hello! my name is alia. im 22 and use any pronouns. i write a lot of whump and hurt/comfort. specific interests include living weapon whump, caretaking and recovery, sci-fi/fantasy setting, weird fiction, and so on.
blog is 18+ please!
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My Writing <3
Series:
Destroyer - A powerful telekinetic serves as a weapon of mass destruction for an evil space empire.
Rubies - Delta’s recovery arc after his captivity. Mostly comfort.
Crash Out - Paris’s ??? arc. Mostly hurt.
Destroyer (Vol. II)
Bonus Features - Extra stuff for Destroyer trilogy! :D
Mini Series:
Shrike - Vague yet menacing government agency captures a living shapeshifter
The Tower
Prompts:
Check out the tag #my prompts for these :D !!!
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i am always open to requests and i will love you forever if you leave comments or ask questions <3
feel free to message if you have similar interests! i like meeting new people.
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from @painwithoutplot but I will elaborate bc I am in fact insane. 🙂↕️.
it's so many things in one. rigid posture and forbidden shifting that are uncomfortable and genuinely painful if done for a long time. being forced to close to whumper and in such proximity. the complete lack of distractions especially if paired with a blindfold. the waitingggg. the possible humiliation? or if past this point, the dehumanisation. especially if they have a designated spot. literally a thing you store until you have need of them. (+ kneeling makes you slower to move and pretty vulnerable so like..... putting living weapon back into its sheathe? harmless until useful? do you get me?). kneeling not as a show of (forced) submission but just. where else would you store something?
...save me character with iron-fisted self-control and a perfect mask except where food is involved. if we're being honest. save me whumpee whose maladjusted relationship to food is the one thing that whumper could never quite train out of them.
#LITERALLYYYYYYYYY#whumpee who learnt how to be So Good and So Blank and So perfect and to mask everything but who Cannot™#mask that crazed anxious glint whenever food is involved#or on the opposite hand#who is so good at playing the role of the adoring pet whumper wants by hiding their fear & hatred#but CANT when food is involved bc it's FOOD#also ngl whumpee who is terrified of eating too much and/or not knowing exactly what they're eating and how many cals that is#vs#controlling whumper who want whumpee to eat Exactly what they gave at Exact Times#hnnng i have many thoughts (via @fineiguessimintowhump)
?????? you CANNOT leave this in the tags. i think "it's MY food and i ORDERED you to EAT it" makes me sick (positive). usually with living weapons the food aspect is a bit blurred but oooomf. also with living weapon who is either trained to go without food or treated as if they didn't need That Much, it would become So Much Worse.
IT'S SOOOO @_@. very very helpful and not retraumatising thing to say to someone who is Terrified of not having food and cannot trust anyone else to consistently provide it for her. :')
ngl the only reason i'd ever blur the food aspects of a living weapon story is if i wanted to avoid a trigger 🙃 the "my body is a tool to be shaped to another's ends and desires, irrespective of my own wellbeing" characters don't get off that easy!
i do lean away from depriving them of food on a long-term basis, though, bc i enjoy living weapons whose abilities are mainly physical and i think logically most whumpers would want them to be as physically fit as possible. which is sad, because i also love starvation whump! ah well. there's always missions. and punishments. and special training. and eating disorders. and rationing. and-
also
#there are a few things ive read#about manipulation & whumper some how causing whumpee to develop an ed#and mostly regretting it#and it's always so fucking fire#goes very well with vampire whump too 🥰#i guess also with ed in whump the ANGST and self hatred of a whumpee who can see how fucking Stupid™ it is#like. finding stupid to add it on top of the rest (if it's anorexia and family)#or wondering WHY stress themselves worse (for binge eating#hoarding etc.)#whumper who tries fixing things and only makes things worse my beloved 🥰🥰🥰
YES it's so good. and so horrible. and so good! the self hatred is soooo <333 i've been considering whumping older and more experienced characters lately, especially ones who pride themselves on their composure, and i've been thinking about giving medic characters an ED and um. i think there's potential. with them knowing exactly what's happening but not wanting to acknowledge it; with team members being concerned but like, if you express concern and they say they're fine, are you really going to contradict The Medic on Medical Knowledge? but of course they need to be at their best to serve their team, and they're in for so much guilt and self-hatred if their flagging concentration/energy/etc causes them to make a mistake that their patients suffer for. which could drive them further into their disorder as a coping mechanism and @_@,,,, in general i've been thinking a lot about older characters in positions of authority struggling with mental illness, and feeling a lot of shame around it, and the ways in which their position could impede them getting support or recovering.
