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the-baby-storyteller · 8 months

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If you’re still doing bthb… would you want to do tortured for information and cradling someone in their arms for gen whumpee/caretaker? Maybe even painful wound cleaning thrown in for fun ✨

I am, and I like how you think!

(Fun fact, I didn’t register the gen at first so I wrote this whole thing as romantic.🥲 But then I fixed it so, enjoy!)

BTHB - Tortured for information

“I’m not going to tell you anything!”

A eyed the torturer carefully as they stared off at one another.

“So stubborn.” Torturer tutted, “So foolishly stubborn.”

They circled around their chair, eyeing A calmly.

“You do understand that I won’t take no for an answer?”

A growled and tugged their chest against the ropes holding them to the chair. They glared at the torturer.

“Then you’ll be here for a while.” A remarked.

“Oh, dear,” Torturer said, chuckling, “it’s you who’s going to suffer more from be being here for a while, not me.”

They pulled out a taser.

A stiffened.

Without warning, the torturer jammed the taser into their chest.

Instantly A convulsed, simultaneously not sblr to move at all.

The pain was excruciating. They couldn’t see, couldn’t think. They felt blinded by the pain as they struggled but couldn’t get away. Just when it started getting hard to breathe, it pulled away.

A fell forward as much as they could with their restraints, heaving in breaths and coughing.

“Shall we go again?”

Before they could look up, Torturer thrust the taser to their neck and this time it hurt much more. They screamed, face twisting and tears streaming down their face. Their muscles spasmed and they felt like they were choking.

Torturer didn’t stop this time. They didn’t let A breathe as they came closer, pushing the taser further and further into their neck, never giving them a break for minutes until A was a stiff yet limp, warbling mess under them.

After an interminable number of minutes, Torturer finally pulled back and A’s muscles loosened for a split second before seizing, twitching and convulsing. They gasped trying to gulp in breath but every movement of their throat made their muscles scream.

Torturer moved behind them and grabbed their hair, taking their head back and so painfully straining their sore throat, and they choked.

“Who has the key to the hideout?” Torturer asked coldly.

“I a- already told you-” A stammered, weakly forcing out words.

“I know,” the torturer narrowed their eyes, “you were lying. Now tell me.”

“Who knows how to get in to our base.” They pulled A’s hair harder with each punctuation. “Which one of your filthy teammates infiltrated us?”

A’s lips trembled but they stayed silent.

Torturer walked around and kicked them in the gut, drawing a painful yelp out from them which only tore up their throat further.

“I’m not-“ A gritted out, breathing heavily, “Telling you anything.”

“Are you sure about that?”

They looked up. The torturer had brought out an assortment of absolutely terrifying looking knives. Some had spikes, some were long, almost like swords.

“Which one should we start with?” Torturer asked, relaxed.

They picked one up and twirled it around in

“Let’s see how long you last.”

A shuddered. This was for them. For the team. They wouldn’t give up, no matter what. They were strong. They would hold out.

- -

Three hours later and was no longer just screaming.

Their whole world was blurry. The torture never stopped.

Their body was bloody; Torturer had carved into their arm and tasted right onto their insides. Every team member had held out for torture before, was experienced in it, but this.

They barely knew where they were they were so bloody disoriented. Everything was hazy and all they could register was pain pain pain that never went away and only got worse because Torturer never stopped-

“What a bore. You’ve held out all this time.”

Torturer pouted, then brightened.

“Shall we amp it up?” They asked.

Amp. It. Up? What kind of amping was worse than three hours of torture?

Then they saw it. The water tub.

Torturer hauled it out from under a table, dirt and grime floating in the water. A wouldn’t just choke. They’d swallow everything in there too. A turned white as a sheet.

“N-no please,” they started blubbering, “you don’t have to- we don’t have to do this-“

“Oh, but we do,” Torturer said stalking forward, “unless you decide to tell me what I want to know.”

They couldn’t. They couldn’t. But they couldn’t hold out and drowning terrified them but they couldn’t betray the team-

They started hyperventilating as Torturer just smiled and just drew closer.

A closed their eyes as they tensed against the ropes, mind fighting internally as they grappled with the fact that the torturer was about to waterboard them-

Debris flew everywhere as the door burst down. A’s head flew up just as five figures swarmed in through the doorway. They instantly pounced on Torturer, yelling furiously, and the water tub fell to the floor.

The team.

Thank all that was beautiful.

A stared in disoriented awe as the team swept through the area. They hadn’t thought anyone would come for them. A let out a little sob.

“Shhh shhh.”

They turned, coming face to face with B. A’s glossy eyes struggled to see them, but they just made out B’s face and they hiccuped a breath.

Caretaker’s face looked just as distressed, but they hid it better.

“Come, we need to get you out of here.” They spoke, “You shouldn’t be here any longer.”

They registered that their ropes were now somehow cut, and Caretaker pulled them, (more like dragged their entire weight), out of the room.

- -

“We’re so, so sorry we let this happen. It should have never-” B growled under their breath. “Torturer.”

A didn’t want to hear it anymore. They just wanted to be safe, to feel to warmness and assured comfort of B arms around them. They were finally out of that terrible room, laid on the floor with B knelt next to them in a different one of the chambers they had been led through. The whole place was safe now; the team had wiped everybody out before getting to A. Before A could control it, they let out a little whine.

B instantly turned back to them. Even in their mess, A burned with embarrassment. Why the hell had they done that?

B smiled lightly, thought, shoulders dropping and losing the stress they were previously holding.

At least I could make them relax, A thought.

Slowly, their eyes started to well up with tears.

“Oh, Whumpee,” B gasped, “Come here.”

B drew A into their lap and brought their arms around them. A’s muscles ached, and their crying picked up, and B stroked their hair, muttering softly:

“It’s okay. It’s okay, I know. We’re here now. I’m here. You’re not going to be hurt, you won’t be hurt.”

“It-“, A started, throat clogged by distress, “it was so hard and it hurt so much and I was so scared-”

“Shhhh,” B soothed, drawing a hand down their chin, bringing them back from hyperventilation, “Shhh, it’s okay. Calm down, we’re here now.”

A’s sobs turned into sniffles as B continued whispering sweet, comforting words into A’s ear.

“It’s all alright, I know, I’m so sorry,” B said, softly wiping away tears from A’s pain-stricken face, “You did such a good job, you’re so good, and we’ll never let that happen to you again. It’s alright now.”

B continued to pet their hair as A calmed down.

“Listen, I need to asses you, okay?” B said when A was a little bit more coherent, “I saw the stuff they had back there and it looked…bad. So I need to examine you and have you respond and comply. Can you do that for me?”

A hesitated, but nodded slowly, gingerly.

“Good job. Very good.” B praised.

A exhaled shakily. They were safe. Safe with B.

A heard B turn and mutter to themself, we can’t deal with the tasing now unfortunately, and look back over to A.

“I saw the water.” B started. “You didn’t inhale any of it did you?”

“N-no, I-,” A stuttered,” “you guys came before Tort- they could make me.” They muttered quietly, digging their chin into their chest.

They thought they saw B’s jaw tick but by the time they looked up to confirm it was gone.

“Okay,” B breathed out. “I can definitely see some injuries they’ve made.” B said unpleasantly. A’s weakened state was the only way they resisted gulping nervously. They didn’t like B when they were angry.

B pulled out their extensive first aid kid they always made sure was filled to the brim with supplies A didn’t even know existed.

“We’re gonna have to clean these cuts. They’re pretty deep and that room was not the pinnacle of cleanliness.”

A froze, then started up.

“W-wait no please,” they begged, straining against B’s arms encircling them, “Don’t it’ll be too painful I can’t, no- You don’t have to, do you-”

“Hey, woah, wait,” B’s eyebrows shout up as they held A down easily, A’s muscles too worn out and weak to do anything even mildly strenuous. B held them more securely on their lap, making them squirm, fighting B.

“Hey, no fighting me.” B scolded and A let out a pitiful cry. “I know, shh, I know it’s painful and scary. But I have to do it, you know, okay? You know this.” They reached their top arm over, grabbing alcohol and a pad. A whimpered.

“It’s alright.” B tried to soothe. “Can I get help over here?” A heard B call to a teammate who must have come in recently. Soon they were backed up against another guest and held in place firmly with arms stronger than B’s. They wiggled and worked, but the arms tightened and they yelped, quickly dying down and letting their body go limp in their teammate’s arms.

The alcohol pad was brought to the deepest cut on their arm and they immediately screamed. A felt their body tense up with effort, and couldn’t help themself from again struggling against their teammates. But their muscles were silk and hard and every movement hurt, only making them cry out more.

“A, you have to calm down.” B implored, Please try to be still. You agreed to comply, remember?”

A sniffled hard, tears streaming down their face as they heaved and choked. Their breaths were closer to shudders and they trembled in their friends’ arms.

B didn’t wait for them to say yes.

The second time the swab hit their arm, it went even deeper, and they only got to see blinding white light for two seconds before they passed out.

- -

A woke up go a light, soothing pressures appeared on their head. It pressed and nudged and soothed the tension perfectly and they let out a sigh despite themself.

They opened their eyes and saw B’s free hand massaging their scalp. B smiled down at them softly.

A blinked, then looked around. They weren’t in the chamber’s rooms anymore. Now they were in a tent, their team’s tent.

The team must have moved me back, A thought, trying not to blush at the embarrassment of a teammate holding their limp form.

“Sleep.” B voice pulled A back to their gaze. “When you wake up again, I’ll still be here. Rest.”

A wanted to contest, to make B speak about what happened and tell them everything whumper said and how in danger they were-

But B’s hands only added more glorious, perfectly placed pressure to their scalm and their limbs loosened without their permission as they exhaled, sinking deeper into B’s arms.

“Sleep.”

A shuddered, the last of their body’s energies expending themselves as they finally, finally, had reached safety, and they went limp as all went black.

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blackrosesandwhump · 1 month

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A Punishment Most Vile

A Month of Whump: Impalement

March of Pain 2024: Miserable

BTHB: Slammed into a Wall

Fandom: Original work

Synopsis: The servant boy of an evil magician finds himself in deep trouble and suffers the painful consequences.

CW: torture, magic whump, punishment, impalement

The magician’s workshop smelled of stale magic, pungent and fermented-sweet and unsettling. The orphan boy held his breath as he straightened a stack of ancient books covered in thick blue dust. Given the kind of magic experiments the magician conducted, that dust could be anything. The powdered skin of some strange creature, or maybe the remnants of an experiment gone wrong. The orphan boy didn’t want to find out.

He shouldn’t have to find out, he thought, turning from the books to the puddle of murky, foul-smelling liquid pooled in the back corner. He was eighteen. He should be learning alongside the magician, helping him with his work rather than cleaning up his messes like some dumb servant. Helping him, rather than suffering the punishments brought on by his anger.

You are a servant, though, came the little annoying voice in his head. That’s all you are.

