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pigeonwhumps · 2 years ago

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Transport

Sanctuary masterlist

Finding Safety masterlist

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @whumpymirages @emcscared-whumps @poc-whump

785 is transported back to the WRU centre, and has an unpleasant experience along the way.

1.7k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, dehumanisation, collar, restrained, (short) explicit non-con, mentioned past non-con, lady whump, rough handling, mentioned kidnapping, conditioning, multiple whumpees

The conditioned phrases 785 repeats to herself were created variously by @maniacal-ramblings and @ashintheairlikesnow (and thanks to Ash for compiling the list I found them on here). Also, while I'm crediting, the bit about how to punch properly is from @wolfeyedwitch 's post – cheers for that information, which inspired both a large part of the next chapter and Cass' creation in the first place (I'm not sure whether me creating yet another OC should be something to thank you for actually but hey. I like him).

The doorbell rings and 785 listens to the murmur of voices, too low to make out. Then, with a lurch, she feels herself moving. Her box is lifted and carried outside, jostled all the while, before she feels herself being shoved onto something. There's a thud of wood on wood and she hears a loud whimper from below her, and she knows, she knows, that she's been packed on top of another Pet. Sideways. Her cheek pressed against what's now the floor of the crate.

The metal doors of the delivery van slam shut and a few seconds later there's the rumble of an engine as the vehicle starts moving. 785 bumps up and down, hitting the wood with small thuds that disorient her but won't do much actual damage (she doesn't think so anyway). She can hear crying from one of the boxes, and coughing from another.

How many Pets are in here?

She hopes the coughing one doesn't make her ill, because if she gets ill again she won't be able to work, and then she'll be punished, and– and her ribs still ache sometimes, from the last time it happened.

It can't happen again. Please, please, don't make her ill.

The van comes to a sudden halt and she jolts forward, hitting her head on the box. She yelps, which soon turns into a silent scream as her collar activates.

The pain causes her to white out for... she's not sure how long, but when she comes back to herself they're moving again. With each corner they turn she jerks around in her box, and with each stop the van makes she becomes a little more bruised, a little more battered. Most of the stops are pick-ups, although a few boxes are taken out. She wonders if the Pets in the drop-offs are better secured inside their boxes – she wasn't, not really, but then, customers wouldn't put up with damaged goods. They'd complain.

She's not sure how she knows about product satisfaction with such certainty. Her head splits open as she tries to think about it and she gasps.

Maybe... maybe she should stop thinking. She's just a stupid Pet, after all, she doesn't need to think. She shouldn't think. That's something only people should be doing.

It's getting hot in here. It's been warm these past few days, and now she's stuck in a small wooden box surrounded by other boxes and metal. It's no wonder.

The van hits some sort of bump and she lurches, hitting the roof of the crate hard. Someone screams.

"Keep it down back there!" yells a voice from up front. 785 thinks it might be the driver.

"We would," comes a gruff, thickly-accented voice from one of the other boxes, "if you'd drive slower so we're not falling everywhere all the time."

The van stops and the back door slams open. "Who the fuck said that?"

"Me."

785 hears footsteps on the floor of the van and then a boot hitting wood. "Shut the fuck up, then. Oh, I see your owner taped your paperwork to the side of your box. Says here that you were a guard Pet, being sent back for refurbishment, due to your excessive insolence and emerging beliefs about being a person."

"That's bullshit! I've never even seen the inside of a WRU centre! This... scumbag kidnapped me and when I wouldn't be his perfect fucking pet he left me in a box on the roadside! I'm not one of your fucking slaves!"

"You know what? I really don't care where you're from. If you think WRU get all their Pets legally I've got a damn bridge to sell you. You're ours now."

There's a growl, and 785 shakes her head. You signed up for this. All pets are of legal consenting age and made a choice to pursue a change of circumstances including no longer retaining legal ownership of themselves. All merchandise is acquired through full legal channels. She repeats this over and over in her head. She knows that to be true, so the delivery driver must be lying. Mustn't he?

The guard kicks the strange Pet's box again. "And guard Pets are known for getting lots of injuries, so if I were to punish you for disturbing me, no-one would know the difference. So I advise you to shut the fuck up and resign yourself to a life of Pethood, because you're not getting anything else." The Pet's silent. "Right. God. Now that's settled, I gotta burn off some steam. Oi, Dave, there anyone around?"

"There never is here, you know that," says another man from up front. "That's why we always stop here for a break."

"Get back here then. And bring my phone."

The cab door slams. "Man, you are not going to film this."

"Why not? There's no harm."

"No harm– you know what'll happen to us if anyone finds out that you're fiddling with the merchandise! That's why we don't leave any evidence! No filming!"

"Oh come on. It's just for me." There's a pause. "At least help me get the box out and open."

A heavy sigh. "Fine, fine. Who you going for?"

"785. Eleanor's Pet. She looks so good in the videos."

785 tenses. That's her. Her box is shifted and lifted off the van, and set down heavily on the ground, turning her over and shaking her to her bones. She hears the nails being pulled out and the lid removed. Someone lifts her out and sets her down on gravel that pokes into her legs.

"Oh, she's even more beautiful in real life," says the unnamed man. "With the red silk and the bark collar."

"Mm. I wonder why she wasn't made a Romantic?"

"Who knows. Come on, man, don't get me to film. You know what'll happen if we're caught."

"We won't be. Come onnn." There's a silence, and then another sigh and a beep, and a crow. "Eyyy! Atta boy!"

"You better not get us caught, or I'll kill you."

"Yeah, yeah. 785, open your mouth." 785 obeys, unable to do anything else, and she hears the sound of a zipper. "Wider than that. Ah, that's better."

Something slides into her mouth. It's warm and wrinkly and it tastes disgusting, and she nearly chokes as it hits the back of her throat. She knows what to do though, she's been ordered to do it before even though it wasn't her owners (even though her owners had been angry at the order, and angry with her for letting it happen), and she sucks his dick.

"Oh. Oh, that's so good. Mmm."

785 keeps going until there's a jerk and he comes in her throat. She splutters and coughs, trying to swallow or spit it out or something to stop herself choking. It tastes bitter and salty and horrible, and she can feel the tears dripping out from under the blindfold even before Dave points them out. She wasn't made for this, it's not her designation. She's not prepared for it.

"You want a go with her, Dave? She's very good."

"I prefer my sexual partners to be consensual, thanks."

"And yet you were happy to film me."

"Look, let's just– get her back in the box."

"Sure, sure. Your loss." 785 feels herself being lifted and put back in her box, the top nailed down. Her stomach lurches, in free fall, as her box is thrown back on, and the Pet below her screams as she lands upside down with a thud, slamming into the wood hard, breath punched from her as she sees stars. She curls up as tightly as possible as they start to move again. Her stomach churns but she presses her lips together tightly. She won't be sick. She won't sit in a pile of her own vomit for the rest of the journey.

Her jaw aches and her knees are bruised and she's so tired, she just wants 065 or Hugo or her bear (especially 065), and she starts to drift. She can't help but listen to the low, accented voice of that strange Pet when he starts speaking again.

"I'm sorry, 785. I know you probably won't answer, I overheard about the bark collar, but I'm still sorry. I didn't realise I'd get you hurt by speaking up."

He didn't? But every Pet knows that, how can he not? Maybe he really isn't from the WRU.

Swallowing her fear, 785 decides to speak. She needs a distraction, to stop her mind going over and over and over the events of a few minutes ago.

"Hello," she whispers, bracing herself against the shocks. It's not too bad if she whispers. "I'm 785. It's– it's okay, you didn't mean to. It's my– my job."

