#0idril0's characters

[whumpywhumper]

Soup

So @0idril0 authorized me to go ahead and post the next section of her Nico series which I wrote :) It is original author approved  

Continued from: here

Tagging: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @captivity-whump @kungpao-giffy @doityourselfbombs @comfy-whumpee @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @whumptywhumpdump @whumpitywhumpwhump @walkingchemicalfire @genesissane @imagination1reality0 @voidwhump

*** 

Sorina hummed while she worked, kneading the bread to go with her slowly simmering bone broth. She’d roasted the chicken before carefully separating the meat from the bones, adding them to her already chopped vegetables and water. 

The rest of the pack house was quiet. She’d woken a few hours after her fainting spell-and hadn’t that been embarrassing-to being warm and comfortable. Cocooned in sheets and a quilt she didn’t recognize, surrounded by the scent of soap and safety. It took her a moment  to recall where she was, but, as soon as she had, she crept from the room into the darkened hallway. Open doors revealed no one in the extra rooms, and absolutely no bedding on them. 

On silent feet (and she felt a flutter in her stomach when she realized Evan probably removed her shoes), she stole into the living room and found Kristy and her friends. Moonlight spilled over their sleeping forms, giving its soft illuminescence to the room. She had to smile at them, even in spite of the circumstances that made them do it, because it was just too fuckin’ cute. 

Kristy and Brian were on a pallet on the floor, every spare blanket, pillow, and cushion in the middle of the living room. The sucubi had braided her hair to sleep, taming her normally riotous curls, and the end of the braid was curled in Brian’s fingers, where he’d apparently fallen asleep playing with it. 

They were curled toward each other, his other arm under his head, like he’d been leaning on it to get a better look at her while they talked. Kristy’s face was slack with sleep, arms held crossed over her chest like she had since she was little. Their blanket was bunched around her, barely covering Brian, but it was obvious that she hadn’t just stolen them. 

Sorina shook her head, amused. I wonder how long that’s been going on. 

Clint had stretched himself out on the couch, one of his hands laying across Nico’s forearm like he couldn’t bear to not touch him even in sleep. The corners of her lips turned down, and she huffed the ghost of a sigh. She needed the full story. 

Propped in a chair next to Nico was Evan, his head tipped back and neck stretched at an awkward angle. His mouth was open, and every slight inhale drew out a small snore. In his lap was a clipboard, full of papers with times, medication names, and stats carefully listed. He clutched a damp rag in one hand, the other dangling to the side, a pencil underneath the chair from where it had dropped through sleep numb fingers. 

She smiled, letting her eyes soften and reached toward him, letting her magic soothe the worry lines from inbetween his brows. He needed to sleep. There was a lot of responsibility on him, he couldn’t afford to be so out of it. 

Stepping forward, around her sleeping sister and her unrealized paramour, her hand crept into Evan’s hair. The graying strands were soft under her fingers, but she didn’t linger. Gently, she tipped his head forward so that he wouldn’t wake with a crick in his neck. The exhausted man didn’t stir, only letting out a small snuffle of air as he settled in. 

They were all so tired, absolutely drained of energy, and all due to one poor victim of a crime she didn’t fully understand. Said victim looked like he was finally asleep. Actually resting instead of the delirious half-conscious state he had been in previously. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, the wet wheeze still audible, but he wasn’t panicked, and the rapid eye movement and twitching was gone. 

Leaning over the arm of the couch, she checked on Nico, touching the back of her hand to his forehead. The sweltering heat from before had lessened. Now, it was no longer the heat of a desert dune midday, but it was still warm, like she was holding her hand too close to a candle. 

Checking the clipboard in Evan’s lap, she saw that his last medication was listed about 2:15 a.m. Barely twenty minutes before. Evan must have fallen asleep fast and hard. 

Turning back, she brushed her hand through his hair softly, like her mother used to do when she was sick, and noticed it was cleaner than before. Evaluating him further, she noticed that his bandages were fresh and clean. They’d bathed him, apparently, the speckles and smears of blood that had been present across his skin washed clean. 

A curl of satisfaction unfurled itself in her belly,  hopeful that her work had actually made a difference to saving his life. He certainly looked stronger, and there’s no way he would have tolerated a bath in the state he was when she arrived. 

Settling on the arm of the lounger, she curled her hand against Nico’s fingers, mindful of the broken and misaligned bones. His fingers twitched, but he didn’t stir. 

Looking past the ulcerated wounds on his face and neck, Sorina noted his pale complexion, more than just blood loss and lack of sunlight. His blue eyes as he’d panicked while she worked and examined him called out to her, and she couldn’t help but be reminded of her little brother. That name still rang in her head like the biggest of bells in a church steeple. 

Nico. 

She wiped at a tear that tried to form in her eye, recalling her own brother’s cherubic cheeks and curly black hair. How both of them had looked so much like their mother that her father joked that when they were older people would think they were triplets. 

Viciously, Sorina chased away the image of them both laying still and unmoving on the asphalt, blood pooling across the black surface as she’d tried to get up and get away from the men with guns. Her face throbbing as she pushed her way into running, hands cut to shreds on glass. 

I don’t want to think about that. Stop it.

She took a deep breath, exhaling her pain as she laid Nico’s hand back to his stomach. Her Nico was dead and gone, but this one still needed help. The IV bag that Evan had set up would have fluids to keep him hydrated, but the injured man still needed nutrients. Everything he could get packed into a medium he could keep down. Plus, everyone else would need to eat too. 

So, a few hours later, Sorina found herself in a strange kitchen kneading dough. A red, plaid apron was wrapped around her, protecting her clothes from flour streaks. The kitchen was surprisingly well stocked, and she hadn’t found any difficulty in finding any ingredient she needed. 

Once it was closer to actual morning, she would make some real breakfast food, but the soup she was making had a majority of the nutrients Nico would need while being easy enough on his stomach to keep it down. Plus, she was making enough of it to last for days. 

She’d checked on Nico every fifteen minutes while she worked, making sure that he was still sleeping and stable. She had the feeling that Evan wouldn’t be very happy that he’d fallen asleep, but Nico was safe, and he needed the sleep. 

While she was separating the dough for its last rising, a strangled snort and the quiet thump of something on the carpet made her turn around. Wiping her hands on the apron, she went into the living room to find Evan leaning over Nico. His clipboard was on the floor, probably escaped when he shifted in his sleep, but it was ignored now. The beast master’s fingers were on the boy’s throat, checking his pulse and the tight wind of his shoulders relaxed as he found it.

“He’s alright, Evan,” she said softly, not wanting to wake the others. 

Surprised, he jumped and twirled on her, eyes flashing red for just a split second before he recognized her. He put a hand to his chest, breathing heavily as he leaned over his knees. “God, you scared the shit out of me,” he whispered. 

“Sorry,” a grin stretched her face and made her eyes crinkle. “I’ve been checking on him every fifteen minutes for the last two hours. I haven’t noticed any change.” 

Straightening, Evan signed, rolling his neck and running a hand through his hair. “Thank you, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Here I was berating Brian for leaving him alone, and I went and did the same thing.” 

Sorina shook her head, coming further into the room to put a hand on his shoulder. “You needed the sleep, don’t beat yourself up. Nothing’s happened.” 

“But it could have.” 

“Anything could happen, but it didn’t,” she said firmly, cutting off that line of thought. It wouldn’t serve any of them. “Why don’t you check him over, soothe some of your worries, and I’ll bring you some tea.” 

He nodded, rubbing at the bags under his eyes and displacing his glasses before leaning back over Nico. 

