#@0idril0

[delimeful]

Kind of obsessed with baby Virgil being found in the space ship with an adult Patton instead of adult Virgil, it would be such a different dynamic

(assuming you mean the original concept of WIBAR but with kid virgil) this au would be either a disaster or an escape speedrun because the moment patton realized their captors were hurting a baby, he would refuse to hide under virgil’s hoodie and instead start attacking their captors like a very angry feather duster at the first opportunity 😂

[whumpywhumper]

Bloodhound in Chicago-Part 1

So, @comfy-whumpee put the idea into @0idril0 and I’s whumpy heads to do a collaborative project wayyyyy back when with Clint and Lucien, and we’ve finally gotten around to posting part one. That’s right, there’s more, so keep an eye out. :) 

This is set prior to either one of our series. 

Thanks @voidwhump for reading through this 

Edit for Masterpost

<>

Lucien was growing soft in his old age.

He watched one of his young clumsily play with the human he had caught for him and all he felt was a swelling pride when the vampling stumbled and fell over his feet, not used to his new found speed. The human girl was no more than nineteen, pretty, with mousy hair and a bad knee. Someone easy for little Tristan’s first feeding.  

Tristan’s eyes were a stone cold grey, not yet the ebony black they would be when he was finally blooded. The older vampire found that he liked the way Tristan’s hunger sparked in those eyes when he focused in on his prey. He licked his lips and leaned forward, eyes skating down the exposed muscle under Tristan’s shirt, at the messy blond hair that stood up over his forehead. A scream pierced through Lucien’s careful perusal of his newest nestmate.

The girl had fallen, her knee giving way when she turned to dash away from the reaching vampire. She hit hard, her hands slapping against the concrete. Flailing, she turned over and stared up with huge eyes, tear streaks standing out on her red cheeks. “Please, please, don’t-don’t do this!”

Lucien knew that, by now, Tristan was beyond caring about what his prey said, what she begged or promised him. The venom was pounding in his mouth, the instinct to rip into her throat overwhelming. He could see his hands shaking and an echoing growl rumbled up through the air. Tristan backed the girl up to the wall, and Lucien felt a swelling in his own mouth at the mewl of fear that tumbled from her mouth when her shoulders hit the cold stone.

Experience told him that Tristan would need help soon, and Lucien stood, stalking forward, to hover behind the trembling vampling. “Grab her, Tristan,” he murmured, coaxing. Tristan shuddered at the sound of his Elder’s voice and leaned back into Lucien with a whine. The older vampire chuckled, arms encircling his lean waist. “Do you want my help, love?”

Tristan nodded, his head laying back on Lucien’s shoulder. He could feel the want rolling off of the young man, and Lucien swallowed back an urge to bury his fangs into that pale throat. That wasn’t what they were here for so he pushed Tristan away to bend over their shaking prey.

“Please, please, no!” She held her arms over her head, and Lucien caught the foul smell of adrenaline and urine seeping from her. Lucien’s nose wrinkled, but he leaned down to grab her anyway, his hands encircling her wrists to pull her up. She was featherweight to his enhanced strength, and her inane struggles did nothing to his grip.

Lucien smiled, fangs pressing into his lower lip, when she tried to kick him. “That never works, darling.” His hand encircled both of her wrists, and he pulled her against his front, other arm wrapping around her back. She quivered, trying to pull away from him, whimpering and sobbing. He rested against the wall, turning them so that the girl’s back was to Tristan, and met his hunger dazed eyes. “Come here, love,” he ordered, his voice breaking through Tristan’s haze.

Tristan started forward, his fingers carding through the back of the girl’s hair in a disconcertingly gentle grip, his other hand stretching her shoulder. Lucien could feel her breath against his throat, quick puffs of terror, could hear the thundering beat of her heart. God, this was beautiful. His young’s first feeding.

Virgin fangs pierced into the girl’s unbroken flesh, a little too in the middle of her throat, but not off enough to cause any problems. The girl’s eyes flew open when the younger vampire started feeding, startlingly green eyes staring at him in horror, and a protesting cry dropped out of her mouth. Lucien could tell when Tristan released his venom, the girl twitching in his arms, bucking against the invasive feeling, eyes dazing in pain. Tristan gave a low groan, throat working, swallowing loudly. The seal wasn’t perfect, and Lucien watched scarlet droplets dripping down to the sweet girl’s collarbone.

He licked his own lips when the girl’s eyes fluttered, and he smiled at Tristen when he opened his eyes. They were coal black with no whites showing, glassy with pleasure, his mouth still suctioned on her neck. “Good job, love,” he crooned, “Well done.”  Lucien took more of the girl’s weight as her legs collapsed, her heart galloped hollowly in her chest to Lucien’s sensitive ears, weak whimpers pushed out with every feeble breath.

Tristan bled the girl dry, her heart giving out moments before he drew his fangs out of her throat. Lucien leaned forward, licking the sweet beads of blood from the girl’s skin, before dropping her to the ground. The body fell gracelessly, sprawling between them. But Lucien didn’t pay it any mind when he pressed forward, stepping over the empty corpse to get into Tristan’s space, to grab him by the hips. “How was that, love?”

The vampling groaned, swaying into Lucien, nuzzling at his neck. “Oh my god, Lucien,” he said, “I didn’t—I had no idea—It was so-so. . .“

Lucien chuckled, “I think I understand.” He pulled the younger vampire to him, rutting their hips together. “Do you want to go home now?”  Tristan bit his lip, nodding vigorously, black eyes still glassy.  “Follow me then.”

The two vampire’s stumbled to leave, hands traveling up each other’s bodies. Leaving their prey on the concrete floor. Discarded.

<>

Clint walked into the police station already itching for a fight. Two hours. Two hours he’d been in the city. He’d nearly been run over on his motorcycle three times since he’d been in the city. If he got out of here, and his bike was gone, he was gonna be pissed.

Clint consciously suppressed a growl, squeezing his eyes shut to hide the yellow. “You’re in the middle of a group of people who would actively attack you if they think you’re dangerous. Get it together, numbskull.” He shook himself, looking around the station for his contact. The station stank, burnt coffee and homeless sweat permeating the air. That, combined with the click of keyboards and telephones..... he had a headache.

“Oí, perrito, over here.”

Clint groaned, grinning slightly as he turned toward the thickly accented voice. A small Latina was smirking at him from behind a cubical, and he felt some of his built up frustration ease at the sight of the familiar face. “Amada, my Latina Doll, I wish you wouldn’t call me that, you and every other woman seem to like comparing me to three pound fluff balls now.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t act like one, show a little fang every once and a while, maybe we’d be more respectful.” She winked at him, waving him towards her overflowing desk. Her partner’s desk was unoccupied and he was grateful, Steven didn’t particularly like him.

Scooping the thickly built woman up into a hug, he snorted. “I’m pretty sure I could eat a dear raw in front of Illyn and she’d still call me puppy.” He placed Amada down and spun her extra chair around so he was sitting backwards in it. “Now, can you please tell me why I drove sixteen hours up here, and stayed in a really shitty motel last night? I need a shower and a snack before I wolf out and one of your friends shoots me.”

She smacked him with a file before settling into her chair. “They’d have to beat me to it, I’ve been itching to shoot something since I got this case.” Amada muttered something else in Spanish before handing him the file.

“Nineteen year old female; Caucasian; lived just outside Canton, Ohio until last year.” Clint opened the file and the dimpled face of a rural charmer greeted him. Mousy blond locks framed her face and a frizzy braid had been pulled around one shoulder. “Per her parents, she developed an unhealthy obsession with tarot cards, and started trying to brew potions. Kid stuff. The coroner checked though, and she did have tracers for some latent magic; says her attacker probably didn’t even notice. So, obviously, the city is writing the death off as sup vs sup.” Amada’s face was drawn, all laughter forgotten as she laid out a crime scene photo of the victim.