And as usual, he argued back.

No, no, I’m not!

You’ll never amount to anything, will you? You know that.

Just watch! I’ll prove you—

“Are you quite finished?” said the magician from the door. The orphan boy jumped and almost slipped in the murky pool.

“Almost, sir,” he mumbled. “There was a lot of mess to clean up.”

“Is that a criticism?” said the magician.

“No, sir.” The boy turned away, hiding his smirk.

But the magician saw it anyway. His gloved hand shot out and seized the boy’s throat, lifting him just barely off the ground, so that his toes dragged across the grimy stone. The boy choked and spluttered, scrabbling at the powerful hand around his neck.

“I would expect,” said the magician, in a voice dangerously low and cool, “that you would know your place by now. But I see you still need to learn.”

Calmly, as if tossing aside a piece of trash, the magician threw the boy across the room. He slammed into the stone wall and crumpled, whimpering, in a heap.

Just a servant. Nothing but a servant. Nothing but a—

“On your feet! Stand up!”

The boy stood, shaking, knowing what was about to happen. Another punishment. And all because of his stupid mouth and his stupid thoughts.

There was a flash of magic; something hit his chest hard, driving him up the wall with its force. He stuck there, feet dangling off the ground, unable to move. The magician muttered an unintelligible word. The pressure in the boy’s chest magnified to an intense pain, radiating through his pinioned body. He clenched his teeth against it, willing himself not to scream, not to betray his agony and satisfy the magician’s whim.

“You will remain there until you learn what I’ve tried to teach you,” the magician ordered, turning on his heel.

His back was turned.

The boy looked down.

A glowing shaft, oily black despite its underlying green hue, protruded from the left side of his chest. Tendrils of dark magic trailed from its end, smoky and foul.

The boy dropped his head back, squeezing his eyes shut against the shattering pain, against the pulse of his own failure in his impaled heart.

“Don’t worry. I won’t let you die. That would defeat the purpose of this lesson, after all.” With that, the magician left, and the boy hung alone in his punishment, with only his own tormented thoughts for company.

@marchofpain @amonthofwhump @badthingshappenbingo

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ninja-go-to-therapy · 4 months

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Defeated and Trophied

@badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: I would love to see your interpretation of Branch being captured instead of Floyd, like the original concept in the movie. Used for Defeated and Trophied.

Fandom: Trolls (Dreamworks)

Character: Branch

Trigger Warnings: kidnapping, torture, multiple mentions of death and being killed, though nothing graphic

1744 words

Fear was an old friend to Branch.

It had been a rare acquaintance back when he was a child — back in the days in which his biggest concerns had been thunderstorms and a dark room.

From the moment he’d turned grey, it had crept its way beside him, a creature that would never grant him peace again.

After all, no one else was around anymore to chase it away for him.

As he’d grown up, it remained consistently by his side. It was a constant voice in the back of his head, screaming at him to watch for bergens, boil the drinking water, always be ready for that which longs to kill you.

Yes, fear was an old friend indeed. But he’d learned early on how to hold it close to his chest. One slip up and he could be devoured.

So when he woke up in a diamond bottle, two massive creatures looming over him, he didn’t show his terror. He didn’t scream as he so wanted to, and most importantly, he would not resort to begging.

They were tall, comparable to a bergen in that regard. But where bergens were stocky creatures, these were lanky. Their skin was shiny and hard-looking, a far cry from the soft fluff of a troll.

Whatever they were, he’d never seen one before.

His stomach churned with anxiety. Normally, he was knowledgeable enough to at least have some idea of what monster he may have been dealing with. But this… he didn’t know if these things wanted to eat him or worse.

He knew what Poppy would do if she were here. At the thought of his girlfriend, his heart leapt into his throat. Was she here? Had they gotten her too?

No. He didn’t see her anywhere in the massive room. Thank god. He knew she could take care of herself, but the thought of her being trapped in a claustrophobic diamond prison left him with a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Who are you?” He called out cautiously. He waited for a response, but the pair — one boy and one girl, he was pretty sure — hardly even reacted to the noise.

They were both looking at the bottle he was trapped in, yet somehow they remained ignoring him.

“Hey!” He yelled, quickly losing patience as he pounded a fist against the purple-hued glass. “Let me out of here!”

The boy looked at him (or rather, the jar as a whole, like Branch was nothing more than a pretty decoration inside) with trepidation. “Do you think it’ll work?” He asked hesitantly, like he couldn’t even hear the shouting.

“Oh,” the girl said, scooping up the jar carelessly and sending Branch tumbling, the wind getting knocked out of him as his body knocked against the hard walls. “It will work.”

“What the hell!” He shouted, furious at the lack of acknowledgement. “Let me out! What do you want?”

With her free hand, the girl held up a small ball…? Examining it closer, though, Branch could see that it was connected to the jar he was held in, making it almost reminiscent of a perfume bottle.

What the hell?

He didn’t know what to expect, but the coming sensation wasn’t something he could have prepared for. All at once, a horrible pressure erupted from the center of his chest, like — like some invisible force was trying to get in.

Distantly, he could feel his body being lifted slightly off the ground, levitating no more than a few short inches. It was hard to even notice, through the agony. It didn’t get any colder in his prison, but he could feel the warmth being pulled out of his skin.

The pressure seeped from his body quickly, and he could almost feel it going right up and out of the bottle, being spritzed like a fine mist over the girl’s body.

As his body dropped down, thudding against the floor, he could hear her belt out a ridiculous riff.

“Wh…?” He coughed, pressing a hand over his heart from his new position on the floor. It felt like a part of his very soul had been sucked right out of him. He felt empty. What was going on? What was happening?

“Wow,” the boy said, reverent of the notes that had just come from the other’s mouth. “Let me try!”

“Wait—” Branch wheezed, unable to catch his breath before being subjected to this again. He tried to brace himself, but it did little to help.

It was almost more intense the second time around, and leaving him feeling somehow even more hollow than before.

He was shaking from the cold by the time his body dropped back to the floor the second time.

“What are you doing to me?” He croaked, dizzy and freezing.

There was a malicious smirk on the girl’s face, the first thing finally directed at him.

His heart pounded in dread. He was going to regret even asking, and he knew it.

———

“He’s kinda cute,” Veneer said, shaking the jar slightly and sending Branch stumbling on unsteady feet back and forth. “Don’t you think so, Vel?”

Velvet glanced back at her brother from where she was touching up her makeup. “Not really,” she said, disinterested.

“Oh, come on, he’s like a feral little chihuahua!” Veneer said, proceeding to coo at Branch. “Who’s a good little troll?”

With the minuscule energy he had left, he glared as strongly as he could. “I will kill you,” he growled. As such a proportionately small creature that was barely standing and also trapped inside a sad little bottle, Branch couldn’t imagine that he looked very intimidating.

“Ugh, feisty thing,” Veneer whined, setting the jar down on a side table. “I don’t know why you’re so upset,” he said, “we take perfect care of you, don’t we? I mean, sure we have to keep you in a little jar, but it’s not like you’re dead or anything.”

“Your talent is being put to much better use on us,” Velvet chimed in, “You should be grateful! It’s not like you were using it for anything important. But thanks to you, we’re currently charting at number one!”

“Did you at least credit me somewhere?” he asked drily.

Veneer leaned over, stage whispering to his sister. “Should we have given him creds?”

“No, you moron! Ugh, come on, we’re going to be late for the photoshoot.”

———

Branch woke from his not-quite-sleep as he’d learned to get used to: by being jostled around like he was a fucking doll.

He groaned weakly, blinking his eyes open to the slightly sleep-blurred vision of a massive eye staring back at him.

After nearly two decades of anticipating a bergen around every corner, his instincts told him he was about to be fucking eaten. But he wasn’t quite so lucky.

“Oh, good,” who he finally recognized as Velvet said, completely flat, “it’s still alive.”

Had he the energy, he would have flipped her off… or something. But as it was, he just curled in on himself, wincing in anticipation. He knew what was coming. It was all the self-proclaimed pop princess (and oh, how that title made his blood boil) ever really interacted with him for.

“Just do it,” he growled, far from complacent, but simply desperate for the bad part to be done and over. He just wanted to rest.

How long had he been here, now? Two weeks? Three? He’d completely lost track.

Was Poppy looking for him? What had she thought when he’d just vanished into thin air? What if she gave up on him?

No. That was a stupid thought. He knew her better than that. On their first adventure together, they had literally seen Creek get eaten, and she’d somehow still been determined to save him. And, somehow, she’d been right. Of course, Creek had turned out to be a no-good traitorous piece of shit garbage man, but before that reveal, Poppy had been determined to get him back.

As hard as it was for him to fathom the idea that anyone would ever stay by his side as she had, he was always one to look at the facts. He knew she would refuse to give up until she got him back. He knew, no matter how long it took, she would find him.

As comforting as that was, it also left him feeling wary. Velvet and Veneer weren’t exactly the type that could be subdued by a hug.

He cried out in pain as his talent was drained from him, gasping desperately for breath. He didn’t have much more to give.

“You can’t…” he panted, gritting his teeth. “Can’t use my talent f-orever. S’not sustainable.” He said, snarky as he could manage through the bone-deep exhaustion.

“Oh no,” Velvet lamented, drawn out and dramatic, “whatever will I do?” With little warning, she tossed the jar to Veneer, who only barely caught it.

Branch didn’t have the strength to brace himself. Every inch of his body ached from being thrown around like this.

Velvet draped herself over her makeup chair, legs kicked over the arm of it. “If only I’d thought of that before,” she pouted as Veneer drained another dose from him, leaving Branch’s vision unfocused. “Oh wait! I did.”

“You did?” Veneer asked, apparently unaware of whatever his sister was up to. That seemed to be the common trend, Branch had noticed.

“Yes, dummy. I told you this troll was a part of BroZone, remember?”

His heart sank at the mention of his br—his former brothers. What did they have to do with this?

“I forged a letter,” Velvet continued, “it will lure the rest of the band here to save their stupid little brother, and then,” her eyes glinted with greed, “we’ll have plenty of troll to keep us on top.”

A thousand bad memories threatened to overwhelm him at once. He could feel his emotions swirling in his chest, and for a moment he was certain he was going to vomit them up. Instead, he managed to scoff out a laugh.

“Yeah,” he said, forcing himself to remain flat and unemotive. If he’d done it for the better part of twenty years, he could do it now, even if he was slightly out of practice. “I’ve got bad news for you. There’s no way in hell any of them are coming for me.”

“Just wait and see, little troll,” Velvet said, confidence unwavering. “Just wait and see.”

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thegaynessarchives · 9 months

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MY FIRST BAD THINGS HAPPEN BINGO CARD IS HERE!!!

