#beach whump

[mj-iza-writer]

"Wake up", Whumper nudged them with their foot, "we're going to the beach today."

Whumpee groaned as they looked up at them, outings like this normally meant some sort of sedative was going to be crammed down there throat. They would be rag dolled around all day.

"My friend invited us to their secluded beach section, so I don't have to worry about you yelling for help", Whumper grinned.

"Does that- does that mean I don't have to be sedated?", Whumpee sat up, "please."

"Sorry, you still have to be sedated, there are still neighbors", Whumper helped them up from the floor, "I've got it already to go, this time I've even remembered breakfast, you got sick on me last time, I'm not doing that again."

"Please I promise I won't run", Whumpee begged.

"No", Whumper stated in annoyance, "I'm going to be swimming and enjoying myself, not worrying about you."

Whumpee winced at his anger, "I'm sorry, sir."

"Now I have your suit and cover set out in my room. Go get ready, and find me after", Whumper smiled.

Whumpee looked over the bikini/speedo that had been picked out, "of course, they picked the one that accentuates the abuse. They can look at those all they want if we are in seclusion."

Whumpee put on the suite with a sigh, then threw on the cover outfit. "Today is going to suck, I hate being their puppet."

"Hurry up", Whumper yelled at them, "you still need to eat and take the medication."

"I'm coming", Whumpee took a final look in the mirror and groaned.

Whumpee quickly ate, then eyed the sedative.

"Can I ask one more time, please no sedation", they whined.

"You can either take it with water like a good slave, or I'll take a straw and shoot it down your throat, your choice," Whumper spoke through gritted teeth and a menacing grin.

"Ok ok, can I take it with my juice though please", Whumpee bargained.

"Yes that's fine", Whumper smiled knowing they gave in a little, but happy for the compliance nonetheless.

Whumper placed the pill in Whumpee's mouth and watched them gulp it down. They made Whumpee open their mouth to insure it definitely went down.

"Good Whumpee, that normally takes 45 minutes to kick in, so plenty of time to get there, the car is packed already", Whumper did a happy dance, "I can't wait for a beach day."

Whumpee frowned.

"Cheer up, I've packed you snacks, drinks, a water proof blanket, plus they've got a lounge chair and umbrella, so you can unwind", Whumper grinned.

"Did you remember sunblock?", Whumpee looked at a bag that was not packed in the car yet.

"That I did", Whumper grinned, "let's get going."

Whumpee stood up, but instantly sat back down, "I'm already getting groggy."

"I'll get this stuff packed up and come back for you", Whumper grabbed a few things and went out. When he came back, Whumpee's head was starting to bob, "that was a different brand, I guess they start faster than the other", Whumper lifted them from the chair, and out to the car.

Whumper placed Whumpee in the passenger seat and tightened their seat belt. Their body was already limp. "There we go, hopefully that keeps you from falling over."

"I don't feel good Whumper, what did you give me", Whumpee winced, they slowly raised their hand to their head. Everything felt slow, they felt like they were floating.

"Don't throw up on me", Whumper listened to them whine, "it was a different brand sedative, but the same dosage."

"It's not that type of feeling", Whumpee breathed heavily, "I feel like I'm floating and falling at the same time, I feel like taking a nap."

'Well, go ahead and fall asleep, maybe when we get there, some of it will wear off", Whumper cupped Whumpee's cheek, "I'm going to make sure everything is locked then we'll go."

Whumper climbed into the driver side of the car. They noticed Whumpee was out, "well I guess I won't have them complaining the whole ride there."

Whumpee woke up to Whumper applying sunblock to them, they where sat reclined in a beach chair, the umbrella already up.

"Hrmmp", the grumbled groggigly, "we're here already."

"Yes, we just got here", Whumper started to apply sunblock to themself, "I've had enough time to apply your sunblock, are you ok?"

"Im not floating anymore, I still feel extremely slow though" they tried to move.

"Are you comfortable, I'm about to go swim", Whumper stood up, "do you want any snacks, drinks?"

"I think I'll be sick if I ate anything, can I have my sunglasses and a water please", Whumpee tried shaking their head to get rid of some of the groginess, "this sun is not working with me."

Whumper placed the sunglasses on Whumpee and sat the water bottle beside them, "I'm going swimming."

Whumpee nodded, "thankyou sir."

"The normal rules and relationship standards I've set restarts tomorrow", Whumper stated, "don't get used to me being nice, this is a mini vacation."

"Yes sir, I understand", Whumpee sighed, wondering how this was considered a vacation for them, when all they could do was watch."

Whumper ran into the water, Whumpee watched, this is so fun they mocked quietly. So fun.

#whump community #whump writing #whump stuff #whump ideas #whumpee #whump scenario #whumper #whump #beach whump

[forbidden-ideas]

"I broke one one of those a while ago." The villain adjusted her sunglasses and continued her sunbathing.

"One of what?" The hero sideyed her while she shifted in her place.

"One of those." She pointed at a distance making the hero prop herself up.

It was a child building a sandcastle.

"You're the villain. What'd I expect..." The hero scoffed, "But honestly, destroying sandcastles is childish."

"No. I meant the other one." The villain seemed a little offended but sighed instead.

"A what?"

"A child— honestly who made a clueless wump like you a hero?—"

"WAIT— YOU BROKE A WHAT!?"

#my writing #novel writing #writeblr #writers and poets #writers on tumblr #writing #writing prompt #scene #short stuff #hero and villain #hero villain prompt #hero villain snippet #hero villain writing #hero villain whump #beach #kids toys #children #child #misunderstood #dialogue prompt

[ashintheairlikesnow]

*soft chanting in the distance:* consider a beach day with the safehouse crew, consider a beach day with the safehouse crew, consider a

CW: Extensive scarring, some discussion of surviving noncon and the aftermath, weight gain as part of recovery, references to Vince's alcoholism, some references to consensual spice

-

"You're fidgeting," Vincent Shield says, eyes closed behind heavy sunglasses, lying with his fingers interlocking behind his head, the sun beating down on his body. He can feel the blanket of warmth from forehead through neck and chest, stomach, and finally his legs. His heels are just off the edge of the towel, dug into soft sand that heats his skin to something that isn't quite uncomfortable, isn't yet painful.

"Right, because this is shit," Jameson snaps back at him, sitting up with his arms around his knees, looking like an animal caught in a trap, ready to chew his own leg off and throw it at someone to escape. "It's hot. There's sun. Why the fuck am I here with you?"

"Because I invited you to the beach, you said no, then Nat said she thought it might be a good idea for you to get out and enjoy the outdoors and you basically threw yourself into the car," Vince replies, voice even, absolutely not amused. Beside him, a huge reusable water bottle sweats condensation as the ice inside it slowly melts. He used to bring vodka in bottles like this to the beach, clear as still waters, burning down his throat. His mouth feels dry just at the thought.

"Yeah. Well. Usually she's right about this shit, but everybody's wrong eventually."

Vince turns his head to watch as Jameson picks, uncomfortably, at the corner of his own beach towel, a riotous swirl of oranges and pinks that Nat has had for long enough that the ends are starting to unravel, with little thread like fringe. Other than his perpetual scowl, he wears swim trunks that go down to his knees and a long-sleeved rashguard shirt made of the same material, both in a deep blue. It's a color that suits him. Vince is afraid if he points it out Jameson will strip naked right here simply from spite.

"You're doing fine," He says, a little softly. "Nobody's looking at you."

"If they do, I'll fucking punch them."

"Jameson-"

"Fuck off, I will."

"Nobody doubts that. But maybe don't just assume you're the center of attention. I'm a goddamn movie star, you don't see anyone staring at me."

"I've seen at least three people stare at you."

"Yeah, because they think I look familiar, but they can't figure out why. With my hair grown out like this and the thirty pounds I've put on since I stopped trying to replace all forms of nutrition with booze, I don't look like me anymore. Besides, I've seen absolutely no one stare at you, so there you go."

"Fuck you." Jameson pauses. "And fuck them. You look better now than you did before."

Vince laughs. "Thank you. That's a rare compliment from the king of insults."

"Yeah, well. Don't get used to it." Some of the anger lifts in his voice, though, and Vince smiles behind his sunglasses as he sees the other man relax - maybe, just a little - and start trying to get his legs to cooperate and unbend.

Jameson had made his way to their little spot using his crutches for balance, but had nearly fallen twice. He isn't used to the softness of sand, the way he has to adjust himself to handle it. Vince caught him the second time or he'd have gone down right there in front of a group of people, not a single one of whom noticed him at all. But Jameson is convinced they did.

The crutches have their own towel, lying carefully side by side so sand won't get on them unless it has to or the wind blows it around.

"How can you stand it?" Jameson asks, after some time passes. The breeze is gentle, just a hint of cooler air coming off the water, offsetting the heat of the sun. Vince stretches his arms above his head, then pushes himself to seated and takes a drink of his water.

"Stand what?"

"Hardly wearing anything." Jameson gestures, and Vince looks down at his tasteful(ly small) green swim trunks. He's... never thought about that before. "Like. People can see your fucking... scars."

Right.

Vince swallows, hard.

He has new ones, from Owen, more on the back than the front. But there's a scar twisted down one side that wasn't there before. His neck has a couple, there's a nick in his jaw now.

Vince hesitates, then takes another drink. "Can I tell you something? Just between us?"

Jameson looks away, hunching over again. His own worst scars are on his face, a twisted that cuts into the corner of his mouth and curves it slightly upward, like he's always smirking. Another that breaks his eyebrow in two pieces. There's even some on the back of his neck that Vince hasn't really noticed before. "Yeah, sure. I make no fucking promises, though."

"Fair enough. The truth is... I don't really care."

Jameson picks at a thread on his towel again. "You don't?"

"Nah. I've been who I am for a long time, and... you know. This sounds really stupid, but-" Vince shrugs. He catches the flash of light off a phone screen as someone checks theirs a half-dozen feet away. He wonders if they're taking a photo of him. Doesn't this guy look like Vincent Shield? Remember, from The Weight of This Crown?

That had been a favorite. He'd played an adult version of one of the Princes of the Tower from the 1480s, a version where they hadn't been murdered but had simply been... kept. His character had gone insane in the tower and taken his brother into madness with him. Whole movie revolved around a murder mystery where there might never have been a body at all. Been some Oscar buzz around that one, though he hadn't won anything for it.

He missed acting. He'd been so damn good at it, he never stopped. But now...

"What?" Jameson frowns, looking more closely at him. "You stopped talking."

"Oh. Sorry. Distracted. Just... you know. I've had all my scars inside my head for so long, it's kind of nice to have some on the outside, ones I can't really hide anymore. I can't lie about them."

"Yeah, you can. 'Oh, I fell down'. There you go."

"No, I mean." Vince groans. "You're an asshole. I mean, I can't pretend I don't have scars at all."

He pauses.

"But... I killed him," He whispers. "I should... I should be marked, by that. Shouldn't I?"

"Don't look at me." Jameson tries to lie down on his back, but his legs won't unbend at the knee, so he just keeps them that way, feet flat on the towel.

"Right, but... you killed people."

"Had to." Jameson goes clipped, tense and snapping each word like a rubber band. "No choice."

