#whumpcember2022

[whumpcember]

Introducing Whumpcember 2022!

Everyone's heard of Whumptober or Febuwhump, Angstpril or Sicktember, but get ready for Whumpcember! Whumpcember is pretty much exactly like Whumptober or Febuwhump, except in December.

Whumpcember is born out of a love of monthly whump challenges but with zero time to complete them. I also want to complete these challenges, but never have the time! So I came to realize that, from an American perspective, December is the month I get the most time off. So, I decided to create this event for people who have too much time in December, but so little across the other 12 months. Of course, this is most definitely an American experience and not universal; so if you don't have free time during December it is still perfectly alright to participate! This event was just made to cure my December boredom, and anyone else's.

Now after that ramble, onto the actual rules:

Prompts should be answered with whump as the main focus (i'll let angst slide though, since it's similar enough to whump)

Fanfic! Gif! Text post! Fanart! Fan video! Any piece of media that you can possibly make that has whump counts!

You can use the prompts any time! Don't feel the need to rush

Though, prompts answered during December will most likely be reblogged

Post anywhere! AO3, Wattapad, Tumblr, or even Fanfic.Net! So as long as you make a Tumblr post with a link to the answered prompt it may be reblogged.

When posting onto Tumblr you can either @/ the blog or tag with #whumpcember2022 and the day's tag, such as #whumpcember2022 day1

Don't forget to add any warnings necessary, such as NSFW or sexual content

At the end of the month a masterpost will go out to all participants and a badge you can save stating that you are either a participant or completionist. In order to be on the masterpost though, you will have to fill out a google form at the end of month; don't worry it'll take two minutes!

I hope everyone has a fun time during the event! And if you have any questions shoot me an ask through the ask box!

(this is also my first year running this event, expect a hiccup or two)

Written Prompt List Below

-Main Prompts-

Day 1: Hypothermia

Day 2: Avalanche

Day 3: Storm

Day 4: Shortness of Breath

Day 5: “I hate you!”

Day 6: Separated

Day 7: Scars

Day 8: Faked Death

Day 9: Sacrifice

Day 10: “I won’t leave you”

Day 11: Clothing That Doesn’t Fit

Day 12: Broken Bone

Day 13: Fear of the Unknown

Day 14: Shaking

Day 15: “You’re A Monster”

Day 16: Bad Luck

Day 17: Icy Deep

Day 18: Betrayal

Day 19: Electricity

Day 20: “It’s Too Late”

Day 21: Self-Hate

Day 22: Closing In

Day 23: Stumbling

Day 24: Anticipation

Day 25: “Shouldn’t You Be Happy?”

Day 26: Free Falling

Day 27: Crash Landing

Day 28: Explosion

Day 29: Failure

Day 30: The End Is Nigh

Day 31: Slow Healing

-Alts-

Alt 1. Nightmares

Alt 2. Desperation

Alt 3. Deal With The Devil

Alt 4. Accidental Injury

Alt 5. “I Won’t Help You”

Alt 6. Revenge

Alt 7. Lashing Out

Alt 8. Secrets

Alt 9. On The Run

Alt 10. “I Would Die For You”

[mylittlewumperland]

picture this-

whumpee cowering in the corner of a cement basement. Blood starting to pile beneath them, they cradle the injured parts of themselves. Footsteps are heard from outside the door.

Whumpee closes their eyes and prays. Silent sobs fall from their face. Cause they know- they know what happens when that door opens.

[alexversenaberrie]

@whumpcember

[probablyhuntersmom]

Whumpcember, Day 3: Storm

♫ All this screaming isn’t who we are When we die If it’s the end Will we be forceless again? ♫ — “We Who Lament” by Earthside (ft. Keturah)

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumpcember #21

Devil May Cry - #21 - Self-Hate

*

All Vergil wanted was to be left alone, but his obnoxious brother couldn’t even grant him that. 

