seth-whumps

[seth-whumps]

when the team android is used to power something and it so obviously hurts them but it's not safe to stop so everyone just has to hope for the best. this happened to Zane Ninjago once and it was the best whump of my life

I like this but the second sentence made me laugh out loud in my break room at work

[seth-whumps]

fandom posting sorry folks but i'm a big BBC Merlin fan, and of course I love the fanfiction, but I'm looking for more Arthur whump than Merlin. anyone got some good recommendations?

[seth-whumps]

do you have any prompts/vibes for the "full team whump" day.... i think it's a really fun prompt but i'm having trouble thinking of ideas

Of course! It's one of my favorite tropes ever, so here's a few:

The Big Battle is over and they've barely won, but Medic/healer is down for the count. First aid and self-done stitches are in order until they can get their doctor conscious again

Tournament setting--pit the whole team against each other. Who wrecks shop? Who holds back? What's the play to escape? Who wins, and crucially, who loses?

The good ol' cold sweep. Give everyone the flu. Make everyone deal with the sniffles and take turns caring for each other. Bonus points if blorbo refuses to acknowledge their own illness until they collapse

Natural disasters, car accidents, and explosions make for great team whump starting points

Thinking about what injury/symptom each team member has, and how they got it, can help. And don't be afraid to just use two or three whumpees. Having the entire cast is overwhelming a lot of the time, so take it easy and have fun.

Hope this helps!

[seth-whumps]

HEY GUYS!!!! PLEASE GIVE IT TO YOUR CHARACTERS SO I DONT SUFFER ALONE

HEY GUYS heat exhaustion FUCKI G sucks jsyk. inflict it on your whumpees for my sake

[seth-whumps]

Brainstorming thoughts and curious about preferences.

[seth-whumps]

WWE 2025, Day 8: Chef Mis-Steak

Hot stove / Slip of the knife / “I swear, I'm usually better at this.”

[CC (Itaph’ri, Iasis & Kyrai)] — 1903 words

CW: talk of death (not self-inflicted) idk does alien creature corpse count if it’s just part of the food cycle (minimal description)

@whumperless-whump-event

——

Itaph’ri doesn’t ever treat meals as though it was any light matter on the ship. They’re useful. They know what suitable ingredients to forage for, know how to cook them so that they don’t make more messes than the ones they’ve all already gotten themselves in. Most importantly, they need the others alive.

Not that anyone needs to know that, of course. To the rest of them, they’re just another asset of the ship, and to the two standing right beside them, they just so happen to be their regular cooking teacher.

It starts off slow. Kyrai greets them as they arrive at the galley, Iasis following suit not long after. They’ve already decontaminated the place to the best of his ability, all of them washing their hands at the nearby sink, all the ingredients already prepared on the table. “What are we making today?” Iasis asks, lounging on one of the chairs and kicking his legs rhythmically.

“Managed to get most of the ingredients my mentor told me she used for her specialty stew, so that’s what we’re going to try to recreate.”

“...The Huelxcan? So what you’re saying is that we’re throwing whatever in and hoping it works…”

Itaph’ri shrugs, cutting away the core of a neon pink vegetable and tossing it into the nearest trash bag. “I mean…the original was made from lots of long-lasting food from the other planets in PAGE territory, back when the fighting first started. I’m just trying to use ingredients we could actively find in Outsec territory instead. Managed to get their authentic water substitute from one of the markets we visited for cheap, so whyever not.” Very cheap, actually. What a good deal. “Wonder how…how that tastes,” Kyrai says aloud.

When they think back about it, they really should have noticed how something was wrong much earlier. Kyrai’s eyeing the translucent fruit with a dazed fervor in their gaze, one that Itaph’ri originally mistook as simply hunger or thirst. Then, Iasis calls them over to ask them a question, and all is somehow forgotten in their hurry to stop part of the plant from going straight to the bin.

“Dendios essence is useful,” they snap, a little louder than he needed in order to get his point across, and Iasis thankfully halts in place, turning back sheepishly to face them. “Don’t throw the root away first, that’s where you extract all those nutrients.”

”But you can’t even eat it…also, it looks disgusting.”

”It's an alien fruit, don’t judge. The gunk adds thickness to the stew, it’s better than it sounds, promise—”

”—hey, can I do something? Getting bored here. And hungry.”

