Hello hello, my name is Pixel (or Kris, whichever you prefer), and this is my whump sideblog. I'm somewhat new to writing whump and stuff, so I'll mostly be posting prompts and my own original works. My main account is @pixelpalettesofficial.
I accept questions for my OCs (when I start making them), requests, etc. Also I'm now 18, so NSFW is fine. Cool. It'll always be tagged though.
My DNI stuff is just basic shit, idrc who follows me for the most part.
My main whump blog inspiration is @a-crumb-of-whump, I love their original stories :D
BYF
I have ADHD and am a little slow when it comes to tone, so I appreciate tone indicators. I also appreciate if you be a bit patient with me, my mood tends to fluctuate pretty often.
I hope to get to know you all!
(OCs, Stories, Ask Games, and everything else under the cut)
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Must specify that yes, I’m still alive, I’ve been having a ton of health issues. My doctor thinks I have sleep apnea, so my hope is to get that sorted out, get my “new” laptop set up, then go back to my sporadic posting, as per usual.
Just fyi I got my appendix removed Sunday so I haven't been on my PC too much (I usually lay on my stomach, so it's a no-go for now), not sure when I'll be active on my blogs and stuff but yeah
Guess who made an official This or That game for whump enjoyers:)
Rules: Drag a line over your preference. If you need to elaborate, do so in the ‘extra info’ section below! If neither are your cup of tea, you can either ignore it or make up your own system to show that it’s not applicable:)
Click the 'read more' for a blank template and all your options in case you can't see it or don't want to use the photo:)
TWs: Referenced trafficking (I intended it to be like... hybrid trafficking but you can imagine it as whatever), Suicidal Whumpee
Beneath the cut is a short drabble I wrote surrounding a scenario in my head, but I barely know anything about the fandom I wanted to write it for, so I made it more ambiguous.
Whumpee barely has the energy to lift their head as someone enters their cell. “Are you here to kill me?” They rasp, a glimmer of hope in their chest. They can finally rest.
The person looks taken aback by their question. They pause for a moment before answering. “No, I’m here to rescue you. I’m with an organization that gets trafficked people back home.”
Their response is carefully crafted. Whumpee hates them for it. “...Why? Why me..?”
The person approaches them carefully, like they’re a cornered rat. “Why wouldn’t I help you?” They ask, kneeling in front of Whumpee. Their face is so kind.
“I don’t want to live,” Whumpee says softly. “You’d be doing me a favor by killing me.”
The person purses their lips. “Forgive me for being selfish, but I don’t want your blood on my hands.”
Whumpee lets their head drop back onto their arms. The person places a gentle hand on their back. “Can I pick you up?”
Defiant Whumpee who cries when they're angry, but has a high pain tolerance. Whumper loves to see them cry, so when they first learn they cry out of anger, Whumper takes to riling them up on purpose to get them to cry.
Maybe Whumper makes fun of them for it, maybe Whumpee has been bullied for this exact thing before. Maybe it's even just a massive source of embarrassment!
I just love the thought of a Whumpee crying out of sheer anger and not fear.
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Contents: Happy Halloween! It's my birthday, and while I might not do this again next year, I had fun. No real content warnings this time, enjoy the story!
Characters are Kris (He/They/Xe, Ref) and Palette (He/Him, Ref)
Also posted on Ao3!
Kris wakes up with a splitting headache. It’s not necessarily unusual for him, he’s dealt with this ever since he was a kid, but it hasn’t gotten any easier.
Normally, he’d take some medicine and get to work on whatever he’s been working on anyways, but when he moves his head, a jolt of pain goes through him. A groan escapes him, which only serves to make the pain worse.
The shifter throws the comforter over his head, shutting his eyes in an attempt to ease the headache- no, definitely a migraine. Fuck.
He lays there for a while, trying to ease his migraine, to little success. He doesn’t know how much time has passed when the door to the bedroom opens, and there’s a soft voice. “Kris? Are you awake, honey?”
He reaches a hand out from under the covers to give a thumbs up, and Palette sits down on his own side of the bed. “Are you okay?”
“Migraine,” Kris mumbles, barely audible.
Palette hears him, though, lowering his own voice to barely above a whisper. “Do you need medicine for it?”
“Please.”
Palette leaves for maybe five minutes at most, coming back with a cup of water and two pills. He sets them down, and Kris can hear him closing the curtains. “There we go,” He says, returning to his boyfriend’s side. “Can I sit you up?”
“...Mhm.”