When she came back, she held a steaming cup of tea in one hand, and a bowl of the chicken bone broth in the other. The broth was carefully strained with no heavy seasonings, but it still smelled wonderful to her. 

Evan was busy administering something to Nico through his IV port, but he tilted his head in question toward the bowl, eyebrow raised. 

“Figured he needs all of the liquids and nutrients he can get, especially if those are pain meds and antibiotics you’re giving him. It’s easy on the stomach, homemade, I think he can handle it just fine.” 

“Yeah, that sounds fine. You said homemade?” 

He sounded surprised, and she felt a wave of dry amusement. “Not all twenty first century women shun the kitchen,” she said, mock sternly. 

“My mistake,” Evan laughed, blushing sweetly. If she wanted, she could probably see the yellow, golden shivers of happiness twisting around the edges of his aura. But she was tired, and she wanted to look at the smile lines around the corners of his mouth more. 

Evan moved out of her way, taking the tea from her with a grateful smile. She settled on the arm of the lounger again, carefully setting the bowl on the side table so that she could spread a towel across Nico’s chest and neck. 

“Would you mind grabbing one of those small pillows, Evan?” She whispered, pointing at one of the ones that had escaped Brian and Kristy’s nest. 

Handing it to her, he settled back in his chair, watching her carefully. Sorina didn’t mind the scrutiny, it was far beyond her first time helping someone sick eat. 

Cradling Nico’s head in one of her small hands, she brought him up slightly, rubbing her thumb across his skin. Eyelids crinkling, Nico stirred, stiffening as he came closer to consciousness. “Hush, Cola,” she murmured, “it’s okay, just need to get some food in you, yeah?” 

Nico didn’t offer any protest when she slipped the pillow behind his head, blue eyes opening slightly to gaze glassily around the room. He didn’t seem to really focus on anything, but she started to feel the waves of fear building. 

Her heart cracked at that, and she shushed him again, rubbing her thumb across the middle of his forehead, “it’s okay, just some broth, nothing to be scared of.” 

No answer was forthcoming, but she saw his lips move slightly with unintelligible words. Steadying herself, she grabbed the bowl, dipping the spoon inside before blowing on the hot liquid. Testing it first, she didn’t want to burn Nico, she finally brought the spoon to his mouth. 

A cut off whimper made her pause, but Nico didn’t pull away, opening his mouth obediently at the feel of metal against his lips. Sorina took a quick breath, feeling her eyes widen slightly. She didn’t know what that meant exactly, but she could guess. 

Shuddering, she pushed her horror away. He needed this, she couldn’t get in his way. It wasn’t time to catalogue everything that had been done to him. 

Pouring droplets of the broth into his mouth, she murmured to him, “Drink, little bear.” 

His chapped and dry mouth worked slightly, letting the liquid slide down his throat. Sorina sighed when he didn’t choke or cough, bringing more liquid to his mouth quickly to take advantage of his limited strength. 

Apparently she was too fast, and he choked on a scared whine, face turning away from her. A low rumble to her side made her jerk, spilling a few hot drops of soup over her thumb. Clint raised his head, hair muzzy and eyelids sleep heavy, but the wolf’s yellow eyes locked on to her in an instant. Lip curling, she saw his incisors elongate, and she bopped him on the nose with the spoon.   

He flinched, startled, crossing his eyes to look at the spoon held threateningly in front of his face. “Knock it off, Rover, don’t make me spill this.” 

Evan snorted, slurping at his tea in an obvious effort not to laugh at his friend. She felt oddly accomplished. 

Clint grumbled, but his teeth returned to normal as he sat himself up, rubbing at his face. “What time is it?” 

“Same time it was yesterday,” she answered, bringing another spoonful to Nico’s mouth and getting him to swallow a few more drops. 

“Hardy har har,” Clint scowled, watching her feed his mate. 

Evan took pity on the barely awake werewolf. “It’s a little after five, we’re just trying to get something on his stomach for the new round of meds.” 

Yawning, Clint nodded, his shoulders slumping as he looked Nico over. He turned to Sorina, and the naked gratitude in his face made part of her anger at him crack. “Thank you, thank you so much for helpin’ him.” 

“My pleasure,” she acknowledged, concentrating on feeding Nico the broth. “Get some more sleep, Clint. The stronger you are, the more the bond can work to help him heal.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He laid back down, hand coming back to brush against Nico as he closed his eyes. 

Cutting her gaze over to Evan, she saw the lingering fatigue in how he slumped over his cup of tea. Gazing into the cooling liquid with a blank face. “You should go lay down, Evan, get a few more hours of sleep. He’s got his meds, and I’m wide awake. Still making bread in the kitchen, and I’ll have breakfast ready before his next dose is due. I’ll wake you up if anything changes.” 

Evan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking his glasses off. “You’re right. Thank you, Selene.” Getting to his feet with a heavy slouch, he set his tea aside and grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch. The other end of the sectional couch was empty, and he sprawled out on it easily. It only took a few minutes before she heard the sound of soft snores. 

Sorina helped Nico with a few more mouthfuls of broth, gently wiping his face of the drips that escaped his mouth. His eyelashes, what remained of them, fluttered against his cheeks as he ran out of energy. 

She set the bowl to the side, it was nearly empty anyway, and reached out to brush his hair back from his forehead. Humming, she settled him with soft touches, words starting to fall out of her mouth in a simple melody. One her mother sang to them when they were going to sleep. 

One she’d sung to Nico when he had nightmares, and kept singing as Kristy came into her life. When she got to the refrain, she trailed off, pressing a kiss to her fingers and placing it on Nico’s forehead. 

His eyelids fluttered, and he leaned into her touch. “Th..ks..’Rina,” he murmured, barely audible, barely intelligible, before sighing into sleep. 

She froze. Wide eyed. Breath caught in her throat. 

[rosesareviolentlyread]

Howdy!

So, despite being a lurker, and then a semi-active person for a while I’ve never made an intro post! And, well, as one of the mods for @whumpmasinjuly now speed running the event to catch up, I figure I can be living proof that better late than never! 

I’m Rosy, she/her/hers, a 22 year old Bi baby using writing as a coping mechanism for our hellscape. I’ve always enjoyed whump, without knowing it until I found the term last fall. I’m also a comfort whore, so always know that nothing I write has a sad ending, there’s fluff coming.

I love exploring OCs, vulnerability, interesting conditions for whump, and world building/making my ideas way too complicated. That or writing random requests to prompts. There’s really no in between. I've either thought about it way too much or not at all. Which I guess is to say, if there’s a prompt or scenario you’ve always wanted written drop it in my ask box, I enjoy the challenge! I’m really passionate about creative writing as a tool to explore, which ties into my work with nonprofit alternative education models. 

I’ve got a few things posted on my blog, but none are the main stories I’ve been working on, because busy but also as said above I tend to...spend forever researching/drafting haha. If you’re interested in checking out the ideas I got in the pipeline, check under the cut! Feel free to let me know if you’d like to be tagged, some will start being published in the next few days.