"Hmm. Well, I'm Cass. Nice to meet you."

"And– and you."

"When they let us out, I'm going to escape. You should come. I do not care if it's hard, I will not be a Pet. I hope you come. All of you. You do not have to stay enslaved." There's a whimper below 785, and she shakes her head. She's not enslaved, she chose this. "If you want to punch, wrap your thumb around the outside of your fist and squeeze it. Aim with your first two knuckles and keep your wrist straight. Start with your knuckles down, and only twist them up towards the end of extending your arm."

785 tries not to listen, she can't fight the handlers, only people can do that. Only people can decide if she's allowed to fight, and she really, really isn't. Not as a combination Platonic/Domestic. She's never been allowed to before.

She can't fight. She's a Pet, she chose to be one, she'll be one for life. She signed up for this. Even if... even if that means she'll be refurbished, forget 065. That's fine. She signed up for it, nothing is her choice anymore, she has to obey. It'll all be good if she obeys. If she fights, it might not be. She's not going to fight. She doesn't have permission or orders to do so.

Unconsciously, her hands curl into fists behind her back, thumbs squeezed around the outsides.

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oblongblockofsteel · 2 years ago

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Broken Doll Part 3

SUMMARY “You’re a blank omega, right?”

That question has been asked too many times in his life. Not that it had ever been Trelawny's choice to even BE blank. It's his greatest wish to bond, to feel connected, but when he bonds with Arthur Morgan, it's more pain than he ever bargained for.

There’s a modest mansion nestled in the rough little valley of Willowbrook. It was impossible to see from the road and had remained almost undetected for years. According to Trelawny’s sources the property had enough valuables to make a duchess blush, and he and his compatriots aimed to alleviate these wonderful people of that heavy burden.

‘Wonderful’ being a rather subjective term, his sources were also quick to share rather strongly held opinions of these people.

‘Peculiar’, ‘odd’, ‘strange’ was often used by the polite.

‘Fucking insane,’ from the more honest.

Trelawny despised going in blind, and so he had persuaded Arthur to rather take things a bit more methodically this time around. They were to watch the house for three days to pinpoint routines, determine how many people lived there, and possibly find out who these people actually were.

Arthur and Trelawny set out early that next morning. Charles and Javier would head off later in to small town nearby to see if they could pick up any more information. Trelawny would prefer to be plucking the brains of sheriffs and barmen, but he opted for a few days in the countryside this time. Besides, if his con was to work on these, he really shouldn’t be seen too much in town. Once Arthur and Trelawny had determined the variables, they were to meet Charles and Javier by a crossroads where they’d discus the plan further. Simple, easy as can be.

And of course Trelawny would be acting as distraction and right in the firing range as per usual.

He never really minded it. He quite enjoyed being the center of so much attention; it fed the ego enough for at least a few weeks. As a performer by nature, he really couldn’t be anywhere else but on the stage. No matter the size of it or the type.

The ride was quiet, the horse’s hooves soft against the dew-soaked earth as they cantered over the wet mud. Trelawny in a rare moment enjoyed the silence, taking the time to think of possible distractions and the problems which might occur during the heist.

His appaloosa tossed his head a few times, more frisky than he first thought. So, when they turned the corner to take the main road he egged him on a bit, taking Arthur past with a bright laugh. Arthur, of course, did not take to that kindly and quickly sped up, coming up from the side. Trelawny lay low on Gwydion’s back, feeling the muscle and bone shift and pound beneath him. He heard a sharp whistle just as they reached a hill and like a shot, Arthur and Boadicea shot past them and reached the top a good length ahead of them.

“Ya really thought you could beat Boa?” he asked panting and patting her arched neck.

Trelawny laughed again, “Perhaps on a dull long stretch of road you can beat us, Mr Morgan. But give us a road with sharp turns and all manner of obstacles, and Gwydion will show you how it’s done.”

The little appaloosa tossed his head as if in agreement and Arthur snorted, shaking his head.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Trelawny laughed and they continued onwards.

They reached the small mansion by midafternoon. Surroundings hills and forests made it difficult to see if you didn’t know where to look. It was as dilapidated as he expected. The estate around it had become over grown with weeds, the plants and garden unkempt and unruly. But even without binoculars, he could see a stable full of horses, a man walking down a path to what he assumed was a greenhouse.

There was life, and treasure to be found. Jewels if his sources were good – which they always were - a whole stack of jewels hanging behind a portrait in the main bedroom.

“You sure about this?”

“Have I ever been wrong?”

Arthur huffed, “Wrong? No. Unlucky? Hell, yes.”

“Let’s hope my luck has turned.”

Arthur snorted and turned Boa away from the house, “Let’s go find us a spot.”

They quickly set about scouting the area. They were looking for a spot that was both secluded and free of too much traffic. Some of these areas could be quite busy and they wanted to avoid them as best they could to avoid suspicion. They discussed possible pitfalls of the area, noting homesteads that were too close for comfort or trails hidden between the trees that hinted at possible traffic.

They finally settled on a cramped forested area, obscured from view but with a high ridge on the site which would be perfect for Charles to take out a few men with his bow if need be. But just before starting their vigil, Arthur noted a woodcutter’s camp only around thirty yards from the road. They packed up and moved on.

It would be dusk before Arthur finally settled on a spot: a slight ridge far from roads with a perfect view on the mansion hidden between trees and bush. A long stretch of river hugged the short hill close from the east, cutting in between the house and the hill and a rock face rising up behind them, meant they would not easily be spotted if they kept low. They scouted the area for a good hour but found no settlements, farmsteads, homesteads nor well-hidden woodcutters or trail.

“This should do very nicely,” Trelawny agreed, plopping down on a rock overlooking their target directly.

“You tired of looking, old man?” Arthur’s smile was downright mischievous.

Trelawny took off his hat and wiped at his forehead, “Not all of us can be boorish gorillas with more brawn than brains, Mr Morgan.”

He snorted, “I’ll go get us a rabbit, can you start the campfire?” he paused, then turned back and with a downright mischievous smile said, “Do you even know how?”

Oh that little snip. Taking a long drag of his cigarette, Trelawny stood up and walked straight towards him scratching at his chin with an idle hand.

“I rightfully don’t know,” he said, voice taking on a slight sing-song tone. “I haven’t done it in a while, I do so love living the high life, eh, Mr Morgan?”

“You sure do.” He crossed his arms, as if waiting for something. And Trelawny so hated disappointing people.

“Well now,” he raised a hand with a closed fist, and looked straight at Arthur, “Do you think this will work?”

Bright yellow sparks clapped right in Arthur’s face, he took a wild step back and nearly stumbled to the ground in his haste. “Fuck, Trelawny!”

He laughed right from his belly, and Arthur, despite his surprise failed to hide his own grin. “Go get us some dinner, my dear boy! I believe I can figure out a blasted campfire.”

“I think you just might,” he agreed, jumping on his mount, Arthur tipped his hat the man took off into the field.

Shaking his head, Trelawny e went to gather some sticks for the fire. He had only done so years ago while travelling with a Circus. They’d been kind, they taught him magic, and showed to him that he could survive, that he could be more than he ever thought he might be. Mostly, he remembered Bryan…

A love nurtured through wild adventures and constant laughter. A kiss in the dark, an embrace that turned into more, the sharp sting of a bite, and the painful disappointment of a bond unformed.

His hand paused, turning its journey away from a stick to settle instead on his neck. Bryan had, at least not abandoned him as the others had. Over twelve bites and not a single one would take. Not even his dear Deirdre, whom was now married to the owner of a mine up in Saint Denis.

Frederick was his name.

