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jazztag · 1 month

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An Encounter in the Snow V

Mentions of s*xual abuse. Discretion is advised.

Hero paces around his living quarters, nervously fidgeting with his freshly cleaned uniform as he always does when thinking. Suddenly, a cadet knocks at the door and steps inside with a nervous glance in his eyes.

"The Colonel is here, sir," the cadet announces. Hero nods to the soldier and sighs profusely, exiting the room.

"I’ll try not to lose my marbles this time," he mutters. The cadet smiles shyly and follows the Captain down the hall towards the main room.

"I’m telling you, Hero. Leave me alone in there with just two rounds, and I’ll end this game of yours," laughs the Colonel heartily, while Hero rolls his eyes for the fifth time. After meeting with the older man, his boss wanted to see his latest gadget acquired. Even though the Captain doesn’t want or need to comply with a rich, arrogant, and joke of a soldier, he decides to comply with what the Colonel wants, only because he wants to end the meeting right after. He plans on excusing himself after the visit to the cells. Maybe the old man gets satisfied enough with the Resistance's latest successful catch, and he gets out of his face for a while.

Accompanied by five of his best soldiers, Hero walks down the path towards the cellblock, followed closely by the Colonel, who is wearing all of his medals and insignias, none of which were actually gained during battle. A big joke. To the Captain, this man is a total clown. He probably has never put his own ass on the battlefield, and yet, here he is, mansplaining war to him.

Weapon looks up momentarily from the ground to see the cohort enter his cell. He sees the new face of the Colonel. Annoyed, the prisoner looks at Hero, who looks even more defeated than he is. The old man approaches Weapon without caution, not even listening to Hero’s warnings.

“Sir, you should not get near him. This morning he already bit me once,” Hero tries, but the Colonel is already lost in one of his rambles.

“These… damn things,” the older man spits. “Useful weapons, aren’t they? Never seen one so close before.”

Hero walks until he's preventively side by side with the Colonel, watching Weapon closely and looking him in the eye, as if warning him not to do anything. Weapon is grinning silently as always, but he looks curious and alert to the whole thing.

"I don’t get why they’re considered illegal in the Resistance. I would have an entire squad of these things under my orders!" Hero crosses his arms, annoyed.

"They are considered a human trafficking matter. Inmoral, sir," says the Captain with disdain. But the Colonel just rests importance on the topic at hand.

"Whatever. They’re already considered weapons by the time they are unleashed on the battlefield, right?"

Hero is at a loss for words. He looks at Weapon again, who is fidgeting with his hands absentmindedly, seated cross-legged on the floor as usual.

"Also, do you know what their Captains do with them after complying, Hero?" asks the Colonel, laughing. Hero looks up at the old man, who has a strange smirk plastered across his face. The Colonel then grabs at Weapon’s chin, making the prisoner open his mouth slightly towards the ceiling.

Hero is totally at a loss for words when he sees the stupid man grab his prisoner without warning. Weapon is even so surprised as well, he seems to relax at the other's sudden touch.

"Look at it, Hero. He knows already what to do. The disgusting fagg-"

Suddenly, there’s a quick movement from the corner of Hero’s sight. Turning again towards his prisoner, the Captain sees how Weapon sticks out a metal tool from the Colonel’s leg, and how the devilish smile grows larger on his face. The older man falls to the ground screaming nonsense and grabbing at his wound, which bleeds profusely. A couple of soldiers run towards the Colonel and get him away from Weapon’s reach. Hero snatches the tweezers from his prisoner’s hand and recognizes the metal tool from the first-aid kit, the one left in the corner of the room, not too far. Weapon looks up at him, still seated on all fours on the floor and looking unapologetically at the red stains on the concrete.

"Ok," speaks up Hero, walking away from Weapon as well and towards the Colonel, who is still shouting insults and whatnot to anything in particular, "get the man out of here."

Looking one last time at Weapon, he retrieves the first-aid kit from the room, as well as the empty water bowl from the floor, leaving the cell right after the other soldiers with some sort of mixed feelings.

Taglist: @whump-blog @bitchaknso @pumpkinsncoffee @scrumpledumple (comment to get added/removed from the list!)

#promptfactory #writing prompt #prompt #whump #whump prompt #hero x villain #villain x hero #whump scenario #whumpee x caretaker #my ocs #biologically nonhuman #living weapon whumpee #tropes #ww2 whump #biological weapon #militar whump #anencounterinthesnow

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jazztag · 4 months

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An Encounter in the Snow

From prompt #18 Tropes: hero x villain, WW2 setting, villain whumpee, hero caretaker, living weapon whumpee. TW: Blood, mild body horror, PTSD, holocaust themes.

He follows the bloodstains through the forest. The Hero knows the other can't be far. He has a bullet in the stomach, after all.

The Hero doesn't walk too far away from the base before encounter him. He's seated with the back against the trunk of a tree, and he's trembling. A lot. He has a hand wrapping around his abdomen. He's lying in a giant stain of blood.

The Hero remains calm but decides not to approach the enemy. He stays about five meters from the wounded. The other needs a full minute before noticing the other's presence. In a blink of an eye, he has his arm raised, gripping the revolver with quite an effort, and trying to maintain his eyes open.