“Vergil!” Dante said, leaning in the doorway. “Nero’s pissed. You skipped another dinner invitation.”

“I have no desire to eat with him,” Vergil said, not looking up from his book. “Nor does he have a desire to eat with me, beyond the knowledge that we are biologically related and he’s curious.”

“Biologically-” Dante shook his head. “For fuck’s sake, Vergil, your his father. The kid always wanted a family, he finally got one, and you’re being a shit to him. He saved us from killing each other. He’s willing to forgive you even though you ripped his arm off and left him to bleed to death on a filthy garage floor. He at least deserves a dinner if that’s what he wants.”

Vergil kept his eyes firmly on his book. “He deserves nothing from me.”

“Which is, unsurprisingly, all you’ve ever given him,” Dante said, shaking his head. “What a waste. You get a second chance, this time with a family, and you blow it because you’re punishing yourself.”

That finally made his gaze snap up. “I am not punishing myself.”

Dante snorted. “You think I don’t know you, brother? You used to do the same thing when we were kids and you were mad at yourself over something. Only this time it’s dragging Nero into it. Hell, Vergil, wasn’t it bad enough we lost our parents? Does that poor kid seriously have to grow up with no one but Kyrie and Credo only to find his dad and then be abandoned again?”

“Get out,” Vergil said, keeping his voice cold and even. “I do not answer to you, Dante.”

“He deserves better,” Dante said. “So did we. And we have a chance at that again.”

Vergil did not respond. Dante gave up, shaking his head and leaving the room.

Vergil tightened his hold on his book, glaring down at it. He had tried so hard to distance himself from his brother over the years, and Dante could always read him. It was infuriating.

Of course Nero at least deserved dinner with Vergil. He deserved whatever the hell he wanted from Vergil, after everything. 

But having Vergil in his life would only make things harder for him. Vergil had long ago lost whatever ability he had to love. He could not remember how his own parents had made him feel so loved; how could he ever do that for his own child? 

And why did Vergil deserve happiness after everything he’d done? He’d spent his life chasing power he never achieved. It had all been a waste. 

He’d failed in everything. He’d failed to protect his mother, failed to avenge his family, failed to achieve the power of his father, failed to defeat Mundus, failed to escape the nightmares that plagued him. 

He’d failed to be a father to his son.

How different would things have been if he’d known of Nero’s existence sooner? Would the boy have been enough to pull Vergil from his suicidal quest for power? Could he have…could he have found peace?

Every glance at Nero was a reminder of how things could’ve gone differently. A reminder of the choices that had driven Vergil to the place he was in now.

He had no goal anymore. Nothing to strive for. He could not bring himself to reconcile with Dante, nor to force himself into Nero’s life.

Vergil set the book down. He had blamed others for so long. Hated with such passion.

But now that hatred could only be directed inward, and it stalled him in this new chance of life. Once again, he had failed, only this time he had lost to himself.

[serickswrites]

Lay Me Down

Warnings: gun shot, blood, wounds, unconsciousness

The crack of Whumper’s weapon was loud. It broke the silence of the cold, dark warehouse. The sound reverberated in Whumpee’s ears long after the bullet went through them. Long after the pain started. All Whumpee could hear was the sound. 

They couldn’t hear Caretaker’s frantic running. Couldn’t hear their own groans of pain. Couldn’t hear Whumper’s laugh as they ran from Whumpee. 

All they could hear was the sound of the gun going off. 

“Whumpee!” Caretaker shouted. At last, Whumpee could hear that. 

Whumpee turned slowly, their hands going to the gurgling wound in their gut. They took a stumbling step towards Caretaker. It hurt. Everything hurt. And they were cold. So very, very cold. 

And tired. 

Whumpee stumbled once more and dropped to their knee, no longer able to continue going. The ground surged up to meet them as they started to fall. 

“No, Whumpee! Please stay with me!” Caretaker’s voice sounded so far away. 

