Kind of abandoned this blog for a while and started new as @mirrormurmur! If you wanna still see my writing, go there <3
It’s getting crowded on here so:
Master list :)
My Oc Stories
The Sypher Trilogy
Three people, living completely different lives, in completely different ways, with completely different people by their side. Yup, definitely! Completely different! I swear!
Info Post, Masterlist
It’s Complicated
After his fathers death, Nathan unwontedly became the heir to the throne of the diamond peak territory. He would have absolutely no problem with that, if his uncle, the grand duke, wouldn’t be so harsh about everything.
Chapters: Chapter 1,
Extras:
Run away Runaway
After 22 years of pain, Sebastian thought he was finally free. And he was! Well, until the person he once considered a father figure kidnapped him and started torturing him for information to start a war.
Chapters:
Extras: a deadly secret,
The Story of an Antihero
Ann’s, Dawn’s and Dusk’s parents were killed when they were six. Dawn was adopted by the city’s villain and Dusk by its hero. Only Ann was left behind to pick up the pieces of their family and get revenge for its fall.
Chapters:
Extras:
A door to heaven with a stairway to hell
Tristan lives somewhere in the middle of Canada in a forest with a name he didn’t care to learn. To say that he was scared when his doorbell started to ring in the middle of the night would be so much more than an understatement.
Chapters: Chapter 1,
Extras:
Whump prompts and drabbles
A Gift: Part 1, Part 2,
Traffic stop, the silent treatment, Gun to his head,
A little something about defiant Whumpee, Allergy Whump because I’m in pain,
Whump Bingo: Part 1,
Merry Whumpmas: Day 3, Day 22,
———
Requests are always open and I’m more than happy to do them, just know that it might take a little! I also love answering questions about my Oc’s or the universe they live in, just ask :)
Tw: long term captivity, mentioned starving, mention dehydration, mentioned denial of basic needs, mentioned war, mentioned mass executions, mentioned mass punishment, mentioned beatings, dehumanisation/demeaning treatment, multiple whumpees, multiple whumpers
Here is the Infopost for The Sypher Trilogy and Here you will get to the Masterlist :)
Chapter 0 || Prev || Next
Chapter 1
It had been three weeks since Malvik cut all of their supply and communication lines. Two weeks since they had barely enough food, water or information to call the conditions in the underground living and military complex of Base 162 ‘liveable’. One week since enemy forces under the command of General Pascal Winterson raided and took over the base.
One weeks where even breathing was a privilege. And it didn’t seem to stop anytime soon.
But that wasn’t the worst part, not for Azriel, at least. He was the Captain, the adoptive son and protégé of none other than Dictator Malvik Sypher himself. And they knew that. Had used it as an excuse to humiliate and shame him. And in the worst way possible for a Captain with his sense of honour and dignity.
He had his own room. He had clean clothes, bathroom, bed, desk and even his two Ravens, Sinistra and Dextra, he got to keep close. That sounds good, right? Oh no. The room he was assigned to, he shared with the General himself. Winterson had stripped him from any clothes that weren’t the Uniform of the Southern Provinces, the Uniform of Pascal’s Army. The man kept him close, made him sit with him instead of with Azriel’s men. He didn’t allow him to work, no, he was to *watch* as his own Soldiers worked themselves close to death.
He watched as his people suffered, and had no scars to show for it himself. He watched as they starved while he was forced to eat with the General and his men. He had nightmares of the prison cells the 29 people lived in while he turned under a blanket, in the same comfortable bed as the bastard who is doing all this to him, to them!
It was one of these days, of course it was. Azriel stood at the sidelines while his Soldiers were shoved and pushed around, insulted and told to work, himself doing nothing but picking at the uncomfortable uniform he was forced into once more. It didn’t even register in his mind what his people were forced to do, exactly. He didn’t want to think about it. He just wanted to be there with them.
Multiple sets of thunderous footsteps, coming from similar heavy boots as the one’s he wore, ripped him back into the real world. He glanced behind him, and immediately regretted it.
Of course, it was Winterson and his Soldier dogs. Of course, he was wearing that ugly smile, that triumphant expression, that hated uniform and the even more disliked badge, supposedly showing off his ‘honour’. What honour, he thought. What fucking honour did this man have? He enslaved his prisoners, denies them food and water, beats them when they can’t live up to his expectations and forces them to sleep in dirty, cramped and small cells in the deepest, darkest hole of the complex in groups of up to seven people. And he didn’t even have to.
There were more than enough cells to accommodate them in groups of two, there were more than enough supplies to give them decent meals, medical attention, water and hygiene products. He just didn’t give it to them unless they begged themselves into the ground like cowering mutts.
So Azriel asks again: What honour does this bastard have to wear the badge of a General with such pride?
Winterson stopped next to him, his disgusting grin widening once more, as he watched his enemy’s soldiers work themselves six feet under the ground while being treated like less than the animals in the stables.
“You know… I’d be a lot more willing to treat them good if you did the begging yourself for once.” The scumbag smirked, golden brown eyes narrowing, but his attention was long no longer on the poor people down there, but instead on his favourite captive.
Of course, he’d say that. Of fucking course. But, he probably underestimated how Azriel viewed ‘begging’. He wasn’t one to be ashamed to do something that could help others. He wasn’t one who would think of it as degrading to get on his knees. He was too stoic to see it as humiliation, it was a means to an end. One he would gladly accept if it was for the well being and safety of his people.
You want me to kneel and beg? Okay, I’ll kneel and beg! But I’ll do it my way!
It took little hesitation for him to get down on his knees, ignoring the looks he got from both his own Soldiers and Pascal’s. The General himself just grinned widely, though that soon dropped when he saw the ease and strength his captive still had, even while on his knees.
His shoulders were still square, his head and back straight, his chin high and his hands sitting nicely on his thighs. It was the perfect kneeling position, and yet the Captain extruded so much power and dignity from such a demeaning and submissive position, one would think he was the one in charge. His own raven blue eyes didn’t leave the General’s golden brown one’s, and the coldness within them was as chilling and dangerous as a winter in the most Southern parts of the planet. It wasn’t submission, it was a challenge.
“General Pascal Winterson. I beg you to be the honourable and dignified General you claim to be, and allow my team fair conditions for survival at your hands and mercy.” There was no responds to the sudden and bold words, only the disappearance of that ugly smirk showing that the man was even listening.
God, Azriel would have lied if he said he didn’t like that. The way his grin faltered and his eyes narrowed and the small gasps and glares from the other people in the area. Yet, no one did anything. Pascal was interested and his Soldiers scared to act without orders.
He was playing with the guy’s ego, with his selfish view of himself, that illusion that he was honourable, dignified and a great person and leader. He played with those traits like a cat would with a mouse. And it was delicious how well it worked.
“I expected strength from a man of your position, and the strongest thing one can do in war is to have the decency, to themselves and the world, to treat Soldiers like the sentient, living beings they are, not worse than the animals in the stables. You are acting like a vengeful man, afraid to show mercy, fearing he’d be seen as weak, not understanding that this is the most powerful thing one can do. I do not expect freedom, neither do I expect kindness or equality, however I would have thought a General would be better than what he swore to destroy.”
Oh, how those words must have stung. How mentioning that the bastard was no better than Malvik in the way he tread his prisoners must have pulled at ego, and twisted his stone cold heart in a way that no one thought possible. Or, at least, that’s what Azriel wanted.
Another grin appeared on Winterson’s face, and even though no one saw it or noticed, it made the Captain’s heart burn with utter rage. However, this grin was not as… stupid, not as sadistic, cold and stupidly delighted at the suffering of others. It was… smaller, a little bit confused, and filled with emotions he didn’t know the fucker even had. Things like… adoration? Thoughtfulness? Respect?
“You do have a good way with words, don’t you..?” He hummed, the grin widening into something more unreadable, something more similar to that damnable smirk. “Get up.”
The order was followed with a pause, not necessarily hesitation, just a need to show that he was not getting up because he was blindly obeying the man, but because he himself wanted to get up and just show the mercy of following the order to not let Pascal look like the utter loser he was in front of his men.
When he stood again, his back as straight as a board, his chest puffed out slightly and his deep water blue eyes never leaving the bastard’s own, and his high heeled, shin high combat boots standing firmly on the ground, one thing was made very clear. Not only was Azriel not afraid of Winterson, he was also not afraid to show that.
“Okay… I’ll bite, Captain, what are the demands, huh? What is your plan to making your little stay with us better? And what will I get in return?”
He gritted his teeth until one could hear soft cracking sounds, barely able to keep the utter distain and hatred he felt towards this man out of his ever-cold glare. What did he gain from it? Respect, actually honour and everyone’s loyalty. If he treated these prisoners better, they’d have no reason to ever run or defy him. Literally, most of these Soldiers had nothing left. Malvik had made sure of that.
“Okay… the plan is simple. Two people per room, enough food to keep than at a healthy weight, water whenever needed, hygiene products, access to medical help and the basic decency to treat them like sentient beings instead of slaves. No more mockery or insults, no more undeserved punishments. Just basic fucking morality.”
“And what will I gain from that?” Oh, he fucking hated that smirk! That ugly, knowing, smug grin he wore like he ruled the world. The question came instantly, and the answer to it came even faster.
“Respect. Whether it be from my Soldiers who will see you as the godly provider they hadn’t during their time in the Army of Peace, or from your own because you show them that showing mercy is a strength you actually posses. If that is not enough, I am also gladly willing to trait my insight and knowledge on the Amperium Stratocracy and the Army of Peace.”
That was a deal Winterson couldn’t not take. And damn, he wasn’t even afraid to show it. His eyes widened noticeably and so did his grin, an eyebrow raised and for a quick second, his glance flashed towards the working man.
“You’ll defect for the safety of your Soldier?” He asked, almost not believing his ears. Captain Azriel was willing to betray his own country, his adoptive father and all he had ever known… for the safety and security of 29 men, women and people… and he didn’t even think twice about it. That did not only deserve his respect, but also his agreement. Azriel couldn’t even try to maser the rhetorical question when the General already nodded, snapping his fingers at one of his soldiers.
“Okay, deal, we’ll get all of that sorted out.” He said, his eyes not leaven the smaller one’s own, almost getting lost in them, before he quickly turned his head and barked out some orders.
“Stop the working and get these people food, not too much for now, we don’t want them getting sick. After that, pull out one after another and let them get medical checkups, treat whatever needs treatment. Tomorrow, I want a briefing session with the whole base about a few… changes.”
