Original Work - Blog Posts

Whumpay - Day 10

Main Challenge - Attacks, Mental & Physical - Panic Attack Mini Challenge 10 - Dialogue - “You look awful.” Original Work - (No title yet)

Kemp knocked softly on the apartment door then leaned his head on it. It was cool. And he was hot. And sweating. And so very tired. The door wasn’t opening. Cyril wasn’t opening the door.

Kemp swallowed hard and knocked again. He waited even longer this time. Still nothing. His heart rate ramped up and he felt his hands and feet grow cold. His stomach lurched.

Kemp tried the knock they had agreed on one more time. He waited and waited and waited. Nothing.

The edges of Kemp’s vision grew blurry and cloudy. He reeled back and kicked the door. Once. Twice. It banged open, the wood around the bolt cracked and splintered. Kemp’s hand went for the gun at his side: the gun that wasn’t there. Shit. He pulled the knife from his boot instead.

Kemp checked the living room. “Cyril!”

Sweat dripped from his forehead, stinging his eyes. He was so hot and freezing at the same time.

Kemp checked the kitchen. The kettle was on and boiling. “Cyril!” He tried to breathe but all he could do was gasp. His heart raced. As Kemp paced into the bedroom, knife ready, the floor tilted sideways and he had to lean on the wall to stay upright.

The shower was running. It sounded like a waterfall. So loud.

“Cyril?!”

“What?”

Kemp turned.

Cyril was there. Coming out of the bathroom. Towel around his waist. And safe.

Cyril was safe.

Kemp dropped the knife. The carpet came up to meet him. Kemp felt like he was dying. Why was he dying? Why couldn’t he breathe?

Cyril was saying something but Kemp couldn’t hear him.

Kemp opened his eyes.

When had his eyes closed?

He was on his side, his head resting on something soft. Someone was stroking his hair. His cheek throbbed.

“Are you with me?” Cyril asked, his voice coming from above.

Kemp turned his head a little. He was resting on Cyril’s lap while Cyril ran his fingers through his hair. The shower was still running.

“Yeah.” Kemp whispered. “I’m with you.”

“Good.” Cyril leaned down and kissed Kemp’s forehead.

That was new. Fainting was new too. But kisses especially so.

“You look awful.” Cyril smiled down at him.

“Can’t imagine why.” Kemp tried to sit up but the world tilted again.

Cyril eased him back down to the floor and kept his head in his lap. “Careful there. You had a panic attack maybe. Give it a minute.”

“Don’t have panic attacks.”

“Well, you do now. What happened? Why were you looking for me?”

“Didn’t answer the knock.” Kemp closed his eyes. The towel was thin about Cyril’s thighs and his body heat was soothing. “Thought something happened.”

“You had a panic attack over me?” Kemp could hear the smile in Cyril’s voice.

“It’s not funny.” Kemp grumbled.

“I’m not laughing.” Kemp felt Cyril’s breath as he leaned down over Kemp’s ear and kissed his hair.

Kemp turned his head. And met Cyril’s lips with his own.

“You are laughing at me.” Kemp breathed into Cyril’s mouth.

“Never.” Cyril whispered, and kissed him again.

Whumpay - Day 9

Main Challenge - Attacks, Mental & Physical - Animal Attack Mini Challenge 9 - Dialogue - “Don’t look.” Original Work - Ghost Walker

“Don’t look, don’t look.” Troy pressed a towel to Tate’s leg.

“Ahh, fuck.” Tate screwed up his eyes and laid back down. “Stop, please.” He begged.

“Gotta stop the bleeding.” Troy muttered. The towel was soaking through. Hot and sticky blood.

“Hurts.” Tate moaned and squirmed under Troy’s tight grip.

“You were a great distraction, kid.” Troy reached for another towel and found none. How had he already used them all? He needed to go get more. Tate’s blood was dripping off the makeshift bandage and pooling on the cold garage floor.

“Yeah?” Tate sighed. “You get the documents?”

“Oh yeah, got them all.” Troy prepared to stand. “I gotta go get more towels. Hold the towel there, okay?”

Tate sat up a little and Troy watched him turn green.

“Oh man, that’s a lot of blood.” Tate’s voice rose an octave. He was focusing on the oozing wound. Zeroing in on it.

“Don’t look.”

“How? How don’t I look at it? It’s everywhere, Troy!”

Troy reached out and grabbed one of Tate’s gloved hands. “Here.” He pressed Tate’s hand to the sodden, bloody towel. “Hold this here, and,” Troy took Tate’s other hand and gently placed it over Tate’s eyes. “Cover your eyes. I’ll be right back.”

And Troy leapt up and jogged out of the garage, looking for more towels.

“I feel sick.” Tate whined distantly.

Troy was only a minute or two. He returned to Tate’s side with an armful of towels and a water bottle. Tate was still putting pressure to the wound.

“Good job, kid.”

“I’m cold.” Tate’s voice was thick and slurred as he shivered. “Can I look yet?”

“Don’t look, keep your eyes closed.” Troy helped lower him to the ground again, putting one of the towels under Tate’s head as he did so.

“That dog was mean.” Tate warbled.

Troy added more towels and pressure to the bite wound on Tate’s calf. “Yeah, he was taught to be mean. It wasn’t his fault.”

Tate sounded on the verge of tears now. “I shouldn’t have kicked him.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

When Troy looked up again, he saw tears leaking out of Tate’s closed eyes.

“It’s okay.” Troy repeated. “You’re okay.”

“I’m okay.” Tate sniffled.

Whumpay - Day 8

Main Challenge - Attacks, Mental & Physical - Asthma Attack Mini Challenge 7 - Dialogue - “Why are you doing this?” Original Work - Abreoðan

“Abre, this isn’t it. It isn’t here.” Steien put a hand to Abre’s shoulder, feeling the shivers running through Abre’s body. “You should rest.”

“We should go.” Gelic sighed. “It isn’t safe here.”

