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jazztag · 8 days

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An Encounter in the Snow VIII

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

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

“Sir, I have what you requested.”

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

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

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

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

“Heard you came from occupied land.”

“Sir?” asks the young cadet.

“Could you translate it for me, soldier?”

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

“Yes, sir!”

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

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

“1923-08,” reads aloud the soldier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They might be codes, sir.”

“And the names? The aliases?”

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

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

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

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

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

“How so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Macabre,” mumbles the Captain.

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

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

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jazztag · 10 days

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Prompt #49

Living weapon whumpee who has grown accustomed to pain and torture BUT is totally afraid of tickles. They doesn't understand how their body reacts toward them and it's scary since they have never been touched without the aim of hurting or punishing.

#whump #prompt #whump prompt #writing prompt #whump scenario #living weapon whumpee #whump tropes #whump ideas #promptfactory

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jazztag · 10 days

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An Encounter in the Snow VII

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

Hero scoffs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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jazztag · 11 days

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a zombie standing transfixed in front of a mirror, staring into their own sunken eyes, a horrified is that me? breaking through the fog of their decaying mind

#its giving W vibes :“(

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jazztag · 11 days

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just a heads up

if you’re an active follower of mine, i do recognize your username and/or icon. i smile when i see it in my activity. i get excited when you add funny tags to things. i get really happy when you reblog my op posts. so thank you, i appreciate you massively.

#funny tags for life #im always looking up for those

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jazztag · 12 days

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Prompt #48

Living-weapon whumpee not yet used to the idea of looking after oneself. Once it starts raining in the village, everyone runs inside or tries to walk under the balconies, fleeing from the water. Whumpee, tho, just doesn't even notice, since he has never been supposed to care nor slow the pace because of the weather. He keeps walking straight, alone in the middle of the streets, shaking because of the cold but not quite feeling it at all.

#i loved it!#feeling like briana lately ngl #what do you mean english isn't your native language??? hoping i could write that good!!!

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jazztag · 13 days

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A Cure for Solitude XVIII [Pt. 1]

W can sense a lot of movement right in front of him, but he doesn’t dare look up from his lap. He just awaits to be grabbed and manhandled by the scary armed humans, and he internally surrenders to the thought. He finally makes peace with the idea he can’t run away no more from his demise, whichever it is. But something, or someone, seems to call his name, and finally, his eyes snap open.

The first thing he thinks about is M. He looks up bit by bit, trying to focus on the hand that is held right in front of him. But that’s not M, right? They are wearing a black surgical face mask, but their eyes are distinguishable, not M’s.

“W, right?” says a womanly voice, her kneeling in front of him. She is holding a firearm, and she looks to be covered in moss, or something green that looks like it. W can’t step back no more because of the wall, so he gets very still. Behind the woman, other people have started to shout orders, but they are not shouting at them, the creatures. It seems two different groups of humans are arguing with each other.

“Hey,” says the masked woman again. W looks at her, still trembling like a leaf. He can’t see her mouth, but her gaze is warm, and there’s no disgust in his eyes. No, in fact, there’s even… pity?

“You’re safe, now.” And for once, W decides to trust the hand held in front of him. At least before the shots are heard and the chaos ensues once more around him.

Some time prior, the doors to the facility shoot open and M enters. Oh, he’s mad. He’s furious.

“Where the fuck is he?” starts yelling to the first two guards that run towards him. “Where do you keep them, huh? You animals!”

He shoots at nothing in particular, blind with rage. One of the armed guards falls to the ground instantly. Headshot. The other gets shot in the leg. M kicks him on the head and demands:

“Where is my fucking zombie?” The fallen man raises both hands, letting go of his firearm. M still is pointing at him with his little revolver, but his eyes spit fire.

“S-should be down with the others?” mumbles the man. M then half-smiles. He mutters a ‘thank you’ to the man and then shoots him in the head. He pays no mind to stepping on the body while advancing towards the stairs.

“Damn,” mutters Amy, entering the building right behind him. “Didn’t know you had it in you.” She secures the perimeter, more experienced and mindful of the operation, and hurries to M’s side.

“Only when they mess with my research.” M pays her a long look, and then takes from his inner coat pocket the beeping device. W’s signal is near, right downstairs. As they start descending the stairs, Amy eyes the screen as well, confused.

“So… Part of the experiments, huh?”

“Yes,” responds M, inadvertently grabbing at the device with a strong grip. “He’s objectively valuable, different from the others.”

