Your vision blurs, choked with the sight of Valian’s blood and flashing steel. You can’t watch this. You–
You panic. And the world panics with you, slipping away and blurring into vague, indistinct shapes. You run, heart ripping apart your throat– you don’t think an internal organ is supposed to be there, but you brush it aside– you have to run.
You have to get out of here.
The ring of trees that’s a fuzzy line of green means freedom. Safety. You draw close, panic turning to exhilaration. You’re going to make it. You’re going to be safe. The thought settles comfortably inside you, all dull edges and warm fall colours.
You never make it.
You never had a chance.
Keres materialises directly in front of you, coming up from the grass with the finality of a mountain.
Fall colours fade to winter and despair.
Grinding to a stop, you try to backpedal– you still have a chance to reach the woods. To escape this nightmare of a clearing–
Keres tilts her head and gives you a paper-thin smile. A smile that says, “Hey, congratulations, you messed this up splendidly. Good for you for being so bold and so utterly stupid.” Really, who needs words when they can smile like that?
Someone grabs your shoulders from behind, grip tightening with an impossible strength. No human should be able to make your bones feel like they’re about to turn into powder.
Solis drags you back to the middle of the clearing. In a final fit of resistance, you dig your heels into the ground, leaving scratch marks in the grass.
Solis drops you. Pieces of green grass twist between your fingers and wrap around your wrist.
Voices echo like they're coming from the end of a very long tunnel. “You shall regret that.”
“Helect, you should not have tried to run.” Mocking. “But, alas, that is your loss.”
It’s Solis who hauls you back to your feet. There are flecks of Valian's blood on her face. She doesn’t let go of your collar, but twists it to the point of choking.
Leaning in close, she whispers, “Have you ever been in so much pain, death seems like a mercy?”
The lightning in her eyes seems like an entire flashing storm. The air contracts with suppressed energy.
She slips into an old way of speaking. A hymn. A threat. “Prepare thyself.”
“For– for what?”
Solis raises two of her four hands and the light catches on the dead skin. Then you realise it's not sunlight on her skin, but white flames. Her hands are on fire.
And she smiles. “For this.”
Terror spikes through you, filling every nerve in your body with a silent scream. You try to wrench away, fighting with the strength of a trapped animal.
Keres grabs your wrists in a vice-like grip. With another hand, she grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back.
You stare at the sky through the tree branches and wonder if it's the last time you’ll see the sun.
Flashing red wings.
Cicadas buzzing.
The green of the forest.
Don’t think about the burning--
The sound of sizzling hits you first, then the pain.
Solis’s hands are around your throat, forming a collar of fire.
The sunlight beats down on you as you scream. Back arched, clawing for even the slightest relief.
The first scream is choked, strangled and half-swallowed. It rips at your throat, crawling out of your mouth and falling dead beside you.
Just like your dignity.
You never had a high pain tolerance.
“Oh, be quiet,” snaps Solis, withdrawing her hands. But the burns remain. A mark that won’t heal and is unable to be hidden.
Burns in the shape of a collar.
Keres lets go of your wrists and you sink to the ground. Your vision blurs– worse than before.
Unconsciousness is a mercy you would beg for.
You slip further into the grass.
Bare feet appear in the corner of your vision and Valian crouches next to you. Their bottom lip is shredded, blood dried to their face. They're really not much better off than you are.
There’s concern in your eyes, but it’s darkened by fear. “You should stand up for this next part,” they whisper. “Do you need help standing?”
Nausea rises up with an unbidden horror. The agents aren’t finished?
You:
Allow Valian to help you stand up.
Curl up in the grass and try to pretend this isn't happening.
Spit at Valian. This is their fault.
Get up by yourself. You don't need their help.
"Please, just leave me alone."
Voting ended onMay 25, 2023
taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast, @d-cs, @annablogsposts, @sorrowful-hyacinth, @whumpsday, @whumpinthepot, @whumpycries (lmk if you want to be added/removed!)
(inspired by whump cyoa stories by @whumpsday and @painsandconfusion)
You have been exiled for murder and have lost all claims to civilization and the life of a noble. When you stumble across the very person who was responsible for the charge brought against you, what do you do? Revenge could be yours, but they've already been gravely wounded...
cws in the individual post
Not Alone
Help
Fire
Nowhere to Go
The Tables Have Turned
Bandages
What's Wrong?