Oh Sunshine... Clint cleared his throat as he picked up and examined the photo. The girl was splayed, clothing a mess on her tangled limbs. Her legs had twisted at awful angles underneath her, and her eyes were vacant and dead. “I was really hoping you would take the case so this wouldn’t happen again.”

Clint put the the picture down slowly, decision already made. “You still have the body?” Amada gave him a tight nod. “Good. We’ll stop there, then we can see what else we need.”

“We? You trying to steal my partner again?”

Clint huffed, rolling his eyes at Amada, before plastering a bright smile on his face to greet her partner. “Oh, ya know me Steven, I just can’t wait to do your job for you.”

The man glared at him before settling down at his desk, fighting his belly as he pulled himself to it. “We don’t need your help with anything. I told Amada not to call you, there’s no case.” The Latina cursed, spewing in Spanish. Steven ignored her, talking louder. “Local vamp probably got out of control when he tasted her magic. That’s it. No judge is going to prosecute, we don’t get involved with sup victims that’s just the way it is.”

Clint couldn’t help the sour growl that rumbled in his chest. “If a vamp got someone with magic, I can guarantee that this girl wouldn’t have died so quickly.” He pushed himself from the chair, jerking his head to Amada.

The heavy set man called after him, “There won’t be a finder’s fee with this one Clint, there’s not a case!”

Amada hurried to keep up with him as he walked, following his nose towards the morgue. “I’m sorry Clint, I didn’t even think of that.”

“Don’ worry about it, Doll. I bring a killer vamps head in for a bounty, I get paid either way.” It is what his boss paid him for after all, it was just a perk when the police paid him too.

When Clint stepped into the morgue, the smell of decay and disinfectant made him crinkle his nose. His sneeze echoed off the metallic surfaces of the room, and he shook himself. “Which one she in?”

Amada tugged him towards one of the farthest freezers and slid the slab out. Hackles rising, Clint approached and slid the zipper open. Death always put his wolf on edge, made it search for predators. It made him good at his job at least.

Clenching his jaw tightly, Clint pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves. Hi Sunshine... They’d removed her clothes, and he could see where they’d collected evidence. But other than that, the girl was untouched, black makeup streaked down her face, whorls of blood covering her pale throat. The brilliant green eyes were cloudy and half lidded. He closed her eyes, hiding her the best he could from his necessary voyeurism. The stench of urine and bloated bowels stung his nose, making his eyes water even as they flickered yellow.

“This wasn’t a ‘local vamp’ Amada.”  Clint whispered, gently gripping the girl’s jaw and turning her head to view the punctures more closely. There was a crust around the edges of the wound, crystalline and hard. Rubbing a finger over it, he let more of his wolf surface. Amada took a shuddering breath and stepped back as his face cramped before elongating slightly, canines biting into his gums.

“Wha-“ There was a thick cough as Amada cleared her throat, regaining her composure. “What do you mean by that?”

Clint took a deep breath, mouth falling open slightly as he let the scent of venom flow over his tongue. He brought the glove, coated with the crystal substance, closer to his nose and snuffled. He grimaced at the stale scent, it wasn’t strong enough. Sighing, he stuck the finger in his mouth and swirled his tongue around the appendage, liquefying the crystals from the glove. He heard Amada gag, and Clint smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, lips wrinkled in disgust.

“Por qué?! That’s fucking evidence, perro estúpido, Dios mío!” Snatching up a stack of papers she struck at him, pushing him away from the body.

Clint snickered at her, baring a long fang in a grin. “Would you rather have waited another few weeks for someone to tell you that you’re dealin’ with more than one vamp’?” Clint batted his eyes at her, face returning to its pure human form. “I’m faster than your lab, especially because they don’t believe there’s a case here.”

Anger thrummed through the air, Amada’s fists rattling the papers as she clung to them. “That’s still disgusting, you practically licked a dead body.”

Clint shrugged, smirking again. “Werewolf.” Raising a thick brow, he nodded to the body in front of them. “Now that we’ve established I do some weird things, do you want to know what else there is?”

“Lick anything else, perrito, I’m out.” The Latina folded her arms, staring pointedly at the young girl in front of them.

“This vamp’s never fed before, or at least if it has, it’s still too young to know what it’s doing. I think this was an initiation feed.”  Clint let the statement hang heavy in the air, watching as what he was suggesting crystallized in Amada’s mind. Her plush lips parted slowly, eyes squinting as she looked up from the body.

“What do you mean?” Her voice was skeptical, not experienced enough with the supernatural to see what he saw.

“I mean, this whole thing looks wrong. For one you’ve never had to call me for a vamp’ case in Chicago, it’s always some other sup. For two, you’ve seen a vamp’ case before, right?” Clint waited on her nod before continuing. “Look at the puncture marks. She was bitten in the wrong spot, an experienced vamp would have gone farther forward so they didn’t have to deal with the muscle. And what’s the other big part of vamp kills?”

Amada scrunched her nose, examining the puncture mark. “They don’t leave any blood behind.”

“Exactly!” Clint tilted on his toes, leaning on the slab. “Usually with a vamp kill there isn’t any blood, their saliva seals the injury off so there isn’t any clean up. But newbie vamps sometimes don’t do it right, they dribble like a fucking toddler, see the blood smears?” At Amada’s nod, he scraped a finger through the crystallized saliva again. “The saliva here is from two different vamps, one doing cleanup, zero waste, shit like that.”

Splaying playing his hands to emphasis the girl in front of him. “This is like a mother cat teaching her kittens to hunt, I can almost guarantee that the Elder was the one to lure her in. Little vamplings don’t have good control of their glamor yet, what I’ve seen with a vampling that gets made and abandoned is, let’s just say, gory.” Clint rolled the zipper of the body bag further down, examining the rest of her with careful hands. “I bet you she has some sort of deformity, or injury, that made it harder for her to run when the Elder let his glamour go to let the younger practice.”

Humming, Amada ruffled through the charts before pulling a slender folder from the stack she had snatched up. “Looks like she broke her right knee falling from a horse when she was a teenager, coroner’s report says she’s got a few metal rods in.”

Grunting, Clint examined her knees, black blood was crusted there, oozing from abrasions that hadn’t had a chance to heal. He picked up a strong wrist, feeling a small pull of sadness as he did. Her wrists were delicate, even though they wouldn’t be considered the traditional willowy. She shouldn’t have been an easy target, for any human she would have been able to put up some sort of fight. Dark bruises had bloomed on her wrists, the grip of slender, powerful hands forever cast onto pearly skin. He held her wrists up for Amada to inspect. “Vamps don’t need to do this, not unless they’re new or they have someone they can’t glamour.”

Amada’s skin turned a sickly yellow as she looked up to Clint, eyes wide as she searched his face for clarification.  “But, we have several established nests in the city, they don’t do anything like this. They have contracts with blood donors, they’ve also made contracts with halfway houses.” At Clint’s questioning glance she clarified. “Apparently, the venom is like methadone, and it makes it easier to transition off of drugs. It’s also healthier if they can’t kick the habit. The vamps that have the contracts make sure they’re healthy.”

Clint nodded his head, brow quirked with understanding. “Another point in favor of what I’m saying. Your nests wouldn’t need to kill, and they definitely wouldn’t leave a body for anyone to find. There’s a new Elder vamp’ in town trying to push in on territory, and he’s finding converts. This is just the beginning, unless we find them first.”  

Letting out a groan, Amada settled into a nearby chair and rubbed at her temple. “Mierda.”

Nodding, Clint passed a hand through the girls soft hair before gently zipping up the body bag. “Don’t worry Sunshine, I’ll find them.”

[whumpzone]

Has linden had to wash Chu yet? I can only imagine coltons distress

awwww bless he'd have to either force Col to hand it over or steal him when he wasn't looking :(

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

The Cliff

Content Warnings: merman whump, storms, washed ashore, trouble breathing, injury, bruises, heat whump, exhaustion

Blue’s Tag List: @deluxewhump @midwinter-wump @briars7 @0idril0

Author’s Notes: I’ve been sitting on this one for a while...it was sitting 99% finished in a google doc that I forgot about. :’) Not my best but hey...I wrote, right?