“How so? How is he different from… I don’t know, that woman I shot the other day?” wonders the soldier, remembering when she stumbled upon the Medic last time he went to the Community Service Point. “He isn’t… aggressive?”

“There’s something in him, I’m still figuring it out,” he mumbles M, looking down. “He’s a fourth, but acts as a second.”

“If he’s a fourth, he wouldn’t be responsive, that’s impossible,” argues Amy. She looks away, suddenly a glance of hope in his eyes. “You sure?”

“That can’t get us far with your dad’s cure, but he may help into understanding how the virus behaves.” Amy sniffs a bit, then tries to shake the thought from her head.

“Something about the government, you said earlier, huh?” They enter the basement, encountering a new group of people. This one aren’t armed, but M pays no mind to shooting at them instantly. Amy ends the task by ensuring they are all down.

“Two years ago I stumbled upon a rabies variation while researching for a selective biological weapon. I was working for the government.” Amy follows closer behind, ensuring they are not followed. They start hearing a lot of voices; they surely are near it, whatever that is. M walks straight, his gaze directed towards the last white door on the corridor, half-open.

“You gave them the virus?” asks Amy, quite unsure of the answer. M stops to recharge his firearm. It’s old, so he takes his time, completely focused on it.

“Of course not. I protected it with my life. I tried deleting all data. I even quit because of health issues, allegedly.” Amy looks him in the eye. M can’t look at her while remembering all of those past times. “Months later, a remote region starts presenting some familiar symptoms. There’s no explanation; our leaders tell us not to worry. Some common cold, they say,” M scoffs. “But I started dating the various cases while they started spreading in the third world countries. The timeline was correct. It was indeed RIAD. And later on, it started mutating onto Type 2.”

“Zombies, huh?”

“Indeed. And everything started because my team were instructed to experiment on some samples from animals. We thought we were researching for new antibiotics, but we were actually blindfolded into developing a biological weapon.” Amy copies him and recharges her rifle, more quickly and showing more skill in doing so, though.

“The rest of your team?”

“Dead,” simply says M. After a pause, where the both of them look at each other, M fidgets with his lab coat, underneath his long jacket. “You can understand why this war of mine, then.” The woman nods. Something in her tells him he can trust her.

“How are you planning on entering, though?”

“I may have something in mind.”

“Let’s?” asks Amy, pointing at the door, where shouting, laughing, and screams can be heard.

“Let’s.”

“You’re safe, now.”

W grabs at the hand that is tended to him, and Amy pulls him up onto his feet. The first thing she notices is how light the zombie is. She looks back, where the center of the commotion is, shouting something over her shoulder. W looks towards the same direction. And what he sees terrorizes him more than anything.

M stands in the center of the room shouting orders towards the people and showing a strange badge. Words like “Militia” and “under orders” escape his lips, but W can’t focus on that. While other people try to calm him and the rest down, everyone shouting at each other and demanding to put their weapons down, W inadvertently grabs at Amy’s hand with more force. The woman notices it and turns towards the young zombie again.

“You’re safe, once we are out of here, love.” But W just seems to tremble more and more, his gaze focused on M. Maybe he is cold, questions Amy, seeing how the zombie is shaking. Then she looks towards M again.

“You have no right to treat these creatures like that!” is screaming M, directly towards a big man who looks to be the leader of the assembly. Everyone else has either left the room or is hiding behind their own weapon. Said big man opens both arms towards M. He is unarmed but looks completely calm. Maybe he knows M from far before.

“Come on, Mel. You heard the news. My people need to eat. This is just some business you’re stepping into.” The Medic looks furious.

“You’ve been killing on and on my subjects. I am not leaving without what is mine.”

The man laughs.

“Spare me 50, then. Pick one.”

“I’m not paying you shit, Ward.” M points his revolver to the other's head, but ‘Ward’ looks still unbothered.

“Give this ol’ man a break. Have you even gotten anything out from those rots, yet?” M relaxes a bit, and the atmosphere in the room seems to quiet down a bit. They knew each other then, thinks Amy.

W is still clutching at her jacket for dear life, and she starts wondering if she may not get the virus from the contact. She pulls her mask up but doesn’t break her handgrip on the little zombie.

“You wanna see what’s up? You wanna see progress?” asks M aloud, talking to the crowd “Surely everyone here has someone sick at home, and surely you wouldn’t treat them like that, huh?” M points and the horde of creatures that, just like W, look scared, cornered towards the white walls. Most of them are still feral, but everyone seems to have calmed down a bit, awaiting the outcome of the situation.

