#whumpuaryno15

[tabbytabbytabby]

A Buddie aesthetic for @whumpuary No.15: You’re safe / Touch starved

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumpuary Day 25-26 & 29-31

Prompts: Can’t stay awake | “You’re safe.”

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Drugging, Overdose, Allusions to past child abuse

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

“What the fuck are you doing?!” You shouted, keeping your eyes on Daryl while Tomi loudly rummaged through cabinets and drawers behind you. “Daryl. Daryl, stay awake.”

“M’tired.” The archer mumbled, eyelids heavy, breaths slowing before your eyes. 

“Tomi!” You snapped again. 

“They injected him with some sort of opioid. I need narcan.” Things were flying around, hitting the floor as the surgeon continued his frantic search. “How’s his breathing?”

“Too slow.” You shook Daryl again. Each time he responded, you felt a short lived relief but it never lasted long. “Daryl, stay with me. Look at me.”

“Y/N…tired…”

“I know but you can’t sleep.” Those normally sharp blues were dull, his pupils contracted to barely there black dots inside the pale cerulean. His eyes closed, head lolling forward. “Daryl? Daryl!” He inhaled sharply, giving you hope that he might regain a normal breathing pattern. 

He didn’t. 

“Can’t…can’t stay…”

“You have to. Just for a few more minutes okay?” You hadn’t seen when the man had used the syringe, only catching Daryl yanking it from his neck to angrily toss it aside before plunging his knife through the attacker’s skull. It wasn’t even a minute before the archer staggered back against the wall and slid down to where he still sat. “Tomi!” When Daryl’s eyes closed this time, he didn’t reopen them. 

“I’m trying!”

“Daryl!” His breaths were further and further apart, agonizing torture to know that one would eventually be his last. 

“If he stops breathing, you need to breathe for him.”

“Al-alright.” You could do that. You placed two fingers to his neck, counting the beats over and over, witnessing that number fall each time. “Please, please.”

“Got it!” Tomi dropped down beside the archer, foregoing any measure of sterilizing to just jab the needle into the muscle of Daryl’s bicep. 

“What now?”

“We wait. He never stopped breathing. The narcan should level him out enough to move him safely.” The nod you gave was curt and unbidden, your sole focus was the rise and fall of Daryl’s chest. “Okay. Okay, good. It’s picking up. I’ll get a stretcher. Keep watching his breathing.” Another nod. 

“Daryl, can you hear me?” Unresponsive. At least each breath was coming in at a slow, but steady pace. You could work with that for now. The wheels of the stretcher were loud in the otherwise empty hospital.

“Vitals are stable for now. I grabbed all the narcan but we need to have access to intubation supplies and IV fluids.” At your confused expression, he added, “I’ll need to insert a tube to help him breathe for a while if he struggles to on his own.”

You nodded calmly before the two of you struggled and fumbled to get Daryl onto the stretcher. Truthfully, the thought of Daryl needing a machine to keep breathing was horrifying. For that moment, you just continued to watch his chest, breaths remaining steady and unlabored. 

It took only moments for an IV to be inserted and fluids to begin running into the archer’s hand. His breathing slowed only once more and one last dose of narcan was administered. 

Hours later, Tomi concluded that Daryl was out of danger and would likely wake up at any moment. So you waited, instinctively listening for danger as employees returned to the hospital, the walkers having been cleared as well as the living threats, thanks in part to the man on the bed in front of you. 

You couldn’t wait to get him home and sleep for at least a day, snug against his side with your head over his heart, able to hear each beat and feel each breath. 

Finally, his fingers twitched in your hold, his head rolling back and forth on the pillow, face scrunching. 

“Daryl?” You stood, leaning over him. He hated hospitals. The memories of so many visits when he was a child, broken bones and open wounds at the hands of his father. You wanted to be the first person he saw and heard, in hopes of easing that anxiety. 

His eyes were clouded, tired and unfocused, when they finally landed on you. “Where ‘m I?” He slurred, still appearing to be exhausted and slightly influenced by the drug working its way through his system. 

“You’re in the hospital. You’re safe and you’re gonna be okay.” You squeezed his hand, smiling when he weakly reciprocated. 

“Tell me what happened?” His eyes were already trying to close, most likely without his permission but leaving him with no choice. 

“When you wake up. I’ll tell you everything when you wake up.”

Daryl hummed and inhaled deeply before settling into a peaceful sleep; one you didn’t fear and from which you knew he would wake. For now, though, you’d rest your head on the hand holding his and count his breaths like counting sheep until you joined him in blissful unawareness. 

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Whumpuary 2024 No. 15

"You're safe" | Aftermath | Touch Starved

Whumpuary Prompts List

TW: touch starved, mentioned capture

“Are you okay?”

Whumpee jumped, Caretaker's presence startling them. “Uh… yeah.”

“You’re shaking.” Caretaker dropped down onto the ground to sit next to them. Their closeness to Whumpee was… Whumpee didn’t know how to describe the emotion.

“I… uh…” They registered Caretaker’s words. They had a point. The adrenaline coursing through Whumpee’s veins had probably been the only reason they’d managed to stay upright during the rescue. Whumpee held up their hand. It trembled violently. “I guess I am.”

Caretaker smiled softly and reached out, taking Whumpee’s outstretched hand into their own. “It’s okay now,” they said. “You’re safe.”

Whumpee was barely listening as they stared at their hand, the fingers intertwined with Caretaker’s. How long had it been since they’d experienced human touch? Not since being captured by Whumper.

“...I have to ask again, are you okay?”

Whumpee glanced up at Caretaker, whose expression had changed to one of concern. They thought for a moment before scooting closer so their shoulder was against Caretaker’s. “I dunno…” they mumbled. “I guess… I guess I missed you.”

Caretaker stiffened slightly at Whumpee’s touch, but they did not pull away. They squeezed Whumpee’s hand.  “I missed you too.”