"No, I know. I just mean... doesn't it feel like you should look like you've killed someone, once you have?"

Jameson turns his head to look at him, shading his eyes with one hand. "I do look like I killed someone. Actually I sort of look like I died and was brought back to life by a really lazy magician."

"... Never mind. Anyway, what I meant to say is just that I don't mind the scars."

Silence stretches out between them, then. The ocean is a constant rush of in and out, the gentle white noise lulling them both into a sort of doze. The sun beats down, and Vince feels like a cat in a windowsill.

"Do I really look better now?" He asks, breaking the quiet with his own insecurities. "I haven't had a regular stomach without a fucking... near-six-pack since I was... since I... since I was still acting with Owen, when we were kids. Now, I have..." He frowns down at himself, poking his stomach with one hand. "Whatever this is."

"Yeah, you do. Lot better, actually." Jameson snorts. "That is a normal human stomach, Shield. Also, you don't look like you're thinking about jumping off a cliff every fucking second of every fucking day anymore. It's an improvement."

"No, I just-... I mean-"

"Yes, for fuck's sake. You're still hot. I would still happily let you stick your dick in me and brag about bagging someone hot enough to look like a movie star." Jameson rolls his eyes. "Now stop fucking talking."

Vince swallows. "Jameson, are you..."

"Praying to the heavens that you'll shut the fuck up? Yeah, definitely. Actually going to fuck you? Absolutely the fuck not. I've got Allyn. I'm a one-Allyn man. Besides, you could never smack my ass and call me a good boy the way they do."

"... Jesus Christ." Vince feels his face burn, and not from sunlight.

"Exploring consent in sexuality is a normal part of recovery," Jameson says, like someone reciting a script. "Try asking about it in therapy sometime, Shield."

"... oh god no."

"Then shut the fuck up and let me enjoy my fucking beach day, asshole, or I'll tell you about which one of your shirts we used to tie my hands behind my back one time."

Vince takes another drink of water, and tries to pretend the last ten minutes never happened.

#vincent shield is not a hero #jameson bb #beach day #whump ocs #recovering whumpee #recovering ocs #scars tw #oh... oh jameson honey

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Can merman! Jericho breathe on land? Or does he suffocate outside the water?

He can take a human form and fully breathe on land!

Barring that/if he's currently unable, he's semi-amphibious as a merman. He can breathe out of water for a small period of time, but needs to keep his scales wet to be comfortable, and his gills wet to keep breathing

#so yes we can use this to whump him #the watering can backpack ponyo's dad uses in the studio ghibli movie would be enough for him skdhjrkr #his friends intermittently throw water balloons at him as he flops across the beach #anon #I'll draw mer!jer whump soon :)

[unmistakeablewhumpsterfire]

#skull island #spoilers #skull island spoilers #mike #charlie #whump #hurt/comfort #angst #devastation on the beach

[softsnzstuff]

Dead on Your Feet

@whumptober day 4 / @whumptober-archive

Fandom: Stranger Things, Lifeguard AU

Summary: Steve is a lifeguard and tries to work through a nasty ear infection (the usual Himbo Steve stuff lol)

CW: mentions of nausea, no actual v*miting

Word Count: 850

*******************************************************

Steve has been a water baby for as long as he can remember. Swim team since he was 7 years old, competitive swimmer in college, and a swim teacher in the summers. Now with his job as a lifeguard on Venice Beach, he’s even more involved than he ever was before.

An unfortunate side effect of being in and out of chlorine and salt water, however, was that Steve has always been super prone to ear infections.

The one he’s dealing with now is particularly bad - he hasn’t had one this bad since his senior year of high school, in fact. His ear hurts like hell and is ringing, his head pounding, and every now and again he’ll get a bout of vertigo.

He would have called out of today’s shift to give the antibiotics a day to kick in, but Jonathan was on vacation and it was all hands on deck.

He was sitting in the buggy on the south side of the beach, rubbing at his ear and scanning the waterline. Robin was further up shore and Nancy was in the tower keeping watch over everything.

Through the timing in his ear, his radio crackled to life.

“Central to Steve, copy Steve?”

He picked it up and answered.

“Yeah Nance, go for Steve.”

“I don’t think you can see from your position, but there’s a little girl going down about 30 feet past the bank.”

“On it!”

He sent out the fast response, tore off his shirt, and jumped into action. He unhooked the rescue board from the side of the buggy and ran out into the water.

Once it got up to his thighs, he jumped forward onto the board, paddling quickly on his stomach. He swiftly and methodically would shift to his knees and use his weight to stabilize and speed up the board as he rode over oncoming waves.

He wasn’t sure how long he actually took, because everything was moving so fast and so slow at the same time, but by the time he’d reached the subject, she was in a bad way.

The girl - no more than 12 - had gone past the bank where the drop off was and couldn’t make her way back to shore. She had her head tilted back as she tried to gasp for air, the water already coming up to her chin.

Steve grabbed the girl by the crook under her arm and pulled her up. She reached for the board, laying on her stomach facing forward.

“Thank you, thank you!!” She coughed as Steve, relieved, paddled her back into shore.

As they arrived, a woman who he could only assume was the girls mother, was waiting.

“Oh my gosh Emily I told you not to go out that far!”

“I know mommy, I’m sorry, I was following a fish and then I couldn’t get back!”

The mom scolded her one more time and turned to Steve, taking his hand, “Thank you SO much for saving her!”

The little girl, now at her mom’s side with goggles on her head, tan forward and hugged his side.

“Thank you!!”

“You’re welcome,” Steve said, “Try and be more aware of your surroundings next time okay?”

The girl nodded as she and her mom walked back up the beach towards the parking lot. Robin had made her way over from the North side just in case he’d needed backup.

“Great save! Looks like you got there just in time-” She started, but Steve wasn’t listening. His eyes were squeezed shut as he held his ear which was shooting with pain.

The ringing kept getting louder, and all of a sudden the world turned on its side as he got hit with a wave of nausea.

“Steve?!”

His knees had buckled and he was on all fours on the sand, kneeling as he gagged. Nothing came up, but he sat there still.

“Holy shit are you okay?” Robin tan forward and put a hand on his back, leaning over to try and get a look at his face.

“Are you sick? What’s going on?”

“Hnnng… ear infection… acting up…” he groaned.

Realization washed over her face. She remembered he did mention it when he came in.

“Jesus Steve, you really scared me. Can you stand?”

He took a shake breath in before nodding. Robin cupped under his elbow as he got to his feet.

“I think you need to take a break. And probably some Asprin. I’ll take you to the tower.”

She helped Steve sit in the passenger seat of the buggy and loaded up the rescue board back on. Hopping into the driver seat, she flicked on the ignition and made the short drive up the sand.

“You go take a break with Nancy. I’m taking the buggy so I can try and cover North and South side.”

“Thanks Robin.” He said, slowly making his way up the tower stairs. “I should be back out in like 20 minutes. Give the Asprin some time to kick in…”

“Take your time, Stevie. I got this!”

#whumptober 2022 #s/tranger t/hings #lifeguard au #kb au’s #s/teve h/arrington #jr lifeguard!robin #lifeguard!jonathan #lifeguard!nancy #beach lifeguard!steve #whump

[jacqcrisis]

6. What’s one fact about the universe of [insert fic] that you didn’t get a chance to mention in the fic itself?23. What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?32. What’s your ideal fic length to read?

6: All of the unnamed side characters in Tide have backstories cause I have no chill. One in particular I like is the cafe owner in Styx Beach is a trans woman who has a wife she married before transitioning but they stayed together even after. Most of the non-church side of town knows this and accepts it, and her and Charon have a nice acquaintanceship when she's in town for the tourist season. Something Hermes finds out after they start dating as Charon keeps getting few day old pasties for free from the cafe and he gives her funky looking, hard to sell fruit to use in said pastries in exchange.

23: Human/Villain enemies to enemies who hate that they love each other. Happy ending? Sad ending? Doesn't matter. The bad times hurt. The good times hurt more because it can't last. These are two people are fundamentally not allowed to be together, not allowed to exist and be happy as long as they other is alive but they yearn for each other. They keep making mistakes. They keep admitting to things they shouldn't. They have a weakness and its the one person they need to stop. They stand in a room, alone, knife to each other's throats, one twitch from finally ending this but also one breath from consummating something that should have never been given enough life to grow into what it is and you, the reader, have to sit there know that either way, it's going to end badly.

I have never been in a fandom or come up with a story that matches the energy I want for this jumbled set of disparate feelings but I want it. I want to write it.

32: Depends on the mood. Usually, I'll read things between 3k-15k, but when I find a long slowburn, the ideal length is over 60k. Though I honestly don't think there's a gold standard as long as the pacing is good.

#jacq answers #jacq writes #beach fic #thank you!!! #that trope also needs more whump than necessary #a cavalcade of whump #once i figure out a story that fits those parameters #its all over baby

[whumpberry-cookie]

hi i'm that trigun whump anon haha i'll call myself that XD trigun stampede has so much angst, it's like every week it gets worse ;_;

but if you will be interested in watching more, trigun anime from 1998 has more lighthearted, funny scenes and interactions! especially between vash and wolfwood, that's my fav ship so i kinda had to mention it ^^ but it still has angst and i mean it, especially in the second half of the anime. it has whump too!

98 anime is finished and it's just another adaptation/ alternative version of the story and it isn't any prequel to trigun stampede, so you can watch it on its own. it aired long before manga was finished so it differes from the source material (i didn't read manga yet but i'm definitely going to :))

Ahh!! You were so right, Trigun Whump Anon!

I love the show so much and my heart's bleeding at the same time fjjajfjanfjwjd

And thank you for letting me know! I'M IN SERIOUS NEED for some VashWood fluff/comedy/bonding moments. I'll watch the older version too for sure!!

(I also really enjoyed noticing these small moments when Vash's upside-down or his glasses reflect the light and it really gives the vibe of the design from 98)

I'm so happy we can be fangirling over this show together cnsnckajfjandndjsjxj!!!

VashWood's superior :)

#thank you for your recommendations anon!! #trigun whump anon #Vash needs and deserves Anime Beach Episode #let the boy have fun in red swimming suit. And eat yummy ice cream. or he'd just swim in his jacket? #Oh wait- there's no ocean there- #So maybe Swimming Pool Party #the boy deserves to have opportunity to be silly and goofy poor baby ndncjsncnajcjdj #(at the same time these kicks in stomach in first episode-- ahh beautiful whumpee) #i'm conflicted

[envysparkler]

envy, I've missed you writing tim whump, any hcs maybe?

Alas, I'm on vacation, so I haven't gotten much writing done. Also don't have many Tim ideas--sadly, he is not my favorite, and thus does not get as much of my mental idea generator space.

#envy answers #I tried #brain refused to give me tim whump #also I got only like three hours of sleep #but the sunrise on the beach was gorgeous

[cinderella-ish]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Fruits Basket - Takaya Natsuki (Manga), Fruits Basket (Anime 2019) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Honda Tohru & Sohma Yuki, Honda Tohru/Sohma Kyou, Sohma Kyou & Sohma Yuki, Kuragi Machi/Sohma Yuki Characters: Honda Tohru, Sohma Yuki, Sohma Kyou, Kuragi Machi, Sohma Momiji, Sohma Hatsuharu, Sohma Hiro, Sohma Kisa, Sohma Kagura, Sohma Rin Additional Tags: Watermelons, Injury, Minor Injuries, Clumsiness, Snark, Summer, Summer Vacation, Games, Beach House, Whumptober 2023, Whumptober, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Teasing, Humor Series: Part 7 of Whumptober 2023: Fruits Basket Edition Summary:

Back at the beach house, a game of watermelon splitting goes wrong.