It's weird. The whole situation is weird. Seeing him like that. Defenseless, at his mercy. He looks immensely tired, and his hand trembles while holding the gun. The Hero freezes on the spot. He may miss the shot, even tho he never misses.

Suddenly, the enemy takes the gun and points to his own head. And the Hero can't believe what his eyes are seeing. The evil, the demon of the barricades, the War Lord, as he has heard some soldiers call him. That Weapon looks him in the eye while grinning as malevolous as he can, and then fires.

The Hero waits for his death, but not even a sound is heard from the revolver. Both look at each other, and then Weapon lowers the gun, which has no ammo. He looks helpless now. He didn't want to fall into the Republic's hands, and now he can't change his fate. The Hero watches him start to tremble again, incapable of smiling more, just looking into the distance and grinning. He's freezing to death. He may die from blood loss too. The latter seems more immediate.

Finally, the Hero watches Weapon surrender. He crosses his arms and embraces himself, quite hoping to die fast.

The Hero, as absurd as it may sound, can't watch the scene anymore. He would have thought that watching that Weapon die would make him feel quite completed, but now it just looks pitiful and sad.

The Hero acts fast, and before Weapon realizes it, he's been wrapped in something warm that stops the snowflakes from falling on him anymore. He opens his eyes and finds that his enemy, the Hero, that human he despises so much, has taken off his jacket and laid it on him.

Weapon looks up at him and shows his teeth like the animal he is. But it doesn't take too much before the warmth makes him sleepy, and finally, he buries his face in the jacket and closes his eyes.

The Republican kneels over him and checks the pulse. Weapon tries to flee from his touch but desists from fighting anymore and just flinches and trembles a little more, like a wounded animal. The Hero watches him fall slowly into a deep sleep, away from the bombs and the pain, and wonders what kind of person Weapon could have been, being born far away from this war.

#promptfactory #writing prompt #prompt #whump #whump prompt #hero x villain #villain x hero #whump scenario #whumpee x caretaker #my ocs #living weapon whumpee #tropes #ww2 whump #militar whump #anencounterinthesnow

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jazztag · 1 month

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An Encounter in the Snow VI

A mission is conducted that very same night. Nothing will get reported, Hero will make sure of that. He takes two of his most skilled soldiers and together, they make their way toward the latest raided base acquired from the enemy, already unoccupied and abandoned.

It’s a simple hideout by the enemy’s trenches, so it’s not difficult to reach, now that there is noone to guard it anymore. They make their way toward the empty lot and enter inside from one of the access points hidden in the dirt. The underground base has already been dismantled, but Hero wants to check something out.

“This way,” says one of the soldiers, the very same leading the way. She remembers stumbling on something, the last time they were there. The Captain and the other cadet follow close behind.

They arrive by one metal door. It has a small peek hole in it, from where the Hero manages to spy inside. He sees only blackness.

“Let’s get it open,” he tells the other two. And with the other soldier’s help, they manage to drag it to the side.

They use their flashlights to inspect the inside of the small space. It looks like something that has been used as a spare storage room. One of the soldiers, behind Hero, suddenly gasps in awe.The entire floor is covered in big bloodstains. Hero enters the small room and approaches the farest wall, where a chain hangs.

“Here is where they kept him” mutters the soldier who found the room in the first place. “Blood ain’t lying, Hero”.

“Absolutely” agrees the Captain. He approaches the concrete wall, and inspects a couple of charcoal drabbles made on the harsh surface. They look like birds, badly drawn by a childish hand. He turns back and stumbles onto a thin mattress. There’s a sad pillow lying in there.

The soldier seems to have found something important. ”Here,” speaks softly the woman, kneeling beside the cot.

Hero and the other soldier direct the flashlight where she is pointing, and the three of them look at the dirty blanket which lays on top of the mattress, folded neatly. Seems like it’s the only thing in the room that isn’t absolutely trashed.

“It’s so sad what they do to them” sighs the other soldier, pointing at the item. Hero grabs the blanket and looks at it.

“What about it?” Asks the Captain, standing up again. The other two follow.

“It’s the only thing they are given when born, and the only thing they are allowed to have”

Hero, with little to no information, pays the soldier a worried look.

“They make them cling to it from the moment they exist” explains the woman.”When they misbehave, they take it away. When they do… whatever they have to do, they let them have it.”

“Sounds too… simple, huh” Hero caresses the cloth. It once was baby blue. Now it’s almost grey in color.

“They are made to be simple.”

The Captain gets deep in thought. He dismisses his two soldiers. “Be right outside”

The cadets leave him alone in the darkness of the place. Hero looks back again at the wall. The one with one chain hanging from it, and the silhouette of two birds drawn on the bottom. He silently sits again on the mattress, with the thin blanket on his lap and his eyes fixated on the ceiling. There’s no windows. The door is the only way in, and out. Lost in thought, he wonders how inhuman must felt being kept here, inside a literal storage room. No wonder Weapon looked so eager to be outside and “play”, whatever that meant for him.