Itaph’ri throws their hands up, stomping their way over to the leftover ingredients and picking up the fruit, throwing it at the complaining Kyrai who just barely manages to catch it, cradling it to their chest. “In the kitchen, you stop sulking and start playing your role. Every wrong move you take could result in all our deaths, okay? So just…” They trail off, tapering their tone. “Just cut that in half and squeeze all the liquid into a bowl, Kai. Easy enough.” 

“Oh. Okay.”

”Sorry. I’m on edge today, aren’t I?”

Kyrai shrugs, looking down at the fruit as they move to grab their stool and reach the higher shelves for a bowl. “Aren’t you always?”

They sigh, glancing behind one last time to check if Kyrai’s even doing their job before checking on the other ingredients that Iasis was currently tossing into the pot to simmer. Usually they’d be bantering instead of having meaningless bouts of conflict, but the others were still in the medbay, and honestly? They’re more than aware that this lesson in particular is just their method of putting their mind away from everything else, stressful as it still is. In some distant past, they wouldn’t even be able to get near a stove; even now, some of the others still shiver from the cold of the ship while in casualwear.

Itaph misses cooking, even if it sometimes harms more than it heals. 

The loud noise of metal on metal kicks them out of any further bouts of pondering as they jump, shifting to see the knife Kyrai was holding clatter onto the floor, the person in question failing to hide the severity of their trembling as they move to pick it back up.

”I- I swear, I’m usually better than this, cut things before, don’t know why, why…” They hold the knife in both hands, standing in front of the prepared fruit as though locked in battle yet not coming any closer.

Iasis, concentrated on the stove, finally looks at the scene. ”Did something go wrong? What’s going on?” 

Well, a lot of things go wrong, really. 

The fruit cracks slightly open to reveal five pairs of legs, the creature launching itself at Kyrai’s face with a hiss. The kitchen devolves into chaos. Kyrai’s still holding the knife, swinging blindly at the surroundings, and Itaph’ri tackles them from the side, knife once again returning to the floor as they clutch at the intruder, using their difference in height as leverage.

“It’s not coming off—” They try another large pull to no avail. “Iasis, oi, put that away and help me instead of bashing their head in!” 

“R-Right, uh–” Tossing the broom hastily to the side, the other joins in on the tugging, following them in grabbing the underbelly of the creature and attempting to loosen it. Slowly, one leg releases itself, then two. Then, the mass jumps straight onto Itaph’ri’s head.

Ah. They can’t breathe.

It’s not that they aren’t trying to take in air; in fact, they’re desperately trying to, panicking when their survival efforts are met by nothing but resistance. Flailing, they reach both hands up to the creature, chest tight and head spinning. They feel a prick in their back, their body relaxing. As though they were drifting away from the universe itself, they think.

In their dream-like disorientation, they can barely make out which of the others is talking. “--get it away— released — throw it, come on—”

The pressure on their head releases after what felt like forever, giving them the long-awaited opportunity of finally getting anything into their lungs as they cough weakly, the surroundings finally coming back into focus. From their place on the ground, the creature is nowhere in sight, whether in the hands of the two or on the floor.

“D-did it escape, we need to warn the others, quick–” They quickly return to another bout of spluttering, air insufficient to sustain any more words. 

“Don’t worry. It’s dead. Probably. You might be too, hold on…” Kyrai turns their body over, plucking something from their neck. It’s a capsule-shaped object. Their friend seems to hold great pleasure in dangling their find in front of Iasis’s face, grinning at his discomfort. “Done. No credits to this guy beside me.” “What? So first off, I turned on the stove, so I did do something, and secondly, I could snap your little head off right now if I wanted to.”

“Sure, but that’s just admitting you lost, my good sire.”

“You–” He makes a mad lunge at Kyrai and fails, his target sidestepping his swipes with ease in such a narrow space. “Fine. Oh, mighty leader, impart to both of us your wisdom.” “Copying my style now, are you? Anyways, where is it. That thing.” Itaph’ri shifts into a sitting position, still looking around.

“Take a look for yourself.”

Iasis offers up a hand and they take it, heaving themself up with a groan. They must not have fallen properly just now. Now that they actually concentrate, the smell of something burning fills the room and they turn their gaze to fixate on the frothing pot, which now has a minutely twitching but otherwise very deceased customer inside it. Keeping their distance, they reach to turn the electricity off, the bubbling now toning itself down together with any leftover fear.

