#BTHB prompt fills

[mothmxwhump]

Sup, could you do a snowed in Tarron perchance?

Xxx

(Using green to indicate WIP)

Fandom: OC

Cws: uhhh sickeningly sweet fluff, traumatized caretaker, mentions of/implied chronic pain, military titles, very vague mention of drinking

A/n: this takes place before collared Prince’s main storyline b/c I had a cute idea lol

Nym sighed, their aching knee crackling as they sat down. They massaged it as their employer entered the room, practically cocooned in a soft blanket and holding two steaming mugs.

Tarron smiled at them, “How are you settling in?”

“Fine, your highness. I really would have been fine in the servants quarters…”

“I’m perfectly happy to share my own quarters, captain. Besides, this way you can hear if I call for help.”

Nym huffed out a laugh. “I suppose.”

“Do you enjoy chamomile?” Tarron asked, gently pushing one of the warm mugs into their hands.

They looked down at the drink, a tea with cream and what smelled like honey. “Oh, uh, I shouldn’t. Cream on the job isn’t the brightest idea for me…”

“I used a fake creamer. So you could have some,” Tarron took a sip of his own tea, leaving a white mustache as he set down the cup.

“…that was very thoughtful of you…” Nym smiled softly, taking a sip of the drink. It warmed them practically instantly, the last chill of the snowy balcony leaving them. “Thank you, sir.”

“Tarron. You can just call me Tarron.”

“Then… thank you, Tarron.”

Tagging: @badthingshappenbingo @whattheheckisgravity @little-boats-on-a-lake let me know if you want to be added or removed!!!

[blackrosesandwhump]

A Punishment Most Vile

A Month of Whump: Impalement

March of Pain 2024: Miserable

BTHB: Slammed into a Wall

Fandom: Original work

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

CW: torture, magic whump, punishment, impalement

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

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

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

And as usual, he argued back.

No, no, I’m not!

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

Just watch! I’ll prove you—

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

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

“Is that a criticism?” said the magician.

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

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

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

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

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

“On your feet! Stand up!”

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

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

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

His back was turned.

The boy looked down.

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

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

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

@marchofpain @amonthofwhump @badthingshappenbingo

[cryptidwriterdotcom]

The ada just triggered his fight or flight response

And chuuya is a flightless bird >:)

[whump-womp]

I hear the trembling in your voice, don't be afraid I'm not as vicious as the tomes say, I'm just hungry

BTHB: Muzzled! Featuring my OC Mack, the werewolf! Something tells me he doesn't appreciate these restraints. :/ Mack uses he/they pronouns

[shrinkthisviolet]

General Masterlist

My OCs

My Fic Masterlist (forgive me if it’s not up-to-date, I’m not always great with cataloging 😅)

My AO3

Main Hashtags:

#bad things happen bingo: includes my fills for Bad Things Happen Bingo. Feel free to request a square with a character/relationship in my askbox! Consult the intro post before you do though

#lavi’s fic recs: my favorite fics! Definitely recommend these (any of my recs on AO3 too!)

#lavi’s prompt fills: anything I write for prompts/asks! Doesn’t include WIP snippets (but they might become part of fics later). In the process of cross-posting to AO3 here! (Prompts excluded if I might possibly use them in an actual fic)

#prompt list: any list of prompts that I’ve reblogged/written for! Feel free to ask for any prompts from them, whenever 💞

#morgan wells au: AO3 series page here, proper name is reaching up to touch the sky

#lucy kenobi au: AO3 series page here, proper name is Shatterpoint (no relation to the Shatterpoint book)

#bumizumi time travel au: AO3 series page here, proper name is history is gonna change

#ck time travel au: AO3 series page here, proper name is stay gold

OC Taglist (if you wanna be added or removed, shoot me an ask or DM!):

@arrthurpendragon @ocappreciationtag @raith-way @vexic929 @ironverseocs @thechaoticfanartist @goldheartedchaoticdisaster @negative-speedforce @starstruckpurpledragon

OC-specific:

Morgan: @angst-is-love-angst-is-life

Lucy: @dream-beyond-the-fantasy @angst-is-love-angst-is-life

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Replacement

Thorns & Jasmine

In which there's a small setback because I forgot to make up a reason why his eyes are white.

Warnings: Some not too graphic (?) eye gore, I mean, if you’ve been along for the ride, you know what happened, and if not, I’m not sure how much sense it makes. Anyway, eyes go *gestures vaguely*

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to write this, but then my BTHB came along, so I decided - why not. This is also very fitting for the WiJ “Free Choice” prompt, because someone does have a choice here, hehe.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Breannan strolled over the platform, a container of ink and a fresh loaf of bread in his basket. It was… nice to be out again. Not that he could push the thought of his friend, alone at his house, fully aside. But Caldyn was doing better. With each of Gwyneth’s visits, he healed a bit more, and with the little dog at his side, he seemed to be less afraid. For the last few days they had agreed that Breannan could leave for a bit, to pick up food and whatever else he might need. That way Corrie didn’t have to come by every day. They still visited ever so often, sharing gossip and checking in on him, but he didn’t need them to get everything for him anymore. 

He still tried not to stay away too long, usually picking up food from the nearest locations — not the platforms full of stalls offering it, but scattered ones in other, closer areas. Today it had taken a bit longer, because he had needed fresh ink, and there really was no way to get ink anywhere close. But it was a beautiful, sunny day, and Caldyn had told him to take his time, smiling as he had listened to Breannan searching for his misplaced basket.

Perhaps, in a week or two, he would be able to resume some of his lectures. Only the afternoon ones, and only a few times per month, but he missed his students. That would keep him out of the house for longer though, and he wasn’t yet willing to leave Caldyn alone for a longer time. It was hard to let go of his worry, even if it was unfounded. They were as safe as anyone could be, here in the heart of their home. As time passed, he’d get more comfortable with it, Breannan was sure of it. As soon as he had reached his platform, he picked up speed, entering his home a few minutes later. 

“I’m back,” he called out, walking to the shelf to put the ink away. There was no reply. Perhaps Caldyn had fallen asleep again? Breannan listened, then turned around to put the basket on the table. The bread could stay in there for now. Perhaps they’d try it later, perhaps not; they had already eaten in the morning, and Caldyn’s appetite was still rather small. 

The moment he entered the study room, Breannan realized something was off. Caldyn’s bed was empty, a puddle of water in front of it, from where the bucket had been toppled over. Some of the water had soaked the sheets as well. Breannan’s gaze darted across the room, finding Caldyn in the far corner of it. He was lying curled up on the floor, trembling, his head hidden beneath his arms. Around him were some scattered trinkets, probably fallen out of the shelf behind Caldyn.

Breannan suppressed his first instinct to run to his friend, looking around instead; even turning around to peer back into the room he had come from. There was no danger. In fact, everything looked completely normal. Not even the little dog was anywhere to be found, Breannan realized after a moment.