Abre shook his head and limped closer to the stone wall. His shaking hand raised the torch to illuminate the wall. “It has to be here.” He ignored both of them.

Steien shot a look at Gelic, who just shrugged and frowned.

They had spent a week or so out here. They had checked every cave wall meticulously. Every suspicious groove in the rock. But still, they hadn’t found the carvings that the old stories told of. Abre was so sure the carvings were here.

Steien watched his friend carefully and saw how tired he was. Steien wanted to take Abre home. To let him rest. To let him heal. But Abre was just so stubborn. Abre wanted to find those carvings so badly, it was destroying him.

“Brother.” Steien hissed.

Gelic looked over at him and rolled his eyes.

“Please?” Steien asked.

Gelic’s face softened a little and he walked over to Abre. His hand rose and rested on Abre’s back. “Abreoðan.” He said. “Let us rest for tonight.”

Abre whirled around, his face white and drenched in sweat, each droplet outlined in flame as they reflected the light of the torch. “Rest? I cannot rest!”

Abre looked ill. His blond hair hung limp around his face. He seemed to sway.

“Abre, why are you doing this? What-” Gelic tried again, but Abre cut him off.

“I must find the carvings. If I do not, more people will die. I will not let this ‘body’,” He pronounced the word ‘body’ with such disgust that Steien stepped back. “Stop me from saving them!”

“You are no use to us dead.” Steien tried to reason with him.

“I am no use to you alive!” Abre screamed.

He slammed his staff into the ground. In the dim light of the cavern, his eyes glowed blue. Like lightning.

A roar like thunder.

The ceiling burst open and descended. The torch died. Steien hit the ground hard. He tasted blood and dust. Pebbles trickled like running water. Then, silence.

“Gelic!” He coughed out. “Abre!”

“Here.” Was Gelic’s grunt. “You hurt?”

“I don’t think so.” Steien gathered himself and strained to see in the dark. The pale, watery light of dark slithered in from the cave entrance a few twists and turns away. But it was barely enough to see.

Abre was coughing nearby.

“Was that a cave-in?” Steien felt around him. The cave floor was littered with rubble. His hand felt cloth. Then a foot. In the half-light, he found Abre sprawled out on the ground, covered in dust as well.

“Abre’s here.” Steien called out to Gelic. He helped Abre sit up and patted him on the back to ease his coughing. It did not help.

Gelic made his way over. “Let’s go, before the whole mountain comes down on us.”

“I agree.” Steien and Gelic helped Abre to his feet.

Abre’s coughs became thin and wheezing. Each exhale was a sick, whistling sound.

“Abre?” Gelic peered into Abre’s face, trying to see through the darkness.

“Let’s get him outside.”

Together, they half-carried, half-dragged poor Abre to the cave’s entrance. The wheezing became worse.

The daylight was painful after so much darkness. They helped Abre sit down again. Under the layer of stone dust, Abre’s lips were blue. Abre’s only hand was clenched at his robes, making a fist over his chest.

“He can’t breathe.” Gelic sounded a little frantic as he reached around Abre’s neck, looking for the cause.

“The dust.” Steien said. “It was the dust.”

“We’re out of the dust.”

Abre kept coughing. The wheezing sounded so painful. Steien’s heart ached for him.

“I know.” Steien nodded. “We’re out of the dust. But it’s still affecting him.”

Abre slid to the side and hit the ground, gasping with every difficult breath.

“Keep him upright.” Steien ordered. “Sit behind him and hold him upright!”

Gelic scrambled around behind Abre and held him from behind. He kept him sitting up in a careful embrace. Gelic pressed a small kiss to Abre’s sweaty temple when he thought Steien wasn’t looking.

Steien saw it and hid a smile.

“Let’s all breathe together.” Gelic offered. “Abre?”

Abre nodded weakly.

“Okay.” Gelic continued. “Steien, let’s do it together.”

So Gelic, Steien, and Abre worked to get Abre’s breathing under control. Gelic held him gently the whole time. Steien crouched in front of him, keeping him focused.

It took a long time. So long, that Abre fell asleep in Gelic’s arms.

After some time, Gelic whispered to Steien. “Did he do that?”

“Do what?” Steien rubbed his eyes and yawned, noticing how sunset had come upon them so quickly.

“Bring down the rocks.”

Steien thought a moment. “Yes.” He answered, though it pained him to do so.

“His powers are growing.” Gelic mused.

“I wish they weren’t.” Steien watched Abre sleep.

Whumpay - Day 6

Main Challenge - Mad Science - Russian Roulette Mini Challenge 6 -Torture - False Execution Original Work - Down in Goldonna

Alana hugged Ziggy tightly. It was over. Thank goodness. They could go home for the night and get some sleep. But she felt something strange; Ziggy’s hand was reaching around her waist. Alana drew back a little. And Ziggy almost skipped away from her embrace.

He waved something at her. In the dim light of the nearby streetlights, Alana saw a soft and supple sheen. She reached to her belt. Her revolver! Ziggy had her revolver.

As he stepped back he stopped in a pool of light. His grin was broad and crooked. And his eyes- Alana’s stomach dropped. She felt the blood drain from her face.

His eyes were black. Ziggy was possessed. But how? And by who?

“Ziggy?” Alana called out to him, hoping she was mistaken, hoping this was some sort of prank.

“Ziggy’s taking a nap right now. He’s so tired.” The Thing said with Ziggy’s voice. It stretched with his body and ran Its hands over Ziggy’s chest and waist. “I’m in the driver’s seat for a little bit.”

Alana fixed her eyes upon the revolver and darted forward. This Thing may be in control of Ziggy, but it also had Ziggy’s weaknesses. Ziggy was underweight. Ziggy was unconditioned.

The Thing danced back, grin growing wider somehow.

“Ah, ah.” It chided.

Instead of pointing the revolver at Alana it pressed the barrel to Ziggy’s temple. “Don’t do anything stupid.” It warned. “Or I will kill him.”

“You wouldn’t.” Alana raised her hands to show she wasn’t going to try anything else.

