AILESSWHUMPTOBER (but I’m anti pure whump) DAY FOURTEEN: “LOOK WHO’S AWAKE”
Title: Oh good, you’re awake
Fandom: My ocs, Protron (evil villain team)
Characters: ?? And ??
Age Rating: T
Warnings: nothing happens in this fic, but its T for allusions to stuff.
Paris blinked rapidly. Her vision was so blurry she could’ve had cataracts. Fortunately, her eyes became much easier to keep open once she realized that she was burning.
She screamed, vision clearing as her head flew up.
She looked at her arms. They were bare, they were-
“AH!” She shook them, at a total loss for what to do.
Her arms were white.
She squeezed her eyes shut. She slowed her arm shaking as the burning cooled. And then it was gone. She opened her eyes, and flinched at her paleness.
“Well, you are awake.” she heard.
She jumped again, and looked over at the cause of the sound.
She was in a rectangular, medium sized, steely room. A fluorescent light hanging from the ceiling brought cold and harsh, yet not cleansing, light.
The floor was paneled. Yup.
She was on a stretcher with a bedsheet, in scrubs, and the voice was sitting at the other end of the room, near the door.
It was a man. He was leaning on a rolly table which held some chunk of machinery. He held pointy tools. His head was tilted towards her, but not fully. His glasses glinted.
He was unremarkable from what she could see.
Caucasian? Brown hair.
”Wh- who are you?” She asked, trembling.
“Dr. Kryovich, PH.D.” He replied with some kind of slavic accent.
”What do you want?” She asked.
“That is more of a query for you.” He gestured to her with a hand holding a tool, then turned to his work.
“What does that even-“ She gasped as her skin flared up.
She covered her mouth with her hands, struggling to breathe through the fire that ran across her body.
The ocean flashed before her. The ocean of green.
She had forgotten.
The burning subsided. She breathed out, slowly. Regaining control.
”Okay,” she steeled herself.
She laid her hands down and turned back to the man.
Dr. Kryovich, she reminded herself.
”Where am I?” She asked, sounding stronger.
He paused, tapping his chin with a prodder.
”I don’t know what it used to be called. It was the local AMF factory. They made red dye #40. But I don’t know what you would have known it as.” He began tinkering again. “Now it is just my abandoned chemical plant. You can call it what you like.”
We’re inside the plant?
“So… you made the… stuff… out there.”
The green.
”Yes.”
”So- you did this,” she realized.
He stopped working. He didn’t look angry, rather… offended.
”I did not tell you to jump into my vat of acrid liquid, so I hardly think you can blame this on me,” he said. (the real prompt for today)
“Is that what happened?” She asked quietly, more to herself.
She wouldn’t mind if he explained, though.
“Well, I have to assume so,” he held up his arms, “there wasn’t much to go off of.”
He turned back. “Just a should-have-been-dead body,” he said, quietly indignant.
He didn’t say more, so she took the moment of silence to figure out how to get out of this mess. Will he let me go? He didn’t take me to a hospital… Anxiety pulsed through her.
Her skin flared again, and suddenly all she could see was the ocean surrounding her. The water eating her. Searing her open eyes.
She groaned as reality- the ceiling- returned.
She turned her head.
The doctor remained sitting, but watchful.
With effort, she pushed herself back to a sitting position. Her head pulsed, so she waited for it to adjust. She put a hand on it.
She gasped.
”Where’s my hair?!”
The doctor laughed. “That is what you are concerned about?”
She rubbed her prickly head, hoping to find more.
She whipped her head towards him. “Where did it go?!”
“I would assume,” he set down his tools, “that the acrid liquid you submerged yourself in, ate it. If it’s any consolation…” he trailed off, staring at her bald head. “It may very well grow back.”
”MAY?”
”We do not know what the damage was. But your head looks… well it’s far more burnt than fuzz, but seeing as you still have some form of skin, you may retain some form of hair.”
She contemplated her arm, and lightly rubbed it. The color was patchy, but in texture, it was smooth. She checked her armpit.
Well, she might never have to shave again.
”I will bet that your body hair is gone forever,” the doctor said before looking away again.
She hadn’t thought he would still be watching.
“Can I get a mirror?” She asked.
He stopped. “Hmm.”
Her heart quickened.
”I am not sure I have one. It can wait. I will ask Ms. Debinsky for one when I call her.”
“You’ve got a lot of metallic stuff over there,” she argued. “Surely something will work.”
”Hmm,” he perked up and glanced over his stack of trash next to his table, on the floor. “No.”
She sighed.
“Who is Ms. Devinsky?” She asked.
