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demondamage · 10 months

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CW: Hypothermia, recovery from abuse, brief mention of counting calories/not eating enough, dumb cute caretakery shit I said I wouldn't write much of Word count: 2950 Characters: Warren/Aziphem

"Aren't you cold?"

Of course he was, hell Aziphem got chilled when the temperatures dropped below 65. One of the many joys of being a demon.

"I'm fine." It had been his constant answer whenever Warren pressed on how he was doing. What was he supposed to say? Yes, he was cold out here. There was a threat of snow that night, only a dusting but still dipping below freezing. But if he told the human he would, of course, get the offer to come inside with mentions of hot food and warm blankets.

Not that Aziphem didn't want those. He had stolen one of Warren's blankets when he first arrived, making a little nest for himself in the shed behind the cabin they were hiding out in until the hunt for him cooled down.

No what he didn't want was that-- gentleness. The kind offers, the care, the sympathy. It made him feel... pathetic. Didn't Warren know what he was? He didn't deserve those things, just wanted them. Which was why he stole them. He deserved to be able to steal them, not be gifted them.

"Alright, well, there is a couch, I could sleep on that and give you the bed-"

"No."

"... You could have the couch?"

"No."

"You can... say the word no again?"

Aziphem opened his mouth to speak, but caught it before the word left his lips, only responding with a glare. Stupid human, with his stupid crooked grin, and the stupid way his stupid eyes crinkled and his stupid little laugh-

"Can I get you a jacket at least?"

"I have a jacket." Aziphem pulled his thin flannel closer around his shoulders. He had also stolen this, from Warren's closet. Why wasn't the human mad at him for that?

"Have you ever been up north for a winter Azzi?" Warren sighed, sitting down a respectful distance away from the demon on the porch step. Still, Aziphem scooted himself away. He didn't like the human so close. He didn't know why the human wanted to be that close.

"No. Not really. I saw some snow at-" He paused, twisting his fingers. "When he brought me to his house sometimes. That's it."

Maybe that was why he hated being given things. That angel, so gentle and kind when he 'behaved'. When he let it happen. He would get gifts, treats, allowed to sleep in a bed instead of on a cell, given clothes, food, and all of it came with the caveat that he had to allow himself to be poked, prodded, and pulled apart on those stainless steel tables. Accepting things gave the giver power over him.

Warren, thankfully knowing not to press, nodded. He had made it clear with the human early on that he was not to ask about the angels and what they did to him.

"Well, up here, it gets really fucking cold. And I know-" He held out his finger to stop the demon's predicted interruption. "It won't kill you permanently. But is it really worth the risk?"

"I'll be fine. I have a place to sleep."

"In the fucking shed?" Finally, Warren was getting frustrated. Aziphem knew how to deal with frustrated people.

"Yeah, and you want to stop me?" The demon bared his teeth, ready for whatever reaction followed.

"Yes actually, I do!" Good! Yell at him; that Aziphem could work with! Ok so it... wasn't a yell. But close enough.

" I could kill you so easily- and you think you can stop me?" He snarled, lunging just enough to get the human to scramble back away. With teeth snapping between his words, he glared at Warren. "You want to take that chance?"

Warren, to his credit, didn't look as scared as Aziphem had hoped. He looked more... disappointed. Muttering a few words in Spanish that Aziphem couldn't understand, the human stood up, shaking his head.

"I'll leave the door unlocked if you change your mind." Warren slammed the door behind him, leaving the demon alone again.

Good! He had won that encounter! Warren didn't get to hold the power of helping over him. It was a hollow happiness, but still one Aziphem relished. Making his way out to the small, spider infested shed, he curled up in his stolen blanket, munching on a stolen granola bar. Maybe tomorrow he would go hunting, show Warren he didn't need him. Why was he still here anyways? He didn't need the human's help!

