#snippet of the whumpy one

[rockingrobin69]

Tiny snippet from imperfection, sad and a little sweet.

When Draco was twenty-one years old, he went to buy new towels.

Harry had his eye set on this purple monstrosity, extremely fluffy and very soft and terribly, horribly over-priced. Draco’s allowance hadn’t come through that month (or the one before), but more important was the uncontrollable urge to give Harry everything: anything he could want, ice-lollies and royal-blue pyjamas and another jumper, why the hell not. To spoil Harry rotten, the way he was always meant to be, to surround him with so much love he’d forget for a moment he was ever without it.

Draco wasn’t new to loving someone. Not, even, to doing so obsessively, inexorably. What was new was the look in Harry’s eyes, was being able to hold his hand in public (in—most places in the city). Was the way Harry said his name, the way his courage was stupidly infectious and his heart so big it didn’t fit in his chest, kept coming out in his smiles and in his hands, warm and soft and always generously offered.

Harry was only visiting. He didn’t, technically, live in Draco’s flat, but he didn’t, technically, have to return to Glasgow for another three weeks.

They made do with the time.

And Draco insisted that Harry must have his own things: his own bathrobe, his own pyjamas, his own toothbrush (fucking—gross, Harry!) and his own towel. Bringing them here, to the shopping centre with the terrible, tacky shop with the terrible, tacky things Harry wanted that terrible, tacky Draco would give his life to get for him.

Not in a dramatic way. In a—subdued, quiet way. In an utterly devoted, hopeless way that shouldn’t have felt nice, that still did. Everything felt nice about Harry. Everything but—

No, that wasn’t Harry’s fault, not even a little. Draco being disgusting and horrible was always meant to be kept secret. And it worked, when Harry lived in Glasgow and Draco in Oxford, it worked when they didn’t spend all their time together, but summer was long and tight and close and… and… and Draco didn’t know how to do this. To bare himself without fleeing, to give what he previously thought wasn’t in him, what couldn’t have been.

(Such as: his heart. Strange, no, that it actually belonged to him, when it never felt like it before. When it was wrapped so tight in strings upon strings, tying it to—other places, other people).

And Harry gave back. Everything Draco wanted to hand him, Harry insisted to return. To hold with care all of Draco’s sharp edges. And Draco was worried that he’d keep holding, even after Draco started to crack, and end up with hands full of shards of cutting Draco, end up—hurt.

Harry held the towel very close to his body. A bit like he worried someone might try to snatch it from him. Draco hated the people who raised him (a familiar, anchoring anger) and, out of spite, took his hand.

“Hey,” soft, like the towel. Harry looked up, his smile focusing, turning un-lost.

“Hi. Sorry. Fuck, you’re cold! C’mere.” Wrapping himself around Draco (uncaring for sharp, sharp edges). “It’s a bit expensive, though. There’s another set at half the price in—”

“Harry,” Draco said, “shut up. It’s from me.”

Meaning: it’s not enough for what I want to give you, for what I wish I could. (And Draco’s sad bank statement would be a worry for another day. He could do more hours at the book shop, if Father didn’t… if he stayed in Beijing for a little bit longer).

Harry squeezed him tighter. “You’re so sweet,” he said, and when Draco scoffed, “no, really,” and when Draco scoffed louder, “you are. You’re so—shut up, you’re maybe the sweetest person I’ve ever met, and—”

“Have you? met me, I mean. There’s not a single thing about me that’s sweet.”

“Your lips are sweet,” Harry said slyly. Draco refused to blush.

“Your hand is sweet,” Harry said, and brought it to his mouth for a chaste kiss.

“Your—”

“We’re in public, you fiend,” Draco said breathlessly, when Harry did no more than kiss the inside of his palm. Harry, being a fiend, laughed.

“God. I’m so fucking into you. It’s—come here,” drawing his face up to be kissed, not letting him shy away. Kissed the tip of his nose and his cheek and his left eyebrow. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Draco couldn’t even attempt coherency. Outmatched, overwhelmed with the constant onslaught, Harry-Harry-Harry all the time, and so warm and so sweet and so there, for a whole week now he was there, staying for the month. What… how could Draco defend against him?

So he pushed away, rolled his eyes, hid his red-red cheeks in Harry’s shoulder and didn’t cry. Didn’t even wish to. It was very bright in the shop and the centre was overcrowded and too noisy, and inside it they were huddled together, a bubble of fluffy, purple towel, and them.

It had to be enough. This month, this—whatever Harry would give him, it had to be enough. Draco would be grateful and suffice with it, and not beg for more. And not be greedy, because greed was a punishable offence and terribly gauche and Draco was better than that, was a Malfoy, was a—yes, all that.

So they bought the fucking towel. Then went home, and watched a film, and ate ramen, and sat very close to each other, sharp edges and all.

[fallenwhumpee]

Worth it.

• Masterlist •

Warnings: Blood, magic whump, hypothermia, stranger caretaker, hallucination(?)

Leader always believed that their worth was defined by the people willing to help them when they were in their lowest. They always believed having people back them up was the real tresure.

Judging themselves by their own thoughts, Leader was worthless.

Trembling in the water, Leader tried to stay still. They were floating on their back, their blood oozing around and their thoughts as blurry as their vision. They had no strength to get themselves to the shore. Hell, they had no idea where the shore was.

Leader should have been panicking by now. But there was no point in trashing. Waste of their precious time and strength. They were probably not going to make it, and they could only hope the blood loss would rock them to sleep before hypothermia could.

