#Vegas whump

[analisegrey]

A snippet for a WIP-

Pete comes to a stop, though his arms don’t drop an inch.

“Let him go, and I’ll make your end quick.”

The man behind Vegas laughs, incredulous.

“You really feel you’re in a position to bargain right now?” The hand in Vegas’s hair gives a sharp tug, and he can feel his skin split against the blade with the movement. “I have a knife at his fucking throat. Do you really think-”

The sound of Pete’s gun firing is deafening in the semi-enclosed space, and suddenly the fingers in his hair go lax, the blade falling away from his throat as the man behind him collapses. When Vegas looks back over his shoulder it’s to find the man on the ground, a hole centered just above his eyebrows.

With a sigh of relief, Vegas turns back to face Pete.

“Glad to see you, sweetheart.”

“Don’t you ‘sweetheart’ me.”

Pete holsters his weapon and advances, a scowl drawing his eyebrows together.

“Did I not tell you this guy was shady as a forest?”

“Yes, Pete, but-”

“I wasn’t finished.”

Vegas’s mouth snaps shut at Pete’s tone.

“I told you he was sketchy as shit, Vegas. I told you we didn’t have all the information we needed yet. I asked you to wait one day for me to finish running my check.” Pete shoves the body out of the way and kneels down behind the chair; while his voice is anger and steel, his touch is light, doing his best to be gentle as he accesses the locks on the cuffs.

“If you’d fucking waited-” The first cuff pops open, Pete helping Vegas move his arm forward. “I could have told you this fucker went renegade from his gang, could have told you he was never going to do anything but be a problem.” The other cuff opens and this time Vegas doesn’t bother trying to hold back the sounds that want to climb up out of his throat as his shoulders scream at the movement, his ribs joining in as he shifts. He’s doing his best not to think about his fingers (or look at them, now that he can), and so he instead looks at Pete when he moves back around to stand in front of Vegas.

His expression is stormy, the line of his shoulders rigid in a way that conveys just how pissed he is. Under it all, though, is the worry. It’s in the pinched look around his eyes, the way his lips press into a thin line instead of down into a frown.

“It’s okay; I’m hurt, but I’ll be fine. None of it is that bad.”

If he’d thought Pete’s face was stormy before it’s downright thunderous now, his eyes burning holes through Vegas.

“Really.”

“Pete-” He sucks in a breath as he tries to sit up from the slouch he’s been in and Pete darts forward, getting a hand on Vegas’s back to support him. “I know you’re worried, but I promise it’s fine.” He reaches out for Pete with his good hand, even though his own is shaking, and Pete lets him take it, bringing it in to press Pete’s hand flat to his chest over his heart. “I’m not made of glass; I’m not fragile. It’s been over two years-”

Pete’s face contorts as his hand spasms, clutching at Vegas’s shirt, using his hold on it to pull Vegas in as he leans down.

“And you think that’s anywhere near long enough for me to be okay with it, with you getting hurt,” Pete hisses. “Especially when it could have been easily prevented? It will never be long enough, Vegas.” Pete’s voice cracks slightly at the end, and suddenly Vegas gets a flash of something, something in their relationship that he’s been woefully misjudging.

[where-is-my-whump]

9-1-1 Lone Star Season 5 whump preview

[whumpslist]

Zorro’s whumps’ list

(referred to main character Zorro / Diego de la Vega, portrayed by Miguel Bernardeau; *bonus: Enrique Monasterio, portrayed by Emiliano Zurita.]

Season 1

.01: brief scuffle and under swordpoint during a training session, received upsetting news about his father's death and tears in his eyes, grief, shot at and unpleasant confrontation, nightmare and rough awakening, upsetting news and conflicted, fought against multiple armed soldiers twice, rough sword fight, zorroed himself on his chest.

.02: red fresh Z sign on his chest from previous episode, into a hostage situation during a robbery and under gunpoint, pistol-whipped at his neck, under gunpoint, scuffle and almost shot, worried and defeated, conflicted, brief scuffles and sword fight.

.03: harsh confrontation and sort of shot at, various scuffles, gun pointed at his head, disappointed, lured into a trap and under gunpoint, under gunfire and captured, hands tied above his head and identity exposed, upsetting news and almost shot in the face.

.04: hands tied above his head from previous episode, stabbed and heavily breathing, collapsed and dragged by his arms, laying unable to move and heavily breathing, moaning, falling from the horse, taken care of, feverish, upset but unable to leave the bed, shirt stained with blood after an effort and fainted, helped laying on the bed and wound exposed and bleeding, moaning helped getting undressed, Z scar on his chest, pale, wound taken care of, hand pushed against the wound and groaning in pain, under arrow point, into a duel with swords.

.05: upset, blade at his throat twice, Z scar on his chest, brief scuffle against two armed men, under gunfire and brief scuffles, under gunpoint, disappointed.

.06: ackward conversation and uneasy, Z scar on his chest, upset, brief scuffle, under gunpoint, under gunpoint and chloroformed, passed out and kidnapped, slapped in the face and helped getting up, pointed the gun at his own head and pressed the trigger without consequences, chloroformed again and grabbed when collapsed, upset; *bonus Enrique Monasterio: shot with an arrow at his shoulder, bloody and taken care of.

