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whump-about-it · 21 days

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Someone You Deserve

@whumpril Day 9: Self Doubt

CW: angst, empathy fatigue, conditioned whumpee

Whumpee was already asleep when Caretaker got home from work. Curled up on the couch in a nest of blankets and pillows and a tear stained face as they snored softly in contest with the low drone of the tv show they'd fallen asleep watching. They had a bed, but they preferred to sleep anywhere else. Too comfortable they had told Caretaker, I don't deserve it.

Caretaker sighed and took their shoes off quietly, so as not to disturb Whumpee's slumber. If they woke up they would be a mess of apologies for not being awake to greet Caretaker at the door, and Caretaker wasn't in the mood to talk them off another metaphorical ledge tonight. Anyway, Whumpee almost never slept this soundly.

A cold meal Caretaker had asked Whumpee not to make sat on the kitchen table. Caretaker realized with a pang that they had forgotten to tell Whumpee they would be home late tonight. No wonder they were on the couch. No wonder their face was tear streaked and splotchy from crying themselves to sleep.

Caretaker slumped in a kitchen chair and put their head in their hands. How could I be so stupid? They shivered at the thought of Whumpee cooking for them, cleaning, getting ready for the two of them to eat together once Caretaker had gotten home. Had they been excited? Did they hum to themselves as they cut the carrots? Dance around the kitchen while they waited for the oven to preheat? How long had they waited before they realized Caretaker wasn't coming home? Had their food gone cold too? Had they cried at the kitchen table? Wondering if it was something they had done that was keeping Caretaker away?

After a minute Caretaker stood up and went back to the living room, intending to wake Whumpee up and apologize, but they paused in the doorway realizing they didn't even know what they wanted to apologize for. Coming home late? Forgetting to call? For being the worst possible person for Whumpee to rely on?

The doctors had said that it wouldn't be easy. Whumpee's recovery would be slow, and Caretaker needed to have patience, for both of them. But this couldn't have been what they meant. It had been months and Whumpee had barely made any progress. They still rarely spoke if not asked to. They jumped at the slightest moves. And had even called Caretaker "Master" a few times, which made Caretaker's blood run cold just to think about.

Surely Whumpee deserved better than this. Caretaker was falling woefully short of providing what Whumpee needed and they were so far behind they didn't even know what they were doing wrong. Apologizing wasn't going to solve any of that.

Caretaker sighed again and turned back into the kitchen. Tears pricking at their eyes from their anger about their own woeful inadequacy at caring for their friend. They were exhausted, and in a bad mood. It was probably best that Whumpee didn't see them like this. Instead Caretaker scrapped their cold meal into the trash and poured a glass of water, bringing it into the living room and placing it on the coffee table in front of Whumpee as a peace offering for when they woke up. Finally Caretaker placed a small kiss on the top of Whumpee's head before going to their own bedroom, resolving to call in sick tomorrow and spending the day trying to be the person Whumpee deserved.

#whump #whumpril #whumpril2024 #whumprilday9 #self doubt #whumpee x caretaker #whump drabble #tw angst #empathy fatigue #recovering whumpee #conditioned whumpee

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losthavenmine · 1 year

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Whumpril 2023 Day 9: Bruises

#whumpril #whumpril2023 #whumprilday9 #bruises #russell crowe #whump #filmedit #filmgifs #movieedit #moviegifs #dilfedit #dilfgifs #junkfooddaily #dailyflicks #fyeahmovies #cinematv #cinemapix

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drabbles-mc · 1 year

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Who Did This?

Jax Teller & OFC (Diedra Lowman)

For Day 9 of @whumpril's 2023 Challenge: bruises/"who did this to you?"

Warnings: 18+, angst, language, blood/injury

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I fucking loved writing this for these two. The fics I've written for them in the past have been antagonistic but in a much more light-hearted way. This one is just a totally different vibe and I really enjoyed it. Hope y'all enjoy it too!

SOA Taglist: @littlekittymeow @chibsytelford @anditsmywholeheart @i-just-read-stuff @justreblogginfics @buckybarneshairpullingkink @paintballkid711 @jitterbugs927 @fanfic-n-tabulous @mijagif @frattsparty @winchestershiresauce @beardburnsupersoldiers @choochoo284 @artemiseamoon @yourwinchesterbros @nessamc @garbinge @passionatewrites @camelia35 @darqchilddaydreamz @withmyteeth (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

Diedra had never been so glad that a majority of the club was on a run. The last thing she wanted to do was go home when she was like this and have her sister see. Happy wasn’t there to be a buffer an she just didn’t want to risk it. Dakota seeing the state that she was in had a greater chance of making things worse rather than making them better.

However, Happy being out of town with the club did mean that his dorm would be empty and up for grabs. Since most of the other guys went with him, Diedra was assuming that the clubhouse would be pretty dead when she got there. For once, she might be able to lick her wounds in private.

When she pulled into the lot, there was only one bike there. The compound was quiet, and the lights looked like they were all off in the clubhouse. She let out a sigh of relief, instantly followed by a wince, as she cut the ignition on her car.

She crept quietly through the open space of the clubhouse. Her slow, quiet steps had more to do with the pain shooting through her body than it did with her trying to actually be quiet. She fumbled around the bar in search of the first aid kit. Once she found it, she made her way back to where Happy’s dorm was.

Peeling off her hoodie and the t-shirt that she had on underneath, Diedra was left in just her bra on her torso as she looked down at her stomach. She couldn’t help but to let out a wince as she looked at all of the bruises and the two stab wounds that were still leaking blood just below her chest. She let out a shaky breath as she grabbed a medical wipe out of the first aid kit and started to carefully wipe the blood away at least where she was going to need to do some work.