It was loosely inspired by this image (CW - image contains gore and partial nudity) but changed a lot once I started writing.

----

Weak keens fill the misty morning air over the ocean.

They go unheard. Unanswered.

The water is fairly calm, waves lapping gently against the rocks that jut out here and there, starting small and growing larger the closer they get to the cliffside.

But the night before they were anything but calm. The hurricane had raged for hours, stirring the sea and whipping the trees on land about. By morning debris was strewn across pebbly beaches and floated on the water’s surface.

Some creatures did not make it, a handful of unlucky fish and birds. But most had seen it coming and sought shelter.

One unlucky creature, though, had neither found shelter in time nor been killed. Either one would have been more merciful than this.

Blue is strong, and a good swimmer. His confidence in this was his downfall; he stayed too close to the surface for too long, even when the skies above grew dark and every creature around had fled. By the time he started to head for home it was too late. The churning water picked up speed and force. He tried and tried to swim away but was no match. Soon he grew exhausted, until he had no choice left but to give in to the surging ocean.

The waves lifted and dropped, lifted and dropped, tossed his body mercilessly about, his tail a flash of blue against ominous gray. In their relentless course towards land, they brought the half-conscious merman towards the rocks.

The first violent slam of his back to hard stone knocked him out cold. This was at least a small mercy. He slid with a moan back into the grip of the waves only for them to lift and slam him again and again and again, battering his limp body.

As the storm picked up, the waves grew higher and higher until they crashed against the side of the cliff. They carried the merman with them, and with one roaring wave, threw his body into the hard, uneven surface.

When that wave subsided, Blue was not pulled back down with it. Instead he had been thrown into a crevice between large chunks of rock, wedged at his hips where his tail is thickest. The force of each new wave only served to keep him there until he was firmly stuck.

The storm raged on.

And then it slowed, and slowed some more…

And then dawn came.

And then Blue woke.

----

The first thing he registers is the harshness of daylight even through his shut eyes. He groans and tries to turn away from it, only to find himself unable to move. The attempted motion sends a sharp twinge up his back.

One by one each ache makes itself known; his back, his horribly bruised chest, ribs, one shoulder, one side of his face, his hips, all along his tail. The scrapes and cuts that sting in the open air...

Air...

He forces his eyes open, flinching with a sharp gasp as one swollen eye only opens partway. The throb in his eye and cheek spreads to his head, making it pound relentlessly, and the sunlight isn’t helping.

But why - why is he in the air, not water…

When his blurry vision clears he feels a terror he has never known. Not only is he out of the water, but he is high above the ocean.

The merman panics. His gills - barely damp by now - flare wide and retract, searching for something they will not find. After a moment of terror as he starts to suffocate, he remembers to breathe through his mouth and takes a ragged gasp.

His squirming and labored breathing set his injuries ablaze. Opening his mouth hurts his battered face; expanding his lungs sends sharp pangs across his bruised ribs and chest.

Stuck and scared and hurting, completely helpless in the open air, he keens. His cries are sorrow, regret, a call for help.

Of course no one hears him. No merfolk would be near the surface when they could be hunting in the aftermath of the storm. Even if someone came, what could they do for him? But it doesn’t stop him from wailing until his throat is raw.

Soon the sun is above the horizon and beating down on the merman. As if his bruised and broken skin hadn’t been through enough, the light and air dry away what little moisture the final waves had left him with. He draws shallow breaths no matter how they hurt, fighting to survive.

Blue gets a small reprieve in the form of clouds blocking the sun. He is still far too dry, his skin aching fiercely, but the absence of blinding light doesn’t go unnoticed. He opens his weary eyes and tries to look down, to see how badly he is stuck, and how far away the ocean is…

The first thing he sees is his own battered tail. Each slam against the rock scraped and tore at scales, leaving raw, bloody patches of skin here and there. He whimpers at the sight.

At the upper part of his tail, just below where skin ends and scales begin, he is pressed between the rocks - tight. The pressure is a pain all its own, breaking the scales and bruising the skin beneath them, throbbing dully and making him shudder.

He got in, so he should be able to get out...right?

But still there is the matter of the landscape below: slivers of ocean wrapped around jutting rocks. He can hear the sloshing waves, smell the salty air, it’s all so close and too far. His dry skin longs for the cool touch of water.

Exhaustion threatens to overwhelm Blue. He’s still worn from fighting to swim against the building storm the night before, and now on top of that are his injuries and the suffocating heat. His head lolls, his eyes drifting shut and popping open. The pull of unconsciousness, of an escape from constant pain, is so tempting...but the merman fears if he falls asleep he may never wake again.

Trying to free himself from the crevice is his only option. At the same time, moving is the last thing his sore body and weary mind want to do. And if he gets free, there is still the risk of falling onto one of the rocks below.

Blue takes a few wheezing breaths of dry air. His chest is tight with fear, but he has to try. He begins to squirm his hips and push against the rock with his elbows.

Immediately injuries that had numbed down to a dull ache flare up with a vengeance. His head spins; his body trembles and throbs.

He can’t give up.

It takes several more squirms and pushes and shifts of his weight. The pain threatens to overwhelm him. His breath nearly gives out. His movements become weak and desperate.

One final wriggle does it - his body is freed from where the rocks pinned him.

For a moment the only things holding him up are his wobbling arms. They quickly give in and the merman drops.

Blue passes out before his battered body crashes to the waves below. He’s tossed about before finally sinking down into the water.

New dangers might find him here, and he’s badly injured. But for now he drifts carelessly, rocked by the shifting currents, cradled by the ocean’s cool embrace.

[whump-a-la-mode]

When you get this, feel free to respond with five things that make you happy~! Then if you're up for it, send this to the last ten people in your notifications anonymously. You never know who might benefit from spreading positivity~! (No pressure though! :D) (there was no anonymous option😂)

Aww this is so cute! Also thanks for letting me know that my anon option was off, I never realized that, and thanks for helping me turn it on! Everyone should be able to send asks on anon now.

- I have two cats and I love them both to death. Every morning when I wake up there are always two kitties waiting right outside my bedroom, ready to beg for belly rubs and kisses.

- My partner (it/its) makes me so happy, and I love staying up all night to talk to it. I just love my partner so much I can’t point out one specific thing about it that makes me so happy. The other day we were going to play minecraft but ended up just killing each other over and over again for like three hours it was fantastic

- Whenever a new post about the french language starts going around like 10 separate people send it to me independently and it’s always so funny to me. It makes me so happy to know that so many people see anything about that french language and just go oh yeah Finch better see this one

- I work at a vet clinic and take care of my boss’s massive golden retriever Winnie when I’m at work. It’s pretty hard to be sad when a 90 pound ball of fur and reckless stupidity is bounding towards you

- This one is kind of weird but nothing makes me happier than learning about other peoples languages and cultures to the point where its become a joke among my friends. If someone joins one of our serves who is from another part of the world my friends are all like “watch out finch will be here any second.” the way people in other countries live is fascinating to me and nothing makes me happier than talking to them and learning about each others cultures and upbringings and their languages and just!! i love it. idk if that’s weird but it’s my favorite thing in the world. if you live in another part of the world i Will ask you about it this is a promise

Tagging: @0idril0 @whumpilicious @rosyabomination @fancytrashcat @swift-perseides @p1nkwitch @worstcasescenariolullaby @pomegranate-whump @whumpvp @huntress8888

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Danny died painfully? When was that? 😭

@0idril0 sent me an ask yesterday with an AU where Danny dies and basically just tore us all apart emotionally for hours.

[rosesareviolentlyread]

A Gift

Been having troubles writing lately but luckily @whumpywhumper and @0idril0 indulged me and let me do a little drabble for the Markus/Lucien series ft. Markus & Clint. Read their stuff!! it’s great!! TW: medical setting, body dysmorphia, depression thoughts

It’s hard to tell time here, in the mess of wires and tubes that’s the body that hardly feels like his. 