“Caldyn?” he called as he carefully took one step into the study room.

There was no reply.

“It’s me. It’s me. I’m coming closer,” he kept talking as he approached. So Caldyn would know it was him. So Breannan could hear his own voice, leaving less room for his thoughts running wild. Something must have happened. His friend had been doing so well. Breannan couldn’t stop himself from casting another glance over his shoulder as he walked across the room.

“Caldyn?” he asked again. “Can you hear me?”

He either couldn’t hear him, or didn’t manage to react. In front of him, Breannan stopped. Should he touch him? Would it make everything worse? When he was caught in something like that, he couldn’t stand to be touched, but Caldyn had always tried to be close to him, no matter how bad his panic. Expecting the worst, Breannan reached for Caldyn’s shoulder.

“Caldyn?”

Getting no reaction was not what he had hoped for, but better than what he had feared. He pulled his hand back, looking around once more. Could it have been a nightmare? Something must have caused this, but there was nothing out of the ordinary here. Whatever it had been, he’d have to make sure it was gone, but how should he? Slowly, he walked over to the bed, examining each step along the way. There was nothing, until his toes reached the spot where the floor was wet. 

Next to the puddle of water was what looked like an orange pile of… Breannan took a moment to recognize the color as the one of the fruits they had shared for breakfast. He grimaced, turning to the side, his gaze wandering over the empty bowl and the bucket he grabbed to put it upright. Next to it lay something he didn’t recognize. It was a weird, round thing. Mostly green, but wrinkly and dark on one side. Breannan reached for it, picked it up — and dropped it instantly, almost emptying his own stomach as well.

“Blight.”

He ran back to Caldyn, dropping to his knees next to him. Breannan had to pause, to take a few breaths, not half as deep as he had hoped, in the fruitless attempt to keep his hands from shaking. He had picked up his friend’s eye. No amount of calming exercise could make this horror go away. He had to keep it together. Had to find out how bad it was. How badly Caldyn was hurt.

There was no reaction as Breannan reached for his hands, pulling them down, turning him around. Where Caldyn’s left eye had been was nothing but a hole, and a few withered vines, hanging out of it. He stared at it, and the other one, looking so open wide. Always so terribly open with the missing eyelids.

“Caldyn. Can you hear me?” There was no reaction. It took Breannan a moment to realize that Caldyn had stopped shaking. It was the trembling of his own hands he felt, getting stronger as his friend didn’t react at all. “Caldyn? Caldyn, please wake up.”

Tears ran down his face as he pressed Caldyn against his chest, holding him, rocking him. He couldn’t have said how much time passed, how often he whispered his friend’s name, not getting any reaction. Staring at the back of Caldyn’s head, he tried and failed to think. He had to do something, but anything he could have done would have required letting go of Caldyn. He couldn’t, clinging to him as if he could vanish any moment. 

“Hey, Breannan? I know I was here yesterday, but you won’t believe what—”

“Corrie?” he asked in a whisper, not even hearing what he would not believe. Then, shouting, “Corrie, please. I need your help.”

He barely dared to look up as their footsteps approached, still staring at the back of his friend’s head, pressed against his chest.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. I need Gwyneth. The healer. Can you get her? She’s…” Would she even be at the healer’s house today, or would she have a night shift? But even if she’d be at home, Breannan didn’t know where that was. “At the healer’s house. The blue one. Do you know where that is?”

He had been there only once. While he remembered the way, for the most part, he didn’t even know how to start putting it into words.

“Yes. I know. I’ll get her. Breannan…” The worry behind Corrie’s words was almost graspable. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes.” Why did they even waste time asking? It wasn’t him who needed help! “Please, go. Go!”

Corrie sighed, but they left, walking quickly. Breannan wished they’d run, wished they’d be back already. “It’s gonna be alright,” he whispered, knowing Caldyn most likely wouldn’t even hear it.

What felt like hours later, but probably was barely a quarter of one, footsteps sounded again.

“Breannan? What happened?”

This time he did look up, finding Gwyneth in the middle of the room. She was holding a bag in both hands and failing to keep a professional look on her face. Breannan gestured her to come closer, with his head only, not daring to let go of Caldyn.

“His eyes,” he whispered as she crouched down next to them. “Something. Happened. One is… it’s over there. I wasn’t here. I didn’t see what happened, I don’t know— I don’t know what happened.” Breannan only stopped because he ran out of breath to say anything else. 

Gwyneth’s gaze wandered to the bed and the mess in front of it. It was unlikely she’d be able to see it from here, but it was probably unnecessary. “Can I see?” she asked, reaching out, but not touching Caldyn yet.

“I don’t know,” Breannan repeated. “He’s not… I found him like this and he… he doesn’t react, doesn’t…” 

Instead of saying anything, Gwyneth put her hands next to his, touching the back of Caldyn’s head. While she focused on her magic, Breannan stared straight ahead. If only he had been here. If only he could have done anything. If only—

“Breannan. Hey, look at me. Look at me.” Only when he did so did she continue talking. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but it’s not bad. No, listen,” she quickly added when he opened his mouth. “I can’t imagine how wrong it feels, that’s probably why he’s like that.” The expression on her face suggested that she might have tried to imagine it after all. “But the injury isn’t bad. His eyes were already gone. I’ll have to do something about it, obviously, but first I need you to calm down. He’s gonna be alright.”

Breannan stared at her, turning her words over in his head. Alright. Caldyn would be alright. He didn’t know how that could be possible, but he trusted her. Had to trust her. Closing his eyes, Breannan tried to take deep breaths, each one a bit less shaky than the previous one. 

“That’s right. He’ll be fine.” As she spoke, Gwyneth put her hand on Breannan’s, and he pulled back hastily. “I’m sorry, I forgot. Do you… do you want to know what happened?” she asked hesitatingly.

Against better judgment, Breannan nodded.

“His eyes are… well, were nothing more than dead tissue,” she started, her voice steady despite the grim topic. “The fire destroyed them. But the vines holding them weren’t, and without the eyelids, they started to dry up. The other one will follow soon, in a day or two if I don’t remove it as well; which I will.”

Breannan couldn’t help but flinch at her words. If she saw it, she ignored it, continuing with her explanation.

“I’m not entirely sure what to do after. We could leave the sockets like that, but he’d have to be very careful with them. And… I don’t think he’d appreciate the feeling much. He might get used to it, but… There is something I’ve been thinking about. I wasn’t sure how to bring it up, and I had hoped I’d have more time.” She paused, looking from Breannan to her hand, spreading her fingers. “You know, when someone loses a limb, they sometimes pick up a prosthesis. Some are carved or something, but most are grown. They’re attached with… well whatever, that doesn’t matter.”