Each time she touched anywhere on her upper body, she was fighting the urge to curse and cry. Everything hurt and was sensitive to touch—she was fairly certain that on top of everything else, at least one of her ribs was bruised or fractured. Another problem to deal with tomorrow.

Digging out some more supplies, Diedra tried to mentally prepare herself for the stitches that she was going to have to give herself. She was used to giving them to other people, but this was going to be different. It hurt when others had given them to her in the past, but at least them all she had to do was try to sit still and let the other person do the work. This was going to be so much harder.

She reached and pulled the drawer of Happy’s nightstand open, blindly feeling around for anything that she could bite down on to keep herself from screaming in pain. Her fingers grazed over the handle of one of his knives. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was going to have to do.

It was the most unsteady her hands had been in a long time as she set about trying to patch herself up. Every touch hurt, and now she was pulling at and piercing the skin that was already starting to darken with bruises.

Her teeth clamped down on the handle of the knife, and it muffled most of the noise that she would’ve been making. One whine slipped past her lips, sounding louder than it really was against the silence of the clubhouse. Her fingers were trembling violently as she fought to keep her grip on the needle that she was closing herself up with.

She hadn’t heard the footsteps over the sound of her own breathing and her deafening vulgar internal monologue. It wasn’t until the door creaked from someone pushing it open further that she realized she wasn’t alone.

Her eyes were wide from shock, filled to the brim with tears from the pain, and yet despite all of that, her face still hardened with anger when she laid her eyes on Jax. She was completely frozen, knife handle still in her mouth and stitching materials in her hands as she waited for him to either say something or leave.

It took a few seconds for the shock of the scene to wear off, but eventually Jax snapped to it and stepped into the room. Panic was written all over his face as he walked closer to her. “Jesus Christ, Di.”

She clenched her jaw for a moment before turning her head and letting the knife drop onto the mattress. “Leave, Jax,” she snapped.

He raked his hands back through his hair, not able to reconcile the sight of her with the Diedra that he was so used to seeing. He’d seen her with some bruises and scrapes before, sure, but he had never seen her like this. He’d never seen her looking like she lost a fight.

“What the hell happened?” he asked as he walked closer, standing next to the bed and looking down at her.

“What does it fucking look like?!” Her breathing was ragged from pain and exertion, and the rapid rise and fall only added to the pain she was already dealing with.

Jax sat down on the edge of the bed and reached to try and take the needle from her so that he could help her. It was no secret to anyone that the two of them never figured out how to get along, but that didn’t mean he was going to leave her to struggle through this on her own.

“Let me—”

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she snapped, doing her best to pull away from him even though in her current position it was hard to do.

The sharpness of her tone got him to stop for a moment. For once in his life he tried to think about what his next move was going to be. He saw the blood smeared down her side and all over her hands, the bruises blooming across her skin. He had no idea how she ended up like that. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

“Who did this to you?” he finally asked.

She shook her head as she went back to trying to close up one of the lacerations on her side. “What’s it matter?” She hissed in pain as she pierced her skin. “Are you gonna run out there and try to save the day? Try to make things right?”

“I��m just trying to fucking help you.”

“And I’m telling you that I don’t want or need your fucking help.”

“Looks like you do.”

“Fuck,” she said as she let her head drop back against the pillow.

Jax waited another moment before saying, “Let me help, Di. I’m all you got right now.”

She let out a short laugh through the pain. “Fuck me. That’s sad isn’t—”

“Give me the goddamn needle,” Jax cut her off as he reached once more to help her.

She hesitated for a moment, still not wanting to let him help her. On top of not trusting him all that much in general, she also didn’t want this to just turn into something that he got to hold over her head after the fact. The last thing she wanted was to owe him some sort of debt. Knowing how that whole family operated, she knew that it was a perfectly likely outcome.

“If you ever mention this shit again…” her voice trailed off.

“I won’t.” A strange brand of relief went across Jax’s face. “I swear.”

He went to take the needle from her and she tightened her grip for a moment. “You ever try to make me feel like I owe you for this shit, you’ll end up in worse shape than I’m in right now.”

Despite the fact that she was shaking and bleeding, Jax believed her wholeheartedly. He nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay.” She relinquished her hold on the needle. “Hurry up, then. Shit hurts.” Jax only made it about thirty seconds into stitching her up when she managed to force out, “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“Not a clue,” he replied with no hesitation.

She let out something that was almost a laugh. “Of course. They had to leave the dumb one behind for me this time.”

Jax took the comment in stride—it was far from the worst thing that she’d ever said to him. “Well, the dumb one is gonna make sure you don’t bleed out all over Hap’s bed.”

True to his word, Jax did manage to stitch up both of her wounds and managed to not make anything worse. It wasn’t the most graceful job, but it worked. He was going to offer to help clean up the blood and try to make things easier, but he figured that he had already pushed his luck enough as it was.

He was wiping some of the blood off his own hands as he watch Diedra slowly stand up from the bed. She couldn’t stretch and was moving slowly, but at least she was moving. Jax silently held out the rag he’d been using. Diedra took it and started to gently pat and wipe away the blood on her side.

She let out a small wince of pain that caused Jax to turn and look back over at her. He watched as she wiped some of the blood away from her bruises. It was only then that he noticed the tattoo that was inked into her hip. The small smiley face probably wouldn’t have stood out to anyone else, especially not stacked up against the rest of her tattoos, but Jax had seen them before—he knew what they meant.

When he pried his eyes back up to Diedra’s, she was already looking at him, a serious expression on her face. Jax cleared his throat and shook his head, a wordless promise to not say anything.

“I’d say thanks, but this didn’t happen,” Di told him.

