#breathing whump my beloved

[sprout-fics]

I think abt this all the time so I need to ask you. // whumpy ask ahead

Do you think simon’s ever afraid to sleep with/near his partner bc he gets violent night terrors and he’s terrified he’ll hurt them trying to ‘defend’ himself during a ptsd episode? I don’t think he’d ever be intentionally violent or scary, but I mean the man has been through a metric fucktonne of shit and clearly has survival instincts that rival a grizzly bear, what if he had a night terror and that self-protection instinct kicked in before he could register that he’s safe, he’s not in danger, that someone he loves is on the other end of his self defence? What if he hurt them on accident? What if he’s really as rotten on the inside as he pretends not to be? What if he shatters their trust? The trust he never deserved anyway? What if he’s a monster?

Anyway this thought consumes most of my waking moments. I love him. Put that man in a Shituation

Dark Vision

(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OFC 'Fix')

(Of Shadows and Bones Masterlist)

Rating: PG-13 Wordcount: 1.5k Tags: Established Relationship, Sleeping Together, Angst, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Second Person POV Warnings: PTSD nightmares A/N: Anon I literally could not resist not only putting that man in a shituation, I will put that man in a shituation with my beloved Fix

He’s talking in his sleep again.

Strange half-mumblings, words with no meaning that you can hear from behind you, curled as you are on your makeshift bedroll. The abandoned cabin on the rise overlooking your RV point does little to insulate against the chill that comes just before dawn. Both your forms are swallowed in darkness as Soap sits outside on third watch, vigilant for any approaching trespassers who may have followed you from the village the three of you had cased for traces of Makarov. Simon had taken the first watch, and you second. By the time you’d come inside to lay down he’d been curled on his side, solidly asleep and clutching one of his blades in a steadfast grip.

Almost as if he was protecting himself not from his pursuers, but from dreams.

“Tommy-”

Your worried frown deepens as the garbled, cracking call from the soldier behind you. You’d situated yourself not far from him, hardly touching except when you’d stretched out your legs. He’d twitched when your boots had grazed against him, and you thought for a moment he’d wake, levy a snarking remark at you. Instead he sucked in a deep breath, released it, and once more fell still. Now, you can feel him twitching in his sleep- little jolts and shudders as he bodily tries to fight off whatever shadows haunt his mind. 

You shouldn’t wake him. You know better than that. Simon isn’t one to appreciate coddling, would merely buck you off and be sour for the next day until he forgot about it. Really, you should just go sit outside with Johnny, feign an excuse of sleeplessness and leave Simon to his restless dreams. 

“F-Fix-”

You nearly startle at that, eyes blinking as you’re suddenly wide awake. You sit up, twist to look at Simon’s shuddering form, curled around the knife in his hands with a death grip. He arches, groans at some unseen entity, the sound dragging low in his chest. Again, he calls your name, and whatever phantom clutches at him feels as if it bleeds into your own marrow, whispering fear and ruin.

You shouldn’t wake him.

You really shouldn’t.

You feel your heart race as you gently lay a hand on him anyways, a soothing touch to his shoulder that he doesn’t notice. 

“Simon.” You whisper softly, gently scooting closer to him. “Simon, love, it’s just a dream.”

The shiver in his limbs seems to abate a bit at that, and you watch as the grip loosens around the blade. You breathe in relief, feeling him grow lax as you continue to whisper to him in reassuring murmurs, trying to ward off his demons that haunt him even in sleep. 

“It’s alright, Simon. You’re okay. I’m right here.”

You lean over him more fully now, hesitantly arranging yourself closer to the curl of his spine. Perhaps the proximity is what he needs, the comfort of another’s touch that he’s always so hesitant to ask of you. Nevermind that Soap is outside. Johnny understands to some degree the relationship between you and Simon, and you pray he’ll ignore any murmurs he hears at least until he can needle you about them later. 

You’re careful as you quietly press in behind him, your hand on his shoulder hesitant, and then firm as you adjust your weight-

You feel him stiffen a moment too late.

Simon awakes with a snarl, a wild, feral beast in his fear as he twists towards you, rolls you under him in one swift, powerful motion.

You bring your hands up automatically, years of close combat roaring to life as you try to protect yourself from his violent reaction. Fortunately his movements are weighted with sleep, sluggish to some degree, allowing you to block the hand that moves for your windpipe, seize the wrist holding his knife and drag it well to the side. 

It’s still sheathed.

Simon struggles for a moment, and you watch as he sucks in air, chest rising and eyes bright as he tries to make out the figure below him in the darkness. His instincts are on overdrive, adrenaline fully fueling his blood before he was even awake. You know he doesn’t see you, he sees a threat, something that tried to rouse him for ill-intent. For all he knows you could be an enemy, an ambusher, someone trying to kill him in his sleep. 

You could be Roba, one of his men.

He grapples with you, twists your hands with a little grunt even as you try to shove him off. Your heart thumps wildly in your chest, but there’s a part of you that knows that this is Simon. Simon, who has slept near to you a dozen times, who has been in your bed, who has saved your life, who knows your real name, who once smeared blood from your cheek with a fondness that had stolen the air from your lungs. 

“Si-” You try as he hauls your hands above you, forcing yourself to go into limp surrender so as to show you aren’t a threat. “Simon, it’s me. It’s Fix.”

His shoulders are heaving as he finally stills, the blade planted on the floor next to your head. You can see his eyes glinting in the darkness, wild and unfocused, slowly dawning with realization at the sound of your voice. 

You force yourself to swallow the rush of startled surprise in your throat, trying to even your breathing and show him you’re alright. He tenses as you speak. 

“It’s alright, Simon. It was just a dream.”

Simon stares down at you in the darkness, past his mask, eyes wide with shock. There’s a flash of something you can’t name, one that passes over his eyes quickly as it too fades behind the facade of something forced. 

“Fix.” He rumbles, voice hoarse. 

You summon a shaky smile. “Yes, love. It’s me.”

“You’re-” He starts, before biting off his words, unwilling to finish whatever sentence has poisoned his mouth. 

He releases you then, his adamantium grip slowly sliding off your wrists as he braces above you, staring. 

“You were having a nightmare.” You tell him in the silence that follows, and it doesn’t truly touch the words you want to say.

You called my name in your sleep. You were afraid. What did you see? Tell me, please, so I can make it better.

He rolls away from you so his back is once again to you, and you want to chase him, press yourself to his spine as if you’re a shield for his peaceful slumber. 

“Go to sleep, Fix.” He tries, and he sounds so tired, weary in a way you want to aid. You observe him, the way moonlight catches on his shoulders from the open window, the hunch of himself as he tries to shake the remnants of his forbidden vision. 

“Not tired.” You tell him in return, and he sighs- with annoyance or with resignation, you aren’t sure.

You reach a hand for him. He tenses. 

“You shouldn’t have woken me up.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He’s silent at that, and even with his back turned you know he’s fidgeting with his gloves, a sign of distress. 

“I could have hurt you.” He says, and it’s almost angry. Not at you, but at himself. 

You observe him silently, seeing the steady rise and fall of his shoulders, the way his demons chase him into wakefulness.

“You’d never hurt me.” You tell him, and you watch him sink at that, head bowing forward. “Would you?”

“No.” His answer comes quick, and to anyone else it sounds only prompt. To you, it sounds almost desperate.

“Simon.” You murmur, and stretch forward to touch him again. You lay a hand on his shoulder, and he sucks in a breath, pauses, before he gently lays a gloved palm against your fingers. 

“It was just a dream.” You tell him again. He doesn’t nod, but he understands, this you can tell. 

“You should sleep.” He replies, softer now, tired and tender. 

“Only if you try to sleep too.” You offer, and scoot forward so your cheek now rests on his shoulder, feeling him fully relax against your touch. “Just lay down with me. You can stay awake if you want.”

Simon is silent for a moment, and you hold your breath in anticipation. At last, he turns towards you, arranges you in his arms with his back towards the window, his head tucked at the crown of your head.

You rub gentle circles into his hip as he lays your head on his arm as a pillow, curling around you protectively, almost possessively, as if daring his nightmares to touch you.

You don’t speak. There’s little else to say. You know someday he’ll tell you the thing he saw, the vision of you that had him cry out your name from his nightmares. You trust him to carry it until he’s ready, to keep you in his trust until then, and far after. You curl closer to him with a soft sigh, let your eyelashes flutter into a soft doze. 

The knife remains in its sheath, beyond his reach.

(Attaching my usual masterlist for this series because why not)

Tag List: (Reblog this post to be added to future fics from this series! If you'd like to be removed please DM me!)

@dankest-farrik @zwiiicnziiix @moondirti @sritashimada @ladiilokii @yeyinde @sandinthemachine @verdandis-blog @guyfieriiii @fan-of-encouragement @starlitnotes @alicesfracturedmirror @rentaldarling @mockerycrow @atenceladusiaawfytbwb @tinykaka @dumb-djarin @homicidal-slvt @soapskneebrace @nightingale-ghost-writer @selinn777 @nachtcirce @jujubashow @mutuallimbenclosure @kkinky @trash-boi-4-life @scatter-mind001 @alittlefansthings @allaboutirem0 @keiva1000 @makariaspresence @achelois-is-here @nightingale-ghost-writer @altered-delta @thetimidsarcasticcat @nestaarcheronss @bitchykittenconnoisseur @ghxstyops @whotfislynn @gazs-blue-hat @obi-wansorrow

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley #mw2 #cod mw22 #Simon ghost riley x oc #reader insert #cod x reader #fic: shadow and bone #oc: fix

[whumpshaped]

At My Beck and Call

first part to the AMBAC masterlist ! chronologically it ends when beck is turned :) here's the second part

picrews

beck and boba :D (beck fanart)

one (1) decorated helle (helle fanart)

lore — vampires

lore — humans, and how to stay human

i have a lore tag!

asks for helle

asks for beckett

ambac to write

latest updates:

marked (#72)

pigs (#71)

crucifix (#70)

cold (#69)

saved (#68)

the list is in chronological order. the numbers signal writing order.

-

six feet under (#22)

helle (#26)

marked (#72)

moonlight (#23)

weak pulse (#24)

late (#14)

way too hungry (#36)

cornered animal (#15)

crucifix (#70)

free (#41)

alone (#67)

-

not too loud (#1)

begging (#2)

run along (#3)

chase pt. 1 (#7)

chase pt. 2 (#8)

overtime (#19)

dirty secret (#28)

drunk (#42)

nothing of importance (#43)

breathe (#13)

drop it (#16)

invitation (#9)

boba (#30)

drained (#33)

misconceptions (#27)

silver lining (#34)

infected (#35)

ethically sourced (#17)

hit a nerve (#50)

i want to see (#5)

choice (#31)

jealous (#38)

kindness (#39)

coffee (#64)

tired (#40)

promise (#6)

lies (#56)

patience (#12)

master (#32)

beautiful night (#51)

stay (#54)

love to hate (#10)

silly thing (#11)

birthday gift (#52)

sick as a dog (#18)

shadows (#20)

nightmares (#21)

all saints' day (#57)

our beloved child (#61)

missed you (#4)

mirror mirror (#37)

good thrall (#25)

bite (#65)

die for me (#29)

turned (#44)

~

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @florissimps @nicolepascaline @oliversrarebooks @thecyrulik @pirefyrelight @there-will-always-be-blood @pigeonwhumps @echo-goes-mmm @whumpycries @morning-star-whump @d-cs @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @tauntedoctopuses @blueyellow8green @typewrittenfangs @whumpsoda @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @auroragehenna @whumpedydump @littlespacecastle @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

#at my beck and call #masterlist

[hatelangdon]

Omg just read your fav genre is whump and i literally never seen any whump blog for American Horror Story, lol...

As someone who is also obsessed with AHS and whump myself, can i possibly request a whump story for Kit Walker inside Briarcliff pls? That poor babe just suffered so much in there, but i gotta say i just love the dramatics 🤭

Tysm, I'd really appreciate that!

Fragile

Kit Walker x Fem!reader ✩ 1.2K words

Summary: Dr Arden was never a merciful man, Kit soon became an interest of his. Someone needs to extend him some kindness and nurse him back to health.

