Hurtcember

December fanworks challenge

[hurtcember]

Thank you for participating!!

Thank you to everyone who participated in Hurtcember 2025!! My apologies for reposts stopping off, but let's look at some stats (via the AO3 collection, meaning only fics posted in there are counted here)

TOP 5 FANDOMS OF HURTCEMBER 2025

According to the collection, the top 5 most tagged fandoms for the event were as follows:

#5: It's a tie between Dead by Daylight (Video Game) and SEAL Team (TV), with 4 works in each

#4: Unsurprisingly in the top 5 is Stranger Things (TV 2016) with 8 works

#3: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs with 10 works

#2: Twisted-Wonderland (Video Game) with 15 works

#1: And, the most-tagged fandom for Hurtcember 2025 was Formula 1 RPF with 23 works

WORKS RATINGS AND AO3 RATINGS

When it comes to the age ratings on works, the most-used tag was Teen & Up Audiences with 47 works, and the least-used (not including "Not Rated") was Explicit with 9 works

Not including "Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings" and "No Archive Warnings Apply", the most-used warning tag was Graphic Depictions of Violence with 33 works, and the least-used warning tag was Rape/Non-con with 2 works

RELATIONSHIP TYPES

Now onto what types of relationships were most tagged. We'll go from least to most. Keep in mind, this does not account for any works in the collection without relationship types tagged.

#6: With the least amount of works tagged, we have F/F (Female/Female) with 3 works

#5: Other (typically used for pairings with a nonbinary member, queerplatonic relationships, or otherwise non-descript relationship types) had 4 works

#4: Multi (typically referring to polyamorous relationships, though sometimes used to indicate there are multiple types of relationships in the fic) had 5 works

#3: F/M (Female/Male) had 9 works

#2: Big jump here, but Gen (typically used for platonic and/or familial relationships) had 46 works

#1: And, finally, with the most amount of works tagged, M/M (Male/Male) had 59 works

TOP SHIP OF HURTCEMBER 2025

And, finally, the most-tagged ship in the AO3 collection for Hurtcember 2025 was Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya from Bungou Stray Dogs, with 7 works

Thank you to all participants and happy new year!

[marchofpain]

Here are your prompt lists for March of Pain 2026!! (#14 was accidentally skipped, so feel free to use an alt prompt or use it as a free day)

The only hard rule is to have fun!

If you share your work(s) to Tumblr, please use the hashtag #marchofpain2026

If you share your work(s) to AO3, please tag it with "March of Pain 2026". Additionally, there is a collection you can add your works to, which can be found here: March of Pain 2026 | Archive of Our Own

There is no real deadline and the AO3 collection will remain open indefinitely but obviously the main target is March 2026

If you have any questions, there's an Ask Box on this page

Below is text copies of the lists.

March of Pain 2026 PROMPTS LIST

Stressed

Flu

Jump

Lies

Fall

Reveal

Hopeless

Fever

Fear

Heaven

Need

Worthless

Want

Doesn't exist! Use as a free day or use an alt prompt.

Overwhelmed

Secret

Helpless

Ice

Anxiety

Yearn

Water

Forest

Hide

Far

Dive

Alone

Last

Close

Fire

Loss

Run

Alt Prompts

"I don't know how to ask"

"I need you"

"Don't leave"

"Never let me see you again"

"It's over"

[newwwwprompts]

Fibro February 2026

No specific prompts, but I think it would be cool for people to write more about Fibromyalgia for the month of February. Below is an AO3 collection for the event

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[theloveofwhump]

Hurtcember #15: Memory Loss

Whumpee doesn’t remember where he is. All he is aware of is the pain all through his body, he hurts, he has scars he can’t remember getting and he is locked in a dark, cold room, shackled to the wall by rusty iron chains that pin his arms behind him.

A muscular man walks into Whumpees room, he is tall with haunting blue eyes. He remains silent as he unlocks the chains from the wall and drags Whumpee to his feet. Whumpee’s legs are weak and almost give out beneath him, how long has he been here? He could stand and walk under his own steam back…. Back when….. He can’t remember….

Whumper half carries, half drags Whumpee to another room down the corridor and drops his hold, Whumpee crashes to the floor landing painfully on his knees. 

Whumper grins down at Whumpee. “Time for your daily punishment in accordance with the judge and jury for your crimes”.

What???? What crimes? What judge? He can’t remember a thing. 

Whumper orders Whumpee to remove his tattered T-shirt and then sets about him with a cane, striking repeatedly at the already sore areas of Whumpee’s body. He screams and writhes on the floor trying to escape the blows, every time he succeeds with putting a little distance between them, Whumper seizes his ankle and drags him back to the centre of the room. 

The beating continues, interspersed with kicks to the ribs, head, jaw and back with heavy workman’s boots. Blood trickles down Whumpee’s face, angry red marks cover him from head to toe, bruising already forming around the more vicious hits. He cries and begs but nothing stops the blows raining down. 

Whumper rolls him onto his stomach, there is a pause before Whumpee feels a cold blade press against him followed by a searing pain slicing down his back, the sensation of blood welling and tracking down toward his legs. 

He lets out a howl as Whumper leans into his ear and whispers, “A new scar to mark another day of your sentence”. 

Whumpee can’t remember any other days of his sentence or what it’s even for. Is this where all the scars on his body are from? There must be at least 100, some large, others look like a small scratch….. but there are so many.

Whumper pulls him up by his hair, he chains his hands above him, Whumpee dangles painfully from the ceiling, his shoulders almost dislocating. 

As he looks up he realises he is in a viewing room, unknown people walk past the window and stop to take photos of him. He recognises no one. Tears track down this cheeks from the agony in his shoulders, the abuse of his body and the embarrassment of the mysterious people who don’t help him, they just watch and snap pictures.

Time crawls before Whumper returns with a needle, a ghostly pale fluid held within. He reaches up to the crook of Whumpee’s arm and slides the needle into his vein. A hot flush starts to run through him as the plunger is depressed. The world around him blurs and the fades…..

Whumpee returns to consciousness. He doesn’t remember where he is. All he is aware of is the pain all through his body, he hurts, he has scars he can’t remember getting……

The day starts over again.

@hurtcember

@stars-hide-our-fires

[stars-hide-our-fires]

Hurtcember #15: Memory loss

Here's some of ViV's backstory! For reference, here's ViV then vs. the main story:

And Ionye and the General:

CW: Memory loss, cyborg whump, dehumanising language, programing/conditioning

  It snapped awake, looking around at the room it was in. How did it get here? 

It went to take a step forward and immediately tripped, throwing its hands out to catch itself— it flinched as it saw dull grey metal and black cables rush into its line of sight, instinctively standing back up to move away from whatever they were… only the metal hands moved with it. No. It flexed its fingers. The metal (fingers, they were fingers) in front of it flexed too. What? How was it… what was it? It was then it noticed the people watching it. Stood behind some kind of glass wall, looking at it and writing things down. Then a man in a long white coat spoke. 

  “How are you feeling, VIV?” The string of letters seemed to be directed at it. Was that its name? It stared at them, not answering. 