He nodded, the barest hint of a smile on his face despite the events of the night. “I won’t say you’re welcome then.”

#whumpril #whumpril2023 #whumprilday9 #bruises #who did this to you #soa #soa imagine #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagine #jax teller #jax teller x oc #jax teller fanfiction #oc diedra lowman #oc diedra #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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em-writes-stuff · 1 year

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bruises + “who did this to you?”

@whumpril day 9

warnings: implied past abuse, young whumpee, improper medical care

596 words

hero, villain, sidekick

part two here | part three here

---

Hero grimaces and peels back the bandage, she exhales sharply through her teeth and rips the rest of the bandage off. She leans back against the bathroom sink and takes a deep breath. “Ok,” she says, “It could be worse.”

She lifts her leg up into the sink and runs warm water over the gash, letting the water wash away any debris still in it. While the water runs, Hero presses gently on the bruises along her leg and torso.

She turns the water off and dabs the cut dry with a towel before pressing gauze into it and wrapping it with tape.

“Hey Hero!” Sidekick yells from the other room, “You should see this!”

Hero rolls her pant leg down over the tape and pulls her boots on, “Coming!” She bundles everything together in the now blood-stained towel and shoves it under the sink before unlocking the door and limping into the living room. “What’s going on?”

He points to the screen and sighs, “Looks like Villain isn’t going to wait any longer.”

“Damnit,” Hero runs a hand over her face and stares at Sidekick, “Well, you can’t do anything with your leg, so I’ll have to go in alone.”

“Be careful, please,” he says, eyes boring into hers. “I’ll do your homework if you come back in one piece.”

She smiles, “Deal.”

Villain stops in his tracks, eyes following Hero’s brightly colored outfit. He rolls his eyes and leans against a building, letting the heat from the concrete seep into his shoulder and relieve some of the aching.

He closes his eyes until he hears her voice, “What are you doing?”

He smiles and pushes off of the wall, “I’m just going for a walk.” he says, feigning innocence, “What’s so wrong with that?”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I wouldn’t either.”

She takes a step forward, face pinching together in pain and falls forward. Villain catches her and guides her to the ground, “What? Not even going to let me get a hit in before you tap out?”

She crawls away from him, swatting his hand off of her shoulder, “In your dreams.”

Hero rights herself, leaning heavily on the wall. Villain holds his hands out in front of himself and takes a step back from Hero, looking her over.

She blows a puff of air out and shoves off from the wall, forcing her leg to hold her weight. “I can still beat you.”

He nods and purses his lips, “I’m sure you could. So let’s not fight, yeah? I can take you to the hospital? Or even just drop you off somewhere.”

“No!” Hero blurts. “I don’t need your help.”

She falls again, and this time Villain doesn’t let her go, “Too bad. I know the best doctor in the city, I can get you in to see her right now.” He wraps her arm around his shoulders and holds her up from her waist, “No arguing.”

Hero grumbles and fights against him, but with every second she gets weaker. Her head lolls onto his shoulder and her eyelids droop, “I swear to God, if I wake up anywhere other than the hospital, I’ll kill you.”

“Deal.”

Villain loads her into his truck and starts the engine, looking in the mirror every few seconds to make sure Hero was still breathing.

He speeds over a bump in the road and Hero groans, her hand wrapping around her ribs. Her shirt lifts up with the movement and Villain’s heart stopped at the bruises on her stomach. “Jesus, kid, who did this to you?”

#whumpril #whumpril2023 #whumprilday9 #bruises #who did this to you #hero whumpee #hero whump #villain caretaker #whump #whump fic #whump writing #my writing #em writes #em writes stuff

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tildeathiwillwrite · 18 days

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Reese vs Natali: Duel to the Death (Magican's Bait, Part 5)

WoW Birthday Whump Day 12: Magic Exhaustion / Collapsed / "So tired..."

Whumpril Day 4 (Swaying) Day 9 (Self-doubt), Day 26 (“How could you?”)

WoW Birthday Event Prompts List

Whumpril Prompts List

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

first part | <- previous part | next part (coming soon) ->

TW: duel, knife wounds, magic whump, death, blood, blood loss, dizziness, collapse, fainting

Context: Reese duels Natali. The Stalker may have runes on her side, but Reese has a hidden ace up her sleeve that might win her the day. But at what cost?

Reese didn’t give Natali time to react to the—admittedly very shocking—news that she was not, in fact, Caiya Ebony. She closed the distance between them in three leaping strides and went on the offensive, going for the Stalker’s throat.

Natali ducked backward, her self-satisfied expression wiped from her face. She fumbled with her knives and barely managed to draw one before Reese drove her own blade into Natali’s shoulder.

She screamed in pain and fury, weapon falling from numb fingers as the injured arm went limp. Her other hand went for the second knife, and she swung out, trying to catch Reese in the side.

Reese yanked out her knife and twisted away. Natali’s blade sliced through the fabric of her jacket and left a shallow scratch, but it was better than the alternative. Reese hissed out through her teeth and retreated, allowing the Stalker to make the next move.

Blood streamed down Natali’s arm, and her eyes burned with rage. “You’ll regret that, child,” she hissed. Before Reese could react, the Stalker spoke a rune.

The wind stirred around Reese, lightly toying with her hair, but nothing else happened. Reese grinned at Natali’s shocked expression. “Was that supposed to impress me? You’re gonna have to try harder than that!”

“How?!” The Stalker screeched, repeating the rune as Reese charged at her again. She retreated, going on the defensive as Reese chased her around the room.

Reese didn’t have the energy to spare for an answer. She lunged, knife point intent on Natali’s heart, but Natali knocked aside the blade. Natali tried to counterattack, but Reese blocked the thrust and used her free hand to grab Natali’s wrist.