Angst, Hurt-comfort, semi-fluff

**Not proofread and probably an insane amount of commas and other errors but it'll be aight.

Warnings: (🚨 Talks about infected wounds, fever, bruising, medical abuse, Mental abuse, physical abuse, asylums, bleeding, and time period inaccuracies probably 🚨)

(A/n: Kitson, my angel, my beloved. I hate hurting him but I love the angst. Thanks for the request I didn't know what kind of whump you were interested in so I tried to combine all aspects 🤭 I was gonna k!ll him but I was feeling nice)

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆

You and Kit weren't too different from each other, both convicted on crimes you did not commit.

Female hysteria. That's what they call it when a woman was too smart, so a man locks her up to keep her quiet.

This was a cruelty that was extended to you by your own husband.

Kit was thrown in on convictions of murder, bloody face is what they called him. People wanted someone to pin a string of murders on, it was a convincing smear campaign that even you believed at first.

 But as you got to know kit as a person, as you got to know his heart, you realized he could never be capable of inflicting so much pain, especially on a woman. His character proved his innocence.

A friendship blossomed quickly between the two of you, and a delicate love that remained unspoken. It communicated itself through stolen glances and kind words

It was something just for you two to understand.

Kit was always a gentle and kind man. He always stood up for what he believed was right which is what often got him in trouble, he was too headstrong.

It had been three days since the last time you saw him, he had been dragged away by the guards for “inciting a fight” after some pervert had tried to grope one of the newer patients without her consent, you were hoping that he had just been bent over sister Jude’s knee and caned a few times, although she was harsh she sometimes had an understanding side to her

but alas, Kit hadn't returned.

That was until today, when kit was dropped off in the community room completely unraveled from his usual charming self. His eyes were glassy and seemed to stare into a void, and his body was scuffed, scraped, and bruised all over.

“Maybe that fried some sense into you walker” The guard chuckled as he dropped kit’s limp body onto the floor right in front of the couch where you sat.

You felt your throat tighten as the tears welled up in your eyes. You kneeled down to comfort him.

Immediately you pushed his hair back, your hands gentle and forgiving against his damaged skin, you could see where the metal from the shock therapy had burned him, he must've been under it for a while. His cheeks were flushed and feverish, his breaths shallow, you could tell it was hard for him to breathe from the way he winced as his chest rose and fell, the bruises on his back made you wince, the purple wounds spread across the sides like an angel that had its wings clipped.

He leaned into your touch, scanning your face like he was trying to remember who you were, if you were kind or if you would also cause him pain. His eyes were empty and lacked their usual warmth he tried to speak to you, his attempted words becoming sobs when he noticed how you were looking at him. How you pitied him.

"y/n-" he started, his voice hoarse.

“You’re gonna be okay kit, you gotta be okay. Can you walk? I can help you, but I need to get you out of here," You shushed him

He nodded, holding onto your shoulders.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, feeling a wet spot as you pressed your abdomens together.

You looked down...Kit was bleeding, a lot.

",we're going to our special place, okay? I stored some of my things in there"

There was a small storage closet hidden away in the corner that was accessible just down the hall, it was empty except for a couple of desks and chairs from when Briarcliff used to be a school. You and Kit would usually sneak off to smoke together and talk about what you would do when you finally got out of this hellhole.

Since you were technically a non-violent case you weren't searched as thoroughly when you arrived, In school you had received a bit of nursing training, you knew Briarcliff could be rough, you heard the stories and rumours, so you brought a first aid kit in your bags and stored it away the first day you were allowed in the common room.

You two took small unsuspecting steps towards the room making sure that the guards were not looking, as you slipped into the closet, closing the door behind you. 

“Kitson, I'm going to put you down OK?” you warned him

He nodded as you gently lowered him onto the cold ground. He winced feeling the pressure against his bruised back. 

You pulled the first aid kit from its hiding place in one of the desks. It was complete with some gauze pads, rubbing alcohol, a spray disinfectant, rags, medical grade needle and thread, and and a roll of bandages.

 You rolled up his shirt to examine the site of the bleeding, he had been practically cut in half and badly stitched up. The wound was jagged and puffy, it was definitely infected or on its way to being.

"It was Arden," Kit managed to speak up, tears falling from his eyes as he tried to catch his breath "If this takes me, you gotta tell 'em it was Arden." He cried out

"I won't let you die Kit, i'm going to save you," you tried to sound confident, for both of your sakes. You pulled one of the rags out and folded it into a thick square, placing it in between his teeth "This is going to hurt angel, you're gonna want something to bite down on."

He obliged, fully trusting you and biting down.

"Just keep breathing, it'll be over before you know it."

He looked up at you wide eyed as you shook the can of wound wash.

"3....2...1" with that, you sprayed the wound down.

Kit struggled against it, immediately crying out, his face turning bright red as the stinging engulfed his body in what felt like the fires of hell, pure agony.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It's to stop the infection. The hard part is over!" You graced him with a kiss to the forehead, as he sobbed.

You covered it in some gauze, applying slight pressure to soak up the fluids of the wound, before gently wrapping his abdomen in bandages to keep it safe from further harm.

"We'll have to change this out in a couple of days instead of everyday. We don't want to run out" you sighed, removing the rag from kit's teeth.

He was still in massive amounts of pain from all of his injuries, the road to recovery would be difficult.

After laying there for a couple of minutes, while you cupped his face, gently rubbing his tears away with your thumb and cooing to him, he spoke up.

"...Arden says I got two days to recover. Then he's gonna continue his research." He swallowed, his tears falling rapidly.

"That's not going to happen, my love," You pressed his hand to your lips ever so gently "save your strength, the rumours of a tunnel to the outside are true, and I know exactly how we can get through them."

Kit looked into your eyes, a glimmer of hope shining. He even managed a small smile.

"I believe in you doll, I always have. I always will."

#ahs asylum #kit walker #fanfic #reverse comfort #evan peters #american horror story #angst #whump #ahs fandom #ahs murder house #ahs fanfic #ahs hotel #ahs coven #tate langdon #james patrick march #evan peters fanfic #evan peters x reader #kyle spencer #asylum au

[amourlyns]

❛ HEY VENGEANCE. ❜ ➜ ⁽ masterlist ⁾

✧ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕: in which john price and simon riley discuss the past, present and future over a late night smoke.

✧ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: mentions of war, death, body horror, mental illness, child death.

✧ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: inspired by this post. enjoy some angsty, but soft john and si. added my own personal touches, so i like to think john went through something similar and that’s why he’s so greatly effected. + he has 2 kids, mac n rosie with his ex—wife clara. dedicated to @whittywhitty and @mawvax ‘s comic.

⟡ ⠀ | Words are never exchanged during these kinds of nights. Instead, smoke fills the space where words would lay.

There’s a bitter chill in the air that settles into John’s bones. Making a home in his marrow. Tonight, he’s accompanied by Ghost. Of course, Simon Riley would always be more than a phantom. John actively told him that— yet.

Yet it doesn’t click.

Because phantoms do not desire eulogies from their Captain, and phantoms do not seek absolution. They simply be. Somehow, Simon Riley does this all at once. Despite the façade, he’s still a man. A man who feels, a man of flesh and blood. There’s a twinge of guilt that spikes through John’s veins, he already knows that it’s too late to speak on such matters— too late for apologies on events he could not stop.

But he speaks anyways.

Some part of John really believes that Simon, not (Ghost) could read him like a book. Or at least try to. Before John can utter an apology, Simon’s gaze already settles on his superior. He’s expecting something, either words or actions. John realizes this, and speaks at once.

❛❛ I’M SORRY.. ❜❜

John shifts his weight, leaning into one leg. Simon glances towards John for a total of three grand seconds. He notices these three things. One, John Price’s brows furrow inwards when he’s contemplating something. Two, he gnaws on his beloved Clara Villa cigar when he’s stretched too far. Three, John Price loves too much.

It’s still profound to Riley, having someone apologize to him. Some nasty, ugly part of his mind tells him to be apathetic. To play dumb. John does not mean it, nor does Simon deserve such a thing. An apology, empathy, or some kind of grand understanding.

He cracks anyways.

❛❛ (…) WHAT FOR ? ❜❜

John is obviously at a loss, his cigar burns out. Ash settles on the tray, glinting in the moonlight. He lights another, gnaws, and smokes. Notes of leather and light maple stains John’s lungs. A bitter char wafts in the air. The stars seem to illuminate the hazy night.

They sit in silence for a few moments. John eventually starts up again, and Simon listens closely.

❛❛ I WASN’T THERE, SI. I WASN’T THERE WHEN YOU LOST (…) YOU. WHEN YOU DIED. WHEN YOU LOST EVERYTHING. ❜❜

Price’s words echo into the endless night, accompanied by cicadas and their hymns, the chirp of crickets follow moments after. Then, there’s silence. Is it really silence? There’s so many unspoken words that burn like an uproarious flame between the pair.

So many apologies John could say, so many stories he could say and tell. John wants to tell Simon that no one should ever experience such a thing, and how he’s a good kid. John wants to tell Simon that it’s not his fault.

And if John could, he’d explain how the soil of your own grave never leaves the ridges of your fingertips. And how you can never scrub the grime off, no matter how hard you try. How silence is the most jarring thing to a man, yet, the most peaceful. How being a living, walking, deadman changes you.

To be a living, breathing body. Rotting away like a real corpse. John thinks, and he wonders. What kind of man has the stomach to rip a jaw, and dig his way out?

Simon has his own thoughts. He ponders on his next words, and what to say to get his Captain out of this whump. It’s uncharacteristic, to see a man of John’s status and stature oh, so defeated. His shoulders are slumped, eyes are set on the view below. Obscured by the dark night, but undoubtedly somber and solemn.

Simon knows that Price’s life revolves around humans. He knows the Captain has seen terrors no man should lay his eyes upon. Simon has heard the stories and he’s seen John’s scars. Small glimpses into the window of his life. Simon knows John is lucky enough to have a family, two kids. Mac and Rosie. A loving, supportive woman in his life— his ex—wife Clara.

And yet, despite this. Simon could sense that John Price could never be a gentle man, because he never had a gentle man in his life. He only knows how to chew on marrow and sink his canines into everything and everyone.

Simon only knew this because they were two of a kind. They aren’t unfamiliar with the sight of blood spilling from orifices of a cadaver, decomposing and becoming one with the earth. Or, the gore of a body festering in puss. The corroding of flesh, and necrosis of the limbs due to an untreated infection on the field. Simon and Price have laid their eyes on parts that are meant to be hidden away by flesh and muscles.

These parts, the innermost parts, are always shocking when displayed in such raw, open spaces, like the battlefields and deserts, where bodies are picked apart by vultures and crows, but Price and Simon no longer flinches at twisted body parts and decaying flesh. They have seen far too much of it to be upset by it anymore.

But, Simon does not know how the rawness of all it washes over John, despite the disfigurement of each of these bodies (was) a living, breathing, person. Whether or not they were civilians, enemies or enemies.

John’s sense of mortality is never numbed, or dismissed. Instead, he weighs on it much, much, more. Death within his field of work is something he knows will happen. There’s no point of price diminishing these feelings.

John Price has children, he has a family. He’s ready for his own death, but are they?

Of course he’s no saint, he knows this and refuses to be called such. He has the blood of mothers, fathers, and children in his hands. He suffers each day for it. Flashing visions of gaunt faces and vacant eyes staring back at him each night. Spindly fingers that wrap around him in the night.

John is a man of war. A man who chooses the lesser evil.

The sensation of Simon’s arm on his shoulder brings him back to earth, a sense of reassurance. A silent apology.

❛❛ PRICE. YOU PUT TOO MUCH ON YOUR SHOULDERS. YOU WERE THERE WHEN I CAME BACK. YOU NEVER LEFT (…) WHEN EVERYONE THOUGHT OF ME AS A LOST CAUSE, TOO ANGRY, TOO INSANE. YOU GAVE ME A SECOND CHANCE IN THE ONE FOUR ONE. ❜❜

❛❛ YOU COULD EVEN SAY— IT WAS A (PRICE)LESS GIFT ❜❜

Simon faces John now. Stubbing out his cigarette, to grace John with a timid smile. John blinks once, then twice, then thrice. A smile, a smile from Simon Riley. John could cry, really. Granted, his eyes are already watering up from Simon’s speech. He fights the urge to laugh at that horrible pun. Maintaining a brave face for Simon.

❛❛ THAT (…) THAT WAS SO BAD. ❜❜

John chokes out, the feeling of Simon’s hand on his shoulder remains. He’s rooted now, feeling as bit lighter than before.