i never really got into vampire whump outside a few stories, but there's SO much potential for exploring disordered eating there. and hhhghhh whumper causing whumpee to develop an ED and then regretting it is FANTASTIC
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also lun does not selective mutism…. delta has selective mutism and becomes nonverbal under sufficient stress. lun’s silence is more of a personal choice.
Content: minor whumpee (16yrs), benevolent auditory "hallucinations", malevolent auditory "hallucinations", dehumanization, living weapon whumpee, magical living weapon, water torture (drowning), guilt, unrealiable narrator, mentioned death, fear of death, near death experience, character (whumper) death.
*Age not mentioned in chapter.
{ Chapter Summary }
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(Curse of Withering masterpost)
Four years ago...
It was a complete chaos. Cyrus had no idea what happened, and even though he tried to overhear the frantic talk amongst the handlers and staff, he couldn't figure out anything.
He heard "massacre", and "explosion", and "fault", and a dozen other words that together didn't make sense. The voices in his head were getting good at seeming like real voices, it was hard to separate what was actually real and what he was just imagining.
We're real.
No, they're not.
I'm not?
We are.
You're not.
He's not? He is-
The constant headache was getting worse. What was him and what wasn't? He wanted quietness.
We can make it quiet.
No, they can't, he's wearing the collar.
You think that can stop us?
A bark coming from the left makes his head snap. When was the last time he had ever heard that sound? Years ago, maybe.
Cyrus doesn't recognize the dog, but he does recognize the name on its vest. W. Frost. The name alone brings him fear, but the dog was adorable. A puppy. Probably still in training.
"... Hey," he whispers weakly. The dog is panting and wiggling its tail excitedly, unafraid. Cyrus had forgotten how it felt to be looked at without fear or disgust. It brings a smile to his face.
When the puppy's nose boops his leg, he can't contain a little chuckle. The voices were quiet now.
"Why are you here alone, puppy? Shouldn't you have someone with you?"
Feeling bold, the puppy starts to nibble his shoes, and he doesn't have the heart to speak up about it. Cyrus can deal with the scolding if the shoes get damaged.
"Well, I'm alone when I shouldn't be, too. My handler... I guess our handler, had to do something urgent, so he left me with Mr... ahm... Mr. Tancredi, I think? But Mr. Tancredi told me to stay here and left," Cyrus keeps on.
Amidst the cacophony and visual mess in the Handler's wing, Cyrus missed his handler's voice calling out the same name over and over. And missed when that calling stopped and frantic, heavy steps came their way.
"What do you think you're doing?!" An angry shout reaches him.
All at once, Cyrus curls in on himself in a flinch and lowers his head. Even before he could name whose voice it was, his body knew it meant danger.
Cyrus’s hair was grabbed with such violence his eyes watered. It just didn't hurt as much as being thrown to the ground full force.
A low whine cuts through his throat and he curls up in a small ball, shaking.
"Hey, little one, you're okay?" He hears, obviously not aimed at him. Mr. Frost was fussing over the puppy. No one would fuss like that over him.
We're here, sweet creature.
A bit too late, Mr. Tancredi comes back from inside the Handler's Breakroom, with no worries whatsoever. As if he hadn't just left a high risk gifted alone. As if that gifted wasn't a scared boy left alone in the middle of a whole building of people able to hurt him.
"Wow, what happened?" Mr. Tancredi says. He drinks a sip of a freshly made coffee, looking down at Cyrus and up at Mr. Frost.
"What happened is I trusted a fucking half-wit with taking care of a monster. Where were you?!" Mr. Frost yells loud enough for Cyrus to hide his face on the ground in fear.
They're the ones that should fear you.
You're right in being afraid. You're the one whose safety is at their whims.