Well-- he kinda did. Warren had found them this hiding spot, and these were Warren's clothes he was wearing. And Warren had driven them out here. And... patched up the bullet wounds Haziel had left him with in his escape. And was currently keeping an eye on his blood work since the drugs Kotarou had given him were causing withdrawls now that he was off them...

The more he thought about it, the more he hated it. Why did that human want him around? Why had the human always been so--- nice?! He didn't know what to do with nice, because nice was temporary and contingent on him not stepping out of line. Nice was fake and a tool to get him to do what someone else wanted.

Aziphem stewed over these thoughts for a few hours, watching the last bit of light turn blue, then black in the dark forest. Alone in the dark, he normally felt so safe.

Now he just felt fucking cold.

Shivering in his blanket, Aziphem pulled the flannel in tight. Warren had been right, this was not a jacket. And he wanted nothing more than to go inside. But that would be losing, and he would not submit to Warren and give him what he wanted. Even if that was what he also wanted.

Through the cracks in the shed walls, he could see the first bit of snow starting to fall, starkly contrasting against the pitch black sky. It was so peaceful, watching each flake slowly drop in the near windless night.

But that cold was anything but peaceful. The flannel and the blanket were hardly enough, the numbness setting into his fingers and slowly working up his arms. How long had he been unable to feel his toes? The dilemma was becoming more and more apparent, he wasn't going to last the night out here. Maybe he could sneak in, sleep in a closet, and sneak out before Warren woke up? No if the human caught him he would never live that down. He had to manage out here.

Of course he had been a little concerned when the shivering started, but he was more now that it had stopped. The basic drive to stay alive was kicking in, but he felt- tired. Like the night was starting to eat up the now heavier snow, leaving only darkness around him.

He needed to get up. He hated that he did but he needed to get warm. Stumbling out of the shed, he looked around for the house. Which direction was it? He wasn't more than 300 feet away, but with the dark trees, snowy night and with his brain addled by cold, he couldn't remember which way-

Right. He was certain it was a right. It had to be a right. Stumbling in the direction, Aziphem picked his way over the dusted ground cover, bare feet crunching frozen plants beneath him. The house had to be just up ahead, he would sneak in, steal a victory granola bar, and sneak out before Warren woke. Hell, he would steal himself a whole ass cookie if he didn't get caught.

There wasn't a clearing between him and the house. Aziphem stumbled into the small gap in the trees, looking at the definitely unfamiliar terrain. He had been so sure it was right, was it left? The snow had been coming down harder, masking his tracks as he turned around. He was lost, cold, and afraid.

For a moment, the demon circled the clearing, flicking his tail in the now blustering night night. Had he walked past that fallen tree? Or that stump. He felt dizzy, head pounding and body weak. If he died out here, the angels would find his energy signature from the revival. Would they find him before-

"Warren?" The last word of his thoughts escaped his lips, barely piercing the snow muffled night. "Warren? WARREN!"

Stupid human, making him need him. Making him want him to come to his rescue when he couldn't help himself. Aziphem was weak and pathetic and he hated himself every time he screamed that name into the darkness, pleading with a God who had abandoned him that by some miracle the human would hear him.

Shaking legs gave way underneath him, forcing him to the ground. The snow was no longer a dusting, now pelting him from all sides as he curled up on the ground. That familiar cold filled his limbs and his memories.

Ice cold water in his lungs.

Fighting his restraints as the ice froze around him.

Death. Revival. Death. Revival. The time between getting longer and longer until he inevitably would not wake up, frozen in a constant stasis.

He was going to die. And they would find him. And they would freeze him. And it would all be his fault for not letting Warren help him. Warren- Warren-

"Aziphem?"

Aziphem instinctively flinched away from the hand now brushing him off, but gave in to the arms as they pulled him in. Sticky hot human- he hated the touch but as the thick jacket wrapped around him, warmed and thick with the scent of Warren he buried himself into it.

"What are you doing?! It's too cold out here, you're covered in snow!" The human pulled him into the treeline, stripped down to his underlayer with his jacket wrapped around Aziphem.

