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actress4him · 10 days

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Shadow of Death - Modern AU - Burned Toast

Another piece I wrote for the Whumplovers Collaborate gift exchange! This is a married modern Brumaria fic.

Kane and Bruno (mentioned) belong to Izzy.

Taglist: @painful-pooch , @sssunshinebreeze

Contains: lady whump, panic attack, flashbacks, fire, burns, referenced parental death, referenced murder, referenced guns, implied past noncon, referenced gang violence, PTSD, service dog

“What do you think, Shadi? Can I manage to make eggs and toast without causing any disasters?” Kamaria shuts the refrigerator door and turns to look at the American Akita, who’s sitting at attention with her head tilted to one side. “Right, I know. You just want your own food.”

Opening a cabinet and pulling out a can of dog food, she sighs and shakes her head at herself. Bruno has rubbed off on her when it comes to the pets, talking to them like they can understand. If her father could see her now, carrying on a conversation with a dog…he’d probably declare her incompetent and shoot her on the spot.

But he’s not here. Never will be again. And just to spite him, as she sets the bowl of food on the floor she declares, “There you go. At least we know I can handle that kind of food prep.”

She turns her attention back to her own dinner, getting out the eggs and the bread and other necessary supplies - stopping to think before remembering she needs to grease the skillet. She’s made that mistake once, and doesn’t care to repeat it.

Bruno has been trying his best to teach her how to not be so completely hopeless in the kitchen. She feels stupid every time she sets foot in the room. She didn’t even know the most basic things when they first started, like how to use an oven or stove. Not that it’s her fault, as a child her mom had to work and wasn’t around to do much cooking, and for the next fourteen years at the gang’s headquarters she wasn’t allowed to step foot in the kitchen and subsisted off of whatever shelf-stable items she could steal and hide underneath her bed.

But she doesn’t like not knowing things. Knowledge is power. Knowledge can keep you alive.

Right now Bruno isn’t here, he’d taken his German Shepherd, Dante, and reluctantly left this morning for a short business trip. So feeding herself is entirely up to her for the first time since they got married, and she promised him she wouldn’t resort to the cans of cold beans and granola bars she used to live on. She’s done eggs before, though. They weren’t pretty, but they were edible. And toast isn’t hard, now that she knows not to trust the pictures on the dial of how black she wants it to end up.

Or at least, toast shouldn’t be hard. Except that in the midst of focusing hard on getting the eggs right, she glances over at the toaster oven and something inside is on fire.

She’ll blame her reaction later on the fact that it’s unexpected. After all, it isn’t even that big of a fire, not much more than a candle flame, and she can handle those as long as she doesn’t stare at them. But toast isn’t supposed to catch on fire.

Her heart immediately leaps into overdrive and she abandons the pan of eggs, diving toward the toaster. She has to fix it before it gets worse. She can’t let it grow, fire is so unpredictable, can’t let it take anything…

Instinctively, she throws open the oven door, but it’s the wrong move. The influx of oxygen makes the small flame flare to life, engulfing the bread inside and shooting out to lick at her hand.

Kamaria launches herself backwards, her spine slamming into the counter across the small kitchen. Suddenly she’s breathing too much and not enough all at the same time.

No no no no no no

She grips her burned hand tightly, but her shoulder hurts even worse.

The ceiling crumbles over her head, chunks of glowing orange showering down around her

It’s not real. It’s not real, she needs to get a grip on herself, but the flames are still there, right in front of her, and she can smell the burning.

Smoke clogs her lungs, she can’t breathe

Her chest aches. She doubles over forward, clenching her eyes shut, but the flames only multiply in the darkness.

It’s everywhere, covering every wall, leaping out at her as she stumbles through the hall and down the stairs

The smoke alarm starts screaming somewhere overhead. Kamaria lets out a strangled cry and crumples to the floor, shoving herself backwards against the cabinets and burying her head in her arms.

She can’t find her mom

Strangers are in her house, snatching her up and running outside, but they’re not her mom, she needs her mom

The whole world is on fire, there’s fighting everywhere, she’s screaming and crying but across the street her neighbors are dying, bleeding on the pavement

A man with a gun throws a woman onto the ground and straddles her

It won’t stop. It just won’t stop. Shadi is trying her best, licking and nudging, but the memories just keep coming.

Kane’s laughing face leaning in close to hers, his hand wrapped around her throat

Taunts in her ear of how worthless she is

The fire is everywhere

Fingers carve burning paths through her skin, touching, always touching

A loud bark in her ear jolts her back to the present. Kamaria’s eyes go wide and she gasps in a hoarse breath, taking everything in. The alarm is still blaring, threatening to drag her back under, but she can’t see fire anymore, just a stream of smoke and a burned smell permeating the air.

Shadi starts licking her arm, doing whatever she can to make sure her owner stays alert now that she’s gotten her back. Which is good, because the images are still pressing at the edges of her mind. She can still feel his hands on her, still feels like she’s choking.

“Shad-…” She tries to force the command out past the phantom fingers digging into her throat, panting in between each word. “Shadi…search.”

Immediately the dog is off like a rocket, checking every corner of every room in the house for intruders. Kamaria squeezes her eyes shut, then opens them again, trying to figure out the best way to keep herself from slipping until Shadi gets back to help.

She knows there’s no one here. Just like she knows that the night the gang burned her neighborhood was ages ago, and that Kane is long gone, and that the fire and her captivity at his hands were completely separate events divided by seventeen years.

But she’s learned by now that the trauma - she still hates calling it that - doesn’t care about those details. That doesn’t mean the nonsense that she feels doesn’t make her angry, because it does. She wants to be over this by now. She wants her brain to stop making her think things that can’t possibly be true, to stop mixing up and linking events for no reason.

She also wants to stop thinking about how Roderick would use all of this against her if she was still back there, how maybe he and her father were right not to let her near the kitchen, how the former Shadow of Death shouldn’t be crying on the kitchen floor because she burned her finger.

Shadi returns and sits next to her, ears perked as she waits for her next instruction. All clear. The house is safe. There’s no Kane, no Roderick, no other gang members lurking.

Her next breath comes a bit easier. “Lap.”

The dog immediately settles across her legs, still looking up at her eagerly. She isn’t trained to offer grounding pressure automatically in these situations, because Kamaria doesn’t respond well to being touched during or right after a flashback. But right now she thinks she’s ready for it. The hand that didn’t get burned begins stroking the soft fur, from head to tail, over and over in a soothing rhythm.

It isn’t even that bad of a burn. She glances briefly at it, and the skin is slightly pink but nothing like her other burns. It won’t leave a scar. Her shoulder still hurts worse than anything, and that’s just phantom pain that will hopefully ease soon.

For a long time she just sits there, focusing on her breathing and the feeling of Shadi’s fur beneath her fingers. The smoke alarm cuts off right after the dog’s return, and she relaxes into the silence. There’s no fire, and no Kane. She’s safe. Bruno isn’t here, but he’s safe, too, and he’ll be back tomorrow.

Drawing in a deep breath, she pushes to her feet, Shadi jumping up and standing at attention. “I’m alright, girl,” Kamaria murmurs. Her head spins a little, and her legs feel shaky and half numb, but the worst of everything has passed. She purposely ignores the toaster oven for now. She’ll deal with it later. Her eggs are fried to a blackened crisp that smells horrendous, and she doesn’t want to deal with that right now, either, so she just flips the burner off and tosses the whole skillet, eggs and all, into the sink. She’s not sure the skillet will ever be the same again, anyway.

