#WIPS and chains and handcuffs

[its-cosmerely-an-obsesh-wound]

Which Stormlight/Cosmere character(s) do you think make up your personality? Now give them a fanfic ship name in the comments or reblog with your ship name.

I'll go first: Eshalladin (Eshonai-Shallan-Kaladin)

[goldammerchen]

thinking again in my zombie!pru, he could be around the rest but with a muzzle and handcuffed... with a fucking lead. insert hannibal jokes

[lenievi]

a snippet from my Valjean/Javert post-Seine wip - you can read the whole chapter on ao3

Happy Javert Derailed day!

---

Javert coughed and spat out water. The cobblestones were hard under his knees, but he barely felt them. He coughed and coughed, his body twisting, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. His chest hurt. He was alive. The chains rattled as Javert tried to move his arms—to support himself, to grab on something, to make it stop. He couldn’t.

He couldn’t.

Helpless.

Javert’s breath quickened. His chest heaved; he breathed through his mouth, and tears fell slowly down his wet face. Disgusting. Unbecoming.

Like an anchor, a strong hand gripped Javert’s shoulder. Javert gave a start, his heart beating in his temples. The hand pressed harder. Javert exhaled and bent his head, chin brushing his wet cravat. Why was this man here? Why had Javert ever crossed paths with him?

Valjean. Jean Valjean. He was like a weed Javert could not get rid of. It took root in his mind, and even when Javert yanked it out, even when he planted different plants, he could never obliterate Jean Valjean. And now, the weeds were sprouting, covering every inch and nook of Javert’s mind.

He could not see clearly. The paths, so clear, so light just two days ago, were obscured and unbeaten.

Javert was lost.

His shoulders slumped. Valjean guided him gently towards the ground, and Javert let him. He lay there, on his side, noting the small clusters of grass growing between the cobblestones. Yes, weeds never cared about order and their proper place. Never.

Valjean sat down with a heavy sigh, close enough for Javert to touch him with his knee. For years, Javert’s only desire was to catch Jean Valjean, to put him back to where he rightfully belonged, but now . . . Now, he was tired.

“Javert,” Valjean said and stopped. His fingers tugged at the grass close to his leg, curling the straw around his index finger. It snapped.

“You cannot get rid of weeds.” Javert’s voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat.

Valjean’s fingers stilled. They were dirty.

Javert wrinkled his nose. “You smell,” he said. “Why haven’t you changed your clothes?” Javert didn’t wait for an answer. Now, when he started to talk, he couldn’t stop. “Why are you here? Did you not understand I no longer want anything to do with you? Why would a prey search out its hunter?” Despite the words, Javert spoke quietly with no derision or scorn. “I wished, for years, that chance would bring us together. I knew it would. It did, just hours ago. But this is ridiculous. Why aren’t you at home? You should have killed me. You should have let me die. That would be justice.”

“Do you still believe me capable of murder?” Valjean asked in a strange tone.

Javert’s head hurt. “Why does it matter what I believe?” Javert could see it again. The flames in Toulon, and Valjean risking his life to save his fellow convict. Risking his disguise to save an old man from being crushed by a cart. Saving that prostitute. Saving her child. Saving that idiot boy Pontmercy.

Letting Javert go.

“I let you go,” Javert said.

“That isn’t like you, Javert.”

Javert sat up, swallowing a groan. The manacles clinked. His arms were in pain. “Don't talk as if you know me.”

“That never stopped you.” Valjean raised his head. He looked as exhausted as Javert felt.

Javert sighed. “Go home, monsieur.”

“Where’s the key, Javert?”

Javert must have looked confused because Valjean added, “You’re wearing handcuffs.”

“Ah . . . yes.”

“Where’s the key?”

“There’s no key.” Javert looked at the river. “A crime was committed. I’ve sentenced myself to death.”

Silence, then Valjean laughed. It was a short and mirthless sound. “A crime? You?”

Javert’s stomach tightened. Did Valjean still not understand? Javert pursed his lips and said nothing, locking eyes with Valjean.

Valjean’s face was unreadable. Or perhaps Javert lost the ability to read in it. Maybe he never could—only seeing what he expected, never listening, never understanding.

Valjean stood up with a groan. “Can you walk?” he asked.

“Why?” Then, with a sigh, “Yes.”

Valjean helped him to his feet. Javert burned with shame as he stumbled and collided with Valjean’s body. The last two days couldn’t have been any worse.

“About that key . . .” Valjean said.

“I left it on the parapet.”

Valjean hummed and started to walk away from the river, Javert’s arm firmly in his grasp.

Javert could do nothing but follow.