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

Whumpuary 2024 Day 15

15. (Jan 29-31) You're safe / Aftermath / Touch starved 

cw aftermath of torture, conditioned whumpee, physical abuse, captivity

Whumper gently lays them on the bed, mindful of Whumpee’s bruised ribs and sprained ankle. Or maybe it’s broken—they can’t tell. All they know is that everything hurts and their vision is still blurry. But Whumper shushes them and pets their hair, wiping away Whumpee’s tears as they sob. 

“It’s okay, it’s all over now,” they coo. Whumper is always so sweet after their little sessions—it's disarming. “You did so good for me, angel.” 

They feel empty and utterly drained—they always do after Whumper is done with them. And the worst part is that Whumpee always ends up craving their touch. They should hate Whumper. But after hours of being tortured and humiliated in whatever ways Whumper feels like, all they want is to be held. To be praised. They let their eyes slip shut as they reach out for their captor, tugging them closer. 

“Aw, honey,” Whumper murmurs, lying down beside them and gathering Whumpee in their arms. “Rest, okay? You did so well tonight. You can sleep now, and I’ll be right here.” 

Whumpee sniffles as their cries begin to peter out, exhaustion overtaking them. They nuzzle their head into Whumper’s chest and take comfort in the affection, too tired to wonder what horrors Whumper has planned for them tomorrow.  

For now, they can sleep. 

taglist: @morning-star-whump

[its-my-whump]

whumpuary2024

Jan 29-31

"You're safe." | Aftermath | Touch starved

@whumpuary

He was shy after so long in solitary. Caretaker and whumpee had been sitting on the couch, every one in his own corner for more than an hour, watching a game.

Whumpee had moved maybe 4 inches in the span of this hour. His inner longing for some human warmth was slowly, but surely winning the upper hand.

His whole body was gently sliding towards Caretakers broad shoulders. He wasn't interested in any sexuality, he just wanted to feel another person close by.

Whumpee wasn't sure, if he could ever allow someone else every to put their fingers against his skin, despite if it was a girl in bef or an embrace of a friend.

But he was sure, he wanted to feel close to someone. And if it was only to feel the body warmth of another person from a few inches away.

There was a cold empty pit in his stomach, that should be filled with the normality of being near someone else at all. But it was just an dark cold empty hollow.

Another hour later Whumpee had made it to the middle of the coach. He was exhausted, not only from his ordeal, the recovery, this unnatural feeling to interact with someone, that wasn't there to hurt him, but also from his inner struggle between his need for contact and his fear of it.

Caretaker had followed whumpees every move from the corner of his eye. He acted as if he wasn't aware of his struggle. Cause right now, whumpee was like a stray cat, that would probably be spooked just from being looked at.

Whumper needed to do it in his own pace, as much time as it may took.

He was shy, frightened and hurt and yet he was brave from even trying, a bit more every day.

Whumpee looked tired, but yet as if he was about to reach the finish line. Caretaker finally decided to try, even though it could carry the possibilty to reverse all of this.

But he had this feeling, that whumpee could do it and just needed some last encouragement.

Very very slowly Caretaker spread out his left arm over the backrest of the coach, moving it careful and slow, inviting the frightened little stray into a welcoming embrace.

His voice was soft and only a whisper. "It's okay. You're safe now." Was all he said.

Uncurtainty was still written all over whumpees face, but it seemed, he was battling whatever was raging inside of him.

Equally slowly and carefully like Caretaker moved his arm up, he leaned forward and put his head against the big guys warm shoulder.

"Is it okay, if I put my arm on your shoulder?" Caretaker asked before he dared to move an inch.

The thin and pointy jaw of whumpee digged into his muscle as he nodded shyly.

My masterlist

[allbluedepths]

A Mutual Sentiment

(Gen | One Piece | Benn & Mihawk | 1.5k words)

Summary: An encounter with the Marines goes awry. In the aftermath, an injured Benn Beckman gets an unexpected call from a certain Warlord. (Or, the relationships that form where you expect it the least.)

Notes: Dipping back online for a moment to post this! Written for Whumpuary 2024's "aftermath" prompt. Had to get in my favorite unlikely pseudo-friendship somewhere, haha. (Additional tag from AO3: the focus is on Benn & Mihawk, but Mishanks + Shanks & Benn are also fairly central to that.)

Read below or on AO3!

----------

For all the skirmishes the Red-Hair Pirates had been in throughout the years, Benn rarely ever finds himself as a patient within the ship infirmary’s walls. It was an even rarer occurrence in recent years, their reputation fending off many threats by itself, and his gun taking care of the rest.

That knowledge makes his waking up on an infirmary bed all the more confusing.

Coherent thought is scarce at first. All he can muster up is a slow wrenching of his eyes open. A dull ache fills his awareness, every muscle sore and tender.

He pushes it to recede, just enough to catalog the room hazily coming into focus around him. The small, partitioned section of the infirmary his bed sits in is nearly empty and still. The lack of a window leaves Benn wondering what time it is, though he surmises it’s an odd hour, if he doesn’t even hear Hongo working away past the drawn curtains.

There is still one person in the room, though — an unmistakable flash of red hair that catches his eye. His captain sits hunched over awkwardly, his forehead pressed into his mattress, asleep, and his hand curled around Benn’s leg.

The sight of him brings his memory back to him, suddenly, in fractured bits and pieces.

A battle. An attack gone terribly wrong. A Marine fleet with the sense to overwhelm but not enough to know to stay away.

A bullet grazing his side, whizzing through his blind spot. A quick jolt of pain growing into a dull throb as the battle petered out. The Marines fleeing.

The pain swelling into searing agony as the ship became a blip in the distance.

The haze of hurt sending him to his knees. His muscles beginning to spasm. A chorus of shouts, overlapping — and then one that cut through, sharp.

“Beck? Beck!”

Footsteps pounding across the deck. Hands gripping his shoulders. A blur of red filling his vision.