At first its repeated snatches of dejavu, snagging at his brain until it can catch on that he’s here, this is real. But the only thing that feels real is Clint’s presence, his hands always there to cup Markus’s cheek or stroke his hair or hold his cold hands. It doesn’t matter the touches themselves feel like they’re through a fogged window, static on his skin. The magic feels more than skin ever did, especially after so long without it. It feels like the sigh of relief he can’t breathe on his own now. 

But the more aware Markus becomes of the world around him, the worse it is. He rests, truly rests now, thanks to Deanna’s dream bracelet. But all it means is he can feel more of the aching in his body, far from pain. In a way, it’s worse that way, every joint turned into the stiff limb of a wooden doll, an effigy of himself to cast pain on wherever the real Markus is. 

The Markus who grumbles until he gets coffee, who smells like herbs and metals. The Markus who can walk for miles downtown greeting all the other supernaturals in the area. The Markus who wakes up in his own bed, feels the strength in his limbs with each drowsy stretch, and basks in his wholeness. 

The more real the world is, the less Markus feels he is. And it’s exhausting in such a way that he knows he’s worrying them, worrying Clint again. But for every mile his mind makes towards recovery, his body only moves an inch, so he’s trapped here with his own failure. 

“Hey brother, I didn’t think you’d be awake yet” Clint interrupts the thoughts, he always does, with a bright smile, his eyes lighting up at seeing Markus aware. Tubed. Broken. 

Markus turns away. He wants the smile to be different, wants Clint to not treat him like it’s normal. It hurts how nice and normal it is.

Clint carefully sets down the coffee - another thing Markus still can’t have, won’t be able to have for so long - before shucking off something that drops with a cloth-softened thud on the floor. 

A hand reaches out to squeeze his, warmth and caring filtering through, along with a tinge of worry and anxiety. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier, the line was long this morning.” 

Markus doesn’t answer, closing off his side of the bond. He can control that at least now. He can feel Clint know it, and he pulls his hand away. 

But Clint apparently can see through him anyways, like he’s nothing more than a glass exhibit “Look Markus, I know it’s been hard. They say you can get off the vent soon, real soon. I’m not sure how much you’ve been…aware of the plan, but it’s going to be a while. So I got some things brought to maybe help you feel more at home, yeah?”

There’s a sound of a zipper, and through  the chemical cocktail of cleaner and oxygen he can smell home

Incense, and dried herbs. Mud caked so deep in the fibers it’ll never stop smelling faintly of earth. The clean breeze that only comes with clothesline drying. He turns his head, eyes watering not wanting to believe-

But it’s better, because Clint shakes out his flannel. Oversized, patched in places, but it’s his. “I know you can’t wear it yet, but I thought it’d be nice to have. Here” Clint gently lays it on him, so his fingers can feel the worn-home fabric of the sleeves, the weight on top in a way that makes him forget all the uncomfortable wires. 

Tears slip down his face unbidden, because he didn’t realize how empty this place felt until now, until he held something that wasn’t pain and sorrow and a body he longer wanted. 

“Markus, sorry, is it too much? I thought it’d be nice to have a little home but if you’re not ready..” Clint grabs a hand, his anxiety peaking now like a tremolo but Marus shakes his head as the tears come down, letting all the joy and pain and relief of the world flow through him until Clint cries too, and he falls asleep feeling a little more safe, and a little more like Markus. 

[delimeful]

I mean the human reaction to something cute is literally coded into our brain and it’s “squish it” sooooo, imagine that reaction in Virgil with pangopups

do NOT squish the babies they are DELICATE

[whumpywhumper]

Darling

Thanks be to @0idril0 for allowing me to bounce ideas off of her when she should be sleeping

TW: elements of noncon

Edit for Masterpost and because formatting was a mess

* * * 

Markus knew better than to go into the city at night without his grahm but Illyn had asked to borrow it. Told him she needed to copy it because she had seen something in her auger that scared her. 

He was strong enough that he didn’t always need a grahm. Adept enough that he could protect himself. The grahm made it easier—made it to where he didn’t have to think about it. So he’d told her not to worry about it. 

He should have listened. Should have thought. 

All he needed was some damn copper wire to finish this project. He was aggravated and cranky as hell from working into the small hours of the night. Caffeine only got him so far and he figured it was only a short trip to his shop and back on his bike. Then he could sleep. 

His client was coming for his amulet in the morning, it had to be finished. The poor old man was in desperate need of some help with his arthritis. His poor swollen joints had cried out to Markus’s senses without even touching them and his doctor prescribed medications weren’t cutting it. So he’d come to Markus. 

He’d wanted to help. He’d just wanted to help. 

He turned the corner just two blocks from the shop, keys to his bike in one hand and spool of copper wire in the other, happy to go home and finish the project when the form had come from the shadow. Markus hadn’t even had the opportunity to cry out before he was slammed into the brick of the alley wall with a hand over his mouth. “MMPH!!” he clawed at the arm, his nails not getting any traction. 

A dark chuckle rumbled into his ear, “That’s not going to work very well, darling.” 

Markus’s eyes widened when they finally took in the pale form in front of him. “Shitfuckdamn,” he thought with a frantic grab at the white crystal on his belt. A shackle of a hand encircled his wrist, slapping it to the brick above his head. Markus tried for the other hand and the fingers on his face tightened like a vice, threatening to break his teeth from his jaw. 

The vampire lifted its lips in an approximation of a human smile when his captive stilled, his fangs glinting in the moonlight. “Hmm, maybe you are smart after all. I was curious why a witch would go anywhere I could sense him without some protection. Only thing I could think was that he must be stupid.” The vampire’s voice was like dark honey fresh from the comb, deep and thick, coating Markus’s entire body. Making him shiver.  

A thought wormed his way to the front of his brain. The vampire was beautiful. Blond hair worn long and curling at his collar bone. A five o’clock shadow highlighting a strong jaw and high cheekbones. His blue eyes looked kind, maybe he wasn’t—

Markus sucked in a shuddering breath, throwing up any kind of defenses that he could scrabble together with his wayward magic. The vampire grinned outright this time, feeling Markus gather the energies from the air. He drew closer to his prey, “Oh, you’re going to be a fun one, aren’t you?” His eyes were no longer blue but a deep abyssal black. 

The trapped witch trembled, realizing how outclassed he was against the blond. Vampires were just as much mental creatures as they were physical. Could make a human walk to their deaths and thank them at the end, screaming in ecstasy, when they drew every last drop of lifeblood from their quivering bodies. Markus could only pray to be so lucky. 

The vampire slotted a thigh between Markus’s legs, turning his face to the side, and purring into the crook of his neck. "Mmm, beautiful, you smell wonderful." To anyone looking in the alley, they would look like a couple of lovers, locked in a passionate embrace. Markus was frozen, fear pounding in his throat, feeling weak and powerless against the stronger man. The hand around his wrist was tight, strong, grinding the bones together hard enough that he had to suppress a wince. 

He felt damp breath on the tendons of his throat and an instinctual fear knocked on the back of Markus’s head. He acted. Struck out with his magic, a small burst of light erupting from one of his rings, bright enough to make the vampire flinch. He ripped the hand from his face, “Ma’Ventus!”  

A gust of concussive force flung the vampire into the opposite wall. Into a garbage can. Markus stumbled at the sudden cold feeling roiling through his gut, stopping himself from falling by the grace of a nearby door handle. He did not like using that much magic without a damn proper focus. A shake of his dark head and he staggered away. One foot in front of the other, eyes skimming over the alleyway. He needed to get away. His keys. Where were his keys? 

He gave up the search when he heard a low growl from the garbage can and his stagger turned into a dead sprint. A quick hand to his belt and Markus palmed the white crystal. His last resort. Thick boots splashed through the puddles of the city alleyway. His shop? He spun the corner, trying the locked door. Nope, and tempered glass made busting in a non-option. He kept going. 

