Whumpay - Blog Posts
little late BUT here we go y'all! many thanks to everyone who recommended prompts! EDIT - FIXED DAY 30 ON THE IMAGES
Welcome to Whumpay 2025! Up above you will see the basic prompt list and down below the cut you will see it written out in a list as the rules
Rules are the same as usual -
You only have to use one (Or two, if you’re doing the extreme edition.) prompt a day! But you’re welcome to use multiple if you want to, and it still counts for both.
I know the description of the blog says it’s a writing event, but if you want to draw or make other kinds of content, that’s cool too.
Have fun, tag content warnings (such as noncon, graphic violence, etc) and try not to be crushed by the mortifying ordeal of posting your writing.
This is a pretty chill event so you can start posting whenever but I’ll be reblogging posts made to the #Whumpay2025 tag throughout May.
scaled things back a bit this year, so theres no mini challenges or extreme edition, but if you want a smaller challenge choose one prompt from each category and post one each week
I - Trapped
1 - Used as a Weapon
2 - Hostage Situation
3 - Crucifixion
4 - Toxic Relationship
5 - Incapable of Disobeying
6 - Muzzled
II - Supernatural
7 - Psychic Link
8 - Immortality
9 - Magic Overuse
10 - Loss of Power
11 - Truth Serum
12 - Aftermath of Possession
III - Mundane
13 - Allergic Reaction
14 - Flu/Fever
15 - Forgetting to Eat
16 - Tonsillitis
17 - Financial Trouble
18 - Falling Out
IV - Dialogue
19 - “Don't make me choose.”
20 - “Let them go!”
21 - “They'll be fine…. Right?”
22 - “I've got you.”
23 - “Please don't leave me.”
24 - “I don't want to scare you, but….”
VI - Post Mortem
25 - Character Death
26 - Funeral
27 - Resurrection
28 - Grief
29 - Time Loop
30 - Mistaken for Dead
31 - Self-Sacrifice
ALT PROMPTS
1 - Buried Alive
2 - Empathetic Healing
3 - Gossip/Bullying
4 - “You’re hurting me!”
5 - Came Back Wrong
5+1 Scott and Alan (Carrying) Part 3
Ao3
Part 1
Part 2
-3-
“Alan!”
Silence.
“Mum!?”
No noise at all.
“Where are you?”
Nothing. Just dreadful white snow everywhere.
Scott never thought his youngest brother would ever be in danger. He was the oldest child, he protected his younger siblings.
That was how it worked, he thought frantically. That’s how it should be.
But Alan, only five years old, was missing along with his mother in the devastating aftermath of the avalanche.
Jeff was frantically looking for Lucille and Alan. John was busy irritating the rescue personnel, trying to tell them exactly how to treat Virgil. Virgil, who had been caught up in the slide downhill but was thankfully found after only two hours, cold and terrified with a broken leg. Scott was on his own. Each and every person along the slope were searching for signs of the fourteen people who’d been caught in the avalanche, but they’d been out here for well over five hours now. The instrument that scanned for life had broken ages ago, the wires inside freezing despite the manufacturing claims. Scott had been trying to ignore it, but the chances they’d find anyone else alive were steadily dwindling.
A distressed cry from behind a snow mound suddenly dragged him out of his thoughts. He sprinted over-
-to see his father hunched over, crying. A stiff, cold form was half-buried in the snow, a smaller form huddled in Jeff’s arms. His knees gave out at the sight, and he dropped beside Jeff. Scott stared at his mother, shock setting in. Her eyes were tight shut, and the life had already faded from her cheeks. Scott knew immediately that she was gone, never to come back to them.
He tore his eyes away to focus on his father. He’d only ever seen his dad cry once when Grandpa Tracy had died. This was the same, yet so much different.
Switching his gaze again to the surrounding snow, Scott blinked back his own tears. He had to be strong. For his dad. For Virgil, john, and Gordon, For his mum, For little Alan, who was still miss-
Scott’s eyes widened as he realised what was in his dad’s arms. Or rather, who. There, huddled into his dad’s chest, clad in the bright blue of his snow jacket, was Alan. His nose and cheeks were red, the skin around it deathly pale, tears and blond hair frozen his face. He didn’t move.
