Hi, I'm Hen! 27, he/they. I've been following the whump community since May 2023. Although I didn't know what it was until then, I've loved whump for as long as I can remember. I actually wrote a lot of what I would consider to be whump when I was a teen - then I didn't write anything for a long, long time. Finding the whump community wildly reinvigorated my creative spark, and I will be forever grateful for that.
I can like just about anything, though there's a special place in my heart for vampires. I'm a plot lover, I enjoy consistent changes in a story's status quo. I have no major squicks or triggers.
This blog is consistently NSFW and I do write and reblog noncon and related material. Minors will be blocked if they follow me.
Contains: Aftermath of captivity/torture/noncon, nightmares, anger and guilt, hurt/comfort
~~~
It wasn’t the fear that Elze’ith dreamed of. It wasn’t the shame or the violation. It wasn’t the deep loneliness that wore away at him every moment. Of all the things he had known in Lord Denholm’s care, only one came to haunt his uneasy sleep that night.
Elze’ith dreamed of anger.
“He let you down. He abandoned you, as if you weren’t the precious and irreplaceable thing you are.”
The words reverberated through his mind, an echo that hadn’t quite faded. He knew they were lies, but logic couldn’t quell the resonance they kindled. Alone and abandoned and aching, it was easier to cling to a simple falsehood than a messy reality. And the best lies had a spark of truth to them.
“For all your dedication, he didn’t fight very hard to keep you.”
Because he couldn’t deny that Altair let him go, that Altair left him on his own for months, that Altair had needed Elze’ith to save him again before they could be free. He had given everything, and Altair still wasn’t there when he needed him. What was their love good for if he had still spent his darkest moments alone?
His hands were heavy with blood and tattered feathers. He could have screamed, whether in rage or horror or perhaps both. Neither would fix things; nothing could fix things. Nothing could change the fact that he had hurt the man who meant everything to him; nothing could change the fact that for just a moment, he had wanted to.
That moment, now an eternity. The swell of emotion that already drowned him. The weight in his hands, the warmth of blood and the cold of ice, a dreadful anchor. All he could do was—
“Elze’ith?”
—Come gasping back to wakefulness, shaking and sweating and so, so ashamed.
It took Elze’ith’s eyes a moment to adjust, for him to fully orient himself to his body again. The candles were low on their wicks, the flames offering a small dancing light to ward off the darkness (he couldn’t handle the dark, not anymore). Rain pattered on their roof like a playful child, the sound familiar and grounding. And Altair was kneeling next to his bedroll, worry in his dark eyes and a hand partially outstretched, as though he wasn’t sure whether to reach out or pull back.
Gods, what had Altair felt during all of that? How much of Elze’ith’s shameful anger had Altair been forced to internalize? The one thing he never wanted was for Altair to feel like Elze’ith blamed him.
(Or perhaps he wanted it so badly, wanted Altair to know how Elze’ith was hurting, wanted Altair to regret not doing better. Perhaps Elze’ith did blame him, and he wanted him to blame himself, too.)
“I— Are you—“ Altair’s words were quiet, stumbling, hesitant. “It’s okay. It was just a dream.”
Except it wasn’t just a dream. The memories were real. The inescapable hurt was real.
The anger was…
Brambles constricted around his heart, a ward and a weapon all at once. He couldn’t deny it, not with it festering in his wounded soul. Altair had let him down, and a part of Elze’ith hated him for it.
But how dare he feel this way? How dare he turn his ire against the one who saved him? How dare he be anything other than grateful?
(He could almost hear Lord Denholm in the back of his mind, gently teasing away the threads of his resistance, and it only made his anger and shame burn brighter.)
Altair pulled his hand back against his chest, evidently deciding not to touch. Elze’ith couldn’t blame him. “I— do you want some water?”
Elze’ith didn’t want water. He wanted to go back to a time when he was alone in his mind, when touch was a balm and not a poison, when their love was safe and easy. He wanted peace.
He nodded.
Altair rose with the urgency of a man seeking care for a dying loved one, or perhaps a man fleeing a hurricane. In his brief moment alone (and not truly alone; Altair was right across the room, was still inside his head) Elze’ith forced himself to breathe deeply, to steady himself. Even as his pounding heart began to slow, his emotions still smoldered. Given time, surely he could quell them, just as he had a thousand times before. Surely that would be best.
The cup Altair offered to him was small, the ceramic chipped and the paint worn away. But somehow, after slowly drinking from it, a part of him did indeed feel better.
