#whump oc

[aratanditscheese]

I've been working on some character sheets. Did a little work on Blue's for now.

[goes-whump-in-the-night]

puree

Synopsis: Cinder tries to avoid the chop.

Content Warnings: fairy whumpee, female whumpee, female whumper, threats of dismemberment, improper use of household appliances, coercion, mentioned nsfwhump, filmed whump

Author's Notes: I just love putting fairies in fucked up situations.

"No - no, no, no, please, mistress no! Don't do this! You don't have to do this!"

It was Cinder's only hope that her pleas would not fall on completely merciless ears as she clung to the rim of the blender. Terror filled her to know she would already be sat amongst the blades below if she hadn't managed to catch herself when her owner attempted to dump her into it, and the fact that she was clearly only putting a half-hearted effort into pushing her further in did nothing for her pounding heart.

Above her, the human woman Renee pouted her pink-glossed lips as she pressed down on the space between Cinder's wings, her nails perfectly manicured and camera-ready, despite the violence they threatened - the violence they had committed.

"Gosh, Cindy, I just don't know," Renee whined, her voice thick with mock indecision. It was the type of tone that normally would've made Cinder hate her all the more, if not for the spirit-deep horror she felt that this might be the day she finally did it. "I mean, I promised my followers I'd do a shoot for my new fairy smoothie recipe today. I kind of had to, since you haven't really been raking in the views yourself recently."

Furious tears stung at Cinder's eyes as she desperately tried to beat her wings and scrabble her feet against the blender's smooth interior - anything to help her gain ground. It wasn't her fault if her monstrous audience wasn't satisfied!

She'd endured everything this woman had put her through - bones broken like twigs in her hands; smothering makeup tests that left her choking on chemical powders; a month of isolation in a jar with nothing but a twig to keep her company - and all for a two-minute timelapse of her breakdown! Cinder was fighting to live through it all - and Renee still thought it was her fault if she wasn't getting enough views

But the moment she dared to point that out, Cinder knew full well her chances of escaping here would go from slim to none. She'd seen what happened to other fairies who were foolish enough to insult their owner's fragile ego.

"I can do better - I promise!" Cinder cried out. "I'll - I'll do a photoshoot in that moisturizer you sell! Then you can upcharge for it! Isn't that worth something?"

Renee's face gave the impression of considering this for half a moment - just long enough to give Cinder an ounce of hope. It was such a disgustingly practiced move, and yet Cinder still kept falling for it.

"Nah, sorry babe," Renee laughed. "You're losing your star power, so - gotta mix it up!"

With that, the human stopped with her performative efforts. She reached out with her free hands to yank Cinder off the side of the blender with ease, dropping the fairy into the middle before she had the chance to grasp another else, before slapping the plastic lid over the top.

There was no time for Cinder to linger on the chill of the unforgiving blades beneath her. They may only be inert for a moment longer. She rose to her feet and began slamming on the glass with her tiny fists, screaming with all her might.

"Mistress! Mistress, please don't do this! Don't do this to me!"

Through the thick glass, she watched Renee grab something from across her kitchen - the stunning and well-appointed space the suffering of Cinder and others like her had paid for. She returned a moment later and lifted the lid back up, allowing Cinder to once again briefly imagine she might try to mount an escape - only for a mound of ice nearly as tall as she was to come spilling in, crushing her against the rim with its frigid embrace.

Cinder had barely even begun to catch her breath as more weight followed. Chopped strawberries, thick mango slices, two halves of a banana, all filling the world with a cloying, overripe sweetness.

She was already freezing to her bones, and yet, more hot tears still escaped Cinder's tiny, shuddering frame. One of the blades of the blender was pressed right against her trapped left ankle, and she could already feel the threat of just how quickly it would tear her to shreds.

It couldn't end like this. Not under crushed ice, and cut fruit, and a fucking breakfast appliance. Not matter what it cost, she hadn't lived through everything to die like this.

"Mistress, I'll - I'll do the shoot! The one you've been asking me to!"

The blender lid hovered over her in a half-eclipse, before Renee drew it away. She grinned down at Cinder, her demonic face as wide as the sky.

"Oh?" the human purred. "And which one would that be again?"

Cinder struggled to swallow against her own pride, and all the vitriol she felt for this woman, but still, she forced herself to look away. Her shame only ever made it more exciting for Renee and her audience, so it that was what kept her alive now, that was what she would give them.

"I'll...I'll touch myself," she mumbled. "On camera. However much...in whatever ways your followers want me to. I'll do whatever they want."

Renee had put forward the idea of an after-dark edition of her channel months ago, and while she had put Cinder in a few positions, the goal always seemed to be to get the fairy to be a more "active participant" in the shoots. In all that time, Cinder had resisted, less on principle and more because, as one of the few things she could actively resist, it was one of the few bargaining chips she possessed.

