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#female whumpee
lumpsbumpsandwhumps · 3 months
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i know the whump community hates women characters or whatever but the lesbian in me is dying for bloody femininity please
let them have thicc thighs and bazoinkas and wear dresses with the hem ripped to shreds so they can run faster. have them sprint in heels. have them use their stilettos as weapons when they jam it into a person's eye. girls kissing girls. beautifully manicured nails chipped and broken away or idly tracing the length of a blade. fishnets and stockings with runs gouged in them. low cut blouses that leave their collarbones exposed to be traced with the tip of a weapon. tight dresses that hug every curve to distract wandering eyes while they spike a drink. girls kissing girls. long silky hair to be wrapped around a hand and pulled. messy curls. a sultry villainess or a vixen in distress. smeared lipstick and mascara running down their cheeks. jewelry ripped from their necks and earrings torn from their lobes. clawing their way out of the carnage to emerge victorious, drenched in blood, beautiful in their madness. being upset that their hair was forcibly cut or their favorite bra was snapped or missing their skincare routine. girls kissing girls. feeling icky when they've been stripped of their womanhood. being empowered when they reclaim what's rightfully theirs through any means necessary. using their sweet face and lilting voice to draw a false sense of security in their victims. feminine rage and revenge. being underestimated because what could such a pretty little thing like her do? girls kissing girls. ultra femme cottagecore babe drenched in red. black leather dommy mommy being the gentlest caretaker. sisterhood. to be kind and nurturing or cold and cruel. did i mention the girls kissing girls.
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slashthrashandcrash · 2 months
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that's how that movie went right
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ramadiiiisme · 6 months
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Captive
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Fandom: Penthouse North/Blindsided
Pairing: Chad/Fem!Reader
Summary: What would have happened if Chad had survived and collected on your promise to give him anything if he killed his partner for you?
Warnings: Whump, manhandling, threats, knives, kidnapping, intimate whumper
Words: 1451
A/N: Divider by @cafekitsune Enjoy!  
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It had been over so fast. One second you were held against the door, vision going dark as the life was squeezed out of you. And in the next you were crumpled on the floor, wet squelching sounds filling the hallway as you think you see the two men fighting, a bloody knife glinting in the light of the fireworks. 
They fall to the floor. Only one of them gets back up. 
“Please, Chad-” You wheeze, scrambling back as he stalks towards you, the heels of his boots echoing against the hardwood floor. “Please don’t kill me!” 
“Shhh, I’m not gonna kill you.” He whispers, bloody hand caressing your cheek and it’s only the memory of the pain he’s capable of that keeps you from flinching away from him. “I’m gonna go find your cat and if she’s okay we’re taking her with us, okay?” 
“Chad, please just let me go.” You beg, tears leaving new salty streaks down your face. “I promise I won’t tell anybody about this. Take the money and the diamonds, I don’t care about them, just please please let me go.” 
“No, no, sweetheart. None of that.” He shushes your begging, his thumbs leaving bloody streaks across your cheeks as he wipes the tears away. “You’re far too precious to let go. Besides, you said you’d do anything I wanted if I killed him for you.” 
His words have you biting your lip until you draw fresh blood. 
He leaves you tied up in the closet while he goes looking for your cat. You don’t even tug on the tie binding your hands together, let alone search for a way out. You did that the first round in there and it had proven fruitless, even with the energy you still possessed at that point. 
Now you’re exhausted and if your heart wasn’t still going haywire in your chest you probably would have fallen asleep on the spot. The deafening silence of the apartment is such a stark contrast to the chaos from before, your hair still wet from where Chad and his monster of boss had... hurt you. You can’t even think of the proper term for what they had done to you, waterboarding, but you can’t stop yourself from remembering Chad’s face as you fought for air. 
The manic had been smiling. Grinning. His arms and hands holding you down while you struggled. 
Fresh tears leave your eyes and you find yourself getting irrationally angry at them. Why can’t they just run out already? You attempt to wipe them away using your shoulder but you can’t reach, lower lip trembling as cruel reality sets in, the darkness and quiet of the small space quickly turning claustrophobic. 
The front door closes and the way your heart leaps at the sound makes you nauseous. You shouldn’t be relieved that the monster is back, but at least this way you won’t be alone.  Closing your eyes you feel like you can hear his footsteps better, stupid heels of his boots hitting the hardwood floor like he’s not even worried someone might hear him. Of course he’s not. Him and his dead boss have been throwing you around the apartment all day without anyone hearing and calling the cops so why would a little walking after midnight on New Year’s Eve disturb anyone? 
The closet door unlocks and opens, you have to squint even against the soft lighting of the bedroom behind him as you look up at him, hating yourself for the way your body relaxes minutely at his arrival. 
“Miss me, sweetheart?” He asks with a breathy chuckle, lowering himself down on his haunches to be at your eye-level. 
“If I say no, will you hurt me again?” You whisper, throat dry and your voice shaky. 
“I’ll probably hurt you regardless,” He shrugs but the grin on his face makes you shiver. “But if you’re good at least I won’t have to punish you.” 
You go to open your mouth, wanting so badly to tell him to go fuck himself, but something stops the words from leaving your lips. You’re trying to convince yourself it’s because you don’t want to give him a reason to hurt you further, but the knowledge of why is enough to make your heart sink. You did miss him. Not him. But you can’t be alone. Not after everything that’s happened today. 
“Oh that’s right.” He says, leaning forward to once again caress your cheek and you have to stop yourself from leaning into the touch. “You used to be afraid of the dark. Guess you never got over that, huh?” 
You flinch in his hold, frantically meeting those haunting blue eyes as you catch him grinning that sadistic smile once more. There’s no way he should know that, how much had your boyfriend actually told him about you? 
“Chad, please...” You whisper as you blink more tears away, hating the way your eyes flutter closed as he shushes you almost gently. 
“I couldn’t find your cat.” He says apologetically and this is the first time you’ve actually believed him, the emotion in his voice the most genuine you’ve heard him so far. “I’m gonna untie you so you can have a shower, then we’re going to pack a bag and get out of here, okay?” 
The terrifying sound of his knife flipping open sends a chill down your spine and you know he can see that he has your full and undivided attention as he walks behind you to cut through the silk tie. 