Send me requests from here and I will write them! :D God I love these things so much

I will be getting more probably lol

Unrelated/userboxes:

#tma #the magnus archives #magnus archives #tma fandom #whump tma #whump #tma whump #bad things happen bingo #bthb #bthb card #whump bingo #whump prompt #fic prompt

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try-set-me-on-fire · 3 months

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Tagged by @devirnis for tidbit Tuesday! I feel like I can't just post gloom and doom for Buck forever so here's something from- well, a bad things happen bingo square, but this bit is happy!

Maddie laughs. “Okay, I know you two are attached at the hip but it seems like- you seem more attached at the hip than usual. I don't know that you've said a sentence all day that didn't have Eddie in it.” And, well, he can't say that three weeks ago after Chris had gone to sleep Eddie had stood in front of him in the kitchen beside the counter cluttered with freshly washed dishes and asked Buck to kiss him. He can't say that they've spent every available moment alone since then playing enthusiastic games of tonsil hockey. Almost to the point of it being a problem, really - just the other day Eddie had laughed into his kisses that he really had to, like, do the laundry or vacuum or something. They didn't end up getting around to it. Anyway. They're keeping it low key for now, they haven't even actually been on a date yet. They're going to go on one, Eddie asked him, they're meeting at a restaurant tonight, and while Buck is internally lit up like a neon sign about it he thought he was at least doing sort of okay at pretending life is continuing as usual. “Uh,” he says. “He's my best friend?”

Tagging @daffi-990 @shitouttabuck @watchyourbuck @bigfootsmom @lover-of-mine @eddiebabygirldiaz @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @homerforsure

#tag games #tease tidbit tuesday #bthb

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delimeful · 11 months

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down that desolate road (7)

this one pivots from comedic to intense so quick, take care! also always remember that this is angst with a happy ending <3

warnings: arguing, defensive behavior, PTSD, tons of miscommunication and accidental harm this chapter, blood and injury, mild strangulation, dissociation, cliffhanger

Virgil should have known better.

Even worse: he had known better, and he’d done it anyway.

Leading Patton out of the forest was one thing, he’d been able to maintain his anonymity as a mysterious cloaked figure, and he wouldn’t have been able to leave the Side lost even if he’d wanted to.

After all, the longer Patton was left to wander around the woods, the more likely it was that a Shade would pop up to take advantage of the opportunity.

So he’d guided his best friend out of the forest without a single word, and watched him find his way back to the marked trails with a gut-churning mixture of relief and misery.

Just the sight of him had soothed some of the deep, simmering fears in Virgil’s chest. Nobody seemed to have changed too much, but that didn’t keep him from worrying. The encounter proved it was unfounded. Even without Anxiety’s presence, Patton was the same friendly face as always.

The interaction should have stopped there. He should have let it be enough.

He should have ignored the frequent detours Patton would make to that little clearing, or even warped the forest into something a little more blatantly menacing, something that would scare him off.

Instead, like an idiot, he’d sat himself in the crook of a tree at the edge of the clearing and watched Patton sunbathe and weave flower crowns, enjoying the familiarity of just quietly hanging out together in one place.

And then a Shade had nearly killed Patton, because they tracked Virgil’s paths just like Liv had said, and if he’d been the slightest bit slower—

But Patton had been fine, not a scratch on him, and Virgil should have vanished back into the forest to maintain his cover, maybe added an ominous threat for good measure. Except instead he’d had an embarrassing blubbering meltdown in Patton’s arms, because even not knowing who Virgil was, he’d tried to comfort him.

Patton’s hugs felt exactly as relieving as always. Even with the consequences bearing down on him, he couldn’t quite find it in himself to regret accepting them.

He’d known that Patton wasn’t the type to notice subterfuge or keep secrets, so he wasn’t surprised that their encounter had become common knowledge.

He was surprised that apparently the information was interesting enough to prompt the entire collection of idiots into trekking out to the clearing with Patton.

Surprised and horrified. He was supposed to be keeping a low profile from five measly people, and yet somehow every single one of them had turned up to poke their nose around in his business!

Patton was shuffling uncomfortably near his usual spot, casting guilty puppy-dog looks at the trees. Roman and Remus were tweaking the wildflower arrangements and coaxing some thorny weeds into borderline-sentience respectively. Janus was lounging on an embroidered picnic blanket, his body relaxed as though he wasn’t totally peering into the forest through his nearly-closed eyes.

Even Logan was there, scanning the forest’s treeline with an intent acuity that could only mean he was searching for something with his usual stubborn dedication.

Virgil stomped down the bit of him that was practically purring at having all of them in one place right in front of him, reminding himself that the combined forces of Thomas’s Sides was nothing to sneeze at, particularly if he wanted to get out of this situation with all his secrets intact.

(He wasn’t great at deception, not when Janus had hoarded that particular trait all to himself, but there were ways to work around that. There were far more important things at stake here than himself, after all. It didn’t matter that he hated lying, especially to them. What mattered was keeping them all safe.)

There was nothing to be pleased about, especially considering that this many Sides in one spot was almost guaranteed to lure some Shades out of the woodwork.

The mere thought made the glass shards of his function flex painfully, and Virgil took a deep breath. This was his fault, yeah, but his regret wouldn’t do anything to fix the situation, so he set it aside.

What he needed to focus on now was how to get rid of them.

Except, as Thomas himself would probably say, that was easier said than done.

Passing all his actions off as a villainous ploy would work on Roman and Remus, but probably not Logan or Janus. Negotiating a deal, such as information in exchange for them returning to the Commons ASAP, would be more appealing to Janus and Logan, but offensive to the twins that this realm actually answered to. Genuinely telling them they were in danger and asking them to leave (and leave well enough alone) would only work on Patton, and only if he thought Virgil was safe.

Virgil dragged a hand down his face. It was like that riddle about the fox and the hen and the sack of grain, except no matter what solution he tried, there would always be someone ready to tear his story to shreds.

If he ever got to talk to Thomas again, he was going to have a serious talk with him about curiosity and cats, with a new addendum to the saying to emphasize that unlike metaphorical satisfied cats, people die when they are killed.

… That settled it. He’d been spending too much time marinating in the subconscious instead of sleeping.

He would definitely address his near-delirium at some point, preferably after he dealt with the huge clusterfuck unfolding in front of him.

While he’d been freaking the hell out, the others seemed to have been deliberating, or maybe they’d just gotten tired of waiting, because now three of them were approaching the forest’s edge while the other two remained over at the picnic blanket.

They’d split the party. He should have known. This was what happened when Virgil wasn’t around to remind them about the basic rules of self preservation. They went full Scooby-Doo on his ass.

The approaching group was composed of Logan, Roman, and Patton, because of course it was. The three of them were wearing familiar expressions of curiosity, suspicion, and worry, ones that had appeared all-too-frequently whenever they’d had to deal with someone they only knew as Thomas’s Anxiety.

Virgil felt a little like he’d been flung back in time. Oh wait. He had.

Except this time, he didn’t even have the benefit of being part of Thomas. As far as they knew, he was a construct, an errant figment of Thomas’s imagination, about as real as a summoned puppy.

About as threatening as one, too, which was probably why Roman was entirely fine with two of the least battle-hardened Sides coming with him to face a total unknown. Even one of the Creativities was enough to handle most denizens of the Imagination, let alone two. Before, even Virgil himself would have been hard-pressed to imagine an enemy that could threaten five of Thomas’s Sides at once.

That was before. Now, imagining it was far too easy.

Enough that he had to blink away gory afterimages as they drew to a stop at the treeline.

“Um, V?” Patton asked, shifting to his tiptoes to peer through the foliage. “It’s Patton, from yesterday! Can we talk for a second?”

There was an uncomfortably long pause while Virgil tried to think of a plan and failed miserably.

“We know it’s you, Vendetta!” Roman added in his playacting voice, his air of impatience betrayed by the excited way he was bouncing on his heels. “Come out to face our interrogation, or face the consequences in our next duel instead!”

His preference was obvious. Half a field away, Janus visibly facepalmed.

“An interrogation implies that there’s a specific piece of information we’re searching for,” Logan mused. “Really, a better description of our current venture would be a general scientific inquiry.”

“Psh, yeah, if you want to sound lame,” Roman retorted with a frown.

“Don’t listen to him, dork! Yours sounds way creepier,” Remus hollered, giving him a nonreassuring thumbs up.

Okay, so despite splitting up, the others were still close enough to supervise. Virgil inhaled deeply, counting down in his head before releasing it. He just had to take this one step at a time.

He knew exactly how stubborn these dumbasses were. If he tried to leave or avoid them entirely, they would persist, even to the point of trespassing into Liv’s territory. The mere thought of them venturing down into those tunnels— No. He wasn’t getting out of this without some kind of conversation.

Thus, the first step was making sure it happened well outside Janus’s hearing range.

Virgil had to concentrate to warp the Imagination, but it wasn’t as hard as it used to be. Especially not here, since it was both a place he’d hung around often and a creepy gloomy nightmare forest that fit right in with his aesthetic.

In front of the three of them, the tree boughs bent and swayed into jagged arcs, illustrating a clear path forward. There may or may not have been ominous creaking noises involved.

“Oh, excellent, it’s an interactive murder forest,�� Roman muttered, before puffing his chest out and drawing his sword. “Fear not, for I have traversed many extremely creepy landscapes, mostly courtesy of my brother.”

(At the sight of the horror movie forest shuffling around to let them in, Remus had lifted his fists and cheered raucously.)

Patton and Logan showed little hesitation in following Roman into the forest’s shade, though Virgil suspected they had very different reasons for their lack of fear.

He was relieved to see that Janus, at least, looked perturbed enough to climb to his feet. It wasn’t the instant bad-idea shutdown that Virgil would have enacted if he’d been with them as himself, but the other half of self preservation was keen enough to disapprove of the sudden detour.

He wasn’t keen enough to prevent the three from stepping into the passage, though, and the moment they were past the threshold, Virgil slammed the entryway shut.

Roman yelped and spun around, but Virgil had already warped the trees into a thorny wall of foliage that Maleficent herself would have been proud of. Janus would need a lesson or two before he could take up Virgil’s idiot-wrangling duties. Just like with herding cats, his first mistake was letting them out of arm's reach.

“We’ve been ambushed!” Roman cried. “With literal bushes!”

“I guess we’re not leafing that way,” Patton chuckled nervously.

“Inconvenient, but not insurmountable,” Logan commented, unperturbed as always by the macabre or frightening.

Virgil grinned despite himself. Man, he’d missed them.

The path continued to bend itself into existence in front of them, and sure enough, it didn’t take long for them to decide to keep going rather than sink out or otherwise abandon their goal.

With Janus pacing agitatedly in front of the forest and Remus gleefully but ineffectively bashing at branches with his morning star, step one was officially complete.

Step two, step two… Uh. He hadn’t thought that far.

In his defense, this was literally not his job. He didn’t do the planning, he was the ‘poke holes in plan until it wasn’t as stupid and reckless’ guy!

