#bthb surrender

[dangerpronebuddie]

Several Sentences Sunday!!

Tagged by @hippolotamus @tizniz who both wrote INCREDIBLE stuff y'all should show some love!! 💜🩵

Still working on my BTHB prompt! *Insert Kronk gif: oh yeah. It's all coming together.

I am about halfway through it right now, I just need Eddie to wake up. In the meantime, have some of Buck and Tommy's argument. (Again, if you'd rather not be tagged, I understand and I will make sure to alter the list for this fic 🩷):

Buck turns to face Tommy, who's staring wide eyed at the door. "What was that?" Tommy raises his eyebrows. "What was what?" "You!" Buck cries. "You're supposed to have my back, and you didn't. You know the situation well enough to understand why I-" "I don't know the situation," Tommy interjects, shrugging helplessly. "Yeah, the kid really likes you, but he's not yours." "He is," Buck says in a low voice. "Christopher is mine. In every way that matters. I didn't tell you about the will, that's on me, but you know enough. And yet you stepped in like you knew better." "Evan, he's only yours if Eddie dies," Tommy says bluntly. Buck shakes his head. For years he believed that. Never let himself think of that paper as anything beyond a fail-safe. But he knows now. He knows it is so much more than that. Eddie asked Buck to talk Christopher through dating and abandonment. Christopher came to Buck when he voiced concern about Eddie and Marisol (and Kim). So many instances, over so many years, have built the relationship he has with Christopher. It's the same relationship Buck has with Bobby. Just as paternal and loving. Dad, even if he's not a donor. "I've been a part of Christopher's life since I met him," Buck says. "Well before a legal document was even thought of." "I'm not saying you aren't important to him, kid," Tommy says, holding his hands up in surrender. "I just think you might be overstepping." "First I'm not enough, now I'm too much," Buck mutters to himself, looking at his shoes. "That's not what I meant," Tommy huffs. "Wasn't it?" Buck scoffs. "You left me on the sidewalk on our first date because you decided I wasn't ready, that I- I should be completely comfortable with myself days after you kissed me. Now you think I'm overstepping in a life I've been living for years." "You weren't ready," Tommy shrugs, like he still has some high ground. "That's not for you to decide," Buck counters, his voice rising in his frustration.

(Tags under the cut)

Absolutely no pressure tagging:

@13shadesofanni @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @loveyouanyway

@ronordmann @steadfastsaturnsrings @daffi-990 @wikiangela @kitteneddiediaz

@inell @exhuastedpigeon @spagheddiediaz @diazsdimples @thekristen999

@actuallyitsellie @daniwib @fortheloveofbuddie @wildlife4life @theotherbuckley

@rainbow-nerdss @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove

@lunarspark-cos @idealuk @shipperqueen6

@misshiss727 @likeamollusconarock @lin27 @jshadow01 @orangeboxfox92

@smallandalmosthonest @thegeekcompanion @emilybahu @lemotmo @awolfnamed-nyx

@kaseysgirl86-blog @darkrose6578 @totallynotagoraphobic @dandelioncasey and anyone else who wants to share!! 🩷🥰

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | May 27th-June 2nd 2024

That finale sure was... something.... Can't wait for all the fix-it fics we're gonna get over the summer!!

Complete

the same damn thing that made my heart surrender by fleetinghearts/ @shitouttabuck (Crack, Getting Together | 1,5K | Teen): “Ever since that barbecue at Bobby and Athena’s last weekend I’ve been getting the weirdest targeted ads on my Insta,” he pouts, scrolling some more. On the screen is an ad for… a pale blue babydoll tee with the word BRAT screenprinted across the chest in curly pink letters. or, buck’s instagram algorithm is plaguing him with salacious clothing ads and eddie can’t be held responsible for playing Beefcake Barbie dress-up in his head about it

seeing you with him just don't feel right (you're giving me a heart attack) by bellabrady (Post-S7, Crack | 1,9K | Not Rated): Or: Buck and Eddie accidentally give their homophobic captain a heart attack.

stained by my mistakes by Tizniz/@tizniz (BTHB: Accidental Murder | 2K | General): Like an overslept mistake or killed a dude mistake? Under any other circumstances, Eddie would probably laugh at his best friend’s reply. But he’s not laughing. Not right now. He swallows the lump in his throat and stumbles over his reply. …the second option.

Everything you lose is a step you take by justhockey (Getting Together, Post-Lightning | 2K | General): For a while, when Buck would find himself about to float - about to slip into that space where he couldn’t believe he was still here, still breathing - he would need something to keep him steady. To keep both feet firmly planted on the ground. That’s how all of it started. Because it had been instinct, like it always has been with them, for Buck to reach for Eddie that very first time he felt like he was floating. And Eddie, like he always does, reached back. Through fire and trauma, under fire trucks, across blood-soaked asphalt - Buck and Eddie always reach for each other. It’s what they do. It’s who they are. They reach, and hold on, and they pull each other to safety.

that's the way love goes by heartbeatdiaz/ @loserdiaz (BuckTommy Break-up, Buddie Getting Together | 4K | Teen): Tommy thinks Buck and Eddie used to date and never really got over each other... he is very tired and confused. But it makes some feeling realizations come to light and a pair of idiots to see what they've been missing all along, so it's all good.

Sweet as Sugar by Tizniz/ @tizniz (BTHB: Chronic Illness | 8K | General): “There’s still something wrong with me.” “I don’t like that phrasing, but your labs did come back positive for something, yes.” Buck swallows, rubs his hands down his thighs, “Okay. What?” “Evan, you’re diabetic.”

What’s Your Order? by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel (Post-S7E5, BuckTommy | 18K | Teen): 5 Times Buck Guessed Tommy’s Coffee Order + 1 Time He Didn’t Have To

🔥 a place we both know by not1_2write (A/B/O AU, Not A Firefighter!Buck | 42K | Mature): This whole thing is Bobby's fault. He's the one that suggested Eddie apply for the mate matching service, it was his idea to look for an Omega that would love and care for Christopher, to find a mate to be by Eddie's side. Eddie's gonna have to send him a fruit basket or something. It was the greatest idea Bobby's ever had and because of it they now they have Buck in their lives, in their pack and firmly nestled right in Eddie's heart.

WIP

🔥 stuck now so long, we just got the start wrong by Daffi_990_ao3/ @daffi-990 (Canon Divergent, Different First Meeting | 7/10 | 55K | Not Rated): Probational Firefighters Evan “Buck” Buckley and Eddie Diaz meet on a call which ends with them at odds with each other. As the months roll by, they keep running into each other on the job, much to Eddie’s dismay and Buck’s delight. Can they put aside their first opinions and misunderstandings and allow the seeds of friendship, and possibly something more, to take root?

🔥 like a bird stealing bread out from under your nose by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S7, Fix-It | 2/7 | 6K | Mature): If you’d asked Eddie back in May what rock bottom looked like, it was his son leaving him. That felt like it; everything ruined so entirely that there was no way to ruin it further. There’s always more to lose.

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briar / @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon S1-S6, Divergent Post-S6 | 128/? | 401K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

🔥 Held Up a Lightning Rod (Wonder Why I'm Struck) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Not A Firefighter Eddie, Sugar Baby Buck | 3/22 | 14K | Explicit): When Eddie Diaz stumbles his way into money, he finds himself one of the most eligible bachelors in Los Angeles - to his dismay. He needs a way to get people off his back without confessing his messy marital situation, and Shannon's still not answering his calls, so he caves to a friend's suggestion: hire someone to pretend to be his partner. Enter Evan "Buck" Buckley: sugar baby, fire fighter, and the man about to turn Eddie's world upside down.

Podfic

🔥 [Podfic] Your Fingerprints Smeared on My Heart (Lead Me Back to You) by MistMarauder/ @mistmarauder for letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Cowboy AU, Reincarnation, Soulmates | 10-15h | Explicit): In 1880, Evan Buckley of the arriviste set is sent out west to oversee his family's railroad and recover from a broken heart - and meets Eddie Diaz, cowboy. When fate tears them apart, they make a promise: find each other again. In 2018, Buck walks into his fire station in Los Angeles - and meets Eddie Diaz, new recruit.

[kinardsevan]

a set of empty bones

Chapters: 1/? Rating: E Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, non-con Summary:

“You’re not even paying attention right now,” he growls.

“Look, Eddie,” Evan tries, lifting his hands up in surrender. Eddie’s eyes trail from his eyes down to his lips, his chest, and then back up at him, and Evan doesn’t like the way it feels. Something about the entire moment feels uncomfortable to him.

Eddie sets the bowl on the counter and puts his hands on Evan’s ribs, pushing him back towards the fridge.

“Eddie, man, what’re you doing,” Evan stammers nervously.

. . .

BTHB: You can scream all you want & lacerations; this is not Eddie-friendly.

[sweetnessnwhump]

Surrender - whump

Prompt - surrender

Fandom - original

Characters - Samuel, Mordecai, Natsuki

tw - intense abuse, intense emotional abuse, referenced noncon, conditioning, dehumanization, a caretaker who means well but accidentally plays into conditioning, a relapse, uhh collars(?), please take care of yourself!!

-

He holds still, eyes trained on the floor. He is good. He is a good boy for master, and if he does well he won’t be punished. 

The warm, safe weight of the collar around his neck grounds him. If he’s wearing the leather collar, he is safe. He is a good boy and he is safe.

-

Mordecai messes with his keys, letting out a grunt when he fumbles and they fall to the floor. This day’s already down the can.

When he gets inside, his puppy is kneeling on the ground, eyes trained downward.

“Stay,” Mordecai snaps, and puppy does. He goes to put the groceries away, perhaps slamming the cabinets a bit too much. He’ll have to reward puppy for bearing it later.

He comes back to the living room with a dog treat, a big stick of beef jerky. “Come here.”

Puppy does, crawling with eyes kept down. Mordecai puts a foot on his shoulder. He stops obediently.

“Good boy. Eat this.”

Puppy takes it from his hand and eats only with his mouth. Mordecai smirks. “Good boy. Soon, you’ll even be ready for sale.”

Puppy doesn’t respond, so he scowls. “Speak.”

“Yessir.”

“How do you feel about being sold?”

“I.. I’ll miss ya, but I want. I want to be good. This is good, right? You.. trained me.” He looks up, green eyes desperate for attention.

Mordecai kicks him in the side. “Real answer.”