[devirnis]

WIP Wednesday

tagged by @prince-buck-diaz  😊

more “locked up and left behind” bthb fic! I feel like I’m eating dessert before dinner by only working on the “fun” stuff at the moment, but oh well  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Here’s Maddie and Eddie to the rescue!

Maddie reaches Buck, pushing up on her tiptoes to yank the gag out of his mouth. She then cups his face between her hands. “Oh my god, Buck.”

“Maddie,” Buck gasps.

“I’m here, I’ve got you. Are you okay, are you hurt?”

Eddie finally has a big enough opening that he can get himself through – and more importantly, get Buck out. As he clambers through the hole, he catches Buck nod jerkily.

“Pretty sure I have a concussion,” Buck says. (His throat sounds like he’s been eating glass – how long had he been screaming for help? Eddie wants to kill someone.) “Please get me down. I feel like my arms are going to snap off.”

Maddie swings her head in Eddie’s direction. “Eddie, can you –?”

As soon as Maddie addresses him, Buck’s eyes flick away from his sister and meet Eddie’s gaze. Abruptly, Eddie feels himself blinking back his own tears. “I gotcha, buddy,” he says, giving Buck a tremulous smile as he reaches up to try and dislodge the handcuffs around Buck’s wrists from the chain holding him up.

Fuck. With Buck’s entire body weight weighing him down, Eddie has no leverage to lift the cuffs off the hook. He tries a few more times anyway, gritting his teeth and trying with all his strength to get Buck free, but from this angle it’s impossible for him to get the leverage he needs. 

When his eyes find Buck’s again, he sees that Buck’s trembling. And, even worse, a few tears slip down his cheeks as Buck starts to hyperventilate.

tagging @bigfootsmom @lovebuck @honestlydarkprincess @alyxmastershipper @dijkstraspath @carnivalsofthecity @homerforsure @bucktalias @try-set-me-on-fire @shortsighted-owl @spaceprincessem :3

[galaxywhump]

if wren started begging for something during a torture session (a small break bc he feels like he's gonna be sick, or some water) would daniel grant that to him? or would it be situationally dependent?

I know you were probably expecting a straightforward answer, but your ask made a WIP happen, so here it is.

[SV-240 masterlist]