Hero looks at the cot he’s seated at. The pillow by the side is his only companion. He pokes it mindlessly, and suddenly there’s a “tud”. Something small but solid inside the fabric. He furrows his brows and kneels beside the pillow, searching inside the cover. From inside, he grabs a small notebook. No, it’s actually a book. He looks around, feeling like an intruder. And after making sure he is alone (not that it matters, but) he opens it by a random page. He doesn’t understand the foreign language, but he is met by multiple drawings of birds, each one with its particular color and shape, and the Latin name for it underneath. He then looks at the concrete wall again, at the two poorly drawn birds.

He sighs. Weapon must have spent all his nights here, seated where he now sits, and looking at the grey concrete, the only sky visible from here.

Taglist: @whump-blog @bitchaknso @pumpkinsncoffee @scrumpledumple (comment to get added/removed from the list!)

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jazztag · 23 days

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An Encounter in the Snow VII

The Captain finds Weapon as he left him, seated on the floor and fidgeting with the dust. His prisoner looks up when hearing him step inside. He grins a little bit and then, as if remembering the last time, he retreats from his place and steps as far as his chains would let him, hiding in the shadows and away from the dim light on the ceiling. Knowing Hero may be mad at him, he turns his back toward the Captain and tries to look inconspicuous while doing so, hyperfocused on the wall.

Hero scoffs.

His prisoner remains facing the wall, but something is different. While Hero stops, hands in pockets, he observes Weapon getting more and more unrested. His prisoner seems to be smelling the air, as if something has changed.

“I brought you something,” says Hero, and Weapon turns around at last, still sniffing the air like a dog. The Captain reveals the old blanket, something that can merely cover Weapon’s skinny body but thick enough to look comfortable.

Hero waits for his reaction, but Weapon is frozen in place, caught between an expression of confusion and agitation. So he decides to try something he has been rummaging about for the last few hours.

“Come here,” orders Hero. Weapon doesn’t move at first, but when he sees Hero signaling for him to approach, the prisoner complies. He stands up, still with his back ached and head down, and gets in front of Hero.

The Captain scrutinizes him for the first time since the prisoner arrived. From head to toe, he finds it funny that the two of them may be of the same height, or at least it may seem so if Weapon stood straight. His prisoner keeps looking at the ground, suddenly docile and weirdly calm. He still has his grin plastered on his face, but his expression is more sober.

Hero observes how he still clutches at his side and pays attention to his bony wrists, ankles. His skin, calloused and burned from severe exposure to the sun. His hair, which falls onto his eyes, only letting his smile shine from under the messy dark waves. He lacks some fingernails, both on each hand and foot. It may have been because of torture, who knows. Lots of bullet wounds, cuts. His hips bend at a weird angle, and his underwear, clearly old and not once washed, just adds to his overall pitiful state. And the way he twitches. Now that’s scary, adverts Hero. He grins constantly, and his fingers seem to grab something invisible in the air from time to time. Signs of PTSD. There’s one twitch that specifically puts him on edge. The index finger on his left hand, which curls inward subtly. As if pressing the trigger of his firearm, shooting, and killing as a first instinct.

He’s absolutely and utterly a machine made to kill. Hero looks down at his prisoner, trying to see underneath the other’s matted hair. Two gray eyes return his gaze. He steps back again and decides to try something with the blanket.

“Now, eyes on me, you dog,” signs Hero. Weapon looks up toward him, and his hair falls back a bit, framing his face. He has huge eyebags, and he looks tired. He always does.

“Is this yours?” asks him Hero, showing him the folded blanket. Weapon looks briefly at the item and then pouts. He looks as if he’d like to tear it out from his hand but can’t. As if now, Hero has the upper hand, at least for the first time.

“If you want it back, you’ll follow what I say,” tells him Hero. The Captain is still feeling a little bit skeptical about the whole ordeal. Weapon furrows his brows but doesn’t move from his place. He is now listening. “Ok, it seems I have your attention. Now, put your right hand up.”

Weapon seems to have heard him, but grinning a bit, he looks like he doesn’t understand what is going on. Hero, with the hand which isn’t holding the blanket, puts it up, palm open and toward Weapon. “Here,” motions. And Weapon ends up copying him as well, pulling his right arm out and opening his palm toward Hero a bit. His fingers are long and bony, and the skin on his knuckles is red and raw. His hand trembles. Actually, all of him seems to subtly tremble. Hero waits a bit. The chains dingle.

“Ok,” says Hero, lowering his arm. Weapon copies him as well. Hero then says, “now the other hand,” while pulling up the very same hand as before… Just as the Captain thought, Weapon raises again the same right hand, mirroring him again.

Hero repeats himself using a monotonous voice, “no, the other. Left.” He doesn’t move, though, keeping his hand still up. Weapon doesn’t hesitate to change sides; he keeps his right hand up in the air.

The Captain finally pulls his arm down, and Weapon copies him again. “So I was right,” mutters Hero to himself. “You don’t really understand me.”

Weapon smiles again, looking absentmindedly at his blanket, still in Hero’s grasp. His arms gravitate towards it, but Hero pulls away from his grab.

“Before that, one more thing.” Weapon looks at him again. ‘He seems to get the tone of my voice,’ notes Hero. He signals down to the floor.