Samuel flinches, head bowing. “I-I wanna go home.”

“Home? Home? This is your home.”

“I know, sir-”

“No! No, you don’t! I do all this shit for you, everything, and you want to leave me? Do you know how that makes me feel?! Huh!”

Puppy sobs, curling in on himself. “I know- I know sir, ‘m sorry, ‘s my fault- shit-”

“What did I say about swearing?!” Mordecai grabs puppy by the hair, pulling him up by it. Puppy gasps, almost choking. He’s had problems with breathing ever since that incident with Lila.

“I can’t believe what you do to me, you know that? I don’t want to speak to you. Or even know you exist. Go to your crate until you’re told otherwise. You’re grounded.”

Puppy can’t breathe. His face is starting to go purple. Very unflattering.

Mordecai leans in close, nose brushing puppy’s. “You are home.” He kisses puppy hard, bruising, then drops him.

-

years later

Natsuki comes home from work one day to find his boyfriend kneeling on the floor. A belt is crudely lashed around his neck, his hair’s a mess and his head is bowed. He’s only in boxers. Natsuki frowns and shuts the door behind him, kneeling before Samuel.

“Baby?” he reaches forward.

Samuel’s head snaps up and he stares at Natsuki with nothing less than.. absolute adoration. “Master,” he breathes.

“What,” Natsuki says.

“I-” his eyes widen, “I was good, waited for you- got my collar ‘n everything, stayed on the ground like I have to.”

Natsuki focuses on the bags under his eyes. “Samuel, how long has it been since you slept?”

“Who..? I’m sorry, sir-r who’s that?”

Natsuki closes his eyes in pain for a long moment. When he opens them again, Samuel’s eyes are locked on his. Natsuki frowns. Samuel doesn’t like eye contact, and he knows Natsuki isn’t a big fan of it either.

“Samuel..”

“Sir?”

Natsuki’s still frowning, because he’s- he’s in so far over his head here. He’d do anything for Samuel, of course, but that’s the problem.. He could make it so much worse.

“Sammy, d’ you- do you want to take a bath?”

“Yes, sir.” Samuel responds almost before Natsuki is done speaking. Natsuki is close enough to see the way he tenses. Ever so slightly but there, abdominal muscles almost flinching.

“I won’t come in with you,” he blurts, desperate to fix it.

“I know, sir. I’ll put on a good show for you.”

Natsuki’s hands fly to cover his mouth. He stares, speechless, heart in his fingers, before forcing himself to recovery. “Okay- okay, Sammy, forget the bath.”

Samuel tenses again at the nickname and Natsuki mentally beats himself up.

“Do you.. are you hungry?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What do you want?”

“I don’t-” his eyes are alight with terror but he doesn’t look away, forcing himself to maintain that eye contact.

“Oh, baby, baby, baby.. It’s okay, it’s okay, you don’t have to want, I’m here, I’ll help you, I’m here.”

Samuel calms, so much it almost looks like he’s going to collapse. “Sir,” he breathes, eyes fluttering shut.

Natsuki is going to vomit. He has to- he gets up, stumbling away, towards the bathroom.

Samuel freezes once he moves, keeping his head bowed. He’s obedient, he’s a good boy. He’s a good boy.

When Natsuki comes back, he’s muttering it to himself and rocking back and forth. “‘M a good boy, a good boy, I’m a good boy, such a good boy.”

Natsuki swallows back a retch. He kneels down, carefully, carefully not-touching. “Samuel?”

“Sir.” Samuel is staring at him, laser-focused. Natsuki has to look away.

“Samuel, I’m going to need you to stand up now, please.”

Samuel does so, head still bowed. He’s breathing deeply and steadily, almost.. Meditatively? That makes sense, would’ve been a coping mechanism.. Focus.

Natsuki swallows. “Can you go to.. the living room, please?”

“Yessir.” He moves and Natsuki follows him, keeping careful distance. He’d prefer the bedroom for this, but that would probably be triggering.

“Can you lie down for me, Samuel?”

Samuel goes down carefully and lies on the floor.

“Can you lie down on the couch for me, Samuel?”

Samuel does so, silently, with his eyes downcast.

“Good job, baby, you did so good.”

He twitches and Natsuki is encouraged. “You’re doing amazing, sweetheart, you’re so good, I’m so proud of you.. You’re so strong. Oh! I’ll be right back.”

Samuel is still lying face-down, holding himself perfectly still. Natsuki troops through the apartment. He tucks Samuel in carefully, with one of his favorite blankets, tucks a pillow under his head, helps him sit up and drink some water.

“Can you sleep for me, baby?”

Samuel blinks, clearly disoriented but still holding himself rigid.

“Lie back down, baby, that’s it..” Natsuki helps him. “You’ll be okay, baby, you’ve got this. I’m going to give you some alone time now, okay?”

He hesitates. “I’ll be here when you wake up, okay? I’m.. I’m here for you. You’re okay. You’re safe.

“You’re home.”

By the time Samuel mutters his reply, Natsuki’s already gone.

“Yes, master..”

[loudst]

@badthingshappenbingo Prompt 2: Surrender Characters: Ventus and Vanitas (Kingdom Hearts) Rating: PG13-ish (Features some head trauma.) Word count: 512 Requested by: @yesette Summary: “Remember that scene in Pokemon: Mewtwo Strikes Back where the clone pikachu is hitting pikachu over and over, tears forming in his eyes as he eventually collapses into pikachu’s arms, weakly attempting one final slap? Its that.” -- Yessie

Passive Me, Aggressive You

Ventus sucked in a deep breath, stepping towards the masked boy as confidently as he could.

“Finally ready to face me, Ventus?” Vanitas asked, voice low and positively acidic. Ventus could feel his hands shaking as he tried to relax, clenching and unclenching his fists.

He shook his head, “No,” he said; he could feel the tension in his body melting away the closer he got to the moment of truth, “I’m ready to give up.”

Vanitas laughed, “Give up!? Please tell me you’re joking.”

Ventus put his arms out, “Do your worst, Vanitas.”

Vanitas was quiet; expression unknowable, but anger implacable as he reached out for Ventus. He grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and jerked him close, “You’re supposed to fight me. You’re supposed to--”

His mask fell away, golden eyes finally meeting blue, “You’re supposed to join your heart with mine!” He seemed… panicked, furious. He let his keyblade dematerialise and balled his fist, punching Ventus in the gut.

“How could you do this to me, Ventus?” He growled as Ven doubled over, “I didn’t believe in you for a second,and somehow I’m STILL disappointed!” He shouted, kicking the boy for emphasis.

“Do what to you? Why do you want this so badly?” Ven coughed attempting to stand, “What’s in it for you?”

“None of your business,” Vanitas snarled, pressing a foot to Ventus’s chest and knocking him onto his back. His head hit the ground painfully, headache quickly blooming from the point of impact. He decided to stay down.

“I was born from YOUR darkness, Ventus. I’m your responsibility.” Vanitas explained as he stood over Ven.

He dropped to one knee, grabbing a handful of blonde hair and pulling, “Stand up,” he insisted, but Ven only laid still.

“STAND. UP.” He repeated, slamming the boy’s head into the ground, “Stop being a coward and fight me!”

“I’m not a coward.” Ventus murmured, pushing himself into a sitting position, “I just know… that the only way to win this game is to stop playing.”

“Game? You think this is a game?” Vanitas asked. He seemed desperate--frantic, even. Nothing was going how he expected… he had no control. He couldn’t make Ventus fight, he couldn’t do anything except lash out like a child denied a toy.

He dove at Ventus, grabbing him by the collar of his jacket and slamming him against the ground yet again, “Why don’t you understand!?” He shouted, pulling him close and slamming him down over and over, “I don’t want to be here! I don’t want to live like this! You may be fine, but I’m not! I’m not fine!! I’m miserable and YOU’RE MY ONLY CHANCE.”

Ventus had shut his eyes a long time ago, but something in the way Vanitas sounded… he opened them to see the boy looming over him, hands grabbing at his clothes and tears in his eyes as he pulled weakly, “Please, join your heart with mine…” He leaned down, resting his forehead on Ventus’s chest and murmuring, “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

[suspicious-whumping-egg]

Blue's Writing: The Complete Masterlist

This is a masterlist with all of my works. Current or complete series are above the cut, and all my writing can additionally be found under the tag #blue writes. TWs are included in masterlists for generalized series tws, and at the top of a post for individual drabble tws.

Alec and Raina (Complete): Alec, an artist and a masochist, is snatched off the streets by Raina, a possessive captor who will do almost anything to force Alec into becoming what she wants. But how long can Alec keep his complicated feelings around pain hidden from someone who wants nothing more to exploit them?

Collector's Bounty: Jackson Hawthorne is the eldest son of a millionaire, and due to this, he’s the perfect target for Aris to kidnap— after a hit job gone wrong, he needs enough cash to clean up the mess. But when Jackson’s family refuses to pay the ransom, Aris decides on an even more lucrative idea: harvesting Jackson’s spare organs. And while he intended on returning his captive after reaping his profits, Aris changes his mind after discovering a secret that reveals an opportunity too great to pass up.

Low Profile: Hale Ellison, the disgraced son of a wealthy politician, finds himself in the hands of a mafia mercenary known as Viper. Tasked with gleaning information regarding one of Hale’s father’s associates, Viper seizes the opportunity to torment his new target. As Hale's captivity goes on, memories of his former life begin to resurface, unlocking more questions than answers with each passing moment.

Rock Bottom, A Moneymakers AU: A fanfiction of the Moneymakers series by @coldresolve. Renee Vaughn has hit rock bottom. He’s out of money, out of drugs, and out of luck. And with the law close behind him for what he did to Conrad DeWitt, he only has one option left: sell himself as a willing victim to another red room.

Unhinged Torture: A collection of standalone unhinged torture drabbles! These are more gorey and intense than my other writing so heed the content warnings.

Crowbar

No Escape

BTHB: Impaled Palm

Betrayed: A hero, Dante, is betrayed by their team and left to the mercy of a villain, Ridley, who decides the hero could be useful. Inspired by a prompt from @some-messed-up-writing-for-you.

Left Behind: Zhen Veraldi is abandoned by their allies on the battlefield and captured by the enemy, damned to whatever fate awaits them at their hands. They fall into the custody of Major Sierra Castro, who is much too willing to break them how she sees fit.

