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crash-bump-bring-the-whump · 20 days

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Whumpril 2024 - Day 7 - Hesitation

-A huge demon enters the sitcom stage to raucous applause, spreading his arms and grinning at the other actors- GUESS WHO'S BACK AFTER BEING ON OC VACATION, at least now and then yk, I missed Gabe

TWs: attempted murder/assassination, threats, brief and vague reference to noncon by whumpee, blood, blades

“Please–” Gabriel watched the angel in front of him tremble. She clasped her hands in front of herself, brilliant purple eyes fixed on the bright cerulean soul in his hand. “Please, Prince Gabriel, don't do this.”

Gabriel sneered, rolling the little soul around in his palm, feeling the magical sparks against his skin. “Why?” He walked closer, idly toying with one sword he'd taken. His foot came to rest on the blade of the other. “You tried to kill me in my own home. Give me a reason to spare two assassins.”

She winced back, mouth gaping as she struggled for a reason. Gabriel laughed and dropped the blade with a clatter, bringing the soul up to his mouth. He rolled the marble into his mouth, holding it between his teeth. Everyone who knew of Gabriel Rivas, Demon Prince of the Wrathful Chase also knew how he liked to dispatch the souls of his enemies.

She dropped to her knees, tears springing from her eyes. Sobbing, she scrambled forward, desperately grabbing at the sheer silks he was wrapped in. “No, not him, not Alistair, he's all I have–”

Something in how her voice broke, in how her watery purple eyes looked up at him with such desperation, made Gabriel pause. Suddenly the soul didn't feel as satisfying to have in his mouth. He pulled the soul away from his teeth with a sigh, brows furrowed.

“Hmm.” He thought for a moment, before grinning again. “Alright, alright. I'll make you a deal.”

She pressed her hands to her mouth and sat back on her heels, looking up at him with a frantic nod. She reached to his silks again, feeling at his hips, starting to tug the fabric away from his skin. “Anything, anything at all, sir, whatever you want I'll–”

Gabriel felt his grin drop away as his stomach rolled. He stepped back, reaching a hand up sharply. “Quiet. Don't touch me. I don't want–not that.”

He took a deep breath, golden eyes lingering on the intact halo that hovered above her head. It matched her eyes perfectly. Her cloudy, dark grey wings shivered behind her back, pulled as tightly against her as possible. Messy black hair framed her face. Her arms wrapped around herself, like she might fall apart if she didn't.

“if you can survive out there for forty-eight hours then you're free to go.” He motioned to the window, to the clogged, labyrinthine streets that lay far below his uncanny skyscraper. The screams and howls of the hunted couldn't be heard this far up. “You won't be able to fly. My demons will be hunting you the whole time. But if you can do it, you get to leave. Both of you. He'll stay in my possession until then.”

She swallowed hard and nodded. “Okay. I, yes. Yes, I accept. And if I don’t, you’ll kill us.”

“Give me your name." Gabriel said with a nod, offering a hand out to her. She grasped it. When he helped her to her feet, she seemed to barely weigh as much as Throl.

“Felicia.”

“Go on Felicia, you have a fifteen minute start time.”

Gabriel didn’t know how he felt, watching her disappear into the elevator, shoulders squared.

As the doors closed, he shifted again and a sharp pain raced up his leg. Glancing down, the sword blade he’d stepped on before had bitten into him. Curiosity spiking, he lifted it to examine the sole of his foot. Golden blood started to languidly ooze, but there was no burning. He wasn’t being immolated by holy magic. He curiously looked to the other, and realized that it didn’t smell holy either–that had been the angel.

Neither one of these blades could have killed him.

“Huh. Well, Alistair. Guess things are a little more complicated than I thought. Let’s just see how Felicia does while I think about where to go next.”

#whumpril2024 #whumprilday7 #day 7 #hesitation #the original sin #original sin #gdi one of these will work for gabe #angel whumpee #demon whumper #blood #blades #attempted murder whump #noncon referenced #it's super brief and nongraphic and also referenced by the whumpee #assassination attempt

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librathefangirl · 7 months

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Sticks and Stones Won't Break My Bones (As Long as You Are Here)

ao3 (Chapter 1/1; 2.1k+)

When Meliodas came to, it was with a pounding head. He couldn’t remember how exactly he had ended up here, but he was fairly certain this hadn’t been part of the plan. There was a faint ringing in his ears accompanying the pounding in his head, making him let out a groan as he tried to move his head. Almost immediately, a hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing and pushing at the same time. It offered comfort while also keeping firmly on the ground, unable to get up. Whumptober Day 1: “How many fingers am I holding up?”

WHUMPTOBER IS HERE!! yay :) Not sure how many of these I'll manage to write, but there will be some at least.

Read on ao3 or under the cut!

When Meliodas came to, it was with a pounding head — and not just a mild pounding. No, it felt like there was a wind chime of pain inside his head. Even the smallest thought sent it cascading throughout his head. He couldn’t remember how exactly he had ended up here, but he was fairly certain this hadn’t been part of the plan. Normally, Meliodas was better at improvising. There was a faint ringing in his ears accompanying the pounding in his head, making him let out a groan as he tried to move his head. ow…

Almost immediately, a hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing and pushing at the same time. It offered comfort while also keeping firmly on the ground, unable to get up. There was no gauntlet on the hand. He could feel the warmth of skin across his own exposed – wait, why was his shoulder exposed? There was tension in the hand as well; the fingers dug a little too tightly into the back of his shoulder, and the thumb rubbing across his collarbone did so while jerking movements.

Meliodas knew this hand.

“–mmhff ,” he tried to open his eyes, longing to see the face he knew belonged to it. Though, as he did, he was assaulted by the sun in his face. Another groan slipped past his lips. The sound vibrated through his throat as he squeezed his eyes shut again. He buried his face under his hands – since when was the sun that bright? It suddenly felt like the pounding chime in his head was about to break out of his skull.

“Hey, it’s okay, try again,” a gentle encouragement taut with worry spoke somewhere from his left. Liz! Okay, screw the sun. He wanted – needed – to see her face now. He wanted to watch that worry disappear from her eyes and tension bleed away from her hand as he told her he was fine. She worried about him a lot. Meliodas knew that, even if she didn’t always say it explicitly. She worried about him unnecessarily much – but that in itself had become a bit of a comfort. She worried because she saw him as just as mortal as the rest of them. She thought him killable; more easily defeated than he was. Truthfully, it was a little hurtful to his pride. Then again, today was probably not doing him any favors regarding that.

When Meliodas tried opening his eyes again, in slower more careful blinks, something had shifted. The sun was now blocked from his view, giving a less stabbing light for his eyes to adjust to. A blurry hand entered his field of vision before he could try to find Liz’s face.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” another familiar voice asked. Huh…? Was that Merlin? Why was she here?

Meliodas resisted the urge to roll his eyes – this was unwarranted, he was fine… -ish . He figured just answering her would be the fastest way to get Merlin to back off. The problem with that, however, was that Meliodas didn’t know how to answer the question without making them worry more. He could see fingers extending from the hand, but every time he tried to count them, he failed. The digits kept swaying in and out of each other, the hand going from one solid hand to two or three overlapping hands and then back again. The truth was not an option. If he answered honestly, he would not be getting off this ground anytime soon.

So, instead, Meliodas pushed away Merlin’s hand and sat up; “Don’t be so dramatic, kiddo.”

