The sand was coarse here, more like gravel than anything else. Not enough time to let the water pound it into smaller chunks, Luthas supposed. It was strange, what he thought about when his brother was aiming a crossbow at his head.

“You don’t have to do this,” Luthas looked straight at the arrow tip that was surprisingly steady, compared to how Luthas knew his brother must have been feeling.

“No! You’re wrong. I’m sorry, but you’re so wrong. I didn’t know-... I didn’t know what you really were, didn’t know the full extent of it.” He held the crossbow, completely still. He had practiced this, Luthas realized, the sinking feeling growing ever stronger in his stomach.

“That’s crazy. You know me. I’m your brother.” A half hearted smile to go with the words, like when they were younger. Luthas hoped it would be enough.

“Oh, I know. Which makes it even more important that I do this. I’m sorry, I thought you were different. But you’re just like the rest of them.” His eyes were set. He didn’t blink. He reminded Luthas of himself, just then. When he came up with a plan, there was no stopping him.

“I’m- Look, I don’t know what you’re getting at, but you need to put down the bow,” His words had no power here. He could feel the blood rushing through his veins, the flutter of wind through his feathers. The edges of Luthas’s vision wavered, and he didn’t know whether it was from the heat or if he was dreaming.

“I can’t do that, Luthas. I have to kill you.” His brother let the arrow fly, and it whooshed through the air. Luthas almost let his eyes close.

“Hey, wait!” A voice rang out, and Luthas was being pushed, no, tackled to the side, where he collapsed on a mound of rocks. The arrow whizzed past him and landed in a bush behind him, burying its tip in the ground.

Luthas pushed himself up on unsteady arms, looking first at the arrow and then whipping his head around to stare at the stranger.

“Who.. are you?” He grunted warily.

“Your savior, apparently,” the boy replied, his yellow eyes not entirely devoid of light. “What the fuck was that?” he repeated, whirling around to stare at Luthas’s brother. “You just go around killing avians for fun, huh? You really think you’ll survive like that? I have half a mind to put this sword through your heart.”

“Don’t,” came Luthas’s immediate reply. He held up a hand in what he hoped was placating. “He’s- I can take care of him.”

“You can’t.” The boy stared at him evenly. “He was going to kill you.”

“Just let it go, okay?” Still hunched over from being thrown, Luthas wasn’t the most convincing.

“That’s fine, but I’m just trying to look after our own.” The boy swept a winged arm across his body, grabbing the hilt of a sword on his back.

“Luthas.” In the time they were talking, his brother had picked up the arrow. Now he held it limply by his side, the crossbow still in his other hand. “You can’t change my mind. Don’t try to save me.”

---

“W-wanted to see me?” The door creaked open, and Alfie stepped in the dusty office, shutting the door neatly behind him and shuffling to press his back against the nearest wall.

“Yeah, uh,” Luthas looked up from the pieces of parchment he was looking over, gathering them into a messy pile and shoving them aside. “Do you still believe what you told me? That we can still be okay?”

Alfie took a moment to respond. “That was… y-years ago.” It was before the Reaper, and that counted for more than any amount of time.

“Just answer the question.”

“...Can if you want, want me to,”

“I’m gonna take that as a no.”

“Can if it would, if it would h-help.”

“So you’d be lying, then?”

Alfie nods, a barely perceivable movement that Luthas would have missed if he didn’t have his eyes on Alfie like a hawk.

“No. Fuck that. I don’t want a liar on my team”

Alfie nods again. He was so easy to ignore. Luthas could pretend he was just a dresser in the corner of the room, and he wouldn’t be proven wrong until the quiet click of the door behind him alerted Alfie’s exit. He was so aware of every movement, every breath, every twitch of his muscles, an awareness that Luthas knew only came with humans who thought they were doing good, irreversibly fucking them up in the process.

“Man, aren’t you angry?”

Alfie lifted a shoulder. “Why?”

“Why? What do you mean, why?” He swallowed anything else he had to say to give Alfie time to answer.

There was so much to explain, how his Reaper had stripped him of his dignity and hope and left him empty. But he didn’t have the words nor the willingness to. “J-… just the way it is.”

