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adrift-in-thyme · 3 months

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Febuwhump Day 5: Human Weapon (Hyrule)

Ao3

CW for vomiting, blood and injury, and references to captivity

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Hyrule runs.

The ground is slick and slippery beneath his feet. Mud splashes up, sullying his boots and trousers. Rain pelts his head, burning his eyes, blurring his vision, sticking his clothing to his skin. It draws at the blood that seeps from his wounds, diluting it, trying to wash it away.

But no sooner has it managed, more bubbles up. It oozes out of him, constant, traitorous. A danger to everyone and everything he has fought so hard to protect.

He slips and falls, sprawling in the chilled mud with a grunt of pain and surprise. He only allows himself a moment to lie there, panting, trying to ignore the scream of his aching body. And then he’s up again, tearing past trees and through shrubbery, ears ringing with the eerie laughter that echoes around him.

“Come here, little hero. We won’t hurt you.”

“Where’s that cursed brat? Doesn’t he know how vital he is to the plan?”

“Hurry! He can’t have gotten far!”

Another burst of paper and magic. They are growing closer. Hyrule pushes his legs to go faster.

His breath comes in ragged half-sobs that scream through his throat. Panic slices at his very soul. The ground itself seems to rise and roll beneath his feet. The sight of it reminds him of the Wind’s Great Sea during a thunderstorm — all furious, churning foam and gray-green waves that leap up to the sky.

The sky still weeps and the trees bend beneath the weight of its grief. It courses into his eyes, turns his hair sopping, runs into his mouth and nose. Even the river is overwhelmed by it. It begins to breach its banks, belching filthy water into Hyrule’s boots.

He stumbles once more, feet flying out behind him, carried by the treacherous tides of the forest. His knees hit the ground and agony streaks up his thigh. He bites down hard on his lip to keep from screaming.

They can’t hear him, they can’t catch him again.

Desperately, Hyrule reaches for his magic, dragging it through his veins. It screeches in agony as it follows his call. There is so much within him, waiting to be let loose, begging to be. It has been building these past days, caged behind a wall he cannot tear down. But all that comes is a strained trickle, hardly enough to heal his wounds.

If anything, the attempt makes matters worse. The cuff on his left wrist sears into his skin, fiery and fierce. Even the rain cannot wash away the scene of burnt flesh.

With a choked cry, he retreats. His power slides from his grasp, as slippery as a serpent and as helpless as a mouse caught in a trap. Pitching sideways, he retches. Blood and bile splatter into the puddles that he has collapsed into.

More laughter. The sound of it turns his stomach more than any pain.

“I hear you, little hero. You can’t hide forever.”

Come on. Hyrule grits his teeth, rising on trembling limbs. He is so, so tired. But now is not the time to stop.

If his brothers were here, perhaps, he could afford to rest for a moment. They are halfway across Hyrule, however. He cannot even be certain that they’ve noticed his absence yet.

He coughs up another mouthful of blood. Crimson-tinged fingertips slip in the mud. The very environment battles against him. The greenery surrounding him swims and swirls sickeningly. Cackles echo from all sides.

Get up. Fight. Don’t ever let them catch you.

He manages to get his legs beneath him, groaning at the exertion it takes to do so. And then he’s up again, stumbling forward as the soil moves in reverse. He struggles to remain conscious; struggles to stay alert to his surroundings even as they blur into blobs of subdued color.

A sudden burst of red erupts before his eyes. The deadly shink of unsheathed metal pierces his ears.

“Going somewhere?” A Yiga assassin croons.

Hyrule scrambles backward, terror turning his extremities numb. But several more assassins explode into existence. They surround him and close in, windcleavers and vicious sickles gleaming in the eerie grayish-green light.

“I don’t know why you’re running,” one of them hisses, cocking his head. The white of his mask is almost translucent from the torrential downpour. If Hyrule squints, he can see the outline of his features – a large nose, wide eyes, and a mouth framed by thin lips. Human. Natural. But in this moment, they hardly look so.

“Don’t you want to help us?”

Another throws back her head as she laughs. “It’s such a noble thing, isn’t it? To give your life for the Demon King.”

Hyrule sends them all the most severe glare he can muster.

“I won’t,” he grits out and his voice is hardly audible over the thundering rain and his pounding heart. “I won’t let you use me. I won’t…won’t let you bring him back.”