But even as Scott watched, a small puff of warm breath escaped from Alan’s mouth, hanging in the air or a second before dissipating.
He was alive.
Perhaps it was the shock, perhaps he had gone mad, but Scott nearly laughed out loud in relief. The world was cruel enough to take his mother from him, yet kind enough to leave his baby brother. Reaching forwards, Scott gently slid his arms under Alan’s knees and shoulders and lifted the youngest of his family from his unresponsive father, cuddling his brother tight. Alan’s lips were blue. Scott unzipped his own coats and drew then around him, wincing at the stab of frigid air. The little kid would stay warm until the rescue personnel arrived.
With a final glance at his mother and sobbing father, Scott stood and turned away to hide the scene from his youngest brother.
“I got you, Allie,” he whispered, “and I’m not letting go.”
-------
Part 4
Whumpay - Day 11
Main Challenge - Ineffective Medical Care - Medical Torture Mini Challenge 11 - Dialogue - “Who did this to you?” Original Work - Ashfirth Farm
Rabbit unwound the handkerchief from his neck and mopped his brow. “Good day, sir. Come to help mend the fence with me?” Rabbit finished his joke with a grin.
Caldwell froze with a smile on his face. His smile disappeared. His mouth opened. All he could do was stare.
Rabbit was quick to notice and his grin faded. “Mr. Caldwell?”
Caldwell’s eyes dropped to the ground and then anywhere but Rabbit. “How did you come by those?”
“What?”
Caldwell reached out slowly with his riding crop and pointed to Rabbit’s neck. “Those.”
Rabbit reached up and put a hand to his neck. As soon as his fingers touched the puckered, rope-like, shiny scars, Caldwell saw Rabbit do something absolutely uncharacteristic.
Rabbit became embarrassed.
His eyes fell to the ground. His fingers fumbled as he tied the handkerchief about his neck again. He picked up his tools and got back to work.
Rabbit’s face was turned away when he tried to sound casual, lighthearted even. “Oh, yes. An accident, long ago. I’m sorry you saw that. It’s quite ugly.”
Caldwell didn’t miss the way Rabbit’s hands shook.
He usually would not pry. But seeing his friend so affected had him curious. Or that was what he decided he felt. He ignored the growing flame of worry and grief; the accident had to have been so awful that the normally unapologetic Rabbit would feel the need to hide it, and lie.
Caldwell got down from his horse. “Mr. Bell, what manner of accident befell you that would give you those scars?”
Rabbit Bell froze while trying to repair the pasture fence. “It’s nothing.”
Caldwell got down on his knees and began to help his tenant with the repairs. “It is not. Your hands are shaking.”
A long moment passed where Rabbit continued to stare down at the grass, tools held tightly within white knuckles, lips pressed hard together. Finally, he thrust the tools into Caldwell’s hands and stood up, laughing a little too bitterly for Caldwell’s liking.
“I told you that studied at the Kings Mages College in London.” Rabbit began, then stopped again.
A full minute passed by Rabbit paced back and forth.
Caldwell forgot the repairs he’d attempted to help with and just watched his tenant. Finally, he prodded Rabbit.
“Yes, you told me that you were a graduate from the college.”
Rabbit nodded and stopped pacing. He took a deep breath and spoke once more. “They perform research on a regular basis on the pupils and fellows of the college. This scarring is from one such research project.”
“What kind of research…” Caldwell trailed off. He couldn’t find the words. In addition to that, he felt like he was going beyond what could be considered polite inquiry. “I apologize.”
Rabbit sighed. He was trailing a finger along the handkerchief that covered the scars. Another moment passed and he took it off again. His shoulders drooped. His face took on a few lines that Caldwell had only seen when Rabbit was properly upset.
Caldwell stayed very still, as though Rabbit might bolt at the slightly movement.
“Because most spells require a vocal component, the research was done on only a few students. Gifted students.” Rabbit chuckled darkly.
“They wanted to understand what part the vocal cords played in spells. So,” And here Rabbit’s pallor became almost green.