Azriel stood there, feeling almost… helpless, as the orders were barked out and reluctantly followed, as everything moved and swirled and turned. He turned this situation! He.. he did his job, he kept his Soldiers safe, he would bring them back home alive! He would do it…
“You really do hate that bastard, if you’re willing to betray him like that…” it was almost a question. A question for his reasoning, his motivation to do such drastic things for other beings,
“You don’t seem to know much about this base. Did you ever ask yourself why it was so easy to take this place over?”
A raised eyebrow was all the answer he got, but also all he needed. Of course, Pascal didn’t know. He probably didn’t care, was just happy that it went so easy. There was no reason to be concerned, he had everything under his control, after all.
“This place is the garbage bin for all the Soldiers Malvik has no use for, or those he can’t execute officially, but wants them gone anyway. Every person here was and is on the Dictator’s bad side. The ones that, after being taken from their families and homes, didn’t immediately bend to his will.”
“And you?” The question was almost innocent. Almost, but there was a tiny hint of mockery in them, even though Winterson tried to hide it.
“I betrayed Malvik long before I made you that offer. I defied more orders than I could count, I was on his bad side long before this war started. He just wanted to make my punishment extra cruel by putting me in charge of his black sheep, while throwing all of us to the wolf and enjoying the show. He cut communication and supply lines and waited how long we’d last. Didn’t even take a week, and you showed up.”
Azriel sighed, and the taller could do nothing but huff. It wasn’t necessary out of amusement, or maybe the amusement he heard was a coping mechanism to digest the unforgiving truth he was just presented. These people were victims, just as much as the people from the Southern Provinces were. No one deserved to be part of Malvik’s games, and yet, he played all of them like pawns on a chess board, and there wasn’t even a real strategy behind his moves. He just did it to have a show to enjoy.
“Everybody here wants Malvik dead, one way or another. And yes, that includes me as well. If I had it my way, I’d be the one to ram the dagger into his heart.”
—————
Hello! I’m back! Who would have thought! Anyway, enjoy the new chapter and if you like, interact with it in some way, would be very nice :)
Tw: knife in the form of a playing card, beating, kidnapping, torture, blood, threatening to harm a loved one, kidnapping again but in a lot less serious way, a little bit of sadism,
Here is the Infopost for Tye Sypher Trilogy and Here you will get to the Masterlist :)
Chapter 0 || Prev || Next
Chapter 2
“I’m gonna ask this one last time, Silat, and you better answer me before I get bored and just decide that Cara will give me better answers.” The bastard had something of Azriel’s… Again. And the assassin has been letting him get away for a little too long for comfort.
The knife, looking like a playing card, with its sharp edges and the pattern of a 7 of Diamonds drawn on it delicately, moved between his fingers effortlessly, only stopping when the poor man he’s been tormenting for the last hour or so stirred. God, the guy looked pathetic. Even more so than last time.
“I-…” right, he had slit his throat a bit… not enough to kill him, but enough to make talking just that much more painful. He would feel bad if it wasn’t so damn satisfying to hear the fool scream.
“You?” The blond asked dryly. If this little shit said some nonsense like ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ or ‘I don’t have it’, he was gonna-
“I-I’ll… never…” immediately, a kick to the groin shut him the fuck up. He didn’t want the guy to talk unless it was gonna be something useful, and that didn’t sound like something useful.
“You really are a dumb bitch, huh? No wonder your boss dropped you off at my doorstep.” The sociopath grinned like a shark smelling a victim’s blood in the water. Did Silat know he was lying? Did the brunette know that it was him who sneaked into his house and sedated him? The slight flinch and the way he tried to turn away from his captor said that, no, he didn’t know what really happened. Tried, he couldn’t really move much…
“F-fuck… ya-…” Huh. Even while being tortured, the man couldn’t drop his stupid accent. Fucking dumb bitch.
“I’m getting what I want, no matter how stubborn you are. And if I don’t get it soon, I’m gonna drag your fiancé down here as well, see how that motivates you, dipshit.” Another kick followed, as well as a gurgling sound and some coughs, blood staining the already bloodied floor a new kind of crimson.
Azriel knew very well how much the threat of getting his beloved soon to be wife into this terrified the man, obvious by the way he flinched back even harder and looked up at him with dull, teary, almost pleading eyes. He loved those eyes. He fucking hated the man, but he loved those eyes.
“Oh, you don’t want that, do y-“ he got interrupted by the rude fucking person who used his doorbell, the annoying sound of ring ring ring echoing through the concrete walls of the lowest part of his house. “Fuckin’ great..” groaning, he glanced back at Silat, who seemed stupidly hopeful that he could scream his way out of this.
The shark grin reappeared, wider, as his captive’s eyes widened, the ball gag and scarf dangling before his face strangling any hope of escape. Again, he loved the terrified look in his eyes.
It took a few seconds of forcing the gag into the struggling bastard’s mouth, before he could tie the cloth around the lower parts of his face to make sure no noice could be loud enough to reach the person still ringing the fucking doorbell.
When Azriel was completely done, he gave Silat one last kick, a warning and not as hard as the first few, before walking up the stairs, locking the door behind himself and pushing the bookshelf in front of it. It was mainly to make sure no one would find out he even had a basement. There were no windows in his downstairs bedroom, so no one could watch him do this, too. Precautions, he said to himself. Definitely not paranoia.
“Hey! I’m coming! Calm the fuck down!” He screamed while taking his handgun and hiding it under his baggy, green shirt. Again, precautions, not paranoia!
“Now, just who do you-…”
Well, imagine the assassin’s surprise when he saw a… man… in front of his door. He had thought it was one of his neighbours who wanted something, or had something to rant about, but no. It was a… man. Tall, lean, muscular, definitely from the military. His black hair was cut very short and the only kind of clothing style the guy seemed to have was ‘uniform’. But it wasn’t the normal military stuff, those really were just normal clothes made to look like a uniform. Was he getting pranked by that bratty kid from down the street? No, that couldn’t be. He didn’t have a lot of friends and the dad was an obese office worker who liked letting his dog take a shit wherever the mutt pleased. Well, used to, Azriel took care of it…
“Can I… help you..?” He asked, slowly, unsure of what the hell was happening. It definitely wasn’t that he was uncomfortable with the situation, it just seemed… surreal.
“Mr Sypher? My name is Jonathan Star, I am from the International Safety Association, specifically the Branche from the United Kingdom, may I come inside.” That… that didn’t sound like a question. It was a statement that this man… Star… would come in. It was so he sounded polite, but there was no real need for an answer. Well, it’s not like that would stop Azriel from answering anyway!
“No.” He said, still confused, but his tone has gone a little bit more dry. More.. weary and irritated. International Safety Association. ISA. Anti terrorism and organised crime. Anti literally what he does for a living. Great.
Without giving ‘Jonathan’ even a second, he slammed the door shut right on his face, grinning to himself when the last look he saw on the rando’s face was irritation and shock. Delicious, in other words.
He was just about to push the bookshelf from the basement door when it came again. That stupid Ring Ring Ring sounding through the house. He had half a mind to just cut the electrical wiring and forget this happened, but the guy, who Azriel was sure this was, would probably just storm his house.
The next time he opened the door, there were four people, one being this Jonathan Star bastard, and the other three being fully geared up Soldiers with assault rifles trained on his legs, shoulder and… okay, the third guy didn’t seem to know what he was doing. Even better.
“I already said-“
“Azriel Sypher, or Zero? You are to come with us, struggle against this or make a scene, and we will use force. Please, put your hands up and slowly step out of the building.” The voice was calm. Too calm, what the hell was happening- wait-
“How the fuck- no, you can’t take me! You have no reason to-“ he argued, well, tried arguing, but that was hard when he was held at gun point and got metaphorically slapped in the face by the fact that this wannabe commanding officer knew his callsign.
“You are a wanted criminal, Zero. I can very well do this, and I will. Now Put. Your. Hands. Up.” Jonathan hissed through gritted teeth, taking a menacing step forward. However, even through all of this, he still seemed rather.. emotionless. Cold, for a lack of better words.
“I won’t- ugh, Hey!” He wanted to protest, but before he could continue his temper tantrum, Star rolled his eyes and simply grabbed him by the shirt, dragging him out of the threshold and shoving him towards one of his dogs, who grabbed Azriel not so gently and cuffed his wrists behind his back. Great! Just Great! This is-! Ugh, Great!
Only when he was pushed into the back of the Van, followed by two Soldiers and Star, did Sypher find his words again. Well, no, he had his words the entire time, but preferred to use them by throwing every insult and bad word he knew at his captors.
“Good, now let’s talk.” One of the Soldiers, a bit short but still definitely a good Soldier, removed her mask when Star, obviously the leader, said that. The man sat across from him and the unmasked woman took a place a few feet away from Azriel on the same side of the Van.
“As I said, my name is Jonathan ‘Nova’ Star, I am a Colonel in the New Zealand Army and the ISA. I am also the highest commanding officer in a Special Operations Task Force called The Crimson Spades. And as much as it pains me to say this, we need your help.”
Azriel choked on the air he was trying to inhale, finally looking up at the man and making eye contact. Okay, never mind, this was a dream. He was definitely dreaming, this is-
“We know that you have once worked with a man called ‘Malvik’, and we would like your expertise and knowledge about anything and everything regarding him. In return you will not be put before trail, for as long as you work with the Spades. As a Spade’s Soldier.”
The assassin had to admit, the guy was good at talking and explaining. That did absolutely nothing to stop him from almost vomiting at that name. Oh yes, he had experience with that guy, but-
“No. No, no, no! Not Malvik! I will help you with anything, but *not* Malvik! No! That-.. no!” He growled, earning an angry look from the woman next to him, as well as a slightly annoyed glance from Star. He had to admit, getting a wild card as a wanted criminal was something he’d take any time, even if h wouldn’t admit that, he did want to change, but not with that fuck! Not with Malvik.
“I… understand, partially. We will talk about this some more when we are at the base. Please, get comfortable, this is gonna be a long ride.” Azriel was almost content with that, until he remembered that he was basically kidnapped, stuffed into a Van, had no idea where they were going and…
Wait, he still had a captive in his basement… and he left the lights in the hallway on! Damn it! Nobody gave a shit about Silat, but his precious electrical bill!
—————
Thank you for reading. As I said, I’m in a very good mood for writing right now, even though that is a tiny bit declining. Still, here I have another treat for those who care to have it ;)
The Sypher Trilogy is a Story made up of three different main story lines. For the majority of the Series, this is just an excuse to write about all three characters/storylines, but it will become important/necessary eventually.
