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whump-tr0pes · 6 months

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Lux in Tenebris, Medieval AU - Trail of Blood

@badthingshappenbingo

I completely forget to add the the bthb part. Red X for posted, white X for requested! Send in your requests! If you don’t see a prompt here that you already requested, please send it again!

This AU grabbed my brain and didn't let go. Many thanks to @newbornwhumperfly for enabling me in the DMs

Masterlist

AO3

Contents: demon whumpee, implied wounded animal (that doesn't happen), caught in a snare, blood, mild gore, mild finger whump, begging, misunderstanding whump, accidental self-harm (to escape the snare), rescue

The forest was loud today. Ilya picked their way through the underbrush, eyes sweeping along the ground as they searched for white-capped mushrooms on the forest floor. Above them, birds called to each other, and wind brushed through the swaying treetops. The buzz of insects gave the air a heavy quality, even though the afternoon was cool. Still, the basket on Ilya’s arm was still nearly empty. They still had a long afternoon yet of gathering to go before they could return home.

The noise felt almost… oppressive this morning, though. The birds seemed to be shrieking in alarm instead of their usual singing, and Ilya could hear the din of tree branches crashing together in the wind – but when they looked up, the crowns of the trees seemed to shake with little more than a slight breeze. They bit their lip and looked down for another mushroom. They tried very hard not to think about the whispers they’d heard in the village, whispers of an evil that had come to these woods in the last fortnight, evil fleeing the cleansings in the south. They bent to pick a mushroom and add it to the basket.

An inhuman screech cut through the forest.

Ilya shot upright, heart hammering in their chest. The sound came from their left, from a dense spot in the undergrowth. Their breaths came faster, faster, and they found themself moving towards the sound. They strained to hear something else. They tightened their thin cloak around their shoulders and crept, trembling, through the underbrush. Had they imagined it?

They almost turned back when another sound cut them to their core: a wail, long and drawn out and raw. It sounded… almost human.

A wounded deer, I bet, Ilya thought with a sinking heart. A hunter probably missed his mark. They set their jaw and moved toward the sound again. If they could at least put the creature out of its misery, that would be a kindness. And if it was small enough, they might be able to drag the animal back to their hut themself.

As they drew closer to where the creature was, Ilya could hear the sound of desperate thrashing in the undergrowth. A low, guttural moan reached Ilya’s ears as they pushed past a thick wall of branches. They bit their lip and prepared themself for the sight of a mortally wounded animal.

They bit back a gasp when they saw the creature wasn’t a creature at all, but a boy, with his right leg caught in a hunter’s snare.

He was filthy, his skin streaked with mud and blood, and tears had left tracks in the dirt on his cheeks. Sticks and leaves were matted in his hair. His clothes were torn. The snare cut deep into his lower leg, which was a mess of torn flesh and oozing blood. He heaved a ragged sob and tore at the snare with broken, bloody fingernails as Ilya watched with wide eyes.

Ilya took a step forward on shaking legs. A twig snapped under their foot. The boy’s head shot up, and Ilya had the sudden, horrifying realization that the boy was not a boy at all.

The boy’s pupils blew wide in terror, black taking up nearly the entire eye. Sharp fangs flashed, even in the afternoon shade. He flung himself back and away from Ilya, only to be caught by the snare. He cried out and bared his teeth at them, clawing at the ground and sobbing with every breath.

“Obsecro,” he croaked. “Non appropinquant.”

Ilya swallowed hard and stared at the creature in front of them for a long moment. He had dark circles carved under his eyes, and he trembled as if he was freezing. The flesh around the snare was swollen, enflamed. His eyes were strange, but there was such sadness in them, such pain.

And he looked so, so frightened.

“It’s alright,” Ilya said, voice low. They gently placed their basket down beside them. “I’m going to help you.”