❛❛ AH, NOT MY BEST. ❜❜

Simon chortles, a retort dies on his tongue. For once, Simon feels lighter too. He’s ran out of smokes now. The only thing they could do was watch the sun rise back up in the horizon for tonight. And exchange a few stories, or accept the silence.

#𝐼 . ⁽ 𝐕 ⁾ 𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎’𝚜 : writings. #spirithub #cod #priceghost #ghostprice #not tagged as ship #platonic #call of duty mwii #john price cod #captain price cod #price cod #cod fanfic #cod mwii #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #soap cod #ghost cod #call of duty #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #ghost fanfiction #john price #captain price #oneshot #fanfic #angst #angst with a happy ending #body horrow cw #death cw

[bigfootsmom]

wip wednesday

I was tagged by my beloved @honestlydarkprincess <3 <3 <3

*crawls out of my hole* it's been a second. still trying to figure out what to do with myself now that rough sex whump is done. so of course i started a new wip and it has been dubbed terrible tarot trouble

Buck cries out, tongue too numb and clumsy to form the shape of Eddie’s name. He swallows thickly and tries again.  “Eddie!” It’s hoarse, barely above a whisper, and easily covered by the rumbling hum of the truck around them. “E–Eddie,” Buck says again, louder this time as his voice cracks, splintering with panic.  He can’t tell if Eddie is breathing.  “Please, Eddie—“ Buck begs, struggling to pull his knees underneath himself without the use of his arms. But he tries, shoulders screaming and the rough floor rubbing his cheek raw as he tries to get his sluggish body to respond.  He tries tugging on his wrists again, twisting and yanking until he can feel his skin tear. He doesn’t care! He needs to check on Eddie.  Somehow, he manages to get one knee underneath him, but the moment he tries to push himself up, he loses the fight against gravity. But there was never really a fight to begin with. He goes down hard, clipping his chin on the floor, the taste of iron flooding his mouth as his teeth knock together with a harsh clack.  The impact reverberates through his whole body, leaving him gasping like a fish out of water

it's late idk who is still up but i'm tagging @usersiren, @swiftietartt, @holdmygum, @miserykites, @lovebuck, @maygrantgf, @princessfbi, @mellaithwen, @homerforsure, @try-set-me-on-fire, @shyaudacity, @housewifebuck, @monsterrae1, @loserdiaz, @underwater-ninja-13, @devirnis, @father-salmon, @eowon, and anyone else who would like to post something!!! (sorry if you've already been tagged!!)

#don't worry everyone eddie is okay (ish). he is in fact breathing! #abduction #buddie #911 fic #911 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #molly writes #tag game #wip wednesday

[artistsfuneral]

part 20 - THE END 🥺✨❤ i love you so much, thank you for playing with me!!! I hope to see you again in my new fic, I'm putting a lot of work into it

.

Time traveling has a lot in common with unwillingly losing your consciousness. It doesn't take long for Jaskier to understand that, not when the parallels are so clear to see. For example, waking up afterwards is always incredibly disorienting. Your body is still heavy from getting thrown around, your mind struggling to catch up with what has happened to you. Sometimes it takes a few moments to collect yourself, other times you'll feel like you're half-asleep for the rest of the day.

So it's no wonder that Jaskier wakes to the horribly familiar ceiling of a tavern in upper Posada and immediately takes in a deep breath, expecting a piece of stale bread to connect with his temple.

What he doesn't expect is hearing the delighted squeal of his daughter, who suddenly throws her entire bodyweight into his arms. She hasn't done that since she was a child, but gods above he missed it and his heavy arms immediately wrap around her. Not a moment too late her excited voice rings out, “You did it! Jaskier you did it!”

Adrenaline washes through his system with so much force his heart jumps almost painfully. Sitting up he is quick to realizes that he's been resting on his bedroll in the middle of the otherwise vacant tavern room. Vacant but for two other people besides him. Ciri, grinning widely in his arms, and Geralt, sitting next to him on his own bedroll with a warm smile on his face. “Hey,” he greets Jaskier softly.

“Geralt?” his voice is small, hopeful.

“Yeah.”

“My Geralt?”

“Yes, Julek, yours.”

Jaskier clings to Ciri as he cries his heart out. For the first time in a really long time, it's happy tears. He's done it. Somehow he's done it and he silently thanks every god out there that helped him along the way. It was worth it. All the heartache, all the pain was worth it in the end. He has his Geralt back, his beloved darling husband, the man that he loves more than anything in this world.

Carefully extracting himself from Ciri's tight embrace, he wipes his tears away with the sleeve of his doublet and holds his hands out to Geralt. "Hey," he sniffles, only now noticing the redness around the witcher's eyes. "Hey, yourself," Geralt answers.

"I did it?"

"You did it. We're home."

@fingons-rad-harp @sinfulpetgirlrd @wren-of-the-woods @basilikum7 @eveljerome @this-is-not-a-slow-burn @araglas1989 @alaskawho @cinary @swan--writes @mirrorthoughts @chaoticfandomthot @sonatabee @gregre369 @awitcheress @yaskefer @hannibard @myfeelisfunny @filledepluie @pathsofpassion @joyfulcherryblossombasement @ryuuhana91 @toapoet @nerdymuffinbonkcloud @ineffably-a-fangirl-99 @starlghtstarbrite @siriusly-the-best-bi @cowboybuttconnoisseur @logastellus21 @chasinggeese @whump-der-it-is @inanoldhousewrites @reluctantbroodingdads @professorjaskier @ourbooksuniverse @life-as-a-gamergirl @i-write-stories-not-sins-bitch

Should I tag anyone in the new story?

#the witcher #witcher #artistsfuneral about the witcher #geraskier #jaskier #geralt #geralt of rivia

[bluecatwriter]

Me to @animate-mush: You'd better not whump Arthur in your Blood of My Blood series! >:(

Also me: *writes this*

(Thank you Mush and @ibrithir-was-here for this ongoing story! I couldn't resist throwing my hat in the ring.)

~~~

Lord Arthur Godalming had failed one of the women he loved.

This knowledge rested on him like a crushing atmosphere. It was the air he breathed, the water he drank, the shifting seasons of his emotions. Winter and summer of thoughts, an endless cycle.

Most days, he thought he had failed Mina. 

The last image of her was burned into his mind forever: the snow, the spatters of red, the snarl on her face— the way Jonathan leaped between her and the others, kukri knife flashing, drawing a line of blood that Arthur, in the end, hadn't crossed.

You must promise me, one and all—even you, my beloved husband—that, should the time come, you will kill me.

That was her request. Arthur had sworn. He had offered his hand. If you should ever need a man's help, you will not call in vain, he had said. It had turned out to be a lie, a lie that haunted him through the years, a cord around his neck that kept him from ever breathing fully. He knew he had consigned her to the realm of the undead, tortured over the long years as her soul struggled like a butterfly in a web, straining for peace. He had failed.

But on the days he believed he'd failed Mina, that meant he had saved Lucy. That meant that souls were eternal and heaven was real, and his beloved fiancée was living peacefully with the angels, and so he could bear it.

He'd moved on after they'd lost the Harkers. He had things to focus on: keeping Jack alive, getting them safely home, and later on, putting his efforts into making sure no undead would disturb them again. Adopting his daughter, pouring love and effort into giving her the best life possible. 

And now, this young man, barely more than a child, had shown up on his doorstep, looking so much like Mina…

He'd tried to keep his distance from the young man at first. Referred to him as "it" in his head, doggedly, analyzing every movement of his face to twist it into suspicion. Yet Arthur was not cold by nature, and it was impossible for his heart to be unmoved by the young man's bright smile, his eagerness to understand and be understood.

Arthur knew the signs of a child who had been raised in a loving home, and young Quincey bore them all.

On nights, after Arthur had kissed his daughter goodnight and retreated to the darkness of his own room, he felt a knife twisting in his gut, and it was very hard to believe in heaven and angels and eternal souls at all. He imagined the Harkers, undead but still caring for their child, their bodies clinging to life by any means necessary, as all creatures desire life, finding a way to scrape out joy and love and kindness in the midst of darkness.

On those nights, Arthur thought that he had not failed Mina at all.

But that meant he had failed the other woman he'd loved.

#my writing #blood of my blood #dracula fanfiction #arthur holmwood #quincey harker

[anarchy-and-piglins]

you asked and I deliver (I am exceedingly partial to “there are hybrid hunters and they are an active threat” osmp settings so be forewarned)

He spends a long time making bolt holes and hideaways around the valley, stocking them with weapons and food. When confronted, he says they’re in case of emergency for if hunters find the valley. They’re actually for the worst case scenario (the hybrids finally get fed up with having a human in their midst and run him out of town like he thinks he deserves) the rest of the crew finally put together their actual purpose only after Ran and Tubbo get angry one day after he messes with one of their projects. They yell loud and long enough to drive him into a panic, he vanishes, and the crew have to organize a party to find him before the hunters do.

They find Techno in the woods a few months after noticing the hunter’s traps seem to be sabotaged without their intervention. He gets cornered by a group of hunters, gutted and left for dead, and they barely manage to keep him alive. Niki is the first one he sees when he wakes up. he compliments her hair, and she decides right then and there that he’s staying.

Techno grew up in a mixed hybrid family and when they were captured, suffered a lot of scarring. He spends the first few months of his time with the osmp crew pretending to be a hybrid with his hybrid features surgically removed, because he’s afraid they won’t accept him and he can’t go back to the humans who did that to him in the first place.

None of the crew think about how dangerous it is for someone who can’t fly, can’t breathe underwater, cant shrink, and can’t teleport to navigate the floating islands and high bases. Techno manages through sheer stubborn grit for a while before a nasty fall takes him out of commission for a month.

He’s painfully touch-starved for a really long time. It takes a lot of late nights and awkward hugs before Phil sees him staring at a preening circle longingly and realizes touch starvation is also a human thing. He now gets to participate and they play with his hair until he passes out.

he’s usually barefoot. He’s also always got a few knives on him.

Ranboo has a lot of hair jewelry and Techno borrows it regularly. He’s the only one that’s allowed.

Okay okay okay, I'm munching and crunching on these as if they are a bowl of little snacks for me

Ough that one is painful but so so accurate to Techno's character. I wouldn't be surprised if the hidey holes are kind of meant for both, though at the end of the day Techno figures for a long while the hybrids are a bigger threat to him than other humans just because his expectations are so low

HSKJSQJHSQJSQQS YES nice and whumpy, perfect human!Techno osmp backstory

We've been over this but human!Techno pretending to be a hybrid is always tasty

YEAH, I love the 'accidental whump through oversigh' thing so much. Nobody is actively trying to make the commune hostile to Techno, it just is by design and he's too stubborn to mention it until he gets seriously hurt hehe

hsqkhqjqssq UEUEUEUEUE yes

I feel like walking around barefoot is such a bad idea he's gonna lose some toes. Good for him tho!

Peerpressureduo my beloved, I think Ranboo used to have long hair and then cut it off at some point (maybe because long hair was a sign of enderman royalty and they're doing the whole 'disowned by my shitty family' thing). Their hair is now a little above shoulder lenght and they still wear a lot of hair jewelry, but they love braiding Techno's hair and making it pretty and such. It's like, recontextualising something that used to be painful because it reminded them of their family

#technoblade #ranboo #thoughts #asks #tagging ranboo specifically for that last one hehe

[princessfbi]

can you rec some 911 authors/fics, please?? i need more stuff to read 🥺

Of course! I always tag my fics with a fic rec tag BUT I've been clearing away some tabs as I go. I'll include a variety of whump and smutty and fluffy and AUs etc etc.

First and foremost I have my comfort fic white house AU by @buddie-buddie

Battle Born which was a hockey AU and a birthday gift by my beloved @homerforsure

tellin' you my feelings; to die without revealing  by @bigfootsmom which was one of my favorites they have done.

tell me right now, baby by @markofalover was so sticking cute!

set alight (pulled back together) by @tawaifeddiediaz is wonderfully smutty.

with flame of terror (sin and error) by @bigfootsmom

something dangerous (like I love you) by @renecdote

Coloring outside the lines and I'm not you, nor you me (but we're both moving steady)  by @mellaithwen

the darker side of lust (the other side of us) by Anon

Catch and Release by @rogerzsteven

Mr. Saturday Night Special and This Could be Our Year; Don't Let Go of my Hand  and You Can Only Get So High by @homerforsure

I always recommend giving your local podficcer some love and no one is better than the wonderful and beautiful @mistmarauder

the sorority sweetheart and stupid for you (you take my breath away)  and gagging for it (gotta keep quiet)  by @prettyboybuckley

out of ashes by @ashavahishta

no one quite like you and Mr LAFD Updates Man from @henswilsons

stuck in solitude and echoed in the silence and (hurt) thy neighbor (a true favorite) by @lovebuck

to be found (verse) by @zainclaw

tied up in your love by @ever-yours118

honey hold my hand, you like making me wait for it by @sibylsleaves

but i swear [you were there] by @spaceprincessem

what could've been, would've been (what should've been you) by @swiftiediaz

#evan buckley #eddie diaz #maddie buckley #bobby nash #chimney han #hen wilson #buddie #madney #buckley siblings #911fic #911 fanfic #fic rec #anon #royal decree

[earlgreyinpajamas]

hi do you know any good merlin whump fics? maybe where arthur feels a lot of guilt or he causes merlins pain somehow? it's ok if no thank you

sacrifices (freely given; intolerable) by queerofthedagger (@queerofthedagger)

Well, the thing is that Arthur does not want to die. He wants countless nights like this, Merlin’s steady breathing solace against his side. He wants to find out if Merlin would let him tilt his head up, what he would taste like, beneath Arthur’s lips and his tongue and all the raving hunger. He wants the sun-soaked mornings and Merlin’s cold hands reaching for him, and he wants to never again see the red of Merlin’s blood well to the surface.

The thing is that, more than anything, he wants Merlin to be safe. Unfortunately, the reality of Arthur’s life has always been that the people he loves are safer the further they are away from him.

The Questing Beast injures Merlin, not Arthur. This changes nothing, and it changes just about everything.