“Debinsky. She is an assistant. Helped me with you, actually.”
What- oh.
She looked down at her scrubs.
“If it makes you feel any better,” he added.
He picked up his project and turned it over, examining it.
“Not assistant,” he said, picking up a tool and sticking it into the project. It sizzled. “Henchman. Henchwoman?”
Paris chilled. “What?”
”Henchwoman?” He glanced over, and paused. “You know. I am a mad scientist?”
She looked down, trembling. “Oh.”
She could feel it coming on.
SPLASH
The water hit her back, then enraveled her, grabbed her shoulders, raced up her arms as they fell to the wayside, conquering her feet last.
The water’s conquest turned to fire.
She screamed, ablaze as if by gasoline.
She needed to go back, to be home again. To escape this place and this pain. Her old life.
She couldn’t remember it.
No, she had been someone. Some girl. Paris.
She couldn’t see it, that was all.
Her family…
blank.
It was blank.
Paris who?
She opened her eyes, and found that her face was crusty. Her eyes were leaking, and her cheeks were covered in it. Her nose was crunchy.
Her first move was to check for Dr. Kryovich.
He wasn’t there.
She inhaled sharply, then caught that breath. She got up slowly, and found that her skin was extremely sensitive. She breathed out slowly around the pain of moving out from under her sheet.
The table across the room was missing The Chunk, but there were still pieces of The Project, and tools laid out. The doctor was not finished.
She stood up for the first time in ages, and felt the cold floor. It was nice. Her pants fell down to her ankles, but she assumed the legs they covered were as white as the rest of her.
Is my face white?
She needed that mirror.
What I need even more, she reminded herself, is to go home.
Wherever that is.
She stepped forward cautiously. She was fine. She quietly and intentionally moved towards the door, heart pounding.
And, of course, it opened.
”Oh,” the doctor stopped, one hand on the door knob. “Well…” he appraised her, then shrugged. “You are up.”
She was frozen. Her breathing was loud to her, her heart shaking. She didn’t want this to lead into another attack.
She could feel it. Not as an onset. But as something which was always there. She was always burning.
The Doctor was holding a large box against his body with one arm, and so he now hobbled over to the table and set it down.
This was it. The door was open. It wasn’t a clear path- she would have to slide right past him- but it was as good as she could get.
She ran for it.
And tripped over his leg.
She threw out her arms, and successfully kept herself from face planting. She slid a little. That was all it took.
She gritted her teeth as the skin on the front half of her body flared.
”I would not recommend running away,” the doctor said.
The door was right in front of her now.
She- gently- got to her knees.
“I brought you a mirror.”
She stood up, and turned to him, backing away.
”You really think a mirror is enough to make me stay?” She asked.
She was through the doorway now. She glanced to the side and got a glimpse of how vast the new space was.
She looked back at Kryovich. He was holding a hand mirror up for her.
She was further away than one was supposed to be when using a handmirror, but she wasn’t blind.
Her face was white, yes. Her eyebrows were gone, too. Her hair was nothing but a burn spot on her head. Her lips were white and chapped, and she had eye bags. Dark, green streaks ran from her eyes, outwards, like cracks.
She screeched, looking away.
She had to steel herself before touching her face. She felt something… crumbly. She jumped and pulled her hand away.
She steeled herself again, and this time, looked back the mirror, and stepped toward it.
He’s going to catch me.
She focused on her cheeks, anyway. There was a lighter, crusty material on them. She rubbed at it, and it came away. It was her dried tears.
She peered at her tear ducts in the mirror, brushing at the dried tears there, too.
They were green.
She shuddered, then looked into her eyes.
The whites were tinted green. They were so light, they almost seemed to glow. Other than that little detail, they were… perfect. Not even bloodshot.
That didn’t seem right.
She pulled back, though not before noticing her vibrant green irises. They might actually have been glowing.
She stepped back slowly, raising her eyes to look at Dr. Kryovich again. He met her gaze, lowering the mirror.
”It is time for your query,” he said. “You can run away, but you will be stuck with this pain for the rest of your life.”
She stopped breathing.
She hadn’t even thought about that. How will I manage? Where will I go? Could I even find my house anymore?
”If you stay,” he stepped to the side and gestured to the box he had brought, “I believe I can stop it.”
She inhaled. ”How?”
”Come and look,” he stepped back to the rolly table, where he set down the mirror.
She followed, anxiety rising with her proximity.
He tilted the box towards her, and she peered inside.