.07: blackmailed, rough scuffle and pushed to the ground, blade at his throat and heavily panting, upset and heartbroken, difficult conversation and conflicted, annoyed.

.08: brief scuffle, threatened and upset, bitten, angry and argued, rough fight and stabbed, upset and crying.

.09: unpleasant conversation and identity exposed, massaging his injured leg, under gunpoint, sword fight, grieving his father and tears on his cheeks, upset and conflicted, indignant, stabbed in flank and shot at, fallen from the horse semi-unconscious and taken care of, groaning and heavily breathing, grunting in pain and passed out.

.10: holding his flank because of the injury from previous episode, received upsetting news and agitated, moaning during physical effort, harsh confrontation (on purpose), intense sword duel, harsh confrontation (for fake), under gunpoint, rough sword fight and cut at his thigh, stabbed in the back and collapsed on his knees, almost killed, grunting in pain while getting up, pale and sweating, upset, silently crying on his father's grave, rejected, emotional goodbye; *bonus Enrique Monasterio: intense sword duel, stabbed and collapsed (dead for fake), shot at then swordfights.

In the original book "The Mark of Zorro" (1919) by Johnston McCulley: brief scuffle, various chases, rejected, brief scuffle, fought and chased, sword duel without consequences, surrounded and rescued.

[guardian-angle22]

is it a season of 911 lone star if tk doesn't get hurt in some way? nah

[librathefangirl]

@whumpgifathon | Day 13: Aesthetic Alt. Bedside Vigil Las Vegas | S02E01 | Danny McCoy

[thisautistic]

blurry pete (and vegas!) part 3: the kidnappening. or, we see each other clearly now

[nisbanisba]

I can’t tell one from another (did I find you or you find me) Now FINISHED on AO3. A mostly plotless Tarlos sickfic with lots of cuddles and banter and a little angst for flavor.

“Hi, baby,” TK whispers, sitting on the edge of the bed and rubbing Carlos’ duvet-covered back. “How are you holding up?”

Carlos takes a second to come back to himself a bit, shuddering. “Freezing,” he finally manages. “Can I have more blankets?”

Carlos is radiating heat even through the layers of blankets. TK frowns and moves his hand up to cup Carlos’ cheek, brushing the back of his other hand against his forehead, then cheek, then the side of his neck. “Baby, I don’t think so,” he apologizes as Carlos pouts and leans his face into the touch. “You’re on fire. Let me take your temp and then I’ll get you more meds and water.”

Carlos attempts some combination of a glare and pleading cow eyes, but the effect is lessened by the unfocused haze in the aforementioned eyes, as well as the fact that he can barely keep them open. Nearly swayed nonetheless, TK rubs Carlos’ scalp soothingly before pressing a gentle kiss to his hot temple. “My poor baby,” he murmurs. “You’ll feel better. I promise.”

[necrotic-nephilim]

I love the new ask game :D

Maybe "You wouldn't." with Bruce/Jason?

send a quote and a ship and I'll write a short fic!

tysm anon, i'm glad you're loving it! i love that this got requested twice because it was such a fun one. warning that this one is *dark*, it deals with hypnotism/brainwashing and non-con as a result of that. it's *sort of* inspired by Gotham War but is based in pre-Flashpoint and basically my twist on a realistic but fucked up way i think Bruce would try to control Jason psychologically. just 3.3k of Jason suffering. enjoy <3

“Come home, Jason.”

It was a dream Jason had had a thousand times in a thousand ways. Bruce’s hand outstretched, offering Jason a white flag and compassion.

Only this time, it wasn’t a dream.

The cold ground underneath Jason’s palm was real. He could smell the dirt caked under his fingernails as he clenched his fist, panting hard.

He had a gun pointed at Bruce with his other hand. Jason was knocked to the ground, but he wasn’t down.

He was never down; a mutt going belly up. That’d never be him.

For some reason that Jason couldn’t put into words, the gun was shaking in his hand. He never had it in him to actually kill Bruce. But somehow now, his resolve felt more shattered than usual.

“Your home isn’t mine,” Jason said through grit teeth. He could taste his own blood in his mouth, but the fight was already muddled in his head. Was it one of the goons he was fighting or Bruce who’d hit him? He wasn’t sure.

Bruce loomed over Jason. It was a look he practically had patented. Cape billowing, shadow cast over Jason in such a way that Jason felt so impossibly small. He knew all the tricks and how Bruce pulled them off, but that didn’t mean he was immune to them. No matter how much Jason grew and made a name for himself, Bruce could always make him want to shrink into himself.

But he wouldn’t. He refused to hand that weakness over to Bruce.

“It always has been your home,” Bruce’s voice was far too gentle for his immovable stance and shadow-hidden face. Jason didn’t like the contrast. “Just for the night.” He took a step toward Jason, hand close enough for Jason to bat it away with his gun.

He knew this dance. Like a song that Jason had never actually heard, but still seemed to be woven into his soul. A long-forgotten melody as he descended into this hell. Bruce was reaching into Jason’s mind to pull out all of Jason’s worst nightmares about how he rolled over like a dog and gave in.

It made Jason’s lip curl in disgust, even as cold ice dripped down his spine.