My Masterlist! And the Infopost for the entire series!
Things you need to know about all three stories
Number 1: In this universe, there are different planets, species, etc. but about 99% of the people on earth are both human and don’t know about the other civilised planets. The first two Stories play on earth, while the third plays on another planet, which is very earth like, but isn’t earth.
Number 2: none of these characters know about any other character from the other two stories. Neither the three Azriels, nor any other character know that someone from the other stories exist… well, ✨most✨ characters don’t know ;)
Number 3: most people will say something like ‘The Overs knew’, ‘Overs please’ or ‘in the name of the Overs’ etc. This is because instead one god, or any god in particular, the beings people worship are called (who would have guessed) Overs. These are kinda like gods, but also no. Will be explained further.
Number 4: there are a few Story independent Characters/characters not bound to one story/extra Characters. These include but are not restricted to: The Unknown (my beloved), The Empress/Empress Interitus/Mistress Interitus (from chapter 0) and more.
Chapters that aren’t bound/don’t belong to any of the three Sypher Stories: Chapter 0,
Story: a stern, apathetic and workaholic 28-year-old man who has to balance keeping his rich, absolutely dysfunctional family together for the sake of public opinion and being his own person.
Extras for this story:
Tag: #SypherStoryOne
A Life’s Gamble/Sypher Story two
Characters: Azriel “Zero” Sypher, Malvik, Jonathan “Nova” Star, Melanie “Frosty” Kuhne, Valen Cooper, Marshall “Silver” Santos, Owen “Icarus” Isaacs, Isaac Brook, Ferdinand “Hill” Brownstones
Story: after being abandoned in a casino by his father at the age of nine, Azriel has to gamble his way to a better life. He became a sociopathic assassin who works for those who pay and doesn’t give a fuck about anything else… or does he?
Extras for this Story:
Tag: #SypherStoryTwo
A Forever Caged Bird/Sypher Story three
Characters: Azriel, General/Strongman/Dictator Malvik Sypher, General Pascal Winterson, Sinistra and Dextra (my beloved), Ray Pershovsky, Soldiers (a lot)
Story: born as the result of a failed experiment, Azriel’s life didn’t start good. When the lab exploded, everything got worse, and a 7 year old boy had to live in the ruins of the world he knew. When he got picked up by Malvik, that changes. Well, for ten years, before the bastard starts a war and sends Azriel to die in a military base closest to enemy lines.
Tw: mentioned noncon, mentioned punishment, mentioned starving, a hell lot of threatening and fighting, mentioned past abuse, mentioned war, mentioned mass executions, mentioned multiple whumpers, invasion of personal space, blood, a bit of forced to watch (their birds, but intelligent, so I’ll just mention it to be safe), team whump, if there is more, let me know!
Here is the Infopost for Tye Sypher Trilogy and Here you will get to the Masterlist :)
Chapter 0 || prev (this is Chapter 2 for now because I haven’t convinced myself to write chapter 3 yet) || next
Chapter 4
If there was one thing Azriel hated more than Malvik, it would be- no, wait, scratch that, there was nothing in this utterly forsaken world he hated more than Malvik. If there was one thing he hated almost as much as Malvik, it would be Winterson. Sure, the man didn’t start any wars for the hell of it, neither was he a sadistic, arrogant, and corrupt psychopathic dictator that executes at least 27 men and women every month simply because he could, but still. As said, there was nothing he hated more than Malvik, but damn, Pascal wasn’t making it easy to like him!
“So what, one of my people attacked that asshole out of self-defence and you’re just gonna go ahead and punish all of them?!” To say the younger man was pissed was an absolute understatement. The General and he had come to the agreement that his men would do labour and help the troops from the Southern Provinces as best they could for as long as none of them got hurt or treated like less than living, breathing, sentient beings. Now this piece of shit scumbag wants to implement mass punishment for the very well-justified mistake of a single person.
“Why, that is exactly what I’m planning! You’re catching onto me, darlin’.” Azriel hated that stupid accent, and he hated that grin, and the glint of gleeful entertainment he got, not from knowing Soldiers would be hurt, but from knowing he could rile the Strongman’s ex-protégé up so well. Overs forgive him, he *hated* Winterson sometimes! Most times!
“This is ridiculous! I’d understand punishing the woman that punched the bastard, even though I’d still say he fucking deserved it, but no one else did anything wrong! You can’t hurt them simply because you… why are you even doing this?!” Granted, screaming at the man who allows you the very basics more generously than he might have to was not a very clever idea, but fuck it, the Captain felt comfortable doing it! Okay, no, he wasn’t comfortable with how Pascal’s grin faltered slightly into a tiny frown, or how he stepped closer to him so menacingly while showing off his height in all its inhuman glory.
“I’m doing this because I can and have to. We agreed that your… Soldiers were to respect me and my troops as their superiors, and you can’t punch your superiors.” The older stated it so calmly, that it made a chill creep up his spine. How could this man do this?! His Medic punched a lowly Private because he touched her extremely inappropriately, and Winterson was going to punish not only her but his enter commando?! He saw the black feathers of Dextra and Sinistra fluttering with concern as they felt their owner’s growing rage and… hopelessness, but he couldn’t care less right now. They weren’t important right now.
“Hey, if I punched Malvik, you’d give me a fucking medal, how is that different?! He is my superior, technically! The man tried to grope her, why can’t you see the bigger picture here? You can’t punish her for wanting to defend herself, and you can’t punish people who had nothing to do with it! This is completely illogical!” When he felt tiny talons sitting down on his shoulder, he finally glanced at the black-feathered bird, seeing the silent plead to stop this, but he just couldn’t! He shooed Dextra away carefully, before turning back to Winterson, which he greatly regretted almost immediately.
The golden brown eyes held no spark anymore, his ugly smile turned upside down into an even worse scowl and he stood just millimetres away from entering Azriel’s personal space in the worst possible way ever, looking there, over him, like a predator that had been denied food for too long. But a predator of that kind would be desperate, Pascal wasn’t desperate. He was… angry. Utterly frustrated that a Prisoner of War was not only demanding something but questioning and criticising his decisions as a General and leader.
“Are you done, Azzy?” Of course, not even in this situation, he’d care to use his actual name instead of that stupid nickname. “Because I’m getting bored of hearing you screech over something you have no say in. Food rations will get limited and if you continue with his ugly attitude of yours, I’m going to make it a month and not just a week, do you understand?”
Oh, how the Captain hated himself for flinching and backing away ever so slightly without making it too obvious. He knew that it wasn’t even Winterson’s fault or accomplishment, but the years of conditioning and trauma he still hadn’t recovered from after he left the Army of Peace and practically defected. “I-..” did he have something to say? Could he find a rebuttal to get the General to change his mind?
“I’m surprised you didn’t even get it yet, this isn’t about the woman, or your Soldiers, or that scumbag that thought he’d get away with touching a woman like that, this is about you. The Private has been punished and will be sent back to the main base of operations, and now it’s your time to be punished!”
There it was. That one step too close, right into Azriel’s precious personal space. He took a step back as well but was immediately mirrored by the other man until he was backed into not only a literal corner but a metaphorical one as well.
“Did you honestly think I would continue to allow you to treat my patience and good grace as something you deserve? You are a prisoner of war! You are the son, adoptive or not, of the man I and my men fight against! You deserve nothing! And yet, I have been so kind and gave you respect, food, water, accommodation, and dignity! And you still think you can push my boundaries and fight me?!”
A pathetic squeal, almost like a desperate cry for help sounded from his lips when Winterson stepped forward once more and grabbed his hair, yanking him closer. Their faces were close, way too close for a person with claustrophobia and social sensitivity. The General's hot breath burned on the shorter’s cold skin, his golden brown glare piercing through those wide, night sky blue eyes. He stood over him it’s his whole, 6-foot-7-inch might.
“You don’t deserve respect or mercy, yet I gave it to you. You should start feeling grateful every once in a while, or I might mistake you for the bratty traitor you truly are.” Dextra and Sinistra watched with all the horror their intelligent raven brains could muster as their foster father’s head was punched into the stone wall of the office in the heart of the underground military base with one strong, skull-crushing shove. It didn’t crush his skull, luckily, not like that would have done anything anyway, but damn, it still hurt.
Azriel just gave another pathetic whimper as Winterson finally let go of his hair, letting the 28-year-old sink to the floor, the back of his head bleeding concerningly, but neither cared. He knew the older didn’t like hurting him, or anyone for that matter. He was a respectable and honourable man, but he was also extremely ruthless, so no matter how much he disliked bashing the Captain’s head against the wall or forcing a group of 29 men, women, and people to almost starve, it was a means to an end for him. And hey, the end justifies the means, doesn’t it?
“Four days, half the ration. Should bullshit like this happen again, I’ll make it ten days. The more you fight me, to more your Soldiers will suffer. Now get out of my fucking face, your blood is ruining my office.”
It wasn’t his office. This was once Azriel’s place of work. Before he and his commando got overrun by Southern Provinces Soldiers after Malvik cut off their supply and communication lines simply because that sadistic mother fucker wanted to ‘drop dead weight’. He knew that the entire team on Base 162 was just a garbage bin for the Dictator’s most untrustworthy Soldiers and liabilities. And that included his unruly protégé and ‘son’.
With shaking legs, he got himself up, leaning against the wall, for apparently a bit too long, if the growl from Winterson’s throat and the slight twitch of his hand was anything to go off of. He flinched back once more, before hurrying into the cold labyrinth of grey concrete walls and floor and towards the med bay. Sinistra and Dextra followed loyally, trying to ignore the big, bleeding wound on the back of their Master’s head and the light sway of what was most likely a concussion.
He made it to the med bay. The people there didn’t even try asking what the hell happened, they knew better. Not like Azriel would answer. They stitched him up, brought him to a small, private monitoring room, and let him rest. Rest for what, he thought to himself while the world around him got dark. The mess of black feathers gently took their place on the pillow and the end of the bed, sleeping close by and watching over him. Rest to relive the nightmare once more.
—————
Technically speaking, this is not Chapter one, but it is the first chapter (other than Chapter 0) that I was willing to write. More will likely follow, I have a lot of time and boredom right now, but enjoy the treats I give you now, please ;)
Please son’t be shy to ask me about anything concerning my person, characters, stories or world building and have a pleasant day, thank you for reading this :3
Chapter 0 to the newly introduced Series The Sypher Trilogy!
