#space whump

[whumpingaround]

*deep inhale*

S P A C E W H U M P

spaceships crashing. aliens that aren’t exactly friendly. problems with nuclear reactors. exposure to the elements. all the good shit.

[redd956]

Space Themed Whump Prompt List

Whump for the space and horror lovers

Whumpee's protective facial wear cracked during a quick moment of violence. Slowly the outer world is seeping in. Maybe whumpee is slowly losing their breathable air, maybe something hazardous is creeping in.

The space ship turned smaller and smaller as whumpee drifted away from it. They pressed the mayday button of their suit, but instead watched the silhouettes of their crew start the ship and head the opposite direction.

Alien whumpee has become a specimen to observe aboard the ship. They spend their days watching astronauts pass by, slowly learning to tell the difference between the suits. Caretaker has that strange scratch on their "face", and whumper's "hands" are blue instead of blinding white.

Whumper gives whumpee tainted oxygen, slowly poisoning and asphyxiating them. An enemy astronaut notices whumpee's loopy behavior.

Alien whumper won't let astronaut whumpee leave. Whumper's taken to murdering other astronauts to keep whumpee's oxygen going, and suit repaired.

Whumper and whumpee become abandoned on a dangerous alien planet. They're forced to work together if they want to survive, but whumper's violent behavior fails to stop.

After their ship is beaten and battered multiple whumpees are forced to land in dangerous territory that holds other intelligent creatures. Alien caretaker is very confused by these bulky and injured crashlanders, but they can't let these strange creatures suffer.

[aceofwhump]

Whumptober 2023

Day 25: Storm

The Martian

@whumptober @whumptober-archive

[galaxywhump]

A Lesson in Cooperation

[An Immortal Among Stars Masterlist]

contents: lady whump, immortal whumpee, captivity, a lot of dying, torture, asphyxiation, cutting, implied surgery, briefly mentioned eye gore.

~~~

Every time someone called Karita the immortal, it was terrible news.

She tried to be secretive, and usually she succeeded, but every once in a while someone would find out. There were people strongly attuned to magic of all sorts who could sense something strange about her and piece it together; there were those who simply saw her come back to life; and there were the most mundane ways, finding her old photographs, mentions of her in documents, because no matter how hard she tried, she could never fully erase her existence from the records.

Which meant, of course, that those in power were the most likely to find out about her secret.

"So, you're the immortal I've read so much about," Princex Yari drawled with a sly smile, looking down at Karita, who answered with her best look of confusion.

"Excuse me?" She frowned. "I-I think you got the wrong person. Your Highness," she rushed to add, her eyes widening as she put her entire heart into playing the part of a confused, intimidated mortal.

It rarely worked, and judging by the princex's laughter, this time it did not.

"Don't lie to me," they said, giving one of the guards standing by their side a nod. "I can easily test it."

Karita let out a terrified gasp when the guard handed the princex a dagger, shiny and bejeweled, more of a beautiful accessory than a weapon.

"No, please!" she choked out, struggling in the guards' grip. "Please, I swear I don't know what Your Highness is talking about, I'm not immortal!"

"That's just too bad." Yari shrugged, approaching her. "If you're telling the truth… Well, I'm terribly sorry, and I hope you had a good life."

The freezing blade was pressed to her throat, making her shudder, and with a quick precise cut her fate was sealed.

"Have you ever considered becoming an actress?" Yari asked, giddy with excitement, as soon as she came back to life. "I'm sure you'd shine in death scenes."

She glared at them, abandoning her wholehearted impression of normality.

"What do you want from me, Your Highness?" Her voice was dripping with venom.

"Information," they replied, leaning down to be closer to eye level with her. "A lot of information."

"I'm not telling you shit," Karita sneered. She saw stars when her reply earned her a hard slap to the face. It was annoying more than anything, but it drove a different point home: once again, she was a captive, after a mere few years of peace.

"Maybe you won't have to. All I need is your full cooperation."

"That's not gonna happen either."

"Really?" Yari raised one eyebrow, still smiling. "I think my offer is quite sensible, especially considering what will happen if you refuse."

"Oh? Then why don't you tell me about it?"

She had been presented with many offers she couldn't refuse throughout her life. It always turned out that she could, in fact, refuse, and the consequences were bearable. There wasn't much that could scare her into submission.

"Like I said, I need information. Information about the Serpent Cluster.”

Karita frowned. Serpent was a lost cluster, taken over long ago by loosely organized groups of the underworld, now a death sentence to any ship that passed too close. The cluster was being monitored as much as it could be, which wasn’t a lot, and for decades there had been plans and promises to deal with it once and for all, but it wasn’t going to be an easy operation, and as years passed, the groups ruling over the cluster only continued to grow stronger. No-one had been stupidly brave enough to venture there, including Karita - she wouldn’t lose her life in the cluster, sure, but she knew better than anyone that there were fates worse than death.

“I don’t have any.”

“I know,” Yari said with a patient smile. “But you’re going to get it for me.”

“What, you expect me to just waltz in there and ask around?”

“No, of course not. We’ll go with a more stealthy approach.”

“We?” Karita snorted, even as fear started to set in. “I’m not going to cooperate and you know it.”

“Yes, you are. Anyway, the plan is as follows: We’re going to put implants right here.” Before Karita could react, Yari grabbed the sides of her head and ran their thumbs behind her ears, pressing down to the point of pain. “They’re going to record everything you hear while you’re there, and send it directly to us. It’s only sound, but it will have to do for the most part.”

“No?” Karita stared at them in disbelief. “You’re not putting that crap in me.”

Yari sighed.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, immortal? I’m a princex. I’m in charge here, and right now I control you. You can act tough all you want. In the end, you’ll do exactly what I want you to do.”

“No,” Karita repeated and shook her head. “You can’t force me. What are you going to threaten me with? Death?”

“Actually, yes. In a way,” Yari laughed, and gestured at the guards, who grabbed Karita by the arms and started leading her - or more like dragging her - out of the room. Her thoughts were racing, her heartbeat frantic, as she tried to guess what the princex had in store for her. She had died more times and in more ways than she could count; mundane, horrific, suicide, murder, freak accidents, magic. She had suffered, she had been mutilated, there was nothing that could sway her and convince her that going to the Serpent Cluster to act as a spy was the better alternative.

She was pretty confident, until she started to realize where she was being taken.

She pulled. She tried to dig her heels in, to stop the guards, to free herself, to do something, and maybe she was wrong, but there it was, the airlock, and two people in spacesuits, and the vast universe outside.

No. 

She was paralyzed with terror at this point, which didn’t happen often - she had learned long ago to act no matter what, to fight through the fear, not let it overpower her, but this-

The star exploded.

She could’ve been there, on one of the destroyed planets, fire, burning, melting, ice, freezing, floating in nothingness, no hope of ever being found.

Sturdy manacles were closed on her wrists and ankles. Yari appeared in front of her, holding a helmet.

“So,” they said, taking in her terrified expression, “it’s just death, isn’t it? You’ll be fine, no matter how long you’re there. I still haven’t decided, to be honest. Let’s say… six hours, and then I’ll ask for your cooperation again. Then… we’ll see.”

"No." The word left her before she could stop herself, and that was it for acting tough. They knew how scared she really was. 

She wasn't going to be there forever, though, or even for several days, months, years. Six hours to start with, after which…

She couldn’t agree. She just couldn’t.

The princex put the helmet on her, but she already suspected it was only temporary - she didn't have a spacesuit or any protective magic, and a helmet offered a sliver of protection that her newest captor obviously didn't want her to have. The two guards in spacesuits grabbed her and pulled her towards the airlock, and she struggled, she did, but there was absolutely nothing she could do.

Immortality couldn't save her from this.

The hatch behind them closed, the one in front of them opened, and she was pushed into a nightmare.

Freezing pressure immediately surrounded her body and her breath caught in her throat. The guards wasted no time attaching a tether to the manacles on her ankles. There was no sympathy, no hesitation in their actions as they followed their orders, testing the tether, then taking the helmet off Karita, leaving her head unprotected from the ruthless vacuum.

They pushed her further away from the spaceship - the tether was long enough for that - and left her to die.

The first time she did, she wasn’t sure what was happening. She was freezing, but at the same time her blood and saliva were boiling and- She passed out.

When she came back to life, there was a layer of ice on her face, and she screamed soundlessly when she felt her eyes boiling too, an agony she had never experienced before. The vacuum was pushing, squeezing her body, compressing her lungs, she ran out of the meager amount of air she came back to life with, and passed out again.

She had read about this, just like she had read about every potential deadly situation she’d heard of, imagining what it would feel like, learning how to survive it, if there even was a way. The source of that particular report was a gnarly one, shady experiments on unwilling human subjects in a magically recreated contained vacuum; it wasn’t a publicly available document, but she had to find it, and she succeeded, only to be plagued by nightmares for days.

The subjects lost consciousness after ten to fifteen seconds.

She plummeted into darkness more merciful than that surrounding her, speckled with stars.

Death occurred around the ninety second mark.

She gasped when she came back to life, only for the vacuum to take all of her air, as if pulling it out of her, leaving her struggling weakly until her brain shut down again.

Deceased subjects recovered after 24 hours were frozen solid.

How long had it been? Karita was in no state to try and count the moments of consciousness, short, and yet feeling like an eternity. Freezing, boiling alive, suffocating, struggling, suffering, with no end in sight, unless it had been three, four, five hours already and she was going to be taken back soon, but it might as well have only been half an hour.

There was also the possibility that Yari was going to leave her like this for much, much longer. Maybe they were watching this, enjoying her pain and panic, or maybe they couldn’t handle it. Based on what was happening to her body, she could only imagine what she looked like.

This could be her eternity. The tether was the only promise that she was going to be brought back eventually, but if it failed, or if someone undid it, she would have no anchor. Restrained, and dying too often to be able to do much anyway, she’d be left at the mercy of space until she could no longer remember what it was like to be anywhere else.

It never got more bearable. If anything, it was even worse than she had imagined and feared for so long. She couldn’t handle it. She wasn’t strong enough.

Resigned, she died. She died. She died. She woke up in the grip of two guards.

She was inside the spaceship again. Every breath was agony. She managed to look up and saw the princex, who smiled at her and said something, but she couldn’t make out their words. The bejeweled dagger shined in their hand, was pressed to her throat, and sent her back into darkness.

“So? Do I have your full cooperation?” Yari asked when Karita opened her eyes.

It was always strange to come back to life free from pain. She had just spent hours in agony, and now it was only a memory. Her clothes and face were damp, but at least not frozen anymore - the temperature must have been cranked up to make her thaw out faster. 

She should refuse, but the thought of being out there again filled her with panic that made it hard to breathe. The Serpent Cluster really did seem like the better option.

“Yes.” She wanted to simply nod at first, but she had to make sure she could still talk.

“Good. I’ll give you a moment to compose yourself and… clean yourself up.” The princex grimaced and scrunched their nose. “Then we can proceed.”

She was dragged to a bathroom, and she was glad it had no mirrors. She sat in the shower with her eyes closed to avoid looking at what the water was washing off of her until she was forced to leave when one of the guards knocked on the door insistently.

The walk to the medbay felt like walking to the gallows, and she was barely aware of what was happening; her body was walking down the corridor, but her mind was somewhere else. They made her lie down on her stomach on the operating table, tied her hair into a tight bun so it wouldn’t get in the way, and hooked her up to machinery she didn’t even bother to try and recognize.

They were merciful enough to sedate her before the procedure, and someone even reassured her that there was no chance of complications, as if it mattered much in her case, as if what they were doing was supposed to help her. That was never the case - as soon as she lost consciousness, they got to work turning her into an unwilling spy, nothing more than a tool.