"I -- got lost." He mumbled, pulling the jacket close around him. Not past the stump or the fallen tree, just a small break in the forest he would not have noticed in his cold delirium. The human was holding tight to him and he fucking hated it, but he was far too cold to fight back.

"Where were you going?" Warren had this way of being firm with him, but not in the way Kotarou had, ordering him to strip or kneel or shut up. The human would ask him these questions, pointing out that he was self sabotaging by making him admit it.

"I wasn't running away if that's what you're asking me." He tried to pull the jacket in with numb fingers, the fabric slipping through his grasp. Warren pulled the jacket on for him, helping him get his hands through. Any other day he would have snapped, demanding to do it himself, but numb fingers were useless here.

How had he gotten so far from the cabin? The walk felt long, Aziphem tripping over his numb feet and falling on Warren for support. At least when the human caught him there was no teasing, no gentle cooing that he was safe, just silently picking him back up so he could keep walking. He did have to give in eventually, leaning heavily on his caretaker as they trudged up the last hill and into the cabin.

"You're going to go warm up.' Warren commanded, once again in that firm way that Aziphem knew meant that this was not a choice and that the human would in fact make sure he got warm one way or another. "There's blankets by the stove. I'm going to make you some tea and soup. Did you eat anything for dinner?"

"Is now really the time to be grilling me on my eating habits?" The demon half-heartedly snarked, curling up in the warm nest of blankets near the wood burning stove that warmed the house. Wow, this was- worth the humiliation of submitting to Warren's wishes.

"Calories are important to making sure you can warm yourself up." Warren sighed, pulling a pot of something from the ice chest and placing it on that stove alongside a kettle. "Please? I just want to help you, so if you could just work with me-"

"A granola bar." Aziphem said quietly, pulling the blankets around himself. "And I am getting warm. Happy?"

"Incredibly." Warren turned to look at the demon. "Well, no, you probably should be eating more than that... right? I still don't know your anatomy- er- I don't know how to best take care of you- I know you don't like doctor terms but damn it I am a doctor I don't know what else to say."

"I should be eating more, but it is not a problem yet. I was planning to hunt something tomorrow. Just say you don't know how I work."

"Alright- I don't know how you work."

That was the one thing Aziphem appreciated about Warren's type of care. He... listened. If Aziphem told him no, he rarely pressured. When he told the doctor he didn't like hearing medical terms, Warren did his best to change the way he described his care. Imbalanced brain chemicals and abnormal bloodwork were what an angel would use to justify forcing him to be medicated. 'Whack ass shit' was what Warren would grumble and scratch his stupid gorgeous curly hair about when something came back out of the normal.

"I need to eat more than you do, averaging closer to 3000 calories per day. But consider it more... 12000 calories every four days? I can go longer without food."

Fishing out his small notebook from the snow pants, Warren scribbled something. Aziphem hated how it made him feel observed... but caved to the doctor on this disagreement long ago.

"Got it." The human did a few moments of quiet math, fingers counting to match what he was doing in his head.

"I'm under, I know, I was going to make up for it tomorrow." He sighed. "Catch a deer or something."

"Not in that storm. Light dusting my ass, it's threatening to break 3 feet before morning."

"I've hunted in worse. And it's not like I have a choice-"

"Yes. Yes you do." Warren pulled the pot of soup from the stove, foregoing the bowl and handing Aziphem the pot. "You can eat my god damn cooking."

This was defeat, but damn did defeat smell like a rich venison stew. Aziphem poked at it with a spoon for a moment before quietly taking a few bites.

"And while you're at it, you can wear my damn clothes and sleep on my damn bed." Warren continued, sitting down in front of Aziphem with arms crossed. "Or the couch, I will make an exception for that since I know you-"

"What do you want from me?"

The question must have thrown Warren off, pausing with his mouth open.

"What do I... want from you?"

"Yes. I know you're trying to get something from this. And I won't give it to you, you'll have to fight me for it."