“Go to hell,” Jason snarled. He didn’t sound how he wanted to. His voice was too high and it was like he was Robin again, pre-pubescent and looking at Bruce like he hung the moon. That moon was bleeding all over them, now. “I will shoot you if you don’t back off,” he warned. Not lethally, they both knew that unspoken caveat. But that didn’t mean Jason wasn’t acutely aware of every weak point of Bruce’s armor and very ready to give Bruce a new scar for his misplaced nostalgia-tainted love.

“No, you won’t,” Bruce said calmly. Not as an order, but as a simple fact.

Jason scoffed. “Like hell-”

Bruce whistled, a sharp and high note that made Jason’s brain nearly split in half.

And he-

He dropped his gun.

It tumbled out of his hand with his palm forced open. A muscle reaction that felt the same as a doctor knocking a hammer against Jason’s knee to make his leg kick out. So out of control that he just stared at his open, empty hand for a moment.

“What the fuck?” Jason spat out, blinking a few times. “Was that an EMP or something?” He hadn’t been looking at Bruce’s face. It sounded like a whistle, but Bruce could’ve activated some high-tech weapon through his gauntlet or-

Or something. Some sort of Bat-gadget that used a magnet to pull the gun out of Jason’s hand, or whatever other mcguffin Bruce had access to. That was the only logical answer that fit easily into Jason’s mind.

So why did it feel so wrong?

Why was Jason’s heart beating so fast?

He’d felt this fear before, in a dream.

Jason swallowed to keep his throat from closing up. He pushed himself to his feet and tried to grab a dagger from his belt.

He tried. And tried. It was right there, inches from his fingers twitching at his sides. Jason knew he was in control of his body. He could shift his weight and stretch his limbs and crack his neck.

But he couldn’t seem to grab a weapon.

Jason made a fist instead. He couldn’t raise it for the punch.

“You’re okay,” Bruce promised, trying to soothe the panic that was crawling up Jason’s throat. He reached up and stroked Jason’s face and Jason couldn’t seem to stop him. He wanted to pull away from the disgusting false kindness. But he fucking couldn’t. “We’re going home now.” Bruce’s tone was too calm, too even. Perfectly soothing and unbothered by Jason’s growing panic.

“No,” Jason choked out. He still had his words and could fight with them, at least. “What the fuck did you do, you bastard?”

Bruce’s expression changed but was impossible to get a full read on, hidden by the cowl. “What I had to. To keep you safe and bring you home.”

“I’m not yours,” Jason put as much force as he could into every word. All his hate, all his rage, dripped like a venom that was keeping him alive. He used his hatred to hide the fear that was swirling his thoughts, making them harder and harder to make sense of.

Something was wrong. All his worst nightmares of Jason just giving in and agreeing to go home with Bruce as an obedient little soldier were coming to life. Like sick prophecies he couldn’t escape.

Something was very wrong. Jason’s whole body was starting to shake and he instinctively reached for his chest, trying to find what was wrong. Something was lodged deep inside of him that didn’t belong. Something that Jason had to pull out before it took deeper root and he was- he was lost to some terrible unseen thing lurking in the corner of his mind. Whatever it was, Jason needed it out now before-

Bruce clicked his tongue. Jason was at least certain this time the sound came directly from Bruce, watching his mouth move to form the sharp clicking noise. Distinct and-

Familiar.

The fight or flight bled out of Jason’s limbs. His body calmed, even as his mind was still fighting the feeling. Muted and distant now, but still definitely there. Jason fumbled between the lines of a forced calm and natural panic. He didn’t know which one he wanted, which was the right one to be feeling.

The calm was entrancing. Hypnotizing, even. A siren trying to lull Jason under the waves so he would just sink into the current. The water was so warm and inviting, promising an existence where Jason wouldn’t have to feel so much pain all the time-

Hypnotizing.

It was hypnotizing.

Jason vaguely remembered Talia mentioning a hypnotism expert that Bruce once knew but she couldn’t convince Jason to train with them. He thought it sounded like a bunch of pseudoscience bullshit. Everyone knew hypnotism was a dumb Placebo.

Everyone it seemed, except Jason’s body. Which felt like it was trying to sink into the dirt under the weight of forced calm Bruce had wrapped around him.

“How-” Jason’s mouth was full of cotton. “Did you brainwash me, or something?”

“Conditioning,” Bruce corrected. How was he so casual about it? “It took months to make sure you wouldn’t notice. I did what I had to, to keep you safe from yourself.” He dared to run his fingers through Jason’s hair, pulling Jason’s pliant body forward until his forehead was pressed into Bruce’s shoulder. “This isn’t a punishment, Jason. I need you to understand, I didn’t do this to save Gotham. I did this to save you.”

He made the words sound like a love confession. They were the most terrifying words Jason had ever heard. They sounded more like a prison sentence Jason’s soul had been damned to then something sweet.

Jason managed to shake his head. His ears were ringing as he tried so hard to fight against the siren song. Bruce’s body was so warm. His words were barbed wire wrapped in a lullaby. They pierced Jason so deep he was sure he had to be bleeding everywhere. He could taste it, after all. Nothing made sense.

“You wouldn’t,” Jason whispered, almost delirious with how surreal it all felt. His tether to reality was cut cleanly by his puppeteer, razor-thin wires shackling him in place. A promise.

Bruce dared to press a kiss against Jason’s temple. “I already have.”

