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toointojoelmiller · 6 months

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look for the light: a last of us fic

ch 1 (prologue)

BTHB prompt inspired - "electrical outage" - Jackson loses power, Joel can't find Ellie, and panic ensues (for @bearrycool). This is a prologue - plot action starts next chapter. cross posted to ao3 here ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4

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While they were showing Joel and Ellie around Jackson for the first time that past winter, Tommy had joked to Maria that it was like Ellie was Joel’s shadow. He felt a bit guilty about it, seeing her all those months later when they showed up at the gates again. The headstrong kid who seemed quick to get her claws out wasn’t anywhere to be seen. She been raw around the edges and clearly didn't trust easily back then, but she returned as a different and darker sort of wary, drifting behind Joel like a ghost.

Joel had insisted that Ellie get looked over at the clinic, and she insisted just as firmly that he do the same. Tommy found himself tagging along, and he stared at Ellie on and off as they waited, taking in the worried crease in her forehead that seemed like a permanent part of her expression, and the way her eyes flitted from Joel to the ground and not much in between. She was distant, as if she was separated from the world, watching and listening from behind a pane of glass. Just an echo of the girl he remembered.

Tommy left them to settle in for a day, and then another. By the next morning he told himself that there was no point in delaying the inevitable, so he bit the bullet and invited them over to meet the baby. Joel had looked shell shocked for a few seconds, but he’d agreed.

When the knock at the door came, right on time, Tommy found only Joel waiting on the other side - no scrawny teenager tucked into his side.

“I can’t stay long. Ellie, uh - she’s real tired,” he’s said at once, scratching the back of his neck like he would when he got fidgety. “Sleepin’ a lot. She didn’t feel up to comin’ but I can bring her by another time - uh, if she wants to, I mean.”

“Yeah, alright,” Tommy said, trying to keep his voice sounding light. It was weird to hear his brother talking so much, but when Ellie was the topic of conversation Joel seemed to have a lot to say. He still didn’t really know what to make of this Joel - so different from the man Tommy had known in Boston who would have to turn around and walk away if he was caught off guard seeing a child.

It was Joel’s first time inside of their house, and as Tommy started to show him around he felt a dumb little surge of pride at how Joel was nodding approvingly, taking in the cozy home that Maria and him had worked hard at building. The nodding stopped and the good feeling evaporated when Joel's eyes locked onto the chalkboard memorial above the fireplace, the blood running out of his face, his small smile sliding away instantly.

For a moment they stayed frozen. Tommy was at a loss for words, watching the light from the candles flickering in Joel’s increasingly wet eyes. When his tears spilled over, Joel excused himself to the bathroom and locked the door.

The years after Sarah died had made Tommy an expert in the ways that grief can unravel and collapse time. As Joel’s sobs sank down on him, burrowing into Tommy’s skin, he felt for a few moments like it was twenty years ago all over again – no, twenty one now, somehow. Watching Sarah die was the worst pain Tommy had ever felt, and he knew that he couldn't begin to imagine how much worse it had been - still was - for Joel. But that was different now - Maria was upstairs with the baby, so he could imagine it, and just the thought of what happened to Joel’s baby girl happening to his made him stomach clench, flooding him with the urge to run upstairs, get her in his arms and never let go.

He put his head in his hands and silently berated himself for not putting the memorial away like he’d wondered briefly if he ought to. It had seemed wrong somehow, and a brief chat with Maria had confirmed the feeling – it would be a disservice to the two pure and forever gone souls that they had agreed together to keep alive every day, even if it could only be in memory. But now, listening to Joel’s muffled crying from behind the closed door – it sounded like he was covering his face with something, and the damp and crumpled hand towel Tommy found on the floor later that night seemed to confirm it – leaving it out for Joel to be confronted with seemed downright cruel.

The stairs creaked as Maria slowly walked halfway down them, the baby asleep in her arms. She shot Tommy a curious and concerned look and tilted her head in the direction of the bathroom door. "Let’s try another night.” she suggested, frowning.

Tommy nodded, running his hand through his hair. “Yeah. This was too fast – shoulda known better. I’ll take him back to his place.”

It had been a while, but Tommy knew how things would play out from here. He wondered how long Joel would shut down for this time. It was a comfort that it would happen somewhere safe, for once – but newly concerning to think of Joel losing himself in a bottle and falling into bed for days on end, now that he had a kid living with him.

Maria gave him a sympathetic smile as she turned to walk back upstairs, but the bathroom door opened at the same time, and Joel came out, red eyed and breathing deeply. Tommy stood quickly, expecting Joel to head straight for the door, but he didn’t. His eyes found Maria on the stairs instead, and he nodded at her before looking at the little bundle in her arms. Tommy felt a flutter of worry in the back of his throat.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said to Joel, and then glanced to Maria, silently urging her to go back upstairs. “We can do this some o-”

Joel’s voice wasn’t gruff like Tommy expected it to be as he interrupted him. “Tommy… they’re not this small for very long,” he said quietly. “Like to meet her now, if that’s alright."

The words dried up in Tommy’s throat. Steady as ever, Maria walked down the rest of the wooden stairs to join them. “This is Charlie,” she said with a small nod and a pointed smile directed at Tommy that was more of a warning than anything else. The message was clear – keep your brother in check.

Tommy held his breath as he waited for Joel’s reaction. He was baffled when a grin showed up on Joel’s face - speechless as Joel asked to hold her, and settled down on the couch with Charlie cradled in his arms. Dumbstruck when Joel glanced towards the chalkboard and said, with a slight tremble in his voice, “Had Sarah on my mind a lot today. Was just a little caught off guard, seein’ her name written out like that is all.” His eyes – soft and sincere and full of gratitude - moved to Tommy, who was feeling as though he had fallen into another dimension. “S’good of y’all – doin' that.”

He looked back at Charlie, leaning his head in closer. “She’s a Miller, yeah? Charlie Miller?”

Tommy cleared his throat, his voice sounding thick with emotion as he nodded and said, “Yeah. Charlotte Miller. Charlie for short.” He swallowed, knowing exactly what Joel was going to say next.

“Does she have a middle name?”

He tried to answer - opened his mouth, took a breath, but the words wouldn’t leave his throat. He looked towards Maria, who somehow always knew what he was thinking and stepped in for him.

“She does,” Maria said in as gentle of a voice as he’d ever heard her direct to Joel. “We thought Charlotte Sarah sounded nice.”

Joel looked at Tommy, grief and sorrow and love flashing across his face, and he bowed his head as he cried again. Tears dripped down onto the soft blanket swaddled around Charlie. Tommy couldn’t help but cry a bit too, wiping his hands across his face and taking deep breaths to try to hold himself together.

“Your daddy was the best Uncle, right from day one.” Joel murmured as he sniffed, looking down at Charlie and leaning his head in closer as he spoke to her softly. “Hell of a lot for me to live up to.”

Joel had manners, so he asked about the birth, and how Maria was feeling, but it seemed like he was half listening, lost here and there as he looked down at the baby girl he was holding. He touched her little dark tufts of hair, held and commented on her tiny fingers when she wiggled an arm free from the swaddle and her hand came poking out from the blanket. When she started to fuss, he automatically cradled her head and shifted her in his arms so she was tucked upright against his chest, smoothing his hand up and down her little back and swaying softly from side to side as he cooed to her - all of the motions and instincts clearly still alive, bubbling to the surface from wherever they were buried. There was still sadness in his eyes, and a heaviness in the air, but it was obvious that Joel had been changed, too, by whatever had happened on the road. A part of him that had been dead for decades was back to life.

He was true to his word and didn’t stay long, keeping one eye on the clock and leaving at what was clearly a pre-determined time. When he left, he was in a hurry - rushing to get back to Ellie, as if half an hour of separation was unbearable.

Tommy laid awake in bed for a long time that night, unable to stop thinking about the sight of Joel with Charlie in his arms. The way he’d been tracing her nose and the soft skin of her face with his fingers. Hearing him say Sarah’s name out loud for the first time in god knows how long.

Jackson felt like holy ground. Charlie was a miracle, and a safe place for her to grow was, too. This was a third - the pieces of his forever broken big brother were somehow glued back together after all these years.

He’d tried to ask shortly after they arrived, and again a few days later, but Joel dismissed Tommy’s questions about what the hell had happened to the two of them after they left for Colorado with a short and firm, “Not now.” As time passed it became clear that ‘not now’ was probably going to mean ‘not ever’.

Even on a night that they wound up piss drunk together on Joel’s porch after the girls were all asleep, Tommy couldn’t get anything out of him beyond a darkly muttered, “She went through hell because of me, and it ain’t my place to tell you about it.” It was a fair point, and really wasn’t his place to pry, so Tommy stopped asking. ‘Winter’ and ‘Colorado’ and ‘Fireflies’ were off limits words when Ellie was around. The few times he slipped up, Joel sure let him know about it.

Maria had originally been of the mindset that it would be best for Ellie and Joel to jump in with both feet, meaning Ellie going to school like all the other kids, and getting a work detail sorted out for Joel as soon as they could. It only took one look at Ellie for her to change her mind - her sallow looking skin and the dark circles under her eyes, how painfully skinny she was - not to mention the unnerving way she would space out sometimes, staring at nothing as Joel rubbed her shoulder and spoke quietly to her until she came out of it. Maria spoke with the council, and her go to words when she talked to Tommy about Ellie changed from 'healthy routine' and 'socialization' to 'coping' and 'stabilizing' and 'easing in slowly'.

Apart from Joel leaving the house briefly on that night he met and held Charlie, he and Ellie were hermits for a while as they first settled in. Tommy dropped off meals for them, and as he’d chat briefly with Joel in the entryway of the house - filling him in on how Charlie was doing and how they were all sleeping, usually - he’d sometimes catch a glimpse of Ellie on the living room couch, tiny under a pile of blankets with the glow from the TV lighting up her pale face, and what looked like every movie, book, and board game in Jackson piled around her. Often there was a pretty over the top assortment of food around her - dinner piled high on one plate on the coffee table, looking untouched, and massive helping of apple crisp on another - a glass of water and a glass of milk both set out where she could reach them easily. It made his heart ache, reminding him of the way Joel always went a little crazy when Sarah would be sick on the living room couch – popsicles weren’t enough, they had be her favourite flavour (the fact that red was Tommy's favourite flavour first did not spare him from Joel's wrath when only red and blue were left in the box), and Tommy would be sent on a daily Blockbuster trip so she would always had something new to watch.

Joel must have been doing the right thing, because the time spent hibernating and spoiling her seemed to do the trick. They showed up in the dining hall together for dinner one day, Ellie still quiet and nervous and close to Joel’s side but no longer looking like she might just disappear. Once daily appearances in town slowly turned into more regular outings, and pieces of the Ellie Tommy remembered from before finally started to peek through the fog.

Over a breakfast of bacon and eggs one day, Tommy bit back a grin as he watched Ellie surreptitiously loosen the top of a squeeze bottle filled with ketchup before passing it to Joel. When it splattered all over his shirt and pants, she laughed so hard she was wheezing. Joel rolled his eyes, grumbling at her and trying to shoot her what was meant to be a withering look, but he couldn’t hide his smirk. He wiped a glob of ketchup off of his shirt with his hand and flung it at Ellie’s face, getting rewarded with a screech that woke Charlie up and earned both of them glares from Maria.

It went both ways, how they healed one another. How each needed the other to breathe. Tommy found himself hoping every night that they would never lose each other, certain that neither could survive it - a miracle, and a sword hanging overhead.

read next chapter here

cross posted to ao3 here

#the last of us fic #tommy miller #joel miller #ellie williams #tlou fic #fan fiction

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evanbuckleyrecs · 8 months

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Title: Nevermore To Leave Here

Written by: devirnis

Rated: T

Warnings: None

Catagories: m/m

Relationships: Buck/Eddie Maddie & Eddie, Buck & Maddie

Tags: Evan Buckley Whump, Kidnapping, Worried Eddie Diaz, Worried Maddie Buckley, Getting Together, First Kiss, Eddie Diaz Takes Care of Evan Buckley, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort

Words: 10,211

Summary:

"Can you remind my brother that we were supposed to get lunch?” Maddie asks.

“Uh sure,” Eddie says slowly, confused. “But why don’t you just call him yourself?”

“I did, a couple times, but he didn’t answer. I assumed he was still with you?”