When they eliminated panic, only an odd feeling left. The magic showed them another death. A lot more merciful one. A good ending, at least, even if getting there was torture.

Leader didn't think magic could be mistaken, or the future could be changed. They didn't think they would be dropped off in the middle of water just because of fear, after being ambushed by their own. If they had only listened Leader... that future could happen.

But maybe it wasn't the magic that showed Leader those. Maybe it was just what they wanted to see, and the truth just came to spit on their face. There was no way that they could explain how they didn't break any rules yet cast such powerful spell after fighting all day.

Leader felt their will crumbe as if it was frozen with the cold and someone was hammering it. Not for the first time, they felt the line between dark magic and the forbidden magic blur into each other. Sure, Leader was willing to sacrifice their emotions or give up some of their strength, but they weren't desperate enough to sacrifice something else.

Why not just give in? They could save themselves.

Leader trembled again, pushing the poisonous thought away. They didn't want to become a mindless puppet, and they were stronger than the temptation.

But did it really matter? When they were slowly fading away?

Leader breathed, their lungs screaking for some air. Those were dangerous thoughts, and they didn't belong to Leader.

A cough shook their body. They had to turn to expell some of the water from their lungs. Their head was barely above the water as they coughed their lungs out, their control over their body slipping.

Leader forced themselves to turn on their back again, not able to keep themselves afloat. They ignored how much water they swallowed in the progress and how it made their stomsch turn. They were too drained to care about it.

Leader’s vision blurred, the sky above merging with the depths below. The cold seeped deeper into their bones, numbing their limbs until they could barely tell where the water ended and their body began. They tried to take another breath, but their chest tightened, and a sharp pain shot through their ribs. The taste of salt and iron filled their mouth, darkness taking over their other senses momentarily.

A wave rolled over them, pulling them underwater for a brief, terrifying moment. When they resurfaced, Leader’s body barely responded to their will. Their wet clothes were sticking on them, the howling wind freezing their skin through the thick and wet layers.

They were so, so tired.

Deprived of their magic and strength, they didn't want anything else than closing their eyes. They doubted they would wake up, but at least they weren't in pain. Breathing slowly, they let their thoughts focused on only one thing.

Cold.

All they could feel eas cold. Reasonably, Leader thought. But it didn’t feel right. They had passed the point they were supposed to feel cold. They tried to move, but they didn't feel the swaying feeling of the waves. They were... still. Their back ached on the solid ground, their heavy body slumped on the floor.

Barely able to crack their eyes, Leader met with darkness. Soon, it became a thick, suffocating sight, as if it was wrapped against their throat and pressing their chest. Were they sinking? Was all of this just a last cry of help from their body to wake up their mind?

"You suffered too much," a voice whispered, gentle and soft. Leader struggled as they tried to remember if they had ever heard that voice before, but their mind failed to progress.

Slowly, it got easier to think. They could feel warmth embracing them, giving them a break from the constant shivering.

"You know you don't have to," the warmth burned their cheeks, the voice feeling closer to their ear. "You have the strength to make it stop."

Leader wanted to argue, but their body wouldn’t move, their voice trapped in their throat. The heat held them captive, and all they could do was listen as they felt their skin burn.

"You tried so hard," the voice murmured. "To be strong, to lead, to protect. Only to die alone, bleeding and broken. The people you cared never cared about you. But I won't let this injustice go on any longer."

Leader clenched their fists, nails digging into their palms as they struggled against the crushing weight on their chest. "No," they managed to whisper, the word barely audible. There was nothing to do within their strength to save themselves.

Leader’s heart pounded in their chest as they tried to move again. "No," they muttered again. They tried to open their eyes. Their body seized with pain as they found themselves on a softer ground, the world spinning around them. They were still cold and hot at the same time, still weak, but they were alive. Every part of them hurt, from the deep wound at their side to the biting cold that clung to their skin. The remnants of the dream (hallucination? nightmare? they weren't sure) clung to them, and for a moment, they almost wished they had given in—at least then, they wouldn’t be in this agony.

It took several long moments before Leader realized they weren’t alone. Someone must have pulled them from the water and wrapped them in a blanket. Not that they weren't grateful, but it did very little to chase away the cold.

Blinking through their blurry vision, Leader noticed a figure kneeling beside them.

Leader’s heart pounded in their chest. They flinched away from the person, their body too weak to do much more than that.

The figure said something softly, holding up their hands to show they meant no harm. Leader didn't understand one word from the stranger, and even though the gesture was clear, Leader wasn't buying it.

Leader tried to push themselves up to get away or at least seem intimidating, but their limbs were uncooperative, trembling violently with the effort. They barely managed to prop themselves up on one elbow before collapsing back, their breath coming in ragged gasps as a coughing fit took over.

The figure panicked, helping Leader back down with more words Leader couldn’t understand.

Leader’s vision swam as they stared up at the stranger, every instinct telling them not to trust, not to let their guard down. But they were too weak to fight, too drained to argue or make a point. They gritted their teed with frustration as they realized just how helpless they were.

The stranger mumbled, their voice soothing, almost hypnotic in its calmness. A magic circle with light colors glowed over them, but Leader couldn't summon the strength to break through it.