They took one step toward the creature, then another. He didn’t move, didn’t seem to even breathe, just watched Ilya with those wide, terrified eyes. Ilya closed the distance between them, heart pounding. They did their best to ignore their fear, ignore the thought that perhaps this was the evil that the others had warned about lurking in the words. Carefully, they knelt beside the frightened creature. Still, he didn’t move. Ilya could see he that he was shaking harder, though. The leaves beneath him shuddered.

Ilya slowly reached out a hand towards the snare. The cord was thin, but strong, strengthened with horsehair. They had never paid attention to snares before, but they knew they did damage. Now they knew how much. They did their best to loop their finger under it, but it was far too tight. The creature hissed as Ilya worked at the snare, fumbling at the knot. They peeled back the scraps of his pant leg, wincing at the dried blood that glued it to the skin. Deep puncture holes dotted the flesh. Confused, Ilya glanced at the creature, before they realized: he’d been trying to bite his own leg off.

They tried to untie the snare from the tree it was tied to, to no avail. They tried pushing the tree over – they would have had better luck lifting a boulder. There was one more thing they could try.

They reached for their belt and pulled their small knife from its sheath.

The creature shrieked and recoiled from Ilya’s touch. His hands scrabbled in the deep leaves as he tried to drag himself away from them, keening so loudly the birds flew from their perches in the trees.

“No, shh,” Ilya murmured as they brought the knife to the creature’s leg. “I’m trying to—”

The creature whirled and snapped at Ilya, his teeth crashing together a millimeter from their hand.

Ilya reeled back and landed on their elbows. The knife flew from their grip.

The creature was in a frenzy. He tore at his leg with his teeth and nails, drawing blood until it ran in rivulets onto the forest floor. Blood smeared on his lips. The sound of his frantic sobbing cut Ilya down to their very soul. They forgot their fear and reached for their knife.

“Stop,” they breathed. “Stop, you’re hurting yourself… stop!” They staggered forward and pinned the creature down. He was bigger than they were, but as soon as they fell on top of him, he went rigid with a horrible wail. Ilya slid the knife between the snare and the creature’s leg and snapped the cord with a jerk. They rolled off of him and scrambled away on their hands and knees, just as he did the same.

He staggered to his feet and took off with a limping sprint into the woods, leaving behind a trail of blood and broken branches. Ilya’s heart was a blur of motion in their chest. They fought to catch their breath, swallowing over and over. Tears ran unbidden down their cheeks. Their hands were streaked with blood, and they wiped them hurriedly on the fallen leaves. They stared at the knife that lay on the forest floor beside them. For a long moment, they considered leaving it behind.

It’s a good knife, they thought finally. I can at least trade it away.

Their hands were shaking as they went to pick up their basket of mushrooms. Perhaps there would be enough left to gather on the way back home. They found the trail again and quickly made their way back to their lonely hut on shaking legs. They didn’t look behind them once, but they didn’t look at the ground much, either.

Translation of the Latin line:

“Please,” he croaked. “Don’t come near.”

@womping-grounds , @free-2bmee , @quirkykayleetam , @walkingchemicalfire , @inpainandsuffering , @redwingedwhump , @burtlederp , @castielamigos-whump-side-blog , @whatwhumpcomments , @whumpywhumper , @stxck-fxck , @whumps-the-word , @justwhumpitwhumpitgood, @inky-whump , @orchidscript , @inkyinsanity , @this-mightaswell-happen , @newandfiguringitout , @whumpkitty , @pebbledriscoll , @im-just-here-for-the-whump , @endless-whump , @grizzlie70 , @oops-its-whump , @kixngiggles, @1phoenixfeather , @butwhatifyouwrite , @carnagecardinal , @laves-here, @mylifeisonthebookshelf , @wolfeyedwitch , @batfacedliar , @also-finder-of-rings , @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @extrabitterbrain

#lux in tenebris #medieval au #lux in tenebris au #demon whumpee #caught in a snare #blood #mild gore #mild finger whump #begging #misunderstandings #accidental self-harm #rescue #whump #trail of blood

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feverdreamsanddelusions · 4 months

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inspo by @whumpshaped

[tw unhealthy bottled up romantic feelings and masochism, honestly whumpee just wants to get wrecked by their friend ok, mild self-harm thoughts, emotional whump]

"Oh, you like this?" Caretaker asked with a mischievous grin, pressing just a fraction more against Whumpee's back. They were helping them with dicing, showing off the correct and safest way to hold a knife and how to avoid unfortunate accidents — which included basically hugging Whumpee from the back and holding their hand. "Who knew?"