He didn’t have time to see if Merlin reacted to the old nickname slipping out or not because as soon as the words had left his mouth, the world started tilting. His arm gave out and he probably would have given himself – another? – concussion if Liz had caught him. Once more Meliodas was forced to squeeze his eyes shut. This was not helping him convince them he was fine, but neither would throwing up.

As the world spun around him, Meliodas felt Liz shift her position. She sat down beside him, resting his head in her lap. One of her hands made its way to his forehead, brushing his hair back slowly and soothingly. This could have been bliss – headache and nausea aside. Meliodas chanced his eyes open, meeting Liz’ gaze. She was glaring at him; worry poorly hidden behind the anger in her eyes. There was a scratch across her cheek, just deep enough to pull a few droplets of blood out. Otherwise, she seemed unharmed. A bit dirty and disheveled, but unharmed. Meliodas relaxed into her lap, feeling tension he hadn’t even been aware of slipping away. He always hated leaving Elizabeth on her own, especially when it wasn’t by choice. Sure, this had only been for a few moments of unconsciousness, and Liz could very well hold her own in a fight, but… No matter her skills, she still held the fragility of a human. Meliodas wasn’t sure he could handle watching her die. Not again…

A displeased sound pulled his attention over to Merlin. She looked wholly unimpressed as she, too, glared at him. Her worry was a lot milder, of course, and her annoyance a lot bigger than Liz’s anger. Oh, right. Now Meliodas was starting to remember. The accusation of recklessness in Merlin’s raised eyebrow jiggled loose the memories through the fog that had overtaken his mind. They had been on a mission, him, Liz, and the other Holy Knights. It hadn’t really been anything out of the ordinary. Then someone had managed to snuck up behind Liz. So, Meliodas had acted. A bit recklessly perhaps, but nothing he wouldn’t do again given the chance. Merlin knew this too, he supposed, or otherwise, she wouldn’t be giving him that look.

“You are an idiot!” Liz scolded him. Meliodas met her glare again, giving her as good of a shrug as he could from his current position. She wasn’t wrong, necessarily.

“Worth it,” he told her. Then, with the fog easing from his mind, another thought suddenly hit him. “Wait… why are you here, Merlin?”

Last he was aware, she had been in Danafor. Meliodas looked around them – thankful that the spinning had come to a stop. Just like he suspected, they were still in the forest of the attack, a good bit away from Danafor. The rest of the Holy Knights seemed to be gone. It was only the three of them here.

“I needed a fresh specimen,” Merlin explained casually and showcased the jar held in her hand, which – yeah, no, Meliodas was not about to get involved in that business. He had been grateful, if he was completely honest, when Merlin had gotten distracted by a new experiment the last few days. As much as he was glad to see her and have someone who knew to talk with, he had needed the reprieve from their failed discussions of how to go against the gods’ will. They hadn’t come up with a doable solution and it was starting to weigh on him. After 3,000 long years, Meliodas wasn’t sure how much more failure he could take.

Meliodas drew a shaky breath, trying to pull his mind from those thoughts; “And where are the others?”

“They just left. I advised them to deal with the apprehended criminals, while me and Liz dealt with you. ”

The last words definitely felt a bit loaded, but Meliodas had known Merlin long enough to know that poking that beehive would do him no good. He knew she had opinions of what had happened today, about his actions and choices. Liz’s presence was probably the only thing keeping her quiet right now. When they had a moment alone, however, it would be a completely different matter. Meliodas wasn’t really looking forward to it. He had no counter. He had acted recklessly today, and he would do it again. Every single time, if it was for Elizabeth. They both knew this. Damn the consequences.

“Since when do you have authority over the knights?” Meliodas asked, trying to push the conversation along. Liz was still looking at him with that anger-filled worry. He didn’t like seeing it.

“Oh, they just didn’t feel like disagreeing with me,” Merlin said. A smirk crossed her face; an expression that could send fear through the weak of hearts.

“Barzard thinks you will turn him into a toad if he does,” Liz deadpanned. Meliodas snorted. It only hurt a little to do so.

“I think that’s fair,” Meliodas grinned at Merlin.

“It seemed like the wise choice. I figured you wouldn’t want them hovering about,” Merlin continued, and, well, she wasn’t wrong. “Besides, they all seemed a bit… restless. ”

Meliodas had no doubt Merlin was putting it lightly. The next few days would be hell. For Meliodas to get knocked out like this, was a rarity. Not impossible, of course, but it didn’t really happen. Humans weren’t as powerful these days as they had once been. As for Meliodas, he had gotten quite a reputation in Danafor and the nearby kingdoms; the undefeated Captain of Danafor’s Holy Knights, the man who wouldn't even carry a sword. He could see how today’s event would affect the knights.

Meliodas sat up again. Liz protested loudly but didn’t stop him. This time, he managed to sit up without falling back down and was only a little wobbly in his movements.

“That might be, but this is all unnecessary. I am fine .”

Merlin raised an eyebrow at him again. The judgment was still clear in her expression, which was a little rude. She knew that he was, more or less, fine. Liz probably thought it was much more serious than it was, but she didn’t have all the information. Merlin did, and she wasn’t even helping him. Meliodas had the feeling she was taking Liz’s side over his on the basis that she also knew what it took to actually knock him out. Really though, it had been a bad hit. That was all it was to it. If only they would accept that… Well, that would mean this day was going Meliodas’ way. So far, not happening. If anything, this whole thing was embarrassing. It shouldn’t have happened, but it did, and now Merlin was letting him pay the price for it.

“You fell on your ass,” Merlin stated crudely – rubbing salt in the wound. It was an obvious overaggeration, even for Liz. After all, Meliodas hadn’t gotten up far enough to do so yet.

“Like I said, no need to be so dramatic, kiddo ,” Meliodas shot back, seeing Merlin’s cheeks flush a little even as she rolled her eyes at him.

“I am not a kid anymore,” Merlin pointed out. The ‘ It’s been over 3,000 years’ rang loud under her words. Meliodas just shrugged.

“Well, I am still older than you.” From the corner of his eye, Meliodas saw Liz frowning. A bit disappointing, but not unexpected. He knew he looked young, especially to humans. He thought Liz would know better than that by now. Did Merlin really look that much older?

“And I am fine.” Meliodas tried to rise to his feet. He didn’t get far. While Merlin just sighed at his instance – he wouldn’t need to repeat himself so much if they just took him for his word – Liz was quick to grab hold of his shoulder, keeping him seated on the ground. He met her gaze. Briefly, he wondered how far she would actually go to keep him from what she saw as potentially harming himself further. Liz had a sweet soul but also had no qualms about getting physical when needed to.

“Look, I’m fine. I promise,” Meliodas told her, smiling as reassuringly as he could. She didn’t move. Meliodas sighed, still smiling as he squeezed her hand on his shoulder. “I am getting up now, Liz, with or without your help.”

He didn’t actually need her help. Though as he had suspected, she relented at that, accepting that he rose to his feet with her keeping him steady. It was something she needed more than him at that moment. Once they got back to Danafor and she was certain he wouldn’t just collapse again, Meliodas was sure she, like Merlin, would have a few choice words for him. He would take it. Because that meant she was unharmed enough to get angry with him.