Alana’s mind raced. How could any being possess Ziggy without his permission? Was this even possible? And then, everything fell into place. “You’re the shadow he talks about. I’ve seen you before, hovering over him. What is your name?”

The Thing opened up the cylinder of the revolver and began removing the rounds. Alana couldn’t see exactly what he was doing in the patchwork darkness.

“A name?” It chuckled. “Why should I have a name?” It tossed a handful of rounds over Ziggy’s shoulder.

“How did you do this? Did he let you in?”

It spun the revolver’s cylinder back into place. It placed the barrel of the gun back to Ziggy’s temple again. “I’m tired of this.” It whined with Ziggy’s voice.

Alana felt her hands begin to shake. “Wait, please don’t-”

“I’ve removed all the rounds except for one.” Using Ziggy’s legs, it walked forward, towards Alana and into another pool of light. Its black eyes glittered in Ziggy’s pale face. “Let’s play a little game.”

Alana tried to keep her voice calm. “We don’t have to do this-”

“Oh, I think we do. You don’t seem to understand who’s in charge here.”

“Ziggy is your vessel! Why kill your vessel?”

“Everytime you answer incorrectly, I pull the trigger. It’s a one-in-six chance, right?”

“Please, don’t-!”

The hammer clicked. Empty chamber.

Alana could not breathe. She could not breathe. She wanted to scream. Her friend was about to die in front of her.

“One-in-six chance, right?” It asked again.

“Y-yes.” Alana grated out, holding back a sob. “One-in-six chance.”

“Good. Now, who is in charge here?”

“What?”

Another click. Another empty chamber.

Alana heard herself wail and bit it back, trying to get her breathing under control.

“Alana,” It came real close to her, so close she could smell the shampoo Ziggy used in his hair. “Who’s in charge right now?” It whispered with Ziggy’s soft voice.

“Y-you.”

“Good. When I need something from you, what will you do?”

“I’ll do it, I’ll do what you want.”

“That’s right. You are so good at this, Alana.”

“Fuck you!” Alana sobbed. Her legs were shaking beneath her.

Another click.

“That wasn’t very nice.” It sighed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“And when Ziggy wakes up, what are you going to tell him happened here?”

Alana hesitated.

Another click. Another chance. Time was slipping through her fingers.

“I’m sorry! Please! Stop! I’ll tell him what you want, whatever you want!”

“You’ll tell him he fainted. You won’t mention me.”

“I’ll tell him he fainted-!”

Another click. Oh god. One left.

“I won’t mention you!”

Ziggy’s body suddenly went limp, and as though in slow motion, he fell backwards to the grassy ground. The revolver bounced out of his hand. Alana rushed up and grabbed the gun then knelt beside Ziggy. She patted his cheek.

“Ziggy!” Alana choked out. “Ziggy, wake up.”

She opened up the cylinder and looked at the six chambers.

His eyes opened slowly. Focused on her. “Alana?”

There were no rounds in the gun at all.

“Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay? You fainted.”

The gun had been empty.

“I fainted? Why are you crying?”

MedWhump May - Day 1

@medwhumpmay

Under Anesthesia

Original Work - (No Title Yet)

“It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

Cyril let out another soft groan from the backseat. Kemp risked a look back and in the shifting shadows cast by the streetlights passing by, he could see the sweat glistening on Cyril’s pale face. Kemp twisted forward again to face the road, swerving back into the correct lane.

“Cyril?” He called.

No answer.

“Cyril! Talk to me.”

“Hurts.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Not-” Cyril let out a whine as Kemp took an exit at the last second. “Not your fault.” Cyril’s words were breathless, and quieter than before.

“It is.” Kemp nodded, though he knew Cyril couldn’t see him. “It is my fault.”

Silence.

“Cyril?”

Cyril moaned.

Kemp dragged a shaking hand through his hair. “Just keep pressure on it, okay?” He read the street names, looking for the right one. In the dark, they were hard to read. So Kemp had to slam on the brakes when he spotted River Street.

Cyril gasped.

Kemp winced. “Sorry.”

Kemp parked the car and hurried around to the backseat. He flung open the door and hit the ceiling of the car to turn on the interior light. Cyril lay across the backseat, his head towards Kemp and his feet braced on the opposite car door. His eyes were closed.

Kemp bent down over Cyril’s upside down face and gently patted his pale cheek. “Hey, Cyril.”

Cyril’s eyes opened. “Hey.”

Kemp could not keep the smile from his lips. “Hey.” He almost got lost in those beautiful eyes. “Hey.” He said again, relaxing a little.

Cyril leaned into Kemp’s hand, his skin cool and clammy.

“Are we there?” Cyril whispered.

“Yeah, yeah. We’re there. I need to get you inside. Is- Is that okay?”

Cyril nodded and closed his eyes. Kemp guessed that he was bracing himself for the pain. As gently as he could, Kemp gathered Cyril into his arms. Cyril managed to stay mostly quiet, but Kemp didn’t miss the soft moan that Cyril tried to hide. And he didn’t miss how Cyril’s head rested on his shoulder. Warm and heavy. It felt right.

Kemp carried Cyril up the garden path and to the front door. “Cyril?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you ring the doorbell? Hands are full.”

“Oh, right, yeah.”

Cyril reached out with a shaking hand and rang the doorbell. He left a bloody fingerprint on the button.

“Jonah.” Kemp sighed in relief when the door finally opened.

An older gentleman stood there with mussed white hair and a flannel robe. He paused for a moment then nodded. “Oh, Mr. Kemp. How can I help you?”

Kemp felt the warm weight of Cyril’s head against his shoulder again. “I need that favor.”

The gentleman stood aside and let Kemp and Cyril inside the house.

Sometime later, Kemp was hunched over the kitchen table, nursing a cup of strong black coffee. Jonah was in the back room, working on Cyril. He would fix Cyril. He would fix Kemp’s mistake. Kemp took another sip of the coffee and winced at the bitterness.

It was Kemp’s fault that Cyril was injured. All his fault.