And lastly, hope y’all don’t mind, but I thought I’d tag some friends & my fav authors in the community that have helped me start to get more involved!: @sableflynn @bleedingandfeverish @straight-to-the-pain @softsweetsuffering @mottinthemainpot @burtlederp @killtheprotagonist @slaintetowhump @wildfaewhump @ashintheairlikesnow @deluxewhump @0idril0 @whumpywhumper @moose-teeth @endless-whump @bloodandbandages @whumping-every-day @card-games-and-pain @starrywhump @nowhumponmain @orchidscript @untilthepainstarts @whump-tr0pes @albino-whumpee @whumpiary ok gonna stop tagging people now wow I read too much/talk to people a lot

My WIPs: 

(Note: I’m trying to edit at least one of each to post this week but my muse hops around a lot so consistent and chronological these stories will not be. They’re ordered vaguely by where my muse is rn)

Elias: The newest one, a spur-of-the-moment addition who’s got a few more prompts coming. A boy who’s gotten the shit end of the stick in life ends up in the basement of a frat, tortured after the mob boss who took him to get a ransom from his shit-stain brother decided to cut losses and gift Elias to his nephew, passing him off as a boxboy in the process. Some well-meaning college students decide to rescue him, only to get into who knows what, certainly not me. Variation within BBU, thanks to @deluxewhump for the idea. Mainly recovery from torture for now

Studying About That Good Ole Way/Fae bb: A modern magic world loosely inspired by @0idril0 & @whumpywhumper’s Nico/Clint & Marcus/Lucien series’ respectively. Under the increased scrutiny of the modern age, magical creatures come forward with their existence. Fae have always lived in a state of fear but now more so, as their existence as a source of magic means they can be used for great feats, both by humans and magic folk alike. In fear, some hide their young as changelings in the hopes that in growing in non-magical communities, they will not develop their full magical characteristics. 

     Faith is a young girl from a ‘perfect’ anti-magic Christian family, who goes to a liberal arts college to study Theology. In her thesis work to understand how to reconcile God with the magic community, the exposure to the magic sparks her transformation into her full, natural Fae self. A professor/local pastor offers to help, which does not go well. Her brother Adam, who abandons his family and his church after it disowns and demonizes his sister, is left to pick up the pieces. Religious whump, torture, intimate whumper, some body horror/gore, recovery angst, a not-great himbo caretaker trying his best, found family eventually.

Once You Are Real: Victorian Magical vaguely Steampunk Fantasy world. A shopkeeper specializing in magical refurbishment & repair comes across a life-sized porcelain ‘doll’, broken and pieced together in webs of golden cracks. He quickly discovers that not only is this ‘doll’ actually a construct, it’s a sentient construct, the most advanced he’s ever seen, capable of distressing amounts of emotion and physical feeling. An uncanny valley of past pains that now sits on his bench to fix. Caretaker fluff, emotional angst, psychological angst, discussing human condition, some creepy/intimate whumper flashbacks. 

The Paths We Travel: A trio that takes place in @wildfaewhump ’s Pathverse. Technically the first piece of this is posted, but I’ve rehauled it since then so I’ll be rewriting that intro. 

     Oren is a former A-Class, used to experiment with the extent of Class-A’s potential. He’s now sickened by his own abilities and seeking to hide, to find a new person other than the one he was. He’s trying to write his way to freedom, all the while avoiding his own history that’s written into every part of his person.

     Cass presents an easy out, a friend-with-benefits that’s a bridge between his old life and a new one. Cass is a wealthy Class-C who’s parents hid her ability since she was the only child, and heir, to their pharmaceutical fortune. She’s on a mission to rebel and take hold of her identity, as only a privileged girl can, not understanding the consequences that may follow for a free path. 

     Alice is a Class-C who has lived her life working with a more private sector company, where her empath abilities were combined with drugs to offer high paying clients orgasmic and euphoric experiences without those nasty side effects. When Cass decides to rescue her while at a party on a whim, it’s a whim that thrusts the trio into a collision course. Drug/withdrawal whump. Recovery whump. Some real shitty caretakers, but they mean well. Exploration of not great people getting better together maybe? I control none of my characters please send help

Bakery Box Boy: Della, an older woman in charge of a popular bakeshop in a lakeside New England town is gifted a refurbished Box Boy as ‘help’ by a nosy neighbor convinced it’ll be a good way to help her finally grieve her recently deceased son. Della disagrees, and our poor BB is caught in the middle. Featuring a strong willed tough older woman caretaker, and a Box Boy who’s been refurbished about 3-5 times. God this is from a post from forever ago, but dammit it got too developed to throw away so it’s got at least a few prompts in its WIP folder I’ll get to editing eventually.

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

1, 6, 12, 24, 25, 26, 38, and 50!

Thanks Opus! This is about to get long so under the cut we go!

Your first OC ever?

I think my first oc was a character in the TV show bones. Ofc it was whumpy; I think they found him at a crime scene. He was part of an underground fighting ring. Very fiesty, but totally unattached to the normal world. Bones and Booth like adopted him and had to teach him how to be a regular person. (lol he used to wander around the lab and identify injuries because he had had them all.) lol yeah his name was Nick. 

Two OCs of yours that look alike despite not being related?

Brody and Charlie. Not related at all, but they look pretty similar (Charlie is taller and better fed) 

Name an OC that isn’t yours but who you like a lot

Dear god I’ll be here all night. I can’t choose! (Their masterlists are linked in their names) Uhh @pine-lark‘s Arion, @comfy-whumpee‘s Ellis, @0idril0‘s Nico, @whumpzone‘s Rowe, @scared-and-crying‘s Felix. Also @untilthepainstarts‘s Lev has a very special place in my heart but heads up this story has non-con/explicit.  

I am forcing myself to stop because otherwise I’ll just keep going lol. 

If you could meet one OC of yours, who would it be and why?

I legit want to meet Silver. I talk about him chilling in my room so much I’d love for him to actually be here. 

The OC that resembles you the most (same hobby, height, shared like/dislike for something etc?)

Honestly I am a combination of Nik, Silver and Brody. On the outside I seem like Nik, I’m pretty much Brody to my friends and family, and I have the outlook and chaotic drive as Silver. 

Have you ever had to change your OC’s design or something else about them against your will?

Nope. The whole point of this blog is that I write what I want and that’s that. I didn’t want to write before because I just wanted to write whump, and didn’t know that there was a name for it. So not really. Now, if someone came to me and gave me a good reason to change something I would, but that has not as of yet happened. 

Do you have OC pairs where the other part belongs to someone else (siblings, lovers, friends etc)?

I do not, no! I don’t pair my oc’s romantically because I don’t feel like it, but! They have some friendships! Silver and @pine-lark‘s Arion get along well, and Hilton and [REDACTED] seem to hit it off (lol wink wink opus) 

Give me the good ol’ OC talk here. Talk about anything you want

oooh too much power Opus!! 

All of my oc’s have evolved over time and over pieces, and I’m okay with that. I feel weird about it sometimes, but that’s just how it works. They have experiences that change them and I want to do different things with them. They’re fantastic little carries for things that I don’t know how to deal with or don’t want to deal with until I’m ready. They show me things about myself that I didn’t realize. I love them all. They all mean so much to me and I’m unexplainably grateful to be able to share them with people that care about them so much. 

I guess ‘the good ol’ OC talk” means A sappy Raccoon, lol. 

[fallingstormphoenix]

“Magic Marks II”

A continuation of @whumping-every-day’s request for branding

Occuldous woke up in the snow, his torso bare against the ice. He shivered, he was so cold, so so cold. But his back burned, worse than any whipping he’d ever gotten. There was a line of agony all the way down his spine, like when Master had used something caustic to make his horns flat on the tip.

He sat up slowly, little breathy gasps escaping his open mouth. There was the whipping post, and the glowing coals of a smothered fire. He went still and reached around to gingerly feel the edges of the burns. He gritted his teeth with a whine as he felt out the 6 evenly spaced characters that ran down his spine. They were runes but he couldn’t tell what they meant, he’d never learned to do runic magic.