Eddie thinks back to last night, to Buck specifically making plans to go back to his own place so he wouldn’t be late for lunch with Maddie. Buck had texted him when he got home, just a simple night :) that still made Eddie’s heart flutter, so obviously Buck had made it back to the loft… But there haven’t been any texts from Buck all morning. Not that that is necessarily unheard of, but especially over the last few weeks it’s become rarer and rarer for even a few hours to go by without Eddie’s phone dinging with a message notification from Buck.

A small tendril of worry curls around Eddie’s ribs.

BTHB: locked up & left behind

My notes: Incredible Whump! Had me on the edge of my seat. Also loved seeing Maddie and Eddie team up!

#10-15k #rated T #buddie #911 #buddie fanfic rec #first kiss #911 on abc #buddie fanfiction #getting together #buck and maddie #maddie and eddie #worried eddie diaz #worried maddie buckley #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #Whump #hurt evan buckley #evan buckley whump #kidnapping

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wrencatte · 1 year

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oh hey, that snippet where Bruce tells Dick about Jason's death got a rewrite and a title! looks like it'll be a whumptober/BTHB fill - Blood Covered Hands/I don't want to do this anymore for day 24 and "Please don't leave me." title is: grief doesn't know its own shape

His feet touch Earth’s ground for the first time in three months. He feels the weight of their home’s gravity settle in his bones like he never left. Dick breathes in cool, crisp air, and grins when Wally whoops loudly and speeds off. He ambles behind the rest of his team, digging for his phone he swears he shoved into the bottom of his duffle. Gods, if he left it back in space he’s never going to live it down.

Score! He finds it with a satisfied grin. The battery is still loaded when he turns it on – he’d turned it off once they left, he’s not entirely sure why he brought it to begin with. The lock screen is of him and Jason at Alejandro’s just before he left planet-side. There’s whipped cream on the kid’s nose and he’s staring up at Dick with a light in his eyes that Dick feels like he’s never going to get used to seeing.

Dick’s smile faces when he finds an onslaught of voicemails and text messages.

The oldest messages are from Jason. His stomach sinks while his heart lodges in his throat.

Hey, can I call you? he asks in one. I don’t, is in another like it’d sent by accident.

Hey, Big Bird, his voice shaky, thick with tears. He sniffles. The sound of clothes rustling. I kinda forgot you were in space. Ha. What a stupid thing to forget. Sorry. I just – I don’t think I can do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore. Bruce he – I don’t know. I’m, I’m sorry. I – and he pauses long enough the voicemail force ends the call.

Another, a couple days later. I didn’t do it. Bruce doesn’t – I wouldn’t do that. I swear I wouldn’t. And…And I wouldn’t do that to you. Not to you. Not to Robin. I’m sorry. I’m – I’m going to find my, my mom. My real one. I need….I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything. I just wanted…

Dick stares at the screen with wide, stinging eyes. That sounded like goodbye, he thinks and covers his mouth. Bruce’s most recent message just says call me when you get this. He does, shakily bringing the speaker to his ear. He doesn’t realize he’s stopped dead in the middle of the main room. Donna frowns, asks him if he’s alright, and it sounds like she’s coming from underwater. He ignores her as the line rings out without Bruce ever answering.

He calls again. Then again. Hands shaking, eyes burning, a mantra of no no please no in his head.

The third call almost rings out when there’s a click and then a long sigh. “Dick,” he says heavily, his voice hoarse.

Dick remembers the last time he heard Bruce sound like that, and he closes his eyes. Remember waking up to scratchy, stiff blankets and monitors in the distance and cotton in his mouth. Bruce hovering over him, clasping his hand, carding his fingers through Dick’s hair.

Bullet wounds hurt.

He’s pretty sure this is going to hurt worse.

“What happened?” he demands. It grabs the team’s attention fully instead of them just side-eyeing him, and he can’t find it in himself to care that they’re zeroed in on him. “Bruce, what happened?”

A long silence. Batman doesn’t hesitate. Bruce does.

“Jason’s dead,” he says quietly.

Dick doesn’t realize his knees buckled until Roy’s grabbing him by the arm, swearing. Garth takes his elbow and they both lead him to the couch where he collapses in a heap. They’re asking rapid-fire questions, but while Donna sounded like she was underwater, they’re all starting to sound like they’re at the end of a long tunnel. Underwater. Just background noise to the awful, terrible sentence echoing in his head.

Jason’s dead. Jason’s dead. Jason’s dead.

“How?” he croaks out, leaning forward – and leaning and leaning until Donna’s there, bracing him by the shoulders. He ducks his face, pressing the crown of his head to her stomach, shoulders shuddering. She digs her fingers in rhythmically, but that just makes him want to cry even more.

“The Joker.”

Dick laughs brokenly. Because of course. Why not.

“How?” he asks again. Getting answers is like pulling teeth. The anger that would normally appear the longer Bruce gives non-answers doesn’t show up. Instead, he feels – he feels hollow. Like, like an ice cream scoop came in and carved him out. “It doesn’t matter,” he says. His voice is dead. He feels dead. Jason’s actually dead. “I’m coming to the Manor.”

“We had the funeral,” Bruce says softly and there it is, a hint of emotion. Regret. Remorse. Grief. Dick tugs on his hair once, twice, then Garth is taking his hand, tangling their fingers together. “I’m sorry, Dick. I tried to put it off for as long as possible.”

“Liar,” Dicks says uncharitably just to hear Bruce’s carefully controlled exterior hitch. He said sorry. When was the last time he heard Bruce say sorry? He slumps. “Sorry, B,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

There’s tears in his voice and Dick feels like a heel, when Bruce says, “It’s okay, chum. It’s a lot to take in. I…I would really love it if you came to manor.”

Dick thinks of bodies cooling in a cold, lonely alleyway, pearls shimmering in the lights, a little boy wailing for his parents. He thinks of free-falling then not, standing on his toes and looking downdowndown and seeing red and white and pink and people screaming and crying, and a figure curling around him, whispering reassurances in his ear, hiding his parents from sight.

“Okay,” he whispers. “I’ll – I’ll be there soon.”

He thinks there’s word for children who lost their parents.

“Love you, chum.”

– but what about a word for parents who lost their children?

“Love you, too.”

– word for siblings who lost their little brother?

#my writing #im like adding little bits to almost all my wips rn for some reason #who knows why!#no character tags bc i always feel weird about tagging these when they're jason centric but jason's not in it #it'll flash forward to present day dick and jay with jason of course hurt #a la yeah lets go home and the wip temp titled sacrifice play #also have never written the titans before sooooo yeah #did i get the line up right?

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i-can-even-burn-salad · 1 year

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Game Over (Cedric) - Part 3

Nuisance

Look at that! Santa brought a dead dove :)

Warnings: Gore, including hand gore and impalement, torture/violence/beating, restraints, homophobia, misogyny, all kinds of crude language, major character death, public execution (hanging), self inflicted injuries to get out of restraints and do a little murder

Oh, also filling one of my BTHB prompts with this: Taking you with me.

Previous | Masterlist

Lying on his back, Cedric stared up at the ceiling, where the small slit was that pretended to be a window. It was invisible in the darkness of the night. How much longer would the night last? How long until dawn? How long did he still have to live?

The moment the sun rose, they were going to get him, to lead him to his execution.

The trial had been all but a farce. He hadn’t said a single word. Not as they had taken his clothes and given him a plain linen shirt and pants instead, to look presentable in front of the queen. Not as they had announced his name and rattled off a list of his alleged crimes. Most of the accusations had been true. A few hadn’t, but even if he would have been able to convince anyone of his innocence, it wouldn’t have been enough to save him.

He had said nothing as they had announced his sentence—to be publicly hanged in three days. And he had said nothing as Smith had led him back to his cell, his fucking smirk even more insufferable than usual. Cedric had ignored his taunting words and gestures. He had known this was how it was going to end, from the moment they had dragged him away in chains.

Realizing that the faintest outline of the window had become visible, Cedric felt his heartbeat pick up. No matter how much he told himself he was ready for it, knowing that he was going to die made his muscles lock up and his stomach turn. He tried to breathe calmly and deeply—as calmly and deeply as possible with a bunch of broken ribs, and a body that seemed to consist of nothing but bruises.

While he watched the light outside the cell grow brighter by the second, his thoughts wandered to Laurent. He had only caught a short glance at him while he had been dragged to the courtroom. Sitting in the cell furthest away from Cedric, his old friend hadn’t looked much better than him. No one had told him Laurent’s verdict, but it was futile to hope that they hadn’t found him guilty as well. That they wouldn’t hang him as well.

When the sun had risen high enough to tint the sky outside his window pale yellow, they came to get him, Smith announcing cheerfully, “It’s time to go.” Cedric didn’t do him the favor of reacting to it, but he also didn’t resist as they reached for him. There was no point.

They removed the shackle around his left wrist, leaving only the one on the right. Morlit was expensive, and no one left any more of it than necessary on what would soon be a dead body, kept up as a deterrent for a few days.

With his hands bound behind his back with coarse rope, they dragged him out of his cell and through the dim tunnels of the prison, into a waiting carriage. Laurent’s cell was empty, but so was the carriage. Only one guard entered with Cedric, sitting on the opposite side of the bench. Wherever Laurent was, it was clear that even the small comfort of a few last words was something they would deny them.

With the curtains tightly closed, Cedric couldn’t even stare out of the window, to catch a last glimpse of the city that had been his home for over two decades now. He leaned back, resigned to his fate, when his fingers touched something. A nail, or a splinter perhaps, sharp enough to prick his finger as he felt for it. Cedric shifted, so he could rub the rope against it, fraying it fiber by fiber.

When his ties were almost cut, he stopped. He carefully grasped two ends before severing the last strand, making sure to hold them tight, to make it seem like he was still bound. There was no point in freeing himself; not here, not now. It was equally unlikely there would come a better opportunity, but it wasn’t like he had anything to lose by trying.

Way too soon they arrived at their destination. The carriage stopped and he was ordered to get out. Someone shoved him in the back, impatient with how long it took him to climb down the steps—or maybe merely to be cruel. Cedric fell to his knees, clenching his fingers around the ends of the rope, forcing his hands to stay behind his back.

“You. And you. Get him up there. We don’t have all day.”

Two men grabbed his arms, pulling him to his feet and towards the gallows. The view filled Cedric with enough dread to almost forget the searing pain in his shoulder. He walked up the wooden scaffold as if in trance, leaning heavily on the guards at his side. He was long past caring about the pain in his ankle, but his leg refused to carry his weight. Luckily, he had decided not to touch last night’s meal. He was sure he would have thrown it all up again. As it was, he managed to swallow the rising bile and appear calm, at least outwardly.

Laurent was already waiting. He was wearing the same plain clothes as Cedric, looking more like a dirty, bloodstained bag than anything. The bruises were harder to see on his dark skin, but there was no doubt Smith had paid Laurent a few more visits as well. Despite his hands being bound behind his back, he kept his posture straight, but Cedric knew him. He recognized the fear in his gaze, saw the hard line of his jaw and the way his hands shook.

More than anything, he wished he could at least have saved his friend. Why did they catch you? he wondered, as he had so often during those past days. Why didn’t you run?

It was an answer he would never get now. In a moment, it wouldn’t matter anymore, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Freeing his hands was useless, as long as there was morlit on his skin. He couldn’t use his magic, and was too weak to fight, even if he would ever have had a chance against half a dozen armed guards.

When a guard stepped between them, to put the rope around Laurent’s neck, Cedric thought back to the young man he had met so many years ago. How the three of them—Yvan as well—had been traveling with a trading caravan, and how they had decided to stay in contact after arriving at their destination. For half of their lives they had been friends, Laurent, Yvan and him. He remembered countless nights, some drunken, some sober. He remembered starting from nothing, him with his antique store, Laurent at the bottom of Caldeia’s biggest trading guild. He remembered the first time their talks about ‘what ifs’ had turned into reality, using his magic to steal and Laurent’s contacts to sell.

The guard walked away, and for one short moment time stood still as Cedric met Laurent’s gaze. There was no accusation in Laurent’s eyes. The rope pressed against his throat as he swallowed. He nodded. Cedric returned the gesture. An apology. A farewell. A thank you for all the years, my friend.