Leader’s eyes fluttered closed despite their efforts to stay awake, exhaustion - or the spell, they couldn’t tell - winning over. The last thing they felt before sleep claimed them was the gentle touch of the stranger’s hand on their forehead, cool and reassuring over their warm skin, even if it failed to ease the alarms taking over their fading consciousness.

Leader drifted in and out for a frustratingly long time, their mind a haze of pain and fevered dreams. The warmth that surrounded them was a far cry from the icy grip of the lake, but it was no less disorienting. Every breath was a struggle, their chest tight and burning, each inhale rattling painfully in their lungs.

But alongside that pain was something else—something softer, warmer. A hand, perhaps, carefully dabbing at their forehead with a damp cloth, or the feeling of a thick, scratchy blanket tucked securely around them.

When they finally managed to crack their eyes open, Leader found themselves in a small, dimly lit room. A fire crackled softly somewhere nearby, filling the air with warmth and the faint smell of burning wood. For a moment, Leader wondered if their mind finally pitied them and gave a calm dream, but the pain in their chest and the wet, rasping cough wasn't something they could make up.

The stranger was sitting on a stool beside the bed, busy with something Leader couldn’t see. When they noticed Leader’s eyes on them, they turned, offering a small, reassuring smile.

Leader tried to sit up, but their body refused to cooperate, a wave of dizziness forcing them to stay down. The stranger made a soft sound—something between a shushing noise and a hum—before gently pressing Leader back against the pillow.

The stranger patted the bed with a frown, pressing their hand to Leader's forehead.

Leader whined, frustration bubbling up inside them. They needed to know where they were, who this person was, and most importantly, why they had saved them. But when they tried to speak, their throat burned, and all that came out was a hoarse, unintelligible croak. They couldn't even raise their hand to push the stranger away.

The stranger sat next to them. They gestured to themselves, placing a hand on their chest. “Caretaker,” they said slowly, enunciating the word as if trying to make it easier for Leader to grasp.

“Caretaker…” Leader murmured, the name foreign on their tongue. They tried to repeat the gesture, but their hand barely lifted from the bed before falling back, too weak to complete the motion. Caretaker smiled again, this time with a hint of sadness, and placed their hand over Leader’s, giving it a gentle squeeze.

For a while, there was silence. Leader’s eyes drifted shut again, but they fought to keep them open, determined not to slip back into the void. Caretaker seemed to notice and began speaking softly, their voice low and melodic, though Leader couldn’t make out the words. It didn’t matter; the sound was comforting, a lifeline in Leader’s confusion and pain.

Leader tried to get a hold of themselves, and they did, even though they noticed Caretaker was gone by the time they regained awareness. Leader felt the loneliness crush them again, the emotions they supressed for the sake of staying calm surfacing. But they couldn't have that. They weren't ready to deal with any of those. So, they did the only thing they knew with those. Used them to cast a spell.

They knew how pathetic it sounded, but they were desperate to save their team, and it left them absolutely drained. Now they were feeling even worse. They had to relieve some of the pain to keep their sanity.

Leader weakly moved their hand to their chest, curling their fingers. They murmured the spell and let the dark circles surround their body like a blanket, their pain fading to the depts of their mind temporarily just like their feelings.

Leader flinched when they heard a gasp, the spell breaking with their concentration. Usually, such things wouldn't affect them, but they were too weak to keep the spell under check without focusing on it.

Leader turned their head to where the sound came, only to see Caretaker frozen in their place. Then suddenly, Caretaker began checking their plants with panic.

"Hey," Leader rasped. They tried again when Caretaker ignored them, but a coughing fit took over. Caretaker hesitantly came over, unsure if they want to help.

Leader pointed the plant in the corner, and weakly made a gesture like pulling it before shaking their head, hoping it meant no for Caretaker too. Then they pointed themselves and made a pulling motion towards up, magical energy forming for a moment before disappearing as Leader felt their strength fail.

Caretaker checked that plant. Leader knew what the other person thought, but they also believed they proved it wrong. Leader wasn't pulling life force from other things, which was the core of forbidden spells. There was nothing to be afraid of as long as Leader had their self-control.

Caretaker came back after making sure the plant was untouched. They took a paper and a pen, scribbling something. Leader recognised the basic healing spell, of course. The source came from the caster's magical energy, which Leader lacked. It was the reason of their lean towards dark magic— they used their emotions to make up their shortcomings.

Caretaker put the pen to Leader's hand. Leader wrote their own slowly, their hand trembling. Only a few symbols were different, but it must have satisfied Caretaker because Leader could see the relief in the other's eyes.

Leader closed their eyes as Caretaker looked at the spell more carefully. They were lucky that the magic came from the same runes. It proved Leader innocent.

With an excited smile, Caretaker tore the paper from Leader's hand— it didn't require much strength. They scribbled some spells and circled some symbols.

Safe, sleep, heal.

Caretaker looked at them proudly. Leader would laugh at the solution to their lack of communication if they had the energy. But they also knew if they laughed, they would start crying.

Did Leader deserve this? From a stranger? Perhaps not. But fate - and the stranger - decided they were worth it.

[angst-is-love-angst-is-life]

Obviously I need to ask you about your Coldflash Royalty AU <3

Yessss thank you!

I fear the placeholder title may be a bit misleading so allow me to clarify; Barry’s royalty (a prince), Len is not but his father was Captain of the royal guard (also, it is through writing this that I learned much of my ‘knowledge’ of royalty comes from Disney movies💀)

Shortly before the events of the story, the kingdom of Central is overthrown. No one knows how he managed to do it, the castle had been thought to be impenetrable to anyone not wanted… alas, Eobard Thawne invaded and killed the king and queen in their own throne room; sparing the prince.