Ward looks away, crossing his arms onto his thick torso. “Well show us, boy.” M lowers his revolver. Amy doesn’t, though. She looks at the Medic, and he looks back at her, nodding.

“W, come here.” Says M.

But the zombie won’t move.

Taglist: @whump-blog @cupcakes-and-pain @crunchypuppy06 @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @kona-luu @hurtthemgently @digital0reality (comment to get added/removed from the list!)

#promptfactory #originalcharacter #my ocs #prompt #whump #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee x caretaker #zombie whumpee #zombie x human #medic caretaker #zombie #whump writing #writing snippet #medical whump #acureforsolitude

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jazztag · 14 days

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my next chapter on A Cure for Solitude is sooo long I'm scared to post it all at once... I'll maybe do two parts from it..

#acureforsolitude #promptfactory

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jazztag · 16 days

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A Cure for Solitude XVII

W feels sore from where he has been grabbed. His shoulders hurt, his head aches, the pain numbing his other senses, even his smell, his best one out of the five. He tries to grab onto anything, but finds his hands held together behind his back. He is seated on the floor in a dark place, and he is not alone.

Other 'creatures' like him stumble around, some seated on the floor as well, others walking around. W looks around, seeing half-rotten bodies just like him, wandering around in what appears to be a big metal box. Maybe some sort of container? W can’t remember exactly how he ended up here. He was probably ambushed, but it’s been too long since then to recall. There’s just one thought in his mind that crosses between his eyes. He thinks about M, and wonders if he’ll ever trust him again. If he’ll ever forgive him for biting him. His heart aches at the memory. And it’s so difficult to move past that, when that’s one of the only memories he has to himself.

He looks around again. There are some of them that are tied to their ankles as well, and there are creatures with restraints on their mouths. One of them walks towards the fearful W, still crouching on the floor. The other creature sniffs the air around him and keeps walking past him. W trembles a bit and tries to think of happy memories, at least the ones he can recall from these last few days. He really tries, feeling scared and disoriented in the dark space full of creatures. But every good memory he tries to think about, there’s M in there, a reminder of how hurt and mad he looked after W bit him. And any sense of warmth gets lost again in the vast shadows of regret.

He looks around again. Maybe he is finally getting punished for his sins. For being like that. All those creatures, like him, look like figments of the past, deformed and malfunctioning. There’s pain behind each one of those eyes. They are all alone together and as a whole.

Suddenly, very bright lights turn on over their heads, and like everyone else, W buries his head in his shoulders, trying to protect his fragile eyes from the dazzling light. No luck, they start hurting like hell from overexposure. There are some voices speaking loudly from over the walls. When W is finally able to open his eyes, still sore, he distinguishes a lot of people right on the upper level of the big white room. Real people, humans, like M calls himself. They all look down at the creatures below their feet. A lot of them have their phones out, recording them with a mix of curiosity and fear. There are also scary big men armed with huge guns pointing down at them, and W panics a little, recoiling until hitting the wall with his back.

There’s a lot of chaos. Two creatures get violent and start trying to reach the upper level where the ‘real people’ are. Shots are heard, and the bodies fall limp to the floor. W, from the corner of the container, starts trembling frantically. He can’t stop looking at one of the fallen creatures in the eyes. The gaze is still there, still alive. The body is dead, letting out some dark purple droplets scattered around the white tile floor. But W can see those eyes still alive, looking back at him and pleading to die. But they can’t. Prisoners of a lifeless body forever.

W trembles uncontrollably. He looks around for an exit. Other creatures are trying to search for one as well, moving slowly but surely around the metallic walls of the container. But the small creature is paralyzed by fear. He tries to hide his face in his big clothes, and suddenly it dawns on him. He is completely nude. They all are.

W falls on his back, seated against the wall with his knees up and glued together. He buries his head in his shoulders, and he feels all his bones trembling in unison. The walls are cold. The floor is cold. Everything is cold, and when he looks up, he only sees a bunch of people who call themselves ‘human’. Mocking them creatures, recording them, fixing their gaze onto their rotten bodies with morbid curiosity, no respect nor pity, only disgust.

W tries to make himself as small as possible. Maybe if he tries very hard, he will end up fusing to the wall, becoming one with it. Suddenly, one gate opens, and a bunch of armed men enter the perimeter, right on the opposite wall. Since every creature here is restrained in some way, everyone recoils, not wanting to get near the scary humans. The armed men look around, as if trying to decide which piece of rotten meat to take. Some creature tries desperately to flee running past them, but the group of approximately five people shoot at it without hesitation, and all the other creatures growl and moan in fear, walking backwards towards the farthest wall, where W sits against.

