#Attempted murder whump
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Whumpril 2024 - Day 7 - Hesitation
-A huge demon enters the sitcom stage to raucous applause, spreading his arms and grinning at the other actors- GUESS WHO'S BACK AFTER BEING ON OC VACATION, at least now and then yk, I missed Gabe
TWs: attempted murder/assassination, threats, brief and vague reference to noncon by whumpee, blood, blades
“Please–” Gabriel watched the angel in front of him tremble. She clasped her hands in front of herself, brilliant purple eyes fixed on the bright cerulean soul in his hand. “Please, Prince Gabriel, don't do this.”
Gabriel sneered, rolling the little soul around in his palm, feeling the magical sparks against his skin. “Why?” He walked closer, idly toying with one sword he'd taken. His foot came to rest on the blade of the other. “You tried to kill me in my own home. Give me a reason to spare two assassins.”
She winced back, mouth gaping as she struggled for a reason. Gabriel laughed and dropped the blade with a clatter, bringing the soul up to his mouth. He rolled the marble into his mouth, holding it between his teeth. Everyone who knew of Gabriel Rivas, Demon Prince of the Wrathful Chase also knew how he liked to dispatch the souls of his enemies.
She dropped to her knees, tears springing from her eyes. Sobbing, she scrambled forward, desperately grabbing at the sheer silks he was wrapped in. “No, not him, not Alistair, he's all I have–”
Something in how her voice broke, in how her watery purple eyes looked up at him with such desperation, made Gabriel pause. Suddenly the soul didn't feel as satisfying to have in his mouth. He pulled the soul away from his teeth with a sigh, brows furrowed.
“Hmm.” He thought for a moment, before grinning again. “Alright, alright. I'll make you a deal.”
She pressed her hands to her mouth and sat back on her heels, looking up at him with a frantic nod. She reached to his silks again, feeling at his hips, starting to tug the fabric away from his skin. “Anything, anything at all, sir, whatever you want I'll–”
Gabriel felt his grin drop away as his stomach rolled. He stepped back, reaching a hand up sharply. “Quiet. Don't touch me. I don't want–not that.”
He took a deep breath, golden eyes lingering on the intact halo that hovered above her head. It matched her eyes perfectly. Her cloudy, dark grey wings shivered behind her back, pulled as tightly against her as possible. Messy black hair framed her face. Her arms wrapped around herself, like she might fall apart if she didn't.
“if you can survive out there for forty-eight hours then you're free to go.” He motioned to the window, to the clogged, labyrinthine streets that lay far below his uncanny skyscraper. The screams and howls of the hunted couldn't be heard this far up. “You won't be able to fly. My demons will be hunting you the whole time. But if you can do it, you get to leave. Both of you. He'll stay in my possession until then.”
She swallowed hard and nodded. “Okay. I, yes. Yes, I accept. And if I don’t, you’ll kill us.”
“Give me your name." Gabriel said with a nod, offering a hand out to her. She grasped it. When he helped her to her feet, she seemed to barely weigh as much as Throl.
“Felicia.”
“Go on Felicia, you have a fifteen minute start time.”
Gabriel didn’t know how he felt, watching her disappear into the elevator, shoulders squared.
As the doors closed, he shifted again and a sharp pain raced up his leg. Glancing down, the sword blade he’d stepped on before had bitten into him. Curiosity spiking, he lifted it to examine the sole of his foot. Golden blood started to languidly ooze, but there was no burning. He wasn’t being immolated by holy magic. He curiously looked to the other, and realized that it didn’t smell holy either–that had been the angel.
Neither one of these blades could have killed him.
“Huh. Well, Alistair. Guess things are a little more complicated than I thought. Let’s just see how Felicia does while I think about where to go next.”
#whumpril2024#whumprilday7#day 7#hesitation#the original sin#original sin#gdi one of these will work for gabe#angel whumpee#demon whumper#blood#blades#attempted murder whump#noncon referenced#it's super brief and nongraphic and also referenced by the whumpee#assassination attempt
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Our Man Flint
TW: vampyrs, blood, various weapons (no firearms), Christianity, bugs, attempted murder, traditional methods of slaying a vampyr, brief manhandling, captivity, it/its pronouns used to dehumanize
Note: The word vampyr is simply an archaic spelling of the modern vampire. This story utilizes traditional Slavic folklore, largely ignoring Hollywood inventions. Although I do throw in my own ideas as well.
Flint eagerly traversed the steep hillside road leading to an abandoned castle, where gossips swore up and down vampyrs resided. The recently concocted rumors, fuelled by illness and death in the small town bellow, itched to be proven.
To Flint, the idea of undead nocturnal creatures feasting on the life blood of humans seemed far more compelling than simple fever and hysteria.
Flint's bag hung heavy on his back, the leather strap digging into his left shoulder. Hawthorn stakes, cloves of garlic, silver blades, and bottles of holy water weighed him down far more than seemed possible.
Or perhaps the objects themselves simply combined with his second thoughts to slow his pace.
A lock of black hair fell over his face, jostled by his swift pace. He swept it behind his ear.
Grass had long since reclaimed large portions of the road. The late summer sun parched the earth and bleached the plants to sickly shades of yellow.
The incline grew, as did Flint's excitement. He was finally facing his first chance to win back the faded glory from his first slaying of a vampyr.
He had intended for it to be his only attempt at the gruesome sport, a simple bid of necessity in a dark time. But the glory had proven a potent drug to which he had quickly become addicted.
His fellow townsfolk had sung his praises like canaries saved from the cat. His family had bragged of his courage to all who would listen. Strangers had hung on every exaggerated word of his tale.
But time faded glory, as it did all things, and Flint needed to continue with his sport to stay under the spotlight.
He couldn't bear the horror of surviving a failure. Being slaughtered by a demon seemed a much better fate than admitting to folly or cowardice.
So, he told no one where he was going and took off at high noon, determined to come back with the head of a vampyr, or excuses for his absence and a few pleasant words on the walk he had taken.
The bright golden sun crept lower in the sky, far past noon, leaving few hours for Flint's quest.
He eventually came upon the front door, a monolithic thing of rotted wood and rusted iron hinges. It reeked of decay and the many bugs living within its heart wood.
Flint nearly threw out his back forcing it open, the hinges screeching from the pain of use.
Any vampyr would be fast asleep, and any other form of inhabitant seemed incredulous, so Flint made no effort to stay quiet as he set off exploring.
Webs stretched from wall to wall, playing host to spiders, swollen from feasting on flies and maggots. Bugs writhed in the webs serving as their death row prison cell, awaiting execution.
Dust coated the ground, jumping up with Flint's every footstep. He coughed and spluttered, trying to clear his lungs. He had never been a smoker, and the sensation of his lungs being filled with foreign elements proved unbearable.
Tattered moth eaten tapestries hung from the walls, or laid limply on the floor, long since fallen from their rusted nails. Their bleached colors betrayed no original design or intention.
Flint had no idea as to what conditions vampyr's prefered. This crumbling castle could very well be a perfect condition for the more civilized sort. He had exhumed his only prior traget from a graveyard, where it laid in a coffin buried six feet under. Rather shabby, when compared to a fortress of stone.
A door caught Flint's attention. The wood looked oddly smooth and glossy, kept free of decay. He twisted the gleaming doorknob. It slid open on its hinges with nary a creak.
The opened corridor was lit by torchlight. Unusual, for any nocturnal creature to want for light or fire. But Flint didn't question the suspicious blessing, instead scanning the corridor for any hints as to its upkeep.
Every door and closed window shutter was fashioned from polished rose wood. Rugs covered the ground, their dark black color concealing any stain of blood which could mar them.
Bugs camped out in corners and crevices, but the webs were far less prolific. They seemed to have been cleared out with the dust and grime.
Flint clutched the crucifix hanging from his throat. He knew it ought to grant him spiritual support, but all he felt was the cold kiss of metal against his palm.
He stopped, entranced by the grotesque classical paintings hanging from the walls.
Glorious battles, religious scenes, and disgusting murders hung side by side with no distinction between them made through positioning.
Some were near pornographic, showing beautiful nude bodies writhing in the flames of hell or brutalized men in ruined clothing revealing far too much flesh.
Flint tore his eyes away. His heart beat frantically, threatening to push through its cage and spill his crimson life blood onto the black wool carpet.
After a few minutes of deep breathing, his heart returned to its proper pace, keeping him well and truly alive.
On an impulse, Flint chose the third door from the entrance to search first. Very little light poured into the room from the open doorway, but after taking a moment for his eyes to adjust, he could just make out its interior.
His heart settled in his stomach, like the body of a child weighed down with stones drowning in a deep well.
On the lefthand side of the room, a pale casket laid, carved from birch or beechwood. Painted patterns of flowers and leaves adorned its tan sides.
On the righthand side of the room, a dark casket blended with the shadows, fashioned from ebony, unblemished by paint nor varnish.
Flint crossed himself.
Then, when no sense of protection nor blessing overcame him, he did it again.
If anything, he felt more chilled than before.
He sighed and dropped his bag on the floor. Jumping at the clatter, he quickly scanned the caskets, listening for any hint of movement from their occupants.
But, of course, there was no movement. It would take a noise much greater than his bag tumbling to the ground to wake the dead.
After assessing both caskets, he decided to open the one of pale wood, revealing a man laid to rest inside.
A thrill ran up Flint's spine as he took in the vampyr's appearance. So youthful, as though a corpse bloated on embalming fluids, kept young by the work of a mortician having no idea as to their unholiness of their work.
Long blonde hair laid smoothly over the vampyr's shoulders, well combed and perfectly clean. Tight leather clothing and strange piercings gave the body a look far too human for Flint's taste. From his limited experience, he prefered vampyrs dressed in burial shrouds fit for the dead.
He didn't bother looking in the ebony casket. Whatever was laid to rest inside could wait until its brethren had been dealt with.
The sharpened hawthorn stake and stone headed hammer fit well in Flint's hand.
Placing the point directly over the vampyr's heart and bracing the hammer over the spike came naturally to him.
This was in spite of the unnatural being of the vampyr, a demon formed of human flesh, feeding on human blood to retain its eternal, ethereal youth.
An unholy mockery to all things faithful.