Deserve It
Vanish
Council's Agents
Negotiation is Not Your Strong Suit
Burning and Suffering, etc.
How it’s Done
Collars in the Shape of Hands
Fear Tastes like Pine
taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast, @d-cs, @annablogsposts, @sorrowful-hyacinth, @whumpsday, @whumpinthepot, @whatwhumpcomments, @whumpycries (lmk if you want to be added or removed!)
cw: sadistic choice, inhuman whumpers, burning, blood, you've gotten yourself in a bad position oops
You can see terror in Valian’ eyes, and you’re worried it’s a reflection of your own gaze. “I was looking for them,” you whisper.
Triumphant grins are exchanged over your head. The Council’s agents draw closer. “Louder. Say it louder.”
“We didn’t quite hear you.”
You keep your gaze on the ground. It turns out this isn’t the best idea either, because there’s blood on the grass.
Probably Valian’s.
Yours might be next.
You feel suddenly and violently sick, the words falling dead on the ground beside you. “I was looking for Valian.” The sentence is a confession, an admittance of a wrong you didn’t know you had committed.
Valian’s expression changes, lifting slightly.
The one with lightning in her eyes hisses sharply. “They were planning on intervening!” The words sound like wind in the trees.
The leader strokes the top of Valian’s head, making them wince and try to curl in on themselves. She appears to be considering the accusation.
“Our time is nearing an end with the traitor.” the third agent, the one with an echoing voice, crosses the ground to tower over Valian. “Should we leave them both?” The way she says it sounds like a threat.
“But this is an unusual circumstance! The Council said if there is an unusual circumstance we should bring the traitor home.” Eyes flash like lightning in a storm.
“Peace, Solis. You speak recklessly.” This is the first time you’ve heard the leader speak. You shudder, the hair on your arms standing on end. She glances from you to her other companion. “Keres, you wish to leave them?”
“Our contract was with the traitor only.” Echoing words. “But, as always, I defer to your decision.”
“Bring them to me.”
Solis– the one with lightning eyes– pushes you forward. Before you fully realise what’s happening, there’s a boot on your back and you’re kicked to the ground.
Terror sprouts like weeds inside your chest, and you’re choking on them. You can feel grass in between your fingers and you can see the edges of the Council agents’ cloaks. You think you can see bloodstains on the fabric.
You’re on your hands and knees before the agents. You wish the ground would swallow you whole. You wish you had never found Valian. You wish–
“Helect, isn’t it?”
When you don’t look up, the leader crouches down. She tilts your head up with a single finger– a single, scorching finger.
Her hands aren’t physically on fire, but they burn. When you try to pull away– it’s instinctive–she grabs your chin. Now there are five separate places where you’re burning.
Pain spreads in spider-webs down your throat and face, and you didn’t think you’d cry so easily, but you’re sobbing. You know that as soon as the hand pulls away, you’ll be left with six aching marks on your skin.
“You have a bounty on your head, Helect. You helped a traitor. You tried to intervene on official Council business.”
You just want the burning to stop.
“I’m afraid Solis is right. We must bring you to the Council.” She stands, abruptly letting go.
You clamp a hand over your jaw, trying to stop the leftover remnants of curling pain that remain behind. Your world is collapsing around you and all you can think of is the burning-white.
“However, I will give you a chance to lessen your judgement.” There’s the sound of unsheathed metal and a silvery knife drops to the ground.
You pick it up with shaking hands. “What? What am I supposed to do?” You can hardly form the words.
That's when you notice Valian is no longer beside her.
The corners of her mouth lift in a thin smile and she gestures to where Valian is now. They’ve been tied to a tree, forehead pressed against the trunk. Their shoulders rise and fall at a ragged pace.
Through the gaps in the trees, early sunlight falls on them in patches.
You stare at the blade. The burning makes it hard to think clearly. “What-- What do I do?”
Again, that smile. Wolfish. Hard.
It's not the leader who answers, but Solis. Her eyes burn fever-bright. “Show your fealty. Hurt the traitor or we’ll make you wish you had. All before we drag you before the Council. They won’t mind if you’re a little damaged. And then after, we’ll make you wish you died here.”