“Let’s go get you cleaned up.” He whispers into your ear, making you hiss at the hand gripping the bruises on your upper arm as he pulls you onto your feet. 
The memory of his hands along your bare legs comes to mind and you can’t help but flinch away from him, only for him to yank you back against his chest, squeezing your bruises and pulling your hair to make you face him. 
“Now now, sweetheart.” He all but purrs, the underlying threat prickling your skin as you stare up at him, blinking the tears out of your eyes. “Are you gonna be a good girl for me or will I have to wash you myself?” 
“Please don’t. Not again.” You whimper, shaking in his hands as tears run down your temples, neck straining at the extreme angle. “I’ll do it.” 
“Do what, baby?” He leers down at you, inching closer with a predatory smile as if to kiss you and you pull against him even though it causes you nothing but pain. “Say the words, and I’ll let you do it on your own.” 
“P-please, Chad.” You stutter, he’s pressing his whole body against you now and you hate the sliver of fucked up desire that courses through you at the pressure against you. “I’ll- I’ll be a good girl for, for you, just please...” 
“Alright, sweetheart.” He hums contently, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, your reward for being good you figure with a shudder. “Go on, get in the shower and I’ll be out here when you’re done.” 
You can’t get away fast enough, stumbling over your own feet when he lets you go and the amused chuckle he gives as he watches you struggle has acid burning your throat. Just as you cross the threshold to the bathroom you reach for the door to give yourself a modicum of privacy, only for a hand to slam it out of your reach, knocking you off kilter. 
“What do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?” Chad glares down at you, veins in his neck popping as the anger radiates off of him and as terrified as it has you, you’re grateful he put his hand on the door instead of you. 
“I was just closing the door, I promise I wasn’t going to lock it.” You can’t keep your voice from shaking, your meek tone seeming to soothe him somewhat. 
“You know there’s no escape in there, don’t you?” He says darkly, once more getting uncomfortably close, ducking his head to get to your eye level and in any other situation with another man the action might have been charming or even attractive. Now it just works as a reminder to how much he towers over you. “Even if you did lock the door it would take me no time to knock it down.” 
“I know.” You whisper, salt-crusted eyelashes fluttering as you blink fresh tears out of your eyes. “Trust me, I know.” 
“Good girl.” He gives you an almost gentle smile that has a sob clawing in your throat. “Now get going, we have a long ride ahead of us.” 
@placeinthemiddleofnowhere
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whumpering-heights · 1 month
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Volume warning!! In this short, this voice actress demonstrates different types of screams, and I thought.... That's something the Whump Community has to see. Or hear, rather.
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wolfeyedwitch · 7 months
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Trying Not To Cry: A Vampire's Lament
(this title is far longer than this snippet of writing deserves but apparently that's what it's getting called)
CW: female vampire whumpee, it as a pronoun, internalized dehumanization
Masterlist
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The vampire was trying its hardest not to cry.
It was no stranger to hiding its emotions. It had done that for years now, even before it was turned. As a gutter brat, it, she, had shown only the emotions that might endear her to those she begged for their scraps. 
The same principles had applied when it was first turned, when it first became a filthy thing no longer worthy of a name. When it had worked in the blood house, it had honed its acting skills so it lied with words and deeds. It would play whatever part it needed to, whether that be the cunning temptress or the distressed damsel. 
This should have been the same. It wasn’t. The penalties for mistakes were far more painful, here. As a human, the worst that might have happened was that she would die. 
Here, they wouldn’t allow the vampire that mercy.
It wasn’t even about the emotion itself. The vampire’s trainers wanted it scared. They might mock or taunt it for its tears, but they wouldn’t punish it. 
It just couldn’t afford to lose even the small amount of blood in its pink-tinged tears.
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Taglist:
@kim-poce @cupcakes-and-pain @nonbinary-disaster @onlybadendings @neverthelass @its-mysweetlittlesecret-blog @ghostfacepepper @someonesnamesblog @rainbows-and-whumperflies @extemporary-whump @thecyrulik @myhusbandsasemni @heart4brains @kixngiggles @whumpsday @whumppsychology @elrysdoesstuff @towerlesskey @inkkswhumpandstuff @whumpycries @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @haro-whumps @pigeonwhumps @cc1010foxy
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dresden-syndrome · 1 month
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I'm back comrades👌
I've always drawn suffering state enemy boys before but I'm in a big lady whump mood now... So here's a sneak peek into my all-female AU (basically EESU being ruled and opposed by girls) - more precisely, my favorite ladies out there😂
Class 4 counter-revolutionary political offender SB-7067 (Radmila Štušková) and Minister of State Security Elfriede Wilhelmina Günther. There they are.
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Sorry for such a long break! I really needed some motivation to continue working. Don't worry comrades, EESU isn't going anywhere :)
Art tag: @painful-pooch @prismpanic @generic-whumperz @suspicious-whumping-egg @onlywhump @whumpedydump @whumpthefifth @monarchthefirst (please let me know if you wanna be added too!)
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blackrosesandwhump · 19 days
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March of Pain Day 7: Please
CW: mild lady whump, male whumpee, magic whump
“Please, let him go!” the princess cries, straining desperately at the ropes binding her to the stake.
Held chokingly tight in the enchantress’s grasp, the knight struggles a final time then gives up, his body turning limp. The enchantress's magic blade hovers an inch from his abdomen, ready to impale him through. He can’t fight anymore.
But the princess can.
“Let him go,” she repeats, summoning power from deep inside, power that sends pleasant fire spreading up her arms. The ropes suddenly feel less tight.
“And why would I do that?” the enchantress questions, her voice distorted and inhuman. Her creaturely form, towering and scaly black like a giant serpent’s, looms over the knight and the princess, overshadowing them.
But the princess will not let the shadow overcome her.
She takes a deep breath. The last resort. She might regret what she’s about to do, but she has to save the knight, and all other hope seems lost.
“Because I asked nicely the first time.” She closes her eyes and lets her magic unbind itself inside her.
@marchofpain
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syncopein3d · 2 months
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Got another one of those whump story ideas no one's going to write for me and debating if I'd ever finish it, but I'll never know if I never start!