Whumpee tried to respond. Tried to speak. But they were cold. And the dark was pulling them under. They could feel Caretaker flip them over and lay them on their back. Could feel Caretaker pressing on the wound in their gut. Could feel they were fading. 

And eventually everything Whumpee knew faded away into the dark. 

[ex0rin]

Whumpcember 2022 - Day 12

2014 -

2024 -

gifs are mine!

@whumpcember Day 12: Broken bone John Walker, Bucky Barnes - 660 words broken bones, past trauma

Bucky doesn’t care.

He really, really doesn’t care. 

But he remembers.

Confused and exhausted, injured and broken –

He remembers walking away from the burning Triskelion –

He can never forget the blue and red flashing lights and the ache in his chest and legs and arms; the smoke in his lungs, the taste of fire on his tongue and the line of pain radiating up from his elbow to his shoulder, down from there to his wrist - the strange way his bones tried to patch back together because of the serum, because of the experimentation that enabled his healing. 

Bucky thinks about Walker and hates that the other man even crosses his mind – 

He gets less than three blocks away from the abandoned trainyard where he and Sam forcibly took the shield back from Walker before he turns around – Steve’s shield, though he can’t think about that for too long without his breath hitching and his eyes watering; even though they discussed it, it was never truly real until Steve didn’t appear back on that platform in front of him, decision made.

Final.

Forever.

He hates that he cares about this. 

By all rights he should leave Walker suffering with the serum new and pumping through his veins and an elbow shattered, but he remembers – 

Bucky knows what it was like to walk away with no handler, disoriented with a failed mission and the muscles and tendons in his arm stretching and shifting and fixing themselves without him even knowing – 

He remembers the pain of having to catch his wrist between his ankles and bend his body back hard and sudden enough to shatter the bone again himself; it wasn’t the first or third time he tried, his body shaking and his teeth clenched around the leather of one of his torn off uniform buckles - he dislocated his shoulder twice before sobbing brokenly through the final break. 

He makes it back to the warehouse to find Sam gone (The Shield with him) and Walker curled in on himself against one of the pillars within - the other man having been left bleeding, swearing under his breath; Bucky's improved hearing catches the hitch of his breath, the sound so close to all the ones Bucky has made before – 

“Walker,” he starts, not realizing how rough and hard his own voice still sounds; he’s still absolutely fucking furious and there’s nothing that can change that now, “look, you’re new to this whole serum thing, I get it,” he tries, wincing again at his tone (this isn't how you help people says a voice in his head) - Walker flinches noticeably and looks up, those blue eyes blown all the way to black with how huge his pupils have gotten from the fight.

From the pain and violence and adrenaline.

Bucky's been there before.

“If you don’t want to listen to me, that’s fine but,” Bucky continues and there must be something else broken inside of Walker (other than his arm) because he just sits there, tears in his eyes and watching Bucky while cradling his elbow close to his chest, “you need to set it now, if you don’t you’ll have to break it again.”

Bucky pauses, close enough that if he wanted he could reach out and help –

Not that he will. 

“It’s already healing, you need to set it.” he says again and if there’s pity in his voice he does nothing at all to hide it; Walker made this choice – the choice to take the serum – and it’s on him now. 

He turns away without even getting an answer, walking back towards the big open doors on the other side of the warehouse; he did what he could, more than he should, and the rest of it is up to Walker. 

He hears the sickening crunch of two bones realigning and the rough, bitten back scream from Walker before he’s back out into daylight.

It's more kindness than anyone ever gave him.

[starjunco]

Day 21: Alt 4: Accidental Injury (Ao3)

Nyx had learned that the best time to train was after the majority of the Crownguard — and the remaining Royal Guard — had gone home for the day. Late, when the Citadel was closed to all but the most urgent business, the cleaning crews, and the unlucky that pulled the night and swing shifts.

There was talk about giving the Glaive their own facility — one of the old renovated ones — but for now, Nyx made due with sneaking around the training rooms after hours.