He sighed heavy and deep, and quietly gathered a few more sticks for the fire, pushing away his misery.

Thoughts of bonding brought up thoughts of Arthur and his impending marriage. He wondered what it would be like for the Alpha to be shackled to a Beta. Shackled might be a rough a term, but many Alpha’s felt incomplete in beta marriages.

Was that the reason the lad was so uncertain?

“Josiah!”

Oh dear, I’ve lingered for too long. Grabbing around three more sticks he popped up and hurried back to camp.

“On my way, dear boy!”

Arthur, silhouetted by the dipping sun, spun to him, his expression tight with worry, “Thought something had happened.”

Josiah held back the urge to roll his eyes, “I am fine, Arthur. I’ve been taking care of myself since I turned fifteen.”

“Sure,” he shrugged, “But anything can happen.”

Trelawny glanced up, a sharp reprimand on his tongue, but Arthur’s demeanor made the words curl up and die. His stood; hands on his hips, head bowed a little, and shoulders hunched and so clearly worried.

“True,” he said instead, “But I’m fine,” he touched his arm and Arthur’s smile widened a little, soft with relief.

The evening came alive with the barks and caws of nightlight. Trelawny leaned back against the rock, taking long delicious drags from his cigarette.

“Arthur…” he ventured.

“Mm?” Arthur, hat tipped low was leaned against a tree; hands crossed over his stomach and head bowed.

“Have you ever been bonded?”

The head tilted up, revealing wary eyes.

“You asked me so many questions last night that I thought it only fair to ask you in turn.” He took another long drag and kept his eyes on his companion, examining his reaction. Arthur’s expression softened a little, his lips pursed under the hat then with a heavy sigh.

“No.”

“Truly?” That was surprising, “I’d have thought you’d have at least one sweetheart by now!”

He chuckled and shook his head, “Nah, not yet.”

“Oh? I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it.”

“Especially,” he continued, ignoring his response, “Seeing as you were so adamant to know how to court a lady when you were but eighteen years old.”

The nightlife sounds crept back in. The stark shriek of an owl piercing the night and punctuated the absolute silence from his partner. Arthur sat forward, his face falling into shock.

“You remember that?”

Trelawny laughed, “Of course!” he said, “How could I not? Young Arthur marching up to me with a face carved of stone and asking pertinent, deliberate questions about how to court a lady.” Trelawny laughed, “And after you had your fill, you had nodded and marched off only to ignore me for a whole of three months!”

Arthur buried his face into his hands, “Ahh damn, I thought you’ve have forgotten about it. That was just…” he cleared his throat.

“Endearing?”

“Stupid,” he muttered pulling his face out his hands, “Just beyond stupid.”

Trelawny shook his head, “Not stupid if it was sincere,” he stared at Arthur, “Was it?”

“What?”

“Sincere?”

In true Arthur fashion he rubbed the back of his neck and smiled, “Yeah, I guess. But I never asked them though.”

“Why ever not?”

“Chickened out.”

“A shy Alpha? Now there’s a thought.”

Arthur reached over and punched him lightly in the shoulder, “Shut-up!”

Trelawny laughed.

For the rest of the evening, they sit around the small fire, chatting about anything and everything, Trelawny truly enjoyed Arthur’s company, his smile and laugh, and that wonderful shyness that cropped up from time to time. Endearing really was the best word to describe the man.

The rabbit was delicious, the company even better, and he went to sleep with a lighter heart.

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kalessinsdaughter · 2 years ago

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Whumpuary 2023

Prompt no. 9 "scars"

Back at the cave, Hiccup makes an unexpected discovery while preparing to get the crossbow bolt out of Dagur's shoulder. This leads to a surprisingly candid conversation.

Heed the warnings.

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howtowhumpyourhiccup · 2 months ago

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Fracture

Summary: Set during RttE. If Hiccup thought he was suffering the consequences after weeks of being held captive by Viggo Grimborn now, he's wrong. The Hunter still has more for him in store. For both him as well as the other Dragon Riders.

Warnings: Past Rape/Non-con, Parent and child separation, Child abuse, Childbirth

Rating: Mature

Dead Dove: Yes

Words: 7 561

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Characters: Hiccup, Toothless, Viggo, Ryker, Astrid, Fishlegs, Snotlout, Ruffnut, Tuffnut, Httyd oc (Vigi Tiny)

Pairing: Vigcup

Author's Notes: I can't believe this fic is well up 7k long. It did not feel that way when I wrote it.

Also was NOT planning on posting this fic now, I wanted to keep it for somewhere after Hallowtober at least. (I post three other things today!!!) But I suddenly got the URGE and when you get the URGE you follow the URGE.

Could have a follow up, let's see how I feel later.

Definitely based around an idea discussed on a Discord server, of which I am definitely writing my own version of. Also definitely inspired by Evilwriter's version "Seeds of Deceit."

Enjoy!

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mommybookwyrm · 7 days ago

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Play Me A Song Of Longing On Your Heartstrings | by Mommybookwyrm

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Pairing: Astarion/Wyll

Summary:

Wyll splashed water on his face and neck, sighing with relief as the cool liquid washed away the grime and sweat of their ordeal. He turned to Astarion with a grin, droplets clinging to his dark skin like jewels. "You're right, this is heavenly," Wyll said, running his hands over his hair. "Though you look like a man who is used to more sophisticated pleasures. " Astarion raised an eyebrow, unsure if Wyll was flirting or simply making conversation. He decided to play it safe. "I've had my share of pleasures, yes. Though today has been... an exception." Wyll's expression softened. "Aye, it's been a hell of a day for all of us. But we're alive, and that's something to celebrate don’t you think?”

Astarion had long given up on praying to the gods. It should come as no surprise to him then, that they are all just pieces for the divine to move about for their own entertainment.

Prologue: A Prayer is Heard

Chapter One: The Beach

Before: The Master’s Rules

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minty-mumbles · 2 years ago

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Febuwhump Day 13: Forced to Harm a Loved One