The Warm One Part 1: Velvet
CW/relevant tropes (I'm a bit new to this format, so let me know if I miss any): living weapon, lady whump, magic whump, traumatic restraints, implied past injury, off-screen whumper, servant caretaker, other species caretaker (Orc)
A living weapon, but instead of a crying twink with his hair in his eyes chained to a wall it's an exhausted woman, always beautifully dressed and scrubbed raw and flawlessly groomed by her captors, frail and hollow-eyed inside her brocades and silks. A set of magical goads built into bracelets pierce her at all times, limiting her power and engendering punishment if her current minder says the word. She's been less cooperative of late, and she's starting to react less to the pain, so her owner has decided to let her pick her own toy as a treat.
She passes over every single one in the line of beautiful servants, barely looking at them. Instead she points to the big shaggy soft-bellied orc carrying firewood behind them. "That one."
Her current minder protests, but the weapon stands firm. She knows her value and she wants that one. She has never asked for anything. After some argument, her wish is granted. The door to her finely appointed chambers is unlocked, and the orc, now trimmed and dressed in velvet, is nudged inside at spear point.
They look at each other for a long moment. The weapon sits in her window seat, heavy-eyed, leaning wanly against the wall. The orc probably weighs three times what she does. His hands are rough from work, and a long scar trails past his right tusk.
"Why me?" He asks into the silence. "Milady."
"None of the others looked warm," she whispers hoarsely.
He considers that for a moment. "You're cold?"
"Always."
So the orc goes and gently picks her up and folds himself into the window seat - it creaks in protest. And the weapon settles herself with her cheek resting on his chest, the piercing cuffs curled in a fold of his tunic to warm them. As he pulls a velvet blanket over them both, he hears her sigh.
"Don't be afraid," she says weakly, held by hands that could snap her like a twig. "I won't hurt you."
Part 2
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painsandconfusion · 6 months
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Sir
Little Fox - Part Fourteen
(tw: impalement, hand gore, broken bones, fingore, burns, punishment, escape attempt, murder, blood, carnage, corpse, rotting corpse, death, intimate whumper, needles, injection, dead body, gore)
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Kara had long fallen numb, just staring at the spatters of crimson and watching the blood dry. Puckering around the edges and flaking away in others. 
It was probably hours, but to the mind that swam in darkness and agonizing blur, it seemed like an eternity.
Or. Maybe just a few moments. 
Alec returned, whistling a nursery rhyme as he trotted down the stairs, filling the small basement with clanging echoes of his heels hitting the sharpcut steel, accented by the piercing whistle. 
Kara’s eyes mashed shut, chin tucking into her shoulder. 
Alec’s laugh warmed the sharp sounds away as he stepped up to her, kneeling on the blood-smeared cement - evidently not caring if the tacky red stained at the knees of his jeans. 
“Aww..little fox, you look so tired.”
There was barely any malice behind her voice. She couldn’t muster much at all. Just a semi-robotic, dull, “ffuck you.”
Alec raised a brow, leaning back. “You want me to leave again, then huh?”
Kara’s eyes pinched desperate, flicking up to him.
Alec smirked down at that. “No?”
She swallowed thickly, tongue pressing to the back of her throat and sticking in it’s dryness. “..nno.”
Alec’s smirk warmed just a touch as he reached out, delicately combing hair from her face with gentle fingers. Her skin shivered and pinched under his touch anyway. “You ready to get down from there now?”
Kara’s eyes closed again. She was tired. So tired. Tired and sick and trembling with the static, numbed pain. “..y es”
Alec hummed, knuckles hooking under her chin to pry it up - face curling toward him. “Ask nicely.”
Kara’s stomach rolled. 
The smallest piece of her, long buried in darkness, wished she would say no. Spit in his face. Lash out and kick him. 
But her legs were all but numb. There was no spit in her mouth to hurl his direction. She had no more quips to give. No tools to use against him. Not even for something as simple as this. 
“..pl-ease” crackled from her dry throat. 
Alec hummed a smile, pinching her cheek lightly and shaking it like she was a goddamn toddler. “I think a ‘sir’ would make that ask stick a little better, don’t you~?”
Kara grimaced, face pinching around his grip. Trying to ignore the bruise even if every flicker of pain made her head spin. 
Fine. 
She wanted to lay down. She wanted to be done. She didn’t want to be here anymore. 
She couldn’t sit here, kneeling and nailed to a pole any more. 
She wanted to be done. 
So the words slid out of her, clattering down from her lips, dispassionate and empty. “..please sir.”
A grin pulled across Alec’s face now. He let go of her cheek, thumb smoothing out the forming bruise. “Good girl. And here I thought you were gonna be difficult.”
Regret immediately blooms in her gut as Alec stands, wandering toward the shelves to grab something - supposedly to get her down. Even Alec had more faith in her. 
Shame starts sprouting up alongside the regret. 
Metal pulls rippling clangs from the shelf as Alec drags a hammer from its place. “This is going to suck. You know that, right?” 
As if her stomach wasn’t already in knots. 
She didn’t know why she was so stupid as to assume that when she was ‘done’ she was done. But no.
No, there was a fucking nine inch nail ripped through her hands - of course getting down was going to hurt. 
Kara’s eyes squeezed shut again. If she weren’t completely out of tears, they’d be rolling down her cheeks again. “..y-yeah-”
“Good.” Alec kneeled down in front of her again, reaching up to wipe a little blood away from the head of the nail. “I’m going to hurt you. Very badly. Then you’ll go back to your room and I’ll get you some food and water and you’ll sleep.”
She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to see his face as it pressed closer to her. Feeling his warmth parallel her own as he reached up to where her tingling hands fell limp on the nail.  Her arms once again stretched up a little - shaky in their attempt to take weight off the wound. “..kk-kay-”
Her breath was coming shallow again, churning her stomach in short, choppy punches. Quick and breathy as she tensed - ready for the hurt. 
It was blinding. 
She’d thought her hands were finally falling numb, but as the cool steel pressed against her palm they started tingling to life just in time to feel every little ripple and snap of the bones in her palm. 
A ragged, raspy wail clawed up her throat as she felt bones break and flesh rip. It rang through her skull and left her empty, crashing to the concrete once the nail was gone. 
Glitching, shaking arms tried to pull closer to cradle her mutilated hands to her chest, but they wouldn’t quite listen. 