He did take a fair amount of joy in tearing apart the Crownsguard’s fancy bags though — all leather and logo as they were. If he occasionally pictured an exceptionally arrogant guard in place of the logo, that was no one’s business but his own.

Nyx flashed from one part of the circle to the other, adjusting to the pendulum-like movements of the bag so he always attacked its ‘flank.’ He kept both his and its momentum up until he was almost out of breath. He didn’t hear the door until it slammed closed.

Startled, Nyx followed through with his kick and spun to face the door. His jaw dropped when he saw who stood there in all his Immortal glory.

And dressed in just a t-shirt and sweatpants.

Did he have the room booked? Nyx couldn’t remember anything on the—Gods was he breaking some rule? Of all the people to catch and berate him it had to be the most—

The Marshal’s eyebrows knit and he looked past Nyx. “Watch—”

Nyx spun and saw the bag right before it hit him square in the face.

He didn’t hear the ‘out.’

[em-writes-stuff]

whumpcember day 27

@whumpcember

prompt: crash landing

characters: villain, hero

warnings: falling off a cliff

271 words

---

Hero shoved Villain forward, the only thing holding him up was Hero’s grip on his collar. Villain stared at him, “Don’t do this.”

Hero scoffs. “We both know you’d make it. Somehow.” 

“Yeah. But it’d hurt like hell and you’d be bored waiting for me to get better. Just…pull me back up and walk away?” Villain suggests. 

His hands clawed at Hero’s arm, trying desperately to pull himself up, but Hero remained unmoving. 

“Sorry, not this time.” 

Hero let go of Villain’s collar and pushed him over the edge, leaning slightly over the ledge to watch Villain fall down, down, down. 

Villain’s eyes went wide and his arms grasped the air, as if it would let him take hold of it and pull himself up. When the air stayed illusive, Villain closed his eyes and pulled his arms close to his chest, wrapping them around himself. 

“Please,” he whispered. “Don’t let this be the way I die.” 

It felt like the air got thicker, Villain opened his eyes and he could count the layers in the rock as he fell. If he really paid attention, he could name the wildlife clinging to the side of the rock. He laughed, loud and joyous. 

“Thank you.” he shouted. 

He looked down and he had nearly reached the ground, he held his arms out and caught himself, slamming onto the hard earth beneath him. His arms folded in and he shouted out in pain. 

His shoulder dislocated and he swore he cracked a rib, but he was alive. 

Winded from the crash, Villain laid there for several days, skin blistering under the hot sun. 

[sylvanfreckles]

No. 25: "Shouldn't You Be Happy"

Part 25 of Deck the Hells

Fandom: Critical Role Rating: G Warnings: none

Summary: When Orym's sleep is disturbed by a nightmare about his husband's death, his friends rally around him to offer their support. (Read on AO3)

...

Orym snapped awake, breathing heavily in the silence of the night. He’d never been one to thrash around or cry out during a nightmare, and this time had been no different. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to shut out the fading images of his dream. That awful day, six years ago…the sun high above Zephrah, the youthful splendor of the Tempest, Will at his side as they stood watch over her. Then the attack. Shadows striking without mercy. Finding Will’s body among the slain, but when he rolled his husband over he found Dorian’s face.

He slowly sat up, studying the faces of his sleeping companions. They were here, alive and safe, camping under the wide night sky of the highlands.

“Everything okay?” Ashton whispered from their place near the fire, where they’d been keeping watch.

“I’m fine,” he whispered back.

Ashton stared at him for a long moment. “It’s just you and me now, man. Come on.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Orym shuffled over to sit on log next to Ashton. “I dream about that day, sometimes.”

“When your family…?”

“Yeah.”

Ashton blew out a breath. “That fucking sucks.”