None of the other shops had lights on. He dodged corners and ran through the deserted streets. Fast footsteps dogged his every turn, catching up. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” he chanted to himself, breath rasping down his raw throat. 

Markus heard it before he really felt it. 

A sharp crack against the night air shoved him forward and his boot shattered the calm of a puddle as he stumbled. What the fuck? Pain, white hot, erupted from his shoulder and he cried out as he fell, twisting in the air to land on his back. He pressed his hand to his shoulder and it and the crystal came away red. Blood? Had he been shot?! 

Laughter ricocheted down the street, and Markus felt his heart thud to a wild tempo in his chest when the vampire spoke, “I got tired of running you lot down a long time ago.” 

Eyes blurry with pain induced tears, Markus focused on the vampire as he sauntered up to his prone prey. He held a small caliber pistol in a casual grip. Fuck. He tried to scramble backward, away from the predator advancing upon him, but the vampire clucked. Raised the gun. “Don’t move.” 

An hysterical thought bubbled up, “So, I’m either going to be shot, again, or be this douchebag’s next meal. Great. Awesome.” Markus stilled, swallowing bile, and gripped his crystal tighter. He had one shot. 

The vampire strode forward until he stood over Markus, straddling his waist. The gun trained between his eyes. “I always wondered what one of your kind tasted like,” he said, a thoughtful tone to his honeyed voice. “I’ve never had the opportunity. . . “ Black pooled into the vampire’s eyes and he licked his lips, eyes locked on his bleeding shoulder. 

The witch stared, breaths short, feeling a queasy panic start to thrum in his gut. Markus had heard all of the fireside stories. 

Don’t let a vampire catch you, the taste of magic is addicting. 

A vamp’ got Enry. Took him to the nest and passed him around before he        got away. Poor guy’s never been the same.  

They can’t turn you, but that only makes you sweeter. 

The vampire dropped to his knees, one hand holding the gun between Markus’s eyes and the other coming to rest on his throat. His hands were cold on Markus’s still living skin and he swallowed, feeling his fluttering heartbeat against those strong fingers. Those soulless eyes were intent, the witch didn’t dare move, didn’t fight when the vampire knocked his hand away from the bullet wound. “Guh!” He couldn’t help the groan that was pulled out of his chest when the blond dug his thumb into the weeping opening, eyes rolling into the back of his head. 

The blond grinned, “Did that hurt, darling?” His thumb dripped blood. Markus’s blood. The witch trembled, breaths coming quickly. The vampire took his eyes from his prey, his lids hooded and full of desire, lips open and heavy with anticipation.  He tucked his thumb into his mouth and Markus struck, shoving his fist into the vampire’s face. 

He poured energy into the crystal, feeling cold leech up his arm and into his chest, as sunlight burst from his palm. A howl and the vampire recoiled, flesh boiling, the gun falling to the side as he brought his hands up to claw at his melting face. Markus pivoted his hips, throwing his attacker, and clambered to his hands and knees. “Gogogogogo,” the vampire’s howl spurred him onward even as it turned to a choking gurgle. 

Markus ran. 

He didn’t stop running until he physically couldn’t anymore. Bending at the waist and panting great heaving gulps of oxygen down his acid-laced throat. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripped down his nose. He held the stitch in his ribs and glanced around, feeling a sense of foreboding rising through him. He’d run to the warehouse district. Not a hard thing to do in this city, not in the slum that his little storefront was in, but still dark and deserted. 

Breathing heavily, he fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed. The ringtone echoed against the empty building. 

“Hello?” 

Relief rushed through him and Markus felt his knees try to give out at the sleep raspy voice. “Illyn?” he whimpered. 

“Markus? What’s wrong?!”

He laughed, shaky and small. “I think I found what was in your auger.” 

“Oh my god, what was it? Where are you?” 

He swallowed against the stone in his throat, “I’m not sure, ran from my shop into the warehouse district.” 

“Fuck, okay, do you see any street signs?” 

“No, I don’t even see any building signs.” 

“Okay, send me the location from your phone.” His hands shook as he did as she asked. “Are you hurt?” 

Markus choked back a hysterical giggle, “He fucking shot me Illyn.”

“He WHAT?!” A door slammed over the speaker and Markus heard her car startup. 

“Yeah, in my shoulder,” he tucked the phone against his cheek and good shoulder, gripping the bullet wound. His hand came away slick. “I’m still bleeding.”

“Holy shit, put pressure on it. Can you heal any of it?” 

He shook his head, feeling cold and exhaustion creeping into every iota of his body. “I’m tapped. Had to use a lot to get away. I don’t have the right materials on me anyway.” Markus leaned against the empty warehouse, the rough brick catching in his leather jacket as he slid down. 

“Okay, hold on for me, alright? My phone says I’m ten minutes away. Can you get under a street light?” 

“I don’t think so. . . Illyn, m’really tired.” 

“Stay with me, baby, okay? Stay with me. I know you’re tired. You probably used too much magic at once. Remember how I got so sick that one time I tried to impress you? Huh?” 

He gave a weak chuckle, “I ‘member. Passed out on the floor. Had to carry you home.” 

“Yeah, yeah you did. This time I get to carry you home, ‘kay? Keep talking to me baby, let me know you’re there.” 

Markus hummed, letting his eyes slide closed, “M’kay. . . Illyn?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Want my grahm back, kay?” 

A choked laugh, “Of course baby. Anything you want.” 

Something took the phone away from Markus and his eyes snapped open. A horrified scream poured out of his mouth, cut off by a hand around his throat. 

“Markus?! Markus?” 

“Is that your name, darling? Markus?” The vampire held the phone to his ear and picked the witch up, forcing him to his feet. “It suits you.” 

The vampire’s smile was hideous. The human carapace of his face had been ripped away by Markus’s sunlight. It left the gray leather of an ancient corpse, the blond hair replaced by stringy white. His nose was just gone, a bat-like snout in its place. 

“I’m sorry, your friend can’t come to the phone right now.” Markus could hear Illyn on the phone, cursing and calling for him. “Don’t worry, I will take very good care of him.” The delicate machine crumpled in the vampire’s fist, glass shattering and tinkling to the ground. 

Markus grabbed at the hand around his throat. A harsh rasp coloring the night air when he tried to draw air past the blockage. Fear choked him as much as the hand around his throat.

“You were not very nice to me earlier, darling. You hurt my feelings.” The vampire drew closer and Marcus turned his face away, squeezing his eyes shut. He felt fingertips brush across his cheek to trace down his jaw. “I think I’m going to have to teach you some manners.” His head was forced back by a vicious grip on his hair and Markus clenched his teeth as he tried to push at his attacker’s shoulders. He may as well have been pushing the wall at his back. 

The vampire chuckled at Markus’s struggles, moving the hand from his throat to caress down his chest, across his stomach, and to press him closer by a hand on the small of his back. Markus shuddered at the familiarity of the gesture. The way it made him arch against the taller man. He couldn’t push the vampire away. Couldn’t shake his head. He felt dampness laying thick and heavy on his eyelashes. 

Fuckfuckfuck. 

Something cold and wet ran up the side of Markus’s neck and he gasped in surprise. His eyes shooting open. All he could see was the cloudy night sky, thick with smog and light pollution. He tried to jerk away but was held closer. The arm going around his back to crush his ribs to the firm chest in front of him. 

Markus strained against the hold, his breaths short and painful. Sharp points of hard teeth tugged delicately on the thick muscle of his neck. He was fucking playing with him. An angry flush washed through him, “Just get it over with you asshole!”

A soft puff of air against the wet line on his throat and the arm around him became bruising, “As you wish.” 