Read the full collection of my febuwhump ficlets on AO3

~~~

“N-no, no!”

Warriors cringed internally as he heard Wild’s cries. It was terrible having to listen to the sound of his pleading and know that it was he who was causing Wild so much pain. He was the one responsible for this, he was the one choosing to do this to Wild. He was-

Warriors did his best to shake off those thoughts. It wouldn’t help anyone if he fell into a downward spiral of horrible thoughts. Wild needed him to be present and aware. And really, Warriors wasn’t the one who was hurting him. Not that he would ever say it- and certainly not now- but it was Four who was the one causing Wild’s pain.

Warriors was just the one holding him down, not letting him get away or buck Four off of him where the smithy was straddling Wild’s weakly kicking legs.

Warriors was just the one holding him down, and that was almost worse.

Wild was a free spirit. Warriors had known from the day he’d met the champion that he was a hard one to pin down, figuratively and literally. He was always moving and didn’t like being told to stay still. (One time Legend had snapped irritably at Wild about his habit of rocking back and forth on his feet, and the look WIld had shot the veteran had been absolutely scathing. No one ever mentioned that particular habit of his again.)

Being told not to wander off was also irritating to the champion, but at least he’d finally gotten in the habit of letting them know when he was planning on disappearing. Warriors thanked the stars for that, as it had saved them more than one headache in the past few months.

All of this put together signaled a very free-spirited hero.

Warriors had always suspected that Wild had some sort of issue with being restrained or confined. For a split second of selfishness, Warriors wishes he was not having that suspicion confirmed.

But the life of a hero wasn’t easy. The battlefield was a dangerous place, and even if a delirious hero pleaded and begged, his blood-soaked bandages needed to be changed. Warriors wished that they hadn’t let Wild put his tunics back on after dressing his wound in the first place. But they couldn’t’ve known that the wound would end up becoming infected.

Warriors looked up to check the process, trying to gauge how much longer this was going to go on and how much longer he would need to listen to his brother cry. The smithy’s eyes were frantically cycling through nearly all the colors of the rainbow, but he kept as steady a hand as possible in this scenario.

It took a great deal of careful maneuvering to get Wild out of his Champions’ tunic. They persisted though, even as Wild cried out in pain and panic.

If it had been anyone else, they would have simply cut the tunic off and spared themself the trouble. But they both knew that Wild would kill them later if they destroyed the tunic his Zelda had made for him. They didn’t bother to be so careful with his undertunic, simply using Warriors knife to cut it off of Wild. He would be able to borrow one of the others' spare tunics until the group reached the next town.

The entire process of removing his clothes so they could get at his bandages seemed to be agony for Wild. Warriors knew from experience that lifting your arms when you had an injury on your side hurt. But it wasn’t only that.

“No, stop, I don’ wan- I don’ wanna take m’ clothes off. Sto’ it- Four, stop.”

Wild’s words were slurred but still understandable. Warriors risked a glance up at Four, and found that the smithy looked like he wanted to cry to. He visibly steeled himself, took a deep breath, and continued. His eyes had settled on purple and green, the blue and red retreating from his gaze.

Warriors tried to follow his example, taking a steadying breath and trying to ignore Wild’s wails.

Wild may be confused and combative- as evidenced by the bruise forming on Four’s cheek- and more than a little out of touch with the situation, but he was obviously still present enough to recognize the two of them. It only made the situation worse, that Wild was able to call out their names when he begged for them to stop.

Wild had taken his shirt off in front of the rest of the group plenty of times, not to mention the time he had shown them all his cars. But there was a difference between removing clothing consensually when you were lucid enough to understand what was happening, and having your clothing removed and cut off when you were only partially present in your own mind.

Warriors felt sick.

Maybe Wild had no reason to be this defensive. Maybe he was just delirious and confused. That still wouldn’t make it okay, but it would make the whole situation easier to smooth over when Wild comes back to himself. But Warriors had a sinking suspicion that the issue ran deeper than that.

Maybe, Warriors hoped, Wild simply didn’t want to show off his scars. The champion acted rather nonchalant about them, but that didn’t mean he was obligated to show them off.

But maybe, Warriors shuddered, maybe Wild was afraid of something, something that Warriors himself had been through and would never wish on anyone. There were very few reasons someone would try to forcibly remove someone else’s clothes, and none of them were good.

To Wild’s hazy mind, which obviously didn‘t recognize that he needed to change his bandages, there would be only one option left. Being held down and stipped out of his tunic…

Warriors’ next breath came out as a shuddering gust of air, and he had to resist the urge to gag.

The cries of their names made it obvious that Wild knew who was trying to get his clothes off. Warriors and Four were only trying to help, but from Wild’s point of view?

Warriors wished the other heroes were here. Twilight, at least, would be able to help soothe the panicked champion. The ranch hand had a way with the wild hero, and always managed to calm him. Maybe restraining Wild wouldn’t’ve even been necessary in the first place.

Anyone else would have been a help too. Just having someone there to reassure Wild who was actively trying to disrobe him or holding him down would have made their task easier.

But there was no one else here. It was only Four, Warriors, and Wild, alone in a strange era. The other heroes were Hylia-knows-where, separated from the three of them by the very fight that had injured the champion.

Leadership now fell to Warriors. He was the oldest, and the highest up in the pecking order the heroes had seemed to naturally fall into, back when they had first met. He was the one in charge.

Normally, Warriors would not flinch at this. He was one of the finest captains in the Hyrulean military. He was more than used to leading, even if he had to make a hard decision that might hurt some of the people under his commands.

But selfishly, Warriors wished that just this once, the burden of making hard decisions did not rest on his shoulders.

#TW mentions of rape #vaguely implied past non-con #Whether Wild is afriad because of past non-con like Warriors thinks or if Warriors is just projecting is up to the reader #mint's fanfiction #linked universe #lu warriors #lu wild #lu four #lu warriors angst #lu wild angst #febuwhump #whump

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ex0rin · 2 years ago

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@febuwhump Day23: "You'll have to go through me" (NSFW) Steve/Bucky, Rumlow/Bucky - 3015 words

past non-con/rape, past abuse, shower masturbation, betrayal, violence, whump

Part SIX of 'Til the End of the Line

The first time Bucky sees him again is when he's out for an early morning run with Steve - he usually sticks to jogging in the evenings when there's less people to look at him but Steve's been weird lately, distant and quiet, and spending more time with him is the least Bucky can do when he's already feeling so horrible and guilty for watching the videos.

For saving them and listening to them over and over.

READ ON AO3 HERE: You'll Have To Go Through Me

#cara writes #febuwhump2023 #febuwhump day23 #bucky tag #steve rogers tag #guess who's not tagging stucky #it's me #winterbones #winter soldier tag #rumlow tag #past rape/non con #past abuse #this is not stucky endgame #aaaaaand we're caught up again!

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walkthemoonshadow · 4 months ago

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God fucking DAMN IT. I was enjoying the HELL out of Meet You at the Blossom, BEYOND excited when I discovered it—an UNCENSORED WUXIA BL??? As someone who only likes the stuff set in Ancient China and not modern times, it was a dream. And I was hooked from the beginning; I love all of the characters, and the main romance was so cute. I did pick up on some of Huaien’s possessiveness etc but it wasn’t too bad so I was just hoping it was part of his cold, never-known-love demeanor (which, I mean, it kinda is? but in this case surpasses a simple variability in personality and reaches troubling territory). Then he went unhinged in episode 5/6 and r*ped Xiabao??? Is this what happens in the book too?

And I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s still a really interesting show and Huaien is a captivating character, but damn. Sometimes I just don’t have the energy.