She was speaking slowly enough to give Breannan time to ask, “You mean a shaper could grow a third arm or something like that?” No matter how worried Breannan was about his friend, this idea alarmed him.

“No. Not like that. They grow them from normal plants. Not kalani. Only we healers can use our magic on kalani, and we cannot shape." She sighed. “They grow a piece of wood that looks like a hand or foot, and attach it — mechanically, not with magic. It might have to be replaced at some point, if it’s worn.”

“So you… what? Wanted to get him a grown eye or something?” Breannan asked when Gwyneth didn’t continue. “Just… put it in there?”

“It sounds weird when you put it like this, but… that was one option, yes. Though so far my research has not given me great results about what material would be best. Unlike limbs, probably not wood.” Gwyneth took a deep breath. “The other… we can’t shape, but we can mend injured tissue in more than one way. I believe it should be possible for me to fill the sockets with what would basically be scar tissue. It wouldn’t look like eyes, but it would prevent any harm from coming to his sockets. It could probably stay like that indefinitely.” She hesitated, casting a glance towards Caldyn’s bed. “It would work now, because this is fresh. I need some kind of wound to work with.”

The implication was clear. It would work later, but then she’d probably have to cause that wound herself. The thought made Breannan shudder.

“I’m not sure how it would feel. If it would feel natural, if any of this would. I wanted to ask him what he’d prefer, but… by the tree, how should I have asked?”

That was a question Breannan had no answer for. “So what are we gonna do now?” he asked instead. 

“We can’t leave it like that,” Gwyneth said decidedly. “And I’m not sure if he’s in a state to decide, even if we wait for him to wake up. I obviously don’t have anything like spare eyes with me,” she said, a hint of desperate meaning flickering behind her words. “I mean, who would. But I need to do something about those vines.”

She looked at Caldyn, waiting quietly, as if hoping he’d wake up and take that decision away from them. He didn’t. “You know him better than anyone,” she whispered. “What do you think he’d want?”

Breannan closed his eyes, holding Caldyn a bit tighter. “I think he wants… he needs to be done with it. The healing and the… everything,” he said, suppressing his words’ meaning. He knew Caldyn was grateful that Gwyneth still came back; he himself was, indefinitely grateful. At the same time, all the touches, tracing those terrible wounds, and the pain when the hardened bark slowly mended, it was all too much. The thought that they’d continue on his eyes, prodding and fitting something in, was almost enough to let him decide. Still…

“This… this scar tissue. Would it be possible to remove it? If he wants something else,” he asked.

“Yes. I would assume it would be as unpleasant as creating it later would be.”

Breannan nodded. “Then do it. 

Even if Caldyn would decide on something else later, that wouldn’t be anytime soon. And until then, if this worked, it would give him some peace.

“Alright. Can you hold him so he faces me?”

Breannan nodded again, leaning against the wall and pulling Caldyn onto his legs. Holding his head, so he was facing Gwyneth, Breannan swallowed. The withered, brown tendrils hanging where his friend’s eye should be made him feel sick.

“I’ll start. Perhaps you should not watch,” Gwyneth said. She had moved closer and was holding something in her hand, something sharp, something… Breannan did not want to see. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes, absentmindedly brushing his fingers through Caldyn’s branchy hair.

For a while, there was only silence. Silence and the impression of movement close to him. Silence and the occasional noise that wasn’t silence, but so quiet, it was easy to ignore. Ignore, not imagining what Gwyneth might be doing that very moment. Not wondering what exactly had happened, if it had just fallen off like that. He was definitely not wondering about that, not at all.

When Caldyn stirred, it was a relief as much as a reason to worry. Gwyneth wasn’t done yet, hadn’t even started on the second eye. Breannan hoped she’d be able to finish her work. For now, she pulled her hands back.

“Bren… Breannan. Why… I had a dream. My… my eye… it was— it.” Caldyn gasped for air, struggling to get his left hand up. It was tangled in Breannan’s petals, and before Caldyn could free it and lift it to his face, Breannan caught it and held it.

“It’s alright. Gwyneth is here. She’ll take care of it.”

“Hey, Caldyn,” Gwyneth said, her hands resting in her lap.

“Gwyneth? Is it… evening?”

“No. Not yet. I came a bit earlier today.” Her tone and meaning were calming. “I heard you had a… nightmare,” she spoke slowly, “and I came to check on you.”

“Night… mare.” Caldyn tried to move his hand again. This time Breannan let him. Caldyn’s fingers were trembling as he touched the charred bark, not daring to get too close to his eye. He turned his head, to the side and back, swallowing. “You… you fixed it. Thank you. Thank…” His hand dropped. “Sorry. ‘m tired.”

“It’s alright.” Breannan reached for Caldyn’s hand, pulling it back close to his chest. “You can rest. We’ll take care of it.”

“Take… care.” Caldyn’s slurred words were hard to make out. “Will you… fix the other, too?” 

“Yes. I will.” Gwyneth raised her hand to his forehead, stroking it. “Don’t worry. Sleep.”

It took mere seconds for Caldyn’s body to go limp. Breannan cast a worried glance at Gwyneth, but she was already reaching for her tool again.

“It was the right decision, Breannan,” she said, looking up with a sad smile. “His mind is trying to protect him. Not having to deal with that anytime soon, if at all, is for the best. And it seems to feel right to him, so now I’ll take care of the other one as well. You should…”

“Yes,” he said quickly, closing his eyes, leaning back once more.

While Gwyneth worked, he found himself becoming calmer than he had been before. Despite knowing what she was doing at this very moment, he managed to think of something else. Something positive. Like which book he would pick to read to Caldyn later in the evening, as he so often did before he went into his bedroom for the night.

“I’m done.”

Breannan slowly opened his eyes. Earlier he had been too distracted by Caldyn’s awakening to pay much attention to what Gwyneth had done. Now he sat up straight, taking a deep breath before daring to look.

Despite Gwyneth’s words, what she had formed did look like eyes, in a way. The only difference was that they were white; colorless, rather, like the inside of a soft root that had never seen the sun. It was less unsettling than the charred bark around them. And if Caldyn’s earlier reaction was any indication, it didn’t seem to cause him any pain, perhaps not even discomfort. That was certainly more than he could say about some of his other injuries.

“Thank you.” Breannan managed a smile; shaky, but genuine. “Really, thank you. I was… I didn’t know what to do.”

“Hey, that’s what I’m here for.” She returned his smile, looking more tired than anything else. “Perhaps not exactly that. I’m just glad it worked. I’d like to stay and wait how he reacts, but I’m not sure he’ll wake up anytime soon. I will fall asleep any moment though, so I’ll have to get home.”

“Are you alright?” On second glance, Breannan realized with worry, she looked more than tired. “Should I…” He faltered. He’d like to offer to bring her home, but he didn’t want to leave Caldyn alone.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll go home and sleep. You need to stay with him. I’m not sure what he will remember when he wakes up, or how he will react. He shouldn’t be alone.”