Now what?

It’s hard not to immediately wander to the ‘whys’ instead. They know for a fact that the fruit was correct, looked mostly like the ones from their memories of the past. Vaguely, they try to recall their mentor’s words during their own cooking sessions. “See this, here. It should look like this, otherwise crush it when it ain’t or if you don’t plan on usin’ it. I shall say this warning once. Hey, you even listening?” 

Thinking back, wasn’t the fruit he bought a little more translucent than what their mentor showed? Stupid Yoltian System border merchants. Never should have trusted them, no wonder it was cheap. 

Their knees weaken, no longer able to sustain their weight as they crash to the floor, curling inwards on nothing but instinct. They tuck their head between their knees and try to get away from the suffocating feeling of it all. “I…might have made a mistake. The fruit was too ripe, I think. Is it…is it even a fruit if it’s a consumer? I- I don’t know anything. I can–”

“No,” Kyrai interrupts, “you couldn’t. You don’t have to say anything. If we knew about everything within the universe already, we wouldn’t be mortal, would we?”

“But ma’ said–”

“--and anyone you know is probably mortal too, in some sense. Unless you’ve somehow discovered millenia-old aliens and didn’t think to tell us, eh? Actually, it’s not impossible, hm…” In the background, there’s a snort from Iasis. They don’t know how to reply. “Besides. Give yourself a pat, Itaph. You shouldn’t even need to be here with our burden.” 

Sure enough, there’s two light beats on their back. Unconsciously, they find themself leaning in, looking to the side through eyes blurry with tears to see Kyrai smiling, as though nothing bad had ever happened to either of them, as though death wasn’t lurking in the next cubicle. They can’t even remember the last time they cried openly in the presence of others. 

Wiping away the rest of their tears, still sniffling, they take a deep breath and stand up, eyeing the kitchen with newfound vigour. They could probably make a soup with normal water, or...hm… 

“So. Who’s up for some steak?” Iasis speaks up, gesturing to the pot.

Alright. Pause. 

“I mean, whatever’s poisoned is probably removed, right? In the thing it stuck in you. Don’t see why not.”

“What? That is not how it works, the remnants could still be there, it could still have psychedelic effects like just now, I am absolutely not landing either of you in the medbay under any circumstance–”

“Hey, if we die, we die trying new cuisine, I call that a great win! Happily ever after!” Kyrai exclaims as they clap, grinning. Iasis nods vigorously, joining in on the raucous applause. 

In response, they take the pot, march over to the sink and dump the water before sweeping the remnants into the bin. “No,” they say, deadpan, “we are doing stir fry. Learn how to season your meats properly before asking again. Go wash up.”

Completely ignoring the noises of exaggerated disapproval in the background, they’d be lying if they said they didn’t miss this sort of lively atmosphere, this sort of back-and-forth banter. The ship’s deep, gentle thrum harmonizes with the sound of their heartbeat and the voices of the people around them, and they realise, now, what it truly means to be here, alive. 

[seth-whumps]

shout out to caretakers reaching through bars to get to whumpee and failing. shoutout to chains that pull just tight enough to stop them from holding their hand. shoutout to the shoulder pressed against the metal and outstretched fingers, yelling their name, just a little further, just a little more--

[seth-whumps]

Characters who choose death but are forced to live, my beloveds.

Characters who have to come to terms with a second chance at life they never asked for, my darlings.

Characters who move forward on the trembling legs of a newborn fawn through the overwhelming, blinding crush of an existence they fully forsook but which was thrust back upon their unwilling beings, my obsessions.

[seth-whumps]

i do love a carefully-cupping-whumpee's-face scene but i especially like it when caretaker's hands are absolutely dripping with blood. when the world has gone so far to hell that the quiet, secret moment they have to comfort each other is soaked in crimson. when it's gasping breaths in darkness, just the two of them, for the little time they have, and caretaker grabs whumpee's face to check them over, thumbs in front of the ears and smearing blood across their cheeks and chin and down their neck. a reunion that smells like metal and death; a kiss to the forehead that stains it red.

[seth-whumps]

Character who immediately shows gentleness and care for the person they’re rescuing, even while covered in the blood of their captors.

The complete separation of the violence they committed to reach their companion and how they actually treat them.

The switch from total violence to soft touches and “You’re alright, I gotcha. It’s all okay, I’m here.”