#whumptober2023 #No.18 #blindfold #fruits basket #furuba #fruba #fanfic #blood tw #injury tw #whump #hurt/comfort #humor #watermelon splitting #suikawari #ao3 #ao3feed #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #ao3 writer #yuki sohma #tohru honda #kyo sohma #machi kuragi #beach house #by cinderella-ish #my fanfiction

[muffinlance]

Extreme long shot, but looking for a fic I read years ago, that to my knowledge is NOT on AO3 or FF, just on someone's blog or maybe a small hosting site. It's a three(?)-part series.

Stuff I remember: Zhao kills Iroh pre-north-pole; he dies on a beach due to shrapnel, I think. Zuko wanders off in a daze, stays with a nice Earth Kingdom woman for awhile, then embarks on Messing With Zhao's Shit until Zhao catches him. Gaang rescues him (from Pohuai?) after whump.

Zuko leads them back to the Earth Kingdom woman for a safe place to rest, meanwhile Zuko's crew has found her and given her a letter+their location+tell our stupid prince he's not the only one who wants to Mess The Fire Nation's Shit Up. Zuko and the Gaang go to his ship, whose treason against the Fire Nation is already in progress (and they've gotten their families out of the Fire Nation to avoid reprisal, so Jee's wife is there). Katara bonds with the ship healer, who teaches her non-bending healing and is both salty and instructive. Ends incompletely right as Zuko and the Gaang are about to leave the ship.

Those parts of the series are a good read, but I am dying to re-read the part that's an Iroh POV of the royal family, including Ozai's strategic murdering of all of Iroh's children (he had more than Lu Ten in this AU), and Iroh's extremely chilling "maybe I should do the same to his" thoughts until baby Zuko wins him over. It is PEAK disfunctional Fire Family.

I thought I bookmarked this somewhere, but I can't for the life of me find it. Plz send help.

EDIT: FIC FOUND! See the reblog chain for the link, it's in the second post.

EDIT EDIT: This is. Even better than I remembered. My heart hurts, ow. <3

#trying to archive all the fics I like to re-read #and it is driving me insane that I misplaced this one #because I know it took me several hops through ancient fic rec pages to find it originally #heeeeelp #avatar the last airbender #atla #Zuko #Iroh #Sokka #Aang #Katara #Jee #Zhao #The Fic That Got Away

[alazystranger]

zolu fic recommendations? (i can take reading angst now)

Ooh, this is going to be bit of a long post. i have tried to include a mix of both angsty and otherwise.

*cracks knuckles* alright let's get down to it! I have included the summaries as given by the authors below the link.

let thy sword be thy tongue by queerweather. A personal favorite! I go back to this one a lot.

Hindsight is twenty-twenty, and Zoro is not afraid of Luffy handling his swords; Zoro is afraid of how Luffy handling his swords might unravel him.

Love you by willoffire123. Both angsty and sweet! Kind of like my comfort fic

When Luffy goes overboard one night during a winter storm, Zoro dives after him and the two are separated from their ship. Stranded on a winter island, slowly freezing to death, Luffy and Zoro come to realize their long dormant feelings for each other. Can they say their love in two words or less? Or will the winter island take their lives before they get the chance?

Loyal Till Death Do Us Part by StygianHeart. You said you can take angst now, anon? *cackles maniacally* this one has it all- whump luffy, traumatized zoro and what not. It has 13 chapters and it's absolutely worth it

Roronoa Zoro knows he’s loyal to a fault. And maybe that loyalty is only for his Captain and Crew. But realizing his loyalty for Luffy is also something more, something more personal and emotional, was not what Zoro wanted. And he definitely didn’t want the voices in his head to get so loud. But hey, we never get what we want, do we? In which Zoro figures out he’s in love with his captain and is in great denial, all while struggling through emotional repression and a bunch of shit he doesn’t deserve. Go figures.

running just to keep my hands on you by nevermordor. another fic i love to read again and again.

The thing they do is kind of like a game, because Luffy likes games, but it’s also kind of a competition because Zoro can’t not turn anything and everything into a competition. It doesn’t have a name and there are only two rules, because more than two would just be making things boring and overcomplicated. 1. Whoever takes out the most guys in a fight is the winner 2. Whoever is the loser has to do whatever the winner says “Why’s it gotta be a whole game and stuff," Luffy says. "That’s gonna take too long.” “It makes sex more fun," Zoro explains. "You gotta win it, you gotta earn it. Like anything good in life. Like pirate king or greatest swordsman.” Luffy considers this.

A gamble on love by SnailorBee. short and fluffy. had me grinning like an idiot. perfect fic to recover from the angsty ones.

Pre-Time Skip! "We have a bet amongst the crew, minus Chopper. You want in?" "A bet?" Brook repeated, mystified. "About what?" "If those two idiots are dating or not." Nami jerked her chin in the direction of the nap pile behind him. Strawhats and their bets about Luffy and Zoro.

To cut your teeth on love by freckledshoulderblades. basically a series of snippets from their first meeting to just after timeskip but full of zolu feels.

Zoro meets Luffy and gives himself over wholeheartedly the instant Wadō is placed between his teeth again. Luffy meets Zoro and decides in a heartbeat that Zoro is his.

poly philtatos(the most loved by far) by swordsmans. another personal favorite!

He keeps moving forward at a steady pace, resisting the urge to run because how fucking embarrassing would that be, running because he missed them, and as he breaks through the treeline he shouts, “Oi, oi—what took you guys so long? It's been—” And then he freezes, because yes, actually—something is very, very wrong. The Sunny is anchored just off shore, close enough to see the deck but far enough away that the crew has had to take the Mini Merry to make land. Scattered across the beach in various stages of chaos—rolling around, yelling, fighting—are his crew but not his crew, so similar and yet so, so different. They look younger, fresher, and whatthefuck there, on the deck of the Sunny just peering over the railing, he catches a flash of green—his own green hair— “Ah, fuck,” he grunts, and then immediately turns back around because no, actually, he does not want to deal with this.

These are a few of my picks. if you want more/shorter fics/if you were looking for something else, don't hesitate to send me another ask!

#zolu fic recs #zolu fanfic #these fics are really so precious to me it's insane #my second ask yay #zolu

[sundrop-writes]

Your First Kiss With Jason Todd

Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary:

Jason always thought he hated you. He did hate you.

Until he didn't.

Until his love for you ruined him in ways he couldn't even imagine.

Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Reader. Frenemies to Lovers. Pure Angst (Hurt, No Comfort). Set during Season 3.

Word Count: 8,200

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: This fic is almost entirely angst - hurt, no comfort. This fic does not have a happy ending!!! So be warned of that before you enter here. Jason and the reader are described as ‘hating’ each other, but they are more like frenemies/annoyances - they have a playful banter (at the time, even they don’t know that they like arguing because it’s sexual tension and passion for each other); the reader is completely gender neutral - the only pronouns used for the reader are you/yours; this is mostly written from Jason’s POV (which is where most of the angst comes from); Jason describes himself as a ‘zombie’ or ‘half-alive’ - but he is fully alive and has all of his mental faculties, he is just freaked out about the fact that he was resurrected; the reader does not have any meta powers, but is described as being very good at combat (this does not denote the reader’s body type); mentions of sex and some sexual themes - but there is no outright smut and no detailed descriptions of sex; mentions of negative stereotypes surrounding frat boys/frat houses - including STDs and group sex (mentioned in a negative light); mentions of Jason masturbating (and thinking about the reader while doing it); mentions of Jason’s canon trauma (being kidnapped and tortured by Deathstroke, dropped off the building); mentions of Jason being killed by the Joker (and being ressurected by Crane); mentions of the reader mourning Jason’s death; mentions of drugs and drug addiction (based around the canon storyline of the anti-fear gas); mentions of Jason’s trauma surround his mother’s drug addiction; mentions of Jason killing Hank (as in the canon); the reader is kidnapped (by Crane or someone who works for Crane) and held hostage, and later rescued by Jason; somewhat graphic descriptions of violence (Jason beating up Crane, other background instances), gory descriptions of a death toward the end (mentions of acid burns and choking on non-breathable air); major character death - the reader character does die. Like I said - no happy ending. Sorry not sorry.

A/N: This is set during Season 3 - and this does feature spoilers for Season 3 if you haven't seen Titans before. So if you wanna watch the show spoiler free, definitely avoid this fic. I was imagining this to be set around episode 6 or episode 7, before Crane's plan to use the ice cream factory is taken down by the Titans, but obviously Jason breaking away from Crane's control so early goes against the canon - so there's that. Also, if you wanna pair some music with this for something truly heartbreaking, I would highly recommend the classic Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush, or the highly underrated Colorado Sunrise by 3OH!3 (the lyrics are way more depressing than people realize, and I love it as a whump song. oomf). I also feel like the song Cloud 9 by Beach Bunny would go so well with this fic, but in like - the most devastating way. I haven't written something this cruel since I wrote Ghosting and I had so much fun doing it. You can't leave me alone with whump for too long, I turn into a monster. I need to go back to smut again quickly lmao.

...

Jason Todd was in love with you. 

It was something that he hated himself for. Actually, it was one of the most infuriating, devastating facts in the world. But it was true. You were someone who was so entirely amazing. You were beautiful - literally the hottest person Jason had ever met who wasn’t photoshopped or catered to be some unrealistic daydream. You were clever and smart and strong. You could kick anybody’s ass on any day of the week and still have enough energy left to tell them how much of an idiot they were and list all of the reasons why. 

And you would definitely never love Jason back. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that he could ever have someone like you. 

So he kept all of that stupid, idiotic love to himself. It was a secret that he had sworn to die with - and technically, he already had. 

Jason tried not to linger on the very fucked up, seemingly impossible fact that he had come back from the dead. And now he was existing as some weird, fucked up zombie thing - resurrected from having his skull caved in by the Joker to do Jonathan Crane’s bidding. This definitely wasn’t what Jason would have wanted out of a renewed life - but hey: when an Arkham prisoner gives you rotten lemons. 

When Jason wasn’t beating down drug dealers, stealing money, or strapping bombs to people - when he was trying his hardest not to focus on the fact that he had died and he was now living some strange half-life, reliant on Crane’s drugs, he was thinking about you. He thought about you a lot. 

He hadn’t come into contact with you since his strange foray back into the land of the living. That was probably for the best. He knew that you had freshly come back to Gotham, upon Dick’s request. Nightwing had called for backup from all the ex-Titans to help end Red Hood’s reign of terror. Jason wanted to stay as far away from you as possible. 

Genuinely, he didn’t want you getting caught in the crossfire of whatever Crane was planning. He wished you had stayed out of Gotham, but he knew that you were too loyal, too good not to come to the aid of the Titans when they needed you. He couldn’t reveal himself to you just for a taste of nostalgia - one last argument before you sold him down the river for good. But fuck - he thought about you a lot. 