Jason went limp. Bruce caught him around the waist, easily picking him up to hold Jason gingerly.

Like a lover.

The nightmares of Bruce’s touch tasted so real.

Oh, fuck.

The nightmares.

“You’ve done this before,” Jason realized, tears of betrayal pricking in his eyes. The nightmares were real. They were distant, hypnotized memories he couldn’t quite reach in the back of his mind. Locked away until Bruce decided to unlock this conditioned, obedient side of Jason to play with. Using him like a toy.

Bruce was a psychotic bastard who always went too far.

But this. This was something new. An incomprehensible horror Jason could’ve never imagined Bruce doing. That was why they had to be nightmares, not memories. Bruce never would’ve done that to Jason. Jason never would’ve just laid there and taken it from Bruce. He wasn’t some lap dog for Bruce to domesticate.

He wasn’t.

This wasn’t real obedience. It was forced submission.

This wasn’t real at all. It couldn’t be.

This wasn’t Jason.

He wouldn’t have let this happen to himself.

He didn’t realize he was crying until Bruce was wiping the tears away. Daring to be fucking gentle, like he wasn’t perfectly aware of Jason’s inner turmoil eating him alive.

“Let’s go home,” Bruce said, adjusting Jason into a bridal carry and ignoring as Jason’s shallow breaths gave way to soft sobs.

The worst part was, Jason could feel himself slipping deeper into the corners of his mind. It was disturbingly easy to fall for the drowning nothingness that quieted all his rebelling emotions tearing him apart.

It was easy to give in to Bruce’s conditioning.

Before Jason knew it, he was tucked into the Batmobile, limbs completely immobile as they drove down familiar streets.

The anger melted away first.

Then the fear.

All those feelings left and Jason was just-

Empty.

He was going home.

Moments of clarity came to Jason in short, chaotic bursts. The first one came to him as Bruce was stripping him of his clothes, throwing them to the ground without a care in the world, desperate to consume Jason with hungry hands.

He could see Bruce’s face, now. It was all Jason could see.

Those awful, wanting eyes. Looking at Jason like he was just another toy of Bruce’s.

“What…” Jason’s words were slurred and barely fit in his mouth. “Stop- Bruce, stop-”

“Shh,” Bruce pressed his mouth against Jason’s and Jason was sinking again, unable to stop his body from reacting and kissing back. “I’ve got you.” The words were already so far away Jason barely heard them, even pressed against his mouth.

Bruce tasted like peppermint and sweet compliance.

The second clear moment was the longest one.

It came to Jason with a gasp, chest heaving for air as if something had been choking him.

He wasn’t being choked, though.

He was being fucked.

The gasp turned into a startled moan when a long thrust drove right into Jason’s prostate, his entire body jerking. Jason’s arms were wrapped around Bruce’s back, clinging to him like some kind of needy animal as Bruce drove into Jason’s body. A mutt with his belly up, compliant, like he was afraid of.

“Stop fighting it,” Bruce murmured into Jason’s ear, immediately knowing that Jason was lucid.

How could Jason stop fighting when he didn’t know he was fighting in the first place? He wasn’t in control of the mess in his head pulling him in too many directions.

He was so wrought out that all he could do was cry, anguished.

Jason wanted to push Bruce off of him. He didn’t want this pleasure. Jason’s arms moved sluggishly, but at least seemed to obey him, pushing weakly at Bruce’s shoulder.

“No, no no no,” Jason chanted the only thing he could get out. A mantra, a plea, and a prayer all in one. Every thrust rattled his bones with new, yet familiar feelings that were too real.

The parts of Jason’s body not under his control bloomed under Bruce’s touch. His back was arching and he was grinding onto Bruce’s cock. It made no sense, how he tried to claw at Bruce’s skin while chasing more and more of Bruce deep inside him.

It was where Bruce belonged, an insidious voice whispered in Jason’s ear. Where Jason belonged, too.

No, Jason fought back in his own mind.

God please, no.

Bruce just kept moving and fucking Jason. As if it wasn’t rape.

It was rape, wasn’t it? Jason’s consent wasn’t real. Bruce had made it up.

All of this was made up. Jason would never let Bruce do this to him.

“You’re beautiful,” Bruce soothed, pressing flowering kisses down Jason’s throat. Jason tried to turn his head away but he had nowhere to go, trapped underneath Bruce.

“No,” Jason repeated. He hit Bruce in the chest when a particular thrust made Jason’s own cock twitch and a moan rolled through his body.

Jason was hard. There was already precum dripping out of him.

Would he come like this? Did he have words, when he was completely under? In some of Jason’s nightmare-memories, he could remember begging Bruce for more. More touch, more pleasure, more orgasms.

That was what Bruce had reduced Jason to. A wanton whore who didn’t even have control of his own body. Jason violently shook his head, trying to wiggle more control into his limbs. He managed to just barely kick Bruce’s leg. Not hard, but enough to make Bruce stumble, catching himself with a hand against the mattress. A hand that wasn’t touching Jason anymore, making him sigh in relief. He could keep this momentum.

He just had to hold onto the control-

“I love you,” Bruce said, voice silky and going down Jason’s psyche like smooth whiskey. The burning aftertaste was there, trying to start a fire strong enough for Jason to fight back with, but Jason just swallowed.