More cackling, cruel and harsh. He hates the sound of it with every bone in his body.

“Oh, little hero – ”

One of the assassins steps closer. Through his mask, Hyrule can see that he is grinning.

“ – what made you think you have a choice?”

His weapon howls like the wind it commands, as he raises it high above his head. The other Yiga back away, giving room for the blow that will incapacitate the hero once more.

They’ll drag him back once he’s unconscious, no doubt. He won’t even need to wake up for the ritual. All they need, after all, is his blood.

He tries to evade, slipping and sliding in the slop. But the sword comes down faster than he can run. A blast of wind hits him, sharp as a dagger in his ribs. And the world goes upside down.

He hits the ground with a splash, lungs heaving for the breath that has been stolen from them, limbs spread-eagled and oddly shaped. There is a fire in his chest, flames in his veins. His muscles feel as though claws of iron have clamped around them, turning them tight and leaden.

But he tries anyway, to move, to fight. Desperate, he reaches inside and draws at his magic once more.

Please, he begs as it screeches and screams, held back by his bonds, help me.

He only needs one spell to take them all out. Just one.

And still, his magic struggles against him. Still, the cuff sears into him, branding its raised edges into his pale skin.

Cackles swell around him. Shapes bob around, harsh crimson against a blurred backdrop of green. Hands pull him up, as he chokes, blood bubbling from limp lips.

He’s slipping, he realizes, dully, in the part of his mind still capable of thought, and with him, his magic.

They’re going to win. They’re going to bring Ganondorf back from the dead so he can raze Hyrule, so he can bathe the world to darkness.

Hyrule blinks, slowly, lazily.

They can’t win. He won’t…

The world explodes. His eyes drag closed. His magic cries out, gives one last buck, and breaks free from his clawing fingers. Someone screams his name.

And darkness claims him.

#febuwhump2024 #febuwhump day 5 #blood tw #injury tw #vomiting tw #referenced captivity #trin writes #linked universe fic #linkeduniverse #lu hyrule #yiga clan #angst #whump #got an alternate prompt today #seemed like the perfect opportunity to pick on poor rulie >:)#this will be continued btw #not sure what day #but it's happening

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avvail-whumps · 5 months

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TEMPTATION

cw: restraints, multiple whumpers, sadistic whumper, reluctant whumper, gore, blood

Riley stepped into the kitchen to find that the whumpee had been restrained to the ground, their hands twisted behind their back as the sniper’s boot dug painfully into their spine. He paused for a fraction of a second, the sniper’s head tilting towards him as he hung up the call, and tossed his phone on the kitchen counter.

Riley’s eyes trailed down to the writhing whumpee, who was yelling and panting violently through the fabric stuffed inconsiderately into their mouth. His lips pressed into a thin line as he pocketed his phone.

“So,” he hummed, feeling slightly uncomfortable. His hands slid into his pockets wearily. “Why’d you call?”

The sniper ground his heel into the whumpee’s back just to feel them squirm, before his dark eyes met Riley’s, the mask concealing the bottom half of his face. His hands moved smoothly, making Riley squint.

“Want you to hold them still,” the sniper signed, pointing to the whumpee on the floor. “Want to try something.”

Riley stayed planted where he was, his expression wrinkling slightly as he tried to follow the motions of his hands, before shaking his head and sighing sharply. “You know I don’t understand what you’re saying, right?”

The sniper’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Riley rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, avoiding those eyes. He had said he’d keep trying to learn, but it wasn’t easy when he’d been so busy helping the sniper with…these kinds of things. He cleared his throat, taking a hesitant step forward.

“You need me to…get something?” He asked, and the sniper shook his head, pointing at the whumpee again. Riley hummed.

“Hold them?” He guessed, and the sniper nodded his head once. Riley grimaced, but he had no choice but to do as he was told when he took his boot off their back. They immediately started squirming against the kitchen tiles, and Riley crouched down to gently grab their arms.

“Hang on, stop moving,” he murmured softly under his breath, trying to somewhat console the sobbing whumpee in any way he could. His grip almost gave way when they thrashed violently, and he tightened his grasp with a small frown. “Fuck.”

His eyes trailed up to the sniper, who signed a subtle “idiot.”

“Careful,” Riley scoffed. “I know what that means.”