“I’m trying to change that, can’t you see?” With both hands flat on the wooden table in front of them, there was a twinge of desperation to Luthas’s tone. “Everyone else believes in me. Why don’t you?”

“…’s a good idea. Not going a-against it.”

It would have to be good enough for Luthas.

“Hey, you!”

Clementine turned at the voice, cigarette halfway raised to her mouth. At the hour of-- she checked her phone-- 3:00 am, anyone who wanted something to do with her was not going to be friendly.

She stayed silent as the stranger approached, a boy, it seemed, about 16 or 17. Approaching within a few feet of her, he stopped, open mouthed, a mixture of awe and fury in his eyes, evident even in what little light there was.

“Remember me?” He growled, hair falling into his eyes. Clementine stared at him for a few seconds, cigarette smoke blurring her vision. She took another drag, trying to keep still against the car she was leaning on.

“Honestly? No. You can just fuck off now,” she snapped. Her fingers weren’t shaking, she made sure of that. She stepped back from the car, arms held loosely in front of her. Indifferent. Curt. Like she was at work.

“You don’t?” A manic smile was starting to spread across his face. “You hurt my brother. You’re one of those fuck wads that torture people for a living. And now,” he chuckled, “I get to do what I’ve been dreaming of for half a year.”

The punch came at Clementine’s face before she had time to duck, the cigarette flying out of her hand and fizzling out a few feet away.

“Uh, I-” She half-heartedly tried to protest, but her determination died with the cigarette. After all, she supposed, she did deserve it. Sometimes she needed reminding that it was her who was pressing the button or flicking the switch.

She was hurting people. It was only fair that they got revenge.

Another impact, and she stumbled backwards, smacking against the back wall. She didn’t lift a finger as the blows rained down on her, her own blood painting his knuckles red. Pain exploded in her head with every blow. A punch to her stomach, and she doubled over, falling to her knees.

But he still wasn’t done. Grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking upwards, yellow light spilling over her face. The blood trickling out of her nose and from the corners of her mouth looked as black as the bruise forming across her cheek. Her dazed eyes were downcast, her mouth slack. He would have thought she was unconscious already, if not for the faint trembling of her eyes, scanning across the ground for things that she didn’t have.

“Remember me now?” There was a calm in his eyes now, a steadiness in his grin.

Clementine didn’t know who he was, didn’t remember his brother. It might have been anyone. His words were barely registered, and she only felt the slump of her own body against the cold pavement as he released her, finally satisfied.

Her ribs ached. Her head hurt. Her apartment wasn’t that far away, but to get to it she needed to stand and walk to the other side of the building. The concrete wasn’t that uncomfortable, anyway. She rested her head on her arms and closed her eyes.

eat the raspberries to confuse the blood in my mouth

cw: suicide mention, wound description

The moon wasn’t visible from where they stood on the forest floor, and Finnegan wouldn’t have been surprised if it didn’t exist at all. Who was she to say that the horizon in the distance wasn’t just an illusion? She had never been there. Tearing her gaze away from the swath of branches above her, Finnegan hoisted herself up on a rock, patting the space next to her. “Come up here! You can’t see shit down there.” Pulling down a branch, she hung her flashlight on it, watching as it snapped back, illuminating the area around her.

Sev shook his head, black locks falling to the side. “Can’t see shit anywhere. Why’d this forest have to be so foggy?”

Finnegan tossed a pebble down at him. It might have disappeared halfway down, or maybe it was hidden in the grass stems. Both were equally likely. “Stop complaining. Would you rather be back at camp?”

“No.” Sev scrambled up next to Finn, heels bouncing against stone. He squinted his eyes, throwing out a hand to block the glare from Finnegan’s light. In doing this, he almost let his own flashlight drop, and reached below him to get it, triumphantly holding it up from where he caught it in mid air.

It was nice, out here. Better than back at camp, with lumpy mattresses and strict schedules and get in line. That’s how it is here. Get used to it, is what Milo would have said if he knew what Sev was thinking. But if Milo was here, he would be dragging Sev off of the high rock, limbs flailing, and sitting him down in their cabin. And it would be so much harder to get out.

“That’s what I thought.” Finnegan set down her backpack and pulled out two soda cans, one of which she handed to Sev. He squinted at the label, struggling to see with just the light from the cheap flashlight.