"I don't– come on," Whumpee almost whined, face as red as the bell pepper on the cutting board. "Just, just go on. I just wanna learn this shit properly."

"Mhm. You should be paying a little more attention, then."

"I am! I'm trying to! Stop derailing this!"

Caretaker laughed softly, without any malice. It was so clearly just a harmless joke to them. And it wasn't... an unwelcome one, it was just... a touch too real. It was too hard to ignore. It was impossible for Whumpee not to imagine what it would've been like if Caretaker had been serious about these things, and it made their cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Caretaker would never see them in that way, they knew that. They should've spoken up about this; they should've told Caretaker that it made them feel a little like they were being led on, and it wasn't good for anybody. At the same time, the idea of never getting teased in this silly way again made them unreasonably upset.

It was too enticing to be able to delude themself.

Caretaker walked them through the process, only making one joke about how Whumpee seemed a little zoned out. And they were, truly, they wouldn't have been able to recall a single part of the explanation with a gun to their head.

"Got it?" Caretaker asked at the end, and Whumpee nodded mutely. They didn't trust their voice. "Go ahead, then. Show me what you learned." Caretaker let go of the knife and snaked both arms around Whumpee's waist, resting their chin on their shoulder.

"I can't if you keep clinging to me like a leech," they exclaimed suddenly.

"I wanna see."

"You can– you can see it from, from the other end of the kitchen as well."

"You're just stalling, love." Their voice was but a low murmur right next to Whumpee's ear, and they couldn't handle it. It was so ridiculous to feel so helplessly attracted to someone's voice, but Whumpee felt like they would've done anything for Caretaker just on account of how they sounded whenever they'd asked. "Don't get all self-conscious on me now. Would I ever judge you?"

Not seriously, never. But Whumpee remembered all the good-natured teasing they'd been subjected to over the course of the past months, and Caretaker's playful tone was definitely an indication that they were planning on making fun of them for not listening.

Whumpee was just about to tell them to knock it off when Caretaker stepped back, leaning against the counter to their left. "I don't want to distract you to the point where you injure yourself," they said with faux-overconfidence. "I know I'm a painfully seductive presence, and with great power comes great responsibility."

"You're ridiculous."

"But in a hot way, right?"

"In the least hot way possible."

Caretaker burst out laughing, and Whumpee's heart fluttered. Fuck, they loved making them laugh way too much. It made them feel like they had a chance, like Caretaker actually liked them.

"You wound me. But really, don't be nervous. I just wanna see."

If only their stupid, deep-seated sincerity could bleed over to their flirting. If only they saw Whumpee as anything other than a burdensome roommate to take care of. If only they kept going, just once, no matter how much Whumpee insisted they wanted none of it.

Whumpee started dicing the remaining bell pepper, their hand still tingling where Caretaker had held it. Maybe they should cut themself on purpose, so their friend could make fun of them some more.

#whump #whump drabble #mild self-harm thoughts #emotional whump #comfort #recovery fic #res writes

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catkin-morgs-kookaburralover · 4 months

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anyone got any suggestions for how to explain mysteriously having another blade that does not involve it being taken away or me being put back on suicide watch

#personal #tw sh #tw suicide #started using the i am sober app again recently finally and discovering how often i self harm is somewhat damning #i mean it's not bad or whatever it's very mild so from a clinical perspective it's not concerning #one time someone was telling me how much i downplay problems because i'm approaching them from a clinical point of view #well you see. if i don't i will go insane. so.#anyway #puddleglum hours #sorry for depressionposting this much i should stop

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hatgame · 11 months

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#myart #ahit #dove dont look #a hat in time #subcon prince #badge stealer #please sign here #self harm #(mild)#blood #(meant to be implied or nonliteral)#bugs #(1 bug on tree)#eyestrain

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itaint-arts · 2 years

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eddie is alive and they are t4t boyfriends and they have matching couples scars, end of story.

