victory-musings
Slapping that brain meat together
Ramblings and musings of the ocassional writer <3
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BETTER DAYS ARE A TOENAIL AWAY
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Whumptober 2023: Day 31
PTSD / Headaches /Crying
They've never been... Right, since their exile. A former tyrant, who's confidende and bravado were known far and wide across the land. They were known for their ruthlessness, their brutality.
But now, they're oh so far from that image. The once-feared leader, who struck dread into the hearts of fellow reploids...
Was sitting in a corner, in their creators makeshift lab, their head between their knees and their arms covering their wild blue hair. They look so... Small, like this. Fragile, almost. Their slender frame trembling as they damn near shake themself to pieces.
No one's sure what caused the reaction, really. Things has been going well. Or, as well as they could. The exile had been willing to talk, now that they were repaired enough to do so. About to talk about why they'd been found in the desert, half-buried and very much no longer active...
When there had been a harsh, buzzing sound. The crackle of the speakers that ran through the base. And it was like a switch had gone off inside them, and they'd gone from sitting on a chair to scrambling into a corner, trying oh so hard to hide away.
No danger to be seen, but yet, they reacted like it was a life or death situation.
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Whumptober 2023: Day 30
Posession / Mind Games / Coma
She is not used to him being so... Still.
Rinzu sighs, her fingers gently brushing a few strands of black hair out of her young apprentice's face. Her ears stand at attention, as if she is expecting him to complain about it, to say he's not a kid, and he doesn't need her to try and mother him like that.
But he is silent, save for his laboured breathing. An awful, wheezing sound, stuttery and weak. He does not react to the touch, his body still and cold.
Her ears flick back, unable to hide both her disappointment and dread.
"C'mon, kid. You gotta wake up soon..."
But it's been days, since he summoned that. Thing. Used his own blood and body to bring some horrid, draconic beast from the very depths of the earth.
She was sure that thing was from the deadrealms themselves.
He'd collapsed, after that. Trembling all over, his eyes rolled back, his delicate limbs jerking and twitching.
And he'd gone still in her arms, as she'd tried to drag him back to the safehouse. So still and so quiet, like death itself.
And that was how he had stayed. Even now, he shows no signs of waking.
She's unsure if he'll ever wake again.
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Whumptober 2023: Day 29
Alternate Prompt: Gunshot Wound
One generally, usually, does not... Survive. A gunshot wound.
Or multiple.
But Beacon was not usual. Far from it. He had been left, upside down, lifeless and limp, aboard the space colony. Another casualty to the government shut down, it was thought. Another possible monster, destroyed before it could harm any innocents.
But no such luck. It's a painfully long time, as wounds knit themselves back together. As organs resume function, unable or unwilling to decay. A heart that begins to beat, and lungs that begin to breathe.
It's as if he was never shot at all. Blinking slowly, flipping himself over so he wasn't stuck in the same position he'd been in for... Months? Years?
Incredibly stiff, as he rises to his feet. The area around him is dark, and he can't hear anybody... None of the people in the white coats, who had been so kind to him, or the people with the loud sticks, who had hurt him...
One unsteady footstep. And then another. An almost zombie-esque gait. Dazed, and sore, and feeling sick... He isn't sure why he's walking, exactly. Just that he is.
Just that he needs to find... Someone. He was supposed to protect her.
But he has no idea where she is.
And no idea that she's dead.
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Whumptober 2023: Day 28
Whumpee Hair Pulling / Oxygen Deprivation / Sweating
Poisons are such a fickle thing. So deadly, and yet often so hard to detect. Hidden in plain sight... Inside a meal, or on the edge of a blade, or the tip of an arrow.
Florian was no stranger to poisons. Both using them and being on the recieving end of them. But not usually one so... Potent. That takes his breath away.
He was stuck, flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling of the tavern. Completely unaware that a rival bandit had slipped something into his drink. The brutish man stands above him, taunting him, and he cannot move.