  “You better not have broken it with this upgrade, Ionye. The Gov’s invested a lot of money into this, and if it all disappears because of one of your ‘little tweaks’ it’ll be your head on the line. And stop asking it how it’s ‘feeling.’” The woman standing next to him muttered.

  The first man, ‘Ionye’, shook his head fast. “No, no, not to worry, worst comes to worst I have everything stored on a backup server, but we shan’t be needing that, I’m sure it’s fine. How are you… operating?”

He corrected, looking at it, louder this time. Its eyes widened and it backed up, startled by the sudden change in volume as it set off a sharp ringing in its ears, everything suddenly feeling too bright, too loud, too much. The man’s smiles faltered and he dashed through the door, hurrying over to it and grabbing its hands, sending vibrations FEELINGS through its brain. That was too much for it. It screamed, though it couldn’t tell if anyone heard it as no one reacted. They did react when it swung out to push the man away, the woman who had been talking earlier running through and pulling it back as the man flew across the room and hit the wall, stilling on the floor. It turned to shake off the woman, but more hands were on it, holding it back, pushing it down, its head hit the floor and the room spun but it didn’t stop fighting, why were they doing this? Its brain registered sharp pressure in its neck and suddenly everything darkened around them.

  “Still got some human in it, I see,” the woman mused, standing over it, her voice sounding distant as its eyes cameras shut down… “Maybe a little too much.”

Four days later

-

--

---

01001000ITWASSCREAMING01000101EVERYTHINGHURT01001100ITSMINDWASONFIRE01010000HELP00100000HELP01001000HELP01000101NUMBERSSEAREDINTOITSTHOUGHTS01001100SWITCHESTRIPPINGINSIDEIT01010000PLEASENOMORE00100000HELP01001000STOP01000101PLEASE01001100PLEASEITBURNS01010000ELECTRICITYCUTTINGTHROUGHIT00100000STOP01001001PLEASE01010100PLEASE00100000PLEASE01001000NOMOREITHURTS01010101ITWASINSIDEITSHEAD01010010NUMBERSKILLINGIT01010100INITSHEAD01010011STOPITPLEASE00100000ITBEGGEDFORITTOSTOP01001000PLEASEITHURTS01000101ITBEGGEDFOR01001100DEATH01010000STOP00100000PLEASE01001000NOMORE01000101ITWASFAILING01001100SHUTTINGDOWN01010000ITWAS00100000TOOMUCH01001101TOOMUCH01000101STOPITITS00100000TOOMUCH01001001IT01010100BURNS00100000STOP01000010IT01010101PLEASE01010010PLEASE01001110PLEASE01010011IT00100000BURNS01001000STOPPLEAS

---

--

-

A week later

  It opened its eyes slowly, cameras coming into focus on its surroundings. A man Ionye stood over it, holding out a hand with a warm smile. “Morning,” he said. “Do you remember what happened?”

  It… it remembered the burning, an excruciating agony searing their brain, pushing out their thoughts and replacing it with numbers and electricity and fire— it looked up at the man fearfully. Please not again, no more, no more, please. His smile grew slightly. “Don’t worry, it won’t happen again. I fixed you, do you remember that?”

  It shook its head slowly. His expression didn’t falter. “Alright, well, as much as I would love to run some more tests, the General would like to see what’s in your read-only, okay? So I’m just going to flip this switch here…”

  It hadn’t even noticed that he had reached towards their arm until it heard a click, and… nothing happened? Something… something… a niggle in the back of their mind, a system deep inside them starting up… but no pain. So they followed the man silently into a darker room with stone walls and woman the woman from before waiting in the middle, dressed in some sort of tactical or armoured clothing. She nodded to the man, who left, locking the door behind him, before turning to it. “Good morning, VIV. Today we’re gonna test what’s stored in that memory of yours. Don’t worry about remembering anything, just do what your instincts tell you too.”

  It nodded hesitantly, and she lunged towards it. The niggle in the back of its mind burst into reams and reams of code that it couldn’t read but somehow understood anyway. It ducked, swung and hit back with more force than it knew it could, missing the woman by millimetres. They ran these tests for hours, sparring and attacking; they only stopped when the woman seemed to run out of breath a little, but it felt was still functioning optimally, ready to keep attacking — until she muttered a word at it. It didn’t quite hear what she said but the code in their mind pulled it down onto its knees within seconds. She looked down at it and smiled. “That’ll do. Yeah, that’ll do nicely.”

Hurtcember masterlist

@hurtcember

Taglist:

@bitten-angel-wings

@iwouldmakeherflowercrowns

@labtrauma

@laughsatthewrongtimekate

@galactic-worm

@notlikeothernurses

@milo-just-a-crappy-writer

@orionlua

@theloveofwhump

@cepheusgalaxy

[sylvanfreckles]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

For Klavier Gavin, being snowbound at a strange, Gothic hotel while working with Interpol was bad enough…but when you add in the defense attorney he once got disbarred it might just turn into a disaster. And that's not even counting the dead body!

Chapter Three: Fatigue

Something seemed to spark inside his chest at that simple statement, and Klavier had to take a slow, steadying breath. All his life, he’d heard about how much he resembled his brother. He’d never expected it would mean this much to be told otherwise.

(@hurtcember 2025, Day Fourteen)

[theloveofwhump]

Hurtcember #14: Fatigue

The Making of a Weapon: Fatigue.

Part 5.

You have been lying on the waterboard for hours, movements completely restricted by the leather restraint’s which still pin you in position. Tremors run through your body, your breath hitching as you dread the moment Mick returns, a clammy sweat leaking from your broken mind coats your body.

The board still reclines in position, Mick hasn’t raised it one inch making it harder for you to cough any remaining water from your lungs, lungs that are still spasming and gasping all these hours later trying to pull enough oxygen into your system so you can pull yourself together and focus. 

And you’re cold, so so cold it burns your skin. It sears right down to your soul, pinpricks of agonising pain lance across your body as you shiver uncontrollably. 

When Mick stalked from the room he had left you in wet clothes, a puddle of water and had whacked the air con on high. Evil prick you think to yourself imagining the things you’re going do as payback when these restraints come free. 

The icy bite of clothes that won’t dry is making everything worse. Like a layer of acid sinking in to your abused skin, stripping it away to make sure the muscles beneath are also frozen. Time drags on slowly, burning pain making it hard to concentrate and the fear of being tortured again leaves you drained.

Your eyelids drop despite the desperate agony and the shuddering of abused lungs.

So, so tired. 

Exhaustion overwhelms you and you slip toward welcoming darkness. 

As you start to drift the door crashes open, you leap with shock as Mick appears in the frame, steps through and slams the door behind him.

Mick comes to your side and runs his hands over the scars on your stomach and begins to tell you why you are here. Finally.

“You’ve been selected as a government operative for a division I’m not allowed to name out loud. You will become a living weapon for an elite unit and you will hunt our enemies, you will serve us with honour and grace, if you become captured you will end your life. If you dishonour us or yourself, we will end your life for you”.

You lie confused, trying to process all this, you have a life, a family, how are you to become this… this …. Weapon?  You managed to croak out a half question, your larynx throbbing.

“I have a life, a family…..”.

“That life is now over for you, forget them and move on”, sighs Mick, almost exasperated.