"I just went to get a coffee, mate. I was right there, I could see him. The kid was sitting still the whole-" he cuts off when a reassuring hand on Cyrus's shoulder makes him flinch with a whimper. "Easy, son, easy. Sit up."
Someone makes a sound of disgust at the nickname.
You don't deserve to be called that.
Why not?
"Don't-" Mr. Frost starts, but Mr. Tancredi speaks over him, helping Cyrus sit up, knees still drawn close.
"Look, nothing happened, okay? I've dealt with blue ones less behaved than this one-"
"Doesn't fucking matter, you moron! If it didn't behave, it would be dead, that's the bare minimum! Get out!" How was it possible for Mr. Frost's voice to be louder than the voices inside his head?
"Chill, mate. This job is stressing you out too much, shouldn't-"
"Out!" Cyrus could feel the anger seething through every pore in his body.
Lately, Mr. Frost's been so angry.
"Fine, fine... Geez, you weren't this brittle before," Mr. Tancredi mumbles sullenly, petting Cyrus's hair absently before leaving.
A big hand wraps on his hair again and drags him by it. The short chain on his ankles doesn't let him walk as fast as Mr. Frost, and his caged hands aren't any good at helping him get impulse on the ground.
It hurts. He wants the hand away.
Sing for us, sweet creature.
It'll hurt more if you do.
Cyrus can still hear the puppy's high-pitched barks, now coming from above, even through the voices and unrecognizable whispers. Mr. Frost passes the puppy to someone on the way while pulling Cyrus with him.
"Take her to the vet. Now," he demanded, voice still full of anger.
Again, Cyrus ends up being thrown at the ground. It hurts, why did it hurt? He didn't do anything wrong-
He doesn't recognize this place.
A bathroom? Where were they? Which bathroom in this place had a bathtub?
"You think you can get away with it? Huh? Tell me, what did you do to my dog?!" Gloved hands roughly grip his neck, and when Cyrus tries to cling to the arms on panicked impulse, his hands are slapped down by much bigger ones and stepped on.
He takes the hint and keeps them down when the pressure goes back to his neck.
Cyrus doesn't like to be face-to-face with Mr. Frost. He looks angrier than Cyrus ever saw him, and there was this... frenetic look in his face. Too wide, pupils too blown.
Cyrus can smell alcohol. It's scary. Both their breathings are choppy and too fast.
"I- I-... I haven't- I didn't- nothing. Nothing, I did nothing-" Cyrus stammers out, curling away, but it only seems to enrage Mr. Frost even more.
"Don't lie to me!" He screams, voice reverberating in the bathroom more times than Cyrus thinks it's possible. Is the echo in his head?
Don't lie to him.
"I'm n- I'm not! I'm not, I don't know- I didn't-" Cyrus doesn't get the chance to speak more. Mr. Frost is already dragging him to a corner with a bathtub by the hair.
Bathtubs have their own faucet, Cyrus finds out. And with a pretty high pressure.
"If you'll waste your breath lying, then you don't get to breathe at all. What. Did. You. Do?" Once again, Mr. Frost's voice echoes through the bathroom like a thunderstorm, repeating it over and over in Cyrus's head.
The shadows laugh and whisper and cry, reaching for him, pleading- demanding- screaming for his attention. Their sound echoes too.
Sing for us, sweet creature. We'll make it quiet.
"Did you touch her?!" Mr. Frost brings his attention back with a violent shaking by the shoulders.
How would he even do that? The only skin showing was his face, he's wearing his cold-season uniform. The puppy was the one playing around, he was sitting still, he didn't do anything wrong, he-
-is a monster. Does it matter if you're doing something wrong? Your whole existence is wrong.
"No- No, I'm- I didn't. I'm not, I'm not-" He cries out, closing his eyes in a try to block it all away. But he couldn't block the sounds.
And he couldn't block away the hand pushing his head under the water.
He thought it would take longer for it to fill halfway.
The voices must have distracted him.
And the voices are all he can hear now besides the water filling his ear, his mouth, his nose, his throat-
Stop, stop, why won't you stop-
Why?
You're going to die.
We're already dead.
If you don't breathe, you'll die.
He's already dying.
