#cosmetic whump

[whumpsandwhimpers]

Okay so I've seen some people talk about corset piercings in whump but oho THIS

CORSET PIERCINGS IN WHUMP!!!

[basementwhumpworm]

Oh boy actually serious scenario this time but hear me out—

💔💄Beauty/Fashion based whumps💄💔

Whumpee who reduces themselves to a living doll in the way they feel like they’re only valuable as a pretty thing for people to look at.

Whumpee who gets blisters from the leather or zippers on their shoes rubbing against their heels

Whumper who makes Whumpee feel self conscious of how they look and change to appeal to Whumper

Or instead of dressing for others Whumpee uses fashion as a way to vent about their issues

Whumpee who refuses to wear things appropriate for the weather because they can’t make what they’re going for look good for the life of them

Sick Whumpee who’s too weak to make themselves look presentable and feels embarrassed when caretaker has to see them like that (Bonus: caretaker gives Whumpee a makeover to entertain them while they’re resting)

You know how some eyeshadow palettes have highlighters that you can mix up for white eyeshadow if you don’t read it properly? Yeah let’s give Whumpee some eye irritation from overusing it on accident lol

This is getting to long but when in doubt ✨allergic reactions✨

[magnusapix]

Sap

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 70: Alexander's Punishment

Previous > Masterlist > Next

tw: mind control, body control, captivity, hand whump, eye whump, everything whump, stabbing, psychological torment

September 1905

There was no possibility of Fitz relaxing, of course. Not when both his fate and Lex's hung in the balance. Not when tonight would make the difference between a life of freewheeling theater and travel and laughter and a life where his body was no longer his own and his mind was tortured out of him bit by agonizing bit.

He idly flipped through a catalog that Lily had left on her coffee table, trying to trick himself into being interested in fine wool housecoats and imported cosmetics. The tick of the cuckoo clock on the wall was loud enough to be deafening, and the cheerful floral wallpaper felt as though it were closing on on him. He wished that he could pray -- but then, none of the gods he'd ever heard of were likely to want to help a vampire succeed in his mission.

Lex usually tried to conceal his feelings from Fitz, blocking off their shared mental connection, but tonight was different, perhaps because all of his mental efforts were directed towards controlling his platoon of vampire hunters. Fitz could feel his fear, tempered by his determination, and just the briefest flashes of hope. At one point, Lex consciously reached out to Fitz, calming him, and Fitz closed his eyes and allowed himself to soak up the comfort.

His chest ached with the intensity of Lex's fear.

The cuckoo clock was becoming unbearable.

A sudden terror washed over Fitz, and then everything went quiet. Fitz's heart skipped a beat, knowing what this might mean and wishing he didn't. And then Lex's command echoed through his mind, clear as a bell.

"Run."

The clock chimed.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself, standing up. It was over. The worst had happened. They'd lost.

He had to go. That's what Lex wanted him to do. Lex had handed him a small fortune in loose bills and very clear instructions, and Fitz had no desire to still be here when Lex's sire arrived. He could hail a cab, get to the train station, hop on the first train out. He could ride it as far as it would go, or hop in another state and try to get on a boat to another country -- somewhere he couldn't be found. He needed to do it right now, before it was too late.

His hands felt slick with sweat as he grasped the wad of bills. He knew exactly what he needed to do, but actually doing it meant acknowledging the worst -- that Lex had lost, that the future they'd hoped for had gone up in smoke, that he'd probably never see Lex again. That he might be lucky if he never saw Lex again.

He really should have known that this was all too good to be true.

Just as Fitz dug deep for the willpower needed to get his feet moving, Lily appeared in the doorway of the parlor, disheveled. "Lily," Fitz croaked, his mouth gone dry. "I think Lex failed. I need to leave now."

"Mmm." She looked intently at the floor, not moving from the doorway.

"You could go too. There's still a few hours before sunrise, but I don't know what you'd do after that. But I don't think you want to face your sire either," he said. "But I have to run now. I need to make it to the train station before…"

"Showtime, Fitz."

Fitz's eyes went wide, his mind starting to shut down before he could even register what was happening. "What? Why?" he asked, struggling to keep his eyes open as he began to slump over.

"Shh." Lily approached him, taking him in her arms and laying his head on her shoulder, stroking the back of his head. Fitz was fighting the enthrallment with everything he had, but he still couldn't pull away from her. "Shh, Fitz, it's showtime. Just sleep now, Fitz."

"Don't…"

"I'm sorry. I really am sorry this time. I don't want to do this, but I had an order from my sire, just a few moments ago. I have to keep you here, or else he'll torture my Nellie along with you." She brought Fitz, now limp and pliable against his will, over to the couch, and laid him down with his head in her lap.

The floral wallpaper was a blur as his eyelids began to flutter shut. "You betrayed me. You betrayed Lex," he managed.

"I can't simply disobey my sire, and Lex knows that. He knows this is a consequence of his failure. I'm sorry. I know it doesn't mean much that I'm sorry, but I am. But you'll be taken either way, don't you see? Even if I tried to help you escape, he'd only hunt us both down. It's better this way." She pet Fitz gently as he fell under her spell. "For what it's worth, Lex couldn't save me either."

Perhaps he was just imagining it because his vision was blurring, but Lex thought he saw tears in her eyes. "What do you…?"

"Shhh, just sleep. Get some rest and comfort while you can. Just sleep, dear, and have a lovely dream."

A loud, crisp snap caused him to open his eyes. He was no longer on the couch with Lily. Instead, he was in in the middle of a nightmare. He was standing ramrod straight, stiff as a board, in front of the Maestro. His pitch black suit made him look like a tear in the fabric of reality.

The panic within him felt like it would make his heart leap from his chest. Lex had just tried to kill him. They both had. If the Maestro had burned him merely for showing off on the auction house stage, what would he do as revenge for attempted murder? Fitz was very certain that he'd be better off dead.

The only small comfort was the wound on the Maestro's neck, mostly concealed by his collar, but visible nonetheless. At least one person had managed to touch the untouchable.

"Good evening, Fitzwilliam," said Lex's sire in that musical voice that did not reveal his cruelty. "It seems as though Alexander was eager for me to begin your training a day early."

Fitz wasn't sure his question would be tolerated, but he had to ask anyway. "Where is he, sir?"

"Alexander is in his customary cell in my dungeon, bound in silver. He will remain there without comfort and without blood for some time. He has not yet been punished, as I needed to collect you first."

Apparently, being locked in a dungeon and bound in burning metal didn't count as punishment. "I would like to see him, sir," he said. Maybe if he could at least see Lex, and put on a brave face, it would give him some small relief -- which was why he was certain the Maestro would not allow it.

"And so you shall," said the Maestro, to Fitz's surprise. "Lily."

"Yes, sire."

Fitz hadn't even realized that Lily was standing behind him until she stepped forward. She looked only at her sire, as though Fitz weren't even there, resignation written on her face.

"Oh, Lily." The Maestro took her hand gently, oh so gently, and ran his hand over hers several times before snapping her index finger with a sickening crack. "You knew about this." He snapped her middle finger. Lily barely flinched. "You knew about this, and you didn't see fit to warn me." Her ring finger was next. Fitz felt lightheaded from the sounds and the sight of her digits unnaturally bent. "I can understand why you didn't. You'd be a fool if you didn't wish me dead, and I know very well you aren't a fool." Her smallest finger was bent all the way backwards. "You aren't a fool, unlike your sire-brother. That's why I'm so disappointed in you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sire," she said, her voice wavering.

"I will attend to your further punishment later, but I must see to Alexander tonight," he said. "You will need to be patient."

"Yes, sire."

"Very well then, I'm off. Follow." He snapped at Fitz, and Fitz's body followed him out the door as though he were a wind-up toy soldier, his legs refusing to obey him no matter how much he pleaded.

The night breeze blew through his hair, and Fitz wondered if this was the last time he'd ever feel it. Was this the last of his autonomy? Would he ever be free again? He'd squandered his precious freedom while he'd had it, always wanting more, more, more. And now he would have nothing, not even his own body and mind.

There was a carriage waiting outside of Lex's house, and it was, unsurprisingly, as black as the night, with black horses to match. The Maestro didn't acknowledge the coachman as he entered the carriage, pulling Fitz in after him, and Fitz guessed that this was another thrall. Fitz found himself compelled to sit next to Lex's sire -- no, his new master, wasn't he? -- as the carriage lurched forward.

Fitz was a child again, sitting up straight next to his father, watching and listening so carefully for the inevitable disapproval and punishment.

The Maestro took one of Fitz's hands. His skin was like a doll's, or like fine china, smooth and cold. Fitz couldn't stop himself from letting out a whimper, sure that his fingers were about to be broken just like Lily's. But instead, the Maestro rolled up one of his sleeves and ran a finger up his arm.

"Exquisite. I will need to exercise caution when I scar you, lest I mar the canvas."

"Scar me, sir?"

"You should realize that I am presenting you with an opportunity that few are ever given, the opportunity to be made perfect. You should be grateful."

Fitz swallowed hard. "Yes, I am grateful, sir." Before he could register it, his ears were ringing from the slap to his face.

"You lie very prettily, but you still lie."

Fitz knew this game. Search for the thing that would appease him and spare Fitz the pain. "I will have to learn to appreciate the opportunity, sir."

"Better." The Maestro sighed and leaned back just slightly, not relaxing at all, still as stiff as a steel bar. "I was expecting a quiet evening before all of this nonsense began, you know."

He couldn't actually expect Fitz to feel sorry for him, did he? Fitz kept his head low and said nothing, wondering what the punishment would be for ignoring his new master.

Several long minutes passed by in silence before Fitz realized he wasn't being punished. His body was still in the vampire's grip, but the Maestro himself was staring out the window as they rode through city streets.

Fitz took what little range of movement he was allowed to look out the window himself. If only he weren't being held, he could take this moment to leap from the carriage and flee. The momentary fantasy danced before his eyes -- running through alleyways to evade the vampires, begging and busking for money, leaving on the farthest train out of town before the sun set the next day.

It was all just a fleeting fantasy to take his mind away from the present moment, one which crumbled to dust when they arrived at the Maestro's manor. It managed to be as foreboding as its occupant, surrounded by a high wrought iron fence and a stone courtyard. Every window was shuttered, with no hope for sunlight in daytime and no indication of life at night. The paint and trim were eerily pristine for a house so old that otherwise appeared to be abandoned, as though it were frozen in a time long gone.

As he drew nearer to the dread entrance, Fitz strained as hard as he could to stop himself from following along behind the vampire and sealing his fate, to no avail. All too soon, the moon and the stars and the city streets were gone, possibly for good.

The inside of the manor was pitch dark, the only light the faint flicker of a gas lamp from a distant room. If Fitz had to navigate the manor himself, he would never be able to do it without fumbling and bumping into walls. Instead, he was being moved effortlessly through the blackness, as though he'd been untethered from the Earth and was now floating in a starless night sky. His stomach lurched as he was puppeted down a steep spiral staircase, the air growing cold and dank as he went down, and down, and down.