(He was beginning to feel a little sorry for all the planners he’d done that to. Having good ideas was way harder than pointing out bad ones.)

Okay, focus. Villains isolated the heroes for a reason. It would be much easier to play the roles expected of him if he was catering to one-on-one audiences. They’d recount their experiences to the group, obviously, but with Roman’s tendency for exaggeration, Patton’s habit of rose-colored recollection, and Logan’s inclination to focus in on the details that he found interesting, they’d have a difficult time figuring out what was real and what was someone’s biased perception.

Princey was more likely to rush ahead than let someone wander off without him, so Virgil opened up a side path and let himself drift across open ground just long enough to be spotted. Roman took the bait like he was auditioning for the role of the first victim in a horror movie, and sealing the path after him rendered Logan and Patton unable to follow.

He spent a moment setting up the landscape to lead the pair in a dizzying series of turns to stall, and then stepped out behind his errant prince.

“Boo,” he said, because he had to take the stress relief where he could get it.

Roman whirled around with a shriek, his blade slicing through the air harmlessly. He glared petulantly at Virgil, who was admittedly smirking under the shadow of his hood. “Don’t do that, V for Vexing!”

“I wouldn’t be throwing around orders if I were you. After all, you’re the one in my territory,” he said, letting his voice tilt towards threatening.

Roman waved the statement off as though swatting a gnat. “This isn’t about our kingdoms, Vendetta, otherwise I would have dressed for the occasion.”

“Oh?” Virgil valiantly resisted the urge to make Barbie comparisons, though Roman would probably take it as a compliment. “What do you and your little friends want, then?”

He must have been leaning too hard into the menacing tone, because Roman stiffened the way he hadn’t at an implied threat to himself. “Don’t you dare hurt them,” he commanded, fingers tightening around his sword’s hilt.

“They’re fine,” Virgil assured him, and then tacked on a “for now” for good measure. “You and your merry band of irritants picked this fight, not me. I’m only interested in finding out why ‘scientific inquiries’ are being made about me.”

“You’ve become a bit of a hot topic between the Sides,” Roman answered, lowering his guard enough to prop a hand on his hip. “You should feel flattered! It’s not often that a denizen manages to intrigue so many of us at once.”

Virgil did not feel flattered. Virgil felt like screaming. Virgil was going to do so much bitching and moaning about his life later.

“My secrets are my own,” he managed to say, his scowl audible in his voice. “I don’t need or want nosy Sides poking into my business.”

Roman was nodding along with his words without paying them much attention at all, edging closer in an entirely unsubtle manner that Virgil still didn’t register as a threat until he was lunging.

A hand closed around his wrist. A half-second later, there was a mental poke at his existence.

If he’d been an actual construct, the prod would have earned Roman a peek at his ‘code’, the little bits that he was composed of. It would have been mildly uncomfortable at worst, and more likely, he wouldn’t have noticed it at all.

If he’d been in his standard state as a Side, it would have been a blatant and rude sensation, like someone jabbing their finger into your gut, but not actually harmful.

With the half-shattered state of his function, it was more like someone jabbing their finger into a gut wound.

Since he was self-preservation and didn’t react well to threats, it was like someone jabbing their finger into a gut wound that was also full of glass.

All the blood drained from Roman’s face as Virgil’s defensive aura snapped down on his mental probe like a bear trap, sending him an involuntary surge of fear that would lock his joints and send his heart racing, a screaming instinctual warning that he was totally screwed.

Virgil yanked himself away from Roman’s stiff grip, wrapping his arms around his chest as though he could physically hold himself together if he tried hard enough. He felt like a mortal injury had been carelessly jarred, a knife twisted in an already-bleeding wound.

He had to resist the impulse to immediately drop into the Subconscious to numb the pain, reminding himself that he wasn’t done here, and more importantly, that the others weren’t safe without him. He couldn’t lose time when they could be attacked at any moment.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he gritted out instead, hating the way terror looked on Roman’s face. “Get out of here.”

He twisted a path back to the clearing open, and sunk back into the forest instead of watching Roman flee.

No time to recuperate. He wanted them out of here before anyone else got hurt.

His chest was still pulsing with pain as he pushed through a few branches to stand in front of Logan and Patton, but he managed not to visibly stagger, which he was counting as a win.

“V!” Patton said, brow furrowed with concern.

“You must be– oh my. Are you alright?” Logan asked, stepping forward. He wasn’t reaching out, but Virgil shied away anyhow.

“Don’t touch me,” Virgil told him, managing to keep the worst of the bite from his voice. “Keep away from my territory and stay out of my business.”

He swept his hand at the trees to start opening a path back, intending to vanish back into the trees and sink away, but a glance at the way Patton’s expression crumpled was enough to weaken his resolve.

“It’s not safe,” he added in a softer tone.

“Because of the Shades,” Logan replied, adjusting his glasses. The motion did nothing to conceal the glint of interest in his gaze. “That’s why we’re here. If something dangerous has manifested here, it’s important that we know about it. For our safety and Thomas’s alike.”

“The Shades are my problem,” Virgil snapped back. “You shouldn’t get involved, not with them or me. I’m handling them.”

“Are you?” Logan asked. “We haven’t seen them before. You seem to be the only one who knows anything about them.”

We only started seeing them once you showed up, Virgil heard, and resisted the urge to snarl.

Patton stepped closer, and Virgil’s body shuddered back without his permission. It was stupid, it was Patton, who would never hurt him, but his brain had thought that about Roman, too, and look what had happened there–

Patton’s expression was going crumpled around the edges again, but he kept still, not pressing against the clear show of weakness. “Do you have to handle them alone?” he asked.

For a moment, Virgil hesitated– the others could help, he would mess up on his own, they were supposed to be a team– and then his gaze caught on a dark, spreading spot on Patton’s shirt. He blinked it away, grounded by the reminder.

“Yes,” he retorted vehemently. “So stop–,”

There was a distant crackling, like several branches being snapped in swift succession, and Virgil abruptly realized that the foreboding feeling in the back of his mind wasn’t just a memory.

He summoned his scythe and dove forward in one smooth movement, sliding past a pair of reflexive flinches to meet the Shade as it burst from the shadows, lifting the long handle of his scythe just in time to block its bite.

“Run.”

Virgil could only barely hear the thudding of feet past his heartbeat in his ears, but he didn’t have time to double check. Wrestling with a Shade was a losing game, and he could already see the sinuous body twisting itself a few new limbs, so he shoved back the mouth full of too-many too-sharp teeth and rolled free, following the momentum of the movement to drive his blade through a good chunk of the beast.

With a short yank, he swung the Shade in a brief arc and flung it past Logan into the trunk of a particularly thick tree.

Wait. Past Logan?

Virgil’s heart sank as he realized that only one of the two people he needed to protect had managed to bolt. Patton hadn’t hesitated at his directive, but Logan had never been one to blindly follow orders.

Maybe he couldn’t follow them. A quick glance showed that Logan seemed almost frozen, staring at the Shade with a bone-deep fear that looked out of place on the logical Side’s face.

The Shade that Virgil had just stupidly tossed between him and the way out.

He swore loudly and darted forward, slashing at the Shade again and again, giving it as little time as possible to recover.

It foiled all attempts to be corralled, oily limbs lashing out with sharp needle-like protrusions on every side, forcing Virgil to jump back or be pincushioned.

He didn’t realize that Logan had moved until he caught a glimpse of him from the corner of his eye, looking more composed but also far closer to the Shade than Virgil would ever want him.

“Back off!” he warned, swinging just in time to catch the beast’s next blow. “It’s dangerous!”

Logan was reaching out with one hand, a visualization technique they’d all used at one point or another to summon or unsummon something. He was making the same mistake as Roman, trying to unravel the Shade as though it was little more than a standard construct.

“No–!” Virgil tried, but the briefest contact was enough to send Logan stumbling back as though hit, and the Shade instantly tried to take advantage of the lapse.

‘Tried’ being the key word there.

Virgil jumped to meet the lunge, and the next few seconds were a frantic blur of skewering and slicing and finally the sensation of the substance under his blade turning to smoke. He dismissed his scythe and swiped the fragment on automatic, the motion barely completed before he was turning to face Logan’s crumpled form.

His eyes landed on red, and it felt like his chest was collapsing to bits.

Between one instant and the next, he was knelt at Logan’s side, meeting open eyes– still alive, not gone yet– before clasping both of his hands over the gaping gash in Logan’s throat and pressing down firmly.

“No no no no no, you can’t, you can’t,” he couldn’t tell whether his begging was in his head or out loud, couldn’t feel his face or his legs or any part of him except for his palms pressed against the injury, growing more stained by the second, trying to hold the lifeblood in through pure force of will.

Logan’s mouth was moving but no words made it out, only a wet, frothy sort of sound. His fingers tried weakly to pry at Virgil’s own, it had to be uncomfortable but he couldn’t let go, he couldn’t fail, he couldn’t watch it happen again, it would shatter him to bits.

There was a noise, loud even though it seemed to come from far away, and Virgil lifted his head with his teeth already bared, entirely prepared to shield Logan from another Shade with his own body, mission be damned.

It wasn’t another Shade.

It was the others.

They were stopped a few yards away, held back by all of Janus’s arms spread wide, staring at him with open horror on their faces.

Virgil’s mind felt like it was churning in slow motion. Why weren’t they helping? How could they just stand there? Didn’t they see what was at stake?

“V…?” Patton asked, voice trembling. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” he hissed, but when he dragged his gaze back to his task, his hands were entirely clean.

There was no blood dripping out from beneath his palms, no ragged edge of flesh beneath his fingers, no horrible gasping breaths full of fluid.

Logan was conscious, staring at him with wide eyes, each of his inhales strained and hoarse, as though he was barely getting enough air in.

Because there were hands wrapped around his throat. Because Virgil was strangling him.

His hands flew up as though magnetically repelled, and he almost expected to see the slash reopen before his eyes, worse than before.

Instead, all he saw was splotchy red marks, the beginning of bruises forming in a ring around Logan’s neck.

Logan started coughing, his face scrunching in pain, and Virgil pushed unsteadily to his feet, backed up without looking away, something fracturing in his chest.

He’d done that. There hadn’t been any real danger, and then he’d become the danger.

The moment he was out of immediate striking range, the rest of them surged forward, crowding towards Logan like– like he’d just been viciously attacked.

If the others hadn’t showed up, would he have– would Logan be–?

Virgil stumbled further back into the shadows, already desperately grasping for the Subconscious.

Someone called out to him, but he was already gone.

#sanders sides fic #ts virgil #ts patton #ts logan #ts roman #ts remus #ts janus #down that desolate road #dtdr #my writing #writing #>:)#bthb

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detective-giggles · 6 months

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For Better and Definitely for Worse

Ahhhh! My first fic in forever! A double fill for @badthingshappenbingo “vomiting” square and for @tarlosmonthlyprompts custom bingo “Grand Designs and Cuddles”. @noxsoulmate thank you for the beta and the title. 😘 thank you for reading!