Alec sighed, sitting down cross-legged. He took one of her arms, ignoring the scream that followed. His hand started working up it. Gripping and massaging at the muscle. Making sure the shoulder and elbow were properly in place. “You know, you’re not the only one who’s had a bad day.” Slightly teasing, but there’s a bitterness behind it. 
Kara’s eyes finally opened, blurred by hot, salty tears - evidently she’d had some left after all. She just..stared at him. Half pleading, half judging. Her fingers twitched, pulling squeaks and whimpers out of her as he worked blood back up her arms, one at a time. 
Blessedly, he did manage to stay away from her hands, working only at the fiery muscles until her arms were able to move properly. 
“Alright, that should do ya.” He let her arms fall back to her, letting her clutch them against her chest, breaths short and punching down her throat as she tried to get a grip on the pain. 
It wasn’t going well.
Alec nodded toward her door. “Go on, get back to your room.”
Kara’s eyes strained up, across fifteen feet or so of concrete toward the open door. 
She looked back at him, desperation and exhaustion in her eyes. How was she supposed to get there? Her hands were ruined and her feet burned to oblivion and back. 
Alec just rolled his. “I don’t care if it hurts, just get there. You can crawl.”
She just..stared.
Alec’s eyes darkened a little. “Or I’ll nail you to the beam again and you can stay out here?”
A little panic surged through her, and she pushed herself up to sitting. Almost. 
Pausing for a breath.
“Go.”
Kara’s stomach churned - it didn’t seem to be stopping that new favorite activity. She muttered out a ‘ffine-’ and fell onto her elbows and knees, forcing half numb legs to shove her forward through the agony. 
The thick, pointed steel of the hammer curled around her jaw, pulling her back to face Alec. “What I’m looking for here is a ‘yes sir’.”
She didn’t have it in her to fight anymore. 
Fuck, she just wanted to lie down why couldn’t she just lie down??
But she didn't want to stay here - didn't want to spend another second next to the long-cold corpse.
The words dropped from her mouth without much care. “Yesssir.”
Alec hummed in approval, letting the hammer fall away from her face. 
Kara didn’t know how she shoved through - probably because individual steps didn’t hurt that much more than holding still. That, and the blind fear of Alec bringing the hammer down on her skull if she took too long. Either way, she dragged herself - somehow - back into her room, collapsing on the floor by her bed. 
Alec didn’t follow. 
She had a few blessed minutes of solitude. The cool concrete pressed against the edges of her burns, pulling soft whines from her throat, but soothing aching muscles anyway. She just let herself lie there, eyes closed against the pain.
But pain returned anyway. It pushed open the door, holding a small glass and a box. Wearing a soft smile. 
“Awwww,” it cooed. “You’re so cute all curled up like that.” He shifted to sit on the bed, arms scooping up under Kara to pull her up to him. 
She blanched at the pain, head swimming and whimpers falling from her lips. He didn’t care. She ended up curled up in his lap anyway. 
“Shh..no more hurt, I’m just getting you some basics.” He reached for the glass, pressing it to her lips.
Kara hesitated, breath stinging against her ribs. “Whh..at is-”
“Mostly water. Some vitamins. It’s warm but won’t burn you. It’ll help.”
Her nose wrinkled up, but she let the rim of the glass slip between her lips, hesitant at first, then drinking greedily as he tipped it up.
Little by little, he let her finish off the glass, then sat with her, hand carding softly through her hair. 
She didn’t care much at the prick of the needle. That much was familiar. What she didn’t know was why. Why he cared to give her her daily doses. Why he cared to get her prescriptions right. She didn’t bother wondering how he knew what she took or how often. She was done questioning his sleuthing skills. 
She just..curled into him, exhausted, twitching, and oddly grateful for the touch. The estrogen. The water. The bed. 
She knew vaguely that she should be pulling away.
Should be upset.
Should be rejecting this. 
But instead, she just found her eyes closing, breaths rough but shallow. Small. Curled into him and relishing the fingers in her hair.
She let go, letting him whisper soft praises and slipping away into a gray fog. 
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(tags: @prisonerwhump @mabledonut @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing  @there-will-always-be-blood @wormwriting @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @bandages-andobsessions @deltaxxk @warm-my-whumpee-heart @whumpy-catfish @whumpasaurus101 @looks-better-in-blood)
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avvail-whumps · 4 months
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ok so my mind right now is going brrrrrr. Don't blame for the thought but like. What if Leo was a female. Like imagine fem!Leo having that dreaded feeling that you get when you start your periods. And then they're like scared of how to tell Roy about this and then the awkward thing going on. Like cmon. Would Roy actually get her some chocolates or make it worse for her? :)
we’re gonna give fem!leo the name leona for the sake of this but yesyes anon gender swaps love it 🫶
Leona remained curled up on the bed—her bed?—in this room she was so unfamiliar with. She would admit, it was a much needed upgrade from the horrible basement she had spent so long confined in. At least the sunlight on her face was a glorious change. 
But still, she had a glaringly obvious problem that she didn’t know what to do about. 
Aside from her broken ankle, Leona knew her period had started. Just after everything that had dragged her down, something like this was the cherry on top. She had taken so many painkillers that the usual twisting pain in her stomach was faint and in the back of her mind. But she knew it. 
She’d checked and she’d already managed to bleed through her clothes. 
Maybe it was the added stress that had caused her such a heavy flow, but she felt awful. More awful than she had done so far. How was she supposed to tell Roy about this? She highly doubted he was the kind of person to have any pads or tampons in his house - not if he had a frequent girlfriend, but even then, who would want to date that lunatic? 
After minutes of contemplating and growing increasingly uncomfortable without any support, she forced herself to grab her crutches and check the bathrooms. Her head swam a little as she did. Even with the painkillers, there was still a lingering dizziness in her skull.
It brought her out in a hot flush just to hobble over to the bathroom, where she awkwardly balanced on one foot to search the cupboards. She softly bit her lip, muttering under his breath in desperation. 
“Please, come on…” 
Her eyes flickered to the door, paranoid she’d heard a noise, but continued sliding shower stuff out of the way to see if there were any miraculously tucked away. Leona grew increasingly frustrated, a dreaded feeling pooling in the bottom of her stomach. She wanted to cry. This wasn’t fair. She couldn’t bring herself to tell Roy about this, knowing he would more than likely torment her further than he has done already, but she couldn’t just sit here and do nothing. 
“There’s blood on your bed, lion.” 