Cedric averted his eyes as one of the guards reached for the lever. The sound of the wood falling away and the rope pulling taut sent a shiver down his spine. The sound of choppy movements that followed was worse.

Fucking sadistic assholes, not even having the decency to break his neck.

Cedric stared straight ahead, tears burning in his eyes, his gaze fixed somewhere above the heads of the people watching. It was early in the morning, so the square wasn’t filled, no matter how much of a spectacle this was. Some people cheered. Others stood silently in adequate horror.

He couldn’t look at Laurent, and he couldn’t stop himself from looking. Without moving his head, Cedric let his gaze flick to the side, again and again. Watching for a moment only, before it became unbearable, before the nausea threatened to overwhelm him. Catching glimpse after glimpse of Laurent’s desperate struggle, of his body twitching and squirming, slowly running out of air and strength.

Then something else made Cedric’s blood run cold.

It was two familiar faces he spotted almost at the same time. One was Merridy. With her hair in a ponytail and wearing dark, plain clothes, she blended into the masses. She was standing close enough he could see the tears on her face, but not so close as to raise suspicion.

The other was Marc.

The moment their gazes met, Marc grinned. He raised his hand to a mocking salute, ending the gesture with grabbing his throat, eyes rolled back. This fucking piece of shit must have been the traitor. It made sense; during the three evenings he had been invited, Laurent had been the only one present from the darker side of business. Laurent and Merridy, but Marc’s outrageous assumption that she had been his affair rather than a friend or even business partner might be what had saved her from getting arrested. In a stroke of luck, it would have confirmed Cedric’s own claims.

That didn’t mean she was safe from Marc, though. Cedric’s heart beat up to his throat in helpless panic as Marc started to walk towards her. Gods knew what he would do to her once Cedric couldn’t protect her anymore.

Someone stepped next to Cedric, standing uncomfortably close, resting a hand on his neck. When the man brought his mouth next to his ear, he recognized Smith’s voice.

“I made sure yours is even shorter.”

Cedric didn’t think. He let go of the rope, and of the pretense that he was still bound. He punched Smith in the gut, followed up by an elbow to the face. Holding onto the handle of Smith’s sword, Cedric shoved him away, towards the edge of the scaffold. Kicking the guard’s thighs felt like grinding bones in Cedric’s ankle, but it was enough to send Smith falling backwards, off the scaffold.

Cedric grabbed the sword as tightly as he could, swallowing. People were staring in shock—some of the spectators screaming and running, the guards reaching for their weapons, but not approaching him yet. He had mere seconds, if anything.

He sank to his knees, shaking his torso so his fucking useless right arm swung in front of him. The moment it dropped to the planks, he brought down the sword on it. He knew he wouldn’t make it through the bones of his arm, but he might be able to cut off enough of his hand.

Flesh split, revealing splintered bones and quickly welling blood, but he hadn’t managed to cut anything off. Desperation fueled his strength as he raised the sword a second time, bringing it down with more strength than before. Something moved in the corner of his eye. He was running out of time. It had to be enough.

He dropped the sword, grabbing the morlit shackle. It was slick from blood, and so tight. A wave of despair rushed over him when he slid off. He dug his broken fingernails into his skin, trying to get them under the metal, so he could pull.

The nauseating feeling as the morlit band tore against his thumb reached him even through the numbness of his right arm. Cedric felt the bile rise in his throat, but he paid it no attention. He struggled to get the morlit off, dragging it over the partially severed half of his hand. Someone shouted orders. Footsteps on the wooden planks. He pulled one last, desperate time, tearing the shackle free and throwing it away in the same motion. His thumb hung loosely from strips of skin and muscle, blood gushing out of the wound. Too much blood. Cedric’s vision swam as he raised his head, ignoring the dizziness, trying to find the spot where he had seen Merridy.

There she was, looking at him in sheer horror, tears glistening in her eyes. He wished this wouldn’t be the last image of him she’d ever see—none of this—but it couldn’t be helped.

Please let me be strong enough. This one last time.

It was a desperate hope, a silent prayer to a god he had never been sure he believed in. Cedric reached out to the earth, hidden under a layer of cobblestone. Man-cut stones were harder to shape, and he couldn’t waste any time. He grasped the earth, forcing it under his command.

Barely five steps behind Merridy, a pillar of rock shot out of the ground. It caught Marc mid-stride, entering his body at the pelvis and breaking out of his chest in a spray of blood and gore. His face contorted in surprise rather than pain—too sudden of an attack for him to register what had happened before the shock set in. The pillar had lifted him off the ground, his feet hanging in the air, twitching weakly. Blood gathered at the corners of his mouth as his body started to seize, his hands grappling uselessly at his chest.

The moment someone stepped next to Cedric, he let the middle of the pillar shatter. A dozen shards or more, sharp as knives, piercing Marc from the inside. Some might have severed his spine; he folded backwards like an old, well read book, blood flowing out of his mouth and nose. The movement of his legs stilled and his arms dropped, but his body still twitched.

Before the light in Marc’s eyes had fully faded, pain exploded in Cedric’s side. The backlash of his magic was like an ice pick, being driven straight into his skull. Cedric screamed, then retched, clutching his head with his good hand, as if that could stop it from breaking apart. His panicked heartbeat and the cold creeping into his limbs told him that he had been badly injured, but it took a moment for the pain to register in his mind.

When it did, Cedric forced one eye open, looking down on himself. A dagger was sticking out of his torso, below his ribs, rammed into him almost up to the heft. The bit of the blade he could see was black, glistening with blood, and more blood pulsed out next to it with every frantic heartbeat.

The cold of the morlit spread, paralyzing him. With his magic nullified, the guards sprang into action. Hands held him down on his knees. Hands grabbed his arm, twisting it back. Hands put a rope around his neck. It was too tight already, not meant to be fixed while kneeling. It wouldn’t be long enough to break his neck once the trapdoor opened. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing but…

Darkness was eating away at the edges of Cedric’s vision, but he gathered all of his strength, raising his head one last time, exposing his throat for the rope to bite into. Most of the people had fled the square. Only the bravest—or those with more morbid curiosity than sense of self-preservation—remained. It made it easier for him to find the person he was looking for.

Merridy hadn’t moved. She had her hands clasped around the front of her jacket, something she always did when she was nervous or scared. There was no fear in her eyes as she met his gaze, only sorrow. Understanding. After all the times she had been afraid of him, now she wasn’t.

Please be safe.

Cedric allowed his eyes to fall closed, for the darkness to reach for him. The pain faded into the background, but the cold remained. It made him tremble uncontrollably. When the hands let go of him, he slumped, caught by the rope around his neck. He couldn’t breathe, but the need to do so seemed so far away. Everything seemed so far away. A pressure built in his head, pounding in his temples and behind his eyes. Panic, his body urged, but couldn’t follow up. He had lost too much blood, was still losing too much blood. The pull of unconsciousness was stronger.

When the trapdoor opened, his mind was already gone.

[ID: The banner shows a broken window, outside which the sun sets behind an iron fence. The sky is bright yellow and orange. The title nuisance is written across it in scribbled looking letters with a orange to yellow to orange gradient. All other images are purely ornamental lines. End ID.]

Tagging: @badthingshappenbingo

#Nuisance #whump #fantasy whump #gore tw #major character death #torture tw #hand whump #impaling tw #strangulation tw #running out of tws tw #badthingshappenbingo #prompt: taking you with me #fandom: original work #listen it could have been worse #imagine if *gestures vaguely at the end* hadn't worked #:)#my writing

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obsessedwithegos · 2 years

Text

BTHB: Locked in a cage ft. Scar to remember with Emil

CWs: Vampire whumpee, Demon whumper, Failed escape attempt, Bystanders not helping whumpee despite recognizing him, Whumpee with inability to lie, Descriptive burns (silver and sun), Near death experience w/ gore, Non descriptive medical whump