[seth-whumps]

WWE 2025, Day 6: Doomed By The Narrative

Scheduled execution / Near death experience / “That was too close.”

[Verrill & Nivae (Twelve)] — 2290 words

CW: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH!!!! (near death experience tag still belongs there for the other oc)

@whumperless-whump-event

——

Bells across the city ring clearly, carrying with its reverberations the salty scent of the choppy sea. It doesn’t make sense, of course. Here, where Verrill couldn’t see any of that shore, the persistent chimes were the only thing keeping him grounded, the only thing louder than the crowd beneath the elevated platform. Once upon an almost distant time, he remembers telling that child about how he’d rather go out with a bang, sitting on the rooftop and looking at the same sky, now darkened by looming clouds. 

Wish granted. The most drama this city has ever had since the last festival and he owns front row tickets, one way trip.

Scenes flash before him, the recollection of times before, those days where people would celebrate their budding crops, their soon-to-be bountiful harvests. Instead of worried whispers and angry shouts, he recalls the laughter of the children, still too juvenile to have learnt about the perfect city’s little secret. He dreams of the dulcet tones of his childhood flute, carried by the slight summer winds as it brought light smiles to the faces of others. 

The crops dead, the laughter absent. That flute has long since been out of tune. Was that where it started, all those events that brought him where he was now? He thought this day wouldn’t come if it was already that late in its arrival.

He hoped he could at least see the sun one last time before he was dead on the gallows. Ah, what a pity.

“Not a single kind word spoken to this child, do you understand, dear child? All things in this world will fall apart instantly if not.” His grandfather’s words ring in his mind word-for-word, deafening in its accusations. “My warm winter, you must understand that this world isn’t fair to all of us. If only we could, dear, if only we could.” That’s how the world works, that’s how everything works! There will be no such thing as happiness, were the slightest good act given to this nameless child, that’s so obvious! It makes him want to laugh, cry, scream his lungs out and then some more, but the audience already deems him crazy enough as it already is. Dearest Verrill, loved by all, screwing with powers beyond his comprehension for his own curiosity, his own gnawing, all-consuming guilt. Is this the ending you truly wanted?

Stars, please let Nivae be okay, please, he can take all this responsibility and hold it close to his heart, but not them, this can’t be the culmination of all he worked towards. They can’t go back where he took them out from.

It would appear that some of the audience agrees, trained in the art of listening as he is, picking out voices amidst the chaos. If only they weren’t stuck in his mind afterwards, replaying and replaying like his mother’s broken record. Finally, the bell stops. A hushed half-silence befalls the city square, the bitter winds tousling his hair and the feathers of his wood-restrained wings. 

His audience is here. His end begins.

“Today,” the appointed speaker announces, loud and clear, “we make for the dawn of a new tomorrow, undo the wrongs we have committed. May our wheat grow steady and strong, our shores calm and clear. May our wants, desires and loves be had.” “May our wheat grow steady and strong, our shores calm and clear,” the audience recites in unison, “may our wants, desires and loves be had.”

Verrill shivers, rubbing his arms together for warmth. It’s too uncanny, too ironic. It doesn’t strike him as a prayer, no. What it does feel like is an offering. A sacrifice, in his kindest words. 

“On this day, the date of Querencia’s usual festival, we provide respite for the masses by quelling the source of this unprecedented calamity by its origin!” Cheers. Many of them, interlaced by the occasional jeering, whispers or flapping of wings. 

“I-I’m sure you recognize him, right? Haha, no need for introductions, let’s get right onto the main event!”

Now that he takes a good look at the speaker, he recognizes the face of their friend’s parent, hair now cleanly shaved. Small city, he supposes. He wonders where that friend is now. Somewhere in the crowd, maybe, cheering him on. It’s not as much a consolation as he’d like it to be, though he makes an attempt to smile nonetheless.

Surveying his surroundings, he makes the mistake of looking up. 

The large blade looms over him, glinting ominously in the diminished light, framed by the endless sky above. Despite being one of the only people allowed to carry a sword, they never could get used to that sharp silver, sharpened for the killing blow. They wouldn’t even give him the mercy of a clean death. 

It’s for the spectacle. Wings were located where the core of the being was, common rumors all said, evidence or not; to cut them off would be to purify anyone whole. A decently quick but painful passing, black blood unable to sustain the sheer amount of blood loss that would occur. It swells the hearts of the audience, waiting with bated breath for their luck to finally turn.