🤢🤢🤢🤢

Carlos parks the Camaro as close to the bay doors as he can without actually being in the way, should an actual emergency occur while he’s inside.

He slips inside unnoticed and hurries up the stairs, running into Owen on the landing.

“Hey, how is he?” Carlos asks.

Owen shrugs and pats him on the shouler. “Good luck,” is his response. “But let me know if you need anything. I have a killer recipe for-”

“We will let you know, thank you,” Carlos says, ducking into the bunkroom.

Nancy and TK are both curled up on individual bunks with their backs to each other. Tommy is sitting at the edge of Nancy’s bunk, trying to get her to drink some water.

“Hey, guys,” Carlos says softly.

“Hi babe,” TK whispers. “We’re dying.”

Tommy rolls her eyes. “You’re not dying.”

“We’re dying,” Nancy agrees.

Carlos steps up to the bunk and runs a hand through TK’s hair. It’s sweaty and matted to his face but Carlos still presses a soft kiss to the top of his head. “So, what force of nature was strong enough to take down the most bad-ass paramedics I know?”

“The new deli on Columbus,” Tommy says, then adds, “Food poisoning.”

“Oh, shit,” Carlos murmurs. “How long does that take to clear up?”

“Twenty-four to forty-eight hours and he should start feeling like himself again. Bedrest should be fine, and you can give him some over the counter meds but keep him hydrated.”

Carlos nods solemnly. “Nance, do you need a ride home too?”

“I’m taking her home with me tonight,” Tommy says. “I just wanted to make sure you got TK picked up okay.”

“I’ve got him,” Carlos promises.

TK sits up too fast and groans pitifully; he braces his elbows on his knees and sucks in a couple deep breaths. He reaches out a hand and feels around blindly; Carlos grabs the emesis bag and shoves it under TK’s face and holds it for him while he vomits.

“Sorry,” TK murmurs. Carlos rubs his back, gently, and TK leans heavily against him.

Carlos winces as behind them, Nancy is also puking her guts out.

“Come on,” Carlos says, “let’s get you home.”

Tommy promises to clean up the bunk room, leaving TK to apologize pitifully again. Carlos grabs TK’s duffel and slings it over his shoulder, while steadying TK with his other hand. Tommy hands him another emesis bag for the road.

“Better take two, actually,” TK mutters. Carlos agrees and grabs a second bag, stuffing them both in his pocket.

Together, they make it out of the bunk room. TK climbs down the stairs slowly, with Carlos’ hand on the small of his back. He slides into the Camaro while Carlos tosses his bag in the back andby the time Carlos joins him, TK’s sitting stiffly in the seat, eyes closed and groaning softly.

“Hand me your seatbelt,” Carlos prompts.

TK takes a second but waves him off. “I’ve got it,” he mumbles. Carlos watches as he secures his seatbelt and then he does the same before pulling out on the road.

They have to pull over twice so TK can puke and Carlos isn’t quite sure how he can have anything left to get rid of; but maybe he doesn’t since the second time they stop, TK just dry heaves into the bag until Carlos coaxes him back into the car so they can finish their drive home.

Finally, they make it back to the loft, and TK slowly makes his way into the building and into the elevator, with Carlos close behind. They have the elevator to themselves and mercifully, the movement doesn’t make TK sick again.

As soon as Carlos unlocks the door, TK hurries inside and makes a beeline for the bathroom, stepping out of his shoes and dropping his hoodie on the floor along the way.

Carlos grabs his phone and finds his grocery delivery app. He knows his husband’s favorite flavor of Gatorade and orders half a dozen, some Pepto, saltines, and a case of water, leaving a hefty tip with the promise of more if they can deliver in less than an hour. Although the store’s not far, he’ll pay a little extra if it means not leaving TK home alone.

He puts TK’s shoes in the closet and cleans out his duffel bag, stashing it away until the next shift TK’s well enough to attend, although he knows it’ll be a few days.

Carlos grabs a bottle of water and TK’s pajamas, and then knocks on the door.

“Please don’t come in,” TK begs.

“I have water for you,” Carlos says.

The door opens a crack, just enough for TK to stick his hand through. Carlos hands him the items and TK murmurs a thank you before slamming the door shut again.

Carlos isn’t really sure what to do, other than stay close in case TK needs him, and he sits down on the sofa to wait. The groceries arrive in less than 45 minutes and Carlos shoves the Gatorade and some water in the fridge, glad to have something to do.

He decides to make himself some toast while he’s in the kitchen, so TK doesn’t have to watch him eat later and he also texts to check up on Nancy, knowing TK will want to know how she’s holding up.

Owen calls twice to check up on TK and honestly, Carlos is a little surprised he doesn’t just stop by the loft. Carlos assures him TK is fine and he seems to accept that answer, but tells Carlos to call him if they need anything.

Carlos finally relaxes when he hears the shower start and it isn’t long until TK emerges from the bathroom after that. He’s in the pajamas Carlos had given him, his hair is damp, and he still looks miserable.

“Hey, baby,” Carlos says.

TK whines and shuffles towards the couch. He curls up on his side, resting his head on Carlos’ lap. Carlos pulls the throw blanket off the back of the couch and covers his husband with it.

“Want to watch some TV?” Carlos asks, hoping to distract him long enough that maybe he can fall asleep.

TK nods and Carlos grabs the remote, turning the television onto reruns of their favorite show.

“Hey, let me get up and I’ll grab you some water or something,” Carlos offers.

TK shakes his head and snuggles impossibly closer to Carlos. “I’m okay,” he says. “I think. Have you heard from Nancy?”

“She’s doing okay too,” Carlos tells him, while running his fingers through TK’s hair. “Tommy says she hopes you feel better soon and your next two shifts are covered. And I’ve called in too.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” TK whispers. “But I’m glad you did.”

Carlos chuckles and slips his hand under the blanket, rubbing TK’s side.

While TK watches the TV, Carlos watches TK. He makes it just past the second commercial break before his eyes slip closed. Carlos relaxes just a little bit more and settles in. He’s a little too old to sleep on the couch - they both are - and he knows his back will scream at him tomorrow. But for now, he closes his eyes and hopes TK sleeps through the night.

#tarlos #bthb #vomiting #tmp custom tarlos bingo #fluff #sick TK #caretaker Carlos #911 ls fic

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letthewhumpbegin · 6 months

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Spark, chapter 1 - Shadow & Bone / Six of Crows

Fandom: Shadow & Bone, Six of Crows Characters: Wylan van Eck, Jesper Fahey, Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa Prompt: this was written for the prompt "Caught in an Explosion" off my @badthingshappenbingo card. (Card at the bottom of this post). Word count: 3877 Warnings: mentions of burns, blood, painful wound treatment.

A/N: this is chapter 1 of 2. Second chapter will be posted asap!

My Writing masterlist

He smelt it the moment he set foot into his lab. Fire. It was a scorching smell, combined with the scent of two chemicals that could not be safely mixed together, let alone be exposed to an open flame.

Wylan immediately knew he had walked into a trap. A death trap more like it, because he was sure the entire place would blow up soon. And he doubted he would still have enough time to get out of there.

In the end, Wylan didn’t even get the chance to properly turn around. He had maybe moved a toe when his ears caught the distinct sounds of ignition, and Wylan instantly knew he was going to get caught in the inevitable blast.

The explosion went off with such a force that it blew Wylan clean off his feet, slamming him onto the floor a few meters back. He instinctively curled up into a ball, making himself as small as possible, but still felt the flames from the explosion lick at his arms and sides. Shattered glass and wood splinters from items destroyed by the blast rained down on him, and he felt at least two larger shards of debris embed themselves into his back.

Wylan couldn’t help but scream out in agony and fear. The pain was like nothing he had ever felt before. So intense, so all-consuming, so… very possibly lethal. His scream was followed by a coughing fit as he inhaled a lungful of ash and smoke, hurting his already battered body even more.

After the deafening roar of the explosion, there now was near silence. Apart from a few small, crackling fires across the room, nothing made a sound. Wylan slowly, excruciatingly unfurled himself a little. He was covered in cuts, and despite the jacket he wore, his right arm, shoulder and side were quite heavily burned, the flames having seared through the fabric.

“O-ow…” Wylan whimpered, tears of pain welling up in his eyes. He realized that he couldn’t move, the pain was simply too much. He was utterly helpless. If whoever set this trap came looking at the results now, Wylan would have absolutely no way to flee or defend himself. No, his only hope was that one of the other Crows had heard the explosion and would come looking first.

Even though his ears were still ringing from the blast and his consciousness fleeting, Wylan still caught the sound that instilled even more fear in him: the creaking and groaning of wood. He managed to slightly turn his head and stare glassily up at the roof above him. The wooden support beams were severely damaged in the blast, and at least one of them looked like it would give out soon. For the first time, Wylan fully realised he might actually die here. The wood creaked ominously again, and the beam right above Wylan was already starting to bend through. Wylan’s breath caught high in his chest, letting out a strangled whimper, as he knew what inevitably would happen.

Again, the groaning and creaking sound of the beam losing its strength filled the room, but this time the thunderous sound of part of the roof collapsing followed. Wylan just managed, with great effort, to curl himself up again and raise his arms protectively over his head, but he was painfully aware of the roof collapsing on top of him. Yet more excruciating pain filled Wylan’s body, until he was absorbed by the infinite darkness of unconsciousness, and Wylan knew no more…

---

“Did you hear that?” Inej hurried into Jesper’s room at the Slat without even knocking or waiting for him to invite her in. “Bit hard to miss, isn’t it?” Jesper stood in front of the window, looking at the big plume of black smoke rising up from somewhere a few streets away. Shortly before a loud explosion had rocked half of Ketterdam on its foundations. Inej came to stand next to Jesper, watching the smoke rise up with a frown on her face. “Isn’t Wylan’s lab in that direction?” She finally mumbled.

Jesper went rigid beside her. She was right… Why hadn’t he realized that? Wylan’s lab wasn’t just in that direction, Jesper concluded with a shock, that was Wylan’s lab. “Oh, Saints!” Fear gripped at Jesper’s throat. If anything had happened to Wylan, Jesper needed to be there. Help him, protect him, hold him.

Jesper ran out of his room and dashed down the stairs as fast as he could. “Jesper, wait!” Inej ran after him. “You can’t just go over there. Who knows what happened! You, too, have heard of all the threats against us, you could be walking into a trap!” Jesper came to a halt halfway down the second flight of stairs, whipping around to face Inej. “I can go there, and I will.” His voice was choked with emotion. “This is Wylan we’re talking about. If that explosion has anything to do with him, I’m going over there.”

Inej had never before seen this much fear in Jesper’s eyes. She knew of Jesper and Wylan’s relationship, but for the first time she fully realized how much the two meant to each other. Inej took a deep breath. “At least let me go with you.” Jesper nodded quickly. “Only if you hurry up.”