“They immobilized the student with a paralytic and exposed the vocal cords surgically. The student was then asked to perform a specific set of spells while the vocal cords were observed. No pain relief was provided.”
Caldwell felt his stomach turn and struggled to keep his breathing under control. After he fully processed what Rabbit had just said, he felt a wave of anger overtake him.
“That’s barbaric.” Caldwell stood up and dropped the tools. He took a step towards Rabbit. “Mr. Bell, I cannot believe that learned men would stoop to such torture.”
Caldwell once again examined the scars. A central line ran down Rabbit’s throat with a few perpendicular scars. A cruel surgery. Was there any purpose to it?
“What were their findings?” He growled. “Other than a new method of torture?”
Rabbit smiled but it did not reach his eyes. “Nothing.”
“Barbaric!” Caldwell fumed. “Utterly barbaric!”
“The fellows at the college would not agree with you.” Rabbit kept the handkerchief off for now. “It was a necessary act of service in order to further the pursuit of mages studies.” Rabbit sounded as though he were reciting something.
“Necessary, my arse!” Caldwell did not agree with it.
Rabbit laughed, a genuine laugh, and set his hand upon Caldwell’s shoulder. “Thank you for your support, Mr. Caldwell.”
“I believe any reasonable man would reject such an act.”
“A reasonable man, yes, but not a scholar.” Rabbit’s small smile revealed that some of his old humor was back. “You are a reasonable and an honorable man, Mr. Caldwell.”
Caldwell felt himself relax a little but a prickling anger still needled him. He wanted to do something for Mr. Bell, something to take the pain of these memories away. He had this itch to give comfort. But how? And why was this feeling so strong? Caldwell’s eyes rested upon Rabbit’s lips.
His cheeks were burning but it was a cool day. “You are too kind, Mr. Bell.”
The tension around Rabbit’s shoulders seemed to disappear and he bent down to the ground to continue his repairs on the fence. “Not at all, sir.” He replied.
Caldwell swallowed hard and got back on his horse, which was grazing nearby. He rode back to the manor in a daze.
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 7
Main Challenge - Attacks, Mental & Physical - Heart Attack Mini Challenge 7 - Torture - Shock Collar Fandom - BBC Merlin (2008-2012)
“We have a special restraint for your attack dog. If he tries anything, he’ll regret it.”
Arthur scoffed. “My attack dog?” He looked around and noticed that
Merlin had six men surrounding him while Arthur was being held by only two. “You can’t mean Merlin? That’s ridiculous!” Arthur laughed a little but quickly stopped when it became obvious that his captors weren’t joking. No one else was laughing. Least of all Merlin.
Merlin was on his knees, head bowed, blood dripping from his nose.
“You can’t be serious.” Arthur tried again.
No one spoke. They were indeed serious.
Arthur and Merlin had been out hunting when they had been ambushed by these bandits. But something wasn’t normal about all this. The way they were treating Merlin was odd. Arthur felt like an afterthought to them.
“Tie them up.” The obvious leader ordered.
The bandits were all wearing rough cloaks and patched clothing, mud-spattered and travel-worn. The leader looked much the same, except for the strange necklace he wore and the fact that he was the only one who had uttered a word so far. Every other bandit had been absolutely silent.
As Arthur’s and Merlin’s hands were bound behind their backs, Arthur took a moment to examine the necklace that the leader wore. It was a long leather band with a metal charm. The charm was similar to a coin, flat and round, engraved with a honeycomb shape.
Once Merlin’s hands had been tied, the leader brought over a small trunk and knelt beside Merlin. He spoke some words in Merlin’s ear that Arthur could not hear. But Arthur saw Merlin’s eyes widen. He saw Merlin become pale.
The leader then opened the trunk.
“You do not want to do this.” Arthur warned the bandits. “I am the prince! Either I will get myself free and kill all of you, or the king’s men will arrive and do the same.”
From the trunk emerged a strange metal collar. It shone dully in the fading sunlight. The leader of the bandits opened the collar and fastened it about Merlin’s neck. It clicked into place with an ominous grating sound.