“While you’re figuring that out, I want you to figure a new name for yourself too and whilst that’s happening we will carry on with your tutorial”.

You glance at Mick, terror flooding back in. He produces a flick knife, flips it open and runs the blade length ways down your forearm to your wrists and then digs the point in further, twisting the blade as he finishes. He continues to the other arm and runs the blade down it too, making sure to twist at the end.  

Screams rip from your raw throat.

“As a weapon you will often be tortured, so better to get used to it now”, Mick grimaces, oh there is a story there.

“You also have to stay awake for excruciating long periods of time to carry out your assigned missions, you’re at 23 hours awake now so we will keep going.  You fall asleep and I’ll dose you with water again”.

With the final threat promised he puts on bright white strobe lights and blaring white noise and leaves you still strapped prone to the gurney. Fatigue stalking you from the other side.

@hurtcember

@stars-hide-our-fires

[stars-hide-our-fires]

Hurtcember #14: Fatigue

Dark is 30 in this (I know, what a time skip!)

CW: Lack of sleep, mention of previous eye loss, scars

Dark was not stressed.

That’s what they kept telling themself as they ran around the house looking for some form of distraction for the three-and-a-half year old currently sat in their living room. “Fuck, shit, fuck, fuck…” they muttered as they scoured their room for— bingo. A stuffed panda Alex had gotten them a few years ago. That would work, right? They rushed back into the living room where Raven was sat entertaining Liam on the sofa. Liam. Their son, Liam. Even if Dark wasn’t so sleep deprived they’d have a hard time comprehending that, after just a fortnight of this new reality. They felt a pang of guilt that Raven was forced to babysit while they tried to scramble together some semblance of competence.

  “Hey, you don’t have to do that,” they said as they turned him around and handed him the panda which he immediately grabbed onto, clearly finding it endlessly amusing, to Dark’s relief. Raven gave them a look. “Regardless, I’m going to. Anyway, you can’t just leave a toddler unattended.”

  Dark sighed and dragged a hand over their face. “I know, I know, but what am I supposed to do? He needs all this stuff that I don’t have, plus constant attention, and that’s not even mentioning all of the processes and milestones and technicalities that I’m not even thinking about yet, like doesn’t he need regular medical appointments? And when do kids normally start school? Four? Five?”

  Raven’s look didn’t falter. “The only thing he needs you to be right now is here. And cognisant. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

  Dark shook their head. “I’m fine. I’ll sleep when he sleeps.”

  Raven raised an eyebrow. “You know he’s three, right? That kid’s gonna be up and causing havoc for at least another few hours, and you look like you need it now. It’s been two weeks, have you slept at all?”

  Dark paused. “I’ve slept. A bit. It’s fine, Rae.”

  Raven opened her mouth to argue but at that moment Liam had apparently decided that he was sick of the adults ignoring him and had clambered up Dark’s hoodie to poke at their eyepatch. They jerked back immediately, opening their mouth to tell him off, but any anger dissipated the moment they saw his face, hurt and anxious at the rejection. They closed their mouth and took a breath, relaxing a little. “No, it’s okay, you can look.” They said softly. Liam hesitated, before pulling himself onto Dark’s lap and reaching up again, more gently this time, to run his hand over the thick fabric, investigating with tentative fingertips before hooking his fingers under the rim and lifting it up. Dark watched him carefully as he pushed it up and into their hair, revealing the mess of scar tissue underneath. He stopped, staring quietly and, Dark noticed, slightly fearfully. Dark looked away, not wanting him to see the pain in their remaining eye, but froze when they felt a tiny thumb brush over the rough skin, exploring Dark’s face and following the line of their scar down their cheek. He tapped it thoughtfully. “Hurts?” He asked curiously. Dark shook their head. “Not much. It was a long time ago.”

  Liam pondered this for a second. “A month?”

  Dark chuckled. “A lot longer than that, little man.” They ruffled his hair and he giggled just as Alex came through the front door laden with plastic bags. 

  “I come bearing food!” He announced, grinning. Raven laughed and stood up to take the bags into the kitchen while Alex walked over to the couch, clocking Dark’s lack of eyepatch with a questioning tilt of his head. Dark nodded to Liam, who was hung over the back of the sofa staring after the food Raven had left with. 

  “He’s a curious little guy.”

  Alex smiled. “Like his dad, then.”

  Dark’s smile grew smaller, more thoughtful. Dad. They didn’t feel like a dad, not really. They felt like they were crossing a land mine — one wrong move and it would all blow up in their face. They shook off the thought and scooped Liam up, depositing him on the kitchen counter as Raven handed him a square of chocolate, much to the toddler’s delight.

***

The next few days flew by with no more quiet moments, no more chances to breathe. Dark spent almost all their time with Liam, and any time not was spent planning, making changes, buying clothes and food and everything else. Every morning when the sun rose, Dark would glance up from their desk or the sofa and remember how many chances there were to mess up today. They were always on edge, always waiting for the next disaster. Raven watched them get progressively less and less functional, snapping at the others, forgetting where they’d put things, downing caffeine every spare moment and ignoring her pleas for them to take a break, brushing it off every time with “I’m fine”. Until they weren’t.

  They’d just put Liam down for bed after a very long back-and-forth with the toddler about why it was bedtime, and were headed into the living room to pick up on some research about milestones when suddenly the corridor started spinning around them, their vision blurring and causing them to stumble back against the half-closed door. Raven glanced up from her spot on the sofa, looking down the corridor at them.

  “Dark? You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m…” they mumbled as the room righted itself again and they tried to shake it off, heading towards her. “I’m fine, Raven.” 

  They had barely taken three steps before their legs buckled beneath them.

Yes there is a child! Where did the child come from? I wonder when we'll find out...

Hurtcember masterlist

@hurtcember

Taglist:

@bitten-angel-wings

@iwouldmakeherflowercrowns

@labtrauma

@laughsatthewrongtimekate

@galactic-worm

@notlikeothernurses

@milo-just-a-crappy-writer

@orionlua

@theloveofwhump

@cepheusgalaxy

[sylvanfreckles]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

When Qiao Lings brings them a job with a Christmas deadline, sending Cheng Xiaoshi diving back to quiet the ghosts of the past and give their client a chance at the future they deserve. Meanwhile Lu Guang, still haunted by the past, must learn to reconcile himself with an unknown future, and face the memories of Christmases that were, or were not…or would never be.

Chapter Three: Pain

“C’mon, man, don’t do this,” Cheng Xiaoshi complained. “You just spent a minute and a half banging your head on the floor while your brain tried to electrocute itself. Maybe give it five minutes before you get back to work.”

(@hurtcember 2025, Day Thirteen)

[solemnsalem]

@hurtcember day thirteen: Pain, touch, hopeless, delirium.

Girl With One Eye (Chapter Six)

Fandom: It

Ship: Vic Criss x Patrick Hockstetter

Warnings: Knifeplay, wound play, blood drinking, mentioned/past Henry x Vic.

Hurtcember Masterlist

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Patrick’s fingers were curled around the handle of the blade and Vic knew well enough that he was tempting fate by being here. Trusting Patrick with a knife so close to his skin was beyond foolish; it was like leaving a cat alone with an open bird cage. Something bad was bound to happen if enough time was given. Of course, knowing better and doing better were two very different things. 