Here is the Infopost for Tye Sypher Trilogy and Here you will get to the Masterlist :)
TW: manipulation, mind control, baby whump (not bad (I think), but a child is involved, so be careful), bleeding, magical whump, fire, stabbing with a glass shard, let me know if there is more
Chapter Zero
The Unknown crept his way carefully into the ballroom, knowing that was where she would be. Well, at least in what used to be a ballroom. The white marble had long turned black and dusty and he was sure some stains were more than mere dirt. It also didn’t smell like joy, cake, food, and sweet liquor anymore. There was a certain metallic ooze, combined with clear musk, sweat, and.. something undefinable.
The atmosphere behind the black mahogany wooden doors was heavy, stiff, and ugly, like the air in a burning swamp. He had never been in a swamp, but he was sure, this was how it smelled should it be set on fire. She stood there, her glory long buried with the guilt of having to do this. Neither the Unknown nor his Empress wanted to do this… but did fate give them a chance? No, it never did.
“I told you not or come here.” Her voice was deep, uncanny. Not the cheerful beauty of a sound he had learned to obey. He would still obey his empress, but… then again, she was going to ask Existence to erase her child, and the Unknown couldn’t let that happen. “And yet…” it was a sigh. Strained more than should have been, but he dismissed it, almost out of reflex. The urge to turn around growing, but he knew that were just her shadowy veins sneaking around his mind.
“And yet I came.” He answered her steadily, voice even, even while the gaze that wasn’t yet laid upon him pierced through his soul. She didn’t have to look at him to kill with her glances. She couldn’t have looked at him, no matter what. “Mistress Interitus, this is a mistake. Neither the Overs nor our ever-loving creator can control time, fate works outside our reach of control. You will not change that-“
“SILENCE!” An ugly screech of a cornered animal echoed through the dull grey room, the Empress finally turning around to glare at the Unknown. The blindfold she had once worn with pride was ripped, the pieces hanging lifelessly over her ears, revealing the eyes that definitely weren’t eyes. Holes that glowed an uncanny white, her sickly pale skin overgrown with the formal dress and the black hair, this was not the woman he served. No, it was her, he could feel it, but it was a poisoned illusion of what he thought was true.
“SILENCE, SILENCE, SILENCE! That Child will not see life to fulfill its purpose! And if it kills me, so be it! Now leave, or watch, but do not dare utter one more word!” She growled her threats and screamed out what he had tried to explain to his Empress, not understanding what she had said. Were it the shadows that controlled her speech, or was it her own delirium getting worse than even the most powerful could handle, he did not know.
What he did know was that her powers worked nonetheless, his lips sealing shut, denying his brain their obedience. He did not panic, but rather sank to the floor, defeated, sad, utterly helpless in his urge to fulfill his duty. He didn’t look up, couldn’t watch, but neither could he leave his Empress or her forsaken child. Was it vicious disobedience or mere hopelessness, he did not dare think about it, but he hoped it to be neither.
“You have turned pathetic… so weak…” her murmurs fell on deaf ears, the Unknown barely giving an indication that he was still alive, other than the ever so soft movement of his black and white butler uniform. A piece of attire he had once worn with pride, honored to be the most trusted of the Empress’s servants. But he soon learned that ‘most trusted’ did not mean ‘best treated’ or ‘reprieved’… or ‘spared’. Oh no, one would be foolish to think that.
“But I guess that was to be expected.” There was a surprisingly little amount of venom in her voice, but the words stung nonetheless. He did not understand why it was ‘expected’, he had not changed after all. He was still by her side, even after everything, and yet… maybe it was her own changes that led her to this conclusion.
She turned her glowing orbs back to the cradle in which the unborn thing of a hopeless child had been crying the entire time, the sound had barely registered in the Unknown’s ears since it had become such a constant sound, it was nothing but white noise by now. The poor being looked innocent, weak, and hopeless, as it thrashed in the few sheets it had and tried to reach out for its mother. She hadn’t fed it, he was sure. As he looked at it, it was almost unimaginable what this poor thing would do. It would do it, there was no doubt, the idea that one can change a written-down destiny is sheer laughable nonsense, but it didn’t look like it. The poison green eyes, filled with tears, and its tiny throat screamed and cried for mercy the woman standing over it didn’t have. It’s not like the child understood that. The Unknown didn’t understand it either, but he was better at hiding it than a hungry, touch-starved, and desperate newborn.
The sacrifice to call upon the all-loving creator was quickly done, a few words that made the Unknown’s ears bleed and a quick killing of an undead, and he knew something was there. His lips were still sealed shut, so no sound escaped at the unimaginable pain that rang in his head when the Empress spoke her spell to call upon thee. He only knew that he was bleeding when similar stains to those on the wall formed on the left and right of his legs. Small droplets of dark, crimson red, smelling slightly metallic and ever so slightly sweet.
A loud, raging echo blinded his ears when he knew the ever-loving creator spoke, making it impossible for those to hear its voice who were not ready for it yet. The Empress was silent, listening, before starting to rage and scream and throw things and do worse. The child stayed positively unharmed. Surprisingly not fall to its mother’s blinded rage. The ever-loving creator spoke again before the cradle with the child started to burst into flames, a gentle, green fire eating at it. Only when he regained his hearing did he realize that it wasn’t what he thought.
The Empress spoke in a low, menacing tone, shadowy snakes creeping from her feet towards the suddenly silent creature in the sheets, threatening to bite and poison it how they once poisoned its mother. The Unknown didn’t understand what she was saying, but he understood her intentions. If she can’t kill it, she will destroy it. Suddenly, a power he knew was a gift from the ever-loving creator burst through his veins, and with this new strength he grabbed a shard of broken glass and practically sprung on top of the Empress, lodging the clear piece of molten sand into her shoulder, stopping her from continuing the curse before she would do unimaginable damage to Existence.
She didn’t scream, for she wasn’t able to feel pain, but she was definitely surprised by what her servant had done. A thick, black liquid dripped down onto her dress and the once-white marble floor, and both of them just stared at it with absolute disbelief at what had happened.
Then, she screamed. Loud. But it was too late. Her child was gone. Its soul was broken apart and taken by the ever-loving creator, sent somewhere where the Empress couldn’t hurt it and anger Fate more than she already did.
—————
Once again will I gladly remind whoever is interested to ask questions!
After I don’t know how long I can proudly announce that I am back… kinda. Well, I’m back with at least one Post. That’s something, isn’t it :)
Okay, the Sypher Trilogy is not a story with three parts, happening after one another, but more three simultaneously happening stories with practically the same character(s). Sounds complicated? Trust me, it will be!
I can’t say too much, because that would be really boring, but maybe you will find out what is going on here while reading the story (stories). The following characters are the three main characters, who will all mostly experience different things. If you are. Confused with this, I’d advise you to read the story that will definitely follow suit. (Hopefully)
This is your perfect example of a reluctant rich boy. Probably. His family sits upon the wealth of hundreds of years, with his father, Malvik, on the top of it all. He grew up rich and strict, isolated from the ‘normal folks’, in a family that seems so perfect from the outside, but is nothing but a dysfunctional mess. He is the oldest, had to take care of two younger siblings while also working as the heir to this money empire. He often doesn’t sleep because of the work his father gives him and more so, because he simply forgets that he is more than an ever running machine to do his father’s biddings and live through his every whim.
Azriel “Zero” Sypher
Parents: Unknown
Age: 28
He is a sly little bitch, that’s all there is to say about him. He can talk himself out of a death sentence, escapes any and every trap and can tell the police all the illegal and bad things he has done and they would thank him for his honesty and let him go. He has diagnosed sociopathy, doesn’t understand a thing about self preservation and is so good at gambling, he should be the Major of Las Vages. After nine years of trauma, his father accidentally abandoned him in a casino in London. Great, especially since he didn’t speak a drop of English. He managed, earning money by gambling himself to the top and tricking people with all sorts of things. Now, he is an assassin, living on the run and working for whoever pays him most. He wishes to change, of course, but how can you do that when the entire planet wants your skills and even more want you dead?
Azriel
Parents: Unknown
Age: 28
Out of all three of them, he had/has it the worst. He was born, not only during an extremely complicated war, but also as the product of a failed experiment. As if that wasn’t enough, the Lab in which he lived for the first seven years of his life got blown up, forcing him to live in the ruins of the world he once knew. Luckily, a kind stranger, introduced himself as ‘Malvik Sypher’ picked young Azriel up and brought him home with him. The first years were good, loving even, but slowly, he had to watch his adoptive father transcend into absolute madness. Now, he lives in a military base at the front line that has long been taken over by enemy forces. He is a kind man, selfless and dignified, knowing his ways with words and an.. umbrella?!
—————
Maybe one day, their paths will meet once more. Maybe one day, their souls will be combined again, maybe one day, they’ll be complete. And maybe one day, they’ll fulfill their destiny. But until then, their story has just begun.
Please mind you that I absolutely love talking about my Characters/Stories/Lore! So please do me a big favour and ask! About anything, really! I love talking nd interacting with others!
Also, if you want, please check out my Masterlist :)
TW: Nightmare, none described past trauma, gun, mentioned torture, questioning reality/existence,
Once the black reaches you, death will take your hand and guide you back to fear!
And so, he ran! Ran, because, as far as he knew, his dear life depended on it. Ran, because it was the only thing he could truly do. If he even once stopped to take in his surroundings, he’d realise just how shaky, how tinted everything was. That even the brightest light looked like a shadow, wanting to consume him. But he didn’t stop. Not now, and probably never.
Familiar faces, too distorted to recognise, flashed in his peripheral vision like red sirens. Voices he should have known not to trust lured him deeper and deeper into a rabbit hole of painful oblivion. There was no end in sight except for exhaustion, which he was sure would curse him soon enough. But until then, running seemed like his best and only option.
Unknown buildings from past memories soon turned into a wooden labyrinth of darkness. The trees around him seemed impossibly large, but his brain was to consumed with his mission, that he didn’t want to care.
Run! Run! Run!
Further and further into the forest that all of the sudden seemed too familiar. Every tree he came across, every bush he stumbled through, every stone, trying to make him trip looked like he’d seen them mere seconds ago. He continued running through the forest of his past trauma until he came across something else. He stopped. Everything. Even his breathing halted when the cottage first came into view.
Like seeing the house made him forget all his troubles. Well, no. It reminded him of all his troubles. Kicked the memory back into his brain, that he would never truly be able to escape. The impact that had, made it seem like he was physically kicked. Was he? He honestly couldn’t tell anymore.