Finally, the Maestro lit a weak lamp, which flickered and guttered as though it did not want to be here any more than Fitz did. As his eyes adjusted, Fitz could make out iron bars and stone walls. Occasional soft groans and rattling of chains made it seem as though it was inhabited by ghosts.

Perhaps it was. Perhaps Fitz was a ghost as well, a poor soul who was already dead and simply hadn't realized it yet.

The Maestro wordlessly brought the lamp over to one of the cells. The flame was reflected in blue eyes, eyes so dull and lifeless that Fitz nearly didn't recognize them.

Lex.

He was slumped over against the wall, wrists and ankles bound in heavy silver cuffs. To Fitz's surprise, he seemed physically uninjured, but mentally, he was a million miles away. He didn't look up at Fitz, and Fitz couldn't call out to him, even if he wanted to.

Fitz wished he could be a million miles away as well, dream himself to wherever Lex had gone and leave their bodies behind in this miserable cell.

There was a wooden crate next to Lex, and the Maestro picked it up and dropped it in front of Fitz with a rattle. His head was directed downwards so that he could peer into it. It was filled with wooden stakes and silver knives of many different shapes and sizes, some roughly hewn and some with delicately wrought handles, all sharp and ready.

"These are the material goods that I confiscated from the intruders Alexander invited into my house," said the Maestro, as Fitz flinched from hearing his voice so suddenly after so long in complete silence. "They are weapons that are used to kill vampires, of course, but they are only fatal if the vampire is stabbed through the heart or beheaded. Otherwise, they only cause immense pain, and wounds that are difficult to heal."

Fitz felt himself bend over, forced to pick up a serrated silver knife, weighty and cold in his hand.

"That is why you will not be stabbing Alexander in the heart or the neck."

Fitz's arm was pulled upwards, a puppet on strings. Lex didn't even look as Fitz's body stabbed the knife into his thigh, not even making a sound when the Maestro compelled Fitz to twist the knife, dark blood gushing forth and pooling on the floor.

"Alexander meant for these weapons to be driven deep within my heart," the Maestro said. "It is a mercy, then, that I am avoiding any place that would kill him."

The next knife was driven into Lex's face, his beautiful face, and Fitz was not even able to close his eyes or look away as thick, chilled blood ran down his hand and around his wrist. He couldn't block the sight. He couldn't block the smell.

It had been easy to think that this would all be worth it, when he was safe in bed with Lex and the Maestro was a distant threat, one which could be thwarted. It had been easy to think that, even if he were captured and it all ended in tragedy, that Lex would never regret it, that even in captivity and torture he could comfort himself by knowing that it had all been worth it for a moment where he'd felt wanted.

It had to be. It had to be worth it. Or else…

Everything felt like a nightmare as Fitz was made to take the implements from the box, one by one, each one finding its home in a wound on Lex's body. Pretending like this was a nightmare, like none of this was real, was the only way Fitz could endure this. Judging by the emptiness in Lex's eyes, the way he barely looked at Fitz, he was doing the same.

Lex's body would heal from this, but who could say if his mind would?

How many times had something like this already happened to him?

What if this was what it was like from now on? Fitz forced to torture Lex each day until neither of them recognized the other? The Maestro could do that, if he wanted.

After an eternity, the box of weapons was empty. Lex was barely recognizable, lying in a pool of dark blood and silver knives. Some of the knives were still sticking out of his body. He was slumped over, unmoving.

He wasn't dead, Fitz knew he wasn't dead, but it might be better for Lex if he were.

"You've played your part adequately, child," said the Maestro. "As I expected, Alexander decided to care about you, enough to risk… this." He walked closer, standing just behind Fitz, with Fitz unable to move or even flinch. "I want you to answer this honestly. Do you think you were worth all of this pain?"

Fitz couldn't even pretend to himself that it wasn't an easy answer. "No, sir. I'm not."

"Of course not," he said with something dangerously close to amusement. "Hopefully Alexander will learn an important lesson from it."

He'd learn that it had been a mistake to care about Fitz. That's what this had been about all along.

Fitz felt himself turned around to face the Maestro. He looked Fitz up and down with disdain, and Fitz was acutely aware of how much of Lex's blood had soaked through his suit.

"Because your presence has been educational, I won't punish you for Alexander's trangression," he said, and Fitz almost laughed at the notion that he hadn't already been punished. "After all, a thrall as yourself couldn't possibly know better. No, child, I intend to reward you with the gift of my tutelage. I will make you perfect."

He pulled out a single black glove from his pocket, put it on, and used one finger to tilt Fitz's chin upwards so that he was looking straight into cold, dark eyes. "I have no doubt that you'll commit transgressions of your own that will require punishment, in due time."

Committing transgressions was one thing Fitz excelled at. And he might as well commit one now while his tongue was still in his head.

"I wish Lex would've killed you, sir."

He tried not to look terrified as he stood, anticipating the torture that he had been fearful of all night -- no, the torture he'd been fearful of since that day in the auction house. A part of him wanted it to happen, to end the dreadful uncertainty. But after several long minutes, it was apparent that it wasn't coming. Not yet.

"No doubt," said the Maestro. "Unfortunately, despite his considerable innate talent, my Alexander is a failure more often than not. I do hope you won't be like him."

Previous > Masterlist > Next

Next week: How Alexander was initially broken.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin

@whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist

@vampiresprite @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @und3ad-mutt

@sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada

@typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia

@a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@enigmawriteswhump @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot

@cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme

@strawbearydreams @ghost-whump @tippytappytyping @natthebatt @fire-bugg14

@fuckcapitalismasshole @slightlydisturbedbeans @paperprinxe @demetercabingreen-thumb @the-broken-pen

@pokemaniacgemini @jumpywhumpywriter @basica11ywhumped @anoontjecanush @cepheusgalaxy

@whump-me-harder

[ky-randomshitposting]

MacGyver 2025 Writing Promts!

Not all are MacGyver based so if you're not part of that fandom feel free to still use these!

Go wild, combine days, skip days, use these for art instead and whatever you want! Feel free to tag me in any fics or art you make (Even if I'm not in the fandom!)

January 1 • New Years Confessions 2 • Mission gone poorly 3 • Nightmares 4 • Hurt/Comfort 5 • 5-1 6 • Sick Day 7 • Team Meeting Under Different Circumstances 8 • Diner Au 9 • Codex 10 • Whump 11 • The Organization Causes Problems 12 • James Macgyver Being A Shitty Father 13 • Matilda Rescuing The Team 14 • Disavowed 15 • Peaceful Day At The Park 16 • Day Off 17 • Mac + Gun 18 • Working With The Enemy 19 • Dealing With Grief 20 • Movie Theater Au 21 • Insomnia 22 • Double Drabble 23 • Cuddling 24 • Car Accident 25 • Murdoc Returns 26 • Mac Gets The Team Out Of Trouble 27 • Riley Finds Something She Can't Hack 28 • Love Confessions 29 • Kidnapping 30 • Wilderness Survival 31 • Bomb Disarming

February 1 • One Bed Au 2 • Comfort 3 • Alone 4 • Corruption Arc 5 • Fake Relationship 6 • Oversight And Mac Never Meet 7 • Fake Death 8 • Chloroform 9 • Gunshot Wound 10 • Afghanistan Days 11 • Cairo 12 • Jack Being The Team's Dad 13 • Therapy 14 • Poisoning 15 • Swiss Army Knife 16 • Protecting Cassian 17 • Murdoc + Handcuffs 18 • Supermax 19 • Mission Gone Right 20 • Physical Exhaustion 21 • Working Out/Training 22 • Assassination 23 • In Love With Someone Else 24 • Secret Relationship 25 • Unable To Save Everyone 26 • Torture 27 • Self Doubt 28 • Marriage Vows

March 1 • Mac + Chemicals 2 • A Deal With The Devil 3 • Casino 4 • Jack Returns From The Kovac Mission 5 • Mac Asks For Help 6 • Bozer's Cosmetics 7 • Murdoc Saves The Team (Possibly Accidently) 8 • Black Pepper + Wound 9 • Trapped 10 • Under Water/Downing 11 • OneShot 12 • Celebration 13 • Making Bets 14 • Birthday Celebration 15 • Running Away 16 • Forest Fire Verses Team 17 • Song Fic 18 • Bioweapon 19 • Nikki Lies 20 • Thornton Gets Caught 21 • Trying Something New 22 • Watching The Sunset/Sunrise 23 • Jack Saves Mac/Riley 24 • Loud Fight 25 • Nearly Avoided Plane Crash 26 • Bounty Hunters 27 • Amnesia 28 • Doctor's Visit 29 • Tramatic Injury 30 • Corn Maze + Lost + Murdoc 31 • Paranoia

April 1 • Terrible No Good Day 2 • Stalking 3 • Carnival 4 • Hunter/Hunted 5 • Stranded 6 • Heist 7 • Mac Leaves The Team 8 • Break Up 9 • First Kiss 10 • Prison Escape 11 • Black Site 12 • Safehouses 13 • Flash Backs 14 • Slowly Dying On The Phone/Last Phone Call 15 • Funeral 16 • Medical Leave 17 • Mac Breaks Another Phone 18 • Secret Diary 19 • Party 20 • Unexpected Relationship 21 • Coming Out 22 • Canon Typical Violence 23 • Magic Au 24 • Library Au 25 • Hurt/No Comfort 26 • Drunk 27 • Pen Pals 28 • Arachnophobia 29 • Self Care 30 • Terrorist Organization

May 1 • Acrophobia 2 • Ducktape + Panic + Mac 3 • Love Triangle 4 • Fire + Extinguisher 5 • Matty Being Strict/Concerned 6 • Hidden Injury 7 • Rare Pair 8 • Stargazing 9 • Explosion 10 • The Ghost 11 • Jill Morgan 12 • Samantha Cage Joins 13 • Secrets 14 • Undercover Op 15 • Role Reversal Au 16 • Prison Breakout 17 • Bozer + Sticky Notes 18 • Riley + Trapped 19 • Matty Goes Missing 20 • Sandbox Days 21 • Hidden Injury 22 • Mac + Shoelaces 23 • Murdoc On Comms 24 • Experimenting Gone Wrong 25 • Cartel 26 • Corrupt C.I.A 27 • Amber Causing Problems 28 • Hostage Situation/Negotiation 29 • Handling Depression 30 • Trauma Response/Flinching 31 • Day At The Beach

June 1 • Haircut 2 • Dying Saving Someone 3 • Choose A Random Item And Find A Way For Mac To Use It 4 • Jumping Out A Window 5 • Stealing A Painting 6 • Safe Cracking 7 • Losing Hope 8 • Cassian's Summer Break 9 • Nicholas Helman 10 • Jonah Walsh 11 • Flower Picking 12 • James Macgyver Dies 13 • Paperclips 14 • Lost Swiss Army Knife 15 • Riley Or Bozer Tries To Quit Or Quits The Team 16 • Mac Goes With On The Kovac Mission 17 • Collapse Building 18 • Chemical/Oil Spill 19 • Chernobyl 20 • War Injury 21 • Cruel Choices 22 • Leaving Someone Behind (And Coming Back For Them Later) 23 • Riley Hacks The Government 24 • Jill Morgan Lives 25 • Cassian Finds Mac Cool 26 • School Reunion Science Fair 27 • Video Game Night 28 • Breaking And Entering 29 • Jack + Captured 30 • Hidden Fears