Palette gently moves him to a sitting position, frowning slightly when Kris winces. He hands the water and medicine to him, which the shifter gratefully accepts. He sighs softly, the water definitely helping his head, at least a little bit. He finishes the water, after taking the pills, of course, and hands the empty cup back to the squirrel. “Thanks,” He murmurs, leaning close.
Palette kisses him gently, brushing hair out of his face. “Of course. Take as much time as you need before getting up, I’ll handle the kids today.”
“Mm, alright,” Kris hums, laying back down and closing his eyes.
He can rest, knowing his boyfriend has it covered.
Contents: Weird science, a sequel to my Day Five post (albeit with a chunk of time skipped).
Extra Notes: Souls and ghosts are different in this universe. Ghosts are born as ghosts, while souls are what every living being has, so basically the equivalent to ghosts in our world. It's a bit confusing, I know.
Characters are Cookie (She/Her, Ref) and Wren (She/Her, Ref)
Also posted on Ao3!
Cookie had felt her soul literally being ripped from her body. It was far from pleasant.
She doesn’t know how to describe the burning agony she had felt when it happened, and now she’s sitting there in a dirty basement, watching her abductor control her body. Cookie almost wonders if she’s having a fever dream.
But the pain she had felt was very real, and this is very real. If Wren (that’s what the woman said her name was, anyways) could even see her, she gave no indication.
Cookie’s body’s eyes are black with white X’s, which is the only indication that anything’s wrong. Wren stretches (again, still in Cookie’s body), almost mockingly. “I still can’t believe that worked,” She murmurs, probably to herself. “Cookie, I assume you’re still here, unless I accidentally killed you. Still, I hope you realize how valuable you’ve been to me. Sorry things had to turn out this way.”
“You’re not fucking sorry,” Cookie growls, but Wren is already leaving.
The wolf stands there, wondering what the absolute hell she’s supposed to do.
She doesn’t know. She really doesn’t know.
So she follows Wren, hoping she can figure something out from watching the woman.
@ailesswhumptober Day Twenty-Nine - Bargaining / Forced to Choose
Contents: Cults! That's always fun. Also some descriptions of body horror (which aren't that bad in my art style lmao), minor character death, all that jazz.
Characters are Niko (They/Scor, Ref which is literally my Roblox avatar lmfao) and Creator (Any, mostly They/It/Fae/Xe, Ref)
Also posted on Ao3!
“What do you want with me?” Niko asks, trying to keep the tremor out of their voice, not that it really does much for them.
The... well, they aren’t sure what it is. It stands tall over them, pale gold skin and a head literally detached from its body. That’s not to mention the wings, horns, deer legs, and a permanent shadow over the upper half of its head, yet its eyes can still be seen.
It’s fucking terrifying, and Niko is pretty sure it wants them dead.
It brings its clawed hand to their face and tilts their chin up, making eye contact with them. “Well... we both know you saw something you weren’t supposed to see, correct?”
Niko slaps its hand away, which is probably a bad decision, but their entire life has been full of bad decisions anyways, so what does it matter? It grins, presumably to itself, with red teeth gleaming in the faint moonlight glimmering through the trees. “I won’t tell anyone,” They hiss, and that’s not entirely a lie. They won’t tell anyone other than, y’know, the police.
It shrugs, gesturing to the person (probably an adventurer or something, judging by their outfit) it just killed. “Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead,” It says cheerfully, stepping closer to Niko.
They feel their heart drop to their stomach, eyes widening. “N-No! I can- I dunno, whatever you want, I’ll do it, just-”
It tilts its head, a wide smile on its face, watching them with glowing eyes. “Do you really think you could be of use to me?”
Niko nods, not trusting their voice to work right now. It grins even wider. “I could use... a devotee, if you will, to my... cause. But I hope you realize that means total secrecy. If you were to tell anyone, well...”
Once again, it gestures to the corpse behind it. “You’ve already seen what happens. I’m sure we can both agree that one outcome is certainly better than the other, correct?”
Niko swallows thickly, nodding. It giggles to itself. “I don’t take kindly to double agents, either,” It says, leaning down to be at eye level with them. “I have eyes everywhere, you know.”
They aren’t sure if it’s bluffing.
“So, what will it be?” It asks, that never-faltering smile unnerving the shit out of them.
“It’s a deal,” Niko says, voice shaky. “But... what even is your ‘cause’?”
“The details aren’t important,” It hums, shaking their hand. “You’ve made a good choice, my dear.”
“I’m-” They try to introduce themself, but it cuts them off.