Markus grunted when the vampire’s sharp fangs pierced into the side of his neck. Hands clenching into his attacker’s jacket at the pain. He tried to jerk away and gasped when the vampire sank his teeth in farther, tightening his hold to make his ribs creak in protest. He fought to breathe, ragged and shallow. The hand in his hair forced his head back to an even more awkward angle and he groaned as it stretched his neck against the fangs in his flesh. 

He could feel the vampire’s lips sealed tightly around the entry wound in his throat. A slight sucking sensation whenever the vampire swallowed. The soft touch of his tongue. 

Fear fluttered in Markus’s chest as the vampire steadily drank. He pulled at the back of the vampire’s jacket, tried to get traction with his boots. “Enough...stop, stop.” 

A soft moan of pleasure rose at his begging and Markus whimpered at the tingling numbness that started to work its way through his extremities.  The clouds twirled overhead and he felt his heart racing in his chest. Damnit, nononono...

Markus’s knees gave way after a few more eternal moments and a short broken sound dropped from his chest at the extra weight on his ribs. At the way the vampire’s fangs tore further into his skin. “Stop. . . No, stop, I—I can’t. . .” The clench of his hands went slack as the cruel grip on his hair loosened. 

The vampire cradled the witch to him. Drawing him closer so his face came to rest in the crook of the other’s neck as the other hand kneaded into the lax muscle of Markus’s back. A thumb rubbed soothing circles into the nape of Markus’s neck and his eyes fluttered closed, gifting butterfly kisses to his attacker.  

The vampire shuddered and pulled away from Markus’s neck with a soft, wet sound. His tongue laved at the marks he’d left and Markus gave a weak mewl of pain. Stop, it hurts, please please, stop. The vampire nipped at the curve of Markus’s jaw, sharp points making his prey quiver in his arms. 

“Fuck darling, that was. . . “ he shivered and nuzzled at Markus’s neck, pushing him against the wall to hold him there with the weight of his body. Markus’s attacker ran his hand up and down his side to find the seam of his t-shirt. To find the bare skin underneath. 

The witch pulled a convulsive breath and twitched at the touch. Tried to draw away. A growl made the hair stand up on his neck and he stilled with a low whine. “Good boy” the vampire breathed, his thumb digging into his side. Pressing into one of the delicate pressure points above his hip bone. Markus groaned, head still lying limp on the vampire’s shoulder. He shook his head, a gentle rocking back and forth on his forehead, his finger’s twitching against the vampire’s back. 

The hand on the back of his head slid under his jaw and rolled his head to rest on the brick wall, “Look at me, beautiful. I want to see you, see those lovely green eyes.” Markus mumbled something that was supposed to be a denial and the vampire tsked at him, patting his cheek in an almost slap. “Look at me, Markus.” 

Markus flinched at the sound of his name falling from that fanged mouth. He swallowed thickly and blinked his eyes open with a herculean effort. They burned with fatigue, taking too long to focus on the vampire’s face in front of him. The blond façade from before had been replaced, black eyes peering out of flawless pale skin. A pink flush dusted his newly whole cheeks and his eyelids hung heavy with want. 

The vampire smiled at him when he was able to focus, “There you are, darling.” He rubbed his thumb along the fang marks and Markus whimpered, breath catching in his tight chest. “I’ve heard the rumors of how sweet your kind are but I never believed them. I can feel the magic, your magic, running through me,” he giggled, actually giggled, and brought his face up to Markus’s. Almost kissing him. “You know, I don’t think I’ve felt drunk since I was human.” A pink tongue flickered out of his mouth to lick a red smear at the corner of a full lip. “That’s been a very long time for me.” He shuddered, rubbing himself against Markus, and drug his hand farther up his torso, along the bare skin. “I don’t think I’m quite ready to give that—to give you—up.” The blonde’s smile turned feral. 

Oh fuck, no, please, nonononono. . .

Markus trembled when lips met his neck again, a shiver running along his spine when the vampire whispered, lips tickling the sensitive skin, “I guess I’ll have to take you with me before your friend gets here.” Fangs sunk in a second time and Markus cried out, broken and small, when the pain was reignited. He gasped at air with short and shallow expansions of his lungs while his eyelids slid shut. His entire body went limp, heart thundering behind his breastbone. Finding an irregular aching beat. 

Unconsciousness loomed like a dark shadow and he was barely aware when the vampire pulled away from him to scoop his non-responsive body into his arms. As he slid under, into the darkness, a soft breath puffed at the top of his head, into his hair. 

“Don’t worry, darling, I’ll take excellent care of you.” 

[whumper-boi]

Bye y’all 🤠

I did not expect people to like the dog whump prompt so much so per @0idril0’s reblog and @whoopsalittlewhumpy’s request, I’m doing a part two

(I love you guys so much, thank you for the support 👁💧👄💧👁)

——————

The dog had been on Whumpee’s bed again. The amount of days that had passed without seeing their owner had only grown.

To make matters worse, caretaker was gone too. They left a couple days ago after they got a phone call, breaking down in tears and running out, leave the dog there alone.

Time passed, and every once in a while someone would come in, a friend of caretaker’s, and refil their food and water dishes, giving the dog a couple of pets before leaving again.

However, Caretaker’s friend started to notice that the food bowl was less and less empty every day they came over.

The dog was spending more and more time on Whumpee’s bed, looking for them, and Caretaker, and sitting in front of the door, waiting for Whumpee to come back.

The dog stopped going on walks, no matter how hard Caretaker’s friend tried, stopped eating their favourite snacks, would on only go outside once or twice then head back to the bed or door.

Caretaker’s friend would start being the phone with someone more and more, petting the dog more often, though the dog hardly noticed.

The dog, as well as Caretaker’s friend was left with a horrid thought. What if whumpee didn’t come back?

—

It was a little past noon. The sun was shining brightly through the curtains as the dog slinked off of Whumpee’s bed to go wait for Caretaker’s friend to show up and pet them.

They laid down sadly, letting out little whimpers.

An hour passed.

Two hours passed.

The dog was now pacing in front of the door. First Whumpee, then Caretaker, and now Caretaker’s friend?

They laid back down, whining loudly now, when the sound of the doorknob jiggled.

The dog perked up as it swung open, Caretaker’s friend walking in, holding a large backpack in their arms. They got up, going to go sniff it, when they noticed movement from behind them.

Entering behind Caretaker’s friend was Caretaker, with their arm around someone else’s waist, helping them walk through the door.

The dog almost didn’t recognize them due to their malnourished body, sunken eyes, and depressing air that they carried themself with, but when the dog got a tiny whiff of their scent, everything they learned was out of the window.

The dog, tail wagging, letting out excited barks rushed over to the person, who held out their arms, bursting into tears at the sight of the dog.

Whumpee was holding them.

Whumpee was home.

[justbreakonme]

Hey y’all, I know I haven’t posted anything from Abby and Sky for a long time. I sorta wrote myself into a corner because I hadn’t planned for it to be as popular as it was. However, I’m not in a better situation to do more writing and was thinking about writing a full version of the Abby and Sky story. In this though, I would have to rewrite some of the beginning. I wouldn’t change huge things, just some individual small events, but I wanted to get y’all’s opinion on it first. Did anything stand out in particular that you liked that you would be disappointed if it got left out? And if I made mood boards or collages, would that be something y’all would be interested in too? Tagging @httyd-chocolate @mortiferum-solanum @comfortforthepain @whumpywhumper @whumping-every-day @degeneration-fest @whatwasmyprevioususername @albarnesauthor @panickedscorpio @theawesomeawkward @secrettheoristofwhump @robinshouseofwhump @0idril0 @inpainandsuffering @genesissane @lilyvonpseudonym @latenightcupsofcoffee @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @lionhxartxd-blog @quirkykayleetam @whale-intestines @fallingstormphoenix @gnawingonhumanbones @maraudersmarvelwhump @haro-whumps @slam-whump @whump-my-dude @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @thatsthewhump @theladyoffaragon @kyra-plays @broadwaybowser @adventuresofacreesty @pennsss If I missed anyone let me know, or if you would like to be tagged!)