~~~

the pain111!11!11!

2. stained with the colour of roses by TheCourtSorcerer (@thecourtsorcerer)

Slowly, he looked down. Arthur followed his gaze and inhaled sharply. Deep red spread out across Merlin’s blue tunic under one of his hands, wet and seeping onto his fingers. Blood. Arthur’s heart faltered as panic surged through him.

“You’re bleeding,” he breathed.

“I…suppose I am,” Merlin muttered in reply, his voice eerily calm. “Huh. My stitches tore.”

~~~

merlin here is injured over his protect arthur in secret business, which i think indirectly fulfills the arthur is the cause part of your request ++worried and panicky arthur for bonus

3. just a bump by TheCourtSorcerer (@thecourtsorcerer)

Blood gathered at his hairline, on his forehead. It was foreboding. Never a good sign. Arthur held his breath, the knowledge of his men watching as the only thing that held him together. He wouldn’t lose it in front of them.

He wouldn’t kill their hope by showing his own fear.

Or

Merlin gets injured when bandits attack and Arthur worries.

~~~

or arthur thinking that everything is his fault bc his beloved is injured

#merlin #merlin fic #merlin x arthur #merthur #bbc merlin #merthur fluff #merthur fanfiction #merthur fanfic #merthur fic #merthur fic recs #merthur fic rec #merlin fanfic #merlin bbc #whump #guilty arthur

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Time for Us to Leave Her

Sigh Not So | Secrets Hid Away | Shed Tears Aplenty | Fire Down Below | Rolling Down | Won't You Go My Way? | The Seas No More | The Nightingale's Song | Bones in the Ocean | For She Was Afraid | Time for Us to Leave Her |

CW: Magic whump, a kind of mind control, siren whump, reluctant whumper, creepy whumper, just like hoo boy Gilly what the fuck

-

Long after the rest of the house had fallen asleep, Atabei lay awake. 

Moonlight moved slowly across the floor as she listened to her love's deep, even breathing beside her. Eliza lay on her side, face just a few inches away, and Atabei let her eyes wander over the soft curves of her cheeks and chin, the way her hair was in disarray all around her, moon-touched to give it a silver gleam, her mouth still slightly reddened from how well Bei had kissed her. 

There was something to the quality of moonlight that shone through the window, something strong and almost… purposeful. As if the moon itself was laying a gentle hand on Eliza’s cheek. Most nights, Atabei might simply be struck all over again by her wife’s beauty, but tonight…

Tonight, the strength of the moonlight was not beautiful. It was unsettling, as if it were the villain of some penny dreadful whispering, bathe her and bring her to me. 

In the bedroom next door, Sirene had been sleeping since the clock struck eight or shortly after. Atabei had read her a story about mermaids and gently fielded her questions about the strange not-a-man who had greeted her. 

Atabei knew the siren had not meant any harm - or at least she thought he hadn't - but still. It couldn’t be risked. Sirens did count human sailors amongst their favorite meals, and many a ship had gone down with all hands due to a siren’s song. A child might simply be irresistibly delicious to such a creature. 

Plus… after a year spent under Guilford’s clearly violent thumb, and as bruised and battered as he seemed to be… Atabei wouldn’t have found it surprising if the siren hated mankind enough to kill a little girl simply for being human at all, no matter how kind his greeting had been. Hell, if the girl in question hadn’t been Eliza’s own daughter, she might have understood the impulse and not really blamed him for it. 

Guilford and his creature could not stay here long. She would suggest the Hotel Dominique, close by the water in the heart of Yawnee City. If he and the siren were gone, she would sleep more easily, or at least feel able to sleep at all. 

She should have agreed with Eliza. 

Eliza had insisted the siren be put in the barn, worried it would sneak around at night. Guilford had demanded just as insistently to keep it in his own room, just down the hall. Atabei wanted it nowhere near their beloved horses and equally wanted nothing to do with the idea of such a thing only ten or fifteen feet away.

They had compromised by utilizing the old hunting-trophy room that Eliza’s late husband had been so fond of, down on the first floor and towards the other end of the house. It was the room he had died in, coughing up blood to the bitter end as Atabei and Eliza waited for her spell to finish its slow devouring of his lungs, each of them sipping from teacups and chatting gaily about the weather, pretending they didn’t know what was happening on the other side of the wall.

The trophy room was filled with the mounted heads of more than a dozen beasts the awful man had killed himself during his travels. He had boasted about them, as if he had done anything of importance and not simply shot innocent animals for sport. He didn’t even eat them.

Eliza had had the room cleaned of her husband's blood, held his wake there, and then locked the door and never opened it again. 

Atabei had stayed still while she listened to the slight, soft sounds Guilford made while preparing for sleep, and then the gentle creak when finally he climbed into the guest bed. These old homes were solid and strong, but sound traveled too well. 

Still, though, she did not sleep. 

The wind blew through the trees outside, winding its way through the attic with a gentle sound like a deep flute, notes without song. For a while, she let it lull her into a place somewhere between wakefulness and dozing, her mind finally going quiet.

Then the sound of the wind changed, seeming more and more like a voice singing a wordless but achingly slow and sad melody to accompaniment of the flute. The two songs wound around each other, harmonizing effortlessly, nature and the man made of seawater and moonlight, angelic and yet monstrous. 

Her breathing slowed.

Atabei blinked, lazily, and shifted up onto her elbows, her eyes moving without purpose over the moonbeams that lit her wife’s face, the bed, the heavy soft rug on the floor. 

The song dug deep into her mind, winding around each and every thought and turning them to its own commands. 

Stand up. 

She hummed acquiescence and slipped out of bed, straightening the soft silk bonnet she had her hair tucked into to protect her many braids from breaking, slipping on a sleeveless, long brocade housecoat over her nightgown, pulling it tight around her waist and tying the sash. She drew a simple fire spell to light a candle and carried it into the hallway, standing still with her head tilted.

“What next?” She whispered, her lips barely moving. 

Somewhere within her, a shriller sound rose, shrieking a warning, but it could not overpower her curiosity about the source of the song. 

Come to me. 

She knew where on the stairs to step to avoid the creaking in the old wood, how to keep to the shadows in case one of the servants might still be awake.

She met no one, and the closer she came to the song the quieter her thoughts became. Shadows seemed to cling to her as if trying to pull her back. She drifted in and out of moonlight, the song growing soft and then loud, like waves beating in constant time upon the shore. Unnoticed, a door opened behind her and she was followed down the stairs and across the house. 

Come to me. 

She stopped before the trophy room, with its locked, barred door. The song came from within and she stood, for just a moment, feeling as if her very lungs now moved in time with the song. It was a song of such aching perfection and loneliness that she felt tears prick at her eyes and run down over her cheeks. She blinked rapidly, reaching one hand out to lay it against the wood of the door. 

Open the door and come to me. 

The key to the room hung on a nail just outside the door and it scraped going into the lock. She was already unlocking the door before she realized she had picked it up. The discordance jolted her and she paused, hand on the doorknob, and hitched in a breath.

The melody broke apart over her head instead of sinking into her, the notes stumbling slightly, and she understood what was happening all at once. "No," She whispered, a cold wash of sheer terror down her spine.

She turned to run back up the stairs, grab Guilford, Eliza, and Sirene and run from the sound, from the song, to find somewhere too far for its music to follow them.

"Guilford," Her voice was a cry. "The siren-!"

"I know."

She gasped and froze.

Guilford stood only a few feet away.

"It’s all right, Beibei,” He said, in the same voice you might use to soothe a skittish horse. "It's quite all right."

She let out a little cry of surprise and backed up, her back hitting the door with a thump that briefly stole her breath. The key dropped to the ground with a gentle clink. 

The moon shone from behind, putting most of Guilford in shadow. His eyes, though, and the shimmer of his glasses seemed overbright and glittering, were lit as if from within him. She couldn’t seem to look away. 

He wore the same gentle smile as the little boy who had been her first friend, before either of them could even talk or walk. A face she had known all her life.

A man who had become, in only a year, an utter stranger. A face she did not know at all.

Her fingers seemed suddenly nerveless. She didn’t even notice the candle rolling on the floor now, its magicked flame winking in and out. 

"... Guilford, what are you doing?"

"I'm sorry,” Guilford said, smiling shamefaced. “I really am.” He sounded so achingly sincere. His own eyes were wet with tears. "But I can’t leave any loose ends, you see. I can't risk it. You could undo all my hard work, so... so I can't take the chance. You're coming with me."

Atabei's vision blurred as the song began again behind her. She heard the sound of the door handle turning, the soft click as it swung open. "Guilford." Her voice was a plea, fighting against the soft cotton that threatened to overtake her thoughts once more. "Gilly, please. Just ask."

"I don't think you'd agree to this," Guilford said, his voice low. “It’s awful, what I need to do, but it’s what I need to do.” 

"We are happy here." She took a step forward, voice cracking in desperation and new fear, and Guilford reached out and took her hand. He looked like a man announcing a death, so full of sympathy and love for her. "We have a good life, Guilford, Eliza and I, we have the best life either of us dreamed of, with each other-” Her voice was hitching, catching on sobs she could not let free. "We have love-"

The siren was just behind her. She could feel the warmth of him, and yet he never touched her. He only sang, pitched low, a melancholy melody that wrapped around her like ropes, that bound her as firmly as being locked in a cage. 

"Keep your love, Beibei. Keep her. I will give you a better life," Guilford replied, earnestly. As if this all was simply a regretful necessity. "When I have Eliza's money. I will give you everything. You'll come up in the world right alongside me, Beibei. We're going to be so rich."

"... Eliza's money? How, how will you-" Then she understood.

Her heart stopped.

She looked at Guilford with wide eyes and did not see her friend at all in the open avarice that stared back. "No," She said, fighting for calm. "You wouldn't. You won't."

"Yes." His voice was gentle. "I will. Don't worry, she will be happy, happier than you can imagine now, and still with you! I will never do more than hold her hand, Beibei, but I want her money and I want you with me forever. We are going to visit my mother together. Myself, my best friend, and my newlywed wife.”

"Did you... did you come here just to do this? Is that why you came to visit-"

"Of course it is, Bei. Why else?"

"No. Absolutely not.” Atabei's hands moved to draw a magical symbol, to protect herself, but the siren's tenor swelled - nearly deafening just behind her - and she stilled halfway through the symbol. The magic collapsed uncast. 

Go wake Eliza. You have such wonderful news to share.

The song was so beautiful, she thought, as she turned and walked evenly away, each step carefully placed. Eliza must hear it at once, and hear of Guilford's plan, must know all about it.  