Breannan nodded. “I will. Thank you.” 

He watched her get up, steadying herself against the shelf for a moment. Then she picked up her bag, smiled once more and left, her steps a little bit slower than usual.

Breannan waited until they had faded, then he leaned against the wall. He wished he had some of the blankets in reach, regretting briefly that he hadn’t asked Gwyneth to hand him one. It couldn’t be very comfortable for Caldyn like that, but there was nothing he could do about it, not if he didn’t want to let him go. And he couldn’t, not yet.

Perhaps in a bit; when Caldyn would wake up, when he would talk to him. When he would tell Breannan that he was fine, even if he wasn’t, and would decline when Breannan would ask him if he was hungry. Then Breannan would have to let go, to clean up Caldyn’s bed, and fetch some water, for his friend would surely be thirsty. He’d have to grab the book as well, the one he had thought about earlier. He’d do all of that, as soon as Caldyn would wake up. As soon as he knew Caldyn was truly alright.

It felt like hours later, but the light outside the window was still bright when Caldyn stirred, making it early afternoon at best. He lifted his hand, feeling Breannan’s petals and finding his arm, resting there. Breannan closed his fingers around his friend’s.

“Breannan?” Caldyn’s voice was sleepy, but calm. “I had… a strange dream.”

Aaaaand this one is the last entry for his recovery arc. With the next part, we’ll finally be dragging Lily into this mess :)

Also, please blame any anatomical inaccuracies on the fact that he is a plant. Thanks. And in case you were wondering, the dog got scared and went to hide.

Tagging: @villainsvictim​​ @dont-touch-my-soup​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi​​ @whump-cravings​ @frenchfries893​ @siren-of-agony​ @badthingshappenbingo​ @whumpmasinjuly​

[detective-giggles]

I’m gonna ask for this one to if that’s okay 😊

🚗

Of course it’s okay! Sorry this took so long- I got distracted from *all* my WIPs by writing a new fic for the Tarlos Weekly Prompt!

🚗🚗🚗🚗

There’s a slight commotion and Carlos is confused, so he does the one thing that will bring him comfort: he reaches for TK.

[renecdote]

I would like any and all prompts you choose to fill please and thank you. but also this one:

look at your face!

congratulations allison you have unlocked a surprise BTHB square: bloody nose [Read on AO3]

Buck feels the impact all through his body. For a moment, he’s dazed, his brain taking an extra few seconds to catch up with what it already knows just happened. Swooping bird, uneven sidewalk, Evan Buckley’s famously shitty luck. Eddie’s distractingly attractive smile, too, which technically didn’t contribute to the face planting, but didn’t exactly help either. Buck might have been paying more attention to where he was going if it wasn’t for that smile.

“Ow,” he mutters into the concrete. It comes out thick and nasally.

“Buck?” Eddie’s worry is, somehow, also attractive. Buck wonders why he never noticed the before. “Are you okay?”

Buck starts to push himself up—nope, ouch—then he gives up and rolls onto his back instead. The bright, cloudless LA sky is mostly blocked out by Eddie’s face hovering above him when he squints his eyes open. He looks just as worried as he sounded.

“Please tell me my leg isn’t broken again,” Buck says, even though he’s pretty sure it isn’t. That’s the kind of thing he would have noticed immediately, he thinks. Or maybe not, since his whole body is kind of… throbbing. A little. Mostly his face.

Eddie’s head dips out of his field of vision for a moment, then pops back up to report, “Your legs are fine. Can you sit up?”

“Yes,” Buck says confidently, then has to take a deep breath to brace himself before he actually tries. Eddie offers him a helping hand and Buck holds onto it even though he tells himself it’s not really necessary. He just thinks holding Eddie’s hand would be nice right now. It would be nice to do it some day when one or both of them aren’t injured, too.

Something tickles his lip. Buck wipes at the irritation, expecting dirt, and pain explodes through his nose and out through the rest of his face.

“Fuck,” he gasps, automatically clutching at it. Unsurprisingly, that just makes another wave of pain crash through him. Buck blinks back the reflective tears, biting his lip hard. He might be embarrassed by the pathetic noise of pain pulled out of him if it didn’t hurt so much.

“Here, let me look,” Eddie says, gently prying Buck’s hands away from his face.

It’s not a surprise to look down and find blood on his hands, but it still makes Buck’s stomach swoop, an automatic vagal response that his stupid brain only seems to get when it’s his own blood he’s dealing with. Or Eddie’s, but. There were extenuating circumstances there.

“Jesus,” Eddie mutters, fingers at Buck’s jaw gently tiling his head. It’s probably just a coincidence that it takes his eye off his hands. “Look at your face. Maddie is going to be pissed.”

“‘M good,” Buck tries. “Really.”

The reassurance is immediately ruined when the blood running over his lip gets in his mouth and he has to spit it back out, bright red and bubbly with saliva on the pavement. Gross. Buck tries to grimace without wrinkling his nose, but he’s pretty sure he just looks like he some weird lip spasm thing going on.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Your nose is broken, Buck.”

Buck shakes his head in denial, but that just makes the pain in his face pulse. Eddie is quick to hold his head still.

“Stop moving,” he scolds. “You’re worse than Chris.”

Buck sticks his tongue out at him, then instantly regrets it when he has to spit out more blood. Eddie gently nudges his head forward so the blood drips down between his bent legs instead of down his throat. His hand stays on Buck’s back, warm and solid even though Buck’s shirt is probably gross and sweaty, and it’s kinda nice. Comforting.

“I don’t even know why you’re arguing with me,” Eddie says. “I’m the one who can see your nose and I don’t even need my EMT training to see that it’s definitely broken.”

“It can’t be broken,” Buck protests, more to the universe in general than Eddie. “The wedding is in a week, Eds. Maddie is going to kill me.”

“At least it wasn’t really your fault,” Eddie offers, sounding like he doesn’t think that will help Buck’s case at all.

“I’m so fucked,” Buck sighs around more blood. “Please avenge me when I’m gone.”

Eddie rolls his eyes again. “Why don’t we work on minimising the damage first, then we can plan out your revenge fantasy later?”

“Ice pack?” Buck asks hopefully.

“Uh.” Eddie looks around, like maybe one might magically appear in the middle of the park they were running through. “You might have to wait until we get to urgent care for that.”

Buck groans. Somehow, that makes fresh blood gush from his nose because the human body hates him personally. He pinches his nostrils gingerly, trying to find the sweet spot between stopping the bleeding and not making it hurt more. He doesn’t really succeed, but if there’s one thing he’s good at it, it’s being in pain, so Buck just gives up and takes it. It’s not like it’s his first broken nose. Or his second.

“Don’t even try,” Eddie says, pre-empting him before he can speak. “Your options are urgent care or the ER.”