Arthur just couldn’t believe this was happening. “Come on, he’s harmless. Merlin, tell them, you’re practically useless!” Merlin did not look up. Merlin just let them collar him.
The leader straightened up again and looked over to Arthur. “Watch now. This is what will happen if either of you make trouble.” He pressed a hand to his chest and spoke a strange word.
Suddenly, Merlin cried out. Arthur squinted against the blinding light. Lightning struck out from the metal collar and ran down Merlin’s body. Merlin seized and twitched and fell to the forest floor where he continued to writhe. His face was twisted in agony.
“Merlin!” Arthur cried out. “Stop!” He ordered the leader. “Stop hurting him! He’s just a servant!”
As soon as it appeared, the lightning disappeared and Merlin lay still on the ground.
The leader looked to Arthur. “Bring them.”
Arthur was marched. Merlin was dragged.
They traveled through the forest until the sun fully disappeared and a thin mist formed on the ground. Arthur only realized they were descending into a cave when the stars above disappeared. They were brought to a small chamber, lit by the torches that the bandits carried. Merlin was dropped on the dirt floor beside Arthur, awake, but shaking and pale.
“Merlin?” Arthur nudged him gently with his foot.
Merlin looked up at Arthur. His bloody nose had coated the lower half of his face in a patchy bloodstain. Merlin grimaced up at Arthur. Something raw and pained.
Somehow, that didn’t comfort him.
“Merlin, are you okay?” Arthur whispered.
“Do I look okay?” Merlin’s voice was cracked and hoarse from screaming.
“You could just say no.” Arthur sighed and looked around. They were still being guarded by a lot of bandits. The leader was nowhere to be seen though.
“Sorry.” Gasping, Merlin worked hard to sit up. “I thought it would be obvious.”
“Now is not the time for sarcasm.”
Merlin was quiet a moment, then spoke again, quieter than before. “I can get you untied. But I can’t get this collar off. You will have to leave me.”
“Nonsense.” Arthur laughed. “I’ll get it off you.”
“You can’t.”
“And how do you know that?”
Merlin turned towards Arthur and met his eyes. “Osgar told me.” Osgar must be the leader’s name.
“Then he was lying.” Arthur did not understand how Merlin was so gullible.
“He wasn’t.” Merlin’s gaze flicked to the entrance. “He told me…” Merlin swallowed hard. “He told me that if anyone else tries to take it off, it’ll kill me.”
Arthur watched as Osgar entered the chamber. It would make sense for a magic object to be so stupidly difficult to take off. But he didn’t feel like admitting that Merlin might be right.
“He was lying, Merlin. Why would it do that? It’s stupid.”
Merlin fell silent.
Osgar walked over and sat down in front of Arthur and Merlin. “I have some questions. If they are answered, then no one will be hurt.” He nodded at Merlin.
“I won’t tell you anything about Camelot.” Arthur snarled.
Osgar froze, then sighed and stood up. “I don’t want to know anything about Camelot.” He nodded at the other bandits in the chamber and they moved over to Arthur. They grabbed hold of him and kept him still. “I want information about Emrys.”
“Who?” Arthur spluttered. “I don’t know an Emrys.”
“I know.” Osgar stood over Merlin and looked down at the servant.
“I’m not talking to you.” Osgar touched his hand to his chest again, to the metal pendant he wore. “Am I?
Merlin slowly looked up at Osgar. “I don’t know anything.” He whispered.
“Liar.” Oskar spoke that strange command again.
Lightning flared. The very air blazed with heat. Merlin screamed. And Arthur, may he be forgiven, closed his eyes.
The questioning went on and on. Over and over, Osgar demanded information about Emrys. And over and over, Merlin denied him.
Arthur could hear his friend’s voice growing weaker. At first, Arthur struggled against his bonds and the bandits holding him. But it was no use. He could not escape. He could only witness.
Finally, there came a point where Merlin did not move anymore. He lay prone upon the dirt floor, still, too still. The metal collar about his neck had formed a shiny burn. Osgar approached, and using the toe of his boot, he flipped Merlin over onto his back.
“Stop.” Arthur begged with a raw voice. “You will kill him.”