“No, nonono…” The first waves of something desperate and frantic pushing into him. “Hongo!”

Haki.

Shanks.

Him forcing his eyes to focus.

His captain, leaning down into his field of view, bright hair framing his face. Something wild and frantic in his eyes.

His hand reaching up — or so he tries. Nothing moves. A pained groan and his vision blurring once more. His eyelids falling shut.

“No, no! Eyes open.” That unmistakable force pushing into him, nearly suffocating. Uncontrolled. “Stay awake, Beck.”

His eyes falling shut even against his captain’s orders. What little thought he has left thrashing against the very thought.

“Beck, no, please—”

The haze of red overtaken by splotches of black. Sound suddenly muffled, the sea itself in his ears. Everything, even the crushing energy around him falling away.

One last, agonized yell.

And then nothing.

"Puru-puru-puru..."

A familiar chime jolts him out of his recollection. Nearly out of his field of vision sits a portable transponder snail, quietly ringing atop the bedside table. His hand clumsily reaches over to accept the call, ignoring the spike of pain that jolts through his side at the movement. He has no idea who would be calling at such an hour, but whoever it is would still be better than the incessant ringing sure to build into a headache.

He doesn’t wonder for long, however, as — to his surprise — the recognizable drawl of one yellow-eyed swordsman fills the room. “Has his condition changed?”

He replies — or rather, he attempts to, but his mouth fails to heed his orders. Instead, a garbled mess of syllables falls out, barely even a word, let alone a name.

The call falls quiet for only a moment before the other man speaks once more, his voice as even as ever. “Ah. I see you’ve returned to the land of the living.”

“Hawkeyes?” He tries again, succeeding, if a bit slurred.

“Beckman. You caused quite a stir.” A pause. “A typhoon-sized one, in fact. I admit you are not who I expected to answer, though with the state of your captain in his last few calls, perhaps that is for the best.”

His eyes, open once more, drift down the bed, and something tugs awful at his heart as he truly takes in the form of his captain beside him.

Benn isn’t sure he’s ever seen Shanks in such rough condition. He looks stressed, miserable, even in sleep. Haggard. His usual stubble is more like the rough beginnings of a beard, and what little he can see underneath his eyes is practically bruised. Even his clothes go beyond their usual charmingly rumpled state into downright disheveled.

Mihawk’s voice cuts through the sharp worry threatening to overtake his thoughts, unwavering. “Do you understand what has happened?”

As much as he would be loathe to admit it, he doesn’t. Not really. Thoughts still struggle to take shape in his mind, falling through like water in a sieve. It’s clear something has happened for him to end up in such a state, but the details of it escape him.

A quiet exhale comes across the line. “You were grazed by a poisoned bullet. Quite the cowardly one, with the delayed start to its effects. Your captain did not take kindly to that. Something he has rectified before refusing to leave your side since.”

Oh.

“Shanks—" he breathes, thin and strained. Mihawk doesn’t need to explain any further.

But he does, nonetheless. “—Would let the world burn to keep you. Burn it himself, even.”

He stays silent. There are no words for it, for the depth of Shanks’ resolve, none that do it justice.

He sidesteps, instead, forcing words into coherency. “Didn’t know you could intervene. Marines ‘n all.” Because who else would have been able to stop Shanks, to redirect him from upending the world, beside himself?

“My presence wasn’t necessary. It only took your ship half a day to catch up, even with their meager hiding and a day’s worth of sea to travel.” He hums. “Red-Hair’s observation haki extends quite far with a simple coordinate once he’s truly motivated.”

The implication is unsaid, but it rings in Benn’s ears all the same. Mihawk had given Shanks the ship’s location, the target to follow with unwavering accuracy, one that had no hope of escaping his captain’s wrath.

(Benn still doesn’t understand why Mihawk was a Warlord. He never fully will, he thinks. But he understands this, as much as its reality sits oddly on his mind.)

“I will not repeat myself,” Mihawk starts again, firm but his voice lacking its usual sharp edge. “The worth of a life on the Grand Line is fleeting, at best. But you are not expendable.”

His words give him pause, sending what little is turning of his mind to a stop. The significance of Dracule Mihawk, of all people, declaring that is not missed by him, no matter the state he is in.

It’s one matter for him to assist Shanks, the man he has entwined himself with, no matter how often they drift in and out of each other’s lives and onto their own paths. It’s another for him to express such sentiment to Benn.

It should be surprising. It is, at first glance. But perhaps, if he pulls back for a moment, fighting against the haze of his mind to really give it thought—

Maybe it isn’t as surprising of a thought as he’d originally expected. And maybe it’s far more of a mutual sentiment than he had ever come to voice.

“I trust that you understand my point,” he continues on, his usual demeanor returned in full force. “I would be surprised if our red-head would leave us long enough to clarify, regardless.”

A huff of laughter escapes him at that. Trust Mihawk’s dry humor to bubble up at times like these, refreshing in its own blunt way.

“Don’t jinx it. He’s still—” But his words are swallowed up by a yawn, as unexpected as the wave of exhaustion that washes over him.

“I will not keep you any longer.”

A second yawn threatens to escape him, but he shoves it down, one more matter important to say. A younger him would have chafed at the thought. He still would, perhaps, if not for its good reason. “Thank you, Mihawk.”

A curt hum comes across the line in response. Some things don’t change. The bastard.

“Do not die, Benn Beckman,” the swordsman drawls. “The world would not be a better place for it.”

And without another word, the line clicks shut.

He blinks at the ceiling, a wry chuckle making its way to his lips despite the pain in his side. Leave it to Dracule Mihawk to never fail to surprise him.

He lets himself fully relax back into the pillows behind him. Fully parsing out the implications of that conversation can wait until after he’s rested — and so has his captain. Waking Shanks up only to fall asleep while doing so would only be cruel — and Shanks if didn’t wake at the sound of Mihawk’s voice, he was sure to need the extra sleep.