contents: forced relationship whump, slavery whump, creepy/intimate whumper, defiant whumpee, illness, non-graphic emeto, torture, knives, stress position, blindfold, creepy comfort.

~~~

Wren woke up feeling terrible.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary for him, but that morning he felt terrible in a different way. He felt ill; weak and slightly dizzy, shivering despite it not being cold in the house. He didn’t tell Daniel, even though he wanted nothing more than to be given medication, hot tea, and some peace and quiet. No, telling Daniel would also mean him being overly caring and doting, which was the last thing Wren wanted to deal with.

So he didn’t say anything, and then he learned that Daniel was in the mood for some handiwork with his favorite knife.

Shit.

He still didn’t say a word when Daniel closed handcuffs on his wrists and attached them to a chain connected to a hook in the ceiling, forcing him to keep his arms outstretched and stand on his tiptoes. He didn’t say a word when Daniel put a blindfold on his eyes and earplugs in his ears. He just shuddered and gritted his teeth when the knife pierced his arm and was dragged downwards.

Just get through this, he thinks to himself while Daniel makes small, precise cuts around his shoulder blades in a pattern that only makes sense to him and his artistic vision. It’s not the first time.

But it’s the first time when he feels this awful during torture, and the position he’s in doesn’t help. His body is under so much strain, stretched out uncomfortably, he can barely stay upright, his arms hurt, his head hurts, everything hurts, and Daniel’s only adding more pain. He still feels dizzy despite the darkness - or maybe because of it - his face is covered in cold sweat, he starts feeling slightly nauseous. The blindfold is soaked with tears of frustration, he can hear his heartbeat way too clearly, it’s the only sound he hears, he feels horrible, he wants out, he wants this to end, he can’t handle this after all, but that means…

“Stop,” he mumbles weakly, shaking his head and whining when the pain from the cuts seems to intensify now that he’s not fully preoccupied with his illness. Talking with the earplugs in is an unpleasant, almost surreal experience, and he can only hope he’s actually saying something, that his voice isn't too weak. "Please stop."

But this is Daniel, so Wren can imagine him laughing at his begging, making a stupid comment promising that this will be over soon, sweetheart, but this isn't about that. He whimpers when the knife cuts into his back again.

"I'm serious, stop, I-I think I'm gonna be sick, I just need a break."

The knife disappears, and Wren swallows desperately, struggling to take a deep breath.

He flinches when he feels Daniel grip his arm - thankfully an undamaged part of it - and a moment later his wrists are released. Daniel catches him before he can collapse, unable to stay upright after the punishing position.

The earplugs are removed, and the blindfold follows. Wren winces and blinks, and when his eyes get used to something other than darkness, he sees Daniel's face, with worry written all over it.

"Are you still feeling sick?" he asks, and Wren nods.

Daniel wraps Wren's arm around himself to support him and leads him to the bathroom, where the nausea gets overwhelming. Daniel holds his hair back for him, not saying a word for now.

Wren closes his eyes, exhausted, and fuck does everything hurt, but mostly his arms and back now that he's moving again. He's trembling, getting up feels like an impossible task, and he's still crying, from pain and from his awful state, and he's not even mad at himself for it.

"Better now?"

"I think so," he mutters. Daniel lets go of his hair.

"I'll get you some water."

Wren nods, keeping his eyes closed, not daring to move an inch for fear of his body igniting with pain again and the room spinning.

Anxiety creeps up on him; nothing like this has ever happened before, and he doesn’t know what to expect from Daniel.

He comes back and hands Wren a glass of water, then sits down next to him, looking at him with a puzzled expression.

"What happened?" he asks.

"I think I'm sick." Wren stares down at the water, every breath causing his fresh wounds to shift and hurt even more. "I feel like shit, and… you just saw for yourself, I guess." He sighs. “So just get the session over with before it gets worse.”

Daniel firmly shakes his head, frowning.

“No. You need to rest. I’ll take care of your wounds and then you can lie down.” He pets Wren’s hair. “We can continue some other time.”

Wren huffs, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You do realize how fucked up that sounds, right?”

Daniel just chuckles in response. He does know. It changes nothing.

The knife will return in a few days, and yet Wren can’t help but be relieved as Daniel cleans and dresses his wounds, then gives him a shirt and carries him to the living room.

“I can carry you to the bedroom, if you’d like. Unless you prefer the couch.”

“Couch,” Wren mutters. The bed is more comfortable and the bedroom would offer more peace and quiet, provided Daniel leaves him alone, but he wants to stay out of there as much as he can, and the couch is too small for Daniel to lie down next to him.

As much as he hates the couch, he can’t deny that it’s comfortable, and in his exhaustion he practically melts into it. Daniel even brings him a blanket, which Wren curls up under, pulling it up to his neck.

“I’ll bring you some pills,” Daniel says, pressing his palm to Wren’s forehead; he clicks his tongue when he confirms that it’s unnaturally warm, and brushes Wren’s hair away from his face, making him wince. “Do you need anything else, sweetheart?”

“Rest,” Wren sighs, struggling to keep his eyes open. Now that he’s stopped ignoring it, his illness has decided to hit him with everything it’s got.

“Okay. I’ll fetch the pills and you can sleep after you’ve taken them, alright? Try to stay awake.”

“Mhm.”

Daniel leaves, and Wren wraps the blanket tighter around himself, blinking slowly, trying to fight his exhaustion off for a bit longer. Daniel is just as doting as he’d feared he would be, but… aside from his usual sweethearting it feels good to be taken care of, and to be listened to. The wounds still sting, a reminder of the torture he’d gone through and will go through again soon, but he can’t bring himself to care. He waits for his captor and torturer to come back with the medicine, and he has to remind himself not to thank him for this bare minimum of kindness, more than most of what he’s gotten throughout his life.

He wishes it wasn’t like this, moments of kindness and loving care juxtaposed with pain and tears and coercion; he knows how much Daniel enjoys doing this, being the sole source of both suffering and comfort.

He’s aware of so many mechanisms of his captivity, yet he’s powerless to fight them, forced to accept them, and all he can hope for is that all these processes won’t shape him into something else, whatever Daniel, whose smile is unnervingly genuine and fond when he enters the living room, wants him to be.

“Sleep well, sweetheart," Daniel says softly once Wren's washed the pills down with water. "I hope you’ll feel better when you wake up.”

“So you can torture me more?” Wren mutters, closing his eyes. 

Daniel’s lighthearted laughter keeps ringing in his ears long after he's fallen asleep.

~~~

taglist: @faewhump @inky-whump @whole-and-apart-and-between @whatwasmyprevioususername @procrastinatingsab @funky-little-glitter-bomb @goneuntil @redstainedsocks @luminouswhump @lonesome--hunter @as-a-matter-of-whump @renkocchi @whump-only @muddy-swamp-bitch @girlwithacoolcat @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @sophierose002 @whump-headspace @to-whump-or-not-to-whump @kixngiggles @ohwhumpydays @whumpvp @wibbly-wobbly-whump @stab-the-son-of-a @his-unspoken-words @pumpkin-spice-whump @onlyhappywhenitpains @suspicious-whumping-egg @morning-star-whump @burtlederp @there-will-always-be-blood

[aurumacadicus]

I truly get wanting to avoid those WIPs. I'll help you.