Orym tried to laugh, but his chest was too tight. “Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

He didn’t mention the part with Dorian. The past was complicated enough, no reason to muddle it with anything else. And it wasn’t like there was something there, not really. Things were…complicated.

“Anyway, it was a long time ago,” he added lamely, staring into the fire.

Ashton hummed. “I don’t think it works like that,” they said, after a few seconds had passed. “I mean, it’s never worked like that for me, and I don’t think I’m that different.”

“It’s been six years,” Orym whispered, voice on the edge of breaking. “Shouldn’t I…I don’t know.”

“What? Shouldn’t you be happy?” Ashton snorted. “I might be the wrong guy to ask about that.”

“Maybe no happy, but…used to it?” He risked a glance at Ashton, making eye contact with them.

Ashton studied for a long moment, then sighed loudly and held out an arm toward him. “Come on,” they said, gesturing with their fingers.

Orym raised his eyebrows. “Are you gonna hit me?”

“No, you’re not an asshole,” Ashton shook their head. “Look, I know I’m not really a hug guy…but you obviously are, so come here.”

He almost resisted, but there was a lonely ache deep in his soul that needed the physical comfort. He shuffled sideways along the log until Ashton could loop their arm around his shoulders and tug him against their side.

“There ya go,” Ashton murmured.

Orym hesitated. “Can I…?”

“Go for it.” He gently wrapped his arms around Ashton’s chest, mindful not to hold too tight. Ashton patted his shoulder, holding him close. “Better?”

Orym nodded.

“Pff! You call that a hug?” On the other side of the fire, Chetney was standing with his arms crossed, glowering at them.

“Did I wake you up?” Orym whispered, pulling away from Ashton.

“Never mind that,” Chetney declared in a stage whisper. He marched around the fire to stand in front of Orym with his arms out. “Let me show you how a real man hugs someone.”

Well, he certainly wasn’t going to say no to a second hug. Orym stood up and let Chetney pull him into his arms. He wasn’t entirely used to hugging someone close to his size. It was kind of nice.

“Thanks, Chet. This is—whoa!”

Halfway through the hug, Chetney shifted, and Orym found himself crushed against a furry werewolf chest.

“This is what we call a wolf hug,” Chetney growled in his ear. “Better than a bear hug.”

Orym laughed at that. He wrapped his arms around Chetney as far as they could go and held on tight, as the werewolf nearly squeezed the breath out of him.

“Oh, are we hugging Orym?” Fearne had come up to stand at Chetney’s elbow.

“Fearne,” Orym gasped. “Did I—”

“Sure,” Chetney replied, cutting off Orym’s question. He turned Orym around and handed him down to the faun, who gracefully knelt with her arms around Orym.

“Sorry, Fearnie,” Orym whispered in her ear.

“I was gonna take next watch anyway,” she replied, giving him an extra squeeze. “Just wake me up next time, okay?”

“Ooh, are we having a party?” Laudna asked, creeping up to Fearne’s shoulder.

“Yes,” Fearne replied. “It’s a very special party where we all give Orym a hug.”

“Why, that sounds delightful!” Laudna wrapped her arms around Fearne’s shoulders, sandwiching Orym between them. “The best thing about giving a hug is that you get one back. Well, unless the person you’re hugging is all ‘ugh, hag, go away’, then you kind of miss out.”

“I didn’t mean to wake everyone up,” Orym mumbled, face squished into Fearne’s shoulder.

“I think it was Chetney that woke us up,” Imogen commented dryly. She waited for Fearne and Laudna to let go before pulling Orym into another hug. “I’m sorry about your dreams,” she whispered in his ear.

His hands tightened in the back of her shirt. “You see them?”

“Little bits, now and then. Just enough to know they must hurt.”

He nodded, and she pushed him away to give him a sympathetic smile. “FCG? Have you ever given someone a hug before?” she called.

“Of course he has,” Fearne replied. “He hugged the Changebringer.”

“Fearne, that was just a beetle.”