Series on Hiatus, Standalone Drabbles, and Trope Talks are under the cut

Series On Hiatus:

Merciless: Mateo is taken prisoner on an enemy ship after catching the attention of its captain. Pirate whump, intimate whump, enemies to lovers.

Betrayed: A hero, Dante, is betrayed by their team and left to the mercy of a villain, Ridley, who decides the hero could be useful. Inspired by a prompt from @some-messed-up-writing-for-you.

Standalones:

Yandere Whumper

BTHB: I'll Punish Your Friend for Your Failure

BTHB: Mind Control

BTHB: Forced to Hurt Someone (an Alec and Raina short)

BTHB: The Collector

A Whumpy Hero x Villain Request

Hero/Villain: Surrender

Surrender part 2

Hero x Villain: "Just be good for me"

Hero x Villain: "Bow Down in the Presence of Lethal"

~~~~

Trope Talks:

Intimate whumpers Trope Talk

Gagging Trope Talk

Kind restraints Trope Talk

Manhandling and Touch Starvation Trope Talk

Forced Affection Trope Talk

Trypanophobia (Fear of Needles) Trope Talk

[whumpwillow]

whump tropes i like

by no means an exhaustive list as I’m sure there’s more I’m forgetting, but here’s quite a few (mostly garnered from various posts and bthb cards) 

—

hiding an injury

knife to the throat

forced to beg

broken ribs

slammed into a wall

stumbling and staggering

trapped in a net

bruises

shot with an arrow

buried alive

impaled palm

grabbed by the hair

through the cold

used as bait

‘more expendable than you’

‘take me instead’

locked in a cage

hand stomp

carved mark

tied to a chair

shock collar

collared and chained

painful wound cleaning

‘leave me alone’

worked himself to exhaustion

nightmares

taking the blame (for what, idk)

self-loathing

sleep deprivation

‘dont you dare pity me’

cry into chest

fever

voice breaking

backhand slap

black eye

‘it’s all my fault’

crying themselves to sleep

prisoner exchange

touch starved

no anesthetic

defeated and trophified

caretaker kissing whumpee’s scars

caretakers gently changing the dressings/bandages of whumpee's wounds and murmuring soothing nothings as they hiss and wince in pain

Brushing their hand through the whumpee’s hair to soothe them

holding them while they cry

Sitting with whumpee while they have their wounds treated, maybe letting them grip their hand as some way of dealing with the pain

Helping whumpee get up when they fall/ helping them walk by letting the whumpee brace themselves on them

Letting the whumpee rest their head on their chest or shoulder

lost their voice from screaming

stitches

whipping

power fatigue / exhaustion

hair matted with blood

caretaker cradling whumpee in their arms

electrocution

muzzled

hiding an illness

conditioning / conditioned whumpees

locked up and left behind

damaged wings

shaking and shivering

grabbed by the chin

hidden scar

passing out from the pain

‘please don’t leave me’

forced to participate in prize fight

taunting

humiliation

captivity

beaten with a cane

panic attack

vivisection

traumatic touch aversion

betrayal

grabbed by the hair

trail of blood

hurts to breathe

‘dont let them see you cry’

on a leash

surrender

shackled / handcuffed

forced to hurt someone

dehumanization

tearful smile

black eye

blindfolded

clawing at own throat

flashbacks

trying not to cry

banished

broken / bloody nose

kick them while theyre down

dissociation

dragged by the ankle

nervous breakdown

bloodstained clothes

fever

bundled up in blankets

betrayal

losing their temper

caught in a storm

bleeding through the bandages

hypothermia

rejected apology

broken angel

magical curse

used in sacrifice / ritual

chained to a wall

survivor’s guilt

tied to a pole

outnumbered in a fight

‘get it over with’

hyperventilating

trust issues

on the run

bounty on their head

hostage video

dragging themselves along the ground

isolation

made a slave

public execution / torture

pleading

reluctant caretaker

misunderstanding

wrongfully accused / arrested

loneliness

‘should have been better’

made a lab rat

trying not to cry

undeserved reputation

branding

pleading

disowned by family / team

hallucinations

forced to kneel / bow

enemy turned caretaker

unhealthy coping mechanisms

bedside vigil

coughing up blood

fainting

memory loss / amnesia

rage against the reflection

delirium

prank gone wrong

compelled / ensorcelled

self blame

disproportionate retribution

truth potion / serum

magical exhaustion

cleaning Whumpers shoes

nervously tapping the bell on their collar

accidental confessions

-

sorry for the long post, its not letting me add a readmore with the bullets :>

[tarisilmarwen]

@badthingshappenbingo

Title: “Leverage”

Prompt: Surrender

Fandom: Star Wars Rebels

Character(s): Sabine Wren, Ezra Bridger, Chopper

Warnings: Concussion, threats of harm, non-consensual drugging

AO3, FFNet, Request a prompt/character

Not quite sure what happened to your ask, anon, Tumblr appears to have randomly eaten it, but here you are, your Sabezra-flavored BTHB request.

---

The stitch in her side pulled painfully as they ran, her breath drawing out through rattling lungs in long heaving gasps. Blasterfire streaked all around her, pinging off crates.

Sabine didn't understand how everything had gone so belly up.

Running alongside her, his saber out, Ezra deflected blaster bolts with flashing motions. His attention was firmly behind, at their pursuit, while hers was straight ahead, searching for the exit, trying to find the edge of the wall around the complex. Ezra was complaining about how "This was supposed to be an easy one!" and "Why are there even pirates this far into the Mid Rim?" and Sabine wanted to pay attention and banter back at him, just to lighten things up for a brief moment, but her heart was too busy clenching with the weight of the knowledge of what the sigils on the raiders' armor crests meant.

Danger alarms sounded all around her head. She grabbed a grenade from her belt and paused as she activated its timer, letting Ezra run on ahead of her. She wound up with her arm and hurled it out behind them, the metal clanking against a crate as it disappeared from her sight, falling in and among the assorted Gamorreans and Devaronians.

Relief tingled for half a second inside her. That should buy them just enough time. Chopper already had the ramp of the Phantom II down, had it hovering in place in a clear spot by the wall, screeching in binary for them to hurry up. His manipulators gestured jerkily. Ezra was almost to safety; Sabine glimpsed him as she started to turn—

"Sabine!"

Ezra's warning was shrill and abrupt and startled her. Sabine whipped back around, eyes widening as a small black spot came sailing through the air straight towards them.

Sabine caught her own grenade in frantic hands, clumsily trying to get hold of it for a terrifying couple of seconds before she flung it away.

It exploded, powder and paint and fire searing into her face, scorching the front of her helmet.

Her head snapped back from the shock and she felt weightless, airborne a moment before her back and body hit the ground.

Ringing pain flooded her head. Vaguely, she could hear Chopper shouting, the engines of the Phantom II roaring as if from some far away watery distance, more blasterfire, and heavy-booted footsteps before her sight faded and she blacked out.

-SWR-

The pain returned when her awareness did.

Sabine groaned, the sharp throbbing pounding away at the sides of her skull like two charging rancors smashing into her. She pinched her eyes tighter, grimacing through the pain. For a long moment she sat with her ears ringing and her temples stabbing, until finally she decided she should probably get up.

She pried her eyes open and was dismayed to see an unfamiliar ceiling above her.

Sabine raised her head, looking around the room with apprehension. It wasn't a holding cell, but it definitely wasn't the Ghost either. It looked like... some kind of lab? There were storage lockers lining the grimy walls and tables haphazardly strewn with parts and wiring. Sabine frowned as she glimpsed one of her explosive grenades disassembled and spread apart on the closest surface. Everything was covered in grease and oil stains—maybe this was a maintenance room—and a glowing yellow heating unit clunked loudly in one of the corners.

She couldn't see a door.

Sabine got to her feet slowly, noticing with some dismay how her weapons and equipment had been stripped off. Her holsters were bare, her belt empty. Sabine's arms came up around her elbows a little self-protectively, a dry feeling in her throat. The sigil from the pirates' armor flashed before her mind's eye. The White Talons. A particularly murderous group of raiders; even the Empire marked them for death and didn't bother making under-the-table deals with them.

Though she wasn't restrained, she was clearly a prisoner. In a locked room, presumably. Disarmed.

Okay. What did she have to work with?

She was just beginning to eye the cluster of metal and wires on the nearest worktable when footsteps sounded outside the room. Sabine started, cast her eyes about for some kind of weapon but didn't get a chance to grab anything before a brightly-lit crack appeared in the far wall, and a heavy slab metal door squeaked open.

Sabine stepped back carefully, narrowing her eyes at the Devaronian who stepped into the room. He was huge, towering at least two feet above her not including his horns, and his burly arms wrapped around a bulky shortrifle that pointed straight at her. She leveled a glare at him as he stepped into the room, stopping a couple yards away and casually studying her.

His eyes raked over her, probing. Sabine's face soured and she put her hands on her hips, indignantly.

"Well, what d'you want?" she demanded.

The man began speaking, an inelegant mix of badly butchered Basic and another language. Huttesse? She was pretty sure she knew it, picked up words here and there as he gestured from her to the worktable.

"You make?" came the first coherent fragment.

Slightly confused, Sabine glanced back at the worktable. It took her a moment to realize he was referring to her paint grenades.

Wary, she turned back to the pirate.

"Yeah. I made those," she answered cautiously.

The Devaronian's eyes lit with a keen excitement, and his words became faster now, almost incomprehensible. He looked uncomfortably like how Vizago would when he'd made a sweet bargain, and Sabine found herself wishing she could be dealing with him instead. At least Vizago had never sold them out.

She tried to keep up with the rapid string of words. At the helpless straining in her eyes, the pirate slowed down, enunciated more clearly.

"Bigger?" he offered in Basic, towards the end.

Sabine felt a slight twinge of creeping horror. Praying she was translating wrong, she took a step back from the work table, pointing first to the pirate and then splaying her palm across her breastplate.

"You... want me..." she asked hesitantly. "To make you something?" Alarms twinged on her temples. Her eyes and features pinched. Her hand slowly drifted to point towards the worktable. "Those?" she questioned, indicating her dismantled grenade. "Explosives?"

There was that eerie excitement again; the pirate even lowered his blaster shortrifle as he gestured emphatically. "Yes, yes!" he confirmed. "You... weapons make!" He switched back to his first language breathlessly. Sabine caught her own name with a sinking drop in the pit of her stomach.

This man knew her, or knew of her at least, knew something about her work at the Imperial Academy—she heard a word that sounded roughly equivalent to "burning" and felt the horror and disgust solidify in her stomach.

She crossed her arms firmly, fixing a scowl at him.

"No," she growled.

Confused, the man repeated his request.

"I said no, sleemo," Sabine replied back.

He repeated his request a third time, as if thinking she'd merely misunderstood.

Sabine stared him down stubbornly, making her uncooperative intentions plainly known on her face.