Breathe in, breathe out. All actions were the effect of other actions, which were in turn the effect of practically infinite more choices. This is his fate. 

He isn’t afraid anymore. In the end, he never could escape this city, could he? 

All he can do right now is close his eyes peacefully and wait. One, two, three… 

Verrill waits for ages. Nothing happens. Bated breaths exchange their tone for a tense murmur, a few hushed sobs hastily stifled, and he waits for the suffering to come and it never does.

Then, a different kind of agony breaks through his thoughts with the sound of flapping, eyes now wide and fixed on the person in front of him.

“Please, I go back in, please! Thank you, sorry, you’re welcome! Aah, uh–” Nivae, Nivae, who he told to hide for the time being has somehow or another made their way on the platform, wisps of curly, nearly floor-length hair wrapping around their little body as they continue shouting, wings spread wide in an attempt to make themself look bigger. “Listen! Let him go! Let him go, I go!” 

There’s no doubt they’re not used to that many people, isolated as they previously were. Still, they gather courage even he didn’t know they had, a jumble of the disjointed words and poorly-used pleasantries he taught them coalescing into a singular, desperate plea. 

They knew all along, didn’t they? Even without fully understanding. Nobody would put them back in, not when their own guilt overwhelmed them, so they picked the next best thing to do. In fact, nobody even moves to stop them, all eyes on this force of destruction and object of their selfish pity. 

He wonders what they all see, sometimes. That child in the repurposed tool room under his home who nearly forgot how to speak, frightened of any visitor? Or Nivae, running around in the city square, laughing as the two of them played catch? Else, something built completely out of their thoughts and imagination, perhaps; the worst option of the lot.

“Nivae,” Verrill speaks, voice choked, his calm pretense all but gone, “you can’t be here. They’re not going to listen to you.” “T-they are! They are! No, uhm, yes—”

“Nivae, please—” 

The crowd is silent. From his place on the platform, the people watch on, eyes glistening with tears, some of them breaking into hysterical crying and turning away from the act. Here, above everyone barred from using their wings for this day, Nivae flaps his own speckled ones and for a moment is more free than anyone else in the city square, pulling at Verrill’s arm as though the small action could somehow allow everything to return to those days where it was just the two of them.

As the doomed child moves to turn their focus towards getting Verrill’s wings away from this horrid contraption, piecing together the slightest notion of how it works, he catches the speaker eyeing the length of cord in his hands

The speaker is going to resume the festival. That child’s limbs aren’t outside its range of damage anymore, still preoccupied with trying to break him out, their head situated right beneath its edge. Any of his own instructions fall on deaf ears. Every scene after that plays out so quickly it almost seems slow.

One. The speaker releases the rope, the blade falling.

Two. Verrill sharply twists his body until he hears a loud crack, the humerus of his wings snapping, a copious but not fatal amount of soot-coloured blood dripping onto the wooden boards beneath him.

Three. He wrenches his limp wings out of the now slightly loosened restraints with a forceful tug, hands pulling Nivae away from the danger zone and into his arms.

Four. 

Chaos ensues.

Verrill jumps off the platform with Nivae in tow, crashing to the floor not long after. The crowd makes a grab for them. He, skilled at dodging and fighting as he was from all that training, dodges most of their hands as he runs on, trying to figure out where to go.

As they say, there’s only one way out of this city, the colossal gate marking the boundary of this crumbling place, the disappointment of that distant promise. They should always have left. They should have left at the first chance they got, the both of them, but they didn’t. That’s the fact, isn’t it? Well. Better now than never.

“That was too close, okay? Remember what I taught you, look at your surroundings before going in to try anything risky.” He adjusts Nivae’s position to be more comfortable, letting their head rest snugly on his shoulder, feeling the sensation of them nod. “You’ll need to run yourself the moment I get tired, so get ready.” 

For some odd reason, there seemed to be fewer people than usual in the city, buildings flickering in and out of his sight before disappearing altogether. Huh? 

He ducks behind a building, lowering the child gently onto the floor as he looks up once more at the sky. It’s clear with no clouds in sight. The sun casts tepid vermillion over the strangely deserted cityscape, shadows contrasting with their deep grey, winds blowing. 

Something’s wrong. He’s never seen the world like this before. Where is everyone?

