound of silence, knowing that annoying ringtone wouldn’t be playing anymore.

Tags: @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld

Ko-fi

[whump-cravings]

Tiefling Princess (A TR3 AU) - Confrontation

TR3 Masterlist

1176 words | Original Work: AU of TR3 wherein Hakon (unwillingly) and Baltar (willing but unknowingly) each sired a daughter with @lia-wildfire's archdevil Seirixis in a d&d-influenced version of Ironda. The princesses were both raised by Baltar. Content: father-daughter angst and conflict, misunderstanding, stress-induced heart attack, vaguely implied past noncon

Rihada closed her eyes, drawing on the Weave. Illusion rippled over her, erasing her horns and tail, dyeing her skin brown and hair black. When she opened her eyes, they were the same color as Baltar's. She'd practiced in the mirror.

She turned. "Would you love me if I looked like this?"

Brows drawn together, her uncle—her true father glanced her over in his typical cursory fashion. "Look like—" His gaze stopped and his words faltered as he focused, actually looking at her for the first time she could ever recall. His eyes widened and mouth opened, expression stricken.

Pain stabbed at her heart. There it is. How was it that the gaze she had craved for so long hurt so much? She had thought it would be like a warm hug, but instead was like ripping stitches from an open, festering wound.

"I can't believe it," she scoffed, gritting her teeth to ward off tears. "What does prejudice outside the family matter when the biggest bigot is on the throne?"

The king's face screwed up, shoulders hunching. "That's not—"

Rihada wouldn't have his excuses. "How long did it take you to decide you didn't want me?" she demanded. "Was it when you saw the horns?"

Slouching further, Hakon weakly protested, "It's not like that."

"What did you expect when you fucked a devil?"

The king flinched, taking a gasping breath. "You don't—you don't understand."

"I understand enough," she said, tongue lashing with vicious power. "Once a coward, always a coward."

Hakon reached for a drawer, wincing, and fumbled for something in his desk. He grasped at his chest with his other hand, fingers digging in.

Righteous fury spurred her on. After all these years, what right did he have to feel comfortable? Her invisible tail lashed as she leaned onto his desk. "The only thing I wonder is why you never replaced me after papa adopted me. Did you even care about the damage done to his reputation by taking me in?"

A sheen of sweat glistened on the king's forehead as he withdrew a small vial from the drawer. He didn't manage to uncork it; the glass slipped through his shaking fingers and onto the ground, shattering bluish liquid on the carpet. A soft, distressed groan escaped the man, fingers stiffly flexing.

"So where's your perfect human baby?" Rihada pressed viciously. "Was Aunt Mohini just too nice to divorce you when she found out the truth?"

Without a word to his defense, the king slumped forward onto the desk.

Rihada leaned in a little more. "You don't get to ignore me anymore." Her father didn't respond or move, and she slammed the desk with a fist, jostling him. "You owe me that much!"

He didn't respond, uncannily still. Rihada realized she couldn't hear him breathing.

"Uncle?" she said, fear creeping up her spine as she shook him. "Uncle Hakon!"

He wasn't breathing.

Fingers bunching on his shirt, Rihada screamed, "Help!"

No no nonono. This isn't supposed to happen.

You can't die. I can't have killed you. That can't be it.

"Aunt Mohini! Cleric! The king needs help!"

Fiery tears dripped off her chin as she ran around the desk, trying to pick up her uncle—her father the king. But she wasn't strong enough, her knees buckling as she took his weight. She screamed into his lap, sobbing as she clutched at him. "You can't do this to me!"

"Rihada!" Mohini yelled before she burst in, skirts hiked high. "What happened?! What is—pit'non, lomir!" The queen dashed across the room.

"He's not breathing!" Rihada sobbed. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to—!"

A warm light misted from Mohini's skin, eyes glowing as she put a hand on Hakon. "Do not go anywhere, lomir," she murmured. The light transferred to the king, and he took a shuddering breath, stirring before falling into a peaceful stillness, breath soft.

Mohini let out a sigh of relief. "What happened?" she asked, stroking Hakon's hair. "And why do you look like this, child?"

"I—I yelled at him," Rihada wept, dropping her human guise as she was reminded of it. "Papa told me the truth of who sired me."