July 1 • Jigsaw Scenario 2 • Mac Pretending To Be Murdoc 3 • Riley's Undercover Op 4 • Write A Story With A Word Count Outside Of Your Usual 5 • Bar Night 6 • Talking To The Moon 7 • Late Night Run 8 • Bones (Broken, Found, Fossils ect) 9 • Jack's Medical Leave 10 • Panic Attack 11 • A Favor 12 • Aromantic Or Asexual Character 13 • Nyctophobia 14 • Murdoc's Hit List 15 • The Organization's Assassination Attempts 16 • Mac + Gun Power 17 • Medical Emergency 18 • Late Night Phone Call 19 • Angst 20 • Fake Sleeping 21 • Drugged 22 • Brain Fog 23 • Poor Cooking 24 • The Team Saves Mac 25 • Soul Mate Au 26 • Blizzard 27 • Stressful Drive To The ER 28 • Adopting A Pet 29 • Stabbed 30 • Haunted 31 • Orginal Character

August 1 • Area 51 2 • The Team Finds Matty's Files 3 • Mac Has Trust Issues 4 • Jack & Mac's Co Dependency 5 • Ticking Noise (Could Be A Bomb, A Clock, Who Knows) 6 • Mac Hates Medical Leave 7 • Bakery Au 8 • Murder Mystery 9 • Jack + Bomb + Mac 10 • Happy Ending 11 • Sleepless Nights 12 • Accidental Murder 13 • Matty Retires 14 • Samantha Doesn't Return To Australia 15 • Taking Down A Cult 16 • Alternative Au Where James Never Left Mac 17 • Bozer Finds Out About The Phoenix 18 • Riley Joining The Team 19 • Amber Returns After Murdoc Had Warned Her Not To 20 • A Phoenix Day Off (Probably Interrupted) 21 • Meaningful Coversations (At The Worst Time Possible) 22 • Mac And Riley Fall Asleep On Jack 23 • Internal Bleeding 24 • Wishing Upon A Star 25 • Father/Son Bonding (Jack & Mac or Murdoc & Cassian) 26 • Babysitting 27 • Lack Of Taking Care Of Oneself (Noticed By Another Team Member) 28 • Mac Being Reckless 29 • The Team Travels Somewhere New 30 • Ethan Reigns & Matty 31 • Fainting

September 1 • Breakfast In Bed 2 • Horror Movies 3 • Celebrating A Holiday 4 • Crutches 5 • Suffocation 6 • Bed Rest 7 • Airplane Travel 8 • Hiding In Plain Sight 9 • Crossover Au 10 • Unhealthy Habits 11 • Hand To Hand Combat 12 • Winter Time 13 • Running Out Of Time 14 • A Miracle 15 • Murdoc Leaves A 'Gift' 16 • Secret Service 17 • Night Light 18 • Lying 19 • Feigning Innocence 20 • Leaving Clues 21 • Dramatic Murdoc 22 • Vacation + Cocktails 23 • Anxiety 24 • Heat Exhaustion 25 • Long Term Undercover Op 26 • Lone Survivor/Survivor Guilt 27 • Broken Glass 28 • Ambulance Ride 29 • Flame Thrower 30 • Improper Use Of Chemicals

October 1 • Gasoline 2 • Bazooka 3 • Fireman's Carry 4 • Paperclip Collection 5 • Fascination/Obsession 6 • Taking Apart Electronics And Making Something New 7 • Multiple Love Interests 8 • Ufo 9 • Visiting A Pumpkin Patch 10 • Bozer Accidently Starts A Fire 11 • Nikki Is Not Who She Claims (Again) 12 • The President Is In Danger 13 • Welcome Party 14 • A Letter Goodbye 15 • Missed Calls 16 • Pain Relief 17 • Zombie Apocalypse 18 • Vampires 19 • Reckless Driving 20 • Transgender Character 21 • Moving Away 22 • Teacher Au 23 • Nightshade 24 • Hypothermia 25 • Helicopter 26 • Smoke 27 • Camping 28 • Light bulb + Lightning 29 • Push Pins 30 • Mac + Skyscraper 31 • Halloween

November 1 • Quarantine 2 • Acid 3 • Tar Pit 4 • Murdoc + Sniper Rifle 5 • Abandoned Warehouse 6 • Ice Skating 7 • Exchanging Letters 8 • Doing Drag For A Mission 9 • Insanity 10 • Dealing With Psychopaths 11 • Long Term Memory Loss 12 • Dazed 13 • Loss Of A Friend 14 • Forgetting Your Own Name 15 • Mission Gone Poorly (But Ends Up Fine) 16 • Rescuing People From A Cave 17 • Jill Catches Murdoc 18 • Bomb Hidden In Package 19 • Mixed Feelings 20 • Evacuation 21 • Bookcase Door 22 • Old Photo Albums 23 • Jack's Dog Tags 24 • Facing Their Biggest Fear 25 • Volcano Eruption 26 • Team Evaluation 27 • Held Captive Long Term 28 • Murdoc's Father 29 • Prom Night 30 • Injured Jack

December 1 • Drinking Hot Cocoa 2 • Electrical Fire 3 • Fixing The Toaster 4 • Movie Night (Die Hard Perhaps) 5 • A Letter Containing A Threat 6 • Home On The Range 7 • Jet Engine 8 • Fighting (Verbally Or Physically) 9 • Injured Matty 10 • Flower Picking 11 • Derealization 12 • Hallucinations 13 • Almost Happy Ending (Something Goes Wrong At The End) 14 • Snow Skiing 15 • Caroling 16 • Desi + Mac + Codex 17 • Saying 'I Love You' Too Late 18 • Bonfire 19 • Snow Day 20 • Team Meeting 21 • Ice Cubes + Mac 22 • Chemical Burns 23 • Cassian + Murdoc + Holidays 24 • Holiday Baking 25 • Christmas 26 • Mac Making A Tazer Out Of What He Has In His Pockets 27 • Fire Escape (Comes In Handy) 28 • Mistletoe 29 • Movie Theater Au 30 • Night Vision 31 • Sharing A Kiss On New Years Eve

(Some Days May Be Similar Or The Same Accidently)

[teeth-n-ambitions]

A Proper Meeting

Okay! Next part! Thank you for your patience while I wrote it. And I appreciate everyone who's read, liked, reblogged, and commented on my work. If anyone else wants to be on the taglist for this story just let me know.

@deluxewhump @whumpyourdamnpears

TW: possessive whumper, vampire whump, lady whump, pet whump, it as a pronoun

The bedroom lights shone perfectly on Cassara’s sheen, ink-black hair, as a servant brushed it delicately. It had gotten quite long at this point, nearly halfway down her tall back, so her servants often had to stand back some to brush it all out, even as Cassara sat at her vanity. She was perfectly capable of brushing it herself, of course, but her hands were busy in the present moment. Between her fingers she twirled the driver’s license she’d fished out of the human’s wallet.

Lila, it read. Lila Ward. Poor thing was only months away from turning twenty-three, and it showed in her photo. Her fair skin was completely absent of any lines or creases, and there was a healthy blush on her dimpled cheeks. A small cluster of acne on her forehead peeked out from beneath her brown hair. This picture was over a year old, but from the brief look Cassara got before handing her off to Katherine, not much had changed. Her hair seemed lighter in the photo, however. Cassara would have to ask her about that later.

A quick knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. Katherine. “Enter,” she called. She set the license down gently and turned her head slightly towards the door.

“My lady,” Katherine greeted. She stopped a few feet away from the vanity.

Cassara smiled. “How is she doing?”

“About par for the course,” Katherine said. “I couldn’t get a single piece of information out of her.”

“Did she try to run?”

“Not immediately, but yes. Scuffed herself up in the process. Nothing serious, though. Here.” She stepped forward and held out her clipboard. “My notes.”

Cassara took it and glanced over what Katherine had written. The words uncooperative and arrogant stuck out. “Must have a mouth on her,” she commented.

“Just puffing herself up, really. Her pulse was through the roof.”

Cassara looked back over at Lila’s license for a second. “Elise,” she said.

The servant brushing her hair stilled. “Yes, my lady?”

“Have Madeline get some food for our guest, something with red meat. She tasted a little anemic.”

Elise nodded. She handed Cassara her hairbrush and quietly left the room.

“And for you...” Cassara opened a drawer in her vanity. She swapped her hairbrush for the cracked smartphone inside. “Take this and see what you can do with it.” She stacked the phone onto the clipboard, giving them both to Katherine. “The damage looks to be cosmetic, so it should be functional.” Standing, she straightened out the skirt of her velvet dress. “I’ll go calm her down.”

Lila was ready when the door opened for a second time. She pressed her back against the wall just beside it, hopefully just out of sight. When that Katherine came back, she’d rush out before she even saw her. Easy.

But the shadow in the doorway was much taller than before. Was this a trick of some kind? Something to catch her off guard, perhaps? Katherine was abnormally strong, and apparently magic was real, so Lila supposed that shapeshifting wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibilities then. But—

“There you are,” said a very, very different voice. It was gentle, silk-smooth and nearly melodious. Lila froze in place.

Even with the light to her back, this woman was stunning; Lila didn’t need to see the finer details to know that. Her posture was immaculate, and she easily stood at least six inches taller than Lila. The angel sleeves of her carmine red dress swayed as she turned to face Lila properly. A large, elegant pendant rested just above her chest, framed perfectly by the dress’ sharp neckline.

Lila nearly forgot to breathe.

The woman smiled sweetly. “Your name is Lila, isn’t it? I heard Katherine was giving you a hard time, so I came to check on you. Are you alright?”

Hearing Katherine’s name snapped Lila back into focus. She slowly brought up her arms, hands in loose fists. “Don’t come any closer,” she said evenly. “I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

“There’s no need for that,” the woman replied. “I’m not here to hurt you. Your cheek looks like it could use some cleaning up. May I take a look?”

Lila ignored her. “Tell me what’s going on here. What’s this shit about being someone’s pet?”

“How about this, you let me see your cheek, and I’ll explain everything. Sound fair?”

She narrowed her eyes, but Lila took a tentative step toward the towering being smiling so ethereally at her, then another. Gaze steady on the woman’s eyes, Lila felt something tugging at her memory.

“Oh, dear.” The woman clicked her tongue. “You tried to clean it off yourself, didn’t you?” She delicately touched Lila’s chin and turned her face to the side. “It’s all smeared around here.”

The pieces clicked the moment her slender, cold fingers cradled the back of Lila’s head. For the briefest moment, she was against the tree again, pain racing through her veins as that creature drained her very life force.

Lila immediately tried to wrench her head back, but the beast clasped tighter just a nanosecond before she could. Nails pressed into Lila’s chin, the fresh scrapes on her cheek, making her hiss.

“There we go,” it said. “I was wondering when you’d recognize me.” It forced Lila’s face forward. “But you need to stop that. You’ll only hurt yourself more. Unless you want to snap your own neck?”