“Well, one woman’s beetle is another woman’s goddess.”

“I’ll give it a shot,” Fresh Cut Grass said, interjecting before the conversation could get too out of hand. It was awkward, cold, and stiff, but it still brought a smile to Orym’s face.

“Thanks, Letters,” he said as he pulled back.

“Is that everyone?” Imogen asked.

“Not quite,” Chetney grumbled. “Hey! Blue boy!” he kicked Dorian’s leg.

Orym wanted to protest—if Dorian had slept through everything this far, maybe he deserved to stay asleep. Besides, he’d put his friends through enough of an inconvenience tonight.

But it was too late. Dorian was already stirring under Chetney’s less-than-gentle attentions.

“Chet?” Dorian blinked, rubbing his eyes, staring at the rest of the group. They were probably a strange sight, gathered around the fire like this in the middle of the night. “What’s wrong?”

“Orym needs a hug.”

“No, that’s not…” Orym began, but Imogen was already pushing him toward Dorian. “I’m okay, this is all a little much.”

Dorian had sat up and was staring at him down, eyes narrowed. “Orym?”

Ears burning, mindful of everyone staring at them, Orym nodded. Dorian’s eyes widened, and he rolled up to his knees and pulled Orym close.

“You’re all right now,” he murmured, resting one hand on the back of Orym’s head. “It was just a dream.”

Orym closed his eyes, tucking his forehead against Dorian’s neck. He fought back against the memory of his dream, of looking for Will’s body only to find Dorian’s. “I’m okay,” he muttered. “Just a rough night.” He was acutely aware of everyone watching them and felt his face heating up in a blush.

“All right, people,” Ashton announced, clapping their hands. “Who’s got next watch? I’m fucking exhausted.”

That set the others to discussing watches and settling back down in their own bedrolls. Dorian didn’t let go, and when the camp finally quieted again, he tugged Orym down with him.

“You’re all right,” he repeated, tucking Orym’s head under his chin. “Get some rest. I’ll look after you.”

[sholiofic]

Whumpcember day 8

Day 8: Faked Death

Falcon & Winter Soldier, Sam & Bucky & Zemo, gen (which could also be Sam/Bucky if you like) -- "For the record," Sam said, "just for the record, Zemo, you are a — Bucky, what's the word I want here —"

"Son of a bitch?" Bucky suggested from his seat at the kitchen table. "Idiot? Incredibly annoying pain in my—"

"This is not the warm welcome I was expecting," Zemo said.

Sam balled up one of Sarah's dish towels and hurled it at him. Months of throwing the shield had given him a lot of accuracy as well as truly impressive throwing muscles. Zemo caught it before it hit his face, and said, startled, "Ow."

"You can't just fake your own death and show up two months later in my sister's kitchen, man. That is so incredibly not on that I'm not even going to dignify it by calling it a plan because it really, really is not."

"But it worked," Zemo pointed out. "It got me out of the Raft."

"Just ask us next time!" Sam said in exasperation. "We can do something!"

At the table, Bucky topped off his coffee and reached for the creamer. "Oh, I break him out of prison and it's all 'Bucky, what have you done, I'm never speaking to you again,' but you offer to break him out of prison—"

"Shut up," Sam said.

"Coffee?" Bucky asked.

"Thank you," Zemo said politely. "Yes, please." He edged a little further into Sarah's kitchen, removed a pile of game cartridges and a cereal box from the other end of the table, and sat down.

"I'm not speaking to either of you," Sam said.

"That's going to make dinnertime really awkward," Bucky said. He poured Zemo a cup of coffee, held up the pot and gestured to Sam's cup. Sam gave serious consideration to dumping the dregs on him, then held it out and let Bucky top it off.

[whumpcember]

Whumpcember 2022 Completionist Masterlist

Here are the Whumpcember 2022 Completionists!