~~~

taglist: @stab-the-son-of-a

[bltzgore]

Space Vandals Ch. 1

Tw: gore, strong language (I LOVE to swear), there is whump at the end (but this is the first chapter so I need to build some world first), wound description, race/speciesisim

Guardian drew the knives from her belt. One a Rorawkin blade, composed of their four strongest metals, it was borderline indestructible. These blades were forged in the fires of their sun and took a mastercraftsman to mold properly into a fine blade. The other was more common but equally as deadly in the right hands. It was an Arithian dagger, made of a specialized gemstone they had perfected growing in their labs. It resembled a dark glass, but if one held it to the light they’d see it was actually a very dark red. They were known to be the sharpest blades this side of four galaxies, and capable of slicing through metal up to three inches thick if one wielded it correctly.

Had it still been light out Guardian surely would have chosen her pistols to start this off, but the low light levels and her dark plating made it hard to see where she ended and the night began. The red markings gave her away, but she didn’t have any on her arms. They wouldn’t be able to tell where her weapons were. They didn’t know where to defend from, and she realized halfway through taking the fourth guard’s head off they were grossly inexperienced for thugs. They moved so stiffly, that when they missed landing their own strikes on her they’d be churning and stumbling like a fooled bull. Guardian was light on her feet, everything felt fluid. She brought one blade through the terminal vein in one guard’s neck, she launched another into the chest of a thug raising his gun, one of the only who seemed to even have them. The organization must have been in a bit of a rut, fortunately that wouldn’t be their problem for much longer.

They were all reduced to husks on the ground, dead or dying, as Guardian headed up the stairs and changed her modus operandi. When moving into territory she had never seen, potentially plunging right into battle, she decided to play it practical. She switched back to her guns. She pulled them from their clip on her lower back, where their muzzles interlocked for convenient storage. They glowed gently in the low light, not as dull as her markings but dull enough that she didn’t use it to see. But she didn’t need it to see in this form. 

Upon slipping inside it was strangely quiet. It wasn’t like she had expected the empirical army, but she was sure there were supposed to be upward of twenty, at least. There weren’t. There was not a thug to be found anywhere in her sector. Where were they? They didn’t have time for this. She pressed the sort of button that made up the outer portion of her audio sensors, “Manny, status?” He responded within seconds. “Occupied! Damnit, what!?”

Guardian kept her head on a swivel, “How many you guys find?” 

Shep answered this time, “Looks like everybody.”

So that was why she hadn’t gotten any action. “Where’s Scout?” Guardian asked.  

“With them!” The robot’s softer voice answered twice as quickly, “trying not to get shot.”   

“Get him past the blockade. There’s no time for fucking around.” Guardian complained.

“The hell you think I’m tryin’a do?” Manny snapped. 

“Eta two minutes.” Guardian rumbled, her inner components already beginning to shift. 

The mechanized shapeshifter’s limbs blurred around the edges. The almost microscopic building blocks of them releasing and finding new ties, picking just how to rearrange themselves. She thinned, like she was a wad of silly putty and someone was pulling her to see just how far she’d stretch, turning lanky and boney. Sprouting off her head were massive horns, some met themselves like a halo, others rose like wild stag’s or a strike of lightning. She reached out her limbs towards the ground and they grew, long, sharp, strong. A tail-like structure joined them, connecting all the way up the back to the base of the neck. Her head was bladed and full of things that had to be teeth. Once her second set of forelimbs touched down she started moving. 