“They’re probably just going to tell me to take painkillers and not bump it until it heals.”

Eddie has pulled out his phone, one-handed, probably to google where the closest urgent care is.

“I’m not listening to you,” he says.

“Not even if I have ice packs in my car?”

Eddie pauses, looking up from his phone. “Of course you do.” Like he’s kicking himself for not thinking of that before. “This doesn’t get you out of urgent care, though.”

Buck sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

He crosses his eyes trying to look at his nose, closing one eye and then the other, but he still can’t see how bad the break might be. He’s pretty sure it can’t be worse than when he took a hockey stick to the face in high school, at least. Between the broken nose and the orbital blowout, his face was swollen for weeks. That one has got to be in the top ten worst injuries he’s had, Buck thinks, and then wonders whether he should be worried that he has been injured enough times to have a top ten.

“Come on.” Eddie stands, not asking this time before he reaches out and takes Buck’s hand to pull him to his feet as well. “The sooner we go, the sooner we get out of there.”

And then they can go home. Buck doesn’t need to ask to know that they’ll be going together, probably back to Eddie’s house, and they’ll cook dinner, and exaggerate the broken nose story for Chris, and maybe, if Buck is lucky, he’ll fall asleep with his head on Eddie’s shoulder while they all watch a movie together. He’ll wake up bleary and content, probably with a blanket thrown over him, and when he makes half-hearted noises about going home, Eddie will just roll his eyes and say, “Don’t be ridiculous, Buck, you’re staying.”

So Buck will stay.

In the face of all that, even hours waiting in the uncomfortable plastic chairs at urgent care doesn’t seem so bad. Especially when Buck starts tapping his fingers on his thigh, waiting anxiously for this name to be called, and Eddie reaches out and takes his hand. He squeezes gently, a silent reassurance, and Buck lets himself daydream, for a moment, that the injury isn’t there at all.

[devirnis]

WIP Wednesday 🤧

tagged by @tizniz @daffi-990 @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @wildlife4life @exhuastedpigeon @disasterbuckdiaz @honestlydarkprincess @malewifediaz @princessfbi MWAH TO YOU ALL 💋

Now that smutfic is finally done, my brain has capacity to focus on other things now and I've started noodling away at a prompt/next BTHB fill "sneezing" - asthma attack fic:

“Here, drink this.” Hen thrusts a paper cup into his hands and Buck brings it up to his lips without another thought as she climbs past him and into the ambulance. He takes a few deep gulps, only registering after the last mouthful that he’s tasting coffee and cinnamon.  Chim’s going to be so pissed I drank his coffee, Buck thinks distantly as he takes another swig.

if you wanna @bigfootsmom @shortsighted-owl @spaceprincessem @sibylsleaves @eddiebabygirldiaz @giddyupbuck @jeeyuns @bvckandeddie @loserdiaz @eowon @shitouttabuck @messyhairdiaz @oatflatwhite @lemonzestywrites @rainbow-nerdss @underwater-ninja-13 @thewolvesof1998 @fortheloveofbuddie 💜

[amatchinwater]

Pairing: Stackson

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Jackson Whittemore, Donovan Donati, Vernon Boyd

Tags/warnings: hate speech/derogatory language, homophobia, homophobic language, Donovan just really sucks, mild violence (he got the back eye somehow)

Words: 2663

Prompt: BTHB square Black Eye

Ao3 link Masterlist

--

You’d really think Stiles would’ve learned by now. Coming out of the closet is not easy. That much he can give Donovan credit for. And in no way, shape, or form will you catch Stiles forcing the matter. As nice as it would be to be public with Donovan and whatever you’d classify their relationship as. That’s something to be done when and how the other boy feels comfortable, not Stiles.

All he can do is remind Donovan that he will be there as support when he’s ready. 

There’s just one tiny- okay major- problem. 

Stiles is beginning to suspect that Donovan might be homophobic. 

Even someone deep in the closet isn’t typically rude enough to shun someone in the halls. With something as simple as a hello or a small wave, Donati gives him this look. A nasty thing as if Stiles had spit in the boy’s face rather than offered pleasantries. And whenever he- politely- asks when they might put a label on them, even if in private, Donovan always has the same answer.

He’d rather be caught dead than with a guy.

But even with that, Stiles can’t bring himself to walk away. Call it codependency if you want, but he just doesn’t want to be alone. Granted, Stiles has his pack. Derek, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, and Jackson. But that’s not the same kind of companionship he’s looking for. 

So what’s a little heartache in exchange for the companionship he is looking for?

A small price.

At least that’s what Stiles usually tells himself. Because it’s not like he could just walk up to– no, he’s not going there. Stiles’ heart and brain are already damaged enough, there’s no need to add insult to injury here.

His phone dings in his pocket as he’s walking out of school. 

>>Usual spot, 5 mins

A demand, not a request. Stiles would be lying if he said that shit wasn’t getting on his last nerve. 

K<<

With a sigh, Stiles shoves his phone back in his pocket, knowing full and well he’s about to leave this situation feeling worse than better. Maybe being alone wouldn’t be such a bad thing. He probably wouldn’t feel sick every time he hears that text tone. 

When he gets to the music room, he can already see Donovan inside waiting for him. The other boy hasn’t noticed him yet, so Stiles takes a moment to try and turn his heart off. Can’t be affected by what you can’t feel. Right?

The music room makes sense as a good spot to meet up because ever since the teacher was killed last year, the school has yet to find a replacement. It’s never used. 

As much as Stiles doesn’t want to feel loneliness, he wishes he had the strength to end this. Whatever this is. 

Maybe one day. 

Stiles knocks twice, once, and then three times before opening the door. It’s a code Donovan made up to ensure they know who’s coming in. Especially since the boy’s locker room is only two doors over and lacrosse practice is going on right now.

But when their eyes meet, Stiles knows deep in his bones, if he’s ever getting out, he has to do it now. There’s so much anger in the other boy’s eyes. If they’re meeting up to make out, shouldn’t Donovan be at least a little happy? Not like he’s filled with resentment. 

Screw worrying about being alone. He’s got his pack and they love him. For now, it’s going to have to be enough. Because their love doesn’t come with a toxicity clause. It’s warm and genuine. 

“What took you so long?” Donovan snaps. 

Not out of worry if Stiles is okay. But for making him wait. For prolonging the risk of being caught. That much is evident in the way the other boy keeps looking behind Stiles, checking the window on the door for people passing by. 

No one suspects a goddamn thing between them. Well, Stiles is sure his pack has smelled Donovan on him after their encounters. But they’ve never said anything to anyone; not even Stiles. 

“I had to go the long way,” he explains, “the main entrance was already locked.” That’s not what he’s concerned about so Stiles adds, “no one saw me.”

“Good,” Donovan nods, “let’s hope not. I can’t be seen with you.” 

Charming.

How did Stiles not get sick of this sooner? 

