Bleeding

For someone so short, she jumped pretty high. Bea took a running leap and hooked her arms around Dennis’ neck. With a yowl of triumph she lifted the knife, but was cut short as his massive hand wrapped around her arm. He tossed her head over heels into the house. The wooden floor was a rough landing and she skidded until hitting the cabinets. 

Dennis was on her in an instant. He reached down and picked her up by the collar. Feet dangling, she bore ice into his eyes.  “What the hell was that, Beatrice?”  He shook her. Her hands were tiny compared to his, and pulling at his fingers did nothing. Luckily, Bea was not one to be unprepared. She reached down to her other pocket and gripped a second knife. Mother always told her to have a backup plan. In more ways than one, the knife was just that. With another scream she drove the point into the back of his hand.

He roared, releasing his grip. Blood poured from the wound in waves. Bea hit the floor with a thud and immediately reeled backwards on hands and knees. She was scrabbling for a way to her feet when a fist connected with the side of her face. Seeing stars and not much else, the woman reached for anything to swing. It just so happened the first to be found was a toaster. 

Bea whipped the small appliance at his head. It whizzed right past and crashed into the wall. As he lunged at her again she screamed and started ripping open drawers to find something, anything to throw. As she moved, he moved, pulling the open drawers completely off their hinges and letting them slam against the floor. Bea threw spoons, a sugar canister, the bread box, the coffee pot, anything she could get her hands on. Some items met their mark, others did not. With each connection Dennis was punching harder and harder. 

Finally she was in the corner, out of things to throw. Bea put up her hands and slid down, making herself as small as possible. Dennis was out of breath and stood panting and towering over her. His hand was still pouring blood, and his eyes were wide, giving him a terrifying “Here’s Johnny” look. He easily reached over her balled fists to grip her ponytail. Pain radiated along her scalp as she was lifted into the air for a second time that day. 

“Enough of this.” He said, dragging her across the floor. Dennis turned, stepping over broken plates and scattered utensils towards the front door. Bea twisted and grabbed at his hand, yelling and screaming. He paid her no mind and kept walking through the kitchen. Her hands were flailing wildly, trying to grip anything she could. Nothing was in reach. Nothing was sharp enough. 

They crossed through the doorway back into her gardens. Her beautiful gardens, full of colorful flowers she had planted by hand. Full of bees and caterpillars and even some pests like grubs and weeds. 

Weeds. 

Her weed bucket was just off the pathway. The weed bucket with the trowel in it. It was her one and only shot. If she could just angle herself correctly as he passed it, she could just get her foot in the handle. She’d figure it out from there. Bea sent a prayer to a god she wasn’t sure she believed in and made the biggest stretch of her life.

Make Me

The day had started out so nice. There was a balmy breeze blowing through and very few clouds floating about. Bea was in her garden pulling weeds. It was a cathartic activity for her; something she did when there was stress in her life. Stress like Dennis. 

She grabbed a weed by the root and yanked, gleeful as it popped from the dirt in a single clump. Bea stuffed it into her bucket with a gloved hand. Using a trowel she mended the hole the weed left behind, patting down the dirt. Bea dropped the tool into the bucket and sat back on her knees, taking a swig from her bottled water. Done, she thought, smiling. Weeds were such annoying little things. At least pulling them now meant less work next week, when a heat wave was supposed to hit. She loved working in her flowerbeds, but heatwaves meant sunburns and excessive sweating, neither of which she was a fan. 

Suddenly, the sun went out. 

Bea turned to look and was met with a pair of jeans. The jeans connected to legs, which connected to an entire man hovering over her small frame. 

Dennis. 

The man was blocking the entire sun. Quite a parallel, she thought, as she stared up into his eyes. He was quite literally blocking her from the light. 

Dennis dropped into a squat. A colossal hand reached out and gently gripped her chin. Bea swallowed hard, unsure what was happening. 

“Beatrice.” 

“Y-yes?”

“Let me ask you a question. What is my policy on pets?”

Bea furrowed her brow, trying to figure out how that connected to anything she may or may not have done in the past few days. It didn’t. 