Notes: Canon! Lots of build up and not a lot of focus on the actual cage part but I felt like it was important to get this whole story across :3c This is also how Emil got his only scar!

~~~

It was a rare opportunity. Tael went to the basement to get another color ink and left Emil alone and unrestrained.

The shop’s front door was unlocked as it was daytime and Tael was accepting walk-ins today.

Emil got off of the chair and slowly made his way towards the front entrance area. He knew it would take a few minutes for the demon to find the color he wanted, it would be enough time for him to escape.

But if he escaped he’d have to endure the sun. If he was successful he’d never have to see Tael again. If he failed?

He bit his tongue, he could just go and sit right back in that chair and pretend like he didn’t even consider it. Maybe earn some praise and a reward.

His eyes wandered to the top of the door where a bell was. He knew the sound of it paired with Tael’s symbol on him would immediately alert him that he had left.

He takes a step forward, closer to the glass door and the sunlight shining through it. He tucks his hands into his sleeves, he knew he wouldn’t be able to do much to try to protect his face.

Emil takes a deep breath, walking into the sunlight and grabbing the door handle with one of his covered hands.

He would regret this, he would, he knows he would from the sun alone. He’d regret it even more if he was caught.

“Found it!” Tael calls from the basement.

Emil’s time to decide was up, he yanks the door open and bolts out.

The sun immediately started to burn against his face and neck, his hair couldn’t provide any protection as it was being pushed behind him by the wind.

He gritted his teeth, he needed to bare it, he needed to be out at any cost. He knew the sunlight wouldn’t kill him so he needed to try to fight through it.

He doesn’t know how far he got before he heard the running hoof steps behind him, they told him one terrifying thing.

Tael didn’t bother to switch to a disguise and was willing to blow his cover just to get Emil back.

He knew he must have been running for a few minutes at least as he could feel the burn wounds starting to open on his face. He had managed to reach the main street before a sudden force hit his back.

Tael tackles Emil, sending both of them tumbling. When they stopped, Tael had Emil pinned under him. One knee right into his back, the other on the ground. One hand on the back of his neck, putting pressure on the nape piercing, while the other was getting Emil’s wrists together.

Emil was weak, he knew he wouldn’t be able to get the demon off of him but he still tried to struggle as tears fell from his eyes and into his fresh burns wounds. He looks up and sees people, staring at him and Tael.

“HELP! PLEASE!” He cried out, his desperation overpowering his pain “FOR THE LOVE OF EVHER PLEASE HELP!”

None of the people moved, some even leaning towards each other to whisper.

‘Evher? Don’t they hate vampires?’ ‘Doesn’t he look familiar?’ ‘Is that Father Emil? Didn’t he disappear almost a year ago?’ ‘Maybe that’s why he did.’

Tael takes his knee off of Emil’s back to force him up, still using one hand to hold his wrists together but moving his other hand to the front of the vampire’s neck. “Sorry about that folks! This one was being brought in for more training and got loose!” He explained in an authoritative voice.

That’s when it hit him. That’s why Tael didn’t bother disguising himself, so he could pass himself off as a vampire trainer. And it worked.

The people nodded in understanding, some even saying that it was fine and that it was good that he had managed to capture the vampire before anyone could get hurt.

Emil squeezed his eyes shut before there was a brief feeling of weightlessness. Once the feeling passed, his skin no longer was being burned by the sun. He didn’t open his eyes, he knew where he was.

Tael throws the vampire down onto the concrete ground of the basement “You fucking idiot. What did you expect to happen?! That I’d let you go that easily? How long did you think you would make it in the sun?”

Emil whimpers “I-” His words got caught in his throat, he couldn’t say he didn’t know. He did know, he considered it before he even opened that door. “I knew I’d regret it.” He answered, finally opening his eyes to look at the demon looming over him.

“You know you’d regret it and you still did it.” The demon scoffed before kicking him in the stomach, earning a loud yelp. “How long did you think you’d make it in the sun?” he repeats.

“I don’t know!” He cried, he really didn’t know. 10 minutes? An hour? Certainly not more than 3 hours.

“Then how about we test it?”

“What?” His voice was small.

Tael moves to a corner of the basement and pulls out something Emil recognized immediately.

A silver cage that was barely large enough for him to fit in.

The demon also pulled out some rope. “I’m going to go set this up. While I do that, get out of your robes. When I get back I’ll determine if you can keep the clothes under your robes or not.” He didn’t wait for a reply, heading upstairs and slamming the basement door behind him before locking it.

When Tael returned, Emil had his robes in a folded pile on top of unopened boxes. He just had a short sleeve shirt, black slacks that were a bit too short for his legs, socks, and shoes on.

The vampire’s face was puffy, not just from crying but from the burns.

“Come here.” He ordered. He noticed the hesitation of Emil coming to him, for now he refrained from commenting about it.

He grabs Emil’s wrists to tie them together with rope he had brought back down. “Even after that stunt, I’ll be kind enough to let you keep your clothes for now.”

He could barely hear him mutter ‘thank you.’

“Look at me and open your mouth.”

Emil wanted to ask why but refrained. He looked up at Tael and held his mouth open.

Tael shoved some of the remaining rope into it before using the last of it to wrap around his head to secure it in. He ignored Emil’s whimpers as the rope rubbed against the burns.

Once he was positive everything was securely tied, he grabbed the rope binding Emil’s wrists and pulled him to follow. He no longer trusted the vampire to walk behind him freely.

He brought Emil up from the basement, through the shop and up into the first floor of his housing area, then up into the second floor of his house. He stops right before reaching the stairs to the roof.

“Sit.” He commanded after letting go of the ropes around the vampire’s wrists.

Emil obeyed, sitting down on the stairs and looking at the ground to avoid looking at Tael.

Tael moved to grab three things off of a nearby counter. More rope, zip ties, and a silver stake. He puts the stake into one of his belt loops and the zip ties into one of his pockets. He used the remaining rope to tie Emil’s ankles together.

He picks him up, throwing him over his shoulder “You better not fucking scream or do anything to bother the neighbors or else I’m going to make this so much worse for you.” he threatened.

He heard a small sound of acknowledgement from the vampire as he carried him up the stairs.

Tael didn’t give Emil any warning or any time to prepare himself before opening the door to the rooftop and bringing him out, exposing him to the sunlight again.

Emil managed to keep himself still and only let out more whimpers to the pain but nothing more.

After opening the cage, Tael drops Emil and uses his hoof to force him into the cage.

Emil bit down on the rope gag and tried to focus on his breathing to try to stop himself from yelling. Silver usually took a moment before it started to burn him but due to already having sun burns it was immediate.

He was shoved in the cage in an uncomfortable position, his back was on the gridded floor of the cage, his head and neck were uncomfortably craned to fit with his face pressing against the back of the cage, his arms were tucked into his chest and his legs were pressed against the cage door once it was closed.

Tael pulled the zip tied out of his pocket to secure the door shut, not leaving any chance for the vampire to get the door open.

Once that was finished he walked over to where he was within Emil’s line of sight. He takes the silver stake out of his belt loop and drops it to leave it within his line of sight as a constant silent threat.

“I’ll be back to get you later.” Tael said before going back inside to contact one of his friends.

There was no escape from the silver cage, Emil couldn’t curl in on himself any further nor move to try to get his skin away from the silver bars.

What parts of skin the silver wasn’t touching was exposed to the sun. The roof had no plants or umbrellas or anything that would provide shade or mercy from the sunlight.

Tears fell from his eyes into the burns on his face. The rope gag wasn’t helping as it dug into the burns further.

Each labored breath pushed him further against the cage walls earning new whimpers and whines. As time passed he wanted to yell and scream but the silver stake that laid not far from the cage was enough of a reminder of why he couldn’t.

The sky was starting to turn orange when Tael came back out to get Emil. First he took the time to pick up the now hot silver stake, putting it into his belt loop, before going to break the zipties to get him out of the cage.

The vampire’s skin looked as if it was almost ready to peel off, the parts that were in contact with the silver were purple and black, some bone was visible in the deeper parts like on his face.

He was visibly exhausted from the constant pain and could barely make a noise as he was pulled out of the cage.

Tael cuts the rope around Emil’s ankle and wrists before moving to the makeshift gag, ‘accidentally’ cutting his cheek in the process. “I expect you to walk by yourself. I have a guest for you to meet.”

“Y-yes sir.” Emil whispered. Each movement was incredibly painful but he didn’t want to upset Tael any further, not wanting to risk him actually using that stake.

The demon led him back into the building, periodically glancing back to make sure he was still following.

He led him down to the basement, where Tael’s friend was waiting.

They were a harpy and had medical equipment laid out on a table that Tael had brought down for them.

“Dr Zerys, this is Emil.” Tael introduces the vampire.

A doctor? Tael had never gotten a doctor for him, he’s always able to heal from any injuries he’s been given so far. He was positive he’d even heal from these burns without medical intervention.

“It’s nice to meet you, doctor.” It was a struggle for Emil to even speak clearly but he made sure he did.

Dr Zerys looks at Tael, ignoring Emil for now. “I’m set up so proceed.”

Everything happened so fast for Emil.

Tael grabbed him by the throat and shoved him down to the ground, sitting on his stomach with his legs on each side of him to further ensure the vampire couldn’t get up.

Emil choked on his yell, the sudden additional pain was too much for him to even try to stop himself. Though trying to stop himself went out of the window as he saw the silver stake being pulled out and aimed at his chest.

He started to struggle “WA-WAIT! BUT I DIDN’T- I WAS GOOD! I DIDN’T MAKE A SOUND TO ALERT THE NEIGHBORS!’ He cries.

“You really thought I was going to let you get away with your stunt after just a few hours in the sun against silver?” Tael laughed “If you had alerted the neighbors I’d be doing this five more times.”

With that he plunges the stake into Emil’s chest and directly into his heart.

The burning was immediate, Emil’s scream echoed through the basement and into the shop leaving his own, Tael’s, and Zerys’s ears ringing. His back tries to arch as pain racks through his body, he could barely control anything anymore.

The basement quickly filled with the smell of burning flesh and organs paired with sulfur. His hands were clawing at Tael, desperately trying to get him off and to get the stake out of his heart out of pure instinct as the burning sensation was racing through his veins.

It wasn’t fast, he’s always been told that this would be quick and easy if it ever happened. Instead it was slow and excruciating.

He could feel what little strength he had leaving him as he started to choke on his own cries and blood.

When he could no longer claw to try to get the demon off is when Tael finally stood up and got off of him, ripping the stake out with some of Emil’s heart burnt onto it.

Once Tael was off, Zerys got to work, not having time for anesthesia. After all, Tael wasn’t going to let him go that easily.

Emil survived thanks to Zerys’s work. He was weak and going to be unable to move for the next three days but he survived and would heal up almost just like normal. The only sign that would remain of his near death would be a large scar on his chest, directly over his heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~

General tag list: @thebluejaysworld (not tagging emmett for general or tael tag bc of the gore)

Kira’s story: @whumpsday

BTHB: @badthingshappenbingo

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delimeful · 3 years

Text

you cant go back (1)

BTHB: Locked Up and Left Behind

first in a new alien series! this one is completely unrelated to WIBAR :)

warnings: abandonment, violence, injury, mentions of death and starvation, mild cliffhanger

Virgil was screwed.

This was quite a familiar phrase for him. He most frequently utilized it while trying to haul Jan away from whatever batshit scheme he was joint-deep in before it blew up in their faces. Normally, however, even he could admit that his panic, fury, and/or despair was sometimes exaggerated for emphasis.

“I’m absolutely, massively, unbelievably screwed,” Virgil tried out in a low hissing whisper, and grimaced when it came out sounding like an understatement.

In the corner of his eye, his helmet’s display screen blinked an eye-numbing red, informing him that there was a breach in his suit, and the atmospheric pressure inside had been completely disrupted. There would normally be beeping, too, the shrieking ‘you’re about to die’ kind that made his shelling turn pitch with terror in simulations, but— well.

He’d been able to endure about two clicks of the racket before giving in and tearing through the audio speakers with his teeth, ruining them entirely. It meant he wouldn’t hear any of the vital organ failure notifications, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to experience a sickening play-by-play of his death on another planet anyhow.

The others had left him in some kind of dilapidated shack, hand-painted a faded red on the outside. It looked unstable, but it was apparently built sturdier than any of them expected, enough to not even creak as he thrashed around with all his free limbs. He’d been cuffed around one of the support pillars, which meant that even if he could break it, it would probably just immediately collapse and crush him to bits.

Considering there was an enormous crack in the glass of his helmet, he hadn’t really thought he’d get the privilege of worrying about how he was going to die. Aisleen— the one who had bashed his helmet against her elbow plate— had certainly agreed. She’d waited until after the others had left, granting him a quicker death the way her culture called honorable.

Janus would have disagreed loudly. Not just because Virgil was pretty sure his only friend didn’t actually want to see him choke to death on the probably-somehow-toxic atmosphere of a Deathworld, but also because that guy could go on about interplanetary ethics for rotations if you let him.

