#whumpuaryno1

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

Whumpuary 2024 Day 1

1. (Jan 01-02) Captivity / Snow / Secret Revealed

cw physical whump/injury, whumper turned caretaker, captive whumpee 

Villain glowered at the struggling captive at their feet. “Well, isn’t this something. When Supervillain said they had a present for me, I was shocked enough as it was. Imagine my surprise when I found out they had managed to capture the pesky little snitch who’s been mucking up all my plans. Selling my information to Superhero and almost getting me caught at that jewel heist last week.” 

A weak noise of protest came from their enemy, likely muffled behind a gag. There was a cloth bag over their head, concealing their identity, and their hands were bound behind their back. It was an exhilarating sight to finally have them kneeling at Villain’s feet, completely at their mercy. 

“What was that?” Villain taunted when they attempted to talk around the gag. “You’ll have to speak up, sweetheart. I’m busy thinking of all the fun I'm going to have with you.” 

They kicked the hero sharply in the side, knocking them onto the ground. With their hands tied behind their back, they had no way of catching themself and their head smacked into the concrete, followed by a choked noise of pain. The hero curled in on themself when Villain’s foot connected with their stomach. It felt so unbelievably good to finally let out their anger on this nuisance who had been giving them so much trouble. 

Villain knelt beside them, grabbing onto the hood that concealed their enemy’s identity. “Now,” they drawled, “let’s see who’s under here. I want to see the fear in your eyes and watch you cry while I teach you a lesson.” 

They pulled the hood off and felt their blood run cold. A familiar pair of eyes blinked up at them, teary and full of betrayal. “Hero?” they asked in disbelief. 

Hero whined, flinching away when Villain hurried to remove the gag. There was a nasty bruise forming on one cheekbone and dried blood under their nose—clearly Supervillain had already had a turn with them before dropping them off at Villain’s lair. 

“Oh my god, Hero, I’m so sorry,” they apologized, hands shaking as they helped the other sit up. Thank God Villain hadn’t gotten any farther. “What’s going on?” 

Hero sniffed, looking up at Villain with a mix of hurt and anger. “You were about to beat the fuck out of me, that’s what’s going on.” 

“No—no, I…” Villain focused on untying Hero’s hands—if they ended up punching Villain once they were free, well, Villain knew they deserved it. “Supervillain told me they had caught the person who’d been selling me out to Superhero. I—I had no idea who they were bringing me.” 

“Supervillain is a filthy liar and an opportunist, don’t you know that by now?” Hero said, rubbing their wrists once Villain finally undid the rope. They hissed in pain, glaring at the angry red marks on their skin. 

Villain pushed their hair back gently, inspecting for damage where Hero’s head had hit the ground. Luckily, it didn’t look too bad—they'd probably just be sore for a bit. “So you’re not the one who’s been selling my info?” 

“You think I would?” Hero asked earnestly, meeting the other’s gaze. “Of course it wasn’t me. It was Supervillain, you idiot.” 

Suddenly, the pieces all fell into place. Fuck, it was all so obvious—Villain really was an idiot, weren’t they? “They were trying to frame you—shift the blame off themself and get me to take you out at the same time.” 

“Two birds,” Hero agreed. 

“I’m going to kill them,” Villain growled, eyes darkening with rage. “I’m going to torture them slowly until they’re begging for my forgiveness and then I'm going to kill them.” 

Hero smirked and punched their arm halfheartedly. “I told you no killing, remember?” 

“Ugh, you’re no fun.” Villain sighed melodramatically. “…Is a little torture okay, though?” 

Hero rolled their eyes. “A tiny bit, I suppose. But can you take me home first? I’m so tired.” 

Villain frowned, cradling Hero’s face in their hands. “Yeah, of course,” they said, more quietly. “I'll take you home, and get you cleaned up and tucked into bed. I’m sorry about all this.” 

“Thank you.” They let Villain pull them into an embrace without protest. “Just make sure to give Supervillain my regards.” 

“Anything for you, Hero.” 

#whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno1 #captivity #secret revealed #hero x villain #whump #whump writing #physical whump #injury whump #whumper turned caretaker #accidental whump #captive whumpee #hero whumpee #villain whumper #villain caretaker #snippet

[celtic-crossbow]

Whumpuary Day 1-2

Prompt: Snow

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; blood; head injury

gif by r66dus

“Why are we patrolling when we can’t see ten feet in front of our faces?” You were yelling into the wind, only satisfied that the archer may have heard you when he turned halfway. 

“Wha’?” Daryl called from beneath the bandana that shielded the lower part of his face from the biting cold. 

Taking a deep breath, you moved your scarf aside and shouted louder. “Why are we—” The slightest crinkle next to one eye gave away the smirk hidden beneath the black and white patterns. “I hate you!” You could barely hear him chuckle. 

“No, ya don’!” At least he was kind enough to wait for you to trudge through the steadily deepening snow to reach his side. “Ya should head on back if it’s that hard on ya!”

“Please. Like I’d leave you out here alone!” You sputtered indignantly when he ruffled your toboggan hat. The man knew exactly how to rile you up, and he did it as often as possible. Though you acted perturbed, you actually enjoyed the times you could see a smirk or a small smile. 

Daryl smiled a lot more these days. It was one of your favorite things in the chaotic, dystopian world. After Rick and with the Whisperers still lurking, you wouldn’t blame him for wearing a permanent scowl like the old days. 

“We can cross over here n’ circle back.” He pulled down his bandana and motioned toward the frozen river. “Froze solid. Won’ fall through but be careful anyway.” He started across, sensing you weren’t following. “Wha’re ya doin’?”

“Keep going. I’ll catch right up.”

“Y/N, wha’re ya doin’?” He repeated more sternly. 

“I need to pee, Daryl!” You frowned when he smiled and there was the slightest bounce to his shoulders. “It’s not funny.”

“Yer gon’ freeze yer ass off.” The ‘literally’ hung in the air, but you knew he was thinking it. “G’on then. Ain’t nothin’ I’ve not seen b’fore.” 

You pouted. “You can’t watch me pee!”

“Ya do it ev’ry mornin’ while ‘m brushin’ my teeth.”

“Yeah, but this is more…open!” When he titled his head with a look that clearly stated you can’t be serious, you huffed. “Shut up, that’s different too!” Your cheeks were suddenly warm, even against the frigid gusts. Daryl had been up close and personal with your lady bits more than you could even begin to recollect. 

With a grin, he held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll keep goin’. Slow. Wanna be close jus’ in case.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, daddy.” When a dark brow arched, you feigned displeasure and grabbed a gloveful of snow and tossed it at him. “Go away, pervert.” He was still grinning as he turned to put a little distance between the two of you. Pants and underwear were down to your knees quickly, the urge nearly unbearable by the time you’d convinced him to keep moving. You couldn’t stop the relieved groan even if you’d tried. 

You had expected to hear him laugh but thankfully, the wind was just too loud. With the wonderful lack of toilet paper, drip-drying was the only option left to you, though you were certain your vagina would be full of ice by the time that happened. After several moments, you pulled up your pants and secured the button and zipper, then your belt, curling your lip at the yellow patch of snow. The apocalypse was gross. 

“Done!” You announced cheerfully loud. 

“Wash yer hands?” He chuckled when you were close enough. 

“Oh, shut up and walk.” A handful of poncho enabled you to spin him around and shove him forward. You were smiling to yourself when the hairs stood on the back of your neck. It wasn’t from the cold. “Daryl.” It felt like someone was watching you. Your eyes met his. He had felt it too; was already pulling his crossbow from his back. 

