#whumpuaryno7

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumpuary Day 13-14

Prompt: Bruises

Pairing: Daryl Dixon & Fem!Reader (pre-relationship)

Warnings: Injuries

A/N: Sorry for the early post and just the short drabble. Just trying to push through until I feel better.

“Okay, we can stop here.” You leaned slightly so Daryl could slide his arm from your shoulders and recline against a downed tree. He grunted at the movement but otherwise made no complaint. Placing his crossbow on the ground by his feet, you crouched beside him. “Let’s see the damage.”

His face was a mess of lacerations and swollen flesh, but his torso was worse. Littered with scattered burns and cuts and mottled with deep bruising along his right ribs. 

“Jesus, Daryl. What did they do to you?”

“Lil’ bit’a everythin’. Weren’t very creative though.” He chuckled but it broke off into a groan, his hand flying to his side to brace the obviously broken ribs. You clicked your tongue at him, digging through your bag for some disinfectant and butterfly sutures. “Didn’t tell ‘em nothin’ though.”

“I know you didn’t.” You smiled gently, dabbing at the worst of the cuts on his forehead. “It’d take a lot more than that to break the great Daryl Dixon.” He hissed at the sting and, before you could think better of it, you leaned in to blow gently over his skin. When you realized what you were doing, you sat back on your heels and opened a pack of sutures. Your face was beet red. 

When you went back to work, he was smirking at you, his lip splitting enough for fresh blood to well up from the wound. 

“Shut up.” You frowned at him, pulling together the skin to apply the suture, a little more roughly than intended. The archer pulled away from you with a deep scowl. “Sorry.” You batted your lashes at him. He mumbled something that you were pretty sure contained the word sadist but you’d let it slide. “Alright, that’s the best I can do for now. Need to get you back so Denise can take a look at those ribs. You won’t be going on any runs for a while.” You pulled his shirt up again, relieved for the millionth time that he was comfortable enough with you for his scars not to matter. Nothing below the deep purple skin appeared to be shifted. 

“Pft.” He huffed and groaned while you helped him to his feet. “Take more’an this to keep me down.” The color had drained from his face by the time you had him up and moving, albeit slowly. 

You shook your head with a warm smile. “I have no doubt.” 

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

Whumpuary 2024 Day 7

7. (Jan 13-14) "I didn't know where else to go" / Bruises / Drugged 

cw blood/injury, betrayal, villain whumpee, hero caretaker 

"What happened?” Hero demanded as they helped Villain to the couch. Their nemesis all but collapsed onto it, breathing strained.  

“They fuckin’ ditched me,” Villain gritted out. “My team. Used me for the mission and then left me for dead.” 

Hero swallowed hard and tried to suppress their anger as they took in Villain’s black eye and the bruise forming on their jaw. They didn’t care that they were supposed to be enemies. They didn’t care that Villain was bleeding all over their nice couch or that they shouldn’t have even known where Hero lived in the first place. All they cared about was making this right. “Superhero did this to you?” 

Villain nodded weakly. They tried to shift into a more comfortable position, but the movement caused them to groan in pain and clutch at their side. “Yeah,” they said. “I’m sorry, I know you hate me but I—I didn’t know where else to go.” 

Hero sighed. “I don’t hate you. And I definitely don’t want you bleeding out in an alley somewhere, so...I’m glad you came here. Even though I’m kind of freaked out that you know where I live.” 

Villain managed to laugh at that. “What kind of nemesis would I be if I didn’t keep tabs on you?” 

“Right.” Hero rolled their eyes. “Just hang tight, okay? I’m gonna grab the first aid kit.” 

When they returned, they knelt in front of Villain and went to work cutting away the torn remains of their suit, which was soaked with blood (the halfhearted “At least buy me dinner first” went unacknowledged.) Hero drew in a shaky breath when they were able to see the extent of Villain’s injuries—bruises covered their skin along with dozens of smaller cuts and a few gashes that looked sickeningly deep. 

“Shit,” Hero muttered, nauseated at the sight. “I can’t believe Superhero would do this. I’m going to kill them.” 