Even though he was very aware of how the house looked. Where the windows were, where and how the doors and walls had been build, he couldn’t really see it. It felt like someone had placed a filter before his eyes turning everything into a black nothing, when he knew something should be there. Still, he stepped closer to the nonexistent silhouette of his past. He was now so close that, if he reached out, he could touch the wooden door. So close to a place he never wanted to return to.
He shuddered when a hand gripped his shoulder, right when he wanted to open the door. His body froze in place while fingernails dug into his skin, not making a sensation. It felt like the hand wasn’t there but it was. He knew it was. It always was.
“Welcome back to purgatory!”
Sebastian’s eyes snapped open like he was woken from a hypnotic trance. His right hand rushed towards the gun on his nightstand before his brain could comprehend even a fraction of what just happened. A nightmare. A bad dream without meaning.
His right hand still hugged the weapon with all its might. His left hand moved the blanket from his body, because it felt like he might suffocate if he stayed under those sweat drenched sheets any longer. And the moment he was free, his legs swung to his right, forcing him to sit up, gun still in hand. It was just a nightmare. An agonising trick of his traitorous mind.
The demigod just sat there, on the edge of his bed, waiting for something he knew wouldn’t come. Maybe this was his fate… endless torture from an entity outside of his knowledge. Maybe he was a plaything for a defined being, that unfortunately liked to cause him unimaginable pain.
———
Hey, I’m not dead! Surprising, I know… I am sorta in the mood to write but also very much in the mood to do anything else sooooo… yeah, I might not post for a while…
Anyways, have this absolute treat of word-vomit…
But have a wonderful whatever you do or don’t celebrate!
Tw: Blood, described injuries, gun, more comfort than not
What. The. Fuck.
BangBangBang, another knock. And then the unbearably loud sound of the doorbell. The black of the night shined through his window, but that didn’t matter to him. It wasn’t the time that scared him. Or the volume of the banging that was unsettlingly harsh. No, it wasn’t that. It was the fact that there was a sound in the first place. He hated social contact, which was one of many reasons why he had jumped at the opportunity of a house somewhere in the middle of Canada, in a forest with a name he didn’t care to learn. There was no such thing as a surprise visitor. He had never seen a hiker either and the next best road was over two kilometres away from his driveway. Who in the name of heaven was using his fucking doorbell.
Slowly but surely the sounds got drowned out. The knocking got quieter, yet more frantic and the doorbell was used far less. Then, after one long attempt to get his attention, it got deafeningly silent. Thud! The sound was loud, even for him, on the second floor. Then, there was nothing. After a few more seconds of no noise, other than Tristan’s breath, shallow from anticipation, he finally grabbed the gun from his nightstand. He would have heard a window shatter or a door open, he was sure, but only God knew what kind of sickening joke this was supposed to be. With cautious moves, the house owner tried to peak out of the window above his porch, but sadly the small roof blocked his vision.
With another shaking breath, he moved forward, pointing the barrel down the stairway. He pushed his 1.78 m body down the flight of stairs, all of the sudden a little too aware of his surroundings. When his feet graced the wood of the first floor, he shoved himself towards the window next to the entrance, trying to see anything. His eyes started to water at the sight, not out of fear or sadness, he wasn’t even sure why it happened. There was a line of dark liquid leading towards his house. A clear path was painted in the gravel of his driveway, like someone had dragged something extremely big and heavy to his porch. Like a body, the realisation made his head spin and he had to fight very hard against the nausea building in his stomach, twisting his organs like a cloth being freed from water.
‘You have seen far worse, get yourself together.’, his own voice taunted him like he was a disobedient child. One last breath of encouragement, and he finally forced himself to open the two locks on the door but kept the chain in its place. He remembered his mother, laughing at the high amount of security precautions, but now, he was happy that he had been so lazy and just kept it there.
Blood. That was the first thing he saw on the wood in front of his door. An unholy and unhealthy amount of blood. Then, his eyes finally spotted the reason for his troubles. A figure. Long white hair saved Tristan from vomiting at the sight of the bloody, bruised and beaten form of someone. He couldn’t see their face, but he didn’t want to see it either. Their chin was laying on their chest, the left arm was protectively slung over their torso, moving with every tiny bit of air that got in their lung, and one leg was bend, but not strong enough to keep itself upright, so it was leaning against the other knee. There were a few bandages around their wrist and and lower leg, but they were not at all tight enough to help. The scene was pitiful. Very very pitiful. And the man wanted to do nothing more than close this godforsaken door. But the body that weighed, both at the door and his conscious, couldn’t just be left behind. He had to deal with this either now, or tomorrow, when the person was dead…
It took another second, before he groaned, annoyed at his own moral standing, and removed the chain, careful enough so that the leaning figure wouldn’t fall to the floor. His body moved completely on autopilot, while he used every bit of military medical training he could find in the back of his brain. The couch probably wasn’t the best place for a bleeding body, but there were too many doors to his guest room, and he doubted that his visitor would mind. They would move to an actual bed once they were conscious enough to do it out of their own free will. But before that could happen, he needed to do a lot. First aid kits from the bathroom, antiseptic and painkillers from the kitchen and a few unimportant towels, that could get thrown away. Last but not least, a bucket with fresh water and then he could get to work.
The first thing he did was remove the, already useless, bandages, swallowing the bile at the sight of bloody flesh, undoubtedly infected. He used one of the towels to clean the wounds before wrapping the new material around their body, tighter to actually apply pressure on the wounds. His heart ached more and more the louder the wincing from pain got. When he was done scrubbing the cloth over the reachable bruises and patching it up as good as possible, he started to hesitate. They were obviously hurt under the little amount of clothes they were wearing, but it felt wrong and penetrating to rob them of the last bit of privacy.
‘The wounds are probably just as bad under there as they were out here…’, still, it did not feel right to just take of their rags without asking. But after a while of thinking and a hand trying to move over their stomach, but recoiling with a pained groan, Tristan decided to do it anyways. ‘I’m trying to help them. I’m not harming them by doing so!’
The homeowner was done after one and a half hour of carefully cleaning and wrapping up the, unconsciously trembling, person. He had found a few antibiotics while changing the water and had dissolved them in a glass of water for the visitor to drink. It was four in the morning when he finally felt comfortable enough to sit down in the armchair next to the sofa. He wasn’t going to leave that person. Both, because he didn’t want them to wake up in a completely unknown environment without an immediate explanation, and because he didn’t know if it was the best idea to leave a stranger in his house without having an eye on them.
And it took long for them to wake up. But Parks honestly didn’t think he could blame them. They lost blood… a lot and it was a miracle that they survived in the first place. He’d spent a lot of time of the next day, either changing the visitor's bandages, or freeing the porch and his driveway from the blood just to make sure he didn’t seem too suspicious. Well, he lived alone in a house in the middle of nowhere, that was already weird. Now that he thought of it, how did they find his home anyways. They must be bathing in luck. ‘The only thing they were bathing in is their own blood!’ There it was again, the taunting voice of his venomous conscious.
———
I have been debating whether or not to post this, but here we are…
Tw: gun, mentioned captivity, death wish, mentioned killing, is there more??
“I’m giving you a chance.”, for the first time, Whumpee was completely unbound. They stood in the middle of the room they had been forced to call a home, staring into Whumper’s gleeful eyes. The man held a gun in his hand. They knew they were supposed to be scared. Supposed to fear the situation.
“What kind of chance?” Their voice wobbled a little more than they’d liked, and their body shook just a tiny bit too much. Whumper just grinned, but they weren’t sure at what.
“A chance to escape!” His smile didn’t leave while he pointed the handle of the gun towards Whumpee, inviting them to hold it.
“Wha-…”, they stopped themselves, thinking about what they were going to say.
“You can either kill me and run out of that door into your freedom, or you can stay here. Your choice!”
“You are insane, do you know that?” Still, they took the offer, weighing the gun in their hands.
“Shoot me, or give it back,” he said, standing up straight so Whumpee could have a free range. They nodded slowly, but didn’t make any effort to actually shoot, nonetheless point the gun at their captor. After a few more seconds, they just shook their head, before throwing the pistol back at Whumper, who caught it with confusion in his eyes.
“If you have that big of a death wish, give me a loaded one next time.”
Let’s just ignore the fact that I completely procrastinated 1 and 2
TW: fever, mentioned kidnapping, mentioned torture/hurting, mentioned threatening, mentioned broken in in a house, bruises, lmk if there is more
The kitchen was a lot quieter than usual. And also a lot colder. The snow that had started to fall a few days prior had turned into mud, and the white wonderland had turned into a depressing sight to see over the night. The heater in the basement was working at full capacity, but the house was old, so only a few rooms could be kept warm at a time. And those rooms had to be the bedrooms and baths, not the kitchen.
Whumpee was searching through the cupboards to find the peppermint tea. They were sure that they had some left from yesterday, but it seemingly disappeared. That had happened a lot, since caretaker got sick. At first it seemed inconvenient but now it was just straight up suspicious. Yesterday, they misplaced their coffee mug. The day before that, tissues started to disappear and now the tea? And they thought caretaker was the one with the fever. Well, at leaste the medicine was still there.
With some other herb tea, a pill and grandma’s soup, they got back to their patients bedroom. When they stepped into the room, it got noticeably warme. Still, a shudder walked down their spine while they closed the door behind them.
Whumpee stopped dead in their track when they looked back at the bed. They would have dropped the tray, if their hands didn’t cramp up into tight fists. Their knuckles turned with and it started to hurt, but they couldn’t stop.
“They aren’t getting better, it seems.”, they couldn’t see Whumper’s face, leaning over caretakers sleeping form, but they could hear the smile. They could hear his amusement of both Whumpee’s and the sick one’s helplessness. “What kind of medicine have you been giving them?”
Now, the man turned around, unfazed by the situation. The two just stared at each other, Whumpee with a mix of fear and disgust and Whumper with unreadable demand for an answer to his question.
“How did you…?” The rest of the question was caught in their throat. How did you get in here? How did you know where we were? How did you find us? But every word got stuck on the way out and nothing was heard.
“I asked you a question, Whumpee.”, the man tried to get to them, but they knew. Knew what would happen once he did so, so they stepped back. Away from him and from caretaker, who was now turning uncomfortable in their sheets. They needed food and their pills and something to drink, and comfort and—! A hand creeped around Their forearm, semi gently dragging them closer to Whumper.
“You really did lose all your training, didn’t you?” The second hand took the medication, inspecting it closely. “Their fever is too high for that to work.” He let go of them, but they didn’t move away. There was no escaping now anyway.