When it came to Patrick, Vic always knew better and it never changed anything. He laid there all the same, despite the fact that he didn’t really trust Patrick. He was stupid, but he wasn’t dumb. He knew the risks, he’d thought of every single outcome time and time again. He fought against his common sense and every instinct inside of him to stay where he was. 

The knife ghosted over his skin for a long time, deceptively gentle and light. The anticipation built in his chest and stomach, leaving him feeling warm and his heart racing. He hadn’t broken skin yet. The knife would dig in occasionally and Vic cried out when it did, but it still didn’t bleed. Finally, the tip of the blade forced beneath his skin and he shuddered. 

It burned like his nerves had been set on fire and he barely kept from jolting. His head leaned up to look at where the knife connected and he saw blood beginning to bead at the bottom of his sternum. Tears pricked behind his eyes. Patrick watched with a form of almost reverence, the way he looked only when someone was hurting. 

He withdrew the knife, but only to give himself the chance to reposition it. An inch above where he’d cut him, he pressed the knife down and dragged it all the way to the initial wound. There was no pattern to it, the cuts random and inconsistent. Some were shallow, some were jagged, some were nothing more than tiny holes made by the tip of the blade. Vic started to truly cry when the knife wandered to his stomach and shoved deeper than the rest of them had. 

His stomach was sensitive as it was, even worse now that his body was already heated and in pain. The cuts became more painful as time went on. Any other person wouldn’t let Patrick do this and certainly not with zero fight. Vic knew he should stop doing this too and at times, he wanted to. Sometimes, he even tried to say no, but it was hopeless. And if he was completely honest, it wasn’t ever Patrick rejecting his no. Vic would talk himself out of saying no. 

He wanted this nearly as much as Patrick did. That was the difficult truth about it, they both needed this. Patrick’s fingers found one of the cuts and Vic groaned when they pressed into the wounds painfully, his mind temporarily going to the fact Patrick’s hands were absolutely not clean. He dismissed the worry when he considered that the knife also wasn’t. They were far past the point of being safe about this. 

Patrick’s touch was not light or careful with him, further irritating each cut. Blood smeared across his skin, sticky and drying rapidly. The knife lay forgotten beside Vic’s body, but he knew Patrick might pick it back up later. He hoped he did. Although the feeling of his fingers sent shockwaves of pain through him, it was nowhere near the amount provided by the knife. It also wouldn’t last very long.

Patrick would take his fingers away and it would stop hurting as much. The marks would be there for a while, his stomach would hurt each time he moved and his chest would sting with every breath. Vic gasped when Patrick’s tongue found his skin unexpectedly. He licked over one of the gashes across his chest, warm and wet. His tongue pressed into it, pleasure mixing with pain. 

Vic’s fingers tangled in his hair and held tightly to the greasy strands. Patrick’s hands curled around his ribs, his thumbs narrowly avoiding a couple of cuts. Vic had never met anyone close to Patrick. He had let Henry do something similar to this once, thinking they shared enough traits that it might be familiar. It became glaringly apparent that Henry was nowhere near comparable to Patrick. 

Henry lashed out because of his own shit, using harm to others to make himself feel better. Vic doubted it ever improved things. If it did, it must be very short-lived. However, Patrick did this simply because he was hopelessly devoted to hurting someone. Especially someone he considered interesting. More than once, he’d reminded Vic of a cat playing with a mouse. 

 Once he had something between his paws, he didn’t let it escape. He would bat it around, injure it just enough to have fun without killing it too soon. He would let it run a bit, would let it suffer. Inevitably, the injuries would become too severe. He would get carried away, never knowing when to stop, and he would eventually kill it. 

Patrick was more methodical than Henry. He wanted it to hurt as much as it could, wanted it to drag out the most it could. He could think long-term, Henry was just acting on whatever anger he had in that moment. Patrick was never fueled by anger, never sparked  by pain and insecurity turned to rage. Henry tried to make it last, but he was hopeless when it came to self-control. Once he started, it seemed impossible for him to stop. 

Vic preferred Patrick. Somehow, Patrick knew it too and feeding his ego was a dangerous thing. He’d never let him forget that he enjoyed being hurt by him, that only he could hurt him the way he needed. He hated that Patrick was right. He hated the way he grew wetter when Patrick’s tongue  dug into the wound beneath his mouth and he hated the moan he couldn’t quite hold in.

Time crawled on and the air of the bedroom felt cold once Patrick pulled his mouth away. The skin throbbed with the way it had been irritated, more blood pumping in that area. Patrick looked delirious with it. He’d always grown so disoriented around blood. It appeared like everything else around him wasn’t even there. 

 He focused on where blood mingled with his own saliva, acting as though it was the only thing in the room. He looked so far gone, his mind buried somewhere deep. Moving on pure instinct, not thinking a single thing because he didn’t have to. All he had to do was press his mouth along Vic’s skin. Blood hung heavy on his tongue when he kissed Vic, messy and rough. 

Vic found himself clinging to Patrick, kissing him back without hesitation. He licked deeper into Patrick’s mouth, chasing the taste of his own blood there. It was moments like this when he realized how aligned they were, how perfect they matched up with the other. Patrick didn’t scare him, not truly. They were too similar for that, they wanted nearly all the same things with only a few exceptions. And that in itself was what terrified Vic.

[theloveofwhump]

Hurtcember #13: Pain

Whumpee was sobbing into his chest, his head hanging, he couldn’t muster the energy to hold it up anymore.

His body was so heavy and tired.  It had been a Herculean effort to stop screaming or reacting. More of an effort than enduring the pain forced upon him.

Whumper had been brutal, he had told Whumpee that he would only stop when he learnt to master himself and didn’t react to any of today’s fun. No screaming, crying, just take it in silence.

Whumper dragged him into a different room than usual, it was larger and brighter with a long table that had various tools laid out on it.  Whumpee closed his eyes with a shudder as his skin crawled with horror. 

He tossed Whumpee to the floor and pushed his head to the floor with the heel of his boot pressed firmly against Whumpees cheek shoving his head into the hard ground. He felt his skull may split open and save him all the hell.

The foot moved and Whumper almost skipped to his table of tools.  He selected the first wooden switch and walked back to Whumper, grinning the entire time.

“It’s been so long since we’ve done something new, so today I’m only going to stop when you stop making any noise or reacting, but don’t think you can slip into unconsciousness, no no, we stop while your awake but quiet as you take what I offer.  You even so much as whimper and we don’t stop, it just gets worse”.

Whumpee stared up in anguish, he would break so easily, he would yell and cry.

How would he ever get it to end?? It was never going to end.

Whumper removed Whumpees shirt, smirked at his captive and proceeded to whip Whumpee across his chest with the switch, the thwack of wood on skin making Whumpers toes curl with delight. Whumpee bit his tongue, the side of his cheeks, trying desperately not to make a sound. After the 4th stike hit across his stomach he cried out, unable to stop the blinding pain from expressing itself. 

Whumper kicked Whumpee over and set about his back with the switch. Blooming red streaks appeared on Whumpees skin with each lash, Whumpee flinched at the swish of each incoming blow and a scream escaped from him each time it made contact. 

