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vincess-princess · 4 days

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we, the psychos

ch. 5

Word count: 2724 Warnings: violence A/N: i really am spoiling you with all those updates. gene simmons fans, i'm sorry, i needed a bad guy

Vince was suffocating.

Water in his lungs, water in his eyes, water in his nose. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t even scream – no sound came out, only bubbling. The coldness burned his skin; he grasped the handles of the chair, but couldn’t feel its wooden texture. And it went on, and on, and on, and the world was just cold and water-

And then it ended. The water trickled down his body and pooled at his feet. Vince opened his eyes, but still couldn’t see anything and for a second panicked. Then he realised it was just his hair covering his eyes. He shook his head to get it out of sight.

His eyes were hurting as they do after you open them underwater, and his vision hadn’t returned to him completely, so he could only see a figure in white coming up to him. But the voice was unmistakable.

“Well, Wharton,” nurse Simmons said, “enjoyed the shower?”

“Screw you,” Vince coughed out.

“Well, you’re the only one screwed here,” nurse Simmons responded cheerily. “You might want to be more polite if you don’t want another shower. And you don’t, do you?”

Vince didn’t answer. Nurse Simmons came close to him and squatted down in front of him so that their faces were on the same level. He smiled. It was all fun and games to him.

“Well?”

“Yes,” Vince croaked. He wanted to spit in Simmons’s face so bad, but that would not help his situation.

“That’s a good boy. Now, I’ll untie you, and don’t you try to pull anything.” Simmons unfastened the belts first on Vince’s legs, then on his wrists.

Vince stood up, stretched his shoulders. And when nurse Simmons turned his back on him to fetch a towel, Vince launched at him.

He jumped on nurse Simmons’ back and clasped his arms around his neck. Simmons staggered back and clutched at Vince’s arms, but Vince clung to him like a tick. Simmons was like a head taller than him and twice as wide in the shoulders, so direct assault would have Vince on the ground the very next moment. This – this gave him a chance. Not to kill Simmons, no. That would be too much. To cause him at least a sliver of the pain and discomfort he just caused Vince.

“Let go,” Simmons croaked. He tried to poke at Vince’s eye with one hand, but missed. Vince bit his finger, and Simmons yelped in pain. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

Vince’s arms began to hurt, so he enclasped Simmons’ body with his legs to give himself some propping. Simmons finally realised trying to reach the parasite on his back was useless and backed into the wall with all the speed he was capable of.

Vince hit the wall with his back so hard all the air went out of his lungs. His grip weakened, and Simmons managed to shove his hand in between his arms. Now that he could breathe again, Simmons began slamming his back into the wall until Vince released his grip and slid to the floor.

Simmons began kicking him in the ribs vehemently, shouting curses along with it. Vince covered his head and lay onto the floor in the pose of an embryo – that minimized the damage to vital organs. And now just to wait, just to endure until Simmons runs out of steam. Blows rained down his back and legs, some even came at the arms covering his face – the nurses usually tried not to hit in the face, but Simmons must have got too carried away.

In a distance, as though through fog, Vince heard another voice – a different nurse. Wonder if he stops Simmons or joins him?..

Then blows stopped.

Stradlin stood over Vince, looking at him with his typical indifference. Nothing ever touched him. Vince wished he could go through life like that – with a glass shield separating him and the world, so that he could see everything but not care about it. Stradlin never got angry, even when a patient was smearing shit all over his face, and barely ever smiled.

But at least he stopped Simmons.

“What’s that again?” he asked Simmons tiredly.

“The motherfucker tried to choke me!” Simmons said, rubbing his neck.

“Why’d you do that?” Stradling now said to Vince, not a change in his tone.

Vince moved his arms away from his face. The back of his palm was bleeding from Simmons’s sharp heel. He licked the blood off and smiled.

“He’s a dick.”

”And what do we do with him now?” Stradlin asked Simmons, losing interest to Vince.

“I’ll go ask Dr. Duren. I don’t even know what else can be done.” Simmons spit on the floor. “Would you mind watching him while I am away?”

“Alright.”

Simmons sent Vince the last hateful look and left. Stradlin picked up the towel that Simmons dropped when Vince attacked him and threw it at Vince.

“Wipe yourself up and dress.”

***

The man Duff delegated Tommy too surely was… peculiar. Long black hair that almost reached his waist that was unusually well-kept for a psycho streamed down his shoulders. Clear blue eyes looked at the world with wariness so old it was almost ingrained in them. His hospital robe was well-worn but clean, without a single wrinkle. This man hardly looked insane, and at first Tommy even doubted Duff told him the truth: how can be this man a patient? But then he looked at his fingers, and they were covered in wounds and scabs; the man kept picking at them absent-mindedly even as he and Duff spoke. Blood was under one of his nails. The man seemed not to notice.

“Bob, this is Tommy Lee. He just arrived to our asylum, so make sure his first impression is good!” Duff said with a smile. “Tommy, this is Bob Deal. He’s one of the oldies. Knows everything around here. He’ll show you around.”

“Hello,” Tommy said carefully to the man, hesitating whether he should offer him his hand. Then he decided to go for it – and the man looked at it like it was smeared with crap.

“Bob doesn’t shake hands,” Duff said apologetically. “He’s very… hygienic. Our laundresses’ favorite patient!”

“Ah, alright.” Well, what else could I expect.

“People used to show their hands to each other to prove they had no weapons. This is where hand-shaking comes from. You both can agree this is not needed in our situation,” the man spoke with a low, slightly hoarse voice. He must be a smoker. Were cigarettes allowed here?

“Well, you know, with some patients you wish they got in the habit of showing you their hands,” Duff laughed. “Not needed with you two, though, that’s true. Alright, I’ll be on my way. Please be back in twenty minutes, gents, or I’ll get into a big trouble. And keep out of nurse Simmons’ sight!”

“Don’t worry, boss,” Bob Deal said, made Tommy a lazy gesture to follow him and turned around. They went up the pathway circling the asylum.

“Hey, Bob. What’s so bad about nurse Simmons?” Tommy asked. Bob kept silent so long Tommy thought he was ignoring him. What did he do to earn such unfriendliness?

Then he stopped and turned to Tommy. “Two things,” he said. “First: don’t call me Bob. My name is Mick Mars. Nurses mustn’t know.”