Leona almost toppled over at the sudden voice by the bathroom door, and her head whipped around to meet Roy’s eyes. He approached her before she could find her footing properly, his fingers sweeping under her chin and tilting it so he could get a good look at her face. 
“Did your wounds reopen?” He asked in a murmur, making her heart race in her chest when his eyes flickered briefly over to the bathroom cabinet. “What are you rummaging around for?” 
Leona’s lips wobbled open. She sucked in a sharp breath when he tilted her head to the other side, frowning slightly to himself. 
“I…” Her throat closed up. How could she say this? “I was…I need some…”
His brow raised, his eyes trailing over her body. “Words, pretty girl.” 
She squeaked slightly when he spun her around, and his head tilted as something caught his eye. He hummed to himself, before an expression of realisation flickered on his face. Leona’s own went completely red in humiliation. 
“Oh,” Roy deadpanned. 
Leona hadn’t checked to see if it was visible. She could only assume what he was thinking right now, just waiting for him to say something embarrassing or taunt her. He pushed her back, patting her shoulder. 
“Yeah, well, I don’t have anything for you to use,” he shrugged, seemingly unbothered by the prospect. She wasn’t sure what was worse, the fact that he didn’t seem to care and might leave her to bleed through all of her clothes, or the idea of him ripping into her for something she couldn’t control. 
“But, it’s just…” She trailed off, swallowing the lump in her throat. She felt icky and in dire need to scrub herself clean. She needed something. “I-I can’t just leave it.”
“I know,” Roy chuckled, like the idea was funny. “But there’s nothing here. Do I look like someone who would need them, lion?” 
She went quiet again, and her eyes dropped to the floor. Her fingers tightened around the crutches, her back feeling constricted and her face feeling flush. Being kidnapped was one thing, but having to deal with this at the same time? With nothing but painkillers to help her get by? 
She winced slightly when Roy’s hand pressed against her forehead, before it softly trailed down her cheek and brushed over her bottom lip. 
“Alright,” he smiled, only cruel in her eyes. “Just because you’re pouting like that, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll run you a bath so you can clean yourself up for a bit. I’ll drive into the city and buy you enough pads to last you.”
Leona’s eyes lifted up just a fraction, glancing up at him through her eyelashes. Just the sound of the word bath and her heart soared into her throat like a cloud. Roy gently tapped her chin. 
“I’ll have to keep you down in the basement again,” he murmured shortly afterwards, and it took seconds before her heart was slamming into the bottom of her stomach again. 
Her lips curved into a desperate frown. “No, please…” 
“Do you want them or not, lion?” The mercenary warned, and she swiftly shut her mouth. He seemed to find that amusing, and tucked some of her hair behind her ear like she was a delicate glass doll. How was such a cruel man capable of touching some like that? “I’ll be a few hours tops. Maybe a little more - you can cope until then, right? I’m sure you can use some tissue paper while you’re waiting.”
Leona had already thought about that. Although not the most comfortable option and a terrible one, it was worth putting up with it if he would get a load of proper products in return. Even if she had to spend another horrible minute in the basement. A few hours would probably feel like a few days. 
She slowly nodded her head, and Roy patted her cheek. “Good girl.” 
He leaned over the bath, turning it on. Leona watched curiously, biting the inside of her lip as she stared at the fresh water starting to rise. She watched as Roy rolled his sleeves up, offering her a brief glance. 
“I’ll change your bedsheets,” he told her, and she tore her eyes away from the water with a small wince. “Get you some fresh clothes. I know you don’t want to go back down there, and I know it was part of the deal that you wouldn’t have to. I’ll make it comfortable for you.” 
Leona slowly nodded her head, before her grip tightened on the crutches once more. “Tampons…” 
“Hm?” 
She dropped her gaze in embarrassment. “I prefer tampons over pads.” 
Roy was silent for a beat of a moment, before his lip curled into an amused smirk.
“Regular?” He guessed, and she shyly nodded her head. 
Although she had been terrified to be locked back in the basement, she suspected the chocolates that the mercenary gave her hadn’t been as normal as she’d thought. She briefly remembered feeling all drowsy as the man lifted her up, bundling her up in his jacket and comfortably laying her down on the basement mattress. 
When she next woke up, Roy aided her ascent back up the stairs, and the bathroom had enough packs of tampons to last her months. 
Months. 
She didn’t want to be here that long.
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Quick!! Link a scene or piece of work you're created that you're proud of! First one that comes to mind!!
*bounces in place* ohohohohoho you've gone and done it now!!! Feast your eyes on this scene from one of my many WIPs - I hope I'll finish it one day. It really is one of the Big Three of my Magnum Opuses.
Below the cut:
Female whumpee
Mute whumpee
Disabled whumpee
Female Caretaker
Recovery
Mentions of Scientific/Medical Trauma
Bruises and bandages
Collapsing
Fatigue/Weakness
Samira slept for another day. Until the pangs of hunger and other necessities grew to be too much to ignore. She drew in a slow breath and sighed, then lifted her arms in a stretch. The skin of her elbows pulled uncomfortably and she stopped at the telltale sensation of scabs beginning to split. Even now, days later, she felt the bone-deep ache from her journey here. The dull throb of a lingering headache. The pulsing pain in her knees. Her hands still held a tremor without the slightest provocation. More than anything, she wanted to go back to sleep until the soreness went away, but nature had other ideas.
Turning her head, she saw she was alone. The lights to the room were dimmed low, and the only other source of light came from the glow of a safety light in the bathroom five feet away. Blessedly, she saw the IV pole was on the same side of the bed. All she had to do now was walk. Piece of cake. Pulling the blanket back, she slung her legs over the side of the bed. She stopped long enough to wonder at the sight she saw.
Socks. Soft, fuzzy yellow socks with grips on the bottoms. She turned her attention to her gown. It, too, was buttercup yellow, decorated with bumble bees and daisies, and the hem - stopping at her knees - even had the tiniest decoration of white lace. She longed to rub the material between her fingers, but the bandaging on her hands prevented her from doing so. It would have to wait. Besides, the thick wads of cotton taped over each knee ruined the effect. Her skin, she noticed, was far paler than its healthy cinnamon color, and even the patches of vitiligo, normally rosy, held a sickly shade. She frowned, feeling like the ghost of her former self.