Guilford followed behind her.

As he should, of course - they had to break the happy news to Eliza that her second husband would be much better than her first. 

-

The siren followed his captor and the woman who had allowed him to be captured up the stairs, but while they kept walking, Areyto paused just outside another room whose door was cracked open. 

He looked inside, and saw the little girl from before, shifting restlessly as the siren could not stop singing, not now, not until the deed was done. Her eyes opened in the way of the young, who must swim up out of sleep as if from a deep, dark pool. He watched her realize there was a song, and her eyes widen… before she exhaled, and the song sunk into her. She sat still, waiting for commands.

His captor, the siren thought, could not ever be trusted with children. The young were too easy to do harm to, and his captor enjoyed causing harm. Areyto, who felt no pity for the other humans who had forced him into this position and who had rejected him with such disgust, felt himself soften at the idea of the little girl having to face the captor’s anger like he did.

His eyes went back to the other door, knowing his captor and the two women were inside, talking over something that would have been a horror twenty minutes ago but was now their dreams come true, and then he… changed some things, only for the little girl. 

Another thing that his master had not forbidden him, another way he could work around the edges of this awful imprisonment in his own skin. Small, slim, mean little triumphs that meant everything when they were the only triumphs he had.

He made his voice gentle, but resolate, within the child's mind.

Sirene, run. There is a man here who will kill you if he sees you. You must run and run and run and never come back here. Run far, to the city. Find a family and tell them there was a fire and you were the only one to make it out, but all you remember is your first name. Leave this behind, and remember it only in dreams. 

Remember that there is a siren caged by this man who did not want the same for you. 

The little girl sat up in bed with wide, terrified eyes. For one single second, she and the siren looked directly at each other. She was too young to understand, and yet something in her small round face seemed determined and resolute. She grabbed her favorite doll and inched her way off the bed before she ran, her feet pattering rapidly down the stairs as she fled for the door.

She was already weeping, before she made it outside.

Areyto felt a pain in his chest, at the sight of it, but this was better than what could come of letting his captor have power over something small and helpless. 

Run, the siren urged. Run as fast as you can. Don't look back. 

Guilford reappeared at the bedroom door. "Did you hear something? Did the front door just open?"

Areyto swallowed around the painful bruising of his throat, turning back to meet the wicked man’s eyes with his own flat and emotionless. "The child, master.”

“What about her?”

Areyto inhaled. "I told her to jump into the pond," He said, lying like oil, smooth and slick, utterly believable. "She will drown. There will be no one to steal your money after the wedding."

Guilford nodded, mollified by the mention of riches and utterly uncaring of the suggestion that the siren had sent the girl to a terrifying death in the water. He glanced back over his shoulder at the two women, who now looked at him with adoration, and winced. It wasn't guilt, the siren thought. The man seemed incapable of feeling it. But... maybe something like irritation at the inconvenience. "Make them forget her, then. Atabei and this Eliza. Make them forget the child. I don't want them to be sad, or to grieve. I can give them that, at least. Call it a wedding gift.”

"Yes, master," The siren said. He wondered what mother would think it a gift to be forced to forget their own young, but maybe humans were all cruel to children in some way. He moved obediently into the bedroom, to sing forgetting into the minds of the women, in the hopes that he could save the little girl from a life that might be too close to his own. 

In his most secret thoughts he hoped that Sirene, the child whose name echoed his own being, would find some other life to live. A better life, perhaps one without a big house but also without his captor. He could do that single mercy for the child who had said hello to him, a child named after his people. 

After a lifetime of feeding on human lives, it was strange to make the choice to save one. 

-

Tag list: @grizzlie70  @burtlederp  @finder-of-rings  @theelvishcowgirl  @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump  @bloodinkandashes  @squishablesunbeam  @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump @shrimpwritings @there-will-always-be-blood

@whumptober 2023, prompt 23: Shadows

#whump #whumptober2023 #no. 23 #shadows #captivity #multiple whumpees #mind control #siren whump #nonhuman whump #siren #monster whump #kind of? #creepy whumper #sadistic whumper #defiant whumpee #whump writing #fantasy writing #fantasy world #original fantasy #magic whump #magical whump

[roblingoblin285]

exhaustion whump!! a whumpee who’s so tired they can barely move but they have to keep going for whatever reason

bonus points if they’re injured

(also, rattling breaths my beloved)

this is absolutely one of my favorites. a whumpee who can’t keep going, but they have to, they’ve got no choice. so so good

#whump #writing #whump prompt #whump scenario #asks

[smolghostbot]

The Night Out

Because this stupid vampire refuses to leave my brain, here's another story about Nix, my beloved morally-gray genderfluid bastard vampire

(Note for the regular readers, this is not a g/t story! It's firmly a normal whump story. If you want a sizey story with Nix, check out Unlucky Clover)

Word Count: 2.8k CWs: whump, carewhumper, gaslighting, supernatural mind manipulation, abduction, nonconsensual blood drinking (maybe in a spicy way? gonna be honest besties i’m too ace to know what’s spicy or not)

======

The Next Day

Where… are you? You look around, taking in a bedroom you’ve never been in before… at least, you don’t think you’ve been here. It’s a nice looking room, except… is the window boarded? Your breath hitches as the feeling of confusion makes way to panic. Your eyes dart to the door. It’s closed. Hesitantly, you get out of the bed, only to almost immediately get hit with lightheaded-ness. What…?

You sit back down, well, really you fall back down, and look to the night stand, where you see a breakfast bar and a sports drink. There’s a sticky note, with a heart drawn on it in red. You try to remember last night, what happened?

You remember going to the bar… but you don’t drink. You were just there with some friends, but… what happened after that? Why can’t you remember? Clearly, you went home with somebody… somehow.

Shit, my phone, you think, as you try to find it, but it seems to be missing. Weirdly, you still have your wallet… so you weren’t robbed, that’s good at least.

With no other options, you open the drink cap and the package the breakfast bar is in. Both are unopened, that’s a small relief… no worries about being tampered with. After you eat and drink, you start to feel a little better, but the calm you experience is short-lived as you hear movement from outside. You begin to worry, before realizing it’s probably the person who brought you here. They’ll likely have answers.

Sure enough, the door opens, and in walks a person you swear you’ve never seen before, though he looks… familiar. He’s pale, a bit on the short side, wearing clothes far nicer than yours with makeup to match, like he was out for a night on the town. His hair is a light purple, though you can see the black roots near his scalp. As your eyes meet his, you finally take in the obvious, being his blood-red eyes… and everything starts to make sense. Those are either contacts, or…

“Oh, well look who’s awake! I’ll be honest, you certainly had me worried with how fast you passed out”, he says with a grin and a wink. You instantly notice just how sweet and smooth his voice is. Between that and his appearance, it’s not hard to see how past-you ended up in this situation.

You have a million questions. How did I get here, where is here, why can’t I remember anything, what did I do last night. So many questions fighting their way to your mouth, but only one makes it all the way out and into the awkward silence of the room.

“Where’s my phone?”

He laughs at this, a hearty laugh that gives you a good look at his fangs. Yep, those aren’t contacts.

“That’s the question you ask? Really?” He says with an incredulous tone, “Well, don’t worry, it’s downstairs, fully charged. I didn’t want you waking up and panic-texting, that could cause me problems, as I’m sure you’re starting to realize.”

“I… think I get it. So, you…” you start to speak, as you feel around your neck.

“Other side, dear. Don’t worry, they’ll disappear within a few days.”

You move your other hand up, and sure enough you can feel two small scars in your neck. Your eyes go wide with panic, though he’s quick to continue speaking in that smooth tone as he walks over and sits on the bed next to you, putting a cold hand on your chest.

“Oh, do calm down, you’re still alive, aren’t you?”

Your quickly-beating heart does confirm that theory. So you’re still… you. That’s good.

“Why… can’t I remember last night? What did you do?”

He chuckles, grinning again with those sharp teeth.

“Why, how rude of you to assume the worst in me!” he says, with mock offense in his voice. “I simply removed a few memories of when I fed, for your sake. It… may have tampered with your memories of earlier in the night, but that wasn’t my intention.”

You decide to not push it. “I can’t remember… a lot of last night. It’s… a little scary.”

The vampire moves his hand gently to your shoulder. “Please, you have no need to worry. We met at the bar, hit it off, and then we came back here for me to feed. After which, you passed out and I erased your memories of the pain.” 

A question lingers in your mind, though you’re almost afraid to say it. You stutter as you look down at yourself, “Did we, uh, aside from the…”

His gaze grows serious, and the next words he speaks seem to be missing the aloof attitude he had prior. “Let’s not mince words. While you’re quite cute, I only drank your blood, dear. Nothing more. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have wiped your memory. I’m not a monster.” he says, almost spitting the words out.

Okay. He’s answered most of your worries, but the memory situation still leaves several more questions unanswered. Regardless, as attractive as this stranger may be, you really don’t want to hang around here any longer than you have to… something doesn’t sit right about this whole situation.

“I still don’t understand why you wiped my memory… but I guess I believe you… can I, um… can I leave?”

He scoffs at this. “Can you leave? I don’t know, can you? Trust me, dear, if I didn’t want you to leave here alive, you wouldn’t be awake right now, if you understand.” He says with a wink, though that doesn’t comfort you in the slightest.

“I… I’d like to leave now.”

He stands up, making a beckoning motion with his hands. “Very well then, if you insist on heading out, and you think you can walk properly, let’s go get your phone and I’ll call a cab. It’s on me, of course. You’ll have to forgive me for not driving you back to the bar myself, but the sun is out, you understand.”

You stand again, this time able to keep your bearings after a quick stumble, and make your way out into the rest of the vampire’s house. It’s a nice house, if not a little bit unusual with every window being boarded, though you suppose that makes sense. Otherwise, it looks… almost normal. As he calls a cab, you take a seat on a nice couch in the living room, noticing that your “host” gives you a small smirk as you do so.

As you get ready to head out, you see the vampire duck away from the door, but not before saying one final thing. “I added myself to your phone, by the way. Look for Nix if you change your mind about spending some more time together. I’m always here,” Nix says with a flirty wink as you walk out the door.

The Night Before

Fuck, how did you end up in this situation. You were just at the bar with your friends, and now you’re sitting here making awkward eye contact with a vampire. You know she has just as much right to be here as anyone else, you suppose, but still…

Oh, shit, she’s headed right for you. As she gets closer, you take in her appearance. She's average height, you think. Her outfit is fancy, with makeup to match, though it doesn’t hide the tell-tale pallor of a vampire. Her hair is a lavender color, with visible black roots, and her eyes a bright crimson, typical for vampires.

Clearly she notices your wary expression, as her eyebrows raise, and she begins to speak to you, her voice sweet and smooth.

“Let’s cut to the chase, dear, I see the way you’re looking at me. Are you captivated by my appearance, or just not used to seeing my kind?”

“I, uh… sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude…” you stammer out, definitely not wanting to insult her.

“It’s all fine, my dear. Honestly, it amuses me. You look young… let me guess, you’re new to the nightlife, probably here with those friends of yours, and worried about… these?” She says, before flashing her fangs at you quickly. She chuckles and takes a sip of the drink in her hand as you try to form a response.

“No, I just, uh…” you try to lie, but quickly realize that she can see right through you. “Sorry.”

“Well, I’ll have you know this is just a normal margarita, and I’m just trying to enjoy an evening the same as you.”

Well. Now you feel like a jerk. “O-of course, I didn’t mean to imply…”

She laughs again as she cuts you off, before staring at you with a look that you can only read as condescending. “Oh, you’re absolutely adorable, you know that? Don’t worry about offending me, dear, I’ve heard it all before.”

After a moment of you failing to reply, she gives a wink and heads back to the other side of the bar after a simple “Try not to stare, dear”. You try to remain calm and collected. After all, she’s just a vampire… There are lots of vampires… 

Your friends come back, and you hang out for a few hours, still noticing the vampire a few seats down at the bar. You swear she glances at you throughout the night, but you pay it no mind.

Finally, your friends start filtering out. The friend you were supposed to be driving home, of course, decided to go home with some guy, so they no longer needed a ride. Typical. As you head towards your car alone, you’re interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Leaving so soon, dear?”

You turn around and see her, that vampire. Immediately, your eyes dart around, looking for anybody else nearby, just in case, but she quickly interrupts your panicked line of thinking.