---

All the while they ran through the streets of Ketterdam, Jesper held the faint hope that they had misjudged the location of the explosion, and they would find Wylan’s lab intact and Wylan himself in the crowd of spectators of the blast elsewhere. But, alas. As soon as they turned into the street, all of Jesper’s hopes were crushed. The building where Wylan’s lab used to be was emanating smoke, and parts of the roof and walls had collapsed.

“Wylan!” Without any regard to his own safety, Jesper scrambled over the debris and into what was left of the building. Inej followed closely after him.

They both came to a halt in the middle of the smoldering mess. “Do we even know for sure he was here?” Inej tried to sound hopeful. Jesper nodded determinedly. “He left my room not even an hour ago to go here.”

All hope either of them might have had, dropped to the bottom of their shoes. How could anyone survive a blast like this? And even if Wylan managed to somehow survive the explosion, there still were fires everywhere and collapsed parts of the walls and roof. “We’ll find him.” Inej assured, although she wished she’d sounded more confident.

Both Jesper and Inej searched frantically through the rubble, overturning every piece of debris that wasn’t too big or on fire. Jesper was about to think of the possibility that Wylan hadn’t been here after all, when he saw it. A hand, just visible under the pieces of stone and one of the large wooden support beams from the roof.

“No…” The word was a sob off his lips. “Inej, over here! Help me move this.” “Saints.” Inej gasped when she saw what Jesper had found. “Is he alive?” “I don’t know,” Jesper’s voice was small and he sounded oh so scared.

It took a lot of effort, but finally Inej and Jesper managed to move the heavy support beam and finally reveal Wylan. Being amidst the rubble seemed to have saved Wylan at least somewhat, since the beam had landed mostly on pieces of collapsed walls on either side of him, instead of fully crushing Wylan.

Jesper earned himself a few bruises as he fell to his knees beside Wylan. He needed only a second to see the demolition man’s injuries and how severe they were. Behind him, Inej gasped audibly. She had seen it, too. “Wylan?” Jesper’s voice broke. He gently reached for the pulse point of Wylan’s neck. A sobbed sigh of relief escaped Jesper as he felt the vein thumping against his fingers. It was only weak, but at least it was still there. Wylan didn’t respond in any way.

“We need to get him out of here.” Inej’s voice sounded equally small at the sight of the severely injured Wylan. “It’s not safe to stay here.” Jesper knew Inej was right, but he didn’t know exactly how he was supposed to do that. His gaze roamed over the burns to Wylan’s arm, shoulder and side, the shards of glass and wood splinters embedded in his back, and the many cuts littering Wylan’s face and hands. “Okay…” Jesper had to swallow away a lump in his throat. He had to man up now, for Wylan. Inej shortly rested a hand on Jesper’s shoulder. “Take him back to the Slat, I’ll find Kaz.” Without another sound Inej disappeared.

Jesper’s hands hovered over Wylan’s unconscious form. How was he going to move Wylan without hurting him? Jesper soon reached the conclusion that there simply was no pain-free way to do this. All he could hope for was that Wylan would remain unconscious for it.

Jesper carefully hooked his arms under Wylan’s knees and shoulders, and lifted him into a bridal carry. Oh, Saints, the kid was a lightweight! Even though Wylan was bleeding and desperately clinging onto life, it somehow comforted Jesper to hold Wylan’s body close to his. Blood stained his hands, but at least he felt the rapid rise and fall of Wylan’s chest against his own chest, confirming Wylan was still hanging in there for now.

Suddenly, Wylan groaned and stirred minutely in Jesper’s arms. “No, no, please.” This was exactly what Jesper feared would happen. Wylan slowly nuzzled his head against Jesper’s shoulder, his unruly mob of hair tickling Jesper’s neck. Normally, Jesper loved that feeling, but right now it was accompanied by Wylan’s ragged breaths and whimpers in pain, and it sent chills down Jesper’s spine instead.

“Jesper…” Wylan breathed out, barely audible. He sounded so weak, so fragile, so broken. “I’m here,” Jesper whispered back. “P–pain…” Wylan whimpered. Even barely conscious, this was the worst pain he had ever felt. He curled his hand around the fabric of Jesper’s coat for as much as he found strength for, seeking the comfort, the warmth, and hoping beyond hope it would bring some kind of relief from his misery. “I know, I know.” Jesper tried to sooth. “I’m gonna make sure it goes away.” Wylan produced another fearful, agonised whimper, and Jesper felt him tremble in his arms once more. “Give into it, Wylan, please.” Jesper almost couldn’t keep his tears in anymore at seeing Wylan like this. “Give into unconsciousness. Please… it will make the pain go away for now.”

Wylan pressed his head ever so slightly tighter against Jesper’s shoulder, before he went completely limp and sank away into unconsciousness again.

---

Back at the Slat, Jesper immediately took Wylan up to his room. He was glad Wylan hadn’t been awake for any of the walk back, because it would have been anything but pleasant for him. Jesper had done his best to walk slowly, but the feeling of Wylan’s limp body in his arms scared him and made him break into an awkward run after all.

Jesper kicked the door closed behind him as he stepped inside his room, Wylan still in his arms. The last thing he needed was looky-loos. Apart from Kaz and Inej, and the Healer they would undoubtedly bring with them, no one needed to know Wylan had made it out of the explosion alive. Or, at least, for now…

Jesper carefully lay Wylan down on the bed, with his back close to the edge of the bed and the injured side of his body facing up. Jesper swallowed away a wave of nausea as he was reminded of how cosily he and Wylan had shared this bed only hours ago, and how close to losing all of that he suddenly found himself.

Wylan’s entire body trembled now with the shock of his injuries. “It’s okay, calm down, I’m here.” Jesper ran an equally trembling hand through Wylan’s hair. “I’ll make sure you’re alright.” Jesper silently prayed to every saint he could think of for Kaz and Inej to hurry up, because he honestly wasn’t sure how much longer Wylan would be able to hold on. The younger man’s breaths were coming in short, rapid hitches, and in Jesper’s bright bedroom the burns to Wylan’s side, chest and shoulder looked even more severe. The heavy burns were melted together with the remnants of his clothing, and at least three large shards of glass had deeply embedded themselves into Wylan’s back.

Jesper knew they needed to get Wylan’s jacket and shirt off for the Healer to get to work, and somehow Jesper felt obligated to be the one to do that. He slowly reached under the pillow beneath Wylan’s head, and carefully pulled out the knife he knew Wylan kept under there. It wasn’t anything big, just a simple knife, but surely sharp enough to cut through clothing.

Swallowing back another wave of nausea, Jesper slid the knife under the collar of what was left of Wylan’s jacket, and forced the blade to cut through the fabric. He allowed the pieces he cut to fall away, and where the fabric stuck to Wylan’s skin, Jesper very gently pulled it loose.

When he had all of the jacket off and started on the shirt underneath it, Jesper could feel Wylan’s clammy skin against his fingers. Every tremble of the demolition man’s muscles reverberated into Jesper through his hands, almost as if he were trying to absorb all of Wylan’s pain and shock.

Jesper was just prying the last piece of shirt free from Wylan’s back, when suddenly the door of the room flew open. Without even knocking, Kaz barged in, followed closely by Inej and a man in his late thirties Jesper recognized as one of Ketterdam’s most renowned Healers. Kaz must have gone to great lengths to get this man to take on a job like this ánd secure his silence afterwards, but if anyone could save Wylan this Healer would be the one. Jesper felt a spark of hope again, and at the same time he felt grateful for Kaz’s effort.

The Healer shook off his coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves. Jesper scrambled to his feet to give the Healer space to start working on Wylan. He took a few steps back, folding his arms tightly across his chest as he watched. Fear still coursed through his body, which Jesper wasn’t even trying to hide anymore now.

Jesper only vaguely registered the sound of a cane on the wooden floor as Kaz moved to stand next to him. “What happened?” Kaz’s voice was laced with anger. Jesper knew that anger wasn’t directed at him, but it still sent a shiver down his spine anyway. Whoever was responsible for blowing up the lab and injuring Wylan would surely come to feel the full wrath of Kaz Brekker. “I don’t know.” Jesper slowly shook his head. “I know of the threats against us, but this? Who would do something like this to him?” Kaz slightly cocked his head to one side. “I have my suspicions.”

For the first time, Jesper tore his gaze off Wylan and the Healer, and looked beside him at Kaz. All of Kaz’s features were set into hard lines, and the cold, vengeful look in the thief’s eyes was downright terrifying. This was Kaz at his most dangerous, most ruthless, and Jesper was sure Kaz would single-handedly kill a few people over this tonight. And Jesper didn’t even mind that. This was Wylan they were talking about, and when it came to him, everything was justified.

“I’ll find them.” Kaz stated curtly, yet confidently. Jesper slowly turned back to watch the Healer work. “I know you will,” he mumbled softly, but he was sure Kaz caught it, “and I wish them a slow and painful death.” An evil smirk spread across Kaz’s face. “My specialty.”

Before either Jesper or Kaz could say anything else, they were interrupted by Wylan suddenly crying out in pain. Apparently he had regained consciousness and felt the pain again in all its intensity. “A little help, please.” The Healer called over his shoulder. “What’s going on?” Jesper leapt forward. “Contrary to what most people think, healing isn’t always a painless process,” the Healer explained, “I need someone to keep him still, so he doesn’t move too much while I work.”

Jesper didn’t even consider for someone else in the room to take this task, and immediately hurried around the bed. He sat down in the spot where he usually slept beside Wylan. Wylan lay facing him, but had his face half pressed into the pillow. All his features were contorted in pain and one hand was balled into a fist around the bedspread. His entire body rocked back and forth as he desperately sought a way to escape the pain.

“Hey, hey.” Jesper softly placed his hand over Wylan’s fist balled into the bedspread. “Calm down. I know it’s a lot to ask, but try to lie still.” Wylan shifted his head, opening his eyes to glance up fearfully at Jesper. “It hurts,” he whimpered in between gasped, wheezing breaths. “I know.” Jesper swallowed back the lump in his throat. “But it will only hurt for a little while longer. This man is a Healer and he’s here to help you.” Wylan released his grip on the bedspread and instead clenched his fingers around Jesper’s hand. “I c-can’t take it.” “Yes, you can.” Jesper soothed, giving Wylan’s hand a gentle squeeze in return. “You’re strong. It will only be a little longer.” Wylan’s eyes shone with fear and pain. “Don’t leave me alone.” “I won’t,” Jesper assured, “I would never do that.”