“I think one of my ribs is broken.” Their voice had dropped to a whisper. “Feels like it’s stabbing my lung.” 

Hero reached up a hand to cup Villain’s cheek. It was supposed to be comforting, but their trembling fingers smeared blood on Villain’s face. “You're gonna be okay. I’m sorry, I know it hurts.” 

Villain looked down before shutting their eyes quickly and letting out a small whimper. “Fuck, that looks bad. Oh my god.” 

“Do not pass out on me,” Hero ordered. “I’m going to clean and stitch these, and you’ll be fine. Then you can rest while I hunt down Superhero and knock their teeth out.” 

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Whumpuary 2024 No. 7

"I didn't have anywhere else to go" | Bruises | Drugged

Whumpuary Prompt List

TW: kidnapping mention, bruises, drugged whumpee, exhaustion, fight mention, experiment mention

Whumpee stumbled through the city during the pre-dawn hours of the day, their progress severely hindered by strange exhaustion and bolstered by a panicked desire to keep moving. Nobody else was around, which was… good?

It was good. Other people would try to call the police.

The last thing Whumpee wanted to do was to get the police involved.

Because… because Whumper… Whumper would find them. That’s right, Whumper would find them. Whumpee didn’t want that.

Their thoughts moved slowly through their head as if swimming through honey. So it took them a few seconds to realize how silly it was that they had to remind themselves of what they did and didn’t want.

A spike of fear lodged in Whumpee’s stomach, prompting them to pick up their pace. They had to get to safety. 

They had to get to Caretaker.

As the thought crossed their mind in slow motion, it came bearing the sly bonds of doubt. What if Caretaker didn’t want to see them? That was the last thing Whumpee had said to Caretaker when they’d left after their fight. If I see you again, it will be too soon!

Whumpee paused, leaning on a nearby lamp post to catch their breath. Their face reddened with shame at the memory. They couldn’t remember what had sparked the argument, but it had escalated until Caretaker had said something… something unforgivable. Whumpee almost berated themself for not being able to remember before realizing that that was probably a good thing.

The fight was in the past.

How long in the past, Whumpee didn’t know. They weren’t sure how long they’d been held captive; their sense of time had been warped significantly by Whumper’s experiments. Whumpee groaned softly and pressed a hand to the side of their forehead. The bruise, put there by a furious Whumper at Whumpee’s lack of obedience, ached at their touch. 

I can’t have been held more than a couple days, they mused sullenly, but I have no way of knowing.

And right now, it didn’t matter. Whumpee needed someplace to hide, and Caretaker was the only person they could reach.

Motivation sparked, and Whumpee began walking again. Or tried walking. It ended up being more of a drunken stagger than actual steps being taken. Whumpee stumbled over an uneven patch of stone but caught themself on a convenient bench. If they fell, they suspected they wouldn’t be able to get themself to their feet again.

And then Whumper would find them.

And they would have to start all over.

No.

There would be no starting over.

Whumper would make certain Whumpee couldn’t escape again.

Whumpee quickened their pace. They needed to get to Caretaker before it was too late. Thankfully, the building where Caretaker lived was only another block away. Whumpee pressed the button for Caretaker’s apartment.

The ancient speaker above the list of tenants and buttons crackled. “It’s two a.m., asshole!” Caretaker snapped blearily. “You got the wrong place.”

“Caretaker?” Whumpee mumbled, leaning heavily against the wall.

A beat of silence. “Whumpee?!” Caretaker shouted, the cry immediately followed by a thump. The speaker crackled again. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

Whumpee couldn’t tell if they were angry or joyful. “I…” they hesitated for a heartbeat before shoving past their doubts. “I need your help. I… I didn’t… I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

The door clicked as it unlocked. “I’llberightdowndon’tgoanywhereplease!” Caretaker instructed, words moving so quickly that Whumpee barely understood them. The speaker crackled again before turning off. They stared at it before easing open the door and slipping into the lobby.

It was only sheer force of will that kept Whumpee upright at all. They would’ve collapsed long ago otherwise. But as they waited for Caretaker, their energy drained away like water in a leaky bucket, and they couldn’t stand any longer.