“We don’t stop until you’re quiet”, he crooned.  He put the switch down picked up something small and walked back to Whumpee.

Whumper lit a cigarette and rolled Whumpee onto his back. He straddled him across his chest, pinning his arms with his knees and ran a finger softly down the Whumpees cheek, wiping the tears across his face.

As he smoked he produced a pair of long tooth pliers from his pocket and gripped the end of Whumpees finger nail between the pliers sharp teeth, with a rapid twist of the pliers he ripped off the first nail, the nail bed red and welling with blood.

Whumpee let out a strangled shriek as the nail tore from his finger, a hideous burning pain flowed through him as he felt the nail part from his finger. The sensitive tissue of his nail bed now exposed to the air, and an intense throbbing followed the searing agony of detachment. 

Whumper holds the pliers up and inspects the nail with cool amusement. He flicks it to the floor and moves in on the next finger, pliers grasping tightly to the next nail.  Another horrifying sensation of nail peeling apart from flesh. Whumpee wailed and arched his back fighting against Whumpers grip.

The process continues, until Whumpee is lying on the floor, blood pouring from his ruined fingers as he stares glassy eyed at his hands, mind detached from body.

“Still screaming my beautiful Whumpee? It hurts doesn’t it? But you wear your pain so well, you look delightful. However we continue with our session until you can take it in silence”. 

Whumpee takes a shuddering breath and chokes out a desperate moan, “I can’t take it anymore”.

Whumper grins, “Oh you can and you will, I’m going to do so much worse”.

He reaches toward the table with a gleeful smirk and picks up a drill….

This is the most fun Whumper has had in ages.

“Let’s continue…..”.

@hurtcember

@stars-hide-our-fires

[opheliarae]

Hurtcember 2025 @hurtcember

Hurtcember Day 7/8

Chapter Six [prompt: death/freezing]

Synopsis: Ruth heads out to hunt on her own. Adam's sense of unease is confirmed.

Fandom: Frankenstein (2025 film)

Word count: 1.3k

Featuring: fem!OC, The Creature/Adam

Warnings: mention of death/unconfirmed death, poor writing because I hit a major writing block—forgive me; hopefully it isn't too terrible!

AN: I'm so behind on this challenge it's not even funnyyyyyyy. I'll be busy tomorrow, but I'm hoping to get another chapter out early next week. Thank you all so much for reading/liking/reblogging! :D

Sun beams filtered through the trees and onto half-melted snow drifts. Swallows called, fluttering in the long shadows of the late afternoon. The river near the cabin overflowed with melted snow in a steady torrent. 

Inside, the fire blazed, casting shadows on the honey-hued walls of the cabin. A crackle emitted from the hearth, glowing coals shooting off small sparks that fell onto the stones and dimmed out of existence. Scents of wood smoke, onion, and rosemary mingled in the air. A half-eaten loaf of bread sat on the table, an open jar of orange marmalade beside it.

Ruth longed to be inside that cabin. But instead, she continued onward. 

Her boots squelched on the muddied forest floor. The air smelled of pine—fresh and crisp. Winter snow had washed everything clean and made way for the newness of spring. She inhaled, cool air filling her lungs as she knelt, searching for tracks. 

She hadn't been hunting on her own since the incident with the bear trap. Adam had been apprehensive about her going without him this time. He'd stood in the doorway of the cabin; his eyes fixed on her dark cloak as she trekked toward the tree line. A sense of unease settled in the back of his mind. Something he couldn't shake. 

"I'll be alright," she'd insisted. "I enjoy the solitude." 

That was until the day began growing late; the sun inching closer to the horizon. Until the deer she'd seen earlier that day eluded her. Now all she had to show for her efforts were a few squirrels and a rabbit. She had been determined to redeem herself and bring back a doe—which meant plenty of meat for months to come if they preserved it properly. 

She came to the edge of the forest where a mountain cracked through the earth and extended high above the trees. With a huff of determination, she adjusted her quiver and began toward the base. She could see several ledges and, higher up, an overhang. She assumed there would be a cave, and hopefully, the game she was looking for. 

As she ascended the ridge, the air felt colder, and the wind whipped through her hair. She pulled her hood on and tucked her chin below her wool scarf. In the higher elevation, the ground was still frozen and covered with a thick layer of snow. As she reached the cave, she peered inside. 

Nothing. 

She sighed, slumping against the stone wall and sliding to the ground. 

— 

Adam's patience grew thin; he pulled on his cloak with a deep, gruff sigh. The sun had begun to set, and Ruth hadn't returned yet. His unease had shifted into worry and a sense of impending doom. Where could she be? He would never forgive himself if something happened to her. 

He set out in the same direction he knew she would've gone and eventually came to the base of the mountain. He saw shallow boot prints, half obscured by the blowing snow. 

With steady, controlled strides, he made his way up the ridge. He'd seen avalanches and collapsed cornices well into spring; each step was like walking through a minefield.  

Then he spotted her. Sitting at the mouth of an overhang was Ruth, head down and rummaging through her pack. 

She couldn't hear him approaching over the gale, but from the corner of her eye, she saw a large figure approaching. In seemingly one swift movement, she took up her bow and nocked an arrow, aiming at the intruder. 

"Oh, it's you," she heaved a sigh, lowering her bow. "My days, Adam! I nearly shot you!" 

"I should’ve known better than to sneak up on you." His voice sounded relieved, half from finding her safe and alive, half from not being used for target practice. 

"What are you doing out here?" Ruth tore off a piece of bread and handed it to him. 

"Looking for you." He sat down next to her, filling the space between them. "It was nearly nightfall, and you had not returned. I was…worried." 

Ruth smiled. Before meeting Adam, she'd been alone for so long that she'd forgotten what it was like to have someone fret over her. It hurt her heart to worry him, but the fact that he was concerned struck something within her. 

"I'm sorry I worried you." She placed a hand on his arm and gave it a small squeeze. 

Adam felt warmth flood his body. It happened every time she touched him—a brush of her hand, a graze of her frame against him as they moved about the cabin, a hand on his arm while she read to him, fingers lazily drawing circles on his skin. Each time it filled him with inexplicable joy. 

"I'm just glad you're safe," he breathed, glancing down at the burlap sack. "Did you have any luck?" 

"Just a rabbit and a couple squirrels," she shook her head, a sullen expression on her face. "I tracked a doe, but I lost her in the forest. I came up here hoping she'd hidden herself in this cave." 

Adam nodded, a low rumble emanating from his throat as he looked around the cave. "It's dark now, but we should not stay here." 

"Don't you think we'll get lost?" Ruth pulled a small oil lantern from her pack and lit it. 

"No, I know the way back, even in the dark. It's not far." 

She nodded, pulling herself to her feet.  

They headed out of the cave and into the night, the flame in her lantern flickering in the wind. 

"Stay close and follow my steps," he called through the gale. "The snow can be—"  

He was cut off suddenly by the ground shifting beneath him. In a split-second decision, he shoved Ruth back toward the safety of the rocks. 

She watched as the cornice fell away from beneath him, leaving him to plummet off the cliff's edge. Her heart stopped. 

"No!" Her scream echoed through the void. 

