#SWoriginal

[sulphurwrites]

Migraine whumpee (me) sitting on the cold floor because extra strength ibuprofen, cold packs, heat packs, and mildly caffeinated drinks are doing anything 😔✊

[finn-boyegas]

sw character origins: finn

"Solo, we'll figure it out. We'll use the Force."

[sulphurwrites]

throwback to when a post of mine made it outside the whump community and people were PISSED that I wrote about forest fire related whump because it was "insensitive," as if I wasn't ACTIVELY EVACUTING BECAUSE OF FOREST FIRES

like jesus actual christ let a girl (he/they) cope 😭🙏

[sulphurwrites]

Augusnippets Day 3: Thunderstorm

Zombie Apocalypse Lesbians | Julie & Claire | One Shot | Stitches | Really bad weather lowkey |

CW: Stitches done outside of a sterile environment

**Please note that Julie is a trans woman. Her injuries in this are NOT from gendered violence or transphobia. If reading about transfemme whumpee's is triggering, this is your warning!**

Julie needs stitches and it's raining really bad oh nooooo.

Taglist: @whumpinggrounds @wondero28

Once upon a day, Julie had enjoyed thunderstorms. When they knocked her power out, it forced her to slow down, to stretch her fingers and step away from her sewing. She would stand in the dark, looking through the glass doors of her parents house, her silhouette blazoned by the lightning striking before her. She always returned to her projects rejuvenated, rested, and reinspired.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, you're doing really great."

Now though, thunderstorms were a different kind of distracting.

Julie was chilled down to her bones, her long hair plastered to her face as a rude reminder that having long hair in the apocalypse was a bad idea. Dysphoria be damned, she was one bad night away from shaving it all off.

Claire was working quickly beside her, stitching up a nasty slice on Julie's arm. To her credit, Claire's hands didn't shake, not even when thunder seemed to shake everything around them.

"Ow." Julie meekly complained as Claire finished another stitch.

"I know baby, we're almost done."

But it was never going to be over. The wound may close. The rain may stop washing her blood off the pavement. The sun may shine again, but there was never going to be an end.

Claire's warm hands wouldn't end either though. There were tiny blessings in the new world.

Julie supposed she might've finally learned to be okay with that.

[sulphurwrites]

Helicopter helicopter

Turning Red | Taeyoung and Jesse | Whumptober Day 4 | Shock | "You in there?" | Post Plane Crash

CW: Post traumatic incident (Plane Crash)

Taeyoung and Jesse were taken from the scene first.

Taeyoung was shaking. Even with the emergency blankets, even with the attendants watching him closely, even when he was offered an extra layer.

He couldn’t look out the windows. Being up in the air never made him uneasy before, but each shutter of the helicopter threatened to throw him back into the ocean. He didn’t quite believe that such a horrible thing could be truly over, like he was bound to that island.

It wasn’t right to leave like this, with the fates of three of the members up in the air.

In sharp contrast, Jesse was not shaking. His eyes were hazy, unseeing, it put Taeyoung off.

“Jesse?” He whispered.

Nothing.

“You in there?”

Nothing. Figures. Such a horrible thing couldn’t truly be over.

He rested his head on Jesse’s shoulder.

[sulphurwrites]

Down with the sickness

Turning Red | Robaire and Aaron T | Whumptober Day 2 | Thermometer | Delirium

CW: Implied Past Child Abuse/Neglect

Robaire and Aaron T have been quarantined to Aaron's room (they each have a fever) and Robaire still somehow manages to take care of T.

The wee hours of the morning cast a light grey hue over Aaron T’s room. Robaire counted the seconds in each minute, too restless to actually sleep. Aaron T was a heater next to him, softly snoring despite how sick he’d seemed forty minutes ago.

They were both sick. That’s why they were together.

Robaire twisted under the covers and reached for the thermometer on the bedside table. It sat at a steady 20 Celsius, about 11 degrees hotter than it felt. He fiddled with the end of it, watching the little red line reach up higher and higher as his fingertips warmed it.