She had wanted him to see her. To acknowledge that she existed and that she was his. Motes of fire rolled out of her eyes again, leaving tracks of soot in their wake.

"Oh," Mohini said, gaze softening from concern to... pity. "Oh, Rihada."

Footsteps and concerned shouts came from the hallway. Mohini raised her head to shout that the emergency was over. Still, a swarm of helpers descended on the king, and the queen ushered Rihada to the side.

"Sweet child. None of this is your fault," she said, wiping almost-too-hot-to-touch tears away from the princess's cheeks, unbothered by the ash that blackened her hand. "I have to go. There will be much concern I must lay to rest."

Not believing Mohini's pacification, but having already caused too much trouble today, Rihada nodded dully. The queen sighed and placed a kiss on Rihada's forehead before departing.

Hakon was carried on a litter to his chambers and examined. Eventually, a Restoration was performed on his heart. "Cardiac arrest," the healers said to each other, and, "broken heart syndrome."

Out of the way, Rihada watched all this with a creeping numbness, tail held low and sooty handkerchief clutched in her hand. Was her mere existence so terrible that it could cause her uncle's heart to fail? Mohini had said it wasn't her fault, but certainly this was a consequence of her wrath, pride, and greed. So why did it still hurt to think that she should be content with everything she already had? Why couldn't she give up on gaining the king's approval?

"Your majesty," someone greeted, snapping Rihada back to awareness. King Hakon groaned softly as he came to, starting to lift himself into a sitting position. No less than two people jumped to help, bolstering him with pillows. He didn't complain about the treatment, his attention elsewhere as he scanned the room.

"Please take deep breaths if you feel discomfort, my king," one of the healers instructed. "You may still feel weak—"

Hakon's eyes alighted on Rihada and fell away as normal. Then, with obvious effort, his gaze flicked back up to her. Rihada shrank under his gaze, head bowing and tail wrapping around a leg as her vision blurred.

Raising a hand, Hakon brushed away one of the fussing servants. "Leave me. All of you."

Normally, none hesitated to follow the orders of the king. However, belying their concern, the healers hesitated. "Your majesty, are you sure that's wise? You just suffered a—"

"And I have no doubt you've performed your duties well. I must speak with the princess privately."

The healers hesitated again, worried glances shot in Rihada's direction. It didn't take much insight to recognize they were concerned about a repeat incident. But Hakon turned a glare on them and they bowed out, one mumbling something about lingering nearby before they vacated the room.

taglist: @nabanna @emcscared-whumps @flat-san @nicolepascaline​ @i-can-even-burn-salad @melennui @thecyrulik @there-will-always-be-blood

[podcastenthusiast]

This scene sold me on Yen/Geralt in the books and it does here, too, even more so.

Geralt is suffering quite a lot due to the afftereffects of his witcher potions, and he lets it show. He doesn't try to hide it from her.

Yen knows exactly how this affects him. Meaning it's happened before or he's told her about it. She knows he's exhausted and in pain, and she doesn't like that he has to do this to himself to fight.

Yen says she wants to examine him (to make sure he's not injured since he wouldn't have felt it because of the potions) but mostly I think she just wants to comfort and be close to him.

She's so soft and gentle when she touches him y'all, oh my god.

His eyes are closed. The trust! The tenderness! The vulnerability in this moment!

(After this Yen basically says she's gonna ruin him and they have sex but that's all beside the point, okay)

[faofinn]

17. Magical Remedy/Healing Potion

Fao loved having Meelie over. His niece was always a pleasure, at a similar age to the twins, and they got on well. With Jess working long hours and Finn stuck in hospital after a couple of back to back seizures, Fao and Ely had offered to take her, save the stress. 

Only five, she was still small, and didn’t fully understand what was going on with her dad, but she understood enough that he wasn’t well, and that worried her. Fao did his best, but it was hard. He had the day off, whilst Ely was working, and given it was a Saturday the house was busy. Luke was up in his room doing his homework, but Beth and Arthur were full of energy and Fao could tell Meelie was struggling. She’d been playing with her cousins all morning, Fao sat watching the tv when she appeared in tears, reaching out for him. 

“U-uncle Fao?” She sniffled. 