“Oh, do calm down. Seriously, what do you think I’m really going to do?”

Bashfully, you take a deep breath. She’s absolutely right, she’s done nothing to warrant that kind of reaction… until suddenly she’s right behind you, one hand on your waist, the other holding your head back, and her face right near your throat. She speaks, her breath tickling your neck.

“Something like this? Sneak up behind you and drain you dry?”

You freeze as your life flashes before your eyes, but you hardly have time to make a sound before she’s back to where she was standing, a few feet away, looking at you expectantly.

“Well, that should prove that I mean no harm. If I truly wanted you dead and drained, you would be,” she says, as if that’s comforting in the slightest.

“W-what do you want?” you ask, after taking a second to compose yourself.

“Oh, you know the answer to that, don’t you? You’ve clearly been anxious about it all evening.” she replies, grinning enough for you to see her fangs.

“Wait, wait, hold on, you just said you wouldn’t…” you stutter, panic rising as you start to look around again.

“Kill you, yes.” she says, taking a very deliberate step forward. “And I won’t. But you see, I’m quite hungry. Don’t worry dear, if you’re good then I promise everything will be just fine.”

You go to run, but your arm is grabbed with an almost impossible strength. You think to scream, but something feels like it’s stopping you. You look at the vampire, and see her eyes glow in an almost hypnotic way.

“I… I don’t want to die…” is all you manage to whisper, as if your own mind is preventing you from screaming in terror.

“Shhh… I promised you’d be fine, didn’t I? So why don’t you just come with me, nice and easy, and we won’t have any trouble.” she says, changing her grip so her arm is wrapped around yours, hand in cold hand.

“There we go… My place is just a few blocks away, why don’t we go for a nice walk, hm? Unless you want to make a mess out here?” Despite her phrasing it as a question, she’s already walking, forcing you to walk as well to keep up. To an outsider, you’d look like a normal couple going for an evening walk… which is probably exactly what she wants.

Your words feel like they’re stuck in your throat, both from fear and whatever influence she’s putting on you. You’re barely able to speak, your voice coming out as a whisper even as you try to shout. “Why…?”

The vampire seems confused, before giving that toothy grin you’ve grown to hate and replying. “Because, dear, you were perhaps the world’s easiest target. And what can I say, I find myself drawn to the anxious types… It makes the hunt more fun.”

“I have… a family…” you say, as if it’ll do anything to deter the vampire.

“Aren’t you moving a little fast, dear? We’ve only just met, and you want me to meet the parents,” replies the vampire, a snarky tone in her voice. “I already told you, as long as you play nice then you’ll be going home tomorrow, there’s no need to beg… though I do find it entertaining.”

“... There’s no… getting out of this, is there?” You ask, and she gives a small chuckle before nodding in agreement.

“I’m afraid not. You must understand, it’s been quite a while since I’ve fed. And, if I may be so bold, your blood smells amazing.” She says, which only serves to make you more nervous. The rest of the walk is quiet, aside from some cheerful humming coming from your kidnapper as she swings your arm to a rhythm only she’s aware of.

As you enter her house, you’re walked over to the couch, and surprisingly, she lets go of your hand. As she walks away, you jump up to escape, only to see the vampire chide you and shake her head from across the room. “Now now… remember what I said about being good? Unless you want the thrill of a chase, in which case… just take a few more steps.”

You saw how fast she can move. You decide to sit down.

“There we go dear, you’re a smart one, aren’t you?” she replies, as if praising a puppy. You see her bringing over a red towel. You know what it’s for, this is a nice couch after all. You wonder if the towel’s always been red.

She sits down next to you, and leans in close, her face right next to your neck, as she moves her hand around your throat to hold you in place. You tense up, an involuntary reaction. “Now now… this will only hurt for a moment. And tension will make it hurt worse, dear, so why don’t you just relax.”

You desperately try to relax, to ignore the fangs near your neck, to forget the fact that you’re about to potentially die. While the vampire said you’ll be fine, can you really trust a woman who abducted you in the middle of the night? 

“Are… are you sure I’ll be okay?” You barely say. You know you won’t truly trust her answer, but hearing it one more time wouldn’t hurt, at least. She rolls her eyes and speaks to you in that same condescending tone.

“Yes yes, I’ve been doing this for, oh, 200 years now? I think I’d know how to feed by now. You just sit still and continue to look adorable and stupid, and you’ll be just fine.”

And then she bites down.

She was right. It only hurts for a moment, as her fangs pierce into your neck with near surgical precision. Afterwards, a numb feeling spreads through your body, starting at your throat, as if her bite has some kind of sedative in it. With every beat of your pounding heart you can feel the blood pulsing out of your neck and into the vampire’s mouth. You want to scream, but even the thought hurts you considering the condition your throat is in. After what could have been seconds or hours, you aren’t entirely sure, your whole body starts to feel light and fuzzy, the lamp in the room seems brighter, the distant sounds of the city replaced with a ringing buzz. You start to feel like you’ve been lied to, and you’re not getting out of this alive, before your eyelids flutter, no longer able to keep themselves open.

And then everything goes dark.

#fully expecting this story to flop in the notes but i don't write for you all i write for me #my writing #oc tag: nix #whump #vampire whumper #vampire #carewhumper #tw gaslighting #tw abduction

[staycalmandhugaclone]

If you're new, this all starts with Touch Starved - Echo! You can read this little chunk as a standalone, or head back to the beginning for the full experience!

Apparently, I felt like Crosshair didn’t get quite enough whump in that first one… So sorry my beloved… Continuation to Muzzled.

Febuwhump Day 3 Ch 2

Muzzled – Crosshair

Warnings: This one's gone some proper medical procedures - gore/blood/injections. Adult language. Good bit of guilt and angst.

WC: 4,079

We were aboard The Dominator for mere minutes, just long enough to drop Rex and his men off before being ushered to the far side of the galaxy. I’d have argued – insisted on a few days med-leave for Crosshair’s jaw to heal, but we’d be traveling for nearly a week. Not accounting for some unforeseen complication, that would be ample time for the bacta to help knit the fracture closed.

Halfway through that first day of our journey, I noticed the extra meal bar in the small kitchenette. After learning of how they’d starved from insufficient rations for most of their lives, I’d begun tracking inventory more closely, both to record how much food Wrecker actually needed as well as ensure no one fell back into the habit of rationing their meals for fear of not having enough. At least to that point, there’d seemed no cause to worry over the latter, but it didn’t take much thought to understand who’d skipped their morning meal and why.

I found Crosshair dozing in one of the crash seats in the cabin. Echo and Wrecker chatted quietly nearby while the taller man used the overhead racks as pull-up bars, speech intimidatingly even despite the tempo of his movement. Treading lightly across the room, I nestled into the seat beside the resting sniper and lightly tapped my knee against his to wake him.

“Hey, I want you to drink this.” I said quietly, undeterred by how quickly his lips pulled into a frown as he turned to face me.

“No.” The simple brusqueness of his response drew a soft chuckle from me before, with a pointedly deep breath, preparing for the coming fight.

“Cross, you skipped breakfast. You can’t do that while using bacta.” His frown deepened into an unimpressed glare. “Would you rather I shove a tube down your nose to force-feed you?” I asked blankly and had to fight to ignore the stifled snickers behind us. Crosshair held my gaze a moment longer, debating how far he wanted to push me.

“What is it?” It wasn’t cooperation, but it was a start as his eyes dropped down to study the cup.

“It’s a meal replacement shake – all the calories and nutrients of a ration bar without needing to chew.” I couldn’t help the quiet laugh that bubbled past my lips at his skeptical grimace. “Don’t worry – it’s not GAR-regulation chalk flavored. I keep a few different ones on hand – let me know if you don’t care for how this one tastes.” I shifted forward in a gentle offer, smile growing as he reluctantly took it.

“Oooh, can I try one?” Wrecker asked eagerly, abandoning his workout to trot toward us, and I immediately shot him a toothy grin.

“Of course, big guy.” I answered warmly, pushing myself back to my feet. “Why don’t you come choose which one you’d like?” The brilliance of his joy was a thing I’d never weary of, unabashed glee lightening his movements as he eagerly agreed. “How about you, Echo? They’re really gentle on the stomach.” I added at that first whisper of doubt on his face.

“Sure.” He sighed with a shrug. Stealing a final glance to see Crosshair still merely studying the cup, I reached out to let my hand just brush softly over his shoulder before starting back toward the kitchenette.

He didn’t fight me when I presented him with another one that night, thoughtlessly bringing the straw up to his lips after I’d handed it to him. I tried not to show the pleased smirk. It was such a simple, little thing, but just knowing I’d managed to offer even that tiny bit of comfort made my heart dance.

“The other one was better.” He muttered before walking out, ripping a bark of laughter from me.

-

My attention kept wandering to that tall grump, mind churning over the certainty that I was overlooking something. He’d been more quiet than normal, but given the trauma of being tortured, that was hardly unexpected. It wasn’t until he leaned absently against a wall, body instantly flinching for barely a fraction of a second before shifting to stand upright that it clicked.

“Hey… Crosshair…” I called hesitantly, unbothered by the way his frown deepened, tongue shifting a toothpick across his lips as he stared me down. “Are you still having pain in your back?” Caught. That tiny flicker of tension that flashed over him told me everything. “What’s wrong? Did I not give you enough bacta?” I pressed, stepping closer to him. His arms folded across his chest stubbornly, and I didn’t try to silence the loud sigh. “Would you just show me?” I asked, words fleeing on an exasperated breath, but he didn’t move.

“You’re going to make me say it?” His cold expression remained pointedly unfazed. “You really just want to hear me say it, don’t you?” Still nothing. Movements overly exaggerated, I clasped my hands together, head tilting in a flirtatious sway, “Oh, Crosshair, it would mean so much to me if you would please take your kriffing shirt off so I can make sure whatever’s wrong with back doesn’t cause lasting tissue damage.” The sickly-sweet tone carried through each word, bringing an initial flash of confusion to his face before it fell back into that familiar snarl for the split second it took the sharp pain to shoot through his jaw and force him back into a violent glare. Brows raised expectantly, I waited mere seconds before motioning my hands impatiently toward him.

The begrudging movement of his limbs was more than enough to send tendrils of worry through my chest. He was letting me help. With so little argument, he was submitting to my request. Something was wrong. My worry overrode the whisper of appreciation I couldn’t help but feel at the reveal of that muscular torso, abs dancing beneath caramel skin in a display of raw power that I’d never get used to as he slipped the skin-tight suit over his head.

Without waiting for him to turn, I immediately moved to see his back, and that worry turned to ice in my veins. Several dark bruises still covered that gorgeous skin, but the one that I couldn’t rip my eyes away from lay just between the top ridges of his shoulder blades, skin stretched taut over a massive ball of nearly black swelling. I could see a starkly defined line of healed and unhealed damage, and I didn’t need to ask.

“Your shoulders,” I sighed, heart rending beneath the realization I should have made days ago. “They were hurt from how you’d been restrained… you couldn’t reach your back until they healed.” He purposefully avoided even glancing at the desperate regret tearing through my eyes, shifting to stare blindly through the far wall. Drawing a carefully slowed breath, I dragged my hand over my face, fingers clawing into my hair in a frenzy of guilt and frustration. If he’d just said something, anything, given me some tiny hint, he’d be almost free of pain, but now, the dark mass lying dangerous near his spine was an very real concern.

“Listen, I really need you to be honest with me right now.” I prompted, voice abandoning any teasing lilt or sarcastic drawl. His frown deepened, hesitating at the shift in my tone, but then he moved just enough to glance over his shoulder, eyes finding mine with that unsettling stillness. “Are you having any numbness or tingling in your fingers? Or have you noticed any limited mobility?” He watched me for a long moment, and I could see how carefully he thought over my question before his head dipped in a small nod. My chest sank, body deflating in a slow, tense sigh.

“Okay.” Maker, he wasn’t going to like this. My hand reached for the painful ball of swollen tissue, pausing barely an inch away as I gathered my thoughts. “Crosshair, I need to drain this. And I need to do it now.” His expression didn’t change, but I saw how the air stilled in his lungs. “I can numb it – like I did your jaw, but the longer we wait, the more likely that nerve damage becomes permanent.” The resignation that slowly settled over him was a thing I hoped never to see again, and I hated myself for the relief I felt as he nodded once more.