“Sit down.” Weapon looks at his index and then at the floor, and without a word complies, crouching down. He lets his hands rest on his knees, fidgeting again with his fingers. The chains on his arms and feet rattle quietly.

Hero crouches down to his level as well. He makes a mental note to clean him up when possible, and with caution, reveals a key from the inside of his coat inner pocket. Weapon watches closely as Hero grabs one of his chained wrists and unlocks the link between the handcuff and chain. Silently, Hero does the same with his other wrist and ankles, releasing him from them all except the one on his neck, still bolted to the floor. His prisoner doesn’t move at all. He looks around meanwhile, lost in thought and not quite there. Finally, Hero grabs the blanket again and unfolds it on him. Weapon doesn’t move while getting covered with the soft fabric, and when the Captain gets up again on his feet, the prisoner caresses absentmindedly his item.

He sniffs the cloth, and there’s a peak of weirdness in his eyes. Weapon looks up at Hero, questioning.

“I had to wash it, you dog; it was disgusting,” tells him Hero. The Captain kicks away the detached chains to the back of the room, away from Weapon’s reach. Last time it was a pair of tweezers stabbed onto a Colonel’s leg, who knows what Weapon would be capable of with those.

Hero stands in front of his prisoner again. It’s useless to talk to Weapon. He won’t understand a word, and he doesn’t seem too eager to acknowledge even his tone. But talking to him has proved from time to time to calm Hero’s thoughts, maybe as a way to free them off his mind.

“I’ve seen your eh… room, the one back at your last base,” speaks Hero. His tone is harsh, authoritarian. Weapon looks up, not really understanding a word from a language he hasn’t been trained to understand. “Seems to me you are considered useless if not owned and directed. At least that’s what they say in your homeland.”

Hero starts pacing around the room, hands behind his back. Weapon, seated on the floor and caressing his blanket, smiles devilishly at the Captain. Who knows what might be he thinking about. He sits, cross-legged, fiddling with the cloth but without taking his attention off Hero. ‘He’s waiting,’ realizes the Captain.

Hero stops again right in front of his prisoner. Weapon looks up, defiantly. They stare at each other.

“I know you don’t understand a word I’m saying,” tells him Hero. “But I don’t fucking care.” He crosses his arms, looking down at the other severely. “You are now under my orders. You rest when I tell you, you eat what I’ll give you, and you, in no circumstance, move a finger without me knowing it beforehand.”

Weapon says nothing, as usual. His smug smile widens under his matted hair.

“I,” repeats Hero, pointing at himself, “own you,” and follows by pointing at Weapon. Weapon looks at his finger and licks his lips. Hero’s not too sure the other is getting the idea. He then crouches on one knee and gets really close to the enemy. Weapon doesn’t mind the sudden movements of the other. He watches defiantly how Hero grabs at the only chain still binding him to the cell floor, the one around his neck. The Captain pulls it up toward himself, obliging the other to face him, unable to resist the restraints around his neck.

“You are now my dog,” tells him Hero, and suddenly, it appears to dawn on Weapon what those strange words he can’t identify mean. He loosens his smile, and his gaze becomes darker.

Hero lets go of the chain, and Weapon sits back again, still looking him in the eye.

“Hope we can get to an agreement,” says Hero. Still kneeling on the floor, he slips out from his inner pocket a metal canteen, full of water. The Captain unscrews the cap carefully, watching Weapon’s eyes following the action. His prisoner’s mouth opens slightly, his gaze now pierced onto the bottle. He stops fidgeting with the blanket, leaving it aside, and starts to crawl toward the canteen.

“Ah, ah. Stop there.” Hero motions for Weapon to stop dead in his tracks, and the monster complies, looking thirstier by the minute. The Captain leaves the bottle right in front of Weapon and crosses his arms. He waits patiently, observing how Weapon grows more restless from the sight of water.

“I heard you weapons could stand almost a week without taking a drink. But looks like even you have limits when bound.” Weapon grows more nervous each second that he isn’t permitted to get his hands on the canteen. He starts struggling with breathing, and he starts to scratch at his left arm, drawing red lines onto the dry skin. The Captain observes the sight, finally taking some pity on his new pet.

“Ok, stop scratching. Drink already,” he finally allows. Weapon looks up to him, trying to understand if that was a yes. Hero motions toward the water and points at his prisoner. “Go on.”

His prisoner grabs the bottle as if there was no tomorrow and in practically seconds gulps down the entire contents. Hero motions for him to return the water flask, and Weapon complies when finished. He looks more relaxed and docile after that, and so, Hero stands up on his feet again.

“Good boy. Surely we can manage to understand each other.” Weapon dries his mouth on his arm, and the Captain looks absentmindedly at his still fresh bullet wound on his chest, alongside all the other scars and older bruises on his skin.

“I’ll take a look again at that if you let me,” and starting to head toward the cell door, adds, “Now rest.” Weapon looks at him from his spot on the floor. Hugs his blanket and falls on his side, closing his eyes and rolling until finding a comfortable spot on the concrete. Hero watches him for a bit before locking again the door. He can’t keep away the thought, though. This cell looks as sad as the one Weapon inhabited before.

Taglist: @whump-blog @bitchaknso @pumpkinsncoffee @scrumpledumple (comment to get added/removed from the list!)