He focused on trying to hold the whumpee down so they didn’t slip away, knowing that would end up in a bloodbath on the carpets, and the sniper would make him clean the stains.

Riley begrudgingly watched the sniper, who had taken out a glass and a rolling pin, and winced when he smashed it against the counter. He only stopped when they were tiny little shards, and gathered them up in his gloved hand.

When he began making his way back towards the whumpee, Riley felt his stomach twist in dreaded realisation.

“Sniper, that’s going to make a mess,” he grit out, his face paling slightly when the gag was ripped out of the whumpee’s mouth, choosing to ignore him. Before the whumpee could even take a deep breath, the sniper was pushing the glass shards into their mouth, covering it firmly to prevent them from spitting it out. With a few applications of pressure on their own throat coaxing them to swallow, he finally removed his hand.

Riley felt them hacking violently, each garbled intake of breath tearing their throat and their mouth up even further. He heard the tickle of some shards hitting the ground, surrounded in an ever growing pool of blood, their body writhing and frantically convulsing.

Riley squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head aside as he kept a firm grip on their arms, not giving them a chance to move as they shook with choking shrieks.

“Shit,” he whispered shakily under his breath, his own throat swelling with this phantom pain as they continued to gag and heave mouthfuls of blood. He hated that it had lasted for so long, too, until he felt the moment their body slumped forward, the occasional sickening drip drop of blood from their lips hitting the tiles.

The sniper had watched the whole thing contently, and when Riley finally found the strength to lift his head up, his eyes landing on him. Despite the mask, Riley could see he was smiling in satisfaction.

“Let’s do that with the next one.”

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whatiswhump · 3 months

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Insanity... When they finally realize they can't even trust themself...

The ultimate betrayal- their own mind.

#That adrift look they get #when they realize #that the one thing they could depend upon... themself #is really actually the unreliable narrator #and they basically give up #because if they can't trust their own mind whats the point #its so tragic and perfect #>:)#psychiatric whump #queue the long depression #and their friends and teammates come by but cant reach them #so good #they finally convinced them they were ill but thats when they lost them #whump prompt #mine

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lunar-years · 1 month

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oh, ”Stay awake.” for the prompt list if you want?

uhhhh. Undoubtedly this was not the fic fill you were expecting for this prompt. i used it very loosely and I am truly sorry for this result...something consumed me.

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Roy sits on the balcony of his posh fucking rental, staring out at Marbella’s shore. He’s got private beach access here, a boardwalk that leads to the sand and then down to the swirling deep blue, where a person can float and maybe, if they're lucky, forget themselves for a while in its depths. But the waves are too high to swim today, and anyway, it’s getting dark now.

Beneath him, there’s a massive pool he could swim in instead, if he wanted. Dive in and spend a moment breathless beneath the water. It might do him good, that chance to briefly cut off the oxygen, to move around for a bit underwater, then feel the relief of the first lungful of air when he breaks back up through the surface. He’d do it, if he wasn’t feeling so fucking…stuck. Stuck to this chair, stuck to his stupid life. In need of permanent fissure, that's him. If he could only force himself to walk down to the pool, he thinks, and not look back. Maybe he could drown himself in it, and make it look like an accident.

He's twirling an engagement ring around in his right hand that's meant to be on Keeley’s ring finger.

The diamond is light pink and oval and massive, set into two narrow, curved bands of smaller yet still brilliant diamonds. It’s fucking perfect for Keeley. Showy, but not grotesquely so. Colourful and chic. Fun. Roy had it custom made for her. Let the jewelry consultant talk his ear off about settings and carats, then signed his name on the dotted line for the most expensive options on the list.

Fuck, he’d even showed it off to Rebecca, weeks and weeks ago, before he booked this trip. How fucking embarrassing was that? He’d only just gotten it in from the jeweler, the rock freshly nestled in its deep red velvet box. His boss cooed over it convincingly and agreed that yes, it looked just the ring for Keeley, and yes, the subtle pink hue was awfully inspired, and yes, Keeley would undoubtedly love it. Roy had left her office feeling rather proud of himself, totally oblivious to what she’d probably been trying to tell him between the lines, given the way her eyes went all narrow and her forehead pinched tight right after he’d told her where he was planning to propose, and when. The extravagant trip he envisioned that would end with him down on one knee.