For the ask meme let's do either stony or stuckony and the title is I Don't Think Even Natasha Knows What's Going On

Great news! I don't know what's going on either.

I Don't Think Even Natasha Knows What's Going On

Steve felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and very carefully did not jump up from his seat into a defensive position. He wasn't going to give her the pleasure. Then he felt a knife against his throat, and he sighed, closing his eyes. "Damn it."

"You should have run when you had the chance," Natasha said ominously.

Steve considered just chucking her, but then something cold hit his wrist with a loud click, and he ignored the knife to look down in shock. "Did you just handcuff me to this chair?!"

"Vibranium handcuffs," Natasha confirmed smugly, crossing her arms over her chest. "I stole them from your bedside drawer. They'll hold you."

Steve turned his eyes on her, mouth hanging open in shock. He didn't know which fact to address first--that she'd handcuffed him to a chair (which wasn't made of vibranium, so the only thing really keeping him there was his unwillingness to break it) or the fact that she'd been in his room, in his bedside drawer, which was full of other stuff he didn't want her to see, like that Iron Man vibrator Tony had gotten him as a joke, or the Readers Digests he'd started hiding because the entire team had started howling with laughter when they'd seen it. Somehow the idea she might have seen his magazines was more embarrassing.

"Now, Steve," Natasha began, tapping the blade of her knife against her shoulder idly. "I have questions. You're going to answer them. If I think you're waffling, I will stab you, just so you know."

"Okay?" Steve answered, still a little bewildered. He still didn't understand why he was handcuffed to a chair.

Natasha stared at him for a moment, just to make sure he understood the gravity of what was happening (he didn't, but he figured she knew that). Finally, though, she asked, "What's going on with you, Tony, and Bucky?"

"I was not part of covering your doorknobs in lube," Steve said.

Natasha stared at him a little longer. "What?" she finally asked.

"Also Bucky's been trying to seduce Tony just to see if he can," Steve added. "If Tony doesn't figure out he's flirting within six months, Bucky owes me pizza. If he does, I owe him the same."

"...And you're okay with that?" Natasha said, narrowing her eyes skeptically. "I was there when Tony joked about you being the most jealous man he knew and you jokingly asked if he knew other men. There was a little sincerity to it."

Steve shrugged. "Bucky's not a threat. Besides, you don't know my kinks."

"I know some of them," Natasha deadpanned, glancing at his handcuffed wrist.

"I did not invite you into my bedside drawer so that's your fault," Steve retorted.

Natasha hummed, frowning in that way that meant 'you're right but I'm not going to acknowledge it because I'm better than you.' "...What did you say about lube on my doorknobs?" she asked, narrowing her eyes again, but this time it was threatening instead of skeptical.

Steve grabbed the handcuff by the chain and yanked, breaking the arm of the chair, and sprinted for the emergency stairs.

[translightyagami]

[for the word in a wip]: lamp?

This was extremely hard to find, lol. This fic is technically "finished" but its such a silly horny concept that I can never post it. Anyway, snippet ahoy:

They brush their teeth side by side with the handcuff chain snaked across the counter. Light uses the same cup L does to rinse, then shares his towel when L needs to wipe his mouth. Despite earlier fussing, the detective dresses in pajamas and gets under the covers without complaint. His only protest is when Light insists on the side lamp being off. “What if I have to use the toilet?” L fidgets with the blanket’s edge. “I’ll trip over some shoe and break all my bones because I couldn’t see in front of me.”

L has glass bones and paper skin.

[pinkrelish]

Am I mistaken or does the WIP list have ch. 12 of WYWH 👀👀👀

another excerpt:

In a disheveled dance, you urged his jacket off in the same fashion. Heavy leather folding in a heap at his ankles. Chains tinkling like bells. Removing his armor, granting you access to his shirt only; thin material tight on his body. Surrendering him vulnerable to all the things he tried to deny. You flattened your palm over his hammering heart. Alive and responding to his courage. Beating to the rhythm of him locating the top button of your shirt in the tango of your arms.

You delved under the hem of his Hellfire shirt. Leaned into the bare warmth of his waist. Daring, risking, taking the plunge. If your relationship hadn’t escalated beyond the point of friendship before, it certainly did when you explored the trail of thicker hair on his stomach leading to his handcuff belt buckle, and the fabric of your collar loosened around your neck.