After several moments of silence, Altair finally spoke, voice quiet. “If you… if you want to talk, I’m here.”
Elze’ith bit his lip before reaching for his notebook on his bedside, the small bundle heavy in his hand. There was so much he wanted to say, but he didn’t know where to begin, how to start untangling the thoughts and emotions that threatened to choke him. And even if his own feelings did make sense, what could he even say that wouldn’t just make everything worse?
It took several false starts, several crossed out beginnings, before he found a question that felt safe and salient to ask.
“Did you know what he was doing to me?”
The stricken look on Altair’s face told Elze’ith everything he needed to know. He had thought that he knew what betrayal felt like, but somehow there was still more anguish for him to become acquainted with.
“I—I didn’t. Not at first.” The words came out in a rush, almost faster than Elze’ith could process them. “I thought… I don’t know what I thought. But I think I—I didn’t want to believe it could be that bad. Even when he told me himself.”
So he knew. Ice flooded Elze’ith’s veins, somehow worse than the fire of his anger. He knew. He knew, and he still…
“I—“ Altair reached out again, hand hovering over Elze’ith’s before stopping. Elze’ith didn’t move to take it, and Altair pulled back, but only wavered for a moment before looking Elze’ith directly in the eye. “I’m sorry, Elze’ith. I know I let you down. I let you down so many times. I…” He trailed off, blinking fiercely, before adding quietly, “I’m so sorry.”
Oh. Those were tears in Altair’s eyes. That was remorse burning across their bond. He hadn’t… Somehow he hadn’t realized that Altair felt so awful.
Elze’ith broke Altair’s gaze, staring down at his hands. Was that what he wanted? Did Altair’s contrition make him feel better? It didn’t change what had happened. Didn’t erase months of isolation and spilt blood. Didn’t fix what was broken.
Did it have to, though?
The brambles around his heart loosened, ever so slightly. Tentatively, with a shaking hand, Elze’ith reached out for Altair. He couldn’t bear to see the look on Altair’s face when they laced their fingers together, but the warmth, at least, was a comfort.
Maybe one apology wasn’t enough. But maybe it was a foundation on which he could build the peace he needed.
whumpee who's MAD at caretaker. Whumpee who accepts their help, but only reluctantly, and points out everything they're doing wrong. Maybe everything they did wrong, if they're part of the reason whumpee is in this situation.
does caretaker bite their tongue and take it? or do they threaten to leave whumpee to their fate?
Locked in a forever war spanning centuries with an expansionist human empire, the elves of Teressia have changed over the many years - changes that can only be known by those who have lived long enough to witness them.
Jactana Ludovitch is the latest misfit to be sent to the remote and dusty Greenbelt Outpost, captained by the aloof Sorynn Lightspear. Jactana is struggling with a big decision when their outpost is captured. Sorynn makes a strange request. Jactana steps up.
Tune in for impersonation, role swapping, bloodless torture, environmental whump, asexual angst, elves with guns, extensive backstories featuring immoral activities, age gap, living weapons, pushing through pain and illness, magical exhaustion, foul attitudes, arguing, queer queer love, and so much more!
Part 1: A Letter, A Bell
~2025 words
CW: None
Masterlist, Next
~~~
There was a moment, at first, when it was serene.
The water came up over her ears, cutting off the voices of her interrogators. She was surrounded by the quiet-yet-loud sounds of water swirling and her own blood pumping.
But she hadn’t had the chance to breathe very deeply before they pushed her down. She was strong, sure, she had good lungs, but it only took a minute before uncontrollable, deeply instinctual panic began to spread from her gut up towards her head. She twitched. The twitch became a struggle against the hands holding her, then a thrash.
Surely they’d pull her up soon.
Surely they wouldn’t drown her right off the bat.
~~~
The letter crumpled in Jactana’s hand, the contents sinking deep into her heart like a poison. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now. The elf leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her long dark powder-blue braid feeling heavy on her back. It had all been for nothing. She sat on her bunk like that for a long time. Just breathing. Just thinking. The warm bunkhouse felt oppressive. Ensnaring.
I could leave.
I could leave.
I could stay.
Captain Lightspear walked past the open doorway, her shadow cutting through the evening sunlight on the floor before disappearing; then, reappearing again as she doubled back, troubled by Jactana’s posture.
“Are you well, Ludovitch?” The foreign, human name rolled off her tongue with ease after weeks of practice.