“Mick Mars?” The name was more fit for a practicing performer than for a psych patient. Though… these were not too far apart. People of the arts were all a bit cooky. “Alright… And why nurses mustn’t know?”

“They will tell them.” Mick highlighted the last word with his voice. He looked at Tommy with grave seriousness. To laugh now would be to lose his favor for good.

“Oh. Them. Alright. And who are they?”

Mick didn’t answer, just put his finger to his mouth.

Well, if that was the asylum’s most reasonable fellow, Tommy feared to imagine what their worst case looked like. The blonde guy from the canteen? Or something worse?

They stood in silence until Tommy lost his patience.

“What’s the second thing?”

“Oh, yeah.” Mick’s tone switched to lazy casual so suddenly it gave Tommy a whiplash. “Nurse Simmons. Right. Well, he’s very good friends with Dr. Duren. And he tells him about everything he sees. And he usually sees things that we’d rather Dr. Duren didn’t know about.”

“A snitch,” Tommy concluded.

“You could say that.” Mick turned around and continued his path. He was surprisingly fast for a short man that he was - his head barely reached Tommy’s shoulder.

They went up the path and reached the asylum building.

“Alright. This,” Mick waved vaguely in the air, “is out beloved Feelgood Asylum. You feelin’ good here already?”

Tommy snorted. Mick clearly liked that.

“Our beloved asylum contains about seventy patients, give or take. About twenty nurses and then the director, Dr. Duren. He’s the one who’s gonna diagnose you and prescribe you stuff and all. Sometimes he requests help from other doctors when the case is tough, but usually he does it all himself.”

“And what kind of case is so tough Dr. Duren can’t crack it?” Tommy’s father spoke of him with much respect, even reverence. Dr. Duren also treated Tommy’s uncle, and, as far as he knew, successfully. Tommy never met him, but father said he was living peacefully in the Yorkshire countryside. If your treatment goes well, you can join him there, father used to say. That was before Tommy’s psychosis revealed itself, though.

“I think you’ve already met him,” Mick said, looking pointedly at Tommy’s cheek. Tommy couldn’t help but touch the bruise the blonde guy left him. It hurt a bit, and the cheekbone began to swell, but overall Tommy felt pretty good about the fight. He didn’t back off and stood up to himself.

“You saw the fight too?”

“No. But everyone had heard about that already. You did the right thing. Wharton had it coming.”

“He really is… something else.” Tommy recalled the inhuman shriek and shuddered. “Is he always like that?”

“Usually not. But he’s had a bad spell for a couple weeks. Spent almost all of them in a padded cell. Guess that makes a person a little bit… mad.”

Tommy snorted again. Well, at least this old man was fun.

“And what was the consensus on him?”

“I don’t know, but if I were those doctors, I’d say: pour more cold water on the bastard. He surely needs to cool down.” Mick started walking again, and Tommy followed him. “The problem is, he hurts other inmates. Some complain of sexual assault. Some… well, don’t react well to his antics. My advice is: keep away.”

“Alright,” Tommy said. What he saw and heard of Wharton convinced him this was rather sound advice. He only wished Wharton would also keep away from him. For some reason, Tommy doubted it. People like him tended to be pretty vindictive.

“Now, the asylum itself is Building A. Nurses live there – in Building B.” Mick waved at a smaller building a little bit farther away. It was connected with the asylum by a corridor. “We’re pretty far in the countryside, and they can’t commute here from London every day.”

“Looks much newer than the asylum.”

“Because it is. When asylum housed less people, nurses lived in the same building, just in a different wing. Good times those were. Peaceful.”

“You were there already?” Tommy stared at Mick. He didn’t look that old – in his forties, maybe. How long had he spent in the asylum?

“You heard Michael – I’m one of the oldies,” Mick huffed. He looked clearly displeased, and Tommy decided to drop the topic.

“And then the world went crazy, and people went crazy, and the asylum had to take in more and more patients. And now we’re all cramped in here, two, three in a ward… I heard you’ve got it rather fancy?”

“What, the ward?” Tommy clarified. “Fancy” was the last word he could come up with to describe it. But other patients probably didn’t have even that. “Well… the curtains are full of holes and the carpet needs washing, and I’m pretty sure someone bled on my mattress, but otherwise yeah, you could say it’s fancy.”

“Oh-oh, look at him, he’s got holes in his curtains!” Mick teased. “Spoiled little brat, you are. Why aren’t you wearing a robe like us peasants, anyway?”

“Du- Michael said there’s none in my size.”

“Well,” Mick looked him over critically, “your size is probably hard to match, that’s true. But don’t you worry – they’ll dress you up like the rest of us.”

“Oh no,” Tommy moaned. “These look just horrible.”

“You’re in an asylum,” Mick reminded sternly. ”It’s not a beauty pageant.”

“Maybe that’s why you all are crazy here,” Tommy grumbled. “Humans need beauty to live.”

“Humans need food, water and air to live. Everything else is secondary.” Mick waved his hand and headed up the path.

“Now, that’s the laundromat and that’s the kitchen. You might be assigned laundry or kitchen duty some time – if you’re normal around knives, of course.”

At home Tommy was forbidden from going to the kitchen after a maid discovered four knives under his pillow and two in the pockets of his coat. He decided not to tell Mick that, but the old man with his piercing gaze probably saw something anyway.

“So do the patients do all the work around here?”

“Well, not all. There are cooks and laundresses and cleaners. But there are too few of them to service all the patients, so yeah – we have to help ourselves.”

“And why don’t just hire more people?”

Mick stopped dead in his tracks, looked at Tommy, saw he was serious and erupted into laughter.

“Oh, sweet innocence! You do know that services cost money, right?”

“Of course,” Tommy pouted, crossing his arms on his chest in a defensive gesture. “It’s just… doesn’t the asylum have sponsors?”

“Sure it does. But sponsors are also not bottomless moneybags. And they, unlike patients, haven’t doubled in numbers in recent decades.”

“Oh.” Tommy’s father was one of the sponsors, and he never mentioned the asylum was underfunded. And Tommy’s father had no problem with money. Couldn’t he invest even a little in the place he sent his son to?

“Yeah. So that’s why we have to work. Dr. Duren says, of course, that labor humanizes and ennobles, but we all know that’s just an excuse.”