Donovan quickly closes the distance between them, hands reaching out and eyes half closed. 

“No,” Stiles pushes against the other boy’s chest to keep distance. 

“What do you mean no?”

“I can’t do this anymore,” Stiles takes a step back, not liking the dark glare from those nearly black eyes. “I’m out. It’s more than okay that you’re not. But I’m tired of hiding who I am.”

Suddenly Donovan’s hands are around his throat, showing Stiles against the wall and forcing his tongue in his mouth.

Stiles’ face contorts, not even remotely kissing back and trying to push Donovan off. Stiles is all for a hand around his throat. But this hurts and he can’t fucking breathe, blackness beginning to shadow the edges of his vision.

“You’re disgusting, you know that?” Donovan sneers, wiping his mouth clean as if he wasn’t the one to force the kiss. 

Stiles should’ve bit the fucker. 

“Disgusting and so fucking wrong. Who are you going to turn to, huh? No one is going to want to touch someone like you.”

Stiles’ newfound backbone settles into place. He scoffs, “I’m wrong? Me? The only thing wrong here is you. Treating me like garbage when I actually liked you.” 

Donovan doesn’t take a moment to digest Stiles’ words or even have half of a thought. He just rears back and punches Stiles right in the face. Really fucking hard. The force makes Stiles stumble, lose his footing, and fall on the floor.

“Don’t be such a fag,” Donovan seethes before snatching his bag up and storming out of the room.

Stiles’ face is throbbing, one eye watering and stinging so badly he doesn’t even want to open it. Can’t. Collecting himself, he gets off the ground. Brushing his pants off, Stiles quietly leaves the room. Not once does he stop until he’s pulling his jeep into the driveway.

It’s not his first time taking a hit to the face, he used to play lacrosse for fuck’s sake. But it was the first in that setting. In that…way.

Silver lining? 

He’s free of Donovan.

Luckily, his dad was working a double shift last night, so he didn’t see the mess that was his son. And thankfully, with one sacrificial bag of frozen peas later, the swelling of Stiles’ eye went down. The small cut on his cheekbone is nothing of consequence. Something easily explained away by his clumsy nature. The major problem? 

The very obvious black eye.

Even Stiles isn’t graceless enough to give himself a shiner. Litter his arms, legs, and sides with them? For sure. But usually if he hits his face it was from doing something stupid like the one time he was trying to make a rubber band ball. He used too small of a band and when it snapped it got him right in the chin. A nice little cut that he wore for three days. But never a black eye. 

He avoided his pack last night so as not to cause any problems. Although Jackson, his childhood best friend, showed up at his goddamn house after practice. Stiles lied his ass off that he was nauseous and should be left alone. Not because Jackson might get sick. No, don’t worry, the jock reminded Stiles numerous times that he’s immune because he’s a werewolf. 

Stiles just kept pushing how gross it was and that his best friend didn’t need to see that.

Jackson responded in kind that nothing could be more gross than walking in on Stiles jerking himself off when they were going through puberty. Which, thanks. Great boost to his ego there, Jax, truly. In the end, the wolf backed off once Stiles promised he’d call if he needed anything. 

But now Stiles has to go to school. Lydia is off on some college tour, so it’s not like he can call her for a quick cover up. She and her makeup are states away. No staying home either. His dad would get a call at work and that’s just not something he wants to deal with. A small fib to Jackson is one thing, but Stiles is sure his dad is desensitized to his lies, it just wouldn’t work. 

Maybe he can get away with staying in the library or getting a note from the nurse. 

That’s probably the best course of action. If he tells the nurse he’s throwing up, they won’t call his dad and just let him leave. 

Stiles intends to do just that. He hides in the boy’s bathroom, waiting for the first bell to ring. He’s got his old, oversized lacrosse hoodie on to hide his face. But the fewer people in the halls, the better. It also runs less of a risk in seeing his pack right now. They would all collectively lose their minds.

Possibly their composure as well.

Jackson has proved since they were young that he won’t tolerate people bullying Stiles. Can’t threaten what you don’t know about though. Erica would burn the school down then ask what idiot hurt him. Boyd would just give them a Derek level death glare to ensure they never even looked at Stiles again. Isaac could go either way. It would depend on the situation. A black eye would probably constitute a broken bone or two.

Best to avoid them.

Or at least until tomorrow when Lydia and her makeup bag are back in Beacon Hills and can help Stiles cover this up. 

The bell rings, startling Stiles in the quiet stall. He waits until the voices have mostly ceased to poke his head out. But when he does, he catches a glimpse of Donovan walking towards his locker. Almost choking on a breathy squeak, Stiles disappears back into the bathroom. 

Not without hearing Jackson call, “Stiles?”

Fuck.

Stiles rushes back into the stall to hide. If anything, it’ll keep up the façade that he’s ill. Hell, he feels so nauseous after seeing Donovan that he might actually throw up from anxiety alone. 

The bathroom door opens and two sets of footsteps come in.

This is just not Stiles’ week.

“Stiles, what’s going on?” Jackson asks, voice full of concern.

It warms Stiles’ heart that his best friend cares this much. If Jackson wasn’t painfully straight, maybe the whole Donovn situation could’ve been avoided. 

Again, he’s not thinking about that.

“You can’t hide from me,” Jackson says, “even if I couldn’t smell you, I can hear your heartbeat anywhere. Come on out.”

That shouldn’t blanket Stiles’ heart the way that it does. Jax only means because they’re best friends. That’s it. Just friends.

“Stiles, we just want to make sure you’re alright,” Boyd adds, confirming the wonder of the second set of feet. “You know you can talk to us.”

They won’t leave without seeing him. Stiles knows they won’t. Time to face the music. Ever so slowly, he unlocks the door, stepping out hood up and chin tucked. “I don’t feel well, I’m just going to go home.”

“If you were sick, you could’ve just said so,” Boyd chuckles. 

Jackson snorts, “Well at least this time it sounds like the truth.” 

Without thinking, Stiles looks up to snap at the wolf, except doesn’t get a chance to speak. He immediately realizes his mistake.

Boyd mutters, “oh shit.”

Eyes flashing blue, Jackson snarls, “Who did it?” Despite his tone, he carefully grabs Stiles’ chin to get a better look.

“Just drop it, Jax,” Stiles jerks his head and shoves the wolf’s hand away. “It’s nothing,” he says, avoiding eye contact and keeping the black eye facing away from them. 

“Fuck that,” Jackson grabs his chin again, forcing eye contact while somehow remaining gentle. “Who. Did. It?” Every word is growled.

He’s pissed. Stiles may now hate Donovan, but he doesn’t want to see the guy dead. He fiddles with his fingers, not looking at either wolf. What Stiles wouldn’t give to not have a conscience right now. 

His best friend laughs humorlessly, “It was Donati, wasn’t it?”