“Is this plain soda water?” He gasped in mock disgust. “Please tell me, why, of all things, you chose thi-”

“It was all they had left, okay? And I got, um, where is it-” Finnegan rummaged around, turning back to Sev with a bright smile that he could barely see in the darkness. “Here!” She ripped one of two packets open and poured something that Sev couldn’t make out through the opening of the can.

“...What? Where did you get fucking cocaine?”

“Chill! You thought that was cocaine? Jesus, dude. It’s just sugar.”

The what the fuck look on Sev’s face didn’t disapear. “You tell me we’re sneaking out of camp, we go on a nature hike and you pour a packet of sugar into your plain soda water?”

“It’s… all they had left.” Finn took a sip, staring up at the stars. “It kind of tastes like Sprite, if you use your imagination.”

Sev closed his eyes, counting the seconds that passed. And then-

“This place doesn’t suck ass, if you use your imagination.” The words tumbled out from somewhere inside him, and he immediately regretted it. Any warmth that their conversation had started quickly was shut down. His soda was left untouched and unopened beside him, the packet of sugar tossed next to it.

“I know.” Finnegan replied carefully, taking another sip. “But… doesn’t it make this better? They can’t stop us from getting out. We’re sneaking out from right under their noses, and they can’t do anything about it!” Her smile was more forced now, the light gone from her eyes. There was only so much utopia she could fake.

“Sure.” Sev looked utterly exhausted, his normal grin completely gone.

And so Finn dropped the act as well. “...Have you ever thought about suicide?”

Sev was taken aback. He whipped around to look at Finnegan, eyes wide. “Huh?”

“Have you?” she pressed, meeting his gaze.

“U-uh, here? Or before?” With his heart hammering in his chest, Sev couldn’t think straight. He was happy before, right? And even here, they kept him fed and sheltered, and he was important, they gave him something he could do. He had a purpose. All the boxes were checked off. His chest felt tight. He opened his mouth once it was clear that Finn wasn’t going to clarify. “Dunno. Who hasn’t? Call of the void, right?”

“Mhm,” Finn murmured. “I guess you’re right. It’s a good thing that they keep us from dying, then. Their cause or whatever wouldn’t work out if all their little trainees killed themselves, now would it?”

Sev didn’t respond, watching Finn’s flashlight sway gently back and forth. It did nothing to calm him. He felt dizzy. “Why did you…” Furrowing his brow, he tried to remember his train of thought. “Why did you ask?” His heels were thumping on the rock now, sending a jolt through his body every time they connected.

“Because you’re one of the only people who doesn’t think I’m crazy for coming out here willingly.”

“We can’t die. It doesn’t... matter.” He wasn’t sure if his words were coming out of his mouth correctly, but Finnegan seemed to understand.

“Sure, but you’re sleep deprived as shit.” Her smile was back on her face, her tone lightly teasing.

Sev didn’t want a single second more of false happiness.

He shoved himself off of the rock, landing in a heap at the bottom and pitching forward, falling onto something sharp. The edge cut into his arm and scraped as he tried to move. Sev yelped, the pain lancing through him a moment later.

“You okay?” Finnegan called from what seemed to be a hundred feet above him. He ignored her. Light washed over him, and he shut his eyes. When he opened them again, he saw blood. The gash wasn’t long, but it was deep, splitting open his skin and exposing the layers below. Crimson dots steadily beaded up around the edges of the wound and dripped downward, falling onto the forest floor without a sound. Sev could only hope that they disappeared. He wasn’t supposed to be here at all.

“I-I’m going back,” he stammered, struggling to his feet. The beam of his flashlight wildly shining on the trees, Sev chose a direction and ran, narrowly avoiding fallen branches and uneven ground, one hand wrapped around his arm and oozing blood.

“Sev, don’t. I have first aid stuff,” Finn yelled after him, but he was already gone.

A whumpee who ruins their Own life.

A whumpee who has everything in the world, but throws it away or wastes it.

A whumpee who lashes out at everyone, never letting anyone in.

A whumpee who knocks over glasses of water when offered.

A whumpee who is left alone because people don't want to deal with them.