@em-writes-stuff

@whiskeysrpcenter

@rain-candles-jazz

@sanitatemsss

@riverdemon

@dylacola

Amazing job everyone! You completed 31 different prompts, that's impressive! Here's your badge!

Feel free to download and save, it's yours!

[alexversenaberrie]

[heytheredeann]

Whumpcember, Alt. 1 - Nightmares (Geralt&Ciri)

(Ao3 version)

She has always had nightmares.

At first, she would wake up whimpering, occasionally screaming. She would look at her surroundings and shrink on herself, trying to hide her tears. He was hesitant to comfort her, avoiding her eyes for a few moments in the hopes of being kind. He would offer a joke if he could, some light conversation if he couldn’t, trying to give her a reminder that he was there, that she was safe, he would protect her.

He likes to think it reassured her somewhat, given how she’d usually drift back to sleep at the sound of his voice.

The first time he comes closer, it’s when she wakes herself up with a scream.

She jumps in a sitting position, eyes wide and terrified, trembling hands covering her mouth as she frantically looks around, shoulders heaving and tears streaming down her face. When her eyes finally land on him, though she doesn’t say a word he can hear her plead for him to help.

He is on his feet before he can weight his options, crutching down in front of her to offer a touch on her shoulder and quiet words of reassurance. It’s only after some tension has left her and she isn’t trembling as much under his touch that he gently pries her hands off her mouth, not encountering much resistance. He guides her as she lies back down, keeps close and talks in gentle tones until she falls asleep.

He pretends not to notice her fingers holding tightly onto his sleeve the whole time.

Then, she starts calling for him in her sleep. It warms him, in a way, that he’s the one that she instinctively calls when lost in the terror of her own mind, but it doesn’t do much to soothe the ache in his chest at the sight of her tears. No child should have to suffer the nights like this. And especially not this child.

Every time, he comes closer, offers a gentle touch, some reassurance, some meaningless chatter, and he lets her cling to his sleeve as she drifts back to sleep.

Eventually, she wakes up whimpering, the sound soft and subdued but still enough to drag him out of his own light sleep. He is already pushing himself up, about to stand and offer whatever comfort he may give her, but for the first time he doesn’t need to, as she doesn’t simply curl up on herself and wait for him to approach. Instead, she gets on her feet and covers the distance between them as fast as she can, jumping in his lap without asking and suffocating her tears in his chest.

He’s frozen only for a few moments, gaping at her as she utters his name like a plea, fingers clawing at his shirt and her shoulders shaking. He gathers her in his arms then, slow like he’s still expecting her to change her mind and run, and it’s kind of surprising, just how small she is, how easily she disappears in his embrace.

He sits there for as long as she’s awake to cry, and he doesn’t let go.

[rain-candles-jazz]

Whumpcember Day 1: Hypothermia

Faleece had pulled him out of the snow where he'd fallen. She'd found the heater and turned it on in front of him. She had flopped a blanket and pillow beside him and nervously tapped her fingers together, watching him long enough to make sure he was still breathing. She did feel terrible, having forgotten him out in the cold. She made some hot milk (she had heard from somewhere that it was good for cold people maybe?), but when she returned, he still hadn't moved. His eyes were open, and she waved in front of them with no response... Feeling very unsure and awkward, Faleece reached toward his pale skin, touching his hand ever so slightly. Jumping backward, Faleece shook her hands at the feeling of skin on hers... of course he was cold, what else was she supposed to do about it? She frowned, but lay across the room, back on the couch... he'd still be alive in the morning... surely.

(more Deego because i love him. trying a whump list for the first time! not every day will have art probably, but anyway ( ﾉ ﾟｰﾟ)ﾉ 📜🖋🕯)

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumpcember #10

Devil May Cry - #10 - “I won’t leave you” 

*

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

At first, it had gone smoothly. They entered the portal to the demon world to battle back the demons there and rescue the humans they’d dragged through. Dante waited by the portal to evacuate the rescued humans while Vergil and Nero cut down the demons and retrieved them.