Those words were the needed trigger to push Jason back down. And worse, this time it wasn't a gentle descent. He felt like he was being smothered by a pillow inside his own head. Jason was pretty sure he actually screamed before his body was taken from him.

Jason only managed to give Bruce a parting glare.

Lucidity came for Jason again with water raining down on his body. Hot enough to steam up the space, making Jason’s muscles sag.

He was in a shower. Leaning against Bruce. Practically clinging to him like a fucking child.

He could feel the soreness in a deep, disgusting place Jason never wanted to know Bruce could reach. Two gentle hands were massaging shampoo into Jason’s hair. The scent that Bruce used, not Jason.

Even when all this was over, Jason still wouldn’t be able to get Bruce’s scent off his skin.

Bruce had to be doing it on purpose.

“I hate you,” Jason spat the words out as fast as he could. He knew he was going to slip away again.

He knew there was nothing he could do to stop it. Acceptance was an ugly pill Jason hated swallowing with every fiber of his being.

He had never hated himself more.

Hating Bruce was an easy second nature. But this level of self-hatred was new, even for Jason.

He was so tired of feeling it. Of feeling at all.

Bruce didn’t use words this time. Jason’s ugly confession wasn’t acknowledged. Warm fingers just pressed into a specific spot against the back of Jason’s neck and he was boneless again.

Jason’s last thought was wondering just how many triggers Bruce had programmed into him.

He probably didn’t want to know.

Jason’s final moment of awareness came in Bruce’s arms. He was pressed against Bruce’s chest, finding himself tracing idle patterns across Bruce’s skin while Bruce was reading something on his tablet.

There was cold, bitter anger freezing Jason’s chest over.

But mostly, there was numbness.

Emptiness.

Jason didn’t say anything this time. He didn’t see the point when his words meant nothing to Bruce. He just glared into nothing, hand going completely rigid, then curling into a useless fist.

He didn’t want to know how many times he had been here before.

Bruce leaned down and kissed Jason’s brow. Jason wrinkled his nose but gave no other reaction. He kept his body perfectly still, even with it in his control.

“Do you want to remember?” Bruce asked.

Confusion clouded Jason’s muddy senses. “What?”

Bruce brushed stray hair out of Jason’s eyes and tilted his chin up, forcing him to look into Bruce’s lovingly unforgiving eyes. “Do you want to remember this time? You don’t have to remember if you’re not ready.”

Not ready. Jason didn’t like how those two words were heavy and had so many implications that they turned his stomach.

“No,” Jason couldn’t stop himself from telling the truth. Bruce had asked if he wanted to remember.

And Jason didn’t want this. He needed to remember. But more than anything, he didn’t want to remember this. It made his skin crawl.

He wanted this to be a bad dream.

The logic side of Jason’s brain was screaming and begging to remember this. If Jason knew this was real when he was away from Bruce, then he could get far, far away. He could run.

He could go anywhere.

Bruce hummed and nodded. With understanding Jason could feel down to his core, an awful thing.

He’d done this before, after all. The routine was down pat, for Bruce.

And for Jason, it was a new horror that he was going to learn over and over again.

Maybe Bruce got some kind of sick enjoyment out of this wretched cycle. Jason knew Bruce’s end goal, even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself.

He couldn’t. Admitting it made it real.

And this wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be.

Instead of slipping under the edge of conditioning, Jason just slipped into sleep. His body relaxed and Bruce pulled a blanket around him, tucking him in and murmuring something Jason didn’t quite catch.

Jason drifted into a dreamless sleep.

With a swear and a jolt, Jason woke up. His heart was pounding and he grabbed his chest, breathing hard. He sat up, swinging his legs over his shitty bed in his shitty warehouse.

“Fucking nightmares,” Jason grumbled, getting his body to calm down. The nightmare was already slipping away. It was something so ridiculous that he didn’t bother chasing it. Something about Bruce touching him and Jason just letting him.

A snort came out of Jason’s chest at the thought. He stood up, shaking himself free of stupid night terrors.

Jason rolled his eyes and wandered over toward his fridge, mind already drifting to think about the case he was working on, looking over the board on his wall to give his attention to something that actually deserved it.

Like he’d ever let Bruce get close to him, Jason wasn’t just some mutt belly-up starved for attention.

Over his dead body.

[archersartcorner]

Another redraw of Six and Arcade, original in this post. I should’ve tried to find a whumptober prompt list this year…

(Six is a boy and uses he/him, thanks!)

[letthewhumpbegin]

TK gets knocked out by a patient.

911 Lone Star, s4e15

[sams-dumping-ground]

HELP! Emergency Mini Blorbo Sketch Commissions!

So things have been going great. My phone dropped out of my hoodie pocket into the clean toilet water the other day. I thought it'd be fine. Turns out. No. It wasn't fine. My phone touch screen still works but no screen. To add on to this, I have no money as of right now to get a new one and I still need to use it to make a call to my doctors.

So. I'm doing some Mini Blorbo Sketches. They'll be coloured, flat colour clean sketches for £12.

Examples!:-

I appreciate any and all help I get! Please message me if you're interested. Payment will need to be made upfront before I start.