#steddie fanart #steddie #steve harrington #steve stranger things #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #stranger things s4 #stranger things season 4 #stranger things #stranger things s4 vol2 #stranger things s4 vol2 spoilers #stranger things spoilers #stranger things 4 spoilers #tw: scars #tw: self harm scars #tw: mild gore #tw: blood #trans headcanon

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echoleo · 1 year

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healing isn't easy.

#the bad batch #the clone wars #tcw #tbb #tbb echo #arc trooper echo #clone trooper echo #star wars #leo draws #blood tw #injury tw #self harm tw #because that IS what the ones on his arm/the bite on his hand are supposed to be #he got the split lip and scraped knuckles and thing on his jaw in a fight though :)#eyestrain #its mild but just in case

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mother-ofthe-universedraws · 2 years

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Sup babe, new AU just dropped.

Basically, in this AU, Stan’s got a small handful of mental conditions brought on by general ptsd that do impede his standard of living. He suffers from paranoia, terrible anxiety and depression, hallucinations, intrusive thoughts, frequent panic attacks, and of course, the horrible separation anxiety.

Basically, for personal reasons, I wanted to explore living with strong and usually crippling mental disorders.

As y’all can see, Soos was assigned as Stan’s caretaker. He had already been an employee at the shack for around five years when he took the role, and he was pretty much the only person Stan trusted to look after him.

More information about this AU to come! And of course y’all can send questions about it in the ask box

#gravity falls #stanley pines #conditions au #conditions!Stan #amputee stan #mental disorders tw #blood tw #hallucinations tw #ptsd cw #mild self harm tw #intrusive thoughts tw #separations anxiety #soos ramirez #mabel pines #dipper pines #wendy courderoy #stanford pines #bill cipher

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whump-card · 9 months

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Sunless Lives Part 7: I Should Tell You

~1740 words

CW: nightmare, dream-like discussion of noncon, panic, mild self harm, negative self talk