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

tag 9 people you want to know better

I was tagged by @misscrazyfangirl321 !

Favorite color: Purple~

Last song: I don’t...even remember......whatever happened to be on Sirius XM when I pulled into work this morning

Movie: The Lady Vanishes (1938)

Reading:  :\ nothing at the moment..

Currently watching: The Expanse, Letterkenny, Doom Patrol

Sweet spicy or savory: Sweet!!

Craving: something to look forward to, a purpose, tacos

Tea or coffee: Coffeeee

I no-pressure tag: @deluxewhump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @forthetaintedsorrow-whump @0idril0 @briars7 @midwinter-wump @whumpywhumper @voidwhump @hollowtreesinhollowwoods

[redstainedsocks]

31. "You made me do this." Hurt your boy Zach please Socks -Lonesome 💜

From this prompt list. I made brief mention of "the hole" in the last pirate AU piece and this seemed like the perfect time to explore what that is...

Warnings: forced nudity, manhandling, hair pulling, implied previous noncon, claustrophobia, victim blaming, dehumanisation, self blame, brief choking, isolation/sensory deprivation.

Mentioned: whipping, starvation

If you want to read everything but the "locked in a tight" space portion, you can read everything above the cut.

Ecker dragged Zach kicking and screaming from his chambers. One hand was buried in his hair, pulling so painfully Zach couldn’t help but follow. He wanted to be strong enough to pull away, yank out every hair on his head to get free, but he wasn't. Never was one to volunteer for more pain, not like that.

Ecker threw open doors and hauled Zach howling along behind him. There was barely even time to get his feet under him, he was all knees and elbows and scraped skin just trying to keep up. He realised slowly that he was naked, fully on display. He’d never been in the hole naked before and had a moment of detached curiosity of what wondering that would be like. It didn’t last, and the horror sunk back in until he was near hysterical with the need to get away, to make it not happen.

Ecker didn’t let up but they passed a couple of crew members who got roped into helping. They grabbed Zach by an arm each and manhandled him after their Captain.

“Sir!” Zach cried out. “Sir, I’m sorry, I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll stop, I won’t fight. Sir! Please!”

With a snarl Ecker turned on him, pressed his face up against Zach’s until Zach could smell the rum on his breath. “I gave you chances, I gave you leniency, I have given you time. And still you fight and protest.”

He grabbed Zach’s face in his hand and squeezed. Zach whined, abortively pulling away but stopped by the painful grip on his cheeks. “It’s not my fault,” he whispered.

Ecker laughed at that, softened. “I know.” He released his grip and pat Zach on the cheek. “I give you too much freedom to voice your opinion, and then when you can’t, well you do it with your fists and your teeth, don’t you?”

Ecker tongued the bleeding bite mark where Zach had bitten him, sunk his teeth in to get Ecker to stay away.

“So I want you to listen very carefully when I say: you made me do this. With your fighting and your resistance and what you think are clever little tricks designed to make me not want to play with you. So now you get to be put in your place. And we’ll see how much fight you have after that, won’t we?” Ecker gestured at his men and they resumed their walk down into the bowels of the ship.

“It won’t work, I won’t go easy!” Zach shouted. “I always come back fighting, even if--if it takes a while.”

“I know that too,” Ecker replied. “But I do enjoy the times in between so very much.”

No one would respond to him after that. They dragged him down to the lowest level, past all the store rooms and the armoury, through into the smallest spaces and there--there they came across the lowest place of all. A few boards in the floor lift up as one, a trapdoor that you can’t see when they’re laid neatly in place. And below it: the smallest smuggling hole. Perfect for contraband that port inspections won’t find. A tiny storage area that Ecker discovered six months ago was just big enough to hold his captive, when the need arose.

The trapdoor was maneuvered away and Zach hauled forward. They tried to force him in and he resisted until Ecker took him by the throat and held on until he was woozy with lack of air. After that it was easy, he was limp, unresponsive, and they dropped him into the small space with a dull thud. The lid coming down on top of him was enough to rouse him, but too late. He pushed at it with weak hands, sobbing, yelling profanities.

It locked into place anyway. And then he was alone.

Naked. Bruised. Cold. Terrified.

The space was too small, not enough room to stretch his legs, no height so he had to remain curled up on his side. His shoulders pressed tight to the wood that cradled him from below and jammed upwards to the beams above. He heard the dull thuds of crates being moved back on top of the trapdoor. The echoes of feet walking away.

Then it was just him, in the cold, damp space below the hull. This part of the boat sat below the waterline, and the sound was always strange and distorted. His ears felt blocked with cotton but it was just pressure and confinement playing with his head. Waves rocked against the ship in a weird rolling hum. He scrabbled at the wood around him, feeling like a rat in a trap, tilted his face up to get more air.

It was pitch black and his eyes would never adjust. Occasionally there would be a thud or scrape of some kind of sea creature or flotsam knocking against the hull of the boat. Strange sounds that echoed and startled him.

He had no idea how long he would be down here. Sometimes they’d drag him out just to feed him enough to keep him alive, or to whip him, and then drop him back in. Sometimes they’d leave him to the brink of death and he’d spend weeks afterwards trapped in Ecker’s bed as he was nursed back to health. It was always horrific, and always, somehow, as new and fresh as the first time he’d endured it. He could never adjust.

When he was down here sometimes he started to feel like he was the only person alive, cut off from everything else. Like he couldn’t picture what was happening above, anymore, and would start to feel forgotten, abandoned. Alone. The entire world narrowed down to swaying and rocking, always moving even while he was forced to be still. The dirt and dust stuck to his naked skin this time and he had no way of getting it off, no way of getting the unwanted thoughts out of his head either.

“You made me do this.” Ecker said. And Zach knew he was right. He’d played right into this. Practically asked for it by not behaving. Ecker had threatened it and he hadn’t believed it, had pushed and pushed and pushed too much.

He bit down on his own thumb just to feel something, anything else. A distraction. To hold onto pain and not drift off into the places where he became pliant and malleable. Maybe it wouldn’t be too long down there, and he’d get back out without having lost too much of himself in the process; where he wouldn’t have to try and drag and claw himself back into a functioning person when it was done. There was nothing to do but hope, and wait, and hate himself for getting thrown in there in the first place.

[Taglist: @whumpthisway @hurting-fictional-people @lonesome--hunter @crowned-avery @extrabitterbrain @firewheeesky @outofangband @0idril0 @abitefullofwhump]

[In the modern series Zach does get buried alive at one point, and this is like the perfect parallel to that 👀 only without the threat of suffocating, just nicely dumping him somewhere small until he's more well behaved and thankful to be up above deck again.]

[walkingchemicalfire]

The Stray: Luca

Chapter 3

Continued from here

CW: blood, captured, violence, gun, bitterness to religion, burns

Soon the more shallow cuts began to close. He wondered absently if the cuts would scar. He’d never been cut with silver before and all other cuts had healed quickly and never scarred. Perks of being a werewolf of course. The silver was gradually running out of Luca’s bloodstream. The process burned and itched something terrible and Luca was growing restless. He shifted his shoulders to keep them from going too numb. There was a tingling running steadily through both arms that had started not too long ago, or at least what he thinks isn’t too long. It was difficult to tell in this plain as fuck torture chamber. There was no light other than the naked bulb hovering over him, the bulb that had not so much as flickered since the humans left him hanging here, literally.

His wolf sense is just on the outskirts of his mind, slowly but surely coming back to him. He’s able to look beyond the beam of light into the semi-darkness outside the cell bars. He can hear a steady drip drip drip against the rough stone. He could smell the mold and stagnant air in this prison. His strength is the slowest to return, but it’s getting there. He had been pulling on the manacles every few minutes, testing for any weaknesses or give. His wrists were chafed and tender but Luca knew his quick healing ability would fix that right up. Thank the fucking lord his bare feet were firmly on the ground and all his weight wasn’t ripping his shoulders out of their sockets.