She couldn’t even if wanted to. The strength keeping her head in place was ten times greater than that of Katherine. No matter how many times she pulled and pulled, her skull remain locked in the monster’s grip. She huffed, lungs sore from the exertion. “What are you?”

“Oh, sweet thing,” it cooed. “I’m your new master. You can call me Cassara.”

“The fuck you are,” Lila spat “If you don’t let go of me I swear to god I’ll kill you.”  

It laughed at that, mouth wide enough to display its teeth, long, sharp fangs where the upper canines should have been. Their slight inward curve evoked the image of a python, a perfect match to the bruising strength of the creature they belonged to. Lila’s blood ran colder than the hands gripping her fiercely, the spot on her neck beginning to throb. Her voice died on her tongue.

“As much as I would love to see you try,” Cassara replied. “There’s no point. You’re mine now, darling. But don’t fret.” She loosened her grip on Lila’s face, swiping her thumbs along Lila’s cheeks in a parody of a caress. “I’ve trained dozens of pets in my afterlife; I know what I’m doing. You are in very—” She pressed a chilling kiss to Lila’s cheek. “—very—" Then the other. “—capable hands. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Every one of Lila’s cells screamed at her to move, to fight, to run, but she was paralyzed. Whether it was somehow Cassara’s doing or fear alone, she couldn’t tell, but her body was lead. Even as her pulse grew erratic she could not will herself into motion. She could barely swallow.

Cassara turned Lila’s head to look at her wounds once more. “Normally I’d leave you to acclimate a bit longer, but I’d rather clean you up. Besides…” She faced Lila towards her again, forcing her to watch her face split into a wicked grin. “We have so much to talk about.”

[pigeonwhumps]

Sarita and Oscar

Bug and Company masterlist

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @flowersarefreetherapy @whumplr-reader @whumpinggrounds @den-of-whump @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump

When Sarita doesn't venture out of her room for a while after arriving, Oscar goes to check on her.

988 words

CW: BBU, pet whump, lady whump, mentions of rape, past betrayal, fear of betrayal, past bad caretaker, mention of death

Someone knocks on Sarita's door.

"Come in," she snaps, scrambling out of her blanket cocoon and shoving her notebook and pencil under her mattress. She's not showing vulnerability to anyone.

She quite likes this room, much as she hates to admit it (it'll hurt all the more when it's ripped away). She has clothes and toiletries and a full rucksack. She hasn't looked in that properly yet but there's a simple phone with Alix and Maria's numbers on speed dial, and a note stuck to the top of the bag that reads in wonky letters, In case you decide to run.

She wishes they'd just betray her now.

A man she hasn't seen before comes inside. He has light brown skin and heart-shaped glasses, a light flannel falling off one shoulder. He walks with an awkward ease that's similar to Alix's.

"I'm Oscar, fae/faer. You're Sarita, right?" She nods. "Want me to leave the door open or..."

"You can shut it." Fae does so, and stays standing awkwardly. Well, fae can keep doing that if fae wants. "What the fuck do you want?"

"To see how you're doing. No-one's seen you since Alix showed you your room. I wanted to make sure you're okay, that you're in here because you want to be, not because think you have to."

Sarita shrugs. "Nobody wants me around, so I fucked off. I'm fine in here."

"I mean. If you're sure about it."

"I stabbed Alix."

"Nobody's perfect."

"Nobody likes me, fuck off with your bullshit."

Oscar sighs and leans back against the wall. "Has anyone told you how I joined pet lib?"

Probably some inspirational bullshit. Sarita snorts.

"Course not. I haven't spoken to anyone, remember?"

"True. Alix wouldn't share it." Fae shoves faer hands in fae's pockets, looking unaccountably apprehensive. What does fae have to be apprehensive about?

"I worked in a company that made pet accessories. Collars, beds, leashes, things like that. I don't think we made accessories designed to punish but... I turned a blind eye to a lot of things. Avoided the rest. So I don't actually know. I didn't want to listen to my instincts. It was a job, I needed the money and it paid well, and everyone needs work, right? It didn't mean my colleagues actively supported the pet industry. I didn't listen to their views. And then... then, we had a Bring Your Pet To Work Day." Fae pauses and swallows. Sarita balls her fists. No wonder no-one fucking mentioned it. "I had a friend, when I was a child. I knew him intimately. In every sense of the word. I knew him happy, sad, drunk as a skunk. I knew his eyes. And now... now I know what he looks like with cosmetic surgery and a designer collar." Fae's trembling now. "If I'd just... if I hadn't turned so much of a blind eye, if I'd taken a look in the pet daycare just once, if I'd just listened to his owner, then I don't know. Maybe I could've done something before he was brought in and my colleague boasted about how good he was, how much he... never mind. Just... it wasn't just that colleague who had a go." Fae sighs shakily. "I ran. Gave him my phone number in case of emergencies and resigned. He's never called. That's when I joined pet lib. Adalia still doesn't trust me, but some of the others do."

"Oh, fuck off," says Sarita half-heartedly. Not as pure inspirational bullshit as she thought then. "I stabbed Alix. It's not the same. Why the fuck would you tell me that?"

"Because you're still blaming yourself for stabbing Alix, even though you were panicking and betrayed at the time. And y'know. Some of us are worse. It doesn't mean you have to hide away. I want to make sure you're not doing it because Christians Against Pets guilted you and made you do it."

"Maybe I just don't want to know them. Other people who were treated like me but not quite. You have your only friend die in your arms and see how much you want to make more."

She didn't mean to say that. She's not sure why she did. She is insulted by the insinuation she'd actually listen to the fuckers who betrayed her though.

Oscar looks sad. "I'm sorry. You don't have to come down when we're around, anyway. I just thought I'd remind you it's an option. Your test came back clean, by the way. Also, we're doing a clothing order, and I want to know if there's anything you want."

"Get whatever the fuck you want, I don't care." There's a lump in Sarita's throat, and then she adds quietly, for no reason that she can decipher, "Hair ribbons. Red ones if they have them. Please."

It might come with a price. She doesn't care. She's never wanted much, but these she does. Her hair... doesn't feel right without them. Even though the person who gave her the original ones hurt and betrayed her she still doesn't feel right.

These will be a different colour. So they're not the original ones, and she's fine.

Besides, these ones will be hers. No-one else's. And at the very least they'll be from someone who hasn't assaulted or betrayed her.

Not yet, anyway.

"I'll see what we can do."

"Thank you."

[sarahowritesostucky]

Heyyyy so i absolutely LOVEEEE the Bucky camping fics but my heart cannot help but hurt for him and his insecurities. I saw something on line about a ball donor aka a replacement surgery where you get someone else’s put into you. Do you think he’d ever consider it? sorry if this is weird lol

😳I had no idea that was a thing that could be done. Yikes, how weird! So then ... if the guy ever has kids, they're technically some dead dude's kids? That's wild.

I had heard of cosmetic implants for people who have a ball/balls removed due to cancer. Poor Bucky though, he's really whumping hard in this one, cause I wrote it that Hydra also removed his scrotum, so neither of those options would work. But I don't think he'd bother with an actual testicle implant; he'd probably just go the fake ball route and do the testosterone replacement therapy.

[splendidissimus]

2012 - To The Pain

((Content warning: Cruciatus torture, beating / physical abuse of a vulnerable person, graphic bloody torture))

((Promptspiration: @whumptober 2023: day 18: Tortured for information ))

Genre: whump

Romance level: negligible

Angst level: 2/5

Draco's headspace: defiant / calculating

((words: ~4000))

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

Discretion was the nature of Draco's business. The specifics of his business varied from client to client — the two most common asks were legal advice or representation, or money, but he really appreciated more interesting challenges and would engage with basically anything that wasn't outright Dark — but the desire for discretion was near universal. To that end, he wasn't surprised when he got a terribly mysterious message asking for an appointment after most of the rest of Diagon Alley was shut down and with the utmost privacy, but he was intrigued. 

He came back alone to the office at midnight, after his secretary was long gone for the day. His health was well enough he could leave Theo to his work instead of bothering him for an escort; he had only a mild cough that the tea basically suppressed and, while he may not be able to walk much more than the length of the corridor at a go, it wasn't a large office and he had no problems staying upright at the moment. He found that the portrait of Elizabethan Lucius that hung in his father's study and watched the house had followed to the frame here, feigning complete disinterest that was rather undermined by the fact that he was there and didn't need to be. The manor must be boring this time of night. Unfortunately for him, privacy meant privacy, and the portrait sniffed disdain at his apologetic noises as he covered the frame with a muffling cloth. 

He was making tea from the charmed pot when he heard the bell that announced a visitor coming through the Vanishing Portal from Hogsmeade. "This way," he called, without looking but with his eye on the mirror that was positioned so he could see the door, as he poured a second cup. 

It was a solid, rough-bearded wizard of maybe a little more than his age who opened the door. He looking passingly familiar, and Draco was automatically reaching for the wand he'd set down beside the tea as he tried to identify him. 

"Expelliarmus!" 

Draco erected a shield spell with barely a thought; the attack ricocheted off and knocked several books from his shelves, and he turned around, lifting his wand…

And the wizard's fist slammed into his jaw and sent him sprawling to the floor. 

"Yeah, knew you was a duellist." The wizard stepped on his arm and snatched his wand out of his hand. For good measure, he stomped on his hand, and Draco let out a noise as he felt it crunch. Sharp pain travelled up through his wrist. "Don't do much good against the Muggle kind, do it?" 

And now he recognised him. "Gerald Vick." Husband of one Mary Vick nee Patternel, who had engaged him a bit over a month previously to help her disappear, in large part due to her husband's violent tendencies; he'd seen him in a picture taken by the investigator who did background on his clients. He pushed himself up to sit against the cupboard, holding his broken hand gingerly. "Your wife's not here."

"That's what we're here to talk about." He pulled out Draco's chair and sprawled in it, wand levelled at him. Draco realised he wasn't sure where his own wand had gone. "I know the little bitch came to you. Now you're gonna tell me where she went." 

"I am not." Draco's attention fell to his desk behind Vick without actually moving his eyes. After the escaped Death Eater incident, he had installed an alarm for precisely these sorts of situations, a device rigged up of Protean and cosmetic charms that would activate copies with Theo and at home. But it was under his desk. If he could get to it… 

Bright red sparks shot into the cupboard beside his head, and he flinched his face away. 

"You are," Vick said. "Only question's how much's it gonna hurt before you do." 

He wasn't going to tell him — but if he could talk his way out of any more pain, that would be ideal. "Allow me to save you the trouble." He looked back at Vick again levelly. "You wife is under the protection of the Fidelius Charm — the ancient spell that locks her secret into a single living soul. No amount of threat or torture is ever going to get her location. You will never find her."

"Fuck!" Vick exploded out of the chair and kicked him viciously, screaming obscenities. Pain erupted through his sides, up his arms; he managed to hide his face but it got him in the back of the head, and he ended up curled on the floor, hiding behind his arms, a little noise escaping his throat with every new pain. 