Now, Leonard Snart has been invited to an event celebrating the new king’s victory. He attends, more to get a lay of the land if you will, but ends up getting much more than he bargained for.

Excerpt from chapter 1 (and disclaimer that everything is in flux because it’s still draft one)

Len strode over to the throne, loud enough as to alert the prince of his arrival. Forced to kneel beside the throne, he was dressed in clean, noble garments, and a golden band of metal had been affixed to his neck as well as shackles around his ankles, but he appeared to be unharmed. Still, Len highly doubted that. The outfit was just a bit too clean, covering a bit too much skin. He couldn’t jump to conclusions however. Len knelt down next to Barry, an effort to humiliate him just a bit less, perhaps. “Prince,” He said, in a tone slightly softer than his usual drawl.

Barry looked over at him, well, tried to. The golden collar was attached to a short length of chain bolted to the ground; restricting his movement heavily. “What do you want?” His voice was quite hoarse and had a slight crack to it, but still stronger than expected.

[piplupfluffwritingstuff2]

I made a Uquiz!

I tested it, it works, and I'd love for you guys to play it!

Tags: @thelazywitchphotographer @just-a-space-rabbit @rainy-knights-of-villany @fishtale88 @but-is-it-whumpy @telltaletoad @electrons2006 @lilywolfgray @creweemmaeec11 @deckofaces @justalittletoocorrupted @laffy-taffy-creations @surplus-of-sarcasm

[mj-iza-writer]

This story was requested by @butter-and-too-much-bread ; they requested snippet scene of a kidnapping. I appreciate the person who kindly referred them to me so I could fill their request. Please enjoy.

Had I known what would happen, I would have stayed in bed today.

"College sucks.... I work so hard, just to fail. I wish someone would take me away from all of this", Whumpee joked with his friends as they left the university.

He looked at the graded test.

"I'm failing this hard time", Whumpee admitted.

"It's all that muscle. Nothing you are learning is getting through to your brain", their friend squeezed Whumpee's upper arm, "maybe just drop out and join the gym rats."

"I can't do that", Whumpee folded the test, "do you think I'm that big?", Whumpee popped his muscles, "I've been trying."

"Have you heard about the recent kidnappings?", another friend spoke up, "I'm nervous."

"We'll be fine", his friends snickered, "are you scared or something?"

"Well, you can't be so sure", the friend sighed.

Whumpee turned into an alley. A shortcut to his shack of an apartment.

He noticed a group of people up ahead.

Something in his heart said turn around, and when he did...

"Oh, I'm sorry, I took... the... wrong... turn", Whumpee backed up.

"Yes, you definitely did", the group joined in laughter.

Whumpee gulped when they took aggressive steps toward him.

Whumpee looked both ways, then tried to run. They were going to try to run through the group; try to break through. If they could just make it home.

"I don't think so", someone warned as Whumpee was grabbed and forced to the ground.

"No... umph."

A wet rag was forced over his mouth and nose.

Whumpee struggled as they felt ropes running across his wrist.

"Hold him still", someone yelled.

"It's not working", someone complained.

"I told you, chloroform doesn't work like it does in movies", Whumpee watched someone scoot closer to their head, "watch out. I can get him knocked out in under a movement."

"Hel...", Whumpee attempted to scream when the rag was removed.

"Shut up", someone slapped him.

Whumpee gasped as arms wrapped tightly around their neck.

"Ples, nuh", Whumpee pleaded.

'Not like this', Whumpee thought to themself.

They attempted one final jerk to get free. It only helped the kidnappers tighten the ropes.

They laughed at him.... how dare they laugh at their victim for trying to get away.

"Thanks for the help", they chuckled.

Whumpee blinked through tears as they watched the person tie the knott, "I wasn't sure how well that would tighten. You are quite a big boy. You'll fetch us a pretty penny."

Whumpee blinked a few times more before it all went dark. His body fell limp.

Whumpee's eyes were blindfolded, a cloth gag taped inside of their mouth. Ropes dug tightly into Whumpee's motionless body.

"The car is pulling up. We need to hurry."

"He's so heavy", someone grunted.

The trunk was slammed down on Whumpee... the car sped off from the scene.

"No one saw a thing", the kidnappers looked around happily, "this one is going to make us rich. He can do so much hard labor. Everyone will want him."

'Please, I take it back. I don't want to be taken away from all of this. Please, I just want to go home', Whumpee pleaded subconsciouly, "please?'

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@weirdthingweee @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@risk606 @electrons2006

@paperprinxe @whumprince

@kaz-of-crows @mis-graves

@decaffeinatedtimetraveler94 @sausages-things

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie @glennemerald

@jasperthecapser @does-directions

@jumpywhumpywriter @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @thenormalestever

@whatwhump @galatic-worm

@starmoon-constellation @bacillusinfection

[ironwoman359]

I believe you’ve said you are no longer in the Sanders Sides Fandom anymore so feel free to ignore this. I have fallen back into the fandom and was wondering if you had any good fic recommendations? I know you’ve written some too. I’m not sure what types I want but I do enjoy whump, hurt/comfort, found family, and angst. Thanks in advance.

So, my entire Sanders Sides masterlist is here, but I can give you some specific recs of mine that fit that vibe!