“Now, thanks to the Protocol, every piece of rot is no longer considered a person,” hears W from above his head. There’s someone shouting some explanations to the crowd through a megaphone. “Fend for yourselves, we are selling each one of them at the starting price of 50.”

W asks himself what a ‘human’ could get out of a creature like him. His innocent and numb mind can’t even imagine the horrors the human species can do to themselves.

There’s a lot of chaos following the shouting, and some creatures get dragged out of the container and into plastic bags. They manage to put tape around their faces, so they don’t see nor bite at anything. A scary huge man seems to discover W still seated in a corner, and trembling like a leaf. The man starts approaching him, every other creature fleeing from his presence and inadvertently opening him the path towards the small zombie.

W shuts his eyes, and because his hands are still tied down behind his back, the only thing he can do is bury his head between his knees like a scared animal and wish for the best.

Taglist: @whump-blog @cupcakes-and-pain @crunchypuppy06 @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @kona-luu @hurtthemgently (comment to get added/removed from the list!)

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jazztag · 16 days

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Ex-Villain angst

Exactly what it says on the tin.

Ex-Villain from a crime family that has to watch and participate as their family is taken away by the heroes

Ex-Villain who spent their villain years chasing the approval of their mentor/villainous idol/villainous loved one, only to find themselves 'redeemed', now chasing the approval of the heroes

Ex-Villain changing their behavior, but never getting better. In fact, they're not sure they've ever felt worse

Ex-Villain only ever being seen as that, an Ex-Villain

Guilt tripping, so much guilt tripping. They don't even argue anymore, they just give in.

Nobody wants a villain, Ex-Villain is rejected almost everywhere, which can make it easier for hero organizations to keep them under control because they have nowhere else to go.

Ex-Villain losing sleep over their past, unable to think of anything other than what they've done wrong

Ex-Villains dyeing or cutting their hair and changing their appearance until they're unrecognizable, because maybe then they can at least pretend they're a different person now

Ex-Villain who still suffers with violent impulses, unable to ever get help for them because admitting they have them would make everyone distrust them

Ex-Villain who learns the hard way that that 'power of friendship' thing only applies to people the heroes like

Ex-Villain who's trying, they really are, but find it increasingly difficult to believe it'll ever actually make a difference

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jazztag · 16 days

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living weapons <3

can you imagine what itd be like to love someone whos known nothing but pain for their whole life. someone whos only purpose has been to hurt and be hurt? the unfamiliarity with the gentle, the kind, the soft because they've only ever experienced the brutal, the cruel, the rough? the discomfort when it comes to physical contact, because theyve only ever been touched in a fight or as a punishment? how difficult it would be? how they dont communicate because they never were taught to. how they bottle everything up, hiding their mental and emotional anguish behind the stoic shield theyve had up forever. trying to help them, love them? coaxing them out of their shell, healing their crushed, fractured being. teaching them everything theyve never known, what love truly is? can you imagine taking a creature that is more scar than skin and bringing them back from the darkness with nothing but love, care, kindness? staying up with them, comforting them after their nightmares, holding them as they weep for the first time in years? reminding them that their scars, mental or physical, do not define who they are, that they're so much more than what they've been conditioned to believe. they aren't just a living weapon, not anymore. they're someone who deserves love and affection, who deserves so much more than what theyve had for the past several years? can you imagine the sleepless nights, where theyre afraid to sleep because of night terrors that bring them back to their fighting days, their punishment days? trying to convince them that you don't care about their scars, because you don't, their scars dont define who they are. you love them, the creature, the person, for who they are, and nothing could ever change that. the hours you spend together each day, in silence, because they dont know how to communicate their emotions, they never learned? so you just sit there, taking comfort in the safety of each other's presence, knowing that the other is there for you, always?

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jazztag · 16 days

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I think I'm spoiled on the OC whump side of tumblr. This shit is so good. Sorry I can't go back to Fandom whump I am far more invested in like Riot Kings and A Rose Amidst Thorns and Fear no Void and characters like Dog and Mal and Mariano and Aldercy and Altair and Lord Denholm and Nico and Mica. Like they're all so cool and then I go to Fandom whump and I'm bored. Hot take maybe but ugh ocs and original content just hit different.