Aaron mumbled something, so Robaire turned back to face him again. His brows were furrowed. The bed shook along with him.

Robaire shuffled closer, wrapping an arm around him. Aaron nuzzled into him and mumbled something barely legible.

“Mom?”

It took everything to stop himself from flinching.

“I’m cold.”

Robaire pulled the covers up higher, pulled him closer, did everything he could to make him comfortable. “I’ve got you.”

Aaron sighed into him, the tension leaving his face as he fell into deeper sleep. Robaire laid there, eyes open, and went back to counting the seconds in each minute.

[sulphurwrites]

Augusnippets Day 6: Plane Crash

Ted Lasso (Fandom) | Dani Rojas | Plane Crash | Guys this is LITERALLY my favourite trope | Anyways |

CW: Plane Crash, Bleeding Out (And associated side effects)

Dani wakes up after the Team's plane crashes. He doesn't quite understand what's going on.

Dani was almost certain it was summer, that's what made the light fall of snow so jarring. He wasn't sure why he was laying propped against a tree. He'd woken up that way.

It was August, wasn't it? Why was it snowing?

He shook from head to toe. A shard of shrapnel was his only source of heat. It radiated a burning sensation from its place imbedded in his leg. That was his good side. Shame.

He laid his head back against the frosty wood of the tree trunk, his hair falling in his face. Dani sighed, then winced. It was pretty cold for August.

He could only hope his teammates were somewhere warmer, somewhere that white ashes didn't fall like snow the beach.

But as his eyes started getting heavier, he wasn't sure he remembered any of their names.

[sulphurwrites]

When the world around us quiets, and it's just you and me

Zombie Apocalypse Lesbians | Julie and Clover | One-Shot | Fluff | Character and Relationship building exercise |

CW: Consensual non-sexual nudity

Julie and Clover take a nice bath in a very, very cold river.

Taglist: @whumpinggrounds @wondero28

There were times that Julie would've killed for cool water. She spent many long summer days longing to swim at the pool at her childhood home or to throw back a glass after hours hunched over a project. Hell, sometimes Julie would even daydream about a long, cold shower. Those were dark days.

Now though, that she was knee deep in a river no more than a mile away from the base, she couldn't imagine ever wanting to feel the tiniest bit cold ever again. Her toes had gone completely numb. Each tiny movement was a bite.

"You ready?" Clover's voice came somewhere from behind her, almost song-like in its own way.

"Don't look yet."

She chuckled. "You'd think I'd never seen you naked before."

Julie took another reluctant step. "I'm almost there."

"Yeah?"

"No." She shook. "It's cold."

"Can I come in?" Clover sounded closer. "It'll be easier if we go in quick."

"Only if you hold my hand."

"Try to stop me."

At the sound of a sploosh, Julie twisted to watch. Clover waded closer, barely flinching at the bitter cold. When she matched Julie's depth, she ran a careful hand over her shoulder. The touch was warm despite how cold Clover's fingers were. She shuddered under it.

"Let's go," Clover whispered. Her smile was kind.

“I think you hate me.”

“You know I love you.”

Julie smiled, which faded immediately as she waded further into the water. “Christ.”

“C’mon, just to your hips.”

She followed Clover, laser-focused on the hand which had drifted down to her back, guiding her forward. Once they’d made it a decent way further, they both stopped. Water lapped at Julie’s waist, and she wrapped her arms around herself to counteract the cold.

“We dunk?” Julie took Clover’s hand and squeezed it. “Cause I’m not going deeper.”

She breathed out a laugh, shoulders high as she shivered. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

They inched closer, just a little, and adjusted so they had their arms hanging loosely around each other’s necks. Julie liked to pretend they were slow dancing, that the river swaying was actually a current taking them across a ballroom floor. They would dance together, each in a dress Julie had stitched herself.

Clover’s would be an A-line gown, a deep green to complement the earth of her skin. The sleeves would hang below her shoulders, because how could Julie cover her freckles? She didn’t have a favourite part of Clover, but if she did, it might’ve been those freckles.