Osgar’s eyes flicked over to Arthur for the first time in a while. “How does one kill an immortal?” Then he squatted down beside Merlin, looking down at him. Merlin’s face was slack. He was unconscious. Or dead. Arthur dearly wished he was unconscious.
Osgar stood up again. “Let him rest. We’ll try again later.”
And suddenly, Arthur was alone with Merlin.
Arthur scrambled over to his servant. He tripped and fell, finding it hard to get up again due to his bound hands.
“Merlin.” Arthur whispered and shook Merlin’s limp body.
Nothing. No reaction. The shiny burns on Merlin’s neck were the only color on him; he was so pale.
“Merlin.” Arthur shook him harder. Still nothing. Arthur bent awkwardly down and placed his ear next to Merlin’s lips. He could feel no breath. Merlin wasn’t breathing.
“No, no, no…”
Hoping he was mistaken, Arthur moved lower and placed his ear against Merlin’s chest. He listened hard. He held his breath. Willing that heartbeat into existence.
Silence.
“No.” Arthur sat back and sniffed. “No, I can’t-“ He stifled a sob.
He had to do something.
Arthur scooted down to Merlin’s boots. It took some angling, but he managed to pull Merlin’s knife out of his boot with his bound hands. Not minding the bite of the blade into his own flesh, Arthur got to work on his bonds. Hands free and slippery with blood, he pawed at Merlin’s face. He was cold and damp with sweat.
He had to do something.
Tears in his eyes, Arthur raised his fist and brought it down on Merlin’s chest. Hard.
He pressed his ear to Merlin’s chest. Nothing.
Arthur did it again. And again. Weeping silently so he could listen for a heartbeat.
His fist hurt. He had to do something.
One more time.
Merlin gasped and coughed. His eyes flew open. His limbs shook.
Arthur laughed and gathered Merlin up into his arms and held him tightly.
“Ow.” Merlin rasped. “That hurts.”
“Too bad.” Arthur sighed.
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?”
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.”
Whumpay - Day 1
Main Challenge - Mad Science - Strapped To An Operating Table Mini Challenge 1 - Torture - Tortured For Information Fandom - The Man from UNCLE (2015)
When the two telephone calls came, one after another with a twelve second pause in between them, Solo shrugged into his coat. Then sat back down in the armchair and looked up to the clock. Three o’clock. He would have to wait until nightfall, roughly three more hours.
Coat on, knee bouncing, and barely reading his paperback book, Solo waited the three requisite hours.
When the distant cathedral bell began to ring out six o’clock, Solo was out of his chair at the first toll, and out of the front door by the third toll.
When he stepped out into the chilly night air he forced himself to slow down, lit a cigarette, and begin a slow and circuitous route towards the dead drop.
Finally, he wandered into the abandoned brickyard. The city was quiet around him.
Ears pricked, Solo flicked his cigarette away, and crouched by a low, crumbling wall. He pulled out the specific brick. It grated pleasantly against its brothers. Solo retrieved the small package from the hollow and replaced the brick.
It was done. He straightened up.
Then the world exploded.
Bright light.
A blow to his nose. Another to a kidney.
Solo found his face pressed into the gravel of the ground. He could taste the brick dust. And the blood gushing from his nose and down his throat.
“Tie his hands.” Someone hissed.
Solo was grabbed and pulled to his feet.
The searing light was shone into his eyes again and Solo groaned. He panted around a mouthful of blood. His hands were roughly tied. Then, with a firm grip on each arm, he was frog-marched to a nearby car and shoved into the trunk.
The door was slammed shut. Complete darkness.
Moments later, the engine roared to life.
Solo caught his breath. He only had a few minutes to puzzle through this. The first order of business was to untie his hands. This was easy enough. They had made the mistake in tying them in front instead of behind his back.
As soon as his hands were free, he blindly reached out and explored the trunk’s locking mechanism as best as he could. The back of his head throbbed in time with his racing heart. The jolting car ride caused wave after wave of nausea and dizziness.
He vomited. His skull rang out, hot with agony.
Solo spat, groaned, and with shaky hands got back to work on the lock. They must have hit him pretty hard.