A Fiendly Reunion is a canonverse multi-chapter whump/hurt-comfort fic in which the dark sides kidnap Virgil post SvS:Redux, and Thomas and the light sides venture into the dark side of the mindscape to rescue him.

We Blankly Stare is a 3-chapter whump fantasy story in which a naga Janus is kept as a pet who is rescued by the other sides. (and if whump is your thing, this whole list here is of responses to a Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt card)

Replicated is a whumpy science fiction story done through an interactive ask blog I run called @ts-replicated-au. In it, Thomas discovers that his DNA has been used to make test subjects in a massive facility that does all kinds of unethical experiments on human clones. The story is on indefinite hiatus right now but I've always wanted to return to it and at least complete the Escape Arc of the story.

Other authors I'd recommend (though several, like myself, ALSO don't write much for the fandom anymore):

@tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors, whose work ranges from the sweetest fluff to the sharpest angst and whom I adore with my whole heart (and who DOES still write for the fandom, just uploaded a massive chapter to a very angsty time loop story, Violet is incredible seriously)

@delimeful who tells wonderful fantasy and sci-fi stories, many of which make my h/c heart oh so happy

@asofterfan's punk au has some of the most heartfelt writing I've ever read, and also some incredible artwork (one of their pieces inspired me to write a whump fic that to this day is one of my most popular on both tumblr and AO3, Broken Wings )

@random-snippets, which is the writing blog of @randomslasher, a dear friend and excellent writer who from what I recall was the first fic author I ever read whump from who called it whump, thus giving me a great new term to put into this website's terrible search feature.

There are so many others who deserve a look, and so many now who I'm sure are making new and fresh Sanders Sides content that I'm not aware of, so anyone who's got any good recs for anon, drop them in the notes!

[elodiah]

Seven Sentence Sunday

Been writing frequently these past few days, but not feeling like I’m getting anywhere for some reason. Anyway, here’s a snippet from a not-particularly-whumpy sickfic I have planned for sometime in the future of this new series I’m starting… because I can never resist the ferality-inducing lure of a miserable, vulnerable Loki. 🤭

“You’re welcome,” Mobius said meaningfully. “I’m happy to help, any way that I can.”

Loki frowned at the excessive deliberateness behind his words, and felt oddly confronted, barely quashing the urge to drag himself up and head back out to the bullpen…

In order to avoid Mobius?

That was unheard of. He never wanted to avoid Mobius.

Well, except for the one or two (or so) occasions where he’d indulged in a minor practical joke, such as when he’d hacked Mobius’ tempad so it would play provocative music at full volume whenever he received an incoming message, or the time he’d switched the nozzle attachment tubing inside the beverage machine near R&A so that beef broth issued forth when one selected hot chocolate.

He’d spent centuries in desperate need of distraction from the tedium of studying temporal physics, to which he could attribute the acquisition of knowledge required for the execution of such gems.

No-pressure tagging: @kcscribbler , @lokimobius , @in-my-loki-feels , @loki-is-my-kink-awakening , @insomniaflarrow , @thosegayoldmen , @silentxsymphony , @mirilyawrites , @blackbirdofasgard , @distracteddream , @impulsemuppet , @kusakichan15 , @boredintjqueen

[clareguilty]

WIP Whenever

i was tagged by @beaconfeels <3 thankuuuu

Here is a Stetopher project I started an abandoned forever ago but then yesterday decided to flood with my usual whumpiness. No whump in this snippet tho

"Hey you get laid, right?" Stiles asks as he skids to a stop in Peter's living room, huffing and puffing even though he would have had 45 seconds in the elevator on the way up to the 8th floor to catch his breath. Though Peter realizes he'd never heard the ding at the end of the hall and it's entirely possible that Stiles ran up the stairs to let himself into Peter's apartment and ask such an inane question.

Peter doesn't dignify it with a spoken answer, just raises an eyebrow.

"Of course you do," Stiles barrels on, gesturing at Peter with splayed hands. "You're like one of the sexiest guys ever."

Peter is much more willing to engage now that flattery has been thrown into the mix, but he's still skeptical of where Stiles is going with this.

"Anyways," Stiles sinks into the nearest armchair, melting into a pile of gangly limbs and defeated posture, "I need help."

Both of Peter's eyebrow are raised now, because Stiles' last three statements together sure do sound like a proposition. He allows himself a brief moment to consider it.

The moment is interrupted when Chris wanders back in from the bedroom, finally dressed for the day at eleven am. It's Saturday, and they’d risen late.

"Oh good!" Stiles seems unfazed by his presence or the fact that he just walked out of Peter's bedroom. "You're here too. You can help."

"Hello, Stiles," Chris greets calmly. He doesn't show his confusion, but he does shoot a quizzical glance at Peter. The sudden, unannounced arrival isn't unusual for Stiles - he's shown up at Chris' house at odd hours with odder questions - but it's impressive how quickly he's made himself at home.

"Let me guess," Peter finally speaks up. "You struck out at the club last night. And after feeling sorry for yourself all morning over breakfast, you had the wonderful idea to come to me for advice."

Tagging @takaraphoenix @thetwnsweets @demialwrites @verai-marcel @gaqalesqua (show me what ur working on!)

[hadesstan]

A New Toy

A/N: Oke so I'm trying my hand at throwing my OCs out there, this is just a snippet from a wider novel, but it's very whumpy so I thought yall might enjoy it, and might just convert this wip to a tumblr whump series since I'll probs never finish it lol. Lmk if yall want more!!