But Noni did. She could help him, she always helped him. He started to get up, his head swimming with pain and cold and burning all at once. He took one step before he remembered Master hadn’t said he could leave. Master had left him there, and he couldn’t leave without master’s permission. He sat back down quick and shivered. He wrapped his arms around his bare chest and hunched his back, letting out a sharp scream when that movement set all the brand alight with pain.

“Oh shut up!” Master snapped, coming out of the house door to his left.

Against his will, Occuldous’ jaw snapped shut, crushing his tongue between his sharp teeth, his mouth filling with the coppery taste of blood. Occuldous’ eyes bulged in terror. What had happened? His cry of pain died in his throat.

Master looked back towards the house, “It works!” He laughed and leaned over Occuldous, spilling some beer onto the snow from the bottle in his hand. “Stop breathing.” He ordered.

Occuldous’ throat felt like a hand was crushing it slowly, cutting off his air supply. He clawed desperately at his throat, unable to open his mouth to scream, his eyes bulging in terror, tears streaming down his face. He tried to draw in another breath through his clenched teeth, only managing to suck in blood. He needed air, he needed to cough. His vision started to go black near the edges.

“Peter! Stop screwing with the Magi. The runes are for necessity only, they’re not for you to get your jollies off.” Master’s brother snapped his fingers and Occuldous’ throat and jaw were released.

He gasped desperately and coughed, blood and drool dripping from his mouth onto the snow. He shook from head to toe. This was what the runes did? They made him into a living puppet? Terror raced through him, causing his heart to pound. What would Master do to him now?

( @haro-whumps @0idril0 @imagination1reality0 @castielamigos )

[rosesareviolentlyread]

BTHB: Forced to Beg

GUESS WHAT it’s more fae bb, she just refuses to stop coming up with ideas, so for now I’m using her for most of this BHTB card! I’ve already got quite a few planned out, but if you have a request for a square with another of my characters or just a scenario you’ve always wanted written, go ahead and send it in! 

If you want to read more, this is part of my Fae BB series, a modern magic world heavily inspired by @0idril0 and @whumpywhumper‘s Nico & Markus/Lucien series respectively (idk when I’ll stop plugging them and their series’ because I LOVE IT) I HIGHLY recommend you check them out. . On my blog page I have a summary and masterlist up now.

Follows sometime after Water

Thanks to @whumpywhumper​ @bleedingandfeverish​ and @straight-to-the-pain​ for beta reading and @quirkykayleetam​ for the idea!

CW: Intimate whumper, religious whump, captivity, toxic religion, creepy whumper, eye gore, SERIOUS eye gore, body horror

“What is this?” Pastor John holds a thick stack of papers in his hand. They’re covered more in handwritten colorful ink than the original black and white printed texts, notes squished into every available space in a rainbow of information. Careful, precise handwriting on crisp paper, that crumples and gives under the punishingly tight grip of the man, veins popping in his hands.

Sitting back on her heels, on her knees, Faith keeps her hands still, gently clenched on top of her thighs. She tries to keep her voice even,“I-I was researching, about the Fae. About myself. It is where I failed in my path, in my work. ‘First take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take out the speck that is in your brother’s eye.’ “ 

A deep sigh comes in reply, an echo of disappointment lingering in the air. “Luke 6:42, very good. Yes, I know, we discussed this. I agreed to give you back your research, so you could look at it with new eyes, to see the wickedness you were born into. But these—” He squats in front of her, sharply pressed slacks crumpling on top of old leather loafers in her downcast vision. The papers flub-blub-flub in his hands as he shakes them, a curious sound that would make her giggle if not for the severity of the clipped tone. “These, Fae, look an awful lot like notes on magic. Spells. And ways to perform them.” 

“T-They are, Pastor. But only for understanding how it works. The nature of my sin.” 

It’s a weak excuse, a bad excuse, a stupid excuse. God above, how stupid was she, to think she could lie and get away with this?

Silence weighs down upon her thickly, the world of lies she’s been living in pressing in on all corners. Lies that have weighed on her since before she knew them. But that weight is no longer intangible, now he can see it, she can feel it. The burden of her sin has fallen on her shoulders, and she’s chosen to carry it. 

But after all, God isn’t supposed to tempt you beyond your ability. That there would be escape with the temptation. The problem was, what was the temptation, and what was the escape? 

Somehow, she’d thought that maybe if she had been born magic, been born to all those things supernaturals believed in, something in that magic could be the thing to save her. Could be the sign she’d been looking for. 

Because when the fire in the water, the attempt of iron baptism to burn her sin, had met her soul, it hadn’t just burned away the edges of faith concealing who she really was. It had ignited something within her, some temptation she’d always known, which had followed to this point. Had followed, to her folly, again thinking it was the escape God intended for her.  

God had no mercy for Eve, and he would have none for guilty Fae who have chosen the apple over the garden. 

A hand tilts her chin until she’s looking at his eyes. His eyes that are slightly red, tears budding at the edges that she hopes are flowers of forgiveness, the forgiveness he preaches to her, the forgiveness that is the only thing she prays for now. From her supernatural friends, for not listening. From her parents, for lying. From her brother, for everything.

“Why would you lie?” His voice breaks, leather tones cracking like a brittle piece left to dry in the sun. With it, a tear falls, bright against the irritated blotchiness of his skin, a wet sound to his breath. “After all we’ve done, Fae, all our— why would you lie rather than ask for forgiveness?” A hand so soft and gentle cups her face, brushing a thumb across her cheekbone. Her own tears smear with it across her cheek as she leans into the touch. 

“I’m sorry.” 

No, that’s a lie too, if she’s honest. She’s not sorry for trying to escape this hellway to heaven. But the fact is she put herself here. Let herself fall back into sin again and again.  Forgot how to be truthful, how to be honest and think of anything but herself. Had she ever really? Had she ever meant it? 

Was she Eve, tempted into sin, or a devil in disguise here to tempt the faithful?

“I don’t see it. Show me, show me you are sorry” She watches with pleading eyes as he gets up, figure blurred to her tearful regret. He moves away, the gentleness gone. Arms are clasped in front of him, waiting, a stone statue gazing down on her, leaving her to make her own contrition.

“Please, please. I am sorry, I am. I lied. I was- was tempted by it. Again. I should’ve known” 

Silence meets her, unmoving, unwavering, unsatisfied. 

So she tries again. 

“C-corinthians 10:13 says,  God will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, so I was tempted, tempted to see what magic could do but God, my love for him, would never let me be tempted to do magic. The knowledge, that was- was my escape from temptation. To know, so I wouldn’t be tempted to do. Please Pastor I recognize it was wrong, I know, I knew and I did. Please by the Lord’s mercy forgive me” 

It’s absolutely a lie, now. Because she’d tried to use those tiny tendrils she felt in her body, a whisper of a voice of a song she didn’t know, couldn’t know.  But as those eyes bore into her, her body starts shaking, using all the movement he should be. But he’s just standing there, silent, as more words pour out of her mouth, as she mistakes proverbs and words in her stumbles to try and explain, to try and reconcile her actions.

The silence leaves her with nothing to do but try not to drown in her repeated mistakes, drops in a bucket turned tub turned ocean of her own making. Why was she so incapable of doing the right thing? Of doing what he said and leaving? Why did she insist on making herself take two steps back for every step forward, putting her foot in her mouth even now. 

Her penitential deluge is interrupted by a sigh, stopped dead in its tracks.  After what feels like an eternity of stoned silence, the Pastor turns swiftly, leaving her with nothing but the thud of his steps before there’s a return to silence. 