You:
Show your fealty. Carve the Council’s insignia into Valian’s shoulder.
Refuse. Curse the agents out.
You want to get out of this. Hurt Valian, but only a little.
Beg. Maybe if you’re pathetic enough, they’ll let you go.
Voting ended onMay 16, 2023
taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast, @d-cs, @annablogsposts, @sorrowful-hyacinth, @whumpsday, @whumpinthepot, @whatwhumpcomments (lmk if you want to be added/ removed!)
Your hands are shaking as you step out from behind the tree, palms outward. You drop your knife, and it lands on the grass with a soft thud.
“Can we not discuss this in a civilised manner?”
Two of the Council’s agents shift forward, their cloaks dragging behind them. One stays behind, watching you with empty eyes. She keeps a hand resting on Valian’s head.
Valian.
They keep their eyes on the ground, but even from this distance you can see that their breathing is far too fast and far too ragged. You think they’ve been crying, but it's hard to tell.
You’re far more concerned with your own fate.
One of the agents– she has white hair like a cloud and lightning in her eyes– picks up your knife, testing the blade against one of her fingers. Not a single drop of blood appears though she stabs it deep. She smiles. “I think it’s very uncivilised of you to invite yourself here.”
Her companion nods. “Very unhealthy.” She begins to circle you and you’re left with the distinctly uncomfortable impression of a hawk circling a small forest creature. Your skin crawls at the thought.
“I– I hope we can come to some agreement. I did not mean to interfere.”
Valian muffles a sob.
“Did you not come to rescue them?” The agent with lightening eyes gestures to Valian.
You frantically shake your head, a lie on your lips. But as you do so, you catch another glimpse of Valian.
They’ve been pulled to their feet. The Council’s agent now has two hands on them– one still on their head and the other gripping the back of their shirt collar. They look like they can hardly stand, crimson blood rolling down their arms and dripping onto the grass. Their eyes are red and puffy but they’re shaking their head at you.
“Did you not come for your friend?” the agent repeats. The words bite at you, and you flinch back, bumping into another agent. She looks down at you, tilting her head to the side. “Answer us.” Her voice echoes in a way that is so far removed from anything human that you’re left shaken.
You:
Admit you came looking for Valian
Beg them to let you leave
Deny you were looking for Valian
Say that you didn’t mean to get involved in Valian’s business
Ignore the agents and tell Valian that you’re going to get them out of this.
Voting ended onMay 12, 2023
taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast, @d-cs, @annablogsposts, @sorrowful-hyacinth, @whumpsday, @whumpinthepot, @whatwhumpcomments (lmk if you want to be added/removed!)
cw: inhuman whumpers, implied torture, begging, Valian has a bad time as per usual
You pull your jacket-turned-pillow around your shoulders, staring at the open door. On one hand, you don’t really want to go outside and brave the cold. On the other, you want to make sure Valian is alright.
They could be fine. Or not.
You might as well make sure. You stand, wrapping your cloak tighter around yourself and make for the door.
“Valian?”
Aching, early morning silence is your only response.
Soft light spreads in grey on the branches of the trees. A bird explodes from a burst of green with a shrill cry before silence descends upon you again.
You almost miss it at first– the sound of crying, broken words jumbled together in some semblance of begging– but you don’t miss it the second time.
You only wait to make sure you still have your knife at your belt. Drawing it, you make your way through the trees. The blade is a spike of silver in your hands, sharp against the muted colours of the forest. You don’t realise you’re holding it in with a white-knuckle grip, heart in your throat and refusing to leave.
And the entire time, the broken crying continues. It’s as muted as the colours.
Grey light fades to blue before you find Valian. Rather, you find what has Valian.
You catch a glimpse of black clothing and empty eyes and you whirl behind a tree, slipping down the trunk.
The knife is shaking in your hand as you turn around to look again at the scene you had arrived at too late to stop.
Valian had said the Council’s agents were after them.
You just didn’t know they would arrive so soon.
You had forgotten how empty their eyes were.
Three shapes stand in the shadows of the trees. Four pairs of spidey limbs and with dead smiles. Burning hands.
And Valian kneels before them, their blanket discarded on the ground behind them. Their bandages are blood-stained. You’re hoping– god, what a terrible thing. To hope– but you’re hoping it’s because the injuries have been reopened, and not because new ones have been inflicted.