The voices tear his eardrums from inside, he's sure, they worm their way through him and use him as their vessel to come into the world, they-
When his head is pulled out of the water, he still can't breathe. His lungs are full of water, his throat is sore, all the sounds are muffled. He coughs, and coughs, and coughs, and still can't get the water out.
Cyrus misses what Mr. Frost says.
His head is underwater again.
The voices grow louder and louder. Laughs, cries, screams, whispers. He can feel them now, like he does in comedowns, hauling him further under the water, under their darkness, scratching his skin from inside out. It hurts, he can't breathe, he's afraid, please make it stop-
We're here, sweet creature.
There's an urge climbing up, a boundless flicker thriving amidst his terror, primal in the way all living beings are. Desperate to survive.
Were the people he killed desperate to survive, too?
We were.
Did they cry, too? Were they scared?
We were.
Were they-
Sing for us, sweet creature.
He can't. He can't. It's wrong. He's not supposed to use his magic without permission, it's dangerous, it's bad, he'll be punished-
You'll die.
You should die.
He doesn't want to die.
Stay with us, sweet creature. Sing for us.
His lungs are filled with water, the thrashing is taking up all the possible air, he's drowning. He can't sing, he can't breathe-
Just stay with us, sweet creature.
For a moment, the world goes dark. Everything goes silent and still. Does death feel this peaceful?
And suddenly he can breathe again.
His head was let go. For a few moments, Cyrus is too busy coughing and throwing up water to realize why. It's only when his eyes can't find light that he realizes the bathroom is quiet besides his own wet hyperventilation.
When Cyrus squints in the dark, he sees Mr. Frost sprawled on the floor, unconscious. His clothes are withered, and the skin beneath them is black. Necrotic.
He can't recognize anything else in the dark bathroom.
Cyrus's collar is beeping red, sparkles of electricity crackling and giving him low shocks.
The ceiling creaks and collapses.
It's the last thing he sees before fainting.
-
-
-
[Incident Report - 23/08/2071]
[To: CONFIDENCIAL]
[From: CONFIDENCIAL]
[CONFIDENCIAL]
[CONFIDENCIAL]
[Handler W. Frost retrieved dead from collapsed Handler's Wing.]
[UG #04905 retrieved alive from collapsed Handler's Wing.]
[Immediate emergency care necessary, a- CONFIDENTIAL]
Fun fact, after this happened, Cyrus just wasn't send back to the lab to be experimented until he died because of Mayfield.
Mayfield who... quite literally with professional words said, to a whole board of high-rankings, "Frost had it coming and y'all are dramatic as fuck, bring him back and follow the damn protocols."
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nothing quite like a whumpee no one knows existed. caretaker inheriting a house and oh god- there's someone in the basement. taking over a ship and- Is that a prisoner? hero getting kidnapped or infiltrating a base, stulbling into a room where they find a bleeding whumpee. spy getting interrogated by someone with suspicious wound. getting thrown into a cell with someone who's been there for a long time.
characters who understand the idea of bodily autonomy but not when it applies to them are so good because there are so many variations on it. “i’m not a person” is the most common one i’ve seen and it SLAPS don’t get me wrong but like. “i don’t have a body”? fascinating. “i don’t deserve it”? intriguing, if also common. “but [x] isn’t here”, especially when [x] was the closest thing to a caretaker the character had before but was also part of the abuse and did nothing to stop it? riveting. phenomenal. 10/10.
characters who understand the idea of bodily autonomy but not when it applies to them are so good because there are so many variations on it. “i’m not a person” is the most common one i’ve seen and it SLAPS don’t get me wrong but like. “i don’t have a body”? fascinating. “i don’t deserve it”? intriguing, if also common. “but [x] isn’t here”, especially when [x] was the closest thing to a caretaker the character had before but was also part of the abuse and did nothing to stop it? riveting. phenomenal. 10/10.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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also going to make a post about this properly in a few chapters as we get closer to the finale of this arc. but here’s an updated list of the ranks in the congregation of chosen:
archangel — very top of the hierarchy. (julius)
dominion — interchangeable with the archangel. (elise)
virtues
powers — high-ranking congregation members. (jeremiah, peter rangi)
principalities
angels — regular congregation members.
cherubim — archives master. (alastair)
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