The killing of a vampyr was a disgusting act. The horrid crack of breaking ribs, great spurts of crimson blood coating both the vampyr and its hunter, and the terrible screams all combined to create an act more gruesome than the murder of a human could be.
Flint hadn't expected screaming on his first hunt, and the sound had made his blood run rancid. The only comforting aspect of the following decapitation had been the noise ceasing.
Flint braced himself.
One heavy blow of the hammer sent the spike through the vampyr's rib cage.
Flint's grasp nearly slipped from the blood slicked stake and hammer, but he tightened his grip and continued.
Another blow drove it into the thing's slowly beating heart.
The shrieking proved worse than Flint's memories had forewarned him, perhaps due to the closed quarters. Nothing earthly could compare. Not the anguish of any battlefield, nor the screams forged by tortured prisoners.
One final blow nailed the vampyr to the earth of its casket, despite its agonized thrashing.
Flint swiftly riffled through his bag for his silver dagger, loudly cursing himself for forgetting to pull it out prior to the attempted slaying.
The lid of the ebony casket openen, its owner awakened by the sound of its companion's pain.
Flint dropped his bag and made his break for the door. Despite his overconfidence in matters of vampyr hunting, he wasn't owned by the folly necessary to face a conscious vampyr.
The awakened vampyr ignored its prey in favor of aiding its companion. Flint accepted this as miraculous and slammed the wood door closed behind him.
The screaming suddenly cut off as the vampyr freed the stake and its companion.
Flint sprinted down the corridor, desperately trying to remember the path to the front door. He turned sharply at a fork, choked by a cloud of dust kicked up by his frantic pace.
The daylight outside would be his salvation, if he could only make it through the front door.
A cold hand gripped the back of his neck, as though a mother cat seizing her kit.
"And where do you think you're going?" a low voice hissed in his ear.
"Let go of me," Flint ordered shrilly.
He kicked backward at the vampyr, twisting to escape its grasp.
When this proved fruitless, he pulled his legs up in an attempt to force the vampyr to drop him, thrashing wildly.
His efforts were met with harsh laughter and sharp nails gripping his throat.
He put his feet firmly back on the ground, as not to seem so pathetic.
"What do you want?" Flint asked, knowing damn well what the answer would be.
"Depends what Ambrose thinks of your little stunt when he awakens tonight. He's recovering now, hence why I was the one to catch you."
"I've killed your kind before. I'm not fucking afraid of you." Flint's voice in its terrible high pitch betrayed his lie.
The vampyr laughed again, out of some sadistic sense of amusement.
Inspiration struck Flint. He pulled the crucifix from under his shirt collar in a desperate attempt to ward off the demon intent on preying on his life blood.
The vampyr swiftly took ahold of the silver chain, yanking it from Flint's neck with a snap of metal.
It hissed at the burns blooming on its hand, and cast the weapon aside, where it hit the wall and feel limply to the ground.
"I really don't appreciate that," the vampyr said, in a mocking tone meant to conceal its pain.
It dragged Flint down the hall, its claws digging into his neck.
A warm trickle of blood ran under Flint's collar.
Flint tried to support his own weight as he was pulled down a stone staircase, but stumbled trying to match the vampyr's pace.
The vampyr gave its prey's struggling no heed, other than a few sighs of annoyance, which were perhaps invented by Flint's own mind.
"Where are you taking me?" Flint demanded.
His captor ignored his useless questioning, instead yanking a door open. It shoved Flint inside, knocking him the ground with remarkable ease.
"We will deal with you when Ambrose has recovered," it said. "Try to escape, and see where it gets you."
It stormed out and slammed the door, before locking it with a key kept in the pocket of its cloak.
Flint rose to his feet, seething. How could he have been so stupid?
Of course that was the point of the screaming, to attract any vampyric allies. There simply hadn't been anyone to answer the call of the first vampyr he had slain, and he had a folly riddled habit of not questioning things which did not pique his interest.
He was trapped in a vampyr's stronghold, destined to meet some gorey fate at the hands of his would-be victims.
Faced with the actual possibility of it occurring, Flint no longer found the prospect of an honorable heroic death at the clawed hands of a vampyr anywhere near as desirable.
Heroism always seemed that way. Perfectly beautiful from an outside perspective, but bloody and impractical from the inside.
Flint leaned against the wall, trying not to breathe in any dust. The filthy rats and creeping bugs were hard to ignore, but Flint wasn't going to show his squeamishness. Not when his captor could be listening.
If he could make it through tonight, he would escape come the following dawn. He had nothing to do but wait.
@elim-flower @thedarkmongoose @mx-arsenic @anomalys-taxonomy @devourerofcheesecake
If anyone want to be added or removed from the tag list, tell me. ♡♡♡
#Whump#Whumper#Whumpee#Vampyr#Vampyrs#Vampyr whump#Vampire#Vampires#Vampire whump#Vampyr hunter#Vampire hunter#Violence#Christianity tw#Captivity whump#Attempted murder whump#Blood#Bugs#Whumpblr#Vampyr folklore#Folklore#Fiction#Fantasy#Original fiction#Writblr#Creative writing
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Payback
"What on earth are you all doing?!"
The team startled and froze in their tracks when Caretaker's voice boomed through the room. They glanced up to the landing, barely daring to meet Caretaker's eye when they noticed his thunderous expression matched the tone of his outburst. But they didn't pull away from the struggling figure under them, keeping him to his knees and keeping a gun trained against the back of his head.
"Whumpee still hasn't woken up," one of the members snarled, forcing Whumper's head down with the gun. "You saw what this scum did to them! It's time for some payback."
Caretaker bristled, his hands still on the railing, knuckles white. Then he took a deep breath and let go, slowly making his way down the stairs, boots clanking heavily against the metal grate.
"Give me that!" he snarled, and snatched the gun away. He stood over Whumper, who had startled as well and his struggles had melted away. He looked up at Caretaker; didn't say a word, but his eyes betrayed a call for mercy.
"I agree," Caretaker hissed and cocked the gun. Whumper closed his eyes as the click echoed through the silent room. "A certain payback is order."
He aimed and without hesitation fired two rounds, one in both Whumper's shoulders.
Screams rose up and Whumper fell back, writhing on the floor.
"Take him to medbay, patch him up, lock him up," Caretaker said without looking down and he pressed the gun back into his friend's hands. "Listen up! No one, and I mean no one, kills this bastard."
He glanced down and Whumper shuddered at the cold glare.
"Because I am not done with him yet. And maybe, when Whumpee wakes, we'll see if he's lucky enough to end it with a single bullet through the head."
-
Tagging: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @hold-back-on-the-comfort @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @whumpifi
#whump#whump drabble#revenge whump#whumper turned whumpee#caretaker#caretaker turned whumper#attempted murder#torture#implied torture#gunshot wound#captivity#my writing
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My demon (2023)
Ep 10
#my demon#kdrama#asian drama#korean drama#whump community#whump#asian whump#asian#korean#fire#explosion#car accident#attempted murder
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Off Guard
Whumping the Whumpers - Part Thirty-eight
(tw: electrocution, escape attempt, concussion, torture, death mention, murder mention, plotting murder, handcuffs, stun gun, blood, beating, unintentional self harm (bloody knuckles))
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Ethan’s fingers tingled as he walked, flicking them against each other by his side to stave off the sensation as he moved down the hall.
He didn’t want to be too loud. Not tonight. The light was off in Nate’s room, so the bastard must finally be getting some half decent sleep. No reason to wake him and have the idiot trying to take over the scene. Again.
He shoved open the workshop doors, ignoring the slight grinding whine the hinges gave off - though still subconciously noting to add some kind of oil or whatever the fuck you do with hinges later. As the lights snapped on, the pitiful lump of a man in the middle of the room curled into his chains, a small sound of displeasure coming off of him.
“What, were you sleeping? I’m sorry-” Ethan stepped up to him, almost delicately pressing a foot down onto a dried slurry of blood that gashed over Crawford’s thigh.
“Hnn-stopstto-”
“Hmm… I dunno, maybe beg a little more and see if it puts me in a good mood?” The edges of his mouth seemed to shift, tugging like curtains pulled by a string on the other side of the room to coax a smile out of him.
Getting there, at least.
It was an almost completely forgotten sensation. Smiling without meaning to. It pulled an entirely different set of muscles than the simple, polite curve he gave to people he wanted to shut up or leave him alone. Different than the ruse he put on or the sarcastic toothy grin he threw in Nate’s direction in place of a verbal response. This was something different entirely. Like a little parasite had carved up inside his cheek and gnawed at the thin strands of muscle until they tightened like strings of a violin, ready for the steady screech of rosin to truly set them alight.
“Y’mdnr-”
“Hmm~?” Ethan’s foot ground in further, leaning in to see Crawford’s face as the man squished it against the cement.
Another incoherent slurry of sound pressed from the man’s throat, still curled into a ball around the spot where the shackle lashed him to the ground.
Ethan rolled his eyes, pushing off the man with a small kicking shove before crouching down and squirming his hand into the knotted ball of a man to grab his jaw. Twist him round. Hear his neck crackle with the fresh movement after nights sleeping on cement.
“Use your words,” he prompted, forefinger alone relenting the grip to taptaptap on Crawford’s jaw.
.PaiN.
Pain.
Ethan knew pain.
Close friends as they were for so many years, it was strange he found himself at a loss for its name when it reared its ugly head once more, overwhelming his mind in a single snap of blank, processing emptiness.
Ethan felt the echoing crack as his head hit the concrete, remnants of what he was finally recognizing as electricity buzzing down his twitching legs.
Some strangled growl ripped up his throat as he tried to right himself enough to grab for the man who was shoving on top of him, but his arms were slow - groggy from sleeplessness, shock and lost, aimless electrons trying to find their way underground.
He shoved at Crawford only to feel the prongs of the stun gun shoved hard into his collarbone, burning agony through the skin and crackling as if eating through the bone itself as he thrashed to shove the searing pain away.
My name is Ethan Scott. The mantra lit up the back of his skull without prompt or ask. It was just there.
It begged him to fall stoic. To sit still and take it. Be tough. Be a good b-
No.
No-
NO.
My name is Ethan Scott and you cannot break me.
He won’t sit still- he can’t. Taking it isn’t strength right now, taking it is defeat.