That being said though I am gonna keep watching it lmao.

#not here to start discourse either i consider it r*pe but if you don’t whatever it’s fictional either way #I suppose it really doesn’t help that r*pe is like my one trigger #though I feel like I handled it better this time than in the past like even the non-con kiss in mdzs set me off more than this #rape tw #meet you at the blossom #meet you at the blossom spoilers #blooming flowers silent sorrow

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nade2308 · 2 months ago

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This fic needs a few pointers before reading:

1. When we watched Crossing Lines, me and Thistle started brainstorming a version where there is an additional team member that will bond with Carl.

2. Thus Mac was born. We needed another European imp, and given I live in Europe just not in the EU zone, was the perfect excuse to mold a character based on someone outside of the EU that got a chance to work with them, thanks to the similarities of the serial killer cases with a case from her country.

3. Her name is Makedonka Jankovska and she goes by "Mac" to be easily remembered and pronounced. More background will follow in the fics I have written for them both that are alternative versions of some of the episodes, and they will be put in a series (the order will be determined once I post all fics).

4. The non-con is implied, nothing is explicit, and it is also something we came up based on how skittish Carl was when Genovese was around.

5. I had so much fun building this world around Mac and Carl (and for the sake of the plot and implications, some events were/will be altered to accommodate that).

Happy reading!

@thethistlegirl

#whumptober2024 #no.2 #amusement park #crossing lines #fic #past rape/non-con #carl hickman #OC #makedonka jankovska #my fic #my writing #my edit

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serena-ish · 9 months ago

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Bloodweave fic I've been working on. Please note the trigger warning prior to each chapter❤️

#bloodweave #astarion x gale #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #bg3 #hurt/comfort #tw; past rape/non-con #tw; cazador #tw; blood

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sapphireginger · 1 year ago

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Peter & the Sunflower: Chapter #1 | 1900 - London, England

Summary:

Little Panteleimon slowly sat up and stretched, his ruby red and obsidian black wings unfurling much like the petals of the Helianthus had. His chestnut brown hair, shimmered with obsidian and ruby sparks and his eyes faded from their pre-birth obsidian to a warm amber color, one akin to melted gold and liquid honey. His body was bare, his height no taller than that of a mouse on its hind legs and he bore no shame or self consciousness for his nakedness. His skin was cream colored, like milk mixed with drops of the sun itself and from head to toe he was adorned with a smattering of light brown spots, known as moles or freckles to most that looked as though they had been painstakingly placed one by one.

AO3 Link

@badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Self-Harm

1900 — London, England

In the early hours of the year 1900, just as spring began to fade into summer, a Helianthus, more commonly known as a sunflower, began to unfurl. Its long petals, golden and bright in the sunlight, were ready to reveal their precious cargo, worth more than any jewel or wealth known to man, woman or beast.

Helianthus Fields was a valley of flora just south of the grand city of London, England. It was a valley that stretched as far as the eye could see, especially if you were standing at the crest of the hill to the north of its center. Many knew of the field but very few, almost none, would ever be able to find the grove within the valley where this brand new Helianthus, this brand new sunflower, was blooming. It was a sacred grove, one that housed, one that possessed many secrets and protected its inhabitants.

That day, May 7th of 1900, just after the turn of the century, as the Helianthus fully stretched its petals, a small being got its first glimpse of the world. This little being was known as a Sióg, or a Fá. In the tongue of those that dwelled in London, the species was known as the fae or fairy.

Now, these weren’t fairies like those in fairy tales or legends so much as those stories were the ones that had been told by the Siógs themselves to lead the focus away from their people. They were a private and secret race of supernatural beings, and it was imperative that no one ever learned of the truth behind their existence.

The little Sióg born that evening just as the moon took its place amongst the stars, was named Panteleimon. He was known as a hatchling Sióg as that was what they called the newest members of their clan.

Panteleimon’s lithe little body was smooth. The only hair he possessed was that which covered his head, and he was, in a word, breathtaking. There was a reason many did not know about the existence of Siógs and one of them was the allure they held, their beauty far beyond mortal comprehension or witness.

Ready to take a look at the world for the first time, and ready to meet his fellow hatchlings, Panteleimon quickly stood on the Helianthus’s center and peeked to his left. What he saw, what he scented, quickly stole the fresh pink flush from his cheeks, dampened the fire of life in his chest, and stole his strength to remain standing. He collapsed, dropping to his knees as he began to sob.

As far as the eye could see, which was pretty far for a Sióg like him, there was nothing but ash, smoke and the overwhelming scent of death. The only color that remained in the valley was the lone Helianthus that Pan had just hatched from mere minutes before. Though he could see the golden petals of the Helianthus, it somehow seemed muted when cast alongside the gray, black and barren landscape.

He shut his eyes, his small body shaking with agony, grief and horror. His small fingers gripped the Disc florets, tightly, praying to the goddess that it was all a nightmare, that he would wake up and see his parents, and his fellow Sióg hatchlings. Alas, when he opened his eyes, the scene had not changed, and he could not help the drooping of his wings or the way their shine began to dull.

Pan remembered the sounds of his parents laughing as he grew closer to his hatching day. They sounded so happy, and he couldn't wait to meet them. He loved hearing their voices and could so clearly recall them even now. They would talk to him every day and he remembered listening to every word even if he didn’t yet understand what they were saying. He remembered the sound of their voices, his mother’s soft cooing and his father’s protective cadence and then he remembered the silence.

At the time, he did not know why they were silent but now he knew, now he understood, for when he hatched from his sunflower, he saw the husks of a thousand flora that never bloomed. Those husks, thousands of them, husks that had held other Sióg hatchlings, were nothing but ash now. The destruction nearly eradicated an entire species and only one sole Helianthus survived the flames. As Panteleimon shed his tears of pain and grief he saw how the charred remains of the other Helianthus blossoms had become tombs for the other small Siógs, his brothers, his sisters, his friends, his family, all now nothing but ash and dust. He ached and part of him wanted to fade away to ashes and dust himself. His wings began to dull as he considered his pale skin and the crimson waves beneath it. Siógs had claws, thin and needle like, that he could use. It would be quick and then he’d be with his family, his friends, his brothers and sisters, with his kin again.

The lack of support, lack of fellow hatchlings was why Pantelimon was so much weaker. Siógs were not meant to be alone after their birth. The new hatchlings were supposed to group together and only break off when they felt a pull toward their new home. Death sounded like freedom, but he didn’t think he could actually do such a thing. It would be dishonorable and cowardly. It was just that now, Panteleimon didn’t know what would become of him, nor what his fate would be. Siógs weren’t meant to live in isolation or solitude, but what choice did he have?

✨ 🍃 🌻 🍃 ✨

It took nearly a fortnight for him to gather enough strength to start his journey. He couldn’t stay no matter how much he wished he could. As soon as he was able to stand, he tried to fly and when he finally began to hover, he began his search for a forever home. Ever since rising high above the Helianthus field, his wings fluttering and buzzing faster than a hummingbird’s wings, he had tried to feel the goddesses’s magic, praying that it would guide him to his new home. His search lasted much too long, using too much of his strength but he pressed on. He could rest later and without knowing whether or not the world held other Siógs out there, he realized he may very well be the last of his kind. He had to find someplace safe to call home, someplace he would be safe.