“Mr. Kemp.”

Kemp started and stood up too fast. He steadied himself by placing a palm on the tabletop. Jonah stood in the doorway, wearing white gloves and a surgical mask pulled down around his neck. “He’s asking for you.”

“What, it’s done?”

Jonah shook his head.

Kemp hesitated a moment. What was going on? What was the problem?

Kemp ducked into the brightly lit back room.

“Cyril?”

Cyril winced and opened his eyes. He was pale and shaking and sweating. He looked terrible. “I’m sorry.”

Kemp stayed in the doorway. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t like hospitals.”

Kemp hesitated a moment, shuffling his feet. He sighed and walked over to Cyril’s side. He looked so… scared. What was wrong with him?

“This isn’t a hospital.” Kemp offered.

Cyril looked around at the equipment that surrounded the bed he lay on. “It kind of is.”

“You have to let him work. You’re hurt.” Kemp gestured to the gunshot wound in Cyril’s thigh.

“Stay with me.”

Kemp met Cyril’s eyes. He was definitely scared.

“Until I’m asleep.”

Kemp pulled up a chair and held out his hand. Cyril’s pain-etched face softened a little. Almost a smile. And he took Kemp’s hand.

Kemp held his hand until Jonah came in. Until Cyril faded out. And all through the surgery.

Whumpay - Day 5

Main Challenge - Mad Science - Truth Potion/Serum/Spell Mini Challenge 5 - Torture - Recorded/Broadcast Torture Original Work - Blackburn

“How is he?”

Morgan Lynch stopped as he was passing the doorway to the parlor, took a step back, and saw Professor Collins sitting there.

“Oh.” Morgan tried to school his face into something less upset. “He’s fine. He’s…” Morgan trailed off, searching for the right words to describe it.

Ennis was upstairs in one of the guest bedrooms, tossing and turning. He was sweating and pale. His eyes were sunken. And Morgan had heard him muttering softly in his sleep. He was not well. That much was obvious.

“Sleeping.” Morgan finally said.

“Good, good.” Professor Collins gestured to the opposite armchair by the fire. “Would you join me?”

Morgan hesitated a moment more. He’d rather not. He’d rather sit in the kitchen and stew. But he nodded and smiled. “Thank you.” Morgan sat down opposite the professor.

“Tea?”

“Uh, no. Thank you though.” Morgan didn’t really like tea.

“Something stronger?” Professor Collins tried again.

Morgan shook his head and that made him notice his throbbing headache. This whole night was just too much for him. He was exhausted. And so very confused.

“It can be a bit of a shock, I’m afraid.” The professor stood up from his armchair, stroking his very white beard. It contrasted starkly with his dark mane of hair.

“What?”

Professor Collins limped over to an old phonograph and began to fiddle with it. “Mr. Ennis Hunnicutt’s gift.”

“Oh.”

Morgan could not help but have Ennis’s face flash before his mind’s eye, deathly white, with eyes rolled back, and speaking in that strange language. The syllables that Ennis had pronounced were chilling. Morgan didn’t understand why. But just remembering the sound of it. The way the unknown words wormed their way between his teeth, made it difficult to breathe, had Morgan’s heart racing even now.

Morgan cleared his throat and tried to calm himself. “Is it a gift?” He asked. It seemed more like a curse.

“Most certainly.” Replied Professor Collins. “In all my years of research, I have never found someone as gifted as he.”

Morgan swallowed hard. What did that mean? What kind of gift would do so much harm? “What is he?”

The professor straightened up. He was gingerly holding a wax cylinder. “A medium.” He answered. Seemed to consider it a moment, then added. “Of sorts.”

The professor held up the wax cylinder. “I have this here, a recording of one of Ennis’s trances, would you like to hear it?”

Morgan felt a wave of revulsion rise in him. “Why do you have-”

“It’s quite short, I assure you.” Professor Collins had already turned around and was loading the cylinder into the phonograph. “It was recorded years ago, when the Divine Order was still intact.”

The Divine Order? Morgan was lost. But he had no energy to object. In fact, he felt a sick sort of curiosity. Before he could decide whether he wanted to hear this recording or not, it began to play.

The sound was rough and difficult to make out in parts. But most of it was clear enough to understand.

A scratchy, high-pitched voice rang out first. A woman’s voice. “The twenty-second of December, in the year nineteen hundred and fourteen. And it is our Ennis’s birthday. He has been dosed with the serum and is ready to speak with us.”

There was a shuffling sound. Then more speaking. “Ennis, my darling, can you hear me?”

A pause.

And then, Morgan’s heart clenched.

“Yes, I can hear you.” It was a young boy’s voice. A child. He spoke dreamily, doubtless due to the substance they had given him.

“Make the first cut.” The scratchy-voiced woman ordered.

Young Ennis cried out in pain over the recording.

Morgan jumped to his feet, his lips tingling as he felt the blood drain out of his face.

The recording continued, Ennis’s sobs becoming a soft background melody to the scratchy woman’s voice. She spoke a string of strange syllables that rang nauseatingly familiar.

The sobs ceased suddenly.

Then, young Ennis began to drone, slurring his words. “The Eater of Stars, Endless Maw, approaches. Nearer and nearer-”

“Make the second cut!” The woman screeched.

Morgan felt sweat break out on his forehead.

Young Ennis cried out again, the sob turning into a long wail and more words. “The Eye is open and we shall all walk through the doorway. Arrival! Arrival is nigh!”

“The third cut!”

“I am the Tooth of the Eater! I will bite the Stars!”

A shuffling sound and the high-pitched breathy voice of the woman rang out. “Where is the doorway, Ennis? Tell us where it is!”

“Burning black. The teardrop.” Ennis’s voice slowed to a drawl again. He struggled to speak. “The… Eye is… The Eye open.”

“Bind the wounds. He’s bleeding too much.” The woman hissed. “Ennis? My darling? Stay awake, please.”

Someone in the background cried out. “Call the doctor!”

Then silence.