Crawford was the one in chains today.
Ethan’s hands scrabbled for Crawford’s arm, finally knocking the thing off of his flesh with a roaring gasp, shoving the other man off of him as best he could.
Knuckles snapped against his nose, crunching it back. Some dull part of his mind calculated that that wasn’t even half the force of Crawford’s normal blows, but it locked up his mind anyway, pushing his gaze hazy and blurred as heat snapped across his sinuses and exploded behind his eyes.
There was blood. He could taste it.
Shoving numbly, he was barely keeping up enough to track the bastard’s fingers knotting into his hair and slamming his head into the ground. Again. Again. Again-
And it stopped.
The weight lifted off of him in a blur of white and charcoal grey, sound muffling to the side.
Ethan shoved back, hand moving to his face to press against the bleeding and squeeze his eyes shut to will vision to return to him. His head was spinning, like he was about to tip over and crack against the ground again.
He shoved it back. Forced his eyes open and made them focus on the sounds and movement to his left as he shoved himself up on an elbow to squint at the unknown blur.
It took a moment to process exactly what he was seeing.
Nate was a cheerful kind of bitch. The asshole whose smirk you could never wipe off. The life of the party. Class clown. Charmer. No matter how many screams he ripped out of Ethan, he did it with a gentle, almost seductive tone, grinning, smirking, or smiling almost fondly. He’d only seen Nate angry the once. When they’d met for the second time.
But this savage blur in front of Ethan’s bleary eyes had him wondering if he was knocked into a dream. Blood splattered up Nate’s face from the sheer force of his hits as he drove his fist into Crawford’s face again and again, snapping it back and forth against the unforgiving cement. He didn’t even have to pin the man down - the welp on the floor couldn’t do anything but try to throw his arms up in front of the blows, shielding his face.
Nate didn’t seem to care. He hit them too. Silent yet somehow screaming a rage tha echoed through Ethan’s skull.
Ethan sat there for several long seconds, trying to blink away the mirage in front of him before it slowly sharperned into clarity. It was really happening.
A dull thought finally graced his addled mind. He’s going to kill him.
Immediately a panic pressed up through Ethan’s veins like acid, snapping him to attention and the closest thing to lucidity his star-studded mind could handle. He shoved up to his knees and flopped forward to tackled Nate off of the man. “St- sstop- STOP!”
Nate shoves at Ethan, trying to throw him off enough to get back to Crawford. Ethan could practically see the red smeared over Nate’s eyes as he shoved the man’s hands away, fogged body easily ignoring the nails slicing blood from his arms in their desperation to return to their proper target.
“NATE STOP.” Ethan finally just grabbed Nate’s face, forcing it toward him.
Nate’s eyes stayed on Crawford, but he did slow, chest heaving and teeth barred like some kind of animal.
“..that’s enough-!”
Nate tried to shove off the words along with his hands. “He w-”
“I get to kill him. Me. Not you. Me.”
Nate’s breath stuttered off its ragged rhythm, and his jaw set, lips pinched tight as a glare snapped to Ethan’s eyes at last.
In a surrendering kind of huff, he shoved Ethan off of him again. This time Ethan let himself roll to the side, lying with shallow, echoing breath on the ground as Nate shoved out the workshop doors at a brisk walk, sticky hand leaving a smear of blood like claw marks over the edge of the door.
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(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @wormwriting @distinctlywhumpthing @whump-cafe @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @azayta @batfacedliar-yetagain @there-will-always-be-blood @siren-of-agony @whumpworld @bandages-andobsessions-deactiva @deltaxxk @whumpasaurus101 @pickywhumpreader @whumpberry-cookie @morning-star-whump @nailevislev @throwawaywhumper @the-mourning-star @d-cs @pigeonwhumps @suspicious-whumping-egg @snakebites-and-ink @whumpedydump @orphans-parent @whumplr-reader @rainbowsandwhumperflies @starfields08000 @sunnyesunny @crystallizedme @lumpofsand @taterswhump)
As always, lmk if you want to be added to the tag list!
#electrocution#escape attempt#concussion#torture#death mention#murder mention#plotting murder#handcuffs#stun gun#blood#beating#unintentional self harm#bloody knuckles#whumping the whumpers#nate#ethan#crawford#crawford and ethan#nate and ethan#nate and crawford
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Whump Prompt 132
Write something based on this scene:
Sidekick collapses, convulsing, hands scrabbling at his throat. "I--can't breathe--"
And then the phone rings. Hero picks up, numb with horror.
"Too bad," comes villain's voice. "I didn't want to kill him."
"What did you do?" hero whispers.
"Remote-activated poison caplet. Sidekick must've accidentally swallowed it a few days ago. It was supposed to be for you."
#whump#whump prompt#hero and villain#hero and sidekick#sidekick whump#sidekick whumpee#poison#breath whump#i can't breathe#attempted murder#killing#poison whump#blackrosesprompts#whump inspiration#whump idea#whump scene#whump concept#writing prompt#writing inspiration#heroes and villains
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Numéro 23
Part 2
Guess what, ya girl finished a snippet on the plane!!
Words: 1.28 k
TW: Violence, bone fracture, slightly depressed and pretty anxious hero, questionable agency, bone fracture, guns, attempted murders, restraint mentioned
The file was dropped onto their desk curtly, no words spoken, like every other assignment Hero got. Their newest target didn't have a name, no alias of some sort, and the picture of them had shown them fully masked in a sleek, black suit, no inch of skin showing; a faceless caricature. However, their kill count, in three digits, was important enough that any other details seemed inconsequential next to it.
Besides, Hero had been taught to treat their targets more like tasks than people.
So the crime-fighter trained till they were left dead on their feet, till their knuckles were all ripped skin and covered in bloodstains, till their exhausted muscles felt like they were on fire.
“Hero! Don’t you think you’re going a little overkill, boss?” Sidekick asked, folding their arms across their chest and leaning against the doorframe.
The young hero was the closest thing to a light in the agency’s pitch black darkness; the soul that gave life to a lifeless place, like a flame lighting the slowly dwindling, half-melted candle that was the older crime-fighter’s life.
“I. . .can’t, Sidekick,” the hero replied breathlessly, hauling their form up for yet another pull-up, having done so many that they’d lost count. “This new target is unlike all the others before the-”
“Yeah yeah, but when are you not being paranoid about one of your enemies?” the teenager replied, cutting them off.
“Their kill count is in three digits,” the crime-stopper retorted almost impatiently.
“Bloody hell,” Sidekick interjected, eyes going wide.
“Watch your language,” Hero chided, but a sly smirk danced across their face.
“Okay, I wasn’t expecting that, but what good will it do if you show up to fight this bloody - sorry - serial killer exhausted? Weren’t you the one who kept lecturing me on the importance of rest for maximum work efficiency?”
The hero may have been stubborn, but they realised their protegé was right. They couldn't risk showing up to fight someone like their mystery killer while tired, so they decided to make their way home.
Normally, a hot bath would easily clear their head. Sure, they could still feel the tension blissfully seep from their form, the warmth relaxing overworked muscles, but their mind remained a raging firestorm of anxiety. It frustrated them how they couldn't even enjoy something this simple, the one moment where they no longer had to think or be whatever the hell they needed to be at the moment. "At least I smell nice," they scoffed, wishing to get this over with much faster.
They let out a heavy sigh, leaving the tub and slipping into a bathrobe, trudging to the desk in their room to use the old, but still functional laptop. Ironically, being a hero barely payed for rent.
For someone so high and mighty, their little terrorist wasn't completely difficult to find. Or maybe the hero was really a 'natural with the keyboard', since it had taken them a bit of hacking to find their target. Who's to say?
Changing into their suit, Hero stared at their reflection with such intensity, that it would look to most people like an attempt to shatter it to a thousand shards by just looking at it. In reality, their own harsh gaze bore into the dark corners of their mind, wondering for the umpteenth time if they were enough. It didn't matter because they'd still have to do this anyway, whatever the cost.
"Target spotted," they whispered into their comm, standing on their knees for long enough that their muscles ached, waiting for their enemy deigned to show up.
"I will engage now."
The killer's movements resembled that of a panther, and the crime-fighter would have been lying if they'd denied finding it graceful. They were fast and agile, almost impossible to keep up with, not even giving them the chance to reach for the gun in their waistband. But the hero was no slouch either. They aimed a harsh kick to their enemy's shins, their body slamming into the asphalt with an audible thud. Still, the figure in black remained undeterred, kicking the crime-stopper on top of them in the ribs, sending them toppling down across the street, making their head throb and effectively destroying their flimsy communicator.
The hero swore, muttering something ironically much more profane than what they'd chastise their sidekick for, but they rolled away, out of the bastard's reach, quickly getting back on their feet. Their assailant was quick on their feet, chasing after them, but Hero was faster. They'd managed to slip behind an old building, trying to quiet their laboured breathing. They slowly reached for the gun in their waistband, removing the old magazine and replacing it with a new, loaded one.
They waited painstakingly for their target to reach the perfect spot.
Bang. They fired, aiming for the kill, three perfect shots.
Except the bastard was wearing bullet-proof armour, the bullets ricocheting off of them uselessly. They were certain that underneath their dark cowl, the criminal must have had an infuriatingly smug smirk on their face, but right then, they recieved an entirely self-satisfied tilt of the head to the side.
Their only option was to destroy a piece of the armour and shoot them there.
The fight between them continued being a draw, one striking, their opponent blocking, and neither causing any real damage. Until the killer had managed to back Hero into a corner, kicking them to the ground and twisting their leg into a horrid angle, the crime-fighter crying out in pain as a grotesque crack rang in their ears. Tears sprang in their eyes and with whatever little movement they could manage, they furiously ripped their nemesis's mask off.
It wasn't the face of a stranger, like they'd expected, nor was it the face of someone entirely close to them, not that there were many people, aside from their sidekick, who obviously wasn't the ruthless murderer before, instead, it was their quiet lab partner from college, Villain, the one that sat next to them every day, brought them coffee and the occasional dessert, and doodled silly cartoons in their notebook to keep them both sane during boring classes, the closest thing they had to a friend that had nothing to do with the agency.
Their mouth was left agape, their eyes wide, their whole world spinning, but Villain didn’t even blink. They fired, straight into the hero's chest, utterly remorseless, no readable expression on their stone hard face.