The plan had been to get the humans out, beat back the demons, and escape through the portal, sealing it on the other side. There was a horde of demons rushing their way, putting them on a tight schedule before it became a huge threat. If they got through, so many would die.

They’d nearly rescued all the humans when things went south.

Nero had just rescued a young woman and helped her limp over to Dante when he heard a noise that took him a long moment to process because he’d never heard it before; Vergil’s pained yell.

“Vergil!” Dante said, reaching for his sword.

“I’ll get him! Get the rest out!” Nero said, grabbing his own sword and running for where Vergil was pinned to the ground by a massive demon. It had managed to sink sharp claws into Vergil. As he tried to rise, Nero realized some of the claws were so long that they’d completely pierced through Vergil’s back and exploded out through his stomach and chest.

The sight of it was all Nero needed to transform and fly at the creature, slamming into it. The demon howled in pain and swatted with its free hand at Nero. Nero swerved away and severed the demon’s hand. Vergil fell back to the ground, gritting his teeth against the pain but no longer in danger of being lifted and shaken by the damn thing.

Nero put himself between Vergil and the demon, feeling anger coursing through him as he pictured Credo’s impaled body. No one else would ever die in front of him like that. He was here, which meant Vergil was safe.

The demon tried to grab him with its claws, and Nero immediately saw how it had caught Vergil by surprise. The claws, menacing as they were already, grew even longer so quickly that one stabbed through Nero’s arm even as he lurched back.

The demon dragged him close, opening a mouth lined with sharp teeth. No, Nero refused to be a fucking snack. He could hear the last few of the civilians screaming for help. He could see Vergil, pinned and bleeding below him.

Nero grabbed the claw and pried himself off it, ignoring the sharp burst of agony in his arm. He flew forward, stabbing his sword into the demon’s eye. As it reared back screaming, he yanked his sword free and slit the beast’s throat.

It fell back with enough force to shake the ground around them. Nero dropped back to the ground, resuming his human form. Blood poured down his arm, but he ignored it as he ran for the demons still holding human prisoners. He slashed his way through them, directing the civilians to Dante. Once he’d freed the last of them and sent them limping away, he hurried back to Vergil.

It took effort to get the claw off the ground enough for Vergil to pull himself free of it. Even then, he laid on the ground, alarmingly pale and taking raspy, shuddering breaths.

Nero leaned over him, biting his lip hard. He couldn’t move Vergil in this condition. Vergil would heal from this, but it would take time.

Nero sat back. Vergil had taken his arm, nearly killed him in his own garage. Vergil had done horrific things for years. 

“Dante,” he called over his shoulder. The horde was too close now. They didn’t have time for Vergil to heal enough to safely be moved. “Tell Kyrie I’ll be back.”

Dante’s expression was pained, but he knew the risks were too high. “That’s a promise, or I find my way back here to beat both your asses. Keep him safe.”

He helped the last civilian through and exited the portal. It could only be sealed from the outside; one of them had to make it out.

“Go,” Vergil rasped. “Don’t be a fool.”

“I won’t leave you,” Nero said firmly, gripping his sword in one hand and Vergil’s shoulder in the other. “Rest up. Soon as you’re healed, you’re tapping in so I can catch a breather. Don’t think I’m letting you slack off, old man.”

“Nero,” Vergil managed. All he could see was Dante’s hand reaching out to him as time ran short all those years ago. “Go!”

“Yea,” Nero said, getting up slowly. “Guess I better stop them before they get too close. You just take a nap or something while I do all the hard work.” He smiled down at Vergil, despite everything he was sacrificing as the portal closed behind them. “Well, we do have a lot of catching up to do anyway, father.”

And then he was off, slashing away at demons to protect Vergil as Vergil stared at the spot where the portal had been. He knew he did not have to watch his own back; Nero would do it. He trusted that as deeply as he mourned for Nero’s sacrifice.