“Oh, aye!” Jactana straightened up with a bright smile, her slight accent thickening to hide her true feelings. “Fit as a fiddle.” She lifted the half-crumpled paper. “Letter from home, y’know.”
“Glad to hear it,” Lightspear nodded, and continued on her way.
Jactana let out a slow breath, her facade fading.
She had a decision to make.
~~~
Jactana climbed to the top of the spindly watchtower that overlooked the derelict outpost and the Greenbelt Ravine. Arid plains stretched out to the north, while the ravine plummeted below them to the south. It was a wide gouge in the land bleeding green, filled with dense jungle, the opposite side obscured by rising mists. The Greenbelt Outpost perched, flimsy and small, atop the cliffside above broad treetops that peeked out of the fog. The Rangers at the outpost were technically guarding the border between their homeland Teressia and the expansionist human empire Ardent, but the no-man’s-land ravine was so impassable that their presence was redundant. Even an attack by air was unheard of; the small, fledgling airships that both sides were engineering were incapable of carrying an invasion force, and no significant targets lay within the outpost’s vicinity.
At the top of the tower sat Kirina, ‘on watch.’ She lounged on a stool, reading a book. When she heard someone climbing up, however, she dropped her book and moved to the railing, looking intently out over the ravine. When Jactana clambered over the top of the ladder, she sagged.
“Ah. You.”
“Don’t act so happy to see me, people might get ideas,” Jactana teased.
“What do you want.” Kirina folded her arms.
“Your opinion.” Jactana moved to look out over the misty jungle and the setting sun, and paused a moment before speaking. “I’m thinking of leaving.”
“Nobody transfers out of Greenbelt,” Kirina said immediately, “Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“Not a transfer.” Jactana’s shoulders twitched as she almost turned to look at Kirina, but didn’t. “I mean, leaving the Rangers.”
Kirina barked out a short laugh.
“You’d quit a second time?”
Jactana gripped the railing tightly.
“I don’t like being useless here.”
“You don’t like the idea of combat either.”
“You don’t know what I don’t like,” Jactana snapped, finally turning to glare at her fellow ranger. Kirina looked away, intimidated by the older elf. Jactana stared her down for a long moment before resuming her watch over the jungle.
“Don’t tell anyone, obviously.”
“Of course not,” Kirina stooped to pick up her book, “Nel and Lavenna would be heartbroken.”
Jactana’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile.
That told her Kirina’s vote.
~~~
Jactana wandered through the outpost, the evening light slowly failing. There wasn’t very much to wander through; there were only six buildings, surrounded by a high wooden wall. There was a watchtower, a mess hall, a measly armory, the bunks, a garage, and an outhouse. Not really a building, but there was also a small pigeon coop for short-form communications - no telegram wires reached the outpost. It was all built and placed haphazardly, clearly intended to be temporary placeholders for a future, well-designed base, but no planners had ever come. Instead, Greenbelt Outpost had received outcasts, troublemakers, and cowards; anyone the Rangers needed to get out of the way. It wasn’t the only posting that served that purpose, but it was certainly the most remote.
Jactana was there for being “difficult.” So was Kirina. Nelanea was there because she had rich parents who wanted her out of harm’s way. Lavenna was there because she’d only passed training by the skin of her teeth and could barely follow orders. Poor Caleth was there because they were required to have a cook and a medic, and no one else was about to volunteer.
Jactana had yet to uncover why Captain Lightspear was stuck with them. She was confident she would, eventually.
Or she had been until she got that letter.
“Jactana!” Lavenna bounded up alongside her, brimming with energy, “We got a notice saying our next supply shipment will have real fresh fruit in it, isn’t that exciting?”
Jactana smiled softly down at her. Lavenna was a petite, foolish young elf, not truly fit to be a Ranger. She’d never seen combat, and with any luck her contract would expire before she did. The Captain had put her in charge of the pigeons. She loved the little birds more than anything, and took great delight in receiving and sending off communications.
“That’s great, Lavenna.”
“Did you read your letter from home?” Lavenna had been the one to deliver the cursed thing to Jactana. “Was it nice?”
Jactana maintained her smile.
“Aye, it was.”
“Aye!” Lavenna echoed with a giggle, like she always did. She was endlessly entertained by Jactana’s accent, and her tales of her years fighting alongside their human allies, first in the Bravian army and then as a mercenary.
“He-ey,” Jactana poked the little elf’s arm, "Ain't it your turn to help Cal with the dishes?”
“Oh!” Lavenna’s eyes widened, “Oh!” and she sprinted off to the mess hall.