Virgil wrenched at his restraints for the hundredth time, ignoring the hot pulse of pain that came with the movement. His chitin had to be cracking by now, but the rawness of that was easier to focus on than thoughts like, ‘I’ll never get to watch him argue someone in circles again.’

The worst part wasn’t wondering if they’d fess up to abandoning him or not. No, the worst part was he wasn’t actually sure which option he preferred.

He could imagine Janus looking for him, searching for leads that didn’t exist, stubborn the way a starving shilsho would stay locked onto flesh. Never knowing what actually happened. Jan hated not knowing things, the way Virgil hated sitting with his back to an open entryway.

But if he knew… If Janus managed to wrest the truth from them— or if they bragged about it— he would blame himself. They’d left Virgil because he was just a weaker version of Janus when it came down to it, and because he backed Janus up no matter what, and because it was funny, leaving the twitchiest guy on the crew to die on a world where anything and everything could kill you.

At least Janus wouldn’t be tempted to come down and retrieve his corpse. The other Chelcera was all about self-serving scheming, and there was no way the benefits outweighed the costs. He had to believe that much for his own sanity.

Virgil closed his eyes, trying to push away the what-ifs and the mental flash-images of Janus stuck in his position. He had more than enough to worry about already.

Since the atmosphere didn’t seem toxic enough to kill him outright (for now), there was a surplus of possible ways he was going to bite it. Weather, wildlife, or withering into a lifeless husk due to lack of sustenance.

Alliteration, nice. He was funny when he was on the brink of deathbed hysterics.

For now, he was only in conceptual danger. The shack was sheltering him from any outside elements, being terrified had killed his appetite, and there didn’t seem to be any heat signatures nearby, though his vision was limited by the sides of the helmet.

It made his skin itch, not being able to see behind him, but his auxiliary arms were spread out and taut, waiting for even a wisp of movement. If anyone tried to attack him from behind, they’d strike quick and true.

Of course, then he’d probably be immediately immolated by a pissed-off Deathworlder, but at least he could go down fighting.

If he was vicious enough, they’d have to kill him, and he wouldn’t have to worry about being taken alive. Bitter venom welled up in his mouth at the thought, and he tried to breathe deeply.

He was thinking too far ahead. For now, he’d struggle and swear and watch his atmo tank dwindle down to nothing, see if it changed anything. Maybe he was going to asphyxiate, after all.

He made it through the night.

The sun was close to this planet, enough that he was warm even in the stripped-down version of his bodysuit and in the enclosed shade of the barn. He thought he might even get overheated if he tried to sunbathe here, which hadn’t ever been a concern back home.

Thankfully, the meager sun that spilled through the half-open window didn’t reach him, so he didn’t have to add boiling alive to his list of potential deaths.

Unthankfully, more and more heat signatures popped up as the dawn arrived, all small but still potentially life-ending. He’d heard more than enough horror stories about palm-sized Deathworlder creatures that could kill you with one bite. He wasn’t letting his guard down.

The noise that accompanied the day was welcome— he was exhausted, and every unfamiliar chattering call or whistle made his aux limbs lift back up defensively, keeping him from dropping off into sleep.

He was not falling asleep on a Deathworld. That was just asking for trouble.

The energy crash hit hard, though, and by the time the sun was overhead, he was warm and sleepy enough that he almost missed the slow creak of the door.

He definitely didn’t miss the bright splotch of heat that trotted in, though. He quickly flicked his sensor eyes closed, getting rid of the heat-sense overlay, and felt his hair stand on end as he met the slitted eyes of a small, furry quadruped.

“Mrow?” the creature chirped at him, tail winding back and forth in the air. Its fur was colored in abstract patches, and he could see the tiny fangs in its mouth as it yawned threateningly.

Virgil resisted the urge to hiss, wriggling his wrists desperately. There was no point in antagonizing a Deathworlder creature preemptively while bound and helpless, a voice in his head reminded him. It sounded kind of like Janus.

The creature stalked a little closer, predatory grace in every one of its movements, and paused to watch him again. It’s pupils seemed rounder now, ears flicked up attentively. Virgil resisted the urge to twitch his backlegs, keeping still like a terrified prey animal as it approached at a leisurely pace.

He’d had all of his bulky outer suit stripped from him by the others-- no point in leaving the soon-to-be-corpse with a pricy surface suit. They’d even taken the shoes, which had felt a bit like insult to injury.

Now, with the local fauna drawing close to his feet, it felt more like just plain injury.

As bad as the odds were, he was fervently hoping that he could make himself seem tougher than he was. Maybe having to work for its meal would scare it off? He grit his fangs and drew himself up in preparation to lash out as much as he could in retaliation for whatever damage the creature was about to inflict on him.

It trod directly over his feet and brushed its little head up against his legs, a low rumble beginning to emanate from it.

He stared blankly down at it.

“What?” he clicked quietly, and the creature chirped back at him, taking a tight turn to loop right back around and brush against him in the opposite direction. Still, not a hint of pain.

Did… Did it have contact poisons, maybe? There was a residue of shed fur building up on the ankles of his undersuit, but it seemed surprisingly harmless.

With another, louder rumble, the creature settled into a crouched position-- directly on top of his feet. Its eyes drifted slowly closed, the vibrations it was making rolling through him.

Oh, Seryl and all her stars. It was sleeping on him.

It seemed docile for now, but what would it do if he woke it? Even he threatened to bite people who interrupted his naps, and he wasn’t a tiny wild creature governed only by survival (no matter what Janus told people). His flimsy inner suit wouldn’t stop an Ampen’s claws, let alone Deathworlder teeth or claws.

The creature continued to be a warm purring weight on his feet.

He resigned himself to a very tense next few hours.

Patch, as he’d taken to mentally calling the creature, didn’t end up attacking him. When it woke, it stretched languidly, chirped up at him a few more times, and then departed shortly before the sunlight began to fade.

And then, the next morning, it returned. Despite Virgil’s many fears, it continued to show no interest in harming him. At some point in the day, he even accidentally fell asleep with it, and still, no surprise ambush.

Despite Patch’s yawns and rumbles and claw-flexing stretches that could all technically be threat displays, it seemed bizarrely… almost... fond of him.

There was the slightest hitch, on the second day, when he realized Patch could come in the other windows and approach from behind while he slept. Surprisingly enough, the thought of the creature sneaking up on him was less distressing than the idea of accidentally striking out at it while asleep.

The presence of a non-hostile creature keeping him company had been... surprisingly nice when he wasn’t busy freaking out about it.

Once he’d imagined that awful scenario, he couldn’t dismiss the possibility, and so he spent an inordinate amount of time using his aux limbs to fiddle with the sealing latch on his helmet until he could tug it free. The slick surface and broken glass of the visor meant that he fumbled it basically as soon as he got it off, letting it drop to the floor behind him, but the reserve power had already long died anyhow.

And then, when Patch returned a bit after the sun’s rising, they hissed viciously at him the moment he turned his head. They proceeded to refuse to come anywhere near him for a good long portion of the day, at first bristling and pacing back and forth, and then eyeing him oddly while pretending not to, and then finally approaching slowly-- in what Virgil struggled not to view as a predator’s stalk-- and deeming his feet a suitable resting perch once more.

He’d like to say he never had a friendship so exhausting, but his best friend was Janus, so this was basically different ditchport, same junkyard.

“You two’d probably get along,” he said to Patch after he’d been forgiven for the horrific crime of exposing his face. “How do you feel about schemes?”

Patch had imitated one of his double-click noises perfectly, which was somehow mostly-adorable instead of mostly-terrifying. He tried to make one of their little round chirp sounds and mangled it horribly, but thankfully the resulting look they gave him was more alarm than offense.

By the fourth day, he’d begun to keenly feel the effects of being completely without nutrients. It was really only thanks to his nature that he’d gotten this far. Chelcerae were sporadic eaters-- big meals sustained them over longer periods of time compared to other aliens. The downside of that, of course, meant that when his body finally realized that there was no food coming, the hunger pains were going to be all-consuming.

Working at Janus’s side, he’d gotten used to having food when he needed it, or even wanted it. It just figured that he was probably going to die the same way Janus had first found him: starving.

He fell into sleep more and more frequently. It passed the time, and being asleep made it much easier to ignore his impending doom.

Of course, if he’d been aware of the rude awakening he was in for, he wouldn’t have been so eager.

In fact, if he’d known what exactly was going to find him sleeping on that fourth day, he probably wouldn’t have dared to shut his eyes at all.

#sanders sides #ts virgil #alien au #you cant go back #ycgb #humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #my writing #writing #bthb #BTHB: Locked Up and Left Behind #cats #new alien au dropped

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ninja-go-to-therapy · 4 years

Text

Locked Up and Left Behind

the red marks the prompts that have been filled, and the white marks the prompts that have been requested.

@badthingshappenbingo

@razzle-zazzle

@ladylienda

Prompt: Locked up and left behind

Fandom: Ninjago

Character: Cole

Trigger Warnings: mentioned character death

“What are you even fighting for? Your friends have abandoned you!”

He faltered, gasping as he was flung back by the force of Yang’s blade.

“Your master has abandoned you. You are all alone!”

“No!” He lunged, katana held tight in his hand. Yang forced him back, his years of experience shining through. Yang knocked the katana right from his hand, and it slid off the roof pitifully.

“Can’t go on… alone…” he whispered as he fell against a wall, Yang towering over him.

“Yes, yield! Soon I will be gone, but you will remain forever departed, destined to haunt this temple forever, as the new master of the house!” Yang cackled, victorious.

Cole looked down, watching with horror as his form flickered. “I’m… fading away…”

“Just one more lonely ghost, not a friend in the world!”

He had to keep fighting. Even though his friends had forgotten him. Even though he was so, so outmatched. He had to keep trying.

He hit Yang hard, summoning every ounce of strength he had in him. He blocked with the yin blade, but his punch was so strong that it just… shattered. Suddenly, somehow, all of Yang’s students turned back to regular. His spell on them had been broken.

“The rift! If you hurry, you can be free of this place forever!” he yelled, pointing upwards and praying that the students wouldn’t be so out of it that they couldn’t use airjitzu.

Thankfully, they all almost instantly went up, airjitzuing through the rift and landing somewhere he couldn’t see. All that mattered was that they’d all made it through.

“My… my students! Leaving me! I’ve failed…” Yang groaned, hardly even bothering to get up from when Cole had punched him.

“Yeah, you did.” Cole said, standing on the perch above him and glaring at him with the most hatred he’d ever felt for anybody.

“I always fail.”

“Yeah, you — wait, what?”

Yang explained how he’d only ever wanted immortality because he didn’t want to be forgotten. Cole almost wanted to laugh. He told Yang that, now especially, he would definitely never be forgotten. He’d invented airjitzu, for FSM sake, that was a huge feat!

“Now come on, there’s still time to go through. Both of us.” Cole said, taking Yang’s hand and pulling them both into an airjitzu bubble, rising rapidly towards the rift. Human again, he was going to be human again. He’d never even considered that he was really, truly going to be able to feel again. And besides that, he’d managed to bring out the good in a man who’d been corrupted by power for years.

“No, I’m afraid that’s impossible. The curse of the temple requires that at least one ghost remain behind as master of the house.” Yang said, and the resistance on the airjitzu bubble increased until it was almost unbearable.

“One of us has to stay behind?” Cole asked, then gasped as he felt Yang grabbing at him. “Hey! What are you doing?”

“See you on the other side, Cole.” Yang laughed, shoving him hard.

The world passed by in a blur. He screamed as he fell, trying to find the purchase to do something, anything!

At least he didn’t have the concentration to solidify himself. Falling until he was on the first floor of the temple, he finally hit the ground. He grunted, not finding the motivation within himself to get up. Yang had tricked him, he’d — he’d tricked him!

Something shifted. The temple itself groaned, and Cole couldn’t help but shiver. Out of nowhere, he felt a sort of tightness in his skin, like any moment it was going to break and he was going to burst out of it. He remembered feeling the same way back when he’d been a dancer and had to perform in front of people.

Yang had made it through.

He ran outside the temple, squeezing his eyes closed as a huge flash of light overpowered the night. When it finally faded, the rift was gone.

He’d missed his chance.

A weight settled itself in his stomach, and every inch of his skin could have been on fire. He ran for the edge of the island, coming to a stop a few feet from the edge. He took a few steps closer so he could peer over it.

His whole body flew backwards just as his foot tried to edge over the very edge of the island. He groaned, sitting up and clutching his head. What the hell?

Carefully, he approached it again, holding out his hand. This time, he was thrown even further back, and a horrible jolt coursed through his veins like electricity.

He got up slower this time, trying to regain his composure. Realization dawned upon him.

Bound to this place, he was bound here, he couldn’t leave, he’d never be able to leave!

He slid right back to the ground, unable to keep himself up. This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be happening, ghosts weren’t real, ghosts weren’t real, ghosts weren’t real.

Letting out a choked sob, Cole covered his face, crying into his hands. As always, there were no tears (and there never would be again).

He couldn’t believe he’d been foolish enough to hope. Worse, he couldn’t believe he’d been foolish enough to trust Yang. He was so stupid.