For a moment she couldn't breathe; her chest tightened into a vice.  

Surely, they hadn't been up that high. Surely, he had just fallen to a nearby ledge. Surely, surely— 

She crawled to the edge with shaky hands digging into the snow. The light from her lantern reflected bits of swirling snow and the ravine wall below. The wind howled. She couldn't be certain in the dark, but she assessed it was nearly a hundred feet. 

"Adam?!" 

"Adam!" 

Her panicked calls went unanswered. 

She pulled herself back to the mountain wall behind her and sobbed. Hot tears stung her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Her chest felt as if it would burst.  

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, staring into the darkness, unable to move. She tried calling to him a few more times, but there was still no reply. She thought maybe if she could manage to get to the bottom of the ravine, she could find him. But there was no way to do it safely in the dark. Not with one small lantern. Not by herself. Not without being at least somewhat familiar with the terrain. 

For the first time in a long time, she didn't know what to do. What would Adam have her do? Stay put until morning? No, he'd be concerned about her freezing out here. Go back to the cabin? Most likely, but she couldn't bring herself to leave knowing he was down there.  

She knew in the back of her mind no one could survive a fall from such a height. But what if he was hurt? What if he was alive? She wanted to believe that and clung to it like a lifeline. There was no possible way Adam was dea— 

She couldn't stand to think of the word. 

I'll come back tomorrow and look for him—maybe he hit his head and fell unconscious—he'll most likely wake soon and either head back to the cabin or find shelter—yes, that's what he'll do—I'll just come back tomorrow—

Her legs shook and wobbled as she stood, her knees threatening to buckle. With an unsteady gait, she slowly made her way down the path, letting her lantern guide her back to the cabin.

Master list

[stars-hide-our-fires]

Hurtcember #13: Pain

Yet more OC work! It's not canon, and I wrote this piece a while ago, but thought it would be fun to share :)

CW: Chained, knocked out, stress position, torture, branding

Aura snapped awake, head pounding. His eyes darted around, his vision slowly conning into focus, when he realised he wasn’t alone — someone was behind him. He tried to turn, and that’s when he realised his hands were chained behind his back. Actually, not just his hands — whoever was behind him was chained to him. They grabbed his hands and his breath hitched in his chest as they spoke. “Aura? Are you awake?” Rose asked tentatively. Aura felt his heart drop as he took in the situation — chained to Rose in a tiny cell, no windows, barely any light, just a rusted old door that looked like it hadn’t been opened in years. 

  “Rose? What… what happened? Are you ok?”

  “I’m fine, we were on the roof, do you remember?”

  He did now. They were spending the evening together, watching the sunset and enjoying a candlelit picnic, when they heard someone climbing up the fire escape. Aura had assumed it was Dark or Raven, and stood, concerned about why they would interrupt, but then three masked assailants appeared, two grabbing Rose and the third aiming a blow to Aura’s head, knocking him out. 

  Just as the evening’s events returned, Aura heard the door open. A tall figure walked in, masked and hooded to obscure their face, and stood over Aura and Rose. “Good, you’re both awake. Now we can get started.” The figure crouched in front of Aura, who flinched away from their gaze. The figure chuckled. “This will be fun, i think. For me anyway — for you, not so much.”

  Rose turned as much as she could to face them. “What do you want?”

  The figure stood and walked over to Rose. “Just some information about a certain… degenerate. Name of… Dark?”

  Aura stiffened. So that’s why they were here. Rose spoke first “Never heard of them” The figure seemed to snarl under the mask, and brought their face down to Rose’s, their noses almost touching. “First mistake. You’re lying. That won’t get you anywhere.”

  Aura jolted forward as the figure suddenly brought a boot back and kicked Rose in the stomach. She cried out and Aura’s heart clenched. He yelled out “Don’t you touch her!”

  The figure laughed and pulled down their hood to reveal jagged patterns burned into their scalp, leaving sharp lines etched into the short hair. Rose drew a sharp breath. “You’re a bounty hunter.”

  Aura’s heart missed a beat. Shit. Bounty hunters were known for their ruthlessness, their determination to do whatever it takes in order to earn a living. And if a bounty hunter wanted information about Dark, that meant someone else was sniffing around behind the scenes. Rose continued to speak, “Who sent you?”

  The hunter laughed again. “Like I’m going to tell you. Now, tell me what you know about Dark, or things get… difficult” 

  Rose repeated, “I said we’ve never heard of them.”

  The hunter snarled and kicked Rose again. “Lying won’t get you anywhere, sweetheart. Tell me what you know, or things will get a whole lot worse.” Aura could almost hear Rose gritting her teeth, determined to stay silent. Aura spoke up “I said, don’t touch her!” 

  The hunter walked round to face Aura, looking down on him as he glared up at them. “And what are you going to do about it?” Aura took a deep breath and kicked out at them, his foot connecting with their shin with a sickening crunch. The hunter yelled out and dropped to their knees, writhing in pain. They sat up and grabbed Aura by the braids, kneeling on his legs and pulling his head back against Rose’s. They reached into their pocket and drew a wicked-looking blade. Aura struggled against their grip, legs burning under the weight. The hunter brought the knife closer, tracing Aura’s jaw with it, watching the fear flicker in his eyes. “Don’t. Test. Me.” Whispered the hunter. Then, abruptly they stood up and walked back round to Rose, dragging the knife down the side of her face. Rose screamed as blood dripped down her chin and neck, staining her white long sleeve top scarlet. Aura screamed too - “STOP, don’t hurt her!”

  The hunter glanced at Aura. “And how are you going to stop me?”

  “Let her go. You can do what you want with me, but just- don’t hurt Rose.”

  The hunter contemplated the request — they only needed one person really, and the blue-haired kid might cooperate more if he thought he could save his girlfriend… “Alright.”

  Rose yelled out “NO, don’t, Aura don’t do this, don’t…” as the hunter unchained her from Aura and dragged her to her feet. They opened the door where two guards were waiting. “Take this one across the city and drop here by a road somewhere. Make sure she doesn’t come back.” The guards nodded, and dragged Rose, still kicking and screaming, out of sight. 

  The hunter closed the door again and walked over to Aura, hands still chained behind his back. They grabbed his chains and lifted them up.  Aura was tall, but the hunter was taller. They attached the chains to a hook in the ceiling, leaving Aura dangling by the wrists, unable to touch the ground. He took a sharp intake of breath as the chains cut into his wrists, feeling the still-tender flesh on his new tattoo being slowly shredded. 

  “Now,” said the hunter slowly, a grin appearing behind the mask, “this is going to hurt.” They traced Aura’s exposed arms, causing a shiver to run up them. Their fingers stopped on the long arrow tattoo spanning from his bicep almost to his wrist, and the hunter’s grin grew. “Let’s start here, shall we?” They lifted up their blade and pressed it to the arrowhead, just under where the radial artery was. “I’ll ask again — who is Dark Kade?”