With all that adrenaline rush now halting itself, he shifts on accident and pain shoots up his spine, bringing with it a bout of blinding whiteness. The bleeding had at least stopped slightly, now just the occasional splatter tainting the floor. A small mercy. He pretends not to check how tattered his wings now were, the occasional feather likely lying on the floor behind them. 

He’s not turning back to confirm it. They have to get out of here. 

“Come on. Exit’s not far.” Verrill squats down to meet Nivae’s height as he ruffles their hair, pointing at their destination. “See? I did keep my promise, didn’t I? We’re going. We can even play catch if you’d like, you can go and get your head start, alright?” 

“Okay!” The child looks up at him and smiles widely, giving one last wave back before breaking into a sprint. 

Having finished catching his breath, Verrill glances at the gate in full view now. The furthest point of the island, all the way on the other side. If he looked at it from the beach, it would have been nothing but a small oval on the horizon. He’d forgotten just how much of a marvel it was to stare at the intricate carvings on its arch, back when he was a child and the world, his city was ever so big. Was there even anything beyond? He supposed it didn’t matter anymore. 

Verrill bolts down the lonely streets, breeze whooshing past his ears, feet maintaining its steady rhythm against the pavement, slowly getting faster and faster. Nivae’s still not in his reach, far away as they were and he aims for where they are, any wound or ache all but forgotten in their childish game of chase, each worry slowly ebbing away. They’re nearly there.

He laughs, breathless and light, arms spread wide to catch the air around him. He rejects everything! The city, his fear, the turning of day into night! He will never return home, everything, he—

His ears ring as he stumbles, crashing to the ground and skidding a slight distance away, skin rubbed raw by the ground’s rough surface. The cloth of his tunic feels sticky, and he knows it’s blood before he even sees the scarlet seeping into the cracks of the floor. He’s already avoided his demise once today, but it seemed that it would claim him anyway. Doesn’t feel as bad as he thought. Must be all those hysterics.

Using the last bit of strength, he cranes his neck enough to see the gate. In the near distance, a figure steadily approaches him, their white hair stained as they crouched on the bloodied ground, small hands moving to grasp at his face. Nivae’s shouts fall on deaf ears as they hug him tightly, as though if they tried hard enough, they could somehow fix everything they think they caused. He’d hoped he could no longer see that same pained expression, framed by the setting sun and another unknown source of lightless radiance, now the only thing he wanted to focus on as he struggled to stay awake.

Verrill doesn’t want to die anymore. They were going to leave together, please.

They were so, so close.

[seth-whumps]

WWE 2025, Day 5: At Least It’s Not Manual

Trapped in a “car” / Stranded / “You can't drive like this.”

[Hamptrio – FP Mech Pilot! AU] — 1862 words

CW: none (mainly emotional whump)

@whumperless-whump-event

——

Nora’s starting to think that red is no longer her favorite colour. Not when the cockpit is bathed in crimson, sirens blaring, all systems beginning to fail one by one. It doesn’t take anyone much to tell that the mech is done for, and as for her…well. Monologue makes her seem calmer than she really is, because the damned mech wouldn’t let her hit eject. 

Not when the gargantuan, ever-shifting shadow of a creature stood over her, pounding the metal chassis of her right leg to a pulp as it roared gutturally.

Well, the mech’s right leg, at least. She felt everything it probably didn’t.

“Let me out! Please! It hurts! Please! Anyone..!” She kicks at the metal coffin of a shell encasing her, again and again and again, not a single dent made, one hand mashing the button for the intercom. Stupid. She never should have left the others to chase a lead. In this soundproof world of hers, confined within this otherness, she’s going to die alone. Yet another vermillion warning flashes across her eyes.

Oxygen supply depleted. Ten minutes remaining.

“Nonono. No.” Her staggered, uneven breathing refuses to control herself and she flails wildly, now using all four limbs to hit, kick, punch at any wall. Blood diffuses into the fluid engulfing her body, disappearing within seconds, and she resumes her assault against the shell, uncaring. “Anybody! Command center, hey!”

Surprise, surprise. No answer. Did her superiors seriously not think about this, or was this…was this planned? Of course not, she was a suitable candidate, rare as they were, they wouldn’t, definitely not. This was something else. A breach, perhaps?

The speaker abruptly stutters to life, releasing a burst of deafening static that makes her instinctively try to shield her now ringing ears. “Nora?” A familiar voice from the intercom, as unwelcome as he usually was, had her immediately halting and leaning in to try and make out the garbled words. 