One of the agents crouches next to Valian and you notice that her hairstyle, braided back away from her face, is nearly identical to Valians. Coincidental. Except that even the tiny beads are the same.
Not so coincidental.
“Someone is watching,” says one of the other agents, her voice echoing like she is in a cavern. She doesn’t look at you, but she knows you're there. Somehow.
Your heart drops from your throat to your stomach.
The agent rests one of her four hands on Valian’s head and stands. “Care to join us? We didn’t wish to wake you earlier.” Her voice sounds wrong, somehow. You catch a glimpse of teeth sharpened into points as she smiles.
Valian curls in on themselves.
You:
Try to run
Step out from behind the tree and try to negotiate
Hope they’re bluffing and they don’t actually know you’re there
Surprise them with an attack and try to rescue Valian
Surprise them with an attack and then run
Voting ended onMay 9, 2023
taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast, @d-cs, @annablogsposts, @sorrowful-hyacinth, @whumpsday, @whumpinthepot, @whatwhumpcomments (lmk if you want to be added/removed!)
cw: breaking fingers in order to reset them, medical whump, victim blaming, not-the-best-caretaker
You don’t respond to Valian's unexpected tears. Instead you gesture for them to lift up their damaged hand.
After a brief hesitation, they lift up their right hand. Their pointer and middle finger are both swollen– clearly once broken and left untreated to the point where they had healed into twisted shapes.
You find you can’t look Valian in the eyes. “I’ll have to break them again to set them properly.”
Valian jerks their hand away from you and pulls it close to their chest. “You have to do this?”
You nod.
They’re no longer close to tears, but their voice shakes. “You want to do this?”
You start to nod then stop. The question itself is odd and you can’t shake off the feeling that Valian meant something else by it.
“Your fingers are broken, yes I want to fix them. Unless you think you can manage it in your, ah, current state.” You’re tired and perhaps your words are sharper than they need to be.
When there’s no answer, you fetch the materials necessary.
Valian extends their hand, trembling.
“I understand,” they say as you take hold of their wrist and twist their hand into the light. “I deserve this after how I have treated you. Even this,” they looked at their broken fingers, “ is kinder than I deserve.”
You almost let go of their hand. “I don’t want to hurt you!” As soon as you say this, another voice whispers, “Don’t you?” Don’t you want Valian to feel what you went through? Yes they had suffered, but are you going to deny that causing Valian pain will make you feel better?
You swallow hard. You really aren’t handling this well.
Valian stares blankly ahead but they grip the blanket with their good hand, widening it around and around until their knuckles turn white.
“Go ahead,” they whisper. “I deserve it.”
You spit out a response. “You deserve to have fingers that work properly. I’m sorry I don’t have the proper medications, but I swear to you I am not doing this because I want to hurt you.” You’re beyond frustrated. Why can Valian not understand this simple concept?
Before Valian can answer, you snap their finger to the side, rebreaking it. They don’t scream, but the sudden silence is worse.
You bind the finger between two stiff pieces of wood, wrapping the bandages tighter than they need to be. You repeat this process as quickly as you can on their second finger.
This time, Valian hisses in pain.
When you look at them, they’re breathing in shallow gasps. You let go of their hand.
“Done.”
Valian sits on your cot and doesn’t meet your gaze. “You’re very kind, Helect,” they whisper.
You almost laugh. You know it's not true.
You:
Drape a blanket over Valian's shoulders and apologise
Let Valian fall asleep on your cot
Tell them it could have been worse
Fall asleep with Valian on the cot
Voting ended onApr 28, 2023
tagging: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast , @d-cs, @annablogsposts, @sorrowful-hyacinth, @whumpsday (lmk if you want to be added or removed)
Valian slips an arm around you, helping you stumble to your feet. You want to push them away– but without their help, you would collapse. Your knees threaten to give out at the slightest increase of pressure.
So you cling to Valian and hope they can’t see your face.
With so little distance between you and them, tiny details stand out.
Flecks of crimson blood on their hands.
Bitten down nails.
The sound of uneven breathing.
Singed flesh.
A stark-white thread that’s unravelled and floats into the air, drifting lazily.
You focus on these details and try to drown out the agent’s voices. Try to drown out the unforgettable click, click, click of leather against the ground.