TW: Blood, Kidnapping, Magical murder

The Mask hadn’t minded the shifting power in the city. The King had given him an opportunity to kill them all. But that same King also prevented him from doing it himself. When the King fell, there was a disturbing lack of heroes around. Having no one to battle with, no one to torture, left murdering a very boring hobby.  But then that beautiful hero organisation sent out a wave of naïve little heroes to fight, and the Mask had someone to play with again.

This one lay unconscious on the floor, his hands shackled behind his back, his magic bound. The Mask smiled at his helpless form and leaned down to pick him up. The boy reacted in an instant, his head slamming upwards to hit the Mask’s. But he just dodged backwards, letting out a laugh at the futile attempt. It was always better when they had spirit.

The Mask gripped their arm and began to drag him to the next room, where the boy’s “trustee sidekick” sat chained to a chair. The boy got the chair next to it. The Mask expertly unshackled and re-shackled his arms to the chair. The boy glared under his mask. 

The Mask smiled his unsightly grin and stood back before clicking the cuff on the boy’s left wrist.

“We’re going to play a little game. I’m going to start torturing your little friend here, and we’re going to see how long it takes you to remove your mask and tell me your real name.”

The boy shook his head. The Mask just kept smiling, before pulling a knife from his pocket. The sidekick was immobile, and gagged. Couldn’t have him interfering. The Mask rolled up his sleeve and placed the knife just to the side of a vein. He turned to look at the boy, before slashing the knife across. Eliciting a muffled howl from the sidekick. Blood began to drip on the floor.

The Mask repeated the process, cutting and watching. The boy flinching every time, and turning his head away. Eventually, when the arm was reduced to a bloody mess, the Mask moved to the other arm.

“Please stop,” the boy whispered. 

“What was that?” the Mask asked, cutting again.

“Stop, please stop.” The boy reached up with a trembling hand and lifted his mask, slowly, to reveal his bruised face. The face of a kid. 

The Mask cocked his head, dropping his knife. “You’re a kid,” he remarked, letting out a chuckle. “They sent me a kid.”

The Mask wrapped his hand around the throat of the sidekick, channeling a spirit into him.

“No!” the boy cried, straining against his bonds as the sidekick’s skin turned grey and his eyes yellow.

The sidekick stopped moving. The Mask turned to the boy. 

“What’s your name, boy?” he asked, picking up the blade.

“Lu-Lucas,” he stuttered.

The Mask smiled, grabbing his flailing wrist and shackling it to the arm of the chair, before digging out his phone and taking a photo.

Final A/N: I accidentally posted this to the wrong account, I didn't even know I had another account (˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥). I'm tryna move over to firefox and its not going well lmao

[flowercrowngods]

who did this to you for wip weekend, please?

thank you for asking for my whumpy boys 🫶

who did this to you | part 1 here preceding snippets: 1st • 2nd • 3rd • 4th

He lets him ramble, lets him repeat the number until the words slur together and he can’t separate a four from a nine anymore. Each time Harrington hesitates, each time he stumbles over the words or forgets a digit, Eddie wants to punch the wheel. 

He doesn’t. He only grips it tighter and counts down the turns he takes, the streets he passes, the fucking trees that are familiar, before, finally, the trailer park comes into view. 

The sob Eddie lets out when, with shaking, trembling hands he pulls up to his trailer to find his uncle having a smoke on their porch is deafening to his ears after the quiet weakness of Harrington’s voice. 

It startles him, makes him sit up straighter when Eddie finally kills the engine. For a moment, without the steady, rolling hum, the car is filled with the small, tiny whines Steve makes on each exhale. 

“Wh’s wrong?” He asks, but Eddie can’t really hear him. Can’t turn to him, can’t— “Eddie?” 

He’s out of the car before he can take hold of another thought, stumbling out of his open door on legs that feel numb and heavy. The urge to cry is back again, the burning in his eyes only getting worse when Wayne takes in the dried blood on his clothes and hands. 

“Ed?” 

“I didn’t know what— where— I’m… Wayne, I’m sorry.” 

“Hey, kid, slow down,” Wayne says, raising his hands as if to calm a spooked deer. Like Eddie is the one who needs his help. 

Wayne grabs him by the shoulders to keep him still, grounding, and only now does Eddie realise he’s shaking again, restlessly moving his weight from one leg to the other. About to vibrate out of his skin.

“You in trouble?” 

“No,” Eddie scrambles to say, becoming aware of what this looks like. “‘S not my blood, I didn’t do anything, I swear! I swear. It’s, uh. I just found him. In the boathouse, I found him, and he was… God, he looked so bad, okay, but he didn’t want the hospital, and he was, like, so scared of something, and I didn’t know what to do, and you know something about concussions and people who were beat to shit and, again, I’m—“ 

“Eddie,” Wayne says, his voice so calm but so assertive that Eddie shuts up immediately, gladly handing over to controls to his uncle now. “Who’s the kid?” 

He nods towards Eddie’s van, where Harrington looks to be halfway unbuckled, but his eyes are closed and his face smushed against the door again. 

“Shit,” Eddie says, adrenaline and panic slowly falling from him with Wayne’s hand on his shoulder. “It’s Steve. Uh, Harrington, I mean.” 

“Okay,” Wayne says, and he’s so calm. So calm. Eddie feels like he’s about to fall apart, and Wayne is the only one keeping him together, with that steady, warm hand on his shoulder. “Okay. You did good, kid, okay? You did good. Now help me get him out of that car.” 