Being a ghost, he found that he was never really at a comfortable temperature. He was always just a little bit cold. Now, though, hitting him like cold metal chains wrapping around his entire being, he was practically freezing.

When he was human, he’d always hated crying. It made him uncomfortable, like he couldn’t control his emotions. Now especially, he wished more than anything he could cry again.

He missed the feeling of tears on his cheeks as he would just sob and sob until he fell asleep. He didn’t cry much since… his mom’s passing.

And that was another thing. He would never see her again. He was never going to get to where she was, because Yang had trapped him here in. Every other ghost had gotten away, too. All but him. He was all alone.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, bringing his knees to his chest. He was sorry for letting down his friends. He was sorry for leaving his dad alone. He was sorry he hadn’t been there when his mom had died. He was sorry that he was such a fucking idiot.

He sat there, a pathetic, lonely ghost in the dirt outside a temple that had been uninhabited for years, until the sun began to rise. The colors were muted, but he had a feeling that, had he been looking through human eyes, it would have been beautiful.

He let out a frustrated scream. It shouldn’t have been beautiful. How could something be so magnificent after something so terrible had occurred? The universe was mocking him. It thought it was funny, watching him be forgotten, watching him be forever bound here, watching him lose everything.

He dug his fingers into the grass, gripping at the dirt underneath. His hands hurt from the force of which he did so, but he didn’t relent.

He had never been angrier. He had been so willing to forgive Yang for everything, and he had just—he’d just lied to him like that, that bastard! He’d taken everything from him!

The ground shook, slow at first, but quickly gaining violence. What the hell was this, some kind of floating-island-earthquake?

The ground underneath him spiked up, lifting him higher as a cliff formed underneath him. He could practically hear the island whispering to him just as he realized that the earth was obeying him, taking out his rage.

“You’re the king,” it whispered, just barely grazing his mind, and yet he still heard it clear as day. “And this is your kingdom.” A tiny, worthless little island with nothing but a weathering temple to call home until time itself came to an end, and a master who’d been forgotten by the only people he could call friends. What a fucking kingdom to have.

And what a pathetic king he was.

#It's important to me that you know that I watched DOTD during class and laughed repeatedly in dead silence to make this happen #my friend and I have like two new inside jokes now because of this #iconic honestly #ninjago #kat writes #ninjago fanfiction #bthb #bad things happen bingo #prompt: locked up and left behind #tw: mentioned character death #day of the departed #ghost cole #sensei yang #dotd alternate ending #yang is a bastard #his 'redemption' has always bothered me #so here have this #Yang finally gets to be his bastard self

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whumpwillow · 3 years

Text

whump tropes i like

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

—

hiding an injury

knife to the throat

forced to beg

broken ribs

slammed into a wall

stumbling and staggering

trapped in a net

bruises

shot with an arrow

buried alive

impaled palm

grabbed by the hair

through the cold

used as bait

‘more expendable than you’

‘take me instead’

locked in a cage

hand stomp

carved mark

tied to a chair

shock collar

collared and chained

painful wound cleaning

‘leave me alone’

worked himself to exhaustion

nightmares

taking the blame (for what, idk)

self-loathing

sleep deprivation

‘dont you dare pity me’

cry into chest

fever

voice breaking

backhand slap

black eye

‘it’s all my fault’

crying themselves to sleep

prisoner exchange

touch starved

no anesthetic

defeated and trophified

caretaker kissing whumpee’s scars

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

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

holding them while they cry

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

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

Letting the whumpee rest their head on their chest or shoulder

lost their voice from screaming

stitches

whipping

power fatigue / exhaustion

hair matted with blood

caretaker cradling whumpee in their arms

electrocution

muzzled

hiding an illness

conditioning / conditioned whumpees

locked up and left behind

damaged wings

shaking and shivering

grabbed by the chin

hidden scar

passing out from the pain

‘please don’t leave me’

forced to participate in prize fight

taunting

humiliation

captivity

beaten with a cane

panic attack

vivisection

traumatic touch aversion

betrayal

grabbed by the hair

trail of blood

hurts to breathe

‘dont let them see you cry’

on a leash

surrender

shackled / handcuffed

forced to hurt someone

dehumanization

tearful smile

black eye

blindfolded

clawing at own throat

flashbacks

trying not to cry

banished

broken / bloody nose

kick them while theyre down

dissociation

dragged by the ankle

nervous breakdown

bloodstained clothes

fever

bundled up in blankets

betrayal

losing their temper

caught in a storm

bleeding through the bandages

hypothermia

rejected apology

broken angel

magical curse

used in sacrifice / ritual

chained to a wall

survivor’s guilt

tied to a pole

outnumbered in a fight

‘get it over with’

hyperventilating

trust issues

on the run

bounty on their head

hostage video

dragging themselves along the ground

isolation

made a slave

public execution / torture

pleading

reluctant caretaker

misunderstanding

wrongfully accused / arrested

loneliness

‘should have been better’

made a lab rat

trying not to cry

undeserved reputation

branding

pleading

disowned by family / team

hallucinations

forced to kneel / bow

enemy turned caretaker

unhealthy coping mechanisms

bedside vigil

coughing up blood

fainting

memory loss / amnesia

rage against the reflection

delirium

prank gone wrong

compelled / ensorcelled

self blame

disproportionate retribution

truth potion / serum

magical exhaustion

cleaning Whumpers shoes

nervously tapping the bell on their collar

accidental confessions

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

#probably repeated a few of these #feel free to take any because none of them are mine #so many tw warnings #too many to tag them all so just ask for specific ones if you dont wanna see this post #whump #whump tropes #whump trope #whump list #trope #tropes #good tropes #whump prompt #whump prompts #whump ideas

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devirnis · 9 months

Text

WIP Wednesday

tagged by @prince-buck-diaz 😊

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

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

“Maddie,” Buck gasps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#tag games #wip wednesday #mywip #fic: nevermore to leave here

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marjansmarwani · 3 years

Text

In the midnight hour, we came alive

3.3k || ao3

He heard footsteps behind as he walked him but thought nothing of it until he noticed a figure leaning against the side of a building, at the mouth of an alley. It seemed innocent enough but something about it made the hair on the back of Carlos’s neck stand on edge. Something wasn’t right.

Or, When Carlos goes off on his own while out with TK and Paul, he finds more far trouble than he expected. ---- Day 2 of Angst Week: "does it hurt badly?” + "don’t move, they hit your head really hard” + infected wound for bthb

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

This one was started with a prompt request from an Anon who asked for hurt Carlos and I decided to throw in my infected wound square for @badthingshappenbingo, requested by @immortalstrand.

Beta’d by @silvarafael

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

“I still don’t know why you didn’t ask Picnic Girl to come out with us.”

Carlos rolled his eyes fondly as Paul glared at TK, “Will you let that go?”

“No, I will not,” TK said firmly. “It seemed like she liked you and I know you liked her. So I’m just wondering why you haven’t seen more of her.”

“You know most of us don’t just fall into a perfect committed relationship with the first person we meet in a new town, TK. Some of us have to play the game.”

“First of all, don’t hate,” TK chided, sliding an arm around Carlos’s waist as he spoke and flashing him a grin before he continued. “Secondly, you have been playing the game! And you found a girl that seems like a good match for you. So I’m just curious why you aren’t trying harder to pursue it.”

Paul opened up his mouth to respond to his friend but was interrupted when the line moved forward.

“Oh thank god,” Carlos muttered, rather louder than he meant to, causing the other two to look at him. “Don’t give me those looks,” he said defensively, “ you two have been having this argument all night. I will happily take any distraction. Like this lovely ID check before we get into the club where it will be too loud for you to hear each other enough to continue this conversation.”

Paul snorted and TK shook his head at his boyfriend even as he leaned closer to him.

“I’m sorry,” TK said sheepishly, “I didn’t mean to drag it on so long.”

“It’s okay,” Carlos responded with a smile, “I know you mean well.”

“You’re really just going to let him off like that?” Paul asked incredulously.

Carlos shrugged, “He is awfully cute.”

“Wow man, wow. I thought you had my back.”

Carlos’s response was cut off when the line moved forward again the bouncer at the club asked for their IDs. Carlos shifted out of TK’s grasp so he could reach into his pocket, only to come up empty. He frowned, reaching into his other pocket instead with the same result. Both Paul and TK as well as the bouncer were watching him now and he shrugged, “It doesn’t look like I have it, I must have left it in the car.”

“Can’t let you in without it, man,” the bouncer began, and Carlos nodded.

“Of course, I understand. I’ll just go get it.”

“Do you want us to come with you?” TK asked, but Carlos shook his head.

“No, you two go in. I’ll meet you there shortly.”

“Are you sure?” TK asked again, “We don’t mind.”

“I’m a big boy, Ty,” Carlos reminded him with a roll of his eyes, “I can handle walking two blocks to the car on my own. Go inside and I’ll be there before you know it. Just make sure that you save a dance for me?”

“They’re all for you,” TK assured him, and Carlos grinned. He gave TK a quick kiss before waving at Paul and stepping out of the line, heading towards his car.

He hadn’t parked far - the Camaro was on a side street about two blocks from the front door of the club - and it was a nice night for a walk at least. The humid day had faded into a cool night and Carlos savored the breeze and the quiet of the city at night. It was a nice reprieve from what was sure to be several hours full of loud music and close quarters with strangers and Carlos let himself enjoy it as he finished the journey to his car.

It wasn’t a long walk and within a few minutes he had reached his destination, unlocking the door and leaning inside, peering around for his missing wallet. It only took him a moment to spot it on the floor of the driver’s seat. He picked it up, sliding it back into his pocket as he shut and locked the door behind him and stepped back onto the sidewalk to head back towards the noise and bright lights of the main street.

He sped up slightly, not wanting to draw attention to himself but wanting to reach the main street as quickly as possible. His focus was split between that goal and on watching the figure by the alley that he didn’t notice the footsteps behind him growing ever closer until it was too late.

The assailant attacked from behind, using a surprising amount of force to shove Carlos to the side, sending him sprawling onto the ground of the alley to his right. He picked himself up, spinning to face his attackers. It may be two against one, but he had training and strength on his side. He was a cop, he knew what was likely about to happen and he knew how to handle it. He wasn’t worried, it would be fine.

Or at least, he thought it would until he heard more footsteps behind him, coming from different sides. Four was different. Four against one had odds that almost never favored the one. For the first time, Carlos let himself feel fear. This was not going to go well for him, he knew it with cold certainty.

That doesn’t mean they needed to know that though.

“What do you want?” he asked calmly, voice steady and back straight. He turned as he spoke, trying to keep them all in his field of vision as much as possible. He didn’t get an answer. What he got instead was a blinding pain as something collided with the side of his head, and he staggered. He managed to regain his footing, to stay upright, but only for another moment. There were hands on him now, roughly reaching for his pockets before shoving him down and he collided with the alley ground. A sharp pain ripped through him from his side as blows rained down on him from all directions.

He couldn’t follow what was happening - all he knew was pain and noise. It was loud and fast and all-consuming; it made his head swim. The noise didn’t stop but eventually, the blows did. It took him a moment to realize they were done but once he did he tried to pull himself up. He needed to get out of this alley, he needed to get help.

But the pain was too sharp and it sent him crashing down again, the arms he had been trying to push himself up with giving out beneath him. He lay there, mindful of the peril of his predicament and knowing he needed to do something, that he needed to move. But his head was swimming and he couldn’t manage to follow a coherent thought. Even the need to get help was not so much a plan as a disjointed thought floating through his pain hazed mind. He needed to get help, but all he wanted to do was close his eyes and let the blackness encroaching on the edges of his vision consume him.

He was about to do just that when the sound of more commotion drifted in from the mouth of the alley. He heard more footsteps, and he tensed. Could they be back for round two? He was fairly certain they had already stripped him of anything of value. What more could there be to take? Maybe, he thought wryly, they just wanted to hurt him some more. Maybe that was just their idea of a good time.

The footsteps grew closer but there were fewer of them this time, he thought. He was still trying to blink, to open his eyes and see who was coming when a voice joined the footsteps, “Carlos!”

The voice was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. He must know them though, they had called him by name. He heard the sound of the footsteps quickening as they drew closer and the sudden warmth of someone else’s hands against his skin. He jerked back on reflex before the same voice sounded again, warm and soothing in his ears.

“Easy Carlos, it’s just me babe. You’re safe and we’re going to get you help.”

He frowned as he pulled his eyes open, squinting in an effort to focus, to make out the face before him. Worried green eyes greeted his own and he could feel some of the tension leave his body.

“TK,” he croaked and his boyfriend swallowed before reaching out to rub a gentle hand on his face.

“Yeah, it’s me, babe. Can you tell me what hurts?”

Everything Carlos thought dully but he pushed his mind, running over the pain that covered his body, looking for a source. “Head,” he said eventually, “hip.”