What I'll do for these:

Furry

Humanoids

Soft NSFW

Fantasy

Some gore

OCs

Official Characters

What I won't do:

Hard NSFW

Heavy gore (Please ask if you're not sure)

Fetish

Complex backgrounds

If there is something not on this list that you're not sure if I'll draw, please ask.

Thank you for your time!

[analisegrey]

So…I only just started writing this, so I likely won’t have it done in time for whumptober proper…but figured y’all might not mind a snippet.

__

It’s with great effort that Vegas tries to set his anger aside. He and Pete were set up, were sent right into a trap with a supposedly-vetted prospective client, and so help him, whoever gave the bad intel had better hope they don’t survive long enough for Vegas to find them. When he does (and he will), he’s going to take them apart. He’ll have the pleasure of seeing what their internal organs look like, and if the person is very lucky, maybe he’ll kill them before that happens.

First things first, though.

“Pete? Pete can you hear me?”

It takes a couple of tries before he gets any kind of response. Pete’s frustratingly just out of reach, and so he has to wait for Pete to come up to awareness, groaning as he starts to move.

“What-”

“Careful, Pete. Easy does it.”

A minute or so later sees Pete unsteadily sitting up, swaying slightly from one side to another as his sense of balance keeps shifting. Every once in awhile his arms will jerk in aborted attempts to catch himself, forgetting momentarily that his hands are bound. Eventually he scoots back to lean against the wall perpendicular to the one Vegas is chained to.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Pete says, face scrunching as he brings his hands up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “I’ve got a killer headache, but I think it’s whatever they used to knock us out.” He rolls his shoulders, and Vegas catches the subtle movement of Pete’s limbs from top to bottom. “Everything else seems okay, though. Maybe a little bruised, but not too bad.”

Ready to run. Ready to fight. Ready for whatever Vegas may need of him, should the chance arise.

“What about you, Vegas?”

“About the same, really. Headache, a bit sore, but otherwise alright. I could have done without this, though,” he says, lifting his arms slightly to highlight where his cuffs are attached to the wall. “Have a hell of a crick in my neck from being slouched weird before I woke up.”

“Oh please, I’ve seen some of the positions you sleep in,” Pete says, head tilted back against the wall, eyes closed and a smile on his face. “I find it amazing that some of them are compatible with having bones.”

[where-is-my-whump]

911 Lone Star 5x03

[veliseraptor]

keep contemplating writing/working on one of my self-indulgent wips and then my brain starts screaming "STUPID!!! CLICHE!!!!!!" at me at top volume which is, you know, really helpful

[fictional-at-heart]

You’ll Never Be Alone, I Promise You

Fandom: Billy the Kid (2022)

Characters: Billy, Dulcinea

Tags: Sickfic, whump, angst, hurt/comfort-ish

Summary: Billy gets an unexpected visitor one night, which turns out to be a very sick Dulcinea.

Requested by MidnightOcelot on AO3🫶🏻

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Billy startled as he heard a knock on the door. He quickly grabbed his gun and slowly walked over to the door, making sure it was cocked. It was storming pretty hard, so he found it strange that someone would be knocking this late on a stormy night. Unless Charlie had come to warn him of trouble?

Another knock came again, a little bit harder than the last. Billy reached the window by the door, using his gun to part the curtain slightly. He couldn’t see much through the window, but he was able to make out a feminine figure. He lowered his gun slightly, opening the door a crack. He opened it wider when he saw Dulcinea standing on the porch soaking wet.

“Billy?” she asked quietly. She sounded near tears. “I-I didn’t know who else to go to…”

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He pulled her inside quickly, setting his gun aside and shutting the door.

“Dulcinea, what’s wrong?” he asked, holding her arms and looking into her eyes. She swayed slightly with a sniff, then covered her mouth as she coughed. Billy felt the color drain from his face as he realized why she was here.

“M-my family’s out of town,” she started, wiping at her face. “I know I probably should have gone to the doctor, but you were closer…”

She trailed off, her knees buckling slightly. Billy stopped her before she could collapse, scooping her up bridal style and holding her close.

“Shh, it’s alright,” he soothed her, walking to his bedroom. The Regulators were away at the moment, fulfilling an errand for Tunstall. Billy had stayed back, mainly to keep an eye on things while they were gone, but also to just have some free time to himself. He carefully laid her down on his bed as she coughed again. He brought his hand to her cheek.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” he told her. “I’m going to grab some towels so we can dry you off.”

She nodded as he leaned down to kiss her forehead. He tried to keep back the panic that was building as he realized she also had a high fever. He came back a few moments later with his arms full of blankets, towels, and a set of clothes. He set them down next to her, grabbing a towel and gently dabbing her face with it.

“D’ya think you can change?” he asked her. “I don’t wanna keep you in these wet clothes, it’ll just make you worse.”

“I can do that,” she replied quietly with a shiver. Billy worked his arm behind her shoulders, gently pulling her up.

“Let’s get you sittin’, ‘kay?” he said, wrapping a towel around her shoulders. “Best I got’re some of my clothes, but I promise they’re clean.”

She laid her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes with a shudder.

“Thank you, Billy,” she whispered. He brought one hand up to her forehead, smoothing back her wet hair, while the other rubbed the towel against her arm.

“I’ll leave you alone for a minute to change,” he said before planting a kiss to the side of her head. “If you feel like you’re gonna pass out, call for me. I’ll be right outside the door.”