“Hello? What are my thoughts on allowing nasty little critters in the house? Do I want a dog drooling on the couch? Mice in the cupboards? Raccoons in the goddam sink, Beatrice?”

She shook her head, his hand still gripping her chin. It was tighter now. She could feel his nails digging in.

“Right. So. What makes you think it's okay to leave food out for them? DId you think the breakfast on the floor would magically be cleaned? Did you think Cinderella’s rats would come and take care of the situation for you? Did you think I would be the one to clean up the mess you made? Jesus Christ, Bea. What the fuck is wrong with you? Clean it up.” 

Dennis let go of her chin, whipping her head to the side as he did. She hit the dirt on her elbows, scowling. He stood, brushed the dirt off his pants, and turned back towards the door of the house without another word.

“Make me.”

Dennis stopped in his tracks. “Excuse me?”

“Make me.”

Tears pricking her eyes, Bea pulled the kitchen knife out of her pocket and lunged. 

Numb

Everything had come back at once. Bea was hyperventilating, curled up on the kitchen counter, kettle in one hand. Every muscle trembled, every wound ached, and the memory of the deed ran through her head over and over. She was crying - sobbing, really and had no control of her body at that moment. A strange combination of grief and relief washed over her in waves. Safety, but also fear. Solace, but guilt. Delight laced with angst. She sat on the counter and let it work its way through her body. 

After what felt like ages, Bea slowly stepped down from the counter, kettle still in hand. It was pure luck that the drawer she needed was only missing its face. Her fingers scrabbled over spare paper clips, batteries and a screwdriver until they found the box of matches. She grabbed them and lit the underside of the stovetop. The little flame threw an eerie light across the room. Long shadows peeked out from the scattered objects and made for a frightening layout. 

Bea quickly filled the kettle with water, lit a second burner, and plopped it down to boil. By the light of the burner she made her way to the closet and pulled out a broom. After all the emotions earlier she felt drained, numb even. What could she do but clean up her mess? Well, it wasn’t as though Dennis was around to punish her for not picking up. She could leave the mud, blood and bits on the floor as long as she wanted! No consequences!  Bea almost laughed, then realized how delirious she sounded. No, having a clean house was something she appreciated. With a nod to herself she started picking up the broken plates and dumping them in the upturned trash can. 

Hours later, with the storm still raging, Bea was tossing and turning in bed. Having the entire thing to herself was an odd sensation. She was used to her little corner and singular pillow. In lieu of the situation, however, things had changed. The woman was curled in the dead center of the bed with a wall of pillows on either side. Whether her brain had decided the pillow-wall offered more in the way of protection or comfort wasn’t clear. She had bandaged the injury to her head, wrapped her bleeding fingers as well as she could and collapsed into bed. Sleep was fitful, not offering much as far as rest was concerned. Bea rolled over as a crack of thunder roused her. She yawned, pulling the closest pillow towards her and holding tight. 

A deafening crack pulled her fully into the waking world. Bea let out a shout and practically jumped out of bed. It was daylight? No, the rest of the house was still dark, so that couldn’t be correct. She raced to the window and peeked around the curtains. The tree out front was a mass of flames. Bea could feel the heat on her face through the glass. 

She also felt when a large hand wrapped around her throat from behind. So much for numb.

Rebellion

((I tried...so hard to finish on time this year. It didn’t happen. I didn’t even finish! Repurposing a bit of last year’s to make this year’s coherent. They all go together in one story if you couldn’t tell. If you couldn’t tell, I profusely apologize because you must be so confused, my dear.))

Large hands gripped her jaw. She could feel the force of the fingers digging into her face. It was painful. It was powerful. It was horrible. Bea was not giving him the satisfaction of meeting his eyes. Trembling, she kept her lids low, trying to focus on anything else.

“I'm speaking to you. “ She felt the grip tighten ever so slightly. The voice was clipped - stern. It was clear there were only seconds before the explosion. “Look at me when I'm speaking to you, Dear.” Again, the fingers tightened. A squeak of pain escaped. She knew the fight was lost and her big blue eyes turned up to meet him.