As he lets the warm haze of sleep wash over him again, he makes a note to himself to ask Building Snake to make an extra stop next time they’re in the North Blue. The least he can do is grab a couple extra bottles of that wine Mihawk likes so much.

(A mutual sentiment it was, indeed.)

[alpaca-clouds]

Whumpuary 15: Like the Sun

Prompts: You're safe, Aftermath, Touch starved

And here it is. The last story for @whumpuary. This time I managed all three prompts - though the main prompt was Touch Starved.

Like the Sun

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Shipping: Astarion/m!Tav Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Astarion had not expected it. Yet, as everything is said and done, Tav stays by Astarion's side.

[medusapelagia]

Running From The Daylight - Part 15

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8,  Part 9,  Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15

This is the last chapter! Thank you so much for staying with me during this journey!

Written for @whumpuary Rating: Mature  Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson  Prompt: You are safe WT: surgery, medical procedures Words:  1102

Despite the dose of caffeine, Eddie must have fallen asleep, because Wayne is shaking his shoulder gently, calling his name.

“Five more minutes…” He murmurs, before remembering where he is and that he is still waiting to have news about Steve.

“Eddie you have to wake up, they are taking Steve to his room.” Wayne insists and Eddie immediately opens his eyes, almost falling from the chair where he was resting.

“Where is he? How… what…” He has a million questions but the words are too difficult to articulate and he can’t put one after the other to make a single sentence that makes sense.

Wayne shrugs “I don’t know. The doctor will speak with us soon and the nurse just informed us that we can go see him if we want. But I want to warn you, he is still under the effect of the anesthesia.”

Eddie nods, stands up quickly, and follows the nurse to Steve’s room. 

His boyfriend is still pale and asleep, but the heart monitor at his side shows a stable rhythm and even if his leg has some long screws in it, it’s still attached to Steve’s body which seems like very good news.

“When will he wake up?” Eddie asks the nurse who shakes her head.

“We don’t know how long it will take, he was pretty weak when he got here so it’s probable that even if the anesthesia wears off he will keep sleeping. His body needs to regain his strength.” Eddie looks at her with such desperation that the nurse immediately adds “But it’s a good thing, resting will help him heal faster.” She tells him with an encouraging smile while checking the IV in Steve’s arm.

Robin, at Eddie’s side, puts an arm around his shoulder, murmuring that everything will be alright, that Steve will wake up in no time and that they should start searching for a black marker to draw a mustache on his sleeping face. 

Eddie chuckles between the tears while the nurse takes Steve's vitals and then leaves the four waiting for the doctor who arrives a few minutes later. He informs them that surgery went well and that they expect a complete recovery in a few months “He will have to rest in bed for at least a couple of weeks, but once the wound is properly healed he could start moving around with some crutches. He will have to do some physiotherapy to regain strength in the leg after we will remove the screws, but luckily nothing was permanently damaged.”

At that news Eddie starts to cry again, murmuring “Thank you, thank you…” While hugging Robin and feeling Wayne’s arm on his back.

Hopper tries to insist that Eddie and Wayne should get a room in a hotel to rest a little, but Eddie refuses and sits on the chair next to Steve’s bed, determined to stay with him at least until his boyfriend wakes up.

“We don’t know how long it will take. Try to be reasonable.” Hopper insists but Eddie it’s adamant and Wayne decides to keep an eye on both his boys while Robin and Hopper go to rest a little: it was a very stressful couple of days for everyone and now that it’s over Robin seems ready to fall asleep at any given moment.

“We will be back in the morning.” Hopper assures them while dragging Robin toward the door and the two men nod. 

***

Eddie has been holding Steve’s hand for hours when he feels something move. He stills and turns toward his boyfriend, trying to detect any possible movements.

"Steve? Stevie?" He calls, trying to get a reaction from him, and after a few moments, Steve's thumb flex a little.

Eddie gets closer, studying Steve's face “Sweetheart? Are you awake?” He tries again, “Steve, love, can you hear me?” he murmurs and this time the chocolate brown eyes of his boyfriend look back at him, confused “Hi love.” Eddie tells him,  kissing his hand, but Steve startles and tries to move and Eddie stops him “You are safe, Steve!” He says, trying to calm him down “You are ok! You are in a hospital! You broke your leg pretty badly but the doctor fixed it and you’ll be fine in no time.” He tries to explain to his confused boy “You are safe.” He repeats, brushing away some hair from Steve’s forehead.

“Ed?” Steve calls, staring at him with his blurry eyes.

“I’m here, baby. Help came and the rescuers brought you to the hospital, but don't worry, you are going to be ok in no time, do you hear me? In no time. Wayne and I will drive you home as soon as they discharge you and Robin and Hopper are here too, you’ll see them in the morning. Oh, and Robin told me that you are not allowed to go on vacation for at least a year.” Eddie keeps talking, knowing that his familiar voice helps soothe Steve who falls asleep again in a few minutes.

“Did he wake up?” Wayne asks, getting in the room with two cups of coffee.

“He did!” Eddie replies with a big smile, “He woke up. Just for a few moments, but he woke up.”

“The nurse said that it might take a bit for him to wake up completely…” Wayne reminds him, offering Eddie one of the two cups.

“I don’t care. I’m in no rush.” Eddie whispers on the skin of his boyfriend, then he turns toward Wayne “I want to ask him to marry me.”

The man coughs, “Eddie… I think you should think about it. I don’t want you to make an important decision like this after what happened.”

“That’s exactly why I have to ask him to marry me!" Eddie insists "I could have lost him, Wayne.” He tries to explain while his mind is still full of fear “And the only thing I could think of it’s that I cannot live without him. That’s why people get married, right? Because they love each other very much, and I love him so much I can’t even explain it in words.”

Wayne hugs him “I know you do, kid, and if you want to marry him just ask him, but maybe wait for him to be a little bit more conscious, uh?”