Valian shudders against you.
“Is it…?” The question is left unfinished, a whisper choked with old memories of chains and cells and running.
The burns around your throat fade in comparison.
Valian whispers something in your ear– the roaring in your head blurs out the words but you think it amounts to ‘Stay strong’.
The comfort is more than you ever gave them.
You don’t have time to regret how you treated them because one of the agents–you think it’s Keres– rips you away from Valian.
The world fractures into silver-lined green. Silver-lined terror. An explosion of panic in your chest, twisting your ribs with the force of it.
You’d forgotten the taste it leaves in your mouth.
Cotton. Tastes like cotton.
You’re half-dragged across the ground before coming to an abrupt stop. Keres grabs your wrists, yanking them up until you’re on your knees, face pressed into the tree trunk. Your burn brushes against the rough wood and it's all you can do to keep from screaming.
An ant crawls over the bridge of your nose as Keres ties your hands around the tree. She steps back, calling over her shoulder for Solis.
You yank at the ropes.
A futile effort to escape.
Heart in your throat. Vision starting to peel apart– when did the fear stop tasting like cotton and start tasting like pine?
Tree bark. Focus on tree bark. On anything else. On the way the ropes feel. On—
The crack of a leather whip in the air knocks all coherent thoughts away.
Fear tastes like pine needles and salt tears.
“Count,” says Solis and raises the whip.
You:
Count. You're terrified of the alternative
Curse the agents out. They’ll have to gag you if they want you to shut up.
Don’t count. Defiance is your last shard of dignity.
Beg. You can’t do this again.
Try to talk your way out.
Voting ended onJun 1, 2023
taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast, @d-cs, @annablogsposts, @sorrowful-hyacinth, @whumpsday, @whumpinthepot, @whatwhumpcomments, @whumpycries (lmk if you want to be added/removed!)
Without really knowing why you’re helping Valian, you grab the bucket full of water by the entrance and carry it over to where Valian is crouched. You were going to use it to wash the dishes, but you suppose you can fetch water from the creek tomorrow.
They pull their gaze away from the fire to look at the bucket, their expression unreadable.
“One moment,” you say. You have bandages– you needed them when you first arrived, and you kept a supply since then. But when you hand them to Valian, they only stare at the roll of cloth.
“I…I do not understand, Lie– Helect. What do you wish me to do with these?”
You can’t tell if this is meant to be a joke or not. You hope it’s a joke. “You’re injured. There’s…” you gesture vaguely, “There is blood dripping into your eye. The bandages are for wherever you’re hurt and the water is to wash off the blood, Valian. You know this, surely.”
“Oh.” Valian lifts their good hand to their forehead, fingers ghosting over the cut. They wince and their hand falls to their lap.
They look like they might cry.
You take a cautious step back. “You’re able to take care of the wounds yourself?”
Valian viciously wipes at their eyes and nods. Raising their undamaged hand, they manage a thin smile. “There are times when I am grateful for being left-handed.”
You nod, turning your back to them. “I’ll find some old clothes. It won’t be much. I’m not as prosperous as I was.”
“Thank you,” Valian whispers, their voice barely louder than the snapping flames.
You don’t answer.
Valian unwinds the bandages, then pauses.“Helect? When the Council’s agents arrive…You need not worry about them taking you.” They search for words they don’t want to say. “I will go with them.”
Not if, but when.
The Council’s agents are not bound by mortal laws. Three beings paler than death itself, with hands alight with flames and eyes burning white. Valian’s aversion to fire is starting to make sense.
And they are coming here.
It takes the better part of an hour before Valian is finished with the bandages, which are badly applied. You still haven't finished wrapping your head around the fact that the Council’s agents are coming to your cabin.
Valian stands, the white bandages slipping down their right arm already. They hold it with their left hand and bite on the other end to pull it tight.
You:
Agree to let Valian go with them. You can’t face what’s after Valian.
Procrastinate. “You’re exhausted, can we not deal with this in the morning?”
Help reapply the bandages. "You can't handle the Council in your current state."
Refuse to let Valian go with the Council’s agents. They don’t deserve a fate as
Voting ended onApr 13, 2023
tagging: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast, @d-cs, @annablogsposts, @sorrowful-hyacinth (lmk if you want to be added or removed!)