When the two of you had first met, you were the last person he ever thought that he would surrender that stupid, soft label of love to. Even months into first knowing you - he would have said that he hated you. He would have told anybody that he found you to be the most annoying person on earth. 

Your relationship used to be the worst kind of dance. 

Every single time that Jason opened his mouth, you said something to contradict him. To a point, he believed that you didn’t even fully stand behind the things you said - you just enjoyed arguing against him. That you did it for sport. You used every single last bit of your time and energy to get under his skin. From mocking him to calling him a fuckboy to prodding at his grammar, poking holes in his points by smugly correcting him. He always found you to be the most infuriating person in any room. But it seemed that the more frustrated he got with you, the more cool headed you remained. 

He tried to mock you back, and you shrugged it off. Every time he became visibly annoyed in your presence - you giggled. He wanted to strangle you. 

And it was one fated day that he realized the line between heat fueled by frustration and heat fueled by lust truly weren’t that different. 

… 

“Jason! I thought I smelled you coming down the hall!” 

Jason groaned when he heard you make this comment. 

He thought that for once, he could have some peace to train alone - but it appeared that he would have no such luck. You were already in the training room, holding a long bo-staff as you ran some drills. Apparently, you were eager to exercise your mouth too - already whipping off clever insults the minute that Jason entered the room. 

When all he could muster was a glare in your direction, you let out a giggle. His blood boiled. 

“Between that god awful Axe body wash and that alcohol based aftershave that you like to drown yourself in, you smell like a walking frat house.” You continued, blabbering on even though Jason had made no efforts to engage you. At least not yet. “Just throw in some Busch Light and weed, and I might be able to catch gonorrhea just from the stench.” 

That was the nerve that hooked Jason into the conversation. First of all - he smelled fucking delightful. He always made hygiene one of his personal priorities. He was absolutely not one of those guys with crusty, sweaty balls. And second of all - he was not one of those STD spreading manwhores. He was clean in all senses. He always used a condom. 

“Sounds like you’ve got experience with that.” Jason quipped back. 

He looked to you for some kind of reaction, some inkling that he had gotten under your skin even a fraction of the way that you did his. His movements were rough with annoyance as he began wrapping his knuckles with tape so he could have a few rounds with the heavy bag - mostly out of a need to pound out his frustration on something. He was getting too angered with your presence in the room and not wanting to snap and take it out on you. (He already had enough on his record with Bruce, and despite popular opinion - he was trying to improve.) 

When you weren’t quick to respond, Jason continued. 

“You used to letting frat boys all over you? You seem like the type of person who would enjoy a good, sloppy frat house train. Twenty guys, one after the other, none of them knowing your name, just because you’re so needy for a good fuck.” 

Jason grinned, feeling like he had won this conversation with the essence of shock alone. 

But no. As always, you remained cool. You grinned right back at him, stepping toward him, crowding into his personal space as you said your next words in a low, smooth voice. 

“Sounds like you spend an awful lot of time picturing me running a train.” You smirked. “Is that why you’re always so late getting up in the morning? You wake up and the first thing you do is get a hand on your dick, imagining me getting fucked by a lineup of guys? Probably just wishing that one of them was you.” 

Jason’s face fell flat. 

You were so strikingly confident in your words that it made his stomach twist. Facing him down, speaking such filthy words without flinching - embarrassment and heat collided inside of him. Even more so with what you did next. 

You put a hand out in front of your crotch, mimicking the motions of jacking off while you mocked him in a broken voice. 

“Oh, oh fuck Y/N! Come on! Take my sloppy, frat house cock!” 

You then mocked a whiny series of moans that must have been Jason’s fake orgasm - and while Jason’s insides bubbled with a confusing heat, you quickly dissolved off into laughter. 

“Shut up.” Jason snapped, forcing his eyes down to focus on the process of taping himself up - praying that you wouldn’t see the heat that had spread across his cheeks. “You’re the fucking worst.” 

“Only when I’m with you.” You replied, blowing him a kiss - to which he stuck his middle finger up at you. 

He was eternally thankful when you went back to your own training in silence, only taking occasional glances up in his direction. 

… 

After that point, Jason had to admit to himself that he was attracted to you, at the very least. He could no longer deny that you were insanely attractive; you were a very, very hot person. And somehow, even past your annoying habits, he was being drawn into the orbit of your gorgeous looks and your wonderfully cocky, filthy mouth. 

But he still hated you. He definitely still hated you. 

He hated it even more when you became right - and you did become the object of some of his more heated fantasies. He became downright annoyed at the times he had his hand around his cock and imagined himself hate fucking you - imagined forcing every cocky retort out of your mouth, imagining you breathless and needy beneath him, begging for more with every hard push of his hips. 

He hated how everything changed after Doctor Light. 

Jason wasn’t thinking about your stupid beautiful cocky mouth after that. His mind was full of glass and he was being shredded from the inside out. He came home broken. After everything that happened with Deathstroke and Doctor Light - he was some fragile bird; some chewed up, used, pitiful thing. He didn’t have the energy to fight you anymore, not even for sport. 

So after he was rescued, still floating in numbness, he didn’t know what to do when you burst into his room unannounced. You practically shoved the door off its hinges, and stormed across the room toward him - tears hot in your eyes. You pounded curled fists against his chest, screaming at the top of your lungs. Half of your words were static in his ears, but the tone of your voice pierced through his heart like an arrow. You called him stupid, asking where in his empty head he had gotten the idea to go off by himself. 

Jason didn’t have it in him to fight you. So he broke down. 

He felt like the world’s biggest idiot for crying in front of you. But his throat was tight and he choked on the tears - he was too tired. He just couldn’t hold them back. He screamed back, and asked you to lay off. To get off his fucking back. 

You looked shocked. Like you had swallowed a piece of glass. 

You surprised him when you uncurled your fists and wrapped the most tender, gentle hands around his back, and for the first time since he had known you - you embraced him in a hug. He was weak and he needed it more than he was willing to admit, so he let you. He sobbed against your neck, his own cries too loud that he missed the timid sound of your apology. 

That wasn’t the only time you surprised him that week. 

He knew it was because he was some broken little bird, but you started taking care of him. You brought him plates of food without being asked, and when he attempted to shove them away - you refused. You told him to eat before you had to ‘shove it down his fucking throat’. 

You didn’t mock him. You didn’t correct him. And you surprised him even more when you turned the sharpness of your tongue on the others when they tried attacking Jason. They accused him of planting booze in Hank’s room or drawing crosses on Rachel’s mirror to fuck with her, among other things. And you popped veins in your neck going on a winding rant about how stupid and baseless their accusations were. 

Jason wasn’t sure if you knew it, but you jumping to his defense wrapped him in a blanket of protection that he had never before felt. It was so entirely strange, but welcomed coming from you. Especially because he knew that it was genuine. He knew that you didn’t have any ulterior motives for doing this - for some reason, you just wanted to help him. 

When you extended an invitation toward him to come with you as the group dispersed, torn apart by Dick’s nasty, festering secret - Jason felt welcomed by you. He knew that the dynamic between the two of you was changing at a breakneck speed, and he had to embrace it. He found himself eager to follow the weird, newly developing kinship that he had with you rather than wanting to stay in the empty coldness of the Tower with a brooding Dick. 

From there, it was really difficult for Jason to pin down the exact moment that his feelings transitioned toward you from casual lust to something more. He couldn’t tell exactly when it turned into that panic-inducing, ‘oh my god, I’m fucked’ feeling of being in love. After leaving San Francisco, during the entirety of the time that the two of you were in Gotham together, your relationship remained completely platonic. 

It was a few short weeks spent kicking ass as the best vigilante duo the city had ever seen, but there wasn’t a single moment Jason could point to where the two of you lit up with that romantic spark. It wasn’t some romcom bullshit come to life. It was just the two of you being friendly for once. The two of you helping each other survive. 

Back then - Jason wanted you, badly. Even if he didn’t know just how badly, he wasn’t going to fuck up the whole dynamic just to get laid. He felt safe with you. He kicked ass with you. He was good with you. And during that short time - he was happy. So he wasn’t going to do anything to risk that happiness. Happiness was too rare for him. So why the hell would he try putting the moves on you, scare you away, and fuck it all up? 

… 

A little slice of that happiness came in the form of Hal’s Diner. It was a place in downtown Gotham, open twenty four hours, and you and Jason had gotten into the habit of stopping there after your patrols. 

The two of you would kick some ass - break the legs of some drug dealers, make sure that women got home safe if they were walking late at night, keep the streets a little safer. And then you would change out of your patrol outfits and head to the diner, just as the sun was rising over the scummy streets of Gotham. You would get breakfast and Jason would get dinner. He would steal one of your eggs and you would take half his burger, and you would always comment about him putting way too much ketchup on his plate. 

It was harmony. 

“You know, every time I see you make a grown man cry, it brings me such intense joy.” Jason grinned as he said this, reminiscing about a beautiful moment from earlier in the night. 

He spoke about it in the same manner that someone might reminisce about seeing a relative or a cute puppy. But this was natural for the two of you - since you had taken up vigilantism as a duo, violence was a sweet art for the two of you. 

“Well, if he would have left that girl alone the first time I asked, I wouldn’t have broken his arm.” You shrugged, speaking very casually about it yourself. 

You then picked a piece of bacon up off your plate and took a bite, grinning at Jason fondly. You did appreciate it when he complimented your skills. 

Jason chuckled. 

“You know, it is nice to see you using your powers for good instead of evil.” He commented. 

“My powers?” You parroted back, your mouth half busy with chewing, your words slightly muffled. 

You didn’t have any metahuman powers, so this comment did leave you slightly confused. 

“Yeah.” He nodded, entirely confident in the statement he had to follow. “Your endless amount of energy to harass people and be endlessly annoying. The powers you used to spend all your time using on me.” 

“You used to deserve it.” You were quick with your tongue as usual, not missing a beat with this statement. 

Jason’s only rebuttal was to pick up a french fry - one not doused in ketchup - and throw it at your head. You flinched slightly when it bounced off your forehead - but when it landed in your lap, you easily picked it up and put it in your mouth, not thinking twice about doing so as you tossed Jason a wicked grin. 

That. That must have been the moment. 

That was the moment he realized that he was truly in love with you. You grinning at him from across the table, your smile lighting up your whole face, playing around with him like he actually made you happy. Like he could spend the rest of his life making you happy. 

That’s why it hurt so much more when your phone buzzed on the table a few minutes later. When you told him that it was the Titans - Gar in trouble. That’s why it hurt so fucking much when you left. 

Jason knew, in hindsight, that he should have gone with you. But he flailed like a rabbit caught in a snare, and rather than just agreeing with you, he felt the trap tightening around him, and he opted to chew off his own foot rather than simply letting you help him free. 

He stupidly argued that it was some test from Dick. That the Titans could deal with their own problems. Jason knew that deep down, he was still tender from everything that had happened - Dick dropping him, even by accident. The accusations, the secrets. The rejection. He felt like he was laying down a line - he was letting you make a choice. 

Him or the Titans. 