Hero woke up. Woke up? What the hell? But Villain had killed them, yet here they were, lying on a soft mattress underneath a wonderfully thick comforter, with their leg in a cast, bandages crisscrossed across their chest. The only thing ruining the strangely mellow coziness they felt (possibly painkilling drugs) was the fact that they were handcuffed to the nighstand.
The bullet had missed their heart. But surely an expert marksman like Villain wouldn't miss, right? This, for some strange reason, was intentional.
We like to believe that our expectations have a foundation in truth, that they are of considerable value, that they can have even the slightest effect on any future outcomes. Yet, that is a fool's dream, a fruitless effort to calm a racing mind in fear of the unknown. Just when you are at the peak of your certainty, when you fully believe your fate is sealed, a spontaneous twist, the slightest change sets you on a path you were never aware existed. Our choices, our words, our actions have meaning, yet they only hold the power of a few tidal waves in the vast unpredictable ocean that is our future because destiny is a weapon one can only hope to master.
✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @usernotfound000 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @shr3ya @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername
Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!
#prompt#hero x villain#snippet#mysterious#assassin hero#assassin villain#assassin x assassin#angst#whump#fight scene#tw bone fracture#tw guns#tw attempted murder#tw questionable agency#tw anxiety#college students???#female writers#natalia's writing#writers on tumblr#fiction#heroes and villains community#hero x sidekick#nat writes
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Fandom: The Bad Batch
Rating: Explicit
Pairings: Royce Hemlock/Tech (Non-Consensual Pairing), Tech/Phee, Tech & Crosshair & Wrecker & Hunter & Omega & Echo
Word Count: 3632
Summary: Tech is facing his first mission since Tantiss with trepidation. A word said to him in comfort is enough to bring repressed and forgotten memories to the surface, and he feels like he's being torn apart inside.
WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, PTSD, Flashbacks, Attempted Self-Harm, Near-Attempted Murder-Suicide, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.
Author's Note: I'm so sorry.
#star wars#the bad batch#tbb#tbb tech#tbb hurt tech#tbb tech whump#hurt tech#tech#tech whump#star wars fanfiction#the bad batch fanfiction#tbb fanfiction#fanfiction#writing#my writing#nsft#graphic depictions of violence#rape/non-con#implied/referenced suicide attempt#implied/referenced attempted murder
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Whumptober Day 30
"It's okay just to say 'I'm not okay'" / Borrowed Clothing / Bridal Carry / "Not much longer...."
I really like the trope of a high-tech Whumper who is a Cyber Terrorists and uses their skills to terrorize law enforcement and huge organizations. Whumpee is often being arrested by the police to use as bait to get Whumper. Then Whumper has to use their skills to get Whumpee out. It's become a hobby, honestly.
"Not much longer Whumpee", Whumper spoke into the mic connected to Whumpee's earpiece, "this was a my bad moment."
Whumpee groaned and crossed their legs, they had to go... badly.
Whumper had stopped to fill up his van at the gas station. Whumpee ran for the bathroom and to grab snacks. He had just finished his latest job, and they were heading to the next job a few states away. He should have waited to fill up the van out of town but wanted to get it done. He even sent Whumpee in unattended.
Whumpee was paying for the snacks and drinks first, then was planning to use the bathroom. They saw a cop car pull up.
Whumper also saw the police pull up, "shit", they hid behind the van, knowing full well it stuck out like a sore thumb. He also didn't have his headpiece on to tell Whumpee to get out there.
Whumpee had a mic located deep within their ear canal, it was two-way so Whumper and Whumpee could communicate. Whumpee also had a tracking device in their body, Whumper learned his lesson the first few times the police nabbed Whumpee.
Finally the pump clicked off, Whumper hurried to get the pump put, and sneak back into the van.
They watched out the window while pulling their head set on.
Whumpee came out, but was instantly grabbed by the police. Someone must have tipped them.
Whumper hurried out of the gas station, making eyes with Whumpee. Whumpee was terrified, they then got tackled to the ground.
The police started to yell after the van.
"Shit, Whumpee are you on", Whumper asked into the mic.
He heard a cough come through, Whumpee's way of telling him they heard, and making sure Whumper could hear.
"Okay good", Whumper took a deep breath, "I'm sorry I had to get out of there, I'm currently looking for a quiet spot, and I'll start working on getting you back. Are you okay?"
Whumpee currently had two police holding them down. They groaned, "guys I have to pee so bad, I'm not going to fight you. Owww, ow, my arm doesn't bend that way. Your weight is putting pressure on my bladder."
Whumper sighed as he listened to Whumpee and a bit of the background.
"Of course they tackled you. How could they ever handle all five feet of you, you're absolutely terrifying", Whumper stated sarcastically.
Whumpee was thrown into the police car, and left there while the police investigated.
"Sir can you hear me?", Whumpee spoke above a whisper.
"Yes I can hear you", Whumper spoke "I'm looking for a spot so I can hide out, then I'll gain control of the situation, and turn this into my game. What's going on?"
"They are investigating, they left me in the car alone", Whumpee continued, "what should I do?"
"Just hang tight, I'll get you out of there", Whumper pulled into a park, and went into the back of the van to log into their computers.
"Alright tracking is on, I am parked and ready to rock", Whumper typed into a different computer, "just hang tight. They by now, probably know you won't talk, or you won't do anything, so they won't bother with you too much. Alright, I'm ready, let's play."
"They're coming", Whumpee whispered.
The moment the detective got into their car their phone rang.
"Hello, this is Special Agent Matt, how can I help", the detective answered, then glanced back at Whumpee.
"Hello, this is Whumper. You have something of mine. I want them back", Whumper spoke in a threatening tone.
Whumpee watched the detective's eyes widen.
"How did you get this number?", the detective couldn't hide their shakiness.
"Oh, don't act dumb, you know who I am, and you know I am a problem, a very dangerous problem", Whumper spoke with a smile, "I'm currently tapped into the gas station's feed and watching all of you. I'm also looking through your social media, Agent Matt. You have a nice family. We both know how dangerous this could be for them."
Matt's heart sank, "leave them out of this."
"Why, you officers never leave Whumpee out of stuff when you are trying to get me. Whumpee is kind of like my family if you think about it, and they are just as innocent as your family, they just come along for the ride most of the time", Whumper scrolled through the Facebook, "oh your son has a baseball game today, it's close to me."
"You touch them I swear", Matt felt like their heart was going to jump from their chest.
"Oh trust me, all I want to do is leave town, I have things to do, I don't want to bother your family. It's a big waste of my time", Whumper grinned as they looked at the baseball diamond where the game would be held, "return Whumpee to me, and nothing will happen."
"You're not in a position to negotiate", Matt tried.
"No actually, you're not in a position to ignore my threat, this is my game, you are just pawns in it", Whumper watched as a car pulled up and parked.
"Hmm, turn on your speaker", Whumper smiled.
"Uh okay", Matt clicked the button, thinking they would tell Whumpee something useful.
"Hey officer Mike, I hope your wife's dentist appointment goes well", Whumper laughed, "should I continue."
Matt looked at their partner, officer Mike, who looked about in tears.
Matt looked back at Whumpee, who was listening to everything.
"How are you so calm while he makes these threats."
"This isn't Whumpee's first time, and as tradition has it, it won't be the last. I've learned to deal with it, and you officers give me some practice", Whumper laughed.
"What do you want?", Matt finally asked.
"It's simple, I want my property, give me Whumpee and all is well", Whumper leaned back, "call off the two other police cars, and meet me."
"Bathroom please", Whumpee pleaded.
"Oh yeah, can you take them to the bathroom first, you interrupted their bathroom break and snack run", Whumper sat back up, "I'll give you the coordinates once Whumpee is back."
Whumpee skipped back to the police car, having finally relieved themself.
"Okay go to this location, and drop Whumpee, then leave. As promised your families will remain unharmed", Whumper quickly hung up.
"Wait", Matt yelled.
Whumper went onto their headset.
"Whumpee once you are dropped, go into the woods a few yards and wait there, I'll be there to get you within the hour."
Whumpee looked out the window and nodded at one of the cameras hoping Whumper could see it. It worked best to cooperate no matter what.
"Good Whumpee", Whumper sighed, "I'm going silent, but will be listening."
Agent Matt kept trying to pry answers out of Whumpee, but kept getting the same reply.
"I don't have permission to speak."
"You are stubborn you know that", Matt complained.
"You can say something to that if you like, they're getting on my nerves", Whumper clicked on the mic, he was set up and ready for the fun to begin.
"I'm not stubborn, I just follow his commands. If you went through what I've been through, you'd know better than to mess with Whumper", Whumpee stated, "it's better for my health to comply."
"He has to be caught, he's a danger to society. You probably know that more than anyone", Officer Mike spoke up.
"Yes and while you work to catch him, he is a danger to me. I'm not going against him, I have enough scars that you law enforcement helped give him reason to leave on me", Whumpee answered, "as long as I behave and please Whumper, he will take care of me, I will not go against him. That's how it will stay."
"Yes but", Matt started.
"I don't have permission to speak", Whumpee answered again.
Matt and Mike groaned.
"Good job Whumpee", Whumper grinned listening to the conversation.
They pulled up to the location.
"Where is he?", Mike looked around.
Whumpee reached for the door handle, it was locked.
"You need to let me out", Whumpee looked at them.
"But he isn't here", Matt glanced back at them.
"Yep, you are dropping me, as in leaving me here and driving away", Whumpee jiggled the door handle.
"But?"
"Do not go against Whumper", Whumpee looked down.
"I'm not leaving you here by yourself, he could kill you and we came back to a dead body next week when you're found", Matt looked around.
"He isn't going to kill me, it would be a waste to him to have kept me alive for so long if he wanted to kill me", Whumpee started to get agitated, "you are playing a dangerous game, he wouldn't have done all of this to kill me."
"He could though, you are a link to him, once dead, he won't have to deal with you anymore", Matt frowned, "I'm not doing this."
"Whumpee calm down, I'm set up down the road, if they want to bring you to me, let them. Put your seat belt on though", Whumper came on the mic, "it's going to be bumpy, you may get injured, fair warning."