He cannot move. And he cannot breathe, as the poison courses through his body. Awake and alert, but unable to move. His chest refuses to rise or fall, his lungs refuse to work. It's a burning feeling, as his body starts to whine and groan at the lack of air. Still trying, oh so hard, to take a breath, but being unable to.
A heavy boot on his chest simply adds insult to injury. Pushing down, squeezing out any air that may have been left. He's seeing stars, his vision pulsing in and out, as he struggles against his own body betraying him.
"Aw. What's the matter? Giving up already, are you?"
Everything's blurry now, in slow motion. The burning in his chest has become a calm numbness, that spreads through his body, deep into his limbs.
"Y'not giving up yet. We have so much fun to have."
The last thing he sees is the other man, standing over him, a cruel grin on his face.
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Whumptober 2023: Day 27
Forgotten / Locked Away / Immortal
Perhaps being forgotten to time isn't always such a terrible thing. Perhaps it is a blessing in disguise, to some Dragonkin.
In the future, Atlas will be found. And he will be awoken. And he will have to deal with his guilt, his trauma, the fact that he is one of the last remnants of a dying breed.
But now is not that time. For now, he is Forgotten. An anecdote in history that most would simply skim over. No one knows what happened, the day his kingdom fell, and so assumed him dead.
The ancient beast rumbles softly, twitching in his sleep, shifting some of the fallen leaves that cover his bright red scales.
He has been forgotten. And so he sleeps.
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Whumptober 2023: Day 26 (Part 3!)
Came back Wrong
"One. T-Two."
No. Incorrect. Try it again.
They take a breath, looking at themself in the mirror. It shouldn't be hard, to get back to what they were. They were perfection, and so perfection they shall be. It will just take some time.
They were heavily damaged, after all. Some hiccups are to be expected.
"One. Two. Th-Three."
Nope. That's a stutter. Stop doing that.
A deeper breath, this time, as they glare at their reflection. The blue-eyed reploid that looks back at them isn't who they used to be. They will have to change that, when they are well again. When they are perfect again.
For now, they must focus on practicing their speech. How would they face the crowds again, if they cannot even say a few words without stuttering?
They will start with something easy. They will count to five. That is all they want to do.
"O-O-One."
An annoyed huff, their hands slamming onto the counter. That was even worse! Good going! Now you can't even get past one!
"O-O-O-One! O-o..."
A growl in their throat, as they stare at the blue-eyed mimic in the mirror.
"I. I. I. Ha-ha-hate you."
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Whumptober 2023: Day 26 (Part 2)
Curse
They had told him that his blood was cursed, though he never truly believed it. They had told him that it was his mother's blood, that had cursed him so. Whispers and mutters of things that they dare not say to his face when he was younger. The word spat like venom in his direction, like his very existence was something filthy.
"Vampire.", the nobles of the Photian courts had hissed at him, behind his back. A leech. A parasite. A horrid thing that could not survive without feeding off the blood of others.
He had not believed it, at the time. His mother had been the light of his life, so kind and loving. She would give up her life to protect him.
In fact. She had.
But then. He'd had an accident. He'd died. And he'd woken up again, his cursed blood bringing him back in a new form.
At first, he had felt no different. The same old Ferdie, all smiles and glitter and good vibes.
But the hunger had soon began. Not for food, it no longer filled him. And water seemed to burn his throat. No.
He was different now.
A leech.
A parasite.
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Whumptober 2023: Day 26 (Part 1)
ALL OF TODAY'S PROMPTS ARE SO GOOD SO I JUST.
Magical Injury/Exhaustion
He's so... Cold.
One of her blood, who has the magic of flames within him, should not be so cold.
He is cold. And he is still. But she knows that he still lives. She had not crawled her way into the deadrealms, and collected him herself, for him to die again. Not like this.
She bundles her poor descendant into her arms, holding him as if he were made of glass; a delicate, breakable thing. It has been many years, since she has held a child in her arms. He is so light, and so young, and so very still.