Jactana watched her go. No one would want her to leave, she realized. If even Kirina wanted her to stay, that meant they all would. Especially Lightspear, now that they had their… understanding.
Could she really leave them?
~~~
EIGHT WEEKS AGO
“So why did they send you here?” Captain Lightspear asked.
Jactana dropped her duffel bag on the floor of the bunkhouse, rousing a cloud of dust.
“Right to the chase, eh?” she flashed her teeth at the Captain. Lightspear’s mouth retained a hard line.
“I just need to know if you’re going to cause me any problems, rookie.”
“Me? Problems?” Jactana pressed a hand to her chest and raised her eyebrows.
“Tell me why you’re here, Ranger.”
“The name’s Ludovitch,” Jactana squared her shoulders, “I’m insubordinate, apparently. I had a… disagreement with a Major over my unit’s first deployment out of basic training.”
“Let me guess,” Lightspear tilted her head, looking bored, “It wasn’t a deployment that promised enough honor and glory for you?”
Jactana narrowed her eyes. “The opposite, actually. I ain't interested in martyrdom.”
“So you’re a coward.”
“Oh, I would have lived,” Jactana said lightly, “I just don’t think any of my fellow rookies would have.”
Lightspear had lifted her head and refocused on Jactana as she spoke. The diffused light from the ever-open door caught the iridescence in her dark mauve hair, tightly controlled in small protective braids that swirled together into a bun at the nape of her neck.
“That’s a lot of confidence.”
“I know myself.” Jactana held Lightspear’s gaze with defiance.
“Lu-do-vitch,” Lightspear said slowly, “That’s a human name. A Bravian name.”
“You got a problem with that?” Jactana challenged.
Lightspear regarded her for a long moment, then turned on her heel.
“Dinner’s at six.” She strode out.
~~~
PRESENT
The watchtower bell, frantically ringing, roused Jactana from a restless sleep. She was fully awake in seconds, leaping out of bed with a flare of adrenaline.
“Something’s wrong!” she called out to the darkened room.
“Yes, obviously!” Kirina hissed from her bunk, “That or the worst prank ever!”
Jactana ran to the door and threw it open, staring out into the moonless, starless dark.
“What’s happening?” Lavenna whimpered.
“Everyone stay calm,” Lightspear’s voice cut through the dark, “I’m sure we can handle it.”
A light caught Jactana’s eye.
“Fire!” she shouted, “The mess roof is on fire!”
No sooner had she spoken than an arc of lights moved through the sky, pinpoints of fire emanating from out of the black above the ravine. Jactana ran out to watch as they plummeted down onto the bunkhouse roof, setting it ablaze. She cursed, sprinting back to the open door where Cal stood, pistol in one hand and rubbing sleep out of their eye with the other.
“Everyone out, now! The roof’s afire!”
Still in their nightclothes, the rangers ran out. They each held their standard-issue pistol, and Lightspear handed Jactana’s to her as she passed.
“They want us out in the open,” she said.
“I know,” Jactana replied grimly. “Lavenna!”
The young elf turned to face Jactana, the weapon in her hand shaking. Jactana grabbed her shoulder to steady her.
“Go to the pigeon coop,” she urged, “Release them all, then hide, do you understand?”
“Yes, b-but-”
“Ludovitch!” Lightspear said sharply. Jactana sucked in a breath - she’d done it again, given orders when it wasn’t her place.
“Good thinking,” Lightspear said unexpectedly, “Lavenna, do as she says.”
“Yes, Captain!” Lavenna turned and ran into the dark.
The whistle of incoming artillery cut through the ringing of the alarm bell. Jactana grabbed the back of Lightspear’s shirt and dragged her to the ground, and saw Kirina do the same for Cal out of the corner of her eye. Two explosions reverberated through the earth; when Jactana raised her head, she saw the north and west gates burning, blocking any escape from the outpost.
Jactana did the math. There had to be an airship, somewhere over the ravine. It was placing precise strikes to trap them out in the open, but not kill them.
“They’re here to take us,” she called out, and scrambled to her feet. She offered a hand to Lightspear. “What do we do?”
Lightspear blinked up at her, disoriented. Fearful.
“We go down fighting, that’s what!” Kirina declared. Jactana bit her tongue, silencing a remark about foolish waste of life - but again, Lightspear was on her side.
“No,” the Captain said, taking Jactana’s offered hand and rising to her feet, “We surrender. It’s our best chance of the fewest casualties.” She looked at Jactana as she said it. Looked for approval, Jactana realized.