First, Previous, Next, Masterlist

~~~

Simon was hiding in the bathroom again. The too-large room towered above him, all slate and marble and glass. He sheltered in the bathtub, knees pulled up to his chest and hands raking through his too-long hair.

“Simonnnn.”

Tap-tap-tap. She knocked gently on the door. She wasn’t angry yet. It wouldn’t take long.

“Mr Finch will be here any minute,” her voice was sweet, cajoling, “You need to come out and get ready, hun.”

Get ready. Those words were loaded. Certain preparations had to be made, when the men came, or the women who liked to use toys. So that they wouldn’t rip him open. So that they wouldn’t break him. Lara got so angry when he broke.

“Simon.” Already, her tone had shifted.

He couldn’t do it, not today. Please, not today. All he could do was rock back and forth and shrink as small as possible in the bathtub. He tried to breathe, but the smell of bleach caught in his mouth.

“I’m starting to lose my fucking patience with you.”

A bottle of it sat in front of him in the tub. Another by the sink. A jug next to the toilet. They tipped, they spilled, they overflowed. Simon choked on the air as the stench became overpowering. Bleach pooled around his bare feet, stinging his skin. He knew the smell would linger for days. There’d be so much cleaning to do, the sheets, the floor, his clothes, the sink…

Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump!

“GET OUT HERE RIGHT FUCKING NOW.”

The fumes of bleach invaded him, burning his eyes, his nose, his throat, his lungs, forcing their way in just like Edward, just like Lara, just like all of them, constantly breaching Simon’s body, their hands, their tongues, their teeth, their toys, their dicks -

Simon jerked awake fully sobbing, slamming a hand to his mouth and biting down hard on the soft flesh at the base of his thumb to stifle it. He managed to limit further noise to a low whine, and he curled up tightly. Easing his jaw loose, he lifted his hand to look at the dark indents left by his teeth. No blood. He took a long, slow, calming breath.

And choked on bleach.

Simon lurched upright, panic swelling in his gut, and the room tipped and his ribs complained. He was still feverish, but not nearly enough to be hallucinating smells. As he started to get off the bed, the door opened.

“Simon?” Matthew stood there, wearing big yellow rubber gloves, “What’s wrong?”

He’d been too loud. Idiot. Crybaby.

Half-standing with one foot on the floor, Simon scanned him up and down, wild-eyed.

“Bleach, are you using bleach?” he demanded.

“Uh, yeah, you didn’t have any so Dev brought some, for the stain on the carpet.”

“Just pull the squares up and throw them out!” Simon yelled.

Matthew blinked, taken aback by Simon’s outburst.

“Yeah, that’s - You’re right, we didn’t think of that,” he swallowed, trying to find the right words, “Did you - are you okay?”

“Get out!” Simon shouted, and he immediately felt childish for doing so.

Matthew moved as if he was going to leave, then changed his mind.

“Are you scared of me right now?” He asked.

“What?” Simon wasn’t scared of him, Simon wasn’t scared of anything, he was angry. Angry about having stupid dreams, about people trampling uninvited through his home, angry about being in pain - his ribs, his shoulder, and his head throbbed. He wanted to jump on the treadmill and run away from it all.

“I just think,” Matthew took a careful step forward, “That if you’re able to, we should talk about what’s happening, so that maybe it doesn’t have to happen again.”

Simon sank back to sit on the bed. Part of him didn’t want to let the anger go, wanted to kick Matthew and Gina out to fester alone; and part of him had read a lot of self-help books, and knew Matthew was right. Another part of him wanted Matthew to stay, in particular. He forced himself to breathe through the smell of bleach, to slow his heart rate, to tamp down the adrenaline.

“Bleach is a trigger for me,” he eventually muttered, unable to look Matthew in the face.

“It gave you a nightmare?” Matthew asked.

Simon felt his face heat, but he knew this was the right thing to do, to just get it out, little by little. He’d done it before, with Chris - he could do it again. For Matthew.

“The nightmare was already happening,” he massaged the bite on his hand, “The smell made it worse.”

“Okay,” Matthew was clearly thrilled by this progress, but trying to stay calm. “Thank you for telling me, I know that must have been difficult.”

Simon looked up at him, his eyes narrowed.

“You watched a training course about this, didn’t you?” he accused.

“Uhh,” Matthew shrugged sheepishly, “Maybe?”

Simon glared at him a moment longer, then let out a single, short laugh that surprised both of them. Simon quickly ducked his head back down to fiddle with his hand.

“Thanks for… Trying so hard,” he said, immediately regretting how lame that sounded.

“We’re doing our best,” said Matthew softly.

Simon looked to his bedside table. His alarm clock read 8:32 PM. There was a full glass of water and a bottle of acetaminophen next to it.

“There’s an HVAC control panel next to the front door,” he picked up the pill bottle, “Can you turn on the fan to air things out?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Matthew affirmed, “And if you’re hungry, and feel like you can do more than crackers and cereal, I made fettuccine alfredo.”