“Come on.” I breathed, hand automatically slipping around his arm in an instinctive need to offer some measure of reassurance. I nearly pulled back the instant I realized what I’d done, but he didn’t shy away from my touch. I didn’t know how to feel about that. Was he in so much pain that he didn’t notice? Had he decided the annoyance of my absent caresses weren’t worth fighting? Or was he so distraught over the possible disability, that even he found himself needing that tiny measure of comfort?

“Lay down on your side. Do you want me to explain what I’m going to do?” There was a gentle quiet in the hum of my voice.

“No. Just do it.” He said blankly, movements stiff as he forced himself onto the cot I usually called mine. I wasted no time in gathering my supplies, careful not to let him see. He didn’t want to know what I needed to do, and I was too eager not to tell him, not to grant him any indication of the coming hurt beyond the numbing medication. After slipping a drip cloth beneath him, I took a final breath.

“Quick burn.” I warned but didn’t wait for him to tense before resting the injector against the center of that mass. The muscles curled along his spine, back threatening to arch as he let out a nearly growled exhale, and my heart ached for him. The last whisper of that strained breath faded into a quick huff, tension fleeing him in a rush.

“Alright, a lot of pressure, then a big release.” Again, I didn’t wait before slipping the blade through skin and muscle. His breath hitched, arms wrenching back, and I had to quickly lock my hand around his shoulder to keep him still enough to slip the drainage tube in. I quickly set a catch beneath the incision as the pooled blood and fluids poured from wound and tube alike, and he let out a huff of relief through still clenched teeth.

“The kriff was the damn shot even for?!” He snarled, and I wanted to sob at the tremor in his voice.

“I know – I know; I’m sorry, but it would have been a lot worse without it.” I murmured, thumb absently sweeping over suddenly chilled skin. “The hard part’s over, though.” I offered gently, and his head fell heavily to the thin pillow, eyes clenched as his torso rocked with too-quick breaths. “I want you to try to keep still.” I instructed, reaching out to drag my blanket over his lightly shaking form. “We need to leave that in for a while – make sure it doesn’t swell back up again.” He shifted only slightly before abandoning the attempt.

“Leave… what in?” He demanded despite the weakness trying to drag his voice into a hoarse whisper. “What did you do?” Those words wanted to be a snarl, but the heaviness of his breaths robbed them of any force.

“I had to place a drainage tube. I’m going to secure it so it doesn’t fall out, and then I want you to try to rest.” The way he rolled his eyes granted me some measure of relief – that, at least, had lost none of its strength. Movements meticulous to avoid even the slightest jostle around that painful injury, I applied a few strips of adhesive, pleased to see the flow of liquid slow to only an occasional drip.

“I can give you something to help you sleep.” I offered quietly, hand returning to rest gently atop his shoulder. He answered with that signature glare. “Okay, how about some water? Either say yes, or I’m sticking an IV in you.” I threatened, and I knew how eager he was to twist that aching jaw into a scowl.

“Fine.” He relented, gaze returning to some distant point well beyond the Marauder’s walls.

“Okay. I’ll be right back – no moving.” I added before starting toward the door.

Hunter said nothing as he caught my eyes the instant I was in the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, jaw taut with concern; waiting, and that guilt struck me anew, tears balling in my throat.

“I’ll know more tomorrow.” I told him, “I should have noticed sooner-I… Maker, I’m so sorry.” I hated the way my voice broke, hated the tears that slipped down my cheeks.

“There’s not much you can do when he gets it in his head that things should go a certain way.” He sighed, and I could hear an exhaustion in his voice that spoke of a lifetime of trying to save his brother from himself in far too similar situations. “It’s not your fault, Doc.” His shoulders sank as he stepped toward me, arms falling heavily to his sides before bringing a warm hand to my shoulder. Teeth grinding behind tight lips, I shook my head.

“Of course, it’s my fault.” I nearly growled, “I saw what kind of state he was in when we found him. I knew there was still something wrong. I…” Letting out a breath that threatened to cave into a sob, I forced myself to focus. I still had a job to do. “I need to get him some water.” Without meeting Hunter’s eyes, I pushed passed him to the supply room.

“Why don’t you take a minute? I’ll stay with him.” I was shaking my head before he’d finished speaking.

“I need to monitor that drain tonight – make sure he doesn’t jostle it in his sleep.” Without waiting for him to find some other excuse or futile attempt to lessen my strife, I quickly tread around him to return to the medbay. Crosshair hadn’t moved, but I was please to see his breathing had calmed.

“Is it any better?” I barely whispered the words as I tread lightly to the front of the cot.

“Great.” The rumbled word snapped from still tight lips, but I was certain ridding him of that massive buildup of fluid had to grant some reprieve.

Crouching down slightly, I brought the straw to his mouth, with a quiet, “here,” but he immediately pulled back in disgust, arm tensing to take it himself. I quickly reached out to stop him, hand clasping firmly around his forearm.

“Don’t.” I kept my voice soft, but left no room for argument as I met the obstinate look in his eyes. “I don’t want you do to anything that’s even going to tense your shoulders right now.” Again, I watched that moment of debate war within him, but, when his eyes darted away from mine beneath that wretched flush of shame, he reluctantly shifted just enough to catch the straw between his lips. I said nothing as he drank, gaze carefully lowered to avoid even accidentally glancing at him, nor did I breathe a word of rebuttal at the amount of water still in the pouch when he pulled away.

“Are you alright with me replacing that patch,” I asked, motioning toward jaw, “and getting some bacta on the rest of your back?” I didn’t have to grant him that choice – I could have merely told him I was doing it, and he would have had no valid grounds to refuse me, but I knew he needed it – needed some whisper of autonomy to sooth how violently I’d stripped it from him already. So, I waited patiently until he gave the faintest shift of a nod. He didn’t look at me as I reached for the day-old bacta-patch, but he tilted his neck slightly for me to reach the edge easier, and I didn’t realize how much I’d needed even that tiny show of acceptance until feeling the stiffness lock around my throat.

The quiet that settled around us was a kind one. I let myself melt into it as I carefully tended his jaw before turning my attention to treating each blotch of abused skin covering his back, and I wondered if he was able to find some solace in it, too.

“I’ll check on it a couple times tonight – make sure it doesn’t shift, but I really want you to try to sleep.” My voice whispered softly into that quiet, and I watched him pointedly close his eyes without so much as looking toward me. Moving lightly, I tread to the nearby wall panel and, with a thoughtless tap, plunged the room into near darkness.

-

I spent the night curled atop a chair, legs tucked against me with my ankles crossed over the armrest, aimlessly browsing my datapad with little interest for anything beyond some distraction to keep me awake. Nearly every hour, I crept to the bed, lifting the blanket just enough to confirm everything was still in place before returning to my perch, pleased that he seemed to sleep through my inspections.

Finally, I heard the others begin to move about the ship. Crosshair was still asleep, and I let myself take full advantage as I returned to his bedside once more. Praying the earlier dose would only just be starting to wear off, I touched another injector to the skin just beside the tube, flooding the tissue with a fresh bout of the numbing agent. His shoulders tensed, but only slightly, a soft grunt catching in his throat as the sensation roused him from the light sleep.

“Sorry,” I murmured, “I was hoping it was still numb enough to dull that.” He glanced wearily back at me before letting his head rock drowsily back to the pillow.

“It’s fine.” The absent dismissal rumbled in that subtle slur of near-sleep, and I felt my lips pull into the first earnest smile I’d managed since seeing that bruising.

“Good,” I sighed, “I’m going to check for residual swelling first, but then that tube should be fine to come out – I promise: they come out much easier than they go in.” I added at the way he tensed. He left out an impatient grunt but offered no further response.

The mass was barely noticeable now beyond a lingering discoloration, tissue carrying only a fraction of that excess fluid. With gentle, sweeping palpations, I guided a bit more of that swelling toward the incision. He barely noticed; sensation almost completely dulled from the injection even as I began easing the adhesive strips away from his skin. I granted him no warning before slipping the tube free, knowing the anticipation would be far worse, and he barely flinched.

“All done.” I said with a gentle smile after easing a bacta-patch over the cut. He started to glance back, surprise just twitching over his face before catching himself. Hesitantly, his arm tensed, as though waiting to see if I’d try to stop him, but, reassured by my silence, he pressed his hand against the mattress and pushed himself up, legs swinging over the edge. I watched the tentative roll of his shoulders precede a more confident series of shifting muscles to further test the motion.

“Okay, give me your hand.” I said after granting him a moment. He looked at me with narrowed eyes but held his hand toward me without further complaint. I slowly worked over each long digit with gentle squeezes between my thumb and forefinger. “Any numbness or tingling?” He shook his head, idly watching me as I continued meticulously over his palm, careful not to miss a single inch of flesh before moving to his other hand, and the relief starting to bubble through me was palpable.

“Perfect. Now, try to match my movements.” I continued, hand raising to illustrate touching each fingertip to my thumb, but he showed no intent to follow me. Gaze shifting to his, I readily let my expression fall into the same deadpan glare he sent me. “Fingers. Moving. Now.” I ordered. He let out a loud scoff, attention shifting past me, but, albeit reluctantly, matched my motions without difficulty.

In a flood of relief, my head sank in into my hands with a loud, shuttered exhale, fingers dragging thoughtlessly though my hair as that massive weight finally began to slip away. Body slowly straightening with a deep breath, I looked up to find him watching me, expression carefully blank.

“Crosshair, I really,” Hands falling wearily into the scant distance between us, I struggled for a moment to convince my lips to work, to steady my breath long enough to remember how to speak, “Really need you to understand this: I am here for one reason. That’s it. I’m not here to judge you or report you or belittle you for getting hurt. I’m here… to help you.” His lips tightened into a thin line, but he offered no further response, pulling an exasperated huff from me, but I tried to let it go, focus shifting back to what did matter to him.

“I want to look at your back again tonight, but it should heal up fine now.” I could hear the exhaustion clear in my own voice as I stepped back for him to push himself off the cot.

“Great. Wouldn’t want our effectiveness falling on your watch.”

It would have been less painful if he’d struck me. Breath caught in my throat, I was so taken aback by the venom in those words that I could only stare at him, eyes wide, lips slightly ajar. Part of me saw the flash of regret that instantly stole over him, but I couldn’t focus on that. I thought I was used to his crass remarks. I didn’t expect one to hurt like that. Without a word, I quickly turned and walked away, gaze dropping pointedly to the metallic paneling beneath me.

I don’t know why I went to the storage room, but once there I couldn’t bring myself to leave. Not yet. My hands shook slightly as I aimlessly organized even the slightest disarray of gear, mindlessly grabbing a few packages of shakes to restock what I’d used the previous day. When the door hissed open behind me, I didn’t turn toward them; didn’t want whoever it was to see the still raw hurt in my eyes because, if they did, if they offered even a fleeting look of understanding or sympathy or apology, I knew I’d break, and I wasn’t ready for that.

After several seconds passed without them saying anything, however, curiosity finally drew my gaze back just enough to glimpse them. Crosshair. His arms were locked tightly across his chest, body leaning stiffly against the wall as a sharp glare burned into the shelving beside him. He was waiting, and my heart broke the instant I understood why. He couldn’t quite bring himself to apologize, so he forced himself, instead, to allow me whatever retribution I wanted. Letting out a shaky breath, I set the prepackaged shake mix back down and walked lightly toward him, loathing the way his brows drew even further together.

“You have never… never been just a number to me.” I didn’t shy from the desperation in my voice begging him to believe me, and, as the tension abandoned him beneath something just threatening to become remorse, I felt my chest sink with a sharp sigh.

“I know.” He still wouldn’t look at me as the quiet words breathed over his lips, eyes falling to the flooring beneath us, and hearing him say that was worth every ounce of hurt his harsh words had caused. I didn’t fight the few tears that trailed down my cheeks despite how they seemed to make the normally detached man before me squirm, fingers shifting uncomfortably about his arms as he quickly turned his gaze further away.

Without a word, I leaned forward, pressing my forehead gently to his shoulder, and he went so perfectly still even the air caught in his throat. He didn’t move either to push me away or draw me closer, merely stood there as I stole that quiet moment with him; felt the tension slowly fade from his taut frame.

Chest swelling with a deep inhale, I finally stepped back, grabbed the handful of supplies I’d gathered, and left.