“No, we got this.” Shep insisted. 

She chose not to answer over the coms, but they wouldn’t have understood it anyway. The native vernacular happened reflexively, “ᎷᏗᏒᏬᏂᏗᏋ.” Meaning: too late, it sounded like a series of clicks, almost whistles, and peeling snake shed.

“Guardian, you inbound?” Manny demanded confirmation. 

So this time she had to click the com and answer, slowing her gate in order to do so. She stumbled through the answer, only managing the S sound.

She burst through the last dividing door with a cry that would have peeled the skin off an Onnarow. As Guardian began ripping into whatever unfortunate thugs she could reach, a gun blast shattered the head of her very next target. Shep jogged over, reloading as he ran, tagging two more before he reached her side. “I said we had this.” He grumbled. 

She fumbled with her mandibles for a moment, trying to get them to use the right language, “ᏂᎧᏬᏇ ᏖᏂᏒᏗᏇ.” No that wasn’t it. She pulled the exterior of her jaw structure back and attempted to manipulate what existed there in place of a tongue. Her words were slightly sharp around the vowels, but she managed it. “I kno-ow. N-ee-d be fa-st.” She wrenched the head of another thug off its shoulders, showering her shiny gray “skin” in the poor fucker’s blood-like fluids. He had been Mukavian, so it wasn’t red, more like translucent orange. 

“Ma-ke p-ath f-or Scou-t.” Her mandibles made direction three times as difficult to get across, Manny understood it best but even he knew maybe four words in this form’s native dialect. Luckily her crew had learned to work around it.

“You got it, boss.” Shep rolled his shoulders, “I’ll take the ones on the right, and you take everyone else?”

She nodded visibly, she would have smirked if her form allowed. She ran forward, giving that horrendous screech again, it wasn’t just a battle cry. Some species were sensitive enough to sound that the wail alone nearly disabled them. Inconveniently, these guys were not a mix of such species. So raw violence it was. 

“Te-ll h-im!” She managed through the com, digging her claws into another thug. 

“Scout! You’ve got an in! Get your ass over here!” Shep barked over the channel. 

“Right, right! On it!” The almost insectoid scouting droid came bounding down from his vantage point where he had been furiously launching and calling back his throwing blades. They were kind of like shurikens, just modded a bit. They were X’s with ends all bent the same direction almost the size of dinner plates. The massive pinwheels of death returned the instant his gauntlets gave the specialized magnetic signal. 

Scout sprinted past Guardian, giving her a slight wave as he slid beneath a thug’s attempt to hit him with some sort of metal pipe. Using his hands, he sprang up to his feet and continued running all in one string of easy movements. 

He tore away from the brawl in what had possibly once been the mess hall. He knew exactly where he was going, turning on a dime, switching hallways, following the fun little maze map in his head. Scout reached a door that didn’t open automatically upon sensing him and he swung back against his momentum, into a slide. He slowed enough, the impact hardly registered. He straightened up, sensors scanning and locking onto a data module. They varied world to world, but not so much when they were all still using written language, just different keyboards or interfaces for different physical requirements. The inhabitants of this world favored two hands, luckily. Scout wasn’t great with the triple or quadruple keyboards, and he didn’t even know where to start with the extra-sensory ones.

A brief fit of tapping and the door slid open reluctantly. He jogged through, attention immediately drawn to the first pedestal. It was guarded by a blue wall of energy, not quite a plasma shield, definitely not a light shield, that shit got expensive quick. It was something probably equally as painful, but thirty-times easier to get through if you knew the trick. These shields were mostly made of very angry particles, but they could be pacified if you had the right material, a material Scout just so happened to have an entire glove made of. He stretched it over his hand, all the way up past the mid-arm joint, and reached in. The shield sparked, light leaping off the glove, he yelped and scrambled back. 

Trying to calm his voice, he tapped his com, “Manny?”

“Ugh, what is it, kid?” At least he didn’t sound too busy.

“The glove sparked, I-I’m not sure-”

“It’s working fine, grow a pair and shove your hand through it.”

“Got it.” Scout approached again, cautiously. Slowly he held his hand out, it slid in up to his palm before the light jumped off the shield at him again. He turned his head away and moved quicker. He felt twitchy, stinging, things crawling across his plating, but he didn’t back down this time. He turned back to it just in time to close his hand on the small metallic stick. He yanked back and as soon as his hand was free he started running. 

“I got it! I got it! Objective secure!” He remembered the terminology with the third iteration. 

“Good work Scout, get to the back exit. We’ll meet you where we started.” Manny answered. He took his hand off his com, turning his attention fully back to the fight, when an entire table came flying through the air above his head. It split the wall, and stayed suspended there, like a dart in its target. Upon closer inspection it had also halved what looked like this gang’s bruiser. He glanced back across the room towards where the projectile had come from. He gave Guardian a nod. “This is why I’ve never asked you on a date,” He snarked over the coms, getting a familiar chitter-click-whistle in response. 

_

One might think it hard to entertain yourself when your whole family is full of badass rebel fighters constantly going out on various missions doing undisclosed but probably shady stuff that they won’t give you a straight answer about in case the authorities come around. That might have been true if Deon didn’t have Wyatt. Deon wanted to join the rest of his family, of course! Who wouldn’t want to get in on sticking it to the Vet-ring? He knew Wyatt did too. They talked about it all the time, and had on more than one occasion tried to follow covertly. It never worked. They probably should have been more bummed about it than they were, what kept them from feeling the disappointment were their own little missions. 

“Clear!” Wyatt chirped over their walkie talkies. They had decided taking ops gear out on their missions wasn’t a good idea after the one time it didn’t come back from a cop’s evidence locker. They had gotten chewed out for that one.

Deon sunk his claws into the lock, they slowly shifted the mechanisms, metal clicked and the structure was forced to turn. He felt the door’s bar withdraw, and stood up, “Got it.” Deon shoved the door open. He looked down the block, waiting for Wyatt to make eye contact before motioning to follow him. The techno-organic jogged over, a slight bounce to his step. It wasn’t unusual, he never really held completely still, even when sitting, though he claimed he didn’t even know he was doing it. 

The shop’s lights were out, Wyatt reached for the switch when Deon stopped him, “Want to let everyone know we’re here?”

“Won’t it look sketchier if people see two figures wandering around this place in the dark?”

“Don’t get seen then.” Deon warned.

Wyatt shrugged, “Your party, my eyes are just fine either way.” He rooted through the bag strapped across his torso, pulling small spheres from it, just larger than marbles. He held them out to Deon, “Ready for some redecorating?”  

Deon’s scowl withered, and he snatched them, mouth breaking into a toothy, lightly malicious, grin, “Hell yeah.”

They split, each taking opposite walls. Wyatt fished a red, glassy, marble from the bag and raised his hand. Wyatt threw down the marble, as soon as it hit the floor he was engulfed in a cloud of what seemed like red smoke. He didn’t cough, he didn't need to breathe, he wasn’t all organic. However his organic side could, it gave him a serious boost in energy. What sucked about it was that in order to stop he had to lower his energy consumption enough to shift back to his reserves. Luckily he hadn’t needed any boosts on the way over here. No breathing necessary to keep up with Deon this time, so he only turned vibrant red on the outside. He waved the thicker part of the cloud from his visual sensor array and fished another marble from his bag, laughing and leaping into the next one.

On the other side of the room Deon was running the length of the wall, throwing paint marbles against it and the shelves of products that lined it. He was quick enough to keep just ahead of the bursts, they painted the edge of his jacket and his tail a mix of vibrant colors, pink, neon green, blue bright enough to make the sky jealous. Deon pulled up his ventilator to keep the paint fumes and smoke out of his lungs, the second eyelids slid up to keep the particles out of his eyes. He didn’t swim all that often these days but he had found other uses for them.    