She wasn't going to be used like that again. Never again.

The Devaronian became agitated. His blaster jabbed between her and the table, along with his pointed hand. He snarled a command at her, clearly irritated by her defiance.

"Weapons make!" he insisted.

"No I will not 'weapons make'!" she shot back, her hands pulling stiffly from around her elbows and forming tight fists by her thighs. She trembled hotly with anger, unflinching.

The pirate gripped his shortrifle tighter, aiming it straight at her heart. "You dies!" he screamed, furious.

"Kill me if you want to, I don't care!" Sabine said, throwing her hands out in challenge.

The Devaronian wrestled a moment or two and then pressed a button on his gauntlet and opened some kind of comm channel, yelling angrily into it for several moments. A staticky response came through the line, garbled and incoherent.

Sabine stayed where she was, glaring and stubbornly defiant, giving the pirate her sourest stink-eye.

He turned sharply on his heel, stalking towards the door and reaching back to slam it behind him.

Sabine exhaled slowly as the reverb began to fade. Worried tingles coursed on her arms. She wasn't afraid to die to prevent the White Talons from using her weapons expertise for their own ends, but that wasn't her ideal outcome.

She turned and studied the items on the worktable again, cataloguing parts, piecing them together in different combinations inside her head.

She hadn't been at it very long before thumping footsteps sounded outside her makeshift prison. Sabine bristled as the door opened again, tensing.

This time several pirates filed in, Devaronians and Gamorreans and Trandoshans and all sorts of motley individuals. A couple stalked up uncomfortably close to her, their blasters trained on her every movement and twitch. Two particularly large men closed in on either side of her as the Devaronian from before—the leader, ostensibly—filed back into the room.

His expression was cold and angry. He came into the room and then stepped aside, leveling an even glare on her.

Shuffling footsteps sounded just outside the door. Sabine peeled her hostile glare away from the leader in time to see two large pirates enter.

Dragging Ezra between them.

A wordless cry escaped her throat as she lurched forward, only to be caught by the raider next to her, grabbing her arms and yanking her back, restraining her from her desperate charge forward.

Sabine wrenched and squirmed in his grip, watching with abject horror.

No no no!, came her frantic, terrified thought. Her mind screamed in denial. He was supposed to be safe, he was supposed to be safe, hadn't he gotten out with Chopper? Wasn't that what she'd heard as she was fading?

But no, of course he wouldn't have left her, stupid Jedi idiot that he was. Sabine felt bile rise up in her throat as she watched the raiders drag him forward and then push him to his knees in front of her.

He was barely conscious, his head drooping, his half-lidded eyes glassy like he was heavily sedated or drugged. His hands were bound behind him and he didn't even seem to be aware of what was happening, chin down and gaze swimming blankly.

The Devaronian leader fixed her with a chilling glare, making sure he had her full attention.

"Weapons make, or..." The blaster rifle was cocked ominously, pointed straight at Ezra's head. "...he dies," the man threatened.

Sabine wavered for half a second, heart pulling in two inside of her, and then she crumpled, sagging limply in her captor's grip. She would endure any manner of trauma or torture if it was only her, fight stubbornly through whatever the raiders decided to inflict on her...

But she wouldn't, couldn't, let them hurt Ezra. Heat stung at her eyes as she looked at him, dangling limp in the grip of his captors, insensate and helpless. There was a purpling bruise already showing across his cheek, a split lip, a cut on his forehead that hinted that the raiders had already gotten to him, hurt him.

She couldn't let him be hurt any more. Not if she could stop it. He... he was too... she had to protect him.

She lowered her eyes, heat and shame flaring across her cheeks. For several horrible seconds she couldn't unclog her throat.

"All right..." she finally strained out, hating every word and yet forcing them out desperately. "I'll do it."

That seemed to please the Devaronian leader, who relaxed on one leg, lowering his rifle slightly and giving instructions Sabine was certain were probably important, but she couldn't hope to focus on, biting her lip anxiously as she looked at Ezra.

His breaths were so thin...

A command was given; the raider holding her released her arms and Sabine crumpled forward.

She scrambled towards Ezra and none of the pirates stopped her, letting her crawl up to him and take his face in her hands carefully, tilting his blank hollow eyes up to meet hers.

"Ez?" she called softly.

Her heart wrenched as his distant gaze slid past hers, loose and unseeing, only a keening moan given in response.

"What—" Her voice choked on the emotion clogging her throat; she swallowed thickly. "What did you do to him?" she demanded, in quiet horror.

The Devaronian leader's face twisted with a sneer. "He make trouble. Try escape. Try come get you."

Sabine closed her eyes in quiet acceptance, gripping Ezra's head tighter to her.

"Don't worry," she told him softly. "I'm going to get you out of here. I promise."

He didn't respond, didn't give any indication he heard her, but she didn't expect him to. Inhaling to steel herself, she let go and stood up.

She faced the Devaronian leader, a simmering look festering in her eyes.

"I'll make your bombs," she declared. "But you don't lay a hand on him again."

A sneer was all that she received in return, and a barked order to get working. The two raiders nearest her grabbed her shoulders, shoving her towards one of the worktables. Sabine looked over the pieces, now recognizable as bomb components, with a sick feeling in her gut. She wanted to pull away, shove back, smack their dirt-caked hands off her.

Throat tight, she craned her head back in time to glimpse the others dragging Ezra out of the room, still limp, still clinging to consciousness by the barest thread. Despite her warning, they weren't bothering to be gentle with him, hauling him like oversized luggage through the door and out of her sight.

Worry crawled up her back as soon as he was gone, festering like an itch on her spine. Sabine stared down at the worktable, her mouth like cotton, a sick tickle at the back of her throat.

Her hands shook with small tremors as she reached into the pile to begin sorting through the materials, keenly aware of the raider's hostile eyes on her.

With resignation, she switched her mind into work mode, shutting everything else out, and focused on the task at hand.

-SWR-

It was a painstaking, slow-going process. They didn't have nearly enough of the right tools for her to use, and Sabine was forced to take several workarounds or argue back-and-forth with the guards in her room until they brought her something moderately useful.

Several times she had to stop, overwhelmed by the pressure, dropping her tools and bracing her temples on her fingertips, sagging helplessly on her elbows. She indulged in half-seconds of misery and self-pity before she forced herself to continue, to remember what was at stake, to remember that the only way she could have a prayer of getting her and Ezra out of here was to make at least one functioning bomb.

They never said she had to give it to them, after all...

Her attendees got bored watching her, slowly moving towards the corners of the room. Sabine's heart pounded as she carefully soldered wires and clamped pieces together, hoping fervently the raiders weren't savvy enough to understand what she was doing, making careful, precise choices as she worked.

All the while, she worried. She hoped that what she was doing was enough to keep the pirates from turning their intentions towards Ezra.

She wondered how he was doing,

-SWR-

Ezra felt like he was slowly emerging from a thick, dense fog.

Sounds had been... watery... for a while, coming to his ears from some kind of far distance... but slowly began to grow clearer. The slippery, disconnected feeling around his head began to fade. Ezra grew slowly more aware of himself, all his senses returning to him one by one.

His grasp on the Force was still... elusive. Retreating from him when he tried to reach for it, tried to use it to orient himself.

All he was really aware of was that his right shoulder ached a bit and his head hurt.

The weird ringing, static sound inside his ears subsided gradually, letting him hear the slow intakes of his breath, the tick-tick of a chrono mounted somewhere, and the scuff and rustle of his clothing as he shifted, testing out long-numb limbs, getting a sense of bearing.

His head was still floating a bit, but he could feel some sensation in his body now.

He was on the floor. That was the first, and most solid, thing he was aware of. He was on his side, if the rising ache in his shoulder was any indication.

Ezra groaned, turning his head closer into the floor. He pried his eyes open and blinked, repeating the motion several times as he tried to focus on all the blurry images.

The sight of a raider's ankles blurred and unblurred in his eyes.

Ezra pinched his eyes closed a moment and groaned again, then tried again to focus through the spinning images his dizzy eyes provided.

There was someone standing above him. He was in a very small room. Some kind of cell? It looked like it was sparse enough, not really furnished, gray and blank walls.

Some kind of commotion seemed to happening outside the room. The person above him stiffened, there was a click and rustle as if he was gripping his weapon tighter.

Ezra was too tired to really think about it, only vaguely noticing through his Force Sense that his guard had left the room, leaving him spinning there in his thoughts, quiet and confused.

The sounds from outside seemed to be getting louder. Ezra felt a keen sense of urgency pulling at his mind, trying to get him to wake up, wake up.

He winced, the pain his head sharpening, as he slogged back to awareness.

The tussle outside his cell seemed to be over—Ezra had heard a few grunts and cracks and assumed a fight was happening—and the the door was opening all over again but this time a warm presence was on his senses, familiar hands were pulling up his face.

"Ezra?" came the concerned, feminine call and he grinned in spite of himself.

"Hey 'bine," he said, only slightly delirious, trying to focus on the blob of colors in the center of his vision that must have been her. "Nice to see you. You here to rescue me?" he asked cheekily.

A soft huff, tinged with annoyance and fondness. "Someone has to," came the muttered response. A little louder, the voice that was Sabine's said, "Are you okay?"

Ezra grimaced, acutely aware of his own disconnected senses and the throbbing in his head. "Force feels funny," he admitted. "Dunno what they hit me with but wow."

Her hands were behind him, fiddling with the binders.

"Apparently 350 milligrams of Bendozi does that."

He squinted, feeling his hands come loose from the binders and Sabine's warm arms steadying under his. "That... seems excessive," he commented.

She gave a low laugh, helping him to his feet.

"You're the one who apparently 'made trouble' for them, you tell me."

Ezra felt himself drooping slightly on his feet, and resolutely pulled himself upright, using Sabine's hands to steady himself.

"Buncha bastards..." he mumbled, sagging slightly against her, aware that they were moving but too incoherent to say where. "Took my saber."

"I know, " came her tremulous reply, full of heartfelt emotion he could feel buzzing on his dazed senses. "It's okay, I've got it. Just hang onto me."

Warmth flooded through him. He leaned into the warmth he felt off her body, uttering a dopey but heartfelt, "Okay." and let her guide him towards what he assumed was the exit.