“We don’t have anything better…”, their voice was quiet but strong nonetheless. For now, there was no reason to fear him. If he wanted to hurt them, he would have done so already.
“Why didn’t you go and get something better?” The man had taken the tray by now, and put it on the nightstand. His movements were as precise as his actions were confusing, but that didn’t come as a surprise. He had never cared to explain himself.
“There was a snow storm up until two days ago and they seemed to be getting better…”, the man nodded absentmindedly before getting up und disappearing into the bathroom. When he got back, the cloth from Caretakers forehand was wet again and he placed it back on top of their head. It all seemed so… caring… but Whumpee couldn’t believe that!
“Why are you here?” They asked, finally. Both had settled in around the bed, a noticeable yet not at all comforting distance between them. Whumper had ordered the new medicine like it was fast food, but they didn’t want to question it.
“Why does that matter?” They could only stare at that sentence. Was he seriously that delusional to not even realise how weird the situation was?
“Because you kidnapped me, hurt me and promised that hell would break lose once you find me again! And now you broke into my house and cared for my best friend!” Whumper did not meet their eyes. But he also didn’t seem to look at Caretaker, even though his eyes were trained in that direction. He also seemed nervous, but that didn’t suit him. None of this did, honestly. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Don’t talk to me like that!” His voice wasn’t as harsh as they remembered. Now that they thought about it. He also didn’t look like the man they remembered. He was a lot skinnier and there were a few, mostly healed, bruises on the little amount of skin he was showing.
“Where’d you got them?” For the first time, he actually met their gaze. His eyes had lost the cruel fire they once housed and his face was pale. Too pale to be healthy for sure. And for some reason, he still thought he was in control.
“What?”
“The bruises. Where’d you got them?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”, it would have convinced them if he didn’t immediately take his hands to the places they meant. Honestly, no, it wouldn’t have.
“I know that behaviour.”, both looked away from the other. If it was because of shame or defiance, they weren’t sure. “I used to be like that too, when I first got back.” The room got quiet again, before Caretaker shifted in their bed once more, this time waking up.
“We can talk about it later…”, his voice was weak quite and his gaze was unsure. He probably hoped they wouldn’t hear him.
But they did! So, yes, they would talk later.
———
I did not reread this so it is very possible that there are mistakes :) let’s just ignore those pls
TW: panic attack, implied past trauma, not described bad memories, a hell lot of comfort
Whumpee had always had these episodes. Times, where anything and everything was just… too much, and their body shut down completely to leave nothing but a shaking mess for the outside world to see. They’d usually just stay in their room and wait out until they could do something again. And usually, no one cared about that. Well, at least, no one came to check if they were ok or to ask, why they were staying here.
Today, the memories came a lot sooner. It was normally around the evening, when they were tired and couldn’t control their emotions. But today, it was in the late morning hours.
They were sitting at the edge of the bed, knees slightly apart so that their elbows could sit on them comfortably and their head was resting in their hands, prompting them to stare into the abyss of painful memories. Their entire body was trembling while they let the waves wash over them again and again and again.
They were so consumed by the flashbacks that they didn’t even hear the knocking. They didn’t notice the door open and only when Caretaker was crouched down right in front of their vision did Whumpee realise they were there in the first place.
The newcomer just looked up at them. They didn’t start a conversation, question what was going on, or told them that everything was okay. They were just there, and that was all they needed.
Without thinking, they leaned forward, closing their eyes and connecting their foreheads in a silent touch of comfort. The crouched figure just let that happen. The two sat in silence. A comfortable and gentle silence.
Usually, Whumpee wouldn’t cry during these episodes, but this wasn’t usual. And that was okay. So, they did nothing to stop the tears from spilling. They let it happen. And it actually felt good! It felt good to let the hidden emotions take their toll and let them wash over their body. It felt good to break down the dam.
After what felt like an hour, but was probably just some minutes, Caretaker spoke up with a soothing and gentle voice: “Is it ok if I touch you?”
They weren’t sure why they asked, but that didn’t matter right now. They nodded, first hesitantly, then with a little bit more enthusiasm. The other just smiled at that before moving his hands towards his shoulders, stopping to talk again.
“I’ll touch your shoulders now,” they warned, and with a grip as light as feathers, they guided Whumpee’s broken form towards the bed, laying them down completely. At first they didn’t realise what they were trying to do, but when they did, they happily complied.
When they were fully laying on their side, they could no longer help it. Through the tears, the sobs and the trembling they smiled at the other. It was the only way they could think to thank them.
Caretaker smiled as well, and that was the last thing they saw before their body, exhausted from the overwhelming feelings, slipped off into blissful sleep.
———
Wanted to do this with two of my Ocs, but my Oc stuff doesn’t get acknowledged as much as my other stuff so here is a prompt! Lemme know if you would like to see what I would have done with the Ocs :)
TW: attempted hurting (?), fear of punishment, yelling, obvious invasion of privacy, lmk if there is more
His pace was steady as he went up and down every hallway he could possibly get to. He had searched for the Grand Duke for about an hour and a half, but he did not lose his patients as he rushed through yet another corridor. He knew that he was being followed. After all, privacy did not exist in this castle, especially not for him. But Nathan couldn’t care less right now.
When he got into yet another hallway, he spotted the captain of the royal guards and immediately slowed down. The captain's mood lightened as she focused on the prince’s arrival.
“Captain Paris, have you seen the grand Duke?” His face was as blank as a piece of paper, but he was sure that Michelle knew how good he has become at hiding his feelings behind a wall of a blank and wordless stare.
“As far as I am aware, his grace is currently in his office. Though, it is said he has a meeting with the electress of the Goldwoods territory, so I don’t know how appreciated an interruption would be.”, the Prince nodded slowly and for a short moment he even forgot that there were still eyes watching his every move. A fast blink and a semi-surprised look at the, still waiting woman was everything he could get himself to do. The Guard looked at him, wanting an answer or some other kind of sign that he fully understood what she just said. He nodded again, more visibly this time, because he knew he had to save up all words and excuses he had for his conversation with the Duke.
Three months… They had made it three months without constantly braiding each other, be it in public or in the kind of privacy of their offices. And this truce would end now, only because he was so stupid and didn’t think before signing a worthless piece of paper and because he was so naïve as to thing that a single person would change his entire life. The decision he made was good and he would stand behind it with all he was. But there was a very high percentage that Lucas didn’t agree with him and his views on the situation.
It took a while but honestly not long enough before he could see the large black doors reaching high into the wall, but never quite touching the ceiling. The Dark wood radiated a menacing aura of memories, most bad, and the feeling that he, once again, did something wrong, which he probably did…
Four men, all wearing stern faces, blocked his path to the portal of his doom. After a few more steps, they realised who was coming towards them. The Guards straightened their backs and even Nathan could feel his shoulders stiffening, though, it wasn’t because of good manners, more because of the uncomfortable feeling he had every time he had to get even close to these parts of the palace. The men bowed just enough to call it acceptable before one of them opened the big doors to let himself in. The other ones returned to their sort of stand by modus, no longer paying any attention to the prince.
Nathan hoped he would have to wait forever. He hoped that the guard would either never get back out or, when he does, he will deny him entry. Turning around was no option but waiting here didn’t feel right as well, so that the fuck was he still doing here? Waiting for the inevitable death of the universe? Or maybe some other kind of inescapable situation that would save him form whatever waited on the other side of these doors. The silent prayers he send out to the overs were either never heard or ignored, because after ten, way too short, minutes, the entrance opened again, this time more than wide enough for him to know that he has to go in now.
The office was big, nearly to overwhelming and everything and everyone seemed to look at him like they expected him to bring bad news. Everyone except Lucas. The Duke didn’t even bother to see who interrupted his work environment. The older man just continued to tip something in his computer and looking over to a few pages with the Heading “Project Arch”. Nathans heart skipped a beat when he read those words, but he was not given enough time to think about what the meaning of this was, since the sitting man broke the calming silence.
“What is it you need, Nathan.”, he was annoyed. Of course, he was. The prince waited a little before he sat down across the office table. The duke did not look up nor react, but one could feel the huffed breath he let out when his body met the, beautifully crafted, wood. Everybody in the room used the short seconds of silence and followed the nonverbal command to leave the room, so when Nathan started to speak, there was no one in the room except for the two monarchs, the Dukes most loyal servant and three guards.
“Over the course of the last month I have given numerous hints of how unpleasant Baron Anthony is to work with…”, nothing. Not even a hint of an emotion was seen on the other one's face. The man just continued to do what he does best. Ignore Nathan and all his wishes and cries for a better life. The prince closed his eyes and tried to find any way out of this suck up of a situation, but it was already too late, he had started the conversation and now he would have to finish it.
“It has gotten to the point, where working with him is impossible. He is an embarrassment, not only for me, but for the entirety of the Diamond Peak Territory.” Something happened for the first time in this talk. The older one lifted his head slightly and looked at him with such force that Nathan had to try very hard not to shrug down in the knowledge that he did something wrong. If he could, he would have but his legs up and buried his face in his knees. But he couldn’t. He was not supposed to.
“Do you just want to keep me from working or why are you not cutting this short?” The prince just bit his lip. He didn’t want to talk about it. He just wanted the duke to telepathically get everything instead of having to say it out loud.
“This morning I had to make a decision. To either keep on enduring the Barons incompetence, or to free myself from him as a burden…”, Now, nearly to five minutes into the conversation, he had Lucas’ undivided attention. The question ‘What the Fuck did you do?’ was written on his face and for the first time since he knew the man, he seemed genuinely afraid of the answer.
“So, I had to let Sir Van Torma go…”, the Dukes follow up sentence came faster than he liked, so he shrugged from the surprise.
“You fired him!” It wasn’t a question. It was more Lucas’ realisation of what a disappointment his heir actually was. Nathan didn’t look at the other man. He found a point somewhere in the far distance which he fixated like he feared it would disappear if he stopped looking at it.
“Yes, your Grace-“, he didn’t even fully finish his sad excuse of a sentence, when the Duke chimed in again, waiting for the prince to start laughing, saying he was joking. But his uncle knew that that wouldn’t happen, after all the boy was too afraid of him.
“You fired Baron Anthony van Torma, brother of Count Georg van Torma, respected Member of my court!? What kind of joke is this!?” Nathan didn’t want to face him. He knew what he looked like, so why should he have to check if that really was the case or if the anger in the man's voice was all just a fragment of his imagination. Sadly, the fear wasn’t very appreciated, and the Duke made sure that that massage came across. “Look at me for Fuck sake!” It was a wonder that Lucas hand didn’t shader after he stood up and hit the table with such force that even the few guards in the, all of the sudden very dark, room flinched at the high man's outburst. The younger one followed his scream with a pained expression and now even the Servant couldn’t look at him anymore. If it was because of shame or pity wasn’t known to the prince, because all emotions were banned from the man's face.