Morgan started. Professor Collins had stood up as well and was unloading the wax cylinder from the phonograph. Morgan ran a hand down his face and took a deep breath.

“What the devil was that?” He spat.

The professor looked up, surprised but still calm. “As I said, it is a recording of one of Ennis’s trances.”

“But-” Morgan searched for words. “They were mutilating him. He was a child. I don’t understand.”

“I’ll explain.” Came a soft voice from the parlor doorway.

Morgan whirled around. Ennis stood there, still waxen pale and sweating. He looked so weak, leaning on the doorway for support. His eyes stood out starkly in his face, the firelight flickering in them.

Whumpay - Day 4

Main Challenge - Mad Science - Vivisection Mini Challenge 4 - Torture - Begging To Be Killed Original Work - The Sleeping Stones

(content warning - graphic violence)

The silvery light of the glowing noose illuminated the tears running down Ylen’s cheeks from below. He rushed to grab hold of the rope of light, and reeled back with burned hands.

“Alixor.” Ylen gasped. “Alix, what are you doing?”

“You did this.” Alixor sat down heavily in the dewy grass, panting and sweating as though he had just run miles. The spell had taken almost all of his energy. “You did this.” He gasped. “When you refused to help me.”

“What?”

Ylen fell to his hands and knees. His eyes were wide and stared into Alix’s face.

Alixor looked down to the ground, averting his eyes from Ylen’s stricken look.

“You refused to help me.” He said again, much quieter than before.

“Alix, I-”

Alixor pounded his fist into the wet grass. “You won’t help me!” He screamed. Alixor looked to Ylen again. Braved the terrified eyes. “You won’t help my people!”

A beat.

Ylen’s face softens.

But instead of looking scared, Ylen just looks sad.

“I will not kill for you. That is what you mean.”

Alixor shook his head. No, Ylen can not change this. Ylen is wrong.

Ylen continued, voice becoming stronger, the furrows of rage in his face becoming deep in the silver light shed by the noose around his neck.

“I will not use my power to kill.” Ylen said.

Alixor shook his head again, feeling tears pouring from his eyes. “You won’t help me.” He sobbed. “I need help.”

“I am not your weapon. I am your friend.”

“We are not friends. Not anymore.”

Ylen fell silent at this. With shaking hands, Alixor pulled out the rest of his supplies from his bag. When he set the ornate knife on the rock, it rang out softly against the stone. Ylen started and stared at the weapon. But he asked no more questions.

Ylen remained quiet as Alixor finished the spell and bound his hands and feet to the ground, spread-eagle.

Ylen said not a word when Alixor picked up the knife and crouched over Ylen’s body.

He only looked at Alixor. Studying him. Eyes shimmering with the light from the luminous ropes.

“I’m sorry.” Alixor sobbed.

“No.” Ylen smiled. “You are not.”

Alixor plunged the knife into Ylen’s belly and began to carve. Ylen screamed and struggled, but the shining ropes held him fast to the ground. Alixor’s vision was blurred by tears. He continued to cut and cut, laying Ylen’s body open to the air. Exposing every facet of the god’s existence. When Alixor finally found Ylen’s heart, the ground was soggy with blood.

The crimson organ beat wildly in the god’s chest, cradled in a nest of blood and bone and sinew. It was hot. Burning. It almost smoldered.

“Please.” Ylen wheezed.

Ylen had watched Alixor’s every move. Almost like he was committing this atrocity to a memory that would soon be gone.

Alixor wished Ylen would screw up his eyes and just scream. Rather than this. Rather than pleading with him. Anything but this.

“Please.” Ylen repeated. “Please kill me.”

Alixor set down his knife, now slippery with viscera.

“Please don’t use my power for this.”

Alixor had long ago run out of tears. He was feverish and thirsty at this point. Dizzy with the heat of Ylen’s burning body. Who would have thought a god of wildfire would boil on the inside? Alixor braced himself and reached for Ylen’s heart with his bare hand. He wasn’t thinking. He wasn’t lucid. The cold night spun about him and he gasped for breath.

The heart seared his flesh. Alixor cried out but did not let go. He pulled and tore and wrenched and ripped and twisted. The heart came free. Alixor slumped down on the ground, clutching at his scorched hand. The heart flopped onto the grass and continued to beat.

“Please.” Ylen continued to whisper.

Alixor sobbed, great heaving sobs that nearly choked him. He vomited bile. Then lay there for a long time trying to catch his breath.

“Please don’t use me to kill.”

Alixor, laying on his side, watched the heart continue to beat. It steamed in the cold night air. His hand throbbed. He had to do this. This was the only way. He had to save his people. This would give him the power to save everyone. Alixor reached for the heart again with his blistered hand.

“Please.”

Alixor’s mouth was scalded when he took the first bite of flesh. It hurt even more when he swallowed down the second. Agony bloomed in his stomach. He was on fire, from the inside out. Still, he ate.

Ylen watched him. “Please.”

Alixor kept eating.

Whumpay - Day 3

Main Challenge - Mad Science - Made A Lab Rat Mini Challenge 3 - Torture - Branding Original Work - My Name is Evil

For twelve hours a day, every day, Evelyn had been tested.

They asked him to build from schematics. They asked him to design schematics. They immobilized him in the same chair and had him direct others to build machines.

They gave him drugs. A lot of drugs. They would dose him with something that made him nauseous and faint and dizzy and asked him to complete tasks. Solve equations. Answer their questions. Blindfolded. Ears plugged. Starved. Sleep-deprived. Sedated. Hot. Cold. Dizzy.

Over and over and over.

He was tested under every possible circumstance. Every possible test. Until now.

Evelyn winced as the needle probed beneath his skin and into a vein.

Evelyn wanted to pull away from the needle and the IV bag and everything they were about to do to him, but the restraints kept his wrists, ankles, and chest firmly pressed to the chair. He swallowed hard. The IV needle was taped to his skin and the nurse left the room without even meeting his eyes.

The door hissed and clanged shut.