“You made food?” Simon couldn’t hide his surprise, the medicine temporarily forgotten as he stared at Matthew.

“Hey, I live alone, and I look like this,” Matthew flexed his stocky arms with a confident wink, “I know how to cook.”

Simon laughed again, more easily this time, but it brought on a sharp pain in his head. The victorious grin on Matthew’s face dropped when he saw Simon wince.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just my head, it’s fine.” Simon quickly downed two pills and gulped some water.

“I did a bunch of Googling about concussions too,” Matthew said, with a level of earnestness that did something funny to Simon’s stomach, “You should avoid physical activity, loud music, TV, and bright lights,” he listed off on his fingers, “And Gina already put you on the right painkillers, no NSAIDS.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Simon, trying not to sound dismissive. He’d had concussions before.

“I should have remembered all that stuff, but it’s been a while since I had a concussion,” Matthew said, “I got one as a teen, playing football.”

“Football, huh?” Simon smiled a little, entirely unsurprised. He looked up at the bright can-lights in his bedroom ceiling. They were very all-or-nothing, and Simon wasn’t excited to explain the issue with the ‘nothing’ option. He didn’t usually sleep with them on, but right now…

“The lights haven’t bothered me so far.”

“Okay! Do you want food?” Matthew pointed a thumb over his shoulder, skipping the lights question entirely. It set Simon off guard.

“Uhh, sure?”

“Be right back!” and Matthew was gone.

When he returned with a bowl of creamy noodles, Simon ate while Matthew changed his bandages. The HVAC hummed and the smell of bleach slowly faded, leaving along with a lingering anxiety Simon hadn’t even realized he was holding. He focused on chewing the al dente noodles and feeling Matthew’s firm but gentle touch, first at his temple and then pulling aside his pajama shirt collar to see to his shoulder. He was more comfortable with Matthew handling him, now. Maybe even enjoying it. It still felt new, to have someone else take care of these things. Chris had never needed to. Lara never bothered unless he was dying.

“Hey,” Matthew finally spoke as he set Simon’s shirt back in place over the fresh bandages, “I need to tell you something.” His tone was unexpectedly serious, and Simon suddenly found it hard to swallow his food.

“It’s about how everything happened,” Matthew continued, but waited for Simon’s go-ahead to proceed.

“Just tell me,” said Simon.

“Finch escaped because Amber fell asleep while on watch. I mean, he might have escaped anyway, but we would have known a lot sooner if she hadn’t. She’s… really beating herself up about it.”

Simon listened, staring into his near-empty bowl. His stomach twisted, and he regretted eating so quickly.

“How did he escape?” he asked quietly.

“He took smokeform, and went through the vents. We heard from processing that at some point when he was off our radar he advanced to a grade A.”

The grade scale indicated the level of a vampire’s super strength and healing factor. Grade A meant they had an additional ability, like shapeshifting or telekinesis. In a handful of cases, a lower-grade vampire could advance by drinking the blood of a compatible higher-grade vampire, but compatibility, and a willing grade A, were extremely rare. Finch must have found a benefactor.

Simon’s first instinct had been to be angry at Amber, enraged, actually, but this changed things.

“He would have killed her,” he said knowingly, “If she got in his way, he would have killed her. It’s good that she was asleep.”

Matthew nodded slowly.

“Would you mind if she stopped by to see you tomorrow?”

“Sure. That’s fine.”

Is it?

He liked Amber enough. She was sweet, if sometimes condescending. She was good at her job too; not as physically capable as Matthew and Gina, but quick and smart.

She could have died for you. She could have bought you a precious few minutes. She could have -

Simon shoved the bowl into Matthew’s hands.

“I’m going to try and get some sleep,” he said flatly.

Matthew blinked for a couple seconds, taken aback by Simon’s change in demeanor.

“Okay, well… Holler if you need anything.”

He gathered up the used bandages and left, casting multiple glances over his shoulder as he went. Simon hunched back down under the covers. He didn’t like seeing Matthew go, but he needed him gone before he said something he’d regret. He forced his eyes closed against the bright lights, and an old mantra sprang to mind.

It’ll all be better in the morning.

He used to say that to himself all the time.

It only came true once.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

First, Previous, Next, Masterlist

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy @pigeonwhumps @sunshiline-writes @seasaltandcopper

#whump #whump fic #whump writing #vampire whump #nightmare whump #cw discussion of noncon #cw panic #cw mild self harm #cw negative self talk #sunless lives #sunless lives arc 1 #my writing

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