“Much better.” Dennis released her face and dropped himself into the chair next to hers. He was a hulking man and the chair protested with groans and squeaks, not unlike her own. Fingers that had only seconds ago been the source of pain now ran gently down her cheek.

“Care to explain…this?” He gestured to the meal laid out in front of them. Stacks of pancakes sat neatly on color-coordinated dishes. A bowl of scrambled eggs was steaming in between the entrees. Fresh-cut fruit lined the edges of each serving plate and a small boat of syrup sat at the ready. In the very middle of the table was a vase with multi-colored flowers.

“It's breakfast.” She replied, folding her hands in her lap.

SMACK

His hand moved so quickly she didn't see it coming. The next thing she knew her entire body was on the floor and he was standing over her. Clutching at her now sore cheek, Bea whimpered as he hoisted her up by the collar. Her eyes were screwed shut as he leaned in close.

“The flowers. Who are the flowers from?”

The question took her off guard. She blinked. “I-I picked them myself. This morning. From my garden out…front?”

Realization seemed to dawn on him and he dropped her where he stood. Dennis looked between her and the table multiple times before swiping half the food onto the floor and storming off, muttering “Clean your shit up, Beatrice. And dont lie to me again. ”

Bea watched him go, lost in a daze. She only came around when pain sparked in her palm. Looking down, she found herself gripping one of the knives by the blade.

“Oh…I won't.”

*********************

She’d made many mistakes before. When she was seven, she left the latch of the hamster cage undone. Marshmallow had free roam of the house for three days before her mother found the little hellion and safely put her back in the kennel. When she was fourteen she’d taken a shortcut home from a friend’s house while on her bike. It had ended with a  newfound fear of big dogs and a long scar running down her left leg. At twenty-five she had reconciled with an unfaithful partner. Months later she moved back in with her parents, heartbroken and tired. 

Yes, she’d made mistakes before, but nothing of this magnitude. Doubt started to creep in as she hefted pile after pile of dirt out of the hole. Was it a mistake? No, she had acted in self-defense. She was simply protecting herself from him. From the monster. And he was truly nothing short of a monster. 

Thunder rumbled overhead as the first drops of rain started to fall. She wiped a gloved hand across her forehead, leaving a smearing of dirt. She was sweating and absolutely exhausted. Digging a six foot hole was no easy task. Being a short woman with barely any muscle made it even harder. That in combination with the size of the thing being buried made for a difficult evening. 

Blonde curls popped out of her ponytail as she threw the shovel first, then gingerly pulled herself out of the makeshift grave hours later. She was covered in dirt from her face to the hem of her pants. It added another layer of  heaviness, as if the emotional weight wasn’t enough. The rain was a light sprinkle now, but the clouds above were heavy, as though they were waiting for the right moment to burst. 

She turned now to the body laying in the rotting leaves. Dennis was a hulking man, but when they met his demeanor was like a teddy bear. Time had changed him. Well, both of them, she supposed. With a sigh she knelt next to his lifeless form. If she believed in any higher beings, this would be the time to consult them, she knew. Unfortunately (or fortunately, she guessed) she had no connections in that sense. With a general thought of forgiveness for herself and...not much else for him, she placed both hands under his back and pushed. 

Pain rocketed through her side and she immediately pulled back. Hunched over her husband’s unmoving chest, she tried to breathe through the unbearable pulsations. She couldn’t be sure if the rib was broken or just badly bruised. Either way, it hurt like a bitch. This wasn’t going to be easy. The woman heaved a sigh and looked up at the crackling sky above. 

“I guess now’s the right time, then?” She asked, as the heavens opened and the storm began.

Falling

She was falling and it was endless. An eternal downward spiral with bumps along the way. Bea reached out for something, anything to grab. Air sped through her fingers as she fell faster, faster into the nothingness. 

A deep roll of thunder brought her back to her spot on the floor. Bea was clammy and cold, huddled against the front door in a puddle of water. What a spot for a nap. She stood slowly - something was wrong internally, she could tell. Each movement felt like a knife in the ribs. And her head held a now-dull ache. Brush it off, she thought, and reached for the lightswitch. 