"Azzi-" Warren just... looked exhausted. "I want you to eat, sleep in a warm bed, and maybe put on some fucking shoes outside, but I can compromise on that."

"Bullshit- I know how this goes." The demon pulled his blankets tight around him, creating a defensive wall. Soup inside that defensive wall of course, even if he didn't want to accept it, now that he had it it was a precious resource he needed to defend. "You act all nice, give me things, then take them away when I say no. I know how this goes, and I won't let you give me things if you're going to use them to control me."

"Aziphem--- Azzi-- no. I'm not going to do that."

"Allow me to reiterate- Bull. Shit."

"Look, I know you won't just-- believe me. So let's talk about this rationally. If I tried to take that jacket from you, what would you do?"

What would be do? It was Warren's jacket, but he had it now. It was a tool he now needed to survive.

"Tell you to not fucking touch me and get away from you?"

"Alright, and if I tried to get you, would I be able to?"

"No. I am faster, stronger, and more resilient than you." Ignoring the fact that he had been dying alone in the woods only minutes earlier...

"Exactly. You can beat me in a fight if you need to. So can I take those things away from you?"

"... no."

"So what can I gain from giving you things?"

Aziphem didn't have an answer, instead choosing to silently hide in his defeat blankets and eat his defeat soup. Did Warren really want nothing from him?

"Then why are you helping me?"

"I wake up every day and ask myself that question." There was that stupid crooked grin again... "You got me roped into this mess, figured I might as well ride it out with you. Besides, I'm a doctor, a real one mind you, and it's my job to help people."

Stupid human, he wasn't a person, he was a creature. And a violent one at that. When would Warren figure that out? Aziphem knew he would eventually, but for now... for now he could accept this defeat and let Warren give him these things. Even if they would be taken away, even if he knew he would be hurt or abandoned for it.

Right now, he just wanted that stupid human, his stupidly delicious soup, his stupid jacket that smelled like him, his stupid crooked grin and the stupid way he made Aziphem feel safe, even if he couldn't trust it.

"Thank you- Warren."

Writing Tag: @whumpsday @whumpinthepot @quietly-by-myself @whatwhumpcomments @mel-the-pirate @dont-look-me-in-the-eye @roblingoblin285

@emcscared-whumps you wanted to be tagged in Azzi and Warren stuff still, right? If not, sorry for the tag!!!

#whump #whumplr #Caretaker #hypothermia #environment whump #Warren #Aziphem #Recovery #post-whump #demon whump #demon whumpee #non-human whump #human caretaker #writing #whump recovery

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noirineverysense · 2 years

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WIJ Day 3 - Lost

Another alarm blares, another warning light on the dashboard. An endless emergency.

"274, 274 come in."

Her eyes widen, scrambling for the radio.

"It's 274 calling into mission control. I've veered off-course, can you- "

"274 come in. Answer."

"Yes, I need a course correction, please can- "

"Have we lost contact?" The voice now seemed to be aimed away from the microphone as if the operator was talking to someone else.

"Can you hear me? I need help."

"274, please answer- ", the voice crackles out and she lets out a frustrated rush of breath.

"Yes, I can hear you. I've veered off course, I need a- "

She's interrupted this time by white noise, she calls again but there's no response.

She pushes down the wave of panic, continuing to try and call base, but the static is all that answers.

Suddenly, there's a rumble of interference and she strains her ears to try and make out words. But then the noise falls into the unchanging static.

Another warning light flashes angrily at her to pay attention. But she doesn't find the strength to try and do something. Instead attempting to contact base again.

But the static cuts, leaving silence.

She checks the warning message, another structural integrity issue. Technically very bad, but it's the fifth one now. She gave up on metal sheeting and screws, instead reaching for a roll of tape, pulling the end out and cutting it with her teeth. She moves in floating steps to stick it in that annoying back corner that won't just stay and sighs.

She looks around the shuttle, finding the patchwork of metal, the rattling screws ready to give at a moment's notice and the thin sheets of metal between her and the void.