This wasn’t exactly what Jactana had wanted out of their recent truce - but she had no choice but to be honest. She nodded her assent.
“No fucking way!” Kirina spat, “I’m not going to -”
“Put down your weapons,” Lightspear ordered, “And when they take us, do not speak. Not a word, not a name, not a cry, nothing. Understood?”
Kirnina glared, fire reflecting in her eyes, but finally she threw down her pistol. Caleth followed suit, silent and solemn. Jactana and Lightspear added theirs to the pile.
“Look,” Cal said softly, pointing upwards. Their attacker was finally clear: a small airship, painted black. They watched it descend into the center of the outpost.
Lightspear put up her hands.
“There aren’t many reasons to take Greenbelt,” she said quietly, almost talking to herself more than her Rangers, “We’ll probably be used as a bargaining chip. A few weeks of negotiation, and we’ll be home. We’ll be fine,” she nodded, not taking her eyes off the airship.
Locked in a forever war spanning centuries with an expansionist human empire, the elves of Teressia have changed over the many years - changes that can only be known by those who have lived long enough to witness them.
Jactana Ludovitch is the latest misfit to be sent to the remote and dusty Greenbelt Outpost, captained by the aloof Sorynn Lightspear. Jactana is struggling with a big decision when their outpost is captured. Sorynn makes a strange request. Jactana steps up.
Tune in for impersonation, role swapping, bloodless torture, environmental whump, asexual angst, elves with guns, extensive backstories featuring immoral activities, age gap, living weapons, pushing through pain and illness, magical exhaustion, foul attitudes, arguing, queer queer love, and so much more!
Part 1: A Letter, A Bell
~2025 words
CW: None
Masterlist, Next
~~~
There was a moment, at first, when it was serene.
The water came up over her ears, cutting off the voices of her interrogators. She was surrounded by the quiet-yet-loud sounds of water swirling and her own blood pumping.
But she hadn’t had the chance to breathe very deeply before they pushed her down. She was strong, sure, she had good lungs, but it only took a minute before uncontrollable, deeply instinctual panic began to spread from her gut up towards her head. She twitched. The twitch became a struggle against the hands holding her, then a thrash.
Surely they’d pull her up soon.
Surely they wouldn’t drown her right off the bat.
~~~
The letter crumpled in Jactana’s hand, the contents sinking deep into her heart like a poison. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now. The elf leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her long dark powder-blue braid feeling heavy on her back. It had all been for nothing. She sat on her bunk like that for a long time. Just breathing. Just thinking. The warm bunkhouse felt oppressive. Ensnaring.
I could leave.
I could leave.
I could stay.
Captain Lightspear walked past the open doorway, her shadow cutting through the evening sunlight on the floor before disappearing; then, reappearing again as she doubled back, troubled by Jactana’s posture.
“Are you well, Ludovitch?” The foreign, human name rolled off her tongue with ease after weeks of practice.
“Oh, aye!” Jactana straightened up with a bright smile, her slight accent thickening to hide her true feelings. “Fit as a fiddle.” She lifted the half-crumpled paper. “Letter from home, y’know.”
“Glad to hear it,” Lightspear nodded, and continued on her way.
Jactana let out a slow breath, her facade fading.
She had a decision to make.
~~~
Jactana climbed to the top of the spindly watchtower that overlooked the derelict outpost and the Greenbelt Ravine. Arid plains stretched out to the north, while the ravine plummeted below them to the south. It was a wide gouge in the land bleeding green, filled with dense jungle, the opposite side obscured by rising mists. The Greenbelt Outpost perched, flimsy and small, atop the cliffside above broad treetops that peeked out of the fog. The Rangers at the outpost were technically guarding the border between their homeland Teressia and the expansionist human empire Ardent, but the no-man’s-land ravine was so impassable that their presence was redundant. Even an attack by air was unheard of; the small, fledgling airships that both sides were engineering were incapable of carrying an invasion force, and no significant targets lay within the outpost’s vicinity.
At the top of the tower sat Kirina, ‘on watch.’ She lounged on a stool, reading a book. When she heard someone climbing up, however, she dropped her book and moved to the railing, looking intently out over the ravine. When Jactana clambered over the top of the ladder, she sagged.
“Ah. You.”
“Don’t act so happy to see me, people might get ideas,” Jactana teased.
“What do you want.” Kirina folded her arms.
“Your opinion.” Jactana moved to look out over the misty jungle and the setting sun, and paused a moment before speaking. “I’m thinking of leaving.”