Tommy imagined himself mopping a bathroom floor and shuddered. Working like a servant, getting all sweaty and dirty, fumbling with psychos’ dirty underwear or washing the dishes – horrible, horrible! Maybe his privileged status would also absolve him of all this labor? He was already noble enough.

Duff would probably tell him to get off his high horse, and as much as Tommy liked him, that attitude irritated him. They all may be psychos here, but even among psychos there is variation. He needed to ask Dr. Duren about it. He was friends with Tommy’s father, surely he would cut Tommy some slack?

“And you sure need to learn what real labor is like. You look like you haven’t washed a dish in your life,” Mick added ruthlessly.

Well, he was not wrong. Tommy was used to considering that a reason for pride, but somehow the only thing he now felt was shame. And then – anger. How dares this lunatic shame him?

He just opened his mouth to express his resentment when Mick frowned, staring at the nurses’ dormitory, and then quietly cursed.

“Damn it. Nurse Simmons! He can’t see us!”

Tommy followed the path of his gaze and saw the nurse from the canteen. Even at this distance he instilled some primal fear in Tommy. Especially now, when he was walking in big strides, his hands were clenched into fists, and his coat half-soaked in water.

Mick dashed to the nearest tree and hid behind the trunk. From there he gestured to Tommy to hide behind another tree, which he did.

They watched the nurse enter the building, and even from their spots could hear the bang he slammed the door with.

“Hm. Someone got him real mad.” Mick scratched his stubbly chin. “We better go back to other patients.”

#we the psychos #asylum au #motley crue #motley crue fanfiction #vince neil #tommy lee #mick mars #duff mckagan #guns n roses #izzy stradlin #gene simmons #i wrote 2700 words in three days what is even happening i havent been writing for months before #that's what you get when you give love to your resident fanfic writer #i managed to whump vince even here. sorry hes my babygirl even when hes a sex obsessed psycho

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epiclamer · 1 year

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Here is part two my beloveds <3 of my crazy ass dream…

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Bait Pt. 2

The villain’s voice sent shivers down their spine, their whole body tensing against the rope even more was enough to draw a whine out from between their lips. Hero had to stay strong, they had to be calm for what was to come.

“Well, technically you’re Supervillains bait. Not mine. I’m not into high profile crime.” The villain winked, their smile appearing once more.

Hero’s gut twisted with unease. “Kidnapping a hero is high profile crime.”

The villain laughed, throwing their head back. “You really do know your laws, don’t you?” They said between laboured breaths.

Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm…

“I work for the law.”

Villain raised a brow, seemingly now more intrigued with their captive as they leaned forwards, hands on their knees.

“Oh? Feisty are we?”

At that, Hero backed down. Any fight right now they would lose. They had spent an hour trying to wriggle free, but nothing budged.

The hero was trapped. Tied up at the villain’s complete mercy.

“Let me go.”

“That’s a stupid thing to say.”

The hero glared at their captor, trying to keep a strong facade to cover their fear and quivering.

The villain hopped off the table, strutting forwards to face their captive. “Do you really think that after everything I’ve gone through to get you here, that I’d just let you go if you said so?”

It was almost a laughable point, Villain was right. It was a stupid thing to say, but they couldn’t help it. What else were they supposed to say?

The criminal huffed, closing up their knife and sliding it into their pocket. Patting the hero once on the shoulder as they kneeled down to level height.

“If you’ve got nothing else to say, I’ll be on my way, alright? I’ll be back… sometime later.” They smiled once more, taking the gag and blindfold in both hands as they reached for the hero’s face.

Hero’s heart pounded in their chest. This couldn’t end now, could it? They had barely any answers. They hadn’t gotten anywhere but on Villains nerves and now they were leaving.

This couldn’t be it. They didn’t want to be left alone again, they didn’t want to have to mull in their mind for hours on end.

“W-Wait!”

The villain stopped, mere centimetres from securing the gag in the hero’s mouth.

One deep breath. They had to stay calm. “What… What are you going to do to me?”

The shake in their voice was prominent as much as they wished it wasn’t. Hero couldn’t help but spare a glance around the room, it choked their sentence short, dread blooming in their throat.

Villain chuckled—they were much too amused for the hero’s liking—taking a short breath before they answered.

“That’s enough questions for now, hm? You’ll find out in good time…” With that, Villain didn’t waste another second in forcing the gag into hero’s mouth.

They struggled, pulling against the other’s grasp in an attempt to free themselves, but the villain was stronger in their position and easily finished the tie at the back of their head. Going in with the blindfold next, but they hesitated, stopping as they met eyes with the hero.

The villain’s gaze travelled just below the hero’s eyes, down to their lips. They reached out, roughly grabbing Hero by the chin as they tried to turn away.

Villain used their thumb, pressing gently on the hero’s dried, cracked and bleeding lip. Wiping away the blood as delicately as possible.

“Water?”

Hero only stared back in confusion.

“Do you want me to bring down some water to uh… clean that up?” It was a genuine question, something much softer behind their words than Hero thought was possible for a kidnapper to have towards their captive.

But they nodded quietly, their throat burned and their mouth was bloody. Anything to wash the metallic taste away.

The villain nodded back, reaching back around Hero’s head to replace the blindfold. They were a bit calmer this time, although Hero still proved to be a hassle when it came to tying the knot at the back.

It had been previously cut away, which was fine and all, just a bit shorter, but Hero wouldn’t keep their head still as the knot kept getting caught in their hair, ripping at their scalp.

“Relax.” Villains voice took a stern tone as they gripped Hero by the neck. “It’ll only be like this until I get back, sit pretty for me will you?”

And they finished off the knot, tapping Hero on the head as they left, causing them to mutter something through the gag. Villains laugh ringing out from the above.

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adastreia-12 · 4 months

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I promised I wouldn’t be normal about pjo once the series came out and honestly I’m a little surprised at how much I’m living up to that promise

#percy jackon and the olympians #pjo series #pjo tv show #like I’m actively posting about it I changed my pfp I inhaled tlt in 2 days while sick I’ve rewatched every episode 3 times #not sure if I’ll rewatch ep 4 three times too but maybe I will just to nitpick and to hold me over #oh wait no #I like percy falling #percy whump is important to my sustenance

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slippedtheknot · 5 months

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Whumpmas Day "Three"

Wish + Denied Food as Punishment + Gilded Cage

Whumpee sniffed as he pulled his knees up to his chest, wishing for the smallest crumb. His stomach ached, and Whumper had all of the cupboards locked away. But...his stomach hurt so badly. If only he had something...anything.