Jesper locked eyes with the Healer and shortly nodded his head for him to continue. Immediately, all Wylan’s muscles tensed yet further and he whimpered in pain. “It’s alright, squeeze my hand.” Jesper soothingly ran his fingers through Wylan’s hair, and allowed him to squeeze his hand half to mush. For the second time that day, Jesper found himself wishing for Wylan to pass out. But where Wylan had quickly lost consciousness earlier today, he didn’t now. Instead he was awake enough to experience every excruciating second of the Healer’s treatment. His pained whimpers and moans continuously filled the room, and his tremors almost shook the entire bed.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the Healer pulled his hands away and stepped back. “All done.” Wylan was still breathing rather erratically, but at least he lay still now. He looked utterly spent and worn out, yet he seemed calmer. Where his wounds had been, the skin was now intact again, but looked red, like a severe sunburn.

Jesper felt Wylan’s fingers around his hand slacken. He knew Wylan was still awake, even though he must be on the edge of unconsciousness.

“What now?” Kaz, who had silently been watching from the other side of the room, asked the question everyone wanted to know the answer to. “He’s no longer in life’s danger.” The Healer seemed slightly unsettled when speaking to Kaz, making one wonder exactly what Kaz had done to secure this man’s services. “But his body took a heavy hit. Where the wounds have been, it will feel to him like it’s severely bruised. The redness of the skin should subside overnight. And he needs complete rest for at least the next few days.” Kaz curtly dipped his head once. The Healer probably didn’t know it, but this was a generous sign of gratitude from the thief.

Without another word, Kaz limped to the door and held it open as Inej accompanied the Healer out of the room. He closed the door behind the two of them before turning to Jesper. “I’ll give you one chance to pull the trigger yourself.” Kaz’s intense glare left no room for interpretation: whoever had blown Wylan half to smithereens would be paying for it today, and not a minute later.

Jesper slowly shook his head. No matter how tempting it was to have the opportunity to get his own revenge, he just couldn’t leave Wylan alone. “I can’t leave him here by himself,” Jesper answered softly, “you go do what you do best… and give me all the juicy details later.” Kaz grinned devilishly. “All the details.” His voice was a low growl, yet full of a morbid excitement. Jesper watched after Kaz as he left the room, and almost felt a pity for whoever ended up on the wrong side of Kaz Brekker today.

---

Wylan only vaguely registered people talking, before it seemed most of them left the room. But he was continuously aware of Jesper being close, and that soothed him. The pain he had felt earlier was a lot less now, reduced to only a nagging uncomfortableness throughout his body. He could finally relax somewhat, although he felt absolutely exhausted.

Wylan slowly opened his eyes just a crack when he felt a finger run lovingly across his cheek. “How’re we doing?” Jesper’s voice was soft, full of concern and genuine care. “So tired…” Wylan breathed out weakly. “Any pain?” Jesper’s hand moved to run through Wylan’s hair. “Not too much.” Wylan tried to lean into Jesper’s hand and soak up the love and comfort the gesture held. Jesper smiled softly. “You and I are going to stay right here until you feel all better.” Wylan nodded minutely. “Sounds perfect.”

Jesper slouched down until he half lay, leaning his back against his pillows. He made sure to keep some space between himself and Wylan, because he was afraid that even the slightest touching of their bodies would cause Wylan pain. But where Jesper did his best to not come into contact, Wylan was the one to seek it. His hand snaked over the bedspread, before coming to rest on Jesper’s stomach. Jesper looked beside him, and found Wylan glancing up at him with those big eyes of his. The exhaustion was written into all his features, and so was the unspoken question for comfort and protection.

“Are you sure?” Jesper asked softly. Wylan nodded feebly. “Yes.” Jesper slowly moved himself closer to Wylan, allowing Wylan to carefully snuggle against him. Wylan whimpered softly as he rearranged his battered body, but blew out a satisfied breath when he could finally lay his head on Jesper’s chest. Jesper once again ran his fingers through Wylan’s tousled hair. “Better?” Wylan hummed almost inaudibly, but Jesper heard it anyway.

Wylan closed his eyes, his head resting on Jesper’s chest as if it were his pillow. The nagging pain throughout his body slowly moved to the background, and Wylan felt the pull of deep sleep, but somehow he couldn’t give into it yet.

“Sleep.” Jesper’s comforting voice sounded lovingly, close to his ear. “I’ll keep you safe.” It was followed by a soft kiss pressed into Wylan’s hair. Wylan hummed softly, satisfied. This time he gave in and let himself drift off to a peaceful, healing sleep. Because in Jesper’s arms, with his head resting on Jesper’s chest, he was safe. And no matter how scared he had been today, Jesper would always be his safe place.

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone netflix #six of crows #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone fanfic #six of crows fanfiction #six of crows fanfic #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #jack wolfe #kit young #whump #whump fanfiction #whump fanfic #bad things happen bingo #bthb #fanfic #fanfiction

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just-a-silly-little-whumper · 7 months

Text

Violation

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

For BTHB: Rape/Noncon.

Lord Denholm wants many things from Altair that Altair doesn't intend to give. Lord Denholm takes what he wants anyway.