Rebecca had blinked at him and clucked, with a smile like plastic, Wow. Well, I imagine that will come as quite the surprise! Which at the time felt like praise for his careful planning skills and in hindsight seems more like her small way of warning him. Like she’d known all along Keeley was going to say no.

Had everyone? Roy had only told Rebecca and his sister about the ring, but maybe everyone else had guessed it, or assumed it was coming. Assumed, possibly, how it would end, because who in their right mind would want to marry him? He was just the sort to do something this pathetic, to propose in a last ditch attempt to save what was already broken. Maybe they all saw it. He swallows down the rising, unpleasant rush of bile in his throat and thinks back to Keeley spreading stories about him around work, how clingy he was and how needy and how he never left her alone. So this wouldn’t be the first time everyone else knew more about his relationship than he did.

For one fleeting, wild moment, he envisions himself flinging the ring right off this balcony and watching it make its way, impossibly, all the way out to the sea. Gets brief satisfaction at the thought of the ocean swallowing it whole, entrapping it below the waves where he never has to think about it, or look at it, ever again. In his hand, the ring stills its incessant twirling and Roy crushes it under his fingers instead, pressing it so hard against his skin he’s sure it’s going to leave a mark on his palm, and hopes, ludicrously, that it will somehow be permanent. A reminder.

Behind him, inside the villa, Keeley’s asleep on the bed he had covered in rose petals while they were at dinner. Roy thinks he might stay up all night, sitting out here as it gets too dark to see the water below, just to avoid the awkwardness of joining her. Or is he meant to sleep in one of the guest rooms? What, exactly, is the protocol for when your girlfriend turns down your proposal but tells you she does in fact still want to be with you, marriage conversation aside? He’s the only person he knows that that’s happened to; he hasn’t even read about it books.

Roy’s spent the past three weeks alone here, missing her terribly. Has he now ruined their one glorious weekend together on the first night, before it’s even properly begun?

She’d flown in just that morning. Roy took a car to the airport to meet her, feeling jittery and excited in equal measure, happier than he’s felt for days. It had been a long fucking three weeks on his own, hardly able to find time to even FaceTime with her, what with how busy she was with her new firm. The whole time, her parting words before he left her for sunny Spain—You never know, maybe the time apart will do both of us good, babe—looped through his mind on constant repeat, curdling in his gut like sour milk.

Realistically, he knows they’ve been on two separate trajectories for a whole now, like rockets shooting off to two different edges of space, nothing but gulf and galaxies between. This weekend was meant to be their way back to one another, the anticipated culmination of their big compromise: Roy would still go to Marbella, alone, and Keeley would make the time to come join him halfway through, just for the few days she could manage with her new job.

His original proposal plan, the one he told to Rebecca involving a gorgeously romantic six-week couples retreat, had gone out the window the moment she’d turned this trip down, but even so, he’d adjusted it accordingly. Fitted his plans around hers, because that’s what suitable, well-adjusted couples did, wasn’t it? Convinced himself he could be flexible. Convinced himself he could wait. It just needed to happen, he just needed to present her with this ring, and she just needed to slip it onto her finger and say yes—and everything that felt wrong would be fixed.

He’s a fucking idiot.

He should have seen this coming. Even their reunion had felt off. She’d stepped through the baggage claim pulling her cheetah-print suitcase behind her, and subsequentially dropping it at the sight of him in order to run over and leap grandly into his arms. When they kissed, it felt just as good as it always did, like puzzle pieces sliding into place, soothing over the open wound inside of him he hadn’t quite realized he’d been nursing, all this time. But the wound didn’t close just because she was there. As soon as she stepped away again, retracing her steps back to retrieve her suitcase, the gulf only seemed to widen.

So then he'd taken her back to the villa, carrying on about the itinerary he’d spent the first half of his time here perfecting. He’d show her around the place first, give her time to get settled, and after that they’d still have plenty of time to get ready for dinner. He’d booked a private dinner on the water. A romantic, candlelit feast of seafood and drinks and dessert, after which he’d just go for it. He had what he wanted to say all lined up in his head: I love you Keeley. I want to spend forever with you. Then back to their room, which by then would be decked floor to ceiling with rose petals and heart balloons and champagne, ready for their exuberant return.