And now had been the time to play it.

A hand as big as she was reached into the blender and began to scoop out the fruit and ice. Cinder let the careless removal press against her body without complaint. It was far from the worst pain she'd suffered at this hand.

"Ohhh, that's a good, good girl, Cindy," Renee cooed as she at last grasped the fairy again. "What a smart idea! You're going to make so many people so happy - and that's going to make me so much money! Let's see how well you do with this, and maybe then we can forget this whole nasty blender thing eeeeever happened, kay?"

Cinder did not struggle in Renee's hands as the woman gave her a quick wipe with a dampened paper towel, before depositing her back in the carrying case where she spent most of each shoot day. She simply shrouded herself amongst the scratchy, cotton-like substance that covered the floor and tried to find an ounce of either warmth or dignity amongst its embrace.

Yet, the reassurances were few as she was left to stew on the kitchen counter while Renee was free to begin making preparations for the next shoot. Cinder may have saved her life for now, but all it would do was fill this monster's wallet, and make herself even more detailed material for her sick fans' fantasies of her.

All while knowing, likely sooner rather than later, there would be another someday to replace her. Maybe her end wouldn't be as messy as the one Renee's blender had promised, but she had seen enough fellow fairies come and go to know what fate awaited her.

Someday, her fans would get bored, and Cinder wouldn't even be worth the cost of fairy feed anymore, and the only worth she would have left would be to provide them with a dreadful spectacle of a death.

Tucking herself into a corner of her case, Cinder gave herself the only assurance she could - that prolonging her own life saved another fairy from having to take her place.

With her only bargaining chip gone, that was all she had to hold onto.

[konrad-von-schwerin]

Compilation of OCSN posts 35/?:

[konrad-von-schwerin]

I think I have reached new heights of obsession, which is, apparently, defined by writing long, metatextual notes about my own character? (Something I previously only did with others’ works.)

[konrad-von-schwerin]

Compilation of OCSN posts 34/?:

[goes-whump-in-the-night]

heart of stone

Synopsis: Stonebroker acts as a go-between.

Content Warnings: superhero whumpee, female whumpee, team whump, negotiations, implied assault and abuse, stream of consciousness, superhero worldbuilding

Author's Notes: Stonebroker POV!

The Ridley Street Heroic Association was not, generally, a money-making endeavor for its employees. Working there could pay the bills - generally, if they led fairly frugal existences - but with the limited amount of heroes they employed, they were all constantly on-call and often involved in more intensive casework than the kind of “punch-clock” heroes they often derided.

As a result, these heroes often lacked time in their personal lives for the kinds of activities that could earn other heroes additional income - private security side gigs, brand deals, public appearances, that sort of thing. They also often lacked time to have, well, personal lives, period.

Through the combination of these factors, it was incredibly uncommon for Ridley Street heroes to ever take on wards and sidekicks. Having a sidekick was something that, in order to be done well, took both an immense amount of time out of a hero's schedule for years ongoing and was often costly in order to help cover their ward's costuming and equipment.

While there were many Ridley Street heroes that could have made for excellent mentors, and, in fact, would have enjoyed imparting wisdom on how to perform as a hero with principles and a strong moral compass, it simply wasn't in the cards for them - not with existing demands on their own time and money.

Which was why it had stunned everyone in their office, and perhaps none moreso than the hero Stonebroker, when one day, with no great to-do, Red Sand had stomped into their office, trailed by a 14 year-old girl.

Wearing screen-printed galaxy leggings and a purple cloth mask that looked as though it had been had cut from a pillowcase, this wide-eyed girl had been a strange combination of already appearing to know all the heroes in the office and yet still wanting to both interview and introduce herself to all of them, and it had only been Red's snapping command that had gotten the little hurricane to calm down even a little.

"Watch her for a minute, Stony," Red had definitely more told Stonebroker than asked as she grabbed the girl and sat her down in a spare office chair beside his desk. "I gotta go talk to the captain about this."

She swept off, ignoring the teen's attempts to call after her and ask if she could come too. There had been a pout of disappointment on her face for only a fraction of a second, but then, she was spinning around in her chair, turning all her brilliant attention onto Stonebroker and peppering him with every question that appeared to pop in her head.

And Stonebroker, for all that he was a private and reserved person, couldn't help but feel a crack forming in his exterior from the immediate impulse of wanting to share all he could with this young hero in the making.

*****

Despite her initial resistance to the idea, Red Sand most certainly became the mentor Grav Girl - eventually, Nebulous - deserved. Somehow, she managed to take her on the kinds of dangerous missions and patrols she was used to while keeping her (relatively) safe, on top of getting her to continue with regular schooling, and seeing she reached adulthood as a surprisingly well-adjusted individual.