Definitely no longer just friends when he shifted his hips and his flattery pressed against you for the first time.

[dont-f-with-moogles]

WIP It Wednesday

And Yet Another Note: The Yotsuba Kira Murder Cases

Chapter 12: Arrest

Read now on AO3! L allowed the metal chain to swing ominously back and forth before his pale face. "Rule One… the handcuffs do not come off." Freed from memories of the Death Note, Light teams up with L to investigate Yotsuba. Cue strange antics, unexpected twists and an increasingly strained Light who's just desperate for vindication… Terra Bee

[wlwfav]

HI IM ANON FROM EARLIER THAT ASKED AB THE FICS, yes id love to see your wips and older works!!! im practically scavenging for any platonic zack nd ray fics </3

hello again!!! i do have a WIP to offer :-) i wrote this back in july 2021, and it's something i might return to!!!

it's an AU..... can you guess what it is? 👀 (spoilers: the answer will make you cry)

When Zack comes to, he doesn’t remember anything.

He jolts awake, attempting to shoot up out of reflex. He doesn’t get far, however, as he’s being bound to… something. 

Attempting to sit up causes him to become lightheaded, so Zack gives himself a moment to reground himself. His body feels heavy and sore, and he releases a small groan. He shifts around, feeling that he’s on a bed of some sort.

He tries to lift his arms and legs, but finds them restrained. Once his head clears and his vision becomes a little less blurry, he glances towards his wrists, and sees a big pair of handcuffs keeping him chained to his bed. He grimaces at the sight of his burnt skin, noting that he’s been stripped of his bandages. 

Ah. They must have done this.

Zack blinks. Wait… who’s ‘they’?

His mind reels as he glances around at his surroundings, seeing nothing but plain white walls all around him. He gazes down at himself, seeing he’s wearing only a white hospital gown. 

Zack’s eyes dart all around the plain, clean room. He attempts to give his restraints a hard tug, but it does nothing, as his muscles feel too weak.

He tries to recall how he got here, and why he’s in this state. He squeezes his eyes shut, attempting to search through the fog in his brain to remember what happened.

He was… Caught by the police, and they sedated him. How did he get caught again…? He was in... A building, and the building was burning. And-- That’s right, it was a building full of murderers that he was escaping...

And… He was escaping with someone, someone who was dying, someone he was trying to save, someone precious to him--

Someone…

…

Ray.

Zack’s eyes shoot open, the memories quickly coming back to him. That’s right, Ray was shot--

Rapidly becoming frantic, Zack thrashes about in his bed, trying to rip his restraints off. His body and mind protest, though he ignores the pain ripping through him, because he needs to know if Ray is okay. If she’s alive.

“Where’s Ray?! Where’s Ray?!” he repeatedly screams, panicked. 

The door suddenly bursts open. Doctors and officers rush into the room. Some officers have guns aimed at Zack, while one doctor holds a needle.

Zack’s eyes widen. He fights his bounds even harder, though it is futile. A few officers swarm him, holding him down as the doctor with the needle hastily approaches him.

“No! No!” Zack yells, now in a completely frantic state, “Where’s Ray?! Where’s Ray?!”

“Quiet, Foster!” one of the officers shouts, harshly pushing Zack’s head down and covering his mouth.

Zack can only helplessly writhe in place as he feels the needle enter his arm. The liquid seeps into him, and he quickly becomes sleepy. He casts the officer a final death glare before going under.

------------------

The next time Zack awakens, he’s in a new location.

He’s able to sit up, this time, as he’s no longer restrained by anything. He stretches freely, his body feeling like it hasn’t moved in days. Despite the slight protest from his muscles, he does feel significantly better than before. His head hurts a tiny bit, but he remembers everything, and he’s able to think a little more clearly.

Once he’s done waking himself up, Zack stands, taking in his new surroundings. The plain white walls have been replaced with pure, gray concrete. Like the hospital, there’s no windows, instead only a single door to enter and exit the room. This door, however, is sealed from the outside, and has a small window with bars running through it. All that’s within the room itself is a small bed, a sink, and a toilet. 

Zack glances down at himself, seeing the orange shirt and pants they dressed him in. He cringes at the sight of his skin. Still no bandages. They must not want him to have them, in case he tried to strangle himself or someone with them-- Something stupid like that.

His gaze falls to the floor, and he frowns. He knew he was going to prison, but it still sucked being in here. He could already feel himself going insane.

As a means to calm himself, Zack lifts his shirt, examining his abdomen. He sees the injury he got back on B3 received ‘proper’ treatment. The red thread is gone, and was seemingly replaced with stitches that are obviously no longer there. Aside from the scar stretching across his stomach, the wound has completely healed. 