Still leaning against the cabinet for extra support, she turns to look at Shadi, who has relaxed just a little but is still watching her. “So…it’s a hard no on the eggs and toast.” She glances at the upper cabinet next to her. “Think Bruno will be too mad if I have a granola bar for dinner?”

She knows he won’t. The man couldn’t truly be mad at her if his life depended on it, and once he finds out what happened he’ll fully understand. She should probably call him now, actually, he’ll want to know and it will help erase the last of the jittery feeling in her chest.

So she takes her granola bar and goes into the living room, curling into a corner of the couch with Shadi tucking herself in right beside her. She turns on the tv to a classical music station for some background noise so that she doesn’t start hearing noises that aren’t there, and taps Bruno’s name in the recent calls on her phone.

A soft smile spreads across her face as soon as she hears his voice in her ear, the last of the tension easing from her shoulders. “Hey, hon. I’m…I’m good. I just, uh…thought I’d let you know that I’m never making toast again…”

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actress4him · 10 days

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OC List:

Lainey and Isa

Whumpees:

Lainey

(Picrew: djarn)

She had a good life - family, boyfriend, job at a cute bookshop. But she also has magic, and not everyone is okay with that. So now she's trapped in a man's basement, trying her best to keep hope alive for both herself and the girl who was a stranger before all this started, and looking for a chance for them both to escape.

——

Isabela

(Picrew: djarn)

Five years ago, she was snatched away from her family and friends and locked away by a man who hates people with magic. Ever since then, she's gone through countless horrors all on her own. But she's not alone anymore. Now she has someone else stuck here with her, and she's not sure if the hope that Lainey's optimism brings makes their situation better or worse.

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

Whumper:

Sir

Lainey and Isa might not know his name, but his thoughts about them are clear - he's determined to both punish them for their magic, and figure out a way to cleanse them of it.

#character list #oc list #whump oc #whump blog #lainey and isa

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actress4him · 11 days

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I think I did this right!

My words: whisper, leave, felt, bridge

Your words: shock, red, tear, clear

Tagging with no pressure: @inscrutable-shadow , @aprilwaters , @emcscared-whumps , @whumperofworlds , @paintedpigeon1 , and anyone else who wants to join! Whisper - "Lainey and Isa"

And worst of all…Isa’s right. It’s been too long. They should have been here by now. Except she doesn’t know that for sure, and she keeps trying to remind herself that she’s clueless about time right now and she doesn’t know what all they might have to do first that might hold them up. But there’s this pit in her gut, a whisper in her mind saying that she just experienced two full days outside, she should know what it feels like.

Leave - "The Shadow of Death (Soldier Boy AU)"

He charges, and she instinctively swerves before forcing herself to stop again. The sooner she allows him to get it over with, the sooner he’ll leave her alone. So she stays still while he decks her across the face, while he holds her by her hair and punches her in the ribs and stomach over and over, while he slings her at the wall, knocks her down, and begins to kick her again. The only thing she does to defend herself is cover her head with her arms and tuck her knees to her chest.

Felt - "Querencia"

At last she pulls away, trying not to breathe too hard from the exertion. The invisible wound through her ribcage is worse than anything she’s felt before, like molten lava was poured inside of her. If she moves too much in any direction, it’s sure to flare, and she’s not sure if she’ll be able to keep from passing out. As it is, she’s struggling not to press her hand to the spot.

Bridge - "Black, Yellow, Blue, Green, Orange, Pink...Red"

“Ah. Here we are. This gathering of dots here is, of course, all of us, together on the bridge. And Number Four’s dot is…” Coran purses his lips, spinning and tilting the model around. “There!” He points to the single, lonely red dot, much farther down in the ship than they are. “Hm. He appears to be in one of the utility rooms. It’s usually only accessed for maintenance purposes.”

Word Find Tag

Thank you @kaylinalexanderbooks and @sleepywriter00 for the tags! Posts here.

My words: habit, presence, hate, owe | conceptual, burning, tease, dread

Your words: whisper, leave, felt, bridge

I'm going to leave this an open tag today. ✨

From The Prince of Thieves:

Habit

An old habit of hers remains—she pulls with a gentle, light-as-air touch at one of my curls, stretching it and watching it spring back with vigour.

Presence

She is heedless of my presence in her slumber, yet she twitches as if the thud of every metallic footfall reaches her in her dreams.

Hate

I nod, afraid to say a word and ruin this moment, this moment from a nightmare that is sweetened only by the fact that after everything, he has decided not to hate me after all.

Owe

“Just remember this, Miss Cooper: I owe you nothing.”

Burning

“I saw you burning that little note the other night, you know.”

Tease

“Ooh. It can be taught,” Jamie teased, and Will glared at him, pulling off one of his noxious socks and lobbing it across the room.

#tag game #open tag #writblr tag games #whump snippet

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actress4him · 15 days

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Siren - Marked

Here's another piece from the Whumplovers Collaborate gift exchange! This is much further along in Siren's story than the last piece I posted, taking place after she's been training for quite some time.

Masterlist

Contains: lady whump, living weapon, conditioned whumpee, branding, restraints, non-sexual partial nudity, dehumanization, muzzle, superpowered whumpee, referenced corporal punishment, brief ableism, collar, ASL user

Siren had never been in this room before. A guard had come to her cell, like they normally did for training or for corrections, and brought her here, but she didn’t know yet what was going to happen. She hoped it was training. She didn’t think she’d done anything bad to need a correction, and she was so close to finishing her training.

So close to being a true weapon, to being ready for her handlers to use however they needed her. It would happen any day now, she was sure of it. She wanted it so badly. They’d be so pleased with her, and she’d get to go outside…

But she wasn’t supposed to want. That was one of the lessons she was still trying to learn, that she had to learn if she was really going to be a good weapon. She wasn’t allowed to want things, that was only for people, not weapons.

So she stood still against the wall, hands at her sides like they should be, and tried to make her thoughts quiet while she waited.

It was a long time before the door opened, but she was used to being alone with nothing to do for a long time. She didn’t know the man who came in. Her thoughts immediately came back to life, with all kinds of questions about who he was and what he was going to do with her. Was he a handler? A trainer? Was he new, or was this something new she was going to get to do?

Questions were not for weapons, though, so they all stayed safely inside her head where no one else could know them.

The man paused inside the door, and she could feel his eyes on her, though she kept her chin tilted down just like she should. “Hm. You must be…” He looked at a paper in his hand. “Codename: Siren.” The paper dropped to his side as he stared at her some more. “Why don’t they have you muzzled?”

Immediately, she lifted her hands to sign an answer. Questions from trainers and handlers had to be answered quickly and truthfully, always. “I am not required to wear a muzzle anymore, except during some corrections.” That had taken a very long time to get used to, after wearing one all the time for as long as she could remember, but she obeyed so well now that her handlers trusted her without it.

Not that she ever used her voice before that, anyway. She didn’t like hurting people. That was her job now, but she still didn’t really like that part of it.

Her first owners didn’t care about that, though. They didn’t trust her no matter how good she was for them.

The handler waved the paper at her. “I don’t understand that motioning nonsense, and it was a rhetorical question, anyway. You’ll wear a muzzle here with me. I don’t care what their rules for you are.”

Oh. He was one of the ones who didn’t understand her signs. There were several of those, so it wasn’t new, but it always gave her that feeling in her stomach that she didn’t like. Almost as if she was a monster again, back before she knew sign, back when she couldn’t talk to anybody at all.

And…he was going to muzzle her. Did that mean this was a correction? Her heart started beating a little faster.