“C’mon.” He motioned you closer while you each surveyed your surroundings. The Whisperers had been absent since the cold had set in, but it was possible they had returned. Over the scream of the harsh wind, neither of you heard the low growls coming from below. 

Daryl yelped when a hand caught his ankle and gave a sharp tug. You could only watch as his boot slipped and he tumbled, the back of his head bouncing off of the ice with a sickening crack and splatter of red across white. His weapon slid to a stop several feet away.  

“Daryl!”

The walker was trapped in the snow, only one arm and half its face exposed. Enough for your blade to find its mark. Dark, congealed blood covered your knife as it fell next to the archer, your hands on him immediately. He remained unresponsive to each shriek of his name, but you had to find some measure of calm to assess his condition. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

The frosty vapor that formed in front of his lips showed him to be breathing. You quickly removed a glove to press your fingertips to his neck, finding a thready pulse rather quickly. With the gentlest touch you could manage, you slowly, carefully lifted his head, nauseated at how boneless he appeared. You were terrified of moving him. Head and neck injuries were never a thing to play with, even in the old world when hospitals were abundant and functional. 

Holding his head only slightly off the ice, you whimpered at the moderate amount of blood that had covered the pale surface. Head injuries bleed a lot. He’s fine. He is fine. Your teeth were nearly puncturing your bottom lip while you probed the back of his head blindly. Through his wavy hair, it was difficult to find the injury straight away. Once your quickly numbing fingertips pressed onto a swollen split in the skin, you were forced to turn his head for a better look. 

The laceration was small but deep, most likely near to the skull. You couldn’t see bone, but the snow and blood made that nearly impossible. For now, you needed to take care of the blood oozing from the wound and over your fingers. The cold would help with the active bleeding but you unwound your scarf and placed it behind his head. Why the fuck didn’t you bring medical supplies and food on patrols when shit like this was a distinct possibility? 

“Daryl.” You said loud enough to be heard over the wind but with a calm that betrayed the panic stirring within your chest. You had to move. The two of you freeze if you remained. There was also the possibility of walkers or Whisperers, and you were sitting ducks. “Come on, baby, wake up.” The pet name flowed out easily, reserved for intimacy or comfort. 

You were met with unrewarding silence for a moment that seemed to last forever but finally, your archer groaned and grimaced. He made to turn his head before even opening his eyes, gagging almost immediately from the pain that surely accompanied the movement. 

“Stay still for a minute. You’ve got a concussion for sure but I’m worried about more.” You soothed, rubbing his chest in lieu of touching his face or hair. “Getting back is gonna suck. Take some time to get yourself ready.”

“Survived worse.” He slurred. You didn’t need to see his pupils to diagnose the head injury. He had hit so hard that you wondered how the ice didn’t splinter from the impact. You kept a sharp eye on the surroundings to buy him some time. Both of you knew what the journey back to the gates would entail, short as it would be. “Le’s get outta ‘ere.” Daryl shifted toward his side to get an arm beneath him. He had yet to open his eyes, likely knowing the tilt of the world that awaited. 

“Slowly.” You kept your hands on his arms, his shoulders, prepared to assist and comfort. “That’s it.” The archer barely made it to a sitting position before retching, cognizant enough to turn the opposite direction from you. Your hand rubbed circles over his back, a grounding comfort that was also a display of gratitude for not vomiting on you. “I’m sorry.” Your heart ached with a need to draw the pain from him and take it upon yourself. The whimper that followed the sick was the only indicator of the agony the action had likely caused. 

“M’ready.” He panted. 

“Okay, let me grab your crossbow.” You scooped up your scarf, stuffed it into your coat pocket, took carefully swift steps to collect the weapon and strapped it to your back as you returned to his side. “Okay, grab my shoulders and pull yourself up slowly. I’ll help balance you but you go at your pace, okay?” There was the slightest dip of his head in an almost nod before he thought better of it and mumbled an ‘okay’ that you couldn’t even hear. 

You planted your feet, watching the area for any signs of threats while Daryl used you to begin levering himself upward. At the first pull of his weight, you grunted and he let go. 

“It’s okay. I’ve got you, baby. I promise you won’t hurt me.” You smiled, hand on the crook of his shoulder with your thumb stroking his collar bone. He didn’t balk at the endearment, not even the usual scoff. 

“Okay.”

The process began again. Daryl was stout, but the challenges of surviving had helped you build strength. While it wasn’t easy, it was not impossible for you to bear the added weight. On his feet, the archer swayed and granted you the first glimpse of his unfocused blue eyes. One pupil was noticeably larger; worrisome but you couldn’t do anything about it. He needed medical attention that the infirmary could hopefully provide. 

You were quick to grab his elbows and steady him when he stumbled backwards. “You’re vertical. I’d say we’re making progress.” One of his arms pulled across your shoulders, the two of you embarked on what promised to be a difficult trek home. 

You’d only been walking for about five minutes, when Daryl lurched forward and vomited, painful heaves that made keeping him upright nearly unattainable. He groaned, clenching his eyes shut and spitting onto the dirt. 

“You can do this. Just hold onto me.” You frowned at the hardened blood on the back of his neck, frozen into flecks by the bitter cold. 

The process repeated several times and by the time the gates were a looming shadow beyond the whiteout, Daryl was putting nearly all of his weight on you, toes of his boots dragging with each slow step. 

“Almost there.” Your voice was no longer reaching him. As the gates opened, the archer went down and dragged you along with him. You began shouting for help, silhouettes of your friends growing more perceivable with each hurried step. “Help! Daryl needs help!” 

Your worry for him was overriding the urgent voices surrounding you, blurred hands coming into view to settle on your archer. You had no choice but to step back and allow them to take him, following in a daze while more hands guided you along. The panic you had stored away was finally able to break free. 

You cried. 

Stitching the wound had been a brutal excursion. Daryl needed to be held down as the near frozen skin, hypersensitive in the heated infirmary, was forced together. Aaron and Gabriel assisted, their guilt for the required intervention was evident in both faces. You sat in front of him, whispering encouragement and reminding him how much you loved him. The archer vomited from the pain alone before unconsciousness mercifully claimed him. 

Without the means to confirm, Daryl was released on strict bedrest in case of a skull fracture. He could sleep as long as you were near to monitor for any changes in his vitals. He would become confused, nauseous, and irritable. You were there to hold back his hair, mindful of the stitched wound. You needed to remind him of where he was and what had happened. At one point, he had even asked for your help in finding Merle, who had died years before. 

After a while, he settled and dozed, Dog on the bed with his furry head on the hunter’s thigh. You finished your list of chores quickly, placing a steaming bowl of soup and a cup of tea on the nightstand by your side of the bed. Daryl was awake the moment you had stepped inside the room. Damn hunter’s senses. 

“Hey, Humpty Dumpty. How are you feeling?” Settling yourself with your knees resting against Dog’s side, your fingers gently brushing back Daryl’s hair. The archer hummed, and caught himself seconds before he would have moved his head to scowl at you for the nickname. 

“Had worse.” He croaked. 

“Doesn’t mean this can’t hurt like a bitch.” You countered immediately. The archer hummed once more. It probably hurt less than speaking. You had helped him clean up just after his release to recover at home. If he was stuck in bed, you were going to make damn sure he was comfortable. The flannel pants and Ozzy t-shirt at least made him smile. “Do you need anything?” You adjusted the blanket Carol had left once during a visit. 

“Jus’ you.”

You smiled, your face and neck flushing. You pressed your lips to his temple, the brush of your mouth against his skin but a mere whisper. 