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jazztag · 20 days

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A Cure for Solitude XVI

Medic is suddenly awakened by some loud knocks on the lab’s door. He checks the cameras, quite hoping it’s W who has decided to stop being an idiot and come to him again.

It isn’t. Instead, on the black and white screen, M sees the familiar face of Army no- Amy, the soldier woman who tends to patrol around the farthest areas in the city.

“C’mon, it’s important” rushes him the soldier, when M unlocks the big heavy metal door.

“What” questions M as soon as she comes inside his humble home. She is pacing around, uncomfortable. Finally, sits down on a near couch and lets her rifle rest on the floor. She looks to the floor.

“Remember when you promised me that?”

Medic disregards his annoyance at once and relaxes a bit. “Yeah”.

She looks then at him in the eye, and his smile shines, something than not even M, who has known the woman for most than two years now, has seen previously. Amy’s eyes shine with some tears strained in them, and there’s faith in there. M steps back a bit, a little bit taken aback by everything that’s going on.

“What? What, Amy? Speak”

The woman dries her eyes and steps up. She adopts a position of rest, as far as a military does, her gun on her side.

“They have approved Protocol T” and she smiles again. But M, on his side, his mouth closes shut.

“What do you mean, Protocol Test was something that our government banned after that fiasco with the Institute, they can’t…”

“Well, they now can! Remember the coup d’etat last year? Some commissions got created, some people left the government, new ones arrived…”

Medic walks frantically around the room.

“That’s bad. That’s really bad…”

Amy grabs him by the shoulders, stopping him in his tracks. She looks at him, half smiling.

“Don’t you get it? Now we actually can find a cure! Now we will all work towards the vaccine! No more gatekeeping, finally full Countries will start trusting each other with the information and…”

“No!” yells M, fleeing from her hold. He backs away into a corner, and repeats himself again, much quietly: “no…”

Amy furrows her brows and decides to let her weapon right there by the wall. She approaches M again, cautiously, but while following the scientist around the improvised apartment, her eyes start to wander around all the papers and documents that decorate each surface. A lot of medical words she has never understood. Then, half hidden under another pile, some random newspapers. Wait…

M arrives by the coffee machine and gets a fresh cup. He gulps it all down. He tries to get his hair away from his eyes for the fifth time.

“You don’t get it, Amelia. How could you? You just wait for results, and when you find them, you just… steal them”

Amy turns to the scientist, raising one eyebrow. Then she returns her attention to the newspaper cover, one from almost three years. There’s a group of scientists there, in the first article, a big photo with a lot of people and names, everything is smiles and handshakes.

“Medic?” asks Amy, without looking up from the paper. She grabs the dusty pages, and starts reading ”Is there something I should know?”

M starts pacing around, coffee in hand. “Not a virus, not a virus” mutters the scientist while shaking his head absentmindedly.

Amy keeps reading the page and stops by the big picture. He can recognize someone from the photo. Her eyes span nervously towards the bottom line of the picture, and from left to right, a series of names are written…

“M-Mel? That was you, on the team?”

M stops dead in his tracks and turns around slowly towards Amy. He then can’t keep it anymore straight and falls onto his knees, dropping the mug and breaking it in shambles. He takes off his glasses and starts crying frantically.

“It was all a mistake” he sobs uncontrollably “We were lied to and stolen…”

Amy walks towards him and yanks from his shoulders to get him up again and away from the cutting ceramic on the floor.

“You don’t need to carry all the pain and guilt by yourself anymore, Mel…” says Amy softly. You have help, now. They will let you guide them and…

“No!” M now is angry, his past is again punching him in the gut, and what he thought was something he was keeping controlled and forgot about, has returned once more. He eyes Amy, and the woman suddenly is scared. But M’s fury has nothing to do with her, that’s something she is sure of.

“There was never a mistake” speaks M, suddenly in a lower voice, more controlled manner. “There was never supposed to be a cure. The virus was the first phase of the plan, and now they are going to start the second phase.

Amy has her eyes fully open. “What- What do you m-mean”

“Three years ago I thought I failed on my research. But turns out, I just provided humanity with the most brutal annihilation weapon ever”.

M looks at Amy, and the both of them stare in shock at each other.

“You mean-”

“Amelia, answer me this one:

If you were to invent the atomic bomb, would you share the knowledge, or burn the plans and die with the secret?”

Taglist: @whump-blog @cupcakes-and-pain @crunchypuppy06 @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @kona-luu @hurtthemgently (comment to get added/removed from the list!)

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