“Present! Where are you, Haley, oxygen’s going, you’re the only one I’ve been able to receive, I—”

“It’s just the pilots left, though probably not for long. Something’s…” He trails off, hesitating. “I’m not receiving external communications, I’ve been switching frequencies for ages. I found Halcyon’s line too, hold on…” A buzz of static later, another voice chimes in, somehow even more unclear than Haley’s was. Furious concern tints her tone. “Nora, you left us! This…thing kept evading us, it doesn’t act like the rest, we needed you to help round it up. Where did you drive off to?” “That one’s a fluke to distract you, it’s just a separated part. The main body of it has been here this whole time with me, but I couldn’t get through to any…any of you—ow!” The sharp pain on her chest jolts her out of her dizzy stupor and she attempts to recalibrate her controls, desperately trying to make anything work. The creature’s moved on from disabling her movement to going straight for the core. Between her coughs, she just barely manages to form a coherent sentence. “S-systems failing, assistance…”

“H…huh? Shoot.” Faintly from the speaker, Nora hears the sound of metal footsteps hitting the concrete of the long-since empty street. “Haley, what’s your ETA?”

“--targets spotted. Instructions, ma’am?”

“—istract the entity while– manual eject, nearly—” Halcyon’s voice fades back into static just as the lights go off, the cockpit completely fading into jet black besides the singular blinking warning. 

Nora doesn’t know what’s going on outside besides the muted cues of battle, the constant crunching and clashing of materials along with the occasional energy pulse serving as half-successful distractions. Well. As far as she remembers, most assignments involving Haley usually don't end catastrophically. It’s hard to ignore that fact when the other employees all seem to talk about him behind his back, compliments laced with thinly-veiled fear. 

Piloting’s not the worst way to vent all that anger, blatantly obvious as it is. This time’s going to be all the same as the rest, a half-success for nobody to be proud of.

She’s not going to perish here. She’s not going to become another name on those plaques.

…Two minutes left.

Stupid. She wasted it all by being a fool just now. Y’know, she heard that when people die, their mind forces their best possible memories onto them to spare them a somehow more agonizing, painful demise. This must be it. Little Nora with her cool and awesome and capable brother, thinking that with him, even death wasn’t as scary. She thought it could somehow last forever back then, back when the world wasn’t such a terrible place, chaos running rampant without reason. Back when conflicts of such a scale were merely things from stories.

Whatever happened to that? 

Her brother stands in front of her, waving and calling her forward, and for a moment she feels small again, remembering how tall he always felt when she was near him. How tall everything was, really. Bang, bang, the surroundings go, and he is a puddle of blood on the floor, and he is smiling, and he is nothing at all. That’s right. He’s gone. There shouldn’t be anyone here at all, having evacuated underground the moment the citywide alarms started blaring. Her brother’s…her brother’s not here. The incessant pounding continues on and she blinks, confused, the differentiation between staying up and returning to slumber blurring into a jumble of recollections. 

“--where is the manual eject override lever, where is it… found it! Nora! Stay awake, I am stationed in place, you just need to stay awake, alright?”

Up, awake. Simple enough, right? She doesn’t even know what the rest of the instruction was. She hears something clicking, preceding the sensation of falling as the liquid around her sloshes and bubbles. A similar click occurs and her pod freezes in place. Footsteps approach her. The capsule surrounding her parts with a creak, the radiance of the midday sun blinding her half-closed eyes, and instinctively, her body takes a heavy gulp of air. Limbs still weak, head still aching. 

Still, awake.

—------

The force of the tugging sends the woman in front of her stumbling backwards. Nora doesn’t get a word in, breathless as she is, and Halcyon tilts towards a lack of metal. 

She’s out of the now-useless pod by the time Halcyon hits the ground, jumping and landing perfectly a short distance down from the mech’s crouched position. This mech’s pilot wasn’t so lucky. Halcyon groans and clutches her limp arm close to her chest, wincing as she tries to stand up.

Nora raises an eyebrow, glancing at the offending injury. “So, both our bad days, huh? You can’t drive like this.”

“And leave Haley to solve the crisis on his own? Absolutely not. Besides,” she says, flexing her arm and wincing, “not broken, see?”

“I…don’t see, actually, that looks like it hurts.”

“Mmm…alright, you can help, then.” 