Eddie nods, still holding Steve’s hand and thinking that if there is a silver lining in the horrible experience that they had is that he has realized that he can’t wait to put a ring on that perfect golden skin.

[suspensefulpen]

Whumpuary Day 15: Muffled Screams | Hostage

TW: Hostage, Kidnapping, Creepy Whumper, Pet Whump, Shock Collar

@whumpuary

this is kind of a part two to Day 5

Whumper walked into the room with a proud grin and a glass in his hand. He sat down on the sofa next to the bound and gagged Caretaker. He smiled at her attempts to break free and scream, both failing miserably. He snapped his fingers twice before giving her his full attention. “You may as well give up, Darling. No one can hear you scream. Plus, you’ll hurt your throat and you don’t want that. Do you?” 

She stopped screaming when Whumpee walked into the room on all fours. She squinted and noticed what looked like a shock collar going around his neck. She grimaced as she watched Whumper command him as if he were a dog. He then trotted away, still on all fours. “Wow, you give up easier than I remember.” Her gaze quickly shifted back to Whumper. “I didn’t expect you to actually stop screaming. I figured you’d be defiant and stubborn about it like you are about everything else. Don’t stop because I said something. Your muffled screams are actually quite cute.” She glared at him. 

Whumpee came back to the room with a wine bottle. He handed it to Whumper before leaving. Caretaker attempted to speak. “What’s that?” Whumper raised a brow as he poured himself a glass. “I’m sorry Love, I didn’t catch that.” When Caretaker attempted kicking him, he paused and looked up. He chuckled, putting the bottle down. “Ah, I forgot.” He leaned forward and pulled down the gag. “Repeat that Darling?” 

“I said why are you doing this?!” She spat. 

“Doing what?” He frowned briefly. “I haven’t done anything.” 

“You haven’t done anything?! You literally kidnapped me and now you’re holding me hostage!” 

“Well, I had to get you back to me somehow.” He smiled with a quick shrug before sipping the wine. “You clearly weren’t coming on your own. Anyway, aren’t you happy to be back, Love? How does it feel to be home again?” 

“I hate you.” 

He gasped, holding a hand over his heart. “Be careful what games you play, Caretaker.” 

“Just let me go! I don’t want to be here! I left you for a reason back then, what makes you think that’s going to change?!” 

Whumper turned serious as he slammed the glass down on the end table nearby. He leaned forward. “Because I changed. I changed just so you’d take me back. I got everything you ever asked me for but I never got you. I changed everything just for you. Hell, I even burned all of those stupid suits you hated so much. I got you a pet, ready to obey anything you tell it. I did all of this for you.” 

She frowned, speaking more calmly. “And yet, you’re still a sick bastard.” 

“And it’s all because of you.”

[snakebites-and-ink]

Whumpuary #14: Flinching / Breakdown / Sleep Deprivation + #15: You're safe / Aftermath / Touch starved

CW: References to past abuse

Whumpee’s recent medical treatment had been a complete success, and the wounds they had from Whumper were healing nicely. Physically, their recovery was going wonderfully.

Mentally, it was a bit rockier. They were more anxious than they’d ever been before the captivity, and found themself getting upset by little things that weren’t actually a big deal, but reminded them of Whumper in some way or another.

And they were jumpy.

More than once, they’d startled when Caretaker entered the room they were in. They’d tensed at sounds made by harmless birds scratching around outside. Their subconscious saw Whumper in every unidentified disturbance, sending their heart racing with fear.

Even kindness could trigger the response. All it took was being caught unprepared once, and Whumpee flinched when Caretaker laid a gentle hand on them.

Some animal part of their brain said that the touch was hostile. That being reached for was danger, that they had to watch out. They needed to keep themself safe.

They were safe, but they flinched anyway.

Caretaker withdrew their hand, looking concerned.

“Sorry,” Whumpee said ashamedly.

Caretaker gave them a sad smile. “It’s alright. I understand.”

Whumpee let out a sad sigh. “Healing or not, Whumper left a mark on me. It’s hard not to react like they’re still around me,” they admitted.

“I know. You’re probably going to have to deal with the aftermath of what Whumper did to you for quite a while. But I believe in you. You’ll be able to get better as long as you don’t give up. I know it.”

“You really think so?”

“Mm-hmm. Recovery might not always be the easiest path, but you’ll get there. And I’ll be here to help you along the way.”

“Thanks, Caretaker.”

[littlebunnyman]

when it's over

“How are you?” He flinches. Percival stands in front of him, brows furrowed. His chain mail is splattered with blood, but aside from a shallow cut along his side and a scratch on his cheek he seems to be unharmed. “I’m fine,” Mordred answers.

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Prompts: “You’re safe” | Aftermath | Touch Starved alt prompt: “Let me see”

You can find all my Whumpuary fics in my series on Ao3

[melanie-ohara]

A Soft Caress, As Cold As Death

Whumpuary2024, Day 30 - Prompt: Aftermath

Karlach confronts the emotional aftermath of killing Gortash, and Calarisa must decide how far she'll go to save the woman she loves

Oh, hellion my hellion. Why do I keep hurting you?

AO3 Here

Enver Gortash did not die well. His body had been rend with slashes and cuts from half a dozen weapons and shrapnel from his own defences. Not even Bane himself had been able to step in and defend his Chosen from the final blow - Karlach struck him down herself. Calarisa was on the other side of the battlefield they had made out of Gortash's private rooms when the fight finally ended, and by the time she dusted herself off and limped back to Karlach's side, she was already standing over the body. 

"So that's it?" Karlach said, nudging the corpse with her boot. "I waited years for this, and now he's dead and he's no fucking sorrier than he was before." 

Calarisa said nothing, but stood close enough that Karlach could feel their arms brush together. Enough to let her know she was there. She wasn't even sure who she was talking to: Mellephora looked like they were listening, but Karlach was staring at Gortash. 