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jazztag · 1 month

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An Encounter in the Snow IV

The day after capturing Weapon, Hero comes downstairs to meet his adversary once again. Soldiers speculate that he is eager to inspect his new trophy, but the truth is, Hero is unsure what to make out of his prisoner.

Hero stands, implacable, in front of the crouched form. His captive glances up vaguely, offering a sluggish smile to his captor before returning his gaze to the ground. Though still clutching at his torso, the pain seems to have subsided somewhat, evident in Weapon's relaxed posture with one leg extended and the other bent, knee tucked under his chin.

They are alone in the dimly lit cell as per the Hero's insistence. The soldiers offered no resistance. The prospect of being confined with the chained-up beast unnerves them, despite Weapon being securely bound by ankles, wrists, and neck.

The Hero's eyes trace the scars on Weapon's shoulders and back. Assuming a crouch to meet Weapon's eye level, the General of the Resistance sets his firearm aside. He tries to make eye contact with his foe, whose gaze drifts vaguely, fixed on nothing in particular save for a dark stain on the concrete floor.

"Who did those to you?" the Hero demands, gesturing towards Weapon's injuries. Momentarily, Weapon looks at him before returning his gaze to the ground, a smile playing on his lips, revealing pointed teeth against dry lips, yet emitting no sound.

"Was it your people? Did they do this to you?" the Hero persists. Following another silence filled only by Weapon’s heavy breaths, he desists. He already knows the answer. Biological weapons have been researched since the start of the century. Even tho the Republic refuses to use such resource, the abuse they endure at the enemie’s hands is of public knowledge.

Stepping back, the Hero regards Weapon with a hint of pity. "Your wounds appear to be healing," he says to no one in particular. Weapon chuckles briefly, then winces, visibly pained, and lets out a yelp, grabbing again at his side.

"But I am better than those you call 'masters'," murmurs the Hero, distancing himself from Weapon and turning his attention to the guards stationed right out by the cell door. "Go fetch bandages and water," he orders them. Within moments, someone arrives with a first aid kit and a plate of water accompanied by a damp cloth.

At the sight of the Hero once again kneeling beside him, Weapon's eyes flutter open. He observes the firearm, out of reach. Weapon looks up at the General, suddenly in close proximity. Attempting to recoil, he is kept in place by the chain around his neck.

The Hero takes the wet cloth and gestures for Weapon to expose his torso. Growling, Weapon attempts to snatch the cloth, but Hero swiftly intervenes, pulling at the chain restraining Weapon's right hand. The sudden movement lets Weapon without air in his lungs, and his bloody wound totally uncovered.

“No games” mutters Hero, looking Weapon in the eye with a sever tone. His prisoners looks away, a tint of defeat in his eyes. “You make another stupid decision again, and I’m letting you bleed out in here”.

Hero makes a move towards Weapon’s body again, and his prisoner jerks forward again, tihs time managing to bite at his arm. The Generals yelps, completely taken by surprise.

“Damnit!” He steps away from Weapon’s reach. “Won’t you run out of bullets to shoot, you damn thing?”

Weapon starts laughing again, even tho his chukles makes his body crawl inwards in miserable pain. Hero observes him silently. The monster grins mischievoulsy while curling on himself, seemingly trying to stop the giggling but without any success at doing so. Hero, feeling mocked at, stands again, grabbing at his firearm in one swift motion.

“Fine. If you don’t want help, I’ll let you rot in here”.

He doesn’t bother to retrieve the other items. Hero just turns back and leaves Weapon by himself, still smiling and twisting on the bare floor.

Taglist: @whump-blog@bitchaknso@pumpkinsncoffee (comment to get added/removed from the list!)

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jazztag · 21 days

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An Encounter in the Snow VIII

The Captain paces around his quarters nervously, his hands intertwined behind his back, his eyes glued to the floor. The fireplace burns quietly in the center of the room. Nights have just been getting colder since the start of November.

Suddenly, a knock at the door. Hero doesn’t look up. He just stands in front of the fire as the cadet peeks his head inside the room.

“Sir, I have what you requested.”

The Captain nods and walks straight to him to retrieve an old notebook, punished by the passing of time. It’s dusty and has stains of mud all over its cover.

“Where did you find it?” asks Hero. The soldier scratches his neck.

“Somewhere between the first and third base. Someone might have been dropped. It was between some piles of bodies, buried in the mud. I hope the pages haven't given up,” he adds, signaling the bad state of the book.

The cadet is about to leave, but Hero stops him dead in his tracks.

“Heard you came from occupied land.”

“Sir?” asks the young cadet.

“Could you translate it for me, soldier?”

The young man, who hasn’t been in the field for more than a year, stands straight, eager to help.

“Yes, sir!”

The two men sit at the desk, the soldier in a chair, Hero right by his side standing on his feet. The Captain's arms are crossed on his chest, deep in thought.

“Go on,” tells the soldier, and the boy opens the notebook carefully, as if the thing could disintegrate by just looking at it. His fingers slide the first blank pages, which only have written a couple of numbers.

“1923-08,” reads aloud the soldier.

“I can read dates as well, yes,” mumbles Hero, peeking from behind his shoulder. “Let’s get to the first few pages. Are you familiar with Polareçe?”