As it was, Liz didn’t let go of him until she had him seated on the bed in their house. Meliodas wouldn’t complain, even if her fingers dug a little too tightly into his skin or if her worried gaze kept looking him over for more injuries, not as long as she was still there to do it.

#whumptober2023 #no.1 #how many fingers am i holding up?#nanatsu no taizai #seven deadly sins #fic #libra's whumptober 2023 #meliodas whump #meliodas nnt #liz nnt #merlin nnt #nnt #sds #7ds #nnt fic #libra writes #my fics

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mica949 · 11 months

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Warning for graphic depictions of torture and PTSD

In RBH, RHM picks up Reg before dealing with Henry. Reg is happy of course, but he can’t stop shaking after months of government interrogation.

It was just a shower. It shouldn’t be scary.

Yet, Reginald couldn’t stop himself from shaking.

He knew he didn’t have to. If he was a weaker man, he could turn back and tell RHM that he couldn’t handle it, and in all honesty, he’d probably be reassured and held close for an unreasonable amount of time. But he wasn’t weak. He wasn’t, and he had to prove that to himself. Wasn’t that what that therapist said? To work on his self-esteem in small steps? Being able to clean himself like a normal person seemed like a small step.

Reg turned the knob to the left, quickly stepping out of the way before the water could hit him. The sound of water running already had his hands shaking to the point it was a struggle to slip off the simple dress shirt, wool lined pants, and too-small boxers that actually fit after all the weight he’d lost.

He wasn’t weak. It wasn’t scary. It wasn’t dark, and there was plenty of room to move around. It wasn’t the same whatsoever.

Before he could change his mind, he stepped into the shower and let the lukewarm water hit him.

—

He didn’t know how long it had been since he’d been put in here. It was pitch black, only the slightest of light slipping through the crack of the closed off entrance. Reg had never considered himself claustrophobic, but in a small concrete cell with barely enough room to lay down comfortably, he found himself struggling to breathe.

It might have been hours or days since the last time they tortured him. Without natural light, it was near impossible to tell time if he didn’t count the seconds, and he’d lost count around 3000. It certainly felt like a while, so he wasn’t incredibly surprised when water began to spray from the ceiling.

Not surprised, but definitely upset.

Reg had stopped with the sarcastic remarks the tenth time they doused him. But he certainly wasn’t about to start begging. He stood, and nearly fell over at the wave of weakness that washed over him (How long had it been since they let him out? Should he be trying to drink this, just to stay hydrated?), barely managing to stabilize himself by gripping onto what might have been a handle. Just barely managing to stop stars from flashing before his vision before the water turned off and—

Zap.

He jumped back from the handle (?) at the sudden shock. The first one was never that bad, but this one felt stronger than average. The soles of his feet stung, and it was a genuine effort to stay upright. Reg was determined to do it though; it was worse if he was on the floor. The water would soak into him and leave him vulnerable on whatever side he landed on.

Though, he already felt drenched as a second downpour hit him. It was too hot, and he could just barely move out of the way to keep it from burning his scalp at the very least. It stopped, and he had a half second to brace himself before—

Zap.

His vision flashed white in the darkness. For a brief moment he couldn’t move, as though held in place by a beam. Then the electricity stopped, and he fell over. That was a brief effort. This time it gave him a moment to rest it seemed. Reg tried to stand, but he found that he’d developed a tremor to his body that wouldn’t go away no matter how he tried to move it. Was this it? After god knows how many shocks, was he finally dying?

The thought was terrifying. The realization that he wasn’t ready to die left him shaken and wide eyed as water scorched his already burning skin.

Zap.

Reg swore he felt his heart skip a beat. Everything ached and shook, and wow, he was dying. He didn’t think they’d actually kill him. Didn’t they need him for information? Wasn’t that the point of all this electricity? To get him to talk? He couldn’t do that if he was dead.

“Nyeh… Wait.” He couldn’t believe he was actually doing this. He was never the type to beg. But maybe they didn’t realize? “You’re… going to kill me.”

There was a long pause, and Reg considered that maybe they had listened and decided to stop for the moment. He tried to stop his hands from shaking long enough that he could wring most of the water out of his curls, at least stop himself from getting sick.

Then the water started again.

“Wait—” Reg sputtered. Suddenly it was really hard to breathe, and it felt like the water had turned cold despite the fact he could feel it leaving burns on him. “You’re going to kill me! You— You can’t kill me— Wait!”

Was he willing to die to keep these secrets? He’d always told himself he was. But, now that his life was flashing before his eyes, he was realizing how much he wanted it back. He didn’t want to die here. Not like this. There was so much he wanted to do. He didn’t want to die—

—

Reginald didn’t realize he had fallen until the water stopped hitting him and he was on his back. His vision was speckled with black, and his heart was pounding so loudly in his ears he could barely hear anything else. The touch of a warm hand on his cheek was so light, yet so intense he couldn’t help but jerk away. Yet before it could pull away, he was leaning into it. He didn’t realize he was crying either until that hand wiped a tear off his cheek.

“Reg.”

His right hand man’s voice was as steady as always. Even as his vision cleared and he wrapped his arms around RHM for a very soggy hug, he couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. It was just a shower. He had no clue why he was panicking so badly.

(He knew. But it was easier to pretend that his body and mind were out of control than admit that something inside him had been deeply, fundamentally broken in those months of capture.)

#this is the first time ive had reg say nyeh #i feel like... ive sinned up until this point #its about time my favorite blorbo gets bullied #thsc #the henry stickmin collection #reginald copperbottom #thsc rhm #right hand man #copperright #whump #?#i think this counts #not quite fics

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seaside-writings · 2 years

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Prompt #444

"This is what we deserve, after everything we've done,"

"What sins of the father shit are you on? We didn't do any of this; fucking hell, we weren't even born when this all happened!"

"..."

"We don't deserve this, any of this, and neither do they,"

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sunwarmed-ash · 8 months

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Angst Prompt: Billy Hargrove

Neverender

Characters: Billy Hargrove, the hawkins crew, Eddie Munson Trigger Warnings: Suicidal ideations/mention, no attempts, homophobic language/violence Tags: Sad Billy, post season 3 & 4-Billy lives, Billy and Steve are ex's, Eddie is a worried friend, Neil Hargroves A+ parenting, post harringrove fall out, hurt/minor comfort, suicidal ideation/mentions, dissociative/Major Depressive Disorder Billy

*Fic also under cut*

Nothings been the same since July.

How could it be? Billy died. And what was left of their heated-rivalry-turned-blazing-sex-life and budding romance died with him. Because Billy wasn't the same when he came back. How could he be? Nothing that Billy liked about himself existed anymore; Nothing that Steve fell in love with was recoverable.

He’s a shadow of his former self, and its obvious to everyone, but worst of all himself. His Calforinan tan and meticulously sculpted torso were gone, replaced by a ghostly pale all over color, and ugly, horrifying scars left behind by the monster that almost took his life. His hair, which he had spent months learning to cut and style himself had to be cut to add stables to keep his brain inside his skull post attack. The ‘doctors’ did such a piss poor job of it too Billy lost almost all of the length. He hated how it looked now. How he looked now.

Nothing is the same as it was before.

When the Steve finally got the balls to call off whatever their pathetic attempt of going through the motions, Billy told Steve the first lie he’s ever told them since they became exclusive.

“I get it Steve. Don’t worry, I’ll be alright.”

“Billy…”

“I’ll be fine. Really.”