The first part went even better than planned. As soon as they made it through the front door, Keeley pounced on him, locking her fingers against his back, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him closer with all the hunger and passion and desperation they’d had in the beginning; that thing he’d been chasing for months. Passion got pushed aside when there were emails to check and businesses to run. Sex became a bit of a chore, maybe. But not now. Not anymore.

She let him carry her bridal-style to the master suite, setting her reverently down in the king-sized bed, stripping her adoringly, in between frantic kisses. They fucked hurriedly, Keeley’s suitcase abandoned in the entranceway and all thoughts of unpacking and giving a tour through the house abandoned with it. Then they fucked again, with much less haste. Like they’d finally managed to convince themselves the moment wasn’t about to be ripped away from them and were now letting themselves enjoy the thing proper. She was here now. It was all going to be fine.

After, though. Lying tangled up in the sheets, sweaty and naked and satisfied, Roy said something innocuous about getting up in time for a long shower together before they had to ready themselves for dinner, and the mood in the air shifted. Keeley frowned, “Oh I don’t know babe. Can you still cancel it? It’s just…” she exhaled and flopped her head back onto the pillows, hair splaying everywhere, “I am so fucking tired. That plane was an absolute misery, there was loads of turbulence and this one crying baby who I seriously think might have been possessed by some sort of crying demon, and…God, it really was awful. Also, before I left I had a meeting with my new employees. They hate me, Roy, I really think they hate me. How am I supposed to run a firm if all of my employees hate me?”

She stopped just long enough to breathe, or maybe she’d caught the look on his face. “Sorry, I know I swore not to talk about work on this trip.” A quick peck of her lips to his cheek, a little plea for forgiveness. It felt cold. “Just us for the rest of the weekend, I promise. So…dinner. What if we order in, just for tonight? We’ll spend the whole evening in bed, it’ll be fantastic. We can take a lazy nap, and then eat whenever we wake up, fuck again, midnight skinny dip in that fucking amazing pool out back—"

Of course she didn’t know about the candles and rose petals and the ring burning a hole in the safe deposit box in the closet, but Roy still stiffened. “No, we can't nap. We have to stay awake,” he bit out quickly. “We have to go to dinner. It’s already set up.”

Keeley kept talking mindlessly, even as Roy’s brain seemed to be burrowing itself in the sand, taking his sanity with it. “Well can’t you just call and postpone it? We can do the fancy dinner tomorrow, babe, once I’m more rested.” She was smiling. Her face seemed to say, this isn’t a big deal, babe.

But it was. Because Roy didn’t want to wait until tomorrow. He loved her today. He wanted this to happen today. The room felt unstable, like the bed was spinning in the opposite direction of the walls. It felt like something was slipping from him that he couldn’t name, even now. He was desperately trying to grasp at it with too-slick fingers even as it evaded his hold. “It has to be tonight, Keeley. There’s a different dinner planned tomorrow,” he snapped.

She stared at him in alarm.

“I have different dinners planned all weekend. I’ve put a lot of time into making this fucking—nice for you. For us. I’ve had a lot of time to put it together, since I’ve been here all the fuck alone.” It was much harsher than he'd intended, but he couldn’t take it back once he'd said it, and he didn't try to. The thing he was trying to save dipped further from his grasp. Keeley’s mouth snapped shut. The words hung in the air between them, heavy in the silence.

“Fine,” Keeley snapped back, eventually. Even her voice sounded more tired than angry, and the guilt gnawed at his chest. “Heaven forbid I want to relax on my bloody holiday. We’ll do it your way, then.” Then she rolled off the bed, shoving aside the sheets as she untangled them from her form, then angrily stomping towards the ensuite.

He made to get up and go after her, but she looked back at him with steely eyes, stopping him in his tracks. “I’m showering, Roy. Alone.”

Of course it went terribly, after that. How could it not? He should have called the whole thing off, should have agreed to lounge around and eat takeaway in bed and do nothing but fuck in the pool. He should have forgotten about the ring for the evening.

(He doesn’t think it would have made any difference. That’s almost the worst part.)

At dinner, the tension between them dissipated on the crests of bottomless cocktails and conversation. On laughter. Keeley looked fucking incredible in a flowery sundress. The food was divine. And the first thing they did was apologize for biting one another’s heads off, agreed that it had just been a long day. A mutual peace offering. Roy fingered the ring in his pocket until the time came to sink to his knee.