It was his project. A pile of metal shapes, which she now understood. A helmet laid on top. He lifted it out, revealing the many matte black armor segments below, which would cover the torso, shoulders, and probably arms. She couldn’t envision it covering a whole body, though.
”I am not finished,” he said. “But we need to test it anyway.”
He held the helmet out to her, and raised his eyebrows.
”What?” She asked.
”If you want to stay, you may put it on.”
”What will it do?” She asked cautiously.
”Spray you. With a compound I made, which should sooth the burns and stop your… sessions.”
She would’ve grabbed it, but her mind caught up. If you want to stay.
“What, so, I can’t find out if it works first?” She asked.
”It will. Maybe not this version, but I will be able to make one that works. And if not, I will figure something else out. Your choice is not complicated. You can leave, or stay. That is it.”
“But- but can’t we work something out-“
”I am not a charity. If I am going to help you, it is to advance my studies. I will require secrecy, and that is not something you can assure me if you go out there,” he gestured towards the door and what lay beyond. “The fact I am even giving you the choice to leave now is the extent of my generosity. So,” he held up the helmet a little higher. “Choose. Quickly.”
It was simple, but not because there were only two options. It was simple because she had no choice at all. She couldn’t go. She could hardly survive one life in the world. She wouldn’t last a week with her skin aflame.
Paris felt a fresh emotion. Frustration. She balled her fists tight and shook them at her sides. She squeezed her eyes shut. Breathe. She opened them, and a newly produced tear traveled only an inch before she wiped it away. She checked the back of her hand.
pale lime green, just as she’d feared.
Disgust vibrated through her.
Dr. Kryovich cleared his throat. She looked up, refocused, and took a deep breath.
”I choose to stay,” she nodded once.
”Good,” he shook the helmet a little.
She took it, and put it over her head.
The glass was tinted with black, but she could still see through it.
Dr. Kryovich pulled a janky looking, rectangular controller from the box. He fiddled with it. She felt something mist her face, and she coughed.
”Oops,” his voice was muffled. “I should have told you to hold your breath.”
Her anxiety rose. “Wha-“
The quiet burning in her face stopped. She sighed happily with a relief that felt foreign.
”I assume it worked?” Dr. Kryovich asked.
”Yes!” She actually laughed, “Yes, it worked!”
She looked at the box, feeling giddy with her excitement to be covered head to toe in the stuff.
Even the doctor seemed relieved. “Good,” he sighed. “Now take it off.”
”What?” She crossed her arms. “Why?”
He sighed with frustration now. “Because I want to talk to you. The effect isn’t going to immediately disappear.”
She glared, but hid it before taking off the helmet. She held it in both arms.
”Okay, what?” She asked.
He raised an eyebrow. “You got sassy fast,” he muttered. Then, more directly, “I have a few questions.” He sat in his rolly spinny chair and, in the slightest spirit of courtesy, turned it towards her.
She shifted.
”What is your name?” He asked.
“Paris,” she said.
“Paris what?”
She stared at him as her mind remembered the horror she had discovered earlier.
”I don’t know.”
He considered her for a moment. Then he shook his head.
”That won’t work.” he stood up, excited. “You were changed, clearly. So you shall be what you were reshaped by.”
”Green?” She jabbed, offended.
He nodded thoughtfully. “Yes.” Then he smiled. “Paris Green.”
AILESSWHUMPTOBER (but im a conscientious objecter to writing straight up whump or smthing) DAY FIVE: “How do you want me to punish you?”
Title: im pleased with how i used names in this >:)
Fandom: my own, Protron (Agent Academy)
Characters: Empath (real name Eden) and Telepath
Age rating: G
Warnings: author chose not to use any because its super mild bruh
“So,” Telepath slapped the folder onto the table. “How do you want me to punish you?”
Empath- Eden- furrowed her brow. “What?” She asked fearfully.
”I can’t let you off the hook,” Telepath explained with a reassuring smile, “but I can give you a choice in what happens to you. What consequences would you prefer?- Or, no.” She put on a more professional tone. “What do you think would best help you grow?”
“What are my options?” Empath asked cautiously.
Telepath opened her folder and searched it.
Empath waited, staring at the metal table before her. The accommodations- two chairs and a table, both of which were metal and bolted to the ground- might seem harsh for any other children’s facility. Here, it made sense. You never knew what kind of metahumans you would be dealing with.
It was sterile, yes. That meant it was also bright. Too bright for many. Fluorescent lights. Perhaps they were adjustable. They ought to be.
”Well,” Telepath spoke up, “it looks to me like you could join your… team in extra mentoring hours, community service, selective missions, you know, or…” her eyes twinkled, “solitary confinement.”