“I fled the country when I was only ten, sir. But I should be able to read it, at least.”

The Captain nods, starting to pace towards the window, looking outside at the light rain which pours tonight.

“The first page,” starts the soldier, concentrating on the task, “is a list of imports from August of last year. They are labeled as ‘cattle.’”

“No more than animals to them, then. I see.”

“Indeed, sir. It lists eight subjects, with dates, numbers, and aliases associated with them. It seems the dates are DOBs. It seems all ‘cattle’ were born in 1899, between September and December of that year.”

“Which makes the dog… 24. Huh. So young and already so troubled. Who knows the horrors they live through just to reach that age.”

“I’ve never heard of a weapon who lives past 25, sir. They are eventually used in suicidal missions when their bones and senses start failing. Their life is practically designed to be useful between the ages of 17 and 24. After that, any body collapses from exhaustion.”

“Then we surely stumbled onto a great catch. I’m sure the enemy was planning on getting rid of Weapon this very same year.” Hero imagines the monster with a few hundred grams of explosives attached to his body, running full speed towards their base. “What about the numbers on the list?”

“They might be codes, sir.”

“And the names? The aliases?”

The soldier sits straight and then reads aloud, struggling a bit with the pronunciation:

“Zundr, Açerö, Avirin, Vel·lor, Solkïr, Vicci, Rraptúrr, Iüçe. They all sound male to me.”

Hero thinks about Weapon, sleeping peacefully as he left him in his cell. He can’t imagine which one of the names is his.

“You’re telling me that we probably have seven more weapons running around the battlefield, huh?”

“Probably the enemy has executed them by now, sir.”

“How so?”

The soldier looks up from the notebook, straight at the Captain.

“As I said, sir. They kill them after reaching their 24th year of life. This fall is their expiration of the contract. Here,” and the soldier motions towards some dates written under the list of names.

“Huh,” is the only thing that Hero says. 1923-11. This November. Well, isn’t the dog lucky?

“Anything more in the list? Weapons? Skills? Training completed?”

The soldier shuffles through the next page. “After those, it looks like someone has written down a record for each mission. They have written down… Dates, numbers… The numbers might be of the deaths. There are some observations.”

“When was the last mission?” asks Hero, nervously, as he retrieves the notebook from the soldier's hands, looking at the last page. The date is from this very same September. 116.

“Damn,” he mumbles. The soldier stands by his side, peeking at the scribbles as well.

“Whoever is locked down there, he managed to kill 116 soldiers in a few hours, on September 9th. Be it alone or not, that’s actually… ”

“Macabre,” mumbles the Captain.

Taglist: @whump-blog@bitchaknso @pumpkinsncoffee @scrumpledumple (comment to get added/removed from the list!)

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jazztag · 4 months

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An Encounter in the Snow II

"He was just their weapon. Now it's ours."

The soldiers stand very straight when they see the General arrive by the cell’s main gates. They exchange a look with him, and proceed to unlock the doors. Hero gets inside with long and slow steps, as if testing the waters before getting into them. He looks calm and calculated as always, but inside him, his bare-bones are shaking.

Inside the concrete room, the walls are bare of anything but chains. In the center, Weapon is being held down with a metal collar like a dog, and his four extremities are chained to the back wall. He lies on the floor, knealed and bending forward. One of his hands roam on his chest mindlessly, like unconsciously protecting his still-fresh bullet wounds. He’s been stripped of all of his clothes, minus his underwear, letting him keep it only for the soldiers’ convenience. His black hair falls down onto his eyes, hiding his face from the only source of light in the room, a lightbulb that hangs from the ceiling.

While approaching his enemy, Hero motions for the soldiers to position themselves on each side of Weapon. The enemy is held in such a way that he isn’t capable of touching any wall, the main collar pinning him to the ground, with only two meters spared to move. The General of the Republic stops to observe his prisoner, who is five meters away from him. He’s never been so close to that monster. The ones who did are already dead.

His gaze observes with utter curiosity the way his black and unkept waves fall onto his forehead. His mouth, slightly open, seems to taste the air. “He knows who is in front of him”, thinks the General. The monster has his eyes closed, and breathes through the mouth while trembling a bit. It isn’t actually cold, in here; it sould be because of blood loss. He has one hand hovering over the concrete floor, caressing mindlessly over the subtle bumps. His hands, notices the Hero. Hands can tell a lot about a person. Weapon’s tremble sublty, full of scars, still dirty from his soldiers’ blood. He lacks a bunch of nails, and one of his index is torn a bit in a weird angle. His veins are visibly blue under the pale skin.

Hero doesn’t say anything. He starts circling the beast, making sure he doesn’t step onto one of the multiple chains that hold Weapon onto the walls. He observes his neck, his elbows, and his bare back, where his back spine is quite visible under his scarred skin. How can a person look so strong but frail at the same time, wonders the General. Weapon has the body of someone who has spend their entire life fighting and enduring pain, but without nothing substantial to put in their mouth. Just flesh and muscles, a figure quite slim and angular which looks disturbing and unnatural.

