Living weapon PTSD
Content: punishment aftermath, scars
(stoic whumpee vibes)
Sees someone pick up a long thin object, immediately winces and takes a rigid, chin-up posture like a soldier in line
Or (if severely triggered) yanks off their shirt in one fluid motion, turns and faces the wall, bracing their hands against it for support
If they see a weapon they watch it, and whoever has it, like a hawk
Trying to figure out who's in charge no matter what situation they're in. Using a formal tone with them even if they're TRYING to just be normal
Tensing up around people that act/speak like whumper. They don't want to embarrass themselves by flinching every five seconds so they're just going to flex every muscle until they are gone.
Self aware of their stiff posture. Sitting down and forcing themselves to relax into a couch and put on a fake smile
Caretaker seeing their scars and covering their mouth.
In that event, whumpee flushing and covering them because they're still ashamed of "earning" the punishments that left those marks
Or if they're from combat, smiling and telling the story proudly because they made their owner proud that day and they weren't punished
Trying to explain what happened and then suddenly going quiet
Answering questions like they're being interrogated by a superior
Refusing to speak because they're flashing back to a time they were interrogated in an enemy compound
"Yeah, and it's super cute and silly until the spunky little sidekick dies because they think they're grown up enough to handle the job I've spent the last 20 years struggling with. Not. Happening."
"Come on! Everyone needs a spunky little sidekick!"
"Yeah, and it's super cute and silly until the spunky little sidekick dies because they think they're grown up enough to handle the job I've spent the last 20 years doing. Not. Happening."
“I hide behind sarcasm because telling you to go fuck yourself is considered rude in most social situations.”
— Unknown
You felt stiff and sore. Well that would make sense. You've been dead for a while. You look up and there, in the collarbone is a name: Dennis. You looked over yourself. You were... whole? You had skin. You felt normal, aside from the stiffness.
Dennis silently offered you your cloak and staff, which you put on. You pooled your mana together. It felt smaller than it used to be. You pulled with all your might and felt an explosion of power which made you stumble back a step. You imbued Dennis with a bit more power and he visibly straightened.
Where you had laid was dug up and on a stone lying at the end it read, in several languages, as inscribed several times over, "Here lies The Death ringer, owner of a thousand souls. His rebirth will result in untold casualties."
You caressed Dennis skull and gave him a hug. It wasn't particularly soft, but it was comforting to hug someone familiar. When you finally stepped back, you ran your fingers along the engraved name.
"What happened to the others?" you asked.
"Those who didn't fall when you died were hacked to pieces or pulverized. I was the last one. It was the resurrection spell you cast upon me that is how we are as we are." You smiled.
"Thank you." You started walking toward the moon. It was a waxing gibbous. After a while, you noticed it had risen, so you were travelling east. You stopped and looked up. The stars were dazzling. Dennis stopped about a pace and a half behind you. You started walking again and didn't stop until you arrived at the first set of houses. You felt an absurd amount of corpses under the ground, the majority of them human.
You, a necromancer, were always fond of your skeleton minions. Even going as far as to make each one a personalized name tag. Then you were cut down by those blasted heroes, only to one day reopen your eyes and see an Elder Lich looming over you with a very faded name tag.
love me a classic enemies to lovers prompt but instead of them going all lovey dovey for each other, the “lover” phrase isn’t explicitly stated in the sense that they didn’t kiss or confess, as far as they and everybody else knows, they are enemies. but the love, the possessiveness and the protective are there in the sense that if one of them gets hurt, the other will stop at nothing until they find and rescue their own archenemy and nurse them back to health. and instead of pain and violence that used to be the only things they share with each other, this time it’s gentleness a character gives his own wounded enemy. because yes, that’s my enemy. mine. and he’s hurting. I must fix this. I must burn the world down and kill every single one who dares to touch my enemy. and then I must make sure he’s okay. because he’s my enemy and he’s hurting. I must take care of him. I must be gentle, even if gentleness comes as a struggle to me; for the only I know is violence. I must still be gentle with him because right now he’s wounded and scared. I must make sure he’s safe and okay. I must be gentle for him. I must.
— also check out this fic with this prompt here
“If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk through my garden forever.”
— Alfred Lord Tennyson
So i had an idea where a [insert smart character here] after time is unable to tell truth and lies apart. Imagine; Before the smartest person in the group And after, character that questions everything, unsure of what is with or against them. just a random idea, please consider it
considered. loved at first sight. GODDD i hope i did this justice I think its such a brilliant idea
also thanks for letting me use this prompt to procasinate on studying <2
Leader hurdles through the base, everything blurring around him. He stumbles into the infirmary, almost running through Medic.
Medic's exhausted eyes meet his.