But it shouldn’t have been a choice. It was Gar. Jason should have stood by his friend. He should have gone with you. 

Deep down, Jason feared that if he did go with you - the Titans wouldn’t want him back. He feared another cutting rejection. They would simply bench him again, they wouldn’t even need him to help save Gar. They wouldn’t want him to help. He was useless, after all. He was careless and stupid. That was why he needed you to choose him. To stay. 

That was what his mind was screaming out as you looked at him, disappointment flooding your eyes as you questioned him about Gar, about going back to the Titans. 

Stay. He silently begged. Pick me. 

And watching you snatch up your jacket in a huff and get up from the table, your food barely touched - his eyes boring into your back as you retreated - it was like having his heart carved out of his chest. And because he was so fucked up, he just sat there. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. He didn’t chase you. 

He let you go. 

Having you suddenly disappear from his life was like missing a limb. Jason was constantly aching around your non-presence, constantly missing you. He felt torn up from the inside out, wondering if his frayed nerve endings would ever heal themselves. When he went to Donna’s funeral, he stared at you from across the tarmac - telling himself that if you even so much as glanced in his direction, he would cross that sickly one hundred foot black sea and talk to you. He would make the leap and apologize. 

But you were fettered and stubborn and you kept your head straight. You knew it was the ultimate punishment not to acknowledge him. So the moment that the plane took off, Jason shoved on his helmet and sped off on his bike.

He easily became numb after that. 

He went back to Bruce - to lay low and lick his wounds, or because it was the only place he knew, he wasn’t sure. He tried to be a Robin that wasn’t with you. It didn’t work. He felt more broken than ever. It was cheesy, pathetic bullshit - but he talked about you in therapy. Leslie encouraged him to reach out to you, but every time Jason’s fingers hovered over your contact in his phone, his hands shook, and all he remembered was the look of pure scorn you had given him before you snatched up your things and left the diner that day. 

He thought of you as he suited up to go after the Joker. He considered how easy it would be for the two of you to take down the stupid clown together - how flawlessly the two of you worked as a team. 

Jason thought of you as he drew his last breath, soaked in blood and struggling past the world-ending pain. He wondered, in a haze, if you were warm in your bed in The Tower while he was pressed into the cold ground, taunted by the laughter that rung in his ears. 

… 

Jason didn’t know how hard you cried for him when you heard the news of his death. 

You wouldn’t have dared to say that the hole in the middle of your chest was caused by love - caused by the heartbreak of a lover being stolen. But you certainly felt robbed when you heard that the Joker had killed him. You seethed and you heavily considered marching toward Gotham to seek revenge. 

You knew that Dick was angry with Bruce for finally giving in to what the Joker wanted and killing him. For finally ending their sick, twisted game. But when you found out - you were glad that the clown was dead. You wrapped one of Jason’s stolen shirts around your pillow, and you slept a bit easier at night. 

…

Jason knew that he should have left town. 

Crane claimed that Red Hood was going to be the next Batman - that he was going to be something the Bat never could. That he was going to actually keep the streets safe. But so far, all Jason had done was steal, kill, terrorize, torture. Crane spoke of omelets and breaking eggs - pigs and bacon, and ‘marketing’ himself to the public. But truly, it never made any real sense to Jason. 

Jason knew that now, he was the type of man lurking in the night whose arm you would have broken if he was lingering too closely to the vulnerable. And you would have been right for doing so. 

Jason was tired. He felt lost - directionless. He was getting tired of Crane’s bullshit. He missed you. But he knew that he couldn’t just go running back to you. You likely wouldn’t have accepted him back into your life if he did. 

When Crane called him in that night, wanting to discuss ‘the game plan’ - Jason was worn. His patience for all of it was already wearing thin, and what happened next - it truly caused him to snap. 

Jason showed up in full gear, wearing the costume of an alias he no longer believed in; foolishly dressed up as someone he had truly begun to resent. He was holding his helmet in hand, his heavy boots clunking on the floor as he dodged around Crane’s egghead lackeys - a random group of people who were working to convert the anti-fear gas into a larger batch. He knew that they were aiming to get more and more people in the city hooked; if Jason hadn’t abandoned his morals in this new life, he might have cared more about the consequences. 

Instead, he made a B-line for Crane, who was typing away at something on the computer. 

“Jason, my boy!” Crane grinned at him, giving a false, performative grin over his shoulder. “Lovely evening, isn’t it?” 

“What do you want?” Jason asked, his tone flat. 

He was far too tired of Crane to engage in more word play or stupid riddles. 

“Never one for pleasantries, are you?” Crane chuckled. 

Jason didn’t offer him a reply - seemingly confirming his theory with this simple act. 

Truthfully, he wasn’t. He wasn’t feeling very pleasant today. He hadn’t felt very pleasant any day since he had been so rudely pulled from the morgue and zombified to do someone else’s bidding against his will. Being an undead puppet didn’t really make a person all that pleasant. 

Crane reached into the pocket of his oddly quaint grandpa sweater and pulled something out - a small glass vial, containing some clear liquid. It looked harmless - like water. But Jason knew Crane, and he knew that whatever it was must have been entirely dangerous if Crane was carrying around such a small dose of it. 

“Do you know what this is?” He asked, giving the vial a small shake, jostling the liquid inside to emphasize his point. 

Jason hesitated before he shook his head in the negative. He hated to appear clueless and stupid around such an intelligent man, but he didn’t want to guess and be wrong. He knew that being misinformed around Crane was dangerous. But being cocky and pretending to know more than Crane was even more dangerous. 

“This is a very highly concentrated form of liquid Methadone.” Crane explained. “It’s a highly addictive substance. And I think it’s going to give the mass market version of your formula that little extra kick that it needs, ya know? Keep the people coming back for more!” 

He let out a bright chuckle, as though he was talking about a cleaning product that was marketed on an infomercial or some kind of great recipe for soup. That was one of the things that scared Jason the most about Crane - his ability to talk about life changing, deadly things with such jarring enthusiasm. He truly thought of bringing people their worst nightmares and their most painful deaths as ‘beautiful work’. 

“What about it?” Jason prodded quietly. 

He knew that Crane hadn’t called him here just to brag about a new idea to add something to the formula. He needed Jason for something. 

Jason just hoped that he wasn’t looking to use him as a guinea pig again. He would likely rather die again than go down the path of heavy drugs. One thing he had vowed - he wouldn’t end up like his mother. 

“Well, you see, my boy, that’s where you come in.” Crane grinned at him. “Due to its highly addictive qualities, Methadone is also a highly regulated substance. But because I am the wonderfully well-connected man that I am, I happen to know that there is a very large stash of it just sitting there, ripe for the taking, in this quaint little building uptown.” 

Jason’s gut stirred with suspicion. 

“Where uptown?” He asked. 

“Well, it’s just-” Crane stuttered, and then sighed, deciding to get it out and over with. “The Wayne Memorial Cancer Research Facility.” 

Jason glared at him. 

“But see, it’s fine! Because I happen to know someone who knows their way around the Wayne Tech security systems very well. So Red Hood breaks in there, gets me my-” 

“No.” Jason said flatly, before he turned and started to walk away. “Find somebody else. We’re done.” 

Crane had threatened to replace him before. Crane had no-so-subtly threatened to kill him alongside being replaced. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe Jason would be better off dead. Maybe Crane would find out that Jason was irreplaceable after all. Maybe Jason was a dirty, seedy criminal shaped by life for only one thing: ruining the lives of others. If Jason couldn’t do that, he wasn’t sure what he would do. 

But he wasn’t going to fucking do this. 

Killing was one thing. Stealing from drug dealers and mobsters was another. What he had done to Hank had crossed too many lines - but it didn’t even begin to approach the lines that this crossed. 

Stealing from a facility that Thomas and Martha had set up when Bruce was just a child, shitting all over their legacy, using skills that Bruce had taught him in order to do it? That was too far. Jason couldn’t say that he had morals anymore, but he still had that voice of common decency in the back of his head yelling at him to stop it. Maybe it was your voice, correcting him at every turn the way you used to. 

He should listen to that voice. 

He should leave town. 

“Hold on, hold on there, Jaybird!” Crane called after him. 

The pure annoyance that the nickname caused was the only thing that stopped Jason. He considered turning around and shooting Crane just to shut him up. 

“See, I think you forget how this works.” The man went off again - talking in that humming tone he always used that made Jason’s ears numb, made his brain switch off. “Every loyal dog gets a treat. A little motivation to get that Pavlovian mind barking in the right direction.” 

Jason turned back around then. 

“Nothing you say ever makes any fucking sense.” He barked out, ready to leave Crane with these as his last remarks before he left Gotham forever. 

But then Crane tapped at a few things on his keyboard and pulled something up on the monitor - a dark, grainy video feed that had Jason squinting his eyes and walking closer to get a better look. 

When Jason was able to truly take in the scene - his stomach dropped. 

It was you. 

You were sitting alone in some anonymous, concrete warehouse - probably in the industrial district of Gotham, if Jason had to guess. Crane didn’t like to keep his insurance policies too far away, he liked to play it close to the vest. You were tied to a chair, duct tape tight over your mouth, very much there against your will. You were looking straight ahead, with the camera angled down from the top corner of the room. Even through the grainy, black and white footage, Jason could see the wetness of tears streaking down your face. 

You were terrified. 

Jason’s helmet clattered to the floor, slipping from his grip as the shock overtook his system. 

For the first time in weeks, fighting through the numbness of the drugs and the hazy shock of his new half-life - he was terrified too. Then he was angry. Rage bubbled up inside of him like a sharp, acidic bile. 

“What the fuck have you done?” Jason growled out, the anger setting his jaw so tight that the words could barely escape between his teeth. 

“I told you - every loyal dog gets a treat.” Crane said, a barely contained glee filtering through his voice as he peered over Jason’s shoulder at your weeping face on the screen. 

He clapped a large hand on Jason’s shoulder, and Jason felt himself nearly choke on his own tongue - so swollen with anger that it barely fit in his mouth. 

“So, go fetch, doggie.” Crane continued. “Go get me what I need. Otherwise, that sweet little treat of yours is gonna play dead.” 

Crane leaned over and whispered those last words into Jason’s ear - and that was what truly caused him to snap. 

In a flash, Jason grabbed the hand that was on his shoulder, whipped Crane around - there was a loud crack as Jason broke Crane’s arm. The egghead types who were working on the formula all paused; some of them gasped or hid behind things, but none of them were brave enough to intervene. Jason shoved Crane’s face into the monitor, cracking it out like a spider’s web but never fully obscuring the image of that dark, cold warehouse - the place where you were alone and terrified. 

He twisted Crane’s broken arm, making a sound like glass grinding in on itself, and the man let out a howl. 

“I think you forget how this works.” Jason barked at him, his voice so dark with rage that it almost sounded like he was wearing Red Hood’s voice modulator even though his helmet was on the floor at Crane’s feet. “When dogs get pissed off - they bite.” 

He twisted the injury again, and Crane let out another bitter howl. 

Jason demanded to know where you were, and Crane squeaked out an address. It was in the industrial district, so it checked out in Jason’s mind. It didn’t seem like a trap or a false answer to waste his time. 