Contains: Explicit noncon, vampire whumper/bloodbag whumpee, intimate whump, captivity, restraint, wing whump, begging, dissociation

~~~

Altair was so cold.

Shadows coiled around him, insubstantial yet still holding him in place. They seemed to sap the warmth from his very bones, leaving him shivering as he knelt on the floor of Elze’ith’s room. And he could swear he felt them moving, sliding along his skin and between the feathers of his new wings, making him more dizzy and breathless and nauseous by the moment.

But the restricting shadows mattered less than the fact that Elze’ith was gone. Lord Denholm had ripped them apart and dragged Elze’ith away, and though Altair had fought, Lord Denholm’s shadows easily pinned him down. Elze’ith’s screams still rang in Altair’s ears. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it felt like hours. It was certainly long enough for Altair to feel Elze’ith’s absence, for worry and dread to weigh heavy in his mind. Their embrace when Altair’s wings had come out had been the first moment of peace Altair had felt in such a long time. Now it was gone, and so was Elze’ith, and Altair was alone again. And given Lord Denholm’s fury when he had taken Elze’ith away, Elze’ith would be paying the price for that fleeting serenity.

And he could feel… something. The faint presence in his mind swelled with something that felt like fear, before receding to the point that he could barely feel it. He didn’t know what that meant. Just that it couldn’t be good.

The door finally opened. Lord Denholm strode in, imperious as ever. The look on his face was unreadable, but his aura had calmed ever so slightly. There was still rage and power swirling in it, but not quite as much as when he had torn Elze’ith away. He came to stare down at Altair, not saying anything for a moment. Altair strained against the shadows holding him in place, but they held fast.

“What did you do to Elze’ith?”

“I needed to separate you two. He needs time alone to think, and you, little ruin, need some individual attention.” Lord Denholm’s voice was a low purr as he regarded Altair. “After all, despite your disobedience, you have made quite the breakthrough today.”

Before Altair had an opportunity to respond, the shadows engulfing him drew back, taking him with them. He cried out as he was pulled off the floor and deposited on his back on Elze’ith’s bed, wings splayed beneath him. His arms were pulled above his head and his legs were wrenched apart, making him wince at the force. Then the mass of shadows melted away, leaving only the tendrils holding his arms and legs in place.

His heartbeat picked up in his chest. He could see where this was going. He had feared this ever since Lord Denholm had captured him. Now it seemed Lord Denholm finally intended to fulfill one of his long-standing threats, and Altair wasn’t ready. Digging deep, he reached for his magic once again. Maybe now that something had changed within him, now that he had awoken to the divine power in his blood, his magic would finally answer him. But just the same as every time before, the cuffs around his wrists kept him from summoning flames to his fingertips or causing lightning to crackle in the air.

All Altair could do was struggle futilely against the shadows holding him down and watch as Lord Denholm moved about the room. Despite feeling like smoke against his skin, the shadows were utterly unyielding, barely offering any slack as Altair pulled on them. Lord Denholm seemed to pay his efforts little mind as he pulled a few things from the wardrobe. When he approached Altair, he carried a handful of the same silk strips that had been used to tie Altair to the canopy earlier that evening, as well as a small bottle that had Altair’s blood running cold.

“Bastard,” Altair snarled. “I’m going to kill you for this.”

“Hush,” Lord Denholm said softly. He placed the bottle on the table before taking one of the silks and wrapping it around Altair’s wrist. The shadow holding it retreated as Lord Denholm did so.

Altair furrowed his brow. Why was he restraining Altair using mundane means, when he clearly could do so magically? Was he worried about running out of magic?

Not that it mattered, when his arm was being fastened to the bedpost. Though he strained, he still couldn’t get himself free. Lord Denholm’s hands were almost gentle as he took Altair’s other wrist to repeat the process. Every brush of Lord Denholm’s frigid hands against his skin made him shiver in disgust.

“Don’t touch me!” It wouldn’t do much good. He knew that. But he couldn’t just do nothing while this was happening. Even if his protests were useless, they were all he had.

But Lord Denholm seemed to take that as an invitation. He ran a hand down Altair’s bare chest, smiling when Altair tried and failed to shrink away. “You need to understand, my little ruin. You are mine. Mine to touch, mine to use, mine to mold.”

Altair bit his lip as Lord Denholm’s hand trailed lower, tracing the outline of the scar on Altair’s hip before moving to the waistband of his pants. He lingered for a moment, almost tauntingly, before slipping his fingers around the fabric and slowly pulling down. Every inch seemed to take an eternity, and Altair grit his teeth as goosebumps broke out across his newly-exposed flesh.

“Beautiful,” Lord Denholm purred, setting Altair’s pants aside and running a finger down his leg. Altair tried desperately to kick out at him, but the shadows’ hold remained strong. The resistance merely earned a chuckle from Lord Denholm as he took more silks, securing them first to Altair’s ankles and then to the bedposts, leaving his legs spread open.

Altair’s breath was starting to come in shorter, harsher bursts. His mind raced, his eyes darting about the room, searching for a way out. But there was no way out. He was helpless. Lord Denholm was going to rape him, and there was nothing he could do.

“Easy, little ruin.” Lord Denholm shifted forward on the bed until he was looming over Altair, a shadow blotting out the room’s low light. Altair could see the way Lord Denholm’s pants had grown tight, and the sight made him taste bile. “Breathe. I can’t have you passing out yet.”

A part of Altair almost wanted to hyperventilate until he lost consciousness. At least then he wouldn’t have to feel what was coming. But he didn’t want to give Lord Denholm the satisfaction of seeing him so afraid. Instead, he just swallowed. “You-”

Before Altair could say anything else, Lord Denholm placed a hand on the top of Altair’s wing. The cold touch shocked Altair to his core; part of him wanted to melt into the gentle hand, while part of him could feel the ill-intent and wanted to get away. It was far more direct and intense than anything he had ever felt, and he gasped as the combination of sensation and emotion immediately threatened to overwhelm him. Lord Denholm only smiled and deliberately trailed his hand down the length of Altair’s wing. The motion drew a whine from Altair’s throat as the strange, conflicting feelings managed to grow even stronger.

“Exquisite. I knew you would be. You just needed the right push,” Lord Denholm mused. “How many people have tried and failed to unlock your true potential, my little ruin?”

Altair, shivering on the bed, didn’t intend to respond. But the words came tumbling out anyway. “I always thought they were wrong. All my life my family told me I was special, told me I had a unique spark of divinity. But their years of training amounted to nothing. Nothing changed after I left, though people kept chasing me, acting like they knew something I didn’t. I-”

He cut himself off with a long, shuddering inhale. Why had he said that? It wasn’t as if he wanted to talk about any of this, let alone with Lord Denholm. But it was as if he hadn’t had a choice. Lord Denholm asked, and he answered.

And in response Lord Denholm’s smile grew. He worked his fingers in between Altair’s feathers to more directly touch the sensitive skin underneath. For a moment Altair’s thoughts stalled, his breath catching in his throat.

“There was a time where you wouldn’t have even considered answering me. Have you finally realized your place, then?”

“I don’t want to answer you!” Once again it felt as though the words were being pulled from his throat. “I don’t know how you’re making me, but-” Realization rippled through him. “It’s my wings, isn’t it. Something about them is making me talk. It’s the only thing that’s changed. I- stop touching them!” He tried to twist away, but his bonds held him fast, leaving him with nowhere to go. There was just the bed beneath him, and Lord Denholm above him, with his cold, insistent hands and his widening grin.

“I already told you. You are mine. I will touch you however I please. All the better that it makes you so much more transparent. I rather like this side of you; I cannot wait to see more of it.” The ostensive gentleness of Lord Denholm’s touch abruptly vanished as he dug his nails into Altair’s wing and scraped slowly along towards the tip. The sudden pain was far more intense than it should have been, and Altair found himself arching his back with a strangled groan, eyes clenched shut as the sensation washed over him.

Then, finally, Lord Denholm drew his hand away. The sudden loss of contact left Altair gasping. He was left with an ache that took several long moments to begin to fade. He didn’t want Lord Denholm’s hand back, but part of him did. The feeling was bewildering in how utterly unfamiliar it was. It was enough to make him want to crawl out of his own skin, even if Lord Denholm wasn’t intending on assaulting him.

He heard shifting above him. Taking a few deep breaths to steady himself, he opened his eyes. Lord Denholm had taken off his pants and set them, neatly folded, to the side. Now he loomed over Altair once again, his cock erect and ready.

Ice flooded Altair’s veins. “No,” he breathed, not even directed at Lord Denholm, just in disbelief and horror. “No, you can’t—”

“You beg so prettily, little ruin,” Lord Denholm murmured. “If only anyone would listen.”

Cold, slick fingers slipped between Altair’s legs, pressing lightly along his folds. Altair froze, his breath coming to a complete standstill, as though the lack of movement might help him hide from what was to come. Lord Denholm might have said something, but Altair couldn’t hear it over the pounding of his heart roaring in his ears. It seemed Lord Denholm wasn’t looking for a response, though, as after a moment of exploration, one finger slipped inside.

A high-pitched, terrified whimper resonated in Altair’s throat. He heard a sound that might have been Lord Denholm humming, or maybe laughing, as he slowly pushed his finger in, all the way up to the knuckle. It was too much, and his finger was so cold, and it didn’t necessarily hurt but it sure as hell didn’t feel good. Time seemed to stretch and warp as Lord Denholm moved his finger within Altair as though he were mapping out the space inside. The entire time, Altair stayed frozen, mind blank with panic.

And then Lord Denholm withdrew, just as agonizingly slowly as he had pushed his finger in. Altair let out a shuddery breath as soon as the intrusion was gone, his lungs seeming to work again as he gasped for air. The reprieve was brief, however, as Altair felt something much larger pressing against him.

Tears sprung to his eyes. If anything broke him, it would be this.

Lord Denholm smiled down at him. “Fret not, little ruin. The first time is always the hardest.”

And then Lord Denholm sank his cock into Altair.

Altair opened his mouth in a soft, wordless cry. Lord Denholm went slowly, taking his time, as though he were giving Altair a chance to adjust, as though he wanted to enjoy it. But there was no adjusting to being violated so utterly. Now it did hurt, sparks of sharp pain shooting through him, because what little preparation Lord Denholm had given him hadn’t been nearly enough. Altair instinctively clenched, trying to keep Lord Denholm out, but that only made Lord Denholm groan in pleasure as he continued to press in, inch by tortuous inch until he fully bottomed out.

“There,” Lord Denholm purred. “You feel so good, my ruinous little angel, stretched around my cock like this. Simply perfect.”

He began to lazily roll his hips. The movements were small, but they still sent jolts of sensation through Altair’s core. It might have been gentle in any other scenario, but the mockery of intimacy only made it all the more cruel.

“No,” Altair gasped. “No, stop, please-”

Lord Denholm brought up his hand, finger still covered in Altair’s fluid, up to stroke Altair’s wing once again. A full-body shudder of disgust rippled through Altair. “Your begging only makes you more enticing, my little ruin. By all means, please continue.”

“Please. Please, I can’t do this, just stop, you can hurt me as much as you want, just don’t do this.” The words tumbled freely from his mouth without his conscious permission. Honestly, he would have begged completely willingly if he thought it might have any chance of stopping this. But he knew all he was doing was giving Lord Denholm even more perverse satisfaction.

“Yes, that’s it, just like that,” Lord Denholm purred. He began to speed up his pace, rocking his hips into Altair more earnestly. As he did he threaded his fingers in between Altair’s feathers and tightened his grip, as if seeking purchase. And his smile, that dreadfully smug smile, never left as he stared down at Altair to take in his every reaction.

It was too much. The hand in his wing was a perpetual starburst of intense sensation and emotional turmoil, enough to leave him speechless and desperate for relief. Each movement of Lord Denholm within him was a new flare of pleasure-pain-disgust, bright and repulsive and inescapable. Combined it was utterly overwhelming, invasive in a way he never would have thought possible, like his entire being was being turned inside out just for Lord Denholm’s pleasure. He wanted to crawl out of his skin. He wanted to rip Lord Denholm apart with his bare hands and burn his remains to cinders. He wanted to keep begging and begging until it finally stopped. But he couldn’t do any of that, could barely breathe anymore as Lord Denholm just kept going.

Time smeared and blurred and bent. Altair was trapped in that ceaseless moment, as his feathers crumpled under Lord Denholm’s fingers, as Lord Denholm’s smile taunted him, as he was forced to stretch to take every thrust of Lord Denholm’s cock. At some point, he thought he might have started crying, but he honestly wasn’t sure. The wetness on his face might have just been from Lord Denholm leaning down to kiss his cheeks. All he knew was that this was the worst torture he had ever been forced to endure, this purposeful violation of Altair’s body and soul.

“You are divine like this, little ruin,” Lord Denholm said, his face suddenly next to Altair’s ear. The movement of his hips had sped up again, to the point where it was almost frantic. Altair found himself trying and failing to bite back whimpers. “So open and yielding and submissive for me. Just as you should be. Now, let me see how you come undone.”

A few more thrusts and Altair shuddered as he felt Lord Denholm climax, liquid surging to fill him in a way that had him whining in distress. Lord Denholm groaned, gently grinding down into Altair as though he were trying to wring as much pleasure from the orgasm as possible. The desperate hope that this might finally be over had barely entered Altair’s head when Lord Denholm’s fingers came down to press against Altair’s clit. The touch was the last thing he wanted, and yet it built on top of the pressure that Lord Denholm had already been forcibly building inside of Altair’s core. He whimpered in protest, but Lord Denholm was insistent in his ministrations. It didn’t take long before orgasm washed over Altair too, unwanted and revolting and yet somehow still a relief.

Suddenly there were teeth in his neck, the pain sharp and bright. Altair gasped as Lord Denholm sank in his fangs and started to drink. Being fed from was never pleasant, but somehow this was worse, with all of the conflicting sensations and emotions still roiling within him. Lord Denholm’s hand was still in his wing. His cock was still in Altair’s pussy. Altair didn’t even have the strength to try to pull away or protest or react at all as he was slowly drained of blood, on top of everything else he had just lost.

He wasn’t sure how long Lord Denholm drank. It felt longer than usual; Altair felt faint when he finally pulled away, although there were many things that might have caused that. Lord Denholm almost looked drunk when he looked down at Altair, his pupils dilated, his mouth stained red.

“Magnificent,” he said, licking his lips. A weak shiver went through Altair at the sight. “I knew that this would be just what you needed, my little ruin.”

All Altair could do was shake his head. He hated this— this was wrong— but he just didn’t have the strength to reply. He was exhausted, wrung out, physically and emotionally.

“Oh, it’s okay,” Lord Denholm said. The hand in his wing released its grip and began smoothing over his feathers in almost a soothing motion. Lord Denholm’s other hand rose to cup his cheek. “You’ll get used to it in time. This is where you belong, after all.”

Altair couldn’t hold back the sob that burst out of him. He was strong, but he didn’t think he was strong enough to handle this. Not again. He just wanted to be with Elze’ith. He just wanted to be safe, to be free.

He was starting to think he could never have that.

Finally, with a luxurious groan, Lord Denholm pulled out of Altair. Another sob wracked Altair’s body as he felt the mix of their fluids gush out of him onto the sheets beneath him. It only compounded the bone-deep feeling of disgust that had long-since settled over him.

Lord Denholm gave one last pat to his wing before reaching for his pants, making him flinch. “I should return you to your cell,” he mused as he began to dress himself again. “You still have a lot to answer for, after all. But you have made progress, and you performed well for me. I think you’ve earned some rest here.”

Altair’s first instinct was that he didn’t want any reward that would come after something like that. A numbness had settled in next to the maelstrom of other emotions raging within him, but he still felt that loud and clear. And yet… this was his partner’s room. He turned his head weakly to the side to look at Lord Denholm as he asked, “Elze’ith…?”

Lord Denholm merely shook his head. “My light is being taken care of. Just as you are being taken care of, little ruin. If you behave well enough, I might let you see each other again. But not before.”

The flicker of hope Altair had managed to find sputtered and died. He would be sleeping in Elze’ith’s bed, but Elze’ith wouldn’t be coming. He would be all alone. All alone in the aftermath of his lowest moment.

“I hate you,” Altair muttered softly. He had to, because otherwise the despair would utterly overwhelm him.

“I know,” Lord Denholm said. His pants were back on, and he came to sit on the bed near Altair’s head. Fingers began carding through his feathers once again, and though Altair whined and pulled weakly on his bonds, there was still no escaping Lord Denholm’s touch. “I assure you, one day that’ll change.”

And that, perhaps, scared Altair more than anything.

#flicker in the dark #silly writes #whump #whump writing #altair buchannan oc #lord soren denholm oc #bad things happen bingo #bthb #nsfwhump #captivity #restraint #wing whump #begging #dissociation (whump)#vampires

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