"What was the point?" Karlach asked nobody. "I'm still dying." Her fists and her jaw tightened and she ground her next words out through bitterly clenched teeth. " I'm dying! I'm going to die!"

Wordlessly, Calarisa reached down and closed her hand over one of Karlach's fists. It was enough to reach her, and instead of bursting into angry flames again the heat building in her engine fizzled out as the tears started in her eyes. 

"It isn't fair!" she cried, hiding her face in her free hand. 

"I know," Mellephora said quietly. Karlach ignored them.

"I don't want it like this. What was the point? What was the point of any of it?" 

Calarisa stepped in front of Karlach before Mellephora could try and find something bardic to say, and reached up to take her hand away from her face. "Hey," she said. "Come here."  For the first time since Dammon had repaired her engine, Karlach hesitated to wrap her arms around her. "Please?" Calarisa asked, looking up into her eyes. 

It wasn't the crushing, achingly tender hug she normally received, but it was a comfort nonetheless. She wished she was taller, so Karlach could bury her face in her shoulder the way she deserved, instead of having to cry into her from between her horns. 

"I'm sorry," Calarisa whispered. 

All of Karlach's decade of rage had died on the floor in Gortash's blood and now she felt empty. It was a feeling Calarisa knew well. She held her for a moment, swaying gently, vaguely aware that Mellephora had wandered away to help Shadowheart search the place, and waited until Karlach was ready to hear the rest. 

"I haven't been a paladin very long," she said, quietly, so only Karlach would hear her. "But I've learned that vengeance isn't something you take for yourself."

She felt Karlach shake her head. "I thought I'd feel something when I got the fucker," she sad. "Not this." 

"You stopped him," Calarisa said. "Now he can't hurt anyone the way he hurt you, not ever again." She pulled back a little from the hug, so she could hold Karlach's upper arms and look her in the eye when she told her the truth Karlach couldn't see yet. "You saved the world from Enver Gortash. Protected the innocent, and avenged the wronged."

Karlach looked down at her with tears swimming in her beautiful golden eyes. "Then why doesn't it feel good?"

Calarisa lifted one hand to gently cup Karlach's cheek. "It isn't supposed to. Doing right is a burden, love. But I know you're strong enough to carry it."

Despite everything, Karlach's lips cracked into a smile. "When did you get so wise?" she asked. 

Calarisa managed a brief laugh. "I've spent too much time around Withers, I think."

"Thanks, soldier," Karlach said. She pulled away properly and dragged an arm across her face to wipe away the tears. Calarisa let her go. "I… think I need to be on my own, for a bit." 

Calarisa nodded once and patted her arm. "I'll find you later." 

"Yeah."

Karlach turned to leave the chambers. The four of them had already set up a secure route to get them back into the city, away from the prying eyes of any Flaming Fist attentive enough to recognise them, and if there was trouble she knew Karlach could take care of herself.

Mellephora waved to Calarisa, once the door had shut behind Karlach. "Where's she off to?" they asked.

"I don't know," Calarisa lied. 

"You didn't bring up Avernus," Mellephora observed. 

Calarisa looked away. "You saw her. I couldn't tell her she had to go back to the Hells, not while she was feeling like that."

"You're the only one who might be able to convince her not to throw her life away like this," Mellephora insisted. "You have to make her change her mind."

Calarisa sighed. "How am I supposed to do that?" she said. 

A shadow of sadness crossed Mellephora's face, disrupting their permanent half smile for a moment. "You don't wear that armour for nothing," they said softly, looking at the paladin sigil emblazoned on her chest. 

The hair on Calarisa's arms prickled and her blood ran cold. "You can't ask me to do that," she hissed, jabbing her finger at Mellephora's face. "You just can't."

Mellephora raised their hands in mock surrender. "I'm not, I'm not. But I know you've thought about it," they said. 

"She'll never forgive me," Calarisa whispered.

"But she'll be alive."

*

There were only two places in Baldur's Gate Karlach would go when emotion overtook her, and Calarisa doubted she was in the mood for the Blushing Mermaid. She went anyway, mostly to give Karlach time to reflect and come to terms with life without someone to hate, but also because she needed liquid courage to even approach her. She was still deliberating Mellephora's suggestion, but she didn't think she could stand to see the look on Karlach's face. Could she stand to let her die, when there was something she could do to stop it? By the time the sun started to set and the alcohol insulated her against the chill in the air, Calarisa still didn't have an answer.

She found Karlach exactly where she expected to - sitting with her knees raised and ankles crossed in front of her parents' grave. She made sure her boots made enough noise on the leaves on the ground that Karlach heard her coming - she didn't want to overhear a private moment if she was interrupting. Once she heard her, Karlach tilted her head back rather than turning to see who it was, and she beamed at her upside down.

"Hey soldier," she said, as Calarisa came to stand next to her.

"You seem… happier," she said, a little confused by her change in mood, but glad all the same to see her smile.

"I thought about what you said. I went after Gortash for the wrong reasons," Karlach said. "I wanted it to be a trade. I'd kill the fucker, get my peace, and then… well, you know."

Calarisa sat down beside her. "And now?" she asked, folding her hands and tail into her lap. 

"Now, I'm just happy to live." She turned her head to smile at Calarisa. "For as long as I have left."

Everything in her screamed to let Karlach have this victory, but the thought of losing her burned all of that away. She couldn't be happy for her. It was her life, and her decision, and despite everything she otherwise believed Calarisa couldn't accept it. She wanted to, but there was no getting away from the fact that she loved Karlach too much not to be selfish now. 

"I hate to say it," Calarisa said to her hands, too ashamed to look into those golden eyes, "but there's still the obvious solution." 

She didn't need to look up to know there was disappointment spreading across Karlach's face when she spoke. "I'm not going back to Avernus. I'd rather die free."

"It wouldn't be like last time," Calarisa tried. "Wyll and Sithla are going, and they'll be hunting Mizora. We could - "

"We?" Karlach interrupted.