Eden’s heart leapt uncomfortably. “Would that work?”
”I don’t know,” Telepath shrugged. “Would you like to try it?”
“I… I don’t know. What if it’s just bad?”
”I’ll pull you out if anything goes wrong,” Telepath reassured. “And… well, it’s supposed to be correctional. If it turns out to be uncomfortable for some of your stay, that’s not so bad, is it?”
She waited for Empath’s response with a smile.
“No,” Empath said softly.
“Well then, we will try it,” Telepath tapped her folder on its end, and then stood.
Empath stood.
”Hey,” Telepath caught her attention. “It could be great,” she smiled slyly.
My niche is writing women who are super bad at helping people recover from their emotional breakdown. She knows the steps, but she is far too sassy for this.
Fandom: my ocs (will always be the case) (specifically Fly and Leopard) (Protron)
Age rating: content wise, probably T, but presentation-wise, probably G. Im woefully unintense.
Warnings: implied self harm, abuse of romantic partner, needles, reference to the fnaf books
This took me way too long to edit.
Fly sat on his rolly gamer chair in the warehouse, watching his DIY chemical lab. It was two folding tables and a Rube Goldberg machine, but it was what he needed. 5mml of liquid was being sucked through tubes and mixed with glowing liquids. Its color changed as it went, but once it made it to the end, it was, of course, a glowing green.
It poured out into a glass vial. He capped and inserted it into a plastic sleeve with a metal needle on the end. He set that down carefully, and pulled out his phone.
“I’ve got a surprise :),” he texted.
He put his phone in his pocket, and then went to the sink at the wall.
When he was done washing his hands, a door at the far, far end of the warehouse opened.
Leopard stalked out.
He smiled at her, “it’s ready!”
He returned to the lab tables as she reached them, then held up the syringe with a smile.
”Finally,” she scoffed, easily reaching over the lab equipment for it.
He pulled away. She looked offended, and he wilted. “We have to sanitize your arm first,” he explained sympathetically.
She “ugh”ed, but backed off. “This better be worth it.”
“It should be,” he said, trying to keep the mood light.
[It’s late ok I cant think straight. I cant spell i cant nothing. I am falling asleep rn. I cant explain to begin with.]
He opened a wipe package. “You can sit in the chair,” he offered.
She walked around the table, and as she passed him, glared into his eyes. She opened her mouth. Then she stopped, and looked away. He turned to observe her movements, and as she sat down, she cleared her throat and smiled.
”Sorry-“ she dismissed the conversation thus far, “-this just means a lot to me.” She smiled at him and he warmed.
”I know,” he said kindly.
Focus. He was holding a sanitizing wipe for a reason. He probably should've washed his hands after putting on the gloves? Idk im not a doctor. All I know is Circus Baby would know and I think that’s coool. [this had a really funny visual fade-out that doesn’t translate into darkmode, so thats sad but just know it was funny]
He halted when he realized she would need to roll down one of her arm warmers.
”I need you to roll down your sleeve,” he requested with much sheep and apology. He also gestured towards her right arm.
She stared into nothing, her face twitching. She came back, and instead pulled her long, fingerless glove (arm warmer) down until it was halfway off.
He tried to ignore the scarring.
Once he had wiped off the planned area on her inner forearm, he numbed it.
”Seriously?” She asked.
”It’s worth it,” he said.
Then was time for the injection.
It was quick. She barely reacted. But her veins near the injection site did. They gained green luminescence.
Fly and Leopard held their breath. The mood lifted.
And nothing happened.
They waited.
Awful silence filled the room.
She started to look up at him.
”I’m not feeling anything,” she said in a low, taunting voice.
“Give it more time,” he pleaded.
She got up, keeping his gaze, but giving him daggers along with it.
She stepped forward.
He stepped back.
She was twitchy.
“I- I’ll have to try again,” he searched for something to appease her.
She would want him to try again, even if she did hate him now. He would be more careful to make a serum worth showing her. In the mean time, he would make sure he had something else to offer to make up for all of this. Something quick, that he could give her tomorrow.
”No.”
She whipped out a gun, immediately aiming it at him.
His heart dropped.
”What?”
“I’m tired of playing this game.”
”Leo, I’m sorry.” He held his arms up where she could see them. “Maybe I’ve just been trying to do the impossible here. I can try something else. You can still reach your dreams, and I can still help you. Please. I know you. You don’t want to do this.”
She gave one harsh “Ha!”
”I am done, Fly. I’m done playing this game. So let me be clear-“ She stepped forward again. “I do not love you. I never did. I do not need you. I never did. And I do not want you around. I never did.”