Caretaker rushed down the last flight of stairs to find them collapsed to the ground, still conscious but rapidly fading. “Oh hell,” they muttered before sprinting to Whumpee’s side. “What the hell happened to you? We—we need to get you an ambulance!”

“N—no…” Whumpee mumbled. They were… so tired. Their eyelids were as heavy as rocks. “You… you can’t… call the hos…hospital. They’ll… they’ll find me… and take me away….”

Caretaker’s eyes widened in horror. “What?!” 

“Please…” Whumpee begged, the edges of their vision darkening, “please… don’t let them… please….”

If Caretaker responded, they weren’t conscious long enough to hear it.

[suspensefulpen]

Whumpuary Day 7: Kneeling

TW: Captivity, Torture, Chain Restraints, Dehumanization, Pet Whump, Conditioned Whumpee, Collars

@whumpuary

“Kneel.” Whumper demanded.  

“Never.” Whumpee bit back. A fist sent his head in a different direction, knocking the wind out of his chest for a brief moment. 

“I’ll ask again. Kneel.” 

“Make me.” The same fist went into his stomach, cutting his breathing off once again. He wheezed, leaning over in pain. Whumper wrapped her hand around his throat, stopping him from breathing altogether. 

“I’ll ask you again. And if you don’t listen, I’ll be doing more than just punching you.” 

That was how the first few weeks of Whumpee’s captivity went. Everyday, Whumper came down and demanded the same thing every single time. Kneel. Whumpee hated that word. Then one day, Whumper came up with some bright idea. 

“I’ve been thinking lately.” She spoke as if she wasn’t preoccupied with attaching chains to him. “Since you won’t kneel for me, I’ll force you to kneel for me.” She stepped away to admire her work with a wicked grin. One chain went around his neck, one around each wrist, and one around each ankles. The chains were short. If he tried to move it would cause him pain or choke him. He’d be kept in a kneeling position as if he were a statute. Whumpee didn’t know how long he’d been stuck like that. Was it days? Weeks? Months maybe? Regardless, it hurt like hell and he just wanted it to end. 

Sometime after that, Whumper came into the room with a collar. After putting it around Whumpee’s neck, she started treating and talking to him like a dog. 

“Why did I ever decide to keep you? I should throw you out like a stray. Real dogs learn better than you do.” 

“Bad dog! Do I need to start hurting you again to make sure you understand?” 

“Don’t you want to be a good boy so you can get treats? I’ll maybe even take you on a walk if you’re good enough.” 

Whumper would pace around him in circles for hours. 

After that, Whumpee’s memory was somewhat faded and fuzzy. But if there was anything he remembered it was that demand. 

“Kneel.” 

Without a second thought, Whumpee fell onto his knees. His red, dirty, bruised knees. He couldn’t control it. Even in spite of the pain. He didn’t even realize he did it until moments later, when he looked up at the proud yet evil grin on Whumper’s face. 

“Good boy.”

[snakebites-and-ink]

Whumpuary #7: "I didn't know where else to go" / Bruises / Drugged

CW: Noncon drugging, noncon touch (non-sexual)

They felt like they were floating.

Not exactly in a pleasant way, but not in an upsetting way either. They had a vague awareness that they should be upset, probably, but it was hard to be upset when they couldn’t even keep ahold of most of their own thoughts.

A voice came to them soft and muddled, as if through water. “Hey…Whumpee…you with me?”

Whumpee couldn’t quite place whose the voice was, but they had an impression it wasn’t someone they liked on wanted near them. They couldn’t find it in them to pull away, though, not when they were floating away anyways.

They felt a hand on their face, and the touch seemed more tingly than it should have been. They let out a displeased huff of air, which was about as communicative as they felt like they could be for the moment.

A similar sigh came from the person who touched them. “...gave you too much…more careful next time….”

Normally they’d be bothered by mention of a “next time.” Right now they couldn’t bring themself to care either way.