[livingforthewhump]

Ooooooo do you think you could do “Please don’t leave me” for BTHB?

Also requested by @nightfrostshadow

Blue for requested; red for posted.

First Previous Next

—

Caroline was on her knees, eyes following Paladin as he circled around her. Her back and legs ached from keeping still in the awkward position, but her hammering heart held her still. Paladin brushed a hand lightly across her shoulder blades, just to see what would happen, and she flinched.

“I think it’s about time you give the world another show, don’t you?” He leaned in to speak into her ear, and she closed her eyes against it. His hand grabbed the top of her head, turning her face towards him. “I asked you a question, doll.”

“Arguing with you gets me nowhere,” she muttered, venom in her eyes, “but I won’t stoke your ego.”

He smiled. “We’ll see about that. Learning these lessons takes time, but I’m sure you’ll come around.”

He released her and moved in front of her, eyes studying her submissive figure. “I must say, you look good like this, doll.”

“And you’d look good behind bars.”

Paladin laughed. “I’d look good anywhere. And I thought you said arguing with me got you nowhere.”

“Well now you’ve just annoyed me.”

He hummed, moving towards her suddenly and grabbing her chin. She flinched harshly, then kept her eyes on the floor as her face burned with humiliation.

“Look at me, doll. You don’t get to avoid me while I teach you your place. You are mine, remember?”

Her eyes flicked up to him, wide and scared. “Yes.”

“Good.” He released her, but she knew to keep her chin up, eyes obediently trained on him. “Now, answer my question. Are you ready to give the world a show?”

“I-”

He tilted his head, dangerously calm and attentive, and tears pricked her eyes.

“Yes, Paladin.”

“There you are, doll.” Paladin knelt in front of her, hands moving to either side of her head and twining into her hair. She barely had time to brace herself before his power moved in.

--

Hugo had bolted the door, so he climbed out the window. In the area that he lived in, he couldn’t risk forgoing that extra protection. A guy in his psychology class said that his apartment had been broken into and his studying resources had been stolen. Said guy was definitely not a trustworthy source and tried to fake getting hit by a bus so his tuition would be free, but textbooks were expensive and some people were desperate. Not even a self-proclaimed vigilante was a match for a desperate college student. As a desperate college student himself, Hugo was well aware of this fact.

His dark gray vigilante costume didn’t block out the wind very well, but he was still proud of himself for making it. It was like a final homage to David. Hugo couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be proud, if he could see him. Probably not, he decided, and words rose to his mind unbidden.

All you can do is copy and paste, Hugo. That’s all you’ve ever been able to do. So why don’t you stop pretending you’re something special!

The memory of their last fight still stung him. It had taken months to shake the words off enough to take a step towards his goals. David had had faith in the world, something that amazed Hugo, who lost that long ago. He spent far too long wondering when it was that David had lost faith in him.

He shook himself off and walked along the fire escape, hopping from one to the next and surveying the ground beneath. This part of the city was always crawling with crime, and if Paladin couldn’t stoop down to help those with no voice or influence in the city, then someone else would have to.

Suddenly, an alarm pierced the air. Hugo took off running towards it.

--

Caroline remained more lucid this time, which she wasn’t sure was a good thing. It did mean that she was actually aware of what she was doing, though. She- or maybe Paladin, through her. But no, this was her fault. She shouldn’t have let it come to this. She bore the blame- was robbing a bank in what seemed like a shabby, poor part of town, which seemed like an objectively stupid thing to do. Wouldn’t it make more sense to go after a bigger bank? Or maybe Paladin was experimenting, getting her known as a criminal before he could go after the bigger crimes?

She felt sick.

An alarm was triggered at the bank, wailing through the air and piercing her eardrums. She would have instinctually cringed back had she not been being controlled. She was using anger to cover up her fear and horror.

Suddenly, a dark shape fell out of the sky and landed next to her. Her breath snagged, but to her surprise, it wasn’t Paladin. It was someone several years younger, with messier, lighter hair, and a gray suit rather than Paladin’s black with cream detailing.

“I’m sorry to be a bother, but I’m afraid I must ask you to stop.” He smiled casually, almost apologetically, as if he really did hate to interrupt.

She, of course, couldn’t respond. Actually, she hardly paused her movements as she worked on opening the vault, which she thought was quite rude.

“Ma’am?” The interloper waved his hand in front of her face. “I don’t want to tell you how to do your job- or, um, hobby- but I would really recommend robbing a different bank.”

Paladin finally made her turn her head to look it him, and she attentively studied his deep gray eyes, a small quirk to his lip.

“Anything you’d manage to collect here would barely buy you a nice dinner, and if that’s your concern, I’d be happy to take you to one myself.” He winked flippantly.

Paladin very strongly disliked him, which made Caroline like him more. Then she flicked her wrist at him and he was thrown backwards into the wall. He crumpled to the floor, coughing. Caroline revolted, pushing back against Paladin’s power with all her might. Her own power remained gathered within her from the recent use, and taking Paladin by surprise gave her a big advantage.

Just then Paladin chose to make his entrance, dropping in dramatically from the ceiling. He was staring at her in aggravation, the only sign of the invisible war inside of her.

“I’ll give you one chance to surrender,” Paladin announced, the words a threat to her in more ways than one.

The boy in gray had stood up and walked over, making a face at Paladin. “I have this handled. Don’t you have a party to attend or something?”

Paladin snarled at him, and this newfound distraction gave Caroline just enough leeway to break through.

She stared desperately at the boy in gray. “Please don’t leave me.” Her voice was small and scared, but it still made both the men freeze. The gray one’s lips parted in confusion, brow ruffled beneath his mask as he studied her. Paladin looked furious. His power crushed her in, suddenly, overwhelmingly, and in less than a second she was once again encased within blankness.

Caroline didn’t notice the boy in gray’s struggle to stay by her as she fought Paladin. She didn’t hear the times he tried to speak to her. She didn’t see Paladin finally threatening him, or the boy’s final reluctant glance over his shoulder.

She only knew that he did leave her.

—

Tag list (message me if you want to be added or removed): @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @twistedcaretaker @lonesome--hunter @poppys-writing @endless-whump @jkoo7jkoo5-baby-susan @multifandoms-multishipper @shadowylemon @cherryblossomskye @utopian819 @whumpkitty @whole-and-apart-and-between @written-to-death @ill-eat-you-if-you-cross-me @villain-enthusiast @hurting-fictional-people @kixngiggles @onestopheroxvillain @lave-e @bibliophilelifestyle

[dangerpronebuddie]

Seven Sentences Sunday

Tagged by the amazing @lover-of-mine thank you!!! 💜💚

Slight Air and Purging Fire is slowly coming along, but I had inspiration to work on Distress Call for my BTHB. I've also decided on a different direction for it. The previous snippet, however, will still be part of the fic. Here's a snippet that takes place just before the shit hits the fan:

"Now what do we do?"

"I guess head for the main house," Buck shrugged.

It was as good a place as any to start. "As long as no one's-"

"Don't you dare make a shooting joke, Eddie Diaz," Buck protested, shoving at Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie raised his hands in surrender. "I'm not tempting fate today."

"Eddie, our entire lives have been tempting fate," Buck deadpanned.

Eddie just can't leave well enough alone, can he?

Absolutely no pressure tagging: @monsterrae1 @13shadesofanni and anyone else who wants to share!!! 💜🥰🩷

[kinardsevan]

title: a set of empty bones rating: e warnings: graphic depictions of violence, non-con chapters 3/? (this was supposed to be a one, maybe two shot. and now we just keep riding the edge of a lightning bolt 😂) summary:

“You’re not even paying attention right now,” he growls.

“Look, Eddie,” Evan tries, lifting his hands up in surrender. Eddie’s eyes trail from his eyes down to his lips, his chest, and then back up at him, and Evan doesn’t like the way it feels. Something about the entire moment feels uncomfortable to him.

Eddie sets the bowl on the counter and puts his hands on Evan’s ribs, pushing him back towards the fridge.

“Eddie, man, what’re you doing,” Evan stammers nervously.

. . .

BTHB: You can scream all you want & lacerations; this is not Eddie-friendly.

[amethystpath-writes]

BTHB Communication Suddenly Cut Off

@badthingshappenbingo

Original work!

Communication Suddenly Cut Off

******

Hero adjusted her shoulder, elbow on the arm of her chair. "No way!" She dropped her spoon into her bowl of cereal. "She actually said that to him?"

On the other end of the line, Friend laughed. "Oh yeah. I don't blame her a single bit! I mean, he was borderline stalking her. You remember when we were at Max & Erma's and he dressed up as a waiter just to see her? Insane."

Picking her spoon back up and shoveling it into her mouth, Hero mumbled a 'Yeah, guess you're right'.

"So what have you been up to? I missed you at the party today. You doing alright?"

Bending forward with legs bent on the cushion, Hero put her bowl on the coffee table in front of her. She grabbed her phone with a hand instead of holding it between her head and shoulder. Hero was cramping enough without having to take up weird body positions.

"I'm alright," she said. "Just exhausted from work, you know?" Exhausted from fighting a villain you hopefully know nothing about.

Friend was silent for a moment. "I get it. It sucks not seeing you though. Maybe we could have a movie night." Her voice pitched at this. "Be exhausted all you want that way. I'll get us some popcorn. And! I'll get the nacho cheese stuff to sprinkle over it!" Hero smiled in her seat. "I'll pick up a few movies from Redbox, too, so we don't have to watch a bunch of oldies. Okay, that's it. That's the plan. Now," Friend hummed then began mumbling, "It's five o'clock and Mom needs eggs from the store. I'll try to be there by-"

The line went fuzzy, a quiet chshhhhhh. "Friend? Hey, you're cutting out." Hero stood from the chair, walking to the window. Maybe there was better reception there? If it was on Friend's end then it didn't matter much, but she could at least try. "Friend? You there?" She pulled the phone away, the screen of her phone lighting up. Hero was on a second call. No name though. Weird. She hung up, or at least tried to. The screen hadn't changed when she tapped the little red phone. Hero tapped it again, but nothing happened.

Next time she tapped the counting timer that told her how long she was on a call with Friend. The phone call returned normally and the other disappeared. She shook her head.

"H-ero? I th-ink-"

Hero cut to the chase. The call wasn't getting any better. "What time?"

Chshhhhhh.

Damnit, Hero thought, and peeked at her phone again. 'Unknown Caller' it read for a second time. "Hello?" she said impatiently. No answer. "Hellooo?" Nothing.