Gripping the IV pole for balance, Samira scooted forward. Tentatively, she settled her feet on the floor. No fear driving her to move. No dizziness. It didn’t matter how many times she had tried to stand on her way here. She was stronger now. She was rested. She could do this. Carefully, as if to balance on an egg without breaking it, she put weight on one foot. Her knee began to quake and she grabbed the IV pole with her other hand, clinging to it, and the momentum of doing so forced her full weight forward. Quickly, she brought her other foot forth to catch herself.
For the briefest of seconds, she teetered, awkwardly poised between the IV pole and her fawn-like legs. She could feel the cuts in her palms reopening as she clung to the pole, the gauze slackening her grip. Then the wheels of the IV pole rolled. Samira flailed, gasping as her crutch moved before she was ready, and tried to snatch it back. It fell, and she followed, knocking a metal tray and its contents to the floor with a great crash.
She might have cringed at the noise if she hadn’t instinctively tried to catch herself. Though the gauze cushioned the fall somewhat, it didn’t stop her knees and elbows from cracking against the hard tile - biting through the cotton and clawing at her already-shredded skin. Tears sprung up and a mute yelp rattled her throat before she could stop herself. She bit her lip until she tasted blood, and still a hoarse sob wrenched itself from her chest.
Hurried footsteps sent a dart of panic up her spine, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The lights switched on, then a set of hands were on her. She flinched, but they didn’t release her.
“Samira.” Jean. Jean was there. “Samira, it’s alright. It’s just me.”
Without waiting for a response, Jean lifted her back to the bed as easily as a child might lift a dropped doll. Samira tucked her hands beneath her chin, arms pressed against her chest, and tried to control her breathing - all while fighting the urge to curl in a ball right there. Hot, thrumming pain rolled up her limbs, coiling into tight knots and biting, clawing, digging into her bones. Why did it hurt so much? How could things go wrong so quickly? She opened her eyes from where she’d squeezed them shut, peering between wet lashes at the mess she’d made. Fresh, unused medical supplies lay strewn about on the floor. The IV pole lay on its side, and the tray had skidded a couple feet away. She drew in a shaky breath, shame heating her cheeks.
Automatically, an apology tried to leave her lips. Instead, it came out in a pitiful wheeze.
Mistaking the gesture for one of pain, Jean smoothed a hand over Samira’s back. “It’s alright, Samira. Do you want something for the pain?”
Samira shook her head and hid her face behind her hands, the gauze absorbing her tears.
“It’s okay if you do. You don’t need to be brave, not here.”
Samira shook her head again, gulping back another sob before it could surface.  She already owed them so much, and it shamed her to anticipate their response to her inability to speak - and now, it seemed, the inability to walk. Had the Team left any part of her untouched?
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lumpsbumpsandwhumps · 3 months
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Women In Whump Pt. 1
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slashthrashandcrash · 2 months
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I cannot and will not ever get over the bathroom scene we were robbed of (amongst other scenes)
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ramadiiiisme · 1 year
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Barry Sloane as Chad in Penthouse North (alternate title Blindsided) (2013)
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rainydaywhump · 1 month
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Zombies Are An Afterthought - 13
<- Previous
Taglist: @i-eat-worlds @pigeonwhumps @den-of-whump @generic-whumperz @turn-the-tables-on-them
Premise: Holy shit, this fic isn't resolved after all!
Annette, having been kidnapped and tortured for months on end before being rescued by Kel -- thanks to some pandemic-borne luck -- is now well enough that she is willing to call her friends for the first time. The ensuing conversation brings on a host of emotions.
CWs/themes: female whumpee (whump was in the past), female caretaker; zombie pandemic winding down in the background, no big deal; aftermath of torture/aftermath of trauma; tears; creepy and obsessive whumpers (referenced); the struggle of reintegrating/being social after trauma; feels; bittersweet with a positive ending.
Annette Painter sits in front of the laptop. She stares at her own reflection in the camera.
She tries to see herself from the view of the people she’ll be talking to soon. She’s not sure if she likes it; she doubts they will. They’ll be worried. Her cheeks have filled out and her bruises have faded since Kel rescued her from that hell next door, but she knows that she’ll never go back to normal.
Some scars, both literal and not, are simply too deep.
She had considered using foundation to cover up her face and neck scars before Skyping her friends – her true friends, not ‘friends’ like her kidnappers once had been. She was somewhat surprised to find, when Kel asked who she wanted to contact if she was ever up to it, that she still trusted this group of friends despite Cassie and Kay’s betrayal. But then again, she’d always known that these friends were genuine in their care for her.
She had ignored her gut feeling about the other two, and…
…and it isn’t your fault, Kel’s firm voice repeats in her mind.
Kel…hadn’t judged when Annette had told her that she had no family. She hadn’t seemed surprised. When Annette asked, the other woman had explained that she’d done some digging on Annette’s missing person case, and there were no relatives mentioned in any of the scant news articles on her. Kel’s googling skills (she called it ‘OSINT’ and ‘a few favors’?) were unmatched; she knew quite a bit about Kay, Cassie, and the others, too.
That was another conversation.
Despite her tech savviness, Kel had no makeup to speak of – “That’s more Marie’s forte.” So Annette simply wore a t-shirt with a neckline that didn’t show too many garish signs of the abuse, and she let her hair down to shadow her cheeks. It wasn’t perfect, but she knew her friends weren’t expecting her to be.
Based on their text exchange a half hour earlier, they were just happy that she was alive. They had all been absolutely shocked when she’d texted the group chat (numbers found online by Kel, because Annette didn’t have them memorized). The relief in their written words couldn’t have come through clearer.
And now Annette was about to Skype them, to see their faces for the first time in months, for the first time since she’d been kidnapped.
Her stomach churned.
“Hey, Annie?”
She turns. The nickname, which had been so mocking from her tormenters, makes her smile when Kel says it. The tall, muscular woman is standing in the partition between the living room and the kitchen wearing a black tank top and dull green cargo pants that are entirely at odds with the snow falling gently outside. She’s also holding a ratty old dish rag.
“Doing the dishes,” she says, gesturing with the dish rag in unnecessary explanation. Little flecks of soap fly everywhere. “Shit. Eh, at least it’s soap. Anyway. I’m gonna be in the kitchen, unless you want me somewhere else when you call?”