Evelyn only had a minute or two to try and calm down before the door opened again and someone else entered.

The lady wore a strained smile and a nice suit. She sat down, keeping the table between her and Evelyn. And ignoring him, she began to shuffle through the papers she had brought. After what seemed like ten minutes or so, she spoke.

“My name is Ms. Brown, I am the Assistant Deputy Supervisor at the Bureau of Extrohuman Affairs and Regulation. I am here today to give your official status and category as an Extrohuman, witness your tagging procedure, and answer any questions you have. Do you understand?”

She never looked at him, not once.

Evelyn opened his mouth to speak.

The nurse came back.

Ms. Brown continued. “Evelyn Earl, your tests indicate that you place with the Enhanced Category, subtype Intelligence, archetype Crafter, division Mechanics.”

The saline was cold and Evelyn began to shiver. Of course he was good with machines. That was obvious. Why did they have to test for it? Why?

The lady continued. “Established legal precedents necessitate a procedure to display your status upon your person, this is sometimes called tagging. Once this procedure is completed, displaying this status mark will be used in conjunction with other identification you carry in order to comply with requests for identification. Please give verbal confirmation that you understand this procedure.”

The lady stopped talking and looked up at Evelyn. Staring at him.

Finally looking right into his eyes. Nothing in her expression indicated that she was looking at another human being. He may as well be another piece of paper that needed initials and dates.

Evelyn started when he realized he was meant to speak.

“Oh.” He licked his dry lips. “Right, yeah, I understand.”

The lady made another note on her papers. The room was so quiet that Evelyn could hear her pen scratching.

Eventually, the lady looked up and nodded at the nurse. “You may proceed.”

The nurse wheeled a cart with a machine closer to Evelyn. The nurse turned it on and the machine began to hum. Evelyn only began to panic when the nurse began to untie the front of his gown.

“What are you doing?” Evelyn felt his heart begin to quicken.

The nurse bared his chest and disinfected the skin over his heart.

The lady with the papers got up from the table.

“What is the procedure?” Evelyn asked, panic edging his voice.

“Identification.” Was all the lady answered.

The nurse leaned in close, holding something like a pen, which was connected to the machine by a cord.

“What is that?” Evelyn could not tear his eyes away from the strange pen.

The nurse turned and looked at the lady.

The lady shrugged.

What was tagging?

When the pen first touched his skin, Evelyn thought he had been cut. But when the smell of sizzling, burning, charred flesh filled his nose, he knew this was false.

Evelyn let out a scream and struggled to get away from the electrocautery device. But the bindings held him firmly.

The pain continued and amplified.

Evelyn thought he could hear the pain. Like barbed wire screeching through his ears.

He screamed again. And again. Evelyn felt sweat bead upon his forehead and roll down into his eyes, stinging and hot. He sobbed until his throat became raw. It went on and on, for what felt like hours.

Then, the hum of the machine ceased. The nurse moved away. A crinkling sound

Evelyn was left panting. He cracked his eyes open and saw the nurse was unwrapping bandages.

He could not stand it any longer. He needed to know.

Evelyn looked down to his chest, to the spot over his heart.

Shiny, bleeding burns. The smell of cooked flesh. Skin crackling.

A series of numbers and letters. They meant nothing.

But they were now branded into him. Into his flesh. Tagging. Identification.

Evelyn let out another sob.

Whumpay - Day 2

Main Challenge - Mad Science - Paralytic Drug Mini Challenge 2 - Torture - Whipping Original Work - Doorway in the Sky

“It’s going to hurt.”

“Can’t be that bad, right?”

Ash frowned at Mel and sighed loudly out of his nose. “You ready then?”

Mel nodded.

Ash jumped, slammed his hands down on the table, and swept their food trays off. The hard plastic clattered loudly on the tile and the food painted the jumpsuits of the nearby people.

Mel’s wide eyes goaded Ash on.

“The fuck did you say?” Ash shouted.

Then he threw himself across the table and tackled Mel to the ground. One punch to the nose got Mel’s blood flowing. Several guards jogged over and tried to pull him off her. Soon enough, Ash felt a prick on the back of his neck, and then nothing.

He stopped wrestling Mel and reached back. There was a dart sticking out of his neck. He yanked it out and saw the yellow band about the metal casing. His lips went numb. His fingers tingled. His hands fell to his sides.

And Ash slumped to the tile floor, hitting it cheek first. It hurt like a bitch.

Mel lay beside him and met his eyes. She grinned through blood-stained teeth.

Ash would have smiled if he could. But he could not. He had been hit with the yellow banded dart. The paralytic. Oh good.

Ash’s eyes slipped mostly closed as he was hauled from the floor. He could still hear and feel everything. Plastic restraints were tightened around his wrists and ankles. Which didn’t make much sense since he was paralyzed.

Ash watched the floor flash by beneath him. His head, hanging limp, bobbed with every step the two orderlies holding him up took. Their grip on his arms hurt. But there was nothing he could do.

They were buzzed through several doors. The hallways became quieter. The floors became cleaner. Whispers all around him.

Finally, Ash was brought into an office and propped up in a soft chair. With his chin resting on his chest, all Ash could see was the plush, patterned carpet and a pair of shiny, black shoes.

Drool dripped from the side of his mouth.

“Lift her head.”

A pair of sweaty hands clamped onto Ash’s cheeks and propped his head against the back of the chair. When the orderly stepped away, Ash was looking up into the face of Dr. Palmer.

Dr. Palmer gave Ash a small smile then held up his penlight. “You know what to do, look into the light.”

He shone the light into Ash’s eyes and leaned in close.

Ash could smell coffee and disinfectant on him.

“Mmhmm, pupillary response is good.” Dr. Palmer leaned back. “Good, good. Now I’m going to ask you some yes or no questions, would you please blink once for ‘Yes’ and twice for ‘No’? Demonstrate by blinking once for ‘Yes, I understand the instructions.’”

Ash rolled his eyes towards the ceiling.

“This will go much quicker and easier if you cooperate.”