He wasn't fine. He wasn't even in the same ballpark as fine. He was ‘okay at best’ on good days, and seconds away from diving headfirst into the shallow end of the quarry on bad ones. The demons in his mind that plagued his night and daymares were nothing compared to the venom spit from his classmates, from Neil after everything with the mall went down and Billy was arrested after he barely surviving an interdimensional monster attack.

Some rack of shit huh? Instead of a welcome wagon and fucking parade like the hero who sacrificed everything for a stranger should get, he was gifted with 100% of the blame, 7 months of rehab and a 6 thousand dollar fine for the damage.

What was worse was that no one refuted it. Not a single person who was actually there that night. Not Steve. Not his fucking father, and since he was unconscious at the time, busy ya know, not dying, certainly not himself.

Billy shut himself off from everyone after that. He quit the basketball team, spending the extra hour of silence after school at the quarry, increasing his likelihood of lung cancer, one malrboro red at a time.

Since Steve had graduated, and dumped his ass, and he learned the hard way his so-called friends were as fake as silicone tits, he didn't see a point in being social. He was content to just keep his head down and degrade, one major depressive episode at a time. And at the end of each day, the bottom of the quarry looked more and more welcoming.

Harrington Home

“So what's going on with Billy?” Eddie asked suddenly, and unprompted, catching everyone off guard. Enough that Steve dropped the dish he was washing into the sink and Dustin choked on the pizza crust he bit into.

“Why- do you want to know about him?” Robin asks, eyes jumping anxiously between Steve and Eddie.

“He’s been, weird,” Eddie said, unsure why now everyone else in the room was being weird.

“I haven't noticed,” Dustin shrugged and Max smacked his arm.

“You ‘haven't noticed’ how the once loud and proud Californian Dickhead is now essentially a ghost? I don’t think I’ve heard him talk in months. It’s like he’s trying to will himself invisible. I think I even saw Carver bullying him last week. LIke isn’t that weird- What, whoa what did I say?” He asked anxiously, because now 7 sets of intense eyes were on him. “What? What is it? You can tell me.”

“Billy is… a complicated topic around here,” Lucas starts, hedging something big and looking very intently at Max.

“Why?” Eddie asked again anyway and Dustin and Max sigh way too heavy for 14 year olds. But then again, they all did just barely survive an apocalypse. Some their second and third….

“Because he died,” Max answers, and Eddie’s mouth dropped open.

“Because he used to be our friend,” Dustin added, which is actually more surprising in some ways.

“Because he’s my ex,” Steve says, finally addressing the real elephant in the room if all of the others matching tense expressions was any indication.

Harrington Living Room

“He saved me. But, no one wanted to see that,” El said, her own tears staining her face as she retold the story of last July.

“The Hawkins lab and the press have had an ongoing, lethal NDA since, what four years ago now? By the time Vecna rolled around, well, we were as close as you got to for experts at that point. The mall burned down because we had to kill the monster inside it. Without alerting the town there was one in the first place.”

“Which, happened to be controlled by the bigger monster possessing Billy at the time,” Lucas finished, because one look at Steve confirmed he couldn't.

“As the building was burning down, The Mind Flayer basically had El, ready for the monster, but Billy, our Billy broke through. Sacrificed himself to the monster so she could get away. So we all could.” Dustin finished.

“None of us knew if he was alive or dead for months,” Max chimed in. “And then one day, he just shows up on our doorstep. Looking like he got the shit beat out of him. Didn't say where he’s been, or why. I wasn’t even sure it was him. So I tested him.”

“How?” Lucas asked, evidently even he hadn’t heard the story.

“I punched him,” Max shrugged, “He didn't block it or fight back. He barely even looked at me. He just waited, until Neil stopped screaming and then went to his room. He’s been like that ever since. Whoever, whatever he is now, that isn’t my brother.”

Hawkins High Locker Room

It's been 34 days since he returned to Hawkins, and there's still another 156 days left in the semester until he can graduate and move back to California. He’d leave now if that was an option. But it wasn't.

He just wants to get through the school year without any trouble. He’s lived through enough already. But its evident in the next moment, Carver and Hill aren’t gonna let that happen.

“Oh how the mighty fall,” Carver laughs, referring to Billy’s more-scar-tissue-than-unmarred-flesh shirtless torso. “Serves you right, karmas a bitch, huh?”

“I told you, I didn't do that shit.”

It was of the general Hawkins misunderstanding that Billy set the mall on fire, as an act of ‘unamerican criminal mischief’ turned way wrong. They also say he endangered the lives of several minors as well as many ‘respected members of the community.’

When Billy was hit with so much violence and hatred upon reintegration, he almost high tailed it back to California with his tail between his legs. But then, and now, he had exactly $197 to his name, and he needed more than that to get out of here for good.

“Right, just like you didn't try and fuck Chrissy at Tina’s Halloween party right?” Hill piled on.

He actually didn't. Chrissy was a friend. And Billy was gayer than Liberace. Just outfitted with denim instead of glitter. But Hill and Carvers sudden and vicious betrayal still stung and he just wasn’t in the fucking mood.

“Didn’t need to initiate anything. She was begging for a fuck on anything bigger that pencil dick of yours.”

The next moment Tommy’s fist is in his gut, knocking him down before he has a chance to brace. Carver is standing above him, one shoe making contect with his solar plexus when he tries to raise up off his knees.

“Remember your place fag,” he sneers and Billy laughs in his face.

“Well which is it? Am I fucking your girl on the side or too busy choking on cock? Can’t do both.”

Carver launched his own attack now, kicking into Billy’s chest hard until he wheezed. Hill added a right hook that knocked Billy flat on his ass.

Any other day, before The Mindflayer, he could have taken them both. But almost all of his former strength vanished with the monster attack. He was vulnerable to everything they gave him. And what’s worse, he’s lost all will to get back up.

It wasn't long before Tommy’s own kicks started. Billy’s been in this position on the floor all too often. He pulls his legs against his chest so hopefully his ribs won’t break under their combined force.

Billy skipped the rest of his classes that day.

After Carver and Hill left, (got bored of kicking an unresponsive Billy), he just laid there on the cold, filthy floor. All through the lunch period. No one else came into the locker room. Not even the Coach. Billy was grateful. It took longer than usual for him to get back up these days, and he really didn't want an audience to his shame.

The quarry

Billy didn't go home. He didn't want to explain the bruises that weren’t from Neil. Neil would accuse him of trying to get social services called. So he just stayed out, drove to the quarry, lit up a cigarette and watched the sun go down and the moon rise.

Some undetermined time later, another vehicle arrived at the quarry. For a moment, Billy froze, expecting to see the cops truck, or his fathers, here to drag him back home by his hair. But it wasn’t, it was Eddie fucking Munson’s screaming metal death trap and that was somehow worse. He didn't want to talk to anyone right now. Let alone his ex’s new BFF.

Billy ignored Eddie when he exited his car. Maybe if Eddie realized he wasn't welcome, he’d leave. Eddie was soft. Billy, even now, could probably still scare him away.

“Thought I might find you here,” Eddie says and the statement sets him the fuck off.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Eddie’s huge eyes only got bigger and his hands flew up in surrender.

“Nothing, just, this is a good space to think. Figured after today you'd be looking for thinking space is all.”

“And why would I need that?”

Eddie grins, hands still up in the air.