If only the entire office weren't Muffled, for discretion, someone might have heard…

Eventually his attacker moved on to the furniture. Draco stayed where he was, trying to catch his breath with every movement of his chest squeezing pain from his ribs, listening to things being thrown around his office. Vick was demanding to know where the supposed records were. As though Draco's name wasn't 'Malfoy'. 

Something hit the wall above him and shattered into a shower of ceramic shards that rained down over his hair. "Alright, new plan." Vick grabbed his arm and yanked — Draco cried out in pain, that was obviously broken too — and pulled him halfway to sitting up. "Maybe you didn't write shit down, but you know who's got her secret. That's what you're gonna tell me." 

"I can't imagine why your wife wanted to leave," Draco said faintly. "You're so powerful when you're beating up a wandless invalid half your weight. Who wouldn't be impressed?" 

Vick threw him back so his head slammed into the wall, and he groaned and held it. Maybe one of these years he'd learn to keep his mouth shut. 

"Start talking." Draco lifted his eyes to see Vick was holding his wand on him. "Or I start taking off pieces." 

Draco considered the wand, then leaned his head back on the wall again. "Give it up," he said, with a weak cough to try to get breathing more deeply. "You're not going to kill me. I'm not going to tell you anything. I've been put under the Cruciatus by Voldemort… What do you really think you can offer?" 

It was one part truth, two parts bluster, and one more part self-talk. He could feel his old constant companion fear trying to take hold and he had to logic himself out of it. Even if absolutely nothing else went right, in five or six hours, his secretary would be in… He could handle being yelled at and kicked around for six hours. 

This wasn't like Voldemort. It wasn't like Rowle. This had an endpoint, a goal, a way to win. Focus on that. 

"That's a real interesting assumption." Vick grabbed him by the collar and lifted him to his feet; he gave a small sound of pain, but managed to get his feet under him, using mostly the wall for support. "That I'm not gonna kill you." 

Draco studied his face; they were about the same height. Watery, red eyes. Bad breath. He was at least half drunk. He tracked his wand without actually looking at it. It wasn't steady either. "You're not," he said confidently. "You might've been dangerous to her in a fit of pique, but premeditation doesn't suit you." 

Vick grinned sharply. "Shows what y—"

Draco didn't care what Vick was saying, or what he himself had to say to get him to; the point was to get him smug and relaxed. When he sensed the wand drooping, he lashed out with his left hand, snatching for the wand, and pushed back away from him along the wall. He didn't have the strength to pull it away entirely, but they were both holding the wand, and he was the more prepared; he twisted it toward Vick and yelled "Confundo!" 

It missed. The spell whiffed past Vick's head and ricocheted off the far wall. Vick yanked his wand back, Draco lost his balance, and then Vick punched him in the face, then again, and he fell to the ground, dazed and his head exploding with pain. 

"You done?" Vick kicked him onto his back and planted a foot in the middle of his chest, and leaned on it, wand arm resting on his knee. Draco choked desperately, weakly shoving and hitting his leg to try to move him, even using his broken arm, panicking for any air. 

Vick ignored him. "We're gonna try this again." He leaned more weight into his chest. A pitiful noise squeezed out of Draco's throat, a high whistling squeak that came out between the last of his air. His chest felt like his ribcage was about to explode. "You're gonna tell me how to find my wife, or I'm gonna kill you, real… fucking… slow." 

Draco shook his head, weakly and desperately. Vick shoved off his chest; the force made something crack, but the weight was off his chest and now he could start to breathe again. He clawed at the collar of his robes to pull it down, like that would help, dragging in a thick gulp of air that made his entire chest burn with pain, and then cough it back out in whimpering hacks. He couldn't breathe for coughing, he couldn't cough for pain, he couldn't breathe through the pain…

He tried curling up in a painful ball, but Vick grabbed him by the broken arm and yanked him back with a weak cry. 

"Now." Vick crouched beside him, wand dangling over him. "You know who's got my wife's secret?"

Draco nodded without trying to speak, eyes closed, still fighting with his breath. 

"Good." Vick patted his rapidly-swelling cheek right where he'd been punching him. "Who?"

He didn't respond or even bother to look at him. 

Vick's wand tip laid against his arm, then with a quick slash and the word "Diffindo," he laid a ragged gash down the length of his upper arm. Draco had just enough breath to cry out in surprised pain, rolling over to grip the wound. It wasn't clean and smooth, it felt torn, ripped into the flesh. The edges of the torn sleeve were frayed and rough and that showed how he used the spell. 

Vick gripped his jaw and turned his face up, shaking his head to make him look at him. "Take me seriously now?" 

Draco gulped in a painful lungful of air managed to control it. "I'm listening." 

"Funny how quick that happens." He smirked. "Go on then." 

"It's been… a month…" He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing as deeply as the pain shooting through his chest would let him. The blood was flowing freely through his fingers, and that was concerning. He couldn't take many more like that. He didn't have enough blood to spare. "I don't have it… on the top of my head." 

"Someone's a fuckin' liar." He moved his wand toward Draco's chest.

Draco flinched and tried to twist away from him. "No, stop! I'm not lying." He moved his bloody hand up to grip his hair. "Do you realise…" he had to breathe, "...how many times you've hit me in the head? Already had problems…" 

"Need help remembering, do you?" The wand wandered toward his face. 

Draco cringed back and put his hand between his face and the wand. "Notes, in my desk. I'll get it." 

"I've been all through your desk." He gripped Draco's jaw to turn his face to the upended drawers with their contents scattered on the floor. 

He pushed his hand to try to get it off. "Missed the false drawer." 

"Secrets inside of lies with you Malfoy's, ain't it?" He pushed himself up to his feet, but Draco only had breathing space for a second. Then Vick grabbed him by the front of his robes and hauled him to his feet, dragging him toward the desk. 

Draco cried out and couldn't stay up, stumbling back to his knees, curled up over himself with his breath shaking. He really couldn't get up. It was all pain. How many broken ribs, how many internal injuries? Were his lungs still whole, and if so, how many more times of being tossed around until they weren't? Vick may or may not actually intend to kill him, but at this rate he stood a very real chance of killing him by accident. 

"Get up." Vick kicked him in the side.

"It hurts," he panted. "I can't stand. Need my chair…" He waved vaguely toward where Vick had taken it. 

"Anything else I can get you, princess?" He grabbed the chair to drag it back.

While his back was turned, Draco reached up under the desk, fingers searching for the alarm. Activating it would require a spell, and while he normally wouldn't have needed his wand to do it, properly done wandless magic required intense mental focus, which he wasn't capable of when he was in this much pain and duress. But once he had it, he could worry about that part.

His fingertips pried free the coin-sized item, but he wasn't quite quick enough dropping his hand — he sensed Vick's attention just before the chair slammed into him and sent him sprawling with a cry, sliding on loose parchments scattered on the floor. The alarm skittered unseen out of his hand and vanished somewhere in the mess. "You got another wand stuck up in there, do you?" He stomped on his broken arm, drawing a weak scream. "Think you can play me?" 

He opened his eyes and studied him, then painfully rolled up on his knees. "I know I can play you," he panted, holding his arm against his chest and curled defensively around his injuries, pushing himself away, fingers groping around in the scattered papers to try to find it. "I told you upfront I wasn't going to tell you anything… yet you still believed me…"

"Depulso!" 

Draco flinched behind his better arm and was thrown off the floor, slammed into the wall hard enough to leave a dent in the plaster, with every bruise and broken bone screaming in symphony, and then collapsed in a shaking heap of pain. Don't throw up, don't throw up… He could tell already how much it would hurt if he threw up… 

Vick lifted him off his face by the back of his hair, and he moaned, trying not to move, but forced to at least lift his head. He found himself looking up at the covered portrait on the opposite wall. 

Proper wandless magic required intense focus, focus he wasn't capable of when he was in pain. But improper wandless magic… that just required letting himself go. 

Before he could think more about it, he flung his left hand toward the portrait, throwing his willpower with it. 

His magic ripped the portrait off the wall, and tore down the shelves beside it and sent books and decorative pieces pelting the pair of them in a hail of blunt objects. But it also ripped the cover off the painting, exposing it to the room.

The portrait tumbled end over end into the room, teetered on its corner, threatening to land uselessly face down on the floor, and then finally fell to rest leaning forward against the side of the desk where the inhabitant could see and hear the state of the room. 

But the frame was empty. 

Of course it was, his ancestor had no reason to sit around in a dark frame he couldn't see or hear from. He had just hoped.

He cried out as a gash ripped across his back. Then he was thrown onto his back, and the combined pain of his injuries conspired to paralyse his breath and voice, not even allowing him to cry out for it. 

"Let me know when you got something to say." Vick laid another ragged gash down the inside of his left arm, bone-deep, to stop him using it again. And then one straight through the palm of his left hand. Draco gathered enough breath to wheeze, trying to twist away from it. 

Vick studied his face for a long minute. Draco didn't know if he liked what he saw there, but it seemed unlikely. He held him down in a way he hadn't before, one hand pressing down his shoulder and pinning his leg with one of this feet, and set his wand against his stomach. Draco shook his head,pushing ineffectually at his wand with his mangled hands; it didn't matter. Vick said the incantation and dragged the wand over his stomach, so, so slowly. The agony pulled out a scream he wouldn't have thought he had the breath for. 

His clumsy hands clutched desperately at the stomach wound to try to hold it closed, to keep his guts on the inside where they belonged. It was a losing battle; he could feel a loop of entrails slipping between his fingers. Vick lifted his wand back into his line of sight, and there was actually blood on the tip of it. There was so much blood. He could taste it. Didn't have six hours now — probably didn't have one. Even a person whose blood would clot on its own wouldn't be able to handle this.

"Tell you…"

"Go ahead." Vick looked at his face expectantly, wand tracing slow circles above his chest. 

"…having to say the incantation, every time… makes you look childish…"

Face contorted in fury, Vick threw the spell into his chest, raking a deep gash across him. He choked and coughed a fine mist of blood into Vick's face. 

Really, that was on him for expecting that this time Draco was going to say something useful instead of something smart… 

Vick kicked him in the stomach — Draco barely had the strength to scream as the gash was ripped open further — and stomped on his chest. "I guess I'm gonna do this the hard way." He punctuated the words with kicks around his torso and head. "Start at the top and work down. Start with her parents, those old friends she used to have. Think you're so fucking smart, don't you? I don't need you, you're not gonna help an—"

"Crucio!" 

Vick immediately twisted to the ground, screaming; there was no space between the sound of father's voice calling out the curse and the sound of his tormentor being tormented. That was nice. After a few seconds, Draco raised his hand weakly to show his father he was alive, and to stop him. 

The sound of the screaming was replaced with "Stupefy," as his father came into the room, Stunning Vick unconscious. Then "Incarcerus," to bind him. He cast the counter to the Entrail-Expelling Curse — smart, Draco might not have thought of it, though without some powerful healing they weren't going to stay there. 

He crouched beside him in the pool of blood, hand on his chest briefly, probably checking his heart and breathing. "You're going to live," he said, in his way that was not an observation, it was a spell, impressing his will into the world. 

Draco nodded. "Aurors," he panted weakly. "Aurors first." 