When he did, her face shattered. Not in the way he’d wanted it too, the way he’d pictured. Not the kind of shattered that happens when the joy gets so full it could burst. No, this was the same kind of shattered way she’d looked at him when she told him she couldn’t spare the time to spend six weeks with him in Marbella. Like she pitied him, almost. Like she was hoping he’d stop or say it was all a joke. That he’d take it all back.

“Roy,” she started softly, already shaking her head.

Already shaking her head.

“I love you, Roy,” she promised, eyes glistening. The words were a buzz in the background.

(The worst part, by far, is how much he loves her in return. He loves her so much he doesn’t know quite what to do with it. If a proposal isn’t the right place to put it, where is? He doesn’t understand why the love can’t fix them. Why it isn’t enough.)

“We’re not ready for this,” she continued, openly shedding tears by then. Somewhere off to the side, their waiter was probably alarmed, holding the cake with congratulations! swirled onto its plate in dark chocolate that Roy had paid extra for, unsure what to do with it, waiting for instruction. Roy was too humiliated to check for certain. He was still down on one knee. It was starting to throb. Carefully, he raised himself back up.

She was watching him with a look of great remorse as she repeated, “We can’t get married right now, baby. It isn’t…I don’t think it’s the answer, yeah? Maybe eventually, but not now.” It sounded exactly the way we’ll be fine had sounded the day she’d packed up her office in Richmond. Like they definitely wouldn’t be fine. Like her answer to marriage wasn’t not now but quite possibly never.

He’d nodded. He’d lowered himself back into his chair, feeling clammy and numb. He’d waved the waiter over to close the bill.

Staring out at the sea that’s gone dark, he tucks the ring back into his pocket with the startling, crippling, clear realization that he's got to break up with her. He feels like his heart has been wrenched out of his chest and stomped on, then shoved back in for him to live with. He feels like she’s right, and it wouldn’t have worked even if she’d said yes.

He’s such a fucking mess, he thinks, and she deserves better. She’s on top of the world, and here he is dragging her down into the water. Maybe they both know they’re broken beyond repair, just waiting for the other one to call it off. He’s not sure he can do it. These days, he misses her even when she’s in the next room.

Fuck.

He slides open the door to the balcony and steps back inside after one last glance at the ocean, which he can hear even if he can’t see. Fuck the guest bed. He makes his way into the bedroom and crawls in next to her. A couple more rose petals flutter to the ground.

“Roy,” she breathes, as soon as he’s settled himself under the thin sheet, the air too hot and humid, even with the AC cranked, to sleep under anything heavier. Her voice is quiet and sad and cracked and small. It sounds like she’s been crying the whole time he’s been outside.

He shuts his eyes and says, “I’m sorry,” to the air. He doesn’t know quite what he’s apologizing for. Asking her to marry him? Assuming she’d say yes? Even just thinking about breaking up with her just now? Her, the best person to ever happen to him? The best anything, end of. He draws himself closer and wraps his arm around her torso, just to feel her—her skin, the smell of her hair and the dip and fall of her stomach as she breathes in and out.

It’s its own familiar kind of self-torture, holding something in his hands as he loses it slowly. Like the last year of football, magnified by ten. Waiting for the final hammer to fall as he cradles the thing he loves in the palm of his hand and feels it drip through.

“Are we still okay?” she whispers, cupping her fingers over his own clasped ones. Maybe he’s not the only one desperately clinging on.

He tells her yes, but the truth is that he doesn’t know.

The deeper truth, the one he can’t face, is that he doesn’t think so.

He thinks it’s already over.

#ring description is based on blake lively's engagement ring which really is perfect for keeley :)#roykeeley #ted lasso #roy kent #keeley jones #pre breakup breakup fic tbh #hurt no comfort #angst #marbella #I'M SO SORRY #my writing #my fics #proposal fail #writing games #asks #i promise you my last fic from this prompt game is going to be the 'jamie gets whumped' fic yall (and me) deserve.#<333 #ship post

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promptsforyourwhumpfic · 11 months

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Whump Prompt #1145

Submitted by Anon - thanks!

There were new aches and pains, some reduced mobility... they worked around it. Scars gradually faded to something less visible despite being clear as day when whumpee looked in the mirror. But the psychological scars - the nightmares, the moments when raw panic coursed through their veins and they couldn't do anything but tremble in place - whumpee was most determined to hide those. Maybe it will go away eventually? Whumpee had to hope. They didn't want to be seen as broken, didn't want to be broken...