"Whumpee," Whumper kicked the door as he was walking past, "I need you to make dinner now. Like, now now."

"Okay, sir." Whumpee said softly; grabbing ahold of the wall to pull himself up. Whumpee entered the hall, only to be remembered how bare his room was compared to the rest of the house.

He walked down to the kitchen; finding that Whumper had already set out ingredients. Whumpee's eyes landed on the small box of locally grown raspberries and his stomach let out a loud grumble. Whumper wouldn't notice if Whumpee had one, right?

He stuck his hand in, and searched for the smallest one. Whumpee pulled it out; holding it delicately in his palm.

"Hey!" A spatula came down hard on his hand. "What do you think you're doing?! I don't seem to remember giving you permission to eat?"

#whumpee #whump things #whump community #whump blog #whump writing #whump stuff #whump prompt #whumper #whumpmas2023 #whumpmas day three #whumpmas wish #denied food as punishment whump #gilded cage whump #my ocs #merry whumpmas

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fallenwhumpee · 8 months

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“This can’t be it”

• Part 1 • Part 2 • Masterlist •

Day 3: Betrayal | Left to die | Running away

Warnings: Blood, gun.

"Leader and I will cover the left, rest go around and catch Whumper off guard."

Leader stayed silent as Right Hand changed their yet another order. The team eyed them cautiously, so they nodded and fled to the opposite side.

"Ready?"

Leader loaded their gun as a response. They were feeling sour over the mission. It was so redundant to dispatch a special unit for a barely guarded base. It was even more absurd to think Whumper was there. Leader had spent years hunting them down. They didn't believe a word of the intel.

At least every part of the plan was safe to ditch or retreat, even if it cost the night's sleep.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Just the mission," they breathed out at once. They often kept themselves from vocalising their worries, as if saying it loud would make it real. Right Hand's decisions weren't clashing with Leader's plans, but they didn't like this daring attitude.

"Relax, we will be fine. We are overqualified for this."

"Not until we go home." They darted forward, Right Hand after them. Soon, they were standing alone in the pool of enemy blood, dead bodies around. Leader was out of breath from covering Right Hand's back. They couldn't find any reason for this unusual behaviour.

"You'll get one of us killed!" They finally snapped as they pulled Right Hand back from the camera view. Tech was yet to disable those.

Right Hand smiled, and it was one of the scariest things Leader has ever seen.

Right Hand pulled their gun, and Leader started to run without a second thought, a bullet grazing their ear. They stumbled, and one more shot missed them, the turn in the corridor providing a cover.

"When the agency told us to get rid of you, I was afraid pulling the trigger would be hard."

Leader closed their eyes, their heart rushing as they listened to the footsteps getting closer. They had to keep calm and figure out what was happening later. Leader was better than Right Hand in the close combat.

They ignored their heart breaking to million pieces. They thought they were friends. Or a family of sorts. They always thought their team would be with them no matter what. They ignored the feelings creeping up. They were good at it, too, but they knew it was going to crush them down sooner or later.

"Please don't take this personally. This is just what it takes to end this pointless conflict. We will bury you and Whumper here and finally stop dying while hunting each other."

As if Leader was the reason for this ridiculousness. With a deep breath, they felt anger run through their veins and lunged to Rught Hand.

They fell to the floor with the impact, the gun flying to the opposite side of the hall. Leader pinned Right Hand to ground, their one knee pressing to the unguarded chest.

A hit from the back of their head sent them to the floor. The next thing they knew was pain, accompanied by a loud bang. Leader cried, hands reaching to the source, their fingers meeting with a warm, sticky fluid. They didn't look down, pressing their stomach as they gasped for air.

"Job is done. We don't have to torture ourselves with waiting for them to die."

Teammate, Leader wanted to call, but they could only cough as Teammate helped Right Hand back on their feet, leaving Leader's blurred sight without a word.

Leader didn't know how long they laid and waited for death to claim them, but some time later, a shadowy figure stumbled towards them, dropping to their knees.

"This can't be it. I refuse to die like this. And I won't let you die by someone else's hand."

Leader could barely recognise Whumper from the blood covering the enemy's face. Without a warning, Whumper pulled them up, leaning them against the wall. Leader grunted, pain too much for them to breathe properly, let alone think of a sarcastic comment like usual.

"We're getting out of here, and you're welcome."

#whumptember2023 #whumptember day 3 #day three: This can't be it #day three: betrayal #day three: left to die #day three: running away #tw blood #tw gun #leader whump #leader whumpee

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3-2-whump · 1 month

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Wow Birthday Whump Event Day 3:

“Why…?”

When (yet to be introduced) Caretaker OC stumbles upon Whumpee doing something weird during Recovery Arc

#wow birthday whump #wow birthday whump day three #why…#my oc art #my oc stuff #a bit of a jump ahead but don’t worry #we will meet this guy in due time #traditional drawing #sketch

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whumpflash · 1 year

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Penumbra: Unless

for Angstpril, Day 22: Shadow of Former Self

cw: war/death mentions, beating, referenced broken bones

prev ///// masterlist ///// next

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There was much to be done within the central city, even after Cerus was taken care of. Rebuild, relieve, reform. It was months before Tansy started looking toward home, and the journey there would be longer still, but eventually, as the summer came to a close, they turned to the road. It was time to do their own rebuilding.

The first sight of the coast filled them with a mixture of joy and sadness. How young they'd been, the last time they'd seen the ocean. A glance over their shoulder as they ran, blurred by tears.

Gone were the days when they'd spend all afternoon on their father's fishing boat, when they'd come home to their mother cooking, when they'd chase their siblings through the tide, splashing and looking for seashells.

Their grief for everything that could never be again wasn't as sharp as it had once been, now replaced with something hollow. An emptiness in their chest that could never be filled.

Tansy still had family in the little coastal village; people to come home to, which was more than some of their fellow soldiers could say. Their great-uncle's house was smaller than they'd remembered, but wasn't that how it always was with childhood memories?