Annette shakes her head. Suddenly, she finds that she can’t speak.
Kel seems to understand.
She tosses the rag to the sink and comes over to join Annette on the couch, looping an arm around her shoulder. Annette remembers her first waking encounter with the other woman – when Kel had been having a bad memory in a nightmare, and had lashed out with that arm when Annette had startled her awake. Her strength had sent the smaller, younger girl flying. But Annette feels nothing but safe with her now; Kel’s strength has only been used (purposefully) to treat her wounds and carry her to bed when her body fails her, nothing more.
“Hey. You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready,” she murmurs now.
Annette shrugs. I want to. But if I start talking now, I’ll start crying, she scribbles on a notepad for Kel to see. I just need a moment.
Kel taps her lightly on the shoulder and rises.
“Alright. Just let me know if you need me. If you can’t talk, throw something at the wall.”
Her eyes drift toward the section of living room wall that Annette knows contains a pistol, and the girl is reminded, not for the first time, that her rescuer is also a little insane. An occupational hazard from her past, she’s learned.
The familiar absurdity startles a laugh out of her and frees up her vocal cords. “No, I’m not firing blanks to get your attention,” she giggles, punching Kel lightly.
Kel puts her hands up in flabbergasted defense – “Annette Painter! I’m not that crazy, come on!”
“Are you telling me that’s not why you looked over there?” Annette laughs.
“I can neither confirm nor deny that allegation,” Kel says with a perfectly straight face, and Annette, still giggling, waves her off to the kitchen. She can hear her muttering something about gun safety on her way out.
When she turns back to the screen, the camera shows a reflection of her that’s a lot more confident than she’d been feeling a few minutes ago.
Her phone has been blowing up in that span – it’s time. Annette takes a deep breath an exits the camera.
Then she logs onto the call.
Kel’s internet connection, serving roughly 100 people in a ten mile radius (and periodically downed thanks to pandemic traffic), takes a moment to connect her. But once it’s done bitching, the faces of her friends pop up between three frames, and suddenly Annette’s throat is damming up her voice again. The same can be said for her friends, but only for a long, long minute before –
“Annette?!”
“Holy shit, it’s really you!”
“What the fuck happened?!”
“Oh my god, you’re alive!”
There’s Gwen, her short blonde hair pulled back at the bangs, freckles splattered even more haphazardly across her face than Annette remembered. She’s sitting next to Mia and Zeke, all three of them crammed together on what Annette recognizes as the table in an apartment Annette doesn’t. In another frame is a girl half-running, half-walking through the snow in a suburban neighborhood, breath foggy in the cold air and workout clothes a pop of color against the snow…Nikayla, her lazy eye slightly askew and the other staring wide out over the rim of her mask. Evander and Vince are squashed together in the next frame, the former sitting on the edge of a couch and the latter perched on the arm, gangly knees in the camera’s view, leaning in to see.
“Hey,” Annette says, smiling sheepishly.
All six of them talk at once; the mic glitches. When it comes back, thank god, Zeke is the only one speaking.
“Where are you?” He says with an intensity that makes Annette forget her nerves for a moment; she belatedly realizes that he’s asking so he can know where to go if she’s in trouble.
“I’m at…”
Annette hesitates for a split second, because even though Kel has told her the cabin’s address multiple times before, she doesn’t remember in the moment.
“2880 West David Lane, Ionia County,” Kel calls from the kitchen.
“Two eighty – wait, Anne, who the hell is that?” Zeke explodes.
“Is that the kidnapper?!” Gwen gasps.
“Are you in danger?!” Evander exclaims.
“I’ll call the police!” Nikayla and Mia yell at the same time.
“No, no – guys, seriously,” Annette said quickly, silencing the overlap of voices. “That’s Kel. She’s the one who saved me.”
“Saved you…?”
Kel pokes her head in. “Sorry, Annie, I was just cleaning up. Didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”
“You’re all good,” Annette says with a smile. She turns back to the camera. “Here, lemme show you.”
She maneuvers the laptop so its camera faces Kel. The taller woman waves to the people behind the screen. There are six of them; three are at a table together, two are crammed inside the frame, and one is half-walking, half-sprinting as she watches.
They’re all young – college-age, like Annette. They’re all in varying orders of emotional magnitude – some are crying silently, others’ faces are gray or flushed with shock. Kel’s heart swells. All these people, and these are just the ones on the video call. Annie’s got some damn good people who care about her.
“Yeah, uh, like she said, I’m Kel.” She’s not used to making introductions. Can’t be that hard, right? I’m the recluse who lives in the woods ‘round here. I found your friend half-dead and carried her back to my cabin because damn it, even in an absurdly early retirement with sketchy origins, I can’t stop trying to be a hero. Hmm. No, that wouldn’t do. “Annie can tell you what happened, but if you’re worried, again, I live at 2880 West David, I’m the only one who lives here, and if you check google maps, you’ll see a big-ass truck in my driveway.
“Annie, you good?” She asks in undertone.
“I’m good,” the girl assures her, and Kel backs off, leaving the dishes for another time and heading to her bedroom to give her more privacy.
She looks back to her friends, truly alone now.
“Hey,” she says again. “I, uh…thanks for all hopping on.”
And thanks for never giving up on me. Thanks for caring. Thanks for weathering a whole pandemic and starting a new year at uni and still never ever giving up on me. She doesn’t know how to say it out loud, but from the tears in her friends’ eyes, it’s clear they hear it anyway.
“Of course,” Gwen says, and those two words hold more weight than anything else.
“I…I’m safe. At least, now I am,” Annette says hesitantly. “Kel rescued me about a month ago. I would’ve let you all know I was okay earlier, but…”
She hesitates.
“You say you were rescued,” says Mia. “I….I take it you were in bad shape, love?”
Annette nods slowly. “Between the blizzard and pandemic measures, Kel couldn’t get me to a hospital. But she didn’t need to. She saved my life.”
“What happened?” Gwen asked quietly.
Here, Annette hesitates.
“Cassie and Kay,” she finally says. “And a few others, but they instigated it.”
The six friends exchange murderous glances.
“We knew it,” Evander says darkly. “We just couldn’t prove it. They – they fucking spoke like they were your best friends. And like you were a lost cause.”