Deon looked back at Wyatt, he gave the ceiling a quick glance then nodded up to it. The shop had at one point, like many buildings, been a warehouse of some kind, so the roof went higher than one would think necessary for a convenience store. Wyatt smirked, “Go for it.” He interlocked his fingers and crouched slightly. Deon got a running start, and stepped up into Wyatt’s hands. The techno stood and threw his hands up through the strain.

 Deon cleared five feet vertically, latching on to one of the lingering chains that connected up to the roof. He climbed until he could get a grip on the chain with his feet too, then he swung. Deon released the chain with his upper half. His nails caught the edge of the hanging light and for a second he was an uncomfortable bridge between the fixture and the chain, as he decided whether or not to trust the light with his full weight. He gave it a once over, the light was a pie tin looking thing strung from the ceiling by a thick black cord. There were no worrying sounds yet.

He unhooked the claws on his hind legs from the chain, swinging with the light, using the momentum, flipping his legs up over the light. Deon curled his tail around the cord then hooked a leg around, letting the cable rest in the crook of his knee. The fixture swung slightly, but held. Deon pulled a marker from his pocket, closing his teeth on the cap and tugging it off. Skillfully he started to scribe, in black out paint marker, a choice word dead center on light. 

Wyatt called up to him, “Whatchu writing up there D?” 

“You’ll see.” He muttered. “Finish up the walls, I’m gonna do the rest of the lights.” There were three others, it wouldn’t take long.

Wyatt grinned, “Yessir.” He pulled another item from the bag. They were almost gloves, in that they wrapped around his palms and had a single miniature sleeve that ran out to his thumb. At the center of the fabric was a dull ring of silver. Connected under his wrist were tubes that ran into the bag, he fussed with it for a moment before hearing it click. He turned back to the wall, blinking a few times, drawing the image in his mind. Once he was confident he raised his hands to the wall and shifted his thumb, the spray paint nozzle hissing a stream of black paint.

When Deon landed back on the floor he was very proud of himself. He looked up and the walls were criss-crossed in letters from two different languages. They were hybrid words that taggers sort of developed on their own. Each word was sort of a puzzle unless you spoke the two languages fluently to begin with. Wyatt knew these words, Deon knew some of them, part of why he left the walls up to Wyatt most of the time. 

As the techno-organic wandered over, brushed in most noticeably white and black, Deon asked, “What’s it say?”

“Motharay, neahamaka.” Wyatt read off. Then turned to the other wall, “Hutharay meeharakah.” 

“Which means?”

“Machines have souls, in really really short terms.”

“All that for two words?” 

“Well that, and ‘fuck you racist prick.’”  

Deon nodded approvingly, “Art.”

“What you put on the lights?”

Deon stepped over to the lightswitch, flipping it on. Projected onto the ground in somehow smooth text “Eat a Dick Douche Canoe.” All of the words had their own light, except for “eat” and “a” being forced to share.

“Perfect.” Wyatt grinned. 

Deon found himself distracted by his watch, shit! They were gonna be late! He bolted to life, turning the lights back off and heading for the door, “Come on!”

“What!? Why? Did you hear something?” Wyatt followed, momentarily holding his breath trying to hear it too.

Once they were both back outside Deon carefully locked the door before dragging it closed. “We’re gonna be late to dinner!” He hissed, pulling the door shut until it clicked. 

Wyatt’s eyes widened, oh… yeah. That. “Think we can make it across this dump in fifteen minutes?”

“Naw,” Deon muttered, “We can make it in ten.”

_

Shep was about to head inside to the table with the other three when two slightly grimy figures came sprinting out of the sketchiest alleyway they could have possibly managed. Deon pulled ahead by a small but noticeable amount, sliding to a stop in front of the cyborg. His words came out between pants, “We’re- here!” He managed. Wyatt stopped just behind him, nodding furiously, as he also caught his breath. 

“You two are something else. Come on,” He motioned, leading them into the restaurant, to the table.

Sitting on one side of the table were Shep and Scout. Scout was a robot, through and through, with long legs that had multiple joints and very powerful springs. He was built for running and jumping. Shep used to be a Marcharin, then he got torn up under “mysterious circumstances” (adult code for it was traumatic) and was turned into a cyborg to keep functioning. He was somewhat average in limb number and function, but his face had been… well Deon didn’t know, but he assumed it had been damaged pretty badly. There had to have been a reason it got replaced with a visor like screen. Several of the traditional Marcharin feather spines had been replaced with metal prosthetics, pretty close to their natural texture but Shep wouldn’t be shedding these seasonally.   

Wyatt was quick to steal the spot next to Shep, that left Deon with the unenviable spot right next to the two oldest on the team, specifically the one who would notice the paint on his tail. On Deon’s side were Guardian and Manny. Manny was a Rovaden, a tall one. Which meant he had ashen skin in most places where it wasn’t almost ink colored, like on his jaw that opened all the way to the edges of his face if he let it. They had only ever seen Manny open his mouth all the way once when yawning, it was fucking terrifying. He had no discernible nose and eyes that slowly changed shades of red like a mood ring. Aside from that he was pretty normal for a humanoid. Bipedal, two forelimbs and two hind limbs, more than two digits on his hands and all that. 

Then there was Guardian. She didn’t have one true form. There were a few she preferred, but any way that she chose to appear was one she had studied and stolen from a true member of the species. She currently chose a creature somewhere between shark and canine. It had rough shark skin, though that could have been a natural effect of what she was composed of, but had a very smooth canine looking head, with rather large ears. Past that things got a little strange. Down the front of the torso were three almost V shaped markings, Deon knew they were nothing so mundane. Her back was many-jointed, but not in the traditional spinal column way, it was more like a series of ball and socket joints. Her pupils were the only part of her eyes that looked alive, a glowing ring of red. This was one Deon saw her “put on” before going out to do some damage.

As soon as Deon sat down, Guardian was sniffing with that canine snout. “Why do you smell like paint?” Then looked a little closer at the long, blue and white, reptilian tail that Deon was trying to keep out of her field of view. “Never mind, answered my own question. It’s because you’re covered in it.” This was less of an observation and more of a demand for an immediate explanation. 

“We…” Wyatt answered for him, or tried. Ultimately just stretching it out, as he fished for any good excuse. 

Deon huffed, “We tagged the store that that racist bitch owns.” 

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific.” Manny deadpanned.

“The one who called Scout a slur.” Deon clarified.

Scout sat up a little straighter, “Really?” but he didn’t ask with enough force to be heard over Guardian beginning her lecture-fest. 

“Were you seen?”

“No.” Deon sounded half defensive, half offended. 

“Not that you know of, you mean.” She warned. “I told you guys, I don’t want you doing this while we’re on Yuk-taka.”

Wyatt tried to take some of the heat off Deon, “It’s just like every other backwater planet we’ve been on this year. Why not?”

Shep interjected, “Yeah, don’t crush the creativity.”

“Because we’re in enemy territory.” Guardian almost growled. 

Manny rolled his eyes, “Mellowdrama aside, Guardian is right. We’re in the heart of Vet-ring controlled space, do you know what that means?”

Wyatt and Deon exchanged confused glances, making sure they held it long enough for Guardian to see it, before turning towards Shep or Scout for a hint that didn’t have time to appear. 

“It means they’re in close communication with this planet's law enforcement.” Guardian continued, “If they catch you and connect you to us they will demand answers, and they’ll get them, no matter what they have to do.”  