Whumpee sat back and grabbed their seat belt, "very well, you are playing with a lot of people's lives though, be warned."
"So is he", the car started down the road. Suddenly they passed Whumper's van on the shoulder.
"Shit was that him", Matt looked in the rear view mirror.
"Yep", Whumpee sighed, knowing this wouldn't end well.
"He's coming", Matt looked up, "he's coming fast."
Suddenly Whumper was right behind them, he sped up enough to hit against the bumper.
"He's trying to get us off the road", Mike tried his best to control the car.
Whumpee tried their best to stay calm.
'He knows what he doing, and you know you might get hurt', they told themself, 'he will patch you up and you will be okay.'
Whumper hit the car again, this time causing the car to go off the road and flip. It landed upright in a ditch.
Whumper sighed.
He crawled into the car and pulled an unconscious Whumpee out. The way Whumpee yelled as the car flipped haunted Whumper.
"I'm sorry Whumpee", Whumper bridal carried them to the van.
As he walked back to the car, planning to off the officers, some cars pulled up to offer help.
"Yes, I was just driving along, and I saw it happen the car swerved and flipped into the ditch, "I pulled one out and put them in my van for safety, but they're unconscious, I have medical training so I was going to see who needed help the most."
"If you want to help that one, we both have medical training as well. We'll help the others. We called 911 for help already", some people offered.
Whumper set to work on the unconscious Whumpee, they needed to stabilize them enough so they could make the get away.
They ran back to others and those helping.
"Are they still alive", Whumper questioned.
"Yes a little banged up, but they will pull through. How about that one?", one replied.
"They're stable, if it's okay I know where a close hospital is, I'll take them now if you want to wait with these two", Whumper eyed the police, "so glad they're alive", Whumper tried to hide the sarcasm.
"That should be fine, yes, we'll wait here", the other replied.
As Whumper ran back to their van, one of the officers had regained consciousness, and was yelling to stop the van.
Whumper took off quickly leaving them in the dust.
Whumpee groaned as they woke up.
"What happened, where am I?", they asked.
Whumper had parked in a secluded area and was set up for the night. He heard them wake up
"Hey sleepy head, remember me?", Whumper sat on the floor next to Whumpee.
"Yes sir", Whumpee replied as they sat up, "my head hurts."
"Don't move to quick, you hit your head pretty good", Whumper helped them sit up, "here drink some water."
"Did they die?", Whumpee asked after gulping down half a water bottle.
"No I had company come right when I was going to finish them, I got us out of there though thats what matters", Whumper picked up a sandwich, "hungry?"
Whumpee nodded slowly, not wanting to shake their head too much.
"Thankyou", they took a bite.
"We'll sleep here tonight, then take off in the morning", Whumper grinned, "let's go a few states over before we get a hotel room, we'll clean up their. We have a week before my next job so we have time."
Whumpee finished the sandwich, then nodded.
"I hope no one recognizes us for a while. I'm tired of doing this cat and mouse stuff", Whumpee sighed.
"Me too, Whumpee, me too", Whumper groaned as they laid down, "you can sleep in my cot tonight, I'm too tired to get the van started to blow up your mattress, I'll sleep down here."
"Are you sure Whumper?", Whumpee peaked over the side of Whumper's cot.
"Yes, you're the one with the head injury. Plus, it was partially my fault you got taken this time, so enjoy the cot", Whumper stretched out on the van floor, "don't mind me if I'm stiff and grumpy in the morning."
"Thankyou Whumper", Whumpee scooted around the cot to get comfy.
"You're welcome, now get some rest", Whumper rolled over.
"Yes sir."
Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened
#whumptober 2023#no.2#no.3#cyber terrorists#car accident#attempted murder#threats#oc#writting#care whumper#whump community#whump stuff#whump writing#whump ideas#whumpee#whump#whump scenario#whumper#caretaking
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Mouse
Panic attack, claustrophobic environment, self deprecating thoughts, begging, anticipated violence, exhaustion, firearm mention, broken glass mention, referenced murder, implied past failed suicide attempt, implied past conditioning and trauma
[Directly follows Cat]
He couldn’t breathe - he couldn’t breathe - fuck, he couldn’t fucking breathe -
What had he done? What had he done?
Why? Why would he do that?
How had he done that?
(Who was his handler now? )
The Wolf couldn’t breathe - couldn’t think - not with the sound and the light and the exposure of being seen -
The Box. He needed the Box. He had made a mistake - he disobeyed, indirectly - he needed to be put away for a bit until he could think himself to death and figure out what the hell he just did.
This ancient supply closet would do, filled with long expired chemicals and cobwebs. Small. Cramped. Dark. Door closed. Alone.
Think, you dumb mutt.
Breathing was getting easier, thinking wasn’t. His mind was filled with frozen molasses, the last few moments playing back like a rewound VHS.
He ran from the enemy. (Coward.) He collapsed from pain after vaulting over the fence. (Weak.) He threw away the gun, he hadn’t spared one of his handlers three bullets for himself. (Idiot.)
But before that - what had happened? He was tired, still bloody and exhausted from his earlier punishment. And with exhaustion came resentment - dangerous, volatile.
Something that could simmer low, unchecked by a brain too focused on mere survival. Something that would wait until his handler peered around a corner, groping for his pistol that the Wolf had lifted from its holster with steady hands. Something that curled in satisfaction at the fear in his handler’s eyes, anger burned away by acceptance as the first bullet cut into a tender, unprotected throat.
And now, having unfurled in all its glory, that resentment withered to sickly regret.
What was the Wolf without his handler? Certainly not whatever he had been Before. Now, he was a coward, weak and stupid and crying in a broom closet like a frightened child.
Boots disturbed broken glass, uneven footsteps intending to slip past less sensitive hearing. But the Wolf knew who was there, creeping down the hallway. He had been listening to those boots for days now. The airport. The hotel hallway. On the roof across the street.
(His handler didn’t ask what the Wolf heard or knew, so he hadn’t shared their tail with him.)
(Now it felt like a betrayal worthy of every second of agony he had endured over the last few days. Worthy of whatever hell lay ahead of him.)
The Wolf didn’t flinch as the door opened, but he hadn’t expected to be found so easily. (There was dust everywhere here - an observant tail would clearly see what door handles were recently used.) (Idiot.)
“You…alright there, mate?” The Wolf was so, so tired. Was he supposed to respond? Did it matter? “Hey, you hearing me? Look at me.”
The Wolf blinked, the ingrained desire to follow orders as soon as they were given turning his eyes from the floor between his knees to the face at the doorway. For all he had heard their tail these last few days, he had hardly seen the enigmatic man.
He was currently soaked, the Wolf suddenly realizing the drone in his ears wasn’t panic but the rain outside. But besides the rainwater beading down the stranger’s face, there was a pair of steely grey eyes looking down at the Wolf with an expression he couldn’t make sense of. Was he angry? Sad? Frustrated? Annoyed?
Whatever it was, it wasn’t pleasant.
The stranger dropped to a crouch in the doorway, the Wolf tensing in anticipation of a blow. Of unwanted hands. He tucked his head under his arms with a strangled sob, waiting waiting - just get it over with already -
“Easy, love, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m Agent Jackson. What’s your name?” His name. The script. The Wolf uncurled a fraction, head still ducked but looking vaguely in the agent’s direction.
“I am Wolf.” His own voice felt clunky in his sore throat, iron on his tongue as he swallowed back the pain. The agent nodded, gentle grey eyes beckoning the Wolf relax against his better judgement.
“You’re a freelancer, right?” The Wolf didn’t know what that meant, but his empty stare was taken as confirmation. “Did Agent Smith hire you?”
“No one hired me. I work alone.” The Wolf bit his tongue until he tasted fresh blood. He had gotten ahead of himself, and now the agent was making that face again -
“You were with Agent Smith earlier, right?” He have a stiff nod. Lying would hurt more in the long run. He just needed to stick to the script.
“Why did you kill him?”
The Wolf’s breathing shuddered. He had, hadn’t he? He killed his handler. He was no different than the rabid dogs he had seen the project put down. A broken bastard that bit the hand that fed.
“I didn’t - it was a - please - please, it won’t - sir, please I can’t - ” Begging never helped, sometimes it hurt, but it was the only thing he could force between hollow gasps. But he couldn’t - he couldn’t survive another punishment. Not now. Not with wounds so fresh and a body so broken. “I can’t.”
Somehow, the agent seemed to understand. Somehow, the agent was generous enough to grant the Wolf a temporary reprieve.
“Shush, shh, it’s - it’s alright love, you’re not…I’m not fishing for a confession.” The agent swallowed, uncertainty in his eyes as he glanced down the hallway. The Wolf could hear approaching tires in the distance. “Agent Smith had something that I’m looking for. An asset he stole; do you know what I’m talking about?”
The Wolf stared into those soft grey eyes. Wasn’t he the asset? But the Wolf wasn’t stolen - he was transferred, for a disciplinary interim. That’s what his handler told him. Did this agent not know that? Was this agent unaffiliated with the project?
“Nevermind - let’s - let’s get you out of here, alright?” There was a shuffle of fabric, and the Wolf flinched, folding in on himself. But no hands grabbed hold of his arms and dragged him to his feet. All that followed was a soft sigh and whispered words. “C’mon mate, get up; let’s get going.”
The Wolf glanced between strands of his own tangled hair, the stranger standing still. Waiting. Patient. Soft. Everything his handler never was. Everything a weapon like him wasn’t allowed. His breathing shuddered again as he gulped down a lungful of air.
Get up. An order. Lesson number one. Do as you are told, without hesitation.
His legs strained, shaking under him as the Wolf stumbled to stand in the cramped broom closet. He could feel himself trembling as he looked to the agent for approval. Those grey eyes flicked down the hall, expression gentle as he nodded and started walking.
“Follow me.”
One foot in front of the other.
Endure.
Again and again and again. Just to see another day of pain. Just to maybe see the sun once more.
Again and again and again.
[Directly before Bad Dog]
(Part of my Freelancers: Changing Tides series)
#whump#panic attack#claustrophobic environment#self deprecation#begging#anticipated violence#exhaustion#firearms#broken glass#referenced murder#failed suicide attempt#past suicide attempt#past conditioning#past trauma#freelancers#the lad is havin a bad time smh smh#directly before tomorrow's prompt so *eyes* enjoy the wolf struggle bus :]
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Sunless Lives Part 33: I Need to Survive
~2840 words
CW: negative self-talk, beating, broken bones, attempted murder, torture, vampire whump, gunshots, vampire feeding, vomit, mouth whump, non-sexual throat fuck with a foreign object??? fellas…
Also NO main character death!
