#short writing
Inspired by this postby@thatsgonnaleaveamark and originally posted under the URL @agentangst on September 19th, 2021
“Naw, it’s fine–”
“I think your arm is broken,” B says sharply, stepping up to their injured friend, who immediately recoils.
“I can handle it,” A chokes out.
“You’recrying.”
A shakes their head, moving their free grip from their injured arm to over their mouth. It does nothing to suppress the tears and sobs.
“No, it’s fine…!” A smiles, a terribly shaky and not at all convincing show of bravado. “It’s just my pain tolerance, ’m just being a bitch right now…”
Inspired by this promptby@whumpers-inc and originally posted under the URL @agentangst on August 4th, 2021
A grit his teeth. “You wouldn’t dare!”
Blunged at him. A recoiled, slamming back against the chair he was tied to, before B stopped just inches from his face.
“…Do you really want to test that theory?” B whispered lightly.
A could barely hear the question over his own rapid breaths.
Dark silhouettes hung above him against a deep blue backdrop. Long limbed they were, gnarled, bent and twisted, like so many witches’ hands preparing to snatch him up. He was quick to close his eyes, perhaps hoping to banish these dark shadows back to whatever corner of his mind they’d come from.
Originally posted under the URL @shsl-whump early in 2020
WARNING: captivity, mentions of torture, manipulation, unwanted suggestive gestures
She’d finally stopped actively torturing him. Gone were the cruel threats, the slaps, the harsh pulls at his hair, the stings of knife blades slicing into his skin. Here were the crooning words, the caresses, the gentle fingers through his hair, the barely chaste touch of lips on his skin.
He hated it. He hated it, he hated it, he hated it, he hated it.
She‘d promised him, at the start of it all, that she would make him beg for her to hurt him.
He could scream. He could cry. He could rage. But he could not deny that she was a woman of her word.
Originally posted under the URL @shsl-whump in late 2019
WARNING: threats of torture, general creepiness, implied captivity
“I’ll tell you what… If you can take what I’m about to inflict on you like a good boy, I will let your friends go. But, if you squirm, if you scream, if you do anything I don’t like… I’ll turn it all on them.”
A blade traced the outline of his cheekbone, ever so gently. It was almost ticklish.
“Do we have a deal?”
mountain tops scream
urging to climb up to see the other side,
where Elsewhere may be -
where I may see the life you saw in me.
lights illuminating - blinding even,
I expect nothing less,
but you say more, a life worth dying for,
and now I feel like a deadly disease,
because you’re gone and no lights gleam.
- other side // c.c
“Light years away, yet you’re still stuck in my brain.”
- c.c
each detail once so defined seems to be falling out of mind,
breaking the image once prayed to in the silent ways of a blind heart
with a frail soul cracking like fault lines and the ruin holding silence that gravitates and pulls to recreate the mosaic of you
- my mechanism or your renewal // c.c
you were the main character in my story
i felt like the happiest girl in the world for a month
but turns out our romance ends in chapter nineteen
and soon you disappeared from my life
i swear i would do anything just to touch you again. i would give up everything if that means i get to see that smile of yours for the last time. i would happily rest in peace if i have the chance to tell you how much i loved you just once more. why is life so unfair?
Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me and I feel your presence everywhere. I see you in strangers’ faces and I let myself pretend that they’re you, just so I can see you again. You’re the song I’m listening to and I let myself believe that we’re listening to the same radio. You’re in every book I read and every sentence feel like they’re written just for me, like you’re talking directly to me. It’s stupid but I never brush off these tricks because they make me feel closer to you.
The supposed heroine clutches a small glass bottle in the palm of her hand, her eyes wide open as she scans the ship’s deck. The entire crew was trying their best to remain on their feet as the ocean waves tossed the boat side to side, water crashing in over the sides and spilling in to gather around everybody’s ankles. First one man tumbles over the side of the ship into the ruthless water below, and then another follows, a few more hanging on to nearby objects in hopes not to follow their friends’ fates.
She then looks down at the bottle in her hands; the intricate glass bottle was full of smoke, pitch black, rolling and writhing. It’s label read: miscellaneous death god, do not drink. Despite the warning, she believes just for a moment what is grasped between her fingers may just be her only option to lead everybody into safety. A moment was all she needed, as she pops off the cork of the bottle and brings it to her lips and tilts her head violently backwards.
The black smoke takes less than a second to invade her lungs and expand, seeping into her blood stream. She drops the bottle to let it splash into the sea water around her feet and exhales, black smoke dissipating from her mouth like fog on a winter day. She lifts her eyes one last time to see her crew continuing to struggle as the ship struggles to ride the violent waves, and then everything goes black.
When she wakes up, she is greeted with the warmth of the Sun’s rays on her face. The supposed heroine finds herself lying on the deck of her ship alone, the only people there to keep her company being the dead bodies of what was left of her crewmates scattered along the ship’s deck around her, dried blood marking everything in sight.
She doesn’t know is she wants to remember what happened, looking down at her red stained hands.
Prompt #2244 bolded above from @deepwaterwritingprompts