Deon felt like the air had been chilled in his lungs. He did his best to just keep breathing normally. 

Guardian must have seen the stutter anyway. She sighed, “Look, I don’t want to scare you with this, but I need you to take it seriously. Ok?”

Deon nodded, so did Wyatt. 

“Got it.” Wyatt confirmed. 

“No more stupid stunts on Yuk-taka.” Deon agreed, nodding for exaggerated effect. 

“Well, now that you know not to do it again…” Manny glanced at Guardian, and slowly started to smile, “What did you tag in the shop?”

Deon urged Wyatt to go first, thinking the nuance of some of the things he had tagged might soften Guardian’s reaction. He was right, because by the time he started talking about his part in it, the food had arrived and Guardian couldn’t hide her sharp-toothed grin, or her pride, any longer. She loved when they pulled shit like that. It was why she didn’t try to stop them outright, she just wanted them to be smart about it. Besides, it was good training for when they eventually got out in the field with the rest of the team.

 _

The walk back to the apartment was quieter than usual. No slurs or comments on their mixed species group. Deon chalked it up to Guardian’s form, creatures tended to clam up when anything with more than two large mouths was in the vicinity. She seemed to have all four opened and showing their teeth casually, though Deon could see right through that. It was difficult to notice in Guardian, because she changed shape and the signs changed with it, but she was tense. He couldn’t be positive of it’s exact source, from what Shep and the others had said the missions had been clean. Was she still wired about their stunt? That someone might have seen them, or something? Deon didn’t know enough about what was happening to deduce it. The only surefire way would be to ask, but he realized he wouldn’t know what to say even if she gave him an honest answer. 

Guardian wasn’t always stressed, but he had been noticing it more and more lately. When she was in mode 3 it manifested as occasional panting without exercise present and twitchy ears. He assumed it was getting worse because of their proximity to- Manny had made them promise to keep it to themselves that he had told them about this. They were sure they had covered his ass pretty well at dinner- the Vet-ring lieutenants; there were four on world in critical positions of power. If they found out the group was here they would drop everything to catch them.   

The Vet-ring were the ultimate race. They could live for eons and beyond, effectively immortal. They were immune to all but highly specialized weapons. Each and every one was trained to kill with precision and power. And on top of it most were wildly intelligent. There were plenty of races who could boast some of these attributes, but what gave them the ultimate edge was what they physically were. They were composed of tiny metal components, neither machine nor biological, each acting in accordance with millions of others, reproducing like cells, and working together like robots. These components were controlled by the creature’s central brain which according to all prior tests was made up of some kind of energy.

One might expect a creature made of millions of pieces of metal to just be a sentient pile of sand, or puddle of goo. There were races like that, but the Ring could control their components to the point that they could mimic any form that they studied, some even so well as to copy arcane and natural powers or skills seen in these species. A killer, intelligent, race of mechanical shapeshifters so powerful it had taken one of their own to make a difference. 

No one had ever gone up against the Vet-ring and won, no one. Resistance had been a losing battle until Guardian had joined the cause. Within three months they had two successful operations, rooting out Vet plants, and kicking them off world, saving the entire planet from global war. She had become legendary in the right circles, those being the three or four big name groups outright fighting the Vet-ring. She had started out working with them, but it had been too constraining. They collaborated sometimes, and she certainly would come running if they were in deep shit, but she and her little pack were sort of like rebellion mercenaries now. And they were good at it.

Guardian seemed to snap out of her thoughts as they passed a certain street, heading towards it. “Manny, take the others home. I’m gonna drop off the product.” 

He gave her an uncomfortable look, “You’re going alone?”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes, “I’ll be fine, I’m a big girl.” 

“I’m going with you.” He moved to her side.

Guardian wanted to say something sharp in response, but she quelled it. There was no point in talking him out of it, it would take too long.

“Shep, you can get ‘em home?” Manny confirmed. 

“Of course, have fun on your date.” He tossed the data stick to Manny, starting to walk backwards in the direction of the apartment. 

Deon wasn’t sure if it was compulsion at this point but he piped up, “Can I come too?”

Guardian answered just as reflexively, “No.”

“Come on, you’re just bringing the stick to the buyer right? You’re selling the important info to the good guys.”

“Nope.”

“What?”

“The only reason they’re getting this is because I trust them a bit more than I trust the guys who originally had it.” Guardian answered, she didn’t believe in good guys.

“And because they pay really well.” Manny put in. 

Deon looked like he wanted to say more but the words deserted him. He knew they’d talked about this before, the whole lesser of two evils argument. But that didn’t cause it to take the wind out of his sails any less. Manny and Guardian said a few things to Shep, but Deon didn’t catch them, then headed down their new path.

Wyatt set a hand on his shoulder, “Come on.”

Deon watched Manny and Guardian disappear down the side street and felt a familiar energy spark in the veins around his wrist. He looked back to Wyatt, “Give me five minutes?” 

_

Guardian gave it until they were out of sight before she turned on Manny, “So, why the fuck would you tell them about the Vet pressense on this rock before it was absolutely necessary?”

He winced, “Oh… you caught that?”

“What if they had tried to get more information on their own?”

Manny waved it away, “Deon wouldn’t know where to start, and Wyatt would have been smart enough to keep him from getting anywhere.”

This was, in fact, exactly how it had gone. Wyatt tended to be the more sensible of the pair, and had recognized just what a situation like this would mean if they fucked up. So he had shut the whole plan down very early in its development, difficult to do when Deon had set his mind on something, but not impossible. So instead they had spent that night playing Galaxy Master 5 with Shep.

Guardian stepped in front of him, turning to face him, “And what if he hadn’t?”

Manny felt shitty, it had been stupid, he had honestly thought they were old enough to recognize when things were dangerous enough to make them a liability. Maybe they were still too young. “But he did, they’re fine. You always say not to get hung up on what ifs.”

She shook her head, that part was true at least, “Fine.” 

They continued walking, and seemed to be unaware of the small reptilian humanoid who had tagged along. Deon kept to the rooftops, he was one hell of a climber, so it didn’t take much to keep up with them. Though that wasn’t the only thing he had to contend with while stalking his primary caregivers. 

Guardian favored forms with some version of electroreceptors. Meaning she could sense the electrical fields given off by the creatures who had such fields. This was a surprisingly large chunk of lifeforms. However, Deon was one of the exceptions to the rule.

Inherently his species gave off a form of electrical jolt when they encountered a predator, with time and practice it could be controlled and trained into a lot more. However, it didn’t just give him the chance to shock the hell out of his enemies, it also let him fuck with Guardian’s favorite sense. In short terms it meant Deon was one of the few who could manage to follow Guardian without her immediately realizing it. A fact he took advantage of maybe a little too often.    

Guardian reached the door and held it open for Manny. He walked in but when she didn’t follow he stopped in the door frame, giving her a questioning glance. Guardian turned her head to the roof of the building on their left and flattened a canine ear, “Well get down here. We’re not leaving you outside.” When he didn’t immediately appear, she put her paw-hand on her hip, “Don’t make me come up there.” That was a very real threat.

Deon emerged from the shadow of mechanisms that cluttered the roof, half climbing down half jumping. He braced for fury, but had one question first, “How did you know I was there? I hid my field!”

She shook her head, “I have other senses, dumbass.” But no lecture followed that, “Let’s get this over with. I want to get home before Scout finishes off the ice cream.”