First, Previous, Next, Masterlist
~~~
“Mr Bowers, where are we going?”
Bowers glanced at Simon in the rearview.
“You’ll see.”
Simon huddled in the back seat as Bowers drove. He swore, he was never getting into the backseat of a car ever again. But he’d had no choice in this case; Bowers was a grade B vampire, and could easily snap Simon in half if he wanted to. Running was not an option on his ruined feet. Simon had let the vampire tuck him into the backseat and buckle him in like a child, and could only hope that cooperating would make whatever was about to happen as painless as possible.
He was doing his best to not think about what might be coming, but with Bowers refusing to answer his questions Simon had nothing to do but think as he shivered in the backseat. The rain had turned the May night cold, and Simon’s thin pajamas did little to keep him warm.
What if he’s taking you to an initiation.
Simon watched Bowers carefully, and waited until he was looking away while making a turn to feel the item Nora had dropped into his pocket.
What if they’re going to pin you down and -
It was a small metal and glass square. An MP3 player? A smartwatch? Simon didn’t want to take it out and look.
He’s not preybonded to you and Lara’s rules are gone, he can kill you. He can kill you.
“Please,” His voice was steadier than he expected, “Tell me what’s happening.”
“I would,” Bowers replied flatly, “But you wouldn’t like it.”
Yeah, no shit.
Matthew wouldn’t have let this happen.
Simon screwed his eyes shut, flinching from the pang of guilt.
Matthew-the-vampire wouldn’t have let this happen. He’s human now, and that’s a good thing. Whatever happens is worth it. Him being human and alive is worth it.
You’re not.
You’re not worth it.
Simon stared out the window and hoped against hope that the square meant help was coming.
~~~
“We can’t just run off without authorization!” Amber yelled.
“Bowers could discover they’re being tracked any second!” Matthew bellowed, “We’re leaving now!”
He and Gina burst out of the stairwell and into the parking garage, Amber chasing after them.
“You’re going to get yourselves killed!” she shrieked.
“What if they get on a plane, huh?” Matthew snapped at her, “What if they go somewhere we can’t follow?”
“We will figure it out!”
They reached Gina’s car and Gina opened the passenger side.
“We can’t wait for Dune to decide that Simon’s worth it,” Matthew kept arguing while Gina searched through her glove box, “I’m not letting him be taken again.”
“Neither am I.” Gina rejoined him, loading a pistol.
“But Bowers is a grade B, he…” Amber’s outrage melted into fear. “With only the two of you against him… He’ll kill you.”
“You could make it three.”
“I…” Amber slowly shook her head.
“You’re a fucking coward, Amber,” Gina spat.
“No, I’m not!” Amber’s voice echoed through the garage, louder and angrier than they had ever heard. “You think anyone will come after you if I go with you? I need to be here, to convince them to send you guys backup!”
Gina and Matthew exchanged a glance. Amber was right - she was the only one in a position to sway the VIU.
“Here.” Amber unstrapped her holster from around her waist and handed it and the gun it held to Matthew.
“Thanks,” he said, softening.
“Just… Survive as long as you can, and I will send backup ASAP.”
Amber stepped out of the way and watched as Gina’s car pulled out of the parking garage.
Then she sprinted back into the building, determined to do what she could.
~~~
Simon slammed into the ground, bruising his knees and scraping his palms raw on the wet asphalt.
“Get up,” Bowers ordered, closing the car door.
“I can’t!” Simon gasped. Bowers grabbed his arm and hauled him upright. He was done playing games. Simon cried out when his feet were forced to touch the ground, but no one was around to hear him.
They were in some sort of warehouse district; massive buildings loomed out of the dark around them, and Simon hadn’t seen a soul on their way in. Whatever Bowers needed this level of privacy for couldn’t be good. Simon’s earlier shocked calm, necessitated to keep Nora alive, had worn off and now he was truly terrified, trembling in Bowers’ grip.
Bowers half dragged, half walked Simon to the door of the warehouse he’d pulled his car up in front of. He threw open the unlocked door and shoved Simon through. Simon fell into the dark, bruising his limbs a second time as he tried to brace his landing. A moment later lights flickered on above him; he was surrounded by sky-high shelves full of plastic-wrapped boxes. He rolled over to look at Bowers, still posed by the light switch. Simon’s heart pounded and his breath came fast.
“Here’s where I come clean.” Bowers reached down and plucked up a length of pipe from where it leaned against the wall, as if waiting for him. It was about three feet long and two inches in diameter, and made of aged dark metal. The ends glinted bright where they were sawn off.
Bowers started to take leisurely steps towards Simon, who began to pull himself backward along the floor, eyes glued to the pipe.
No.
“Everyone’s noticed by now, since the humans got the cure, and our man Yarl is out, the vampires being caught the fastest are the ex-clients of one Miss Lara Everett.” He twirled the pipe around. “That’s no good for us. No good for business.”
Simon rolled over onto his hands and knees, desperate to get away, to get away faster.
“But of course, none of them can kill you… Not directly, anyway. But I can. So I’m cleaning up, Simon. I took care of Isles and… You’re next.”
Simon froze, petrified.
Christian… dead?
YOU’RE NEXT.
Charged with adrenaline, Simon dug his feet into the floor and ran. The pain ripped a cry out of his throat. He made it two steps before the pain in his feet and his overworked legs made him stumble. His skinned palms crashed into the concrete floor yet again, then his elbow when his right wrist collapsed. But Simon moved through the pain, pushing himself up onto his left hand and his battered knees with a gasp. He could still move, he could still -
Bowers’ shoe stomped into his back, flattening him back to the floor. Simon twisted his head to look up, one cheek pressed against the concrete. Bowers leaned down, putting more weight on Simon’s back and ribcage.
“And since I have to do it anyway,” he smiled, “I may as well enjoy it.” He stepped off of Simon and raised the pipe. Simon twisted his body to the side.
“Please, don’t-!”
The vampire brought the pipe down with a tremendous clang onto Simon’s left hip and a crack shot through Simon’s pelvis. Simon shrieked as the pain lanced up his spine and down his legs like white hot fire. He had no time to process the hit before the pipe came down again, smashing into his femur with a crunch. Simon tried to curl up, to hide from the excruciating pain, to expel it through his mouth, but the next hit shattered his left shoulder blade. His existence felt like one unending screech of agony as he writhed on the concrete under Bowers’ merciless gaze. Bile rose in his throat and he gagged, desperate to fall unconscious, desperate for it to end. He couldn’t even form the words to beg. He could only breathe, scream, breathe, scream.
I don’t want to die.
I don’t want to die.
I don’t want to die.
“Fuck, you’re loud!” Bowers shouted over Simon’s ceaseless wailing, “Let’s see what we can do about that!”
He seized Simon by the neck and dragged him upright, his back against Bowers’ legs. This sent new waves of pain through Simon’s body as displaced nerves jostled against bone crushed against muscle. Bowers shifted his grip to Simon’s jaw, pulling his already screaming mouth open wider. He lifted the metal rod and shoved the end of it into Simon’s mouth, and pushed, the sharp metal edges tearing, ripping, scraping at the delicate tissue of Simon’s cheeks, his tongue, his throat, as Bowers forced the rod in further, not caring what damage he caused. Simon choked, on the rod, on the blood, on bits of flesh. His screams were finally stifled as he struggled to breathe. His arms flopped uselessly. His eyes rolled.
“Better,” Bowers grunted, “Much better.” He yanked the rod out, splattering blood, and dropped Simon back to the floor where he heaved and choked and spat out blood and chunks of his own throat. Gone was the screaming; now Simon could only agonizingly gag and wheeze.
Bowers raised the rod once more and brought it down on Simon’s right shoulder. Simon’s whole body jerked, but the only sound he made was a horrifying gurgle. He shouldn’t still be awake. He shouldn’t still be alive. It wasn’t fair, wasn’t fair, wasn’t fair. His brain reverted to primeval instincts: The danger is behind you. Crawl.
Simon dug his fingernails into the concrete and dragged himself, inch by inch, forward. It was the only thing he could do. Maybe, somehow, he could crawl away from the pain. Leave it behind.
Bowers stood back and watched Simon struggle, clawing at the floor until his fingernails broke. Going nowhere.
He laughed, and it echoed throughout the building.
BANG!
Matthew fired from where he stood by the door, gun raised and eyes full of fire. Bowers spun, his hand flying to his shoulder where blood burst from a bullet wound. He crouched and sprang back, taking shelter in an isle of shelves as another shot rang out. Matthew cursed and lowered his weapon, running forward towards Simon. Gina hung back, watching the room like a hawk. Matthew fell to his knees at Simon’s side.
Simon was lying face-down on the ground, silent and still. Blood seeped out of his mouth and bandages around his feet were stained red. Horribly dark and discolored blotches of skin peeked out from his t-shirt. His left leg lay at a sickening angle. Bruises littered his arms; his nails were cracked and bleeding.
“No, Simon…” Matthew reached out to touch him.
“Matthew, look out!” Gina shouted.
Matthew looked up and saw the vampire charging towards him, pipe raised, moving at an unnaturally fast pace. Matthew had just enough time to duck, and he felt the rush of air and heard a faint whistle as the pipe whizzed over his head. A second later and his brains would have been bashed in. Bowers kept sprinting past him, and shots rang out as Gina tried to hit him before he disappeared back into the stacks of boxes.
“Shit, he’s too fast, I can’t hit him!” she yelled.
Matthew stood, staring at the isle Bowers had disappeared into. He pulled his phone out of his pocket with a shaking hand.
“I need to call an ambulance now or it might not arrive in time - Gina!”
Gina turned in time to see Bowers making a run at her out of the stacks. She stood her ground, aiming and firing as he approached. Her shot landed in his chest, but he was unphased, and swung the pipe as he passed her. With no time left to dodge, Gina was hit squarely in the stomach and knocked to the ground. Her body convulsed as she dry heaved and gasped for the air that had been knocked out of her.