It was clear to everyone that Red adored the girl and would do anything within her power to see her grow up with her optimism and innocence intact - but she was also not the only one at Ridley Street who felt that way.

Having someone as young and bright-eyed as Nebby around seemed to energize all of their heroes, and even the most hardened among them were happy to pitch in with her, taking her on their own missions, walking her through their casefiles, and imparting in her the wisdom that had helped to make them the heroes they were.

Perhaps, Stonebroker had often reflected as he watched Nebulous grow into the shining star she was, that communal responsibility they had taken on for her was why Red had been able to mentor her so well.

No one person on Ridley Street had enough to give to be able to raise a young hero on their own. However, when everyone could at least give a little, then even a bunch of hard-shelled curmudgeons like them could successfully give shape to a brilliant, young hero like Nebulous.

Just a little pridefully, Stonebroker had mentally apportioned more than an even share of Nebby's growth to his own involvement as well.

After all, as Red's closest friend at the association, it was him she had called on most frequently to look after Nebby, especially in her rough patches with Falconess, making him almost like an uncle to her.

It was him who had brought in snacks and sack lunches for the kid when he knew she'd be going on stakeouts, in an attempt to teach her a hero couldn't survive on beef snacks and fruit chews alone.

It was even him who had sat down with Nebby in the wake of that first incident with Silver Silt and talked her through what she'd experienced, when Red hadn't had the bandwidth to go any deeper than 'It wasn't your fault.'

Red Sand may have been her mentor on paper, but Stonebroker was part of the village that raised her. Even if he didn't show it half much as Red, or that Octave or Prince, he cared. He worried. He wanted Nebby safely brought home as much as everyone else - and he saw to this in the way he handled every other aspect of his heroic career.

While each successive failure to rescue Nebby saw the rest of the team more fractured and scattered, Stonebroker would always simply pick himself up the next day and start pounding pavement, head down, an ear out for trouble. Slow and steady, no matter how long it took, he was never a man who expected any easy solution for anything worth doing - but he would not turn his nose up when one presented itself either.

Which was why, two weeks after their latest failed rescue, when Stonebroker arrived at RSHA headquarters and found an envelope on his desk containing only a location he should go to alone if he wanted to discuss the future of Nebulous, he didn't question it. He just grabbed his overcoat and was right back out the door.

*****

Unlike the warehouse district at the docks, Marlon's was the kind of place someone would go to if they actually wanted to be discreet, rather than have a meeting with the mere trappings of being clandestine. This small, shabby bar sat on the outskirts of southern Newton, in the midst of a rundown neighborhood that was nearly suburban in its size and design.

It was the kind of place no self-respecting villain or hero would want to be associated with - and that likely made it perfect for what he had been called there for. The fact that Stonebroker had never stepped foot in Marlon's but still knew its shape as soon as he stepped through the paint-flecked front door spoke to that anonymity the situation demanded.

From the beer-sticky floors, to the lingering cigarette stink despite a 20-year ban on smoking in public businesses, to the thin crowd of regulars peppering the tables who clearly had nowhere they would rather be on a Wednesday afternoon, Marlon's could have been any of a hundred identical bars in the area. Even Stonebroker's bulk and metahuman stone protrusions barely caught the attention of any of the downcast eyes present as he headed towards the bar.

However, even in a place with such implicit discretion as this, he still had to coach himself into being a bit louder with his steps than he normally was. A man as big as himself who was silent, he had found, ironically drew a lot more attention than one who made himself obvious.

It was tricks like that, from having spent 20 years as the RSHA's man on the street, that told him, even without written instruction, that all he would need to do was get a seat at the bar, order himself a beer, and keep his eyes down like the rest of its patrons.

Sure enough, he had been there nursing the bottom shelf, bottled swill for no more than 10 minutes before he heard the sound of the metal door creaking open once again. Stonebroker gave no more than a cursory glance over his shoulder at the sound, but the glance gave him no more information than he already could have guessed.

A muscular figure - taller than himself, though not quite as broad - stalked through the bar, his leathers and booted feet similarly making more sound than necessary as he walked. The only difference in their approaches was that this new figure first made a pitstop at the dim neon jukebox at the far end of the bar, feeding the poor thing a few quarters and setting it to play something with plenty of mournful twang.

Only then, after providing that cover for a quiet conversation, did the man follow Stonebroker's trail, landing two seats down from him at the bar and ordering himself a drink.

At any other bar in Newton proper, the sight of Ridley Street hero Stonebroker and the infamous villain-for-hire Dog Star would have been a sure sign of a fight to come.

But at Marlon's, it was just another anonymous Wednesday afternoon.

"I take it your employer wants to offer us another deal."