And the cuts. The scars. This beast has been lashed on a daily basis, decides Hero, observing his nude back. Without mercy and probably with something made out of leather. The General shakes his thoughts out of his mind. No time for pity. It’s too late for that. He circles the beast and ends up in front oh him again, still five meters away from it.

Hero then kneels, right there and then, to be at the same eye level as Weapon. He stays down for a couple of seconds, finally asking outloud:

“You have a name, demon?”

The other doesn’t move at all. Only his hand keeps drawing circles on the concrete, absedmindly. Does he speak english, wonders the Hero. The orders given to him may have always been in German, so Weapon should not be able to understand anything remotely different apart from that.

"Name" insists Hero, getting angry by the minute. Not getting a single response after finally capturing that wardog, after enduring hell on earth to defeat his greatest enemy, he gets up on his feet and starts pacing towards Weapon.

“Name!" shouts Hero again. And finally, he gets his response. Not the one he was expecting, though. In a matter of a second, Weapon steps up and stomps towards the General, jerking his body as far as the chains let him. There’s a metal sound when all chains get tense, fighting the brute force of Weapon, who for the first time looks at the General in the eye.

And grins. A mischievous smile that makes Hero’s skin crawl in disgust. “He’s mocking me," decides the General.

They step like that, Hero and Weapon, a mere feet from eachother’s face. Then, like waking up from a daze, Weapon emits something resembling a cry, and falls onto his knees again. The chains relax a bit, and let him pull forward his arms and embrace his chest wounds. Some blood stains fall onto the floor, and the monster trembles, chin down but still giggling madly quietly.

“You mad dog”, spits out the Hero, looking at the mess in front of him. He steps back a little, trying not to loose composure, even tho he knows, deep down, that without those chains, he and his men would be already dead right this second.

Hero looks at Weapon, who’s still clutching his stomach in pain. “Sorry about that” says to the beast, “I should know best”.

General turns around and begins to walk towards the door.

“Weapons don’t have a name, don’t they?”

One of the soldiers walk towards him, right before he is exiting the cell.

“What do we do with him, sir?”

Hero crosses his arms, his face turned into one of absolute repulsion. He turns one last time to face Weapon.

"“Him”? It’s not a “him”. It’s a thing that kills without a brain, at the orders of the enemy. Without remorse or a second thought. It’s a thing, and so we will treat it like one.”

“Keep it contained after further notice."

Taglist: @whump-blog @bitchaknso (comment to get added/removed from the list!)

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jazztag · 4 months

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Jazz's Master List

Ongoing series RN (using my own prompts):

A Cure for Solitude: [From #47]

Tropes: Zombie whumpee, medic caretaker, whump, hurt/confort, bl. Plot: Wounded and disoriented, "W" finds himself turned into a zombie in a post apocalyptic future. Not even remembering his own name, he stumbles upon a human survivor who seems to be inmune to the virus, and who is taking it upon himself to find a cure. Said human will grow curious about W, the only zombie who seems to be able to comunicate outside of the usual growls. Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | Tagged as #acureforsolitude

An Encounter in the Snow: [From #18]

Tropes: hero x villain, WW2 setting, villain whumpee, hero caretaker, living weapon whumpee. Plot: Whumpee being a trained living weapon since birth with the sole purpose to destroy and murder the enemy in the trenches. He has no name, he is just a tool bound at the orders and mistreatment of the Regime. He has been named "War Monster" by the Enemy, the Resistance.

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 Tagged as #anencounterinthesnow

Prompts: TAG ME if you use them! I wanna see what you come up with!

#promptfactory #masterlist #masterpost #acureforsolitude #anencounterinthesnow #whump community #living weapon whumpee #soldier whump #care whumper #villain whumpee #whump #whump ideas #whump prompt #whumpee #ww2 whump #zombie whumpee #writing

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jazztag · 2 months

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An Encounter in the Snow III

Their first encounter was amidst full-blown combat. Hero found himself at the front lines, drawn by reports of movement that morning. The scene was horrifying—blood and violence everywhere, with it at the epicenter. Its devilish grin sent shivers down spines as it effortlessly ended lives with a mere rifle, dodging bullets with inhuman speed and accuracy. Who was this demon? Without hesitation, Hero armed himself and sprinted towards the figure known as Weapon. Time seemed to stand still as he closed the distance, meeting the creature's demonic gaze—red as blood—and that unsettling, unflinching smile. It was clear: this being was pure madness.

The General was the first to put a bullet inside that body. His first-ever wound in war was also because of Weapon. The soldiers started to see him as the monster that it now was considered. It haunted them at night, and it appeared in their dreams by day. It was also called 'Wardog', as if it were the most dangerous being on the battlefield. Hero decided to increase vigilance at the front lines. There were always ten watches at any time. And when it appeared, madness followed.

Hero started to study it. He became obsessed, almost. He studied when exactly Weapon emerged, the breaks it took, his movements. He tried to confront it, but Weapon always seemed to overpower him. There was no pain in its features, no fear. Always smiling, as if it were just a game Weapon was good at playing. Hero started to consider the being as someone who not only acted outside the enemy’s tropes but also had nothing to do with that war. It just wanted to kill, and that was its only motive. Hero started to understand what the enemy’s tropes shouted before every battle. He now understood how they addressed Weapon and in which circumstances they let him out. Things became easier for a bit.