“I always had a bad feeling about them, but I…” Annette looks down. “…I looked up to them, I dunno. I made a huge mistake.” Tears blur her vision.
“Hey, stop that,” Evander says forcefully. “They tricked everyone. They’re manipulators, Anne. You better not be blaming yourself.”
“Damn straight,” Nikayla says.
“Yeah, ‘cause how dare you not expect basic human decency from two random college juniors,” Mia says sarcastically. “They’re the ones who fucked up, you know -- right?”
“And they’ll pay,” Zeke mutters, cracking his knuckles. “Where the hell are they?”
“I don’t know,” Annette says truthfully. “Kel knows, but I asked her not to tell me yet. I just know they’re nowhere near here.”
Nikayla frowns. “Annie…is that a cut on your jaw?”
Oh. Shit. “…yeah. Well, no. It’s a scar. It’s healing.”
The six of them exchange another look through the camera.
“What?” Annette asks, stomach curling in on itself.
“We did some…digging into those two and their circle, after you disappeared,” Gwen said slowly. “And we found…well, you know how I’ve got that one techy friend, Blake, and we…”
“What?”
“We got into their insta accounts and stuff for a bit before they realized someone was snooping. And they had a lot of stuff about you, love,” Mia said, looking down. “Like…they never said they did anything to you, but uh, their old posts had a lot about you. In, uh, a creepy way. We showed it to the police! But then the pandemic hit, and – and they just –”
“They fucking ignored us,” Nikayla growled. “They didn’t care.”
Zeke scoffed, nodding shortly. “We broke into their dorm during the first lockdowns, but we didn’t find anything. Someone reported us and that set us back a whole three days.”
“Jail for B&E,” Evander explained helpfully.
“Holy shit, I’m just glad you’re okay,” Mia whispered, shaking her head. “What the hell did they do to you?”
“Not that you have to talk about that,” Gwen says anxiously, and Annette’s heart twists at the sight of her friend’s familiar nervous habit of twirling her hair. “I mean, unless you want to?”
Five-and-a-half pairs of eyes stare at her from the screen, and Annette is drowning.
“I…”
“Hey, I’m on google maps and I see the truck Kal, I mean, Kel said she had!” Evander, clearly trying to change the subject. “Dang, she’s really out there in the woods. Have you gone hiking?”
“I need to go,” Annette manages, and she shuts the laptop before she lets herself burst into tears.
She’s silent, pressing her hand to her mouth as she grabs Kel’s cell. On the group chat, several of her friends are in the middle of typing. Annette’s fingers fly to beat them.
It’s okay
Sorry
I just got overwhelmed
I’m really happy to see you guys
Talking in general is hard that’s all
Didn’t realize it would be
Are we okay?
She practically throws the phone down on the coffee table and all but runs to her room, not ready to read any replies. She knows that her friends will be nothing but understanding, that they’re flooding the phone with reassurances, that by now they’re all in a call with one another, talking about how best to help. But Annette is terrified of seeing it, terrified of taking such undeserved kindness from them, and, perhaps above all, overwhelmed by talking with so many people at once, especially with people who knew her before the kidnapping.
Kel is leaning against the wall separating their rooms; Annette can’t hear her, but she knows her well enough, and Kel knows her well enough, that there’s no doubt. Kel will be waiting for Annette’s signal for help, and if she doesn’t give one, then Kel will pad into the living room and put the phone and laptop away and make a steaming mug of sweet peppermint tea and knock on Annette’s door and leave it just out of the door’s swing.
“Progress isn’t linear. Progress isn’t linear,” Annette whispers to herself. She burrows under the blankets, but it isn’t enough; she wants the world to be blind to her.
She hasn’t hidden under the bed in a long time, but its small, comforting embrace remembers her all the same.
“Progress isn’t linear,” she repeats. “I’ll be okay.”
She breathes in deeply – holds it – releases slowly through her nose – repeats.
A soft knock, the clink of a mug being set down, and Kel’s purposefully-audible footsteps register, but they don’t startle her. Annette waits for another minute before wiggling out from under the bed.
As peppermint steam warms her face, she gathers up the resolve to step outside.
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erdarielthewhumper · 2 months
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For @whumpers-monthly's this january's prompt! A bit shorter this time bc I haven't really had a lot of writing juices recently, but eh, it's whump nonetheless!
When the arrows began to fly, the first one hit Meldie. She never had the time to notice, to react, to attempt to protect herself. One moment, she was riding along near the back of the caravan, half-dozing in the saddle, since it wasn't her watch. The next, pain like a lightning bolt lanced through her.
Before she knew what had happened, everything was already exploding into chaos. She tried to draw her sword, but pain flared up through her right side and her arm. She glanced down; an arrow-shaft stuck out of her side, just a little below and in front of her arm, sunken into the part of her that her breastplate could not protect.
Even so she grasped her sword, and urged her horse to ride down the nearest enemy, striking at others with her blade. Her warrior's instincts led, the noise and chaos drowning out any conscious thought.
Pain was nothing new, and easily pushed aside. The only way out of the battle was through, in any case. She half-forgot about the arrow as she hacked through enemy after enemy.
But though her mind could push the injury aside, her body could not. Second by second, it was harder to breathe, harder to lift the sword, the edges of her vision were getting blurry, the sounds of battle distant and distorted.
Again she lifted her sword, but this time the movement jerked her out of balance. Someone grabbed a handful of her hair, and she cried out, but hardly a sound came from her mouth. The cry turned into a cough, she tasted blood, hardly even noticing as she was pulled down from the saddle and crashed into the hard, frozen ground.
She lay there, dazed, as the battle raged around her. All she could do was gasp for air and cough, each cough bringing up thick ribbons of red blood. The world was a blur of color and movement and incomprehensible noise...
No! she would not die here! Some last part of her mind struggled to rouse her, grasping desperately for something to hold onto, but it was all it could do to hang onto the last remnants of consciousness.
The pain had melted away, it was dull and distant now, but the tightness in her chest hadn't gone anywhere. It seemed she could hardly draw air into her lungs, and she felt, vaguely, that it should have worried her, but she could hardly bring herself to care...
There were voices, above her, and movement in her fading vision, but she could make no sense of it. She was grabbed by the arms, and that finally sent another jolt of blinding pain through her, and that, finally, dragged her down into darkness and oblivion.
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