Despite this, the lack of Ray’s handiwork only upsets Zack further. That red thread had been the only piece of her that Zack had with him-- And now he had nothing left of her. He didn’t even know if he would ever see her again, much less if she made it out alive.

Zack absentmindedly runs his fingers across his stomach, ghosting over his scar. He wonders if Ray is okay-- He certainly hopes she is. Then, he can escape this place, and see her again…

The sound of a metal door scraping open causes Zack to jolt. His hand drops to his side, and his shirt falls back into place. He stands up straight and clenches his fists-- Tense, waiting. 

A face appears through the barred window. The face of a man, who has small wrinkles beneath his playful eyes. The man’s mouth is twisted into a wicked smirk as he regards Zack.

“Oh, Foster, you’re finally awake. Good morning, sleeping beauty,” the man says mockingly. 

Zack glares in reply. As a means to show he’s not intimidated, he walks right up to the door, staring at the officer on the other side. The man, however, does not flinch. 

“You’ve been asleep for a few days now. Those sedatives are no joke,” the officer says instead, still using that damned mocking tone, “Anyways, if you somehow haven’t already figured it out, you’re in prison awaiting trial. It should come quickly, though, since the public is very interested in your case. How lucky for you!”

Zack gives the officer his own deranged smirk. “What’s lucky is that I haven’t reached through these damn bars to rip your fucking face off yet.”

In actuality, Zack knew the bars were too small to fit his hand through. But well-- It was the thought that counts.

The man only laughs in response. Damn him.

“Now, now Foster! Behave or we’ll have to confine you! You wouldn’t be able to move at all-- You wouldn’t want that, now would you?”

Zack only glares daggers in response. The officer chuckles.

“Well, your lawyer will be here tomorrow to speak with you. Though a lot of people don’t like it, you do have the right to an attorney and a fair trial and all that other bullshit,” the man drones on. He then shoots Zack a shit-eating grin, “Even so, you’re gonna have a hell of a time getting out of this one.”

Zack rolls his eyes. Yeah, no shit.

The officer steps back, dusting his hands with finality. “Good luck to you, I guess. I’ll be going now.”

He begins to walk off, and Zack’s eyes widen in realization. He quickly steps up closer to the window, calling out, “Wait.”

The officer pauses before slowly turning. He still has that stupid, shit-eating grin on his face. “What, Foster?”

With no hesitation, Zack simply asks, “Is Ray alive?”

The officer then becomes puzzled. He raises an eyebrow at the inmate as he questions, “Ray? Who’s Ray?”

Zack blinks. Oh, yeah-- He was the only one who called her Ray.

“I mean Rach--” Zack begins to clarify, but the officer quickly cuts him off with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Eh, talk to your lawyer about it tomorrow,” he grumbles before walking off, slamming the door behind him. The room falls quiet.

Zack glares at where the man once stood.

“Fucking bastard,” he irritably grumbles. 

Zack sulks over to his bed, sitting on it with a sigh. He hated not knowing what happened to Ray. If she were dead… What was he going to do?

He shook his head. There was no need to think about that for now. Gray had told him she was still alive, and the paramedics arrived fairly quickly, so surely Ray was okay…?

Zack slumps down onto his bed, resting his hands on his stomach as he stares up at the ceiling. 

It would be okay. He just needs confirmation that Ray’s alive, and then he can start planning. He would escape this place, and then he would find her, and they would run away together. If she still wanted to die, then Zack would kill both her and himself. If she wanted to give life another shot, then they would live together...

Really, it was up to what Ray wanted. Zack didn’t care, as long as he could be with her.

She really had become his everything. Ray was the only person in the whole world Zack gave a shit about, and in kind, she was the only person in the whole world who gave a shit about him. 

Zack breathes in. He was going to see her again-- He would make sure of it.

With nothing left to think about, all Zack could do was sleep.

[countessrivers]

10, 23 and 49 for the fic writer questions please 😊

10. How do you decide what to write?

Whatever wip idea has most recently struck me (whether I ever finish it is a different question). Watching/reading/playing something else often gives me an idea for an au or a scenario, and challenges/fandom events are good for sparking ideas too. Throwing ideas back and forth with friends in the DMs often creates an idea or two (it's a short jump from "thinking about this..." or "what if..." to "ok, I'm writing it")

23. What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?

Not really specific, but I wish I could write a long, plot-y AU. I have so many ideas, but I find I struggle to get it all down before loosing steam. I've got a few already published in various fandoms that I hope to come back to one day, I just wish I found that style easier.