Jason shoved the pathetic, useless man to the ground, kicked him in the gut for good measure, and then leaned down to grab his helmet before shoving it on. He would need it in case Crane had anybody stationed there, guarding you. 

Crane shouted something at him as he walked away, but Jason was barely paying attention - now very singular minded on his mission toward you. 

“You have to learn to play by the rules, Red!” Crane choked out. “You won’t like how this ends! I made you! I fucking made you!” 

… 

Jason was surprised to find the building empty. No guards, seemingly no bombs, no gas canisters. At first, he thought it really was a trick, a misdirect to waste his time. But when he had just about given up hope of finding you, searching one of the back most rooms that used to serve as overflow storage for Ace Chemicals - he found you. Concrete and anonymous, some of the beams having eroded away in places from improper chemical storage. 

When you saw him stalking toward you - his gun drawn, heavy boots thudding against the floor, modulator puffing out heavy, mechanical breaths - you let out a terrified whimper past the duct tape and more tears flowed freely down your face. 

Jason felt a twinge of guilt. Of course. You had no clue it was him. 

Perhaps he could get away with the mercy of never revealing himself to you. He could keep his mask on, release you, drop you back off with the Titans and then leave town. But eventually, Dick would tell you who he was. 

At the very least, he could give you the comfort of seeing a familiar face after the hell you had been through. You were wearing a sweatshirt and simple cotton pants, and running shoes - it looked like you had been plucked off the street during a jogging session. He could only imagine how much Crane’s lackeys had scared you. 

Once he was confident that the area was secure, he holstered his gun and then reached up, removing the face mask from his helmet and tossing it aside. 

“Hey, hey, it’s me.” He told you - attempting to be gentle and soothing in his voice. 

He approached you slowly, not wanting you to be scared as he reached to his belt for a knife - only with the intention to cut the ropes around your torso, wrists, and ankles. 

He watched your expression as you flashed through a range of emotions - deep confusion, a bit of relief, sadness, and then strangely - burning anger. You glared at him with the most intense rage he had ever seen from you - more intense even than the day you had stormed into his room and called him stupid and suicidal for going after Doctor Light without backup. 

Jason was slightly afraid of the lecture that would come next, but nonetheless, he knelt beside you and began cutting you free. 

The minute that one of your hands was free, you reached up and ripped the duct tape off your mouth. You took only a fraction of a second to wince in pain from the tender skin of your lips being disturbed before you began verbally tearing into him. 

“Jason Todd!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, so loudly that Jason was sure some of the edges of the corroded concrete pebbled off and fell down just from this. “Jason fucking Todd! I should have known you had something to do with this!” 

“Wh-?” 

Before Jason could question your odd choice of words or even recognize it as an accusation, you raised your other freshly free hand and slapped him squarely across the cheek - it was a hard, skull-shaking clatter. It had Jason dizzy, falling back onto his ass and dropping the knife before he could finish cutting the ropes around your legs. 

“Fucking ow!” Jason griped, reaching up to grab his now very red cheek. 

“You are such an asshole! Of all the completely idiotic, stupid things you have ever done-” 

“I didn’t fucking kidnap you! Okay? I didn’t do shit!” Jason quickly argued back, finally now realizing that you thought he had put you here in the first place. “I’m here to rescue you!” He said each of these words slowly, looking you in the eyes, hoping that his point would get across more firmly this way. 

There was a tense moment as you stared back at him with your jaw locked. It was likely that if your feet hadn’t still been tied, you would have run away - or kicked him. Jason was thankful that you couldn’t do either at the moment.  

“Why?” You asked, finally breaking the tension. 

“What?” Jason gaped. 

This was the last thing he had been expecting. 

He was saving you - why were you questioning him? 

“Why are you ‘rescuing’ me?” You asked, taunting his phrasing of it with a mocking tone and large air quotes. He now regretted freeing your hands. “So you can bargain me off to Dick for ransom money? So you can put a bomb in my chest?” 

You said the last part with intense disdain, tears dancing in your eyes.

So you did know what a monster he was.  

He was surprised that you hadn’t hit him harder. 

Jason heaved a sigh. He reached over and picked up the knife, very slowly, very tentatively resuming cutting the ropes on your legs to free you. 

“I’m just freeing you so that you can be free. That’s it.” He said quietly, defeat lacing through every inch of his voice. “You don’t deserve this.” 

He cut the last rope and folded the knife, sticking it back in his belt. He stood up then and caught a glimpse of your face - you were wearing the most complex expression he had ever seen. Perhaps confusion, perhaps anger. Maybe somewhere deep in your eyes - hurt. 

He turned and moved to leave, hoping you would simply follow him out of the confusing maze of the building and he wouldn’t have to drag you out kicking and screaming. 

“That’s not an answer.” You told him, your tone sharp and certain - the same tone you always used to correct him. 

Jason whipped back around then, heaving a sigh as he looked at you - standing in the middle of the room now, arms folded over your chest, glaring at him on the spot. Cocky and so sure about yourself. Too damn certain and immobile in your points. Infuriating. 

“Why the fuck do you have to make everything so damn complicated?” Jason shot back, annoyance and dread tight in every inch of him. “Why do you have to interrogate me about every damn thing that I do?” 

“Because you make stupid ass decisions when I don’t.” You easily fired back. “Now tell me: why are you doing this?” 

“Because I wanted to.” Jason huffed. 

“Why?” You prodded again. 

He let out another hot huff, and you didn’t let it go. 

“Come on Jason!” You shouted, increasing in volume as you became more frustrated with his lack of an answer. “You didn’t just develop a conscience all of a sudden! Why did you feel the need to suddenly drop everything and come to my rescue? What makes me different than Hank? What makes me different than-?” 

It was the annoyance grinding on him. It was a combination of your nagging voice, the lack of drugs in his system for the first time in weeks. The rawness of the world ragging on his last good nerve. The sound of your voice putting him in line - exactly where he was supposed to be. The way you reminded him of the truth now more than ever. 

“Because I’m in love with you!” Jason shouted. 

It was almost… angry. It was a declaration that hit you like a whip - more like an insult than something warm and kind. It wasn’t made of sweetness, like some moment from a film with a gentle piano riff wrapped around it. It was real - made of the haunting kind of passion that kept Jason awake at night. 

Your eyes widened. Jason’s breathing stilled as he waited for you to react - to say something. 

“Oh.” Your voice cracked around this syllable, and your eyes danced with more tears. 

Jason felt his own heart crack apart inside of his chest, more terror flooding him. 

He had died with the secret because he had never wanted to live up to the embarrassing vulnerability of confessing it. In the deepest part of his mind, he had lived this horror a thousand times. Him finally creeping out onto the edge of oblivion - speaking those words. Confessing. And then you stabbing him in the heart, rejecting him. 

The reality of it ripped through him so much harder than it ever had in his nightmares. 

Any last tiny piece of his soul that had survived being murdered by the Joker had just been shattered by you. 

“Yeah. Fucking oh.” Jason echoed back, his own tears clutching at his throat. 

Seeing him with that naked vulnerability dancing behind his eyes - it reminded you of the same person who came back from being kidnapped by Doctor Light. It reminded you of the real Jason you had gotten to know. 

In that moment, it all came crashing toward you. You gasped harshly as you could barely breathe around it. 

That hole in your chest had been shaped like a lover - it had been shaped like him. Filled with the pain of letting him get hurt, leaving him alone in Gotham to be murdered by the Joker. Filled with the doubt and confusion of never knowing what could have been between the two of you if you had chased those flirtations a little bit farther. 

And now, he was standing right here in front of you, somehow perfectly alive and well - and there was only one possible thing you could do. 

“Jason.” You gasped out his name, unable to fathom more words. 

Before he could move, you reached out and grabbed both sides of his face, one of them still singed with a burning ache where you had slapped him so hard - and you pulled him into a kiss, hard. 

It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t dainty or smooth like some Hollywood love confession - it was hungry. Bordering on feral as you both fought to consume more of the other person, bleeding out little moans and fighting for breath past each other’s lips. Jason’s hands rushed to embrace you, wrapping around your back and grabbing a needy, possessive handful of your ass while you kept your grip tight on his face, keeping his face forcefully close to your own as you devoured his mouth. 

You felt some of his tears escape - such a rush of emotions making him raw and unable to hold them back, and you moaned pitifully into his mouth as he wetness slipped underneath your palms. Whatever it was - his pain, his pleasure; you would take it. He was all yours now. 

… 

Far off, on the other side of Gotham, Crane chuckled quietly to himself as he watched the scene unfold. He had pulled up the camera feed on a separate tablet, seeing as Jason had used his head to crack the monitor. With his broken arm bound in a temporary sling, he used his one good hand to pull something out of a drawer - a remote with a single button. 

“For these violent delights have violent ends,” He recited to himself, still grinning widely as he looked at the two lovers in the grainy, black and white footage. “And in their triumph, die like fire and powder. Which as they kiss, consume. Even the sweetest honey is loathsome in his own deliciousness, if the taste confounds the appetite.” Crane poised his finger on the button. “Therefore, love moderately.” 

He pressed down, and dissolved into more epic laughter as he watched what came next. 

… 

You were only human, and you could only kiss Jason for a few minutes before your brain demanded oxygen. As much as you hated to pull away from the sweet, bruising sting of his lips, you forced yourself back and immediately took in a sharp breath that turned into a rolling pant - Jason let out a needy whine in protest. 

With his arms holding you so securely and the dizzying heat now flowing through you - you almost didn’t catch it. But it was there, in the background, something steadily present that wasn’t there before. 

Beeping. A small, electronic beeping. 

“Do you hear that?” You asked Jason, squinting your eyes with confusion and looking around, trying to find the source of the noise. 

He did hear it. 

“Fuck.” Jason mumbled. 

Panic flooded him. The whole thing had been a trap. 

He pulled away from you hesitantly and grabbed his mask up off the ground, snapping it back on. 

“We have to go. Now.” He told you, his voice now sharp and robotic through the voice filter as he grabbed your wrist and began dragging you away - you became limp to his direction for once and simply followed, fear tight in your gut once again. 

Jason didn’t want to consider the possibilities, but he knew it could be anything from a large bomb, meant to tear you to shreds, to a large dose of fear gas waiting to be deployed. And he didn’t have an antidote at the moment. He needed to get you out of the building and transport you to safety. 

When the two of you came to a door - one of the many that Jason had passed through on his way in - it snapped shut in Jason’s face. It was on some kind of mechanical locking system, that much was apparent. Jason rushed forward, trying to pry it open - but it was welded steel, and it wouldn’t budge. 

Jason heard more slamming - more metal forcing itself shut on the same locking system. 

“Jason?” You croaked, that unsure terror back in your voice again. Something so rare for you. You were looking to him for answers. You were looking to him to rescue you. 

Overhead, the last bits of light were shut out - glimpses of the street lights outside - as thick metal shudders collapsed down over the windows. The room was sealing itself shut, becoming air tight. 

“Stand back.” Jason told you, not waiting to see if you followed the instruction before he pulled out one of his guns and began shooting at the door’s heavy metal hinges. He knew it was futile and he feared that one of the bullets might ricochet off and hit you, but he didn’t have many options left. 