Now that the war was over, it was time to try and settle down and remember how life carried on. Realize how many slow, small moments there really were in a day, so much more noticeable when you weren't just trying to stay alive, so much more beautiful.

Great-Uncle Aldon had managed to keep a fishing boat safely out of the reach of the war, and despite being well into his seventies, tended to the nets day in and out. Tansy mostly kept to the house; mending torn nets, cooking, and keeping things tidy. They weren't ready to climb aboard the vessel without their father just yet.

One evening, a fortnight or two from the day they'd returned, they picked up a parcel of clams from the market; a meal they were looking forward to, as the central city had been too far inland to receive any fresh seafood. It was dusk when they started the long walk back to the house, and a freezing, late-fall rain had begun. Tansy's cloak was heavy, but not waterproof, and they did their best to keep under the awnings of the merchants.

As they passed the shipyard, they paused to watch half-constructed vessels bob in the stormy water. Beautiful as it was dangerous. Were they not eager to get home and cook dinner, they would've found a better spot to watch the rolling of the dark waves.

They started off, but a figure near the ships caught their eye; stick-thin, in soaked clothing that didn't look at all appropriate for the weather, struggling under the weight of several wooden planks.

Odd. Most of the shipwrights knew the climate well, and wouldn't be caught in a storm without adequate layers. They watched as the figure stumbled, scattering their heavy load across the pier. Tansy started forward to help them, but another dock worker got there first.

A shock ran through them as the worker began to beat the person on the ground, shouting words that were drowned out by the storm. For a moment, Tansy was frozen in place. They'd never seen cruelty such as this, not in their village. Had the war really changed the people so drastically?

"Stop!" they shouted, their clam dinner forgotten as they charged out into the rain. The worker froze, looking more surprised than angry as Tansy moved to stand in front of the fallen figure.

"Leave them alone."

The worker shook their head, turning to leave. "Too cold out for this shite. Get a move on! Weather's no excuse." The last command seemed directed at the person on the ground, but the worker didn't wait for acknowledgement, disappearing into the dockside shack.

Tansy turned to kneel beside the person, who was still curled tightly on the ground, hands balled into fists, covering their face protectively. With a start, they realized what they'd assumed to be gloves were actually the person's bare hands, black as coal and crooked, like the bones had been broken and healed improperly—

"Cerus?" they said, barely able to hear their own voice above the rainfall. The man on the ground seemed to catch the name anyway, flinching away like it was a weapon Tansy wielded.

Oh gods, it was him. The Shadow King, the tyrant, trembling before them on the ground. The catalyst of the war, the thief who'd stolen Tansy's family— they wanted to run, forget they'd ever seen him here, but they couldn't bring themselves to turn away.

Because it was clear to them now that the Council had indeed sentenced Cerus to death. A slow, drawn-out death, to be carried out in silence, with no ceremony, no recognition. Tansy doubted the fallen ruler would live through the winter… unless he had help.

And who would help him? they thought, even as they knelt. Who would help him, if I turned my back?

"Cerus," they said again, taking a great effort to shape their tone into something resembling gentleness. A single gray eye peered warily at them from beneath dark hair. Someone had cut it, they realized, and not with a careful hand.

Tansy sighed. "Do you have a place away from the rain?"

The response was a rattling breath, an almost inaudible, "I have nothing."

Those words, hollow and hopeless, pierced Tansy like an arrow. In that instant, it didn't matter who he was, who he'd been. In that instant, Cerus was just another human who was suffering, and Tansy was so tired of watching people suffer.

"Then come with me," Tansy said, holding out their hand.

Without a word, perhaps because he thought he had no choice but to obey, perhaps out of desperate hope that someone cared whether he lived or died, Cerus took it.

§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§

@whumpwillow @rabbitdrabbles @kixngiggles

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crash-bump-bring-the-whump · 9 months

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Whump Week - Day 3

Day three for @week-of-whump!! Oops this was way angstier than I meant it to be? Miguel is @whumpr's boy!!

There's even a sequel right over here!

Prompt: “Nobody needs to know” TWs: isolation/loneliness, bullying

"You seem tired."

Manuel's voice drifted over the kitchen table. It snapped Mariano out of the blank staring he didn't realize he was doing. Mariano blinked.

He was at breakfast. The other war mages were looking at him. They had a drill in two hours, he was scheduled for a training session with Luis afterwards, and there was another drill that night.

He couldn't be tired.

"I'm okay." Mariano said, refocusing on his scrambled eggs and the fresh tortillas Izan had made. He sipped his orange juice. He didn't taste any of it.

Manuel's eyebrow raised. "Have you been sleeping well?"

Mariano's bedroom was on the ground floor, closest to the road. To the cars that passed by at night. To the streetlamp that flickered. The blinds sucked at their job, and the thin curtains only sort of filtered any light that came through.

He couldn't hang anything up to cover the window or get blackout curtains. Dimitri would make fun of him for being a spoiled brat. He'd already thrown a fit about Mariano getting his own room. He claimed that he didn't want to stop being roommates with Laredo when Mariano offered to trade, though.

Dimitri complained about a lot of things that he did.

"I've been sleeping alright."

Manuel frowned. He looked at Izan, then Laredo, and then Dimitri. Mariano still didn't know what the looks passed between any of them meant. It was too subtle, flew just outside of his grasp.

Mariano didn't try to figure it out anymore. He understood the signals they used in battle. That was enough.

He ate his eggs methodically, purposefully. Every bite had a certain amount of tortilla that was required to go with it. He finished both of them together like he did every morning, drank the last of his juice, then stood to wash his dishes.

"Thank you for breakfast." He said, drying his favorite plate and cup before putting them away.

Izan didn't say anything. No one stopped him from going to his room. They didn't ever come into his room, or knock on his door. He was grateful for that, at least.

The walls were bare. The room was spotless. His blankets, laptop, and spare glasses were the only things that pointed to it being his space. Mariano laid down on the bed, something unidentifiable swirling in his chest as he stared at the ceiling.

He hadn't slept there in weeks. Not since his last nightmare. Not since he'd woken up with his focus knife in his hand, pointed at the window and glowing like the sun.

A car had driven by.

Miguel hadn't been standing over him.