The Stalker’s eyes were filled with pain, fear, and desperation. She spoke another rune, one Reese recognized all too well. The familiar weight settled on Reese’s chest, and she faltered, struggling to breathe. Natali seized the opportunity and kicked Reese in the stomach with rune-enhanced strength.

The force of the kick threw Reese halfway across the room. Time seemed to briefly slow as the ground came up to meet her. The impact sent fireworks through Reese’s shoulder and back, and she rolled another few meters before stopping. Her knife clattered to the ground, out of reach.

Natali staggered across the room, swaying from blood loss or rune exhaustion. Possibly both. Reese pulled herself to her feet and raised her fists. The closeness of the pit where she’d accidentally tossed Caiya’s cowl unnerved her, and the hairs on her neck prickled.

Natali still had her dagger, but she was wounded. Even hand-to-hand, Reese had the upper hand. Didn’t she?

“I don’t know the extent of your protection, little magician,” Natali hissed, knife raised. She was only a few steps away now. “You may have put up a good fight. But you’re finished, now. Yield, and I’ll let the prince go.”

“Liar,” Reese spat, “and you’re right. You don’t know the extent of my protection. But you’re also wrong. I’m no magician.”

With those words, Reese lunged, ducking under Natali’s swing and diving for her legs, tackling the Stalker to the ground. Pain erupted in her lower back, causing her to cry out, but Reese pressed on, punching Natali in the throat.

Natali gagged and let go of the knife. Reese didn’t hesitate, yanking the weapon out of her back and driving it in between the Stalker’s ribs into her heart. Natali’s eyes widened in shock, and she sagged. Reese didn’t release her hold on the knife until her breathing slowed… slowed… stopped.

Reese exhaled shakily and rose to her feet, retrieving her own knife from the ground. She left Natali’s knife where it was. Head swimming, she staggered across the room to the prince, who stared mutely at the Stalker’s corpse. Reese sliced through his bonds, a simple matter with the rune-engraved knife, and pulled him to his feet. He wobbled on legs weakened during his imprisonment, and they supported each other as they crossed the room to the tunnel where she’d entered.

“How…” Damian whispered when they entered the tunnel, “how could you? How could you resist her runes?”

“It’s simple, really,” Reese muttered, trying to ignore how the floor pitched and heaved beneath their unsteady feet. “I’m a Draigo.”

Damian froze midstep, and Reese nearly tripped over his feet. “A Draigo?! But I thought they were all—”

“Not all of them, your Highness. Just most of them.” She tugged his arm, and he started walking—or, more accurately, lurching—down the tunnel again.

“...so that’s why you’re here,” he mused, “instead of Caiya Ebony.”

“Caiya Ebony is a coward. I’m here because a friend asked me to.” Each step was like another knife in the wound in her back. Was she supporting Damian, or was Damian supporting her? They needed to get out of here.

“Ah.” Silence stretched between them for several steps before the prince spoke again. “Was it the Watcher?”

Reese nodded wordlessly. Was the tunnel getting darker?

“You said your name was Reese Takari, right? Like the diplomat?”

“I’m…” Reese mumbled, “I’m his daughter…. We should be… getting… close….”

Damian paused, concern evident. “Are you alright? Reese?”

The tunnel seemed to blur, and a strange numbness settled over her, like when her limbs fell asleep after sitting on them for too long. She didn’t have time to respond before her legs buckled under her weight.

But she didn’t hit the floor. “Reese? Reese!”

Damian’s voice sounded far away like he was at the other end of the tunnel. Reese wanted to respond, but darkness flooded over her, sending her into the depths of oblivion.

@fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @whumpril

(if you want to be tagged in my writing please lmk!)

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crash-bump-bring-the-whump · 20 days

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Whumpril 2024 - Day 9 - Self-Doubt

Rex is still @cyberwhumper's boy and Vic still belongs to @bxtterflystxtches !! Vic also still has self-worth issues, oops c: This takes place in a fun little military au we have going on!

TWs: self-depreciation, self-worth issues, gun mention, military setting, nightmares, near death experiences referenced, magical exhaustion/overload mentioned

Click click click

They were at it again. Rex and Mariano were doing weapon maintenance. Victory's jaw tensed, looking back at his own gun. It didn't matter, he could still see them. He could see Mariano say something. He could see Rex laugh.

That made something in his gut twist.

It didn't matter. Mariano was Rex's spotter, they needed to do weapon maintenance together. He knew that. It didn't mean anything.

Click click click

It could mean everything. His own hands slowed and his eyes drifted back to the pair as he watched Mariano take the sniper rifle from Rex--Rex's baby, and start disassembling and reassembling it.

It was fluid, and smooth, and deliberate, like everything else the kid did. He made it look effortless. He made it look as easy as breathing. Just like his magic. He could summon plasma that rivaled the sun, clean and pure and brilliant, without so much as a stutter. He could jog miles and miles casually, before morning formation. He could handle Big Dog's big gun as effortlessly as the man himself did.

Click click click

Mariano was good. Good enough to be the wolf's eyes on the field, good enough to be a war mage, to bear those scars from training. He was barely nineteen. Victory's jaw ached.

His hands were scarred, too. Maybe not as deep or as dark, but he had them. His arms still bore the marks of blade training, and torch training. He wondered if they'd ever fade--the dreams sure hadn't. He could still feel Luis' careful touch as clearly as if he'd just left the training room. The hand that slid along his back as he knelt over the metal table, eighteen and furious and terrified.