Then he heard it. The gentle hissing of gas being released into the air. 

Jason was naive to have hoped that it was Crane’s classic Fear Gas - that would have been a merciful walk in the park compared to what he had planned for you. Betraying Jonathan Crane meant that Jason had to be truly punished. 

Jason turned to you, wrapping his arms around you, as if trying to shield you from the air itself - but it was too late. You began coughing and struggling to breathe, and Jason looked on with confusion as his chest twisted with guilt. 

With his helmet on, he felt nothing. For the first few moments, he didn’t even understand what was going on as you gasped for air, struggling to form a word as you choked on each breath. Jason had no clue what the substance was or how he could fix it, looking on in horror as thick fog clouded around your ankles - your eyes bulging out of your head as you struggled for oxygen. 

“Y/N?” Jason gasped, holding you by both shoulders as you became weaker and leaned on him. “Y/N?” 

You couldn’t answer him. 

You continued to wheeze, your breath hitching against your throat harshly. As the fog reached up to touch your face, it left angry, blistering marks in your skin. Unlike Jason, you had no armor to protect yourself - and somehow, Crane had turned the air itself acidic. Your eyes became wrecked with bloody red streaks and your face swelled as you continued to choke. 

Jason’s insides screamed, but he felt too still. 

As more of the fog touched you, some of the marks on your neck and your cheek blistered more and opened up, bleeding out pinkish bubbling puss as Jason continued to hold you - he didn’t know what else to do. 

All he could do was hold you. 

A harsh foam seeped out of your mouth as you choked on your last half-breath, and Jason felt a stinging pain consuming him - he wasn’t sure if it was the acidic fog finally breaching through his clothing, or the biting pain of having you limp in his arms - dead, as he huddled there on the floor. 

“Come on.” Jason wept, steaming up the inside of his helmet as he recycled back his own breath now. He reached up to your cheek, accidentally skimming off a layer of your marred skin with his gloved thumb as he tried to wipe away some of the teary blood that had leaked from your eyes. “Come on, Y/N. Wake up.” 

Jason simply wept. And he held you. 

As he looked at the camera feed, Crane smiled. 

“This is what happens when you don’t play by the rules, Red.”

...

A/N: SOOOO obviously this ending leaves us with a lot of questions - did Jason survive? I think this can be interpreted one of two ways: one, Jason did live. He managed to escape somehow, and he had scars all over his body from the acidic fog, and he enacted a very vicious, bloody, torturous revenge on Crane before going into hiding forever (or before using Red Hood to give actual justice to innocent people who needed it, his scars always a reminder of who he lost). Or - he sat there in shock and eventually choked to death as well. Or he pulled the whole 'my life is not worth living anymore' thing and just took off his helmet on purpose. So you can imagine that either of those things happened next.

Also, if you didn't catch it (or, if you're not a Saw person) - this situation was heavily inspired by the final plot twist trap in Saw X. I love the acidic fog, and I feel like Crane could be a trap guy. The Titans version of Crane could be good friends with John, imo.

Also, if you enjoyed this fic, check out my DC Titans Masterlist for more of my other fics!! And please consider reblogging and commenting on this fic to tell me what you liked about it.

#sundrop writes #jason todd #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd x gender neutral reader #jason todd x gn!reader #titans fanfiction #dc titans #titans x reader #dc titans fanfiction

[simply-whump]

Mysterious Lotus Casebook (莲花楼) - Whump List

Whumpee : Li Lian Hua played by Cheng Yi, Fang Duo Bing played by Joseph Zeng and Di Fei Sheng played by Xiao Shun Yao

Synopsis : Ten years ago, Li Xiang Yi, the master of the Sigu Sect, dominated with his superior swordsmanship and was a symbol of light in the martial arts world. However, he suddenly disappeared along with Di Fei Sheng, the leader of the Jinyuan Alliance, after they arranged to battle in the East Sea. Ten years later, Li Lian Hua is a countryside doctor who travels dragging around a lotus tower. He accidentally becomes "famous" and gets pulled into the pugilistic world that he no longer wants to have any connections with. (MDL)

Genres : Mystery, Historical, Action

Warning! Possible spoilers below!

Li Lian Hua

Ep 1 : Fighting, cuts on his face and chest, veins appear on his arm, stabbed, spitting blood, eyes red, falls into the water — Slammed into a table

Ep 2 : Paralysed briefly — Choked

Ep 3 : Unwell, blue veins, treating himself — (Flashback) Stranded on a beach unconscious, wakes up, blaming himself for the death of many — Walking weakly, collapses, treated, bleeding from the mouth, told he lost almost all his power and is poisoned with no cure in sight, told he only has 10 years to live — (Present) Sword at his neck  — Locked up

Ep 4 : Hands tied — Chained, almost tortured, saved

Ep 5 : Hit by rocks, blood at his mouth, found, concern for him, passes out — Unconscious in bed, wakes up from a nightmare

Ep 6-7 : None

Ep 8 : Hit, holding his chest, spitting blood — Sword at his neck

Ep 9 : (Flashback) Crying — (Present) Grabbing his chest, concern for him — Fails to get up

Ep 10 : (Flashback) Has an allergy to peanuts, red spots on his neck — (Present) Pinned against a column, grabbed by the neck, grabbed a second time 

Ep 11 : Pushed, rolls down, hits a rock, falls into water, bruise on his neck

Ep 12 : Arm in a sling — Crying

Ep 13 : Paralysed — Kinda forced to drink some medicine, feeling uncomfortable, inner power given to him forcefully, blue veins on his neck and hands, in pain, spitting blood — Thrown into a pit full of snakes, bitten multiple times, groaning in pain — Spitting blood

Ep 14-17 : None

Ep 18 : Healing someone, using some power, sweating — Collapses, spitting blood —Coughing, concern for him, passes out — Unconscious in bed, concern for him — Walking unsteadily, vision blurry — Told he only has 4 months left to live — Crying — Has trouble getting up, given inner energy

Ep 19-24 : None

Ep 25 : Falls through a trap — Choked, almost stabbed, saved

EP 26 : Holding his chest, kidnaped — Thrown to the ground, surrounded by monsters — Found on the ground seemingly unconscious, concern for him, is fine, helped up

Ep 27 : Identity revealed to Fang Duobing, collapses, spitting blood, passes out — Wakes up, coughing — Walking unsteadily — Waking up in bed, coughing, told he was unconscious for 3 days — Coughing

Ep 28 : Hit, holding his chest

Ep 29 : None

Ep 30 : Arrested — Poison acting up, unwell, cold, curled up on himself, shivering, concern for him, wrapped in blankets — Wakes up in bed, vision blurry — Loses balance briefly — Blue veins on his neck, fighting, spitting blood, concern for him, in an explosion, helped up, attacked, thrown around, spitting blood, weak on the ground, vision blurry, protected — Unconscious, carried — Unconscious in bed, wakes up, concern for him, can’t get up, shaking, blue veins on his hands, coughing, told to lie down, cold, coughing up blood, passes out — Unconscious in bed, treated — Carried unconscious

Ep 31 : Wakes up — Crying — Coughing, refuses to be saved at the cost of someone else’s life

Ep 32 : Crying

Ep 33 : Crying, spitting blood, collapses to one knee, continues to fight even though the poison is acting up

Ep 34 : Crying — Red and blue veins on his wrist, concern for him

Ep 35 : None

Ep 36 : Captured, chained in prison, wrongful accused, frees himself

Ep 37 : Drops a cup, rubbing his eyes — Stabbed by someone he trusted, spitting blood, passes out — Missing — Prisoner, chained, unconscious — Wakes up, vision blurry, weak, coughing blood, blind

Ep 38 : Still chained, coughing — Choked, coughing — Regains sight, manages to free himself 

Ep 39 : Intense final battle, poison acting up — Learns a shocking truth, teary eyed

Ep 40 : Uses his internal power to save someone, coughing, sweating — Walking unsteadily, collapses to one knee, spitting blood, vision blurry, concern for him, passes out — Wakes up in bed, pulse taken — Spitting blood — Leaves (Dies? Lives? You decide)

Fang Duo Bing

Ep 1 : Drugged, dizzy, passes out 

Ep 2 : None

Ep 3 : Locked up

Ep 4 : Hands tied

Ep 5 : Drugged, passes out

Ep 6-7 : None

Ep 8 : Hit, spitting blood, passes out — Woken up

Ep 9-12 : None

Ep 13 : Hit, spitting blood, collapses to one knee, in pain — Suddenly passes out, unconscious in bed, treated

Ep 14 : Unwell, treated — “Poison” acting up again, in pain

Ep 15 : None

Ep 16 : Cured — Tied up (Comedic)

Ep 17-25 : None

Ep 26 : Has a headache, collapses — Fighting, arm cut, treated, bandaged

Ep 27 : Bombarded, fighting many enemies at once, shoulder cut, saved by Li Lianhua — Feeling betrayed, upset, crying

Ep 28-29 : None

Ep 30 : Drugged — Wakes up tied up with ropes, taken hostage, finally learns that Lianhua is gravely poisoned, grabbed by the neck, freed — Fighting a lot of people at once, injured, holding his side

Ep 31 : Coughing, bleeding from his previous injury, hiding it

Ep 32-34 : None

Ep 35 : Hit, falling through a deep hole, trapped

Ep 36 : Still trapped, fighting, hit, spitting blood

Ep 37-39 : None

Ep 40 : Crying, worried for Li Lianhua

Di Fei Sheng

Ep 1 : Fighting, stabbed in the shoulder, stabbed in the chest, falls into the water 

Ep 2-7 : None

Ep 8 : Poisoned 

Ep 7-12 : None

Ep 13 : Acupuncture performed on him

Ep 14-19 : None

Ep 20 : Stabbed in the stomach, poisoned — Unwell, bleeding, walking unsteadily, passes out, found in the water unconscious — Lost his memories, passes out — Unconscious in bed

Ep 21-24 : None

Ep 25 : Has a headache, poison spreading, treated

Ep 26 : Headache, groaning in pain, collapses

Ep 27 : Headache, poison acting up, stumbling, supported, sweating, cutting the palm of his hand with his sword, cured, passes out — Wakes up in bed, regained his memories but pretends he has not

Ep 28-33 : None

Ep 34 : Poisoned, attacked, bleeding from the mouth, stabbed, both wrists and ankles slashed (tendons broken), bleeding, collapses, bleeding from the mouth — Weak

Ep 35-37 : None

Ep 38 : Prisoner, chained in water, injured, wound touched, wincing, stabbed, spits blood (in the villain face, which was kinda nice), slapped — Freed, carried — Meditating to heal himself, bleeding from the mouth, helped — Trapped

Ep 39-40 : None

>> More Whump List

#mysterious lotus casebook #whump list #whump #asian whump #cdrama #chinese drama #cheng yi #joseph zeng #xiao shunyao

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Gotta love low stakes, domestic whump.

Whumpees who aren't deathly sick, but just really uncomfortable and trying to work through it. They’re trying so hard to hold back their coughs that they’re left in tears from the effort. They’re slumped over their desk, too exhausted to sit upright. Caretaker all but drags them away from their work, ignoring Whumpee’s whining and bundling them up on the couch. Whumpee’s snoring within 10 minutes. 