“Okay, you caught me. Steve uh, filled me in with what happened today. With Jason.”

Billy balks and jumps off the hood of his car that he was comfortably sitting on. He is not here to talk about this. Fuck Eddie Munson.

“Wait! Billy hang on,” Eddie pleads, and for some reason, it stops Billy in place. He doesn't bother turning around.

“You got three seconds freak.”

“I brought weed.”

Billy huffs in frustration before yanking his hand off the door handle.

“...Alright.”

“What's going on with you man,” Eddie asks, not more than three seconds into Billy’s hit. Guy really knows how to kill a high. Probably how he stays employed.

“Nothing’s going on with me,” he said because it's true. He’s been silent for months. He’s just trying to make it to May. As soon as he graduates he can get the fuck out of this hellhole. Go back to California, his home. It's where he belongs.

“That's what I mean. I actually never thought I’d say this, but I kinda miss being bullied by you.”

Billy takes another hit instead of passing the joint, flipping Eddie off.

The brunette only laughs in amusement, his eyes crinkling adorably as he laughed.

“Yes finally! Goddamn this has been the longest slow burn of my life!”

Billy rolls his eyes but the weed is helping soften some of his bad mood. And maybe the company is helping. He won't admit that shit outloud though. Never again.

Eddie follows up with, “Carver’s a dick, don't let him get to you.”

Billy scoffs.

“I’m not.”

“Then why are you out here?” Eddie asked, far more perceiving than Billy appreciates right now.

“What’s it to you?”

Eddie’s eyes are too honest when he says,

“I don't know.”

Billy doesn't like it. Doesn't like how its making him feel. He can’t let someone else get in the way again.

Billy shrugs, admission falling off his lips easier than expected.

“I wasn’t planning on going home.”

Eddie’s eyebrows raise to his hairline but Billy didn't see it. He was too busy staring at the body of water that had to be below freezing by now.

“So you’re just gonna what? Sleep here? In your car, all night?”

No. Ideally, if he jumped from this height, the impact would probably be enough to break some bones. His neck preferably, but beggars can't be choosers.

“That's not what I said.”

Its eerily quiet in the next moments, as what Billy meant finally sunk in. Billy’s hand shakes on his last inhale.

“Oh…” Munson says.

Well, at least Eddie didn't apologize, or launch into a monologue of 1000 reasons to live.

“Yeah…” Billy sighs, feeling lighter but also so much worse finally admitting just how far gone he was out loud. He passes the dead joint back to Eddie before pulling out his car keys.

“Wait, where- where are you going?” Eddie asks, panic obvious in his voice.

Billy wishes he could feel something. Anything.

“Home. Can’t try and kill myself now, can I?”

Eddie’s expression exposed he was probably suffering from the illusion that someone genuinely giving a shit could be enough for Billy to change his mind. But it wasn’t. Not long term. Not after everything he’s been through. “Night Munson, thanks for the weed.”

#billy hargrove whump #billy hargrove #stranger things #stranger things 3 #stranger things 2 #stranger things 4 #eddie munson #steve harrington #find me on ao3 #sunwarmed ash #tw suicide mention #my works #link in bio #i post new stuff every sunday #sinful sunday

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rachi-roo · 6 months

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Opening requests again! I won't be taking any tickle requests for BSD, but if someone requests some whump, since it's Halloween, I'll consider it!

Other than that, any other fandom is good to go on the tiggles! Though after my last fic, I am feeling whumpy 👀

#open requests #fic requests #whump requests #tickle request #fluff requests #rachi roo #bsd #mha #jjk #spy x family #noragami #blue excorsist #seven deadly sins #anime #yakuza's guide to babysitting #my new boss is goofy

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icypantherwrites · 3 months

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Fic Update: The Deadliest of Sins, Chapter 10

Fic Summary: (Police/Detective AU) There’s a serial killer haunting the streets of Garrison City. Detective Lance is assigned to the case, trying to solve the killer’s motive and identity before another victim shows up in a week. He can tell there’s something very personal to the killer about these crime scenes and how each victim is killed, but even Lance has no idea how personal this case is about to become.

Chapter Snippet:

Lance awoke to a pounding headache, an overbearingly sweet and yet musky scent, and the sensation of cold hands on his chest.

His bare chest.

His eyes flew open and he immediately regretted that as light, dim as it was, assaulted them and his stomach rolled dangerously and he let out a moan, squeezing his eyes shut then while trying to pull away from the hands that no doubt belonged to S and…

And going nowhere.

His eyes flew open again as though he needed to see the fact he was restrained, ropes tight around his wrists and ankles, in a chair to believe it, and he could feel equally coarse rope and cloth stretched across his face and he swallowed thickly, willing his stomach to settle as vomiting with a gag would be beyond awful.

But the unwelcome hands did remove themselves and were replaced instead with an almost amused sounding, “Waking up, Detective?”

Lance did not recognize the voice.

Read it here

(posted up to chapter 7 on AO3)

#voltron #vld #au #alternate universe #police #detective #detective lance #langst #whump #murder mystery #mystery #crime scene #fanfiction #fanfic #icypanther #icypantherwrites #The Deadliest of Sins

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whumpsical · 8 months

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(ty @figuwhump for the pose! 💕)

Jian is an insomnia baker <3 welcome to 3am floor cookies, sponsored by The Horrors

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whump-captain · 2 years

Photo

he’s fine, he just got thrown through a window

[Image ID: A digital drawing showing a portrait of a light-skinned man with dark hair, a beard, and several facial scars. He’s wearing a sheepish smile as he holds a bloody handkerchief to his temple. From under it, blood trickles down the side of his face. Scrapes and bruises cover his face and bare shoulders. The drawing is in greyscale except for the injuries, which are bright red. End ID]

#whump art #whump sketch #oc whump #head injury #captain's stuff #captain's ocs #ghost ambulance #the sketch-layer-to-hide-the-sins makes a triumphant return #idk i just like the vibes better #as promised the 17th Portrait With Blood #i was working on something a bit bigger actually and then my brain went 'But We Won't Get Validation For This Instantly :('#yes brain that's how bigger projects work

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angelsandarsenic · 1 month

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Any surprising answers on the "favourite character to whump" post?

I feel really bad leaving this in my inbox for so long but I didn’t have an answer because most of the response aren’t characters I know. I have compiled my favorite responses though so I hope this will suffice anon (I’m sorry i love you for sending asks💕 I hope you see this)

#Yeah #immortal character—> WHUMP #You get me Therapist #Charlie slimecicle my favorite victim <3 #And Cellbit as I might have mentioned #Actually I have a whole list but nevermind that #Anon asks #That one about sin and salvation 🫢love it

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crash-bump-bring-the-whump · 9 months

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This is a fill for this ask game for my friend @painful-pooch!!

right as rain: [character] says they’re fine right before collapsing. TWs: Fainting, accidental disordered eating

"Mariano, Bastian! This way!" Up ahead, Laredo waved. The black and white masquerade mask of his chosen character peeked out from under the tousled black wig he wore. "Thought we lost you in that crowd. The panel's in five minutes--eleven sharp."

Mariano had no idea how Laredo wasn't dying in the long black coat that Joker wore. He was already warm in the black SEES jacket his own costume needed, but at least he had short sleeves underneath it. His blue wig was the warmest part, really, but it was worth it to see how Laredo lit up further as he and Bastian rode the escalator up to the next floor of the hotel.