Click. Click. Click.

Nothing. The power was out. Which meant no electric kettle, either. Bea groaned. She’d have to dig out the normal kettle if she wanted anything warm to drink. That seemed a task all by itself. 

But Bea was nothing if not stubborn, and she felt her way across the kitchen to the table, where she knew two chairs would be. Grabbing one, she pushed it gingerly towards the general area of the upper cabinets. One foot, then the other landed on the soft seat cushion as she pulled herself up. Bea took a moment to adjust, head spinning. It would be easier if the lights worked and her eyes could focus on something. The pitch blackness was making it hard to steady herself. She gripped the back of the chair with one hand and reached up into the cabinet with the other. Her hand felt along an empty shelf. Strange. It usually lived there. 

Being a short woman could be frustrating at times, she thought as she pulled herself onto the kitchen counter. Water was still dripping off her clothes and her bare feet were slick against the plastic countertop. Her hand wrapped around the metal handle of the kettle and she turned around just as lightning lit up the room. It all happened in a split second, but for Bea, time slowed down and she saw everything at once. 

It wasn’t so much the amount of water on the floor that was unsettling. It was the dirt and blood that covered every surface. Every pot and pan was strewn on the floor, pieces of broken plates were scattered everywhere. What looked like an entire breakfast buffet was lying under the kitchen table, flies already buzzing around the remnants of pancakes and fruit. Drawers were pulled out of their tracks and were either hanging at odd angles or sitting completely on the floor. Bloody handprints sat on the front of the fridge, along the countertops, and against what was left of the lower cabinets. Mud was everywhere. The floor was stained with a mix of dirt and blood, completely changing its color. 

Bea choked back a scream. 

She remembered what had happened. 

She remembered all of it. Every excruciating detail.

She’d killed Dennis.

Hold On

Stepping on soggy pine needles was just one more unsettling layer to the situation. Every few feet Bea was shaking them off her soles. She absolutely hated the feeling of something sticking to her. How was something simultaneously soft and sticky while also pointy and jabbing at her soft spots? 

Stopping to pull a particularly spiny needle off her foot, she came to the edge of the trees. If it weren’t raining cats and dogs one would normally see the little log cabin ahead. If it weren’t raining one would also see the garden beds full of colorful flowers surrounding the house on all sides. If it weren’t raining the little chicken coop would be visible. If it weren’t raining, Bea would be much more comfortable. If it weren’t raining, it wouldn’t have taken hours to get herself back here. 

Exhaustion was winning. Every muscle ached. Her head was pounding. Bea staggered in the general direction of the house. Eventually her hands connected with the wooden siding and she shimmied along in the dark towards the front door. Instead of the solid doorknob, she met air. Open air. 

The door was wide open. Bea stepped over the threshold into the deep puddles in her front room. She paused, wiggling her toes in the water to rinse the pine needles away.. 

Had she left the door open? Something wasn’t right. Bea turned and gently shut the door behind her. No need for critters to make their way in. The last thing she needed was a family of raccoons taking up residence in the kitchen sink. The woman felt her legs give and planted herself on the floor, back against the door. Head in hands, she heaved a sigh. She was home. She was safe.

Safe from what? 

Lost

Bea sat bolt upright, chest heaving. Taking huge gulps of air, she pawed at a sore spot on the back of her head. Her hand came back sticky with blood. She winced, trying to remember. 

Nothing.

She blinked in an attempt to clear her blurry vision. It helped a bit, but she was still disoriented. She could see trees around her…sort of. It was dark, windy, and rain was crashing down all around her. It was a warm rain at least, but boy was it heavy. The visibility problem was the storm, she realized, not her eyes. 

Pushing herself to a standing position, Bea leaned on a nearby pine for support and looked around. There was nothing but woods. Pine needles littered the ground along with some mossy rocks and fallen sticks. Nothing unordinary.

Except the blood. Was it blood? The rain was quickly washing it away, so it was hard to tell. Whatever had bled here was bigger than Bea. 