🤍🌷 wip weekend | make me write (please)

[paingoes]

1 & 11 for the ask game!

answered 1 hereeeee ummm

11.) Share one of your favorite whumpy scenes that you have written.

wait sorry i got shy….. it says “share” so idk if this means like. things ive already published or WIPs. this is a snippet for a drabble i didnt like enough to finish ^_^

cw: hitting, verbal abuse, mean???

…

“Give it,” he said seriously.

Delta took another step back, prompting Paris to get out of the chair. His hand shot out to grab his wrist. The psychic thrashed a little, which seemed to be more of a reflex than any real attempt at defiance. Paris’s hand moved into the psychic’s coat pocket anyway, snatching out the collection of shells that had rested inside it.

“Unreal. I fucking let you tag along and this is how you behave?”

Delta flushed with shame, not looking at either of them. Paris set the stolen shells down on the table.

“He can have it,” She volunteered quickly. She recognized the shells. They weren’t expensive or important. She didn’t want him getting in trouble over it.

“He can have it-“ Paris corrected, “-if he fucking asked.”

For a minute, the venom he must have been so used to injecting into the psychic was turned onto her, and she was not pleased with it. But his attention was back on the weapon before she can react.

“You don’t. just. take. shit. that doesn’t. belong to you.”

Each brief pause in the words was accompanied by a another blow. Most of them fell onto the boy’s cheek, the harsh sound of a slap filling the room. Others fell more messily, landing against the side of his head. The weapon made no sound, but by the end he was fully cowering back. The grip on his wrist didn’t allow him to go very far, no choice but to take it. His free hand moved up like he wanted to defend himself, but it didn’t make it all the way, hovering midair without actually daring to interrupt. 

Paris gripped his face, tilting it back up as if to study.

“Apologize,” he ordered.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” he answered immediately. It was clear he was very used to saying it.

“To her, moron.”

…

[the-whumper-takes-it-all]

🩸Ask Game – Whump Writers Edition🩸

1. What's your favorite whump trope?

2. Who is your favorite whumpee?

3. Do you have a whump playlist? If so, name one of the songs.

4. What gets you in the mood to write whump?

5. Do you have any characters that you just can't whump? Like ... it's too hard for you to whump them?

6. What got you into whump writing?

7. What's the hardest whump you ever wrote? (most brutal, most gory, etc.)

8. What's your favorite whump story you ever wrote?

9. What's a red flag for you? Like ... what kind of whump would you never write?

10. Do you have a whump idol (classic author)?

11. When do you consider a story whumpy enough?

12. What's a whump idea on your mind you probably won't ever write/finish?

13. Is there a whump trope you like to read but not write?

14. Is there a whump trope you like to write but not read?

15. Post a snippet of a whump WIP.

[california-112]

Late-Night Lifeline

A little late-cannon Biggles snippet (~500 words) because I've been reading (and re-reading...) a lot of fic lately with EvS & Biggles or EvS & Algy, but I've found very little with EvS and the other two, particularly in whumpy situations. I might expand it, but to be honest probably not ^^' So, to prevent it mouldering in my drafts forever, I'm posting it here :') I hope it's enjoyed!

---

The phone seemed to ring for a long time, droning on and on to the extent that the usually nerveless caller was reaching for the curly cord to fiddle with when the line was finally picked up, and sleepy but familiar tones answered.

"Mayfair oh one four nine. Which coincidentally isn't too different from the time right now, so what do you-"

"I have Lord Lissie." von Stalhein announced, wasting no time.

These words blew all the sleepiness out of Algy's voice like a winter gale, and his reply was coldly incredulous. "You what?"

"I said, I have-" suddenly, Erich realised how that wording might come across, given their mutual history, and rephrased. "What I mean to say is that he is with me, in my flat. He is safe here, but he was injured when he arrived- in fact, he all but collapsed on my doorstep- and-"

"We're on our way." Algy said curtly. "Make sure it's us before you open the door."

Needled, Erich merely hung up in reply, then turned back to his charge.

Bertie was still lying on the sofa, at least mostly; he seemed to have come around in the short time that Erich had stepped away, and been trying to get up, but stalled half way through, teetering on the edge. With quick, gentle movements, Erich rolled him back to a reclining position, and seeing that he was still at least a little coherent, offered him a sip of water.

"Lord Liss- Bertie? Can you hear me?" he asked softly, staring at the half-open non-swollen eye in hope of some reaction.

"Mmm." Bertie replied, his eye falling shut as he turned further over into the thin pillows. "No school today, nanny. I don't feel well."

"I can believe that." Erich replied in an undertone, before continuing in a louder voice "Bertie, it's me."

Before he could elaborate, Bertie suddenly rolled back and looked at him directly for the first time that evening- morning?-, his open eye unfocused and bright from the drug swimming in his system, but nonetheless wide open. With a look of relief dawning on his face, he pronounced his latest conclusion in a confident and only slightly wavering voice.

"Biggles!"

Erich's mouth was open to correct him before he realised that it was probably pointless, and 'Biggles' was at least better than 'Nanny'. He sat for a moment looking rather like a fish, wondering how to continue, before snapping his mouth shut.

Before he had reached any conclusions, he was thrown again by the feeling of a hand clumsily reaching for his, finding it and lightly squeezing it, then retreating, with an accompanying sigh of "Glad you found me, old thing. Things were starting to...to not go so well."