[kyanako5972]

Whumpuary 7

Bruises (Weave Sutari, age 23)

After rescue. Probably when he sees his mom for the first time in two years. He's supposed to be smiling slightly, but it might have been lost in the inking.

The cool thing about limiting myself to ink is that I can experiment with portraying things that I'd usually use color to portray. Also, force myself to use varying sized pens when I'm used to sticking to one throughout a piece.

[tabbytabbytabby]

You're safe in here with me

Word Count: 1,140 words

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: Stranger Things

Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Tags: Post-Canon, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Hurt Steve Harrington, Worried Eddie Munson, Protective Eddie Munson, Supportive Wayne Munson, Hurt/Comfort, Developing Relationship, Hopeful Ending, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents

Summary: Eddie wakes one night to an insistent tapping on his window. He's surprised to find Steve outside, looking at little worse for wear.

Read on AO3

For @whumpuary No.7: “I didn’t know where else to go” / Bruises

[brisingr-sword]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Magnum P.I. (TV 2018) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Gordon Katsumoto & Thomas Sullivan Magnum IV Characters: Thomas Sullivan Magnum IV, Gordon Katsumoto Additional Tags: Whump, Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Alcohol, Thomas Sullivan Magnum IV Whump, Hurt Thomas Sullivan Magnum IV, Thomas Sullivan Magnum IV Needs a Hug, Worried Gordon Katsumoto, Caring Gordon Katsumoto, Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Minor Injuries, No beta we die like nuzo, Implied/Referenced Suicide, in terms of a background character from a case mentioned Series: Part 7 of Whumpuary 2024 Summary:

The last thing Gordon is expecting at 1 am is for Thomas Magnum to appear, bleeding and bruised, on his doorstep, so it's a good thing that happens at 2 am.

Whumpuary 2024 Days 13-14 "I didn't know where else to go" | Bruises | Drugged

[melanie-ohara]

I'm Not Here Looking For Absolution

Whumpuary2024, Day 13 - Prompt: "I didn't know where else to go."

Bo-Katan can't face the throne room today

AO3 Here

Bo-Katan touched down neatly at the top of the wide stone steps that led to the mouth of the Great Forge and stepped through the archway into the cavernous space. While she would normally remove her helmet immediately after landing, she kept it on as she approached the Armorer as a sign of respect. It hid her surprise when she saw pale green armour instead of red and gold.

"Mand'alor," the woman in front of her said, too stunned by her presence to salute for a moment. 

"Mand'alor," a second voice echoed, and Bo-Katan turned to see more mandalorians clap their fists to their armour in salute. 

It had been a long time since she had last visited, and what had been a single forge now had several other, smaller stations burning around the cavern. Each one was tended by a mandalorian, though not all wore helmets.

"At ease," she managed to say eventually, still scanning the helmets for the one she recognised. Finally, she spotted her - resplendent in dark red beskar and gold helmet, making her way casually towards her. 

"Armorer," she greeted, with a polite tilt of her head. 

Silently, she looked her up and down and then clapped her hands together to draw the attention of the apprentices. 

"Leave us," she instructed. There was a clatter as the mandalorians laid down their tools, and then they filed out until only Bo-Katan and the Armorer remained. 

"I didn't know you had taken on apprentices," Bo-Katan commented. 

The armorer turned to walk back to the central forge and Bo-Katan fell into step at her side. 

"Every city we reclaim, every settlement we found - all of the will require an armourer," she said proudly. 

Bo-Katan wished she had a fraction of her optimism. "Indeed," was all she said. 

The Armorer picked up her tools and returned to the smelter, where she was melting down and purifying beskar ore recovered from the armour of the Imperial Remnant troopers. Bo-Katan watched with her hands tucked behind her back. It felt right to be there. To witness the reclamation of something so important to her world.

"You may remove your helmet, Mand'alor," the Armorer said. "You need not wear it on my account."

Bo-Katan hesitated for a moment - she knew how tired she looked - but took it off and tucked it under her arm. The Armorer had no comment on her appearance, but Bo-Katan could feel her looking at the bags under her eyes even through her visor. 

"Have you come about your armour?" 