Walking across the room, the handler set down his papers and opened a cabinet, coming back toward her a moment later with a muzzle just like her normal one in his hand. She tipped her head up toward him without needing to be asked, keeping her eyes down. The muzzle slid into place, locking her jaw tightly, and the handler tugged the strap on the back of her head a little harder than most did so that the edges dug slightly into her face.

He then pulled a familiar remote from his pocket, and all of Siren’s muscles tensed. She was being so good, she hadn’t done anything wrong since he’d been in here, she was standing still just like she should and she’d answered his question even though he couldn’t understand her…

She was braced for the pain, but it didn’t come. All he did was check the remote, then run a finger underneath her collar, adjusting the metal prongs that pressed into her skin.

“Don’t make me have to use this,” he ordered, pocketing the remote. “I will if I have to, but if you mess up my work you will be very sorry.”

Still tense, Siren nodded quickly. Her hands ached to sign the, “Yes, sir,” that was normally expected of her, but she didn’t think this handler would want that.

He walked away, disappearing into the corner, and she didn’t dare turn her head to see what he was doing. There was a clanking sound, and she almost thought she felt heat from that side. She swallowed and took a couple of deep breaths, in and out. Any possible excitement she’d felt before he got here was completely gone. All she felt now was a nervous desire to know what was about to happen.

It took a few minutes before he said anything else. “Shirt off.”

She obeyed immediately. Obeying orders like that wasn’t something she had to think about anymore, not after all this time and all of the training that she’d been through. That didn’t mean that her thoughts weren’t spinning, though, trying to figure out his plans.

Why did he need her shirt off? That normally meant she was going to get corrected. Whipped.

But no one had said anything about a correction. Maybe it was something different. Maybe a new uniform? They had her change sometimes, they’d even measured her not long ago. This could have something to do with that.

She set her shirt neatly to the side and returned to standing against the wall. Another minute passed, and the handler walked back into view, this time not holding anything.

“Step forward, hands out.”

Again, she obeyed, trying to calm her racing heart and mind.

He reached over and pulled a handle on the wall, and a chain with cuffs on the end lowered from the ceiling just in front of her. Siren’s thoughts came to a sudden halt. She stood perfectly still, allowing him to lock the cuffs around her outstretched wrists, but all of her focus was on keeping her face blank and unmoving.

She was being restrained. That was exactly what she’d feared. But…that meant she really was being corrected. And she didn’t know what she’d done wrong.

She usually knew. It was usually obvious, and if it wasn’t, her handlers would tell her. But this man wasn’t telling her anything, and no matter how much she desperately searched her memories, she couldn’t come up with a reason.

What had she done wrong? She thought she’d been so good.

The man pulled the handle again and the chain started going back up, taking her hands with it until they were up above her head. He stopped it before she was stretched any further, though. Often if she was hung from chains, they would leave her on her tiptoes, or not touching the floor at all. Right now her feet were still flat. It was much more comfortable than usual, but she barely noticed.

He still wasn’t telling her anything. That was okay, though. Right? It was good. She was a weapon, she didn’t have to know things. The handlers only told her what she needed to know to do her job. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to learn to do better if she wasn’t told what she’d done wrong, but that wasn’t her place to wonder, either.

She’d just stay awake in her cell later, thinking of every single thing she’d done lately until she figured it out herself.

He walked to the corner again, leaving her there, and she felt that wave of heat once more. “You must be very, very still for this. No moving, and absolutely no screaming. As I said, if you mess this up, I’ll have to do it again and you’ll be corrected.”

Siren nodded, even though she wasn’t sure if he was looking. No moving and no screaming. Whatever was coming was going to hurt, that was obvious. But she’d done this many times before. Her trainers had made sure that she could take all kinds of pain well.

Her chest shuddered slightly as she drew in the warm, moist air inside the muzzle, but the next breath was stronger. She was a weapon. She could do this.

The man came closer, and the heat followed him. Siren was gripped with a sudden memory of the time hot water had been poured over her arm as part of a training session. The skin there was still a different color than the rest.

But this was not water he was carrying. It was a rod, with a larger piece on one end. She couldn’t make out what the shape of the piece was, she was far too focused on the way it glowed a bright yellow, the air around it wavering with the heat that came off of it.

“Stay still,” he ordered one more time. Then he pressed the glowing hot end into her side.

Bright white light flashed across her vision. Everything around her disappeared, her world narrowed down to just the pain burning through her, eating away at her skin. She didn’t know if she moved. The only part of her body that existed was the part that was on fire. It spread across her stomach and up her ribs, everything too hot, sizzling, choking her with its smell, until the spot where the rod remained felt intensely cold in comparison.

She didn’t scream, though. That part she was sure of. Her voice was still carefully locked inside of her, never ever to be used without a handler’s permission.

Eventually, the room faded back in. The handler and the rod weren’t even there anymore. Siren gasped in a breath, and it felt like the first she’d taken in hours. Her side throbbed in time to her heartbeat.

Her wrists ached, too, almost unnoticeable next to the other pain, but enough to make her realize that she was dangling from them, legs no longer supporting her. So she had moved. She’d disobeyed. She hadn’t meant to, but that wasn’t important.

The handler came back, without the rod, as she was standing back up. He leaned over to inspect her side, fingers prodding at the edges of the burn. Siren stopped breathing as everything went white again for a moment.

“Hm.” He straightened back up, still looking at her side. “You did well enough that I won’t have to redo it. Your handlers can decide whether or not they want to correct you for anything.”

Before she could fully process that, he moved the handle on the wall again and the chain holding up her hands loosened. Unprepared for the change, she buckled. Her side screamed in pain with the movement. She was too busy panicking to pay much attention to it this time, though, forcing her body to scramble back upright despite the way every move made everything so much worse. She couldn’t be on the floor. She hadn’t been given permission, she had to remain standing until she was told differently.

The handler watched her, grunting a little when she was back in position, then leaned in to release her hands. “I’ll certainly be telling them about how all of this went. You need quite a bit more work, in my opinion, but we’ll see. Your time will come, though, and when it does, you’ll have to prove yourself worthy of this mark. It tells everyone who you belong to, so you must make sure you’re not a disappointment.”

He turned away, grabbing his papers, as Siren let his words run through her head, trying to understand them. A moment later, he was gone. She glanced toward the door, then took a careful step back so that she was against the wall again. Her whole body trembled, and sweat coated her skin despite the fact that she was starting to shiver. She hoped very badly that she’d be allowed to rest in her cell after this, but…she hadn’t been completely good. She was probably going to get a correction.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt as bad as this did.

She still wasn’t sure whether this had actually been a correction, though. He’d acted very strangely about it. A…mark? That told everyone who she belonged to? That’s what he’d said.

Slowly, holding her breath, she tipped her head down to look at her side. At first all she saw was bright red lines surrounded by white, some dotted with blood. It made her stomach turn. But she kept looking at it, needing to understand, and in a moment she was able to see it.

These were very specific lines, gathered in a certain shape inside a circle. She knew those lines. She’d seen them so many times before - on the papers that the trainers and handlers sometimes carried, on doors that they passed in the hallway, on the chest of every uniform of every person she’d ever seen. And now they were on her. Burned deep into her skin, probably never to go away.

It all made sense now. The papers, the doors, the uniforms…they belonged to her owners. She belonged to her owners. She was marked, so that everyone who saw her would know that she was their weapon.

Siren let out her held breath as her confusion settled within her. The pain was still there, and she never wanted to have to go through it again. But she was glad to have the mark. It meant that she was almost ready. Not a monster anymore, but a true weapon, just like she’d worked so hard to be.

She was going to be the best weapon that her owners had ever seen.