She hit the home screen, tapping the text message icon then tapped on Friend's contact. 'Hey. Phones are acting weird. What time do you think you'll be here?' Hero typed. Hitting send, a red and encircled X appeared. 'Message failed to send' it said below. She touched the X and then touched where it said 'Retry'. The X reappeared. Hero repeated the process once. Twice. Three times. Four. Five. Nothing, nothing, nothing. "What the hell?" Her phone was slow sometimes, but never this bad. "She'll get here when she gets here I guess."

Her phone began to ring just as she tossed it on the couch across the room. Sighing, she went to pick it back up. 'Unknown Caller'. No. If it was important, they could leave a message or text her. Hero didn't pick up from numbers she didn't know, or from numbers that didn't appear on screen. She pushed the lock button on the side of the phone, rejecting the call.

"How rude, rejecting my call."

Hero froze. Her shoulders drew tight, her spine straightened so much that it cramped as badly as when she held her phone with a shoulder. Her jaw clenched and her eyes went wide, staring vacantly at the couch cushion in front of her. Was Hero breathing? If she was, she didn't feel it.

"Won't talk to me on the phone and now not in person either, hm?"

Goosebumps rose along her arms as she heard the villain stepping closer. How had he gotten in? She turned. "How did you find me? Where did you get my information? What else do you know?" Information being both her address and phone number, maybe even her specific phone if he was able to block her communications the way he did.

Villain looked so casual, he always did. You'd never expect him to be a madman who plotted humanity's demise. He looked like a fancy historian; brown pants, black turtleneck, plaid and half buttoned jacket. He had his hands planted in his pants pockets now. Hero still had no idea how he managed to get inside of her apartment.

He chuckled at her uptight-ness. "Can't we just chat for once- for a minute before you question my how-comings and motives?"

"No," Hero responded shortly.

Villain fake-pouted. "How's come? You and your friend seem great. I would love to gossip to you the same way."

Hero rolled her eyes. Her shoulders were still tense, but she was relaxing- not so far that she wasn't prepared, but just enough that she wasn't uptight beyond movement. "You didn't answer me. What else do you know? How did you learn anything about me?"

He smiled at her. "Now that's a fun story. Guess I get to monologue after all."

"Make it short."

"Or what?" He dazzled her with a wider smile, one that showed teeth. Was it just her or were they sharpened? It was just her, definitely just her- and her anxiety, her terror.

Villain strode to the chair Hero had been sitting in just minutes ago. He plopped down, ankle on knee, arms on either side. "Go on," he told her. "Sit."

"Maybe you should stand."

He chuckled without moving. "Darling, I don't think you understand how easy I have been on you. In multiple ways, actually." His eyes fell from her own to the couch behind her. "Sit." Villain looked at Hero again and she swore something changed in his eyes. They almost seemed darker. She obeyed.

"Now, I think you recall that little stalker of your friend?" Hero squinted, but nodded. "Did you know he's able to take up the appearance of anyone he wishes?" He didn't wait for a response. "In that, he's also able to project his own appearance onto bystanders, even control what they would do as him. Very talented, very...mindfully aware."

Hero shook her head. "Where are you going with this?"

He shushed her, softly, as if she was a baby. "He came under my employment about a month ago. Remind me," he said, "how long ago it was that your friend became ill."

Her eyes went wide and she nearly launched from her seat, realizing what he meant. Villain might attack her if she acted out so suddenly though. Hero remained seated.

"What have you done with her?" she demanded. It made sense what he said. Whoever his worker was, he made himself look like Friend 2 then made anyone else appear like him. But where was Friend 2 if she hadn't been with Hero and Friend all along?

"Nothing too dastardly. She isn't starving, but I'm sure she would appreciate a nice chicken dinner."

"And Friend?" she asked, somewhat panicked. Friend was okay, she had to be. Yeah, the phone call ended somewhat abruptly, but that was just because Villain interfered. Beyond that, she was fine, right?

Villain shrugged. "What do you think?"

Her eyes stung with tears she refused to let fall. She shook her head. "Why are you here? What are you doing?"

"Entertaining myself mostly. You're my opponent. I wanted to brag."

"I'll kill you," she swore. "If not tonight, I will find you like you did me, and I'll kill you when I do."

Villain's eyes twinkled from afar. "Cute. Very cute." He laughed heartily. "I told you already that I've been easy on you, right?" Again, he didn't wait for an answer. "I'm here for more than bragging rights. I want you to come with me. I've given you opportunity enough to back down on your own; I'm giving you another now. Come with, or I'll have to force your hand."

Her eyes became squinted and her lip lifted. "I'm sorry?"

"Surrender," Villain said simply. His legs uncrossed and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "If you don't I'll take you away forcibly."

Hero huffed a laugh. "As if you could. When have you ever bested me?" In truth, she was terrified. He was being serious, no amusement crossing his features. And the number of times he'd mentioned 'going easy on her'...what if he was telling the truth?

"Try something now then. Lunge at me." His lips were in a straight line. No emotion.

She considered him. Serious. He's serious. Villain was inviting her to attack him. Maybe she should take the opportunity.

Without another thought, she leaped from the couch, ready to tackle Villain, even though he was in a chair. She would have knocked the whole chair back if she could. But, something stopped her, a- a wall of sorts, one that glimmered like a bubble. "What-?" She touched that wall. Her fingers couldn't pass through. Shaking her head, she spun on a heel trying to return to the couch. Unfortunately she ran into another wall. "You're doing this," Hero muttered, facing Villain once again. She swallowed seeing his smile.

"So, you'll come with on your own. Otherwise I can push you along myself, and I think that would be rather humiliating, don't you?"

"This doesn't prove anything. You can push me, but you can't command me."

"Isn't it the same?" Villain sighed seeing Hero's fiery stubbornness. "Fine then. Let's have a little charade." He stood from Hero's chair, face forming into something...something Hero didn't quite understand. "I forgot to grab something to drink before I came here. Do you have something for me to drink, Hero?"

Her lips moved. "Yes, of course, Villain. Let me show you to the kitchen." Her hand flew to her mouth afterward. She hadn't said that. She hadn't said that. Hero's eyes found Villain's.

"Lead the way," he said.

Hero's feet moved on their own, leading the two to her kitchen despite how she tried to resist. She couldn't even feel herself pulling back. There was no resistance except for in her thoughts. She began unwillingly talking again. "There's some water bottles in the bottom right drawer. Fruit punch juice boxes on the left- though my younger cousin will be disappointed when she finds not only me missing, but her juice as well." 'When she finds not only me missing.' So this was how Villain would take her, by commanding her just like she said he couldn't.

What was almost worse was that what Villain made her say was exactly right. Water bottles, bottom right drawer. Fruit punch juice boxes in the left drawer. One of three things could have happened. One, Villain had that stalker, body-switching guy, go through her home while she was gone. Two, Villain himself went through her house while Hero was absent, or when he somehow snuck into her house while simultaneously messing with her phone today. Three, he had access to her mind. The last one would have sounded ridiculous if it weren't for the way Villain was controlling her now.

"You're realizing you have no choice now, aren't you?"

Hero nodded her head. She couldn't tell whether it was her doing it or if Villain was still possessing her. Either way, he was right.

"Why?" she asked. Villain tilted his head. Hero believed he could have gotten his answer if he wanted. Still, she continued, "Why are you doing this? Taking me? Is it not enough that you've taken my friends?"

Her body turned to the exit. She began walking through, walking to the front door of her apartment. They were really leaving. She was going to get sick.

"I'm tired of you fighting is all. It will be much easier to accomplish my goals if I don't have to worry about turning you away every time."

"Then kill me." She swallowed after she said it. Hero didn't really want him to kill her, but she also didn't want to be taken. Villain said Friend 2 was okay, not starving, but would certainly be happier if she was given more. Hero had a feeling she wouldn't be given the same treatment. Villain might actually starve her because of her putting a kink in all of his plans, for not surrendering when she was given multiple chances to.

"Am I really so awful to be around?" Villain asked behind her as she led the way to the elevators. "I should think my style makes up for any unpleasantness. This jacket was bought yesterday. I'm rather dashing in it, aren't I?"

Just as unwillingly as before, Hero said, "Yes, very."

******

Requests are accepted!

[whumpywhumper]

Ohh can we have some uh 'painful wound cleaning' for the BTHB? That is such an underused trope, but damn is it good -S

So this ask has been sitting in my box for like. . . a year? Sorry it took so long 😅 @badthingshappenbingo prompt

Tagging: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @captivity-whump @insanitywishes @oceanthesarcasamfox @walkingchemicalfire @voidwhump @imagination1reality0 

Huge thanks to both @0idril0 and @rosesareviolentlyread I couldn’t ask for a better hype team 

Follows directly after: Help Me Find You and here is the Masterpost

PAINFUL WOUND CLEANING 

V***V 

“Oh, good. You’re awake, darling.”

Amused, Lucien looked down at the witch as he leaned against the door frame. He watched as his newest acquisition moaned pitifully, wet tear tracks glistening on his cheeks from the overhead fluorescent lighting. Lucien knew that the first injection was always the hardest on his prey, the victim’s body not knowing how to make sense of the toxin, the venom wreaking havoc on their senses. The witch was no different. Markus was visibly trembling, curled on his side, his tall frame wracked with spasms as he tried, and failed, to move away from the door.

He wouldn’t be able to for a while yet. There was enough venom in Markus’s system, by Lucien’s instincts, to keep the witch down for days. He had absolutely flooded the other man with it in an effort to neutralize him long enough to get him to the nest, and even a day later, the smell of it was thick and heavy with every pulse of the witch’s heart. The venom did more than keep Markus down though, it marked him as Lucien’s, and any other vampire would be facing the Elder’s wrath if they tried to claim the witch’s blood for their own.

Markus was Lucien’s to do with as he pleased. To hurt, to bleed, to take apart piece by piece. That possessive thought made him rumble deep in his chest, the sound making Markus flinch and softly gasp. The predator part of Lucien’s brain picked up on the pain, disorientation and confusion his darling was expressing. The vulnerability. All for Lucien.

It was delicious. Intoxicating. He wanted more.