She smiled slightly, turning to face him.

“My Billy. Always the gentleman.”

He smiled as he stood up, making sure she was sitting on her own.

“I mean it,” he told her. “I’ll be right outside the door.”

She nodded. “I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

He paused at the door, then left the room, shutting the door behind him. He paced in front of the door as he waited for her to finish changing. He hated sickness. Not that he was scared of getting sick himself; what he hated about it was what it had taken from him in the past. Any time someone he cared about started coughing, he felt a pit of dread settle in his stomach. He ran a hand through his hair as he thought back to before he came to Lincoln County. First Joe. Then Ma. Both to the same sickness. He wasn’t about to lose Dulcinea to sickness, too. He wouldn’t allow it. He’d do everything in his power to keep her here with him.

“Billy?” he heard her call out. “You can come back in.”

He opened the door and entered the room, seeing Dulcinea sitting on the edge of the bed. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her in his clothes; she was wearing his striped blue and gray shirt, and it was definitely oversized on her. The sleeves came down past her hands, which he found adorable.

“Hey, whadda ya know?” he said, sitting down next to her and pulling her close. “My clothes look better on you than they do me.”

She wrapped her arms around his middle.

“No they don’t,” she replied with a small giggle, hugging him tight. “They’re too big.”

Billy shrugged. “But it’s cute.”

“I had to roll up the pant legs.”

He glanced down at her feet and laughed.

“So ya did. But like I said; they look better on you than they do me.”

He gently laid her back down on the bed, pulling the blankets over her and kissing her forehead.

“I’m gonna go hang up your dress so it’ll dry,” he told her, his hand on her arm. “I’ll be right back, darlin’. Need anything to eat?”

She shook her head, turning on her side and clutching the blankets to her chest. He nodded, pushing aside a wet strand of hair that had fallen onto her cheek. He stood up, grabbing the pile of wet clothes and damp towels and left the room, heading for the fireplace. He pulled a chair from the table over near the fireplace and draped her soaked dress over the back of it. He then went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water before walking back to Dulcinea, bringing a bucket of water as well. He set the glass of water and bucket down on the nightstand, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“I’m gonna give you some water, ‘kay?” He gently stroked the side of her head as she nodded, leaning up on her elbow. “Can’t have you gettin’ dehydrated on me, can I?”

She smiled as she accepted the water from him, taking some sips before handing it back and laying back down.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. Billy frowned, putting his hand against her cheek.

“What for, darlin’?”

“I shouldn’t have come here,” she replied with a sniff. “What if I get you sick too?”

Billy shook his head, taking off his boots and carefully settling in next to her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close as she coughed.

“Don’t you worry ‘bout that,” he told her, rubbing her arm gently. “We’re just gonna worry ‘bout gettin’ you better. When will your family be back?”

She wrapped her arm across his stomach, snuggling her body closer to his and laying her head on his chest. “Not for another couple of days.”

“I’ll have you all better by then,” he said, pushing her hair behind her ear. “I don’t have any medicine here though. Mainly jus’ stuff for injury.”

“That’s okay,” she said quietly, closing her eyes and shivering. Billy frowned as his fingertips brushed her feverishly hot forehead. The fever was what concerned him. Small colds didn’t worry him, but when a fever accompanied them… that’s when he started to feel the same helplessness he felt when Joe and his mother had started to get worse. He reached over with one hand to grab a cloth and dip it into the bucket of water, squeezing out the excess water and placing it on her forehead.

“That feel okay?” he asked. She nodded in response, letting a small sigh escape.

“It feels good,” she told him, leaning her head back slightly to rest on his shoulder. “Has anyone ever told you you’re great at caring for the sick?”

Billy smiled sadly. “I guess I’ve just had lots of practice.”

Dulcinea hummed in response, gripping his shirt slightly with her fingers and snuggling closer to him. He pulled the blanket over her shoulder, then refreshed the cloth on her head. He leaned his cheek against the top of her head and rubbed her arm, hoping that she wouldn’t get worse.

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The night was a restless one for both of them. Billy tried to keep Dulcinea comfortable as she kept shifting uncomfortably, eventually leaving the bed to refresh the cool water for her. He came back with the water and set it down, walking over to glance out the window. He judged it to be about three in the morning, and the storms had stopped. He opened the window to let some cooler air in, then pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down. He gently grabbed Dulcinea’s hand and held on tight, placing a kiss on her knuckles.

“Don’t you leave me too, Dulcinea,” he said quietly, still gripping her hand. She turned her head slightly, a quiet groan escaping her lips as he looked at her sadly.

“I lost too many people I love t’ sickness,” he continued, moving one hand to push her hair off of her face before wiping at his eye. “I couldn’t bear it if I lost you, too. You’re the best thing to happen to me in a long time.”

He leaned his elbows on the bed, holding her hand and letting his head rest on top of their joined hands. He watched as Dulcinea shifted uncomfortably again with a groan, giving her hand a slight squeeze.

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Billy woke up to feel fingers combing through his hair. He lifted his head in confusion and saw Dulcinea smiling slightly at him, her fingers continuing to massage his scalp. He rubbed at his face as he remembered what happened the night before; he must have fallen asleep sometime in the night, still in the chair with his head on the bed. He sat up and stretched, then reached for Dulcinea’s head.