Her brain tries to comprehend what it means, tries to dissect every minuscule facial movement imagined or not seen in the shadows of the dark. Did he forgive her? Did he believe her? What had she even said? The memories of her own words slip through her fingers like water, as ‘should’ve’s’ and better words come to mind. 

Her panicked race of thoughts is interrupted by the creak of stairs coming back down. Distinctive by now as they evoke the hope of mercy and the fear of discovery, the duality of her new existence, her limited choices. 

This time, she prays it’s hope she feels. 

When she opens her eyes to see John holding a box filled with things, it is instead a rabbit-hearted dread.

“Pastor?” 

His breath hitches through his nose, voice almost cracking. “I prayed, I did, that we could prevent this. But I see, now, that we may have to take a push forward to prevent a backslide.” He sets the box down, but she doesn’t dare look, doesn’t dare look away from the kindness in his eyes, the gentleness of his hands that is all she can cling to down here. 

And gently, those hands lay her down, one rubbing circles into the back of her head while the other presses on her sternum in an unspoken command that makes her fold like paper. It feels like a dream almost, something unreal, something that’s happening to someone far away as hands are pulled above her head, fastened together and to a wooden beam tightly, so tight it’s tingling in her fingertips like tiny fireworks as blood struggles to meet them. 

The box scrapes against the ground, and she feels a heavy weight settle on her pelvis, her eyes refusing to look away as John pulls on a pair of purple gloves. 

“Matthew 18:9,” is what he says as a latex finger goes to flick a tear that’s leaked out of her eye harshly, the material dulling the warmth of his skin, an alien touch that suddenly makes him feel less human, but more real. 

Matthew 18:9. Matthew 18:9. What is Matthew 18:9? 

The hand goes to squeeze her shoulder muscle, sending a lance of pain up her numbing arms, eyes shooting open wider. 

“Fae. What is Matthew 18:9?” The voice becomes rigid. Severe. Bitter. Like the time where she was struggling to breathe as iron-laced water flooded her lungs. When she failed to be purified by it, burning in a pooled hell. 

As the pressure increases, feeling like it’ll crush her muscle, her brain finally scrambles to find the words, fallen from her mouth practically unbidden

“And if your eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away. It is better for you to enter life with one eye than with two eyes to be thrown into the hell of fire.”

The shock of realization makes her twist, thrash under the weight that sinks down on her torso, preventing movement alongside the ropes that cut into her skin with friction, barely allowing any flow of blood and turning her arms into numb weights.

“No, please, please no. I’m sorry, I’m sorry Pastor, please forgive” she scrambles for a plea, a phrase, something she hasn’t used yet. “J-James 2:13! Mercy triumphs over judgement.” But the hands ignore her, shuffling through supplies, wiping something cold and stinging all around her right eye.

 “Pleasedon’tdothis, 1 John 1:9 ‘If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness’. PleasepleasepleasePLEASE!” Her voice is high and airy in her throat as she struggles to pull in air between the real weight of John on her chest, and the weight of her own panic allowing only the shallowest sips to reach her lungs. 

The hands stop and sigh, directing her gaze to his face. Her breath stops at meeting the cold gravestone slate of his eyes, frozen by his touch. 

“Proverbs 19:8 ‘Chasten thy son while there is hope, and let not thy soul spare for his crying.’ I have shown you mercy. I cannot abide your crying anymore without punishment Fae.”

The tears start to flow as the stinging returns to her eyes, pleas now just helpless sobs as he sets objects beyond her eyesight. There’s the distinct smell now of antiseptic, overpowering. She watches him take a swig of clear liquid from a bottle next to her before he pours it over his hands, rubbing them together. 

“I wish there was another way. Your eyes, they see such awful words, they read such terrible things and give you ideas. I forgive you, but He will not Fae. I’m sorry.” 

His tone is resolute even as it fades into a gruff apology, body adjusting to squash the last of her apologies, breath escaping her flesh even as she wishes she could follow it. 

The hand readjusts to pry open the lids of her right eye, thick fingers too strong for the weak muscle. The liquid burns but she can’t close them against it, eyes watering until he’s a blur in her forced vision. The wetness of her tears coats the latex, and a second hand comes to touch her eye itself. Fae’s back attempts to arch under the strain, body screaming with a not supposed to be there don’t touch thatnotsupposedtoTOUCH!

It’s a sharp pressure that builds quickly overwhelming her senses. Sobs turn to screams, wailing on every exhale, short between breaths. It could be minutes. It could be seconds. But the pain feels like an eternity as every piece of her screams against the intrusion to the softest, most vulnerable, most exposed of her organs. The world goes white, pain turned into high pitched noise in her ears as her heart struggles to keep up, a rhythm of thumpthutmpthutmpthump that speeds impossibly fast in her chest. 

And then there’s a pop. Sickening, slimy, a noise that reminds her in a delirious amount of pain like the sound of a sucker out of someone’s mouth. Quiet, slightly slurpy as it’s crushed and pulled, leaking not just tears but now blood and fluid. It’s disquieting to hear it. 

It’s most disquieting to see it freed, for a moment. The world drifting in a nauseating set of two distances, warping to her brain as he doesn’t stop. No. He pulls. 

As the cord snaps, she remembers hearing about the dangers of taut ropes. Of how, when they snap, they whiplash back, causing severe injury. The physics teacher had demonstrated on a rubber band, and she remembers the small snap on her hand that day as she tried it with a lab partner. The feeling like her skin had torn open. 

She has no idea if the nerves react like a rubber band, but her brain tells her that they have. That her entire right side has been whiplashed, shattered bone, ripped skin, blood pouring in heated rivulets until all she can taste is copper and pain. Her face is gone, skull crushed by agony as it booms within in an explosion like a firework set off far too close. A haphazard celebration. 

And it’s his smile of celebration holding a piece of her that she sees as the other half of her world goes dark.

Tags:@bleedingandfeverish @starry-whump  @whumpywhumper​ @greatandquestionablecontent​ (let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list!)

[whumpywhumper]

Don’t let them see you cry for Markus 🥺

Red circles are completed, yellow X’s are requested, and green checks have a solid idea! I’m super slow at filling requests cause #reallife but I adore every single one of them and they will eventually be filled! 

This was requested by @0idril0 and she helped me out with her characters and wrote this first bit with Nico/Clint! 

Tagging those in Markus and Clint’s fan club: @captivity-whump @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @imagination1reality0 @voidwhump @comfy-whumpee Let me know if you want to be tagged in the future! 

@badthingshappenbingo Don’t Let Them See You Cry

TW: mentions of previous non-con; panic attacks 

Edit for Masterpost

A DR. SEUSS ENDING

“I gotcha Sugar, you’re doing great.” 

Clint held his elbows as he walked forward, murmuring reassurances. His shoulders throbbed, hip screaming when he went to put weight on it. 

Clint’s friends were scattered around, watching, waiting for him to mess up. He couldn’t make his eyes leave Clint’s blurry face, constantly reassuring himself that he was doing what Clint wanted. 

Walking hurt, but Clint wanted him to walk. He could be good, for Clint, he’d do anything. Clint was so patient. He’d made him appointments with physical therapists, made sure they came to the house, and hadn’t ever been upset when it took him too long to complete his tasks. 

Today his task was to walk from the wheelchair to the couch. Ten feet. 

He was panting roughly when Clint called to Markus for a glass of water, and he felt a trickle of shame in his belly. He wasn’t even half way and fatigue was already making him shake, his knees buckling at every step. 