#siren the weapon #living weapon whumpee #lady whump #lady whumpee #superpowers #magical whumpee #conditioned whumpee #dehumanization #restraints #branding #muzzle #ableism #non sexual nudity #collar #whump writing #whump series

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actress4him · 22 days

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Siren - The Monster

This is the earliest Siren piece I have written to date, created for the winter gift exchange on Whumplovers Collaborate.

Siren does not yet have a taglist, but I’m happy to make one for her if anyone is interested!

Masterlist

Contains: lady whump, dehumanization, shock collar, needles, lab setting, conditioned whumpee, restraints, muzzle, superpowered whumpee, captivity, sensory overload, panic, malnutrition

Everything was always the same for the monster. She stayed in the cell, and people brought her food. If she moved or if they were angry, they hit her before they left. They didn’t talk to her much, except they liked to remind her that she was a monster. After two times bringing food, the lights would go off, and she would sleep. When the lights came on, she woke up and more food came. In between foods, she slept, and twisted her hair together, and practiced her hand signs that she made up in case she got to use them someday.

But then everything was not the same. The people came in, but they didn’t bring food. They brought chains to put around her wrists and ankles, and a sharp thing to push into her skin. The monster gasped because it hurt. That made the people grab her hair and pull back her head, and growl at her to behave. Behave meant to sit still and not move and not hurt anyone. She’d figured that out all on her own, because they said it so much.

She didn’t want to hurt them, though. They always thought she was going to hurt them, but she never did. She didn’t like hurting people.

She was just scared. Everything was different, and she didn’t understand why.

But she behaved, just like always. Even when her body started to feel heavy, and she couldn’t keep her eyes open, and that was not the same, either, that was not how falling asleep usually happened…she still behaved.

Even when she opened her eyes again, and everything was different - a different cell, a different muzzle, different people wearing different clothes, different clothes for her - she stayed still and quiet and didn’t hurt anyone. She was so afraid that her chest hurt and the cell sometimes looked like it was moving around her, but she just watched the people come and go, and waited until she was alone again to get up and look at everything.

It was the same grey floors, the same white walls, the same hard silver bed and white toilet and sink. But it was not the same. She knew her cell, she’d spent her whole life in it, and this was not her cell. The door was in a different place, and there was one less light on the ceiling, and the bed was turned sideways. The monster spent a very long time just staring at it all, trying to get used to it, amazed by the new.

Then she sat on the sideways bed again and rubbed her fingers all over the new muzzle. She knew it was different right away because it didn’t scrape her nose. The spot that was always sore was up above the muzzle now, and she rubbed her finger across it, too, over and over again, even though it hurt. She’d never been able to touch it before.

The straps were different, too, and she stuck her fingers underneath them, pulled at them, scratched them and flicked the edges. They were soft, but bumpy, and she’d never felt anything like it before.

The lights on the ceiling turned off, but she didn’t sleep. She couldn’t stop touching. She had to feel all of the new things. Her thoughts were more wide awake than they had been in a very long time.

There was even something around her throat now, something that felt a bit like a muzzle strap, but thicker, and with two pointed pieces on the inside that pressed into her skin. She messed with those for a long time, too, wondering what they were for, but mostly just enjoying another new feeling after so long with nothing changing.

As exciting as it all was, though, she was still scared when she stopped to think about the changes. Why was she in a new cell with new people? What had happened to her old owners? Were they coming back? What other new things were going to happen to her?

She couldn’t have ever imagined the answer to the last question. Not long after the lights came back on, waking up the monster from the light sleep she’d finally fallen into, some of the new people came into the cell - not her cell, she couldn’t think of it as that yet. They fed her first, and there was nothing different about that except that they didn’t hit her, but her old owners didn’t always hit her.

But then, after she was fed, they grabbed her by the arms and stood her up. One of them said, “Come on, we’re taking you to medical,” and that was a word she’d never heard before, but of course she walked with them like they obviously wanted her to, even when they opened the cell door and started taking her out.

She wanted to fight them. She was not supposed to go out, she was a monster, and monsters belonged in cells. She had always been in a cell, she had never been out, she didn’t know what out was, and as much as she wanted to know, as many times as she had watched the people go out and wondered where they went and what they did while they were out…she knew that she didn’t belong out there.

But fighting was not behaving. She was supposed to behave, or she would get hurt. So, no matter how scared it made her, she walked out the door with them, only the way her hands started shaking showing how she really felt.

Out was still white walls, but they were smooth, not bumpy with straight lines. The floors were white instead of grey, and she could see the lights on them, so shiny and bright that it hurt her eyes. And out was long. It was so long, she couldn’t see the walls on two ends because they were so far away.

There was so much for her to take in. The people kept walking, because they were used to out, but she was still trying to look at the shiny white floors without her eyes making tears when they started passing doors. So many doors, one after another after another. They all looked the same at first.

But then the out turned and went another way, and the monster’s head was spinning because out was so big. And the doors looked different now, some had white rectangles with black words on them. She knew they were words, even though she didn’t know what the words said, and she didn’t know how she knew because she didn’t remember ever seeing words before.

By the time they got to what must be ‘medical’, the monster could feel her heart pounding inside her chest and she could barely make her feet keep going. They opened another door and went in, but this was not a cell. The only thing in the room that was like a cell was the silver bed in the middle of the room. Everything else was too much to look at all at once.

She didn’t mean to stop in the doorway, but her feet seemed to stop working, and when the people pulled at her arms her legs stopped working, too. They quit holding her up, and she would have fallen if the people hadn’t held her arms even tighter.

“Stand up,” one said, and they were angry, everyone was always angry. “Don’t fight it.”

She wasn’t trying to fight, she couldn’t even think. Her thoughts had turned into screaming inside her head.

“Move, now.”

She wanted to. She couldn’t.

Pain exploded from her throat and through the rest of her body. But not just pain. It was nothing like she’d ever felt before. The inside of her body was buzzing, like the sound the light made in her old cell. She couldn’t move, but where before her arms and legs had been loose and weak, now they were completely locked in place. Colors flashed in front of her eyes. She wasn’t breathing.

Seconds later, it all stopped, and the monster was on the floor, staring up at the white ceiling, trying to figure out what had happened. Tears slipped from her eyes and ran into her black hair.

Hands grabbed her arms and ankles and lifted her up, setting her onto the bed, then were replaced by cold, hard restraints. A person leaned over her and held up an object she’d never seen before.

“This remote controls that collar you’ve got on. I’m not the only one who has one. If you don’t want to go through that again, I suggest you behave yourself from now on and do what you’re told.”

The monster stared up at him with wide eyes. She couldn’t remember anyone ever talking that much to her all at once before. There were so many words, it was hard to keep up with them and decide whether she knew what they all meant.

She knew one for sure, though. Behave.

She was trying.

She just wanted to know what was happening to her.

“Let’s start with the basics, then we’ll do the blood work.” The two people who brought her here were gone, but two more were walking quickly around and around her, grabbing things and handing them to each other. She was having a hard time keeping up with them. The one who had talked to her moved to do something in the corner that made a fast clicking sound, while the other stayed close to the bed. The monster wanted to turn and watch what she was doing, but she kept very still with her head pointed straight at the ceiling.

“I’ve got…five foot four and…ninety-six pounds.”

The man made a grunting sound from the corner. “And they said they fed it sufficiently. It’s a wonder they didn’t kill it a long time ago.”

“Well, it has no muscle mass, either. They’ve essentially been letting it waste away to nothing all these years. It’s going to take a lot of work to turn it into anything useful.”