"This is more important." He summoned Draco's lap blanket from the mess of the room and pressed it, folded into a thick pad, against the gaping wound on his stomach to try to staunch the bleeding. 

"Now." The effort of that made him cough and the spasms made the bleeding worse. 

His father considered with narrowed eyes, then looked over at the leaning portrait. "Nott?"

"Already on his way." Elizabethan ancestor Lucius smoothed his beard into an even finer point. "In fact…"

The signature waft of the floo was heard in the reception room, and then Theo's quick strides to the doorway. He immediately swore and came to his side; his father nodded and made space for him. "Two of these immediately." It was a blood replenishing potion he held and helped him drink. 

The immediate effect was that all of his wounds veritably poured blood, like it was running straight through him, but that was why there were two. With his healing resistance, it wasn't going to be a simple matter of spells to hold him together. The potions would at least mean the blood loss didn't kill him while they were working on it.

"All right." Theo touched his hair. "You can hear me?" He nodded. "Good. I'm leaving you another potion. Don't let yourself get lightheaded. I'm going to get help, I'll get Pye called in so he's ready by the time we get you to St Mungo's." 

"Take your time…" Draco invited breathlessly. 

"Hush." He ran his hand over his hair. "I'll be right back." He left his side and in a second Draco heard him calling out the name of the hospital in the floo.

And then, for a moment, the room was empty, still, and silent. Draco was alone. His father had left without drawing attention to it, and Vick was still unconscious and bound. Slowly, he pushed himself into a painful seated position against the wall for a little bit of pride, panting shallowly between wet, bloody coughs and trying to keep his intestines in.

A voice from near the desk proved he wasn't quite completely alone. "Have we learned a lesson about covering portraits, hm?" 

"I'll have to think about my policy," he allowed. Portrait-Lucius harrumphed. "Thank you."

"Better. Now don't go and die, it would be disruptive." 

"I'll try." 

Soon enough, the quiet was disrupted by the bell over the street door, and his office became a flurry of activity again. His father returned with a pair of Aurors, Janssen and a young woman he didn't know. She made a disturbed sound, probably at all the blood, and Janssen had her collect Vick and get him back on his feet. He was argumentative as soon as he was conscious, yelling that they didn't have anything on him and he was being held prisoner unlawfully.

"Gerald Vick," Draco supplied the Aurors. "Hunting down his wife… who does not want to be found…" 

"I didn't lay a hand on her." He fought as she started dragging him toward the door, and saw Lucius calmly observing. "Arrest him! Malfoy! That son of a whore used an Unforgivable Curse! He used the Cruciatus on me!" 

"That was me," Draco corrected breathlessly. "By accident. Had problems controlling my magic… St Mungo's can confirm… Normally use my wand to control it, but he took it…"

The Auror woman rifled Vick's clothes. She had presumably already gathered his wand from the floor and hadn't thought to search him. "White, about ten inches?" 

"That's it…" She made to return it to him, but he lifted his mangled hands to show he couldn't really take it, nodding toward his father instead. That had the not-entirely-unintentional side effect of exposing some of the wound on his stomach as the sodden blanket slipped. She muttered that she was going to be sick, and handed off his wand to his father. 

"I'll take whatever punishment is deemed appropriate, of course…" 

At the same time, the Mediwizard team from the hospital was flooing in. He held up a hand to keep them back and beckoned for Janssen to come close; he took hold of his arm to pull him even closer when he stopped at a normal distance. "Daniella Paradiso is Mary Vick," he whispered into his ear, then let him go and spoke in a normal tone, or what passed for one at the moment. "Let her know her secret's safe… and I can lift the charm if she'd like to give evidence…" 

"You?" Vick suddenly struggled against his bindings and the Auror holding him back, almost breaking free. "You were the secret-keeper all along?" 

Draco painfully but with immense satisfaction lifted two fingers at him, then rested his head back against the wall, allowing Theo and the healer team to come tend to him now.

[raigash]

ELLISSSSSS 😭😭😭😭😭

HE’S TRYING SO HARD TO QUIET DOWN AND CALM DOWN AND HE’S BEEN CRYING FOR SO LONG AND OH MY GOD BABY I LOVE YOU SO MUCH I’M SO SORRY

It's no longer about a pixellated puppy following his character around the screen. 😭😭 you are so much more than what you’ve been made to believe sweetheart 😭

Something that has no purpose but to follow the real person around.

God as much as you know I love Alistair, I hate him so much for what he’s done to this poor, brilliant, kind soul 😭

Cosmetic

The sobbing is the kind that grips the entire body in tension and relief, each jerking movement pulling a wounded sound from deep in the chest at the centre of the ball of limbs. Ellis is in the corner of the bedroom, face and knees pressed into the wall, arms wrapped around his head to try and stifle the noise.

He’s been crying for so long, it’s no longer about the video game that set him off. It’s no longer about the unlockable pets and the description of ‘just decoration’. It’s no longer about a pixellated puppy following his character around the screen.

It’s not about the way he started watching the pet, bouncing, happy and cute. It’s not about the way he started to get irritated at its presence, busying his screen, doing nothing useful.

Ellis’s face is swollen and red, and he’s aching from being curled up so tightly. His shoulders are strained tight and his knees bent too hard, because he can’t bear to uncurl. Something about the tightness and the walls against him and the feeling of being small, so small and unobtrusive, is an instinct he can’t shake when he feels this way.

It’s not about the pet, it’s about the empathy, for a stupid, tiny little thing, a meaningless decoration, something that only exists to be nice to look at and vaguely entertaining.

Something that has no purpose but to follow the real person around.

Something that Ellis is, or was, or is, and will always be, on bad days like these.

It’s about Ellis looking at the thing on the screen and seeing himself in some cosmetic bonus prize.

And the way the - thing, the pet, looked so happy. So eager to follow Ellis’s character around, waiting at his heels when he stopped to do things.

And the way Ellis - the player character - never interacted with it, couldn’t even acknowledge it. Because it’s not a feature. It’s decoration.

Always eager for attention, always happy to follow, always good, such a good boy, and ignored. Abandoned, to try and scrape together a human life again, when moments like these happen almost weekly, and Ellis is a little ball in the corner of the room, sobbing, sobbing, sobbing, and longing for his Master.

[canary3d-obsessed]

Masterpost - Word of Honor

Here’s all of my Word of Honor original content

Costume Appreciation

Search tag “woh costumes” on this blog to find all of these together (on the days when tumblr’s search is working). Core family is at the top of the list, everyone else is alphabetical.

Wen Kexing   1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 |15 | 16 | 17  (double NEW)

Zhou Zishu    1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 |11| 12 13 |14 |15 |16| 17 |18 |19 | 20 | 21 (NEW)

Gu Xiang       1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 

Zhang Chenling        1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

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

Du Pusa (Scorpion Hottie) 1 | 2 

Gao Xiaolian   1 | 2

Gao Chong 1

Gu Miaomiao 1 | 2

Jing An (Noble Lady/Sister-In-Law)   1

Jing Beiyuan and Wu Xi    1 | 2 

Liu Qianquio (Beauty Ghost) 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 

Luo Fumeng (Aunty Ghost) 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 

Qiao Luohan (Stabby Scorpion) 1 

Qin Song (Scorpion Pipa Player) 1  

Qin Huaizhang  1

Qin Jiuxiao 1 

Rong Xuan   1 | 2 

Tao Hongpo  (Granny Watermelon) and Lu Liuweng     1

Xie Wang (Scorpion King) 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 

Ye Baiyi       1  | 2

Yue Feng’Er  1 | 2  

Zhao Jing     1 

Soldiers: Ghost Valley   1 

Soldiers: Window of Heaven   1  

Fanvids

Under the Sea

Pour Some Sugar

Gifs and Memes and Other Stuff

Wen Kexing Waking Up 

Cao Weining explaining romantic love to Gu Xiang

Zhou Zishu asks the wrong question 

Breathless 

Mouth Skills 

Wei Wuxian & Wen Kexing 

Fic Prompt

Professional Dumbasses

Unaltered Screen Cap

Reincarnation theory (spoiler!)

A Friend of the Bosom (clip from Rebecca)

Heather Has Two Daddies

WOH as Psychology Today Articles Part 1 | Part 2

Picrew Hug Maker

Happy Camp Pink Powder Antics 1 | 2 | 3 

Happy Camp Tongue Skills

Child actor Li Zhen Zhen 

How Did You Express the Pain...? (spoilers for NIF, WOH, CQL)

Thirst (Gong Jun)

Crueller than my Master

Thirst (ZZS)

Zhou Zishu in Other Stuff

Crossover AU Writing Prompt

Cosmetics 

Warning: Self-Whump

Hands of a Killer

Yawning and stretching

Shoulder blades

How did you discover that you were soulmates?

In-Show Advertising

Memorable Scene, Episode 28

Wolong Daily Nuts

The Jingshi makes an appearance

Pain in pubic region

Thoughts/Meta

Shaving + Fake Stubble 

Peak Intimacy

The Afterlife

[oliversrarebooks]

Can you tell Emily in particular I wish her a happy Thanksgiving and I hope she’s eating a very good meal because she deserves it (if this is something she even celebrates)

Happy thanksgiving to everyone else of course but I particularly hope she’s well-fed.

Well, this isn't really a happy story for the holidays...

Masterlist

December 1925

TW: mind control, conditioning, intelligence loss, memory loss, dehumanization, pet whump, captivity (darker than usual, but not necessary to the overall story)

Emily dreamed of abstract colors, deep blues and vivid greens, vivid orange and dusty brown. They swirled and mixed in her mind. It smelled like paint. Her hands were covered in paint, too.

Why were her hands covered in paint?

She startled herself out of the dream. There was no paint. She was warm and snug in her nightgown and collar, laying in her soft pet bed, her leash wound loosely around the post of her lady's bed. Exactly where she was supposed to be. Through her half-asleep haze she could hear the familiar sounds of her lady at the vanity playing with her makeup, cosmetics clicking against the wood as she picked them up and set them down.

Her mind was trying to grasp onto the dream. The paint. For some reason, she didn't want to lose it. She wanted to think about it, even though it was hard and made her sleepy. It made her sad, too. Lady Jessica didn't like it when she was sad.

Maybe she had better leave it alone.

"Oh, dear, what's wrong, my pet?" Fluffy pink slippers came into her line of sight, and Emily knelt before her lady, just like she'd been taught. "You look as though something's troubling you. Are you ill?"

"No, my lady," she said. "It was only a bad dream. This one is sorry if she made too much noise."

To her relief, her lady didn't seem displeased, instead offering a hand to pet Emily's hair. She leaned into the kind touch, rubbing her head against her lady's hand. "What sort of bad dream was it, dear?"

"This one isn't sure," Emily said. It was so much harder to think when her lady was near. "There was... paint."

"Paint." The tone of her voice darkened, and Emily instinctively flinched away. "No, no, no, pet, it's okay. You haven't done a thing wrong, poor dear, I know you're trying hard to be a good pet. It's not your fault if you sometimes dream of silly things that don't belong to pets."