“You’ve had me for a while, Mr. Dixon. That’s not gonna change now.”

#whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno1 #snow #blood #head injury #the walking dead #fic #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #murda writes

[dresden-syndrome]

20/VI-1963. Borovice, Středočeský region, People's Union Republic of Czechoslovakia, EESU.

"Hope no one saw me near the road to Prague. Just down the street and I'm already there... Gonna hide in the darker part..."

One thing Radím failed to notice.

Patrols.

He knew all the streets get guarded by Security patrols past curfew but who could predict the daily patrols from main streets finding him there, on the forgotten road near the forest, half an hour before? Could've expected the surveillance getting tougher after the riot two days ago. Better to be careful - those leaflets Radím brought from Prague are a recipe for disaster. For class 3 at least.

One split second - and the patrols rushed towards his side.

Another patrol group. They're out for him.

Heart pounding, beating, panicking loudly in the boy's chest. Every breath burns his throat. Then, a blinding flash of car lights. Nowhere to run.

Disoriented from the feeling of panic and lights staring into his face, Radím felt a rough, almost crushing grab on his neck and hands.

"Comrade Štušek, you're under arrest."

Radím tried to push around - first, second time - the officers' grip is so firm he couldn't even move. No, no, it can't be like that... It was only down the street...

"Let me go! I didn't do any...."

As the leaflets fell out, he realized there was no point to plead.

"...People of Czechoslovakia... the regime is only strong when we comply... down with Communist Party... down with EESU...", - a clear high-pitched voice read out loud, "Didn't do anything, you say, huh?"

Radím knew he's now seeing his hometown for the last time. It's all over.

"Goodbye", - he hissed, pushing and kicking in the air as the officers dragged him to the dreaded black car.

@whumpuary #1: Captivity (does capture count as captivity?) / Secret revealed

Art taglist: @painful-pooch @prismpanic @generic-whumperz @suspicious-whumping-egg @onlywhump @whumpedydump @whumpthefifth (if you wanna get in, let me know!!)

#whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno1 #captivity #secret revealed #art #oc #whump #whump community #whumpblr #historical whump #military whump #totalitarian whump #whump art #whump oc #whumpee #whump ideas

[medusapelagia]

Running From The Daylight - Part 1

Part 1 - (coming soon Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15)

This is going to be a long fic with A LOT of whump to fill every @whumpuary prompt, so it's obviously an exaggeration and, even if I did some research, I decided to use only things that were useful to me, so imagination and suspension of disbelief are fundamental! 😂 There will be A LOT of inaccuracies about almost everything! You are warned!

Rating: Mature Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Prompt: Snow WT: none Words: 1532

Eddie sighs, looking at the white blanket around the chalet that Steve booked for their first holiday together. The landscape is incredible, the chalet warm and comfortable but Eddie misses the chaos that always seems to surround him: the only sound in that stupid chalet is the crackling open fire, which is nice, don’t get him wrong, but after two days of white snow and crackling fireplace he is definitely bored to dead.

Steve has brought snowshoes and ski suits, but Eddie is not going for a walk in the mountain's freezing air, so they resolved to stay in the chalet and spend their time together, which is great! They never have time to be together but now Eddie is really bored out of his mind. The stupid television gets only a couple of local channels that are always giving news about the small village on the slope of the mount or teleshopping and even their stupid phones have almost no signal and they have to stay near the bathroom window if they want to make a call because that’s the only place in the chalet with at least a little bit of signal.

Steve, on the other side, seems to have found the perfect life for him: he goes out to make firewood, cooks super tasty dinners and fucks his boyfriend on the cow skin rug, which Eddie finds a little bit too much when they have a very comfortable bed but he endures it.

A week.

Steve booked the stupid chalet for an entire week, and Eddie has already read all the books he brought with him and he is so fucking ready to go home, but he knows that Steve worked hard to organize everything, so he sighs for the umpteenth time, feeling like a princess in a high tower, waiting for the Saturday to come and bring him back to Hawkins.

The only perk of his day is seeing Steve getting back from cutting firewood, cheeks colored by the cold and the effort, eyes shining with pride and joy.

“I think we will be good for the next few days.” Steve tells him, dragging some firewood inside, Eddie is pretty sure that they will be good for months but he is not willing to spend more time in that godforsaken place so he nods and kisses Steve on his freezing lips.

“You are freezing. What could I do to make you warm?” Eddie asks, getting closer to the chestnut boy who chuckles “I’m all sweaty, I need a shower.”

“We can shower later. Together.”

***

Ok, maybe Eddie hates the chalet, but cuddling in front of the fireplace, looking at Steve in the warm light is not so bad. He looks so relaxed and comfortable that maybe the metalhead could endure a few more days of boredom just for him. Steve gets closer, rubbing his nose on Eddie's cheek before biting it.

"I want to eat you."

"You just did." Eddie chuckles, thinking about Steve's hot tongue on the most sensible part of his body.

"I want to eat you whole and keep you with me, forever."

"I don't know why but this sounds both terrifying and romantic at the same time. Maybe I'm into murderers." Eddie comments, carding his fingers in Steve's wet hair "We should dry ourselves."

"Don't want to. Wanna stay here on the carpet cuddling with you."

"You'll get sick if you don't dry your hair. Or even worse, you'll get a migraine." Eddie scolds him with a smile.

Steve groans something that sounds pretty close to spoilsport, but in the end, he gets up and they get back to the bathroom: Eddie sits on the toilet while Steve dries his hair. He tried to help him a couple of times but the results were far from good so now they have resolved that Eddie washes Steve's hair and Steve's dries Eddie's curl, is their little ritual: Eddie shakes his head like a wet dog and tries to run away from Steve's comb and when finally Steve gets him Eddie licks Steve's face like a happy puppy while the younger boy complains that he is gross but secretly loves it.

Not today. Today Eddie is sitting on the toilet, like a good boy, watching Steve do his magic trick with hairdryer and hairspray and then get closer to him, combing Eddie's hair with his fingers while gently blowing some not-too-hot air and scratching Eddie's scalp.

"You should do this as a job. You are really good at it." Eddie sighs, while Steve keeps playing with his hair.

"My parents will be elated to know that their fag son should be a hairdresser." he snorts.

"Fuck them. What are they going to do? Be even more disappointed in you?" Eddie asks, his eyes closed, still lost in the pleasurable feelings of having Steve take care of him, when Steve's fingers stop abruptly. Fuck. He opens his eyes, finding Steve avoiding his stare "Shit, Steve, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."

"No, you are right." The chestnut boy replies, while he keeps drying Eddie's hair "They were always disappointed in me, why not add some more disappointment, right?"

Eddie would like to punch himself in the face, why can't he keep his mouth shut?

"Steve..."

"I'm good."

"No, you are not and I feel like shit because we were having a nice time and I ruined it." Eddie sighs, hiding his face in Steve's t-shirt.

"You didn't ruin anything. You always make everything better." Steve whispers in his hair, kissing the crown of Eddie's head while holding him close and Eddie gets lost in the comforting warmth of Steve's chest and in the stable rhythm of his heartbeat.

"I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that."

"You weren't wrong." Steve repeats, making soothing movements on Eddie's back and he feels even more guilty.

"You know what? Tomorrow we are going for a walk in the snow, how does it sound?" Eddie asks, lifting his head from his cozy hiding place.

"You hate the cold and every kind of physical activity that is not sex. You told me these exact words just yesterday."

"Yesterday I was another person, today I'm a moron who made his boyfriend sad and is trying really hard to cheer him up. What do you say?"