Calarisa let a sad smile cross her lips. "Of course. I'll go anywhere with you."

Karlach shook her head. "You don't get it."

"I was in Elturel," Calarisa reminded her. "I've lived in Avernus too."

"Not like I have," Karlach argued. "Elturel was a city, from here. I know it wasn't pretty, but it wasn't the Hell I knew. Endless swathes of burning desert and nothing but devils and demons everywhere, Calarisa. Nobody should have to call that place home."

Calarisa noticed her tail twitching in anger and forced it to stop. Her whole family had died in Elturel, and everything she knew had ended in the fires of that place. She hadn't fought in the Blood War, but it had taken as much from her as it had from Karlach, and she had no right to tell her what she could and couldn't live through. But saying that wouldn't change her mind, so she let it go. 

"Home doesn't have to be a place," she offered. "It can be people too."

"I know," Karlach said, and smiled softly. "And I love you, and Wyll, and Sithla. And all the others."

"It wouldn't be like last time." 

Karlach picked a blade of grass from in front of her parents' grave and turned it silently between her fingers for a while before speaking. "If I die here, it means I escaped," she said eventually. "If I go back, then this is just a break between wars. I don't want to fight any more, soldier. I just want it to be over." 

Tears welled in Calarisa's eyes and she tried her best to blink them away. "Karlach," she pleaded, but there was nothing else she could think of to say. 

"It's alright," Karlach soothed. "It's been wonderful. I saw flowers again. I got to be with you. And say goodbye to my parents."

"I can't lose you," Calarisa whispered as the tears started to fall. "You don't understand. You only have to die , I have to go on living without you." 

Karlach didn't say anything to that, just laid a hand on Calarisa's shoulder until she shrugged it off in a fit of anger and turned her whole body to face her. The tears ran down her face but she was too upset to care.

"Yes, I helped fix your engine, but you fixed my heart ," she said, her voice cracking and broken. "When we met, I came with Wyll to kill you because I just wanted to slaughter a devil. I was scared and alone, and so, so angry after Elturel. I swore my oath so the pain wouldn't kill me. But then you - you showed me how much being alive was worth. I saw life properly for the first time since my brother and sister…" she swallowed hard. The memory of them was too painful, even now. "You saved my life, Karlach. Let me be selfish. Please live, for me."

Karlach bundled her tightly into her arms and pressed her close, and Calarisa gave up trying to hold back the tears. She screamed and sobbed into Karlach's chest until her throat hurt too much to make a sound any more, and wept until her eyes ached from  crying. In the end, she only stopped because she ran out of tears. She could feel Karlach rubbing her back, and the idea that one day she would have to give that up made her wish it was her that was destined to burn in hellfire. 

"You know I can't," Karlach whispered, and as much as she hated it, Calarisa knew she was right. Karlach had spent her entire life living for others, from Gortash to Zariel. Choosing to die was the only choice she had left.

"I know," Calarisa whispered back, and leaned back out of the hug. There would be more before the end, but now she knew to savour every moment they could keep for themselves.

"Will you be there for me?" Karlach asked suddenly. Calarisa blinked the last of the tears out of her eyes to look at her, and saw how much she needed her to say yes. "At the end, will you be with me?"

"Karlach, I - " Calarisa started, but gave up. There were no words to explain what Karlach was asking of her, it was too cruel to even think about. 

"I think I could do anything if you were there," Karlach said. "Even die."

Calarisa choked on something ugly in her throat. She couldn't do it. She couldn't let it happen, even if the only way to stop it would force Karlach into the exact same horrible trap she had lived in all her life. Mechanically, the way she had done before their battles against the Hag Ethel, Ketheric Thorm, and Orin the Red, Calarisa settled onto one knee and laid her hand over her heart.

"Karlach, I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"What are you doing?"

"I swear on my oath," Calarisa started, dipping her head and closing her eyes to focus on the words.

"Don't you do it," Karlach warned, but the threat was empty. 

"To defeat Zariel, Archdevil of Avernus," Calarisa finished. 

"No!"

It was too late. The oath was sworn. A brief warmth suffused Calarisa's otherwise cold, broken heart, and her fate was sealed. She was bound for Avernus now, no matter what. 

"It's done, Karlach," Calarisa said. Her voice sounded hollow to her own ears. 

Karlach stumbled a little way back from her, staring at her with exactly the look on her face Calarisa had feared. It was the same kind of betrayal that Gortash had visited on her all those years ago that damned her to Hell the first time. 

"You don't have to come with me," she offered. It was a pathetic, cowardly thing to say. 

"Fuck you." Karlach's voice was quiet, but the sound of it made Calarisa sick to her stomach. No matter how much it hurt, she wouldn't take it back even if she could. Zariel deserved to be the target of a vengeance oath more than anyone, for what she'd done to Calarisa alone.

"Nobody should have to suffer like this again," she said.

"Leave. Now." There was a pain in Karlach's words that ran so deep Calarisa was sure there was nothing that could heal the wound she had just inflicted. There was nothing she could do now but leave, and she got to her feet without another word. 

It turned her stomach to think of what she had just done to the woman she loved, but she couldn't stop herself from taking one last backward look as she walked away from the graveyard and into the night. Karlach was sitting where she left her, silhouetted by the setting sun, surrounded by a beautiful garden blooming in the last spring she would ever see.

[exquisiteagony]

it’s skydweller!

[fanficbutnow]

Summary:

Anne Worries about Sprig, the Plantars, and all of Wartwood now that she's back home for good.

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

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Amphibia (Cartoon) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Anne Boonchuy & Sprig Plantar Characters: Anne Boonchuy, Sprig Plantar, Marcy Wu, Sasha Waybright, Terri (Amphibia) Additional Tags: Background Sprig/Ivy, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon

[whumpitlikeyoumeanit]

Whumpuary 15

Whumpuary prompts should theoretically make up one cohesive narrative, though I'm not currently putting in the effort to flesh out the story around the prompts just yet. I have good intentions to do so eventually. Masterlist. Oh yeah and they're totally out of order, chronologically.