The building turned out to be a bar. A neutral setting, it would discourage violence, but in the event that it was the only answer no one would be surprised. It wouldn’t be something that law enforcement would even blink twice at. All by design of course. Manny and Deon sat at one of the booths off to the side, where Guardian was sure Manny was letting him try shit he shouldn’t have. While she took a seat at the bar directly, where she’d told her contact he would find her. They were early, she didn’t expect her contact to be there for another hour. Getting there first just meant he wouldn’t have the chance to try anything stupid. She ordered something she knew wouldn’t have any effect on her biology and spun the data stick between her digits. 

He wandered in, maybe thirty minutes later, also early. A tall creature, of gray-blue skin and almost neon markings. His limbs were too long and his eyes… well he didn’t have any. He sat down next to her, “Nice night for the time of year.” He said.

“But I’d prefer a cooler climate.” She answered the pass phrase they had agreed upon. 

He nodded, “You got it?”

“I do.”

He slid her a card, which she picked up and inspected, then snagged something from her bag. A card reader of some kind. She slid the card into the slot and watched the screen light up an agreeable number. 

“What, you don’t trust me?” he asked, feigning hurt, through no discernable mouth. 

“Why of course not.” She answered with light cynicism. Then raised her claws off the data stick. 

He drew it into his hand, gazing at it, or whatever he did instead of gazing. “Good doing business with you. I hope this can be the start of a long and prosperous partnership.”

“We’ll see.”

“Good evening.” He stood.

“What are you going to do with it?” She asked, freezing him in his tracks. 

“It’s government grade blackmail material, what do you think I’m going to do with it?” He seemed to be suddenly nervous, suddenly defensive. Like he was expecting this to be the start of her going back on their deal.

She nodded once, “Good.” 

He relaxed, reciprocating the nod before disappearing out the door. 

Manny and Deon joined her at the bar, “Well that was less dramatic than I was expecting.” Manny said.

“Told you there’d be nothing to it.” She answered, handing him the card and leading them back out into the street. 

“So that’s it? That was the oh so dangerous thing I wasn’t allowed to come to?” Deon complained. He was glad things went well, but he had been hoping for at least a little bit of action.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Manny snarked. 

Guardian sighed, because of course Deon was complaining, but she couldn’t say she was surprised. “We see enough danger when we go out on ops. I am more than happy for things to just go smoothly this time.” 

Deon was going to answer when he noticed they were suddenly standing still. Guardian was looking at something, the intensity of a predator having heard their quarry. Manny was standing a foot behind her, glancing from her to where she was focused. Deon stopped next to Manny, about to ask what Guardian sensed when he heard it this time. A trash can went over somewhere in the darkness ahead of them. 

All four of Guardian’s mouths bared their teeth, but the one on her face opened, “Who’s there? Identify yourself.”

The answer was a form tumbling out of the dark to the ground ahead of them. Guardian tensed, claws akin to filletitng knives extended from the end of each digit. Sure it looked like it was just another dime-a-dozen drunk, but bounty hunters were clever. She was counting down the moments, about to close the distance and carve it up when Manny held his hand in front of her. She lowered her claws and let her hostility die down a moment. 

He had managed to pull himself to his knees but was still reliant on his arms to keep his face away from the cement. He was young, maybe a few years older than Deon, and his left side and leg were absolutely drenched in blood. He was trembling, maybe it was exhaustion, could have been the blood loss, only he knew it was fear. He wouldn’t look up, keeping his head distinctly tilted down, only glancing up at the rapidly blurring forms to make sure they weren’t getting any closer. 

A moment passed in which no one moved, when he seemed to decide they weren’t going to go charging in and kill him he tried to stand. His leg couldn’t take it, and he hit the ground with a groan. His breathing was slowing down, the adrenaline that had brought him there seemed to be withdrawing. He made another attempt at standing and he couldn’t even get back to his knees.

Manny took a few steps towards him, “Easy, your leg’s real fucked up.” 

He would have slashed, growled, something at Manny to keep his distance, if he hadn’t lost his grip on consciousness first.

Manny gave it a second once his eyes shut, then knelt down next to him, checking for vital signs. “He’s alive,” he informed Guardian, who was joining him next to the humanoid. Deon followed, but stayed behind her. He noticed from there that her ears were flicking. Lining the edges of them, with no semblance of pattern, were glowing red dots. This form relied on its ears to collect two types of sensory information, auditory and electrosensory. Flicking her ears like that kept them from just telling her what was in front of her, it gave Guardian a 360-degree view. She was on high alert.

Manny looked down at the injuries. The one on his side was a slash, probably done by a blade of some kind. The damage to his leg wasn’t as clean, it almost looked like a bite mark, but there were no clear teeth patterns, it looked like it had been scooped out by an army of angry forks. 

  Manny cast a glance back to Guardian, noticing Deon trying not to look at the gash. He gave Deon a snide grin, “That exciting enough for ya?” There was some swear word in response, but he didn’t say it loud enough for Manny to hear. 

“We should get moving.” Guardian reminded.

Manny nodded, “Course. Am I carrying him or are you?”

She shifted an ear back, “We can’t take him with us.”

Manny stood, putting himself at eye level with her. He wouldn’t be taking no on this one. “Why not?”

“He’s clearly being chased by something, this is not the kind of shit we should be sticking our noses in. It’s hard enough to stay under the radar as is, we can’t be making more enemies.”

“So you’re saying we just leave him here.” He rumbled, “To bleed out in the alley?”

“I’m saying we leave him for someone who can afford to invite trouble into their lives, and who won’t bring trouble to his.”

Deon finally gave his two sense, “I mean, if anyone can handle trouble, it’s us. Isn’t it?”

Manny gave her a smirk.

Getting double teamed wasn’t fair. Guardian threw her head back and dropped her shoulders, making a big show of her sigh. It was a big show because Vet-Ring usually didn’t need to breathe, so they didn’t naturally sigh unless they pretended to do so. “Yes, I’ll carry him.”

Next ->

[evilwriter37]

What is one space-related whump that you'd be interested in seeing/reading/writing? Anything space-related at all.

Ooh ooh!! I haven’t really thought about this, but it’s super interesting! What about in a space suit that’s running out of oxygen? The terror, the panic, trying to conserve their breaths and their words. Oh, it’s so angsty! Thank you for asking!

[noirineverysense]

WIJ Day 3 - Lost

Another alarm blares, another warning light on the dashboard. An endless emergency.

"274, 274 come in."

Her eyes widen, scrambling for the radio.

"It's 274 calling into mission control. I've veered off-course, can you- "

"274 come in. Answer."

"Yes, I need a course correction, please can- "

"Have we lost contact?" The voice now seemed to be aimed away from the microphone as if the operator was talking to someone else.

"Can you hear me? I need help."

"274, please answer- ", the voice crackles out and she lets out a frustrated rush of breath.

"Yes, I can hear you. I've veered off course, I need a- "

She's interrupted this time by white noise, she calls again but there's no response.

She pushes down the wave of panic, continuing to try and call base, but the static is all that answers.

Suddenly, there's a rumble of interference and she strains her ears to try and make out words. But then the noise falls into the unchanging static.

Another warning light flashes angrily at her to pay attention. But she doesn't find the strength to try and do something. Instead attempting to contact base again.

But the static cuts, leaving silence.

She checks the warning message, another structural integrity issue. Technically very bad, but it's the fifth one now. She gave up on metal sheeting and screws, instead reaching for a roll of tape, pulling the end out and cutting it with her teeth. She moves in floating steps to stick it in that annoying back corner that won't just stay and sighs.

She looks around the shuttle, finding the patchwork of metal, the rattling screws ready to give at a moment's notice and the thin sheets of metal between her and the void.

She keeps her spacesuit on, it's bulky and terrible to sleep in but at least it'll give her time when the ship inevitably gives up on her.