“Niko, yes, I am aware,” It says, confirming that it probably wasn’t bluffing. “You may call me... Creator. I feel that is a suitable name, no?”
One hell of an ego, Is what Niko’s first thought is. Instead, they find themself nodding.
“I’m glad you agree,” Creator hums. “Come, let’s go get you proper attire, if you’re going to be devoted to me from now on, yes?”
And Niko follows them, wondering what the hell they just got themself into.
Contents: Did a pretty tame version of this prompt, and I'm gonna be prewriting the last three prompts today since I'm gonna be pretty busy in the upcoming days. Otherwise, please note that all of these characters are animals, but they aren't really hurt, just inconvenienced.
Characters are Scooter (She/Her, Ref), Branch (He/Him, Ref), and Snips (He/Him, Ref)
Also posted on Ao3!
Branch grimaces as he steps out of his den, the hot sun beating down on him. His fur is thin, especially during the summer months, so it’s immediately unpleasant to be outside during this kind of heat. There’s not even a breeze to lessen the heat.
The only solace he has is that his fur is white, so it keeps a little bit of the heat off. Branch turns his head just in time to see Scooter slinking out of the den behind him. “It’s miserable out here, isn’t it?”
He hums in confirmation, watching as Scooter’s pawprints leave behind darker marks than normal. Sweat.
She has it a little worse than him, what with having thick fur and all, but she doesn’t complain, just stalking into the woods, presumably to find food.
It’s around the same time that Snips exits his own den, squinting in the harsh sunlight. He looks around for a brief second, before scurrying over to Branch. “Is Spike coming over? Is he already here?”
The cat gives him a small shrug, looking around. “I wouldn’t know. I kind of doubt it, though, with this heat.”
Snips groans overdramatically and starts licking at his fur, which he had mentioned helps him to cool down. The ground underneath Branch’s paws are also drenched in sweat, and he’s panting.
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TWs: Snips may be immortal but he still dies kinda, also he's an opossum so animal death TW obviously, and it's a little graphic
Contents: Hi wow it's 9pm and I just finished this, uhhh hi
Character is Snips (He/Him, Ref)
Also posted on Ao3!
Snips is dying. He knows this.
Not in his cool, awesome, totally-dead-but-actually-pretending kind of way, no, he’s actually bleeding out, choking on his own blood as he lays in a pool of the stuff.
Oddly enough, he isn’t scared. There’s a fuzzy feeling in his head as he reflects on what led to this moment.
There was a car, that’s what he’s sure of. He isn’t sure if the person inside even saw him crossing the road, chasing after some fallen leaves blowing in the wind.
Snips remembers the sound and feeling of his bones being crushed. It all feels so distant now. He’s tired.
So he closes his eyes, waiting for the infinite dream that awaits him.
.
..
...
..
.
And then he wakes up.
Snips opens his eyes.
He’s in the forest again, his own blood staining his fur. But he’s not hurting anymore, and he’s not dead, at least, as far as he knows.
His limbs ache, but he’s alive.
Snips finds himself going to the spot where he’s pretty sure he died. There’s still blood on the pavement.
@ailesswhumptober Day Twenty-Six - Came Back Wrong
TWs: K is heavily implied to have died as a child at the hand of her own father, there's a lot of Christianity references here (I am not religious but I don't have problems with people who are obv), and also self-dehumanization
Contents: Other than all that up there, not too much else. I kinda wrote this on autopilot so it might not make much sense.
Character is Katrina // K (She/They, Ref)
Also posted on Ao3!
She didn’t know what to expect after death.
She has vague memories of being a young child and being told about Heaven, and how that’s where good people went.
She has more recent memories of being told she’d go to Hell, because she was a mistake by God.
Which one is true, she can’t tell you.
Katrina always thought that Heaven was a kingdom in the clouds, and Hell was deep underground and constantly on fire.
She’s in neither of those places right now.
Instead, she’s in a stark black void, her own body, now the same shade of black, is outlined by white. It’s eerie and unnerving, and completely unnatural to everything she’s ever known.
And Katrina knows she died. She remembers the long, painful hours she spent bleeding out on the kitchen floor for doing absolutely nothing. By her own father’s hand, no less.
Katrina should be dead, but she somehow isn’t.
And that terrifies her.
She looks at her goopy, melting body. Something like her doesn’t deserve a proper name, not anymore.
“My name is K,” She says into the empty blackness, her own voice feeling unfamiliar on her tongue.
No normal person lives after being killed, nor comes back as something so horrific.