"What's this one for, again?" Mariano asked as Laredo grinned at him.

"It's about mock fights for LARPing." Laredo said, leading the way. "And after that is the Call of Duty tournament." He added, glancing at the schedule on his phone.

"Which you gotta go win." Bastian chimed in. "That won't even last two hours, right?"

"Probably two and a half, but there's that new movie screening afterwards in the same hall so it'll be chill afterwards." Laredo said, leading them into the panel room and to where the others were already seated.

"Cool, cool."

As Bastian took his seat next to Manuel, the medic with his silver wig and tarot cards, Mariano felt like they were forgetting something.

The panel was interesting, and Laredo did better than they'd expected in the tournament. It was loud, exciting, almost dizzying, Mariano thought as he watched Laredo's character sprint through the maps. He was moving so quickly, and picking off enemies that Mariano couldn't even notice. The crowd liked it too, and towards the end he found himself pulling his costume's headphones on to get some relief.

Thank goodness Bastian had insisted on springing for functional ones with noise cancellation. They didn't ease the headache that had snuck up on Mariano, but they made it less overwhelming. The lights had started to burn, too, but the movie wasn't too far away. Mariano could deal with it.

Laredo came in third, after a close last match. The movie melted into a blur. Something kept nagging at Mariano, even as he leaned into Bastian's shoulder to close his eyes. Somehow, even having to lean around his cape of coffins, Bastian managed to be entirely too comfortable.

Mariano dozed.

"Hey." Bastian said, lips against Mariano's forehead as he spoke. It was bright again, and the crowd's din was back. "C'mon, you still wanna do the photo shoot?"

"Yes, yes." Mariano said, standing and staggering as his vision was overtaken by black spots. "Whoa--" He muttered, leaning into the scaled hands that grabbed his shoulders.

"Are you sure?" Bastian asked, tilting his head. Behind his gleaming silver mask, Mariano knew that he was looking at him skeptically. "You look like you need to sit down."

"Yes, I'm sure, treasure." Mariano said, giving him a smile. "It's not far anyway, and some pictures won't hurt me."

They just had to go upstairs, to the roof. There was a photoshoot for people in Persona costumes. It was part of the reason they'd all dressed up, really, beyond getting to enjoy the benign attention of people getting excited about seeing a whole group.

It was a lively group, with people recognizing the "Jacked Joker" from the tournament and dragging Laredo in to chat. Dimitri and Izan were excitedly approached by the more hardcore fans, who wanted to talk about how they never saw Naoyas or Tatsuyas at these gatherings. People even tugged Bastian away, since Thanatos cosplayers were even rarer.

Manuel glanced at him as the other Makotos started to group up, Bastian having been chosen as the centerpiece for the picture. "Hey, Mariano, you okay? You're looking a little off."

"Yes, I'm fine." Mariano said as he started to join them, pushing off from the fence he'd been leaning up against. The ground tilted dangerously under his feet as he started to walk. "I'm just...just..."

The next thing Mariano knew, people were looming over him and his back was flat on the concrete.

"Hey. You with me yet, idiot?" Bastian asked, one eyebrow raised, and Mariano realized that he'd taken his mask off. "You fainted."

Mariano blinked hard, raising his hands to rub at his eyes. His tongue felt clumsy and heavy. His stomach was turning. Words fell through his fingers as he groaned. At least he had something soft for a pillow.

"Slow down, Bastian, it's okay." Manuel said, coming into focus next. "He wasn't even out for thirty seconds." Soft brown eyes flicked down to meet Mariano's next, and Mariano realized that there was a smooth pinky pressed to his pulse point as Manuel held his face.

"Heyyy." He said, in the voice that told Mariano he may not have been in trouble but that Manuel knew something was wrong. "So what was that?"

"Just...just got dizzy." Mariano said, wincing as he tried to sit up and was promptly pushed back down by two pairs of hands. "I'm--"

"Shh." Dimitri's sharp hiss sounded from behind Bastian, and he leaned over a strong shoulder to glare down at Mariano. "No you are not okay. When did you eat last?"

"...When did any of us eat last?" Izan asked, wonder filling his voice as though he'd only just realized he was feeling hungry.

Laredo started to speak before frowning and closing his mouth. "I think we missed lunch, guys."

Dimitri slapped his hand to his eyes, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. Since civilian life has made us so soft, I'll call in a pizza order. Izan, there's a stall downstairs selling candy and soda, you know our favorites, go on, go on, five minutes. Laredo, go tell those other Makotos that ours isn't dead and doesn't need the hospital--I think that tiny one is going to cry soon. I'll be back with dinner." As easily as ever, Dimitri rattled off orders, pointing to Izan and Laredo in turn, before walking off towards the elevator.

"Ah. A con crash." Bastian said, and Mariano realized that Bastian's lap was his pillow as he shook with each laugh. "I almost fainted during my first one. We'll get some food in you." One of his hands came down to rest over Mariano's eyes, slipping his glasses towards his forehead. "Just relax."

It wasn't hard to listen to him as Laredo's voice melded into the worried chatter of the other cosplayers, Izan's footsteps followed Dimitri's, and Manuel's hands shifted to hold his own.

#whump #sickfic #collapse #fainting #disordered eating #dw it's an accident #this is just everyone's first fan-based convention and they got excited #mage of violence #dimitri #manuel #izan #laredo #also for the curious #laredo is persona 5 manuel is 4 mariano and bastian are 3 izan is 2 (innocent sin) and dimitri is 1 #in terms of which persona protag they are

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librathefangirl · 7 months

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The Truth Hides in the Cracks of the Ice

ao3 (Chapter 1/1; 1.6k+)

It was just him and the figure and the cold, cold snow. That was… wrong? The voice laughed a sharp and freezing laugh, “Don’t you get it? They don’t care about you.” Whumptober Day 2: Delirium + "They don't care about you."

Read on ao3 or under the cut!

Meliodas leaned heavily against the wall. It felt icy and cold against his back, sending shivers throughout his body. He wrapped his legs up closer to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, and resting his chin on top of his knees. His skin was burning to the touch yet Meliodas felt as freezing as the snow surrounding him. The snowflakes continued falling harshly, whipping around in the winds, and coating him with a thickening layer of snow. The strong winds pulled and tugged at his hair and clothes. The storm howled loudly through the air. However, even over it, Meliodas caught the tell-tale sign of steps in the snow. Slow but steady. Step by step they inched closer. Meliodas zeroed in on them; everything else muffled into the background. He pushed even closer to the wall, trying to become smaller as he glanced around desperately. It was pointless, all he saw was white and snow and the wall he was leaning against. He was all alone.

“Hmm?”

Meliodas startled. The sound itself was nothing more than a soft hum, but at the same time, it was as sharp and loud as a whistle in a quiet forest. The footsteps had stopped. Meliodas stared back out into the nothingness. Gaze traveling frantically over the same white, white– There! Out in the middle of the snowy landscape was a silhouette. Tried as he did, he couldn’t make out any features, just the vague form of a person. Somehow it felt… familiar?

“All alone, are we?”