  Aura met their eyes. “Go to hell”

  The hunter sighed, mock-disappointment spreading across their face. “I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way…” Aura clenched his jaw as the knife drew blood. The hunter pulled it down slowly, following the line of the arrow, drawing a clean straight line of blood on his dark skin. Aura couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped his lips, his arms clenching under the strain. The hunter stood back and watched the blood trickle down his armpit and seep into his vest, disappearing under the black. Aura clamped his mouth shut, determined to show no weakness, no sign of breaking. The hunter shook their head. “Was that not enough for you? Well, if you insist…” They stepped closer, lifting Aura’s vest to expose his stomach and ribcage. They looked over the line of 7 runes tattooed over his lower ribs, and Aura watched as an idea crossed their mind. They sliced down with their blade, cutting through his shirt and leaving his torso exposed. They walked out of the room and returned with a red-hot branding iron in the shape of a T. Aura’s heart stopped. The iron was glowing almost white in the half-light. The hunter advanced on him, and asked again, “Are you sure you don’t know anything about Dark?” Aura clenched his jaw and pressed his lips together, eyes fixed on the still-glowing iron but refusing to break. The hunter shrugged. “So be it…” They pressed the T to the first rune. And Aura screamed. He was still screaming when the hunter was on the sixth rune, this time with an iron in The shape of an O. His voice was hoarse, and his side was encrusted with blood, the scent of burnt flesh filling his nostrils. He felt as if he was going to die from the pain. Hell, he wanted to die, wanted this to stop, would do anything for it to… “STOP” he cried. The hunter drew back, head tilted. Aura slumped, head hanging low against his bare chest, ribs burning with the letters T-R-A-I-T-O. He couldn’t take it anymore. “I… I’ll tell you”

  The hunter smiled once more. 

Hurtcember masterlist

@hurtcember

Taglist:

@bitten-angel-wings,

@iwouldmakeherflowercrowns,

@labtrauma,

@notlikeothernurses

@galactic-worm

@orionlua

@milo-just-a-crappy-writer

@laughsatthewrongtimekate

@theloveofwhump

[sylvanfreckles]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

When Robin, dealing with bandit skirmishes in northern Ylisse, calls for reinforcement, Chrom rushes to his side only to find his beloved gravely wounded and near death from a brush with an unexpected enemy. With winter quickly approaching, they're forced to face this new opponent even as the stormclouds gather to block their passage home.

Chapter Three: Hopeless

As for Robin himself, his sleep seemed deep and peaceful. A natural, healing sleep, not like the restless exhaustion Chrom had seen in him when he’d first arrived. There was color in his cheeks again, and the lines of pain on his face had faded. The cot was piled high with blankets and furs, and Chrom slipped into their warmth to pull Robin into his arms.

(@hurtcember 2025, Day Twelve)

[janetm74fics]

Tonality c2: Tonic, part 1

Chapter 1 | AO3

For @edutainer2022 who asked for @hurtcember day 12: Hopeless with Scott

Warnings for POW Scott and slight mentions of torture.

~

Awareness crept up on Scott.

He wasn’t comfortable and there was so much pain all over his body but in a weird kind of way his body didn’t really want to wake up fully and everything was muted.

It took a few moments for his brain to remember why…

This kind of awareness wasn’t as kind or slow. Scott gasped as his situation hit him full force. Every scrape, every cut, every burn…his lungs were on fire and the cold cut into his skin, multiplying the cuts as if he was covered in knife wounds.

Unconsciously he moved in an attempt to sit up – he’d always hated sleeping on his back – but the chain on his ankle moved and the noise made Scott froze.

Don’t make a sound. Don’t draw attention to yourself.

The room, the cell really, that he’d called home since he’d been shot down was barely big enough for him to lie down in and not kick the bucket they so thoughtfully provided for his toilet. He couldn’t stand tall either, the ceiling meaning he needed to stoop slightly or it would scrape the top of his head.

There was no natural light in the cell. There was light from the hallway but it wasn’t always there and there was no rhythm to it, so Scott had no idea what time of day it was, nor how long he’d been there.

Even the beatings and waterboarding didn’t have a routine to them. He could cope with them. He could, he really could, but the knives…

And the loneliness.

He was used to being in a group. His family, his college friends, his squadmates…Scott couldn’t ever remember feeling alone. Not even when his Mom died…He hadn’t seen anyone other than the guards who took him away.

They told him that the three others who had been with him when he’d been shot down had been executed on the spot, that they had only wanted him. As a First Lieutenant he had knowledge they were not privy to.

Like troop numbers, the ranks of personnel on the base, how many aircraft there were, planned incursions to support the aid drops. He knew contact details…

Scott really didn’t know all of those details but they wouldn’t take that as an answer. So they kept on asking. And asking. With fists, and water and knives. Sometimes there was some kind of taser…

It had been some time, though. His initial injuries from the crash had healed – badly but healed none the less – and even some of the original wounds they had inflicted had also scarred over.

Footsteps sounded, pulling Scott out of his reverie and back into the present. He tried to make himself small, but it didn’t make any difference. One guard hauled him to his feet and pinned him to the wall while the other cuffed his wristed behind his back. The first then roughly pulled the dreaded hood over his head while the second unlocked his ankle, and he was dragged from the room. They didn’t give him the opportunity to find his feet, and he was pushed around so he couldn’t get his bearings.

He had no idea whether he was in a different part of the building or just in the room next door…

What he could tell was when the door opened and he was pulled into a room with lights on. He was held between the two men as a third undid his wrists and they pushed him down into a chair. One man stood behind, holding him down with pressure on his shoulders while the others bound his wrists to the chair arms and his ankles to the legs.

The sound of people moving around him set his teeth on edge and he tried hard not to flinch as hands brushed him as they walked past him. The sound of the large bucket they used being filled had him automatically holding his breath even though they hadn’t even put him into position.

And then the hood was ripped off his head, the rough material burning his ears as it passed.

Scott blinked in the sudden light as his eyes watered. The waterboarding table was on his right. The table on the left held the tools he’d become quite intimate with. But the man standing in front of him was new, that much he saw in his brief look as he fixed his eyes on the floor.

‘First Lieutenant Tracy. You can call me Andrzej.’

He didn’t rise to the bait, kept his eyes on the spot Scott had picked out that first time they’d brought him here. Some kind of oil stain, he’d recognise that kind of mark anywhere. He steadied his breathing and swallowed down the sudden surge of memories from home. Mom, Grandpa…

‘Lieutenant Tracy, why do you hold out, hmm?’

The shoes entered Scott’s sight and stepped closer, and he steeled himself for whatever was coming next. He was not expecting the chuckle, but the warm metal head of a swagger stick was less of a surprise. He let it raise his face until he was staring into grey eyes so reminiscent of his father’s that it took all of Scott’s self-control not to flinch.

‘No one is coming to save you, my friend. The GDF and the USAF have denied that a combat mission occurred. Your squadron is about to fly home. Your father…’

Andrzej paused and looked deeper into Scott’s eyes and his face creased into a grin.

Every second of the time he’d been here Scott had been more than careful to keep his family out of his memory, tried his best to isolate them from what was going on. But this man…with one thoughtful turn of phrase he had stripped all of his defences away and laid bare the worst thoughts Scott had been having.

His Father. The Great Jeff Tracy.