“Nobody transfers out of Greenbelt,” Kirina said immediately, “Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“Not a transfer.” Jactana’s shoulders twitched as she almost turned to look at Kirina, but didn’t. “I mean, leaving the Rangers.”
Kirina barked out a short laugh.
“You’d quit a second time?”
Jactana gripped the railing tightly.
“I don’t like being useless here.”
“You don’t like the idea of combat either.”
“You don’t know what I don’t like,” Jactana snapped, finally turning to glare at her fellow ranger. Kirina looked away, intimidated by the older elf. Jactana stared her down for a long moment before resuming her watch over the jungle.
“Don’t tell anyone, obviously.”
“Of course not,” Kirina stooped to pick up her book, “Nel and Lavenna would be heartbroken.”
Jactana’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile.
That told her Kirina’s vote.
~~~
Jactana wandered through the outpost, the evening light slowly failing. There wasn’t very much to wander through; there were only six buildings, surrounded by a high wooden wall. There was a watchtower, a mess hall, a measly armory, the bunks, a garage, and an outhouse. Not really a building, but there was also a small pigeon coop for short-form communications - no telegram wires reached the outpost. It was all built and placed haphazardly, clearly intended to be temporary placeholders for a future, well-designed base, but no planners had ever come. Instead, Greenbelt Outpost had received outcasts, troublemakers, and cowards; anyone the Rangers needed to get out of the way. It wasn’t the only posting that served that purpose, but it was certainly the most remote.
Jactana was there for being “difficult.” So was Kirina. Nelanea was there because she had rich parents who wanted her out of harm’s way. Lavenna was there because she’d only passed training by the skin of her teeth and could barely follow orders. Poor Caleth was there because they were required to have a cook and a medic, and no one else was about to volunteer.
Jactana had yet to uncover why Captain Lightspear was stuck with them. She was confident she would, eventually.
Or she had been until she got that letter.
“Jactana!” Lavenna bounded up alongside her, brimming with energy, “We got a notice saying our next supply shipment will have real fresh fruit in it, isn’t that exciting?”
Jactana smiled softly down at her. Lavenna was a petite, foolish young elf, not truly fit to be a Ranger. She’d never seen combat, and with any luck her contract would expire before she did. The Captain had put her in charge of the pigeons. She loved the little birds more than anything, and took great delight in receiving and sending off communications.
“That’s great, Lavenna.”
“Did you read your letter from home?” Lavenna had been the one to deliver the cursed thing to Jactana. “Was it nice?”
Jactana maintained her smile.
“Aye, it was.”
“Aye!” Lavenna echoed with a giggle, like she always did. She was endlessly entertained by Jactana’s accent, and her tales of her years fighting alongside their human allies, first in the Bravian army and then as a mercenary.
“He-ey,” Jactana poked the little elf’s arm, "Ain't it your turn to help Cal with the dishes?”
“Oh!” Lavenna’s eyes widened, “Oh!” and she sprinted off to the mess hall.
Jactana watched her go. No one would want her to leave, she realized. If even Kirina wanted her to stay, that meant they all would. Especially Lightspear, now that they had their… understanding.
Could she really leave them?
~~~
EIGHT WEEKS AGO
“So why did they send you here?” Captain Lightspear asked.
Jactana dropped her duffel bag on the floor of the bunkhouse, rousing a cloud of dust.
“Right to the chase, eh?” she flashed her teeth at the Captain. Lightspear’s mouth retained a hard line.
“I just need to know if you’re going to cause me any problems, rookie.”
“Me? Problems?” Jactana pressed a hand to her chest and raised her eyebrows.
“Tell me why you’re here, Ranger.”
“The name’s Ludovitch,” Jactana squared her shoulders, “I’m insubordinate, apparently. I had a… disagreement with a Major over my unit’s first deployment out of basic training.”
“Let me guess,” Lightspear tilted her head, looking bored, “It wasn’t a deployment that promised enough honor and glory for you?”
Jactana narrowed her eyes. “The opposite, actually. I ain't interested in martyrdom.”
“So you’re a coward.”
“Oh, I would have lived,” Jactana said lightly, “I just don’t think any of my fellow rookies would have.”
Lightspear had lifted her head and refocused on Jactana as she spoke. The diffused light from the ever-open door caught the iridescence in her dark mauve hair, tightly controlled in small protective braids that swirled together into a bun at the nape of her neck.
“That’s a lot of confidence.”