There was a twinge of satisfied animosity in the voice that spoke. Suddenly, large shapes rose behind the figure’s back. Another chill wrecked Meliodas’ body. This one, however, had nothing to do with the cold around them or his own burning heat. Meliodas recognized those shapes. He knew them by hearts. They were wings – and not just any wings. Goddess wings. That– No, that wasn’t possible. The goddesses were long gone. They had lost their physical forms in the old war. As exaggerated as human tales could be, this one was true. Meliodas knew it was true. There were no goddesses walking around in Liones. Not like this anyway…

“But that is hardly surprising. Isn’t that right, Meliodas?”

The voice rose in volume, thundering against his eardrums, yet the figure remained where it stopped. So did Meliodas. He wanted to move. Move, run, flee. Away from this voice, from this silhouette, from the memories they brought with them. His body didn’t obey. It had become a frozen, unmoving part of the wall.

“I-I’m not a-lone,” Meliodas mumbled. He glanced around again, but he still couldn’t see anything else. It was just him and the figure and the cold, cold snow. That was… wrong? He couldn’t remember what had happened. How did he end up here? Where were the others? They should be here, shouldn’t they? Why… Why was he alone?

The voice laughed a sharp and freezing laugh, “Don’t you get it? They don’t care about you.”

“You–” No. This was wrong. “You’re… wrong?”

“Oh, I am? You don’t even sound sure yourself. You know they don’t really care, don’t you?”

Meliodas gritted his teeth, hating the way the tears burned in his eyes, “They care– They do!”

“They do?” That horrible laugh rang out again. “But for how long? Hmm, for how long can you keep pretending, demon?”

“They care,” Meliodas repeated, shaking his head. The action was sluggish. It was becoming even harder to move, even the littlest of movements took more energy than Meliodas had. The edges of his vision were starting to blur. They care, they do, they care – the mantra in his head kept going with growing desperation as the first tears slid down his too-hot skin. Was that the truth? Or was the voice right? Was Meliodas just pretending, trying to convince himself of the lies?

“They won’t,” the voice promised, cutting through his thoughts relentlessly – but it, too, was starting to fade. Though despite the loudness starting to disappear, the sharpness of the words remained. They hurt. “Not when they find out the truth they won’t.”

Meliodas couldn’t find his voice again, couldn't form any words. Even if he had been able to, it wasn’t like he could refute the words that hung in the air between them. There was nothing to say to that; the voice was right. Meliodas' eyelids started growing heavier and he let them fall like the snow and the tears. The cold called to him as the world disappeared around him. Still, one last time, the laugh echoed in his ears.

“Why would they still care?”

– X –

When Meliodas opened his eyes again, the laughter was gone. So was the snow and cold. A figure hovered nearby, but its features were clear to him. It was familiar, and a comfort even.

“Mer-lin?” Meliodas croaked out; his voice hoarse and breaking off in the middle.

The mage looked up from the book she was reading, a small smile flashing across her face. She put the book away and walked over to the bed Meliodas was lying in. His skin still felt too hot, the cloth placed on top of his head soothingly cold in comparison. There was a thin blanket covering him, offering comfort rather than heat. His whole body was exhausted and aching. Even the small act of turning his head to the side took more effort than it should.

“Glad to see you awake, Captain,” Merlin greeted him, handing him some water. The fluid was cool as it ran down through his throat. When Meliodas spoke again, his voice was more stable; holding out through the sentence, yet remaining a bit hoarse.

“What happened?” Meliodas asked, frowning. His memories of earlier – today? Yesterday? How long had he been out? – were fuzzy at best.

“Thermal shock,” Merlin explained. She crossed her arms with a frown of her own. “I think it was the suddenness of the storm. It came unexpectedly and with quite a drop in temperature. You’ve been asleep for most of the day now.”

Oh . That made sense actually. Normally, Meliodas could handle the cold better than most people. Thermoregulation in demons worked differently, with their body temperature rising and falling opposite of the outer temperature. Normally , his body temperature would only have risen just a little to compensate for the colder atmosphere. Given the sudden and large drop, it seemed his temperature instead had jumped too high, into a hyperthermic state. No wonder he felt so warm.

“That sucks…”

Truth to be told, while Meliodas could remember feeling like he was burning, and shivering and the snow, he couldn’t remember much of what had actually happened. The details were just out of his mind’s reach. Except for one thing… Meliodas could remember the voice of the vague figure. He could remember it almost as vividly as he was now hearing Merlin’s. Its words and laughter still rang in his head.

“You okay?” Merlin asked. Through the dull ache, Meliodas felt his entire body tense up, suddenly becoming very aware of the frown still on Merlin’s face. He forced his lips up in a smile, tried to give her a false-relaxed look.

“Yeah, don’t worry, kiddo. I’m feeling a lot better.”

It was a good attempt, albeit a failed one. Merlin’s frown didn’t falter. The old nickname did nothing to distract her from the situation as Meliodas had hoped it would.

“That might have worked with the others, but I know you better than that, Meliodas.”

Meliodas grimaced, letting his smile drop again. Yeah, that was fair. He supposed it would take more than a smile to fool her after all these years. So, instead, he settled for something truth-adjacent.

“I-…” They don’t care about you. “It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t real… I’ll be fine."

Merlin just hummed, looking at him with that look. Meliodas always hated it when she did that; it felt like she could see right through him, know all the little things he didn’t want to voice.

“You gave us all quite a scare, you know.”

“Y-eah?” Meliodas mumbled a little shakily, trying to block out the voice still echoing in his mind. It hadn’t been real. Nothing more than a fragment of his overheated mind. Its words shouldn’t matter.

“Of course,” Merlin said, watching him for another moment before sighing, the look finally easing off her face. “We hadn’t even noticed you leaving. By the time we found you, you were barely conscious.”

Meliodas gave a little hopeless shrug, “Just needed to step away for a moment.”

“Well, next time, let me know when you’re feeling a little hot.”

“That would probably be wise,” Meliodas admitted with another grimace. “The others…?”

“I managed to calm them down. It went a lot easier once you stopped mumbling gibberish.”

“I spoke?” Meliodas questioned. That… was bad.

“Nothing comprehensible,” Merlin said, giving him another suspicious look. This, however, was not a secret he intended to share even with her. “And as far as they know, you just had an… unusual reaction to the snowstorm.”

Right, most people froze in the cold. Meliodas wasn't like most people. They won’t. Not when they find out the truth , the voice reminded him.

“You should get some more rest while you can, Captain. I’m not sure how long I can keep them away once I tell them you’re finally awake.” Merlin told him. Meliodas mumbled a thank you before she disappeared out the door, leaving him alone in the room. He sank deeper into the bed. The thought of seeing the others wasn’t as comforting as it usually was.

Why would they still care?

The worst part was that Meliodas didn’t have an answer. After all, the voice was right. The other Sins had no reason to trust him, to still care about him, once they found out the truth about who he was and what he had done. It was only a matter of time. Eventually, this delusion of his would be over.

---

My demon thermoregulation (from The Heat of the Storm) strikes again! (Poor Mel). Also, yes, I will have Meliodas call Merlin kiddo every chance I get now. That headcanon has apparently taken up permanent residence in my brain XD

#whumptober2023 #no.2 #delirium #they don't care about you #nanatsu no taizai #seven deadly sins #fic #libra's whumptober 2023 #meliodas whump #meliodas nnt #merlin nnt #nnt fic #nnt #sds #7ds #libra writes #my fics

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peachy-panic · 1 year

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Sins of the Father: Chapter 2

Oh, you thought Auden Bell-Webb was dead on tumblr??? GUESS AGAIN BITCH. For context, this is my 1700s historical whump story that I accidentally dropped like a bad habit like a year ago because writing multiple consecutive stories is hard. But he was on my mind today, so I decided to give this thing another shot.