"You don't have to." Steve replies, still drying Eddie's hair "I know you hate the chalet."

"I don't hate the chalet, I might not like the cold, that's true, but I can endure a little walk with my boyfriend if he promises me we will do a snowman after!"

"A snowman?"

Eddie nods, happily "Yeah. A snowman with a carrot as a nose and a stupid hat."

Steve smiles sweetly at him "I think that can be arranged. You know, there are some beautiful places to see here, I made a little map with some really incredible mountain paths. But we have to wake up pretty soon if we want to take advantage of the natural light."

The days at the chalet are shorter than in town, as soon as the sun starts to go down the mountains cover it and it starts to freeze.

"Ok, I swear I'll get up as soon as the alarm goes off, ok?"

***

Maybe Eddie accidentally postponed the alarm a couple of times, ok? But he is still sipping his coffee, wearing the warmest clothes that he owns, already wearing his ski pants and ready to wear his ski jacket before leaving the chalet, while Steve has already made some sandwiches with a thermos of tea, not coffee for Eddie's displeasure, and took some water and whatever they might need.

"We are not going to Mount Doom, are we?" Eddie asks, crunching a cinnamon cookie Steve made the night before.

"When you travel it is always better to be over-prepared." Steve says, checking for the third time if they have everything they might need. They haven't traveled a lot, but every time they have gone on holiday somewhere Eddie has just put a few clothes in a bag, while Steve made the itinerary, booked the hotels, and took care of everything. It's so nice to see him so involved in his preparation, sometimes Eddie mocks him and tells him that he takes everything too seriously, but he loves seeing Steve so absorbed.

"Ok, we should have everything. Have you finished breakfast?"

Eddie nods, takes his cup toward the kitchen, and comes back to the living room; Steve is already wearing his ski pants, and his jacket is on the couch while he helps Eddie get into his ski suit "I feel like a Puft marshmallow man." Eddie complains while Steve closes the last button of his jacket.

"You will be glad you are well covered when we get to the glacier." Steve smirks.

"To the glacier? Are you kidding? Tell me that you are kidding! Steve! Steve!" Eddie calls, following his boyfriend and then they hear a rumbling that gets louder and louder. Eddie goes toward the kitchen to look outside the window but Steve grabs him and drags him away, after that all Eddie can hear it's the static.

#whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno1 #snow #stranger things fanfiction #steddie #whump #eddie munson #steve harrington #medusapelagia #my fanfic #medusapelagia fanfic

[tabbytabbytabby]

In The Moment Of Truth

Word Count: 1,502 words

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: Merlin

Relationship: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Kidnapping, Arthur Pendragon Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Soft Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Competent Merlin (Merlin), Getting Together, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Snow, Light Angst

Summary: Merlin and Arthur are kidnapped and left for dead in the woods. Merlin’s determined to get them untied before they freeze to death, and can't understand why Arthur doesn't seem worried at all.

Read on AO3

For @whumpuary 2024 Day 1: Captivity / Snow / Secret Revealed

#whumpuary #whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno1 #captivity #snow #secret revealed #merthur #merlin x arthur #merthur fanfic #merlin #merlin fanfic #my fanfiction #yes my brain went do all three #so here we are

[firapolemos05]

Deceitful

@whumpuary AO3

Prompt 1

Captivity | Snow

Prompt 8

Muffled screams

CW: captivity, slave whump, left out in the cold, nonhuman whumpee, lady whumper, restraints, muzzles, slapping

The Champion taglist: @emmettverse , @ostensiblyfunctional , @scoundrelwithboba

It wasn't usual for the Cerulean Crescent to receive snowfall, but on occasion there'd be a winter where the temperatures drop low enough.

When you're located higher up in altitude - like Master Scarlet's manor, rested on the mountainside overlooking the valley below - the likelihood increases.

The Champion assumed the view would be appealing to those with a taste for luxury. At least when it wasn't obstructed by the darkness of night and the drowning haze of a snowstorm. He guessed many would find a more clear daytime view a pleasing sight, like a painting in a museum.

He himself never saw the appeal.

He never did like the cold.

Snow was cruelly deceitful. From afar the crystalline flakes looked harmless, coating the outside world in what many compare to a pristine, white fluffy blanket.

Another gust of bitter wind rattled his bones, and the Champion tried and failed again to pull his trembling limbs against his core in effort to keep warm. The thin silks draped over his body provided little protection.

Snow crystals were more akin to tiny knives if you asked him. Their gelid touch searing his toes where he stood. He spent several minutes earlier trying to clear away all the snow beneath his feet, but the shackles at his ankles didn't grant him much room.

He had messed up again.

Master had a guest over, some rich businessman dressed with the money he'd leached from his workers and customers. His jewelry by itself would probably pay for several bets for the Champion’s ring matches. The fabrics had so many ostentatious colors the tiefling had a hard time telling which garment was which.

Master had ordered him to serve the two. So he relayed refreshments back and forth from the servant tending the bar and the servant arriving from the kitchen. Of course, he wasn't permitted to touch any of the food or drinks, not even with his stomach gnawing in protest. The Champion’s only purpose there was to obey, be silent, and look pretty.

It certainly wasn't pretty when he tripped over the edge of the rug and sent two full glasses of red wine spilling onto the man's expensive outfit.

A desperate apology was halfway past his lips when a backhand struck him across the face. Rings painted red onto his cheek. Pain rang in his ears, dulling the sound of the man's furious yelling.

Master said not a word, but closed the distance between them before the Champion could recover. One hand waved and a spell lifted the stains from her guest's clothes. After calling for a servant to come assist the man, her other hand snatched her pet by his horns and began dragging him towards the balcony.

He knew by now that resisting would make things worse.

It hadn't been his first time on the outdoor space. When it was warm out, and when he was being well behaved, Master would allow him to accompany her outside. But tonight the cold was wet and unforgiving and the Champion was to be punished.

Master must've planned for this at some point. There were already metal chains bolted to the brick exterior wall waiting for him.

Their frigid bite snapped right to the bone.

How long has it been since she left him there? Hours? It definitely felt like it. The lashing winds seemed endless and the Champion stood unable to shield himself. The chains forced his limbs apart and all he could do was press his fingers into his palms, press his raised arms against his ears, and curl his tail around his waist. Granting meager solace to vulnerable extremities from the icy curtains raining down.

It didn't help much.

He wished he could scream. He'd already tried. Tried to call to his master and plead to be spared further torment from the elements. But it was no use with the muzzle. Master had strapped it to his face right before heading back to the heated comfort of the indoors. All his cries were muffled before they ever had a chance to echo off the mountainside.

He kept his eyes squeezed shut, afraid that the stinging gales would freeze any tears to his face. That's likely why he didn’t notice Master approach until she was snapping her fingers to get the tiefling’s attention.

He didn't understand how the frozen night wasn't bothering her.

The shackles released him, letting him fall into the snow when his feet were too numb to support his body. The wet sapped at fleeting body heat but he was too cold and too tired to do anything but shiver where he laid.

“Well?” Master’s voice rang clear above him, unfazed and apathetic. “Do you wish to return inside or not?”

Oh. So she was expecting him to drag himself back this time.

At least forcing himself to crawl across the balcony brought some feeling back into his hands.

The blissful embrace of the fireplace's warmth was only slightly dampened by Master making him apologize to the man for the spilled wine.

It was dampened far more when, instead of allowing him to curl up on the hearth, to chase away the chills trapped against his skin, she ordered him to the couch to lie in her lap.

The Champion hated how easily he submitted to it. Even more than the snow.

#whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno1 #whumpuaryno8 #captivity #muffled screams #whump writing #whumpblr #whump community #whump stuff #Narcos #Scarlet Matar #my ocs #my writing #my work #original #Xitanae tag

[suspensefulpen]

Whumpuary Day 1: Captivity | Snow

TW: Captivity, Conditioned Whumpee

@whumpuary

Emory stared out the window with a grimace. He wasn’t sure why but he hated the snow. It made him feel confused. And he didn’t like that. It was almost as if it was forcing him to remember something he doesn’t know. Maybe it wasn’t the snow. Maybe it was the color white in general that he hated. He wasn’t sure. 

“Would you like to go outside Darling?” 

He turned around and faced Athena. He shook his head. “No thank you, Miss. I like it better in here.” 

“Are you sure? You never know when it might snow again. You don't want to go enjoy it while you can?” 

He shook his head. “No. I don’t like the snow.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because it’s scary. It makes me feel like it’s trying to force me to remember something. And it’s cold! And bright.” 

Athena laughed. “Well how about I draw you a warm bubble bath then?” 

He smiled and nodded. “Yes please.”

#whumpuary #whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno1 #captivity #snow #whump #whump writing #captive whumpee #conditioned whumpee #carewhumper #my ocs #original character #creative writing #writeblr #writer things #writers on tumblr

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Whumpuary 2024 No. 1

Captivity | Snow | Secret Revealed

Whumpuary Prompts List

Context: Sam was captured a week ago when she, Rowan, Victoria, and Ollie raided a penthouse for information on how to escape the city. She still holds out hope that her team will rescue her, but she is beginning to have doubts as her captors begin to torture her.

Masterpost

TW: captivity, hypothermia, torture

“Wow, you’re still at it?”

Sam flinched and turned, glaring through the bars at her captor. “I haven’t anything else to do, icy pop.”

The woman who called herself Blizzard leaned against the wall, arms folded, observing Sam as coldly as her powers of making snow storms. Sam hadn’t heard her approach, an ability she envied Ollie for. No one could ever sneak up on them.

Blizzard hummed softly and examined her immaculate fingernails. “Perhaps if you behaved, I might be persuaded to find proper enrichment for you.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “No can do, icy pop. Endless circles around my cell works just fine for me.”

Her captor’s eyes flicked up to meet Sam’s. “Do you really still have your hopes set on your friends rescuing you? They don’t even know where we are.”

Sam waved her hand dismissively. “I’m sure Rowan has a plan for that. Ollie’s no doubt listening as hard as they can, and Victoria… Victoria’s doing everything she can to find me.”

“You have a lot of trust in those three.” Blizzard moved away from the wall to stand directly before the bars. “Funny, since they abandoned you to my mercy once they got the information you sought.”

Sam positioned herself opposite her captor. She was almost two inches taller than Blizzard, even without shoes on. “Yeah, Rowan made the logical call in the heat of the moment. But it’s better if only one of us is captured rather than all four.” She casually leaned against the bars. “I can assure you, they’re doing all they can to track me down. For all you know, they’ve already found us and are preparing to strike.” 

A flicker of doubt crossed Blizzard’s face, just for a moment. And then it was gone, back to the cool, stony mask. “If that is the case, we’ll just catch all of them this time, and you’ll have some company.”

Sam smirked. “You underestimate Rowan’s talent, Ollie’s skills, and Victoria’s stubbornness. Soon you’ll be the one behind bars.”

Blizzard scowled, no longer keeping up the cold facade. For a few seconds, she said nothing. But her face soon lit up with an idea. “It’s rather warm down here, isn’t it?”

Sam shrugged indifferently. “I dunno. Maybe that talent of yours is messing with your body temperature or something.”

“Let’s fix that.” Blizzard flicked her wrist. A small ball of fog coalesced in the palm of her hand. She swirled her fingers around, shaping it until it resembled a cloud. Nodding to herself in satisfaction, Blizzard allowed the cloud to grow until it was the size of a basketball.

Sam’s mouth went dry.

“Y’know,” Blizzard murmured, continuing to shape the cloud as it grew, “once the shield went up around this city, it stopped the weather from getting in as well as us getting out. It hasn’t naturally snowed in almost twenty years.” She held up the cloud, now the size of a beach ball. “I don’t know why you four broke into my headquarters. We still haven’t figured that part out. So I’ll cut you a deal: you tell me what information you needed and why, and I’ll let you go free.”

Sam blinked and took a step back, staring at the cloud. It swirled violently above Blizzard’s hand, freezing gusts of wind blowing snowflakes into her cell. She’d only been here a week. Ollie and the others might have figured out the next step already, but if they were caught up trying to rescue her… she couldn’t risk ruining the entire mission. They all trusted her with their lives. She had to keep that trust.

“No,” she finally said. The last thing she wanted was to endanger her friends, no matter how close or far they were from their goal. “You won’t be getting that answer from me.”

“Oh?” Blizzard cocked her head, a condescending smile on her face. “Well, that’s too bad. How about you cool off for a while and think it over, hmm?” With that, she lobbed the cloud into Sam’s cell.

Sam ducked, narrowly avoiding the ball of wind and snow. It dissipated against the far wall, sending cold wind and snowflakes across the floor. For a moment, Sam hoped nothing would happen, that Blizzard had just tossed a cloud in to scare her.

Those hopes shattered like glass when the air began to stir. The cloud reformed, floating to the top of the cell where it obscured the ceiling, churning and roiling like a pot of boiling water. The wind whipped around Sam, sending snow all about the cell. It stung like tiny needles against her bare skin.

Sam recoiled, backing into the furthest corner from Blizzard, who watched on, that same damn smile still on her face. “I think I’ll leave you to it,” she said sweetly. “I’ll be back later and perhaps you’ll have reconsidered.”

“Like hell I will!” Sam spat. The wind howled in her ears. She could barely hear her own thoughts, let alone Blizzard's words. Blizzard turned on her heel and vanished out of sight.

Another gust of wind shoved a handful of snowflakes in Sam’s face. She flinched and wiped it away, only for another flurry to attack her legs. Her pants kept it at bay, but the cold still seeped through the thin fabric. Sam dropped to the floor and pulled her knees up to her chin, giving the wind and snow as little surface area as possible.

She rubbed her arms rapidly. The temperature was falling fast. This was gonna suck. Even if Blizzard needed her alive, she would see that Sam was miserable until she gave her what she wanted. Sam closed her eyes and pressed her face against her knees. The snow stabbed into the back of her neck and her exposed arms, but Sam focused on the warmth of her breath against her knees.

Sam could do this. She could hold out as long as the others needed. They would come for her. They had to rescue her. Rowan, Victoria, Ollie, and her were a team. That’s what teams did.

So why are they taking so damn long?

Sam shuddered as the temperature dropped further. She wrapped herself into a tighter ball, conserving her body heat. It hurt to think about it, but Sam had to admit that Blizzard’s words had planted seeds of doubt. Sure, she had acted confident earlier, but now, alone in her cell as wind and snow whirled around her, she began to wonder.

Are they actually trying to find me?

Do they think I’m dead?

Are they focusing all their efforts on escape because they think I’m dead?

…did they hold a funeral?

The familiar burning sensation in Sam’s nose distracted her from her bleak thoughts.

I am not going to cry.

They will come for me.

I can get through this.

#whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno1 #captivity #snow #hypothermia #hypothermia whump #torture #torture whump #ice powers #ice villain #hero and villain #stubborn hero #stubborn whumpee #superhero story #sam ftdc #blizzard ftdc #my writing #forsaken: the doomed city #ftdc

[mybeautifulbeautifuleternal]

The minute trembling of your husband had woken you from your peaceful slumber. With bleary eyes, you peered up at the full moon that was lighting the room, the fire long since gone out. The lack of heat it provided had sent you further into the comforting arms of Aegon and it was the closeness that had allowed you to feel when the nightmares seized him tight.

It wasn’t often anymore that Aegon was gripped in the throws of bad dreams but it still happened. It broke your heart every time though. Your marriage was the best thing that had ever happened to you, Aegon topping the list easily. The gentle way he had learned to treat you with had broken through every wall you tried to put up. He had been brutal in his way through to your heart, unrelenting in his tender love and care of you, and when he finally carried your heart in his hands — he had seemingly carved out his own to place within your chest, so entwined were the pair of you.

You were incapable of not returning that fervent devotion, centering your life now around the silver haired prince that called himself yours. It was that love that had you turning in his arms to gently wake him, not wanting him to suffer any longer than he had too.

“Aegon, my love,” your words were soothing, meant to slowly drag him from his nightmare. You had seen the way his family treated him and you never wanted to continue the cycle they had started. The first time you understood how often they raised their hands towards him, you had sworn to yourself that he would only hear love and comfort and pleasure coming from your lips. “Aegon. I need you to wake up.”

It was with a sharp gasp and the strangled beginning of your name coming from his lips that saw him awake. You had jerked back quickly not wanting to knock your head into his, and it left you flat on your back. Aegon was looming above you, panting and sweating in exertion, face red and eyes brimming in tears. His eyes flew about the room wildly, only stopping on you when you dragged his face in your direction.

When he realized where he was, he collapsed onto your chest, burrowing his arms under you to cling all the more tightly to you. Soon enough, you felt his tears start to dampen your nightgown. Well used to the routine of his nightmares, you remained quiet and simply started to comb your fingers through his hair.

It must have been a couple of hours spent in silence when Aegon unearthed his face from the curve of your neck, eyes swollen and lips bitten through.

“Did you want to tell me about it?” You were quiet and unbothered, not pushing him to give you an answer. For all the fact his face was extremely expressive and he had no trouble speaking his mind, Aegon had hidden depths within him and sometimes what bubbled up during the night wasn’t something he felt like he could share.

“…You told me you didn’t love me anymore. That it was a mistake to marry me,” his words sent you heart racing despite the way he tried to whisper them. You flipped him over to his back, straddling his hips and cradling his face in your hands.

“Aegon. Aegon. My love, my life, my sun and stars, my Prince, my husband,” with each title you gave him, you placed a kiss on a part of his face, ending up whispering into his lips the most important one. “I love you. I love you. I love you. Avy jorrāelan. Please. Listen to me now, okay? I would never, ever ever ever, never tell you I don’t love you. Not anymore. I dream of you every night, I wake up thinking about you everyday. My waking hours are haunted by the thoughts of you. I swore to the Seven and to the Valyrian gods and the Northern Gods that you were mine and I do not plan on taking those vows back.”

Your speech might not have been the most elegant or put together but the more you spoke, the more unseen tension that seeped out from him, Aegon slowly relaxing back into your bed underneath you.

“Promise?” His question was asked from a little boy looking for love from his family, from a young man pushed by those that should have sheltered him, a husband scared his wife would hate him. It broke your heart to hear the cracked tone.

“With Fire and Blood if needed. I promise.”

Neither of you slept anymore that night, whiling the hours away with gentle kisses and feather-like caresses, reassuring each other of the love that you had nurtured between you.

@whumpuary

#whumpuary #Whumpuary2023 #whumpuaryno1 #tw nightmares #aegon ii targaryen imagine #house of the dragon imagine #hotd imagine #asoiaf imagine #aegon ii imagine #aegon imagine #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii #aegon the elder #hotd #house of the dragon #asoiaf #my stuff #m’s drabbles #m’s imagines #January whump

[minecraftfan11onscratch]

@whumpuary's Whumpuary 2024

Day 1-2: Captivity - Snow - Secret Revealed

Happy New Year! I accidentally made a banger! ^v^'

Anyhow, I'll essentially try to both draw and write for this event. Starting off with a bit of a personal headcanon-driven thingy for into Dreams.

[CWs: Captivity, implied feelings of claustrophobia, implied guilt and self-hatred] (note: feel free to point out if these need changing)

---

They should feel good, knowing that the Visitor with blue hair got his Ideyas back with their help, and had at least one more night to dream. Should feel good that the boy's next Nightopia, a wondrous snowland with a lively train passing by, could peacefully manifest. Feel good with the hope that perhaps, with the aid of this boy and the girl, true freedom could be in sight.

And yet, there was no way.

It was always while no Visitor or Nightopian was in sight, and/or her fellow Nightmarens were not paying attention. It was always then that staving boredom away by sharpening her acrobatic skills wasn't enough.

She knew the boy from the duo of Visitors who were proving themselves to be uniquely fabled was coming. Obviously, he was just taking the free fall to enter his dreams. She just wished he could come much sooner. If only so this... dread, of never being able to escape this prison of a gazebo could leave her alone. The fear of something terrible happening to the duo, with her being helpless to do anything.

Then again... would the duo ever help them again, if both of them knew that they were from the same kind that haunted their dreams?

The girl, on a surface level, took it well. But there was a sense of mistrust in her eyes that made the jester curse their own continued existence. The boy still remained oblivious - he finally arrived, rushing to meet the jester with a wide smile in spite of only his red Ideya remaining unscathed once again.

---

#whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno1 #captivity #snow #secret revealed #captivity cw #cw claustrophobia #nights into dreams #nights journey of dreams #sega nights #nights the nightmaren #elliot edwards #claris sinclair #(She is mentioned) #frozen bell

[lestatslestits]

@whumpuary Prompt 1 — Secret Revealed

Fandom: Broadchurch

Warnings: Medical procedures (discussed), life-threatening illness (discussed)

Word Count: 982

Loosely inspired by this photo:

“I thought we were going to lose your dad that year,” Ellie says, and Daisy’s breath catches in her throat.

“Sorry, what?”

It’s just after midnight, the earliest hours of the new year, and Daisy Hardy and Ellie Miller are huddled in the semi-darkness of the living room poring over photo albums from years past. It’s her first winter holiday home from university, and she’s feeling oddly nostalgic for a time she thought she would never miss. She’s fairly sure Ellie’s never seen most of these photos, school pictures and holidays captured in snapshots and carefully pasted into albums by the inexpert hands of Alec Hardy. Most of them are from before Daisy came to Broadchurch, documentation of a time Alec himself was scarcely present for.

2014 is particularly sparse: her relationship with her dad had been strained at best during that period. She had loved him and hated him, pushed him away and missed him so tangibly that it made her chest ache. They’ve only got one photo together from that year, a painfully self-conscious one taken by a disinterested employee at a pub in Sandbrook during one of his rare visits. It’s a family portrait of a family that no longer exists. In it, she and her mum are a cheerful group of two, while her father stands at a distance, posture tense. “You might try smiling,” her mum had sniped in that tone she kept carefully light.

It hadn’t been a great year.

Read the Rest on AO3

#whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno1 #secret revealed #broadchurch #alec hardy #broadchurch fanfiction #cw: medical procedures (mentioned) #cw: life threatening illness (mentioned)

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

Forgotten (Robert "Bob" Floyd Drabble)

Whumpuary 2023: Prompt 1. Failed Escape

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: Bob has been forgotten or overlooked his entire life. But it never really mattered.... until now.