Continue Reading

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[dangerpronebuddie]

so I love all of these WIPs, you're doing an amazing job!! could u tell me more about WIP 1-3? I literally wanna read all of them but let's start somewhere 🤭

Hey dear 🥰🩷 Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying them!

1. Eddie is a gremlin and makes it everyone's problem.

I've answered for this one a few times, but I am more than happy to tell you a little bit more. Eddie's sass has managed to keep him sorta out of trouble so far, but it's bound to backfire eventually right? The bar fight fic was supposed to take a week or so, but... with like 30 other ideas bouncing in my head like the DVD logo, it's been pushed to the back burner. If I share a new snippet, I'll probably have the entire fic on here, so I'll give you one I've already posted, that happens to be my favorite part of the fic!:

Eddie looked up from the floor, an ice pack pressed to his eye, and winced at Athena’s unimpressed expression.

“Alright. Who started it?” she asked, resting her hands on her belt.

Like a line of dominoes starting with Bobby, the entire team turned their bruised heads towards Eddie, who grimaced and shrank away from their glares.

“Really, Eddie?” Athena asked.

“In my defense, it was in Hen's defense,” he reasoned.

“You cannot blame all this on me, Edmundo,” Hen drawled.

“It's true,” he persisted, turning his pleading eyes on her. She simply rolled her eyes. He turned back to Athena. “One of the guys in there insulted her. I was already kinda miffed ‘cause my patient took a swing at me, so I tried to calm him down.”

“Calling him a repressed boomer isn't exactly the way to go,” Chim piped up, his voice still nasally. Eddie was surprised the dude didn't break Chim's nose.

Buck snorted a laugh, the traitor.

2. Welcome home cheater (brand new wip)

Jealous Buck my beloved! I'm hoping to get this short and silly piece out before Thursday, but... Ya never know! I'm hoping to incorporate all the 7x04 stills in some capacity, at least the ones involving Tommy, but we'll see how it goes! Have something I just wrote:

"Evan," Maddie said, "you didn't mean to hurt him, did you?"

"Not Eddie," Buck said in a quiet voice.

"Oh." Maddie drew out the word as she nodded. "You were aiming for Tommy."

Buck grimaced.

"If you explain what really happened, I-"

"I can't do that," Buck protested.

"Why not?"

"Because if I tell him I was aiming for Tommy, he's gonna want to know why. And I can't tell him without telling him," Buck explained.

"Maybe you should tell him," she suggested.

"Are you out of your mind?" Buck balked.

3. Eddie has a burn on his arm, bruises on his skin, and a target on his back.

Slight Air and Purging Fire, my baby 🥰. The amount of Eddie whump in this fic surprised even me 😅. I regret nothing. It's pretty much complete, but I have a few scenes I need to move around and tweak some more. For you, here's a little snippet:

They rolled to a stop and Buck leapt out of the cab, sprinting around the side of the building. Eddie lay crumpled on the ground, blood oozing from a gash on his forehead. His eyes were closed and his breathing was ragged.

“Eddie,” Buck gasped out, dropping to his knees beside him. He pressed his fingers to Eddie's pulse. Thready, but there! “Eddie, baby, wake up,” he pleaded, carding his fingers through his hair.

Ask about my wips!

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[yet-another-heathen]

Under the Cover of Night - III

1,506 words. Original Work: The Jackal of An-Nadr.

For new readers, The Jackal is an ongoing whump series set in 1,200 BCE, where pre-Islamic fantasy meets the love of bloody sword fights, found family, and handsome men who long for nothing more than home. 

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Chapter Warning | environmental whump, desert whump, initial capture, ancient demonic pirates that are both beautiful and terrifying (in an "oh. I'm being hunted down by a predator" sort of way. my beloved fellow monsterfuckers, you're going to love this), defiant whumpee, existing foot injury, xenophobia, language and cultural barriers, veiled whumpee having their face forcibly exposed, suggestive taunting (non-explicit), kidnapping/rescue (you decide)

Author’s Notes | This chapter shows our first instance of Q̷͚́ŭ̸͇r̵̥͝u̴͚̍r̶̠̈́a̴̰̋q̶̹̀, the language of the ifrit, as seen through Nadi’s lens. If this causes any problems for my font-sensitive readers, please reach out and I will gladly send you a translated copy! And thank you so much to @secretwhumplair, whose incredible series, No Warrior, inspired this format of language barrier whump!

Taglist | @killtheprotagonist @secretwhumplair @ink-and-salt @kixngiggles @brutal-nemesis @thebewilderer @whumpvp @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whimperwoods @shydragonrider @pizzasthengym @thecyrulik @ceph-the-writing-spook @mylifeisonthebookshelf @ohwhumpydays @redwingedwhump

When night came and the last of the light had sunk beyond the dunes, Nadeem inched his way out from the edge of the riverbed. A large fire burned at the heart of the ifrit camp, casting ripples of false warmth out across the water like embers. The ifrit had spent the dusk bathing in its flames, washing themselves in glittering cinders with all the eerie joy of dust bathing doves. It was more of a distraction than he could have hoped for, and he wouldn't let the chance get away from him. 

He moved slowly, careful not to disturb the surface of the water lest someone see the reflection against the flames.

It was a slow crawl up the embankment as he kept to his hands and knees, clinging to the cover of the banthum grass. His thirst had been sated, but his body was still horribly weak. The climb wasn't an easy one, and his wet clothes clung to his limbs and made silence across the grass all the more difficult. 

When he finally made it to the crest and slipped down the other side, he closed his eyes and let out a breath that felt like it had been stuck in his lungs for days.

The night over An-Nadr was moonless and dark, and the stars cast little light on the landscape around him. Shadows welled beneath the wild date palms, shifting with the movement of their fronds. 

He gingerly made his way to his feet, ankle angry and swollen beneath his weight. Every step was a gamble to keep it from collapsing, and he forced himself not to think about what that would mean for his ability to survive out here. Especially if it got any worse. 

He was careful to keep his head low, following the edges of the rock bed. He kept his hands spread to catch himself in case he stumbled.

He had no recollection of the path he’d taken into the trees, but he knew he’d eventually find sand the further he got from the water. He followed the lowest path he could between the outcrops of stone, moving silently between the dense patches of cover.

Ahead the grove thickened, creating a canopy of fronds under which the ground was beginning to soften. He headed for their shelter, eager for the promised safety that would calm the feeling of ant bites at his nape. Breaths clouded against the back side of his litham, the fabric keeping them silent from the world outside. He'd take the chance of stumbling into the shelter of coiled snakes and other wildlife over the chance of being seen.

The light of the stars was distant and faint through the leaves. Away from the familiar paths and eddies of his home, Nadeem's progress was slow through the dark. 

No animal walked in steady, even tempos but men; and so he kept his pace faint and hesitant to disguise the sound of his footsteps through the littered clay. Often he stopped to listen and observe the shadows around him, picking the path least likely to catch on sticks and twigs. Behind him followed an uneven trail of single bloody footsteps, meandering back through the dark.

There was nothing he could do about it. He just had to hope that neither the ifrit, nor anything else, would find it. The shifting of the sand would cover it once he made it to the safety of the desert, and they would lose the trail there.

That was where his mind lingered as he watched through the leaves for the lighter gray of the dunes. And soon he caught glimpses of the open desert far beyond the trees. He slunk low between patches of cover, keeping the distant sound of the fire to his back.

His mind continued to race with thoughts of how to avoid being tracked, preoccupied with the beginning of a plan to circle to another part of the oasis. Then something pricked at the edge of his hearing. 

He stopped in his tracks, straining to listen as ice flashed through his limbs. 

For a long while the night answered him with nothing but the roar of crickets, stretching out the moment to eons. And then he heard it again—about thirty feet to his right, the sound of something in the dark. He lowered himself into the shelter of the surrounding bushes, crouching to listen.

Then he saw it. The blue-abalone reflection of eyes from the darkness. Like a hyena's, stalking him through the grass. But as he watched, they rose out of the darkness to a nearly impossible height. Fixed on him.

Then a twig snapped somewhere in the darkness right behind him, and Nadeem forgot how to breathe.

He whipped around, searching the blackness. His heart pounded as something in the shadows behind him moved, leaves shuddering against their branches.

A massive figure stepped from the shadows, melting into the starlight. 

The ifrit towered above him and inclined its head. The glinting of eyes, the flash of teeth bared in a predatory smile. Something else moved behind it, emerging from the shade by its side.

—No.

Nadeem tried to run, not a single thought given to the pain in his ankle. He only made it a few steps before he collided headlong into another body.

Enormous hands grabbed him, breath leaving his lungs from the force of the impact. He gasped and struggled, trying to yank free as the monster locked all its hands around him.

He clawed and shoved, “No no no no, no—” falling from his lips. The ifrit from before, with the black sash across its chest, called something into the night.

With an effortless twist of a hand it pulled his head back, nearly lifting him off of his feet by the back of his turban. He gasped, staring with wide eyes up into its face.

“Let go of me,” he gasped, “Let—”

Dark eyes smiled down at him, teeth glinting.

He cut off into a tight whine as it reached up and took the cloth of his litham between its fingers, so close to his face that he felt the heat pouring off its skin.

"H̴͎̆e̶̙̅l̷̤̿l̷͓̍o̴̖͋,̸̨̕ ̷̭̀ḹ̸ȋ̶͈t̶̩̆t̶̼͑ĺ̴͓e̸̮͐ ̶͍̒j̷̮́a̷̢̍č̵͉k̶̬͆á̴͜l̸͔̔.̴̪̚"

The ifrit purred something in its rumbling language, leering down at him.

"S̸͎̅ọ̸̀ ̵̙̎g̶̣̋ō̸̺ȯ̴̲d̶̐ͅ ̶̪̀o̷̖̐f̴͍̓ ̵͈̍y̴͉͠o̷̱̿ư̴̦ ̴̲̇t̸͎͠ŏ̸̺ ̷̡͐f̵̛̲i̷̥̎n̸͕̿a̶̯̿ḷ̶́l̵͜͝y̸͂ͅ ̸̦͝j̶̣̃ō̵͕i̴͈̎n̶͇̔ ̶͙͘ű̸͓s̵͈̄.̶̟̓"

---

Ifyaa glanced up when the sound of struggling edged into the camp. Two of his fellow ifrit emerged from the shadows, followed by Yeezumon and the thrashing, clawing human he was dragging with him.

Every set of eyes fixed on the dirtblood as it cast wildly around the camp, dragging a bloody foot. Its clothes were muddy and torn. Yeezumon forced it to its knees.

From the other side of the fire, Adrsiae inclined her head.

"So we do have a visitor,” she mused. 

It strained away in Yeezumon’s grip as she stood, the boy watching her through narrowed eyes. It flinched when she reached out and took its chin in her palm. 

“You found it at the end of the blood trail?”

“Near there. The damn thing was playing clever: had it been only ten minutes sooner it probably would have slipped past us back out into the wastes,” Simntii, another member of the hunting party, muttered. She grunted softly as she knelt at the edge of her tent, adjusting the leg of her pants, “Gave us one hell of a fight on the way back.”

“Hm.”

It leveled the captain with a scathing glare when she turned it by the jaw, and then tugged down its face cloth to see its features in the light. 

Dark eyes narrowed under thick, winged brows, the domed bridge of its nose crinkling with its snarl. Cracked lips and bared teeth, jaw lined with overgrown stubble. 

It was rugged but...an undeniably pretty face. Her claws left indents in its cheeks as she turned it in the firelight, appraising.

Then she released it, and it gave a full-body shudder as she turned away. 

She reclaimed her spot by the fire. “Yeezumon, you were the one who tracked it down?”

“I was.”

She leaned back, tearing into the soft flesh of a date, “Then it’s yours. Do with it as you wish.”

Their eyes didn’t leave the human, whose smell of fear was tangible in the air even as it glared back at her. Each of them nodded in deference to their captain, absently touching their thumbs to their temples.

“Careful Yeezumon,” one of them teased, flashing his canines in a mockery of the human’s bared teeth, “It looks like it wants to bite.”

A ripple of laughter broke through the camp.

“It's handsome, for a dirtblood,” another admitted.

Both Yeezumon and Ifyaa smiled, sharing eye contact across the camp. Then Yeezumon lifted its face, making it meet his eyes.

“So it is,” he grinned. “And we’ll put it to good use.”

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