<PREVIOUS CHAPTER

WARNINGS: HIstorical whump, blood, indentured servitude, death of a parental figure mentioned, abuse, malnutrition

The journey from the ship’s dock to Lord Taylor’s home—which lasted just under a week by his count—had taken its toll. Auden was fed just enough to keep him moving, and deprived just enough to make every step a battle. He was subjected to endless nights beneath the stars, his hands tied behind him or around a tree trunk, both of which served to dangle him just out of sleep’s grasp and leave his back and shoulders aching through the whole next day.

Forced to trail behind a horse that seemed, at times, determined to move at a speed just beyond Auden’s threshold, the days bled into eternity. And time wasn’t the only thing that bled. The soles of his borrowed shoes had long worn through, leaving his feet blistered and shredded by the terrain. The chafe around his wrists had started as just that, but now his skin was open and weeping beneath his restraints, burning with every movement. He feared what it might look like when his binds were removed.

Auden wasn’t sure what his accommodations would look like when he arrived at his destination, and he wasn’t particularly eager to find out, but they had to be better than this. Best of all was the knowledge that his arrival at the estate would mark the official start of his indenture, and therefore push him one step closer to the end of it.

When Lord Taylor’s estate finally appeared on the horizon, it was like a mirage. This was the place that would serve as his prison for the coming year, but under the beat of the midday sun, all Auden could see was a refuge from the elements.

The house itself sprawled over a mass of green hills, towering against a clear sky. Off the back of the main house, down a grassy slope, was a long, wooden stable, and just beyond that, a slightly smaller model of the same proportions. He wondered—and would soon be proven right—if that would be his living quarters.

At the edge of the property, Auden stumbled through the iron gates. Everything on the land seemed to loom; the house itself, the trees, even the shadows seemed longer amid the nothingness that surrounded him. Every detail seemed to be crafted with the intention of flaunting wealth. Power. Generally, Auden considered himself of average build and stature, but here, he felt unbearably small.

Distracted by his surroundings, Auden’s legs—shaky with hunger and exhaustion—betrayed him. He lurched forward, his wrists crying out in protest as the rope attached to the horse’s saddle pulled taut. The unforgiving bite of iron caught him midair.

“On your feet,” William, the man tasked with escorting him on his journey, barked over his shoulder at him.

“Piss off,” Auden bit, though the sound was pitiful on his parched tongue.

He managed to pull himself upright, and when he looked up through the overgrown curls of hair dangling over his brow, he saw him.

Lord Taylor descended on them from the steps of his estate. Behind him stood a row of servants, all with their hands folded and heads politely bowed. Auden’s stomach turned at their synchrony, their submission.

At Lord Taylor’s side, delayed by a few steps as if to defer to the man in front of him, was a young man who could only have been the Lord’s son. He was the spitting image: the same white-blonde hair and striking green eyes, but it was as if all the sharp edges and had been filed down. He couldn’t have been much older than Auden, if at all, but the bright, silken clothes that adorned his body told of the miles that stood between in every other regard. The young man stood stiffly by his father, refusing to meet Auden’s eyes.

The Lord himself had no such reservations. He reached the bottom of the stairs and ambled toward Auden with an appraising, predatory gaze. He came to a stop an arm’s length from him and didn’t speak for a prolonged moment. Finally, he diverted his gaze to Auden’s escort, who had climbed from his horse in a haste to greet him.

“Auden Bell?” Lord Taylor said, both a question and a statement.

“Yes, my Lord.” William produced a roll of papers from his jacket, stepping forward to hand them over. “He worked under Orville Webb.”

Auden watched a flicker of recognition pass over Taylor’s expression, then echoed in his son’s. It was almost satisfying, the realization that Mr. Webb’s name caused ripples of reaction from all the way across the sea. Even in death. “Why does that name sound familiar?” he asked, arching one pale eyebrow. Auden’s wrist twitched inside the iron cuff, suppressing the urge to wipe the expression flat with his fist.

“I wouldn’t be surprised to hear word of his death made it overseas.” William nodded. “He was a rebel. A blacksmith. He was proven to have supplied the weapons for the attack on the King’s visit North.” His eyes cut sideways to Auden. “Alongside his young apprentice.”

“Yes. I heard about the uprising. A lot of good men were lost that day.”

“And a lot worse men saw the gallows, you may rest assured.” William’s said. “Including Mr. Webb.”

Auden flinched, the images from that day burned into his memory like hot iron.

“I see.” At last, Lord Taylor’s eyes fell on Auden directly. His fists curled over in their restraints. “And Auden, here, has been brought here to pay for the crimes of his mentor.”

“A year’s time.” William nodded. “At which point his freedom is contingent upon your seal of approval.”

Auden’s head whipped over at this, staring daggers through the men who carried on as if he was not present. Contingent upon his seal. A year—that was the deal. That was the promise that got him this far in the harrowing voyage. He should have known better than to trust a word from them.

“Mr. Bell.” His name pulled his attention back to Lord Taylor, who was appraising him once again, like an object for purchase. Or worse yet—An object he needn’t purchase at all. “I pride myself on running an orderly household. A year in my service should see to any…” The corner of his mouth curled. “Unsavory ideals your rebel mentor may have instilled in you. It simply will not be tolerated here. Is that understood?”

When Auden only stared back at him, a twitch in Taylor’s jaw pulled at his smug expression. Behind him, The Little Lord ducked his head, a movement that Auden just barely caught before pain cracked across his cheek. Auden doubled over, his body angled sideways from the force of the blow. He brought his bound hands to his face. They came away from his lips glistening with fresh blood.

“The correct answer,” Lord Taylor spat as he wrenched Auden upright with a hand on his jaw, “Is Yes, my Lord.”

Behind his eyes, he imagined what it might feel like to put one of Mr. Webb’s iron swords through his gut.

One year, a voice that sounded too much like Mr. Webb’s reminded him. Don’t let that temper make it any longer. Auden clenched his jaw, the muscles pushing against the fingers that held it in place.

“Yes, my Lord,” he conceded.

Taylor released him with enough force to send him stumbling back. “Levi,” he shouted. Within seconds, a man with dark skin and close-cropped hair appeared at the Lord’s side.

“Show him to the stables. See to it that he bathes.” At this, Taylor paused to run his gaze over the length of Auden’s body, rank with dirt and blood and sweat. “He will not be allowed entrance to the home until he is clean. Bring him to me when he is done.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Levi uttered easily, stepping forward.

William unlatched his cuffs with the turn of a key. The metal tugged painfully at the bits of his skin that had bled and dried against it. Auden hissed through his teeth and looked away at the sight of his wounds. He caught a glimpse of young Taylor’s disgust before the man averted his eyes once again.

Coward, Auden wanted to scream. He was complicit. If anyone here should be punished for the sins of their father, it was him.

“Come,” Levi said, gripping his elbow with a soft hand. Auden yanked away, nearly toppling over again.

“I can walk on my own,” he said.

Levi watched him, pressing his lips into a thin line. Then he nodded, once, in the direction of the stables, folding his hands behind him. With the prodding of Mr. Webb’s voice in the back of his head, Auden forced himself to move.

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