Tracy was a common enough name that Scott hadn’t been worried that anyone would connect them. After all, it wasn’t like he was the most well-known of Jeff’s children. He had considered retaking their Mom’s name for his military stint, but it had felt wrong somehow. Mom had been very much against the military in general but she’d never even tried to discourage Scott, she’d understood from the beginning that this was only about flying – and flying fast – more than anything else.

So he’d kept his father’s name. And now he was beginning to regret that…

‘Your father has washed his hands of you.’ ‘Wh-what?’ ‘Oh, didn’t you know?’

The man, Andrzej, snapped his fingers and a chair was placed in front of Scott, and he settled in it, hitching his trousers up and leaning back as he watched Scott. And Scott knew that there was emotion flitting across his face, he could feel it.

‘You didn’t know? Oh dear. Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Lieutenant Tracy, but the regime has already contacted your father. Do you know what he said?’

There was a pause and Scott knew he was expected to answer, but right now nothing was forthcoming as his brain stalled.

He absolutely knew what his father had said.

Worthless…burden…weak…bastard…

Scott recognised the moment his tormentor knew his barb had hit home.

‘Yes. The whole world knows, Scott. No one wants you. You are ours. Think on that until our man comes to question you again.’

Andrzej leaned forward and placed a hand on Scott’s knee briefly before standing up.

‘There’s no need to suffer any further, Scott. What do you have to hold on for?’

And he was gone, leaving Scott alone with the voice of his father swarming him from all sides and undermining the defences he’d spent a decade building. The voice came echoing up the corridor, and it took Scott a moment to realise it wasn’t all in his head.

‘Give up, Scott. It’s hopeless.’

Scott let his head hang while Andrzej’s voice merged with his father’s in one long repeat of “useless-hopeless-useless-hopeless”. He almost didn’t notice the approaching footsteps.

‘Ah, my favourite Lieutenant! Did you enjoy your little chat? No? You don’t look so happy!’

A hand grabbed his hair an yanked his head back until his neck hurt and he was staring at his usual torturer. The man’s breath was hot on his face as he smiled. He looked altogether too pleased.

‘How about we cheer you up?’

Scott watched as the man walked over to the table on the left and gently, lovingly, run his hand along its length.

‘Time to get reacquainted with some old friends, Lieutenant.’

This time Scott didn’t bother hiding the slump in his shoulders as a tool was picked up. Maybe Andrzej whoever he was, was right.

No one was coming for him.

[theloveofwhump]

Hurtcember #12: Hopeless

Leader felt elation and hopelessness spike through his heart in quick succession.

He had watched in amazement from his adjacent cell as teammate had leaned over himself, almost bent double and with panting gasps and muffled whimpers, had managed to clench his teeth around the sliver of metal Whumper had left impaled in his leg and pull it slowly free.

Once teammate had picked the lock, he was out his cell and at Leaders door in a flash. But the rusted lock just wouldn’t budge, no matter what they both tried.

A distant thud of a door and jangle of chains froze them both.

“Run”, whispered Leader.

Teammate seized his hands through the bars and squeezed Leaders tightly, “I’ll be back for you soon my friend”. Leader blinked and he was gone. 

Measured steps stalked toward Leaders cell, the pace becoming quicker as teammates open cell door came into view. Whumper glanced at Leader and let out a guttural snarl. 

He raced off in the direction that teammate had fled. Leader strained to listen but all he could hear was silence.

A rhythmic muffled thud he couldn’t quite place started to echo from down the corridor. Cries of pain followed, intermingling with the thudding, followed by pleas, begging and a sickening snap. An agonised shriek tore through the dark.

The thudding grew louder and heavier. Closer now too, as whatever was happening moved back toward Leader, a sharp buzz of a taser followed by broken wailing, over and over. 

Thump.

Thump.

Scream.

A crackle of electricity followed by a further piercing shriek. 

Whumper moved back into Leaders line of sight, dragging teammate by their ankle, their leg twisted into an unnatural position. The bones in his lower leg clearly broken. 

As Whumper dragged teammate past his cell, he grinned a cruel smirk. Leader looked at teammate, his body a horror of red marks, red bruising starting to form and bloody gashes where Whumper must have kicked him with steel toe caps until the skin broke. He had been stripped to his underwear, hardly an area upon him that hadn’t sustained injury.

Whumper paused to glare at Leader “I’ll be dealing with you later” he promises and continues dragging teammate away. Teammate locks eyes with Leader, terror and desperation shine bright through his tears and he mouths, “I’m sorry”. 

Broken teeth and a blood stained chin, followed by teammates fingernails desperately trying to clench at the rough floor are the last Leader sees of his friend.

With a sigh for all that is lost Leader slowly accepts that their life will be to serve as Whumpers slave and play thing.

Hopelessness the only thing that remained. His sole emotion, he was never going to leave this place alive.

@hurtcember

@stars-hide-our-fires

[stars-hide-our-fires]

Hurtcember #12: Hopeless

Part of Alex's backstory! He's around 13 in this 🥺 I poured all of my burning hatred for being cold into this one

Here's Alex at the start and end of this:

CW: Freezing, gunpoint, beaten up, self harm mention, starving

Alex woke with a yelp to the biting wind as his coat was yanked off him.

He put a hand out to steady himself as he sat up, but his palm met with icy concrete and he slipped, unable to regain his balance as a foot connected with his side and kicked him down the frozen steps. He looked up to see what he assumed was the owner of the doorway he’d slept under, rifle in hand. He cringed away as she aimed it at his head. 

  “Get the hell off my property now or I’ll put a bullet in you, filthy scum.” She spat. Alex scrambled back in just his t-shirt and jeans which were barely protection from the cold, not to mention the holes and rips littering them. Their coat was the only defence they had against winter, but one look at the homeowner told him she wasn’t joking, so he limped away as quickly as he could, already shivering. The homeowner muttered something about the government needing to clean the streets before turning and slamming the door shut, taking Alex’s most valuable possession with her. 

  The cold only got worse as the day went on, but Alex had no way to protect himself. They could only keep walking, find some semblance of shelter, cutting across alleys and sticking to the shadows lest someone else come and take from them. The fingers on his ungloved hand were starting to turn blue, and the other didn’t look much better — not that he could tell, as they’d gone numb over an hour ago. 

  Not for the first time, he wished someone, anyone, would notice him and care, but he knew that would never happen. People only ever saw the ruined clothes, the cuts up his arms, the gauntness of his face and saw him as vermin, dirt under their shoe, or worse — someone to kick when he was down. His stomach growled, but he was used to the hollow ache by now. It was water he was more worried about, and the dry winter air didn’t help; as they did every year, they wondered if this winter would be the one to finish them off. However, it wasn’t every year they didn’t have their coat. He’d managed to hang onto it through blazing heat and vicious winds for three years, and now it was gone, their chances of survival plummeting as a result.

  He turned into an alley shielded by overhanging roofs, the narrow strip of darkness a final reprieve from the bone-chilling gales racing through the city. He stumbled into the cramped passageway, his legs shivering so badly they nearly gave out on him — then they did. Alex collapsed onto the freezing stones and stayed there, pulling his shaking limbs in as tightly as he could. The cold was in him now, rattling his bones and dulling his thoughts. It was funny, he thought disjointedly, he’d always thought he’d survive to find somewhere… to call… home…

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