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” He asked gently. 

“I miss Daddy.” 

“I miss your Daddy too.” He said, scooping her up to settle her in his lap. “It’s okay, he’ll be home soon. The doctors at the hospital are making him better.” 

“But Daddy’s a doctor. Can’t he fix himself?”

“Oh, sweetie. It doesn’t quite work like that.” He said, kissing the top of her head. 

“It makes my heart hurt.” She said, sounding older than her five years. 

“When your Daddy’s poorly it makes my heart hurt, too.” 

“Really?”

“Mmhmm. I get sad, and that’s okay.” 

“But my heart hurts.” She said, the tears starting again. 

“Oh, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Fao soothed, brushing away her tears. “Don’t cry sweetie, don’t cry. Why don’t we go and find Beth and Arthur, hmm? I’m sure they’ll want to help you feel better. Where’s giraffe, eh? Did we leave him all tucked up in bed? Let’s go get him and give him a cuddle.” He held her close as he stood up, heading upstairs to find his two. 

He found the twins in their little play room, having stopped on the way to grab Meelie’s giraffe. His niece had him clutched to her chest, nuzzling into him in a way that reminded Fao so much of his brother. 

“Beth? Arthur? Meelie is feeling sad because she misses her Daddy. Do you think we can make her feel better?”

“Yeah!” They both said, toys abandoned. 

“How are we gonna make her feel better?”

“Magic.” Beth said, as though it was obvious. 

“Magic? Are we gonna make a magical remedy?”

Beth nodded. “Mmhmm. Gonna do a magic and fix Meelie’s sad.”

“With glitter.” Arthur added. 

Fao winced. “Glitter, eh? Can we make sure we keep the glitter in here, yeah? Daddy will help.” 

“You can help.” Arthur confirmed, as Beth disappeared off to find what she wanted in one of her boxes of stuff. She appeared with a little bottle, and Fao had to admit he had absolutely no idea where it had come from. Maybe it was a soap bottle that had been repurposed, but he didn’t recognise it. 

“We can put the magic in here.” Beth announced, setting it down on the table. “Daddy get the glitter.” 

“Alright, I’ll get the glitter.” Fao said, letting Meelie down whilst he headed to the cupboard with the glitter in, high enough up that the kids couldn’t get in there. He’d learned his lesson leaving glitter accessible at all times.

Arthur was furiously scribbling away on a piece of paper, brow furrowed in concentration. 

“What are you drawing, Arthur?”

“A magical unicorn giraffe.” 

“Oh, wow.”

“Cos giraffes are Meelie’s favourite. And this one is magical.”

“So it is. Maybe Meelie can help you colour him in?”

“Uh-huh.” He said, nodding. “She can pick what colours he is.” 

Beth already had her eyes on the glitter, Fao keeping hold of it. Meelie had dried her eyes and had started to colour with Arthur, though she was still subdued. Understandably so.

“Daddy! Glitter please!” Beth called. She’d already put some pink tissue paper inside the bottle she’d found, and Fao hummed. 

“Okay, where am I putting the glitter?”

“In the bottle.” 

“Has the bottle got a lid?” The last thing he wanted to do was be pouring glitter into something with no lid.

“Yeah, here!” She shoved it at him. 

“Alright, thank you sweetie. We’ll put some glitter in here, then. What colour?”

“Meelie, what colour glitter?”

“Gold!” 

“Gold.” 

“Gold glitter it is, then.” Fao said, carefully tapping some into the bottle. 

They added a few other bits and bobs, and then Beth found some sparkly stickers, getting Meelie to stick her favourites onto the outside.  Fao sealed the lid on with a bit of glue, and that was that. Arthur and Meelie had finished drawing the magical giraffe unicorn, and the magical remedy bottle was complete. 

“To fix the sad.” Beth said, offering Meelie the bottle. “It’s magic, so it’ll fix it.”

[shes-some-other-where]

June of Doom Day 3, Day 6, Day 13, & Day 22

“Well, well, well…” | Hiding | Ambushed | Flinch | “Wait!” | Poison | Bedridden

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Contains: royalty whump, lady whump, death, murder, blood, fantasy drug/potion

WC: 765

What savagery is this?