A whumpee who hates themselves and believes that this is what they deserve.

thinking about,,, baseball bats being used as a object of Blunt Force Trauma tm

and the whumpee is curled in on themselves as blows rain down around them

and they almost get away but they get whacked across the head and kicked in the ribs and stars explode into their vision and everything hurts

and they collapse and everything goes dark

An immortal whumpee, knowing that they can't die, so they throw themselves into peril over and over for their friends. Even though it hurts, they would rather let it happen to them then to lose their friends.

Two people who are enemies have to work together to achieve a common goal, but along the way they still don't trust each other and always sleep with one eye open or a gun under their pillow. They know that the other would could stab them in the back at any moment, but they can't leave either.

A whumpee gets trapped under a building after it collapses, and no one comes. They don't know where their phone is or even if anyone would come if they called, so they stay under the rubble as the walls cave in around them.

Wings, shielding someone else from an explosion. Shards of stone shatter the bone, but it doesn’t matter as long as they are safe.

But the protector can never fly again, and the crooked angle that one of their wings is held at is a constant reminder of what happened.

i wish all people with non human whumpees a great day :D

Cw: Slight mention of death being preferable to the situation

His wings are stretched so far apart across the cold metal table Luthas doesn’t know how they haven’t detached from his body altogether. He twists in his restraints, feeling the unforgiving leather tighten around his wrists. 

The pain is unlike anything he has ever experienced before. It wasn’t sharp. He could deal with that. Rather, it was a constant ache, intensified by his discomfort of needing to move but being strapped down to the surface below him. Someone comes into his vision, hovering above him, too close, and Luthas glares at him. “Something you wanna say?” he grumbles, his voice tight. Once his eyes adjust to the flickering lights of the torches around them, Luthas makes out the figure of his captor. 

“Yes,” The man above him replies, moving out of Luthas’s way to grab something from a drawer. Luthas moves his head against the table and shuts his eyes as light glints off of a knife. “You insist on being stubborn.” 

It wasn’t a question, but Luthas answers it anyway, blinking his eyes open. “Sure as fuck I am. How do you think I got this far?”

The man smiles, eyes crinkling. “A lot of good that’s done for you.” 

Luthas hesitates and furrows his brow. The man is so infuriatingly calm. “Wait and see. I bet you won’t be grinning when I use that knife against you.” 

The man doesn’t seem to react at all, merely shaking his head and scoffing, tracing a finger along the flat end of the knife. “You do know I have experience. You’re never getting out of here. Unless, of course, I release you. That might happen someday. It’s not out of the question.” He walks over to the table again, and Luthas hears every footfall. The knife is hovering over his wings now, and Luthas pulls at the straps, willing for something to give, but nothing does. The knife touches on his wing, and Luthas pulls it close instinctively, but there’s nowhere for it to go. He can’t stop this. The man could bring his arm up and back down and his wing would be completely severed, not a part of him anymore. 

The thought makes Luthas want to die. He knew about Reapers, how they tricked and brainwashed their victims, but he never imagined it would be like this. 

The knife begins to move slowly across his wing, sliding deeper across the top of the black feathers. Luthas thrashes instinctively, once, twice, his heart pounding in his ears. If he cuts his wings off, everything that Luthas has worked for will all be for nothing. The pain doesn’t even register at first, muted by Luthas’s blind panic. Ragged gasps tear their way out of his throat as the knife continues to cut into him. Then, all at once, the blade is lifted up and carried away, leaving the blood to bead up around the gash and spill over, dripping onto the floor. “I wasn’t going to cut your wings completely off, you know,” The man started, his voice just as smooth as before. “I’ve seen that doing that doesn’t work. There are some… unintended results.” He wants me alive, Luthas realizes, and the thought makes everything so much worse than just the stinging that makes his wing feel like it’s on fire.

“This will end badly for you, once I get out of here,” Luthas says, a sheen of sweat forming on his face. “You’re sick. All of you are.” 

“It doesn’t matter what you think. You’re never getting out of here,” the man repeats simply, and the knife touches down again. Luthas shudders involuntarily, but the moment his damaged wing pulls against the strap holding it down the stinging turns into a pulsing agony, shooting ice and fire all along his back with every heartbeat. 

Luthas has nothing left to say.