Click click click

Luis' voice never felt that far away, either, as Mariano's low voice drifted through the open air. Luis had more of a lilt to his voice, he was more emotive overall, but Victory could still hear the similarities. It leached into his nightmares, that calm, even voice of Mariano's and his impassive dark eyes boring into Vic's very soul as his magic shorted and overwhelmed him, as he underwent a nearly-lethal internal meltdown.

Mariano watched him, in those dreams. He watched Victory Montez die on the bloodied training room floor with hardly a whisper of concern. He judged him as he faded, lightning still crackling hot at his fingertips and vision blurry. He watched as Victory Montez washed out of the war mage program, and began to wash out of life itself.

He watched as Victory proved to everyone that he'd never be enough.

The kid was watching him now, Victory realized with a start. Rex was, too. Both of them had stopped what they were doing, and it took a moment longer for Victory to realize that the shitty light bulb above his head was flickering. Face burning, he waved a hand dismissively and started packing his own things away.

The weight of their eyes was just too much to bear. He felt his chest aching, felt the crackle of his own magic racing around in his blood. He couldn't be Mariano. Not as he was, anyway.

He just needed to train more, is all. A few more hours at the shooting range. Going on more runs.

He could be good.

He could be brilliant, even.

He would show everyone just how brilliant he could be.

@lektricwhump @cyberwhumper @bxtterflystxtches @inscrutable-shadow @honeybees-125 @whumperofworlds

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septic-dr-schneep · 21 days

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@whumpril Day 9: Self-Doubt

“I’m sure you did everything you could.”

Silver Shepherd couldn’t help but hiss and not just because of the sting as the King dabbed disinfectant on his gashed knuckles. “Of course I did. I always do,” he grit out. “But that doesn’t change the fact that they still got away. My…My everything still wasn’t enough. This gang’s been running rampant through the city for weeks, everybody’s so scared, they’re all looking to me to do something about it and I’m not enough!”

Nearly imperceptible under his cloak and furs, the King’s shoulders slumped in concern. “Shepherd, you’re only human.”

“Superhuman.”

“But if that isn’t enough, know you have friends and allies to lean on—like Jackieboy Man, like me.” He pried the nearest roll of bandages open with only slight difficulty and smudging of peanut butter. “We’re here to help however we can.”

Shepherd’s hands shook as he clenched them.

#markiplier #fanfiction #drabble and a half #whumpril2024 #whumprilday9 #self doubt #silver shepherd #king of the squirrels #silvercrown #angst

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crimsonlyinglilly · 22 days

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Day 7 Hesitation

also Day 9 Self doubt

Still running late, this time for Day 7 whumpril

But early for day 9. Woohoo

Still with Mother's son and Elijah offers his mother a choice.

-----

There shouldn’t be any hesitation about this.

He knew this had to happen someday when if Freya chose to have another child but he hadn't expected it to come from another source.

He thought Esther had at least ended their lines, as much as learning that hurt, he still missed his little siblings but after that they were meant to be safe from Dahlia.

Freya wasn’t and they learnt from that.

Even years before that he had years to prepare, he had sworn to himself before his wife’s body had cooled, his magic returned by his mother only when she was sure it would be useless.

Ravyn had been bright and sweet despite being chased by her family, one more interested in what they would gain by marrying her to a man three times her age than her; they had met when he was fourteen and her a year older.

He had killed those that followed her before she realised they had found her again, simply because he hadn't wanted her to leave, she saw goodness in everyone, even Dahlia when both her and Freya had given up looking for it.

It was fascinating to Elijah who had learned to crush any positivity since he had been taken, saving it for Freya alone, he could be the person he wanted to be, the one he was before he had decided to become mother’s mirror image.

His first year was a harsh lesson, Dahlia had ensured he hurt every mistake he made, and while he was used to pain from Mikael, bruises and aching muscles was very different from her magic in his mind and coursing through his body.

At nine, losing everything he thought he knew he let resentment keep him afloat, mother kept reminding him that he was her son so he would be, at fourteen with her he wondered if he could be more than a copy.

In the end no matter what good Ravyn saw in his mother, they were the death of her. Dahlia kept his power out of his reach as the blood wouldn’t stop during their third child’s birth.

What he hates most is he knows why Dahlia did it, he understood, scarred by Esther’s betrayal she acted before she thought he could repeat it.

Still understanding it didn’t mean forgiving it.

He had promised Dahlia over Ravyn’s grave marker that his children would be free from her one day.

He couldn’t trust his mother with his children when she still chose her resentment to Esther over those in front of her. He had thought she had started to change from the woman that hurt them in their childhood, Dahlia was an attentive grandmother, even Elijah had watched overzealously for it, unable to truly stop her as his wife insisted on it, she had been so happy to find such a close family as his.

He had never broken her belief in that. Dahlia broke his flickering hope of her changing, even after Ravyn’s death she acted the caring grandmother and Elijah had bitten his cheek until he bled to keep his anger to himself.

He doesn’t think she realised the damage she had caused him and Freya until his sister’s escape failed and he had to explain that it was she who had caused Freya’s actions not Esther.

—

“Ungrateful child” She had snarled as Freya cried over her lost child. “Just like her mother-”

“I would kill my children myself.” he had told her coldly, taking a small amount of joy in the horror he catches in her eyes. “If there was no other way to protect them from you.”

“I’ve never harmed them.” she had snapped back and he had smiled, it could almost be true. but-

“Oh. where’s their mother?” he asked, narrowing his eyes “or did you let your anger and fear control you and take her from us.”

—-

His children were his until they reached their age of majority then they were their own, it didn’t matter the hold his mother had on him they were free, after all her deal was for the firstborn children born of Esther’s line and Elijah wasn’t.