Bo-Katan frowned. "Is there something wrong with it?"

The Armorer paused. "Historically," she said, "the Mand'alor reforged their armour upon claiming the throne, to reflect their station."

Bo-Katan took an involuntary step back. Her armour had been with her since she was old enough to wear it, and the only changes it had experienced were changes in signet - Death Watch to Nite Owl to Mythosaur. The idea of watching it melt to nothing before her eyes was abhorent. 

"No," she said. "No, I haven't."

"You are meant to be in the throne room, to hear petitions," the Armorer observed. From someone else it might have felt like an accusation.

Bo-Katan shook her head. "I can't stand to be in there. Not today. To be honest, I didn't know where else to go." She laid her helmet down on a tool bench and perched against the edge of it with her arms folded. "Everywhere I look, I see the tragedy of our past. Pre Viszla, Maul, my sister…" she trailed off, remembering that night. Remembering Obi-Wan Kenobi stepping aboard his ship, lit by fire, and telling her he was so sorry. She shook herself. "And then the Empire. Saxon, Gideon, the bombing. My own failures."

The Armorer carefully poured molten beskar into ingot molds. "More mandalorians fell defending this forge than anywhere else," she pointed out. 

"The heart of our world," Bo-Katan mused. "It was the first place we fell back to, when Maul claimed the throne." Casually, she unfolded her arms and moved her hands to the edge of the tool bench so one of them was close to her helmet. "I've never asked," she said, "but those spikes you wear…"

The Armorer stopped what she was doing and visibly tensed. "Did you come here for a fight?" she asked. 

"Would that achieve anything?"

Slowly, she lowered the tongs she was holding and turned to face her. "I was too young at the time," she said. "My father took me to Concordia, but my mother stayed. When she was killed, I added the zabrak horns to my helmet to honour her."

Bo-Katan considered for a moment. There weren't many of Maul's servants left now: many had died in the Republic assault, and those that survived had been taken into custody by the clones or executed by the mandalorians. In all the chaos that followed, it would be impossible to verify her story.

"I thought you were older," she said at last.

"No, just wiser," the Armorer said with a smile in her voice. Bo-Katan relaxed again when she turned back to the forge, and she watched her work for a while in silence before either of them spoke again.

"Would you have killed me, had I been old enough to stand with my mother?" the Armorer asked. The only emotion Bo-Katan could hear in her voice was curiosity, but she had to wonder if it went deeper than that.

"At the time? Yes," she admitted. "But look where division got us."

"Indeed," the Armorer said. 

Bo-Katan rubbed her forehead and then pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and middle fingers, squeezing hard enough to hurt. "I don't know what to do," she said softly. For a moment, she wondered if the Armorer had even heard her, but when she lifted her hand to look she saw her looking at her with her head cocked and her arms folded in expectation. 

"Maul used our neutrality to stage a coup," Bo-Katan said. "The Republic used Maul to stage an invasion. Thanks to me. And then the Empire used our division to wipe us out." She shook her head. "No matter what we do, someone finds a way to exploit us."

"And we always survive," the Armorer said. 

"Is that anything to be proud of?" Bo-Katan argued, standing up straight now that anger was taking over. "We're reduced to squabbling amongst ourselves. I went from the leader of the Nite Owls, scourge of Imperial space, to a tired old woman rotting in an empty castle."

"Now you're the Mand'alor," the Armorer reminded her. She walked up to Bo-Katan and laid her hand on the shining silver beskar pauldron that she had crafted herself. "You united us, Bo-Katan. The most divided mandalorians that have ever been now work side-by-side in this forge. Of that, I am most proud."

The Armorer lowered her head and pressed the top of her helmet lightly to Bo-Katan's forehead in a gentle keldabe kiss. The show of familiar affection was so unexpected that soft 'oh' of surprise escaped Bo-Katan's lips before she could stop it, and she was close enough to hear the Armorer's breath hitch a little inside her helmet. Bo-Katan wished she could put her own back on and hide the blush blooming on her cheeks, but it was too late. The Armorer took a step back out of her personal space, and cleared her throat.