“Not our problem. I’ll get a new diet worked up based on the blood work results. Vitals?”

The woman slipped some fabric over the monster’s arm and fastened it snugly. Her sleeve felt weirdly wrinkled underneath it, but it was fine. Then it started getting tighter, and tighter, and it didn’t exactly hurt yet but there was no sign that it was going to stop before it completely crushed her arm.

But it did. It remained tight for a long, silent moment, and the monster held her breath along with it, then released the air with a whoosh that matched the sound of the thing on her arm as it loosened.

The woman called out numbers that didn’t mean anything to the monster, and the man made clicking sounds again.

It was one strange thing after another after that - poking and squeezing and shining lights in her eyes and ears. Each time they started something new, she was afraid that it would hurt, but so far none of it had been more than uncomfortable.

The man reappeared from the corner finally, holding something shiny and sharp, just like her old owners had used yesterday. The monster flinched when she saw it. He frowned at her, and grabbed onto the strap of her muzzle so that he could jerk her face toward him.

“Hey. None of that. You’ve been good so far, but if you don’t hold still during this part I’ll have to use the collar again.” Letting go of the muzzle, he tapped on the thing around her neck, and her eyes went wide. She didn’t want to feel that pain again.

She was going to feel the pain from the sharp thing, though. She remembered what it had felt like, how it had made her gasp and that had made the people mad.

The man tugged up her sleeve, and started pushing on the skin of her arm with his fingers. They felt weird, covered in those strange, rough gloves. Then there was something cold and wet, and yet another something tight being tied around her arm.

Any moment now the pain would come, and the monster tried her best to brace herself for it. It was a struggle not to jolt with each new sensation.

She couldn’t help the quick breath that she sucked in when the sharp thing went into her skin, but she was quiet, and she didn’t move. It wasn’t too bad, not after the first second, but they just left it in and she didn’t like it. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to get used to the feeling.

She just needed to concentrate on breathing. If she kept breathing and didn’t think about the feeling, it would be over soon. She hoped.

It was not soon enough, not to her. But finally the man was taking out the sharp thing and moving away, and the monster could open her eyes again.

The door opened. The monster wanted to turn and look, but she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to move her head, so she kept staring at the ceiling. It didn’t matter much, anyway, because the person that came in - a man with white hair on his head and face - was soon leaning over her.

“So this is the new acquisition, hm?”

“Yes, sir,” the other man answered. “We were just finishing up with its first exam, got all its basic data here and will be running extensive tests on these vials. Was there anything else specific you wanted us to do today?”

“No, no, I just wanted to have a look for myself. Can’t wait to see it out on the training floor. I’ve heard it can do quite the damage already. Tiny little thing, though, isn’t it? We’ll need to beef it up some before it can do any real fighting.”

The woman hummed. “Yes, sir, it’s definitely undernourished. We’ll be able to tell specifically what it needs once we’ve run the first blood tests.”

“Good, good.” The white-haired man kept looking at her, and the monster wanted to sink into the bed and disappear, but she couldn’t even look away. She didn’t know what he wanted with her. He didn’t look angry, like most other people. She didn’t know what the look was that he was giving her, but she didn’t like the way it made her feel.

“I’ve already thought of a codename for it,” he said after a long silence. “Came to me as soon as I heard what it could do. ‘Siren’. What do you think?”

He was looking at her, but he wasn’t talking to her. She could tell that part. She just wasn’t sure if he was talking about her.

“That’s a good one, sir.”

The white-haired man chuckled. “Yes. Your name will be Siren, and you’re going to make me a very powerful man.”

Finally he stepped back, and waved a hand at the other two people. “Alright, carry on.”

He left the room, and the others kept talking to each other and making clicking sounds and moving around her. But the monster’s mind was on the man’s words.

A name?

Did she have a name now?

She didn’t remember ever having a name before. Or…maybe…did she…?

No. She had always just been a monster. But now she was…Siren.

She had a name. It filled her up with a warm, glowing feeling that made everything else from today not seem so bad.

She was Siren.

#siren the weapon #lady whump #lady whumpee #living weapon whumpee #superpowers #magical whumpee #dehumanization #shock collar #needles #lab whump #conditioned whumpee #restraints #muzzle #captivity #sensory overload #panic attack #malnutrition #whump writing #whump

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actress4him · 24 days

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Keith & Lance (Voltron) Characters: Keith (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) Additional Tags: Hurt Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) Whump, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) Whump, POV Keith (Voltron), POV Lance (Voltron), POV Alternating, Keith & Lance (Voltron) Friendship, Captivity, Fantastic Racism, Drowning, Waterboarding, Beating, Gunshot Wounds, Protective Blue Lion (Voltron), Stitches, First Aid, Blood Loss Series: Part 8 of In which I whump Keith Summary:

Lance really wasn’t sure that they could afford to wait for help, even for a day. Those guards weren’t going to let up on hurting Keith anytime soon, it didn’t seem. The next time, they might very well kill him.

It was bad enough being stuck on the other side of that glass, watching them torture him. Lance wouldn’t ever be able to forgive himself if he sat there and let him die.

#voltron: legendary defender #voltron whump #keith whump #keith kogane #voltron fanfic #vld fanfic #lance whump #keith and lance #hurt keith

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actress4him · 1 month

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Aha, the results are finally in! I forgot to put a see results button so I had no idea how the race was going all week haha. Definitely never had this much interaction on a poll before. I hope at least some of you will come back around when I actually post whatever I write next! ☺️

So I thought I’d let y’all know now what you were actually voting for!

1st place - Royalty turned servant - all new, never before seen OCs 👀

2nd place - Trafficking - Kamaria

3rd place - Time loop - Brumaria

3rd place - Powers turned against their user - Nari

4th place - Seedy motel room - modern Kamaria

4th place - Hospital aftermath feat. burns - Hero/villain Brumaria

5th place - Traumatic haircut - Isa

5th place - Accidental child acquisition - modern Kamaria

6th place - Hospital aftermath feat. sensory overload - Lainey and Isa

6th place - Plotting revenge - different all new, never before seen OCs

6th place - Chronic pain - Kamaria

Are you still glad you voted for what you did? 😉 Now that you see the characters, I’d love to hear if you would change your vote, or stick with what you said!

I’m still working on one more piece for the exchange but I am eager to get started on something new asap! This will definitely influence me toward what I start with.

For the past 3 months, I’ve been working pretty exclusively on fics for a gift exchange (which y’all will get to see, too, once the author/artist reveal is done!), though I did take a brief break last week to write the Stabmas piece I posted. I have one more that I’m finishing up.

Meanwhile, I’ve racked up quite a list of things I want to write when I’m done. So help me decide what I’m gonna go for first! I’ll probably end up bouncing between at least a couple of these, because that’s how I get the most done. To make it more interesting, you don’t get the character/series, just the main trope (though some of you from discord may recognize what a few of these are).

#poll results #whump writing #whump community #writing plans

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actress4him · 1 month

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My server is 18+ (with separated sections for nsfw) but there aren’t many steady roleplayers on there (anyone can dm if they want more info or an invite)

Whumplovers Collaborate and Whump Writing Central are both very large servers with big rp communities. They are NOT 18+, but it is not at all uncommon for people to specify in their rp advertisements that they only want 18+ partners

Are there any whump rp discord servers that have more of an 18+ audience (not in an nsfw way just in a mostly older base) ⁉️ I can't find many on Disboard. I joined one, and it is okay, but there are people that are just like 3 years younger than me, but the differences between us and maturity are insane. Which is fine. I just don't fit in, and some of the culture they have created and allowed there isn't something I'm 100% comfortable with.