“I know myself.” Jactana held Lightspear’s gaze with defiance.
“Lu-do-vitch,” Lightspear said slowly, “That’s a human name. A Bravian name.”
“You got a problem with that?” Jactana challenged.
Lightspear regarded her for a long moment, then turned on her heel.
“Dinner’s at six.” She strode out.
~~~
PRESENT
The watchtower bell, frantically ringing, roused Jactana from a restless sleep. She was fully awake in seconds, leaping out of bed with a flare of adrenaline.
“Something’s wrong!” she called out to the darkened room.
“Yes, obviously!” Kirina hissed from her bunk, “That or the worst prank ever!”
Jactana ran to the door and threw it open, staring out into the moonless, starless dark.
“What’s happening?” Lavenna whimpered.
“Everyone stay calm,” Lightspear’s voice cut through the dark, “I’m sure we can handle it.”
A light caught Jactana’s eye.
“Fire!” she shouted, “The mess roof is on fire!”
No sooner had she spoken than an arc of lights moved through the sky, pinpoints of fire emanating from out of the black above the ravine. Jactana ran out to watch as they plummeted down onto the bunkhouse roof, setting it ablaze. She cursed, sprinting back to the open door where Cal stood, pistol in one hand and rubbing sleep out of their eye with the other.
“Everyone out, now! The roof’s afire!”
Still in their nightclothes, the rangers ran out. They each held their standard-issue pistol, and Lightspear handed Jactana’s to her as she passed.
“They want us out in the open,” she said.
“I know,” Jactana replied grimly. “Lavenna!”
The young elf turned to face Jactana, the weapon in her hand shaking. Jactana grabbed her shoulder to steady her.
“Go to the pigeon coop,” she urged, “Release them all, then hide, do you understand?”
“Yes, b-but-”
“Ludovitch!” Lightspear said sharply. Jactana sucked in a breath - she’d done it again, given orders when it wasn’t her place.
“Good thinking,” Lightspear said unexpectedly, “Lavenna, do as she says.”
“Yes, Captain!” Lavenna turned and ran into the dark.
The whistle of incoming artillery cut through the ringing of the alarm bell. Jactana grabbed the back of Lightspear’s shirt and dragged her to the ground, and saw Kirina do the same for Cal out of the corner of her eye. Two explosions reverberated through the earth; when Jactana raised her head, she saw the north and west gates burning, blocking any escape from the outpost.
Jactana did the math. There had to be an airship, somewhere over the ravine. It was placing precise strikes to trap them out in the open, but not kill them.
“They’re here to take us,” she called out, and scrambled to her feet. She offered a hand to Lightspear. “What do we do?”
Lightspear blinked up at her, disoriented. Fearful.
“We go down fighting, that’s what!” Kirina declared. Jactana bit her tongue, silencing a remark about foolish waste of life - but again, Lightspear was on her side.
“No,” the Captain said, taking Jactana’s offered hand and rising to her feet, “We surrender. It’s our best chance of the fewest casualties.” She looked at Jactana as she said it. Looked for approval, Jactana realized.
This wasn’t exactly what Jactana had wanted out of their recent truce - but she had no choice but to be honest. She nodded her assent.
“No fucking way!” Kirina spat, “I’m not going to -”
“Put down your weapons,” Lightspear ordered, “And when they take us, do not speak. Not a word, not a name, not a cry, nothing. Understood?”
Kirnina glared, fire reflecting in her eyes, but finally she threw down her pistol. Caleth followed suit, silent and solemn. Jactana and Lightspear added theirs to the pile.
“Look,” Cal said softly, pointing upwards. Their attacker was finally clear: a small airship, painted black. They watched it descend into the center of the outpost.
Lightspear put up her hands.
“There aren’t many reasons to take Greenbelt,” she said quietly, almost talking to herself more than her Rangers, “We’ll probably be used as a bargaining chip. A few weeks of negotiation, and we’ll be home. We’ll be fine,” she nodded, not taking her eyes off the airship.
Locked in a forever war spanning centuries with an expansionist human empire, the elves of Teressia have changed over the many years - changes that can only be known by those who have lived long enough to witness them.
Jactana Ludovitch is the latest misfit to be sent to the remote and dusty Greenbelt Outpost, captained by the aloof Sorynn Lightspear. Jactana is struggling with a big decision when their outpost is captured. Sorynn makes a strange request. Jactana steps up.