The petite woman was in the middle of the woods with a head injury, missing a shoe and clinging to a tree for support. How ridiculous. She almost laughed as thunder rolled overhead. 

Deep breath. Can’t be too far from home. 

The woods were in the backyard after all. 

The backyard where she’d...hm. She’d spent time there recently but couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

Well. The only way to get home was to start walking.

((Im nowhere near on time because life and all that. This is fun though, so Im going to keep going. Dont mind me. :) ))

“Look at Me”

“Look at me.”

Large hands gripped her jaw. She could feel the force of the finger digging into her face. It was painful. It was powerful. It was horrible.

She was not giving him the satifaction of meeting his eyes. Trembling, she kept her lids low, trying to focus on anything else.

“Im speaking to you. “ She felt the grip tighten ever so slightly. The voice was clipped - stern. It was clear there were only seconds before the explosion.

“Look at me when Im speaking to you, Dear.” Again, the fingers tightened. A squeak of pain escaped. She knew the fight was lost and her big blue eyes turned up to meet his.

“Much better.” Dennis released her face and dropped himself into the chair next to hers. He was a hulking man and the chair protested with groans and squeaks, not unlike her own. Fingers that had only seconds ago been the source of pain now ran gently down her cheek.

“Care to explain…this?” He gestured to the meal laid out in front of them. Stacks of pancakes sat neatly of color coordinated dishes. A bowl of scrambled eggs was steaming in between the entrees. Fresh-cut fruit lined the edges of each serving plate and a small boat of syrup sat at the ready. In the very middle of the table was a vase with multi-colored flowers.

“Its breakfast.” She replied, folding her hands in her lap.

SMACK

His hand moved so quickly she didnt see it coming. The next thing she knew her entire body was on the floor and he was standing over her. Clutching at her now sore cheek, she whimpered as he hoisted her up by the collar. Her eyes were screwed shut as he leaned in close.

“The flowers. Who are the flowers from?”

The question took her off guard. She blinked. “I-I picked them myself. This morning. Out…front?”

Realization seemed to dawn on him and he dropped her where he stood. Dennis looked between her and the table multiple times before swiping half the food onto the floor and storming off, muttering “Clean your shit up, Beatrice. And dont lie to me again. ”

Bea watched him go, lost in a daze. She only came around when pain sparked in her palm. Looking down, she found herself gripping one of the knives by the blade.

“Oh…I wont.”

Whumpmas in July: Mistake

((Hi again! I’m continuing with the same story through all the prompts this month. :) ))

Mistake. 

She’d made many mistakes before. When she was seven, she left the latch of the hamster cage undone. Marshmallow had free roam of the house for three days before her mother found the little hellion and safely put her back in the kennel. When she was fourteen she’d taken a shortcut home from a friend’s house while on her bike. It had ended with a  newfound fear of big dogs and a long scar running down her left leg. At twenty-five she had reconciled with an unfaithful partner. Months later she moved back in with her parents, heartbroken and tired. 

Yes, she’d made mistakes before, but nothing of this magnitude. Doubt started to creep in as she hefted pile after pile of dirt out of the hole. Was it a mistake? No, she had acted in self-defense. She was simply protecting herself from him. From the monster. And he was truly nothing short of a monster. 

Thunder rumbled overhead as the first drops of rain started to fall. She wiped a gloved hand across her forehead, leaving a smearing of dirt. She was sweating and absolutely exhausted. Digging a six foot hole was no easy task. Being a short woman with barely any muscle made it even harder. That in combination with the size of the thing being buried made for a difficult evening. 

Blonde curls popped out of her ponytail as she threw the shovel first, then gingerly pulled herself out of the makeshift grave hours later. She was covered in dirt from her face to the hem of her pants. It added another layer of  heaviness, as if the emotional weight wasn’t enough. The rain was a light sprinkle now, but the clouds above were heavy, as though they were waiting for the right moment to burst. 

She turned now to the body laying in the rotting leaves. Dennis was a hulking man, but when they met his demeanor was like a teddy bear. Time had changed him. Well, both of them, she supposed. With a sigh she knelt next to his lifeless form. If she believed in any higher beings, this would be the time to consult them, she knew. Unfortunately (or fortunately, she guessed) she had no connections in that sense. With a general thought of forgiveness for herself and...not much else for him, she placed both hands under his back and pushed. 