This time it was Erich who reached for Bertie's hand, holding it gently to avoid aggravating the boot-tread pattern of bruises that had already begun to turn nasty shades of yellow and purple, his gaze lingering on the swollen-shut eye in its own puddle of bruises and abrasions.

"Don't worry," he said quietly, keeping his anger for the man's attackers at bay with an effort, "you're safe now."

[abubblingcandle]

For the writer asks: 4. a story idea you haven’t written yet

Oooo this ... hmm ... I'm trying to think of an idea that I haven't talked about much ... I have a problem with talking about my ideas ...

Oo so there was one idea that was first pitched to be by @jamiesfootball that I've got some snippets and a bit of plotting hanging around for. The idea being that Ted arrived at the beginning of the season and wasn't actually doing that bad a job, so Rebecca needed to find something else to implode Richmond ... enter Jamie Tartt to put the cat amongst the pidgeons. But Roy is more settled, the team is more harmonious and so Jamie's arrival isn't the shit stirring she intended. He can be abrasive and smug and gloating but his addition makes the team better. So Rebecca loses her mind and starts trying to get Jamie to snap and start causing the desired trouble by messing with him.

It's whumpy and like a much darker retelling of S1 where Jamie goes through shit but has more love and support in his life despite it

[harrietwritesstuff]

Tag Game - Writer Support!

Tag your favorite writers (tumblr or AO3 link) and introduce them to your followers!

Give your favorites some compliments.

Let your followers know why they are your favorite.

Maybe let them know your favorite fics, snippets, lines.

Give your followers three (or more) reasons why your followers should read your favorite writers.

@my-whortleberry-friend - her absolutely INSANE talent for painting the whole spectrum of emotion in so few words is just, extraordinary. Her Ze Drabbles series was the first thing I ever read in this fandom and believe me when I tell you I was hooked. I still am tbf. The way she writes Ze & Maks - all ways and in all weathers is just stunning; so quiet and so moving. Honourable mention to chapter 66 of the drabbles because that one just lives in my head without paying a pound of rent; that anguished determination just floors me each and every time.

@is-this-working - I mean, we've all read Compromised, right?? Holy shit do I wish I could write like this. The whole freaking gamut - a plot with so many gorgeous little twists, the way she gets right to the heart of Maks, the way he is with Ze - all that emotion is just 🔥. The whole fic is just so wonderful and sprawling - I'm on my maybe, third? fourth? reread of the whole thing and I keep noticing new little things every time.

@the-jam-to-the-unicorn - Hellooooo the DETAIL in Jam's fics? The plots? I am in awe. I love the way she writes early Volena - all the little real moments sprinkled in there truly brings it all to life, especially her depictions of Lena, Sasha, Kyrylo & Ze when they're all together - so warm and loving. I don't think I could pick a favourite & there's such range in her work (though I do have a soft spot for the angstober additions)

Im really loving Tere Naina at the moment too by @natalia-romanovas-world - a lovely Zecron piece & I appreciate all the references at the end of each chapter that link the work to the actual events IRL.

Honourable mention for the one (1) Band of Brothers fic in my bookmarks, The Only Hope You Have. I'm a sucker for Speirs/Lipton and this just ticks all my whumpy, angsty boxes 💙

[memento-morri-writes]

writing patterns tag

No one tagged me, but I wanted to do this anyways.

Rules: Post the first line of your last 20 (or however many you want) stories/chapters and see if you can see any commonalities.

I'm gonna be doing this with all my little Rook snippets!

Snakebite (Past Vignette #1)

Rook’s rapier flashed as he stabbed at the monster before him, driving it towards the ship’s railing.

Kroko (Session Rewrite #1)

The sludge holding the parasite fell to the ground.

"Out of one box, into another" (Session Rewrite #2)

Rook watched, amused, as Aki tried his best to imitate Mr. Fox.

Rook's Horrible, Very Bad, No-Good Weekend (Session Rewrite #3)

As Warren got to his feet, shifting back into human form, Rook began to pace back and forth near the entrance to the alley.

Rook's Very Bad Weekend, Continued (Session Rewrite #4)

Rook plunged the tip of his rapier into Sister Celestia’s stomach.

Pawns (Session Rewrite #5)

Across the room, the creature’s tentacle gave a final twitch, then lay still.

Fever Dreams (Offscreen Exploration #1)

Strong hands shoved him forwards into the familiar cell that had become his world.

Rook + Val Convo (Offscreen Exploration #2)

Val rapped their knuckles on the cabin door.

Reunion (Session Rewrite #6)

Rook hesitated, his hand on the doorknob.

Waterlogged (Non-canon Future Vignette)

Rook watched the dark clouds on the horizon draw closer.

Hallucinations (Read-Aloud #1)

Rook hears a strange sound, like clumsy, disjointed footsteps.

Ship in a Bottle (Read-Aloud #3)

He begins in that familiar black void.

I didn't realize just how many of these start near the end of / immediately after a combat. Or with ominous description or doors. With the exception of "out of one box", all of them fall into one of those three categories. It's frankly embarrassing. (/hj) (In my defense, these are only the select scenes that I chose to write, and I mostly tend to write whumpy shit, so the fact that there's a pattern isn't entirely surprising.)

I'm not going to tag anyone, since this was mostly for my own amusement. But anyone who wants to is welcome to give it a try!!

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co