I am a part of another server that I LOVEE and will never abandon. It's just in a lower activity wave at the moment, and I want more whump anyway and have time for more.

Any promo or suggestions I am looking for 🔥🔥

#that’s all I have to offer #whump discord #whump rp

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actress4him · 1 month

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#whump poll #writing poll #whump series #whump community

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actress4him · 1 month

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Big fan of whumpees who hide their fear behind defiance and anger

#kamaria vibes

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actress4him · 1 month

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Stabmas 2024 - The Shadow of Death - Cinderella AU

It's the second annual celebration of Stabmas, hosted by the Slices of Whump discord server!

And yes, yet another new Brumaria AU. Bruno, as always, belongs to the brilliant and lovely Izzy (painful-pooch), and she wrote a good bit of his dialogue for this.

Happy Ides of March, everyone!

Taglist: @painful-pooch , @sssunshinebreeze

The Shadow of Death Masterlist

Contains: referenced lady whump, dude whump, stabbing, mild blood, referenced parental abuse, referenced noncon touch, touch aversion, referenced mass murder

A million stars fill the night sky, a full moon illuminating the cobblestone drive and the tips of each of the castle’s spires. The heat of the day has faded, cool air brushing Kamaria’s bare shoulders and arms.

It’s a perfect night for a ball. Or so most of Ethorcon seems to think, judging by the number of carriages parked outside, awaiting their owners.

Kamaria marches past them all, uncaring of what the drivers and footmen may think of her less than dignified arrival. Reaching the steps, she hitches up the heavy silk skirts of her mother’s borrowed dress, only pausing her momentum once she reaches the towering front doors. The uniformed man standing there gives her an odd look. When she merely nods at him, doing her best to look down her nose like nobility are wont to do, he gives a slight bow and tugs open one door to let her inside.

The entrance hall by itself could fit her father’s entire manor inside, she’s fairly certain. Everything gleams, from the marble floor that she can nearly see her reflection in, to the golden ceiling high above. A magnificent waste of money, on display for all to see.

That’s nothing new to her, though. Nobility all think the same - why waste your riches on helping people who desperately need it, when you can spend it all on flaunting your status?

She’s arrived late out of more than one necessity. First off, she had to wait until her father had taken the carriage to come this way, himself, before she could even start getting herself ready and make the long walk. But more importantly, the ball is already well under way. No one but a few staff members have noticed her entrance. She doesn’t have to mingle with the rich, doesn’t have to be announced, and of course, doesn’t have as much of a risk of running into her father.

There’s a gold-framed mirror hanging on the wall to her right. Kamaria takes one last glimpse at herself, avoiding actually looking at her face in favor of adjusting the stiff dress and brushing back a few stray curls.

Then she takes a deep breath, skims her hand across the knife hidden safely in the folds of her skirt, and forges further into the castle.

She has a prince to find.

She expects him to be in the ballroom, right in the thick of the festivities. After all, this entire spectacle is about him. King Tristan is determined to find him a wife, and every eligible young lady around is here throwing themselves at his feet tonight.

Technically Kamaria fits that description, as well, but she has no intentions or delusions of marrying. Even if she did, Prince Bruno is the absolute last person on earth that she’d ever consider.

It isn’t hard to find the ballroom. All she has to do is follow the sound of lilting music, which grows into a cacophony of instruments, murmuring, laughter, and the clinking of glasses the closer she gets. The doors are thrown open wide, with a few guests spilling out into the corridor.

Kamaria stiffens when she sees them, adjusting her posture and expression. The last thing she needs, when she’s finally this close, is to be called out for not belonging. Her heart pounds, but she reminds herself of the reflection she just saw.

For tonight, she is as noble as her blood. No one can see the scars on her back or the callouses on her hands. No dirt or ash smears her cheeks. She looks the part of a lady, and so long as she plays it, no one should be the wiser.

Swallowing hard, she edges her way into the ballroom, but stays on the outskirts, slowly circling the room. Beyond a few columns on one side is an open section that no one seems to be utilizing, too eager to press into the center and be near all of the action. Kamaria gladly takes it for herself. It’s no quieter, but the lighting is dim and it feels much safer than being within the crowd. From here, she can linger in the shadows and still see everything.

There’s a dance ongoing, couples swirling by in a dizzying whirl of color. The prince will likely be out there, dancing with some lucky girl who’s caught his attention. He doesn’t seem to be with the king and queen, sitting on their thrones on a platform overlooking the festivities, anyway.

She has honestly no idea what he looks like. She’s counting on the crown to give him away. Faces are going by too fast to catch from this distance, but she should be able to spot the flash of gold in the torchlight.

“You have the right idea, I believe.”

Kamaria is so caught up in her search that she doesn’t notice the man’s approach until he’s upon her. Jolting, she grabs fistfuls of her skirts and tries to calm her suddenly racing heart, giving a quick sideways glance up at him. She has to think of something civilized to say.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” There’s a smile in his voice. “I mean that, uh…this can all get to be a bit…much.” With one finger, he indicates the dancers and the crowd. “Sometimes I need to hide away, too.”

Part of her automatically wants to agree with him, but she can’t give away how very out of place she feels here. “Yes, well, I just…needed to catch my breath for a moment. All that dancing, you know.” She cringes inwardly at how stupid she sounds, but then again, maybe that’s for the best. Let him think she’s just another airheaded noble. She doesn’t really care what he thinks of her as long as he doesn’t call her bluff, she needs him to move on so she can continue looking for the prince.

“Right.” She can see him shift out of the corner of her eye, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Personally, I’d stay back here the whole night if my father wouldn’t hang me for it.”

Something about the way he says it has her taking a second, longer glance at him, just enough that the golden glint above his brow is quite obvious. Suddenly her heart is in her throat, pulse roaring in her ears.

It’s him. After all these years, the prince is standing here, right next to her, close enough to touch.

Her fingers itch to reach for the knife, but she can’t. Not yet. Not here.

She clears her throat, trying to find her voice again. “I’d think that you would enjoy all of the attention from so many young ladies, sire.”

He sighs. “Well, if any of them were interested in more than just the position my father is offering them, perhaps I would.” She can feel his gaze on her. “What about you? I’m fairly certain you haven’t attempted to approach me yet. You won’t even look at me now.” He sounds amused. “Am I not what you thought I would be? Or has someone already claimed your hand?”

Drawing in a deep breath to steady herself, she spins abruptly to face him, chin tilted up to meet his gaze. Whatever response she was concocting is gone immediately. His blue eyes light up, and a smile spreads across his face as he voices the exact words running through her mind.

“It’s you.” He chuckles, as if Kamaria’s whole world hasn’t just come screeching to a halt. “I’ll admit, I’d kind of hoped to see you here tonight. I was foolish enough to leave without getting your name before, which made it rather difficult to find you again.”

Her mouth has gone dry. “You…you’re Prince Bruno?” Maybe it’s a misunderstanding. Yes, he has on the crown, and he confirmed that the eligible ladies were here for him, but…maybe she’s made a mistake somehow.

“That would be me.”

Every part of her wants to turn around and leave, to find somewhere quiet where she can process this and decide what to do now. But no, nothing has changed. Her plans haven’t changed, she still has to follow through. Just because an hour conversation with this man had made him seem kind and caring and polite and funny and nothing like any other man she’d ever met, that doesn’t erase the last decade of knowing that he has to die.

“You, um…you failed to mention that you were royalty during our first meeting.” She prays he can’t tell how fast her heart is beating or hear the slight quiver in her words.