At the eleventh encounter, Hero finally understood how Weapon worked.

They found each other in the middle of the battlefield, with fire coming from each side. The Hero aimed at Weapon, still unnoticed by the other. At the last moment, he decided to knock it to the ground from behind. Weapon seemed quite thin, so it wasn't difficult though. Catching it off guard was the best choice. Now on the ground, Weapon looked quite shocked. The Hero saw some realization in its eyes—so it had recognized him as well. Weapon smiled as always, not quite done with the situation. The General might have been aiming directly at its head, but the demon returned his gaze, undisturbed and defiant.

The two of them looked at each other, Hero from above, Weapon from below. Time seemed frozen. The only thing that seemed to wake them from that trance was a quiet 'click'.

The two of them knew at that instant. Hero, unknowingly, had knocked Weapon down onto a mine. The General looked where Weapon was lying, a mere meter from him. Weapon looked up at him, too. No fear, he smiled. And the Hero knew the other wanted him dead, no matter if it fell down with him in the process. It just wanted to kill, and its own life wouldn’t be an obstacle to that goal. Hero jumped as far as he could. Weapon just rolled away from the mine, detonating it but... seconds later though, the bomb didn't explode. The General still doesn't know why. Weapon jumped to its feet, unimpressed, and silently, the two of them decided to abandon the scene without another fight in between, each towards each other's side.

Taglist: @whump-blog @bitchaknso @pumpkinsncoffee (comment to get added/removed from the list!)

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jazztag · 3 hours

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An Encounter in the Snow IX

Hero cautiously approaches the cell door, taking a moment to steady his breath. Inside, Weapon sits just as he left him before, crouching on the floor with a drowsy attitude, clutching absentmindedly his blanket. Despite this, Weapon stirs before the door even opens. Once Hero unlocks the door, he quickly hides the blanket behind him as if fearing it might be taken away.

Stepping into the cell, the Captain positions himself in front of his prisoner, diary in hand. The same they found near the enemy's base. His soldier who’s fluent in Polareçe, has opted to remain outside. Everyone fears and wishes to not be around the living weapon, especially the ones who have lived in the occupied land. The Hero opens the diary without saying a word and looks at his soldier’s notes. written on a side paper, translating and explaining a bit of the foreign contents of the notebook. He looks at Weapon, who smiles at him from the floor.

“Let’s see which one are you out of the bunch” mumbles Hero, and with an unsure sight, he starts reading the names out from the list.

“Avi…rin?” starts the Captain, trying to pronounce the name right. He has some notes that helps him get it right. That one was easy, he thinks. He looks up to Weapon, searching for a reaction. But Weapon just sits still. His expression has changed a little, tho. As if curious.

“Avirin? Are you named Avirin?” Repeats himself Hero. Weapon looks uninterested again, and rests his chin on his right knee, caressing the ground absentmindedly.

“Ok… Next one then” says Hero. Now this one looks difficult: “Solk-ïr. Solkïr?” Hero looks up again. Weapon keeps looking at the floor, unbothered. The Captain wonders if his accent is so bad not even Weapon can make out what he is saying. But he is sure that’s correct.

“How about Rraptúrr? Mmh? Rraptúrr. Anything?”

Weapon looks weirded out a little bit. He smiles shyly at the other's pronunciation. Hero gets even more annoyed.

“If that’s how it’s gonna be, then be it” spits Hero. He reads the next name, not quite sure this is gonna work: “Vicc… Vicci?”

Suddenly there’s some movement on his prisoner’s part, and Hero brings out his gun in a millisecond, prepared for anything. Weapon has stepped on his feet, and he is crunched down but looking at Hero in the eye.

“Vicci, huh? Are you not?”

Weapon looks at him funny. He then looks at the gun the Captain is holding and looks bored. He looks away as if trying to remember something. He looks at the ground in front of him, and his index starts sliding on the dusty surface. Hero takes two more seconds to realize Weapon is actually writing letters in the dust. He decides to pocket his gun again, and approaches his prisoner, who looks to struggle to remember how to draw letters, and after some effort finishes at least the 5-letter name.

“VICCI” Weapon has written down. He looks up at Hero again and points at himself. Suddenly, he speaks, with a raspy voice, something that could be mistaken for a growl.

“Ja Vicci” says Weapon, with a voice that hasn’t been used for ages. Hero looks at the letters on the ground, then looks up at Weapon again.

“Vicci” repeats the Captain, and Vicci smiles.

“Vicci, Vic-ci” repeats Weapon, as if indicating the stress on the last syllable.

“Vicci, ok” nods Hero. He then tries to do the same, and points at himself this time:

“Je… Er... no, ja… Ja Hero” Says the Captain. And so, the two of them finally look at each other, not as guard and prisoner, but as people, nonetheless.

Notes: Polareçe [pronounced as "polaresse"] is a made-up language, and for Vicci's name pronunciation, here's a little help: "cc" sounds like "k", so it's Viki but with the stress on the last syllable: Vicc(í). Hope this helps!

Taglist: @whump-blog@bitchaknso @pumpkinsncoffee @scrumpledumple (comment to get added/removed from the list!)

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