Pain rocketed through her side and she immediately pulled back. Hunched over her husband’s unmoving chest, she tried to breathe through the unbearable pulsations. She couldn’t be sure if the rib was broken or just badly bruised. Either way, it hurt like a bitch. This wasn’t going to be easy. The woman heaved a sigh and looked up at the crackling sky above. 

“I guess now’s the right time, then?” She asked, as the heavens opened and the storm began.

Whumpmas in July Day 5: A Trope You Wish There Were More Of

Ohhhhh. Im relatively new so I dont know the range of whats out there! I very recently learned about pet whump and environmental whump….umm I really like the idea of environmental whump!! Storms and raging waters and tornados!

Day 3: Sleep

She couldnt sleep. One foot after the other, she paced the cold, wooden floors of the house. Rain pounded against the roof, almost deafening in its landing. The branches of trees whipped around outside, threatening to snap at any second.

If she was being honest, it wasnt so much that she couldnt sleep. It was more that she couldnt bring herself to climb into their bed alone. It was an odd feeling, that big empty space beside her. It was like an entire ocean, and she only wanted to curl up on her tiny island.

She stifled a yawn and moved herself to the tiny kitchen. If she was going to be up she may as well be cozy. The woman flicked the power on the electric kettle and sat down at the table to wait, empty mug in hand. She watched the downpour outside with little interest.

As the kettle hummed along the woman rested her face on her hand and immediately pulled back in a wince. How could she have forgotten? It was only that morning he had taken a swing at her. Only hours ago that her eye had swelled and the pink and purple had blossomed across her face. It was less than a day ago he had grinned, pulled her by the hair, and stated things would be run “his way” from now on.

Steam erupted from the kettle with a high pitched whistle. The woman slowly got to her feet - boy, was she sore - and moved to the counter. She poured the scalding liquid into the mug and dipped the teabag. The warmth of the cup felt good against her freezing hands. She hugged it close and sighed. Exhaustion was starting to overcome her. Maybe sleep would win after all.

With another heavy sigh, she pulled her sopping wet hair into a bun on top of her head. The wet clothes she would just strip off upstairs. As for the mud and blood on the floor…well, it wasnt easy being 5’1 and dragging a dead 6’3 man out of your house. Shed forgive herself that one and clean it in the morning.

The woman picked up her mug, took a sip, and decided maybe she did deserve the whole ocean after all.

((Ahhhh first drabble? Is it a drabble??? I dunno but here it is!!))

Day 2: How Did You Find the Whump Community

Oops I kind of answered this for day one. Ah well. So! I was always kind of into it and found bits and pieces on like, fanfiction.net in high school and Livejournal too. That was 10+ years ago though. Recently I was talking to Sable and ahe was like “you know thats a thing, right?” And she introduced me to this community and Im having a lovely time. :)

Going to try to play catch-up on #whumpmasinjuly!! Also dipping into this whump pool slowly so please bear with me! I havent been on Tumblr in YEARS so I dont remember how to do anything fancy. And im on mobile. So!

Day One: Re-Introduce yourself & your creations

Okay! Hi, Im Herk. I was always kinda into this and didnt realize it was a whole thing until talking to @sableflynn and she pulled me through the door on it. So here I am!

I have a few characters that Ive had forever. I have twin idiots Rorosen and Irosen. For some reason I prefer whumping Irosen. I also have sharp-shooter Laera. Lastly I have Ginny, who is also an idiot (I have a thing for that apparently) and a journalist and gets in too much trouble all the time.

Ahhh yeah so there you go!

Hi!

Hi there, I’m Herk! I’m 27 and I use She/Her pronouns. 

I’m super duper new to the whump community, even though I’ve been into it for a while. I didn’t realize it was a thing other people liked too. Ahhh I’m in grad school for art and I’m a sucker for hurt/comfort stories. 

I hate intros and I’m awkward so....hello! :)