Word Count: 512

TW: Main Character Death, Drowning

Notes: Thank you to @green-socks for looking this over for me! @marvelandotherfandomimagines and @topguncortez, you asked for this! @mayhem24-7forever..... I'm sorry 😅😬

No one ever remembered the name Robert “Bob” Floyd. They would read it on their roster or on his file and have no recollection of the face that went along with it, even when he was standing right in front of them. And when they saw him in the halls or in the rec room, everyone always whispered, “Do you know who that guy is?” even after he had been training with them for weeks. He was the sort of person who seemed to only exist when he purposefully drew attention to himself.

But this was nothing new. Bob had been experiencing this for his entire life long before he joined the Naval Academy. His mother used to say that he was special in ways others couldn’t understand. His brother used to say he was boring. Yet, whatever the reason, he had come to accept that he would spend his life in total anonymity while he blended in with the wallpaper. After all, being noticed wasn’t the most important thing in life. 

And while this was true, being noticed was very necessary in some cases….

The last day of boot camp was a team exercise where everyone was strapped into seats in an old fuselage. The fuselage was then lowered into a pool of water where all the cadets would have to undo their harnesses and escape. It was meant to simulate a pilot being shot down into a lake or ocean and the need to evacuate a sinking plane. 

All the cadets found their seats and strapped in before having their harnesses examined for safety one last time. Then, once everything was set, the fuselage was lowered into the water. For the instructors watching from dry land, nothing happened for a moment. Then, heads began to break through the surface of the water as the pilots gasped for air. As more and more of them made it out, they all cheered and the instructors helped them out of the water.

Ten minutes later, they were sure everyone had gotten out. All the cadets looked around and didn’t see anyone missing. The instructors scanned the roster and didn’t notice anyone not accounted for. It was only when one of the safety crew members asked for an official headcount that people started to realize something was wrong. They were short one cadet, though no one for the life of them could figure out who. 

It wasn’t until they pulled the fuselage out of the water and looked inside that everyone remembered that there was one recruit previously unaccounted for. One recruit who was still strapped into his chair with his glasses peeking out of his front pocket and his wet hair plastered against his pale face. One recruit in the very last seat who’s safety harness no one had bothered to check before the exercise and had failed to open. One recruit who even as they stared at his lifeless body, no one could remember the name of.

Well, after that day, no one involved ever forgot the name Robert “Bob” Floyd again.

Taglist: @loverhymeswith, @babblydrabbly, @mayhem24-7forever, @11thstreetvigilante, @merlehs, @green-socks, @sunshineflowerchild789, @shanimallina87, @topguncortez, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @hederasgarden, @callsign-phoenix, @wildbornsiren, @lt-natrace, @the-untamed-soul, @inglourious-imagines, @airhogger, @piscesvancouverite, @straightforwardly, @bonnieelizabethparker, @srry-itshockeyszn, @flyinlove, @fandomhopped, @sweetheartlizzie07, @yjwnoot, @wanderdreamer, @callsign-fox, @imjess-themess, @joalsglasses, @curlyolly, @nobody7102, @footprintsinthesxnd, @thesewordsxlibrary, @double-j, @phoenix1389, @some-lovely-day

#whumpuary #whumpuary 2023 #whumpuaryno1 #failed escape #drabble #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick #robert bob floyd #bob #lewis pullman #angst #main character death tw #drowning tw

[callaeidae3]

Whumpruary 2023 - Prompt 1

Failed escape | concussion | nightmares

@whumpuary

Kyle recovering from his concussion/head injury, trying to sleep off the worst of head pain and nausea.

He'd be in less discomfort if he hadn't been hurt after the concussion.

#whumpuary #whumpuary2023 #whumpuaryno1 #concussion #whump art #hurt comfort #whump aftermath #recovery #head injury #bandages #kindall k series #kyle kindall #yuuki takahashi #the case of kindall k #kk1

[redstringraven]

frost

whumpuary prompt 01. snow

It’s 2:34am when Leo stirs. The movement is subtle: a slow, shaken breath through his mouth and a careful adjustment of his arms beneath the blanket. He settles back into stillness, his breath evening out again, and Raph’s leg continues to bounce. He’d perched himself on the couch’s back, one foot atop the bottom of Leo’s blanket and the other--the one that bounced--planted on the couch’s unused arm. His jitters are no doubt sending small vibrations through the frame, but that’s a quarter the reason he’s doing it. He’s restless, sure. But maybe in the same way Leo heard their stories earlier, he’d be able to feel those vibrations, too. If he drifted too far… he’d have some way to find his way back. Or, that was what he told himself every time Mikey would whine under his breath and glare drowsily at him from where he’d wedged himself between Leo and the couch’s back. With every bleary stare Raph would grunt, shrug, and Mikey would huff like a dejected dog, shoving his face back into the blanket’s folds.

continue reading on ao3

characters: raph, leo, splinter, mikey, april rating: g word count: 1730 relevant tags: raph-centric, post-tales of leo, emotional hurt

#tmnt 2003 #tmnt 2k3 #whumpuary2024 #tmnt raph #tmnt raphael #whumpuaryno1 #;hannah writes #;tmnt #;raphael #[ i started a handful of these; let's see how many i can will into completion ] #[ got damn i'm rusty ]

[truthdawn]

first whumpuary prompt of the month done. might write a story to go with this if im feeling it :]

alt vers. with text below the cut

#whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno1 #snow #4factions #the story would most likely be shitty but whatever #he’s fine dw :)

[melanie-ohara]

Oh, The Weather Outside is Frightful

Whumpuary2024, Day 1 - Prompt: Snow

In which everyone's favourite spiky space girlfriend has a bad time in the snow

AO3 here

It was supposed to be a simple supply run. No need to trouble the Tempest while they were on shore leave, just take a shuttle from the bay and run it down to Voeld, drop off the supplies to the angaran scouts, and be back before Kallo's pre-flight checks. Easy.

The angara weren't answering her hails. 

"This is Initiative supply shuttle VN-212, please respond," Vetra repeated. Static filled the shuttle's cabin as she waited for a response. She could see their vehicle on the scope, parked at the rendezvous as expected, comm. receiver raised. The silence was unnerving. The old Vetra would have immediately expected a trap and hit the thrusters to clear out of the system without looking back, but now she was worried about the Resistance scouts - if they'd lost power out here, the temperature would kill them long before any help could arrive. They might already be dead. She should leave, but if Ryder was with her she'd insist on going down to check.

"Damn you, Sara," Vetra cursed as she brought the nose of the shuttle about. "VN-212, coming in for a landing," she said, and considered warning them that she was armed. If it was a trap though, she wanted them thinking she didn't suspect anything. There was a prickle in the back of her scalp the whole time the shuttle descended that insisted she should just leave, and that this was a bad idea, and that her contacts were already dead, and that she was walking into a trap. Vetra ignored all of her suspicions. There was one small angaran transport, which could seat - at most - four potential attackers, and she was more than capable of putting down four targets. The insulation on the transport's hull made it impossible to scan for lifeforms inside, but there was nothing in a ten mile radius around the rendezvous point. At that range, the only weapon that even had a chance of hitting her was a kett sniper rifle, and her shields would hold long enough to get back to the shuttle. Unless they're a really good shot, she thought to herself, but pushed the thought out of her mind as the shuttle settled neatly on the snow. 

Vetra buckled her helmet on and hit the door release, and even through the layers of hardsuit insulation she felt the sting of the freezing air. It hit the filters on her suit hard and she could taste the ice in it when she breated in, but it still beat the stale recycled air of the Nexus. It wasn't snowing at least, but it was getting dark as the sun set behind her. The late evening would give her an advantage: she was approaching the transport out of the sun, and the light bouncing off the snow would make her harder to target. 