He felt TK’s gentle hands leave his face and travel to his side, where he let out a curse. He said something over his shoulder and got a response but Carlos couldn’t follow any of it. Maybe if he stood up...

“Hey, don’t move,” TK instructed, “they hit your head really hard and you have a wound on your side too. You need to stay put until paramedics get here.”

“You are a paramedic,” Carlos muttered, but it came out more like a question. He wasn’t too sure of anything at the moment.

“Paramedics with gear and an ambulance then,” TK amended, “you’re going to need both for your side.”

“What’s wrong with it?” he managed to ask.

“There’s some scrap metal stuck in it,” TK told him. “I’m not sure if…”

He trailed off but even Carlos’s hazy brain could figure out where his mind had been going, “Must’ve fallen on it,” he muttered, “when they pushed me down.”

He could feel TK’s hands tighten on him at the revelation and saw movement as another face entered his field of vision.

“Do you know how many of them there were?” the other face (Paul, his mind provided. They had been out with Paul) asked.

“Four maybe?” Carlos said with a shrug that ended abruptly with a wince as he jostled his side. TK’s hands moved to his shoulders, steadying him.

“Hey, try and hold still,” he said softly, “you’re in pretty rough shape.”

“I’m fine.”

The fact that the words entered the night air slurred did not help his case and caused TK to scoff, “Don’t even try that with me Carlos Reyes, you are not fine.”

Carlos wanted to argue with him, to tell him he was fine so he could get rid of that terrified look in TK’s eyes but he couldn’t find the words. His efforts were stalled by the sounds of approaching sirens and he realized with dread that there would be police called to the scene as well. When he had planned his night in his head being found bleeding and injured in an alley by his coworkers had never entered the equation, but his luck was just like he supposed.

“It’s okay,” TK assured him, “the ambulance just got here. You’ll be out of here soon.”

Carlos wasn’t sure if he had shared his thoughts out loud or not, but he appreciated the reassurance either way. He wouldn’t be any good to talk to at the moment anyway. His brain was still too scrambled, everything that had happened was in his mind in flashes; quick and jumbled and out of order.

There were more footsteps and voices now. There was a flurry of activity and Carlos couldn’t keep track of any of it. All he knew was pain and the feel of TK’s hands on him. He heard his boyfriend’s voice and he tried to follow it, tried to cling to it to maintain some semblance of what was going on but he was only able to extract every few words. The rest hit his mind and dissipated, losing all meaning in the face of the pain and confusion engulfing him.

More hands were on him now but TK stayed at his side, a comfort and an anchor amongst all the commotion. He heard his name from the edges of the commotion - his fellow officers, no doubt. He closed his eyes again, cursing his horrible luck but TK lightly prodded him.

“Hey, stay with me Carlos. You need to stay awake.”

He made a noise of protest but opened his eyes nonetheless in time to see the world shift as he was transferred to the gurney. He was pushed through the growing crowd, TK at his side murmuring words of encouragement. His world shifts again as the gurney is lifted into the ambulance and pain washes over him as his side is jostled. He hisses in pain and TK’s hands are on him again, warm and comforting to pair with his soothing voice, “It’s okay Carlos, you’re going to be fine. Just stay with me, babe.”

And Carlos wants to, he really does. But the darkness at the edges of his vision is growing closer now and he doesn’t think he really has a choice. He meets TK’s eyes, so full of love and worry, and tries to smile before his eyes close again, TK’s voice the last sound he hears.

-----------

The next time he’s aware of anything he’s in a hospital room. At least, he thinks he is. Everything is a little hazy, but he knows he’s no longer in the alley, at least.

He groans as the light hits his eyes, causing a spike of pain in his head. He hears movement off to the side and then there is a hand on him and a soft voice to his side: “Carlos?”

The voice was soft and familiar. “TK?”

“Yeah babe,” he said, “it’s me. How are you feeling?”

“Lousy,” Carlos told him honestly, pulling a weak chuckle from the other man.

“That’s not surprising,” he said quietly, gently pulling himself onto the edge of the bed so Carlos could see him better.

“What happened?” Carlos asked him, frowning as he tried to piece the fragments of sound and sensations in his mind into something concrete. “I remember being attacked and then you and Paul finding me, but nothing after that.”

TK reached out a hand wrapped it around one of Carlos’s, “You just got out of surgery a little while ago,” he told him softly, “they had to remove the metal in your side. There was a decent amount of tearing and it was dirty, so they’re worried about infection. To top all that off you have a concussion and a skull fracture.”

“Ouch,” Carlos said absently and TK gave him a sympathetic grin.

“Ouch is right. The good news is that as long as you aren’t showing any signs of infection you should be able to be released tomorrow, providing you have someone to stay with you. And it just so happens I have some vacation time saved up.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm,” TK confirmed lightly, reaching out his other hand to caress Carlos’s face. Carlos leaned into the touch, but TK frowned. “You’re really warm, babe.”

Really? Carlos was surprised by the statement. “I’m freezing,” he told TK, whose frown deepened.

“That’s not a great sign,” he admitted, “could be an infection setting in. I’m going to try and grab your doctor, you just relax, okay?”

“Okay,” he told TK, but his eyes were already drifting closed again. He didn’t know why it was so hard to keep them open. Maybe it was the after effects of the anesthesia. Regardless of the reason, Carlos was out before TK even reached the door.

-----------

The next few times Carlos woke up were a haze. He thinks he’s been awake a few times, but they all blended together. There are sounds and voices, people and faces he can’t quite place. And TK - TK is always there. That’s the only thing Carlos knows for sure.

He doesn’t know how long it had been but eventually, when he opened his eyes, his mind felt clearer. He blinked a few times to test it before glancing around the room. The hospital seemed quieter than usual, the typical hustle and bustle more sedated. But that’s not Carlos’s concern. His only concern is the sleeping figure in the chair beside his bed, head braced uncomfortably by his left arm held aloft by the side of the chair. The other man looked exhausted and as much as Carlos wanted to see his eyes and get some answers, he couldn’t bear the thought of waking him. He settled instead for attempting to shift into a more comfortable position, which turned out to both be impossible and a mistake as he jostled his side and let out an involuntary gasp of pain.

TK was awake in an instant, head dropping unceremoniously off of his extended hand as he sat up, eyes flying open and seeking Carlos in panic.

“I’m sorry,” Carlos said sheepishly when their eyes met, “I didn’t want to wake you, you look exhausted.”

“It’s fine,” TK assured him hurriedly, leaning forward in his seat, “I’m just happy to see you awake again. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Carlos told him honestly, “still in pain and not feeling great, but my mind feels clearer than it has the last few times I woke up, I think. It’s all kind of a haze, to be honest.”

TK’s expression darkened as he leaned forward, placing the back of his hand on Carlos’s forehead, “I’m not surprised, the infection they were worried about came, and it hit you hard. You don’t feel warm anymore, I think the fever finally broke.”

Carlos frowned at his boyfriend as he leaned back into his seat, “How long has it been?”

“We’re on day 3 now. Well, night 3. It’s after midnight now.”

“Shit,” Carlos said, leaning his head back into the pillows and TK chuckled lightly.

“That about sums it up, yeah. That’s what happens when a piece of rusty metal impales you. They think that it got into your bloodstream which is why the infection spread so fast and, well it was really scary, Carlos.”

There was quiet for a few moments as they both got lost in their own thoughts. Carlos opened his mouth, but TK shook his head.

“Don’t apologize,” he said firmly, “none of this is your fault.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Carlos said defensively, choosing to ignore TK’s skeptical eyebrow, “I was going to thank you, for being here. I know it can’t have been easy.”

TK’s expression softened and he lifted himself out of his chair, coming to rest on the side of Carlos’s bed. “There’s nowhere else I would have wanted to be,” he told him honestly, “you needed me and that’s where I will always be, no matter what.”

Carlos smiled at him and shifted over in the bed to make more room. Or at least, that is what he planned to do. Instead, his movements were brought to an abrupt halt by a flash of pain as he jostled his side again, freezing his movements and pulling a gasp from his lips.

TK’s hands were on him in an instant, steady and reassuring. “Hey, try not to move too much,” he admonished lightly, “you’re still injured.” He gestured down to his side, “Does it hurt badly?”

“Yeah,” Carlos admitted, “but I’ll be fine. You’re here and that’s all I need.”

TK studied him for a moment before breaking out in laughter. “Carlos Reyes,” he said between breaths, “you are a sap. And while that’s sweet, I think some pain medication might help too.”

He leaned around Carlos to reach for the call button and Carlos sighed in defeat.

“Fine,” he relented, “but I’d much rather have you.”

“Whoever said the two were mutually exclusive, babe?” TK asked him, leaning forward and pressing a light kiss to his forehead, “I’m not going anywhere, and that’s a promise.”

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orionares · 3 years

Text

BTHB: Comatose

Law and Order: SVU

@badthingshappenbingo

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“Can I ask you something?”

He flinches at the small voice from across the room. Blue eyes similar to his eyes stare at him blankly beneath brown curly hair with the same tenacity and strength he'd worked side by side with for twelve years.

Elliot nods slowly, prompting the ten year old to slide out of his chair and cross the room to stop inches from the foot of his mother's bed. Noah Benson rests his hand on the foot of the bed and eyes Elliot cautiously. "Did you do something to my mom?"

Elliot chokes on his breath and pushes himself from the huddled position in his chair to face Noah. He stifles a need to burst into tears and instead answers in a cracked voice, “What do you mean?”

“If you were the one that got her hurt,” Noah muses, “you’d be in jail. But- but you aren’t arrested and you have a badge. So you're a cop. Right?”

Elliot can feel his heart shatter as the boy eyes his mother, lying unconscious in one of Sanai’s hospital beds, hooked up to a handful of wires. He himself can’t bring himself to look at her- no, not after what had happened. The guilt alone-

“Do you work with my mom?” Noah’s question comes as he steps closer to Elliot, causing the older man to flinch. “I’ve never seen or heard about you before.”

“You're inquisitive,” Elliot stammers. Noah cocks his head to right and mutters, “What’s itiquative?”

“Inquisitive,” Elliot corrects. He scratches the back of his neck and sighs, “It means you ask a lot of questions. You also like to ask the right questions. Like your mom.”

“That’s what Uncle Fin says.” His face falls as he turns towards the bed and sniffles, “Is she going to be ok?”

A knuckle raps on the door as Fin Tutola ducks his head into the door before stepping in. He pauses to stare at Olivia for a moment before shaking his head in disbelief. Even though he had dropped off Noah an hour earlier, he still finds himself shaken at seeing her in this state. “You ready to head out, Noah?”

Noah doesn’t peel his eyes from the bed. “Why hasn’t she woken up yet?” he answers softly. Behind him, Fin and Elliot exchange a worried look.

“Do you remember what we talked about yesterday?” Fin asks. He walks to the side of the bed opposite Elliot and Noah. He places a hand on Olivia’s forehead and sighs as one of his closest friends doesn’t react to his touch. Noah nods slowly and furrows his brow as he recalls the day prior’s conversation.

“She hit her head on the sidewalk when she and-” Noah quickly whips his head back to Elliot, “Detective Stabler was trying to leave the hospital. It’s a….it’s called a…”

“Cerebral edema,” Elliot finishes. “Brain swelling. They induced a coma to help the swelling go down. It’s going to take a few days for her to heal, buddy.” Using the word ‘buddy’ stings for Elliot- hell, he doesn’t deserve to use that term for the son of the woman whose heart he broke.

Noah shakes his head. “Oh, yeah. Can I stay a little longer? ‘Cause I want to be here when she wakes up.”

“Well, Elliot will be here-”

Noah’s eyes widen and he turns once more to Elliot. He mirrors his mother’s investigative scan at his badge and face. “My mom says your name in her sleep. A lot.”

Fin snorts unexpectedly at the boy’s comment. “Okay. Maybe this is a conversation for another time-”

Elliot finally pulls himself out of his daze and holds up a hand in defense. “No, I-I can head out and-”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Noah counters. “Can I talk to Elliot, Uncle Fin?”

Elliot glances up to Fin, who’s staring at Noah with contemplation. Even after ten years, Elliot can recognize the planning in the sergeant’s eyes. After a minute, Fin looks down to Olivia and whispers to her, “It’s your kid and you know I can’t say that to that face. He’s going to ask a million questions unless we nip it in the butt.”

“Fin-”

“Why don’t you take Noah down to the cafeteria?” Fin suggests, cutting Elliot off. He checks his cellphone to see 7:36 on the lock screen. “I think the cafeteria closes by 8 and he hasn’t had dinner yet.”

“Wait, maybe-”

Noah’s already moving towards the head of the bed where an empty chair sits close enough for him to climb onto the bed. He sits on his knees and begins chatting to his mother, “Mom, I’m going to be right back, ok?”

“She heard you,” Fin says. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

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

In the cafeteria, Noah slides into one of the cafeteria’s booths with a plate of a hotdog and French fries. Elliot stands next to the table and watches the boy slide off his jacket and begin eating hungrily without a word. The detective hesitates before easing down into the booth and sliding across to sit directly across from him.

“How’s the food?” Elliot finally asks after a few minutes of silence.

“Good.”

“I’m glad.” Elliot rests his hands in his lap and asks, “So your question about if I did something to your mom….what made you think that?”

“I heard Auntie Amanda and Uncle Sonny talking about you when I stayed at Auntie Amanda’s apartment,” Noah answers. He takes a bite of his hot dog and continues, “They were talking about how her ex-partner came back and how someone….named Chief said that she should stay away from you. What’d you do?”

“I- '' Elliot inhales and exhales slowly, replaying the many ways he had predicted having a conversation with Olivia’s son. “I was her partner at work for twelve years. We were inseparable and then I left her….without saying goodbye.”