The illusion only lasted a moment though. She knew the real reason they were standing like that was to make sure one couldn’t chicken out of dunking their heads under the water. She supposed that was its own kind of love.

“Ready?” She brought her eyes up to meet Clover’s. She found a lively sparkle there.

“When you are.”

Julie took a breath.

And she submerged.

She was only under the water for a second before her head bopped back up. She kept her knees bent so her shoulders would stay under the water, hands frantically trying to get her hair out of her face.

Clover came up only a few seconds later, eyebrows furrowed against the cold. Julie giggled as Clover wiped the water from her face. Julie rinsed her hands to wipe at the grime on her face.

“You’ve gotta let me know when my face is clean.” She insisted.

Clover leaned a little closer, and Julie froze as she was inspected. “Hi Julie.”

She gave her a puzzled look.

“I’ve been traveling with some crazy lady covered in dirt, you have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

Julie rolled her eyes. “Oh you’re so funny.”

“You look good.”

Some of the warmth returned to her face. “You do too.”

After a moment, Julie shuffled a little. “Do you think you could wash my back?”

Clover nodded for her to turn around. “Of course.”

She shifted to face the other way, and pulled her hair forward to expose her back. Clover’s hands brushed lightly at the small of her back, a warning before she came in with a little more pressure. She shivered under the touch.

“You’ve gotten strong.” Clover commented.

“It’s the axes.”

“We should keep you on firewood then.”

Julie suppressed a smile. “I’m starting to get calluses.”

“The fact that you haven’t gotten calluses three years into the apocalypse is genuinely impressive.”

“I’m just so dainty.”

“Okay, sure.”

She laughed as Clover pressed into her back, chin resting on Julie’s shoulder as she hugged from behind. “All clean.”

“Thanks, Clover.”

“Oo,” she teased, “I love when you say my name.”

“Dork.”

“You love me.”

“Yeah.” She placed a quick kiss on Clover’s cheek. “I do."

[sulphurwrites]

I walk a lonely road, the only one that I have ever known

Zombie Apocalypse Lesbians | Clover | Whumptober Day 7 | Alleyway | Radio Silence | Hurt No Comfort

Clover's gotta make her way back to their temporary camp... injured... and it's very quiet.

Taglist: @whumpinggrounds @wondero28

The city shouldn’t sleep anymore. The alley’s shouldn’t be silent. Clover hated that she could hear her own laboured breathing. She shouldn’t be able to see stars in the sliver between the buildings that surrounded her. The blanket of light pollution did not tuck her in.

Her steps were heavy, loud thunks against the concrete. She winced with each one. Too much noise, she was going to draw something near.

The city should not have been sleeping. It should’ve been crawling with the living dead.

Clover shivered. She’d been shivering for a while, despite the summer city heat the she knew lingered throughout the night. She adjusted the pitiful piece of fabric she’d employed as a bandage around her arm, hissing through her teeth. Blood between her fingers wasn’t uncommon, but it was especially jarring when it was her own.

She trekked through the alley with a blind faith that she was headed the right way, that she’d get to the meeting point and she could lay down and let someone else worry about how much blood she’d lost. God, she wanted to lay down.

But Clover wouldn’t, so she walked.

She walked until she recognized the twists and bends. She walked until she saw the sign for the old Chinese food place. She rounded the corner, ready to drop her backpack and see her girls again.

Their camp was intact. It had not been ransacked. Julie’s latest project lay half-done next to Claire’s first aid kit. Their fort of jackets was upright.

So where was everyone?

The city should not have been sleeping. Clover was starting to think she’d crossed a threshold and entered a completely separate universe. It should not have been silent. She shouldn’t be so focused on the sound of her own breathing.

She dropped her backpack and slumped next it. No point in opening the first aid kit. She was too tired, too cold to do anything worthwhile with it. With her head resting on her hard, lumpy backpack, she let herself drift.

[sulphurwrites]

Free me from this illusion

Cyberspace | Blaire | Whumptober Day 3 | Journal | Solitary Confinement

CW: Psychological Torture

Blaire's been held in the Cyberspace's solitary confinement for weeks now, but that's not enough to make her give up the resistance's information.

Blaire’s usual coping mechanisms never worked in the Cyberspace. The AI ridden land had a way of getting to her in some fucked up psychological way.

She hated that the walls were both intangible and unbreakable. It hurt her ego. It meant that the AI, their technology was better than the resistance’s. It meant that she was actually trapped until someone outside could release her.

It had been weeks since she’d seen the outside world. The marks from her nails digging into her shoulders were pretty much the sole reminder that she hadn’t been in confinement for her whole life. Something about the code slowly stole her memories away. She couldn’t remember much anymore, just that the marks from her nails were her sign to trust the process.

This had happened before. The AI were smart about the torture, smart about how they extracted information from non-artificial life. It was a simulation, not a real loss. When she was rescued, she’d get everything back.

That’s what those marks meant. It was a code written in a language that only she understood.

She eyed the journal next to her, the one she wasn’t allowed to write in. That’s what they wanted, they wanted her to frantically try to write down everything she remembered before she forgot it. Oh well. She’d been using it to keep herself entertained.

With her finger, she traced another phallic symbol and snickered to herself. She vaguely knew somebody would be amused by it, someone she loved, but she couldn’t remember who.

That was the worst part. She couldn’t remember who.

[sulphurwrites]

Zombie Apocalypse Lesbians

It's a clunky name, but it's what I've been affectionately calling these five oc's, and it's stuck now haha. I thought I'd do a little character introduction before I start posting writing for them.

JOAN

In the structure of a five man band, Joan would be the leader. She's an ex Walmart manager, which has been surprisingly helpful in the apocalypse.

Joan is a Black woman, and quite feminine. When the group has downtime, she likes to take it to pamper herself, whether that's painting her nails or trying on clothes that Julie's been working on. She is a leader because she made to be. In her opinion, anyone else would have been a better pick.

VALERIE

Valerie can and will oppose every single plan they make, not to be a pain, but to make sure their choice is the soundest one. She's smart, brash, and has a knack for ending up in danger, despite her careful planning. In the moment, she's the kind to improvise.

She's Persian and visually impaired. She's been blind in one eye since birth, and started wearing an eyepatch during the apocalypse because she thought it would look cooler. Exercise is her go-to for blowing off steam.

JULIE

Smarter than anyone knows to give her credit for, Julie always aspired to be a fashion designer. She grew up very privileged, but lost her entire family early into the apocalypse. Julie picks up skills quickly (she credits that to the fancy boarding school she went to), but she doesn't always know how to apply them.

Julie is a whyte Trans woman, and is very very crafty. She's great at fixing things, making things, maintaining things, and was a very great addition to the team. Nobody expected much from the beautiful blonde young woman, but living without her would be so much more difficult.

CLOVER

Clover grew up always wanting a farm. The city wasn't doing it for her. She moved out at sixteen to work on her ex-girlfriend's parent's farm, both the livestock and the crops. It wasn't huge, but it was enough to scratch the itch, at least until she got dumped. She got a job at the local Walmart and moved in with Joan, who was looking for a roommate.

Clover is Mexican, and freckled on her face, shoulders, and upper back. She's got a lot of practical skills, both in muscle work and book smarts. She still enjoys reading in her spare time.

CLAIRE

Claire has a very special place in my heart. She's an optimist, perfectionist, and was a medical student when the apocalypse started. She's the emotional center of the group, and was very close with Valerie before everything went down. She considers them even closer now. Claire can and will try to help people, but only at her own risk. She will never put the group in danger on purpose.

She's whyte, and has very square features, and can come off quite intimidating. She's my shmooper dooper and I love her. She can and will be a whumpee hehehe.

[sulphurwrites]

For too long

Just Dance 2023 | Jack Rose and Wanderlust | Whumptober Day 9 | "You're a liar" | Post-whump

CW: Implied past child torture

Jack Rose takes care of an eepy sleepy Wanderlust.

Jack Rose knew better than anyone how long it took to recover from Night Swan’s wrath. He’d known since he was far too young to understand what it meant when his skin broke into black feathers. It was knowledge he’d been bitter about carrying. What use was there for the ways he’d learned to heal himself?

He was bitter, but less so now.

He smoothed out the covers on the end of his bed, around the lump of blankets where Wanderlust laid. There was a certain calm to his near stillness. It was better than the way the prince had writhed under Night Swan’s magic. His light snoring was far better than the hisses of pain.

As Jack got up, Wanderlust stirred. He mumbled something.

“Hm?”

“Were you leaving?”

Jack shuffled back onto the edge of the bed. “No.”

“Yes you were.”

“Oh really?”

“Mhm.” Wanderlust adjusted and settled with a sigh. “You’re a liar.”

“Okay your highness.” He rolled his eyes. “You got me.”

“Yes I did.”

Jack patted his leg. “Get some more sleep.” Wanderlust was already drifting back into the same peaceful sleep as before, even if the marks on his face were anything less than that. They would heal.

They would heal.

[sulphurwrites]

Let's go to the mall

Zombie Apocalypse Lesbians | Valerie, Claire, and Julie | Whumptober Day 8 | Outnumbered | "It's all for nothing"

Malls and zombie apocalypses don't mix. Valerie can't count how many times she's said that.

Taglist: @whumpinggrounds @wondero28

Back when she was a kid, Valerie hated malls. She hated how there was a constant roar of conversation, she hated the fries on the floor of the food court, she hated dodging the adults who seemed unaware of the short kid with zero depth perception. She especially hated when she’d run into something, whether that was because she wasn’t paying attention or she’d misjudged the distance between herself and something else.

Not that much had changed. She still hated malls. She hated that malls were a risk they almost always took in the apocalypse. She hated that there was always inhuman murmuring in places she couldn’t see. She hated the mold. She hated that all the tossed trash cans and broken pipes made traversing it an even worse nightmare.

For some awful reason that Valerie could not understand, Joan always insisted that everyone go inside whenever they come across a mall. That morning, it didn’t matter that Claire had a fever, nor did it matter that Valerie had offered to stay outside with her. It didn’t matter that they’d run into a hostile group at the last mall they explored. It didn’t matter that Joan was still recovering from how those hostiles hurt her.

No. For some reason, nobody ever listened to her. Valerie had a habit of making good points! But no.

Not that the frustration she was feeling would be useful in any way to voice. She’d learned a long time ago that life and death situations were not the place for “I told you so.”

She was furious though.

Claire leaned on her left shoulder. Even in the cold of winter, she was unnaturally warm. God, why did anyone let her inside a potentially dangerous place? With her back pressed to the wall, Valerie weaponized her metal rake to shove the hoard of zombies back. She’d picked it up at a garden center a couple weeks back, it was easily the most useful thing she’d ever grabbed in terms of hoard management.

To Valerie’s right, Julie was dead focused on trying to pick the lock to the mystery door behind them. Sweat ran down her temples.

They were all going to die. They were all going to die and Clover and Joan were missing and they were also going to die.

“I’m sorry,” Julie apologized for the millionth time.

Valerie adjusted to hold Claire more securely. “You’re okay, Julie. I’ve got us.”

“I swear to God this lock-”

She jabbed the rake forward again. “I’ll be real, we are seriously in trouble.”

As if to emphasize the point, a zombie lunged uncomfortably close. Valerie jabbed her elbow out to knock it back.

“Don’t use your hands” Claire mumbled.

“That wasn’t my hand.”

Julie shook her head. “I’m really trying.”

“You’re doing great,” Valerie assured.

Claire wasn’t finished. “You used your elbow, you can’t do that.”

“Val.” Julie clicked her tongue

Valerie huffed.

Her biceps ached from holding the rake straight out, but there wasn’t another option and the density of zombie’s only continued to grow. Would they be able to get the door shut behind them after they got it open? Would they even be able to get it open before they were too severely outnumbered? She could only wish for that calm before the storm feeling, the feeling you’re supposed to feel when you’re about to die.

But her girls were here. She couldn’t be okay with dying if her girls were here. God, the rake was heavy. Valerie only barely heard Claire’s whisper.

“It’s all for nothing.”

It sent a wave of chills down her spine. “Julie-”

“Got it!”

In a heartbeat, Valerie shoved Claire through the open door, where Julie caught her. Valerie gave the hoard one more shove back before backing through the entrance and slamming it shut and throwing her weight against it. The only light in the tiny room came from under the door.

“Are you okay?” She asked both of them at once.

“I’m clear.” Julie helped Claire sit, who gave Valerie a weak thumbs up.

She took a deep breath in. “Okay.”

“Please sit down.”

She obliged, still keeping her back firm against the door. “I hate malls.”

Claire snorted, an awful sound with her congested nose. “I think I do too.”

“Please don’t give Joan an earful.” Even in the dark, Valerie knew Julie was weaponizing her eyes, probably batting her lashes all flirty.

“Oh I won’t. I won’t have to. I bet she already knows exactly what I’d say anyway.”

“I’m tired,” Claire decided.

“Get some sleep.” Julie ran her fingers through Claire’s hair. “We’re gonna be here for a while.”

She mumbled something unintelligible and buried herself in Julie’s lap. Valerie couldn’t help but smile. “Make sure she can breathe please.”

“Of course!”

They sat in that dark room for an uncountable amount of time, completely in silence for long enough to have either been minutes or hours.

“Valerie?”

She looked up. “Mhm?”

Julie sounded apprehensive. “Joan and Clover...?”

“They’re safe.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

They had to be safe. They had to be there waiting for the three of them when the zombies finally abandoned the door. Joan and Clover would be waiting for them outside this God-forsaken mall.

Fuck malls.

[sulphurwrites]

Fan mail

Turning Red | Taeyoung | Whumptober Day 6 | Recording | "It should have been me"

CW: Implied past character death

Taeyoung's favourite coping mechanism is getting mail. That can totally never go wrong.

Taeyoung loved mail. He loved mail a whole lot, he loved getting mail even after Lemongrass Records stopped pre-screening it for him. He’d stay up late, opening any and all mail addressed to him. The copious amounts of cards wishing him well, sending their condolences, and the occasional regular piece of fan mail always made his day.

It wasn’t uncommon for him to open an envelope to a CD or DVD. People sent mixtapes, covers, and fan videos all the time. That’s why he didn’t find it odd. It wasn’t odd until his DVD player spun and the screen on his TV lit up.

It took only a couple of seconds before he started to shake. He recognized the watermark along the top of the video. It was branded along his own memories of that time.

Lemongrass.

He couldn’t look away.

There was a slight static, as though the footage was older than it really was. It was unlike Lemongrass to let their footage wither away like this. Someone must’ve found it discarded.

It was a private interview. He remembered it like he did any other thing. His practised expression was cool and natural on the TV screen in front of him.

“What do you remember about the press conference?” A voice off screen asked.

Many things. He remembered many things about that press conference. His ex-managers hands had laid permanent marks on his neck.

“Not a lot,” on screen Taeyoung said,“just the car ride home.”

The image changed, showing Jesse in the same seat. Taeyoung’s eyes stayed glued to the screen, heart-beating strongly in his chest.

“Where do you spend most of your free time?” An innocent enough question without further context.

Jesse’s answer was cool and confident.“In my studio, working on pottery.”

The DVD started to skip. Taeyoung moved to to pull it out, but the image changed again just as his fingertips met the remote.

Aaron T, with his lopsided grin and relaxed stature, feigned a playful, surprised glance into the camera.

“Why have you been snooping through our files?”

His heart skipped a beat.

Aaron T shrugged. “You know why.”

“Then-”

“I have no interest in saying anything.”

“Who else knows?”

Taeyoung was completely frozen. Aaron hadn’t mentioned any of this part of the interview to him.

“Just me.”

It was too similar.

It was far too similar.

Some otherworldly force pushed him to shut the TV off. He slumped back onto the couch, shaking.

It was just like before.

It was just like when Aaron broke his collarbone.

It was just like when Taeyoung couldn’t keep his big mouth shut at the press conference.

They all suffered for it. All five of them did.

This time though, it was irreversible.

As it tended to on rough nights, Taeyoung drifted back to that beach, to the ache of his broken arm and the sand in every crevice of his body. He was back around the fire with all five of them, waiting to be rescued, unaware of what was yet to come.

It should have been him.

[sulphurwrites]

Incoming!

Spider-Man Villains | Max Dillon (Electro) | Whumptober Day 5 | Pinned Down

CW: Swearing, Implied past torture

Max is a silly guy who thinks silly things definitely never get's accidently hit by the things Spider-Man throws.

It was a complete accident. He wasn’t even fighting. Max was just walking, minding his own business, taking a nice stroll down the beach. Did he zap the occasional half-destroyed sand castle? Yes. That wasn’t a crime though. For the first time in a while, he wasn’t causing trouble.

And then it hit him. It literally hit him. A car.

He let out a pathetic yelp as it toppled him over, electricity spurting from his fingers as he tried to catch himself.

The weight of the car pressed him into the sand. It didn’t even have the courtesy of being warm sand. Fuck the nighttime for ruining his nice comfy warm sand.

Especially when he tried to shuffle his way out from the metal and sand prison, only to discover that he was significantly more hurt than he’d initially thought. A wash of embarrassment greeted him as waves of dull, pounding pain ran through him. Really? He hadn’t even been fighting the guy, what if he’d been a civilian? He spat webs out of his mouth as they settled on his face with the dust. Just his luck.

He waited there.

And waited.

It was comical really, how many times he’d been left like this. Max Dillon, regular punching bag of the universe. Alas, being crushed by a car was infinitely better than anything he’d experienced at the raft, by far.

He shuddered. The sudden movement made the pain spike.

The memories came with a twist of dread, that horrible machine, the cuffs around his wrists, the prods and punches and beatings when he wasn’t putting out enough energy. He couldn’t go back there.

He couldn’t.

Silently, he prayed that he wouldn’t get found.

AUTHORS NOTE:

Am I confident in this? No. Do I kind of hate it? Maybe a little, but I will not be a victim of my perfectionism so y'all are getting it as is! Istg this is the only way I'm gonna finish this month!!

[sulphurwrites]

Lips go cold when there's rent to meet

1930s Germany OCs that I literally just made up | Hans and Fritz | Whumptober Day 12 | Red | Gay people idk |

CW: Stab wound. Mentions of the Ringvereine (german mafia)

Hans couldn't pay up.

The old cabaret laid silent, the velvet chairs vacant. The red glow of neighbouring neon signs peeked in the mostly shut curtains. The sign on the door read “closed.”

Hans understood those facts. Usually, that sign was his barrier of protection after he closed. To be fair, most nights didn’t warrant a visit from the Ringvereine. Maybe that was naive. He supposed, as he laid with his back to the wooden set piece on his stage, that this night had been coming from the moment he couldn’t pay anymore.

Still, he shivered. Even under his suit jacket, he couldn’t stop shaking. If he’d had the drive to pull his arms away from his chest, he figured rubbing his hands together wouldn’t do much to warm him up.

It was a warning, one Hans could not heed. He didn’t have the means

Maybe that was why he didn’t stumble out into the street and call for help. He was dead from the moment he bought his beloved cabaret.

So he laid there, bleeding from the slash across his chest, the one that wasn’t supposed to be fatal. The only thing he could’ve-

“Frau Weber!” 

How did he miss the sound of the door swinging open? 

Footsteps pattered over. “You don’t look good.”

It was Fritz. Hans decided his heart was better off not speeding up at his arrival. That seemed like a poor choice when he was already bleeding. Anyhow, Fritz took his hand. “You’re cold.”

“A little.”

His eyes grew wide. “You’re bleeding.”

“A little.”

“Come.” Fritz tore his jacket off and wrapped it around Hans. “I’ve got you.”

Such frank language. As if Fritz’s words were magic, Hans shuddered as a warm flush hit his cheeks. 

“I’ve got you.” Fritz repeated. It was no more than a whisper.