“That’s it, Darlin.” 

Clint rubbed circles into his elbows, constantly grounding him and Nico focused on the sensation as he went to take another step. 

Crash. 

Nico jerked as water sprayed across his house shoes, sensitive ears zeroing in on the sound of the glass scattering across the ground. He couldn’t see the glass, he couldn’t see what he’d knocked over, he didn’t mean to. 

“Hey!” 

His knees gave out, unable to correct from his sudden movement. Clint’s form surged forward, pain exploding in his ribs and hip as Clint caught his waist to stop his descent.

Nico whimpered, blindly clinging to Clint’s shirt as voices started to rise, surprise and disgruntlement mixing with his fear. Clint’s arms burned where they press against him as he waited for more pain. He’d failed. Again. 

“S’sorry, ‘m sorry—please…D-didn’— I can—I can’t-…” He couldn’t get enough air to make his voice louder, it felt like he was breathing through gravel. 

“Fuckin’ hell man, you scared the crap out of us.” Clint was growling, alarm and panic making Nico’s chest feel tight. 

“Oh my god, Nico, I am so sorry.”  Markus’s voice sounded strange, thick and strangled. 

“I-I’m s-s-sorry— ‘I’ll be good—“ Nico struggled to make his mouth move, voice no more than a ragged whisper. He hadn’t meant to scare him. 

“Fuck- Shh- it’s alright Darlin’, it wasn’t you, you’re fine, you did so good—“ Clint was holding him too tightly, his own frame shaking against him. Nico wanted to press into the contact, he wanted to peel his skin off. “It’s ok. I gotcha. I’m gonna put you on the couch then I’ll let go.” 

He mewled into Clint’s shoulder as the werewolf lifted him, trembling violently. “It’s ok Sugar, you’re ok, you did good.” 

Nico felt his panic start to ebb as Clint murmured to him, the wolf’s calm demeanor spreading through their bond as he was settled onto the couch. 

“There ya go Darlin’, you did so good.” Nico felt tears prick at his eyes at the undeserved praise. Blunt fingers rubbed at his tangled hair and he flinched away from the light touch. “Sorry Baby, I’m sorry…” 

Clint kept his promise, wrapping him in the soft blue blanket the wolf insisted was his, that it would never be taken away.  He scrubbed at his arms, his chest, feeling like his skin was on fire. He wanted Clint to come back and hold him, tell him it was okay again, but the thought also made him squirm. 

“Baby, here.” Clint was kneeling in front of where he was on the lounger holding something dark. He reached a trembling hand out of the blanket and Clint settled the object against his lap. The soft material registered slowly as he struggled to make out what it was. It was his stuffed wolf. He pulled it close, like he wanted to do to Clint, burying his face into the stuffed animal. 

The stuffed wolf smelled like Clint and he dragged in a few ragged inhales of the scent, post panic exhaustion starting to tug at him. 

“Alright Sugar, I’m gonna go check on Markus, I need to apologize. You gonna be ok?” 

He nodded, face still buried in the stuffed wolfs fur. Clint wouldn’t leave him for long. He clung to the bond in his chest, reassuring himself he wasn’t alone. 

He settled more as Clint stood, giving him space to breathe. He felt safer under the blanket, it’s weight calming. No one was yelling anymore, no one was paying attention to him. He was safe. 

***

“Hey, Markus?” Clint called over the TV and chatter. 

“Yeah?”

“Can you bring a glass of water in here when you come back?” 

“Sure!”  

Glass in hand, Markus came back to the living room where his group of friends was scattered around on haphazardly matched furniture, and smiled when he saw that Nico had joined them. Markus didn’t know Nico well, and this was the first time he’d seen him since the Martin incident. His huge gray hoodie didn’t do much to disguise his skinny frame, but his solemn eyes were trained on Clint, their piercing blue so full of adoration that Markus could feel it in the air. 

Evan and Kristy were sitting on the couch, her head on his shoulder as they watched Clint help his Mate across the room with soft smiles. Brian was outright grinning from his laid out position on the recliner, and the siren’s happiness at seeing his friend on his feet was beaming out of his face. Markus wished that Illyn and Roxanne had been able to come and see Nico’s progress.  

It was almost sickening how sweet the big werewolf was when it came to the recovering man, and Markus couldn’t help the small chuckle when he recalled their doe eyes from before Nico had been taken. Nico had turned a wolf into a fucking labrador. 

Clint’s back was to Markus, hands braced under Nico’s forearms, and he shuffled backward with baby steps. The human was still limping heavily, but he had been getting better at walking, hours of physical therapy helping him get stronger.  “That’s it, Darlin’,” Clint praised. 

The werewolf’s low rumble was almost inaudible from where he was leaning to softly speak to Nico. So he, and the others, didn’t see the way Markus froze, his eyes going wide as the words hit him like a bucket of ice water. He shuddered, the far away roar of his pulse in his ears masking the ambient noise of the room. 

“That’s it, darling.” As fingers entered him, pressing against his insides, sparking unwanted pleasure through him. 

Lucien’s dusky, velvet voice was a damp croon against the shell of his ear, like he was standing just behind him. His body flushed cold, feeling the vampire’s fingers trail up his spine, across his stomach to press him tight against him. No. Nonono, Lucien wasn’t there.  

“Come now, darling. You know you can’t get away from me that easily.” As he struggled to push the vampire away, black eyes staring down at him, his fangs pressing closer and closer.  

Markus blinked, his heart jumping up into his throat on his next breath as everything became blurry. Of course he couldn’t escape Lucien. Markus wasn’t strong enough to fight the vampire off. He would bite him, claim him, again. Bleed him. Take him every way he could. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. Please. 

“Can you open your eyes for me, darling?” As fire ate away at his insides. 

His eyes snapped open, and the glass of water slipped between his numb fingers as Markus watched it hurtle to the floor in slow motion. The water spilling from the clear glass in a lazy pattern. Before shattering against the floor with a sharp crash. 

“Hey!” 

“Oh shit!” 

“What?!”

Everyone jumped as the glass met the floor, indignantly shouting as the the water splashed across the room. Nico recoiled, hard, at the loud noise, his eyes getting huge and round as he jerked away from it. Clint dove forward as Nico’s weak knees gave out, catching his Mate securely around the waist so that he didn’t fall. 

They all watched as fear, and no small amount of pain, overtook Nico’s features. Eyes squeezed shut, he took ragged breaths, his fingers latched onto Clint’s shirt. “S’sorry, ‘m sorry—please…D-didn’— I can—I can’t-…” His mouth was moving, his damaged voice barely audible over his rasping breaths. He was visibly trembling, clinging even as he shied away from the werewolf that caught him. 

Clint’s eyes flashed yellow as he growled at Markus, face contorting as he held his terrified Mate in his arms. “Fuckin’ hell, man. You scared the crap out of us.” 

Markus sucked in a ragged breath, trying to get back into the present, horrified guilt entangling with the thrumming dread and panic. He forced words past the painful maul pounding away at his rib cage, clutching a hand to his chest. “Oh my god, Nico, I am so sorry.” 

“I-I’m s-s-sorry— ‘I’ll be good—“  Nico was whimpering into Clint’s chest, breathless, begged apologies making the entire room still with stricken expressions. Markus was forgotten in the wake of the other’s trauma. 

“Fuck-Shh-it’s alright, Darlin’ —“ Markus jerked, and took a step backward at the endearment, gritting his teeth against the grayed haze that threatened him. “— it wasn’t you, you’re fine, you did so good. It’s okay, I gotcha. I’m gonna put you on the couch then I’ll let go.” 