“Why?”

Elliot pauses to formulate his answer. “Adult reasons.”

Noah moves onto his French fries and mumbles, “Adults always say that. It’s dumb.”

“Touché. I was married until a couple of months ago when my wife died,” Elliot explains. Saying the words ‘my wife died’ still stings. “When your mom and I were partners, I…..um…”

“You loved my mom?” Noah’s eyes widen before he shrugs his shoulders at Elliot’s sudden look of disbelief. “What? It happens in the movies all the time.”

“You are too smart for your own good,” Elliot chuckles. “I did but I was married. That’s a complicated line even for adults.”

“Then….why’d you leave?”

“Because I was afraid. Things became complicated so I did what cowards do and ran, Noah.” He ignores the instinct to stop spilling his guts to a ten year old and pushes on. “ My family and I moved to Italy and I cut her out of my life.”

Noah suddenly stops eating, pushes the plate towards Elliot and scowls at the man. “That’s stupid.”

“What?”

“I don’t get why adults do stupid stuff like that. My friend Phillip’s parents hated each other but they stayed married. Philip said they should have gotten a divorce a long time ago but didn’t. He moved away last year with his grandparents, I think. It’s dumb that you left.”

Elliot settles back against the booth, speechless. The observations and opinions shared by everyone in Olivia’s life spilled out by her son in a ten minute conversation. “It was and will be one of the greatest regrets in my life.”

Noah takes another fry off of his plate. His next question comes in a timid voice. “Do you still love my mom?”

Elliot swallows hard and feels tears forming in his eyes. “Why do you ask?” he chokes out.

“Because you keep staying with her at the hospital. And you look like people do when people they love are hurt.”

Elliot nods and chuckles. “You should be a detective when you grow up.”

“I want to be a dancer. Do you?”

Elliot smiles for the first time in days at Noah. “More than anything. More than anything.”

Noah takes another fry before stifling a yawn. “You should tell her...if she...if she…”

“Hey,” Elliot quickly slides out of his side of the boot and moves to sit next to a suddenly tear eyed Noah. Elliot rests a hand on his shoulder and says softly, “Your mom is the absolute strongest woman I ‘ve ever met. She’s going to be ok. You can’t give up hope, okay?”

Noah buries his head against Elliot’s shoulder and whimpers, “Okay.”

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

"They're letting me stay the night," Elliot says softly as he settles back into his chair he had been sitting in for the past two days. After parting ways with Fin and Noah, he had returned to the hospital room to find a blanket , a pillow and a nurse giving a nod in approval. "I think they assume that we've..that we're…together, I guess."

Hw can't bring himself to look at her battered form in the bed. The moments of leaving the hospital after the Chief and IAB had dismissed Bell, Olivia and him to go home replays over and over every time his mind wanders.

"Elliot, I don't need protection!" Olivia growls as the three head towards the parking garage.

"Wheatley got to Angela in a hospital! I'm not going to let him get near you!" Elliot counters. Behind him, Bell's eyes are occupied on her phone, brow furrowed at the information she's just received from Jet.

“I know how to protect myself and my son. I’m a police captain,” she argues back. There’s an anger behind her statement that he can’t quite place but-

Bell suddenly holds up a hand and exclaims, “Hold up! Jet’s just sent me a-”

His sergeant doesn't finish as a concussive force slams into his body , propelling him and the two women across the pavement and into unconsciousness.

Elliot shakes off the memory and continues to talk. “I think it’s because I’ve spent a total of six hours away from you since the explosion. Liv, I can’t- ever since I’ve come back, I’ve put you in danger, caused you stress and….got Kathy killed.”

In the back of his head, he imagines the Olivia of ten years ago, sitting next to him with a cup of coffee and a comforting hand on his shoulder, saying, “El, you can’t blame yourself for something that was out of your control.”

“But I left you and that was in my control,” he answers the voice. He rubs a hand over his face in frustration. Another bit of memory- the briefest moment of consciousness after the explosion replays in his head.

He’ll never forget opening his eyes to her lying unconscious a foot away from him on the pavement with blood running from her ear onto the ground.

“I know I don’t deserve this but,” Elliot whispers, “but don’t leave me please. I didn’t deserve Kathy and I sure as hell don’t deserve you….but” he finally looks up to the bed and can’t stop the sob of guilt that comes. The tubes, cuts and her stillness break him. Elliot stands up and walks to her side, letting the tears fall. The tears don’t fall only for her, but for his wife, his kids, Noah and everyone he’s impacted since returning to New York.

“I love you,” Elliot whispers. He rests his forehead against hers and repeats the words he hopes he can say one day again. “I love you.”

#olivia benson #elliot stabler #law and order svu #bensler #bad things bingo #bad things happen bingo

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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years

Note

For BTHB: villainsicle & not used to freedom if you’re interested!

Thanks so much for the ask! (Sorry about the weird posting time, I usually schedule my posts, but I don’t think you can schedule asks (?))

This probably takes place sometime between Part 7 and Part 8, whenever I write that. I hope you like it!

CW//Superhero whump, villain whumpee, trauma, conditioned whumpee, forced not to speak, implied starvation, paranoia, security cameras

Leader bit down on the pliers they held precariously between their teeth. Below them, the stepstool shifted and shuddered, complaining about the uneven weight placed atop it. With a series of muffled grunts and swears, they wrestled with the metal post affixing the security camera to the wall. It budged this way and that, but refused to give way.

The knock on the door shocked them nearly enough to send them collapsing to the ground.

Abandoning their work, Leader instead grabbed the top step of the stepstool, struggling to keep their balance. Once they were certain that they were no longer in danger of toppling over, they spoke, as well as they could with clenched teeth:

“Who is it?”

“Uh, it’s Counselor. Is this a bad time?”

“No. No, you’re fine, come in.”

The door opened as Leader climbed down from the stepstool, placing the pliers on their desk.

In all truth, they didn’t really need an office. They weren’t some kind of manager, they had no paperwork to sign and no interviews to host. Still, it just felt... right. As if something as simple as a room with a desk was what made them a leader.

Counselor stepped into the room, with as soft of steps as ever. They had an odd manner about them, always walking like a kid on their way to the principal’s office. Slow, careful, as if they were being judged on their gait alone. Their voice was just as nervous.

“How’s it going, um, taking down the cameras?” They asked, closing the door behind themself.

“Fine, I guess.” Leader moved to wipe a droplet of sweat from their forehead. They had been at the work all day. Not alone, certainly, but they hadn’t had nearly as much help as they would’ve liked to. They couldn’t spare the manpower. “This is just about the last one. But it’s not budging.”

“Oh. Um, do you want some help?”

“Sure, if you want.”

Counselor nodded, ascending the stepstool and reaching for the camera. They were somewhat shorter than Leader, and they struggled somewhat to get a grip on the metal.

Once they did, however, they made no hesitation. The steel bar snapped, warped with the sheer force with which it was pulled. Shards of plaster rained down-- some of the wall had come off with the camera.

“Oops. Uh, sorry about that, I can-”

“Don’t worry about it.” Leader shook their head, mentally adding the damage onto their ever-growing list of problems. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Kind of.” Counselor nodded, placing down the mangled camera. “Not so much as help. More like, uh, permission, I guess.”

“Oh?” They raised a brow.

“I know Medic told us not to mess with Villain. And you told us not to mess with Villain. And... you get the idea. But I’m worried.”

“Worried?”

“I mean, just, imagine what it’s like in their shoes. They almost died, and now they’re locked up in enemy territory. I think they’re scared.”

“Ya think?”

“I know they’re scared. And, I mean, I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t think Medic’s visits are helping much.”

“You want to visit them?”

“Mhm.” Counselor looked flushed. “I thought I could maybe bring them something to eat? Something other than that crud Medic has been giving them. A peace offering, I guess.”

“I guess.”

“Yeah. Um, would that be okay?”

“I...” Leader sighed, slumping their shoulders. “I know Villain is scared. I know that. But they’re dangerous, too. We can’t forget that. They haven't used their powers against us yet, not since the hospital, but that doesn’t mean they won’t. Do you think you can defend yourself? If anything happens?”

“I mean... I can lift a car.” Counselor smiled sheepishly. “I think I’ll be okay.”

“Okay. Then, yes. Just be careful. We can’t trust them.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The cell was too big.

Villain hadn’t dared to rise from their bed, but they could tell as such just by looking. If they had to guess, the prison was about 20 by 15 feet. A thin carpet covered the floor, with papered walls and a solid ceiling.

The bed was pressed against the back wall, right in the middle of it. A door was embedded in the right wall, leading to god knows where.

The setup was terrifying. There was little other way to put it.

The bed was impossible to defend. It had no footboard, leaving it exposed from three sides. The room itself posed a similar predicament-- there was nothing to hide behind. Too big to defend, not big enough to flee from an attacker.

It had been designed as such, certainly. A prison of vulnerability.

There was no place for them to hide, and no place for them to hide anything. A bottle of water and some crackers had been left in the room, before they’d been imprisoned within. Either a mistake or a trap. Regardless, it was food and drink. Valuable beyond description.

At home, they had become used to storing such things in the ceiling. The tiles could be easily loosed. Not here. No, there were no tiles here. Another intentional measure, certainly, but could they truly not have been given even such a small amount of leeway?

Apparently not.

Seemingly, though, their captors hadn’t realized that on their bed, with enough shifting, room could be created between the mattress and the bedframe. Not much, but just enough to store away the food. They could only hope that it was hidden well enough-- if it was noticed, their hoard would surely be taken.

Villain had been in the process of checking on their stored food when a knock sounded at the door. Their heart leapt to their throat in a single beat. Scrambling, they flattened themself against the bed. They had been sleeping. Just sleeping. They tried to force their breathing to slow, but couldn’t manage it.

They shook.

“It’s Counselor. Is it okay if I come in?”

It was a question-- bait. Baiting a reply. Baiting them to speak.

They wouldn’t fall for it. They knew how to be good, how to obey. They’d be trained for this.

It was several seconds of silence before Counselor spoke again.

“Um, I don’t know if you’re asleep or, uh, I’m just gonna come in.”

Metal scraped on metal as a key was forced into a lock, turned, and removed. The door creaked open.

Villain stayed still. They didn’t know the rules of this place, but they knew their training. Stick to their training. They could do that.

Counselor wasn’t an intimidating person, not in stature, but they meant little. They entered the room on gentle feet, closing the door behind them.

There was something in their hands, but Villain couldn’t quite make it out. They bit their tongue.

“Are you awake? Sorry if I’m waking you up. I know you need your rest.”

Another question. More bait.

Counselor sighed. Villain’s heart lurched.

“I know you’re scared, but you don’t have to pretend to be asleep. I’m not here to hurt you. You don’t have to talk if you don't want to but... please. You don’t have to be afraid. Can you sit up? If you have the energy?”

Sit up. An order. They could do that. At least, they could try.

Ever since they had woken up here, they could hardly keep their eyes open. Their limbs responded as though underwater, all the way at the bottom of the Mariana Trench. Sitting straight up didn’t work. They rolled onto the side, using their arms to brace themself.

Slowly, slowly, they sat up.

“Yeah! That’s it.” Counselor smiled. Villain wasn’t sure why. “See? You’re getting better already.”

Their captor neared, moving to the side of the bed. With each advancing pace, Villain could feel their heartbeat increase. Maybe Counselor was carrying torture implements with them? Knives and acid and...

“I brought something for you.”

Villain felt about to puke.

Counselor held up the item they had in their hands. The plate was laden with food-- pancakes and eggs and a slice of bacon on the edge. All complete with fork and knife. Plastic utensils, of course, but, still.

They fought back drool.

“You don’t have to eat all of it. I know you may not have too much of an appetite right now, so just eat what you can.”

Villain glanced to the food, then to Counselor, then back to the plate. It didn’t make sense. They wanted to ask, to talk, but, no. Of course they couldn’t talk. Assets didn’t talk.

Counselor frowned.

“Can you speak? Do you want, uh, pencil and paper? To write down? You can speak-”

Villain gasped. They hadn’t even realized they had been holding their breath for so long.

“I- m-” Now that they couldn't speak, they didn’t know what to say. “Why?”

“Why?”

“What do you... what do you want from me?”

Counselor raised a brow, as if Villain had spontaneously begun speaking Greek.

“Well, um, I do have a bit of a deal.” Of course. There was always a catch. “You can have this, as much of it as you want. But, if I let you have it, will you let me brush your hair? I know that’s kinda weird.” Counselor flushed. “You don’t have to let me, I mean, it’s your food, either way, but- Can I?”

That was all? No training? No commands?

“O- Of course?” Villain’s gaze moved back to the food once more. “Please. Please.”

“Thank you.” Counselor smiled. They held out the food, which Villain took, placing it on their lap.

It didn’t feel real. What was the catch? Poison? Drugs? Something worse?

They didn’t care. It didn’t matter. They would eat cyanide if it looked that good.

With trembling hands, they picked up the fork, taking a piece of egg and putting it in their mouth.

The tears were immediate. They weren’t ashamed to admit that fact.

A gentle hand was placed on their shoulder as the bristles of a brush began working their way through their matted hair. Villain took another bite.

In that moment, they were convinced, more than anything, that they had died and ascended to heaven.

#whump community #whump #whumpee #whumper #whumpblr #whump prompt #hero villain whump #villain whumpee #conditioned whumpee #powered whumpee

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