Ash blinked once.

“Thank you.” Dr. Palmer made a note on his clipboard. “Now, is your name Ashley Durham?”

Ash blinked once.

“Is your birthday the twenty-second of June?”

Ash blinked once.

“Do you know why you’ve been brought to my office today?”

Ash blinked twice.

Dr. Palmer chuckled and set down his clipboard, taking off his glasses to polish them a little with a handkerchief. “Ms. Durham, Ashley, I think you know why you’ve been brought to my office today. You were fighting. Again.”

Ash looked around the office as Dr. Palmer talked. He spotted the curtains on one wall almost immediately.

Dr. Palmer’s eyes flicked up and focused on something behind Ash’s left shoulder. He nodded. The pair of orderlies picked up Ash by the shoulders again, holding him upright in a standing position. Ash’s head fell back and he was able to see Dr. Palmer’s faint smile.

Dr. Palmer turned around, walked away, and took a cane from a stand across the room.

“Ashley, why would you want to hurt your best friend?”

Ash would have shrugged if he could. He just couldn’t move any part of his body right now, other than his eyes. And he could not help but look at the curtains again.

Dr. Palmer returned to Ash and the orderlies, brushing against the curtains as he went.

There was a flash of sunlight as the curtains rippled.

Ash drew in a quick breath and felt tears form in his eyes.

“Seeing you hurt your friend has hurt me.” Dr. Palmer stopped in front of Ash, blocking his view of the curtains.

This was Ash’s first glimpse of sunlight in months.

Months that had stretched on and on, feeling like decades. Or centuries. It has been so long since Ash had felt the warmth of sun on his skin. So long without daylight.

Dr. Palmer had a window. The only window Ash had seen in the Institute.

Ash hungered for sunlight. He felt something feral and innate rise within his belly and chest.

Dr. Palmer was still speaking.

Ash ignored him until Dr. Palmer took Ash’s chin in his hand. Warm, soft fingers stroked Ash’s cheek.

“Ashley, would you please listen to me? I want to help you.”

Dr. Palmer angled Ash’s face away from the window and towards him.

“Blink once for yes, twice for no.” Dr. Palmer’s voice dropped down to a murmur.

Ash could feel his breath on his cheek.

“Are you listening to me, Ashley?”

Ashley blinked twice.

Dr. Palmer sighed and removed his hand from Ash’s chin and wiped the drool off his fingers on the front of Ash’s jumpsuit.

“You’ve let me down. And what’s worse is that you’ve let yourself down.” Dr. Palmer stepped back and nodded at the two orderlies holding Ash.

Their grips tightened.

Dr. Palmer disappeared. Then his voice came from behind.

“This hurts me more than it hurts you.”

Ash focused on the curtain. The tiniest sliver of sunlight was poking, needle-like, through a gap.

The blow came down upon Ash’s shoulders. He heard it before he felt it.

Ash gasped and choked on the drool dribbling from the corner of his mouth.

The cane landed again on his back, a swift stinging blow. Loud as a gunshot in Ash’s ears. Bruising. The cane felt as though it were made of fire.

Another blow.

Ash heard himself groan, low and guttural.

Another blow.

Ash panted. Felt tears rolling down his cheeks.

That little finger of sunlight. Through a window. From the outside.

The last blow.

Dr. Palmer reappeared. He was saying something again to Ash but Ash had long ago tuned him out. Ash was dragged out of the office, back down the clean hallways, out of the quiet, and back into madness.

Hours later, Mel returned to their cell. The door buzzed shut and the lights out warning was given.

“Ash.” Mel whispered close to his ear.

Ash, laying belly-down on his cot, turned his head.

In the harsh fluorescent lights from above, Mel’s nose was purple and gray with bruising. One eye was blackened and swollen.

“Tell me.” Mel murmured.

Ash looked into her eyes. “I saw sunlight.”

Mel’s face crumpled into a watery smile and she kissed Ash’s forehead. “Thank you.”

“When we go,” Ash spoke so quietly he could barely hear himself.

“We go through there.”

“I’ll go with you anywhere.”

Ash turned his head away and faced the wall again. He stared at the hundreds of tally marks he had made. One for every day he had been in the Institute. “One more thing.” He whispered.

Mel’s fingers brushed gently through his hair. “What?”

The lights went out.

“Before we go, I’m killing him.”

THANK YOU TO THE KIND PERSON WHO COMPLIMENTED MY ORIGINAL WORK ON AO3!!! THIS IS PROOF THAT AN AUTHOR NEVER FORGETS A KIND COMPLIMENT.

Hi! This is my second book I’ve completed! I posted it on AO3 because I can’t seem to get publishers to accept it! If you’d like to read it, please do (but beware, it’s almost 50,000 words, so make time!)! Read the summary if you’re interested!

Chapters: 1/18 Fandom: Original Work Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Additional Tags: Holocaust, German, Nazi Germany, Auschwitz, AHHH I'M GONNA CRY, i killed them all, Original work - Freeform, Birkenau, No one will bloody publish this, I've been rejected so many times Summary:

It’s August 1944, and thirteen-year-old Jopie Von Der Au is helping her family resist the SS in Nazi-occupied Germany. Alongside her parents, older brother Jozef, and blind sister Anja, Jopie’s world changes when they are taken from their home in Gorlitz and sent on one of the notorious death trains to Auschwitz. Only Jopie, her mother, and Jozef survive, as Anja dies before deportation and Papa dies after arriving. In the horrors of Auschwitz, Jopie forms bonds with new friends, but most people she loves slowly die off. Her eyesight begins to fade as she fights to survive. Here, Birds Don't Dare Whistle is a story of the emotional toll of survival, the struggle to keep hope, the importance of family and friends, and the struggle of the oppressed. Jopie's story offers a unique perspective on the darkest event in human history.