“Gina!” If she was down, Bowers would make his next blow a killing one. Matthew started to sprint over to her, but he heard inhumanly quick footsteps behind him. He started to turn but was hit squarely in the right arm.
“Ahhg!”
Pain erupted as his humerus snapped. His arm spasmed and his gun clattered to the floor. He stumbled and only caught a glimpse of Bowers as he vanished back into the maze of warehouse shelves. Matthew looked around wildly, at Gina, struggling to stand, at Simon, a mangled mess on the floor. He couldn’t protect both of them - he couldn’t protect either of them
Bowers was too fast.
Too powerful.
He was going to kill them.
Breathing hard through the pain, Matthew stuffed his phone back into his pocket and scooped up the gun in his left hand. Amber’s gun.
She wasn’t going to get there in time.
He heard Gina scream - a shriek of true fear, something he’d never heard from her before that poured ice down his spine - and he could only watch as Bowers flitted past her and knocked her from where she had just started to stand up back to the concrete with a horrible clang. She lay frighteningly still, a red gash at her temple. Bowers was already gone.
Matthew raised his weapon and spun around, frantically searching for Bowers. His right arm dangled, useless and excruciating. He heard footsteps, but in the large echoing building he had no way of pinpointing their location. They grew louder, faster, and Matthew pivoted to see Bowers rushing towards him, his eyes full of bloodlust and his knuckles white where they gripped the pipe. Matthew fired haphazardly, the first shot flying over Bowers’ shoulder and the second one hitting home in the center of his chest. Bowers finally stumbled, and instead of hitting Matthew with the pipe the vampire tackled him, pressing the pipe down over his throat. Matthew caught it with the heel of his good hand, still holding the gun, but was only able to resist the downward pressure for a moment before the vampire’s superior strength won out and the pipe pressed down on Matthew’s throat. Bowers held the pipe down with one hand and easily plucked the gun away from Matthew with the other, tossing it aside.
Matthew couldn’t breathe. He wheezed and reached up to claw fruitlessly at Bowers’ face. Bowers only smiled, baring his fangs, and bore down on the pipe harder.
“Not so tough now that you’ve been cured, huh?”
Matthew’s legs kicked uselessly against the floor. Bowers held him pinned there for what felt like an eternity. Matthew felt the air in his blood running out as his raised arm wavered and collapsed and his legs stopped moving. Spots filled his vision.
Suddenly the pressure lifted, and Matthew was able to suck in a stinging lungful of air. The relief lasted less than seconds, though, as the pipe was replaced by fangs. They sank into Matthew’s neck, and his chestful of air rushed out of him in a strangled cry. He was able to breath a little now, and movement returned to his limbs, but he could only wriggle and push at the vampire to no effect as Bowers fed, holding Matthew’s neck still with his teeth and his hands on Matthew’s shoulders.
Matthew had never been bitten before. It was expected to happen eventually in his line of work, but senior agents had always warned him: there’s no way of preparing for it.
There’s no way it won’t stick with you.
It’s slower than you think.
As Bowers leeched his vitality from him, Matthew found he could turn his head, ever so slightly, and look around. First to Gina, still motionless on the floor. Then over to Simon, his head in a pool of blood.
He could only be grateful he was dying among friends.
He began to feel cold, and dizzy. He lifted his hand to look at it: pale white and shaking. He could only hold it up for a second before it slumped to the floor. He refocused, as best as he was able, on Simon, who now looked very far away.
I’m so sorry. He couldn’t tell if he was thinking, or speaking, or just mouthing the words.
It shouldn’t have ended like this.
Not for you.
You deserved better.
I love you.
Bowers lifted away from him, and Matthew felt the blood run down his neck.
He must be done.
I must be dead.
Then he heard a horrible hacking cough. With great effort, Matthew rolled his head to look at Bowers.
The vampire was doubled over, clutching his chest, gagging and sputtering.
“No,” Bowers cried out, “No, no!”
He spasmed, and vomited up blood. He turned and screamed wordlessly at Matthew, spattering red. He heaved in a breath, and his own blood leaked out around his fingers where he pressed them to his chest.
“You poisoned me!” he wailed at Matthew, “Fucking turncoat!”
A smile crept over Matthew’s lips.
The cure.
It was in his blood.
It was turning Bowers human - and humans can’t survive two shots to the chest.
At least Matthew could die knowing the three of them had been avenged.
That Simon had been avenged.
His eyes drifted closed as sirens approached in the distance.
~~~
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Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps, @sunshiline-writes, @seasaltandcopper, @pirefyrelight
#whump#whump fic#whump writing#sunless lives#sunless lives arc 4#cw negative self talk#cw beating#cw broken bones#cw attempted murder#cw torture#vampire whump#cw gunshots#vampire feeding#cw vomit#cw mouth whump
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Tatort - Limbus
#whump#unconscious#whump blog#waking up#germany#drugged#out of body experience#near death experience#attempted murder#car crash#tatort münster#coma#cpr
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Sir
Little Fox - Part Fourteen
(tw: impalement, hand gore, broken bones, fingore, burns, punishment, escape attempt, murder, blood, carnage, corpse, rotting corpse, death, intimate whumper, needles, injection, dead body, gore)
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Kara had long fallen numb, just staring at the spatters of crimson and watching the blood dry. Puckering around the edges and flaking away in others.
It was probably hours, but to the mind that swam in darkness and agonizing blur, it seemed like an eternity.
Or. Maybe just a few moments.
Alec returned, whistling a nursery rhyme as he trotted down the stairs, filling the small basement with clanging echoes of his heels hitting the sharpcut steel, accented by the piercing whistle.
Kara’s eyes mashed shut, chin tucking into her shoulder.
Alec’s laugh warmed the sharp sounds away as he stepped up to her, kneeling on the blood-smeared cement - evidently not caring if the tacky red stained at the knees of his jeans.
“Aww..little fox, you look so tired.”
There was barely any malice behind her voice. She couldn’t muster much at all. Just a semi-robotic, dull, “ffuck you.”
Alec raised a brow, leaning back. “You want me to leave again, then huh?”
Kara’s eyes pinched desperate, flicking up to him.
Alec smirked down at that. “No?”
She swallowed thickly, tongue pressing to the back of her throat and sticking in it’s dryness. “..nno.”
Alec’s smirk warmed just a touch as he reached out, delicately combing hair from her face with gentle fingers. Her skin shivered and pinched under his touch anyway. “You ready to get down from there now?”
Kara’s eyes closed again. She was tired. So tired. Tired and sick and trembling with the static, numbed pain. “..y es”
Alec hummed, knuckles hooking under her chin to pry it up - face curling toward him. “Ask nicely.”
Kara’s stomach rolled.
The smallest piece of her, long buried in darkness, wished she would say no. Spit in his face. Lash out and kick him.
But her legs were all but numb. There was no spit in her mouth to hurl his direction. She had no more quips to give. No tools to use against him. Not even for something as simple as this.
“..pl-ease” crackled from her dry throat.
Alec hummed a smile, pinching her cheek lightly and shaking it like she was a goddamn toddler. “I think a ‘sir’ would make that ask stick a little better, don’t you~?”
Kara grimaced, face pinching around his grip. Trying to ignore the bruise even if every flicker of pain made her head spin.
Fine.
She wanted to lay down. She wanted to be done. She didn’t want to be here anymore.
She couldn’t sit here, kneeling and nailed to a pole any more.
She wanted to be done.
So the words slid out of her, clattering down from her lips, dispassionate and empty. “..please sir.”
A grin pulled across Alec’s face now. He let go of her cheek, thumb smoothing out the forming bruise. “Good girl. And here I thought you were gonna be difficult.”
Regret immediately blooms in her gut as Alec stands, wandering toward the shelves to grab something - supposedly to get her down. Even Alec had more faith in her.
Shame starts sprouting up alongside the regret.
Metal pulls rippling clangs from the shelf as Alec drags a hammer from its place. “This is going to suck. You know that, right?”
As if her stomach wasn’t already in knots.
She didn’t know why she was so stupid as to assume that when she was ‘done’ she was done. But no.
No, there was a fucking nine inch nail ripped through her hands - of course getting down was going to hurt.
Kara’s eyes squeezed shut again. If she weren’t completely out of tears, they’d be rolling down her cheeks again. “..y-yeah-”
“Good.” Alec kneeled down in front of her again, reaching up to wipe a little blood away from the head of the nail. “I’m going to hurt you. Very badly. Then you’ll go back to your room and I’ll get you some food and water and you’ll sleep.”
She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to see his face as it pressed closer to her. Feeling his warmth parallel her own as he reached up to where her tingling hands fell limp on the nail. Her arms once again stretched up a little - shaky in their attempt to take weight off the wound. “..kk-kay-”
Her breath was coming shallow again, churning her stomach in short, choppy punches. Quick and breathy as she tensed - ready for the hurt.
It was blinding.
She’d thought her hands were finally falling numb, but as the cool steel pressed against her palm they started tingling to life just in time to feel every little ripple and snap of the bones in her palm.
A ragged, raspy wail clawed up her throat as she felt bones break and flesh rip. It rang through her skull and left her empty, crashing to the concrete once the nail was gone.
Glitching, shaking arms tried to pull closer to cradle her mutilated hands to her chest, but they wouldn’t quite listen.
Alec sighed, sitting down cross-legged. He took one of her arms, ignoring the scream that followed. His hand started working up it. Gripping and massaging at the muscle. Making sure the shoulder and elbow were properly in place. “You know, you’re not the only one who’s had a bad day.” Slightly teasing, but there’s a bitterness behind it.
Kara’s eyes finally opened, blurred by hot, salty tears - evidently she’d had some left after all. She just..stared at him. Half pleading, half judging. Her fingers twitched, pulling squeaks and whimpers out of her as he worked blood back up her arms, one at a time.
Blessedly, he did manage to stay away from her hands, working only at the fiery muscles until her arms were able to move properly.
“Alright, that should do ya.” He let her arms fall back to her, letting her clutch them against her chest, breaths short and punching down her throat as she tried to get a grip on the pain.
It wasn’t going well.
Alec nodded toward her door. “Go on, get back to your room.”
Kara’s eyes strained up, across fifteen feet or so of concrete toward the open door.