"Perhaps you would allow me to match your pauldron to the rest of your armour, now that I have access to the appropriate pigments," she said. 

Bo-Katan nodded stiffly and straightened up. "Yes," she said, as flatly as she could manage. She reached across with her right hand to unclip the armour and winced slightly as it disconnected.

"Are you hurt?" the Armorer asked, hesitating a little before she took the pauldron from her. 

"It's nothing," Bo-Katan said. "A bruise, from sparring yesterday." 

'Sparring' was a slight misnomer - she had armed Axe and Koska with wooden staffs and strict instructions not to hold back. It had been more of a ritualised beating than an actual fight.

The Armorer seemed satisfied for a moment, but as she selected the pigments from her collection she looked back at Bo-Katan. "The beskar I used was the finest quality outside of the home system," she said. "You should have been invulnerable."

Bo-Katan rolled her shoulder, a little embarrassed. She never knew how to approach subjects like this with the people she still privately considered zealots. "I wasn't wearing it. Any of it, I mean," she said. 

The Armorer didn't move for a moment, and then turned back to her workbench. "I see," she said.

"Forgive me," Bo-Katan said, and was surprised by the fervour in her own voice. "It is not the Way, I'm sure."

"You have taught our people that there are many ways to be a mandalorian, Bo-Katan," the Armorer said, carefully tracing the mythosaur signet with black paint to match the Nite Owl on her other shoulder. 

"But?" Bo-Katan prompted. 

The Armorer shrugged the arm that wasn't busy painting. "My beskar is my skin. To remove it for combat is akin to death itself."

"That's… poetic," she said. 

The Armorer made a sound like laughter, and set aside the black paint. "Armour is only removed for lovers," she said.

Bo-Katan stepped a little closer, to watch her pass her airbrush over the pauldron, slowly turning it the same blue as the rest of her beskar. "But not the helmet?" she asked.

"The helmet stays on," the Armorer said, so seriously that Bo-Katan couldn't decide if it was a joke or not. She wondered if she'd ever find out. Then she caught herself thinking about it and had to step back from the workbench again. 

She waited quietly until the Armorer had finished, resting one hand over the bruise on her shoulder that the pauldron would cover. Koska had inflicted it: Axe had knocked her legs out from under her and she had brought her staff down on her arm while she tried to stand up. She gave her a kick in the head in return, but her boot had bounced off her helmet without slowing her down.

"There," the Armorer said, and stepped into Bo-Katan's personal space to re-attach the now matching pauldron. 

"Thank you," Bo-Katan said, and then, before she lost her nerve; "you know, for us apostate mandalorians, a keldabe kiss is usually reserved for lovers." 

The Armorer didn't look up from the pauldron, but her hand slid down to Bo-Katan's elbow. "It is the Way," she said softly. 

Bo-Katan swallowed, and then touched her forehead to the Armorer's. She knew that all that she could see through her visor now was her eyes, and she hoped she was looking into them.

"Come," the Armorer said, and took her hand.

[firapolemos05]

Whumpuary 2024

"Azhaga! Your face is all bruised, what happened?!"

"....It's nothing."

Prompt 7

Bruises

Prakash is trying his best.

(Both OCs use he/him.)

[sliceroftpeirweirisles]

Whumpuary 2024 Day 7

7. (Jan 13-14) "I didn't know where else to go" / Bruises / Drugged

Davenport understood the dangers of exploring each new planar system. A new challenge with every landing of the ship. Some planar systems ended up being nicer than others. Some, however, were too dangerous to explore. 

The crew had been so lucky to find The Light this time around, but it did not come without some challenges. They lost Merle and Barry while managing to bring The Light to the Starblaster. The rest of the party made it out relatively unharmed. Except for Davenport. He’d managed to save face until everyone had finished winding down from the expedition, but the wall he’d put up was crumbling by the minute.

His small gnome body wasn’t built very sturdy when it came to danger. He was currently nursing some bruises and a possible cracked rib, but he could tell there was a bit more damage on his back. He couldn't see or reach anything on his back, so all he could go off was the level of pain he was in. Davenport wandered down the hall of the barracks and stopped when he reached Lucretia’s room. A gentle knock on the door later, Lucretia emerged and was surprised to see their captain. 