After a few minutes, and with the help of a lockpick he had in the lining of his coat, Solo popped open the trunk. He was careful not to open the trunk fully and eyed his surroundings. They were bouncing down an old dirt road with only trees on either side. Lovely. The middle of nowhere.
Well, no time like the present.
Solo thrust the trunk door open fully and jumped.
The guidance of 'tuck and roll' felt more like wishful thinking at that moment.
It was a whirlwind of pain.
Finally he found himself flat on his back, looking at the night sky. So many stars.
Solo rolled over and retched again but nothing came up. His head, obviously, was still very painful. He gasped for air, keening with every inhale.
The sound of screeching brakes and slamming care doors.
Shit.
The sound of boots pounding the dirt road. Towards him.
Solo tried to get his legs under him but fell, pain lancing up his left leg. He hit the ground, hard. As rough hands grabbed him again, he saw that his foot stuck out at an odd angle. Broken.
Time dilated. Solo could only focus on breathing. At one moment, he found himself in the backseat of a car, held upright between two men. The next, he was being pulled from the car, foot dragging on the ground. He screamed. And retched. His skull felt as though it would explode. Solo blacked out.
It was the grating agony of his ankle and foot that woke him. Blackness. Until Solo cracked his eyes. A dim room. He could not move.
A moment later he was a little more awake.
He was bound tightly to a table, the ceiling and it’s lone light-bulb looming over him.
The door at the far end of the room opened and two men stepped through; one was older with gray hair and rolled up shirt sleeves and the other was younger, fair-haired, and tall.
And then the questions began.
The haze of his broken ankle and throbbing skull covered Solo like a pall. He could not keep up. As soon as he understood what they were asking him, they were on to the next question. And when they did not get answers quick enough, they cut off his clothes and resorted to other methods of persuasion.
Why were you at that brickyard after dark?
They pulled a cloth over his head and drowned him in cold water.
Who planted the information you retrieved?
They put out their cigarettes on his bare skin.
Who do you work for?
They pressed hard upon his broken ankle and made him scream. They ground the bones against each other. His left lower leg was swollen and almost black with bruises.
Solo did not talk.
He fell into a stupor and woke only to pain. He wished for death. Anything but this.
Hours passed. Maybe even days. He lost track. He did not care. It was eternity either way.
So when he felt the shackles around his wrists removed and someone beginning to work on the shackles about his ankles, he lay there quietly and let them do as they wished.
He gasped when the band about his broken ankle fell off and the blood began to flow again under the bruised flesh.
A warm hand was pressed to his cheek. Gently. That was odd.
“You are awake?” A soft voice.
Maybe he had gone insane. Or maybe this was a new way to torture him.
Solo opened his eyes and saw the blurry face of Illya hovering there.
He certainly hadn’t expected that.
Solo licked his cracked, dry lips. “It’s difficult to tell.” He rasped. In the harsh light from above, Solo could see the lines about Illya’s mouth tighten.
“Come.” Illya began the process of helping Solo off the operating table. “We must go. Where are your clothes?”
Solo had begun to violently shake, his muscles cramping hard, as he tried to stand. He could not speak through the shivering and only shook his head.
Another frown from Illya.
Solo became afraid. The shivering made him ache. The room spun about him. If he was not helpful, would Illya leave him behind? If he was too slow, would Illya decide he was just too much trouble to rescue?
Solo swallowed hard against a dry throat.
Then he straightened up. He tried to still his shaking. And he only leaned on Illya for a little support. Finally, he was able to speak. “They cut them off me. They’re gone.”
Solo felt rather than saw Illya nod. “I have a blanket in the car.”
“Let’s go.” Solo hissed.
Solo had one arm across Illya’s shoulders, while Illya held Solo close to him with a warm grip on his waist. Illya’s hand on his bare, bruised skin was so warm. And gentle. Together, they limped slowly out.
Solo stared only at the floor was they went, focusing on keeping his balance and moving as fast as he could.
He didn’t want to be left behind.
The cold night air hit him and Solo suppressed another bout of violent shivers, groaning with the effort to stay upright.
“Nearly there.” Illya murmured softy, his voice rumbling against Solo’s bruised chest.