He should have been freed at Sixteen if he hadn’t given himself to her, on the night still haunted by Finn’s screams under her pain spell and everything he had learned, suddenly overwhelmed as his magic more than doubled as their the family magic realised due to his meeting with hers that he was a firstborn.

Esther’s spell had truly made a mess of things.

She had been a comforting voice and offered to help him and he had accepted and ended up as bound to her as Freya.

Maybe more as he could never escape his blood.

However the same wasn’t true for his children.

He had promised Dahlia over Ravyn’s grave marker that his children would be free from her one day. And he was going to keep that promise, the three of them were linked to Dahlia through him and while he couldn’t break his link to her, he could theirs.

They wouldn’t be forced to join them in their century sleep, they could live and grow.

He didn’t want to, his youngest was only just fourteen, he wanted to be there for them, to see them become their own people.

Nico was older than he had been when his oldest was born, his little dragon wasn’t a child anymore, Finnley was the same age as he was then, they could look after Kain together, explain to him why Elijah had to do this.

Besides Nico unfortunately took more after his father and grandmother’s colder more pragmatic traits than any of them would like, he would understand this and would look after his younger siblings.

They knew their uncle Finn and Sage, they would find them if he broke the link. His children could meet his siblings and be safe from Dahlia’s wrath.

Elijah had made plans and gathered wealth over the years in preparation for this; he had just hoped it would never come to this.

Still Elijah hesitates before he lets the words free, this wasn’t any time for self doubt.

There was no point in letting himself question his reasons, this was out of his hands.

If Mother choose to repeat what she had done decades ago and steal a child to sooth her old hurts, she hadn’t changed she was still the one that berated and scorned Freya when she was just an innocent child, she was still the woman who cut into his mind when he was too slow adapting to the change in his life at nine and made sure he could never call her anything back mother out loud without choking on the memories of pain.

His children deserved better than to have that near them anymore.

“You take the child from their family and I'll unlink my children from us.” he lets the words fall in the silence, she twists to stare at him.

“What?” she asks flatly.

“You attempt to repeat what you put Freya through and I'll free my children from you.” he explained, memory of the first year he spent with her before he learned to match her, memory of Freya’s desperation to escape and save her child from her. He takes a deep breath before he starts again meeting her eyes “You have a choice; stealing another child to hurt your sister or getting to see your grandchildren grow and live.”

Cold dark eyes met his and he raised a brow and let the threat- promise settle in the air.

“You wouldn’t, you’ll lose them too.” she tried, he smiled back.

She was right he would lose them, she had a claim on Freya from her deal with Esther and her claim on Elijah was written in his blood thanks to the same woman, but her only link to Elijah’s children was through him. He could free his children but he would remain linked to her.

If she chose her old grudge, the next time they woke his children would likely be dead.

But she was wrong about the first half, he had made up his mind before he opened his mouth.

He kept his word.

He was his mother’s son.

“What is your choice, mother?”

---

Afternotes- out of Elijah's kids, his daughter, Finnley is the only one that still goes by the name she was given when she was born, as she met her uncle Finn around the time her brothers changed theirs as both their names sounded strange centuries later, the oldest asked Elijah to pick his new names, Elijah choice Nicholas, which was shorted to Nico and the youngest picked Kain. Elijah is pretty much the only one they let used their other names now.

#whumpril2024 #whumprilday7 #Whumprilday9 #Hesitation #self doubt #fanfiction #the originals #tvd fanfiction #fic #the originals au #elijah mikaelson #AU- Mother's son #elijah and dahlia #dahlia to

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uuuhshiny · 1 year

Photo

Russell Crowe in The Quick and the Dead

Who did this to you?

#by uuuhshiny #Russell Crowe #the quick and the dead #whumpril2023 #Whumprilday9 #Who did this to you?#whumpedit #Whumpril #uuuhshiny's gifs #power #bruises #RC gifs

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dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night · 1 year

Text

Whumpril Day 9 Bruises

TW: black eye, aggravating an injury, dehumanization, human whumpee, nonhuman whumper, doll whump

Harlow touched his swollen eye, viewing himself in one of Glade's many looking glasses.

It had bloomed with brilliantly purple and gray bruises, his eyelid puffing up so he couldn't see the eye behind it.

Glade appeared behind him. As always, xey lacked a reflection.

"How did that happen?" xey asked.

"I tripped and bashed my eye on one of your menequins."

Glade gripped his face and ran one of xeir fingers over his eye.

"Ow, that fucking hurts."

Harlow wrenched his head back, nearly falling over from the force needed to break Glade's grasp.

"Why do you care?" Glade asked. "I want to look at what happened to you."

"Fuck off."

Harlow stormed away to find somewhere to hide.

Of course, no place in Glade's collection was unreachable by its owner, but he needed a piece of false privacy to tuck himself away in.

Glade caught his wrist. "I'm not done looking at you. What happened to your eye? It changed colors."

"It's just a bruise."

Glade pressed down on it, causing Harlow to yelp in pain.

"Fuck! You can't just do that!"

Glade blinked in surprise. "Yes I can. You're my human. I can do whatever I want with you."

Taglist: @little-flame-prince @anomalys-taxonomy @elim-flower @devourerofcheesecake @thedarkmongoose @whumpsday @whumpshaped @stuffbybean @heavenly-whumper @goronska

Event: @whumpril

#Whump #Doll whump #Nonhuman whumper #Human whumpee #Humanity's Collector #Whumpril #Whumprilday9

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its-my-whump · 4 days

Text

Whumpril 2024 - Day 9

Self-doubt

@whumpril

Tw: some disturbing mental shit, real/unreal suicide attempt, not what it seems, mental issus, hospitalisation

It's disturbing, I'm not sure, what just happened, it wrote itself

'I'm sorry, I'm no fun tonight.' Face sad, head sunken, words clear, but thick with pain.