She keeps her spacesuit on, it's bulky and terrible to sleep in but at least it'll give her time when the ship inevitably gives up on her.

Strapping herself into her chair, she watches out of the wind shield. She was supposedly meant to be seeing Jupiter around now, spending time investigating it's moons, but there's only an inky darkness. It's not like she could miss the giant gas planet in any case.

She attempts to radio base again, but there's no response, not static or sound at all. They're quick to give up on those they send out.

Maybe 275 is being sent out soon, a friend to join her in the uncaring darkness. To crash on an asteroid or freeze to death, your spacesuit becoming your coffin.

Another alarm sounds.

Limited oxygen.

Or that.

@whumpmasinjuly

#whumpmasinjuly #wij22day3 #environment whump #space whump #lost communication

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lights-out-knives-out · 1 year

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Hiya @whatwasmyprevioususername this one goes out for you

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Again and again Mikey was hit down, just to be dragged back up again.

His skin was scratched raw as his face was pulled along the cold concrete.

With one last painful tug to his hair, he was pulled up to his knees.

Jakob smiled coldly at him, “Having fun?”

Mikey returned the smile with his own bloody one “No way, I give you one star, terrible experience don’t recommend.”

There was a harsh crack as Mikey was struck across his already bruised face “I didn’t bring you here to be cocky, boy.”

Mikey gasped in pain as blood poured from his lips.

“You know it’s not too late…” Jakob said tilting up Mikey’s chin “… to take me up on my offer. Just say the word and all your debt will be forgiven.”

The young man trembled under Jakob’s touch.

“Come on~”

Mikey spat blood at Jakob “Piss off”

Jakob sighed as he stood, wiping the blood off his face. “I had high hopes for you, Mikey.”

“But not as high as your fall, Toss him.”

“What??” Mikey sputtered as he was dragged backwards, legs slipping on the frozen concrete.

“Wait- Jakob! Hey! Fuck!” Mikey swore as Jakob quietly followed him to the ledge

Strong hands pulled him up, Mikey shivered against the wind gritting his teeth as his feet found the ledge.

The hands went to shove “Wait! Jakob! I-I’ll do it!”

Everything froze around him, and for a split second Mikey thought he saw Jakob’s face change. But even if Jakob had changed his mind it was too late, his feet left the ground and Mikey went tumbling into he dark.

===================================

Snow was falling when Mikey finally opened his eyes. It drifted it little white tufts, highlighted against the black sky.

Groaning he pulled himself up, shaking off the fine dusting of snow that had collected on his skin.

Mikey stumbled as he tried to walk, catching himself on a tree. Hissing in pain he pulled his burning hand away. Squinting in the fading light he saw that the skin on his palm was rubbed raw, bits of wood and ice clinging to it.

Shifting to lean on his shoulder, Mikey held his hand close to his chest.

He took a step, swaying a little, and pressed up against the next tree to balance. Wobbling between trees, he began to walk.

+++++++++++++++

Mikey’s breath came in short gasps, little bursts of fog clouding his vision.

The coldness crept through his body as he walked, numbing the pain, replacing it with an icy burn.

Pushing himself off of another tree, Mikey stumbled and fell, finding himself on an incline. Dizziness overtook his body, forcing him to crawl upwards.

At the top, he found himself in a clearing, next to a road. A Road! Forcing through the pain and exhaustion, Mikey stood.

With nothing to lean on, gravity took over.

Mikey was unconscious before he even hit the ground.

#whump community #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #environment whump #idk how to tag this #thanks to my beta reader #frostbite #there is a part 2 #whumpee #whumper #fucking hate him so much #multiple whumpers #??? maybe #my writing #micky

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whump-in-the-coffee-cup · 10 months

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Whumpfic in Progress I

Whumpfic in Progress is a series where I share my WIPs! They are mostly fandom-specific, but its still a whumpfic nonetheless <3

CONTENT WARNINGS: environment whump, unable to move, bleeding out, stranded

Akira had took a heavy hit for another Thief, though he couldn’t properly recall who it was. Before he was separated by a blizzard, summoned by the very shadow that ambushed them in the first place. He had crashed on some part of the cognitive world, alone and aching. The mix of electricity and, almost drug-like, psionic damage on his back kept him glued to the snow.