Chapters: 14/24 Fandom: Original Work, Norse Religion & Lore, Prose Edda (Norse), Poetic Edda (Norse), Völsunga saga | Saga of the Volsungs - Anonymous Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Áslaug (Norse Religion & Lore), Fáfnir | Frænir | Fafnir (Norse Religion & Lore), Svanhild/Svanhildr, Svanhildr Sigurðardóttir, Svanhild Gjúkingar, Brynhildr (Norse Religion & Lore), Sigurðr | Sigurd (Norse Religion & Lore), Heimr of Hlymdalir, Bekkhild of Hlymdalir, Grani - Character, Finnegan Descendus Sliochd, Fionn of the Wild Hunt, Merida Descendus Sliochd, Gwyn ap Nudd, Kayraen of the Wild Hunt, Iian Briar, Elli (Old Age), Frau Gauden, Frau Holle, Fionn Flann, Lorcán the Fierce, Dearil/Renna Kingsdöttær, Kieran, Caelum, cathan, Nuallán, Duibhín, Ai-Laau Series: Part 3 of Saga of the Sigurða (The Völsunga Saga Continued) Summary:

Aslaug is a Volsunga. So far, it has been nothing but a burden. She has had a voice in her head, tempting her to be a monster at every moment and never giving her peace; she has lost her father, then her mother, for reasons she has yet to fully understand; she has no idea what she wants to do or what she is destined for, but she does know she's going to have to figure it out on her own.

When she has a chance encounter with her soulmates, Aslaug's destiny truly begins to unfold, and her journey to discover who she is and what she will do begins. Her first task: locate her father's treasure, the legacy of the great Sigurd Fafnesbane. The only thing standing in her way? Her half-sister, Svanhild Volsunga, who is determined to live a life beyond just a woman doomed to die at the hands of a family curse.

Aslaug must choose where her loyalties lie, what path she wishes to follow when all of them lead to nothing but tragedy, and admit that perhaps she might just be a hero - all while the curse of the Andvaranaut begins to test her ability to lose what little she holds dear.

THE PERFECT GIRL: Cirque du Fleur

Summary — Cirque du Fleur, a beautiful and amazing place where you can go and find fun!

Unfortunately, not everything is beautiful in that circus, maybe on stage they are funny and kind, but behind the scenes they are totally different. And that Soleil will learn the hard way.

Warning — violence, death, minor protagonist, toxic relationship, harassment, forced relationship, supernatural.

Original work masterlist | Prologue: Cirque Du Fleur — next chapter(coming soon)

This work is available on Wattpad.

The lights illuminated the circus stage, it was the favorite part of the circus visitors, the act of the hoops, where the sweet dancer crosses through the hoops and begins to dance with them around her body.

While the other dancers spin around her with more hoops as they throw them into the air and then catch them while dancing on pointe like her.

But unfortunately, for them, none of that happened that day, because the dancer had broken her leg during practice and the doctors said that she would not be able to dance like before. For which she was officially out of the artistic activities of the circus.

With that inconvenience, the circus needed a new dancer for everyone's favorite act, because this was the one that made the masses come to see the circus and everything now depended on finding the perfect substitute who managed to capture the essence of elegance. in his dance, but also an incredible artistic demonstration.

That is what the young Leroux Soleil managed to prove, not only is she perfect at what she does, but her appearance captivates people. Her wavy sweet ginger-colored hair, her beautiful green eyes and her white skin added a beautiful touch to her appearance, plus her small body her thin and fragile arms and legs that gave her an air of innocence.

Unfortunately, not everything is beautiful in that circus, maybe on stage they are funny and kind, but behind the scenes they are totally different. And that Soleil will learn the hard way.

THE PERFECT GIRL: MASTERLIST

Summary — Cirque du Fleur, a beautiful and amazing place where you can go and find fun!

Unfortunately, not everything is beautiful in that circus, maybe on stage they are funny and kind, but behind the scenes they are totally different. And that Soleil will learn the hard way.

Warning — violence, death, minor protagonist, toxic relationship, harassment, forced relationship, supernatural.

This work is available on Wattpad.

Prologue: Cirque du Fleur

An updated cover for The Swallow's Promise!

a/n - before i get started on the requests in my inbox, i just wanted to show you guys a piece i wrote with my a couple of my ocs :)

Abielle sighed as her flag clanged on the floor, “god! I’m gonna fucking scream!” Why in the world couldn’t she get this damn toss right? She looked at the video on her phone as it played over and over again. It was a simple parallel toss. Open to the front, bring it behind the head, and flick. It wasn’t supposed to be this damn hard.

The sounds of her frustration echoed through the nearly empty dance gym and the only other person to hear her was her squad leader, Morgan. “Keep it in the toaster,” she mumbled through chews of her salad.

“I’m trying!” Abielle yelled back as she tossed it once more. Her arms were feeling heavy from how many times she’s done it without rest. This time, the flag flew across the gym, almost hitting Morgan.

Morgan jumped back slightly and nearly choked on her food. “Control,” she reminded.

Abielle groaned, flopping down on the hard floor, “I wanna go home!” She was tired, weak, and not to mention stressed from a week of tests and exams. She just didn’t want to do color guard at that moment despite going to sectionals on her own accord.

Aggravated, she quite literally rolled her way over to her flag. Morgan had tried so hard to hold back a giggle at Abielle’s reflection in the dance mirrors.

Once over to her flag, she wrapped the silk around her body. “I’m taking a nap,” she said dramatically while hugging the pole.

“Night-night,” Morgan chimed as she stifled a laugh.

Happy 4/20, folks! Today is the day!

My first poetry book, Twenty: A Line a Day, is now available on Amazon Kindle or Paperback!!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B092P6ZM8F

Experience the ridiculous antics of my 20-year-old self through one line of poetry written every day for an entire year!

Each line peaks into the ups and downs, excitements and heartbreaks, trials, and tribulations that come with barging headfirst into your 20s.

Any reviews (especially on Amazon!) or points of constructive criticism are greatly appreciated and more than welcome!

This is just the beginning, folks! It can only get better from here!

More Herobrine Zombie AU stuff :) this was just a quick sketch