As the week grew to a close, the crisp midnight air, chilling his unnaturally cool body, he was almost numb with exhaustion, hunger and his energy was nearly depleted. His eyes began to droop by the time he came to the first star to the right. His light was nearly snuffed out, his wings barely shimmering or fluttering anymore as the magic used up the last of its reserve.

If a Sióg’s laughter was like bells, then their cries were like a snare drum bang, though softer coming from such a small being. Panteleimon didn’t want to die. He hadn’t truly lived yet. Still, amber eyes were drifting shut as his wings stilled and he began to fall. Perhaps, it was meant to be this way, for him to try and to fail. Perhaps the goddess had deemed it time for the Sióg species to end. Why Panteleimon alone survived, he did not know but he surrendered to the endless sleep and welcomed death with open arms.

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the-delta-42 · 2 years ago

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Firsts Part 3: Fight

[First] [Previous] [Next]

Firsts Part 3: Fight

Kenley hummed as she scribbled on a piece of paper, Jamie splattered paint onto a table and AJ stared out the window.

“AJ,” Said Sarita, crouching next to him, “is everything alright?”

“Clem’s angry.” Mumbled AJ, “Mommy said that Clem’s birth parents wanted her.”

Sarita frowned, she’d heard about Clementine’s birth parents in passing from Kenny and, sometimes, Clementine herself. She looked up and spotted Molly and Christa talking to each other, Sarita turned her eyes back to AJ.

“How about you draw something for her to make her feel better?” Suggested Sarita, as she gently led AJ to the table.

Clementine stalked around the room, the rest of her friend group watching her. She hadn’t told them about her ‘parents’ phone call. Duck frowned as he watched Clementine pace.

“I’ve never seen Clem this angry.”

Sarah hummed, frowning as Clementine threw a rock-melting glare at the door. Gabe sighed through his nose, before getting up and walking over to Clementine.

“Hey, Clem.” Said Gabe, making Clementine stop and look up at him, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Scoffed Clementine, through gritted teeth, “everything’s perfect.”

“No, it isn’t.” Stated Gabe, frowning, “You’re angry at something, and you’re bottling it up.”

“So?” Demanded Clementine, fixing him with a glare, “What’s it to you?”

“I’m worried about you,” Said Gabe, “you’ve been glaring at everything in front of you.”

“As if anyone actually cares.” Scoffed Clementine, turning away from him, “You all say you care, that you’ll always be around, but you all swan off and fucking leave.”

“Really?” Snapped Gabe, glaring at Clementine.

“Yeah.” Snarled Clementine, her face getting red, “But, I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve practically lived with a silver spoon in your mouth.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“You still have your parents.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“You never had to worry about anyone dropping you and leaving you behind.”

“I lost my mom.”

“Yeah, and the replacement ran off with your uncle, how long do you think the thing with Ava will last?”

“You know what, I can see why your parents abandoned you.” Snapped Gabe, making Clementine physically flinch.

Clementine breathed heavily, before spinning on her heel and running out of the room.

“Great job.” Snarked Becca, chasing after Clementine, with Duck following her.

“Do you want me to tell you what went wrong, or do you want to figure it out for yourself?” Asked Gill, as Sarah, chewed on her bottom lip.

Gabe huffed, before following after Becca and Duck.

Clementine’s leg and chest burned. She’d used the gun that bad man had used on her parents. He’d kept her with him for two weeks. Clementine came to a sudden halt when she tripped over something. She looked back, and saw a strange looking lump, she let out a scream when it stood up.

A scruffy looking, old man rubbed the back of his head and looked around, confused, before spotting Clementine.

“Howdy.” Greeted the man, waving and Clementine, before she pointed the bad man’s gun at him, “Okay, not how I expected to wake up. What’s your name, darlin’?”

Clementine’s hands shook, she said nothing.

“My name’s Chuck,” Said Chuck, before pausing, “Charles if you’re fancy.”

Clementine swallowed, her eyes burned, and she dropped the gun. Chuck watched her as she dissolved into tears, before gently placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, hey,” Murmured Chuck, gently. He frowned as the little girl blubbered out something about being hungry and tired and cold and that she wanted her parents. Chuck sighed through his nose, before looking at a tin in his sleeping bag. The girl gripped his hand, making him sigh again, “Well, it ain’t clean, but you can have this.”

Chuck took his coat off and draped it over her shoulders. He gently guided her to his sleeping bag and he grabbed his tin and let her lie down. Within seconds, she was asleep. Keeping an eye on her, Chuck walked up to a nearby payphone.

After putting in 9-1-1, he spoke, “Hey, I have a little girl who wandered into me carrying a gun, she looks like she’s been abused.”

Chuck was quiet as the dispatcher spoke.

“I’m on Augusta Avenue, no, I won’t go anywhere.” Chuck hung up the phone. He watched over the girl until the police officer arrived.

Chuck was jerked from his memories, when a young woman tripped over his bag. He frowned, she was clearly upset, but she looked familiar.

“Howdy.” Greeted Chuck, making the woman freeze.

After hastily wiping her eyes, she looked at him, “Chuck?”

Chuck squinting at her, before recognising her, “Clementine?”

The two stared at each other, before Clementine threw her arms around him.

“Clementine!” Yelled someone, Chuck looked over and spotted a tall man and an average height woman running up to them. The man slowed down, before frowning at him, “Chuck?”

“You’re in better spirits.” Said Chuck, smiling up at Duck.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait,” Laughed Becca, as Duck’s face went red, “She managed to get you to eat a beetle?”

Chuck chuckled as Duck spluttered out an excuse. He’d learnt that Clementine had ran all the way from a friends house on the other side of town after a fight with her boyfriend. He’d decided to walk them back to said friend’s house, entertaining them with stories of his travels and the last few times he saw Duck and Clementine.

“You doin’ alright?” Asked Chuck, glancing at Clementine.

“I’m fine.” Muttered Clementine, looking at the ground.

“I might not know much about this fight you had,” Said Chuck, looking a head of them, “but bottling it up, it ain’t goin’ to make your relationship last long.”

“If I tell him, he’ll want nothing to do with me.” Murmured Clementine, carefully making sure that Duck and Becca couldn’t hear her.

“Then that’s his problem.” Said Chuck, bluntly, “If he can’t accept you for who you are, then he ain’t worth your time.”

Clementine swallowed, and nodded. She looked up and searched of a sign that had the street name written on it. She mentally noted that they were near Gabe’s home.

“I,” Clementine swallowed, as Duck and Becca turn back to look at her, “I’m going to talk to Gabe.”

“Do you want us to come with you?” Asked Duck, frowning at her.

“No, I, I need to do this alone.” Declined Clementine, before taking a deep breath and walking towards Gabe’s house.

“Good luck.” Said Chuck, before he turned around, “I should’ve come to this side of town sooner, they have a shelter.”

Clementine swallowed nervously, as she knocked on the front door of Gabe’s home. She heard a pair of feet rushing towards the door, before it was flung open and Gabe stared at her. Before she could open her mouth, Gabe grabbed her arms and pulled her close to him.

“I’m sorry.” Mumbled Gabe, into the top of Clementine’s head, “I shouldn’t’ve said that, I’m so sorry.”

Clementine swallowed, “We, er, we need to talk about something, privately.”

Gabe frowned and swallowed, before he led her up to his room. After closing the door and looking at Clementine, “Is it about the fight?”

“Kinda,” Clementine winced and swallowed, “You, you know that my birth parents abandoned me on the side of the freeway and I was hit by a car, right? I was four, almost five at the time, and a couple of months after they abandoned me, I was fostered by a couple, their names were Lee and Carley. I was with them for two years, be-before,” Clementine swallowed thickly, “before some stranger forced his way in and killed them in front of me.”

Gabe swallowed, as Clementine continued, “He, he shot Carley and slit Lee throat. T-those dark patches on my hat… those, those are from Lee and Carley. I, I haven’t washed it because it’s the last thing I have to them a-and,” Gabe reached out and grabbed Clementine’s hand, “i-if those are gone, t-then it’ll be like I lose them all over again.”

“It’s okay.” Murmured Gabe, moving close to Clementine.

Clementine sniffled and wiped at her eyes, “A-after that stranger took me, he, he would beat, starve a-and touch me, for t-two weeks. I was seven and I was raped by some sick fuck.” Clementine took a deep breath, “I-I m-managed t-to t-take his gun from his bag. I shot him.”