'Bitch fucked me over. Feels like I handed my heart on a tray. And despite my better judgement, I was trusting this person so deeply, that I simulatiously handed a wooden peg, begging to do anything, but use it against me. My guts told me all along, that there wouldn't,

NO!

couldn't

be a happy ending. There wasn't, cause this person didn't even have the decency to sharpen the plug, but drove it through my heart,

dull and thick as it was, ripping it apart. The healing process seems impossible now.

How could I be so blind? Why haven't I learned my lesson till now? I'm wandering this world for decades by now, but yet I'm still lost.

But this person made me see a path. I knew, we weren't ever going to go it together. Still, I naively hoped for a, if not loving, at least friendly pad on the back, for a goodbye. All I got was a painful hole in my heart and the realisation, that I all did this to myself by trusting, yet I knew, I couldn't, I shouldn't.

I'm just not meant to be happy. I just don't deserve it!!!

Words were swimming before her eyes. Partly from ink desolving from her tears, partly from booze and pills slowly desolving inside her body, entering the bloodstream.

It was a cowardly way to go, but who cares.

Life had no meaning anymore. It even only had for a brief moment, where this person made it sparkle. But it was merely an imagination, a ly to oneself. Life wouldn't hand out presents. Bitch never did!

Hands shaking. It was the stress and emotional pain. Once the pills unfolded the desired effect, it would finally be okay.

Eyelids were getting heavier. The pen was gone, whatever. Arms and legs had stopped shaking, numbness started to spread, slowly. A good feeling. Surrender. Willingly. Embracing it and the spreading darkness. Finally, life had brought her to her knees. Finally bitch won. Let her! She was fighting unfair all the time, she had earned this.

And so had she!

Eyes closed and a peaceful light silence took her into a loving, warm embrace.

×××

He felt heavy, depleted. Eyes prayed open agonisingly slowly. His body was disconnected from himself. There was a constant beep. Brightly light was blinding him, even after he had closed his eyes again.

Trying to move, his arms weight a ton and he could merely lift them a few inches, being stopped.

'Not again!"

Thick leader cuffs bound him to the bed. A beared face was looking down at him. He moaned, as the doctor waved his penlight above every eye.

"Again?" His voice raw and his mouth dry, tongue too heavy.

"Unfortunately, kid." The man's voice sympathic, almost a bit sad.

"How long?" He weakly asked, pressing his eyes close, trying to deal with the pouding headache and the tiredness of his body.

He had an episode again. Remembering it getting harder by the second. Felt like he lived a whole life as a desperate woman being left and wanting, no actually killing herself. His head was spinning.

Every episode was different. But every feeling, he was experiencing was so overly real.

Roaming around in the desolving memories and the heaviness of what his mind just went through, his eyes were just staring ahead.

"Had to sedate you again. You were out for 2 whole days." The doctor stated, trying to lock with his eyes. A desperate huff came through his nose and he pressed his eyes close in desperation again.

"Where have you been this time?" The man in scrubs wrote down some notes on his patient sheet, when he forced himself to open his eyes again looking up from the bed.

"Bad place." He wispered, not willing to give more information right now. The doctor kept silent, watching him patiently over the rim of his glasses.

"What did I do in real life, then?" He asked, his forehead in a fearful wrinkle, his voice even more defented, but he forced himself to look up, his face paled.

"Attacked 3 nurses and went rough in the community area."

He pulled the blanket over his head, as a muted "Fuuuck." came through the fabric.

The shaking, that overtook his body brought back the feeling and memory of 'last night, writing a suicide note' living a life, that wasn't his own. It made him silently plea, he had the chance to end all this for real. He didn't know, who he was, what was real and what was happening around him, when his mind was lost in the void.

The doctor's calm voice pulled him out of his depressing thoughs, when he started to speak again.

"It's only light collateral damage. Not more than a bloody nose and some bruises. Mr. Wilson and Mr. Peters. They are not holding a grudge. Shackles are mandatory, though. Sorry, kid." A momemt of silence followed.

The doctor pulled the blanket down, revealing his patient's eyes. "We have to adjust your medication again. I'm sorry."

My masterlist

#whumpril2024 #whumpril #whumprilday9 #self-doubt #self doubt #mental shit #btw I'm a freak #whump #writing #whump writing #not sure what's wrong with me

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coffeeangelinabox · 20 days

Text

Day 9: Self Doubt

Follows on immediately from Day 8, but changes POV.

“No,” he says quietly to David’s back. No argument. One day, his crimes will be too much for the medtech. He deserves more than this, Darrow should never have swept him up in his crusade.

Tiredness seeps through him, past his bones and down to his very soul.

He knows exactly what David thinks of him and he’s not even sure that the man isn’t right.

They’d been friends once, back when Darrow had first left deserted the service, before he’d had a whole ship and a crew that depended on him, when he’d been nothing but an angry, betrayed no-loner soldier. They’d used to drink together. Laugh.

Darrow remembers feeling close enough to David to open up to about the reasons why he’d run. What they’d done to him. The lies they’d told.

He remembers David doing the same, explaining how he’d only ever wanted to help people, about how the Domain had made it clear that that wasn’t what they valued in, even in their medical personnel.

Once.

And of course, David makes a good point. He could walk off the board, a pawn that refuses to throw his life (the lives of everyone he touches) away in a pointless, unwinnable battle. It could go back to the way it was. He and David and Gene, the friends they had once been, the three musketeers: no longer Darrow standing as a new kind of dictator, running the Valjean as his own petty fiefdom.