Stiles says nothing. Not that it matters. He feels it the moment his heart betrays him with a skip. And the wolves definitely heard it too. 

“What are we doing?” Boyd asks, muscles flexing in his arms as he crosses them tighter.

“Find him,” Jackson growls. 

All it takes is a nod of his head towards Jackson and Boyd dutifully walks out. 

“I knew I should’ve snapped his neck when the whole thing started.” Jackson snorts, “and Erica said I was just being jealous.”

There’s so much to unpack in those two simple sentences.

“How did you possibly know?” Stiles opts for the least confusing of the wolf’s statements. “We were so careful.”

Jackson’s face is as deadpan as his tone, “It’s like you forget I’m a werewolf or something. As if I couldn’t hear the two of you if practice got out early. Even then, we can all smell him on you.”

Right.

That’s totally a thing Stiles thought about, he’s just still confused right now.

His best friend laughs at the face Stiles pulls. “Come on, let's get you to Derek’s where you’ll be safe until Boyd finds Donati. Get you something for that cut too.”

The care from the wolf and the gentle way Jackson wraps his arm around Stiles’ shoulder almost has him forgetting the other comment.

“Hang on,” Stiles shrugs his arm off, facing the wolf. He simply cannot get the thought of Jackson being jealous out of his head. Stiles can feel it niggling away at his brain. 

He has to ask before his mind actually combusts.

“Why did Erica say you were jealous? Did you think he was going to steal your best friend away or something?” It’s the most logical reason he can think of.

“I–” Jackson looks away, his eyes trailing back slowly, uttering a soft, “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Then–” Stiles’ heart slams in his ribcage, he can’t breathe. Does Jackson like Donovan? Had Stiles been wrong about the wolf’s sexual preferences all along? He clears his throat, doing his best not to stutter, asking “Then why?”

“Are you really going to make me spell it out?” Jackson asks with no heat. Not even the usual sarcasm in his tone that they share can be found.

Stiles flails his arms. Because obviously yes, he’s missing something here. 

“That would be nice, yes.”

Jackson chews his lip, contemplating his words. Stiles can see the war raging in his best friend’s mind behind beautiful blue eyes. The wolf growls. 

“Screw it,” he says, cupping Stiles’ cheeks and slamming their mouths together.

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit!

Holy shit!

He could’ve had Jackson! Stiles didn’t have to be lonely? His gorgeous best friend has feelings for him and Stiles had no idea the wolf even liked guys. He would’ve tried something. Flirted at the very least. Can you blame him? Even someone blind would know Jackson is stunning. And he actually cares about Stiles too. 

Stiles was a little frozen from shock that he didn’t kiss back right away. A very soft, small whine rumbles in the back of the wolf’s throat and he goes to pull away. Stiles curls his fists in Jackson’s expensive shirt, keeping their mouths firmly pressed together. He never wants to hear that sound again. 

“I didn’t know,” Stiles whispers.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Jackson strokes his cheek. “Just say the word and I’ll snap his neck. I promise.”

“No, Stiles mutters, brushing their noses together. “I just need you.”

Jackson smiles, “You’ve got me,” leaning in to kiss him again.

[letthewhumpbegin]

BTHB voting #23

My goal for this year is to complete my new Bad Things Happen Bingo Card😇. I've never before produced that much fanfics in one year, so we'll see how it goes 😁

You, my dear readers, followers and accidental-passers-by, get to vote who / what fandoms the prompts will get filled for! Over the next weeks I will post a poll per prompt, and you can get voting 😉

The 23rd prompt is: HYPOTHERMIA

For a 'look-and-feel' of my writing, check out my writing masterlist

[dangerpronebuddie]

For the WIP word game.

Breath

Cold

Please

Hey darling 🥰

Breath - Slight Air and Purging Fire

Eddie woke up with a coughing fit, his lungs and eyes burning. Smoke filled his lungs with every labored breath. For a delirious moment, Eddie thought he was dreaming.

Cold - Angst prompt for @tizniz

Buck forgot about the cold, the rush, the noise that accompanied the tsunami. But the one thing he remembered was the weight, pulling him down and pressing on his chest, tearing him away from Christopher.

Please - BTHB: Prisoner Exchange

“I can help you,” Eddie said calmly, slowly putting himself between Maddie and Sam. “And I will, if you leave them alone.”

Sam glanced down at Maddie. Eddie kept his focus on the man, waiting for the slightest movement. Sam looked at him again. “Please?” Eddie prodded.

Wip game: send me a word and I'll find it in my wips

[chizue-witchery]

⚜️. *. ⋆ Fandom: QSMP | Quackity SMP

⚜️. *. ⋆ Pairing: Jaiden Animations & Roier

⚜️. *. ⋆ Character/s: Jaiden Animations, Roier

⚜️. *. ⋆ Summary: Roier is holding her hands like she'll disappear from his grasp and she doesn't understand why. She's right here.

⚜️. *. ⋆ Word Count: 1,010

⚜️. *. ⋆ Warnings/Tags: major character death, hurt no comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, angst

⚜️. *. ⋆ Prompts/Squares Filled: "How many fingers am I holding up?" || @whumptober • Doesn't Realize They've Been Injured || @badthingshappenbingo • "Don't cry." || 100 Ways to say "I Love You" Challenge Prompt#39

Whumptober2023 Masterlist || BTHB Masterlist || 100WTSILY Masterlist

AO3

A/N: before clicking the read more, this is a disclaimer that they are the characters/cubitos and not the content creators themselves!! other than that, i hope you enjoyed reading my first ever whumptober entry! <3

"¿Cuántos dedos tengo en la mano?" A voice calls out to Jaiden; a voice she can barely recognize due to her ears ringing, squinting her eyes to try and recognize who is holding her hands tightly. She could feel a wet pooling sensation beside her, wondering what it could be.

"Mírame, Jaiden." Jaiden didn't even know she was off looking to the side, away from the face she could barely recognize, turning back to look at the face. She could barely make out any of the person's features but she recognized the bandanna that is currently wrapped around her hands.

Someone is holding her hands like she'll disappear from their grasp and she doesn't understand why. But she knows who owns that bandanna.

"Roier…?" She whispered, realizing how much it hurt to say something. Her throat burns and she doesn't know why.

Her vision is slowly clearing and she could see Roier's panicked expression; an expression Jaiden hasn't seen on him for a long time. She wonders why he is looking at her like that. His grip on her hands never seemed to waver, but she could feel them shaking.

"Jaiden," he said, his voice sounding calm and collected even though Roier's expression isn't. He lets go of one of her hands and lifts a finger. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Jaiden squints her eyes, her vision still not fully cleared. Still, she answers, "... four?"

Roier's brows furrowed. He repeated the question, "How many fingers am I holding up?"

She must have guessed wrong, then. She tries again. "Three?"