The words came out of Stonebroker's mouth in a low rumble, directed as much at his beer bottle as they were to the man to his right, but Dog Star heard them all the same.

"You'd be right," Dog Star said.

He moved to take a swig of his own beer, but when he set it back down, Stonebroker couldn't help but notice the level in the bottle had not changed. For not the first time in his life, he found himself wondering what kept professionals like Dog Star - and, if he was being honest, like Red - surviving without even trusting the few creature comforts their lives should have afforded them.

"What's changed?" Stonebroker asked. "If you don't mind me pointing out the obvious, your side's been secure in their holdings this whole game, so why bring us to the table now?"

"Not my place to say."

Dog Star's curt response at last earned him a more direct look from Stonebroker and just the smallest twinge of annoyance.

"I'll need more than that to take back to the team," he grumbled. "Especially after your less than genuine previous offer."

The villain offered him the slightest shrug. "I came to you with a disingenuous offer, you came back for a disingenuous trade," he said. "Occurs to me it's not my fault if you were the ones unprepared for that night."

There was an annoying degree of truth in Dog Star's words, and Stonebroker certainly wasn't going to bite back about the fairness of Davis Davies's underworld - so perhaps it was the comfort of his victory in that exchange that led the man to carry on.

"However, if I were to guess," Dog Star said. Another fake swig of his beer. "I'm here because my employer already has nearly everything he set out to achieve. Crime and major acts of villainy are at a 20-year high. Riding on that wave, he's made alliances with some of the biggest names in Newton. And, most importantly, he's destroyed that little gnat, and given everyone from here to the northside know just how satisfying that is."

Stonebroker had to hold back a rare flare of fury from showing in his face at Dog Star's last words, knowing full-well what the man was implying.

He'd seen the photos too.

He knew what had been done to the kid who used to sit at his desk and ask if he was going to eat the pickle with his sandwich.

"Then I take it your employer, in his infinite generosity, intends to simply let her go free?" Stonebroker asked, his words more than his tone conveying his sarcasm.

That, at last, earned the smallest show of emotion from his counterpart - the slightest tug at the corner of his grizzled mouth. "Not quite," he said, then began to reach into some inner pocket of his leather vest.

Without flinching, Stonebroker watched him pull out an envelope and set it down on the bar between them. He had just begun to reach for it before another sentence slipped out of the villain's mouth that made him freeze.

"He wants you to break Robert Redgrave out of prison."

Stonebroker stared at him, his hand hovering over the envelope he had expected to contain the terms of this deal. It was almost - almost - enough to make him appreciate Dog Star's style. To have it said outright - and to have that be the terms - had managed to throw him in a way few people could.

And because it had been so blunt, there was no point in dancing around it. No 'He can't be serious' would remedy this situation. The act that was being asked of them, to help the most public face of crime and villainy in Newton City escape imprisonment and any semblance of justice, was not only something that could destroy the lives and careers of all heroes involved while eroding trust in heroes as in institution, it -

It would spit in the face of Nebby's last great act as a hero.

Davies had to know that. He had to understand exactly what such an act would cost them.

But he also had to know that he held every card now, and the heroes had nothing to bargain with but what he asked of them.

So, instead of questioning the legitimacy of any of that, Stonebroker simply asked, "Why?"

Another fake sip. By that point, it was so obvious, Stonebroker almost thought he was doing it just to annoy him.

"Still not my place to say," Dog Star said. "Although, I might speculate that...my employer is a man who strongly believes there is an order to things. An order to villains, and to heroes, and to the rules that govern them and keep things in balance. If I was to guess, I would say that this is his way of righting a wrong, and finally setting our world back into that balance."

Another shrug, the smugness of his position implicit.

"But I'm just the messenger," Dog Star finished. "What do I know?"

Crk.

Stonebroker heard the slightest crack in the glass of the beer bottle still in his left hand - not enough to shatter it, but enough to threaten the shattering of their increasingly uneasy peace.

"You don't get to act like a neutral party in all this," he growled at the villain for hire. "You know what he's done to her. What he's doing to her still. You're selling your soul to help him torture the kid who should be leading her generation. How does that create balance?"

Dog Star's scarred chest rose and fell with a heavy breath at the accusation. It was impossible for Stonebroker to tell if it was in an act of actual self-reflection...or mere annoyance with the situation.

"Those ideas of heroes...villains...balance," he said. "Those belong to my current employer - just like my morals. I'd sell my soul to damn that girl if the devil is the highest bidder. The only question now..."

And at that, he turned and at last gave Stonebroker a significant glance, if only because it was the only one he would deign to give the hero.

"...is if you would sell yours to save her."

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[konrad-von-schwerin]

Compilation of OCSN posts 33/?: