#whump rp snippet

[auroragehenna]

AI-less Whumptober

Day 18 (Bloody knuckles)

TW/CW: Punching a wall (kinda sh-y), torture trauma, threatening whumper, manhandling, defiant whumpee, scared whumpee, isolation whump-cold whumper (at the very end), Word count: 721

Pix is the lovely whumper oc of @yourlocalgaefae33 from an rp she and me are creating. If you wanna read it let me know and I can see if you can get the link to the whump discord server.

Lyra was staring at the heavy door that had shut behind Pix. She listened to her footsteps disappearing  and tried to calm her heavy breathing. It was no use and shortly after she found herself storm towards the next wall and punch it with her fist. It hurt and damn it felt good. So she kept on punching until she barely felt the pain anymore. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid! Why did I mess up!? How could I mess this up!! How could I let her see so much, how-what she saw. The fear. No. NO. No! And now I’ve lost privileges. Okay smallest of my problems. Follow! The! Gods! Damn! Rules! That’s the only fucking thing!! Adam. Girahim. Lilith. Lucifer. Belial. Crow. Zestia. Electra. You’ve always done it. SO STICK TO THE DAMN PLAN! Each thought undermined with a strong punch. Suddenly through her panicked anger she sees red. Literally. There’s streams of red on the wall in front of her. She looks down on her fist and sees its bleeding. Shit. She thought. But then she heard footsteps come closer to the basement door. Her eyes go wide and she scrambles to go back to her stance in the middle of the floor. Arms legerly crossed, trying to hide her bloody knuckles from Pix. Every touch burned but it was better than giving the bitch the satisfaction.

Pix entered the door and made sure to lock the door behind her before walking down the stairs.

Lyra sees that her before injured hand is now bandaged and it gives her a little bit of satisfaction. That’s gonna suck for her for a while, she thought grimly.

Pix walks straight up to her, stopping only a meter or so away. Definitely inside Lyra’s personal space bubble and definitely in arm’s length. “What are you so cocky about huh? You failed in every possible way. And the only thing that came out of it is that I got to see your panic. Your fear.”

“No. It also proved that you’re not untouchable, you’re not invincible or perfect. And now we both saw that.”

Pic quickly takes a step toward her and grabs her chin roughly before smiling ever so sweetly. “Oh honey, you just got lucky. You caught me lacking simply because I was happy. And how could I not be if you’re giving me everything.”

“Bull!”

“No.”

Lyra imitates a Russian accent: “I am not giving everything.”

“Aww still trying to play your little games?”, Pix taunts before grabbing Lyra’s arm and ripping it down, breaking her kidnappee’s confident stature. A short, pained hiss escaped Lyra and Pix looked at her arms in confusion. Her gaze falls on Lyra’s bloody knuckles, then to the closest wall with the blood smears and a sadistic grin breaks the tension in her face. “Well, well, well, what is this? Were you trying to already punish yourself by yourself?”

“Yeah, sure.”, Lyra bit back.

“Or was there maybe another reason why you redecorated my wall?”, Pix drills in a luring tone.”

“I simply felt like it. It’s actually kinda fun, I used to sometimes do it at work with the soil bags we sell. Outside in the cold.” “-Lyra. Stop trying to stall. Or distract me. That might have worked with Adam but not with me.

Lyra paled but she didn’t flinch. Even if, wouldn’t flinch.

“Why would you punch a wall, Lyra?”

“It’s none of your business!”

“What were you thinking, hm?

Lyra gasped softly for air.

Bullseye, Pix thought triumphantly.

“Nothing of interest. The wall just looked very punchable!”

“Se defensive.”

“Uuugh! You’re impossible.”

“My best guess is-she digged her nails further into Lyra’s face when she tried to pull her head away-that you were frustrated with yourself. That you were trying to remind yourself of your rules-she drew goosefeet into the air at that word. Tell me, is that how you teach yourself, Lyra? Do you learn well through pain?”

Lyra’s eyes go wide. Noup, fuck no. “Nice try, but no.”

“Hmm. Guess I’ll just have to see for myself during the time you’re here don’t I.”, and with that she released Lyra’s chin and took a box Lyra didn’t even notice she brought back upstairs with her. A few sausage sticks and bread flew down the stairs before the door fell shut.

Bonus for the ones that get the Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow reference. Lyra is a huge (quoting) nerd!

Taglist: @yourlocalgaefae33, @princessofhe11, @greatkittencloud, @bisexuawolfsalt, @ailesswhumptober

[creppersfunpalooza]

Caught

CW/TW: drugs, mentions of addiction, vian. just generally vian, quick implications of dehumanization, lab stuff, mentions of corpses, self-experimentation

hi guys i actually wrote something. rare. shocking. limited edition…. (in the sense that i will probably delete it if i decide i hate it later)

————————————————————————

Silence is like a poorly fitting shoe. It’s uncomfortable at first, but you eventually grow into it. Dr. Venstal was used to working in silence. He was familiar with it. He’d even go as far as to say he usually preferred it. It let him concentrate. No frivolous distractions. Cadavers are very quiet. Amazing listeners, but generally speaking, they don’t have any words of their own.

But in that dimly lit office, the silence brought him no comfort. It hung in the air like cigarette smoke, coating over and sticking to everything it could. It didn’t help that his boss’s eyes were boring into his with an uncomfortable intensity. He couldn’t figure out what the man was thinking. Both that and the palpable tension in the air caused his throat to swell.

“Do you want to tell me what you were doing?” His boss was the first to speak, as was expected. His expression was completely neutral. An impartial judge waiting to determine his fate, no doubt. It didn’t reassure him.

“I…” The doctor started, but he swallowed down the words before they left his mouth. “I don’t know.” Feigning ignorance. It wouldn’t get him anywhere, he knew that, but it was the only thing he could think to do. At this moment, he was neither innocent nor guilty. He could still plead his case.

The man across the desk sighed and slid an ampule forward. The label was written neatly in Vian’s handwriting. The vial itself was partially empty, with only a few pearls of clear liquid sloshing around inside the glass. Vian bit down on his lip. He hoped the coppery taste would be enough to keep him grounded.

“Well, I just… Wanted to try something. I don’t exactly have people lining up to test these sorts of things.” He murmured, pressing against the couch. The wood frame creaked beneath him.

His boss rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Dr. Venstal, you know I trust you. I need you to do the same for me. I’m not firing you, and I doubt I will. Just tell me what you were thinking.” He sighed, gently placing the vial to the side.

“As you know, I have a hobby of developing medicines.” The doctor started, fiddling with his hands just out of view. “And, well, I can’t test those on anyone. I’m not authorized to do so.”

“And you thought your best option was using yourself?” Incredulousness hung heavy in his voice. “Do you realize how wrong that is? How much was at stake?” The rabbit’s judgment was clear. Painfully so. Of course Vian knew the consequences, he had a brain. It wasn’t as if he’d done it on a whim.

“I do, I’ve considered the risks. I just… Figured the results would outweigh the suffering. I see my mistake now. I shouldn’t have put myself in danger.” He replied with artificial sincerity. This situation was terrible, but not as bad as it could have been. He could salvage it. Best case scenario, he’d keep his job, get a small reprimanding, and maybe be monitored for a few days. Perhaps if he played his cards right, he could even gain a test subject from this whole ordeal. There were plenty of candidates, they just weren’t accessible to him.

His boss smiled. A good sign. “I’m glad to hear that, Dr. Venstal. I understand what you were trying to do, really I do. It’s very admirable, but we can’t have you risking yourself. You’re too important.” He spoke softly. There was something wrong about the way his tone changed. He’d been so professional just a moment prior. “But… We’re not done here.”

Vian wracked his brain. What else was there to speak of? He hadn’t left anything incriminating behind. Nothing that would be out of place, anyway. He’d hidden his tracks well. Paranoia crept into the edges of his brain, trickling into the little bends and folds of his mind.

“I searched your office. I found a concerning amount of opioids. Ones you’ve made, and ones that I can only assume you’ve also been… testing.” Oh. that. He hadn’t really expected him to notice. After all, it wasn’t really uncommon for someone in his field. Still, it didn’t look good for him. He didn’t have a proper way to respond.

In full honesty, he rarely tested anything addictive on himself. If he had to, he made sure to space it out. Instead, he turned to his patients for that. People who could be easily monitored as long as they stayed in the sanctuary. It had been harmless so far, only causing a few long-term drug dependencies. Nothing serious, just faults of the patient not being able to overcome the initial craving. He couldn’t exactly explain that to his boss though, not without being put away. He didn’t want to lie to him about drug addiction of all things, but what other choice did he have? Going to jail?

He steeled his nerves and responded.

“Well, yes, but I haven’t done anything like that for weeks. You can test my blood, if you need to.” He felt ashamed for admitting to an action he hadn’t even committed, but by the sympathetic expression on his boss’s face, he knew he’d made the right choice.

The man set his hands on the desk, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. “Thank you for being honest with me. This must be a very sensitive topic for you, but I hope you understand that I can’t just let this continue.” He took a deep breath before revealing his verdict. “I think it would help if you got some fresh air. Working yourself to death in that office isn’t doing you any favors. You’ll also need to retake your psychological evaluation, and I’ll be recommending you a therapist.” He spoke with a reformed sense of professionalism. Vian was a bit surprised by how mild all of this was. Was that really it?

“You’re dismissed, A7. I’m looking forward to seeing your improvement.”

[halibellecter]

An Ounce of Prevention

--

It's flu season on base. Doc didn't really care about it, O'Malley even less so, but Oklahoma is a bit more invasive pushy overbearing stubborn infuriating thorough about preventive care, so on a rotating schedule at both bases, everyone's been shot.

She had put off her own dose until everyone else was out of the woods with their side effects; this new strain that's capable of infecting aliens and humans is so virulent and tenacious that the shot itself is nearly as bad as the sickness, albeit in a controlled environment and for days instead of weeks/months/the rest of the patient's very short and miserable life. It's... well... it's bad.

Out of the collected sim troops, mercenaries, and fellow Freelancers on both bases, she's had ten people faint, four of them with no history of syncope, five or maybe six-- she doesn't know how to count the AI version-- cases of severe nausea and vomiting, and upwards of a dozen severe fevers that set off biochip alarms and even got them a call from Command to ask if they needed to send someone from Recovery. The offer was appreciated, but ultimately declined, as the agent in question was being hosed down in a cold shower and given as many antipyretics as safely possible. You're not supposed to take them for a post-vaccine fever, but at this point, knocking down his immune response by reducing the fever was a smaller concern than the hundred and fourteen degree temporal artery reading and the possibility of severe brain damage. (Wyoming is fine, but his accent appears to have boiled off.)

Add in to that the migraines, regular headaches, bad-but-not-severe fevers (miserable anyway), and general malaise, and it's a really good thing the only threats to look out for in Blood Gulch are the guys on the other team. She's started more IVs and given more fluids and meds in the past week than in a month of typical missions. And yesterday, she finished out treatment for everyone else, did another round of checkups to make absolutely sure everyone was in great shape, then double checked again to be safe. Late that evening, in the medbay, she shot herself.

She can vaguely remember thinking, huh. That wasn't so bad. But then for most people it started after a few---

It was close to three AM when she woke up in the floor, dazed and dizzy, ears ringing. Groaning, she set her alarm and curled back up, face against the blessedly cool tile floor. Not sanitary, but she was a little too feverish to care.

Two hours later, at zero five hundred, the alarm went off, dragging OK out of a fever dream that may eventually require trauma therapy. She managed to get out of the floor, cleaned up, changed, and settled at her desk, but there's no energy left for anything else. Sounds are muffled as if they're underwater, overlaid with echoing ringing. It feels like her bones are melting. But as long as no one needs her, and no one gets sick, and there's no reason for her to have to move, talk, think, or breathe, she'll be fine.

[wardenred]

Whumptember 3: "This Can't Be It"

Based on a RP a friend and I have had going on for years. I think I'll be coming back to it again this month. Superheroes are fun to torture.

This can't be it.

There is nothing left to breathe but the smoke. The air itself is burning, along with the redwood furniture and the velvet curtains, the countless invaluable documents and photographs in all those unlocked chests, all the evidence of what Flame's life could have been. The life he's been hunting for. The life he doesn't even remember. So close, for the very first time, and never so far out of reach.

He curls on the thick smoldering carpet, coughing his lungs out, and wow, isn't this the most ridiculous way to go? He's supposed to be the strongest pyrokinetic in this whole cursed city. That's the entire reason he's been able to stay on the Force for so long. Why they have tolerated his sloppiness, his "unconventional methods," his inability to come to terms with his amnesia. He is the master of fire. Flame itself. 

But the depowering toxin is coursing through his system, and it's clear his luck has run out.

Still, he tries. He twists around, stretching his fingers out to the brightest flare, and wills it to die down. To burn in a different direction. To bend to his call and clear a way out of him. 

The flame ragen on, governed by nothing except the merciless laws of physics.

A part of him still hopes Batshit might come back for him. Through his tears (cough-induced, or perhaps smoke-induced, certainly there is no other reason), he sometimes thinks he catches glimpses of a white costume behind the collapsed ceiling beams. It's nothing but wishful thinking, though, the last desperate hallucination of a suffocating mind. She's not there. She chose to save the child and not him.

To be fair, if she chose him over that small, innocent girl, she wouldn't be his best friend.

Can't she come back for him, though? Can't anyone? It's not that he wants to be saved. He'd much rather prefer to save himself. He's always hated being rescued—but between humiliation and death, the choice is obvious.

This can't be it. It can't be over. I have things to live for, goals to chase.

I don't even know who I am yet.

The sparks on the carpet grow, turn into proper flickers, crawl toward his face. He tries to grab control of them again, and he fails, fails, fails.

There's that pale spot again, moving through the edges of the room, off-white, soot-stained. Human-shaped. Batshit, he wants to think, but he can't. That's not her costume. Not her mask. That's not real.

That's...

"Well, hello there," a familiar voice drawls. The faceted goggles stare down at him impassively. "Funny, I distinctly remember you telling me fire could never hurt you. I guess you were simply trying to make an impression."

Flame is torn between Please, be a hallucination and Please, be real.

The damn villain crouches by his side, slings Flame's arm over his skinny shoulder, props him up. He's too solid to be a product of Flame's imagination and stronger than a skinny guy like him is allowed to be.

"What—" Flame tries. "What—"

His throat is too dry to form more words than that. His knees keep buckling under him.

Across the room, a window shatters, spraying grass into the dark, siren-filled night. 

"Hold tight, sweetheart." The villain’s breath against Flame's ear is hotter than the air around them. "Time to learn to fly."

[befuddled-calico-whump]

would you ever consider posting some info / summary of the uriah whump you do in rp’s? 👉🏻👈🏻

Ooh I definitely can--

Maybe snippets? Some chunks are nsfwhump, but those can go on my other account 👀

[natsora]

Get to Know the Fanfic Writer

Thank you for tagging me! @wickedwitchofthewilds

Tagging @crackinglamb @hardcore-like-eezo @tungstenb No obligations

When did you post your first-ever fanfic?

According to AO3, that's August 2017

First Character(s) you wrote?

That has to be Ryder. I'm sliding on and off the MEA train for a little while now.

Original character wise has to be Kiba the dog I gave Ryder. xD

Main Character(s) you’re currently writing?

For fanfic: That's a little bit of a toss up. I just got done posting my latest MEA longfic. So it will be a while before I return there. So I think Trev, my female inquisitor has to be it.

For original fiction: It's Ruo. She started as a character I used for RPs. But now she's a whole person featured in her personal crazy nightmare series.

Character(s) you haven’t written about before but plan to soon?

Hmm... Nothing planned currently.

Fandom(s) you’re currently writing?

Mass Effect, Mass Effect Andromeda, Dragon Age.

Platonic Pairing(s) you’re currently writing?

Well not currently writing them but I've written Aega my original asari dancer character and Commander Shepard

Romantic Pairing(s) you’re currently writing?

Lexington Trevelyan (my female inquisitor) and Cassandra Pentaghast. OTP. xD

Your top AO3 tags?

Angst (52)

Hurt/Comfort (52)

Whump (45)

Current platform you use for posting?

Only on AO3.

Snippet of the WIP you are currently working on?

Black and white speckles shimmered in the air. They didn’t attempt to amalgamate into a whole or serveral wholes. So far, they merely danced in the dim light like dust motes. No screaming, no staticky whispers. But Ruo remained watchful. The muted colour room that resembled the safe parts of the Inbetween was empty. She didn’t trust the room or the speckles. Circling the cloud, she realised it filled the entire space. She could even be breathing it in. As soon as the thought occured to her, something inside her throat caught. She coughed and choked. Looking at her hands, static buzzed under her skin. No longer solid, but an amorphous cloud, she couldn’t hold shape.

Ruo screamed. Only a shriek came forth.

No!

[squidkid15]

I have finished everything for the day so please just throw anything and everything you got I will eat it up

You wanna ramble and I wanna be rambled to

OKAY LETS GO bear with me this is gonna be disjointed as hell and probably really long.

So the whole AU started with this scene very specifically. The entire concept, from this.

We ( @feliadox is the other half of this AU) were talking about what that is and how it worked, and the whole AU spiraled from that.

The AU is also more RP than whole AU, so it's kindof disjointed scenes of what we feel like RPing through, but it's still linear. We're telling a story but jumping to the scenes we wanna RP through, if that makes sense? And it all takes place after the main series, we didn't alter any events from the show, just tossed some headcanons in and kept the story going.

Each scene seems to keep coming back to what we've started to call "cores," hence the name of the AU. They're both the soul of an immortal as well as their power source. Immortals draw on them for magic (clones, shapeshifting, gold vision, glamor magic, etc.) and they're a finite pool of energy. A very large one! It takes a LONG time (or Something Else) to drain them completely, but it can happen.

When a core is depleted, the soul is dead. (Not necessarily the body, this is an important distinction).

Cores can also be damaged independently of the energy within. It has to be magical (a spear wouldn't do it, but a magical spear would) and has to have a pretty considerable amount of force behind it to actually do any damage. Enough emotional trauma can also damage or alter a core. Surface cracks on older cores are very common, the older the core the more likely it is the immortal has Been Through Some Shit.

A completely shattered core is a dead core. They don't necessarily break when the body dies, but if a core is broken that's dead. Mac's broke when he was killed, but it wasn't repaired when he was revived, even though it was jumpstarted again.

Cores can also be removed, like Mac does to MK in the show, but it will usually be catastrophic on the body (It's also a relatively rare ability). The reason MK didn't was because his powers weren't fully revealed yet, he wasn't a full immortal yet, so he didn't necessarily NEED the core, at least for survival.

Mac doesn't have true sight to see the cores, but he can reach in and interact with them. Be it yoinking them (like the show) or, where we expanded to in the RP, he can take and give power to them when he's in contact.

(enjoy the out-of-context snippet lmao)

And from those basic thoughts about cores, the rest of the AU just...spirals from there. It's a lot of exploring cores and how they work (and usually beating up monkies, we're both whump enjoyers).

Right now we're on what we've dubbed the Fever Wukong Arc (tm) where we infected his core with some fun corruption and are toying with all the effects of that lmao.

[gaze-into-whump]

time for another whump blog

Hello everyone!

My name is Abyss. I’ve been following whump for a while, but I finally decided to bite the bullet and gather all my stuff in one place. I primarily RP and then write snippets based on the stories, which means that for every one of my OCs there’s probably about ten aus that they’re also involved in.

My most worked on though is Project Oracle, a story about a few psychics who thought they were going to boarding school but ended up in a government black ops facility. The main characters are James, a powerful telekinetic, B, the non-powered rebel leader, and Porter, a teenager who can control people’s bodies. As a result, everyone wants control of him.

All of my protags tend to switch off between whumpee and caretaker because why not share the hurt? :)

I’m currently following @justwhumpythings @untilthepainstarts @whump-my-dude, and many more

Here are some of my favorite tropes

-Mind control

-memory alteration

-drug abuse

-magical exhaustion

-intimate/creepy whumpers

I’m really excited to join this community! Hello!

[starscreamloki]

About me

Yeah, so guess what, this post is indeed about me (surprise!). I interact with a lot of you on a daily basis and sometimes I wonder who is behind the profile. Why? I’m a curious creature but I thought that maybe it would be nice if I tell you a little bit about who is behind StarScreamLoki. And because I’m bored on this lovely Saturday-evening, I thought why not? This post actually got way longer than I expected, ah well... If you have more questions, feel free to IM me, reblog, reply, send smoke signals, whatever floats your goat (yes that is on purpose a goat).

Some basic stats

29 years young, based in the Netherlands, non-binary (pronouns she/her/he/him), and I have a lovely partner (who supports me to the fullest in this crazy fandom and everything I do actually) and two cats!

Where does your profile name come from?

Oh, the horror and the blessing. Star Scream is a name from a Transformer (I really don’t know which one, don’t care either actually, haha) I just really loved the name Star Scream and I had to add something to it to create this account and well, since the focus of this account was to be Loki it wasn’t really hard to figure it out ;-)

Other blabs in random order

I’m a larper (something that I hold very dear to my heart and is very important for me).  I’m an archer. I can sword-fight. I’m a coder (front end developer). I’m a graphic designer. I’m a leather artist (yes I create items from leather, like complete armours and stuff). I’m an event-organizer (I own a business for that). I have a blue belt karate(currently not practicing anymore). I am very creative in any possible way, making my own clothing (mostly for larp), coloring, pixelhobby, painting, cross-stitching... ... I’m going to stop here because that creative list is endless actually. And I’m a writer!

Yeah, if you wonder by now how I manage all the above; ADHD ;-)

Behind the writer

Some time ago I answered some questions about my writing. Might as well throw them in here.

How long have you been writing?

I’ve been writing since I was a teenager, 14 I think. I’ve written for various fandoms though I lost all that work. It’s not worth searching for it either, not that good. Haha.

Are you a writes-too-much-description type of fanfic writer, or the writes-too-much-dialogue fanfic writer?

Definitely a writes-too-much-description writer. I have trouble writing a good conversation because I have this thing where I can’t break conversations with an action of a character or if they interrupt one-other. For me power lies in details but I know I have to be very careful not to put too much detail in there otherwise it will get messy. You’ve got no clue how many words I delete when checking up on a work before posting it.

What is your specialty as a fanfic writer?

To quote from the description of my blog: “I'm the demon that prowls the angst/hurt/dark/whump/sub!Loki abyss.”

What was the best work (completed or not) that you’ve written so far, in your own opinion?

I’ve got two. The first one would be Follow the Blind. I started writing this for myself thinking nobody would like it but everyone was raving about it. Before I was even aware this thing grew from a one-shot to ‘a couple of chapters’ to the longest thing I’ve written.

The Second fic is Cold Blood and Dead Hearts. I’ve written it in a matter of days and after I finished it I just fell in some black hole and it took me a couple of weeks to figure out next what to write. Ah yes, the familiar writers-drop...

If you were to write a crossover between any fandoms, what would they be and why? Give us a snippet of the two worlds colliding.

I think I answered yesterday something along those same lines but I’m dying to throw Loki to the wolves vampires. A cross-over between him and meeting Klaus from the Originals would be something I’d write but I really don’t know if people would like that. The snippet, I don’t know, probably these two just setting the world on fire for fun and/or having the most disturbing steamy sex.

Do you make outlines for your works, even your one shots? 

Mostly I do. I just create headings with pieces of plot and drabble scenes in there. I also create a short excerpts for Original Characters and for skills/characteristics. If I have to write a character that stems from a movie/book/series/pick your poison, that I know very little about, I make sure to do my research and place that in the outlines as well.

Have you ever been able to write more than 1,000 words in one sitting? How did that make you feel?

Hahhahahaah. When I have the writers-heat I only start at 1000 words in one sitting. That amount is no challenge for me whatsoever for some weird reason. When I have the plot and characters in mind, I tend to type so fast and so much I sometimes fear I’ll break my keyboard. Mostly this is a problem as well when I want to write a one-shot and I ‘barely started writing’ and I’m just past the intro and I’m like, “Well shit, 5000 words already. Guess I’m going with multi-chapter.”

Behind the larper-er/RP-er

As some of you know I run another blog @loki-the-predator. It is my ask- and rp-blog for Loki. I have been rp-ing for 8 years by now, mostly in real life since I’m a larper. I think this is where my ability to characterize so well comes from (yeah, a lot of you have told me I do an amazing job at that so I stan it by now). I have an insane amount of characters including complete costumes which I have created myself. I play most of my characters at larps and they vary from elves to demons. My trademark is chaotic neutral so they are usually a little evil. I own my own larp-event for which I write a lot of characters too.

[the-wandering-whumper]

I have an issue tbh I keep making characters and whump scenes for them but I can't figure out how to fit them into a whole story sjsvshahs

When I run into this problem, I find an RP server or something and flesh out the character there. Or maybe create an AO3 fic with just original content and chapter snippets where you write just the scene you’re imagining? There are still ways to give those beautiful creations of yours life!

Good luck!

[wardenred]

Whumptember 11: "There's nothing else I can do"

Let's torture Flame again. Psychologically this time.

Flame stood under the scalding hot shower, his forehead pressed against the slippery tiles. He was dimly aware it was late afternoon. In his bedroom, his phone was choking on unread messages and missed calls. He had to contact work. He had to give them a plausible reason why he'd only just scraped himself off the bed. Why his head was buzzing with a vicious hangover that only made him crave another drink.

Because the real reason wasn't good enough, was it? It had all happened in front of his supervisor's eyes. Flame wondered if the blood stains had already been scrubbed off the office floor. They must have. Otherwise, the Agency might have trouble going about business as usual, and we can't have that, no. There are always people to save, deals to strike, villains to scare. Who would want to care about a single stupid intern who'd only been there for a day?

He forced his eyes open just to remember what it felt like, looked down at his wet hands. In the shadows cast by his own body, the water streaming off them looked dark, like blood.

Blood all over his hands, pooling underneath his knees, threatening to soak through the bulletproof fabric of his costume. "No, no, no, stay with me. Keep talking." Hard fingers digging into his shoulders. "Flame, let go." The grip is painful, and he latches onto this pain because it helps him focus. "I can't, he needs—" A headshake from the other side of the limp form. Peppermint, the on-duty healer, pushes to her feet. "There's nothing else I can do."

He gasped. Choked on the chlorine-saturated shower water. Nearly fell out of the stall.

There should have been something else they could've done. All of them. But especially Flame.

If he hadn't got distracted. If he hadn't told the kid to wait and chased alone after the villain. If he hadn't put his personal agenda over his duty.

They had all warned him—Batshit, Starlight, the bosses, even his nemesis. "If you keep obsessing over chasing shadows of the past instead of embracing the present, someone's going to get hurt." He'd heard variations of that again and again, and he'd never listened.

Now, that kid he should have been training to be a hero was dead after a single day on the job, and here he was, missing out on his responsibilities again. Crying in the shower like the pathetic sod that he was.

He didn't know what was making him sicker: the hangover, the memories, or the pure, unadulterated self-loathing.

[wardenred]

Whumptember 14: "I’m on my way. Just hold on a little longer"

Flame gets rescued from this predicament... or does he?

"All you need to do is hold on a little longer. I'm almost there."

This was clearly a hallucination. Flame would have told it so, out loud, except his throat was parched and his tongue refused to move. So the best he could do was viciously think at it.

You're not real. Go away.

Seriously, who did his tired brain take him for? Moth didn't even have the power of projection. Even if he had, this basement was soaked in Starlight's nullification energy. Not to mention all the external anti-force fields that coated the entire lowel level of the building. No super could get in or out without official permission.

"And you're so sure I don't have agents on the inside, are you?"

Besides, there was no reason for Moth to rescue him this time. It wasn't like the burning house incident. His curiosity had been thoroughly satisfied, and he didn't care whether Flame lived or died.

"That's where you're wrong. You owe me too much for me to just let go."

You're not real. You're a lie.

"Just hold on a bit more."

The projection dissipated. Flame was alone in the dark again, with nothing to focus on but the pain and the numbness from his restraints.

No one was coming.

He let himself slip back under.