As Clint comforted Nico, the others jumped into action around them; Evan going to the closet for a broom as Kristy gathered towels for the water on the floor. Brian grabbed Nico’s blanket, a blue, weighted thing that was beyond soft, and prepared to let Clint wrap him up in it. 

Markus just took another step backward, swallowing fitfully against the rock in his throat, feeling like he was stuck in quicksand. “I’m… I’m gonna… “ No one was paying attention as he turned back toward the kitchen, his hand shaking as it skimmed across the wall, tingling face almost slack as he fought off the memories.  

Vision blurring, he put one foot in front of the other, not paying attention to where he was going, just knowing he had to get away from his friends’ scrutiny. Lucien isn’t here. I’m free. Lucien isn’t here. I’m free. He repeated the reassurance to himself as he entered the kitchen, grunting as he caught the door frame with his shoulder. Fuckfuckshit. He grabbed the throbbing joint as pain flared through old scar tissue.  

“Did that hurt, darling?”

Lucien’s voice was right there, and Markus flinched, helplessness rolling through his stomach as he recalled the vampire’s thumb pressing into the wound, his long fingers wrapping around his throat to hold him still. He stumbled, catching himself on the counter, hands slapping against the quartz. The thick splattering sound of blood against concrete assaulted him, the warm wetness of his own blood coating his hands. 

No! Markus recoiled, clenching his dry hands against his chest as a weak, hollowness crept into his stomach. Nonono, I’m home. I’m not there. I’m home.  

The phantom smell of rose and vanilla stuffed his nostrils as he gasped for air, like Lucien was laying on top of him, pressing all of the air from his chest and making it impossible to breathe. “Fuck,” he choked. A reedy noise echoed through the kitchen, and he squeezed his eyes shut, not even seeing the horrible late 70’s kitchen decor. “Fuck.”  

He stumbled forward, grabbing the refrigerator handle by reflex, and pressed his forehead against the chilled surface. Shuddering hard, Markus’s watery knees finally gave up as he slid to the floor. His entire body was trembling, but he forced himself to raise a shaking hand to his throat. His numb fingers danced across the scarred bite marks there, they weren’t fresh, they weren’t, before clutching at the grahm around his neck. 

The grahm was a grounding weight against his palm. The black onyx was smooth and cool, the copper wrapping around it in intricate swirls, the dangling charms clacking together as they shook from his trembling. Breathe. I have to breathe. 

One. Two. Three. Four. He breathed in against the tightness in his chest, small sips of air filling his lungs. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Hold. His heart thumped irregularly in his chest, lungs burning with the need for more air. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Out. He let the air out slowly, a small hitch as he started repeating the exercise. 

He didn’t know how long it took for his heart to settle in his chest, air coming easily again. It felt like forever. Blearily, he opened his eyes, looking down at the checkered tile. Fuck. 

Letting the gram fall back against his chest, Markus brushed his hand across his eyes, unsurprised to find the wetness on his cheeks. His eyes burned, and it felt like he’d been beaten and forced to run for miles. Sniffling, Markus swallowed back a wet cough. Damnit. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a panic attack like that. 

Using his grip on the refrigerator handle, Markus pulled himself up, but the pad of feet behind him made him tense. He pulled the refrigerator open, pretending to look inside as he finished wiping his face. 

“Markus?” 

Clint. 

The witch grimaced, grabbing one of the beers on the lowest shelf before turning around, keeping his gaze away from Clint’s face as he leaned against the counter. “Hey man, I’m really sorry about that. Is Nico okay? I shoulda been more careful, I know how easily startled he is right now.”

“Nah, it was an accident. I know you wouldn’t do that on purpose. Nico’s fine. I actually wanted to apologize myself.” He sighed, and the big man leaned against the door frame. “The bond has been really hard to get a handle on. I’m not always sure whose emotions I’m feeling. I overreacted. I’m sorry.” 

Heading for the doorway, Markus shook his head, still not meeting Clint’s eyes. “It’s no big deal, not the only time I’ve dealt with a snarling wolf.” His joke was weak but he clapped his friend on the shoulder, trying to brush past the werewolf in the doorway. 

Clint’s big hand settled on his bicep, the light touch just enough to make him pause, his own hand stopping from sliding off his shoulder. “Are you okay?” 

Markus sucked in a tremulous breath. All of his defenses were down, and he clenched his teeth together, eyes flickering to the dim hallway. The witch hadn’t shared a lot of his struggles after he was rescued from Lucien. Couldn’t make himself talk about it. Couldn’t share. 

He didn’t notice that he was trembling again. That his hand had clenched around Clint’s shoulder. His heart kicking back up in his chest. 

“Markus, breathe Darlin’.” 

The memory swamped him before he could brace for it, making him jerk against the doorframe, rapping his skull against the wood. A starburst of white overtaking his vision. 

“Markus, breathe darling.”  Strong arms gripped him around the waist, binding him against Lucien, too weak to hold himself up. He was struggling to just pull in air as the vampire lowered his lax form back to the floor, venom pounding through his bloodstream from Lucien’s feeding. 

Clint secured his grip around Markus’s bicep when his knees gave out, bracing his feet as he took a majority of his weight. “Shit!” 

Everything was black at the edges, a cold ache taking root in his torso, like his bones were made of ice. His chest expanded in a desperate breath, a thin rasp all he could manage from his unwieldy body as he was settled on his back. 

“Okay, ya definitely need to breath there, Hun’.” Clint let Markus’s knees give out as he slid down the wall, again. No rebuke in his voice from Markus’s death grip on his shoulder, but the can in his hand complained about the pressure he was exerting, slight crinkles appearing in the aluminum.  

“That’s it, there you go.” Cold fingers ran down his chest, his sweat damp skin sliding under the barely there touch, and he whimpered with his minuscule amount of oxygen as crackling pain washed through him. “Mmm, I love seeing you like this.”  Markus couldn’t get away from the vampire’s touch as it skated over his body, and his muscles trembled as he tried to pull in another breath. “You’re so beautiful.”

Clint’s head wavered back and forth in front of Markus’s face, trying to make eye contact. “Okay, Markus, I don’t know what you’re seeing there, Hun. You’re okay, though, alright?” He looked over Markus’s shoulder briefly, waving sternly before he brought his hand to Markus’s arm. Grounding him. 

Lucien smiled down at him from where he’d pressed their chests together, laying on top of him, making it even harder to breathe. His fangs pressed into his lower lip before his tongue darted out. “I can’t get enough of you, Markus.”  His head lowered slowly, damp breath on his throat before sharp fangs sank into his skin. Markus whimpered, more blackness enroaching as Lucien obliterated him. 

Markus barely saw Clint in front of him as he gasped at air, tiny mewls of terror escaping as he quivered. Panic constricting his airway. Lucien, nonononono. He was helpless. Out of control. Please, no more, I can’t give anymore.

“Markus, Markus, would ya try to look at me, Hun? I need you to take a deep breath, okay?” 

The werewolf’s voice was deep and calm, the gruff timber of his drawl the exact opposite of Lucien’s smooth accent. He tried to focus on his eyes, sucking in a painful breath. 

“Good, there ya go, Sugar. Now, let it out.” 

As he let the breath out, Markus’s face crumpled in, and he slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes shutting tightly. A thick breath through his nose had him sobbing through his palm, curling forward, trying to hide his face. Fucking hell, no no no. 