“Yes, I did, is that what you want to hear?” He snapped back, but the face that looked at him with such anger and hatred made him regret every word that just left his mouth. For a, way too long, second the two of them just stared at each other. Nathan with the wish that the Duke would just let it go and Lucas with the intention to kill the prince with his glare.
“Do you even Hear Yourself!?” In a fraction of a second, his uncle spun around the table and the nephew got up from his seat and away from the danger the other one represented. The fear grew in his eyes and surprisingly, the older one stopped his attempt like he just realised what he was trying to do.
“And what do you expect me to do now? Magically find a new secretary for you!” The guards tried their best not to acknowledge what was happening in front of them, since they knew what would happen if they did interfere. Even mr. Williams could do nothing but stare at his employer with such disbelief that Nathan feared for him and his position as a servant. The prince didn’t know what he felt… Fear? probably. Surprise, though? Not really. To many times did Lucas react in this kind of unthoughtful way.
“Not quite…”, there it was again. The stare with the question ‘what the Fuck did you do?’ In it. But this time the Duke wasn’t afraid of the answer, he was just angry that he had to ask it in the first place.
“I already found someone whom I find more than fitting for this position.” He just bit the inside of his cheeks, waiting for the Dukes answer. But the man took his sweet time and let him wait, lost in his own thoughts.
“Who the Fuck do you think you are?” He was Prince Nathan Northstar, heir to the throne of the diamond peak territory, second commanding general of the royal territorial army and Grand Duke Lucas Northstar’s Nephew. But to Lucas…? To Lucas, he was nothing more than a painful burden. A reminder of all his worst mistakes. In other words: to Lucas, he was nothing!
“What answer do you want from me?” His voice was small, and it was a miracle that the older man was able to hear him in the first place. He just shook his head but was calm enough to return to his seat. The younger one didn’t know if he was allowed, or even capable of sitting back down right in front of the man, who just tried to hurt him. For a few seconds he just stood in the middle of the room looking at the seat he was chased away from earlier.
“Well, who is the guy you have been eyeing already!” With no more spine to his name he sat back down but cowered in the Dukes glance. Nathan had to force himself to ignore the mode-swings in his voice and rather answered as not to keep the other man waiting.
“Marquis Jeremy Luves…”, the surprise in his eyes was genuine and, for the first time, not threatening. Both of them knew that he could not have made a better decision. The room around them was silent and the cloud that blocked of the sunlight went away, making the office appear… peaceful, for once.
“Luves?” He nodded but looked away. Honestly, he wasn’t sure why he was no longer capable of facing Lucas, who voiced his opinion on the disrespect with no more than a pressed cough. But the younger one didn’t get the hint, which resulted in a silent growl from his opposite: “Nathan!” Now, he got the sign and turned his head back at the higher person.
“Were you aware of our family's relationships?” As far as he knew, their families have helped each other numerous times. The Luves Family owned nearly to all schools and libraries in this territory and the Northstar Family sponsored their institutions with great interest and fonds. The prince didn’t know why that was the case, he just knew it was.
“As far as I am aware, our families share the same interests.” Of course, the careful construction of the sentence was intentional. If there was one thing Nathan had seen enough of for today it was angry Lucas.
“Why Jeremy?” He wasn’t sure. He had seen the boy a few times over the last month and found one or two resumes in their system, but there was no real explanation for why he thought Luves was fitting for the position.
“I found some of his applications for normal desk jobs but didn’t think those positions were good enough for him.” A lifted eyebrow and a stare that terrified him more than it should have, was all he needed to make him shrug again. There was something twisting on the ends of his mouth that made the prince want to throw up. It wasn’t a smile but something close enough that it made him want to sink through the floor and never come back.
“The young Marquis is a good kid, there is no question about that…”, hope. That was a new emotion for today. It was the hope that Lucas would just except his decision and let him leave to tell the boy about his fate. But when those stone-cold grey eyes looked back at him, he realised that it wouldn’t be that easy.
“But what makes you think you can decide something like that without consulting me first!” Nathan just looked away again but corrected his mistake immediately, before searching for a spot on the Duke’s jacket. He didn’t think, that was the problem. He was just so fed up with the Barons constant passive aggressive comments and his sharp insults paired with the fact that the man did absolutely nothing. He couldn’t keep up with his forced work if one of three helpers didn’t do his assigned job.
“I’m sorry, your Grace.” This time there really was a smile and a huffed laughter that came from the monarch. The younger one wasn’t sure what he was laughing about. That he could think about a punishment? Maybe he was amused by how well he trained him to think every choice he makes is wrong. Or maybe he just liked how powerful he felt. Only one thing was sure: the prince wouldn’t ask!
“Oh, I know you are. But an apology won't assure me that it doesn’t happen again!” The amusement was gone just as fast as it came. Now, the only thing left was the cold stare of a vulture, waiting for his prey to fall dead. Nathan honestly didn’t think that Lucas wanted him dead, but in situations like this it sure felt that way.
“Well, now that the Baron is gone, I can expect you to, at least, work at your full potential, right?” No! He would probably never work good enough for the man to be even slightly satisfied with him. Which was a shame, really, but Nathan had grown tired of waiting for the Duke’s approval a long time ago.
“Of course, your Grace…”, the conversation ended with a forced smile and pleasure written on Lucas’ face.
“As far as I know, the Marquis has a room in the western wing.”, the Prince nodded, stood up and bowed as deep as his balance allowed him to. And then he turned around, fighting with the urge to run out of the room as fast as possible.
“One last thing, your highness.”, he stopped dead in his track. Your Highness. Never did he use that in a good context. It was always, Always an omen for something bad.
“Did you know that Eleonora will marry in a week.”, his tone was as calm as stagnant water and to anybody outside of the castle that would have been no more than a friendly reminder. But for him, that was a threat. A threat that the Duke could take away something he has been waiting for for a long time. “Would be a shame if you couldn’t go…”, their eyes met in the middle of the long distance between them. But Nathan didn’t see him. All Nathan saw was the possibility that he would be forbidden from attending his cousin's wedding. Forbidden from seeing the only person in his family who has been no more than kind and friendly towards him. When the older men gave his attention back to the documents on his desk, the only thing he could do, was leave, as fast as humanly possible.
As soon as the door closed behind him, he started walking. Slow enough to still call it so, but fast enough to get away from that place as quickly as possible. He hated these corridors. He hated Lucas’ part of the castle in general. They felt dark, horrifying and sad all at the same time. Like they had taken everything good about it and banned it, not only from here but from the royal ground entirely.
The dull grey of the stone floors wore anybody down who ever had the misfortune of walking on it. The light grey walls had black wood eating on them like it tried to take away the only light colour the eastern side had. Dark red carpet made it seem like the stones were bleeding and portraits looked down on you like you were worth nothing. And the worst part about the east was, that the only people who walked around here were so obedient to the Duke that they looked at the prince with the same, terrifying hatred. The only place where he was even remotely safe from his uncle were the stables and his own room, where Michelle would protect Nathan from his anger.
The western wing on the other hand seemed calm, in comparison to the other parts of this palace. The soft beige walls were partly hidden behind wooden cladding and the floor wasn’t made of rough stone but smooth, marble-like tiles. The shadows that scurried past you either didn’t acknowledge you or, when they did, smiled at you like you meant the world to them. The windows were built towards the south and let in all light they could find. Balconies were added to the exterior wall and gave you a fantastic look over the gardens and the portraits that followed your movement through the halls seemed to watch you with great interest instead of making you feel like a disgrace.
But it had to be that way. After all the west was meant to hold the visitor and the east held the two owners at best. When he first came to the castle as a small three-year-old he voiced his discomfort with the darkness, but it sadly never came to the renovations, because…
“I’m so sorry your highness!” The exclaim made him look up for the first time during his long walk and he couldn’t believe himself when he realised who he just bumped into. It was a tall boy with chocolate brown eyes and dark caramel like hair. The apologetic expression did not chase away the smile and it made him look nearly to sheepish. His clothes were lighter than the ones other nobles wore around here, but it was still the same silver bluish colour that represented the Diamond Peak Territory.
“Marquis Luves?” Nathan voiced his surprise more than he really wanted to, which made Jeremy just as confused as him.
“Em… yes?” The prince felt bad when the smile disappeared from the taller one's face, but he was in position to say that out loud. He felt the look of his guard on him but tried his best to ignore the feeling of being spied on. He knew that they would run to the Duke the moment he entered his rooms and would inform him of every wrong breath he took. But that was none of his concern now. He had a job to give and wanted his opposite to have it.
“There is something very important that I would like to talk to you about.”, the smile returned, not as big, but bright none the less. The Marquis nodded so excessively, that it felt like he was the reason everything else in this castle is so depressing, since he had taken all happiness and used it on himself.
“I have seen a few of your applications.”, he started slowly, not wanting to overwhelm the boy with the good news. The joy started to sparkle in his eyes and now even Nathan couldn’t resist the urge to give of a small but warm smile. He could see the guard's eyes widen, who stood a few steps to his side, just enough for at least him to notice. It was rare to to see him smile this genuine, but the reaction was still not something he expected.
“So, I have been given permission to inform you, that I would like you to work as my highest secretary.”, the glitter on his face disappeared for no more than a split second, but that was enough for the Prince to get uncomfortable.
“I, ehm… are you sure, I didn’t apply for that kind of responsibility.”, no, he didn’t. But it was either him or Lucas’ wrath. And one of these options wouldn’t hurt him.
“I know but I don’t think that you belong in a small dark office to do no more than slowly document your day.”, not like you would do anything else working for me. He hissed at himself and simultaneously bit his lip to not say that out loud.
“Would that kind of changing plans be alright for you?” It had to be. It had to be for Nathan’s wellbeing and for the fact that, if not Jeremy, someone else would get the job.
“Yes, of course it would be.”, there it was again. The smile and the feeling of hope that everything would change from now on. The hope that he would finally be able to work good enough to at least satisfy himself.
“That’s good to hear. Then I’d say we meet tomorrow, after breakfast to talk about the finer details.”, with a long nod he excused the boy out of the situation to let him run of to go ahead and tell everybody he knew about the good news.