The total silence was loud in Vetra's ears. The only thing her suit microphone was picking up was the crunch of her boots on the snow and the rattling of her breath inside the helmet. The shuttle idling behind her on reserve power barely registered, and a quick scan with her omni-tool revealed the transport ahead of her was powered down and cold, like it had been sitting there for hours. She paused. The temperature guage on her HUD read -52.2 degrees centigrade, and unless angaran hardsuits were significantly superior to their Nexus equivalants, all she would find inside would be four frozen angara, huddled together around a long-extinguished heat lamp. She didn't need to see that.

Vetra turned around, and managed one step back towards the shuttle when the transport detonated. The force was staggering and the sonic shock blew out her helmet speakers for a moment, leaving her ears ringing as she tumbled into the snow. She forced herself back to her feet as fast as she could, yanking her rifle out of the magnetic socket so fast she nearly caught her fingers in the release mechanism. Neither the targeting computer in her HUD or built into the gun could find a threat, but she dropped to one knee and waited for her shields to buckle under fire anyway.

The transport had to have been rigged. Crates of explosives in the crew compartment. Only Vetra had turned away before it blew up, which meant it wasn't on a proximity trigger and that someone was watching. She got to her feet. There was no point hanging around here waiting for the kett or the Roekarr or Outlaws to pop their ugly heads out of the snow, and she wasn't letting them take the supplies they had set up this ambush for. Vetra started back towards the shuttle, keeping her rifle steady in her shoulder as she scanned around for the would-be thieves. 

And then her omni-tool pinged to warn her of an incoming explosive payload. A big one. Someone had launched a Spirits-damned missile at her shuttle, and there was no way she could get in and power it up in time to evade it. 

"Fuck you," Vetra cursed, and then started running. Her shuttle exploded with three or four times the force of the transport, and even though she'd had a head start this time it still launched her off her feet and tossed her into a snowdrift like a ragdoll. Her hardsuit complained about the hard landing, but nothing broke, and Vetra rolled onto her back and clawed powdered snow off the visor of her helmet. The wreckage of the shuttle burned hot enough to raise the temperature to a more survivable level, but all of the long range comms equipment had been inside. Along with the supplies. Whoever was out there watching had just destroyed the only valuables for hundreds of miles rather than let her back onboard. Vetra understood a scorched earth response, but if they had been banking on their bomb killing her with no backup plan they clearly weren't good at thievery. Maybe when she hunted them down she'd teach them a thing or two before she gave them to Kesh and Kandros to deal with. 

Her HUD told her the missile wasn't a nuclear or a resonant warp warhead, so it was safe to approach the shuttle. She wondered, as she watched the flames start to flicker out, why nobody was shooting at her - and then realised with an appropriately cold flood of dread that she was stranded in punishingly freezling temperatures with no hope of rescue. Eventually the Nexus would send a team out to look for her, but by the time she was missed… Bile rose in her throat and she forced it back down. Sara would insist on coming. Whoever had trapped her here would ambush her too. Dimly, Vetra noticed an alert pulsing on her HUD that told her she was hyperventilating. She ignored it and surrendered to the panic until her legs started to wobble and she had to choose between sitting down and falling. Vetra dropped to her knees first, and then leaned forwards until she was curled into a ball with her visor pressed into the snow until she couldn't see the wreck of the shuttle, and turned off her HUD so she couldn't see the insistent low temperature warning. Her brain pounded in her skull. What would Ryder do without her? Or Drack? What would Syd - don't think about Syd. Even at the head-swimming height of panic, Vetra refused. Instead, she forced herself to think about breathing. It was too fast now, and shallow and ragged. Air came into her lungs in gulps, but she needed more. 

In. Out. 

Again. Slower. 

In. Out. 

In.

Out. 

Finally, the panic abated. Vetra's limbs were stiff and cold, but she made them unfurl and slowly straightened her back until she was sitting up again, feeling drained and shaky, but stable enough to stand. Between getting to her feet and picking up her rifle, she ran through all the procedures from the Initiative cold weather survival manual and confirmed none of them could help her out here. No shelter she could build from the wreckage or from compacting the snow would keep out the cold, especially when the wind picked up or a blizzard set in. All she could do now was try and stop the rescue team flying into a trap, and the only chance she had at that was to walk as far as she could and hope the tracking chip in her armour had enough power to ping the Tempest when it came in range. Her odds weren't good. She started to walk.

The cold was brutal. As night set in the temperature dropped even further, registering 62 degrees below freezing before Vetra turned off the system to save power. After half an hour, she couldn't feel her fingers. The medigel dispensors would prevent frostbite setting in, but wouldn't keep her warm - that was down to the life support system, which circulated heated gel through conduits under the armour plate and was quickly running out of power. It was hard work, stripping her rifle while walking, but she needed the extra power cell. She'd carried it for years, but when parts slipped through her aching, nerve-less fingers she let them fall into the snow and stay there. 

By the time Vetra had walked what she estimated to be about ten miles, she didn't feel anything any more. It wasn't just her fingers and feet now, the numbness extended up her arms and legs and into one shoulder. She wasn't even sure she was still holding her rifle, but she didn't bother looking to find out. It was a useless lump of polymer and metal now, not even long enough to lean on for support when her legs started to give out and she dropped into the snow. Four times, now, she thought to herself. Ryder would call her clumsy as she helped her back to her feet and slapped a heat pack onto the back of her neck. Vetra wanted to wish she was there with her, but that would mean subjecting her to these temperatures and right now she wouldn't do that to the kett.

The kett.

Why blow up the shuttle with all of those supplies inside when they were so valuable to the Resistance? She rolled over onto her back in the snow, and watched something dark and ugly carve through Voeld's aurora as it circled overhead. Liam had shown them all a vid once, where big black birds hovered over a corpse in the desert. 

Because the supplies weren't what they were after. They were after her. 

Idly, she wondered if it was her, Vetra Nyx, the kett had laid the trap for, or if they just needed more Miky Way subjects. Even with the Archon dead, they knew there were more exaltation facilities that Apex hadn't found. The kett shuttle came into view properly now, shiny bug-green hull reflecting the light of the aurora overhead as it settled down. 

Vetra hadn't been with Ryder when she rescued the Moshae, over a year ago, but she had seen the footage from her helmet cam, and it scared her so much that even death in the snow seemed preferable now. But her legs would no longer obey her. She could crawl, but she wouldn't get far. Her gun was long gone. 

"Record," Vetra croaked. She hadn't realised just how dry her throat was until she tried to speak, but she had to say it again before the VI understood her. She could hear footsteps approaching in the snow, less than fifty paces away. Setting her jaw, she unlatched the helmet clasps with fingers that wouldn't even bend any more and struggled to get the thing off her head. The cold lashed at her like a living thing with talons, and she could feel her watering eyes blurring as her unshed tears froze in place. 

Twenty paces.

Vetra hoped it was dark enough that the approaching kett soldiers wouldn't be able to make out what she was doing as she scraped at the snow with her elbow and then forced the helmet into the gap, trying to tilt it so the camera would be able to pick up the shuttle as it left. 

She didn't feel their bony hands wrap around her arms until they were dragging her away. Vetra kicked up snow as they moved her so they wouldn't see the helmet sticking out of the ground, but they were focused on getting back to their ship before the cold started to cut at them too. Briefly, Vetra felt a touch of relief that at least she was going inside before the freezing blackness overtook her and she went limp in her captors' arms.

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