Illya sounded almost like he was trying to comfort him.
Solo heard a car door open and he was lifted inside, laid across the backseat. The door closed. Then the other back door opened, another gust of cold wind, and Illya slipped in beside Solo.
“The blanket.” Illya whispered as he laid something warm over Solo’s bare limbs.
Maybe Illya said something else. Solo wasn’t sure. His ears were ringing. And he was sinking. He was falling. He felt the warm hand on his face again. Then nothing.
babe wake up new whumpay prompts dropped. like last year, im posting early for more time to prepare
Welcome to Whumpay 2024! Up above you will see the basic prompt list and down below the cut you will see it written out in a list, as well as three mini challenges (and by extension, the extreme edition)
Rules are the same as usual
You only have to use one (Or two, if you’re doing the extreme edition.) prompt a day! But you’re welcome to use multiple if you want to, and it still counts for both.
I know the description of the blog says it’s a writing event, but if you want to draw or make other kinds of content, that’s cool too.
Have fun, tag content warnings (such as noncon, graphic violence, etc) and try not to be crushed by the mortifying ordeal of posting your writing.
This is a pretty chill event so you can start posting whenever but I’ll be reblogging posts made to the #Whumpay2024 tag throughout May. For real this time.
These all also apply to these three special mini challenges, consisting of a 7 day, a 10 day, and a 14 day prompt list.
EXTREME EDITION: This year's extreme edition doesn't have its own prompt list, but instead, youll be taking all three mini challenges in order along with the main prompt list. Some of these fit pretty well, others less so.
1 - Mad Science:
Day 1: Strapped To An Operating Table
Day 2: Paralytic Drug
Day 3: Made A Lab Rat
Day 4: Vivisection
Day 5: Truth Potion/Serum/Spell
Day 6: Russian Roulette
1 - Attacks, Mental & Physical:
Day 7: Heart Attack
Day 8: Asthma Attack
Day 9: Animal Attack
Day 10: Panic Attack
3 - Ineffective Medical Care:
Day 11: Medical Torture
Day 12: Withholding Medical Treatment
Day 13: Medication Tampering
Day 14: Injury Brushed Off
Day 15: No Anesthetic
4: Mindfuck
Day 16: Presumed Dead
Day 17: Memory Loss
Day 18: Stockholm Syndrome
Day 19: Phantom Pains
Day 20: Love Potion/Spell
Day 21: Role Reversal
5. Nature's Revenge
Day 22: Slowly Running Out Of Air
Day 23: Natural Disaster
Day 24: Struck By Lightning
Day 25: Snowed In
Day 26: Heatstroke
6. Traps & Trauma
Day 27: Caught In A Net
Day 28: Traumatic Touch Aversion
Day 29: Used As Bait
Day 30: Flashbacks
Day 31: Choose Who Lives
Mini challenge #1: Torture
#1: Tortured For Information
#2: Whipping
#3: Branding
#4: Begging To Be Killed
#5: Recorded/Broadcast Torture
#6: False Execution
#7: Shock Collar
Mini Challenge #2: Dialogue
#8: “Why are you doing this?”
#9: “Don’t look.”
#10: “You look awful.”
#11: “Who did this to you?”
#12: “No one is coming for you.”
#13: “No one cares about me.”
#14: “Don’t lie to me.”
#15: “Stay with me, please.”
#16: ”You’re scaring me!”
#17: “You’re a monster.”
Mini Challenge #3: Aftermath
#18: Fighting Against Caretaker
#19: Seeking Revenge
#20: Taking The Blame
#21: Barely Conscious
#22: Disassociation
#23: Carried To Safety
#24: Scars
#25: Unhealthy Codependency
#26: Infected Wound
#27: Survivor’s Guilt
#28: Touch Starvation
#29: Abandonment Issues
#30: Cradled In Someone’s Arms
#31: Adrenaline Crash
Alt Prompts:
Death Game
Came Back Wrong
Attack The Injury
Healing Malfunction
Left For Dead
Mistaken Identity
Dazed
Trapped Under Rubble
Drowning
Disowned By Family
Hostage Situation
Have fun everybody!