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

What am I working on? A PhD thesis that's due in 4 months

I'll admit it's not a current wip, but I'd like to get it finished one day.

The Doctor freezes at the sound of the door opening, pausing in his attempt to undo the handcuffs that are keeping him chained to the headboard of the bed. It’s the Master who enters, or one of them at least. The one that used to be Abigail Naismith.

“You know,” he says, craning his neck up off the bed to watch the Master approach. “I think pink is your colour.”

The Master, stopping at the foot of the bed, smooths a hand down the front of his dress.

“I’ll admit, I don’t entirely hate it.” He shrugs, leaning against one of the bed posts. “Maybe I’ll start branching out a bit more.”

“The black can get a bit dull.”

The Master raises his eyebrows at him in affected scepticism. “I’m sorry, Doctor, are you trying to give me fashion advice? By all means do, but I feel like maybe I should first list your long and varied history of crimes against decent style.”

(excerpt from what would have probably ended up a EoT Doctor/Master threesome/gangbang pwp)

[killianxswan]

I like handcuffs

and some hair pulling

The metal chains of the hand cuffs were wrapped tight around her wrists, securing her to the bars of the cell they were so shamelessly fooling around in. Hey. They were Sheriff and Deputy after all.

She let out a moan when he pressed his entire front to her already bare back, and she could feel how strained his erection must be against his leather.

The sound ignited something in Killian, and he wrapped a tight fist around the curls at the base of her long ponytail, eliciting a whine from his beloved wife's throat. "Hm, you like that, slut, don't you?"

should i add more to this WIP today hmmm

thank you sooo much cap i'm having fun

send me prompts

[lineffability]

For the ask game: 🥺😈🙋‍♀🤲

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

when they struggle but try to voice their feelings... >:)

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

hmm i don't think i do something only to be playfully mean to readers but there are often moments that i write and then think "oh this is mean heheh they will suffer" :) very lovingly

🙋‍♀️ Do any irl people know you write fanfic?

a handful, but they have never laid eyes on anything/dont know my tumblr

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

 "So how do you plan to carry out this punishment, then?"

"I will rain the fires of hell down upon the ashes of your burning body. I will let the rats gnaw at your bones. I will put you in chains and then literally let you rot in solitary confinement. I will resurrect the best, most ruthless, most sinister torturers and then I will--"

"Um. Not to steal your thunder but. Sorry. I meant... more immediately. Like. Handcuffs? You wanna put handcuffs on my pretty wrists? Look at them, they're without blemish!"

[love-me-a-lotta-whump]

Hello! I want to start making some whump lists of my own and I was wondering if you possibly have any tips? I’m having trouble with the wording and I feel like I might be over explaining but I’m not sure. If you could help that would be amazing.

Hello!!!

I do have some tips!

————

1. Wording

Since you asked specifically about wording I’ll start there. What I do is use words for tropes that the community most commonly uses. For example: drowning, kidnapping, hostage, shot, etc. I personally like to be specific with certain things. I’ll say what they were shot with or if they are restrained I like to specify handcuffs vs rope vs zip ties vs ✨chains✨. With some tropes that are not as commonly spoken about or may not have a name I will use wording I feel best describes it like “heavily lidded eyes”. Idk how else to word it but that’s how I do it.

2. MULTIPLE COPIES

Those who have been around my blog for a while know about me losing lists. I now have lists saved in 3 different places. (Soon to be 4) Even if you make your lists in Tumblr drafts, SAVE THEM ELSEWHERE! I keep them in my notes on my phone, Google Docs, Microsoft Word and soon an app on my iPad. I have lost MONTHS worth of lists before in The Incident. I won’t do it again and I hope you never do.

3. Stay Organized

I have my Whump List Library (masterlist) and my Whump List Directory (sub masterlist?) all (mostly) organized. It helps people find your lists easier and tbh it helps you find them easier! I am always so happy when I can easily update or fix a list because I stay organized. Also if you have multiple WIP lists, it’s best to keep those organized as well.

4. Figure out YOUR systems

If you want to add time stamps, colors in your formatting, stick to 1 or 2 countries, add different links, etc. do it. Do whatever you want to do. I have changed formatting twice and it’s such a hassle to fix especially once you get to a certain number of lists.

5. Recs and Requests

If you decide to accept recommendations and requests, PLEASE remember you can say no and you don’t have to do them. I say this because I struggle with it. But if you have no interest in making the list, don’t do it. However I will say taking recs and requests have been AMAZING! Some of my favorite dramas ever have been requests and recommendations.