“You mean, like, through the legs?” Asked Gabe, making Clementine shake her head.

“As, as in, through the head.” Clementine stared at the floor, “I ran out of the place he was keeping me and I just ran, Kenny thought I must’ve run the length of Savannah, before I tripped over Chuck. He’s a homeless guy that helped me get back to Kenny.”

Gabe nodded and wrapped an arm around her.

“T-then Katjaa committed suicide and I was place with Omid and Christa, they gave me up after a couple of months, I-I don’t know the specifics. I got placed with Mom and Dad for the first time, I, I was a terror to them, I stole their car and crashed it into a tree and got hit by another car while trying to get away from the wreck.”

Gabe tightened his grip of Clementine, “I was then placed with a couple, called Leland and Dee, I was with them for three weeks, before I was abandoned again. I then went to Lilly and Mark, at the start they were great, it was like we were almost a family and I fucked it up by asking them to take me to see a nearby dairy farm.”

“You, you mean the St. John cannibals?” Asked Gabe, getting a nod from Clementine.

“They, they killed Mark and fed him to us, Larry, Lilly’s dad, had a heart attack and Lilly tried to kill me, she’s the reason I only have half a finger on my right hand. I was beaten, starved and raped, again. Then Daryl found me, he came looking for a friend of his, he had a police officer with him. I don’t know what they did, but they rescued me from them. I was with Daryl for three weeks, before he was forced to return me to social care because he didn’t have a job. I then was placed with Daryl’s friend, Rick. He returned me to social care because he was moving and was divorcing his wife.”

“I think I’ve met him.” Murmured Gabe, pulling Clementine close to him.

“I was placed with Jane, who abandoned me during that dog incident,” Clementine forced herself to speak, “I was then handed over to a guy named Troy, I was beaten, starved, shot, stabbed, raped and forced to test drugs for him and his group.”

“How were you placed with him?” Asked Gabe, staring down at Clementine, who shrugged.

“Troy’s got nothing on Carver,” Warned Clementine, her throat tight, “He did all the things that Troy did, I saw him cave a guy’s head in, Wyatt I think his name was, with a salt lick. He had me hauling car parts and all that shit. When I was with Daryl, he had me start building my strength up, he’s the one that introduced me to Ava. I kept in contact with her while I was being thrown around by Troy and Carver. I tried to get away from Carver by stealing his truck. I ran him over and called Ava, a couple months later and I was back with Mom and Dad.”

Clementine worriedly gazed up at Gabe, before he pulled her into a tight hug.

“You’re, you’re not angry or, or disgusted?” Asked Clementine, after Gabe pulled away.

“I am at them, not you.” Said Gabe, quietly, “You’re strong, you survived all that. I guess that’s why I love you.”

“W-what?”

“I love you, Clementine.” Repeated Gabe, “It’d take a lot more to change that.”

Clementine gave a wobbly smile. The two rested their foreheads together, before Gabe spoke, “Not to, erm, not to seem rude or anything, but why are you telling me all this?”

“If I didn’t now, I probably never would.” Answered Clementine, before glancing to the side, “Last week, Mom and Dad received a phone call. They, they said they were my birth parents.”

Gabe swallowed, “Oh shit.”

Rebecca looked at her phone after it pinged, she’d received a text from Clementine.

Staying over @ Gabe’s.

Rebecca frowned, before looking back at email Bonnie had sent her. A list of lawyers that could take on the Marshes, should they try and legally attempt to get custody of Clementine. She’d been with them for nearly six years, they weren’t going to give her up.

Rebecca eyed a name on the list, she and Alvin would make an appointment to speak with Ms. Hawthorn next week.

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madsmilfelsen · 2 years ago

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going back to my roots (mother issues)

#rape/non con #I don't have a title yet and it's driving me up the wall #it's a rework of a past fic obviously when I didn't notice I kept the intials the same #drafts

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oblongblockofsteel · 2 years ago

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Broken Doll Part 2

Josiah Trelawny could create wonders with his hands; appearing cards, disappearing rabbits, a burst of blue flame or a fluttering bird all from seemingly nothing. But true magic, he felt came from people. They spun and weaved a wonder by simply existing.

In the way they moved, the way they smiled and laughed, in words and mannerisms they made magic. They could bewitch, enchant, inspire, terrify and horrify with simple words and gestures. He called it their song, so easy to move people to tears, to evoke emotion, but one we must all learn to dance to.

And Trelawny loved to dance.

Each step and pace evoked joy, excitement and anticipation for what the next step could be. Over the years he'd become a master. Supping up their gestures, movements, and accents into himself and then incorporating them into different songs and dances he then weaved into his life.

A twist of a smile and lowered eyes evoked endearment, but turn his head another degree it crackled danger. Chest out and chin up puffed up a flair confidence, tilt your head down and it ushered in a mystery. Every step he learned and every one he treasured, because beyond loving the dance, Trelawny loved people more.

The very existence of humans he found to be fascinating, and often, like today, he found himself sitting at the very edge of this marvelous band of merry men, smoking his pipe and watching and admiring people at their best; just being people.

This early morning, Uncle was swaggering across the green, bottle in hand and face flushed red. He noted the stagger, the limp and sway, the uncurled fingers and eyes glassy from drink. It was a common song for old Uncle – the gurgle and gaggle of the alcohol. But when he was not swept up in drink it bubbled like the brook of a water stream with humour and wit, rather than gurgling like a drunkard.

An Irishman and a Mexican sat around the campfire, one with a guitar the other with a voice that wobbled around the sweetness of Irish tunes. Sean’s arms were wide, his smile wider than that, his teasing and silliness almost contagious. Nothing hidden behind a face so open it could be read like a book. Javier was smaller, his song a hum more than a ballad or a lyric, but still so sweet to the world. He noted hunched shoulders, strands of hair falling around a rough face and a tenderness to his features that made his heart ache.

“You should join in, Johnny!” Sean called, his voice filled with mirth.

“No, thank you!” John Marston observed the two under the coolness of a tree, his shoulders hunched and body still, his song was sweet with pipes and a trill, yet deadly like a viper’s strike. It always brought to mind a wolf, beautiful in its environment but wicked in its vengeance.

Like an angry falcon, Abigail swept in and Marson across the head. Marston started, his peace ruined by the tongue of his lady.

“If you’re not going to join in, then go and be useful!”

Strong like stone, she was, he adored her. Steady and firm, rock solid and smooth like a silver flute, she rarely said anything out of place and listened before speaking. Her manner could easily have slipped into a palace had she had the upbringing. Another swat and Marston was on his way to the woodcutter’s block.

“Should have hidden behind the tree, Marston!”

Dutch - warm and resonating Dutch - watched on with a bemused expression. His song enchanted, it could swing murderers to repent, bring courage to the fearful and hope to the lost. Trelawny loved his song, adored his manner and sophistication. It brought to mind an English Lord of high nobility and higher honour – and as versatile as a violin.

“Or just do the damn chores,” Hosea muttered beside their leader. Ah, Hosea. If Dutch was a Lord, then he was certainly his royal advisor. A well of wisdom and kindness, understanding, a harp. It would always be a harp. The instrument of bards, keepers of knowledge.

And there was Charles with his drum-beat words and a buck swinging over his shoulder. Clear, concise, to the point, and nothing to hide - refreshing and smooth. Pearson was far more relaxed, his words rough and crass, not the most beautiful song but one vibrant with life and passionate. He could name them each, their respective places in the orchestra and everyday he watched them perform, using their voices, their manner and song in harmony made from both rhythm and chaos.

Ah, so romantic, he thought not that he'd have it any other way. Trelawny loved to dance, but there was a satisfaction in simply appreciating the music.

Taking a long drag from his pipe he leaned back and turned his head just so to observe their newest member.

Not six feet away sat Mary-Beth. She was a petite little thing, barely sixteen with mousy brown hair tied up in bun. Her face was still covered in light bruising where a blackguard had struck her for stealing a watch. Besides being a lady, she was also an omega he'd learned from Dutch only an hour or so ago, and Trelawny despised anyone who struck omegas. They had enough trouble in the world as it was.

But she was new, which meant a new song, a new dance and there truly was nothing sweeter than learning the steps of a new dance for the very first time.

“What are you reading, my dear?”

Mary-Beth’s head snapped up, her whole body jumping with some fright. Trelawny relaxed his posture and offered a kind smile, “Forgive me, my dear, I did not mean to startle you.”

Her surprise faded into a soft smile and a giggle, “It’s okay, I was just enjoying my book!”

“So I can see!” he sat up and leaned a little closer, “What is it about?”

“Oh…” a pink blush washed over her cheeks, “You’ll find it silly, Mr Trelawny!”

“Nonsense!” he waved a sharp hand, “Any reading is good reading in my opinion, having a nose in a book can only expand horizons! Now tell me a little about it. I’m quite curious and I shan’t give up until you tell me!”

Again he was awarded with a giggle, “It’s just a silly romance…”

He gasped, placing a hand over his chest in mock shock, “Romance is never silly! At the end of the day, it’s really all we have!” he leaned a little closer, “Is it very good?”

She pursed her lips, another pretty blush flushing over her cheeks, “It’s about omegas, and um, soul mates.”

He leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh, “Now that is a lovely romance. Two souls meant for one another, so much so that when they do bond it is of such magnitude that it changes the course of history.” His heart twanged, but he ignored it, “Such a beautiful concept, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh yes!” she cried shuffling closer on her knees, his skirts becoming soiled with dirt. Not that she seemed to mind. “And this one is so wonderful! A pauper and a prince meeting and falling in love in Paris, and everything is against them to stay together!”

“Oh my, oh my. In Paris?” he asked, noting her eyes sparkling with such joy, her hands curling tightly around her book, such a sweet girl, he thought. “Paris is a wonderful place, filled with life, art and wonder!

Her eyes widened, “You’ve been to Paris?”

“Ouis!” he laughed, “There is no place filled with more splendor and magic than Paris, I’ve found. It is simply magnifique!”

Mary-Beth may as well have been vibrating by this point. Her eyes clear pools of excitement and awe. Trelawny’s heart ached a little at this wonder. He quietly hoped she would keep it for many years yet.

His pipe gasped, he turned a frown on it but quickly reverted his attention back to her. “But, now tell me, how does your story end?”

“I don’t know yet!”

“Well, you simply must come tell me once you do! I do hope for a happy ending!”

“I will Mr Trelawny!”

“Mary-Beth!”

Miss Grimshaw, hands on hips and expressions fierce stood by the fire, her eyes burning as hot as the flames. “Have ya done ya chores yet?”

“Oh!” she scampered up, holding the book behind her back, “Um, no Miss Grimshaw!”

“Well, get to it! The damn potatoes won’t be pealing themselves!”

“Okay!” she said and quickly skuttled to the barrel of potatoes, “Bye Mr Trelawny!”

“Goodbye my dear!” he called waving her off.

“And you!” Grimsahw snapped marching closer. “You should stop filling her head with nonsense! What good do dreams do us when there are mouths to feed?”

“Ah, but dreams feed the soul, Miss Grimshaw!” he laughed, then standing with a flourish he walked over to her to take her hand gently. “And besides, nonsense is what makes life so very interesting, wouldn’t you agree Madame?” and he pressed a light kiss on her knuckle.

The reaction was instantaneous. Her whole face flushed in a mixture of bashfulness and fury. With a huff she ripped her hand from his grip and stormed away, yelling at Tilly to get the washing up. The young girl jumped a mile in the air and quickly rushed for the clothes line. The bustle of the camp washed over him and Trelawny felt a wonderful sense of contentment ease over him.

Really, if he wasn’t such a wanderer by nature, he’d never leave.

“How the hell do you get away with that?” Dutch was standing on the porch, his expression bemused and frustrated in equal measure. Happily pulled from his reverie Trelawny smiled brightly and walked over.

“It’s all in the presentation, my good man!” he tapped his now dead pipe out on the railing, “And giving her something to be flustered about is not exactly terrible, is it?”

“It is if you use it to get out of doing chores,” Hosea said, still sitting on the steps of the small house, smoking a small cigarette.

“Ah! Caught red handed!” he scuffed his foot on the wet earth, “I believe she wanted me to wash the dishes, not really a job for these hands.” He held up both to show off their delicate skin and bone structure. Not that he minded helping out, but wasghing dishes was absolutely not his forte. He always ended up breaking something. He once broke a tin mug, Dutch has never let him forget it.

Dutch snorted and shook his head. “Be that as it may, it’s good that you’re here for once, been meaning to ask you about that house?” he shifted to lean more heavily against the barrister. This close Josiah noted his usual strong face sagging from exhaustion. His perfectly pomade raven hair disheveled and even his delicately waxed mustache was coming apart. It had been a long few weeks.

“Yes! Of course! I just need three men to help out, but if the information is good, we should have a tidy stash by the end of the week.”

Ditch nodded, “Take Javier, Charles and Arthur. They should do.”

“Excellent! Thank you Dutch!”

“Don’t thank him just yet,” Hosea said, “Miss Gramshaw is heading this way again.”

Sure enough, Grimshaw in all her fiery glory was stalking across the camp, her demeanor brought to mind a rather focused bull. Who could, possibly, spit fire.

“Then that is my cue!” He said already reversing his steps, “Good day gentleman!”

“Bye Josiah!” they called just as he slipped around the side of the house –

And rammed into a solid chest.

“Hey!” Two strong hands shot out to grab his wrists, stopping him from landing right on his rear. Josiah looked slightly down into a dark face, brown eyes shining in the sunlight.

“Charles!” he called untangling himself from the man, “I do appologise, my dear boy! I was em…” he peaked around the corner. Grimshaw was rattling something off to Dutch who appeared amused by her antics.

“Avoiding chores again?”

“What?” he turned back, Charles was smirking, leaning against the house with his strong arms crossed. He was new to the gang, a damn tracker and shot, with sharp eyes and a steadiness to him that reminded Trelawny often of the eternal patience of a mountain. But not without a mischief streak, he'd come to learn. Yet, even while he was teasing you it was extremely difficult not to like the man. As an Alpha, Charles had a natural affinity to protect people, and he truly cared. Trelawny would not be too proud to admit that he had a soft spot for the young man.

“No! Well, yes.” Trelawny sighed, “Dishes? Really?”

Charles shrugged, “Someone needs to do it.”

“Well, that ‘someone’ does not need to be me.” He straightened his jacket, adjusted his hat and turned a bright smile on Charles, “I’ll do another chore, like head into town for provisions.”

“Where you can get a hot bath and a meal at a fancy restaurant?”

“Precisely! Now, if you’ll excuse me –“

A firm hand grabbed his arm, yanking his momentum and making his foot dangle before stepping gently on the soft grass. Josiah turned a frown on him. Charles was smiling.

Josiah cleared his throat, “Was there something else, my young man?”

“Grimshaw asked me to catch you if went around the house.” he said with a sharp little smirk, “Sorry, Mr Trelawny."

“Charles!” he admonished, but he was already reaching for a smoke bomb hidden in his pocket, “You are a traitor to your fellow man!”

He shrugged, pulling him to the corner of the house, that sharp little smirk still in place. “Might be, but…” and here he leaned close, breath practically whispering over his ear.

“I don’t wanna do the dishes either.”

He blamed it on the laughter that burst out of him making his hand fumble. The smoke bomb fell out of his fingers and landed softly between the sprigs of grass. Josiah felt it had betrayed him as much as Charles had at that moment.

“There he is!” Grimshaw said already storming closer with a victorious smile pulling over he features, “Thank you, Mr Smith!”

“No problem, ma’am,” he said, nodding his head and studiously avoiding Trelawny’s eye line.

“Come along, Mr Trelawny!” she grabbed his arm and physically pulled him to the dishes. “They won’t be washing themselves.”

“I do declare madam!” he struggled against her hand, but it was like a vice, a damned grip of death! “I do not appreciate this manhandling! Charles! I will have your head for this!”

Charles Smith drenched in the glow of a dipping sun, only smiled back. His brown eyes turning almost black and that smile too sweet to be real.

Trelawny’s ire dissipated almost instantly, and even as he was dropped into a chair and handed a dirty plate, that smile alone made it worth it.

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