((content warnings: -- ))

promptspiration: @whumpuary 15: Aftermath

Whumpee: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Whumper: Voldemort Pairing: Harry/Draco whump type: recovery fic type: Deathly Hallows "Voldemort learns Draco hooked up with Harry" AU

After the battle

words: ~1200

-------------------

The milling in the Great Hall was weird. Draco was sitting being tended by Madam Pomfrey; between the Blood Replenishing potion and the bandaged snakebites, he was feeling quite himself. His mother was standing over his shoulder, holding his hand, and neither of them was inclined to let go; her other hand occasionally ran through his hair, wordlessly fussing about how terrible it looked, which, honestly, fair enough. He let her transfigure it to whatever style she wanted.

And that was such a strange thing to be able to be concerned about. Appearances. The only time he'd thought about his hair in months was when somebody grabbed it to yank him around. And now that was over.

He couldn't stop looking at all these people, walking around, free, no longer having to look over their shoulders. It seemed like he wasn't the only one. Dozens of witches and wizards milling about, all seemingly waiting for something, in weird subdued conversations and occasional strange outbursts of laughter and shushing. No one else could believe it was really over, either. 

Voices by the door raised in a way that Draco sensed meant Harry Potter, and he stood to get a look. Pomfrey released him from her ministrations but he hardly noticed. Harry had gone with the Aurors at first, and he hadn't expected him to come back… But there he was, messy dark head in a knot of redheads helping him get through the crowd.

He made his way straight toward him, and Draco squeezed his mother's hand and looked at her to take his leave, just for a couple minutes; she let him go, and he met Harry a few steps away. 

It felt weird to smile now, but he couldn't help it. Harry caught his eye and grinned, too. They stopped awkwardly at a normal conversation distance, Harry with his hands in his pockets and Draco fidgeting with his bandaged arm, and Harry was just staring at him, so he sort of returned the favour. It was unbelievable that he was actually standing here, alive… He looked exhausted, of course, but he was alive to look anything.

"You okay?" Harry asked.

"Should probably go to the hospital, but I'll live. Have to find Snape and thank him. What about you? How are you alive?"

"That's a long, weird story. But it's real, it's not borrowed time or anything."

"Oh good, now we can call you 'the boy who just keeps on living'." Harry laughed, and he smiled again for a moment. "You know, you could have been much more clear. You say 'hold on' and I'm supposed to remember the one time years ago you mentioned grabbing Quirrel when Voldemort was in him?"

Harry grinned. "It worked, didn't it?" 

"No thanks to your terrible instructions." 

Harry laughed, but it sounded a little uncomfortable, and he sobered. "I actually hoped he'd try the Killing Curse," he admitted. 

"'Hoped'?" He'd lived in terror of the day Voldemort finally would cast that curse on him for too long — the idea of it actually being the plan was unbearable.

"And it would rebound on him, like before," Harry explained. "When he used the snake, I thought…" He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to be in that situation."

"When you're in a position where a Killing Curse is the best case scenario, I don't think you can be blamed for anything you come up with," Draco allowed. "I don't know how else I would have come out of that alive."

"Not just for that." Harry shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and looked toward the broken windows. "For everything he's done to you. I could see it, I know how awful it was, and I'm just… I'm sorry." 

"That's not your fault either. I got caught. I should have run better, or…" He shrugged a little bit. "It was him, anyway. Not you. What do you mean, you could 'see it'?" 

"That's another part of the weird story, but I could see through his eyes, sometimes. When he was emotional, or when he wanted me to."

"So when he was being conversational, he wasn't talking to me," Draco mused, almost to himself. "He was speaking directly to you."

"Yeah."

"That sounds… horrifying. I guess we know why you look like you haven't slept in six months." 

"That bad?"

"It's not great." But he wasn't in much a position to comment on that, he supposed. Perhaps a change of subject was in order. "How's Ollivander?" 

"Getting better. I imagine you'll see him at the hospital, now it's safe to take him there." 

"That's good." His restless hands had almost unwound the bandage on his wrist, and he only noticed when it hurt to touch; he tucked the bandage back down to stop that. "My father…"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know, Draco."

"He was trying to save me, in his way."

"'His way' was trying to be the best Death Eater he could."

"I know," he admitted. "That was all he could see to do, especially after they sent Mother away. He was only allowed a wand back after she was hurt." 

Harry  looked at him for a moment, then nodded thoughtfully. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you." He looked down. "For a while there, I hated you," he admitted. "I'd have handed you over in a second if I had any way to. I'm sorry for that."

"You don't have to be. I'm surprised you don't still hate me."

He shook his head and looked elsewhere. He could explain, eventually, maybe, but he'd rather just be here now, not back there in his mind. 

A thought occurred to him, and he blinked back to Harry. "If you expected him to use the Killing Curse on me… it wasn't your intention for me to use the protection that burned him…?"

Harry freed one hand and scratched his head. "I'm glad you thought of it?"

"Merlin… This is a shoddily planned operation, isn't it…" Somehow knowing that hadn't been part of anyone's master plan made it all so much more alarming. He'd just up and grabbed Voldemort — Voldemort — and no one had been expecting it? What if no one had been quick enough to pick up on it? He should be so utterly dead right now… 

"It came out all right," Harry said, and shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Anyway, I should let you get back to your…" 

"Yeah, you too…" Neither of them moved quite yet, though.

"Kiss him already!" someone called in an Irish brogue.

Harry groaned and dropped his chin to his chest. Draco looked up and realised they had an audience; not everyone was staring, but there certainly were lot of people pretending not to.

What the hell; he liked being the centre of attention. He had to wait a second for Harry to look up again, and he looked like he was about to say something, but Draco grabbed his hand and kissed him instead.

[pbpsbff]

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