#WOW #Frothing at the mouth #perfection #whump #writing #prompts #ideas #chronic pain #scars #psychological whump #nighmares #panic

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inevitable-pretty-words · 8 months

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Whumper placing their hand on Whumpee's neck so they can feel their pulse and heart speed up every time Whumpee gets scared.

Bonus points if this prompt is used with sadistic or creepy Whumper.

Imagine Whumpee trying to calm down to make their heart beat slower to not satisfy Whumper and FAILING EVERY TIME.

#Just... there's something SO PERFECT about this idea AAAGHHH!! /pos #whump #whump community #whumpblr #whump prompt #whump writing #our writing

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wanderlustmagician · 3 months

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It doesn’t matter how many job interviews I’ve done, either side of it…. It still frickin stings when you know you’re a worthwhile candidate and company won’t go for you cause they’re set on what they’ll pay.

Anyways… guess I bombed that.

#wandering thoughts #time to decompress #with some coffee and biscuits #maybe I’ll pour my sad feelings into whump prompts or ch 2 of the modern au #I dunno #that job would have been perfect

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faofinn · 6 months

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No. 25 "You're not delivering a perfect body to the grave."

Storm | Buried Alive | "They're not breathing!"

Part 1 | Part 2

Fao had gotten to the point where he was happy enough with the packing, that the bleeding was at least slightly under control. He’d managed to bag painkillers and enough kit to start an IV, and he quickly set about getting access. “You’ll have to forgive me for this one mate, it’s been a while.” The lighting was shit, too, but Fao had always been decent at getting a vein, and managed to get a cannula in, feeling quite proud of himself. He needed more hands, though. He gave the morphine, scrawled the dose and time on Jamie’s arm with the pen he was glad he had in his pocket, and went back to the wound.

Jamie was beyond glad for the pain relief, the morphine threatening to pull him under. He didn't fight it as much, allowing the haze to take over as he drifted.

“That’s it.” He murmured, trying desperately to sort the bleeding. Where was Harrison? He should’ve been back by now.

Things were rapidly hurtling towards the point of no return. Fao knew that as much as Jamie did. At least with the pain relief on board he felt less bad trying to get on top of the bleeding now Jamie was more out of it than not. With Harrison nowhere to be seen, probably injured or worse, Fao had to push on. The half broken obs machine he’d managed to get his hands on alarmed at him, progressively getting more and more frustrated, but as Fao watched his blood pressure sink even more, he knew he had to do something. The packing just wasn’t doing enough, he need to find the source before Jamie bled out on him, and Fao owed him far too much to let that happen.

Rummaging around in the supplies he’d gathered, he found more packing materials, and thankfully a scalpel. He didn’t get any response from Jamie when he spoke to him, though he was still breathing, and he said a prayer to a god he’d never believed in before he made the incision.

“Fuck it.” He muttered to himself. “They’re not delivering a fucking perfect body to the grave, not on my watch.”

With better visibility, he could at least pack more widely, try and see what was causing all the fuss. Jamie’s breathing was shit, but he was still breathing, and that was good enough for Fao. He had no blood, nothing to transfuse, and he could barely see anything, but he had to do something. He couldn’t just leave him, couldn’t stand idly by. There were other patients, other staff too, but Fao owed Jamie an awful lot, and he wasn’t about to walk away. “Come on Jamie, don’t give up on me now. I’m not giving up on you.”

After what felt like hours, scrabbling about to find something to fix, Fao finally found the stubborn vessel that was causing the bulk of the bleeding, and managed to tie it off. It wasn’t a definitive solution, anything but, but it was what they had. By that point, he’d managed to find someone to help him, and they’d got a bag of fluids, though they had nothing to hang it off, so Fao was stood holding it, blood everywhere, hand tight around it to try and get just that little bit more volume in. It was a hail mary, but the world had completely fallen apart. There was nothing else to do but hail marys.

#whumptober 2023 #No. 25 “You're not delivering a perfect body to the grave.”#oc #fic #faolan blackwood #jamie #whump writing #whump prompt #field medicine #makeshift surgery #field surgery #whump #drastic measures #fao's for sure glad of his training lol

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