The blizzard was enough to mess with Oracle’s communication system. He was practically stranded, injured and bleeding out.

whumping the persona 5 protagonist for a change

#musings #true self; persona #environment whump #ambush whump #whump writing #whump excerpt

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whump-captain · 5 months

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it's a beautiful day in the unethical lab and you are a horrible test subject

#thinkin about lab whump again #and about like. how delicate real science and real experimentation would surely be.#and how little effort it would most likely take to become just an apocalyptic fucking nuisance in an environment like that #kinda want a kintsugi lab chapter au in which ethan is not manipulated into consenting to all the stuff done to him #and instead embraces sabotage #lucy: i can't imagine what horrors he must be enduring in those cruel labs #ethan: i have contaminated all of their control samples #ocposting

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fantasywhumpco · 1 year

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Love it when a character is forced to perform some painful wound care, first aid, or even things that might qualify as minor surgery on another under harsh conditions where they don't have access to anesthesia, painkillers, or proper equipment.

#whump tropes #whumpblr #whump community #hostile environment #medical whump #caring for injuries #improvised medical care

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peachy-panic · 6 months

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BBU: Hollywood

This idea took root and wouldn't let go. Can't say for sure if this will be A Thing, or just a one-off teaser of a thing, but here it is nonetheless.

WARNINGS: BBU, implied noncon, implied noncon drug use, the fucked up film industry

“Cut!”

He doesn’t realize the cameras have stopped rolling until the shrill ring of the bell jolts him back into his body, and out of the one he’s been inhabiting since the last call of action. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink for a few moments, still caught in the blurry line between characters. Sometimes it takes a few seconds to remember which mask he's wearing.

There is a flurry of movement around him; PAs rush past, murmuring into their headsets, toting plush robes and glass bottles of sparkling water. Hair and makeup swoop in to invade everyone’s space, making their minute adjustments before rolling begins anew.

When he returns to himself, Henry's cheeks are cold with drying tear tracks, and his heartbeat pulses lightly in his lips.

His scene partner is already turned away, her attention attuned to the phone in her hand while a woman with frizzy hair attends to her smudged lipstick. Distantly, Henry knows if he touches his fingertips to his own mouth, they will come away in the same shade of red. Seconds ago, they were locked in an embrace, their tears mingling in the neckline of her silk gown, whispered words of affection spilling between them, and now Henry doesn’t exist. He won’t again until the cameras are pointed at him. Only then does he become alive.

A cold, acrylic nail hooks his chin and turns his head. His personal makeup artist is a woman named Kat in her late thirties with a sleek, blonde bob and smile lines around her eyes. She’s worked on every one of Henry’s films, and she has never spoken to him directly. On instinct, Henry lets his eyes fall shut, slipping back from the surface as she goes through the familiar routine of touching him up.

From behind the wall of his own little world, he allows himself the indulgence of tuning into the conversations around him. A couple of new production assistants—not much older than him—talk about the food truck that production ordered as an end-of-week treat. (This doesn’t apply to Henry. He is on a strict diet of kale and boiled chicken while he's filming. He is always filming). The wardrobe team talks about grabbing a drink at Stanley’s after wrap today. (He knows that Stanley’s is everyone’s favorite spot because it’s less than a mile from the studio, but he’s never seen it for himself). The assistant director comments on her third cup of coffee of the day. (Henry wishes he could ask for some).

The voices fade and flutter until one cuts through the rest.

“One last take, and we’re calling it, David.”

Henry opens his eyes, and Paul stands directly in front of him.