His venom glands throbbed with the burgeoning desire to release more of his toxin into the long column of Markus’s throat, to throw the writhing anguish of the witch into a tailspin so that every lungful of air was an agonized gasp, every flutter of skin over thudding arteries was a bruising throb. It would be easier if the witch gave in, let his brain accept the chemicals that would light up the pleasure center in his brain, so that all he would feel was ecstasy. But this had its own appeal, its own power that added to the high of magic in Lucien’s belly. The Elder had  downed something powerful enough to make lesser predators afraid, and Lucien had turned it into his own private feast of pain and blood.

Lucien let his lips pull away from his fangs in a smile, eyes coating with black as he allowed the predator under his skin to stretch, appreciating the moment. His tongue pressed against the swollen glands in his mouth, skittering jolts of pleasure running down his spine. The Elder knew the effects of his own venom intimately. Not as vicious as a Red like Christine’s, not as intoxicating as a White’s. His venom rode the line, and the harder Markus fought against it, the more it would make him feel sick and drugged, like every movement was tearing his muscles apart.

Based on the pained whimper that punched out of Markus’s chest as he squeezed his gorgeous, green eyes closed, he was fighting it hard.

It was easier, usually, to control his prey if Lucien glamoured them into giving in, glamoured into going under with waves of pleasure so that they were malleable and compliant, but that wouldn’t work with a witch. All but the weakest would be able to fight off a vampire’s glamour, one of their few defense mechanisms, and Markus was anything but a weak witch.

The magic in the other man’s blood had almost knocked him on his ass as he’d tasted it.  Rich and earthy, full of subtle notes of honey and spices. Even a day later, Lucien’s slow metabolism was still working through the residual magic, the high thrumming through his system. Not to mention the fact that Markus had put up a hell of a fight for being unprepared, injured, and taken by surprise. Lucien could still feel his face burning from the direct burst of sunlight to his skin, his glamour blowing apart, the way he’d been thrown through the air with only a word. It was fucking impressive.

If Markus had been prepared for him in that alley? Lucien wouldn’t have been able to take him, and the Elder wasn’t going to refuse this gift of coincidence.

The dynamic pull of the promise of strong prey had Lucien scenting the air, and the sweet smell of magic laced blood made his mouth water and his venom glands swell further. His eyes were drawn inexorably to where he’d quickly bound the gunshot wound in Markus’s shoulder. The temporary dressing was soaked through, dark red blooming through the white gauze.

Lucien wanted to feed, but the wound needed to be cleaned or the witch was going to die of infection before Lucien could enjoy him.

He stepped forward, dropping the heavy, black bag dangling from his hand onto the hard concrete with a thump. His rumble turned into a purr when the witch flinched, little noises of pain tripping out of his mouth like daisies in a field, and pushed the door closed behind him. Trapping them together in the small room. They would be moving back to the nest soon, but he wouldn’t give Markus any opportunity to escape, however unlikely.

Markus whimpered when the door slammed home, muscles tightening under his faded t-shirt as he shifted away from the noise. Lucien tutted, moving slowly toward the witch like one would a wounded animal. “Don’t worry, darling,” he crooned, “I promised I’d take good care of you, didn’t I?”

Kneeling next to Markus, he pressed his fangs into his lower lip to still his growing grin as the witch blinked rapidly, eyes wide as he tried to focus on the predator above him. He reached down to put his fingers through Markus’s sweat damp hair, but the witch jerked back, crying out as the venom tore through his body.

Lucien chuckled softly, finishing the movement to wrap a handful of silky strands around his fingers. “You can’t get away from me that easily, darling.” The witch’s breathing was turning sharp and panicked, and Lucien drank in those unfocused green eyes that stared up at him with dazed terror before pulling his hair, stretching the long column of his throat so he could see the sealed bite wound over his jugular.

Markus groaned, eyes squeezing shut, and another possessive thrill ran up Lucien’s spine, his purr deepening as he pressed his thumb against it. The pulse of blood under the other man’s skin was so alive, frantic and pumping with abandon. The witch’s breath hitched when he moved his injured arm, ostensibly to push away Lucien’s hand, the scent of fresh blood filling the air as he aggravated the bullet wound.  

The vampire shuddered, glands filling with more venom as the urge to bite became almost unbearable. He swallowed thickly, tasting the venom that spurted out onto his tongue. “God, you’re not going to be good for my self control, beautiful.”

The witch’s eyes cracked open to glare up at Lucien, his weak flare of defiance subsumed by delirious terror. “Fuck off,” he panted, trying to pull away from Lucien’s hold on him. The Elder couldn’t have that. He tightened the grip he had on the witch’s hair, other hand sliding from his neck to grab a hold of his bicep tight enough to bruise. “AH!”

“We’ve talked about you being nicer to me, Markus,” he murmured in warning, “that’s no way to treat the person caring for you.”

Markus turned his face down toward the floor with a tight groan, but he didn’t try to get free again, his breaths coming in short, staccato jerks. From this close, the Elder could hear every strangled noise that Markus’s corded jaw held back, could feel how his lax muscles faintly trembled under his grasp. Licking his lips, the vampire loosened his hold on Markus’s bicep, running his hand over the warm, exposed skin of his arm as he examined the stained gauze wrapped around the witch’s shoulder.

Lucien didn’t like using a gun, the waste and damage of it irritating him, going against his usual methodology. But, after Chicago, he wasn’t in the mood to run down his preferred prey.

He let the glamour hiding his claws fade away, the sharp tips allowing him to cut through the blood glutted gauze easily. Markus flinched at the soft skkrt of ripping fabric, hair pulling taught under Lucien’s other hand. “So jumpy,” the vampire taunted, drinking in Markus’s pained moan as he pulled the pressure pads away from the injury, “I told you I was taking care of you, Markus. The least you can do is believe me.”

Markus whimpered, eyes wide with impotent fury as he drew agonized breaths through fear clenched teeth, weakly struggling to get away from Lucien’s restraining hands.  The defiance was beautiful. Even overpowered and terrified out of his mind, the witch wasn’t surrendering to him. Making Lucien fight for every inch of dominance.

It thrilled him, made every noise a surrender.

Lucien couldn’t hold back his chuckle, his claws shredding through Markus’s t-shirt to expose the witch’s shoulder, ignoring the weak squirming and half-voice protests as more and more skin was revealed. “S-stop, fuck--nnn!”

“I have to see it to treat it, darling,” he purred, releasing the other’s black hair to settle along the join between the witch’s shoulder and neck, preparing to hold him down. Slowly, carefully, he palpated the area around the bullet hole, fingers staining red as they smeared through fresh blood.

Markus’s eyes screwed shut, throat working on a muffled scream as he tried to jerk away from the pain. “Now, now, darling,” Lucien scolded, pressing him down, exerting enough pressure to bruise as he controlled the other man’s movement. Despite Markus’s weak struggles, Lucien kept the witch on his side so he could see the entry and exit wounds before dragging the bag he’d brought in closer. Straddling Markus’s stomach, his powerful legs caging in the witch’s torso, Lucien reached over to slide open the zipper, revealing his medical supplies.

Before he got started, he slowly pet through Markus’s sweat damp hair, his thumb brushing over his tear streaked cheek to spread the salty moisture. “I guess I should have expected that you wouldn’t be able to hold still yourself,” he murmured, feeling the clench and release of Markus’s abs as the witch panted through the pain. He brought his hand back to Markus’s throat, making the witch still under him as his claws pricked against the delicate skin.

Lucien revelled, for a moment, in the satisfaction of holding his prey down. His eyelids fluttered, and he swallowed a sticky gush of venom as he took in a deep breath of blood scented air. The simple act of pinning Markus against his best efforts to get away soothed some of the predatory drive that was pulling at him, telling him to feed and subdue. The undeniable control settling some fractured part of his soul.

Groaning under his breath, his blood  stained hand followed the line of Markus’s arm to find his wrist, squeezing hard enough to hear the bones grind together. “Though, I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy your struggling, beautiful--” he leaned forward, pressing a kiss against the bloody ball of Markus’s shoulder, “--it will probably hurt less if you don’t.”  

“Lemme go,” Markus whimpered, voice thick and slurring, his wrist flexing in Lucien’s grip. Behind him, the Elder heard the other man’s feet seeking purchase on the floor, but Lucien’s weight was more than enough to keep his weak prey in place.

“Darling,” Lucien crooned, a smile in his voice, “you’re not going anywhere.” His long fingers spread around Markus’s throat, squeezing until the witch’s breathing turned into a harsh wheeze. “Now, shhh, stop struggling.”

Markus’s Adam’s apple bobbed against his palm as the witch struggled to breathe, his eyelids fluttering  as his oxygen was restricted. His lips separated, mouth slung open on a desperate gasp as he started shaking in earnest. His already weak struggles weakened further, ugly wheezing his only movement until Lucien let up. He didn’t remove his hand completely, but the witch stayed still, a low sob coloring his next inhale. “Good boy,” Lucien praised softly,  “good boy.”

<~>

“Good boy,” the man murmured, his voice barely audible over the frantic pounding of Markus’s heart, “Good boy.”

Markus whimpered, red hot shame filling his lungs as he dragged in another mouthful of air, his head pounding from the lack of oxygen. His body refused to do more than shake, too weak and addled to do anything other than obey the implacable command to stop struggling. The hand resting on his throat and the impossible weight straddling his torso reinforced the fact that he was helpless. At the mercy of someone much stronger than himself.

He wanted his magic, but he couldn’t sense the energies in the air, the touch of bare skin against his own igniting nothing more than rabbit-like fear. Mindless terror infested Markus’s muddied thoughts, scattering them like roaches. Nothing made sense without his magic, he’d never been without it, and every rational, decision-making part of Markus’s brain was on the verge of jibbering screams.

I want Illyn back, please, fuck, just stop.

His bad arm was manipulated at the wrist, trapping it with the other man’s knee against Markus’s belly, and a ragged moan dragged itself out of the witch’s mouth like reluctant roadkill. The noise entwined with the lingering ache of his esophagus as air rasped through his vocal cords, and he swallowed past the cottony taste of dehydration.

With his eyelashes clumped together against his cheeks, Markus couldn’t see what his captor was doing, but the sudden jettison of liquid against his shoulder made him cry out as the throbbing bullet wound ignited. Markus screamed, bucking up against the heavy weight over his torso, his pained shout transforming into choked sobs as the assault didn’t let up. The liquid spread down his chest to soak his shredded shirt and puddle on the ground. Markus shuddered, every jerking inhale an agonized moan through numb lips as the flush moved to the exit wound.