She looked back at him, desperation and exhaustion in her eyes. How was she supposed to get there? Her hands were ruined and her feet burned to oblivion and back.
Alec just rolled his. “I don’t care if it hurts, just get there. You can crawl.”
She just..stared.
Alec’s eyes darkened a little. “Or I’ll nail you to the beam again and you can stay out here?”
A little panic surged through her, and she pushed herself up to sitting. Almost.
Pausing for a breath.
“Go.”
Kara’s stomach churned - it didn’t seem to be stopping that new favorite activity. She muttered out a ‘ffine-’ and fell onto her elbows and knees, forcing half numb legs to shove her forward through the agony.
The thick, pointed steel of the hammer curled around her jaw, pulling her back to face Alec. “What I’m looking for here is a ‘yes sir’.”
She didn’t have it in her to fight anymore.
Fuck, she just wanted to lie down why couldn’t she just lie down??
But she didn't want to stay here - didn't want to spend another second next to the long-cold corpse.
The words dropped from her mouth without much care. “Yesssir.”
Alec hummed in approval, letting the hammer fall away from her face.
Kara didn’t know how she shoved through - probably because individual steps didn’t hurt that much more than holding still. That, and the blind fear of Alec bringing the hammer down on her skull if she took too long. Either way, she dragged herself - somehow - back into her room, collapsing on the floor by her bed.
Alec didn’t follow.
She had a few blessed minutes of solitude. The cool concrete pressed against the edges of her burns, pulling soft whines from her throat, but soothing aching muscles anyway. She just let herself lie there, eyes closed against the pain.
But pain returned anyway. It pushed open the door, holding a small glass and a box. Wearing a soft smile.
“Awwww,” it cooed. “You’re so cute all curled up like that.” He shifted to sit on the bed, arms scooping up under Kara to pull her up to him.
She blanched at the pain, head swimming and whimpers falling from her lips. He didn’t care. She ended up curled up in his lap anyway.
“Shh..no more hurt, I’m just getting you some basics.” He reached for the glass, pressing it to her lips.
Kara hesitated, breath stinging against her ribs. “Whh..at is-”
“Mostly water. Some vitamins. It’s warm but won’t burn you. It’ll help.”
Her nose wrinkled up, but she let the rim of the glass slip between her lips, hesitant at first, then drinking greedily as he tipped it up.
Little by little, he let her finish off the glass, then sat with her, hand carding softly through her hair.
She didn’t care much at the prick of the needle. That much was familiar. What she didn’t know was why. Why he cared to give her her daily doses. Why he cared to get her prescriptions right. She didn’t bother wondering how he knew what she took or how often. She was done questioning his sleuthing skills.
She just..curled into him, exhausted, twitching, and oddly grateful for the touch. The estrogen. The water. The bed.
She knew vaguely that she should be pulling away.
Should be upset.
Should be rejecting this.
But instead, she just found her eyes closing, breaths rough but shallow. Small. Curled into him and relishing the fingers in her hair.
She let go, letting him whisper soft praises and slipping away into a gray fog.
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(tags: @prisonerwhump @mabledonut @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @there-will-always-be-blood @wormwriting @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @bandages-andobsessions @deltaxxk @warm-my-whumpee-heart @whumpy-catfish @whumpasaurus101 @looks-better-in-blood)
#impalement#hand gore#broken bones#fingore#burns#punishment#escape attempt#murder#blood#carnage#corpse#rotting corpse#death#intimate whumper#lady whump#female whumpee#needles#injection#carewhumper#creepy whumper#alec#kara#alec and kara#little fox#whump#whump series#i guess this is off hiatus#wooooooooooo!#everyone thank that one anon for requesting this or it would have waited another year and and a half asdkfaskd#dead body
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writing prompt
"youre stills alive?!" "miss me hon-" *gunshot* walks into the car "you cut me off" "fucking hell you rlly dont know when to die"
haha omg I love it
lili-loves-whump presents:
Cockroach
Villain huffed out a sigh, stepping towards Hero with fists curled. “That’s funny,” they snapped, “that you got out of that building. Too bad you won’t live to tell the tale.”
Hero scoffed, hands in the air. They rolled their eyes and tossed their hair over their shoulder. “You won’t kill me.”
“Won’t I?”
“No. Not in theory.”
Villain cackled, and the gun shook slightly. There was a click as they loaded it. They stepped forward, pushing the loaded gun to Hero’s temple. Cool sweat dripped onto the plastic. “Pathetic,” they sneered, “you’re scared.”
Hero lifted their hands even higher. “Of course. I might die soon.”
Villain scoffed, nudging Hero’s temple with the side of the gun. Their jaw clenched and they closed their eyes. The gun was shaking. “Open your eyes,” Villain snarled.
Hero didn’t budge, choosing only to shake their head a fraction. A lock of hair came loose and sat on their shoulder. A gentle drip of icy sweat was flying down their forehead.
“Don't forget to miss me, hon-”
Villain took a deep breath, closed their eyes, and pulled the trigger. The gun went off with a bang. No-one moved.
With a deep sigh, Villain turned around and began to turn towards their car. The shiny red exterior glimmered in the cool weather. They pulled open th door, tossing the gun onto their seat.
“Hey.”
Villain jumped, hands clutching their chest. “You’re like a cockroach,” they snarled, grabbing at the gun. It was just out of reach, and Villain didn’t trust Hero enough to obscure their vision again. They could hear treading snow, and out of their peripherals, Hero planted themselves on the hood of their car.
“You cut me off before,” they smirked. Villain rolled their eyes and grabbed for the gun again. They still couldn’t reach.
“Apologies.”
Hero huffed an unamused chuckle. “I was saying-”
“Just die already, fucking hell.”
Hero dropped their smile. “Catch me first.”
#lili loves whump#drabble#villain#hero#hero x villain#creative writing#trope#gun#murder attempt#hehe
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The Forgotten Heirs
My little thing for whumptober!! I’m doing the AI-less one, but I don’t really care about interacting with their blog or anything, so I’m not tagging them or stuff like that. But this is my prompt fill for the first day, Poisoned.
I hope you all enjoy!!
CW: poisoning attempt, murder attempt, vampire whumpee, female whumpee, also a human whumpee, persuasion, multiple whumpees, child neglect, really awful parenting, mysterious disappearances
— — —
56 days.
That’s long it’s been since Eric was supposed to come back. Eric had told Blair how busy that week was, but her brother had sworn to her that they’d see each other soon. And Eric had promised her that several days before, so altogether it was 61 since she last saw her brother.
The servants didn’t answer her questions, and her mother wouldn’t respond to her notes. Blair had zero clue what had happen to Eric. And, what’s worse, she was unable to find out herself.
She had been born with golden eyes, of course. Everyone was. But the difference was that when she was 7 or 8 and everyone else’s eyes were turning from yellow to orange to red, hers didn’t.
The doctors said it was a rare medical condition and that she could live a perfectly normal and happy life. But her parents didn’t see it that way.
They saw a parasite trying to take down the “honorable” house of Dandridge. They saw a nuisance and a waste of space. Her uncle even once accused her of being a spy from House Tulley to take them down from the inside.
As if those fools could’ve possibly predicted she’d have no persuasion when she was a baby and then somehow switched her at birth.
But the exact reason for her condition wasn’t important. They had a family name to uphold. They could not let it get out that one of their own was “lesser”.
And so she was locked away. Eric had even told her once that everyone else had been told she died, including some of their family members that hadn’t yet found out about her lack of persuasion.
She had lived her whole life up here. Alone, beyond the human slaves and Eric.
She had a few books, and her brother often brought her new ones. But she had read all of these ones hundreds of times already, and no visits meant no books.
She didn’t have the energy to cry. Blair had spent all of the last few weeks crying already, plus they had forgot to feed her several times. She was so, so tired.
- - -
She woke up later to discover a slave holding a bowl of blood on a tray, staring blankly ahead. They must’ve been instructed to ensure she actually got the food. Odd. Usually, only Eric would’ve done that for her.
She took the bowl, drank a little, and spat it right back out.
Poisoned.
The blood had been laced with garlic.
After all these years, they finally decided to get rid of her.
All of her frustration, anger, loneliness, hatred, and exhaustion bubbled up inside her. She screamed. Chucking the blood at the wall, she began to tear apart her room. Pillows, books, furniture, clothes, all of it went flying. Fury coursed through her veins. She just wanted to cause as much destruction as possible.
What finally broke her out of her state was a tiny gasp and the sharp, delicious scent of human blood. Blair’s eyes snapped to the slave, who had gotten hit in the head with some glass figurine. Blood dripped down their expressionless face. The pain must’ve broken their spell temporally, but they quickly sunk back into the emptiness caused by continuous persuasion.
They didn’t deserve this. In her anger, she had completely forgotten the person even more stuck than her. How selfish she was, crying over having to re-read some books, when this person had their whole life and agency snatched from them.
Eric had always been a human rights advocate as long as she could remember. The boy had fallen for a human through anonymous letters when both of them were young. The way Eric tells it, ever since it was discovered that Eric’s soulmate was a human, her brother left behind the family’s values and was disgusted by their use of slavery.
Her brother, as her own visitor, had taught her all of Eric’s own beliefs.
With her older brother gone, there’s no one here to protect the slaves. Thinking back on it, some of them seemed to have more hand-shaped bruises than usually. Her family was so barbaric, harming creatures that couldn’t think for themselves at all. If a slave didn’t do what the vampire persuading it wanted, it was no one’s fault but the one who had given the command. The commanded could not be blamed.
Blair decided, then and there, that she could not be in this house any longer. And this person couldn’t either.
She’d love to free all of the people her family kept, but she couldn’t attract too much attention. Besides, they’d have to make a quick escape.
After four days of planning, researching human care, trying to figure out how she’ll survive in the outside world, and starving (her family kept sending poisoned blood), Blair finally left. She took the human and ran.
She vowed to find Eric herself, but more importantly, she would finally find herself. No more closed doors, no more being trapped. She was free.
— — —
Tag list: @whumpsday just ask to be added r removed! <3
#the forgotten heirs#whump#poisoning attempt#murder attempt#vampire whumpee#female whumpee#multiple whumpees#persuasion#child neglect#bad parenting#mysterious disappearances
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