Outwardly, there are no injuries. No reason for one so full of fire to be so cold and quiet. But yet, Kalama knows the reason. She had heard of his exploits, how one so young had set the place he called home ablaze, in a beautiful inferno that only her blood would allow.
But her descendant, her Yuko, was not trained in her gift. It had burned him out.. Physically. Mentally. The fire in his blood, that kept him alive, had turned from a raging flame to a whimpering ember.
So she holds him close. And she shares her heat, her blood. He is so cold, but she is so hot, leaving red marks on his pale skin, where his meets hers.
It hurts her, to near-burn him like this. But if she does not, she will lose him again. And she will not lose the last link she has to her bloodline.
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Whumptober 2023: Day 25
Nightmares / Flashback / "Why didn't you save me?"
It's not unusual, for Burlap to toss and turn in his sleep. Ever since he was a pup. he has been a restless sleeper, a frequent haver of night terrors. So it's another night, where he twitches and tosses and whines, almost pathetically, as he's stuck inside his own head.
But what is he seeing? What scares him so?
It's a snowy field, as it always is. The frigid wind rips through his fur, chilling him to the very bone. In his arms, a child he no longer recognises, floppy and lifeless, bubbles of gold at the edges of his pale lips.
He does not know why his heart aches, he has seen dead children plenty of times. Life has not been kind to him, or the others that he travels with. But this child, the one he sees in this recurring nightmare, makes it feel like his heart his breaking.
At least, until the next part, perfectly rehearsed. The child's eyes will open, glassy and unseeing, and a wicked grin will spread across his bloodstained face. The howling begins, in time with the wind, a cacaphony of noise that makes his own ears bleed.
The stench of blood and sickness and decay, as the child starts to move. Hands that decompose in rapid time make their way around his throat, and the child pins him down with a strength he never had in life.
"It's not fun, is it? It's not FUN being unable to breathe, is it?"
Burlap can only try and choke out a reply, his head spinning.
"Why did you let it happen to me? Why didn't you care? Why didn't you try?"
When his hands reach up, to try and pry the ones off his throat, his claws touch bone.
"Why didn't you try? Why didn't you? Why didn't you? WHY DIDN'T YOU?!"
He awakens, moments before he falls into the blackness forever. His hands grasp at his throat, only to find that there's nothing there. His chest heaves with each breath he takes, gulping in greedy lungfuls of air.
He puts one arm over his face, letting out a whispered "ffffuck.", upon the realisation he's had that dream again.
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Whumptober 2023: Day 24
Failed Escape / Hunted Down / Too Exhausted to Keep Running
There's only so long they can keep up this game of cat and mouse. They're not sure how long it's even been, really, since they started running. Months? Years? The sun has set and risen and set again, so many times that they have lost count.
It's here, however, that their journey reaches its end. One would think that a machine, a body of gears and springs and electricity, would be unable to grow exhausted... But yet, here they are, sinking down against the side of an old warplane, ancient technology that they could not even hope to understand.
It's cold against their back, a small gasp catching in their chest. One would think, yet again, that one used to living on the run would no longer flinch at such things... But yet. When their life before had been nothing but a guilded cage? Luxury but no freedom? They were naive.
On some level, they know that sitting down was a terrible idea. Now that they are down, they will not be getting back up. And with the red lights that follow them? They will not last.
Though perhaps it is not the lights, that they will need to worry about. They are not the only players in this game. As the former leader closes their eyes, hoping for a quick rest, perhaps, they hear the familiar hum of a laser-based weapon.
They open one eye, faintly aware of the pinkish hue of a laser sword held at their throat, their former guardian glaring daggers at them from above.
They just close their eye again, exhaling deeply and forcing their body to relax.
"D-Do it. I'm ti-tired of... Fi-fi-fight...fi-fighting."
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Whumptober 2023: Day 23
Begging / Take me Instead / Forced to Watch
She shivers, taking in a shaky breath as his eyes open. She's been waiting for long, for him to recover from the last bleeding. She had almost been sure the other idiots in the Council had taken too much from her dearest pet, and that she would never see those pretty eyes again. And it would be ever such a shame, if she never got to see those eyes, so much like the Holy Lady's, ever again.