The prince gives a sheepish smirk. “Yes, sorry about that. It…didn’t seem relevant at the time? We were having such a nice conversation, and…”

He didn’t want her reaction to him to change by knowing who he was. And he’s right, it definitely would have changed. Just not in the way that he was expecting.

“Of course.” She tries to force a smile. So far, he doesn’t seem to suspect anything, not even that she’s actually a servant. Thankfully, she’d been presentable that day in the orchard, wearing a clean dress and having just washed her face and braided her hair. She probably looked like a peasant, at best, but then again, he hadn’t been dressed like a prince, either.

She opens her mouth to suggest that they find somewhere quieter to talk, but he speaks before she can get the words out.

“Would you dance with me?”

Kamaria can feel all of the blood drain from her face. “I…I couldn’t, I don’t…” I don’t know how, she almost blurts, but every lady should know how to dance, right? “I’m…not very good at dancing, I’m afraid, and…” Her eyes flit over the crowd. “There’s…so many people…”

His gaze follows hers. “I understand. A dance with me unfortunately would draw a lot of attention. How about right here, then?” He gestures to the dimly lit space around them. “And don’t worry, I won’t judge your dancing skills.”

What can she even say to that? She has no excuse to say no anymore, none that would be acceptable.

Why does he have to be such a gentleman?

Forcing another half-smile, she reaches out her gloved hand to take his outstretched one. “I’d be honored.”

His hand wraps around hers, engulfing it in warmth, and a tingling sensation shoots all the way up her arm. It makes her automatically want to jerk it back, but she just clenches her jaw and steps in closer. He’s smiling so genuinely, sliding his other hand gently around her waist to rest on her lower back. It feels like ice against her spine.

Touch like this isn’t usually gentle. It’s usually harsh, possessive, accompanied by Lord Roderick’s leering face and nauseating words. And that’s the only kind she gets, other than her father’s fists striking her. She can’t even remember the last time that someone touched her and it didn’t hurt or repulse her. Even now, with no evidence in his stance or expression that he’ll change from exactly what he’s doing right now, she desperately longs to disappear.

But instead, she does exactly as she always does. She stays very still, focuses as hard as she can on her breathing, and pretends not to exist.

The orchestra begins a new song, a slow, violin-led waltz, and Prince Bruno’s feet start moving in rhythm, pulling her along. “Just follow me,” he murmurs. “And don’t worry if you step on my toes. I have tough feet.”

This is not what she’s supposed to be doing right now. This is the exact opposite of what she should be doing right now. Being held firmly in his arms, swaying and twirling through the shafts of moonlight that illuminate the floor, like two lovers…she feels dizzy, and it’s not from the dance itself.

He’s a murderer, and a perfect gentleman. She allowed herself to like him, the day they met, to think about him often since then. Now, knowing who he really is, the thought makes her sick. But at the same time, she still feels herself drawn toward him in that same way. The way he looks at her…it’s nothing like she’s ever seen before. He makes her feel wanted, and no one has wanted her in many, many years.

Kamaria sucks in a sharp breath and pulls her gaze down to his shoulder. If he actually knew who she was - a servant and a Navarian - he wouldn’t want her. Perhaps he’d order her death, like he had dozens of others.

“Are you alright?”

He sounds so concerned, and she can’t take it anymore. She stops abruptly, stepping away and yanking her hand from his grasp like she’s wanted to all along, before she fully realizes what she’s doing. Luckily, she’s granted a plausible reason as soon as she glances past him. A group has gathered between the columns, gawking, apparently having noticed the movement of their dance and realizing that it’s their prince finally dancing with someone. Kamaria stares at them for a moment, heart still pounding, long enough for Prince Bruno to turn and see for himself.

She has to get out of here. There’s a door in the corner, she has no idea where it leads, but it has to be better than this stuffy room full of curious people and too-loud music. Leaving the prince behind, she lifts her skirts slightly and runs toward it as fast as she dares.

To her immense relief, it lets out onto a large balcony, overlooking the gardens at the back of the castle. Kamaria crosses to the railing and drops her skirts, leaning heavily onto her hands and taking in gulps of the cool evening air. She’s trembling all over.

The door opens and shuts behind her, and she tenses, fingers gripping the rail.

“I’m sorry about that. Unfortunately, that kind of attention tends to follow me.”

She swallows and forces her voice to work. “Will they now? Follow you, that is.”

“No.” He’s walking a bit further onto the balcony, but staying back away from her. Giving her space, presumably, because he always seems to somehow know what she needs. “I’ve ordered a guard to hold them off, with the promise that I will return shortly.” There’s a pause, even his footsteps quieting. “But I don’t have to. I don’t actually have to return at all. Will it tick my father off? Yes, but I don’t really care.”

No. No, he doesn’t have to return. He doesn’t deserve to return, doesn’t deserve to keep living his luxurious, perfect life being fawned over by hundreds while her people’s blood stains the ground.

The knife is out of its hidden pocket and in her hand without her really thinking about it. She turns slowly and begins to walk toward him, the rush of her blood once again filling her ears.

He has to die. It doesn’t matter how good he seems now, he sealed his fate ten years ago.

He’s leaning against the wall, watching her. She can’t look him in the face, if she does she might falter, and that’s the one thing she can’t do. Close enough to hear his breaths, she places one hand against his arm to brace herself.

She’s ready. Just like all those times she’s practiced. One sure, swift movement, and the knife is buried in his flesh.

There’s a quiet choking sound, deep in his throat. He sucks in a sharp breath, huffs a laugh. “Was it…something I said?”

Kamaria stares at the knife hilt protruding from the prince’s shoulder, at the bright red blood seeping out from around it, at the blue silk glove on her hand that still holds it. She should pull it out. Stab him again, in the chest, where she’d meant to stab him to start with.

She can’t seem to do so.

"You're not the first to do that. And I'm sure you're not the last.” He’s still talking, still so bafflingly calm despite the fact that the woman he was flirting with has just stabbed him. “Do you really want me dead? Because you sure didn't think I was a terrible person when we were talking a few weeks ago.”

She’s shaking again. Or still, perhaps. It’s unclear whether or not she ever stopped.

This is supposed to be her moment. She’s been planning this for so long, been waiting for the perfect chance, and now it’s here and…it’s all wrong.

His hand comes up, slowly, and covers her, wrapping around the knife just as gently as he’d held onto her inside. "How about we talk about this. You can keep the knife there, or not. Preferably, I would like to live after this, but if you are determined enough, I suppose I could go."

Now he doesn’t even care whether she kills him? He wants to talk, rather than just shoving her away, shouting for the guards, having her arrested and hanged?

She shuts her eyes, jaw clenching and unclenching. “You weren’t supposed to be…nice.”

"I wasn't supposed to be a prince either, but things don't work out that way, love. I'm sorry I wasn't a terrible person like some think of me."

Kamaria’s eyes fly open, and she finally looks him in the face, glaring. “You are a terrible person. You killed them. And I’ve been waiting my whole life to return the favor.”

"And who told you what I am?" His brow is furrowed, confusion with flashes of irritation playing across his features. "What would I have succeeded in the death of others? If you think that low of me, then go ahead, twist the knife, or go for something lethal this time."

His hand releases hers in favor of raising both in surrender, obviously moving the left carefully to avoid jostling the knife. "There's nothing I have to hide, my dear. Nothing. If you want answers, then I'll do my best to help you find them. If you want to do away with me once you have your truth, then so be it."

She knows the answers already. She just doesn’t understand them now that she’s here. What if she’s wrong? What if she’s had it wrong all along, and this is really not the man she should have been looking for?