“Easy, darling,” crooned the honey-coated voice, strong hand still an unforgiving shackle around Markus’s neck, “just have to clean it out.”  

Markus swallowed back more dazed sobs, the hollow ache in his shoulder spreading up his neck and down under his sternum, stealing the strength from every heartbeat as more acidic pain pulsed through him.  He flinched when something clattered in front of his face. Blinking open tear blurred eyes, he made out an empty bottle of saline, the innocuous plastic so out of place that it didn’t even make sense to the overwhelmed witch.  

A wet breath hissed through Markus’s teeth, and he shivered. His damp skin chilled in the cold air of the concrete cell, eyelids fluttering as the cold rooted its way through his shocky system. Stop, please, stop. He couldn’t tell if the words pushed past his rebellious tongue or were left to burn their way through his skull, but, mercifully, nothing else was poured into the raw wound in his shoulder.

Black licked at the lingering remains of his excoriated consciousness,  and Markus felt the bruising grip on his throat release as something was pressed firmly against his shoulder. He couldn’t hear the faint, half-formed moans that caught in his throat, and he didn’t have enough control of his body to resist as his arm was moved. The hollow ache transformed into a numb kind of overwhelming agony that wasn’t soothed even as he realized the bullet wound was just being bandaged.

His eyelids fluttered, pain rocking through him again as a hand ran through his hair, the strands at the back of his head grabbed and tugged so that Markus’s slack features were drawn up toward the light. The breath stuttered in Markus’s chest, the movement like spiked chains pulling tight from the base of his skull down his spine, forcing his scant attention on his captor.

There was the impression of blond hair and pale skin before black coated eyes registered, and Markus’s heart sped frantically, fear curdling sour and heavy in his stomach. He made a truly pathetic sound as the vampire, the belated realization sliding in to join his venom laden blood, leaned over him, breath ghosting across his face. He tried to move away, but the air was knocked from his lungs as he was shoved from his side and onto his back.

Markus gasped, lungs refusing to expand for an infinite moment until his diaphragm ripped free of his spinal cord, and a harsh, agonized gulp of air forced its way down his throat. His head was drawn further back, the angle awkward and painful as a low, malicious laugh caressed his ears. “Something you’re scared of, darling?” A cold hand forced its way under the ragged edge of Markus’s ripped, wet shirt, resting heavily over his sternum. “Your heart is about to beat right out of your chest.”

“S-stop,” he stuttered, voice faint, strained, “you can’t—“

“Shhhh,” long fingers pressed over Markus’s lips, silencing his tattered protests, “I can, and I will. You can’t stop me, Markus,” he chuckled as black eyes examined him, a slow, lazy smile revealing long fangs, “you can’t even try.”

Cold, bottomless dread seated itself in Markus’s chest. Taking cozy residence as tears slipped down his temples, and he trembled.  

“You can call me Lucien, little witch,” the vampire said, voice thick with anticipation as he lowered his face, nose brushing along the line of Markus’s exposed throat. The witch was instinctually conscious of the  thud of his pulse, how thin the skin was that separated his life-blood from sharp, piercing fangs, “and, you and I, we are going to get very well acquainted.”

[certainempatheticturkeymuffin]

BTHB PT 2

Hey @badthingshappenbingo I fuflilled the second prompt: Surrender.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29527548

It's...a very loose interpretation, but it works. I was supposed to be doing Lotus-eater Machine, but this popped into my head and wouldn't go away. I'm also putting way too much effort into Lotus-eater machine, so :P

Anyway, this one is WAY worse than Cramping regarding angst, so I used a brighter color.

Again, sorry for the potato, I had to use mobile this time with....interesting results.

[whumpshots]

BTHB - Secret Revealed

Submitted by anonymous. Thanks for the submission, Ah hope ye enjoy! It has been quite some time since Ah last posted a BTHB prompt, but here we go!

He gritted his teeth at the sight in front of him. There were too many of them, there was no way out. Taking a deep breath, he looked at younger his colleague, shaking his head once to show him that it was too late. They had to surrender to survive. With a nod, the young man showed him that he understood and they threw their weapons on the ground, raising their hands over their heads. 

It is the only way.

There is no other way out.

I need a plan. A goddamn plan.

Without hesitation, the other men stepped forward, weapons drawn and ready to shoot at any moment, even though there was no need. The older man needed a plan to get them out of here, but first he had to see who they were dealing with. His eyes widened only for a second as he saw a man stepping forward.

A man he knew. He knew him well.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, Carter,” the tall man began and smirked. Eyes and face seemed amused, but Carter knew that he was not. Their eyes locked for a moment and he felt a hand on his shoulder that forced him to his knees. He obeyed, but not without staring into the leader’s eyes. He hated him. Hated him with every fibre of his being. 

A smirk made his stomach turn. He smirked at his colleague and Carter knew that he had to act quickly. But before he could say anything, the tall man stepped forward and drew his weapon, pressing it on the young man’s forehead, who looked up in defiance. 

“Well, Carter. I am sure you don’t want me to shoot this kid, don’t you?” He laughed, not looking up, locking eyes with the kid. “I am also sure that he has no idea who you were before all this bullshit. Who you still are, am I right? You are still pissed - that’s why you came back.”

Carter struggled against the two men who had their hands on his shoulders, weapons ready. No, this couldn’t be it. He didn’t want anyone to know ... this. But the kid? He could never let him know what he did. What he did in the past. Before he started working for the other side, now patching that young man up again and again, helping others and trying to be a better man.

“Go on. We are listening. Or do you want me to shoot him right here and right now? Go on. We have time. All the time in the world.” This time he looked up, raising an eyebrow. 

The tall man and Carter looked each other in the eyes, both staring down the other, but Carter knew that this was a game he couldn’t win. He knew that his past life would come back and hit him in the face some time, even quite literally, but he didn’t want anyone else to suffer from his mistakes. A defeated sigh escaped his lips and he nodded. “Fine.”

His colleague was forced to look at him, his eyes widened in confusion. He did not seem to be bothered by the weapon pointed at him, he had been through worse. Both of them had been through worse. But this moment ... it was Carter’s personal nightmare. What he was about to tell him ... 

“Listen, that was years ago. I ... I wasn’t always the man you know now. I have done things in my life that are unacceptable, but when I had the chance, I left this life behind me. I became a better person, a better version of myself and-”

“That is not what I meant, Carter. Tell him about your past. How you killed people for money. Men, women, even children. You worked for me and you were one of the best. And then you left. You left for ... this.” He gestured at the young man, kneeling in front of him. “You suddenly grew a conscience, patching up the last person you shot because he didn’t die directly. You always lived with the consequences. What made you change your mind?”

This time, the young man’s eyes widened in shock and he looked down. It was true, Carter had been sent to kill him, but he had survived. When he had found him bleeding on the floor and taking panicked breaths, he just couldn’t let him die. He didn’t even know what had been the reason for him to change his mind. For years he had questioned his work. But seeing the scared boy struggling to breathe and covering his wound with shaky hands ... 

“It was you. You changed my mind. I had to help you to survive, but you had to help me to become a better person. Please, you need to understand this. I have never had anyone, never knew anything besides this.” Carter’s voice had a begging sound to it that made him feel like the most worthless creature in existence. Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn’t. 

And he needed an answer. Because he could see the face of disbelief staring down at the ground, shaken to the core and probably questioning his very life. 

I need a plan. A goddamn plan.

__

TBC?

[freefallingup13]

one word prompt: fruit salad

I’m actually surprised I got this on my main blog instead of my writing prompts one lmao, did you follow from there or did I not pay attention and ask for prompts here lmao (also really neat if you just offered a prompt, I’m so tired I can’t think of which reason this is lmao) (Also anon for the BTHB request, it is in the works! It will be coming out... as SOON as I figure out what I want in a sickfic alskdjf;aoeiwfjadkf)

Fruit Salad (Jaren’s Puppy)

Masterlist

CW: This is a pet whump/slavery fic, if I continue to post more of this story there will be dubcon and noncon.This one doesn’t have anything very whumpy, just an intimate male whumper. As always, Whumpee is a girl  and the Whumper is called “Master”.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Toni rested her cheek against her Master’s chest as they sat. He was talking to some ambassador from another coven - they seemed to be one of the smarter ones, quick to negotiate, quick to surrender. It pleased her Master.

When her stomach growled, she cringed, burying her face in her Master’s shirt. Embarrassing to make such a noise, and in front of a guest...

“Oh, Puppy.” Her Master cooed, stroking her hair. He was smiling at her when she peeked up at him. “You didn’t say you were hungry.”

Glancing at the ambassador, she adjusted herself in her Master’s lap. “I... didn’t want to disturb your meeting, Master,” she said quietly, her ears pinned against her head.

Jaren couldn’t help but laugh, waving a servant over. “Don’t you worry about that, Pup,” he said as he nodded to the servant. “You’ve been so good. You deserve a treat.”

Toni managed a small smile as she looked back down, curling up in his lap. Master seemed happy; he liked the easier takeovers.

A few minutes later, a bowl was placed onto the table in front of them. It had a small pile of fruit in it - grapes, berries, melon. It was a very colorful array.

Without skipping a beat, Jaren continued to talk, leaning forward to pick up a piece of fruit. Toni began to reach out as well, but he took her wrist into his free hand. “No need, Pup,” he chided her lightly, leaning back. He loved the little, insecure looks that she would give him, her eyebrows tented and her eyes wide with just a little bit of fear.

He smiled as he pressed the berry to her lips. She let out a noise of confusion, parting her lips. It wasn’t enough to even taste the thing, he noticed. She must have been so used to letting him in instinctively when he touched her lips. The thought made his grin grow wider.

“Eat up, Puppy,” he whispered to her. She gave him one more look before taking the fruit from his fingers, careful not to bite him or let any juice drip onto their clothes.

He continued to feed her like this until the bowl was empty, never ceasing his demands of the ambassador. More territory. More troops. Blood and prey offerings. Toni didn’t listen. She never needed to listen. Besides, she was being good. Master was giving her a treat. Why would she need to care?