"Where are they?" Leader can barely say the words, breathless, slipping out between the gaps in his teeth.
Medic adjusts the lapels of their jacket, the movement automatic—a nervous habit. "You know, they're still confused." Their voice drops an octave and Leader can hear the sympathy, "Maybe you shouldn't go in."
Leader ignores it. His heart threatens to rip a raw-edged hole right through his chest, right then and there. "You didn't restrain them, right?"
"I should," says Medic, quietly. "They're..." they hesitate, gaze probing Leader's panicked expression. Then they sigh, "Listen, whatever you two used to have? It's gone. They're damaged."
"Yeah, but you can fix it. They're brilliant, they'll recover." It's a desperate grab at relief. At hope.
Medic just gestures towards the room. "I don't think I can fix what they did up there."
Hands trembling, Leader turns abruptly and lets the door swing open.
The windowless room is filled with warm light. A mug of something warm sits on the desk.
And Hero, in a t-shirt and shorts, paces the room. New, raw-rimmed stitches cross their bare arms. Medic fixed everything physical.
Leader can't help it. He stares. There's a long, drawn-out second where he recalls the confident Hero of before. With curling red hair and bright eyes, freckled and grinning.
Then there's this scattered, empty person in the room with him.
They’re pacing.
No—counting. Footsteps matching breathing.
“Two-three-four,” they whisper. “Two-three-four. If I keep counting, it doesn’t stop; if I stop, it’ll come back, and they’ll—”
“Hey,” he says, gentle, swallowing down stinging tears. Do you remember me?
Leader's voice tears Hero out of their mind.
They flinch so violently-- scrambling-- grey eyes vacant-- they hit the wall.
“Don’t do that,” they gasp. “Don’t—”
“I'm not doing anything,” he rushes to reassure them, too fast, too helpless. Oh god. "It's just me"
Their hands go to their ears. “They said that too.”
A beat of silence stretches, thick and aching.
Leader doesn’t breathe.
Hero sinks to a crouch in the corner, rocking just slightly, fingers digging into their scalp. Dry strands of hair fall over their hands as they dig. Still counting, still whispering numbers. Like if they keep going, they can hold the world together.
“Don’t believe them,” they mumble. “It’s a test. It’s always a test.”
Oh god.
What have they done to you?
Stinger pointed his gun at Artichoke.
"If you kill me, you'll be just as evil as me."
Stinger smirked.
"And yet no one will think of me like that. You're Public Enemy Number One, not me. And I'm a bounty hunter. The morality of good and evil don't exactly matter." He dropped the gun, pointing his finger at Artichoke and firing between the eyes. Artichoke slumped over, dead.
Your parents listed Hades as your godfather as a joke, That would not be an issue if it were not for the 3-headed puppy delivered to your doorstep by Persephone and Hades themselves, planning to protect you from the Olympian’s shenanigans due to Zeus’ bulldickery
Names you can choose for your characters. Taken from the little signs in a botanical garden. So they are names of plants.
Adoxa
Potentilla
Fraxinus
Stellaria
Valeriana
Iris
Tulipa
Syringa
Danthonia
Avena
Silene
Irsine
Amaranthus
Barbarea
Cleome
Nigella
Erica
Arbutus
Malva
Calluna
Viola
Phyllis
Majorana
Salvia
Morina
Petunia
Calliandra
Veronica
Gilia
Juniper
More names!
You felt your wrists begin to slide through the restraints, cheap rope modified to nullify powers. Soon, you'd be able to get up and free Glacier from his restraints, which were little more than a handcuff knot tied to a pole.
"Do you regret coming back to save me?"
"What?"
"If you never came to save me, you wouldn't be in this mess. I wouldn't have gotten us into this much trouble, and you'd be off on your own... I don't know, doing whatever it was before we met, but you'd be doing it free."
You slipped one hand free, enabling the other to do the same.
"Well," you began, standing up, massaging your chafed wrists, "I don't want to miss the chance to help a sidekick out. The whole 'hero' thing is dumb, but the core of it, to keep people safe? There's no reason it shouldn't exist. And if I get eyes on the inside, even better." You grabbed a saw off the rack on the wall and cut the rope binding Glacier's hands before putting it back and grabbing a hammer and taser to arm yourself.
"Do you regret coming back to save me?"
He snapped out of his thoughts. "What?"
"If you never came to save me, you wouldn't be in this mess. I wouldn't have gotten us into this much trouble, and you'd be off on your own...I don't know, doing whatever it was before we met, but you'd be doing it free."
Age: 18 | he/him I'm gonna write this so I don't have to say it every two stories: If you want to reblog my stories or prompts, feel free. If you want to add to them, feel free to. Everything I write here is basically written with the implied non-commercial copyright. As long as you properly credit me, have fun with these stories.
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