He couldn't stop seeing the swirling lights when he closed his eyes. He couldn't stop feeling the phantom rush of heat. Couldn't shake the feeling of dark eyes on the back of his neck as the two of them walked into the night to run an errand for Luis. Brushing his teeth and putting his hair up before bed still felt like silently saying goodbye to his parents every night.

He knew no one would care if he told them about his nightmares.

It didn't matter. Miguel would probably find a way to kill him if he told anyone. It was easier without the risk of adding another thing for Dimitri to make fun of him for, anyway.

Mariano wasn't a child anymore. He was a soldier. He was a war mage.

He could get over some stupid nightmares on his own.

Nobody needed to know.

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albino-whumpee · 1 year

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Another one for you whump enthusiasts.

You know how having nightmares is often depicted as screaming, tossing and turning and stuff? Well I bring you the silent dreamer.

They’re perfectly still, maybe a tight little frown, but their body is tense enough to not move an inch. They’re dreaming, Caretaker is glad they’re sleeping as sound as a rock. So they don’t really get it when whumpee wakes up and stares at them for a long time before walking to hug them and then bawl, saying they had a terrible nightmare and thought they had woken up screaming cause that’s what they last did in their dream.

#i love when whumpee doesn’t look like they’re hurting #until they allow to be vulnerable #push though baby! once we’ve crossed that bridge you’re allowed to break down like a dam #whump #also had three days in a row waking up like that #glad to know my ptsd dreams aren’t that bothersome

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onesaltyerik · 2 months

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I didn't see any fics yet of the duel Chayanne and Philza had so I made one.

Preview:

“Well then, brat. I see thou knowest the purpose of mine visit, clever one.” the man…puppet…mimicked Chayanne’s stance as he drew his own blade. A mockery of how Philza would have moved.

“Perhaps if thine presence is such distraction for mine vassal’s purpose here,” Not-Philza’s head tilted the other way, clicking as bone shifted unnaturally against itself. “Then a culling is in due order.”

Chayanne lunged.

“Give me back my father you shit!”

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kayamark · 9 months

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Kokdu season of deity (2023)

Ep 8

While you were sleeping (2017)

Ep 31

Our secret (2021)

Ep 21

She would never know (2021)

Ep 11

Big mouth (2022)

Ep 2

The King: Eternal monarch (2020)

Ep 11

True beauty (2020)

Ep 16

Love me in three days (2022)

Ep 19

Until we meet again (2019)

Ep 14

Goblin (2016)

Ep 16

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coffeeangelinabox · 1 month

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Whumpril #14, Alt Prompt #1: Reluctant Whumper

Yes, he agrees, yes, he’ll do it. He’ll hurt Darrow for them. Yes, he’ll force him to look into another friend’s eyes and believe he’s been betrayed once more, yes, yes, yes.

The agreement makes him feel as though his stomach lining has been replaced with those long legged, pincered bugs that infest every star system the Domain has so much as a toe in.

Yes, he knows how to hurt him.

That much is true at least. He’s a medtech and a surgeon. He knows where to cut and where to apply pressure. How to make him twitch and convulse involuntarily, how to make him bow his back and scream.

I’m sorry, Chris.

He knows how to hurt him in the right ways to keep him fighting. Darrow thrives on trauma. Being knocked down just makes him stubbornly drag himself back up, grit and dirt and blood and pain not the right weapons at all for a man like Christopher Darrow. He can keep him on the edge of consciousness, spitting and swearing and refusing to give so much as an inch. Darrow must know that as long as the Domain hierarchy are occupied with him they’re ignoring the others too, and David knows him well enough to know he’ll willingly suffer for that.

He knows how to hurt him enough to buy the occasional flinch, enough to keep his observers happy. Enough to make this appear genuine. Even as every noise that escape’s Chris’ stubborn throat flays him just as surely.

He knows how to hurt his body enough to keep them away from his mind. Knows to say, “Tell them what they want to know,” when he wants Darrow to clamp his lips to white and refuse to say anything. Knows to whisper, “Just give me something or it’ll be me here next,” as he brushes Chris’ matted fringe from his sweaty forehead when he needs to take some information, however useless to a briefing if he’s to be able to keep Darrow’s body out of the hands of the Domain’s interrogators.

Sometimes he half thinks Darrow knows what he’s doing, half thinks Darrow is playing the game and dancing along with him: eking pointless, useless information out to buy time to stall, to plan. Even when he sees pure wordless hatred in Darrow’s eyes - could be for him, could be for the situation or the Domain as a whole. It is, after all, that hatred which has kept him fighting all this time. Anyone without that fire to burn would have given up this crusade long ago. Harder to explain away is the hurt. Lee’s actions still a scar too raw for Darrow, only half lucid, to understand why it is David who is digging into him.

He doesn’t want to, it goes against every single thing he believe in, but he knows how to do this. He believes it is healing more than harming - at the least protecting the parts of Darrow that cannot be brought back.

“We won’t need your services after today,” says the young crewman as he escorts David through the cruiser to want is laughingly called the infirmary.

“Oh, no? Why not?” David is hardly listening, thinking instead about what he can do today that will elicit an obvious response whilst not being permanent. He’s running out of unmarked skin on Darrow’s body.

“Commander Fenric docked this morning. He’s already requested that his interrogation teams take over.”

David’s heart stops in his chest. It’s all he can do to keep his feet moving, his face impassive. The boy is watching him closely. They do not, after all, completely trust him yet.

“I’ll have to ensure I get anything useful today then. I can’t imagine he’ll be much use after the commander’s sadists have had their way with him.” His voice is icy, disapproving, but it seems to keep the crewman happy.

He opens the door and David steps into the room. Darrow is already laid out on the table, eyes closed and breathing steadily - determined, falsely, even breaths. He’s restrained. The tools are laid out in neat rows beside him. David already knows how this day will end.

Yes, he’d agreed. Yes, I’ll hurt him. Please let me hurt him.

Because I know I am willing to die if I accidentally kill him.