She gives him a moment to focus, a coy little smile dancing on her lips as his eyes lock onto hers. He groans, not all that pleased with her presence, but Nel persists regardless, running her hands over the fresh cuts on his neck.
Her pet flinches, trying to pull away, but not having the strength to. He looks at her with such sad, pleading eyes, as if silently wondering what he's done to deserve this fate.
And truthfully? All he's done is exist! All he's done is share blood with the Holy Lady. If it wasn't him, it would have been the King of the Photian Kingdom. Or one of his children.
It just so happened that her pet was the easiest to grab.
"How are you feeling~"
That usual, sing-song tone to her voice, as she leans in close. He can talk, sometimes. But his voice is often so... faint.
He moves his lips, and she leans in even closer, entertaining the idea of listening to him.
"Pl-Please..."
A desparate, begging tone.
"Let... Le-Let me die..."
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Whumptober 2023: Day 22
Whipping / Punishment / Stress Position
"Nay, m'lord. I've had worse."
But yet, he doesn't argue, as Apollo so gently bandages his hand. It's a song and dance they're familiar with, by now. Braid will say something smart to the queen, and she will respond with punishing him for daring to speak out of turn.
And Apollo. His beloved Apollo, the king, will patch him back up in secret, scolding him for being so reckless in hushed tones.
Some times, it's as simple as this. A knife through the hand; painful, but something he's used to, from his life before the palace.
Other times, it's something so much worse. Sometimes, he'll wake up in Apollo's arms, broken and beaten, a hair away from death.
And other times, again, it's something else. Emotional damage. The things that woman can make them do, with her dark magic... Sometimes, it's just that Apollo has to hold him, as he cries.
So, today? A knife in the hand?
He's had worse.
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Whumptober 2023: Day 21
Blood Loss / Shock / Near Death Experience
There's only so many things one can go through in a day, before their brain simply decides that is Too Much, and that it needs to shut down emotional responses before the person it's connected to simply curls up and dies.
And that day was today, for the boy with dragon's blood. Moving with a cold, calculated gait, as if he isn't covered in the teal, glowing blood of his mother. As if he hasn't been exiled from the only place he has ever called home, chased down like some kind of wild animal.
He did not kill her. He knows this. He knows that he is innocent. And he knows who the killer is, he saw the youngest prince, with his claws and teeth and hands stained with that shimmering, sparking teal.
But yet, he continues on. Physical and Emotional pain shoved far, far down, forced to be the last thing on his list of priorities. Right now, his goal is to survive. To run far, far away, away from the castle, away from the cities. Far away, from all he has known. The broken arm, twisted by the rough hand of palace guards, is not an issue. The arrow in one leg, that would have downed him, in any other circumstance? Irrelevant; he can cry about those when he is safe.
But even one with the blood of dragons can not run forever. Eventually, fatigue will set in. Eventually, he will fall, and be unable to get up again. He will be forced to a stop, laying in the mud. And he will be forced to deal with the happenings of the day.
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Whumptober 2023: Day 20
Dehumanization / Stockholm Syndrome / Master and Servant
This one is going under a readmore because
You know
Pointing at the name of the prompt.
Elio Has A Time.
"Come on, now... Breathe for me, pet."
She loves the way he shivers at her touch. How pliant he is. Malleable. Such a perfect, pretty little plaything, so pale and cold and quiet.
The man is sitting on an ancient throne, so still and silent. And Nel is sitting on his lap, amusing herself by exploring the marks on his neck, where her fellow council members have drained him. Again and again and again.
Never enough to kill. Oh no. They need him alive, at least for the moment. But they drink, and drink, and leave him teetering on the edge, far too many times.
She hums, taking a moment to brush some matted ginger stands out of his face. She wants to see those eyes of his. Such a fascinating shade, so glossy and unfocused. She's not sure if he can even see her, as she holds his head in her hands, and stares deeply into his eyes.