Strapping herself into her chair, she watches out of the wind shield. She was supposedly meant to be seeing Jupiter around now, spending time investigating it's moons, but there's only an inky darkness. It's not like she could miss the giant gas planet in any case.

She attempts to radio base again, but there's no response, not static or sound at all. They're quick to give up on those they send out.

Maybe 275 is being sent out soon, a friend to join her in the uncaring darkness. To crash on an asteroid or freeze to death, your spacesuit becoming your coffin.

Another alarm sounds.

Limited oxygen.

Or that.

@whumpmasinjuly

[cryptidwritings]

No one asked but I'm going to do it anyway because the mood strikes:

Space is cruel. It’s cold. When the first humans left the earth, they expected this- it was all they knew to expect.

Fast Forward centuries later and human deep-space travel is as common as airplanes once were. Colonies settled on foreign planets, some inhabited, others not, and re-discovered what it was to be human: to build, create, cultivate, and conquer.

One of those planets is Cerven, and this is where our story begins.

[generic-whumperz]

Babe, stop bothering me, can’t you see that I’m busy daydreaming about putting pretty fictional men though hell?

[inoreuct]

imagine if somebody kidnapped hobie to get to miles…

he’s been beaten black and blue, one of his eyes swollen shut, face cut up from when someone had hit him with rings on and he still isn’t telling them SHIT. there’s sweet blood running down his chin and his lips are red with it but he’s still talking smack, still laughing in their faces— they put something in his system and he’s woozy with it, but he grins as they yell at him to tell them where miles is because there is no way in hell he’s giving anything up.

he sucks the blood off his teeth and hisses as someone sinks a fist into his stomach; they took his web-shooters and he’s bound to a chair, but he’s not really that scared. he’s had worse.

they’ll get miles over his cold, dead body.

and besides, something is itching at the back of his mind, the hairs of his arms standing up at the imperceptible buzz in the air.

he realises just as the roof cracks open with a blinding bolt of lightning and miles lands neatly on top of one of the guys, knocking him unconscious.

the last thing hobie remembers before passing out is thinking a vehement thank fuck.

*

he wakes briefly, cradled against a warm body, making a soft noise before miles shushes him. a kiss is pressed to his forehead, and he drifts off again.

*

the next time he comes to, it’s slow; he’s on a couch, he realises, the fabric rough against his fingers. his cuts sting, he smells antiseptic, and the bridge of his nose is incredibly tender. he moves his tongue around his mouth, counting his teeth. huh. all there.

he shifts up with a groan and miles is on him instantly, a gentle hand on his shoulder pressing him back into the cushions. “don’t move,” miles whispers, sitting next to hobie’s hip. “they broke your ribs, my mama had to patch you up.”

hobie touches his torso and feels bandages. that explains the ache in his chest, at least.

a choked noise catches his attention, and when he looks over miles’s eyes are wet. “oh, baby, no. no.”

“i’m sorry,” he gasps, lashes clumping as hobie pulls him close, hands trembling as he winds them into hobie’s soft shirt.

it smells clean, good; like detergent and newspaper ink and miles, and it holds hobie together more than the bandages ever could.

“shh,” he murmurs, pressing the word into miles’s temple, ignoring the pain flaring to life all over his body in favour of tugging miles even closer. his boy needs it right now. “s’not your fault, love.”

miles just makes a sound of distress, big eyes glossy with salt. “they were looking for me—”

hobie clicks his tongue. “hush, now. i coulda gotten out, you know that.”

“then why?” miles asks, plaintive. his voice is terribly small and terribly fierce. “why didn’t you?”

“what, did ya think i’d sell ya out?” hobie huffs a laugh. “come out of it.” he holds miles to his chest and tips them back, laying against the armrest.

“i’m sorry,” miles repeats, voice thick as he presses his face into hobie’s shoulder.

“i’m not.” and he isn’t; he’d take a thousand hits, let himself get pushed to the brink of too much if it meant the people he loved would be safe.

for miles?

hobie lets his eyes flit across his face, over rich skin and a kind mouth and thick lashes that he smears dry with his thumb.

for miles, he thinks, he’d be able to take much, much more.

fin.

[hurtcomfortguaranteed]

All the best Avon and Blake whump/bromance moments leading up to that climactic admission of trust across the first two seasons of Blake's 7.

[redd956]

Mini Whump Prompt 138

As the protective glass face to the astronaut's helmet continued to crack, they panicked. Next thing they knew they were gasping for air and writhing on the dirt of the alien planet.

[whereserpentswalk]

Your girlfriend used to be a supersolider. I mean physically she still is, but she doesn't work as one anymore because of an injury taking away the use of one of her arms. She's been through a lot, she's been fighting for longer then unmodified humans tend to live, even with life extension technology, she's been fighting for longer then even the planet you're on has been colonized by humans. The empire she fought for is long gone, but she's still here.

She looks strangely inhuman. Her body looks almost like a statue, she's so perfectly lean and muscular, but in an almost inhuman way. Her eyes are strangely colored, and her skin has pieces of machinery sticking out of her. She's more human looking then the cyborgs you tend to see throughout the city, but there's something most people consider off about her. People always act uncomfortable around her, especially since her body language is kind of stilted, and her face doesn't show emotion, it makes her think of herself as less human than she is.

She's strangely skittish due to her past. Robots always scare her, even ones you consider small and cute. Occasionally she'll see someone with a visor covering their face and she'll want to avoid them due to some memory she has about that. She can't sleep when spaceships are passing overhead, and you'll have to hold her and comfort her until the sound ends.

Most people you meet just walking around the city think of her as being sort of creepy. A lot of your freinds talk behind her back about how she's killed people before. A lot of people think she doesn't feel emotions just because her body doesn't show them, a lot of people think it's impossible for her to love you.

You do your best to make her feel safe. You pet her skin, and kiss her a lot, and play with her hair. You feel the need to make her feel comfortable again. Whoever made her into what she is now took away her ability to feel sexual pleasure, but she seems to enjoy pleasuring you. She wants to cry when she lays her head agaisnt your breast, but her eyes can't do that anymore.

She seems to so often feel like a monster, feel like something designed to hurt people. She's so aware that her body itself is built as a weapon of war, that it makes her feel like violence itself is her nature. But you tell her that she doesn't have to be violent anymore if she doesn't want to. And you call her pretty, people have said a lot of things about her body, but you don't think anyone has called her pretty before.

[galaxywhump]

Ending and Beginning

[An Immortal Among Stars Masterlist]

Not really whumpy, takes place after Abandoned.