His sleek, black suit stands out among the crew's workwear, and probably costs three times as much combined. It’s hard not to notice the ways everyone’s demeanor changes the moment the Executive Producer steps onto set. In a way, it’s almost reassuring to know Henry isn’t the only one who shrinks in this man’s shadow. But that’s where the commonality ends. They may fear him, too, but at the end of a fourteen hour day, they are not the ones who return home to Paul Maxwell’s bed.

“Our star needs to be red-carpet ready in an hour-thirty.” Though he’s addressing the director, Paul stares directly into Henry’s eyes. “Be sure that he is.”

He doesn’t need to nudge the makeup artist away so much as she instinctively pulls back when Paul lifts a large hand and touches the tips of his fingers to Henry’s jaw. Henry keeps his eyes where they’ve been beckoned and pretends not to notice the assistants in his periphery who duck their faces away from the display of ownership. Paul’s thumb swipes across the corner of Henry’s mouth, taking with it a smear of Eliza Darling’s expensive lipstick. Then, wordlessly, he releases him.

There’s a renewed sense of urgency as Paul retreats from the chaos, but also one of relief that comes with the last shot of the day—for everyone except Henry.

He was up before the sun, and he knows he’ll be out long after it has set. The worst part about interior days: he doesn’t get to see daylight once. Normally, even the call of his Keeper’s bedroom feels like a reprieve after this many hours of shooting. But tonight, his previous film is set to premier on the other side of Los Angeles, and there is no premier without Paul Maxwell’s shining star.

More importantly, there is no after party without him.

There is no time for exhaustion, not for him. When the caffeine pills have run their course, he’ll be given something stronger, and he’ll take it. Whatever it takes to get through the night that will inevitably become a very long weekend.

“You heard the boss,” David says, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Let’s make it a good one. Clear frame.”

The makeup brushes make a few last frantic swipes across his skin before they scurry away. Liza Darling tucks a blonde curl behind her ear and presses her phone into a nameless PA’s hand. Henry closes his eyes and slips into another man’s skin.

People tell Henry all the time that he’s lucky to lead the life that he does, in his position. It is only in these fleeting intervals of fiction between reality that he might just agree with them.

For the next three minutes, he does not have to be Henry, nor is he the boy with the name from a life he is not allowed to remember. For the next three minutes, he is Brock Layton: twenty-three, rich, and madly in love.

For the next three minutes, he is as free as he’ll ever be again.

“Sound speed,” the mixer calls out, raising the boom pole over his head.

“Rolling,” camera echoes back.

“And, action.”

#bbu #like bbu adjacent?#whump writing #whump #whumplr #Henry The Sad Little Starling #I've thought a lot about how BBU workers would potentially be used in the entertainment industry #because it is such a brutal and demanding work environment #and how they would have this exterior of glamor and stardom #but it would be a gilded cage as they say #and nothing would be as fun as it seems #I have an urge to write the follow up chapter #the follow up chapter being the red carpet (and the after party which is worse)#and i know what youre thinking:#hey peachy what about the 800 other stories you have started and neglected #and to that i say:

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jordanstrophe · 1 year

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Ship wreck whump:

Stranded on an island with whumper, forced to work together for survival -But both are constantly expecting the other to stab them in the back.

Stranded with a caretaker where whumpee gets injured from the wreck. Caretaker has only scarce resources to patch them up.

It’s easy to fall sick when all you have is salty sea water and fruit of questionable origins. The day is blazing, and the night is a frozen wasteland. When whumpee falls ill with a fever, all caretaker can do is try and keep their temperature level.

Bonus points: Whumpee falls ill with whumper, and they’re forced to take care of them. If they die, they both surely will.

Bonus bonus points: Whumper falls ill <:

#whump #whumpe #whumper #caretaker #caretaking #whump prompts #ship wreak whump #stranded whump #whump angst #whumper turned caretaker #hurt/comfort #medical whump #medical prompts #environment whump #whump scenario #whump ideas #whump community #whump writing

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whumpacabra · 2 months

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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)