Call it an obsession, if you must. But this sacrifice, this piece of meat, is a living piece of their Holy Lady. And Nel wants to be as close to him as possible, as close to the Holy Lady as possible.
He mumbles, incoherent, though Nel thinks she hears a 'no' in there, and she smiles, nuzzling against the crook of his neck.
"Shh. You know I'd never hurt you."
She runs her thumb over one of his cheeks, purring in delight as he seems to lean into the touch. Though, really, she knows it's simply because he's drifting off again, too weak to stay awake.
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Whumptober 2023: Day 19
Taken for Granted / Left Behind / "Why wasn't I enough?"
He had remained stoic, while they buried his father. Even at his age, a child, he had known that someone had to remain strong. Someone had to be the emotional crutch, a rock for others to rely on.
Papa had needed him the most, after father's passing. So he had stayed at Papa's side, shoving his own feelings of heartache down, down, down, until they were hidden oh so well. He can feel them later, when his Papa feels better.
So for the next few days, weeks? He loses track of time, this is the new normal. Helping Papa get up. Reminding him to eat. Reminding him to look after the baby, the one that father died to bring into this world.
It's not an easy existence, but it's his. And he still has Papa, despite it all.
So why, then, does he wake up one day, to find his Papa's gone? Up and vanished in the middle of the night, never to be seen again. The other adults are angry, on his behalf, furious, their voices raised, their body language frightening.
He sits, his back against a ruined wall, holding the baby in his hands. The baby who's crying, fussing at the noise. The baby who took his father from him.
And. Clearly, in his baby brain, the baby took his Papa, too. He hadn't cried, or fussed, or killed their father. It wasn't his fault, that his Papa had grown tired of it and left.
He lets out a little growl, his fingernails digging into the baby's back. Perhaps a bit too hard. And perhaps on purpose. A little harder. The growl a little louder.
The baby, previously just fussy, a small whimper, starts to scream.
#;Whumptober#ailesswhumptober#;Salt#;Percival#;OC#SEVEN YEAR OLD HAS THE WORST TIME OF HIS DAMN LIFE
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Whumptober 2023: Day 18
Fever / Vomiting / Warm Soup
Her little brother is sick.
Her little brother is sick, and she is so very overwhelmed. She is a child, herself, no older than 12, and her little brother is even smaller, an infant.
And he is sick.
She sits with her back against the wall, holding the jackal pup in her arms. He's warm, so warm, and his body heat alone is enough to make her warm, too.
He is warm, and he is restless, wiggling and kicking in her arms. He cries if she holds him. And he cries if she puts him down, his arms up as he reaches for her.
So she picks him up again, rubbing his back, trying to soothe him. And he cries and kicks and howls, until she has no choice but to put him down again.
Her little brother is sick. And she doesn't know what to do.
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Whumptober 2023: Day 17
Hypothermia / Heat Stroke / "You look a little pale"
His legs shake, as he holds on to the nearby table for support. Another day, another denizen who was less than pleased with the fortune that they had been given. As much as Corey tried to explain that it's not absolute, that his fortunes are more guidelines than anything, the other had shown their disdain with physical violence. Was there any need for a beat down? No. Did he get one? Yeah.
Already frail, and in ill health, Corey had taken the attack about as well as one would expect. Folded over the table where he lays his cards, struggling to catch his breath. He's pretty sure they broke a rib or three, the way his chest aches. Every shuddering breath causes a crunching, grinding noise.
But yet. The show must go on. The familiar jingle of someone entering his little shack. He stands up straight, despite the pain, taking note of the one who enters. A young man, about his age, with golden hair and kind eyes.
The stranger looks him up and down, his expression shifting from one of curiousity, of excitement, to one of concern.
"Are you alright? You look... You look a little pale."
Corey grimaces, though he's trying to smile. Honest.
"M'always pale. Come and... Take a seat."
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