BANG BANG
He stumbled backwards, a expression of his shock at the utter PAIN he was now experiencing, which came from the holes in his chest and gut.
Leopard giggled. “Yes,” she stepped towards him, and held him by his supersuit. “This works quite well. Now, I’ve got to go, but rest assured,” she pointed at the security camera in the nearest corner of the warehouse. “I’ll be watching this all later.”
She let go and he fell to his hands and knees.
He couldn’t stay upright, so he tried to turn himself over and down, gently. He fell in the end, but he was at least on his back, and the cold floor was refreshing. The lights now in his eyes were not, so he closed them.
He could feel his heartbeat now. It shook his whole body, and he was breathing so hard, it felt like it was all he could do. Limply, he waited for this to pass.
Amidst his gasping and shaking, which was turning into convulsing, he couldn’t even tell that he was crying.
AILessWhumptober DAY ONE: “Well that shouldn’t have happened”
Title: sTABLE Relationships (Part 1)
Fandom: Mine, babeee (Protron)
Rating: G
Warnings: a tiny sprinkle of parent being toxic (so teeny tiny but im not an ao3 author so idk what needs warnings and what doesnt)
Disclaimer: This is decidedly not whump.
a little guide to the characters (please ignore the favoritism) (only some of them are in costume, this is mostly purposeful)
Stella slapped her last two cards faceup onto the table “I WIN, PUNKS.”
Trish threw her cards onto the table, Hayden lamented loudly, Jared opened his mouth wide to say something stupid, and-
“ESTO ME CAUSA ANGUSTIA!”
The card table streaked across the room in a flash of pink light and crashed against the far wall. The group turned as one to Emily, who sat in her folding chair, now facing a void. She looked shocked.
”That wasn’t supposed to happen,” Emily said.
Stella burst out laughing, and everyone joined.
”That was aggressive," Stella said.
“I really didn’t think it would go so far,” emily explained. “I just thought it would be funny to knock it over.
“Now we need a new card table,” Trish realized, sobering.
”I’ll cover it,” Hayden waved his hand dismissively.
”Maybe we can fix it?” Emily asked.
They looked at the splintered pieces of the table that laid across the room from them.
”I don’t think it would be worth it,” Hayden grimaced. He stood and walked over to examine it.
“I’ll gather the cards, at least,” Emily said haistily, jumping up.
”You do that,” Stella pulled out her phone, remaining sitting.
Trish rolled her eyes and stood.
”Wait, we’re not done playing, are we?” Jared asked, joining her.
”We don’t have a table,” Trish shrugged. “Besides, I should really get back to work.” She walked towards the door.
”We have a floor,” Stella said loudly, not looking up from her phone.
Trish turned and looked down at their new cement floor. “No.”
“Let’s go to IKEA,” Hayden announced.
Stella burst out laughing again. No one really understood why.
Emily, who had been staring at the broken table, and the splinters of wood mixed with strewn cards, finally began lifting the cards with her telekinesis. (your welcome reader yes i will throw you a bone)
“You-“ Stella began, addressing Hayden, “you have all this money-“ she lost it again.
Trish chuckled, getting it.
”I’ll go to IKEA with you,” Jared offered to Hayden. ”So,” He looked around the group, "reconvene once we have a new table?”
Trish laughed, “once you’ve built it, sure. Well, actually, no promises. But I’ll try.” She tapped the button next to the door and it slid open.
“Hey-“ Hayden cut in, “I’ll have you know I’m quite good at mechanics.”
”Modding cars is very different from IKEA instructions,” Trish replied, walking out backwards.
The door closed.
”who needs the instructions?” Hayden asked, looking to Jared for help.
Jared shrugged. “Ok, let’s make this quick.”
They headed for the door, but Jared stopped and heel turned. He pointed at Emily.
She stared back nervously.
”Do you want me to get that?” He asked.
She looked over at the pieces of wood.
”uhhhhhhhhhh”
It was a pointy mess.
”y’know what?” She said, “Just accompany me to the dumpster.”
She covered the mess in glowing pink outlines and lifted it into the air, where it kept pace with her as she gingerly followed the boys.
Stella was left in the silence, staring at the paragraphs her mother had sent her.
She typed out “Sorry, but I just don’t hate Dad like you do :)”, but didn’t hit send. She stared at the screen. She sighed and squeezed the off button. The screen darkened with a click as she let her hand go limp. She looked at the bare grey wall across from her. Then to her left, at the debris on the floor.
Maybe she could still catch up.
She stood, pocketed her phone, and ran for the door.