Emily was glad that she wasn't going to be punished, but still felt very uneasy. The paint was important, she just couldn't remember why. And her lady's insistence that it didn't belong to her... something about that didn't sit right in her chest. "Yes, my lady." She nuzzled into her lady's hand, hoping to quell the bad thoughts.

"Paint isn't appropriate for pets. Pets are far too silly and clumsy. You'd make a mess everywhere."

"You're right, my lady." Of course she was right. She always was.

"Why don't I get you some crayons? A nice big set of crayons and a thick pad of paper. You can scribble to your heart's content. How does that sound?"

Emily's breath caught. She didn't have any toys like that. That seemed like so much fun. Such a generous offer from her lady. "Yes, please, my lady, this one would love that so much."

"Then it shall be yours." Lady Jessica cupped her face in her hands. "Anything for my darling, weak, useless little pet."

That made Emily sad, too, although she didn't understand why. "Thank you, my lady."

"Now then, is my precious pet hungry?"

Now that she mentioned it. "Yes, my lady!" Meals were the highlight of her day. It took her a long time to eat since her clumsy pet fingers couldn't use forks very well, but that was fine -- she didn't have much else to do with her time. That might start changing, though, if her lady really did get her crayons and paper. Her lady often forgot the things she had promised, as was her right.

"I'll have Betty send your food up, then," said Lady Jessica, leaving the room.

Emily settled back down into her bed. She hoped that the fact that her lady was doing her makeup meant that they were going out, that she would get to go for a walk. She liked it when her lady dressed her up in a pretty coat and scarf. She liked to see the moon and the stars. Maybe she could draw the moon with her new crayons so that she could look at it all the time. 

She was good at drawing. She wasn't sure how she knew that, since her lady had never given her anything to draw with, but it seemed right. And maybe if she got to draw, she'd stop feeling so sad.

Masterlist

Now I feel like I want to write something comforting to make up for this...

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @whumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining-blog @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity

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

A Pet - Byre

TW: Pet whump, abused whumpee, lab whump mention, past abuse, wounds, caretaking,

~soft~

Byre shivered in the cold basement, thin finger scratching at the peeling paint of the kennel. It was old, far older than they were. They, they didn’t really think it was meant for a pet like them, more like a dog. A real dog. Most of their things seemed to really be meant for dogs. Their collar was thick and nylon, bulky unlike the other pets’ at the park. The water bowl had actual pawprints on it, the toys scattered around rubber and old frayed rope.

Master talked about the dog he used to have sometimes. It was also named Byre. From the way Master talked about it, he seemed to love it more than he had ever loved them. They were just a replacement, an upgrade that didn’t seem to be an upgrade. Everything they had, everything that was theirs was overshadowed by the ghost of a labrador they never even met.

They just wished they had things that were theirs. Meant for them. Even the belt Master used to beat them wasn’t meant for the horrid job it performed.

A black chip of paint came off and Byre sighed. Their back and legs ached terribly, even the smallest movement setting off chains of tremors that echoed long after they had stopped trying. There was nothing left for them to do but lay as still as possible and whimper to themself. Sometimes, it almost seemed to help.

“-honestly just glad to be rid of it,” Byre overheard Master’s words before the door to the basement creaked open. Their heart plummeted, settling somewhere deep down in their stomach. Curling into the floor, Byre desperately hoped he was talking about something other than them. Another set of footsteps caught their ear and sealed their fate.

“Where did you guys say you were from?”

“A cosmetics lab up in Brooksville - it’s a privately run place. You probably haven’t heard of it.”

Byre’s soon-to-be-ex-master grunted noncommittally. “Is that even legal? You know what - I don’t care. Two-thousand bucks is two-thousand bucks.”

They bit their lip until it bled. Byre had overheard pet prices, had a general idea of how much the good ones cost. That number was low. Very, very low. The voices were much closer now, practically right on top of them. They couldn’t stop from trembling, but even that sent spikes of pain through their back.

The kennel door clicked open and Master sighed when they didn’t move. “Out.”

Byre lifted their head to look up at him, and only him. They ignored the other man in the slacks and button-up standing next to him, hoping that if they didn’t acknowledge his existence the figure would melt away.

Master kicked their head to the side, pushing it into the grate of the kennel with the tip of his shoe. “Fucking stop with the doe eyes. You should know by now I hate that shit.” He let go a moment later and they nodded, shakily shifting to their hands and knees to obey.

“Do you still have the paperwork that came with them? Basic information and such?”

“Oh fuck no, threw that in the trash long time ago. But you can just get blood type and such from tests, right?”

Byre made it out of the kennel but their legs were screaming at them. With some effort, they were able to arrange themself into a little pile of limbs, but it was no-where near kneeling or even sitting correctly. Master scoffed at them.

“Useless. If you want, I can give them some more bruises before you go. Ya know, really give you a challenge to cover up.”

Byre whimpered, curling in on themself to try and give even the slightest bit of protection to their stomach and chest. Surprisingly, the stranger wasn’t interested. Instead, a hand wrapped around theirs to pull them up.

“No, that won’t be necessary. I can take it from here. Let us know if you have any questions or such.”

Master - old master, waved his hand without another word. Byre stared at the ground, shaking where they stood. This new person led them down the hall and out the back door, avoiding the stairs for some reason. Byre felt a spark of gratitude for that, knowing how hard it would have been for them.

“Have fun with your labrat!” Old-Master yelled with a laugh. Byre’s teeth chattered.

Still, still even now there was nothing for them. Nothing made for them, nothing meant for them. From dog toys and kennels to people makeup and products. How had they been so bad that they were never allowed to be a real pet? A pet with the purpose of a pet? Could they really not even be used to test pet products?

No, no that would be too much to ask. Too much like comfort.

The man guided them to a van with one hand on their arm and another on their shoulder. He slid the door open and placed them in one of the seats, pausing strangely for a moment to look at them. To examine them better, Byre assumed, not wanting to meet his eye. The bench seat was tall for them, they could swing their legs slightly. They still didn’t look up when he closed the door or when the van began to move.

They did look up, however, when the van didn’t move for very long. They were that close to the lab? It took longer than that to get to the park. Byre glanced out the window to try and take one last look at the trees to see they were… just in a parking lot? They jumped when the man got out and the door opened again.

“Hey,” he said, pulling off his tie and throwing it farther into the van. “You’re okay, I’m not going to hurt you. You probably heard me tell that guy I was taking you to a lab but that’s a lie. There’s no lab, no one is going to hurt you, okay?”

Byre stared at him, wide eyed and beginning to pant in fear. What? What was happening? If there was no lab, where were they going?

The man’s face softened even farther at the look on their face. “Yeah, it’s a lot, I know. But my name is Rory and I want to help you, yeah? You’re gonna come home with me back to my house - is that okay?”

It took a moment for the words to register, but when they did there was nothing for Byre to do but nod. What else would they say? Rory smiled at them and they nearly melted. They had done something right.

A phone rang, startling the both of them, Rory answering it after glancing at the name that popped up. “Hey Jean one second,” with one last smile at Byre he mouthed some words at them they didn’t understand and closed the door again. Byre heard the conversation pick up after Rory got back in the driver’s seat.

“They’re… well I’ll take a better look at them when I get home. You were right, that guy was such an asshole. No, no I don’t think he suspects anything. Like I said, real asshole, didn’t want to check out the card or anything. I’ll text you more when I get back.”

The van started to move yet again, and Byre looked out the window, mind reeling.

What, what was in store now?

~~

It wasn’t a very big house that they pulled up to. Right after the thought crossed their mind, Byre shrunk into themself. What a horrible, ungrateful, awful thought for them to have. They were so lucky that they hadn’t been left to rot in the kennel, actually sold to a lab or perhaps someone even worse.

He could still be worse, their mind supplied and Byre whimpered. The man, Master perhaps, came around to get them and lead them into the house. They were trembling terribly, so embarrassed by how nervous they were. It was a new place, things could be different here.

Their body, however, still had the wounds and bruises inflicted at their last place. Gritting their teeth and focusing was all they could do to keep the whine and whimpers of pain at bay. The man seemed to notice their tension and rubbed their shoulders with his thumb.

“I know, I know you’re hurt. We’ll get you all fixed up when we get inside, yeah?”

Byre’s brow furrowed at the promise, searching the sidewalk in front of them frantically as if it held answers. They didn’t understand, didn’t know what the words really meant. Fixing meant broken, and they sure felt broken but was it enough to even be fixed? They could still walk, still obey. Bones were oddly healed and ached, but they were still healed. They could be broken again.

What else were they for?

Once through, the man turned to lock the door behind them and Byre went to their knees. They knew. They knew this part, were familiar with the rules. Pets on the floor, people above. Always above, always posed to pull and hit and kick.

“No, no no no B, I know you’re used to that but not right now. Let’s get you cleaned up,” Rory said as he lifted them gently by their arm. Carefully, holding up as much weight as they needed him to, Rory guided them to the bathroom. Setting them up on the counter, he reached down to pull out his first aid kit and winked at them.

“Don’t worry, I don’t just play a nurse on TV.”

Byre stared at him, gaze flicking between his eyes incomprehensibly. Rory swallowed.

“Bad joke, sorry kid. I just mean I know what I’m doing. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

As carefully as he could, Rory pulled the torn and dirty t-shirt off and over their head. He had to pause for a second as to not react to the state of them.

“H-Here,” he said quickly, wetting a washcloth and laying it over their forehead and eyes. “That’ll feel good, yeah?”

Confused, but compliant as ever, Byre leaned their head back against the mirror to keep the washcloth from falling off. It was nice, in a strange kind of way. It was cool and weighted, helping their nerves calm distantly. Their jaw was trembling at how exposed they felt, torso an unprotected target. Now was it, now was when they would be branded or cut or hurt in some way. They were always hurt. A miserable warble escaped before they could stop it and Byre could only hope that wouldn’t make things worse.

Rory took a deep breath as silently as he could, letting his eyes fall closed for a second before he really got to work.

They were so thin, so clearly unloved and not taken care of. Covered in layers of grime and dirt, covering layers of scars and bruises. Some wounds old and scared, others fresh and irritated. Thankfully, none of the cuts on the poor thing’s chest required stitches, just some short bandages. There wasn’t much he could do for the layers and layers of bruises but cringe, heart breaking a little farther for them.

While trying to clean off a bootprint, Rory pressed a little harder and Byre whimpered loudly, jerking and curling into themself.

“Fuck, fuck sorry B, sorry. Did I hit something that hurt?”

Byre didn’t answer, taking as short of breaths as possible to regain their composure. Rory wiped more gently and couldn’t bite back another sigh. Broken ribs - or deeply bruised ones. It was hard to tell under all the grime and filth on their skin.

He cleaned them off the best he could before piling up some towels on the counter and tapping their shoulder to help them lay down with their head in the sink. They went easily and Rory scratched at their scalp. “There you go, look at you. You’re being really good, you know that?”

Byre blushed, face heating up under the cloth still over their eyes. They were? Being good here just required being still and silent? That was so easy, they could do that forever. That meant they could be good forever. Their breath hitched at the prospect and they pressed into the hand on their head. They would be so good.

Rory washed their hair as gently as he could, letting the combination shampoo and conditioner do its job. Towel drying was next before finally taking the washcloth back and guiding the poor thing’s arms into one of his old college t-shirts. The pet was practically swimming in it, but it was the smallest he had.

Byre sat up, for the first time in memory, feeling good. Feeling calm and comforted and wonderful. Their hair was still damp, ribs still hurt and stomach still cramping painfully but it felt like they were floating. The man gently draped their arms over his shoulders and picked them up easily, and they melted into it.

He was nice.

He was a nice Master, not hurting them when he had the chance, not making things more painful. They would do anything for him, anything at all. They would be still and silent and soft and obedient and absolutely everything he wanted them to be. They would change anything, they would do anything to stay here with him. Byre didn’t even know his name but it didn’t matter.

“Mm…m-master,” they stated, holding on a little tighter to his neck and closing their eyes.

Rory paused for a moment. It wasn’t a question, or a call for attention - it was a statement. A fact. He had worked with pets a few times that were brought into his ER. He had volunteered at the shelters, at the secret shelters no one was allowed to know about. He had interacted with enough to feel confident being the one Jean called when she saw this abused one at the park but hadn’t quite expected… that. How quickly the poor thing latched onto him. Even as weak as they were, Rory was pretty sure if he took his arms away they would remain clung to him.

The speed of their attachment made his head spin.

“Y-yeah. Yeah B, I’m right here. You’re tired, so you can sleep for a little bit on the, the couch.”

He didn’t want to be ‘master.’ He didn’t want to follow the pet rules and use the stupid beds and collars and fucking food. They would probably need it for a while, but he never wanted to feed into it. He would have corrected them right then and there, but he didn’t want to break them on accident. They’d talk later, after they woke up.

As Byre was laid down, they opened their eyes to look around. They whined, understanding they were on a couch and that they weren’t supposed to be. They mumbled something about a pet bed as the man laid a blanket over them and pulled it up to their chin. He shushed them.

“Just sleep. We’ll talk more later.”

Byre nodded to themself and nuzzled their face into the fabric of the couch. Later, they’d ask more later. They’d learn their rules and what Master wanted and see all their pet things later. They smiled to themself, so excited and happy to finally just be a pet.

[snorpington-fizzlebean]

Beta Reading, Proofreading and Editing Services

Examples of my work

Seeker of Truths

Overtime

Avatar (joint project)

Snaktooth’s Last Secret (extensive editing throughout, prominent advisory role)

Monarch Sunrise (part of editing team, advisory role)

Services

These prices are a guideline, and are negotiable. Timeframes will be agreed upon while discussing payment, and I offer rush services but this will cost extra. Arrangements can be made to spread the cost in cases of very long pieces. I am happy to be discreet and will not discuss contents of unpublished works with others if you wish to keep them confidential for any reason.

Beta reading - $2/1000 words (Offered for all forms and topics of writing, including original fiction, fanfiction, blog posts, essays, or anything else you can think of) I will read your piece and correct any spelling or grammar errors I can find. I may offer constructive criticism if desired, but this is not guaranteed. Constructive criticism - $2/1000 words (Offered for all forms and topics of writing) I will read your piece and offer constructive advice on what you have done well and what I personally think you could do better, including plot and characterisation if applicable, as well as overall writing style and structure. Please note that I will be able to offer more detailed information for fandoms or topics I know, but will happily advise you on any writing you have to offer. Proofreading - $5/1000 words (Offered for all forms and topics of writing) I will correct spelling and grammar errors, edit for readability (including tweaks to word choices, sentence structure, and so on) and give you basic constructive criticism if desired.

Editing - $8/1000 words (Offered for fanfiction in fandoms I am familiar with, including Bugsnax, Sonic and Transformers, and nonfiction writing on topics I am familiar with, but I am willing to negotiate editing other things at a slightly higher rate - DM for details) I will correct spelling and grammar errors, edit for readability, and consult with you as I make cosmetic edits to make your piece easier and more engaging to read. I will give you constructive criticism on plot, characterisation and writing style if desired.

The Works - $10/1000 words and credit on edited work (Offered for Bugsnax fanfics only at this rate. Transformers, Sonic, or other fandoms I am familar with may be negotiable at a higher rate - DM for details) Do you have a story you would love to tell, but feel like you don’t have the skill to make it really shine? Do you have a piece of writing you’d like to see modified into something closer to my style, with my flair? This is for you. I will extensively edit your fic, working closely with you to refine it to the absolute best of my knowledge and ability, all while ensuring your creative vision is preserved and even enhanced. I will offer advice on plot, characterisation and style, as well as worldbuilding details and character creation where applicable, and work these into your fanfic if you wish. Please note that this is not a fic commission! If your piece is a work in progress and you would like my assistance throughout the writing process, I will gladly help you, but I will only edit what you give me and offer advice - I will not write your fic for you.

What I will not work on:

Academic writing at college/university level or above

Anything written for a grade, exam, or qualification

Documents with any legal ramifications

Resumés/CVs

Fiction containing noncon, incest, or underage ships

Bigoted or defamatory content

What I will work on, at my discretion:

Smut/NSFW (DM for details and examples my work)

Kink (DM for details and examples of my work)

Angst/whump/tragedy

Horror and very gory, intense, or dark themes

(Image by myself and @rooniegrumps​)

[allaboardfixationstation]

Too Many Eyes

Based off of the 'N for November' Whump, Angst and Comfort Prompt List’

Day #3 Neck Injury

.

.

“They really did a number on you this time, huh?” 

Hotch let his eyes lazily drift to the side to peer over at Emily. She was sitting next to his bed sporting her own fair share of bumps and bruises. 

The unsub, Jareth Olson, had run his truck into the drivers side of their SUV, pushing them off the road. 

Thankfully the damage to both Emily and the vehicle was minimal. Both sported some cosmetic damage, hers in the form of a laceration across her forehead and a decent shiner across her cheek. 

She would probably have a nasty bruise from where the seat belt had cut into her shoulder, holding her back as the car jerked. 

Hotch looked her over and grunted in agreement. “Lottsa painkillers…” 

“Yeah, I can see that.” Emily chuckled. “The doctors said you’re going to be fine by the way. Just a fracture on your sixth and seventh vertebrae.” 

“My back?” He asked in confusion. His back felt fine. Everything felt fine right now. He wasn’t fully convinced that what Emily was saying was true. 

She shook her head and gave him a small smile, raising just the corner of her lips. “Your neck. That’s why they’ve got you in that cervical collar.” She tapped the hard plastic collar that was currently demobilizing and supporting his neck. “You’re gonna be wearing that for twelve weeks. Maybe only ten if you listen to the doctor's orders and behave.” 

Hotch pouted at the pointed look she was shooting his way. It made him look like a child being scolded for not listening to their parents. 

“...Don’t know what they’re talking ‘bout…” He grumbled. “Got degrees out of bubble gum machines.” 

“Oh, really? And you have more medical experience?” 

This made the man pause and furrow his eyebrows. Instead of answering the question he just glanced at her for a moment in silence. 

Emily could see the gears in his head trying to turn through the painkiller induced fog that was currently filling his head. The head that he currently couldn’t move. This seemed to frustrate him as he slowly wiggled his jaw from side to side. “Can’t move my neck…” 

“That’s because of the collar. Your neck got hurt when the car crashed.” 

Hotch groaned in frustration. His neck didn’t hurt. He had told her this earlier and she wasn’t listening. 

Little did he know that he had not told her earlier and had only thought it to himself. “Dsn’t hurt.” 

“Tell me that again when they wean your stubborn ass off of all of the hard drugs.” 

Just as he went to muddle his way through an argument, telling her that he would know if his neck hurt or not, the door of his hospital room opened and revealed a few other members of the team. 

Derek walked in and leaned against the wall to his left, looking Hotch over. “I bet you’re feeling pretty good right about now.” 

Hotch gave him a small smirk in response. “Been tryin’ to tell Emil-” His mouth tripped up on the words for a second, making him pause. She had a weird name, a hard name. “Tryin’ to tell Em that.” 

“No thank you, I would prefer to stick to the name I have now.” Rossi grinned and took the other empty chair in the room. 

“Em, huh?” Derek laughed and shot a look behind him towards Rossi. “If only we were all special enough to get a nickname.” 

There were so many voices coming from all different parts of the room. It was tiring for Hotch trying to sweep his eyes around the room to keep up with them. 

“Too many eyes... M’ tired.” Hotch said in a way that was more of a slurred huff than a statement. 

The other members of the room looked around at each other, trying to see if anybody had any clue of what Hotch was trying to get at. 

Rossi didn’t have the energy to try to decipher the ramblings of a drugged man. This case had been a long and hard one, only finishing up a half hour ago. There was still paperwork to be done too on top of everything else. 

“Go to sleep kid.” 

Always the stubborn one, Hotch drifted his eyes over to look at the older man and frowned. “M’ not tired.” 

Rossi chose to ignore the fact that he just told them all that he was. Instead, he placed a hand on the bed and smiled encouragingly. “Then just close your eyes for a second. You don’t have to sleep if you’re not feeling up to it.” 

He had dealt with a downed Hotch enough times to know what was about to happen next. Hotch gave everyone in the room one last look before giving into the order and letting his eyes blink closed. 

It only took a few seconds and some quiet background conversation from the rest of the group before their boss had drifted off to sleep. 

“He’s going to be hell when he’s more coherent.” Emily stated. She also had dealt with a downed Hotch enough. He was going to fight the doctors orders to take it easy tooth and nail. 

“That’s a problem for later.” Rossi told her, slouching in his chair and letting his body relax. “For now let's just all enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasts.”

[d-andilion]

bards week masterlist

i'm doing a week's worth of prompts for @thepassifloradiscord's bards week event - i.e. an excuse for me to write nothing but valskier for seven straight days 😍

edit: these were all written pre-season 3 so this valdo is not our lovely new valdo, but hopefully he's still worth a read 💜

fan favorites = 👑, author’s favorites = 💎

day 1: hand-holding 👑

valskier, established relationship, light horniness, realizing i forgot the hand-holding bit but eh, 1.1k

day 2: poetry of love letters

valskier, modern au, feat. the whole oxenfurt crew + geralt and yennefer, established relationship, proposals, fluff, songs count as poetry, fair warning - i’ve reached maximum sappiness with this one, 1.9k

day 3: flower language

valskier, university days, misunderstandings, angst but in a kind of humorous way, allergies, rejection, the rivalry begins, 579

day 4: duets 👑

valskier, elf!jaskier, elf!valdo, university days, established relationship, angst & fluff, mentions of past cosmetic surgery, 812

day 5: broken strings 

valskier, post-s2, established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, love confessions, 1.3k

day 6: cheating 💎

valskier, modern au, angst, jaskier whump, infidelity (not w/ main pairing), significantly hornier than my usual but still non-explicit, pining, unrequited love (or is it??), 1.5k

day 7: missing bathing being together 💎

valskier, modern au, established relationship, long-distance relationship, fluff & angst, hurt/comfort, playing it fast a loose with the geography here, 1.7k