contents: character death, terminal illnesss, lady whump, immortal whumpee, redeemed whumper.

~~~

“You can leave soon, dear. When I’m gone.”

Karita nodded, staring out the window, her gaze blank, as it had been for the last several years. She flinched when Iris was sent into a coughing fit, which sounded even worse and more strained than the previous ones. Time was running out, Karita’s freedom was drawing near, and yet she didn’t know how she felt about it.

Yes, Iris had tortured her at first, used her as a test subject, a power source, but then… something changed. They were both lonely, and Karita was still in mourning after being betrayed by the people she considered her friends at one point. Iris needed someone to spend time with, and Karita didn’t need anything - and so she stayed, even when she was allowed to leave the tower.

There was something therapeutic about being away from everyone, lost in a new routine, tending to Iris’s small garden, gathering herbs around the island, sitting in the tall grass and looking at the wild sea. In the evenings, curled up in a very old and very comfortable armchair in front of the fireplace, she made use of Iris’s extensive library, and once Iris was no longer able to read on her own, Karita started reading the books to her. She still felt empty, numb, but it was a lighter kind of emptiness, one that brought her relief. 

“Karita?”

“Yes?” She looked away from the window, at Iris. The old mage was pale, her eyes had a sickly gleam to them. She was wasting away, but she had made her peace with it long ago.

“I wanted to apologize,” she said, her voice raspy and forced.

“You already have,” Karita reminded her with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and she couldn’t remember the last time it did.

“I know,” Iris sighed. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I hurt you.”

“It’s okay. It’s never permanent.”

Iris frowned in concern and shook her head.

“That doesn’t make it right. Immortal or not, you don’t deserve to be in pain.”

It was a simple statement, yet it felt like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t something Karita heard… well, ever. She was always fine, eventually. She always persevered, escaped or outlived her tormentors, and there were no scars to remind her of any of it. She was fine, she could handle pain, and it became inevitable the moment she woke up on the battlefield centuries ago, surrounded by dead bodies, having been one herself mere moments before.

“You poor girl,” Iris said softly, reaching out to her. “You’re crying.”

She was, and she tried to laugh it off, but all it did was force some of the tears out of her eyes. She wiped at her cheek, cleared her throat, and took Iris’s hand.

“It’s okay,” she repeated. “I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be, though. No-one should. I am sorry I contributed to your pain.”

A shaky exhale, even more tears, a suffocating lump in her throat.

“Can we stop talking about it? It’s…” okay. She ended up only shaking her head. “Yes, you hurt me, but you stopped, and you’ve been kind to me ever since. I really appreciate that. It’s been a… more peaceful few years.”

Iris smiled at her and squeezed her hand, and hers felt so frail, so small, as if she wouldn’t be able to gesticulate enough to cast even the simplest spell.

“It was the least I could do. And now the least I can do is give you something I’ve been working on for a while.” She nodded towards the nightstand by her bed. “Open the drawer, dear.”

Karita frowned, but followed the request, not letting go of Iris’s hand. The only thing in the drawer was a bracelet made of small translucent gray beads. She took it out and held it up.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, and Iris laughed, which immediately turned into another bout of coughing.

“It’s not mere jewelry,” she explained once she could speak again, though her breathing remained strained. “It’s imbued with my magic.”

Karita hummed and cupped the bracelet in her palm. With a bit of concentration she could sense the magic coursing within; it was subtle, but undeniable.

“What does it do?”

“It lets you alter your appearance.”

Karita’s eyes widened and snapped to Iris as the implication made her heart skip a beat.

“So I can…?”

“Yes. It’s not a strong spell, sadly. When I tried to make it more powerful, the beads shattered, and I didn’t want the vessel to be anything more obvious than this bracelet. Trust me, I wanted to make it as small as a ring or an earring. Regardless, it should let you create an illusion of aging.” As Karita exhaled shakily, Iris continued. “I remember you telling me that your not aging forces you to move all the time. I hope that with this little trinket you can stay in one place for longer. Make a life for yourself, at least for a few decades. My magic isn’t what it used to be, so the spell won’t work for more than half a day, I believe, but-”

“No, no, it’s wonderful. Really. I… I don’t really know what to say, no-one…” No, she was getting choked up, so she shook her head. She teared up again, and she hated crying, she hated showing weakness, but this was different, she wasn’t weak and didn’t have to act tough, and no-one was going to mock her for crying. Iris smiled at her with sympathy, and gave her hand another gentle squeeze.

“You deserve a good life, Karita,” she said softly. “You really, really do. I hope you can find it when I’m gone.”

“Y-yeah,” Karita choked out, nodding. “Yeah. I’ll try. Thank you, Iris. For everything.”

“You’re welcome, dear. Besides, I should be the one thanking you.”

They stayed like this until Karita stopped crying; then she fetched Iris’s favorite book to read a few chapters to her, looking up from the pages every now and then to make sure Iris was still awake and listening. She continued reading for hours, only taking breaks to drink some water when her throat went dry, until Iris let out a relieved sigh, closed her eyes, and faded.

Karita fell silent, and watched as the mage’s body was engulfed in bright light, which then dispersed, clung to the walls and ran through them in the form of thin veins. The body was gone, but Iris’s life essence had become one with the tower, her beloved home. It would eventually turn back into ruin, just as she had found it, but a part of her would still be here, on the island she’d found solace on.

Sitting on the front steps, Karita looked up at the stars and exhaled. Despite Iris’s death, she felt light. It was a good death after a long life, and she was glad to have helped make the last few years more bearable. But now she was alone, and she had to find a new place, a new life.

She spent a while listening to the rustling of grass and the crashing waves, and for a moment she considered staying here. It was a good place, a place she knew well, isolated enough that she shouldn’t be found for some time. She could continue living in the tower, existing without worrying about anything, but… she would be completely alone, and despite Iris’s repeated claims that people like them were doomed to live a lonely existence, she couldn’t and didn’t want to agree. Besides, the bracelet was proof enough that Iris wanted her to be able to live like a normal person, among others.

She returned to the tower, where she lit the fireplace and spent one last night in the armchair, which felt way less comfortable now, and in the morning she descended the stairs to the basement, where she ignored the tools that were used to torture her once upon a time. She headed for the teleportation device, a circular spot that used to glow with a much brighter, steady light, but now was pulsating weakly. 

“It won’t work forever. I put most of my magic into it, so even when I’m gone it should stay active for a few days, but you should act quickly. I don’t want you to be stuck here on your own.”

She didn’t want that either, despite everything.

Where did she want to go, though? She wasn’t sure. She could go anywhere, there weren’t many places she had strong connections to, and she didn’t want to go back to any of them. She was starting anew.

Just take me somewhere safe, with other people, she commanded as she stood on the device, looking around one last time, taking in the familiar walls of the tower. Right before nothingness surrounded her, she looked down at the bracelet on her wrist, and couldn’t help but smile. She had more of a chance than ever before, and she was… excited.

If the spell worked, she could live her new life for several decades, and she was going to make the most of it.

~~~

taglist: @stab-the-son-of-a @poeticagony

[befuddled-calico-whump]

no setting the scene this time, just some refs for the next time you wanna dangle a whumpee (feat. me being a drama queen at the crossfit gym)

more under the cut!

more whump art refs:

pet crate | basement | white shirt | gut spill

[noirineverysense]

WIJ Day 6 - Hold on

274 ready for lift-off.

It's not a question. But a warning instead.

The engine fires up underneath her, her eyes narrow as she looks straight up at the sky through her visor. Her destination.

The rocket starts to move and she forces herself to breathe. It gets faster and faster as it moves through the air

The shudders and rattles, the roar of the engine that was far too powerful for the shoddily made shuttle. The vibrations through her felt like her body was ready to implode.

It won't make it. It won't make it.

Her gloved hands grip the armrests of her chair, she reaches up for the controls in a desperate attempt to turn back.

She's slammed back into her seat, crushed by what felt like the weight of a pile of bricks. The g force rejecting her poor attempt for any sense of control.

There's the crackle of a radio in her ear but she can't understand the words. Her dry lips move to answer but her words are caught on the back of her throat.

274, you need to-

The words crackle into static again and frustration and anxiety take over. I need to what?

She tries to remember her training, but the shuttle's rattle and the engine's roar leaves her mind scrambling for something, anything.

Eight and a half minutes.

How long has it been? How long is there to go?

All the noise silenced in an instant. She was afraid she had gone deaf before she realised the engine had cut off. She opened the eyes she hadn't even realised she had closed tight only to find her view filled by a darkness pierced with pinpricks of light.

I'm in space.

@whumpmasinjuly