“What..?” It’s the oxygen loss speaking. Definitely.

“Come on. No time to lose. Either that or you stay stranded until help arrives, we can both fit in mine. Older model, you know?” 

Halcyon’s already climbing the ladder up, albeit slightly slower than standard. Nora grabs the first rung of the ladder and follows her into the cockpit. It’s strange, like being in someone else’s body, not at all like her own one. She wasn’t lying about it being much more spacious, though. As a matter of fact, she’s pretty sure it doesn’t have a releasable pod at all. It feels more like a…

“Car?” “The controls for this were based on one, yes. It used to be able to convert into it, too, but the budget was too expensive. Verrill’s one can do that as well, I think. They changed yours up to protect the user more. Here, I can control the legs, you can do the arms, grab these.” Halcyon gestures to the pair of cords with a handgrip attached to the ceiling. The more you know. Halcyon’s mech is already running as she gracefully maneuvers its legs, the bot responding to her every action with ease. 

She fumbles with her own controls, testing them out before they enter the main grounds to fight, not used to holding something in her hands while in battle. “Where’s that newest cadet anyway?”

“Due for reassessment.” “What, that AI’s rebelling? I thought they were pretty docile during introductions.” “Firstly, Twelve has a name. Secondly, no, I believe it should be simple recalibration. Something went wrong during the last fight, repairs has no idea what the issue is, definitely not personality. Or so I heard. Anyways, I spotted the target, engaging in three.”

Shoot. She forgot to focus. Too interesting to not be the newest pilot, honestly. New tech too. She’s just distracting herself from what happened just now, isn’t she? Laying it upfront so she can finally admit it to herself, blasted weakling that she is. Doesn’t take a stupid person to figure that talking’s the only non-harmful way for her to cope with…all this. Radio communications still aren’t back, and clearly neither of them want to breach the subject. 

Her previous hope didn’t go to waste, at least. Haley did decently while acting independently. That is to say, if he even did anything to the intruder besides holding it in a stalemate. As they try to improve, the aliens are strengthening themselves equally so.

Three, two, one.

Halcyon’s mech lunges forward as Nora angles it to grasp the monster from behind, holding it in place. For a moment, the radio splutters to life once more, Haley’s voice muttering whispers. Then, the monster roars again and it silences itself, just like it had before. As the being changes shape, Nora punches it square where its chest should be and it ripples, revealing something within it. The core. 

She thought they’d need to prolong the fight for much longer, but turns out the monster’s…much weaker than she thought? Like her, if she ever became something like this. For a moment, it nearly seems human. But why?

Halcyon dodges to the side as Haley aims the sword he was issued, throwing it straight where the monster’s core showed and cutting it clean through the other side. The enemy destabilizes itself, twisting and contorting until it eventually dissolves. Nora’s legs finally give, knees hitting the floor as she lets go of the cords.

Scrolling on the radio, she finds the channel Haley’s in. “I figured it out. It’s been copying and diverting our frequencies. That’s why we couldn’t hear anything.” 

“It’s spying on us? Can it hear us?” “I’m not sure, but I don’t think it would understand us either way. It’s basic copying. Anyways, we need to go back to HQ, you were right on your thoughts just now. They must have figured it out and turned it off.” “What?” Halcyon turns back to speak to her, tilting her head in confusion, one finger hovering above her acceleration button.

“Reconvene, check up on home base. Both monsters were distractions. We’ve…” Breathe in and out. Pretend not to watch as horror dawns on Halcyon’s face, pretend not to think about her immobilized mech.

“We’ve all been compromised.”

[seth-whumps]

like this

hey you should take your formal whumpee and you should give them a huge, horrible, tearing wound. and then you should have them rip their tie/cravat/ascot/scarf off and use it to pack the wound. imperfectly. by themselves. because although it hurts like hell, they still have work to do.

[seth-whumps]

could you please delete the "you wint have to worry about it here" part of your squicks??? hard to say but it oisses me off like i like suicide whump tf you mean witrh "not have to wofry about it hefre" makes me kinda mad. sorry for the incvinience iiguess good night

No.

[seth-whumps]

hey you should take your formal whumpee and you should give them a huge, horrible, tearing wound. and then you should have them rip their tie/cravat/ascot/scarf off and use it to pack the wound. imperfectly. by themselves. because although it hurts like hell, they still have work to do.

[seth-whumps]