“Good morning,” she said as he felt her forehead.

“Mornin’,” he replied with a smile. “Your fever’s gone down. Feel any better?”

She shrugged as he moved to sit on the bed next to her. “Not much, if I’m being honest.”

“Did ya sleep at all?” he asked, rubbing her leg through the blankets. “Seemed like you were restless all night.”

“I’m not sure… I think I slept some.”

Billy nodded, still rubbing her leg. “Are ya hungry at all? I can make up some eggs.”

Dulcinea shrugged. “Not really, but I can try.”

He smiled, cupping her cheek before getting up to make breakfast.

“I can go to town and get some medicine today,” he said, standing up. Dulcinea reached out and grabbed his arm.

“No, please don’t,” she pleaded as he looked back at her. “I… I don’t want to be alone,” she added quietly.

Billy leaned down and kissed her cheek.

“I won’t leave ya if you don’t want me to, darlin’,” he told her, stroking her jaw with his thumb. She smiled, leaning into his touch.

“Thank you, Billy,” she replied, looking up at him. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

He gave her a smile, grabbing her hand and bringing it up to kiss it.

“Anything you need, I hope you know I’ll always be there,” he told her, standing up and heading for the doorway. He glanced back at her and smiled before heading to the kitchen.

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Billy turned around from the stove when he heard movement behind him. Dulcinea stood in the doorway to the kitchen, her hand on the doorframe.

“Dulcinea!” Billy said, leaving the eggs on the stove and rushing over to her. One hand went to her waist, the other to her head.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking her over worriedly. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

She smiled, leaning her face into his hand.

“I got tired of being alone in there,” she told him, pulling out of his arms and heading for the table. She sat down in one of the chairs. “I wanted to be with you. You said yourself my fever was down.”

He frowned, walking back to the stove so breakfast didn’t burn.

“I said it went down, not that it was gone completely.”

“You don’t need to worry, Billy,” she said softly. He glanced behind his shoulder at her. “I’m fine.”

“I can’t help it. It’s just…” He trailed off, taking the eggs off of the stove and putting them on the table.

“Just what?” Dulcinea asked as he brought over two plates. He sat down next to her, unusually quiet as he filled a plate and handed it to her.

“You can tell me, Billy,” she said, putting her hand over his on the table. She covered her mouth with her other arm and coughed before continuing. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you can.”

Billy looked at her sadly, then sighed, looking down.

“I used to not worry so much about sickness,” he started quietly. “At least not ‘til I lost my little brother and my ma to sickness.”

Dulcinea squeezed his hand, staying quiet so he could continue.

“Since then, if someone I care about gets sick,” he continued, “it makes me think back to losing them, and it makes me worry.”

He looked away with a small sniff, rubbing at his face. Dulcinea rubbed his hand with her thumb, her other hand going to his cheek.

“Oh, Billy… I had no idea, I’m so sorry,” she told him. He looked to her, giving her a small smile.

“‘S alright,” he replied a little sadly. “Can’t be helped. You hungry?”

She nodded and grabbed a fork. “I actually am now, at least a little bit.”

He reached over and felt her face.

“Your fever might be gone now,” he said with a smile, his hand trailing down the side of her face. Dulcinea smirked at him.

“You know, I’m beginning to think that’s an excuse to touch my face,” she told him. He smiled mischievously, pushing her hair behind her ear and cupping her jaw, his thumb stroking her cheek.

“I don’t need an excuse to touch your face, darlin’,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. She blushed, looking down at her plate and taking a bite. He turned his attention to his own plate, but gave her a sideways glance. “And I really do mean what I said, by the way. You look better in my clothes.”

“Impossible,” she replied, suppressing a laugh.

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After Billy had washed the dishes and sent Dulcinea back to bed, much to her protest, he came back into the bedroom where she was sitting up in the bed.

“How’re you feelin’?” he asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“A lot better since the fever broke,” she told him. “I’m just tired.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Billy replied, taking off his boots and getting into bed next to her, patting his shoulder. She smiled and laid down next to him, leaning her head down on his shoulder. He laid his head against hers, pulling the blankets up and tracing lines down her arm. She sighed contentedly, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around him.

“Thank you for taking care of me Billy,” she told him, giving him a slight squeeze. He kissed the top of her head.

“Anything for you, darlin’,” he said as she closed her eyes with a smile, falling asleep to the faint sound of his heartbeat against her ear.

[saiyan-angel-blue]

KINNPORSCHE, LOVEINTHEAIR, PITBABE CROSSOVER

HELLO 🖐 my fellow BL fanfic lovers, ARGH I NEED HELP!!!, so daydreaming aside, top fav bl series ever, i need a kinnporsche, love in the air pitbabe cross over, can anyone write one PLEASE 🥺, imagine this, parapai (phoenix) payu (venice) kids of kinnporsche and vegaspete in the same world as pitbabe, and babe is rome, payus twin brother, x-hunter dont know babe is a theerapanyakul, tony is still an asshole but low level mafia, and instead of charlies accident it was staged by tony so he can get to babe, i just cant get out of my head, what it would look like with babe crying over a dead charlie with vegas there ARGH, and twist charlie is rains brother, I NEED ALL MY BABIES TOGETHER with lots of blood gore, angst whump and SMUT!!!! most important 🤤