“Of course, your highness, I’ll see you then.” And with that, the friendly Marquis bowed one last time before leaving the Prince by himself.
———
Tag List: @shywhumpauthor , lmk if you wanna be added
I know it’s long but I didn’t know where to make the cut :( Nathan is one of my favourite Oc’s and I hope you love him just as much :) thank you for reading and have a nice day!
My Oc’s
Also lmk if you have any prompts for me or ideas of what I should put them through next…
TW: mentioned drowning, mentioned beating, gun, forced to kill, character death, electrocution, beating, shooting, shot wound, violence, torture, lmk if there is more
———
He hated the feeling of hopelessness that had overtaken his mind. There was no controlling the flinching anymore, whenever the shadows in front of the wooden door moved. It had been, what, three, four weeks since he made the stupid decision to try and fight Teror. And the only thanks he got from the universe was pain and suffering.
The rings around his neck and wrists were uncomfortably tight and the buzzing of the batteries, threatening to electrocute him once more, was mind consuming.
Sebastian knew that the team was searching for him. But he also knew that it was only a matter of time before he would break. And as it seems, Teror knew it too.
The door was thrown open, but the demigod could do no more than look, to exhausted to move his head fully. The smile the man had, up until now, was gone. He was annoyed. Whatever patience he had had was just as broken as the captive. But Teror’s eyes were filled with triumph. He was sure that, whatever he was planning to do to him, would truly break him this time, and Sebastian feared that that was actually the case. Over three weeks of electricity, beatings and drowning will take their toll eventually. Maybe this was it.
The man didn’t say a word when he grabbed him and pulled him away from the bed a lot harsher than usual. It was odd but nothing worth dwelling on. Not like he’d have the energy for it. The metal on his wrists was clipped together, turning into the handcuffs it was designed to be.
The captor placed a firm hand on his victims neck, pressing the ring even deeper into his flesh. He tried to move away from the pain, which only earned him a laugh-like-huff. The two were surrounded by Teror’s minions and brought deeper inside the castle he was forced to call a home.
The walk wasn’t long and for some reason, it lighted up the spark in Sebastian’s mind that had helped him survive. A mixture of foolish defiance and bravery, which made his veins prickle with adrenaline. Foolish, yes, but also kind of amusing. At least for as long as it lasted.
The room they were in was small and had a window, letting them view into what used to be an interrogation room. Both rooms were completely empty. Well, at least until now.
Only a few minutes after they got here, the door to the questioning room opened as well and in came three figures. The sight of two of those beings made the demigod’s jaw clench and his entire body tensed to the point where it started to hurt. It was a mix of fear, anger and surprise that overtook his mind and made him want to murder someone, probably Teror.
It was a confused and scared child, pushed into the room by its mother, who was just as terrified as her offspring. Behind her was a guard, recklessly pressing a gun on her back whenever she stopped moving.
Oh, how Sebastian hoped this was a joke. How he prayed that his captor would do absolutely nothing to them and just had them there as a warning. Well, a warning it was. But also one he’d make true if he felt like it.
“What the fuck!” He couldn’t even look away. His eyes were fixed on the mother trying to comfort her fucking son. He didn’t even realise that the guard from the other room had come here and was now standing behind him. The hand that creeped its way on his shoulders made sure to inform him of that though. And just like that, he was pushed out of the defined space and towards the one he had stared into just seconds ago.
His face visibly paled when he came face to face with the crumbled form of a family. They were absolutely terrified and Sebastian couldn’t blame them. The thoughts of what Teror could possibly want from them had become so intense, that he didn’t even realise that his wrists were free again. Only when the man who brought him here pressed a revolver into his hands did he understand. They were supposed to die. Die for a piece of information that he wasn’t even sure he had.
“Teror don’t you dare!” The demigod wasn’t even sure what he himself meant. Don’t you dare use this method? Don’t you dare make me do this? Don’t you dare have this small of a-!
“I only want you to open that mouth if something useful will come out of it.”, his voice echoed through the room like it was a cave and it was impossible to make out where the speakers were. “You can either talk, kill them or watch me kill them.”
Teror wasn’t worth having blood on his hands for. But neither were the thousands of deaths that would follow this one if he did talk. So, what was one casualty in comparison with an entire planet. With a shaking breath, he tightened the grip on the gun and straightened his back. He was trained to do this, created even. But that didn’t mean it got easier. It never did.
“Close your eyes, please.”, it was barely more than a whisper. A wish mouthed into the silence of the room. A part of him hoped that Teror didn’t hear it. A bigger one didn’t give a shit. He watched with an unreadable expression as the child’s protest died under his mother’s hands, placed protectively on his eyes. She, too, obeyed. Her teary eyes were screwed shut and another one rolled down the tracks, reigniting them like a died out campfire.
It was loud. The gasp from the unsuspecting figures right in front of him, who thought they were prepared for the shot. The yelp of the guard and the thud of a corpse dropping to the floor gracelessly. It took a while for everybody to comprehend what just happened. During this time, Sebastian just stared down at the man, still trying to find some air. He had missed the heart. A shame.
There was a crash somewhere behind the tinted window and only seconds later did the demigod dropped to his knees as well. His vision lightened up with sparks of white as the rings did the one thing they were good at: bring him pain.
Someone kicked down the door, but Sebastian was in no place to see who it was. His jaw was clenched, his eyes screwed shut and every muscle in his body tensed and calmed out of control. It felt like he was being mind controlled. Like he was no longer the owner of his own body.
He had dropped the gun when the agony started and only on the end of his conscious did he realise that it was picked up by angry hands. The pain stopped just moments later, but he was not graced a second to relax. His body was kicked relentlessly. Once, twice. He lost count when his suffering form was leaning against the wall.
But even then, Teror wasn’t satisfied with the torment he had caused. He wanted more. It didn’t matter if the demigod gave him the information now. No pleading or begging could get him to stop.
Sebastian’s eyes widened in horror and he was as conscious as ever when he saw him press the gun on his lower leg. A small, near unintelligible plead of a “No!” escaped his lips, but the other man was to drunk on the power he had to even consider it.
It was only a grazing shot but heaven knew it would hurt. He slumped his body further into the wall, teeth gritted to prevent another noise of weakness escaping his throat, before pathetically crawling in on himself and felling to the side.
Now, where Sebastian was nothing more than a shivering mess of blood and sweat, did Teror stop to look at his work. He wasn’t happy with what he had done but he liked to think that it wasn’t his fault. Many people like to think that, right?
———
Check My OC’s for more information on my characters and let me know if you have ideas of what I should but them through next ;)
Honestly, more presumed dead than missing but who cares! Also, I sincerely apologies, but I do not know where the bingo is from. I found it in the bottom of the Internet and now I can’t find it anymore, so please, if you know, let me know!
TW: supposed character death (obviously), a lil implied torture, abandonment, lmk if there’s more
“You left!” Whumpee’s voice wasn’t as even as they liked to think it was. They weren’t as steady on their feet as they would have admitted and most importantly, they weren’t as unfazed by the situation as they should have been. They have been through worse. Have been hurt and lied to more times than they could count, but the betrayal still hurt just as much as it did the first few times.
“Whumpee, please…”, Caretaker tried to reach out to them. Tried to act like nothing happened. But doing so would be considered lying, and they weren’t allowed to lie.
“You left without a note, a text or a word of where you could have possibly gone! You left me!” Both had tears in their eyes, but for completely different reasons. Whumpee because of the faithlessness. Caretaker because of the guilt. Good, they thought, even though that didn’t help them.
“I’m sorry! I- I had to leave!” No they didn’t. And even if, would it have been so hard to just inform them of what was going on? Would it have been so difficult to just tell them why they would leave Whumpee behind like they were nothing?
“He said you were dead.”, their voice evened out. Their face became unreadable and they completely detached themselves from their emotions. The memories of Whumper didn’t deserve an emotional acknowledgment. “And a part of me wanted to believe that. Because it meant that you had a reason to not come and save me. And now I have to learn that you didn’t. You were simply a coward.”
There was silence for a little. Whumpee wanted Caretaker to say something. They wanted them to speak and give them a chance to prevent their thoughts from spilling. But they didn’t. So there was nothing stopping Whumpee from whispering the thought they had tried to swallow done the moment they saw Caretaker again.
Good day Tumblr! I would like you to meet just a few of my OC’s, who I may, or may not, feature on this blog:
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Sebastian Fortune: A demigod, who has been broken so many times, that it is quite surprising that his molecules have stayed together over the time. Well, at least partly…
Teror: A Whumper, who doesn’t want to be a whumper, but he still enjoys whumping, but also doesn’t like Whump (this shall continue)…
^^ sort of hero and villain Whump, also mentioned Team Whump
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Tristan Parks: A former military doctor who really likes his personal space.
Yuki: A military subject who also really likes Tristan’s personal space.
Constantine Johnson: a military general who doesn’t like Tristan’s personal space(as in, he will eliminate it)…
^^ military and human experiment Whump, more comfort than hurt tbh
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Nathan Northstar: A Whumpee with parental issues, who doesn’t even realise he is a Whumpee. Because we don’t have enough of ‘em.
Lucas Northstar: A whumper, that’s all there is to say.
^^ royalty Whump
———
Ann Collins aka. Antique: “Yes that is my fucking name, now shut!”
Dusk Hutson aka. Lightling: “Please excuse my siblings. I can not afford therapy right now.”
Dawn Hutson aka. Darkling: “Something in here will be a murder weapon. You will be the victim. And no one will be able to proof who did it.”
Sven Dubois: *the one they are talking to*
^^hero and villain Whump
———
These are only the finest of the collection and also the ones you will probably find on here in the future. If there are more, I will add them, and if you have any questions, ask! I dare you! I’ll probably post the character sheets soon too.
Though, please remember that these are my OC’s and if you should use them in any way (role play, features, etc.) please tag me or ask for my permission first. Don’t get me wrong, I would love to see it, but I would also like to get the credit for something I did!
And with that out of the way, be excited for what’s to come…
If I ever find it in me to actually post something about them :)
I love a specific kind of chips, but sadly, I’m allergic to them. And every time I eat it, my tongue starts to get extremely sensitive. It just starts to hurt if I touch anything with it.
And now I want to see that in whump.
Like, Whumper purposefully triggering that kind of allergy and then giving Whumpee food with a rough texture. I can assure you, it hurts.
Maybe Whumpee was starved up until now. And the food their allergic to was the first food in a while.
Or, after the allergy, they get more food than they could have ever dreamed of. And now they can’t enjoy it because it’s just painful.