“Fuck, Markus, shhh. It’s okay, shhh, I gotcha.” Clint’s palms slid up and down his arms before the bigger man leaned in, arms going around his back, cheek resting agains this hair. The werewolf smelled nothing like Lucien’s rose and vanilla, his heavier musk reminding him of a forest. He took a deeper breath even as he kept sobbing, tears crawling down his cheeks. “Let it out, Sugar, I gotcha.” 

Markus didn’t know how long he and Clint stayed there, on the fucking kitchen floor, but Clint didn’t complain or move away until he drew back. “M’sorry, Clint, god, you don’t need this right now.”  Frustrated, Markus wiped his cheeks again, absolutely drained as his head thunked back against the door frame. 

Patting him on the knee, Clint shook his head, face solemn. “I think you’ve been needing that for a while now, Sugar.”  His brows drew together. “What set you off, Hun?” he asked, voice soft. 

“It’s just… fuck, it feels so stupid.” He rubbed his hand over his face, five o’clock shadow rasping against his callouses. His eyes felt so gritty and tired, and he sniffled, sinuses aggravated. “It’s that damn endearment. Darling.” He spat the word out, feeling dirty as he forced it between his teeth, and shuddered. “I can’t… I can’t hear it without,” he swallowed, rubbing his hand across his jeans, voice coming out in a tight croak, “without being back… “ He was starting to breathe fast again, and Clint squeezed his knee comfortingly. “Fuck, without being back with Lucien.” 

“God, Markus… I’m so sorry, I had no idea.” 

Markus laughed, short and bitter. “I haven’t exactly told you about it before.” He took a deep, shaky breath, wiping his eyes again before looking over his shoulder, back into the living room. The back of Evan and Kristy’s heads were just barely visible over the couch, and Brian was painfully obvious in his effort of ignoring them in the kitchen. He couldn’t see Nico from his vantage point, but he grimaced, hoping that Nico hadn’t heard his breakdown. He didn’t need someone else’s trauma messing with his own recovery. “C’mon, old man, let’s get off of the floor and get you back to Nico, okay?” 

“Markus… “

“Clint,” he answered as he forced himself up, feeling ancient when his joints protested. He offered a hand to the kneeling werewolf, who was looking at him with concern all over his face, and smiled. It was watery and weak, but it was there. 

The other man pursed his lips but accepted the help before pulling Markus into a tight hug. His voice was rough when he  murmured in the witch’s ear, “You don’t have to do this alone, ya know?” 

Markus huffed, nodding against the taller man’s shoulder. “I know.” He slapped him on the arm and took a shaky few steps to the living room. Kristy and Evan gave him sympathetic smiles as he came in, not moving from their snuggled position under a too small blanket; Brian even opened his mouth until Markus set the beer on his chest and he was too busy trying to catch it to ask anything. 

The pack house had a huge couch with a double lounger at one end and a sectional on the other. Nico was curled up in his regular spot on the lounger, the position easier on his hip, his weighted blanket over his legs. He had a stuffed wolf clutched against his chest, and Markus felt his face soften. He knew they’d specialized it to smell like Clint, the weighted toy helping with his touch aversion. He hardly went anywhere without it. 

He settled back in his previous spot, more than half a cushion away from Nico, hugging himself as Clint settled onto the other side of the lounger. The movie didn’t hold his interest anymore, and Markus felt his eyes glaze over as exhaustion pressed at him. He sniffled quietly, rubbing at his eyes as he let the other cushion take the weight of his head, like he was leaning on someone’s shoulder. 

It felt like he’d been emptied out like a Halloween pumpkin, emotionally raw in a way he didn’t like to be. Markus drew his knees up, hugging himself tighter as a shiver worked its way up his spine. Damnit, pull yourself together. 

Sighing, Markus wiped a fresh tear off of his cheek, and scrubbed at his hair. He let his eyes close, breathing out of his mouth because of his irritated sinuses. Something soft settled in his lap, and Markus blinked his heavy eyelids open in surprise. 

Nico’s wolf was in his lap.

The heavy, weighted toy was warm and comforting. He brought a hand up to settle on its back, looking over at Nico, eyes wide.  

The other was looking at him, blue eyes soft and concerned, looking between him and the wolf toy. Markus’s breath caught in his throat, an entirely different kind of tear pricking at his eyes. 

“Thanks Nico,” he murmured. Slowly, Markus hugged the wolf toy, not caring to wipe away the new tear that coursed down his cheek. Nico’s solemn expression didn’t really change, but he nodded, picking at the sleeves of his long hoodie. Gingerly, the human leaned against Clint, and Markus could hear the huge inhale as Nico took in the werewolf’s scent. 

Clint and Markus locked eyes over Nico’s head, the werewolf fighting a delighted smile as he leaned his cheek against the crown of his Mate’s head. “Wow,” he mouthed, giving Markus a thumbs up. 

Markus shook his head, giving a smile of his own before settling back into the couch, snuggling the wolf toy. 

Maybe…maybe it was okay for Nico to see him breakdown after all. 

[fallingstormphoenix]

Get ready guys!

@robinshouseofwhump and I have an amazing crossover arc for our characters coming up soon! Catch up with @robinshouseofwhump‘s characters Arron and Abel to prepare for this!! As well as Occuldous and his new mistress! This piece will be a bit of a jump forward for Occuldous’ story, but it’s along the same timeline for now. GET READY! This will be an amazing crossover <3

( @whumping-every-day @imagination1reality0 @0idril0 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @haro-whumps @quirkykayleetam @whumptywhumpdump

[whumpywhumper]

YOURE WRITIBG IS INCREDIBLE!!!! is there a master list of where to start/what series you have or anything?

Oh wow! Thank you so much! I actually don’t have that much of my original work on here but here’s a list of some of what I’ve written! I’m hoping to continue putting out content that people like :) 

Markus and Lucien: Part One-Darling Part Two--Baser Natures Part Three-Help Me Find You Part Four--Markus 

Luke and Olivia: Part One

Whump Drabbles: The Lonely Fae  Clint, Bow & Arrow Whumper/Whumpee (The last one has actually evolved on my harddrive for actual characters. . . Lemme know if anyone wants to see it?)

Otherwise, if you like my writing, I suggest checking out @0idril0 ‘s Nico series! I edit and beta read for her and LOVE her content. Find it here

[captivity-whump]

Yay! She's going to figure it out now! The siblings reunite. I love this story! Sorina is perfect.

Soup

So @0idril0 authorized me to go ahead and post the next section of her Nico series which I wrote :) It is original author approved  

Continued from: here

Tagging: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @captivity-whump @kungpao-giffy @doityourselfbombs @comfy-whumpee @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @whumptywhumpdump @whumpitywhumpwhump @walkingchemicalfire @genesissane @imagination1reality0 @voidwhump

*** 

Sorina hummed while she worked, kneading the bread to go with her slowly simmering bone broth. She’d roasted the chicken before carefully separating the meat from the bones, adding them to her already chopped vegetables and water. 

The rest of the pack house was quiet. She’d woken a few hours after her fainting spell-and hadn’t that been embarrassing-to being warm and comfortable. Cocooned in sheets and a quilt she didn’t recognize, surrounded by the scent of soap and safety. It took her a moment  to recall where she was, but, as soon as she had, she crept from the room into the darkened hallway. Open doors revealed no one in the extra rooms, and absolutely no bedding on them. 

On silent feet (and she felt a flutter in her stomach when she realized Evan probably removed her shoes), she stole into the living room and found Kristy and her friends. Moonlight spilled over their sleeping forms, giving its soft illuminescence to the room. She had to smile at them, even in spite of the circumstances that made them do it, because it was just too fuckin’ cute. 

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