“Although, I guess in a way I have the good fucking lord to thank for getting me into this mess in the first place.” Luca thought bitterly as he recalled Leader’s dumbass religious talk. What the hell did they want with his Pack? Something about cleansing the many? Honestly Luca was surprised the torture tactic wasn’t that speech alone, it sure was annoying enough. He had to get out of this hell hole and back to his family. They had been counting on him to drive the humans away.

Luca looked up at the attachment in the ceiling. The chain around the manacles was bolted into the ceiling. Even at full strength he doubted he could have yanked hard enough to pull the large screws and brackets from the stone. That left getting out of the thick metal locked around his wrists. Luca angled himself to get a better look at the contraption and snickered in delight at what he found. The wrist pieces were not connected together.

“Fuckin’ idiots.” Luca thought as he moved his left arm higher than the other so he could get a hold of the metal. He felt around for the clasp and his nails scraped along the groove. Evidently his wrists were bloodier than he had thought, the blood was slick along the metal and made it difficult for him to get a grip on the clasp. “C’mon, c’mon” His nails scraped along the metal, finally catching on the the rod going through the locked portion. As soon as his fingers made contact, they were on fire. Luca hissed and let go of the silver rod. “Hmm, smarter than I gave ‘em credit for, I guess.” He gave himself a second to breathe in before going at it again. Thankfully the rod slid out quickly once he got a hold of it. His arm dropped heavily to his side and he groaned as the joint relaxed. His fingertips were stinging but not enough to slow him down. Luca rolled his shoulder out as best he could before reaching up to release his other arm. This rod does not want to come out as easily as the first and Luca became frustrated as he fiddled with it. “Piece of shit human contraption, goddamn fuckin’ silver, let me out, you son of bitch.” Obviously the inanimate object does not respond, nor does it oblige his request. The rod is definitely stuck so Luca set his sights on a different route to freedom. He worked his fingers under the thick metal encircling his wrist and pulled. The metal began to bend outward in favor of the force he was using to manipulate it. His still trapped wrist flared painfully at the pressure. He ignored it as best he could, getting out was worth the temporary ache.

Eventually, Luca guessed he had pulled the manacle opened enough to get his hand out. He twisted his wrist to test how much wiggle room had been made. It was enough for his wrist to move but not enough to slip through easily. Twisting and pulling simultaneously had the irritated skin beginning to bleed once more. It hurt like a bitch but Luca used it as lubricant and just pulled harder.

Finally he was bunching his fingers together for the last tug. He reached his other hand up to pull the manacle off, forgetting about the piece of silver on it. His palm made full contact with the rod. Luca yelped and yanked his hand back. Fortunately that was just what he needed to get his still trapped hand the rest of the way to freedom.

“Well y’all had me goin’ with the silver but can’t stop me!” Luca laughed. He sat on the ground and ripped the hem of the pants he was wearing for two strips to wrap his wrists. He left the bloodied bandage still attached to his side alone. He could clean that up when he got back home. He stood and made his way over to the wall of knives.

“Shiitttt...” All the knives were made of silver. He touched the handle of one and jumped back from the instant burn. Luca groaned, thinking up his next move. He reached out for his wolf and could feel him lurking just out of reach. He tried to go into a Change and the cuts on his back alighted anew in agony. Luca dropped to the floor on his hands and knees and breathed through the onslaught. Stars flashed across his vision and he clenched his eyes closed. His ears started to ring and it took all his willpower not to to pass out. This is what silver does? Fuck. This was worse than being stabbed and relentlessly cut open with it.

Luca’s head was throbbing when he was aware enough to realize it. All that had consumed him was the raging fire that was his back. He had never felt this level of pain before. It was debilitating. It was shocking. It was....

Human

Luca gasped at the thought. Could that be possible? Leader did say they were on a mission to cleanse beasts, was this their plan? Using silver to cut him off from his wolf so effectively that he had no choice but to be human. He could lose his wolf entirely. Luca shuddered at that. No, that was his entire identity. His wolf was him and he was his wolf. They could not be separated. They would both die first. Together.

A loud clank pulled Luca from his thoughts and pain. He looked up to see the young baby-faced human from before pushing the cell door open. He stared wide eyed at the hanging manacles that had restrained the werewolf last time he was in here. Luca didn’t make a sound but soon enough the human had zeroed in on him and pulled out a handgun from his hip holster. The two stood off, waiting for the other to crack first. Luca watched the human and recognized the nervous twitch of his eye, his stuttering breathing pattern, and his heart was beating so wildly Luca could see his chest thumping from his distance.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Luca said, standing slowly and raising his arms halfway with his palms out.

“You hurt William.”

“Well his ear just looked too appetizing. And he offered it up so kindly it would’ve been rude of me not to try a bite.” Luca couldn’t help the sarcastic retort from slipping out.

Young One just stared at him. Luca sighed “What’s your name, kid?”

“Peter, and I’m not a kid.”

“Yeah tell that to your baby face, Petey.”

Peter’s expression hardened and he adjusted his stance slightly, aiming the gun more steadily but his hands were still shaking. Luca raised a brow. “Those shakes you got are not gonna help either of us. You aiming to slow me down and you’ll slip. You’ll get in trouble for accidentally killing me and I’ll be dead. So how ‘bout I slip past you and you say you never saw me?”

Pete was already shaking his head before Luca had even finished. “No, no I can’t do that.”

“C’mon Pete, I wasn’t lyin’ when I said I didn’t want to hurt ya. You’re young and can still make the right choice here.” Luca began to slowly move to get around the human and to the still open exit. “No harm, no foul.”

“S-stop!” Peter stuttered and Luca decided on a different approach.

He steeled his gaze. “Peter, don’t make me hurt you to get out of here. I’m leavin’ one way or another. If you get hurt in the process is your decision.”

The kid seemed to think about it for a moment. It was all Luca needed. He rushed forward and yanked the gun from Peter’s grip while kicking his legs out from under him. The human hit the ground hard and let out a loud shout.

Luca bolted for the door and smacked directly into a giant. No seriously, a giant. There weren’t many people larger than Luca, werewolves included, so this human had to be a direct descendant of Sasquatch. He smacked Luca away with one hand, sending him and the gun careening in opposite directions, and sidestepped into the room.

“What the fuck are you?” Luca snarled at the newcomer.

The giant smiled, exposing a horrendously ugly set of rotten teeth. “I’m your worst nightmare.”

Luca immediately guffawed “A fuckin’ cliche? Seriously?! Shit, you humans are way more disappointin’ than I thought!”

Sasquatch shrugged a huge shoulder. He bent to retrieve the gun and aimed it at Luca’s head, much more steady than Peter. Luca opened his mouth to say something that he hoped would not get him shot but would probably get his lights punched out at least, but nothing came out before the giant fired.

Tag Team: @whump-tr0pes @sableflynn @whumpywhumper @0idril0 @cursedscribbles @mymoon199 @endless-whump @insanitywishes

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

Hey, sorry for bothering you, but you were the blog on which I saw The peices you reblogged about Nico (I think his full name was Nikola?) So if you could tell me which blog they belonged to that would be great :)

@0idril0 ‘s Nico is the one that comes to mind. (Here) it’s about a human that gets capture by supernaturals; the whump and the recovery.

Is that it Nonny?

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Forgive me if you’ve already done this but...Ugh....Ash I loved the environmental whump with Baldor/Sir...

But just imagine for a second—Early Danny by the tree where Abraham had chained him up. A storm rolls in and he’s pelted with sleet and hail. The caretaking from Nate would be soooo sweet and Danny would be so grateful to be warm and away from the cold. Imagine what Abraham could leverage from that situation

Oh, @0idril0, I did do something a little similar to this in Waterlogged! It wasn't really the same exactly and didn't involve Nate caretaking but... oooh, maybe I could feed the Danny readers a bit and write a bit more environmental whump for him.

I mean.

No one minds another drabble of Danny being miserable and frightened and alone, right?