The night the royal family fell to ruin

“Well, well, well.” Soldiers surged inside. “I knew there was another prince that needed killing, hiding somewhere, but it looks like my work is done for me.” The invader scoffed as he approached, leaving crimson footsteps on the floor. “What did you do, princess? Poison him so he wouldn’t have to taste defeat at my hands, too?”

She flung herself in front of her brother’s prone form, keenly aware of how the hulking warriors, approaching with their blades drawn, dwarfed her puny frame.

She watched the swords, not the faces. The invader believed her brother was dead already; perhaps that would be what saved him. Sinking their weapons into his flesh while he lay senseless and vulnerable would be a pointless endeavour. What honour was there in slaying a corpse already going cold?

Their folly, however, would do little to save her.

“Leave me to grieve my brother,” she said. “Then . . .”

Then, what?

“Then do as you will,” she choked.

She raised her gaze, unable to disguise her quivering lip and quaking limbs, just in time to see the invader’s mouth curl upwards.

Had he not been drenched in the blood of her family, courtiers, servants, and soldiers, she might have found him striking: sandy hair, sleek with sweat, pushed back from his glistening forehead. Eyes like silvery slits—eyes of moonlight—watched her, glimmering with bloodlust, alight with the spiteful pleasure he took in seeing her tremble.

“As I will, hmm?” He seemed to ponder these words, letting silence creep over them both save for the drip, drip, drip of blood splattering to the floor from the soldiers’ blades. She flinched with each soft sound. Suddenly, the handsomeness of his face vanished, leaving behind only the red splotches on his armour, the flecks of gore across what little exposed skin she could see.

“My lord,” said one soldier, pointing to her brother’s chest. It rose and fell evenly as he lay, undisturbed, in his unnatural slumber. “He lives.”

The invader’s smile widened. “The little princess is a little liar.” Without pausing for a breath, he ordered his soldiers, “Kill him.”

“No!” As the nearest soldier raised his sword, she hurled her body atop her brother’s. “No! Wait! Please. Please. You can’t. He’s sick. He’s ill. You can’t.”

“Of course I can,” said the invader calmly. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Where’s your honour?” she cried, grappling fruitlessly to cling to her brother’s motionless limbs as a soldier clamped onto her arms and wrenched her away. “Butchering an unconscious man? What kind of savagery is this?”

Scathing laughter swelled around them, hot breath and blood mingling in the air, tightening around her like cords and chains.

“Pretty words for a pretty thing,” said the invader. “No perfervid pleas will save you, however. Still, I’ll afford you once last choice. Shall I slit your throat first so you don’t have to watch, or would you like to attend the former crown prince’s last breaths with blood still flowing through your veins?”

When she didn’t answer, he shrugged and gestured to his soldiers with a single wave of his hand: Do it now.

The princess screamed.

“Wait!”

Looking more entertained than irritated, perhaps knowing that her shrieks would only delay the inevitable and that his victory was at hand, the invader held up his hand again. Halt.

“Look at the bottle,” she gasped. “Just—just look!”

“It’s a trick,” said the soldier who held her, wrenching her head back and gliding a blade over the skin of her throat. She felt it split, felt the heat of blood oozing toward her collarbone like scarlet honey. “Hold your tongue, girl.”

But the invader merely watched, impassive, as she whimpered and struggled to escape the bite of his soldier’s blade, to no avail. Neither fear nor suspicion marred the blood-flecked features of his face; he seemed, of all things, curious—and, of course, still cruelly amused.

“Tell me what’s in the bottle,” he said lightly. “You may speak.”

He, a brute and a usurper, giving her, a princess, a woman of royal blood, leave to speak. She jerked involuntarily against the soldier’s hold, and the man yanked her head back again.

“Say it, then,” the soldier hissed. “Do as your prince commands.”

Not my prince.

But she choked out, “It’s a sleeping potion. Dreamless sleep. He needs it. Do you know why?”

What a traitor she was. Her brother would never forgive her.

The invader prince lifted his eyebrows. “Speak quickly, princess, before my curiosity depletes. Your time is running out.”

June of Doom Masterlist

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@juneofdoom

All my writing is original. Feel welcome to interact/comment/reblog. Pls don’t steal or repost.