Whumpee’s who are left out in the sun for hours…because they fell asleep on the beach. And it just so happens that, lo and behold, Whumpee didn’t put on sunscreen despite Caretaker reminding them to several times. Whumpee’s wines of pain are the only thing making Caretaker swallow the ‘I told you so’ that Whumpee has coming.

Whumpee’s who are terrified of an upcoming medical procedure. Not because it’s an invasive, dangerous surgery, but because getting your wisdom teeth removed is embarrassing. Caretaker keeps reassuring them that yes, they're willing to drive Whumpee home, and no, they won't record Whumpee while they're out of it, even if they do say something funny. Caretaker keeps that promise, even if they can’t stop the amused, fond smile at Whumpee’s disoriented babbling. 

I love the hardcore whump sure, but I can’t deny my love for low stakes and gentle comforts.

#whumpee #caretaker #domestic whump #sick whump #medical whump #in the most literal and normal sense possible #whumplr #whump prompt #my stuff

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 41: Alexander's Mark

Prev > Masterlist > Next

June 1905

TW: mind control, body control, captivity, abuse, burns, mouth whump, aftermath of forced self-harm

The beach. He was imagining a beach.

A place filled with warmth and sunshine, sunshine that would protect him from vampires. A place of freedom, where the waves would crash against his knees and the salt air would blow through his hair. A place where the auction house and its monstrous inhabitants were a nightmare fit for a cheap horror novel.

Maybe if he managed to pass out, he'd wake up on the sand, the searing pain gone, his body returned to him.

Fitz's mind forced itself back into reality as his new master led him into a different room. He couldn't remember walking -- he couldn't remember anything after the hazy, muddled visions of a seal burning into his chest. The pain was causing his vision to blur and his mind to haze over, but he recognized Mr. Alexander and Miss Lily as they walked into the room. Miss Lily had her head buried in Mr. Alexander's shoulder, but both stood up and at attention when his master entered.

Miss Lily. Her punishment.

Her dress was somewhat askew, her hair falling out of place, and she'd obviously been crying, but there was otherwise no sign of the horrific thing her sire had ordered her to do. But he knew from her expression as she'd left the room that she'd actually done it. There was no question.

"Alexander. Lily." 

"Sire," said Mr. Alexander, bowing. Miss Lily said nothing, bowing and holding her mouth firmly shut.

"My knife, if you please, Lily."

Miss Lily stepped forward and gave the Maestro back the silver knife, clean as it was when he handed it to her. He took her by the chin and opened her jaw. Fitz found that he was mercifully able to shut his eyes to avoid looking. 

"Satisfactory," said his master, and Fitz would have shuddered at this if he was actually able to do so. He couldn't believe that Miss Lily could be so calm after cutting her own tongue out. It was impossible.

Yet he could feel the enforced stoic expression on his own face, even as internally he was writhing in pain. Was it any different?"

"Sire," said Mr. Alexander, his deep voice surprisingly shaky, "what have you done to -- to your thrall?"

"I have marked him as my own. Surely you remember."

Mr. Alexander's face showed that he did indeed remember.

"The thrall you so desired, child," said his master. "He is mine, now. My performer, my plaything, a vessel for my will."

Fitz could hardly tell through through his stupor, but Lord Alexander seemed sad, meeting Fitz's gaze with a silent apology, one tinged with longing.

Or maybe it was another dream like the beach, a lie his mind was telling in a desperate attempt at escape. The lie that any of these vampires would care. Not when they had this much power, not when they had no reason to treat him as anything more than a possession.

"I see that, Sire." Mr. Alexander's eyes traveled to the burn on Fitz's flesh.

"Your fondness for this untamed, insolent human is far too obvious. It's unbecoming for a vampire of your stature," said his master. "I have tolerated this folly for far too long. It's long past time it was burned out of you."

"Sire..."

"So I bring you a gift and a punishment in one. I will give this thrall to you, to do with as you see fit."

Fitz's chest tightened. Although he could hardly trust Lord Alexander, he'd much rather be with the vampire who joked amiably with him over the one who burned and slapped him, who effortlessly controlled his body's every move. 

Mr. Alexander had nothing but suspicion and fear on his face. "As I see fit, Sire?" 

"Yes. I will give you this thrall for a year. At the end of the year, I will evaluate his training. If the training is satisfactory, you may keep the thrall for good. If it is not... then I truly will have no choice but to take it upon myself to punish you both." His master laid one ice-cold hand upon Fitz's head. "But if you do not actually desire him, I'll take him and train him myself."

A trap. An obvious trap. Whatever Mr. Alexander had planned for Fitz, it was clearly never going to be up to this cruel vampire's impossible standards. Mr. Alexander's eyes showed that he knew very well what a raw deal this was.

Never-ending torture for Fitz now... or torture and punishment for them both in a year. Fitz knew which option he would take, given the choice. A lot could happen in one year, and every fiber of his being was screaming for him to get away from his new owner, even if it meant running into the arms of a different monster. But it was a terrible deal for Mr. Alexander. It wasn't possible that he wanted Fitz enough to risk it.

The pain of his burn intensified, causing his breathing to quicken and his vision to dim and fuzz. He struggled against the tunnel vision, trying not to pass out, even as his body stayed rigidly upright with his head bowed.

He was never getting out. He would be trapped in this unbearable hell, not even able to protest, forever, and --

Mr. Alexander's eyes were burning into Fitz, even as he bowed. "Thank you, Sire. I accept your most gracious gift and your most fitting punishment."

Fitz felt himself tremble under the stiff pose he was being held in. The determination in Mr. Alexander's eyes was giving him hope, hope he didn't want to entertain lest it be pulled away from him. After all, if Mr. Alexander wanted to avoid eventual torture, wouldn't he have to be as cruel as his sire?

"Very well, child. You know the consequences of disappointing me," his owner said. "Now you shall mark the thrall directly underneath my mark, as proof of this contract."

Every muscle in Fitz's body tensed painfully as his owner handed over the small metal seal to Mr. Alexander, everything within him screaming for him to run, inwardly thrashing against the power keeping him still, to no avail. Rational thought flew from his mind, and all he knew was that he was going to be burned again. A few tears managed to leak from his eyes as his knees touched the carpet once more, his perfect posture giving no indication of the dizzy disorientation consuming him.

Mr. Alexander was heating the seal in a candle. Mr. Alexander was going to press it against his flesh. Mr. Alexander was --

-- singing.

The song penetrated through his terror, wrapping itself around his mind, and the pain and distress began to lessen. With no choice but to listen, no ability to resist, he felt as though he were floating up and away from his body, observing the scene as if it were happening on a stage. The pain on his chest and his cheek was washed in a soothing coolness, reducing it to a faraway ache.

Calm. Safe. No more pain. No more fear.

He was being placed under a spell again, he realized that, but a spell of bliss and comfort. Mr. Alexander was warming the seal in a candle as he sang. Fitz's mind warred within itself, one portion dreading the pain even as the other wanted to drown in the song and forget it all.

Mr. Alexander approached, lifting his chin and tilting Fitz's head into his gaze, the song shifting to something richer and deeper.

You are desired. You are wanted.

He felt it in his bones, the fleeting, breathtaking feeling of recognition and validation. The high he was always chasing, offered to him in its purest form. 

In a instant, Fitz fell completely under the spell, without any more fight.

"You're going to feel a small sting, Fitz, and then there will be no more pain," said Mr. Alexander, holding the metal seal and pulling down the neck of Fitz's dress. "You're doing so well."

You are precious. You belong to me.

He was utterly focused on Mr. Alexander's eyes and his heavenly voice. Nothing else mattered. He didn't even really feel the seal as it pressed into him this time, just below the first burn, too lost in euphoria to care.

"You eased his pain, Alexander," said the Maestro, disapproval dripping from his musical voice.

"There was no need for him to suffer, Sire," said Mr. Alexander with a note of dangerous defiance.

"Suffering is the only teacher we listen to. That is what you do not yet understand. In moments of desperation, when every gentle lesson has fled from our minds, the only teachings left are those ingrained upon us by the deepest suffering." He walked behind Mr. Alexander, stroking his cheek. "This is why you have not learned. Your suffering has not yet been great enough. It is most fortunate that I am a patient vampire. I can see your perfection underneath your shortcomings and unfortunate desires."

He slithered around to where Fitz was still kneeling, petting his hair, and Fitz would have shuddered if he weren't still so entranced. "You and Fitzwilliam are very much alike. I can sense that your fates are bound together, like entwined trees or twin stars. You two will be my magnum opus, my masterpiece."

"...Yes, Sire."

"I'll take my leave now. I must return to my manor before the sun rises, and my coachman waits. Good night, Alexander."

"Good night, Sire."

And the mysterious vampire left the room in a flurry of chill air, and Fitz felt himself collapse to the floor as his limbs were suddenly freed. His head was still cloudy from Mr. Alexander's song, but...

He could move. Everything hurt and he was so exhausted but he could move. A part of him felt like he should try and flee the monsters that harmed him, but he was still dazed, too woozy to stand. He could imagine the ridiculousness of trying to escape from a mansion full of vampires while crawling across the carpet in a confused fog.

Besides, he belonged to Mr. Alexander now.

Fitz heard a choked, shuddering sob and realized that it was coming from him. It was followed by a mangled cry, high pitched -- not him. A glance around his shoulder showed that Miss Lily had collapsed to the floor, blood running from her mouth, curled up in agony.

"Fitz. Fitz, I'm here. Are you all right?"

His focus flew back to Mr. Alexander like a moth to the light. "No, sir, obviously not, sir," he said with a pained laugh.

"I know, I know, an unnecessary question to ask. It's over now. You won't be hurt any more, I promise. Just relax." Mr. Alexander began humming a low tune, and Fitz surrendered to it even as the back of his mind howled in alarm at having his autonomy stolen again. He was too tired, too defeated, and he allowed his breathing and thoughts to slow.

"Good, that's good," said Mr. Alexander. "You're safe for now. I'm going to help you, but I need to check on Lily first, okay?"

Fitz nodded weakly.

"Lil, can you stand?" said Mr. Alexander's voice from somewhere behind him. "You have a room here, right? Is Nellie here with you? If you can walk, I can get us all to your room. Nellie and I will attend to you there. Good, that's it. You can cling to me all you need. There you go. I'll get Fitz."

Fitz felt himself being picked up and carried. He was looking up at Alexander's face, clearly upset but still laced with determination. "I've got you, Fitz," he said. "You're going to be all right." 

He began to hum again, a soft and enchanting tune. Fitz wasn't sure what this new spell was doing until he felt his eyelids become suddenly so heavy. A lullaby, a sleeping spell. No, no, he didn't want this -- but a part of him did, a part of him wanted to fly far away from here in his sleep, to have a respite from pain and terror. His half-hearted protest was drowned in a yawn as drowsiness settled over him like a blanket, all of his thoughts bending to the deep, irresistible urge to go to sleep.

Fitz couldn't help but shut his drowsy, heavy eyes, just for a moment.

Just...

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Next week, wrapping up Fitz's nightmare. In the meantime, there will be an interlude of Fitz in happier times, from the point of view of his thrall, Roger. Thanks as always for reading and reblogging!

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