“Oh! I’m sorry, did you need me for something?” Lucretia asks before she notices how fatigued her captain is. 

“Can I come in?” Davenport deflects with a question, and Lucretia steps aside to let her captain inside. He gracefully makes his way in and takes a long moment to sit down on the stool by her vanity. “I-I didn’t know where else to go… I just need someone to look at my bruises, and I trust you.” 

“Davenport…” Lucretia sighs before kneeling by the stool. “I can take a look. I also have some healing potions left over from our last cycle, if need be.” 

He nods and starts unbuttoning his captain's jacket. It’s easy to unbutton, but taking it off was something else entirely. Davenport manages to keep silent as Lucretia helps him struggle out of his jacket, and then his shirt. A quick visual scan of his body determines that he isn’t bleeding from any open wounds. On his back, however, there were some particularly nasty bruises and a mark that looked more concerning than others. It looked like he was bleeding just under the surface layer of skin. 

“How badly did you get hit?” Lucretia asks absentmindedly while she examines the bruising. Davenport flinches with a hiss of pain when Lucretia just barely puts pressure on it. “This looks like it will heal with a couple of potions, but you’re definitely bleeding internally.” Lucretia stands and smooths out her slacks. “Just give me a moment to find them.” 

“I’m not going anywhere soon, Luce,” Davenport smirks, although he finds it increasingly hard to stay upright. He picked the stool because it was the lowest chair he managed to climb into while injured. That being said, balance was key on a stool, and he could feel his balance slowly deteriorating.

[pbpsbff]

come get y'all juice

[exquisiteagony]

more whumpuary in the bloody money au

[whumpitlikeyoumeanit]

Whumpuary 7

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: mention of torture ))

promptspiration: @whumpuary 07: Drugged

Whumpee: Draco Malfoy Whumper: Voldemort whump type: comfort fic type: Deathly Hallows "Voldemort learns Draco hooked up with Harry" AU

Snape and Narcissa caretakers while Draco's still a prisoner.

words: ~1000

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

"My lord, eventually you are going to kill him." 

"Feeling sentimental, Severus?"

"Hardly." Snape's voice was dry. "Even as the dubious pleasure of minding students goes, a Malfoy is a special annoyance. But he is a useful tool against Potter, and Draco is not strong. Even the Cruciatus alone will eventually kill him. Sooner, if you keep letting Bellatrix at him."

"That's what I have you for." 

"I am not a healer." He sounded annoyed. "I'll do what I can." 

Draco was lifted into the air by a spell. He didn't resist it. He didn't know if they realised he was conscious and he thought he would prefer it if they did not. Maybe he wasn't, really. He felt very far away from his body, from the situation, like an observer. That was better. 

He was taken to his mother's parlour; even before he was laid on a sofa, he recognised it by the smell. This was where she had once arranged the flowers that dotted the house. They hadn't had flowers in years now, but still their ghosts lingered. 

Something was poured down his throat, vile and no doubt effective. His pain-tensed muscles began to relax and the ache eased. Snape was gentler than he had to be, holding his head in one hand and making sure he didn't choke. It wasn't really a surprise; ever since he saw how perfectly Snape hid the fact that he knew about him and Harry, he had realised that his words may just be just words, no matter how fiercely he seemed to believe them. He really was incredible. 

His mother's clipped steps hurried into the room. "Draco—" Snape moved aside and she took over, sitting with him and holding his head in her lap. He wished he could stay there forever. Her fingers brushed through his hair. 

"I've done what I can," Snape murmured. His voice was so low it seemed unlikely someone outside the room would even know there was talking going on inside. "You're allowed to tend to him?"

"Sometimes," she said icily. 