Tune in for impersonation, role swapping, bloodless torture, environmental whump, asexual angst, elves with guns, extensive backstories featuring immoral activities, age gap, living weapons, pushing through pain and illness, magical exhaustion, foul attitudes, arguing, queer queer love, and so much more!
whumpee is slumped on the kitchen floor, staring at the ceiling fan spin in circles. on and on and on it goes.
someone calls out for them. they blink. is it time for whumper to be home yet?
"—where are you?" comes the tail end of a question. they are awfully tired, they think. the floor feels nice on their skin, even if it's hard and digs in their bones. but it's loads better than being tied to the ceiling for hours on end, waiting for whumper to show them mercy.
they blink once again, and suddenly a face swims into their vision. it's all blurry at the edges. "hey? what's wrong?" what a silly question, they think. the face cracks a smile, "yeah?" oh. they said that aloud. they want to brace for the hit, but they feel sluggish all over. at least they can apologize.
"mmngrh," whumpee says. their tongue isn't quite working. fear is slow and languid in their bones. "are you... drunk?" whumper says somewhere in their periphery. there's some clattering of cupboards being opened, followed by clinking of glass. it's a nice sound, the sound of dining. hunger is a distant simmer in their body, but they know that they don't deserve food yet. they haven't done anything to earn it.
"why did you drink all of this?" whumpee thinks before answering, "ev'rth'ng h'rt," their body was hurting all over. and something else— "sad," now their already blurry vision is blurring even more. they hiccup as the fan becomes a circular blob. "'m s'rry," they apologize, belatedly. if the whumper is feeling nice, maybe they won't hurt them too much after an apology.
but all of a sudden, they're being pulled up, hands soft on their shoulders and against their waist. they settle against the warm neck. a confused sound slips free from their lips. gentle hands smooth down their back as they are cradled like a child. it feels very, very nice. "it's okay," someone whispers, "you're okay, I promise," and then they are drifting off to a dream world.
caretaker can feel the tears soak into their skin as whumpee falls quiet and slips into sleep. even as they can feel their legs going numb, they don't move from the floor for hours on end.
CONTEXT being the only stories I have fully completed are the ones that I finished writing BEFORE I started posting. Everything that I have started posting before it was finished has ended up abandoned.
CONTEXT being the only stories I have fully completed are the ones that I finished writing BEFORE I started posting. Everything that I have started posting before it was finished has ended up abandoned.
Jactana Ludovitch is the latest misfit to be sent to the Greenbelt outpost, captained by the aloof Sorynn Lightspear. When their Ranger team is captured, the Captain makes an unusual request, putting Jactana in a difficult position.
I'm so crazy about these women you have no idea.
No timeline yet for when I'll start posting but I'm a fair way through writing and very motivated!
Jactana Ludovitch is the latest misfit to be sent to the Greenbelt outpost, captained by the aloof Sorynn Lightspear. When their Ranger team is captured, the Captain makes an unusual request, putting Jactana in a difficult position.
I'm so crazy about these women you have no idea.
No timeline yet for when I'll start posting but I'm a fair way through writing and very motivated!
Another mil!au Mariano piece, bc he's just so normal about being sick to start with
TWs: Illness, fever, military whump
Prompt: Wheezing
Curled up in a blanket on his side, holed up in their camp with the others around him, Mariano wheezed in his sleep. It was soft, a thin sort of noise. Not an emergency by any means, but it was audible.
It could've been his posture. He was curled up with his nose buried into the warmth he'd trapped in his cocoon--it wasn't enough, given how he shivered now and then. His brows creased, just enough to be noticeable.
It could've been the dry air. The dust hadn't been bothering him, though. He'd long grown used to it--and he'd been hydrating. Everyone had been. This was strange.
Really, nothing about what he was doing was normal. Mariano slept on his back. He folded his hands at his stomach. He breathed silently, not even a snore. Mariano didn't move, didn't mumble anything. He just laid down and imitated a statue until he woke up again.
This Mariano curled in even tighter at the distant call of some animal, pressing his face deeper into the crook of his elbow. He didn't fully wake up, though. With his forehead pressed to a bit of blanket bunched under his head, it was like he was trying to hide deeper inside his dreams. His breathing deepened further, then. His exhales sounded worse.
He wheezed and shivered harder as his temperature soared. It was fine, though. His lungs could crackle, his head could start to feel like it was filled with cotton, it didn't matter. They were almost at the end of their mission anyway, and he'd already finished his final night watch shift.
All Mariano had to do now was rest so that he could keep moving when it was time. He knew his duty. He would carry it out, even with a nasty, brewing flu.