#my writing #whump #whump prompts #whumpril2024 #coffeeangelinabox's space opera ocs #I don't know why the last three days have all been “near death”#I promise I'm not on a murder spree through my ocs #they'll probably walk it off and be fine #just traumatised #which is better...probably #whumprilday14 #alt prompt #reluctant whumper #whump event

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keeper-of-all-the-random-things · 1 month

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The Machines

RUIN pt 3 | Previous | Next

for @whumperofworlds WOW Day 15 | Outnumbered

CW: outnumbered 3 to 1, multiple whumpers, taunting, beating

Renfred W. Michaelson III,

Congratulations on your graduation from the Royal Undergraduate Institute of Networking. Your certificate of completion has been processed and is ready to be picked up. Your documents will be available until the start of fifth term.

Sincerely,

Cpt. Leroy Hutchins

Headmaster

...

Wren read the letter four times, hands trembling. He had hoped the Institute would mail his documents. The thought of returning made his heart race.

He took a steadying breath. He spent a year there. One more day wouldn’t kill him.

His sister met him as he left.

“I thought they mailed those kinds of things,” Molly mused.

Wren shrugged, eager to be gone and return.

“I made you something.” Molly handed him a basket filled with enough bread and fruit to feed a whole family.

“I’ll only be gone one day, Mol,” Wren laughed.

“I know. I just wanted you to carry it around all day.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Wren hooked the basket over his elbow. When he reached the front gate, he heard the door open again, and Molly shouted, “I want my basket back!”

...

The Royal Undergraduate Institute of Networking loomed large atop a hill, its grey stone exterior partially hidden behind tall pines.

Wren paused halfway up. He ate some bread, stalling.

From the top, three boys came towards Wren, pointing at him and laughing between themselves.

The first, seemingly the leader, approached and greeted, “Hello, Renfred! We thought we’d find you here.”

“Hello.” Wren turned slowly as they circled around him. “Who are you again?”

“We’re the real graduates.”

“The ones who earned our places at the Institute.”

“And our Certificates.”

“Did you earn yours, Renfred?”

“Did you earn yours?”

Wren gave up trying to follow the boys as they circled, their conversation bouncing between the three of them so Wren could hardly tell them apart.

“What’s this?” One of them snatched the basket from Wren’s hand. “Aw. You got packed lunch from your mommy.”

Wren reached to take it back, and the boys laughed. They passed it back and forth, like a game, all the while shoving Wren with increasing violence.

“Someone here must really love you -”

“- or really hate you -”

“- to allow you to graduate so unprepared.”

“We put in the work.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s right.”

“Nothing.”

They pushed, and one stuck his leg out, sending Wren tumbling to the ground.

“I don’t want any trouble,” Wren said, trying to scrabble away.

“You don’t get to pass without trouble.”

“This is what you’re owed.”

The closest boy delivered a swift kick to Wren’s shoulder.

Wren fell onto his back and barely had time to cover his head before the three descended upon him in a flurry of feet and fists.

Just as quickly as they started, the boys composed themselves and walked back up the hill to the Institute, their parting words off-handed. “By the way. Andrew sends his regards.”

#wow birthday whump #wow birthday whump day 15 #outnumbered #three to one #multiple whumpers #beating #taunting

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whump-card · 4 months

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Forged Divinity Chapter 4: Leannan Talks Back

1632 words

CW: institutionalized slavery, religious themes, noncon touch, noncon kiss, abuse

Previous, Masterlist, Next

~~~

Luke 12:47

The servant who knows the master’s will and does not get ready or does not do what the master wants will be beaten with many blows.

~~~

As used to traveling rough as they were, Phineas appreciated the shower – even if it was cold – the clean clothes, and the soft bed.

The soft bed that they would be sharing with a very annoyed Iowan.

The room was small, and the ceiling had water stains, but it smelled clean and the air felt dry, despite the rain pattering outside. Phineas couldn’t complain, not when they had such good entertainment.

Leannan looked particularly adorable with heavy, wet curls, and pouting, chubby lips, standing with his arms crossed at the side of the bed. Phineas was already lying down, their head propped on one hand, watching Leannan in the lantern light.

“I’ll just sleep on the floor,” he said for the third time.

“Bed ain’t that small,” Phineas countered.

“Whatever,” Leannan tossed his head, “At least I’ll have it all to myself while you’re gone.”

“What do you mean?” Phineas’ smile faded slightly.

“While you’re off on your assassin mission,” Leannan waved a hand, “I’m staying here, right?”

Phineas’ smile returned.

“I’m staying here,” Leannan repeated, “Right?”

“Oh no, bebino, you’re coming with me. I can’t leave you here where someone could take advantage of my property.”

Leannan stared at Phineas, open-mouthed. “How am I supposed to just… tag along while you kill someone?”

“You shut the fuck up and do what I say. And that starts with getting a good night’s sleep, so come the fuck to bed.”

Leannan huffed, and stubbornly stayed in place.

Phineas sat up. “Y’know, I don’t know a ton about Iowans. But what I do know – what everyone knows – is that they have to do whatever their master says. And if they don’t, their master can beat the everloving shit out of them. I also know that Iowans can’t be raped, not by their master. They have to take whatever their master gives them. So you listen to me,” Phineas pointed at Leannan threateningly, their voice going low, “Just because I like a feisty personality doesn’t mean I enjoy disobedience. I am your master, I own you, and if you don’t do as I say there will be consequences. So. Get. In. To. Bed.”

Leannan didn’t look scared, exactly, which was disappointing, but he did lift the covers and climb into bed next to Phineas, which sent a rush of adrenaline and power through their veins. They waited until Leannan was completely settled, then leaned over and kissed him harshly on the mouth, reaching down and grabbing between his legs and squeezing. Not enough to hurt, just a warning.

Leannan whimpered anyway. Pathetic.

Phineas withdrew and leaned the other way, over to the lantern on the bedside table.

“Goodnight,” they said pleasantly, and blew it out.

~~~

The next morning, Leannan behaved as if he were suitably chastised, quiet and obedient. But his mind raced, trying to come up with a good reason for Phineas to leave him behind. The problem was, Phineas was impossible to predict; they didn’t seem to care terribly deeply for Leannan’s safety, despite hinging their future on him. It was irrational.

Leannan sat in the background, half-listening to the meeting between Councilman Brochard and Phineas. First they had discussed the dispatchment of King Gauthier; his location, his likely safeguards, what Phineas was to do afterwards. Now they were looking over maps and discussing the various options available to Phineas upon their success. Locations, crop yields, number of residing peasants. Once upon a time, this would have been Leannan’s bread and butter – rubbing up against the nobility, asking innocent, steering questions to guide them to the conclusion his master desired. But Leannan had no insight into the goals of either negotiator, his current master nor his future one. He felt terribly in the dark.

The door squealed open, startling them all – well, not Phineas – and a guard rushed in.

“Councilman Faverolle is here – ah!”

The guard was shoved aside by a man entering behind him. Though he was much broader, there was an undeniable family resemblance between him and Councilman Brochard; thin light brown hair, and similar narrow noses.

“What is this I hear about you selling a council seat for a common whore, Uncle?!” he shouted, “Es-tu putain de sénile?”

“James, James!” Councilman Brochard raised his hands, “It’s much more complicated than that! Here, take a seat, I will explain.”

Faverolle sat in the offered chair in a huff, crossing his arms.

“C’est Phineas Kaŝpafisto,” Brochard extended a hand towards Phineas, “Et, euh, pour expliquer…”

The Councilman began to explain the situation to Faverolle in French. Faverolle’s face shifted from outrage, to consternation, to begrudging curiosity, casting glances at Leannan.

“Avez-tu goûté le produit?” he asked Brochard a question, pointing at Leannan.

“… Pas exactement,” Brochard replied hesitantly.

Faverolle considered this for a moment. Then he addressed Phineas, in English.

“The whole Council will need to sign off on your deal before it goes forward. You have seen clearly what we have to offer; we are familiar with your skills; I believe it is only fair that we are allowed to ascertain the quality of the Iowan.”

Phineas folded their arms, leaning against the table.

“You want to fuck my Iowan,” they said knowingly.

Leannan kept his expression pleasantly neutral. He could already tell Faverolle would be a distasteful master, but he wasn’t about to show that on his face. ‘Distasteful’ was better than whatever the hell Phineas was; there was no way Leannan would jeopardize this deal.

If Faverolle needed to fuck him, well… that was the price Leannan always paid for a home.

Phineas let the silence fester for another breath before they tilted their head with a smile.

“No.”

Faverolle looked insulted.

“Surely, it’s only fair-”

“You should be assured of his quality by the simple fact that he’s an Iowan. You can prick him and check his blood color, if you like, but as it stands he belongs to me. I’m not interested in letting anyone else touch him.” Phineas straightened, dropping their arms. “I will be leaving tomorrow. Whether I will be returning south, or hunting your King, is up to you. You know what I want, and what I offer. I’m done negotiating.” They snapped their fingers at Leannan and strode out the door. Leannan followed, rushing to keep up.

“That’s not usually how negotiations like this are done!” Leannan hissed once they were out of earshot of the room and walking down the dim, sagging hallways of the Council building.

“It’s always worked for me.”

“I guess you are a little…” Leannan looked Phineas up and down as they walked, from their odd tufty hair, to the ever-present rifle, to their bulky miss-matching clothes, “… Different.”

Phineas bared their teeth in a threatening smile.

“You got that right.”

~~~

That night, Phineas requested various bowls and amounts of heated water from the Council’s servants, and set about mixing the henna they had gotten from the merchant into a thick sludge that they pasted onto their hair. It was a valued monthly ritual for them, as long as they could find the stuff.

Leannan, of course, watched with confusion. Phineas didn’t bother explaining anything to the whore. Why should they? It wasn’t until the next morning when Phineas’ hair was fully dry and visibly a brighter shade of red that it seemed to click for Leannan.

The two of them packed up their things, all the while Leannan clearly grew more and more anxious. His eyes darted from the door, to Phineas, to the door again. As a distant bell chimed 8 o’clock, he lost his patience.

“You blew it!” he accused Phineas, flinging his packed bag onto the bed, “You are so… insane! You should have given me to Faverolle! Why do you even care, anyway?”

Phineas had had about enough of Leannan’s lack of faith, and his attitude. They rounded on Leannan, rushing towards him and forcing him to stumble backwards. They grabbed the front of his shirt and threw him down onto the bed, climbing onto him and straddling his hips.

“I thought I made it pretty clear last night,” they said, their voice icy calm, “If you kept acting up, there would be consequences.”

“Phineas,” Leannan spoke quietly, his voice wavering, “Phineas, I’m sorry.” His eyes were wide, but otherwise his expression was schooled.

“Hmm. I don’t think you are,” Phineas said casually, and drew back their arm and punched Leannan just below the ribs. Leannan cried out, and his body bucked underneath Phineas.

“I’m sorry!” he begged, putting his hands up, “I’m really sorry, Phineas!”

There it was – fear, on his face. Phineas smiled. Their hands settled on Leannan’s chest, harsh grips and violence turning to soft caresses. Leannan picked up on the shift immediately, and he wiggled his hips slightly, trying to stimulate Phineas.

“I can be good for you, I swear,” he breathed, lowering his eyelashes.

Phineas narrowed their eyes. They leaned down as if to kiss Leannan, but stopped millimeters from the man’s lips.

“You’re disgusting,” they whispered.

“Yes, Phineas,” Leannan agreed automatically.

“You’re subhuman.”

“Yes, Phineas.”

“You should know your place.”

“Yes, Phineas.”

“What are you?”

“I’m disgusting,” Leannan dutifully recited, “I’m subhuman. I know my place.”

Someone knocked on the door. Phineas sat up.

“Come in!” they called.

A guard entered, faltering and averting his eyes when he saw Phineas and Leannan’s positions.

“The Council had reached a decision, monsieur,” he said, “They accept your terms.”

Phineas smirked. “Thanks. You can go.”

Clearly relieved, the guard scurried out. Phineas leaned back down over Leannan.

“What did I,” they flicked Leannan’s nose, making him flinch, “Fucking tell you?”

“I shouldn’t have doubted you, Phineas, I’m sorry,” Leannan whispered.

“Damn right,” Phineas practically bounced off of the bed. “Get up, slut. We have a king to kill.”

~~~

Previous, Masterlist, Next

Taglist: @angst-after-dark, @sunshiline-writes, @flowersarefreetherapy, @thecyrulik

Let me know if you want on or off the taglist!

#whump #whump fic #whump writing #forged divinity #cw slavery #cw religion #cw noncon touch #cw noncon kiss #cw abuse #I got fed up with posting every three days so it's back to every other!!

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