"When you are, give him this, as soon afterward as possible. It will impede the formation of the memories. Calming charms are tempting but try to avoid it if he's coherent; the long-term effects are unhealthy. He needs sleep—"

"I know this," she snapped, She was snappish from stress, not because Snape was doing anything wrong, but he was the closest thing to a safe person to take it out on. Draco wished he could make her feel better. Her hand gripped his shoulder tightly. "I need something to protect him—"

Snape cut her off. "There is nothing," he said harshly. "Nothing will provide any protection from the Dark Lord's punishments, that would not be obvious and make the situation worse. He will have to endure. This might make it easier to live with." 

She said nothing, but, in a few seconds, Draco felt her move and heard the touch of metal to glass, one of her rings coming into contact with the potion bottle as she accepted it. 

"Pain. Seized muscles." It sounded like he was going down a line of potions. He could sense the shifting of bottles. "Use them when necessary. I don't know when I'll be able to spare more."

"Sleep?"

"No. The demand is too high; Sleeping Draughts and several ingredients are in short supply. Blood-Replenishing."

"He won't need that." She sounded less like she knew that than that she couldn't believe otherwise.

Snape's voice was quiet but inarguable. "There is a mandate that he will be punished nightly, whether the Dark Lord is here or not." His mother's hands held him tight, but she couldn't make that not true. "Not everyone will continue to be entertained by mere pain. Keep it, and hope you're right.

"His mind is another matter. Draco." He didn't respond, willing Snape's attention to go away. "I know you're awake." It wasn't working. He shook his head infinitesimally and turned his face into his mother's stomach. She ran her fingers through his hair silently. That still seemed to be enough of an acknowledgement for Snape. "Practise your Occlumency."

"It doesn't work," he murmured.

"No," Snape agreed. "You will never be able to hide anything and I would discourage you from trying. I hope for all our sakes that you don't have something somehow worse that you need to — although at this point it seems nothing is beyond the scope of your ability to make bad decisions. But if you can maintain control of your mind, it may preserve your sanity." 

The 'for a time' went unspoken. Maybe it would keep his mind strong enough to take being dragged out in front of Him… every night…. for more torture, for no reason, nothing he could do to end it… Maybe it would. For a while. But if anyone made an effort to break him, he would break. If He lost control in his anger and didn't care if he stayed sane, he would break. Even if anyone became overzealous and went too hard, he could break… If it went on for too long with no end in sight, maybe then he would still break…

"All right," he said quietly. His mother held his head. 

"Give him a few drops of that. It's too late to do anything for tonight's session, but I don't need this conversation on display."

She stroked his hair and turned his head up, and dropped a small dose of a horribly sour potion into his mouth. He heard Snape's footsteps retreating from the room and put it out of his mind, hoping that everyone else would have forgotten about him and he'd be allowed to stay, for a few hours.

[littlebunnyman]

Maybe better without you

“The Spaniards,” Billy murmurs. His dry lips brush over the skin of James’ neck. “The Spaniards didn’t just fight. If someone didn’t spread their legs for them, they used this powder until that person was begging for them and…” He breaks off with an unhappy whine and James tightens his arms around him.

Read on Ao3

Prompt 7, fic 7! Prompts: "I didn't know where else to go" | Bruises | Drugged

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

[christmassavestheyear]

story you don't tell

written by @holes-in-my-false-confidence for @whumpuary

He knew that what happens in the next house over should stay there. He’d made his effort to reach out, to throw Louis a rope, on more than one occasion. Had even offered upfront to call the authorities, as .if Louis couldn’t do that himself. But who knows, maybe he couldn’t? All of his propositions were met with indifference at best, and denial, anger, at worst. Truth be told, he didn’t understand; he didn’t know why Louis turned him down, or why James is so awful to him in the first place. He didn’t get it. He didn’t understand how anyone could treat another human being, could treat Louis, with such disrespect and toxicity. He didn’t know why, or how, people could do that to someone.

 Louis hasn’t had anywhere to go in two years. He’s miles from his family, estranged from his friends, and trapped by his partner. Or the one where Louis needs a place to go, Harry happens to have one, and love doesn’t make up for everything.

1k | T | louis tomlinson/harry styles | non-famous abuse au | moodboard by me, pictures/photos belong to original owners