Her eyes search his, looking desperately for the truth. "I don't know. I can't...I can't reconcile the man I met in the orchard with the one who had my family killed. Which one are you? Was everything you said to me...a façade? Or are you going to try to convince me that you've changed, because that was all so long ago? Or that it was a necessary loss for the good of the country?"

"I'm the same man I've always been, the one you met. I have not lied to you since the moment we met, and I don't plan on changing that about myself." He lowers his arms, noticeably gritting his teeth as he does so. More blood oozes out and stains his crisp white shirt. "I did change, but not in the way you imagine. And I would never…what loss would make the country great? Our people are our people. What would there be to gain from killing those that I'm supposed to protect?"

"You tell me!” she spits. “Because those were royal soldiers that burned down the village that night. I was there. I saw them.” The memories of that night are seared into both her mind and her skin. “And all fingers have pointed to you as the one who sent them." She pauses, still watching his face, ready for her next question to reveal his true nature. "Was it because we were Navarian? Because we were outsiders?"

He does react, but not in disgust like she expected. He flinches, as if she’s physically struck him. "I never sent my troops to harm your people." She can almost see the thoughts racing in his mind. "Navarian or not, I swore to protect their lives as well."

He just keeps on denying everything, and Kamaria doesn’t know whether to believe him or stab him again for it. She leans in a little, putting more pressure on the knife. "Then why are they dead?"

Prince Bruno tightly shuts his eyes, the pain obviously getting to him. "Let me figure that out with you. You want justice, and I'll make it happen. I never wanted to hurt people." He opens his eyes to meet hers, and she hates that she can see honesty shining in them. "You have no reason to trust me, but I need you to give me a chance to prove my innocence. Because if I didn't do this, then that means someone else will just let it happen again."

She wants to believe him. She wants to see if he can actually find different answers than the ones she’s always known.

Part of her, the part that has planned his death since she was twelve, also wants to be done with this here and now.

But as she’s debating, the clock tower in the center of town begins to chime. Her attention jerks to it. Midnight. Far later than she ever planned on being here. Her father won’t stay much longer, and she still has to walk all the way back home. If she’s not there when he gets there…

“Fine.” It’s an effort to pry her fingers away from the knife, but she does so, taking two steps back. “You have your chance. If you didn’t kill them, then find out who did. And I’ll find out if you’re lying to me.”

She has to go. She doesn’t know whether to hope that she ever sees his face again, or not. But she turns, hurrying toward the door on the other end of the balcony, one that doesn’t lead back into the ballroom.

"Wait, can I at least have your name this time? I want to find who hurt your people, and I want to be able to tell you when I do."

Her steps slow, then stop, and she stares at the ground, debating what to tell him. If he comes looking for her, he’ll know that she’s a fraud, a pathetic lord’s daughter being used as a servant in her own home. Maybe he won’t even want to help her anymore.

She should tell him something, though. And since her father refuses to call her by her real, Navarian name anyway… “Kamaria.” That will have to do. She’ll just find him herself as soon as she can get away, and make sure he’s holding himself to his vow.

She looks back over her shoulder at the prince, still leaning heavily against the wall with her knife sticking out of him. “Don’t let me down.”

Without waiting for an answer, she shoves through the door and runs off into the night.

#stabmas2024 #ides of march #shadow of death #kamaria the assassin #bruno stenberg #brumaria #cinderella au #this is kamaria #of course she had to leave a knife behind instead of a shoe #lady whumpee #dude whump #mild blood #stabbing #touch aversion #noncon touching #parental abuse #whump writing #whump series

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actress4him · 1 month

Text

Stabmas 2023

Welcome to a celebration piece for the Ides of March, featuring Kamaria 😈

Bruno (mentioned) belongs to @painful-pooch .

Contains: lady whump, blood, stabbing, implied noncon drugs, mild gore, referenced noncon touch, very brief self-deprecating thoughts, hurt no comfort

Among blinding pain that seems to radiate from one end of her body to the other, the tip of a knife pressed into soft skin is hardly worth considering. It’s just a nuisance, another sensation to add to far too many.

She’s cold. She’s far too cold and far too bare, the unforgiving stone floor seeps into her skin like ice and she wants…

She wants a blanket.

She wants to be held.

She wants warm, calloused hands to caress her cheek and wrap around her waist and reassure her that everything is alright, everything will be alright, even if it’s not right now.

She doesn’t want anyone touching her, touch brings nothing but pain and fear and the very thought of hands on her makes her stomach churn, makes her want to scream and cry and scratch off her own skin.

But she’s so cold and so alone. Something burns in her veins that shouldn’t be there, but it doesn’t warm her. Her hand stretches out into an open, empty space that she can’t even see and is met with nothing but air. No one reaches back for her.

The knife presses in farther and breaks skin. Blood trickles out, and it’s like fire in its warmth, running down the side of her leg to drip onto the floor beneath her. There’s so much blood already. Her hair is stiff with it, dried patches of it cake her body. The smell is thick in the air.

She still doesn’t notice the pain. Not when her whole existence is pain, when she can’t remember a time that everything didn’t hurt and burning, throbbing, screaming pain encompasses everything she is and knows.

It’s not until the knife slides farther in, slicing through layers of skin and into muscle before pausing again, that it breaks through the fog. A low groan vibrates in her throat. Her head jerks to one side, and she tries to move the leg away from the source of pain but it feels somehow detached from her body.

Voices float through the air and swirl around her. Meaningless. One is shouting, perhaps, but the words are like a swarm of bees, muffled by the sound of her pulse pounding in her ears.

The knife cuts deeper.

Her back arches up off the ground and she chokes on what should be a scream. More blood runs down her leg. It’s gushing now, not trickling. The blade embedded in her thigh can only hold it back so much.

She wants Bruno. He said he wouldn’t leave her, but she doesn’t know where he is.

“Mai amachari, relintis ma nos.” Her words slur together as they stumble off her tongue. “Ey vourer moriti nos. Pralut aydeti.” A tear, hot like the blood on her leg, slides down her temple and pools in her ear.

He’s not here, he’s not here. If he was here he would help her. She doesn’t want to die without seeing him again.

Someone pushes the knife deeper still, until the cold hilt rests against her skin. She throws her head back, sobs ripping through her throat. “Pralut perlem’a moriti nos!”

Her fingernails scrape against the floor, digging up bits of dirt and half-dried blood. It won’t stop. The pain never ends, she can’t escape it. Her eyes open, letting more tears loose, and rove across the ceiling, but it’s all just a blur. None of it means anything, nothing makes sense except for pain.

Voices again. Someone is laughing, she thinks. The sound forms a pit deep in her stomach.

“-mari-!”

“Kam-ia!”

She wants Bruno.

Suddenly the knife is yanked back out of her leg, all at once, tearing sideways through new bits of flesh. Everything flashes to bright white. She doesn’t scream because she can��t breathe, can only jerk against the floor and make choking sounds while the blood flow triples.

She wants it to be over.

She deserves this.

She can’t take anymore, she needs it to end. She’s just waiting for darkness to take her away from the pain, but it won’t come. Whatever it is that burns inside her veins won’t let her go. No matter how much she wishes for escape, she’s trapped here - lost, alone, and cold.

She’s so cold.

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Translation of Vaya: “My love, don’t leave me. I don’t want to die. Please help me.” “Please don’t let me die!”

#self reblog #ides of march #in anticipation of tomorrow #which will bring a brand new stabbing fic #kamaria the assassin #Brumaria #lady whumpee #blood tw #drugged #assassin oc #high fantasy #fantasy language

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