Roier shakes his head, then sighs. "It's one, Jaiden."

"Oh," is what all she says, not knowing how to respond to it. She must be out of it if she got it wrong twice.

Jaiden tries to get herself up, but Roier prevents her from doing so. "No te muevas, Jaiden– don't move," he tells Jaiden and she stops. "Las pociones no funcionarán contigo. Estas demasiado herido."

When Jaiden doesn't respond, Roier remembers she can't check the translation device due to it being broken during the impact. "The, ah, potions won't work on you. I don't want to risk it."

Roier would've already used a totem of undying to help her, but one has already been used on himself; still feeling the after effects of using it.

Jaiden slowly nods, wondering if it's just her or is her vision getting dark. Her head is starting to hurt too, shutting her eyes close to help ease the pain for a brief moment. "What.. happened..?"

Roier releases Jaiden's hands, wrapping an arm around her instead to keep her steady. "The Code attacked us while we were exploring." A pause. "Hice lo mejor que pude para protegerte, pero fallé…"

Jaiden hums and exhales a shaky breath. "Thank you for protecting me, Roier…"

"It wasn't enough," he retorted. "Aún te lastimaste y ahora estás—" He stops himself from continuing his words.

Jaiden didn't need the translation to know what he's talking about. She could feel it in the way the pool around her doesn't stop, even with the bandages wrapped around her waist. Her breaths are getting shorter and she opens her eyes so she can look at Roier one last time, even if it feels heavy.

"Thank you for being the best partner I could've had in taking care of Bobby," she slowly starts out and Roier's eyes widen.

"Cállate, Jaiden–" he says, "We're going to get through this. Don't—" His voice cracks at the end.

"It's okay," Jaiden whispers, lifting her hand to caress Roier's cheek, noticing the blood (her blood) smearing it. "It's okay…" she repeated softly.

Roier's eyes never leave hers as he places his free hand on top of hers, closing his eyes as a tear rolls down his cheek.

"Don't cry, Roier." She tells him with a smile while the tear droplets land on her face. "You'll… you're going to get through this…" Jaiden's smile never wavers even as more tears drop on her face. She only looks at him like she always does; safe. "You have Cellbit, Foolish, Forever– you have everyone by your side."

Roier shakes his head. "I won't have you."

"No… no, you won't." She slowly shakes her head. "But it's okay."

"It's not." told Roier, eyes brimming with more tears. "No puedo perderte también–"

Jaiden quietly shushes him as she lifts herself up a bit to press their foreheads together as she closes her eyes. "You're going to be okay."

Roier closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then he opens them once again to look at Jaiden. This will be the last time he'll see her. He can feel it's going to be the last time he'll see her.

She won't respawn and they both know it.

Which is why Jaiden tries her best to be strong for Roier even if her body hurts a thousand times more every time she moves. Because Roier has always been strong for both her and Bobby, it's time for her to be strong for him.

She stops holding Roier's cheek and wraps both of her arms around him, giving him comfort in her final moments because it's the only thing she can do.

Roier wraps his other arm around her, keeping her close because it's the only thing he can do. They're way too far and there isn't enough time to save Jaiden's life.

It's the end.

"Te quiero mucho, Jaiden…" he whispers to her as the sun sets behind them.

"I love you too, Roier," she whispers back to him as her hold on him loosens, feeling colder and colder by the second.

"Saluda a Bobby de mi parte…"

Jaiden never got to hear his last words, her eyes closed with a contented smile as she slumps over Roier.

She never got to hear Roier cry nor did she feel him shake her body as he tells her to wake up over and over again until he had to be dragged away from her body.

Jaiden's gone and Roier breaks.

[amethystpath-writes]

Hello :) Could you do something where the hero and villain were lovers but the villain betrayed the hero somehow and now it’s super angsty and the hero is begging so hard for the villain to not do whatever they’re going to do (maybe getting on their knees to beg too, who knows) and it’s just SUPER ANGSTY :)) Sorry for the long ask, thank you very much and I love your writing!

Hey. Hi. I swear I answered this prompt at one point and I can't remember if I did?? Help?? Someone who is dedicated and uh loves this blog enough to search the vastness of it (please don't scroll back to the BTHB prompts yikes)...would one of you be willing to find this prompt- answered- on my blog?

[whump-womp]

Felt like getting myself a Bad Things Happen BINGO card for whump prompts to draw! I'll edit this post as I finish prompts!

Please feel free to send in requests, just keep in mind I'm using my Original Characters!

FILLED PROMPTS & REQUEST GUIDELINES UNDER THE CUT:

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🩸 Slammed into a Wall 🩸 Muzzled

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Unfortunately I haven't made specific OC Introductions on this blog yet, but here is the link to my ToyHouse.

Because I haven't shared much about them you can choose pretty much anyone who catches your eye, don't feel obligated to read all their profiles, go with your heart 😌 You can also request a prompt without a character if you'd prefer to see who I'd choose

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE DESIGNS ARE FAIR GAME! This includes Vampires, Mermaids, Pirates and more if you are interested!! (I love my AUs and there is already plenty of angst involved in most of them)

No requests for OCs under 18. I have very few listed, though, don't worry. (If there isn't currently an age or age range listed on their profile they're most likely an adult) (Sheena and Zeke are the only ones in my main folders)

I'd prefer not to use my anthro OCs, either

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Disclaimer: I put a handful of prompts on my list with specific OCs/scenarios in mind already so as a disclaimer if you request an OC that I don't think fits these I may not fill it out exactly as requested. I don't want that to deter any suggestions, I'm just letting u know!!! this is mostly just relevant for a few like:

compelling voices (a vampire trait in our AU)

killing in self-defense (specific character in mind)

don't let them see you cry (specific character in mind)

the rest are pretty fair game! for the super generic prompts (stitches, bruises, etc) don't be afraid to request any OC that interests you!

If you'd would like to know more about a specific OC or dynamic between multiple OCs before sending a request in, or if you'd like to make sure a request wouldn't feel out of character or anything: shoot me an ask or message at any time. Anons are open!

[autistichalsin]

😆. Most used AO3 tag?, 😂. Reveal the name of 5 of your fic docs?

Most used AO3 tag- probably hurt/comfort?

5 fic doc names-

2 are the same as the fics up on AO3 (Taken Sick and Too Many Burdens to Bear)

Halsin BTHB- My fills for prompts for my Bad Things Happen Bingo card

Halsin Mpreg- a story I keep wanting to write but getting nowhere where Silvanus blesses Halsin with a child of his own

Halsin baby fic- a few paragraphs that I tried to work into another story before deciding it would be better as its own; the plot is Halsin having a bad day, so Kiaran decides to sneak into town to ask one of their commune residents, who had a baby, to come over the next day to ask Halsin to babysit for a few hours, so he can have therapeutic baby cuddles. Which then leads to a long discussion about how much they want children, etc.