6. Pace Yourself

It’s all fun until you realize you’re forcing yourself to work on a list after a long day of work. Make sure you keep it to where you enjoy it. I personally try to update people if I feel like list uploads are going to slow down, still, but don’t force yourself to make them just so you can get them out. (Another one I’m guilty of lol)

7. Misc.

Even if someone has already made the list, you can still make it in your own way. Having multiple lists never hurt anybody.

Team up with other bloggers! I have and it’s been amazing! (I tag GIF makers’ GIFs to tropes in my lists) (Some bloggers have adopted my incomplete/dropped lists)

SAVE MULTIPLE COPIES (I know I already said it but pls don’t lose your progress omg pls don’t)

Continue asking for help/advice if you feel you need it.

Make a to-do list, keep it organized and in multiple places.

SAVE MULTIPLE COPIES

Figure out which streaming services work best for you and get good at finding dramas/movies that aren’t on regular streaming services

SAVE MULTIPLE COPIES

——————-

I hope this helped!!! If you need any more help please feel free to DM me or send another ask!

[lugarn]

kpvp when good goes bad for the WIP meme!

this is actually a four-part series about the things that the main four can't do anymore or don't experience in the same way anymore. canon-typical trauma ahead i guess??

--

The clink of the metal handcuffs makes Pete's heart beat faster. Vegas's hands are so graceful and powerful as he flicks open the cuffs, and Pete's gaze can't help but be held by the way the chain-link between the cuffs shifts and the metal shines. Pete licks lips; his breath's matching his heart, puffing in and out in quick little bursts. 

Vegas rakes one half of the open cuff up Pete's arm. Pete's cock jumps. 

He swings the cuff closed around Pete's wrists. Cool metal digs in, the chain between them whispers soft metallic nothings. 

Pete pants. Vegas pulls his other arm up to join the first, the cuff scnicks closed, and Pete's gone. 

He's back in filthy the room with Vegas, arms sore and hands numb, the air-cooled metal of the cuffs all he can feel as it digs into his wrists. 

Vegas curses and takes the cuffs off. Alarm sirens go off in Pete's head; this isn't right, this isn't what Vegas does. This isn't safe.

Pete stops breathing, holding in his reaction, knowing if Vegas can hear him, Vegas will want to keep using him and he needs a break, he needs a break--

Vegas slaps Pete. 

The air he gasps in feels like knives, like cruelty. Pete laughs it out. Hangs his head. He wants to be done with today's torture, needs to be done with it.

Vegas curses again. He picks up his phone. 

Pete wraps his arms around his legs and tries not to be noticed.

--

this is all i have that is really cohesive and not just like x does y, y does Z, abc is unpleasant. after this porsche shows up and this time is able to take care of pete in a way vegas can't since pete's kinda stuck in a flashback. the entire fic is kind of round robining that idea of caring for each other which is why it's kpvp :D

[oathkeeperoxas]

I know all of your listed wips, Serie, but as I cannot sleep, I shall ask for the one I think least likely to otherwise be asked! Simon vs Vanessa?

wip game ask meme

Okay so the thing is. Ethan has lots of friends, there's enough Mission Impossible movies for him to have canon acquaintances and love interests, etc. But for Simon, he gets Emma out of his movie, and that's pretty much it! We don't even really see any regular contacts for him, no friends, no coworkers, nothing. So Simon vs Vanessa is conceived as a way to Give Simon A Friend. Or a nemesis. Or a friendly nemesis who also he fucks sometimes. There's a lot going on here. The point is, Simon deserves to have people he interacts with more than shallowly than just Ethan, so this is giving him someone to do that with. Showing who he is beyond how he interacts with Ethan is also good for showing different aspects of his character!

I've drafted a sort of 5+1 for this fic, centering around Simon and Vanessa running into each other over the years. It's a fun fic, so I hope it makes everyone like this OC I've come up with to bounce Simon off of ahaha

“You really had to get involved with the Russian mafia?” he grunts, hauling on the line. This type of physical work isn’t usually his play – he’s quick and clever and doesn’t make a scene when he can disappear instead. “Shut up,” she says, furiously working on the locks keeping her bound with the lockpicks he’d thrown at her. “There’s more important work at hand.” “Oh, I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe I’d like to know why I’m risking my life. You know, go down for a cause instead of like an idiot.” “You already are an idiot for helping me,” Vanessa says. One set of handcuffs falls to the ground. The water is still rising. “Why the hell are you here?” “Heard an old friend was in trouble,” he says. “But if that old friend doesn’t hurry up there might not be much of her left, no matter what I do.” “I’m hurrying,” she snaps. “Why the hell did they put five pairs of cuffs on me?” “Budget cuts,” he quips. “They couldn’t afford a full length chain.”

Send me a title from my wip list, and I'll tell you about it!