He could have peace - Lee is as close to him as any born son, and the rest of his pathetic rabble are his family forged in laser fire. Nico and Casey are mature enough to split, if they had the safety and security, Rosie is little more than a girl (in fact, is one, he treats her as an adult because it suits his purpose, because the Domain presses child soldiers into the field and he cannot stomach the thought that he does the same, that he learned well under their tuition). They’d have children about them. Community.

But he can’t. Why won’t David understand that? (Or is he right? It’s been so many years, so much blood and fire, charred bodies on broken space stations). It is not in him to look after only himself. He has to help the others, that’s how he knows that he’s no longer the Domain’s good soldier. It’s the only truth he can cling to after all this time.

The call, the endless longing for green skies and cool water and soft flora, for meals that taste of more than protein paste. For a long lie in, knowing no one needs him…

But every time he thinks of it. Thinks of putting down his weapons. Thinks of tucking himself away safe and secure.

Well.

What of those whose governments are being taught a lesson by Domain central for refusing to raise taxes to crippling levels and have their climates destroyed, livestock and crop killed, starvation and death inevitable? What about the shanghai gangs who prey on those on the furthest reaches of space, taking the weakest - drunk boys on their first shore leave, children with no connections - to fill berths on their fleetboats? What about the way creativity and art and expression is systematically bred out in the central worlds, removing even the language for free thinking?

Refusing to bury his head in the sand, refusing to allow that, even at terrible cost to his own soul, that’s what makes him a hero?

Isn’t it?

#my writing #whump #whump prompts #introspection #coffeeangelinabox's space opera ocs #take's place straight after day 8 #continuity for a change #posted after midnight #but I'm still totally counting this as my daily challenge #whumprilday9 #whumpril2024 #self dount

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lingeringmirth · 21 days

Text

convenient

Stranger Things | Steve Harrington & the Party | Rating: G | Words: 200 | Angst, Emotional hurt, Steve needs a hug.

Written for @whumpril day 9. self-doubt | Also here on AO3.

The thought came to Steve when he was reaching for his keys from the bowl by the door where he always left them after carefully putting down the receiver into its cradle following Dustin’s call.

Do they only care because I can give them free rides? Am I just convenient?

His knuckles rested against the bottom of the bowl as his fist curled loosely around the keys, not quite picking them up, even as he wanted nothing more than to be out of the empty house and the pool behind it that haunted his nightmares. More thoughts followed even when he tried shaking them loose, because thinking about them wouldn’t help.

Is that the only thing I am to them? Free rides and a big empty house where they can be rowdy and make me get them pizza? Do they even like me?

In the end, he decided that he didn’t care, it was better than nothing to be wanted because he always said yes rather than not being wanted at all. The kids were always better than Tommy and Carol, in any case, even if in some ways they weren’t.

I don’t deserve better, after how I was before.

#whumpril2024 #whumprilday9 #prompt: self-doubt #angst #hurt steve harrington #steve harrington & the party #emotional hurt #stranger things

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isamajor · 1 year

Text

Whumpril 2023 - day 6 to 10

6 - Bad Coping Mechanisms

Drink to forget. This bloody face with an arrow stuck through it. And the other horrors of war. The atrocities that he himself committed. Nebarra reeked of alcohol, was confused in words, in memories. Xelzaz thought it was almost some kind of suicide, at this level. Snatching a bottle of Colovian brandy from his hands, Nebarra sharply retorted that he needed it. That it was for him only to kill two birds with one stone. And in the watery eyes of the elf seen through his helmet, you could see how much the war had affected him, more than he cared to admit. (103)

7 – Unsteady

“A skeever could’ve done a better job.”

Obviously, the Altmer had to make fun of him. Feeling unsteady on his feet, clutching his ribs, Xelzaz hissed in annoyance between his teeth. Even House Telvanni could sometimes suffer defeat. A giant's club had grazed him before he could even cast a spell and it had nastily thrown him against some rocks a little further away. His injuries weren't too serious, just broken ribs and ugly bruises, but left him painfully panting and staggering. Xelzaz hoped his healing potions didn't broke on the impact : he would not ask Nebarra to help him to walk. (105)

8 – Dehydradation

The sun in the Alik'r desert was harsh and biting. Everything felt dry. His skin, his eyes, his tongue. He would have kill for a few drops of water. Nebarra felt dizzy walking under the sun, in the sand and rocks of the desert. If he stopped, he died. Lots of his comrades have already died. He felt his heart pounding faster, its beating ringing in his ears. His head hurted, his limbs hurted, even swallowing was hurting his throat. But he had to move forward. A step, then another one. The thirst was haunting. It was his only thought. (101)

9 – Bruises / « Who did this to you ? »

They found Lucien laying down on the grass. His lips were swollen, his nose bleeding and had some big visibles bruises on the jaw and shoulders. But he was alive, it was all that mattered. Already his companions had rushed to hand him some healing potion but the blow he got to the mouth prevented him to drink it. He tried to move. It only made the Imperial whine, his bruises being too painful.

His ears back and his fangs curled, Inigo growled, visibly furious.

« Who did this to you, my friend ? Tell me, so I can put an arrow through his eyes. » (103)

10 – Shiver / « I'm scared »

Just by the smell, Telmiltarion could smell where the Dragonborn was taking him. He couldn't help an unpleasant shiver running down his spine. A cave. Full of bears. Two of the things he hated the most. The idea of being underground oppressed him and gave him cold sweats. The idea of being trapped underground in the company of ferocious and hungry cave bears made him tremble all over.

« Please don't make me wait for you in the middle of this cave. I've a bad feeling about this place. I'm scared. » (96)

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